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Friday, August 12, 2016

When I Am King (for sure...)

Well, it is that time again. Time to write in yours truly, Jerald Ford for King of America. With the filthiest, most polarizing Presidential campaign in recent memory currently underway (although, as yet neither of our candidates have accused the other of cannibalism, as John Quincy Adams fervently declared of Andrew Jackson in 1828 - then again, the campaign is still young), I feel it only fair that I throw my hat into the ring. Not as President, however. As King.

As a kind and benevolent King ("Monarchy results from the wish of a society—be it a city population, tribe, or multi-tribal people—to groom an indigenous leader who will properly represent its historical goals and advance its interests." - that's me), I would like to continue the use of the Presidential office to run the day-to-day matters of our country, with all major decisions, of course coming across my elegant, palatial desk for the Royal Thumbs-Up.

While my President keeps the trains running on time, the budget in order and the foreign policy fair and equitable, I will turn my Kingly attention to the really important things, like restoring music and art programs to our public schools, making a secondary education affordable for all the Kingdom, keeping the youth of our great nation aware of the importance of welders, mechanics and carpenters to the economy and paying them in kind. We (being the Royal "We") will immediately enact a Kingdom-wide law swapping the salaries of lawyers and teachers and another for the mandatory installation of cell-phone blockers into all automobiles.

Motorcyclists will no longer be able to pass between lanes of traffic and all automatic weaponry will be turned in to police and government agencies (because, seriously?), once again giving law-enforcement (all branches of which will be subjected to a rigorous, consistent nationwide training program) the upper hand in the pursuit of justice. Black market sales of these weapons will be harshly punished to the point that the weapons will be unaffordable for insane people with limited budgets. It's a start. Don't worry about cost - it will come from the cutting of legislative salaries. Senators and Congressmen will be paid the same as lawyers. And term limits, because fuck that. Marijuana will also be legalized, because seriously?

As the King, I will strictly oversee the election of our President. Campaigns will concentrate solely on the platforms of the candidates. We will hear what their intentions are, how they will be carried out and the expected results of these policies. The polices and platforms will then be explained so that every citizen can understand them. That should take up most of the campaign time. Any mention of any other candidates will be forbidden. Candidate A is not Candidate B's business. Ever. If Candidate A calls Candidate B "a tit", Candidate A is immediately removed from the race and his salary immediately gets cut to that of a lawyer. There can be up to five candidates, because 5 is my favorite number. If Candidate D suggests that Candidate A is a cannibal, Candidate D will be slaughtered, butchered and prepared by his staff (whose salary will immediately be cut to that of a lawyer) and served up at a lawyers meeting. That should put things in order pretty quickly.

I may have to run things on my own for awhile, until I can put my new Royal Policies into place, but expect quick results once I get rolling. It's a write-in vote, so print legibly and remember - have your pet spayed or neutered, just for the fun of it.

Wednesday, December 30, 2015

The Birth of Arbitrarianism

This is the logo for my new religion. I call it Arbitrarianism and it operates under the assumption that life is arbitrary and death is even arbitrarier. I will design some fancy robes, arbitrarily and find an arbitrary fancy hat. People can donate money to support the cause, arbitrarily, of course and I will receive many arbitrary tax breaks. 2016 will be The Year of the Arbitrary. Mugs and tee-shirts adorned with the logo will be forthcoming.

You see, I truly believe that life is indeed a series (some series longer than others, of course) of arbitrary events strung together. It is these events that give us our memories and our hopes and help us make the seemingly logical choices we make. At the end, or sometimes in the middle (it's up to you - it's arbitrary), we can try to make sense of it all and provide logic and lineal thinking and sum the events up in a handy fashion in a document, or a film, or just in our minds - the options are endless - and remove the arbitrariosity from them to create a timeline that makes utter and irrefutable sense. This makes us feel sane and secure and safe from the Winds of Arbitrarity.

As far as a physical church, I have not made a decision on the means of worship. Worship is a little strong - I prefer "discussion". We can talk about whatever. Whether to do it online, via blog or in a physical building, like a coffee shop, saloon or maybe a comedy club, I have not decided. Maybe I'll flip a coin. If it does turn out that we will be meeting in person in our colorful robes and hats, I guarantee we will not drink cheap wine and eat stale crackers during the process. We will eat Keebler's Fudge Stripe cookies and drink Blue Moon beer, with an orange garnish. And they will not symbolize the body and blood of the savior, they will represent instead, cookies and beer.

We will still celebrate Christmas - we're not animals, after all - but some years we will call it "Gift Day". And Easter will be renamed "Zombie Jesus Day" regardless. Passover seems too complicated - we may just call it "Meh". I have come up with a list of 11 (the number was pulled out of a hat) Arbitrary Commandments, listed below in no particular order, of course:

6: Try not to kill each other.
9: Eat Cake.
4: Don't dismiss the ideas of others.
1: No hitting.
10: Drive fast, but safely.
7: Be kind to animals.
2: Don't rape. Ever. That's what makes Bill Cosby suck.
8: Be nice to kids when possible,
5: Laugh.
3: Make decisions.
11: Some things go to 11. Not all, don't judge.

I am sure I need some sort of organization, but really, what's point? I welcome you all to embrace The Arbitrary and climb aboard. Remember to write-in vote Jerald Ford for King in the upcoming elections. It would be the arbitrary choice to make.

Thursday, October 9, 2014

John Lennon - the Skinny

Happy birthday, John Lennon. You would have been 74 years old today and that would have been a delight. At least I hope so. Little Paulie has had a couple of good moments since 1980,the year you died, though admittedly most of his greatest solo moments had come long before 1980, most notably "Band On the Run".  Ringo's last good album was 1973's "Ringo" (most imaginative album title ever), which contained some of the most impressive sales numbers of any of the post-Beatle Fabs and George only hit paydirt with The Traveling Wilburys in the mid-80's many years after his "All Things Must Pass" accolades the year after the Beatles called it quits.

This brings me to John Lennon's solo career. I was quite sad when Lennon died in December, 1980, along with a few billion other fans. We were indignant that our acerbic little Beatle had been taken from us in his prime, post-Beatles, eager to explore the musical harvest that was his to take.

That said, John Lennon's post-Beatle work had thus far proven inconsequential and of little excitement. "Imagine" had been a pretty song, relaying political catchphrases in a melodic manner that lulled us all into a giddy musical effervescence, thinking that perhaps the thoughts of peace might bring about a world of peace. A great 1971 hippie anthem. Nothing ever came of it, however, but John persevered with "Mind Games", shouting the "Mind Guerilla" from the mountaintops. Not a chart topper, but well-meaning, if lazy songwriting. Three chords, til death do us part... I personally enjoyed "#9 Dream" with its "ABOWAKOWA-POSE POSE" refrain but again, I could write a hit song if all that mattered was a melody and some mumbled Apache paraphrasing.

After a brief hiatus, John reemerged with "Walls and Bridges", which was also an exercise in medicocrity, save for "Whatever Gets You Through The Night", the sole chart breaking number, featuring the red-hot Elton John kicking the keys and providing the energy needed to propel this lively dirge to the top of the charts. At this point, we were so hungry for any new Lennon material, we would have sent "Oh, Yoko" to the top ten. (Just kidding!)

Lennon took a much-needed break after Walls and Bridges and spent the next five years raising his son Sean, baking bread and smoking French cigarettes. When he finally emerged from his seclusion in 1979 to record "Walls and Bridges", the world was once again eager and hungry for new Lennon material. He delivered a 50's retread in "(It's Just Like) Starting Over" and the ballad "Woman", a bit of treacle written for the shrew who had stolen been his muse since 1969.  We lapped it up greedily and all too soon thereafter, he was taken from us forever by a crazed douchebag who many wish would be set free on the streets for our own cathartic target practice.

I would like to think that Lennon's work would have matured and been an inspiration to us all and live up to the high praise that the artist, gunned down in prime has garnered. However, using a complicated math theorem and some calculus, paired with some kickass analog stereo gear and a set of vintage BOSS headphones, I have come to the conclusion that John, of all the Beatles, would have had the most disappointing solo career of all.

McCartney went on to produce "Band on the Run" and George became a spiritual icon, a humble rock and roll statesman admired by all, producing some great work as well as Monty Python's "Life of Brian", which gave him everlasting sainthood amongst those who cared. Ringo had his hits early and cashed out and at one point would be noted to being willing to "attend the opening of an envelope" for a free drink and a press clipping. Lennon, however burdened and martyred by the presence of Yoko Ono and four inopportune bullets, had never lived up to the potential of "I Am The Walrus", "Strawberry Fields Forever" or even "In My Life" and I see nothing in his solo work to indicate that he might have done so.

I am not saying that he was shot because of his lack of musical inspiration in his later days, but if I was the attorney for the dildo who shot him... Just sayin'. We'll never know. Happy birthday, John - I wish you'd been around for the ride.

Monday, October 6, 2014

Sleeping Like A Baby - The Skinny

I used to envy folks who said they "sleep like a baby", until I realized that I, too sleep like a baby - nearly every night. Which means that I sleep like an actual baby, Tossing and turning and waking up every two hours crying, possibly wetting myself and in a real bad fit maybe even soiling up the place. I am normally awake at least two hours in the middle of the night, usually sometime between 2 and 3 until 4 or 5. It's a gift. A fucked up, useless gift, but a gift nonetheless. Like my overdeveloped sense of smell, it is another one of those things where I believe I got short shrift. These are probably two of the lousiest super-powers ever: I am able to smell the odd, sweet and disgusting from distances normally reserved for bloodhounds and delicately-calibrated, sensitive science equipment. That and the ability to wake up in a completely rested state in the middle of the night and solve many of the world's problems, write songs and stories and wrestle with the most complicated issues of our times. Useless.

When I eventually do fall asleep for the remainder of the cursed night, I awake in the morning feeling as if I have been beaten in the head with a burlap sack full of quarters and force-fed six quarts of Prohibition-Grade Bathtub Gin. I am growling, bestubbled zombie with bloodshot eyes and a disposition to match and do not usually fully gain consciousness until nearly noon most days. Except for weekends - I feel a little better about those and approach the tired mornings with a bit more zeal... Ironic, huh?

I should be severely disciplined for the way I treat my frazzled bedclothes. The sheets are usually wound and twisted as if I were taking part in a third-story prison escape and my pillows look like they have been put through a wood-chipper. I may even be trying to eat the Goddamned things - I have no idea. This type of behavior should not be tolerated and it might be a good idea if someone came over every night and darted me with a tranquilizer gun.

I sleep in five basic positions: 1) On my back. I don't know if this is good for me or bad, but it breaks up the monotony of the other positions. 2) On my left side, fetal position, right arm tucked under the pillow, left hand gather up some twisted sheets and shooting between my knees. 3) On my right side, same exact configuration, only reversed. 4) Face down, head left, left leg brought up at an angle so that my legs resemble the number 4. Right arm under pillow, left hand somehow supporting my head so it doesn't suffocate its stupid self. 5) Face down, head right, otherwise reversed. The legs now resemble the number 4 reversed. I don't know what any of this means, but I'm nearly certain it means something and even more certain that this something can't be good.

I have tried over-the-counter sleep aids - in fact, one package I bought was labeled simply "Nighttime Sleep Aid". Fair enough, I thought. Even though this particular brand boasted that it "DOES NOT CONTAIN PAIN RELIEVER", I figured I'd give it a shot. Pain reliever would have been a bonus - I usually have some sort of pain somewhere too, but beggars can't be choosers.

I took a few of the Nighttime Sleep Aid tablets - the instructions said to take two, but since there was no pain reliever and I had no Scotch, I upped the dosage to a more sensible level- it was just good science. After all, I was trying to combat a low-tier Super-Power. I fell asleep easily enough, which was misleading because I fall asleep easily enough every night. The real test was going to be when the bells chimed two.

I woke up sometime around the usual time - I couldn't be sure, since the Sleep Aids were trying to fight my late-night wakefulness. So I was awake and very drowsy. I could not solve the world's problems, nor was the late-night concerto I was working on given any real consideration. I just lay there awake and very drowsy. I mumbled some in a language that might have been picked up on a radio broadcast and somehow stored in the back of my mind for just such an occasion and might have laughed aloud at a joke I told in this foreign tongue that would have made no sense at all in our language. It is probably the same language that considered the reversed number 4 of my face down, head-right sleeping position an actual official number.

I am anxious to see how this all shakes out. I have heard that exercise might help me sleep, but the few times I have tried this, I have usually pulled something and wished for Sleep Aids with a generous dose of pain reliever included. I may try this again, but only as a last resort. I have heard of some exotic vegetables and the magical power of turkey's tryptophan. I may try the veggies, if they don't look too weird or taste bad and who doesn't love turkey?

My point is, if someone says they sleep like a baby, offer to dart them with a tranquilizer gun.