THE INFORMATION #748 SEPTEMBER 6, 2013

THE INFORMATION
#748 SEPTEMBER 6, 2013
Copyright 2013 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com

 

SURREALIST DIALOGUE

“What is your name?” A. “Forty-five houses.”—Andre Breton

 

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

Sooner or later all whores go batty, as I have good reason to know, having been reared up by Red Mary, the uncrowned Queen of the Redlamp District. You ever notice how lots of folks just live their lives along—snappish, maybe, and moody, and mulish, but generally on an even keel? Then disaster strikes, and that’s when you learn what they be truly made of.

 

How much is two plus two?  You ask ‘em. And they’re so distracted they’ll answer How much are thirty one days in February?

 

Sooner or later, Yob, whores get goofy, and usually all on account of pimps like Beau Nash.

Mr. Beauregard Nash was a piece of God’s own handy-work; the lowest pimp as ever walked upright. Everybody knowed him as Beau Nasty, and he was a ghastly pock-marked ponce, his chalk white face twisted up with vice and low practices. He usually wore a white suit, a white boater with a rainbow band, and he sported a Malacca cane which he would whisk onto the rump of a recalcitrant whore, and right smart, too. If he was feelin’ formal he sometimes sported a powder-blue double-breasted suit and Borsalino hat to match. He looked like he had just crawled out of a band-box.

 

He was a real Dapper Dan—a spring Dandy, and also what you might call a vice lord and with powerful connections, too, as he took a cut from nearly every crib in town. Red Mary was one of the hold-outs. So he hated her with a passion that was white hot. I saw him once, standing outside her crib after she refused him entrance to her parlor. She knew he was up to no good—tryin’ to entice her girls away to join his stable. “I’ll rip out your parts for ye, twitchet,” says he. “And I says ye won’t,” says she, leveling a lady Derringer smack in his gob. “Ye only pick on girls whose hair on their cunny has not yet begun. So Skiboodley-boo to you, ye mucker.”

 

Beau Nasty was a master of the second oldest game on earth. One as pre-dates humanity. The gathering up of nuts. The first animal as got another animal to do his work for him and raked off the goodies was really the first ponce. It’s all about making someone else do what you want them to, and at no cost to you other than maintaining a front. Animals do it all the time, or do you think a mutt licks your face because he loves you? He does it because he wants to be fed. Every tart gets laid and every pimp gets paid. Goes back to Adam and Eve; it surely does. (Hope um not outta line.)  Eve was the first harlot, I’ll warrant, and Adam was the first pimp. It’s human nature through and through—how to win. Don’t get burned, monkey—just use the cat’s paw to pull your chestnuts out’n the fire. You see it on Wall Street and you see it in jail.

I’m not havin’ much experience with the former, but I seen it play out countless times in stir. You need a favor from the turnkey? You don’t ask for it yourself—you get a fish, a greenie, to rattle the bars and ask for it. “Guard! Guard! This man is dyin’!” Et cetera. If the screw comes by and says yes you get what you want and you take all the credit, and if the screw gets mad and says ye Got Nothin’ Comin’ To Ye, Con, So Shut Yer Gob, then it’s the greenie as draws the heat.

 

It’s the technique of con men everywhere—you flatter the mark and he sticks his foot in the road where, usually, he gets it run over. It’s how you get a leg up in life, Yob—by making the other Yellof risk his own damn neck.

 

And Beauregard Nash was past master of that game. Former riverboat gambler, he made the switch to pimpin’; early on when he discovered that gambling was hard and dirty work and twin knuckleduster derringers weren’t cuttin’ it when all the sports up and down the Mississippi was totin’ Mr. Colt’s Single Action Army Revolvers. Not to mention Remingtons and Smith & Wessons.

 

Beau Nasty was the uncrowned King of the Redlamp district, just northwest of Downtown, and he often made the acquaintance of the fetching young ladies who worked the burley-Q clubs, dance halls, and even the ice-skating and roller-skating rinks. Or he’d meet some down-and-out Drab on the skids and put her to work recruiting fresh hot meat.

 

The Drab would meet some sobbing little gal out on her own in the big city for the very first time, and not makin’ it. Stealin’ rolls and other leftovers off the plates of restaurants. Sobbing her pretty little eyes out on a park bench. Starin’ around looking all bewildered at the train station down to Central Depot. Any fly cove or moll could spot these recruits from fifty paces. Threadbare clothes in the fashion of three years ago, but spotless. Fresh look, no face paint, slumped shoulders, pinched look about the eyes from worries and sleepless nights. Maybe she’s just been throwed out of her one-bedroom flat or maybe she’s about to be. But she’s down to her last dollar, and she’s already seen the wolf. She can’t go home for any number of silly or serious reasons. Back when I had only been on the road for a short time I would try to talk sense into these silly little Mollies—tell ‘em to go see the Sisters of Charity of they was knocked up, or try to convince them to sweet-talk the conductor for a free train ride home.

 

More fool me. Little Miss Damsel in Distress. Phooey. You just can’t help some people. Sometimes you be better off not to try to help nobody. That’s a lesson you learn early, and usually the hard way. “Oh, Mr. Donniker, you don’t understand—I CAN’T go home! My step-father’s a brute, and he—“ Flutter of the eyelash. Say No More My Fair Young Lady Fair. Now, if it was only foolish pride, then nine times out of ten you could get her to go back home, but it was almost never just a matter of going back to the town folk with tail dragging and a story of how you failed to make your own way. No, home is where they have to take you in, but some of these gals knew of no such place. And they would fall into the life. And I learned soon enough not to put my oar in. Couple of beatings soon made me very much inclined to look after my own Ps and Qs.  Even though I have to this day enormous sympathy for whores—seein’ as how I was raised by one.

1*SALUTATION

THE REMAINS

DON’T LOOK BACK

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t-ne_H5HL88

 

ALSO SEE:

LONELY WEEKEND

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BVL2rWrpIhY

 

CHARLIE RICH

LONELY WEEKEND

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

2*REFERENCE

LITTLE FREE LIBRARY

http://www.littlefreelibrary.org/

 

BOOK CLUB BOOKS

http://www.litlovers.com/popular-book-club-books

 

ALSO SEE:

OPEN COLLECTIONS:

http://openglam.org/open-collections/

 

BOOK SELLING

http://www.themillions.com/2013/08/goodbye-old-friends-on-selling-my-books.html

 

3*HUMOR

BONZO DOG DOO DAH BAND

HELLO MABEL

https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=qUq6ktf19WE

4*NOVELTY

FRENCH CLOWNS
http://www.buzzfeed.com/briangalindo/12-horrifying-photos-of-french-clowns-from-1900-1930s

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

SIGNS YOU’RE AN EXTROVERT
http://gawker.com/15-unmistakable-outrageously-secret-signs-youre-an-ex-1182875137

 

6* DAILY UTILITY

TUSCAN TOMATO SALAD RECIPE

http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2013/08/21/best_tomato_salad_recipe_panzanella_with_bread_shallots_and_basil.html

7*CARTOON

ANDY GRIFFITH

A FACE IN THE CROWD

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=edpz9f5LVaY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UJ5RZWttmoA

 

ALSO SEE:

DANNY THOMAS PILOT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4CnGAacQbI

 

DELETED SCENE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SkSvqhGk__0

8*PRESCRIPTION

RECOVER LOST TABS ON CHROME

http://www.slate.com/blogs/future_tense/2013/08/22/keyboard_shortcut_helps_recover_lost_browser_tabs.html?wpisrc=obnetwork

9*RUMOR PATROL

7 TIPS FOR KEEPING YOUR MAN

http://theweek.com/article/index/248100/7-tips-for-keeping-your-man-from-the-1950s

 

ALSO SEE:

Mst3k: A DATE WITH YOUR FAMILY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=_Hh4M4vipAo

10* LAGNIAPPE

SONGZA: CURATED MUSIC SITE

http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2013/08/28/songza_the_best_music_streaming_site_there_is.html

11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
ROCKS OFF: 50 TRACKS THAT TELL THE STORY OF THE ROLLING STONES.

By Bill Janovitz. St. Martin’s Press; 413 pages; hardcover.

Boston-area musician Bill Janovitz is the author of the 33 1/3 series book “Exile on Main Street” (Continuum 2005), in which he discussed—some might even say dissected–every track on the album.

Janovitz’s latest book tells the story of “the world’s greatest rock and roll band.” But with a novel twist: their history is explored through a chronological commentary about fifty of the band’s most significant songs.

Even Rock and Roll fans who are detractors of the Rolling Stones (can there be many?) would have to concede that the band delivered up a trifecta of well-nigh perfect albums–not a commonplace event–with, respectively, Beggars Banquet (1968),  Let It Bleed (1969) and Sticky Fingers (1971). Dylan, The Beach Boys, The Kinks and the Beatles all scored with similar feats. But in some camps it would be argued–quite passionately–that in terms of sheer rock and roll prowess, the Stones surpassed them all, then followed up their trifecta with Exile on Main Street (1972), an album so good, albeit patchy, that they were mining it for out-takes some ten and even thirty years later.  Janovitz is particularly astute when discussing the songs of this era. 

Janovitz spends little time playing the compare and contrast game. For instance, he refrains from pointing out the enervated and perfunctory nature of songs such as “Dance Little Sister” and “She’s So Cold.” (He does, however, compare “Get Off of My Cloud” to the markedly superior but somewhat obscure “I’m Free.” And he wittily characterizes “Coming Down Again” as “the anti-Happy”.) Instead, he makes a point of showcasing the surpassing merits of acknowledged classics like “Gimme Shelter,” “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” and “Moonlight Mile.” What I presume to be some of the author’s own underrated favorites also make the cut: his discussion of the satiric b-side “The Under Assistant West Coast Promotion Man,” is insightful and revealing, as are his dissections of songs such as the paranoiac Aftermath track “I Am Waiting,” and the last-gasp album track “All About You” from the “perfectly fine” but “haphazard” LP Emotional Rescue. 

This book is also entertaining because Janovitz fills the narrative with knowing detail which will satisfy even the most die-hard Stones fan. We learn that “Wild Horses” came together with the help of Country-rock progenitor Gram Parsons–and recording engineer Jim Dickinson’s tack piano. We discover that Keith Richards regarded one of his musical rivals as “a freaky acid-head flute player.” Janovitz also peppers his account with keen insights: “Tumbling Dice” is a “real New Orleans style funeral instead of [Don] McLean’s uptight ‘oration’ for the death of an era.”  

 

Janovitz admits that not all of these songs are his personal favorites; half the fun, I suppose, for an ardent fan is comparing his selection with one’s own putative picks. I don’t disagree with most of his selections, though I would have also liked to have read what he had to say about tracks like “High and Dry”  “Back Street Girl,” “She Smiled Sweetly,” “Who’s Been Sleeping Here,”  “Dandelion,” “Prodigal Son,” “Factory Girl,”  “No Use in Crying,” and “Continental Drift.” 

But examining more songs would have made the book too long. As it is, the sheer diversity and detailed length of the commentary sometimes threatens to make reading the entire book seem like a painful duty But the beginning of the book—let’s call it the Brian Jones section—is actually quite strong, and, better than nearly any other book has done, it will add to the ardent fan’s understanding of how the Stones developed from just another Blues cover band to becoming the powerhouse combo and veritable force of nature they later matured into.

In fact, if any section seems perfunctory, it’s the final third—when the Stones were in a critical decline and one had to scratch hard to uncover gems amid the comparative dross. The 1981 stopgap album Tattoo You is one which Janovitz (rightly) dismisses as “outtakes from their golden period,” and ‘[their] last gasp of artistic relevancy.”

 But even when discussing the Stones in their decline, Janovitz is careful to hew to his original plan—to show the ongoing development of the band through the prism of their material. This he accomplishes, in an entertaining and intelligent series of linked essays. And yet, the fact that the first 43 songs discussed here were from the band’s first twenty years, and six of the last seven songs were from the band’s last twenty years is as a qualitative a statement of the Stones’ decline as one could wish. (#50, “Plundered My Soul,” was an outtake from “Exile”.)

In the opening salvo of his previous book “Exile on Main Street,” Janovitz refers to that album as “The single greatest rock and roll record of all time, okay?” It is safe to assume that he is passionate about the Rolling Stones and their music.  Part of the charm of his latest book is that he manages to make us nearly as enthusiastic as he is about these fifty songs which span the arc of the band’s four-decade career.

11A BOOKS READ AND REVIEWED

1973 NERVOUS BREAKDOWN. KILLEN. ****

ALCOHOLICA ESOTERICA. LENDLER. ****

ANNA KARENINA. TOLSTOY. *****

THE ART OF THINKING CLEARLY. DOBELLI. ***1/2

BATMAN: JOKER’S ASYLUM 2. **1/2

THE CODE OF THE WOOSTERS. WODEHOUSE. ****

COLLISION 2012. BALZ. ***1/2

COMPELLING PEOPLE. NEFFINGER & KOHUT. ****

CRIME VICTIM STORIES. WACHS. ***1/2

DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC? OFFIT. ***1/2

THE ELEMENTS OF EXPRESSION. PLOTNIK. ****

FINAL CRISIS AFTERMATH: INK. *1/2

THE GETTYSBURG ADDRESS. HENNESSEY & MCCONNELL. ****1/2

GHOSTS OF 42ND STREET. BIANCO. ***1/2

HIT GIRL. MILLAR. ****

HOLY TERROR. MILLER. ***1/2

I WANT YOU TO SHUT THE F#CK UP. HIGHLEY & MALICE. **

JEEVES & THE OLD SCHOOL CHUM. WODEHOUSE. ****

JEEVES TAKES CHARGE. WODEHOUSE. ****

JSA ALL-STARS. CONSTELLATIONS. ***1/2

LOS TEJANOS. JACKSON. ****

LOWDOWN. ALBANY. ***1/2

MANSON. GUINN. ****

MARVEL COMICS. HOWE. ***1/2

MASKS OF ANARCHY. DEMSON & MCCLINTON. ***1/2

MY LUNCHES WITH ORSON. BISKIND. ****

NIGHT OF THE REPUBLIC. SHAPIRO. ****

ON THE PAD. SCHECHTER & PHILLIPS. ****

SHIT NEW YORK. DALTON. **

THE SINATRA CLUB. POLISI. **1/2

SKIN FLUTES AND VELVET GLOVES. HAMILTON. ****

STAR COMICS VOL. 2. **

SUPERMAN. WELDON. ****

SUPERMAN CHRONICLES 7. **

SUPERMAN CHRONICLES 8. **

A SURVIVAL GUIDE FOR LIFE. GRYLLS. **

TEAM RODENT. HIASSEN. ***1/2

ULTIMATE COMICS: AVENGERS: CRIME & OUNISHMENT. ***

UNDERCOVER COP. RUSSELL. ***1/2

WALLY WOOD: EERIE TALES OF CRIME & HORROR. ***

WHY MARX WAS RIGHT. EAGLETON. ****

THE WINGS OF THE DOVE. JAMES. ****1/2

YOU ARE NOT SO SMART. MCRANEY. ****

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE. 703.

MILITARY HISTORY TITLE GENERATOR

COLUMN A            
AN ARMY OF THE
THE WRATH OF THE

THE GLEAM OF THE

THE GREATEST

THE FEARFUL

THE GLINT OF THE

THE SMELL OF THE

THE LONGEST

THE SMOKE OF THE

THE FURY OF THE

 

COLUMN B

BLOOD

BAYONET

DAWN

WRATH

COMBAT

WAR

HATE

DEATH

FEAR

BATTLE

[With a tip o’ the Hatlo hat to RMS]

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THE INFORMATION #747 AUGUST 30, 2013

THE INFORMATION
#747 AUGUST 30, 2013
Copyright 2013 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com

https://dimenno.wordpress.com/

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

Now, Tom Aston was a jolly well bent copper all right, just like most of the breed–a known jelly-fish in the presence of men bigger than he himself but had powerful heaps of silver to work his will. He was a slobby, fat red-faced man—known boozer—always talked like the sort of loudmouth you’d hear in a whiskey bar–and his left profile resembled the Rock of Gibraltar—and his right profile had that gashly scar all up and down his cheek–and he wore an Elk tooth on a gold chain and let me tell you this–he shore did like to see his pitcher in the papers. He also like nothing better than to use his big fists to pound weakfish into jelly down t’ the station house–at about two in the morning you could hear their screams and the bluff old devil shouting Talk, Talk Damn Ye Talk until his voice was a weary croak, and th’ Looie took over with the sandbag and the rubber glove with lead pellets in the fingers and other nifty tricks the bulls used to get only the answers they want to hear and you could hear the whimpers and dyin’ wails of the unfortunate “suspect” a-ringin’ in your ears for days if you was unfortunate enough to be in the calaboose warming up the cell next to his’n. I can still hear the lyin’ rogue shoutin’ “Don’t you know it’s a federal offense to lie to a police officer? You’re a three time loser—we got the goods on ye this time, Boyo–we can make this charge stick—it’s up the Salt River for you—could mean twenty years in the Bridewell—how do ye like them apples?”

Now, this manner of treatment was usually reserved only for those known yekkmen as worked free-lance and refused to split the loot or make with the filthy lucre when the bulls hauled them in on trumped up charges.

Cap’n Aston was a good sight gentler with civilians—handed them the old gay patter about Good Citizens Always Cooperatin’ With The Police Who Are Only There to Protect Fine Upstandin’ Pillars of the Community Such As Yourself. “You do want to help us out, don’t you? Just answer a few questions and we’ll have you back in your nice warm house in less than half an hour and your neighbors none the wiser. By the way–I know your Boss—he’s a big man in the Elks—tell him I said Hello—and so on and on.”

Usually the white-faced Feeb—who never has sense enough to holler for a mouthpiece and then just clam the hell up—he’ll blurt out everything he ever done since the day he stole an apple from a Dago fruit stand at the age of seven back in 1877, thinking that the nice policeman will appreciate his honesty, not knowin’ that police usually see that sort of behavior as a sign of sheer stupidity—the sign of a man who can be pushed around and will confess to practically anything.

But Aston would be well-chuffed when a Greenie started spilling the beans—he valued his reputation as an interrogator.

Tom Aston was most of all a proud man. I heerd him brag on more than one occasion that he could break a suspect in nothing flat—get him to sing like a canary—get him so he’d give away secrets he didn’t even know he had—without the cosh or the sandbag—but just with his patented line of soothing bullshit, doubletalk, and bafflegab.

Meanwhile, if you was a bad one and shrewd enough to play to his sense of pride, you could confess to being a mere recreant without actually incriminatin’ yourself for any actual act of wrongdoing. Then you could usually waltz off with a C-note and a warning. Aston did not give a good God damn what you might of done—just so long as he saw green, he would never see red, even if it was the very blood of the martyred Savior His own self.

He played a pretty swell shakedown racket on his lonesome, did Cap’n Aston, ‘specially whenever he felt his wallet was lookin’ puny after a night out on the town. Early in the morning he’d cast his glims over the police blotter and the pictures in the rogue’s gallery, just to refresh his memory. Then he’d hit the Central Depot station at about eight in the morning—just when ambitious pickpockets would start their day. He’d make a pinch and the routine would go something like this.

“All right Boyo—take off your jacket.” Aston would feel the lining for any hidden bills, and many’s the time he would rip the seam open with his enormous paw and take the hidden money in broad daylight. The pickpockets couldn’t squawk. They knew it was the price of doing business. They’d just have to work that much harder and order to make up for losing their fall money. That was the beauty of catching them in the morning—Aston knew that they knew that if he took ‘em off to jail they’d lose a whole day’s work. So he’d rob ‘em, and he’d let ‘em fly the coop. If they didn’t have no money, or if it was too well hid, then Aston would ask for the names of other pickpockets working the area. And woe betide the grifter who wouldn’t give up his confederate, or some other crook. “Hwat’s that ye say? When it comes to bein’ a rat, you no spicka da language, huh? Well, here’s…some…language…ye…can…understand,” and he’d punctuate each word with a blow from a sap full of sand and lead shot.

How do I know all this?

Listen, Yob–you ever hear that fine old song?

The devil shit a monkey
The monkey shit a flea,
The flea shit a copper,
And the copper’s chasing me.

Story of my life, Yob.

Anyway, mostly, the bulls in Noxtown was so stupid they would of never solved any crimes, only for the fact that they maintained a network of spies everywhere in the city limits—from Treasure Island to Uptown; from Old Town to Gleason’s Corners. They padded the payroll with all manner of low lifes and scoundrels: washed-up jockeys, crippled-up numbers runners, masters of the short con, “reformed” pool-hall sharks, punchy ex-pugs, morphine-addled Spanish War Vets, and other grifters and lammisters. Otherwise, the police force was a disgrace–a mare’s nest of former schoolyard bullies, drunken firemen, and part-time baseball players as took too many beanballs to the ole noggin, not to mention old-timers too feeble to heft a newspaper, let alone swing a lead-filled sap. The old-timers and then other loafers spent most of the winter time huddled by the wood-burnin’ stove, swappin’ yarns and dingin’ spittoons, and the young bulls went on the hunt for filthy lucre and fresh pussy, and not always in that order.

As for the latter—young gals—fresh fish—greenie twat—Tom Aston’s good friend and sworn confederate Mr. Beauregard Nash was more’n happy to oblige. More about him, later. (1188)

1*SALUTATION

THE CHOIR

IT’S COLD OUTSIDE

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

ALSO SEE:

THE DOVERS

WHAT AM I GOING TO DO

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g3ZM5vjYc9E

AMERICAN BREED

MINDROCKER

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

ALSO SEE:

OGNIR AND THE NITE PEOPLE

I FOUND A NEW LOVE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HNqGcWmmwj0

2*REFERENCE

HOW MANY BRAND LOGOS CAN YOU IDENTIFY AT ONE GLANCE?

http://slate.me/178W56c

3*HUMOR

GONE AND FORGOTTEN

http://gone-and-forgotten.blogspot.com/

ALSO SEE:

SAD SACK

I have always been fascinated and repelled by the Sad Sack spin-off GABBY GOB. BTW, it was only years later that i discovered that Sad Sack is short for Sad Sack of Shit.

4*NOVELTY

THE STRANGE SAVAGE WORLD OF THE CUCKOO BIRD
Note how Gramps maniacally responds to Sonny’s lousy joke with “Oh Yeah?!” and hands the hapless addict a box of the Cocaine Puffs (for such they must surely be). Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/jbcurio/4951408261/

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

THE AFTERLIFE OF ANDY KAUFMAN

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/05/16/andy-kaufman-death-fake-hoax_n_3287803.html

6* DAILY UTILITY

CREATIVE PEOPLE SAY ‘NO’

https://medium.com/thoughts-on-creativity/bad7c34842a2

7*CARTOON

THE CHARLTON COMICS READING LIBRARY
http://charltonlibrary.blogspot.com/

8*PRESCRIPTION

MERMAIDS

No, Animal Planet, mermaids do not exist. Also, your documentaries are worthless: http://slate.me/10KTJXe

9*RUMOR PATROL

WHY WE TRUST CERTAIN FACES AND DISTRUST OTHERS

http://rd.cm/11qKWQd

10* LAGNIAPPE

LA DISTINCTION

It is the epitome of middlebrow to try to take intellectual shortcuts to knowledge which, by rights, can only be gained via training practically from birth.

SEE ALSO:

Read this if you really want to have your mind blown: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Distinction

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

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

Even Crossword puzzles are not exempt. The ones geared to the masses are rife with subliminal messages: CELEBRITIES ARE IMPORTANT; PATRIOTISM IS COOL.

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE. 702.

OLDIES

Why are we so upset by oldsters on the Rock and Roll Revival Circuit? These toothless gummers feel the need to bask in the applause of the clueless, but why should it bother us? If it keeps the dull and easily entertained off the streets, I’m all for it. It’s not like they’re going to spend any of their fuck-you money going to shady venues where overpriced drinks are sold to showboating hipsters.

However, I will confess that nowadays I summon up my twelve-year old self and pat him on the head and say, “Some day you will forget that Mike Love and Sha Na Na ever existed.”

THE INFORMATION #746 AUGUST 23, 2013

THE INFORMATION
#746 AUGUST 23, 2013
Copyright 2013 FRANCIS DIMENNO

http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com

https://dimenno.wordpress.com/

ORDER

“People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.” – George Orwell

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

Now, lots of folks who deplore the likes of Police Captain Aston, whose job it is to maintain order and keep folks from screwin’ in the street and scarin’ the hosses and smashing the windowpanes and stealing bread—these Goo-goos, they always have something to say, but the reforms they say will work, why, they nearly never do—it takes a man of experience with a strong stomach and a big shovel and balls of solid brass  to clean up a rat’s nest while the rats are still roostin’ there—a man of the world–and a lifted-pinky-finger clergyman with dainty pink hands and a wicker umbrella will simply not do.

For my part, I say that if you can’t help a man, don’t stand around and comment on his situation and make it worse. And don’t you ever rub a man in his sore spot. No matter how tempted you are. It makes you look like a rat–and he won’t soon forget it. Some people can hold a grudge for twenty years—easy. They may not be wise, but they got a good memory, that’s for sure, and they can use that sharp mind to trip you up in many nasty ways that number in the hundreds. There are more traps and tricks than there are fixers to haul you out of ‘em, and  fixers are expensive. Best to keep a weather eye at all times.

Anyway, the Goo Goos will tell you that a criminal is mostly a superstitious coward—if only t’were so—then cotching them would be a lead-pipe cinch– but you and I both know better. A man who bucks the law without the law’s connivance is got to have brass balls and a head of iron. It ain’t no job for weak fish or softies—hell, they’re the first ones as get swept up in the net, just like any poor fish. No, civilians ain’t got no business getting into the criminal racket; if you should be unlucky enough to take that path I’d advise you to leastways get both feet in—you can’t expect to have one foot in and one foot out and expect to profit, let alone thrive.

There are plenty of ways to walk into a situation. With both your eyes shut is not one of them. You only ever get one chance to notice a dangerous situation. You may laugh and say Oh, That’s Don’t Apply To me Because I’m a Spring Dandy—but when you’re one time face down on the floor and getting stomped on by a crew of riled-up bohunks because you didn’t keep a weather eye—that’s when you’ll have time to ponder the wisdom of my warnings, Yob.

But if you do take that path, remember this—the policeman is basically a little more than a peasant. He hates and fears anything which is above him. So never mouth off to one to impress your pals—it ain’t them as will take the lumps when the copper decides to hand you a smack and send your choppers skittering along the marble floor of the precinct house.

Here’s a bit of good advice. Always address a man with a loaded weapon as “Sir,” or “Mister”. And never assume a gun ain’t loaded.

And here’s another–Never lie to your lawyer. Leave the mouthpiece in the dark and if your case goes to trial. you might as well be hanging a guilty sign around your neck.

No, me lad, very few take up police work because they want to do a good deed—most take it up because they ain’t a member of the skilled trades, which takes connections, and they ain’t got the brain power to figger out how to do too much of anything else.

Now, there are good cops. I’ll admit it. Decent Yellofs as had seen hard knocks once-upon-a-time. But I ain’t met too many. No, most beat cops are like Tom Aston, as started out walking a beat his own self. Pounding a beat is hard work and at the end of the day they are too tired to think hard about anything, and if you got something to tell them then chances are they ain’t listening to you. Police work is messy stuff, Yob—you’d be better off pushing a plough and staring at a mule’s ass working at some Godforsaken farm—where at least they have to feed you and water you—just like the stock.

Listen—you could get away with murder in Noxtown—literally. All ye had to do is know a “right” cop, which is to say, a bent cop. As opposed to a “wrong” cop, who would run you in and would always tell the truth on the witness stand, come hell or wate hight.

But guess what, Yob. In Noxtown, all the cops was right.

Here’s a Help Police story for ye. Man was being robbed at the point of a knife—in broad daylight—right out in the street—over in Central Depot—right in front of the train station.

Beat cop is right there on the corner. Knife Man is on the protected list. Beat cop walks on. Not only will they never get the guy—they don’t even want to know—just so long as they get to split the take. Cops and crooks are not so secret chums. Buddies.

In this town, watch out—even the Good Samaritan will stick a knife right down your throat.

Why do cops go so crooked that they ain’t no better than the wised-up gees they ride herd on? And sometimes a good sight worse? Simple. It’s a dirty job of  messy work–and nobody loves a copper. And that goes double of course, for a copper’s nark.

That’s why the road of crime is not for the likes of an honorable man, or a man who wishes to stay free of entanglin’ alliances. Because no matter how clever you may think you are at dodging the rope, sooner or later they’ll cotch ye up—and they’ll turn you into a snitch. And then—you will belong to them. And there ain’t nothin’ lower.

I would rather eat out of a garbage can—and many’s the time I have—than to tell one lie against a fellow Bo. 

Previous: http://www.thenoiseboard.com/index.php?act=post&do=reply_post&f=1&t=218311

1*SALUTATION

OUTSIDERS

LOST IN MY WORLD

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j6ptGHrr2sY

ALSO SEE:

THE ELASTIK BAND

SPAZZ

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s5gEJJwJso8

THE HEARD

STOP IT BABY

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z7t_8Izydzo

2*REFERENCE

FLOPHOUSES RETURN
http://www.slate.com/articles/business/moneybox/2013/07/sros_flophouses_microapartments_smart_cities_are_finally_allowing_the_right.html?fb_ref=sm_fb_share_toolbar

SEE ALSO:

YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD COULD IMPROVE YOUR LONGEVITY BY 20 YEARS

http://slate.me/1dFw6VN

ALSO SEE:

THE TUNNEL PEOPLE OF LAS VEGAS

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1326187/Las-Vegas-tunnel-people-How-1-000-people-live-shimmering-strip.html

3*HUMOR

MOVIE SCRIPTS: THE BOOK

http://slate.me/1bNwQtP

4*NOVELTY

THE FRENCH FRIES

DANSE A LA MUSIQUE

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

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST

BANKRUPTED BY BEANIES

http://finance.yahoo.com/news/a-family-spent–100-000-on-beanie-babies-to-put-their-kids-through-college-155053345.html

6* DAILY UTILITY

VENTRILOQUISTS AND THEIR DUMMIES

http://flavorwire.com/293910/incredibly-disconcerting-vintage-portraits-of-ventriloquists-and-their-dummies

7*CARTOON

COMICS: THE ALL-AMERICAN ART

http://hairygreeneyeball2.blogspot.com/2010/12/all-american-art.html

8*PRESCRIPTION

POLICE MAY KNOW EXACTLY WHERE YOU WERE LAST TUESDAY

http://www.npr.org/blogs/alltechconsidered/2013/07/16/202801282/police-may-know-exactly-where-you-were-last-tuesday?utm_source=npr&utm_medium=facebook&utm_campaign=20130717

9*RUMOR PATROL

THE THINKING MAN’S ALEX JONES

http://www.slate.com/articles/business/moneybox/2013/07/max_keiser_of_russia_today_the_youtube_star_is_the_thinking_man_s_alex_jones.html

10* LAGNIAPPE

19 SIGNS YOU’RE TOO OLD FOR THIS CRAP
 http://www.buzzfeed.com/alexnaidus/signs-youre-too-old-for-this-crap

11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
COMIC BOOKS AS MERE TRASH
I say this in the full knowledge of what this means. There’s a long tradition of nay-sayers in the comic book/graphic novel field, and sometimes their comments can be very helpful, all the more so because their caveats cause people who love and respect the medium to question widely-held assumptions which may be tinged by the soft-focus lens of nostalgia or mediated by a lower standard which is perforce in place for the literary aspects of the graphic novel.

What if I were to say that, in spite of many fine collections which have been released over the past 25 years, comics are still, in many respects, a sub-literary medium? That only about 5% are worthy of serious consideration as literature? Would you reactively defend your favorites and dismiss my argument, or would you take the time to ask me to define my terms and defend my argument?

I would hope that scholars, at least, would choose the latter choice.

Jack Cole and Will Eisner have gotten a free ride for a long time, for work which is of highly variable quality. Call it the Halo effect. Read the early Plastic Man and Spirit stories and tell me that these are timeless classics. I don’t think you can. We could say the much same of our beloved Jack Kirby, who, according to some, is a veritable God. But, as significant as Kirby is to the history of the development of the medium, he is not above criticism. Nor is Alan Moore. Frankly, a good deal of Moore’s most celebrated work is little more than Genre Clowning. For an explanation of that term, refer to Thomas J. Roberts. An Aesthetics of Junk Fiction. A useful precis is here: http://www.depauw.edu/sfs/review_essays/terra55.htm

I suppose my point is that we should not make the mistake of
over-valuing the early work of an artist in light of his or her later
work.

As it happens, I know quite a bit about the background history of the
comic strip and the comic book, as well as the graphic novel. It is
more in sorrow than anger than I make the gentle suggestion that a
good deal of the so-called landmark works of the medium have been
overrated.

I have studied the earliest Spirit strips and have found them to be
quite pulpy. The earliest Plastic Man stories are not only pulpy, but
are rigidly constrained by plot imperatives. Both are instances of
superior craftsmen who are only beginning to find their way to
mastery. This is my opinion, but interested dissenters are invited to
actually read those early stories, which DC comics has thoughtfully
reissued in hardcover.

I might also refer the interested reader to the aesthetic dimensions
of comics as laid out in Scott McCloud’s Understanding Comics:
http://blog.visualmotive.com/2009/understanding-comics-with-scott-mccloud/

This is not to say that I do not find comic strips, comic books, and
graphic novels fascinating, and in some instances, compelling.

Jules Feiffer, in 1965, said that comic books were “frankly, junk.”
When I came across his comment a few years later, I resisted his
assessment. Did he not, in the examples he gave in The Great Comic
Book Heroes, himself distinguish between the “good” junk and the “bad”
junk?

I find the comic strip and the comic book, as well as the graphic
novel, interesting not solely on the basis of the works themselves,
but also on account of their subtexts. I further believe that even the
most meretricious work can be useful to study insofar as it informs
the reader about what was going on at the time it was created.

Let’s not mistake this interest in subtext as merely a reactive
response which expresses “nothing but disdain for comics and other
forms of pop culture.” But let’s not utterly forgo an assessment of
the aesthetic dimension.

Incidentally, I have found Michael Feldman’s comments about Film in the
1960s to be an insightful and useful yardstick in regard to the state
of the art:

“Sure, comics are junk food. Burgers not steaks. But as popular
culture has slowly moved to centre stage in large part due to
generating vast amounts of revenue and of course being less demanding
on the brain – there is an attempt to retroactively legitimize them as
great art. And there can tremendous complexity in the finished product
just as there is with film, rock music, etc.

“Maybe part of a larger trend to go downscale with dignity. Where I
live expensive upscale burger joints, gourmet pizza, organic real
sugar candy – are the new rage for those who can afford them. Some
kind of deferred status like wearing high end name brand clothes or
only consuming fine wine, I guess.

“Comics are coming to the debate of whether they are true art late in
the game. It happened with film in the 60s. And though we remember
the isolated critical successes and classics, most movies were really
commercial junk too. But multimillion dollar budgets, movie star
adoration and misplaced nostalgia obscures that perception.”

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE. 701.

VILLAINS I’D LIKE TO LOVE
It’s funny (or maybe not so funny) how movie villains are often both feral and androgynously attractive….What I am saying is that the media script for “Villain” USUALLY includes a tinge of the homoerotic. It’s no doubt a lingering vestige of the whole post WWII sex-and-violence nexus written about by Legman, McLuhan, Wertham, the Frankfort School, et al. My writerly researches have led me into tangled thickets of forbidden knowledge which I will not explicate at length, lest I appear nutty, or at least nuttier than people already think I am. But when I say, for instance, that all spies are perverts, then I am only exposing the tip of the iceberg. The Mandarinate (for want of a better term), for reasons of their own, seem to use the lure of forbidden sex as a means of social control. I’ve recently been reading a great deal of the post WWII girlie cartoon mags (Humorama; Over Sexteen; Sex to Sexty)–strictly as a part of my *harumph* scholarly research, mind you–and have noticed the resonant themes all have to do with women as animal spirits which seduce, hypnotize, and must be dominated by men. There are two layers to what Griel Marcus called “The Old Weird America”: the rural pre-WWII America, and the postwar aftermath from about 1940 to 1966. That latter period was America’s Victorian era–during the first half of it, sexuality was hidden and hush-hush, and, quite naturally, perverted. After about 1962 things loosened up. The threat of nuclear Armageddon, I suppose. I am not the first nor will I be the last to mull over these matters. The Classicists among us will surely see parallels in Roman culture.

THE INFORMATION #745 AUGUST 16, 2013

THE INFORMATION
#745 AUGUST 16, 2013
Copyright 2013 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com/

THE IMPOSSIBLE & THE UNFORESEEN
Nothing is more imminent than the impossible . . . what we must always foresee is the unforeseen.― Victor Hugo

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

I would strongly suggest that whenever you feel like hell warmed over,
you take a salutary lesson from Mr. Shanghai Jack, Yob—you seen him around—
he was an ex-pug as lost his right hand in a fearful affray
with the dossing sports in Chinatown. He had a bad habit—liked to
gamble—got mixed up with the Tongs—wouldn’t pay—they sent a gang after
him. He gave a good account of himself, they say—took ten of them down
before they got to him. Sure—life is cheap in the Orient, they
say—what they never tell you is that life is dear nearly no place else
in any event.

Anyway, Shanghai Jack, he didn’t spend no time being all mopey over
the loss of his duke; naw—he took one more big
gamble—blackjack—wagered everything he had on the turn of a
card—dealer had twenty, but Jack took the plunge with two tens—drew an
ace—twenty-one–won a big pay day—scooped up his dosh and practically
ran out the door–never touched the cards again—then he got himself a
nice shiny stainless steel hook as made him look more menacin’ than
ever before—he even started sporting a black patch over his left glim
even though that lamp was perfectly good—sometimes for fun he would
switch the patch around to the right eye to see if anyone would
notice—few did—more fool they—Shanghai Jack noticed everything—even
the look on a dealer’s face as to whether he was cheating or no. And
he could scent a mark from across a crowded gin mill full of stiffs and swells.

My point bein’, Mr. Jack lost no time in playing Pity Me—no, he set
right back to his old occupation of kidnapping, and with a vengeance.
Almost like a man on the first day of a new job with something to
prove.
Now, here’s where it gets interestin’. There was a Farmer Boy who
had lost the year’s crop in a bunko wallet switch—the old “found
money” game—about the oldest swindle there is—from a team of
bunko artists as worked the stem—terectly in front of the train
station over t’ Central Depot.

What happened was that Farmer Boy wasn’t going to take it lying down.
Farmer Boy—you could still smell the stink of pigshit on his bib
overalls—why, he raised an everlasting row, threatened to go to the
D.A. and the Mayor, and like that.

Well, the D.A. had his own hustle going with the shake-down mob in
Central Depot and he wasn’t about to queer his own pitch and kept
right on putting him off.

His Honor The Mayor, as you might expect, was counting on big
donations from the same crew. Also, he was busy trying to beat a
reform candidate who was as stupid as the day is long but had the
backing of all the Goo-Goos—mostly fat crippled up old ladies,
dried up temperance biddies, jackleg preachers, old duffers with
too much time on their hands, and small businessmen–honest
goofs as were sick as paying bribes to health and safety inspectors and
shake-down money to thugs.

His Honor The Mayor told Cap’n Aston to square the beef, because if
he was on the outs because of the Goo-goos, then Aston would
be out as well. “Can’t fix this one,” said His Honor the Mayor. “He’s
from a good family—they’ve got too much juice with some boys in the
State House. Can’t bump him off—it would draw too much heat on the
Boys. Maybe we can make him vanish, though, until after the
election—he’s known to like a drink or too—I’m sure you can handle it,
Cap’n.”

Indeed he could. So Captain Aston called in Shanghai Jack. What Mr.
Jack did was this. One afternoon he found out the Farmer Boy was
coming back into town for the umpteenth time–ready to raise yet
another unholy stink–this time with the newspapers—a wise reporter
gave him the tip-off. So he boarded the train about three stops before
it got into town—sidled up to the Farm Boy–made gentle conversation
with the Yob –said he himself had been deceived by robbers,
which was no lie—showed him his hook—shared his hip flask—
played the sympathy angle—then, as they arrived at the train station,
Jack suggested they proceed to a snuggery and have a farewell drink together.

Farmer Boy was wary. Jack played the pity card—‘spose you’re too good to
be seen havin’ a drink with a crippled up old veteran—Farmer Boy mulled
it over—said I Guess One Drink Won’t Hurt–Jack then lured the Farmer
Boy to a low dive–The Seven Stars. He said Never Mind the Looks of the
Place, I Know the Owner—He’ll Treat Us Right.

He threw Tipsy Smith the wink to dose the Farmer Boy with
chloral—knock out drops—enough to fell an elephant—and then he coshed
the sucker on the noggin with a belayin’ pin, just for good measure.
Not enough to kill him, mind you—just enough to raise a lump the size
of a goose egg.

It probably goes without sayin’ that you should never, never flash your
money, in a saloon, or anywheres.

Ner ever accept a drink from a man named “Shanghai Jack.”

Also–you never trust a blowhard who says he knows the owner.
Everybody “knows the owner.”

Anyway, Mr. Jack was paid well for this job–by Aston–who took his cut
from the Fixer–who was paid by the con man who had hired him to
square the beef in the first place.

What’s that? What became of the Farmer Boy?

Who the hell cares?

Listen, Yob–there ain’t no percentage in worrying about a sucker.
But, if you must know, the way I heerd the story, they shipped him out
on a slow freighter heading north of Frisco, where the obliging
ship’s Captain made him a swabbie and put the big goof to work mending nets
and cutting bait and every dirty job to be had on a fishing boat–out
on a three-month long expedition to the frozen north, and the land of
the ice worms. When he finally got back, he was a sadder and wiser
man. He stopped coming to Noxtown—went back to the farm–and was never
heard from again.

I’ll tell ye one thing Yob—don’t never eat no fish caught in Northern
waters some of them, they got worms as long as your arm. Better off
you don’t never eat no fish, period. They say it’s brain food, but a
fish is the stupidest thing there is. And one looks pert near just like another.

Where was I?

Yaas. Police Captain Tom Aston. Yess, he was a wicked man and a wretched
piece of work, though—at my venerable age–I hesitate to say as much
about any of God’s children.

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

1*SALUTATION
THE ZAKARY THAKS
BAD GIRL
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d05cJMyzPEs

FASTER VERSION:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x_D7uSqCqvk

ALSO SEE:
RICHARD AND THE YOUNG LIONS
YOU CAN MAKE IT
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92JjrlYYnQ4

THE GALAXIE IV
DON’T LOSE YOUR MIND
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=og22252esmw
ALSO SEE:
LOVE
DA CAPO
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iz6VfFNLAlM
FOREVER CHANGES
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1L11Y0I5E0

2*REFERENCE
1970s AMERICA
http://www.slate.com/blogs/behold/2013/07/04/searching_for_the_70s_the_documerica_project_at_the_national_archives_photos.html?wpisrc=obnetwork

3*HUMOR
EARLY CRACKED MAGAZINE
http://hairygreeneyeball2.blogspot.com/2010/12/all-american-art.html

4*NOVELTY
CRAZY DIY POSTERS FROM NYC
http://flavorwire.com/238462/crazy-diy-street-posters-from-new-york-city

ALSO SEE:
BRILLIANT HACKING OF SUBWAY ADS
http://www.buzzfeed.com/copyranter/brilliant-hacking-of-subway-ads
ALSO SEE:
WHAT’S IN BOB’S PIPE?
http://www.subgenius.com/pams/pam2p4.html

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
COFFEE SNOBS
http://www.slate.com/articles/life/drink/2013/07/how_to_make_amazing_coffee_at_home_even_if_you_re_cheap_and_lazy.html
ALSO SEE:
Worker Wages: Wendy’s vs. Wal-Mart vs. Costco
http://buff.ly/1783mTb

6* DAILY UTILITY
EARLY TIMESTYLE
http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,881419,00.html

ALSO SEE:
TIME MAGAZINE #1
http://entertainment.time.com/2013/03/01/the-first-time/

7*CARTOON
LADIES BEWARE
http://johnglenntaylor.blogspot.com/2009/07/panels-66-ladies-beware.html

ALSO SEE:
SEX IN COMICS:
http://mitchoconnell.blogspot.com/2012/08/sex-in-comic-top-100-strangest.html

SEE ALSO:
THE 6 STUPIDEST WAYS HEROES PROTECTED SECRET IDENTITIES
http://www.cracked.com/article_20085_the-6-stupidest-ways-superheroes-protected-secret-identities.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+CrackedRSS+%28Cracked%3A+All+Posts%29

8*PRESCRIPTION
FOOD FRAUD
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2013/07/130712-food-fraud-science-economic-adulteration-seafood-honey-juice/?utm_source=Facebook&utm_medium=Social&utm_content=link_fb20130717news-foodfraud&utm_campaign=Content

9*RUMOR PATROL
CONSPIRACISTS VS. CONVENTIONALISTS
http://aangirfan.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/conspiracists-versus-conventionalists.html

ALSO SEE:
SUMMER VACATION IS EVIL
http://www.slate.com/articles/business/moneybox/2013/07/summer_learning_loss_summer_vacation_hurts_kids_in_school_and_is_especially.html

10* LAGNIAPPE
GOTH BARBIE
http://www.npr.org/blogs/monkeysee/2013/07/17/202417282/KIDS-GOTH-BARBIE?utm_source=NPR&utm_medium=facebook&utm_campaign=20130717

ALSO SEE:
ACHINGLY BEAUTIFL CEMETERY SCULPTURES
http://www.mymodernmet.com/profiles/blogs/achingly-beautiful-cemetery

11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
ETHNOPHAULISMS
Is it really for us–members of a dominant majority culture–to say
what terms minorities SHOULD find offensive? Not to get all
philosophical. I’m just sayin’. Wittgenstein would no doubt agree. By
the way, racial slurs are so 20th century. They were thoroughly
acceptable in the early part of the century; far less so by about
1960, and of course, we all know what happened in the 1990s when the
defendant in a celebrated trial was accused of having used to “N” word
while, at around the same time, Clarence Thomas at his Supreme Court
confirmation hearing accused his inquisitors of conducting—
get this–“A high-tech lynching for uppity blacks.”

Which point of view is correct? I say the default position is
to let the allegedly aggrieved parties decide the terms which are
offensive to them. When they object, we are perfectly free to say
“Duly noted.” There’s no need to get on our high horse about “freedom
of speech” and the like. That puts us in the position of whiners–as
though WE are the ones being victimized simply because we can no
longer freely use ugly racial and slurs without getting called out on
that nonsense.

Tony Hendra says it was P.J. O’Rourke who made the racial joke
acceptable when he took the helm of National Lampoon circa 1977
http://books.google.com/books?id=t-zWAAAAMAAJ&q=o%27rourke+#search_anchor

Indeed, ethnic jokes were the profanity of the 1970s and 1980s and
ethnic joke books popular during that era were as American Samizdat,
much like the sex jokes and Tijuana Bibles which circulated semi-clandestinely
since at least the late 1920s.

ALSO SEE:
GIZOOGLE
http://www.gizoogle.net/

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE. 700.
I HATE NEW THINGS. I’m afraid of new things. I only listen to Old
Order, Old Edition, and the Old Kids on the Block. I only read the Old
Republic, the Old Yorker, and Oldweek. I only visit Old York, Old
Jersey, and Oldnavut. And I only want the good old products like Old
Finesse Hydrating Silk Conditioner, Oldman’s Own, and Oldtella. I’m
tired; give me the tried and true; the old and worsened is good enough
for me. NO–WAIT. I’M BORED WITH OLD THINGS. I WANT NEW THINGS. I must
have all new things. I need New Navy, New Spice, New Milwaukee. Give
me New Crow. New Grand Dad. New Bushmill’s. New Overholt. I want New
El Paso, New Mr. Boston, New Bay Seasoning. Show me the New Farmer’s
Almanac, The Top of New Smokey, and Bad New Charlie Brown.

THE INFORMATION #743 AUGUST 9, 2013

THE INFORMATION
#744 AUGUST 9, 2013
Copyright 2013 FRANCIS DIMENNO
http://dimenno.gather.com
francisdimenno@yahoo.com
https://dimenno.wordpress.com/

SQUARE
Canada: A country so square that even the female impersonators are women.– Richard Brenner

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

What’s the use, Yob? What’s the use of having money in this lyin’ town? Them as hasn’t got and them as has got will cheat and rob the ones who are caught smack in the middle and who only hope and pray to be left alone. City life is random—anything can happen, and at any time—ye can dip your rookers into a box of genuine Cracker Jack and come up with a river of blood—or shake hands with a millionaire and notice he’s wearing your murdered wife’s ring. It’s hard to be a Greenie in a country of rogues—damn hard, unless you’re a plaster saint, or a wandering vagabond such as I once was. But even as green as I was, even as a little Yob I knew all about Cap’n Aston.

Police Captain Tom Aston was a tall and burly Yellof of about forty-five; hideously scarred; no one knew why, so of course it put all the Yellofs to the Guessing Game. He was like a fat whore—loud, took up a lot of space just because he could—Notice Me is the message, I may not be much to look at but I sure can raise a fuss. He was an ordinary man, of ordinary intelligence, but he would act all smart and crazy just to get people to look at him and think he was someone special. But he was just a man. And the way he acted got him in big trouble—he acted crazy for so long that after a time it was no longer an act.
He had a bull-like temper, which was a sight to behold. Like an earthquake slow rumbling—his phiz would turn gashly white, then blue, then red, and his temples would sweat and his eyes would squinch up as though he were looking upon the face of God until finally his mug split in two from the nose down and he became a sort of roaring cove, full of tiger growls and angry beehive noises, shattering every eardrum in hailing range, and his arms would windmill around and he would bluster and pound his fists—ah, it was a masterpiece of tantrum work. Knowing this, folks steered well clear of him when he was in one of his goofy fits—even though they was enormous fun to watch.

The Prosties all swore–and, ah, how them magpies could chatter–that he got into a bar-room altercation with a notorious bruiser who didn’t take kindly to being shouted at by a copper. Some connoisseurs said it had all the hallmarks of some dandy knife-play by Jake—Jake the Butcher they called him—I hope it goes without sayin’, Yob, that you should never get into a knife fight with a man they call “The Butcher”—he was a bearded cove with a wild look in his eye—like a Rooshian anarchist, though he was as American as they day was long. They say that, in any event, a neat little carving shiv was applied to carve a new terrain into Aston’s map.

Jake the Butcher was a soft-hearted man unless provoked—ran a shake-down racket in Old Town, but it was a cute shake down racket—he would pick a swanky joint but not too swanky and would simply hang around in the doorway or vestibule of the establishment in question looking totally disreputable and scratching himself in all the wrong places and frightenin’ the ladies until the business owner paid him something to go away—he always split his take 20-80 with the harness bulls, so there was no help from that quarter—he was always welcome at the Seven Stars, the low basement dive run by Tipsy Smith—he actually elevated the tone of that particular establishment.

However Captain Aston got that scar, it was large, and prominent; you couldn’t miss it; if you looked at it closely it was enough to make you gag. It was a raised as high as an eyebrow and ran the length of his pan –from his right eye all the way down to his chin. He warn’t any too handsome to begin with–tending on the beefy side–a fat man with thinning black hair and a spit curl only a moron would envy–but the scar made him downright unlovable.

When he’d go to the cathouse for a gratis screw you could smell him from fifty paces because he’d douse himself with perfumey water in the hopes the Soiled Doves, they somehow wouldn’t notice his scar.

Womenfolk all go for a Yellof who smells good. But listen, Yob–usin’ too much foo-foo is far worse’n usin’ none at all.And know ye this, and know full well—whores—unless they is on the hop and on their last leg of the race—whores notice everything about a Yellof. They can probably tell within an ace how much money he has, how long he lasts, and whether he knows the mayor or simply pretends to be a big shot. Usually it’s the latter—whores know the one big secret about menfolk—they is mostly bluff and bluster. A man who keeps his promises and does what he says and never cheats is one in a bushel.
The whores couldn’t help but look at his scar, and it frightened them, and they would steer him toward back door work whenever possible so they wouldn’t have to stare at his ghastly phiz.

And, wouldn’t you just know it, Scarface Aston was also in on all the nasty Badger Game action in Noxtown; he knew every crib in town. Not only that; he also knew where all the peepholes, sliding panels, hidden closets and secret trap doors were to be found. And did he use this interestin’ knowledge to fight crime? Hell no! He used it to work fist in glove with the con artists.

He saw it as shaking down the bad elements, but the truth is, once he took their money he was in their pay. That’s why, if the “Mike” or Sucker balked at being roped and tied, Captain Aston could always be relied upon to talk sense into the Greenhorn. “Doin’ all we can, Sir—whyn’t you go along home, now, there’s a good fellow—we’ll call you right away if there’s any further developments.”
Now, every so often you’d get a queer duck who wouldn’t play ball—so as a last resort, Aston was called in again. Like as not, if his soft line of soothing patter wasn’t enough to square the beef for good and all, then he would whistle up his good friend–Mr. Shanghai Jack.

Previous: http://www.thenoiseboard.com/index.php?showtopic=218311&st=50&gopid=3853521&#entry3853521

1*SALUTATION
THE DRIVING STUPID
THE REALITY OF AIR FRIED BORSK

ALSO SEE:
HIGHER ELEVATION
THE DIAMOND MINE

THE BEES
VOICES GREEN AND PURPLE

2*REFERENCE
SUMMER READING FLOWCHART
http://bit.ly/18lHby7

ALSO SEE:
WHAT READER SPECIES ARE YOU?
http://tpr.ly/15sZTya

SEE ALSO:
10 WRITING TIPS FROM JOYCE CAROL OATES
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/07/18/joyce-carol-oates-writing_n_3617152.html?ir=Books

3*HUMOR
STRANGE DECISIONS OF FLORIDA JURIES
http://www.slate.com/articles/life/florida/features/2013/oh_florida/zimmerman_reaction_in_florida_history_of_shameful_jury_decisions.html

4*NOVELTY
LOGO DESIGN GONE WRONG
http://www.hongkiat.com/blog/logo-design-gone-wrong/

ALSO SEE:
THE NEW G-MAIL
http://slate.me/17FjtIP

5*AVATAR OF THE ZEITGEIST
WHOLE FOODS AS FAUX-HIPPY WALMART
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2018504/Youre-faux-hippy-Wal-Mart-Whole-Foods-Market-worker-quits-epic-resignation-email.html#ixzz2ZvODSVdE

ALSO SEE:
THE MYSTERIOUS HISTORY OF MARIJUANA
http://www.npr.org/blogs/codeswitch/2013/07/14/201981025/the-mysterious-history-of-marijuana?utm_source=npr&utm_medium=facebook&utm_campaign=20130722

6* DAILY UTILITY
NAME FATALITY
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2013/07/130724-names-psychology-meaning-royal-baby-william-kate/?utm_source=Facebook&utm_medium=Social&utm_content=link_fb20130724news-namebab&utm_campaign=Content

ALSO SEE:
WHO WROTE IT—LENNON OR MCCARTNEY?
http://slate.me/1bWmYhu

7*CARTOON
CRIME AND PUNISHMENT COMICS
http://crimeandpunishmentcomics.blogspot.com/

ALSO SEE:
BIG BROTHER AND RACISM
http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/television/2013/07/when_did_big_brother_get_so_racist.html

8*PRESCRIPTION
KRUGMAN EXPLAINS: OBAMACARE WILL WORK
http://egbertowillies.com/2013/07/26/krugman-better-informed-people-on-the-right-seem-finally-to-be-facing-up-to-a-horrible-truth/

9*RUMOR PATROL
WHAT’S WRONG WITH AMERICA
Conclusion: We are Sparta instead of Athens. But this is such a sweeping generalization that it is virtually worthless. Furthermore, “Highest-paid public employees” is not the best metric to use to make what is otherwise a valid point. This infographic is an oversimplification which itself smacks of anti-intellectualism.
http://www.addictinginfo.org/2013/05/12/american-decline/

10* LAGNIAPPE
Zalman Yanovsky
“As Long As You’re Here”/”Ereh Er’ouy Sa Gnol Sa”

11* DEVIATIONS FROM THE PREPARED TEXT: A REVIEW OF OTHER MEDIA
I’M NOT SO SURE ABOUT OBAMA ANYMORE….
But I can well imagine what would have happened if Obama had actually been the fire-breathing socialist his ideological enemies have painted him to be. He would not have won re-election. He may not even have remained viable during his first term. Changing the 35 years of systematic depredations perpetrated by the money-men was never going to be an overnight job. We can say that this is the great recession, and, if nothing else, the man in charge of running things is not making matters worse and may have saved us from a far more catastrophic fiscal downturn.
Reagan and W. increased the debt. BHO inherited an unholy mess. But maybe we shouldn’t blame the Republicans and the Democrats. Party politics is for suckers. Blame the system. Then ask yourself–who profits? Literally? As always, throughout virtually our entire history, it’s the men with the greenest eyeshades and the sharpest pencils–with the biggest erasers.

11A BOOKS READ AND REVIEWED
1973 NERVOUS BREAKDOWN. KILLEN. ****
ALCOHOLICA ESOTERICA. LENDLER. ****
BATMAN: JOKER’S ASYLUM 2. ***
CRIME VICITIM STORIES. WACHS. ***1/2
DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC? OFFIT. ***1/2
THE ELEMENTS OF EXPRESSION. PLOTNIK. ****
FINAL CRISIS AFTERMATH: INK. *1/2
HIT GIRL. MILLAR. ****
HOLY TERROR. MILLER. ***1/2
SKIN FLUTES AND VELVET GLOVES. HAMILTON. ****
A SURVIVAL GUIDE FOR LIFE. GRYLLS. **
WALLY WOOD: EERIE TALES OF CRIME & HORROR. ***
WHY MARX WAS RIGHT. EAGLETON. ****

CONTROVERSIES IN POPULAR CULTURE. 699.
THE MINIMUM WAGE IS TOO HIGH…
Never mind that for some time it’s been far lower than its peak in 1973– believe it or not, many people believe the minimum wage is currently too high. It is simplistic to accuse them of ignorance. There is nothing to be gained by being condescending toward people who just don’t understand how many poor people there actually are. There are also far too many factors in play to make a blanket accusation like “sheer stupidity.” Some of the believe that the wage is too high arises from ideological and cultural dogmatism as well. People are bound to believe some peculiar and foolish things. It is useless trying to open their eyes; they need to see for themselves what poverty is all about. Of course, management claims they can’t afford to pay more. If they were honest, they would say they don’t feel as though they can afford to pay more. The small struggling business owner is actually one of those phantasms that wealthy conservatives like to conjure up as a bugbear. If they cared about small entrepreneurs any more than they cared about poor people in general, I sure would like to see some proof of it. It is laughable to think the big businessmen have the interests of the small businessman at heart, because usually they do everything they can to drive them out of business. The bottom line for them is not human wreckage, but Return on Investment. It’s sickening, but a fact’s a fact. Businessmen tend to think with their heads instead of their hearts. FDR enacted the minimum wage because people were starving, and eating out of garbage cans. I imagine that many of these good Christians would like to see a return to those good old days. The stock market would certainly start booming–which nowadays under the new dispensation seems to be the be-all and end-all of all human activity.