Triple

My Incredible Life: Chapter 1,124 - Correspondence

From a newish friend and somewhat out of context. But, context - while being everything - isn't everything:

Kissing a banana slug... not enough dope in the world to get me to do that.

King Kauffman.... small effin' world!! Do you know him? He was in my circle of friends in SF... back then he was Gary Kauffman. We never really clicked...were more on a friend-of-friends level... but he did adopt my potent Christmas Swedish liqueur recipe...as a crazy friend of ours said at a party through a 1000-watt grin, "It's like mescaline!" I hear Gary... or King... still makes it every year.

I mentioned St Louis because I thought of Gary and his wife Jane moving there. Gary never wanted to leave SF but Jane was from the Midwest. I hear they bought a nice house and Gary likes it there. There is a deeper sense of tradition in the East and Midwest compared to California... you tend to live out the Norman Rockwell paintings. I just went apple and pumpkin picking (and cider doughnut scarfing) with my 3-year old niece; classic New England. A friend of mine who grew up in LA thinks those photos are all staged in a back lot somewhere.

Yes, there are pockets of hipness and thought everywhere, I guess. Just not in Kansas. That's Jesus's land.

So much to ponder and consider. So much...

You Tell Me This Story 3

Yep. That's the good senator George Allen in the middle and the gooderer president George W. on the right. On the left is some important Iraqi dude (Prime Minister or something).

I don't know who that is in the foreground. The good senator's world wide web site didn't identify him. But, with all that's happening in poor George's world (Allen not poorerer W.), I thought I'd refrain from the derogatory. I'll let you do it.

You tell me the story.

GA: So, you think that macacca over there (pointing to the guy in the foreground) can help us with the war on terror or, at least, get some more oil out of Iraq?

GWB: Ah George, that’s General Thomas, our commanding officer in Baghdad.

Iraqi PM (in broken English): I very much like this country.

GA: Oh, what about this sand macacca right here (pointing to Prime Minister)?

-M.R.

Part of the Act

Mixed Signals

Beautyberry (sync)

Beautyberry (sync)

Shana Tova

Senator George Allen
Virginia
USA

Dear Senator Allen,

Shana Tova!

Believe me, I know the feeling. Weird, huh? Jewish law is Jewish law, my brother. Welcome to the tribe (and I don't mean the Cleveland Indians). Whew!

Take your time. Search your soul and figure out your place (our place) in the world.

You might feel a whole lot better if you gave Macaca a quick ring and ask for a little forgiveness. One core value of Judaism revolves around how we say and what we say (you know, "Welcome to America").

And don't worry about being president, my brother, because that just ain't gonna happen. You're not just any old asshole anymore, you're a Jewish, surfer, cowboy, wannabe redneck asshole.

Your tribe-mate,


-ty

Jack of All Trades

Oh.

I get it now. Add 'duh' to that whole "I get it" shit.

Here's the story. The girl kind of liked the Raconteurs single, "Steady As She Goes." Sure, it's a poppy, radio-friendly pop song. Good enough. But, I recently got into The White Stripes. And, not for Meg. Hottie cannot play the drums for shit. But, she sure looks pretty. Great part of the act. But, when I first heard "Steady As She Goes" I was like, whatever, he's giving up White Stripes legend for that shit. Jack White is the White Stripes. So, his side project was going to be good or crap. I had already written it off based on the single (the single wasn't for me). Thanks B. I owe you again.

I know, I know. The single was the cha-chingy hook. Get the college girls singing the chorus and you're all good from there. Not for me. I know.

So, the girl had me listening to "Steady As She Goes" over and over while playing with Legos (singing the chorus all the time and such) and I decided to let the album keep playing (since I happened to own it via the Doylestown connection). I am a forty year-old retard! The girl is the real winner (and she listened to and critiqued the entire album).

The album is "Broken Boy Soldiers." And, this is some real good shit. I actually felt bad about discounting my boy Jack White. I was all dissin' him in my mind for putting out sorry shit. I should have realized that "Steady As She Goes" was the lead track. The actual album was afterwards. The trick, of course, it to start the album on track two. Duh.

So Raconteurs. The beauty of the Stripes was the sparsness. Guitar & Drums. Albums featuring clever overdubs. It all made sense. But, shit, Raconteurs gots the whole faux supergroup thing going: guitar, vocals, keyboards, bass (oh, bass!), and some great motherfucking drums. Sorry, Meg. Jack needed some drumming to get him off. And whoever this drummer is, he's intentionally showing his weiner on this record to provide a robust contrast to the sparseness of Meg. The drums really hold this record together.

So, kiddies, add another point to the "Ty/Retard" category which far outscores the "Ty/Genius" total.

The Darkness

Suburban Dad - NIMBY Dad

This is Ray Tony. He's my new neighbor (note address change date below). Thanks to the Internets and my other neighbors I now know a whole bunch about him. It's funny though, I never really thought of myself as one of those NIMBY-type guys, but it's not like I moved here to live among halfway houses, crack dens, or public housing. There's a reason I chose where to live. I kind of like the serenity, relative safety, and creature comforts of high-end suburaban living. So fucking sue me.

But, as they say, you can't control the weather. And you cannot control who moves into your neighborhood (you can't even keep the blacks and the Jews out anymore (see, I can say that because well, I'm Filipino)). It's funny, you think of the stuff that matters to you as you age. You think of the things that change within yourself. You never really think that, sure, I'd kick the ass of an 80 year-old dude. 80 year-old dudes generally get a pass; they fall off the radar. Kicking their asses is like running over a squirril in a 4x4. Too easy, too pathetic. But, sure, why not? He reaches toward the kid and *Blammo!* ass kicked. Funny, huh? There's a reason child sex offenders are pummeled in the prison system. That shit's just wrong. You pick on the helpless, you pay the price. Paradoxically, 80 year-old dudes are rather helpless, but they get jiggy with kids and their ass kicked passes are instantly revoked.

I'm sure the other more uptight neighbors will eventually drum him out of the 'hood, so I'll just keep my knuckles cracked and ready to throw.

So Tony Ray, as Di Nero told Stiller in Meet the Parents, "I'm watching you."

SANGIOVANNI, RAYMOND ANTHONY
217 BOOTH ST GAITHERSBURG, MD 20878

Address Change Date:
09/07/2006

Charge:
LEWD & LASCIV. ACTS W/CHILD

Category:
Child Sexual Offenders

Information Contact:
MONT CO

Date of Birth:
03/12/1927

Current Registration Date:
08/30/2006

Age:
79

Status:
COMPLIANT

Waiting

When five
Becomes
Five-thirty

It's always
Funny to find
Out what kind
Of car a person
Drives

Today Is One Of Those Days

OK. There is a bi-annual moment where autumn and spring are indisinguishable. Days that are virtually identical. The smells, the temperature, the song birds passing through - coming or going. These moments always catch me by surprise.

You cannot say this about winter and summer. Autumn and spring are similar; summer and winter opposites. A figure eight or the infinity sign as graphic representation.

Today is one of those days in eastern Massachusetts. Hopefully, I'll get another one in Maryland.

Of course, the trees are all wrong. When I'm searching inside and outside of my body, wandering in seasonal confusion (making summer plans in September or preparing for snow in April), I look to the trees - or - I listen for the trees. Drying, falling leaves versus the quiet dance of the new buds.

Breezy sounds give it all away.

Theory Game

Game Theory - First Listen

Wow. No. Holy shit! I really didn’t know what to expect. It’s been a pretty long time since I’ve listened to Phrenology, which to my ears, certainly had some very high highs. But, that record also had quite a few moments not to my particular taste. Nothing bad or weak, just not my style. No biggie.

More recently I’ve been listening to older jazz-flavored, soul-infused Roots. Context.

So when Game Theory came out (or, “dropped”) I was in no hurry to listen. But, I happened across a couple of reviews and a HARP magazine interview. Enough to intrigue.

Before I went to bed last night, I downloaded Game. Up at the crack of dawn for a flight this morning, I almost forgot about it. On the way to the airport I launched the record. From the jump – that’s cool lingo there – Game is… as Ray, no Beef would say, “Game is much dangerous.” Rampaging. Tight. Hard. And, direct. I actually, as some point, said aloud to myself, “God damn!”

Now, I cannot tell you much more than that upon one tired, first listen. But, Game Theory has easily set the stage for potential greatness. Whether it becomes a personal coolassic remains to be seen, but yeah, I believe it’s solid. Or, “the shit” as the kids say.

You Tell Me This Story 3

"Take your fucking candy asshole. Oh yeah, before I forget, don’t make fun of the size of my ass when you haven’t seen your dick for at least 5 years." -M.R.

Pantheon

James
Jimi
George
Stevie
Miles
Prince
Sly

Clinton Es Mi Hombre

On Democratic losses in 2000 and 2004:

"I'm sick of Karl Rove's bullshit."

- Bill Clinton

Untitled (of window)

Autumn

The body knows. Apparently, according to the senses, today is the first real day of autumn. I can smell it. I can hear it. The sun is in the right position too. The air is cool and crisp. The wind blows on my skin and the hairs on my arms tingle.

There is a certain darkness today although it is sunny. I can feel the autumn. Sound is sharp. Contrast is high.

Autumn is nostalgic. I suppose we’re readying for the slide – the long, steady slide into the darkness. A high productivity time is autumn.

Ten days to field mowing day.

It's Light-y

Wide Awake Friends

Quote

"Thank god for chromosomal malformations."

- Ty Hardaway, September 19, 2006

Kreed

You Tell Me This Story 2

You Tell Me This Story 1

Two Faced

Oops, Our Bad – A Story

Says here in the New York Times that, “Canadian Police Errors Led to Man's Torture, Inquiry Finds.” That is, a mistake in Canada – a software engineer was “wrongly identified” as an “Islamic extremist” – caused Maher Arar (the engineer), who happens to hold Syrian nationality and Canadian nationality, was arrested by USA in New York in 2002, accused of being a member of the old al-Qaedas and sent to Damascus prisons where he was “repeatedly tortured” for a year. Good work. God’s work.

Oops, our bad, little fella! But, the Canadians messed up. Not the USA. Never the USA. We do Good Work. We do God’s work.

Arar's World Wide Web Internets site here

The good news for Canada is that no evidence was found that the Canadian government had played any direct role in the U.S. decision to deport Arar to Syria. They just fucked up. The U.S.A. all on our own decided to steal and torture the guy.

The public security minister in Canada (Stockwell Day) offered, “What happened to Mr. Arar is very regrettable. We hope ... never to see this happen again…'' U.S. agencies declined to be questioned by O'Connor as to why they had deported Arar. Because questioning the U.S.A. on these matters are akin to joining up with the old al-Qaeda team. How dare you question the U.S.A?

And, this from the SF Chronicle from a couple of years back:

“He asked for a lawyer and was told he could not have one. He asked to call his family, but phone calls were not permitted. Instead, he was clapped into shackles and, for several days, made to "disappear." His family was frantic.

Finally, he was allowed to make a call. His government expected that Arar's right of safe passage under its passport would be respected. But it wasn't. Arar denied any connection to terrorists. He was not accused of any crimes, but U.S. agents wanted him questioned further by someone whose methods might be more persuasive than theirs.

So, they put Arar on a private plane and flew him to Washington, D.C. There, a new team, presumably from the CIA, took over and delivered him, by way of Jordan, to Syrian interrogators. This covert operation was legal, our Justice Department later claimed, because Arar is also a citizen of Syria by birth. The fact that he was a Canadian traveling on a Canadian passport, with a wife, two children and job in Canada, and had not lived in Syria for 16 years, was ignored. The Justice Department wanted him to be questioned by Syrian military intelligence, whose interrogation methods our government has repeatedly condemned.”

Doh! But, wait, there’s more:

“The Syrians locked Arar in an underground cell the size of a grave: 3 feet wide, 6 feet long, 7 feet high. Then they questioned him, under torture, repeatedly, for 10 months. Finally, when it was obvious that their prisoner had no terrorist ties, they let him go, 40 pounds lighter, with a pronounced limp and chronic nightmares.

Our intelligence agencies have a name for this torture-by-proxy. They call it "extraordinary rendition." As one intelligence official explained: "We don't kick the s --- out of them. We send them to other countries so they can kick the s --- out of them.”

Ouch! They wrote, “shit.”

On February 16, 2006, Brooklyn District Court Judge David Trager dismissed Arar's lawsuit against members of the George W. Bush administration. Although Trager discounted legal arguments by the defendants, he based his decision on national security grounds, not legal reasons. Oh well.

Well. It’s a darn good thing that our president wants to keep this shit up. And to Mr. Arar…dude, you got dissed. But, hey, we're doing Good work. God's work.

U.S.A. U.S.A. U.S.A. U.S.A.