Sunday, April 3, 2011

The Debt of Socrates



This article by Christopher Buckley in the New York Times (May 22, 2010) is a very clever piece of satire on the debt crisis in Europe.  Would that we all could be so clever.


The Debt of Socrates


By Christopher Buckley


I went down yesterday to the Piraeus with Glaucon, that I might offer up my prayers to the goddesses Brussels and Euro.  There we chanced to find among other companions Polemarchus, who was sorely vexed.


Why the long face? I asked.


He replied that his wife, a hairdresser, had just been informed by the Assembly that because of the recent calamities in the Treasury, the state will no longer recompense her an additional sum on top of her regular fee for dying her ladies’ locks with Egyptian henna.


It leaves her hands much stained, he said.  Is this the action of a just state, that it should abrogate the Handling of Possibly Dangerous Substances clause in the Hairdressers Guild Contract ... said to date to the time of the Titans?


Amid the general murmuring, Cephalus, a Retiree, began to curse so vehemently as to make Hera turn the color of pomegranate, saying that he too had been ill used by the Assembly.


Now they tell me, he said, that I may no longer have free passage aboard the state inter-island trireme for my visits to Mykonos, where I make sacrifice to Apollo Suntan Oil.  Am I to pay for transport out of my own purse?  Did I not give Athens a lifetime of service, a full ten years, licensing and dispensing the monthly bonuses to Thessalonian olive inspectors?


Indeed you did, I replied, but did the Assembly not recompense you an additional portion for knowing how to operate the bonus-tabulating counting apparatus, and another portion for speaking Phoenician?


Why should I not receive a little extra? he replied hotly.  Are the foresters not paid an extra portion for working in the forest?


Very well, I said, but let me ask you, Should a fisherman be paid extra for fishing?


Glaucon replied, Yes, that would be only fair inasmuch as fish, though beloved of Poseidon, are slimy and often stink.  Nor is catching them a pleasant business, for one must rise and take to the boat even before Helios’ chariot has climbed in the East.


Mischievous Adeimantus interjected, I suppose, Socrates, you will now ask if a philosopher should be paid extra to corrupt the youth of Athens?  This occasioned a great slapping of thighs.


I replied, Before you would increase the philosopher’s salary, Adeimantus, you must first give him a salary.  Look at my cloak.  It is not nearly as fine as that of our companion Niceratus, who as collector of fees at the Temple of Athena on the Acropolis is paid a higher hourly wage than Herakles received for cleaning out the Augean Stables.  And he gets an extra portion merely for showing up on time.  No wonder the state money-house looks as though it has been visited by the Furies.  Tell me this, Did brave Achilles demand extra compensation for slaying Hector?


He should have, asserted Cleitophon.  Under Rule 17 of the Warriors’ Guild Standard Contract, anyone volunteering for single combat during a siege more than 100 miles from Athens and lasting not less than one year is eligible for triple pay, plus retirement on full salary with payments to be continued after one’s death to female descendants up to and including the third generation.  To say nothing of lifetime trireme privileges, and thrice-annual consultations with the Oracle at Delphi.


A pretty package indeed, I said.  I may volunteer for single combat myself.  But let me ask you, Glaucon, Polemarchus and you other wise fellows: who shall pay for all these handsome emoluments, while the wind howls through the emptied Siphnian Treasury?


They murmured among themselves.  At length Thrasymachus said, Let us ask the gods.  Surely they would not leave us to the mercies of austere Brussels and flighty Euro.


By all means, I said, make your entreaties to Olympus.  But remember ... whom the gods would destroy, first they make pensioners at 40.



Sunday, March 20, 2011

We Are Art



Some late night thoughts on a Sunday night as I sit in my study alone.  I just finished a couple of books on how to make your life more like an adventure and regard everything as art ... I have to suspend the naturally skeptical side of me so as not to inject so-called "negative energy" or "bad vibes" into this piece.  That would not be good.  After all, we all are artists.  Just as we all are philosophers, scientists, scholars, writers, geniuses.  


So ... now I am a artist and my life is filled with awe.  It is awe-some.  I live art.  I live out loud.  I am an explorer of the world.  I pick up dirt and examine it for the first time and see the wonderous miracle and beauty it contains.  I jot down notes randomly and they become sonorous poetry, singing to the depths of our collective souls.  My life is art.  My life is a museum.  My life is poetry.  I could say the same thing about my snot and my shit, both of which I am over-abundantly full, but I don't want to sound facetious or exude "negative energy."  Besides, there are some who might actually agree that snot could be poetic.  


At any rate, I have taken up drawing cartoons.  Mind you, they are almost stick-figures, but they amuse me.  I am the main character, of course, and I have innane conversations about non-events.  I even bought some colored pencils, and I may even take up a superficial study of art to amuse myself.  I have no pretensions.  None.  This is done solely to amuse an old man who is trying to pass time until he retires, and then after that, if I continue, to fill up time in the day, along with a dozen other things I plan to do after my "post-work" life begins.  "Artistically," of course, since I am living art.  Breathing art.  Eating art.  %$*&-ing art.  And philosophy.  Oh yes, let us not forget philosophy, the first and last mistress, demanding dominatrix that she is.

Friday, February 25, 2011

The Ghost Inside, by Broken Bells




Another video I made, The Ghost Inside, by Broken Bells.  I like the song, I like the way this video looks.  I hope you do, too.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

How do I love ya? Lemme sum it up



Apologies to Elizabeth Barrett Browning


How do I love ya? Lemme sum it up
I love ya pretty much as far as my soul can reach,
If I had one, but I don't, so bad analogy there...
I love ya more than I love eatin' hamburgers an' fries,
An' I can tell ya, I really really love eatin' 'em!
Oh yeah, an' I love ya even when ya get all weepy and stuff
An' blame me for everything,
Which, when I think of it, is probably true,
But hey!  I'm a guy, what d'ya expect?
Yeah, I love ya even then.
And I also love ya when I'm feelin' low
'cause my TV is on the blink
And there's nothin' better to do but just talk with ya
About things ya like but that bore the hell outta me,
And stuff like that,
Yeah, even then I love ya.
And then, when I think how much I love ya and miss ya,
And I think, yeah, I could do this all my life,
Jus' lovin' ya an' lovin' ya
'Til, like they say, death do us part,
And then even after that, jus' keep on lovin' ya...
If I had a soul, that is,
Which I don't...so, I guess it's only until death, then...
Right.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Police Barred From Penis Enlargement




No, I am not making this up.  This is an actual news report from Indonesia:


Police Barred From Penis Enlargement

Jakarta
Apr 23, 2010


(Reuters) - Forget about getting a job as a police officer in Indonesia's Papua if you have had your penis enlarged. You won't get it, according to local media reports citing the Papua police chief.


An applicant "will be asked whether or not his vital organ has been enlarged," said Papua police chief Bekto Suprapto, quoted on local website Kompas.com.

"If he has, he will be considered unfit to join the police or the military."

The ban was applied since the unnatural size causes "hindrance during training," said police spokesman Zainuri Lubis in Jakarta, quoted by news portal Detik.com.

Indonesia's remote easternmost province is home to Papuan tribes, many of whom are known for wearing penis gourds.

A low-level separatist insurgency has waged in the resources-rich part of Indonesia for decades and there is a heavy police and military presence there.

Papuans use a local technique to achieve the enlargement, according to a sexologist quoted by local newspaper Jakarta Globe, wrapping the penis with leaves from the "gatal-gatal" (itchy) tree so that it swells up "like it has been stung by a bee," the expert said.

So, I wonder what an (allegedly imaginary) conversation with a potential police applicant would sound like:

Possible dialog with an applicant:

 Inspector: Mr. Tatakalataklamanbu, congratulations, you have successfully passed the written exam!
Applicant: Oh!  I am so happy!  My mother is so happy!!!  My dead grandfather is so happy!
Inspector: Just one more thing....
Applicant: What is that?
Inspector: Let me see your penis.
Applicant: ??  Say again?
Inspector: Let me see your penis.  It's part of the exam.
Applicant: Ok.  Here.
Inspector: Oh my god!!!  That's huge!!!  Sorry, you flunk!  Get out!
Applicant: Why?
Inspector: No one can have that large a penis unless it has been enlarged!  Next applicant!
Applicant: No...this is all mine!  Every inch!!
Inspector: No way!!  That's just not possible!
Applicant: In my tribe, I am considered tiny, my nickname is "he who has tiny peepee like python"....
Inspector: No, you're organ is just too big to be natural.
Applicant: Ok, let me see your penis.
Inspector: What?
Applicant: Let me see your penis!
Inspector: This isn't grade school "show and tell"...I'm the inspector here.
Applicant: I just want to know what you think a normal penis size is....so, show me.
Inspector: Well, ok...see?
Applicant: [In tears]: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!  I have never seen such a tiny pecker in all my life!!!
Inspector: [Red faced]: It's a normal-sized penis....
Applicant: No it's not.  It's like a tiny earth worm!  Did you write the penis rules?
Inspector: Me?  No.  My boss did.  What do you mean, "like a worm?"
Applicant: Your boss must have the tiniest pecker in the world!  Even tinier than yours!
Inspector: Well, rules are rules, you can't be a police officer.  Your penis is too big, and so you must have enlarged it.
Applicant: Your penis is too small...it can't be natural...You must have cut most of it off!
Inspector: Get out!  See if I show you my penis any more!

Sunday, February 6, 2011

The End of the World



The End of the World....Yes, there once was a time when I believed in the Apocalypse, a fiery war. the heavens opening up, and Satan and his legions pitched in a battle with the Archangel at the end, when the world as we now know it would come screaming to a halt.

2000....Doomsday!

Back then, when I was a believer, the End of the World was going to happen in the year 2000.  All the prophecies were vaguely written, to be sure, but the "soothsayers" of the various religions had a pretty good gauge on when it was to materialize.  What better time than to have the Y2K Krisis....signaling the inevitable collapse of man's (yeah, verily, even woman's) sinful ways on this rock.  Oh yes, I believed (when I was young), fervently believed in the end of all things ... not in a rapture as such, but certainly in an apocalypse.  Even though I wanted to ascend to heaven, I also wanted to see the forces of evil duking it out with the heavenly superheroes, I wanted to see pillars of smoke, cities rendered asunder, bodies of the dead (wicked and sinful, to be sure, but unfortunately, not zombies) scattered in the streets....In short, I wanted to see a really good movie!

The movie 2012 cops out all over the place, with its preachy Christian themes and the Mayan/Incan hook that they (not the Jesus churches) predicted the end.  Still, the movie has been registering some seismic waves in society.

2012, or ????

According to a recent Pew Research Center survey, 41% of Americans now think the apocalypse will occur by or before 2050...i.e., that Jesus will return.  Evangelical Christians are more likely than other mainline Christian religions to believe in the Second Coming (60% vs. about 1/3 for mainline Protestants and Catholics).  It appears education is a factor....among Americans, only 19% with a college education believe the second coming will happen by 2050, vs 59% with a high school education or less.  And regional factors are also at work....a majority of Southerners believe this, whereas believers in the rest of the country are in a minority.

Maybe It Is 2012 After All....

2012 is when I retire.....Hey!  Maybe I am the Great Satan everyone is worried about!  Or, better yet, I will be ready for my own Second Coming!  Beware world!  For verily I have spoken!







Sunday, January 23, 2011

Juan of the Dead

First there was Dawn of the Dead.
Then there was Shaun of the Dead
And now ... now ... there will be Juan of the Dead ... as slackers and undead brain eaters head to Cuba.  Coming in 2011.
Juan of the Dead

Juan is a typical forty year old Cuban slacker.  One day, Havana begins to fill up with zombies.  Juan decides that the best way to cope with it is to go into business.  "Juan of the dead killed their loved ones" is his slogan, and his mission is to help people get rid of those infected around them ... for a price.  But the situation gets worse -- while everyone is escaping to sea as a means to get away, Juan is left with no choice but to become a hero, staying to defend his country and protect his own on an island that has turned into a real bloodbath.
   
Little Pablito is walking home from school, another day in the glorious revolutionary Cuban school system, learning about blood-sucking yankees and imperialists.

   
He enters his house only to discover that his mother, father, and beloved grandpa have all become zombies!!!

   
As they close in on poor little Pablito, the scene stops and in steps Juan, telling us that the family wants a piece of the child.  "Grandpa is more active than usual."  But ... be assured, he says, "Juan of the Dead, we, have a solution."
   
Suddenly the doors burst open and Juan and his sidekick jump in and start beating and chopping the zombies to death.  "Call," says the voice-over, "we will solve the problem for you.  For a reasonable price, we will make sure your family never troubles you again."  Little Pablito is clapping at the spurts of blood and dead zombies on the floor, covered with bloody gore.
   
"Call us at 555-8326660.  Juan of the Dead.  We kill your beloved ones!" 





Sunday, January 16, 2011

No Noose Is Good Noose

When the prisoner was told by his lawyer that he had gotten a stay of execution, he smiled and said, "Well, no noose is good noose."




I don't have a dog, but it is doing just fine.  My kids are all grown and out of the house, but they are all doing their homework and house chores and all go to bed on time.  I don't have a car, but so far it has not given me any problems, the carburator is still holding out, and I don't need to buy new tires.  I don't have a house, but this month I had trouble making the house payment, what am I going to do?  I don't have a life, but now and then I can sit on the couch and just relax and breath deeply and say, ain't it all just amazin'?

Friday, January 14, 2011

Short Short Short Story 1: The Day I Met A Wondrous Curmudgeon

I am starting a series here ... short short short short stories.  This is the first.  I hope you enjoy it.


Is it not today to be a wondrous day?  And fine, too, is the weather!  Hot so!  Warm so!  But it not snowing yet is!  Oh, how joyous!  I today am walking the street along, and I come suddenly to a stop!  There, in front, is a curmudgeon!  Oh joy!  They have been these many years extinct!  I thought I would for joy fill my pants with poop!!  I sauntered up to him, as I casually am, and I asked him to tell me what it is the time.  He at me looked strangely and said, "What do you think I am, a clock?"

Oh!  My heart for joy leapt out of its network of arteries and burst nearly!  "Oh, no, dear sir," I said, as casually as ever I could, fearing to reveal my great abounding joy, "I would never mistake you for a clock!  You do not have moving hands on your face, nor do you tick!"  Ha ha!  I was so proud at my very clever response.  This curmudgeon must surely take a liking to me!  "Get lost, freak!" he said, and the sound of those words buried themselves into my heart forever, and I had tears in my eyes, so great was the joy!  "Yes, good sir," I said, as to be politely as possible, "I will surely, with all my power, endeavor to lose my way, but I fear that I know most of the routes all too well, so this could difficult be for me."


The rare curmudgeon creature rolled his eyes...oh, how does he do it?  And he tossed his head upwards sharply, and I do believe I heard a puff of wind come out of his held-upward nose.  Oh, the sheer delight in observing this creature's behavior and mannerisms!  I in utter disbelief stared at it for seconds (I could have for days stared!), but alas!  The curmudgeon sauntered off, leaving me behind alone.

Yes, even though there is no hint of snow on the horizon, in spite of the threatening forecast of weather, I nevertheless have had great joy today!  I was, how do you say?....snubbed...yes, that must be it....snubbed, by a real live curmudgeon.  Scorned, even!  Oh, joy!  Joy!!  I shall not be able to sleep tonight, so strongly does my heart beat with sheer wondrous joy!

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Wit, Thou Art My Greatest Aim

I once shot an elephant in my pyjamas.  How he got into my pyjamas I'll never know
-- Groucho Marx


Wit, thou art my greatest aim
Always just beyond my grasp
How to find thee, to corral thee
And to learn the jester's game.
Wouldst that I could learn to be
So clever with a nice turned phrase
Then I should count myself among
Those few who dare to spar with thee.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Moonlight Sonata, by Ludwig Van Beethoven


 

I made this short video.  Apologies to all other Zombie Productions in the world ... This is my fictional "production company" that put this film together.  I think the Moonlight Sonata is one of Beethoven's more compelling pieces, and you can find countless versions of it on the internet.  Here is yet one more.  I hope you like it.

Friday, January 7, 2011

On Cold Days

This poem is taken from the collection Ten Thousand Lives,
by the Korean poet Ko Un.

On cold days
icily cold days with hail spitting down,
loveliest in our neighborhood, Chae-sŏn's Mother
loveliest and youngest in our neighborhood,
Chae-sŏn's Mother
her tiny face
full of smiles
full or sorrows,
perhaps coming back from her parents' home
which has not so much as a fence,
carrying little Chae-sŏn on her back
with the carrying-blanket wrapped high around her
and Chae-sŏn waking from sleep in the dark inside,
borne along with the darkness,
.....
Doing laundry in deep midwinter
she plunges her frozen hands into the icy water,
the paddle beating the washing resounds,
echoing in fold after fold.

Ko Un is not well known outside Korea, despite his meetings with, and the respect he has earned from, Western poets like Allen Ginsberg, Gary Snyder, and Seamus Heaney.  At home, he is revered, known as an amazingly prolific writer and a nationalist pro-democracy activist.  A former Zen monk, once a dissolute and despairing drunkard, and now truly the people's poet of Korea, Ko Un began writing an epic masterwork, Ten Thousand Lives (Maninbo), putting into poems (poem-portraits) the faces and lives of all the people he has ever known or known of.  Ko Un conceived this work while imprisoned in the late 1970's and early 1980's for rebellion against the military dictatorships then controlling Korea.  Maninbo has been published in 20 volumes in Korean, with five more volumes intended.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Bad Poetry That We Cannot Live Without

It is difficult to get the news from poems, yet men die miserably every day for lack of what is there
-- William Carlos Williams

Speaking of bad poetry that we cannot live without, else we will die miserably....here's one I composed just for you, dear readers...

My tongue is red
My eyes are green
I think that I 
Misplaced my spleen
But never mind
It seems that I
Don't care at all
So spleen, goodbye!

My Mailman Should Be A Comedian, His Delivery Is Perfect

I am a great lover of puns.  Wikipedia:  "Puns are used to create humor and sometimes require a large vocabulary to understand. Puns have long been used by comedy writers, such as William Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde, and George Carlin."  Even Scott Adams uses puns in his Dilbert cartoon strip.  He has a pun mailing list: "Can Napoleon return to his place of birth? Of Corsican."

Puns are a kind of litmus test....there are those who groan out loud, visibly demonstrating their distaste for this "lowest form of humor."  Admittedly, there are a lot of bad puns, and sometimes it all depends on one's humor.  Even I don't like a person who resorts to lame puns, such as "oh, that's punny."  I am careful which puns I send to my associates.  I don't want to overdo it (But, if I keep sending puns out late, then do I overdue it?).  So I walk a fine line, knowing that some people have a strong visceral reaction to puns.

From time to time, I will include a short pun in this blog, just to change up the pace a bit.  Please keep coming back.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

"Sonnet" - by Hayden Carruth


Well, she told me I had an aura. "What?" I said. 
"An aura," she said. "I heered you," I said, "but 
you ain't significating." "What I mean, you got 
this fuzzy light like, all around your head, 
same as Nell the epelectric when she's nigh read-
y to have a fit, only you ain't having no fit." 
"Why, that's a fact," I said, "and I ain't about 
to neither. I reckon it's more like that dead 
rotten fir stump by the edge of the swamp on misty 
nights long about cucumber-blossoming time 
when the foxfire's flickering round." "I be goddamn 
if that's it," she said. "Why, you ain't but sixty-
nine, you ain't a-rotting yet. What I say 
is you got a goddamn naura." "Ok," I said. "Ok."

Never Leave Home Without It

So I says to the guy, look, this is my coke and I'm going to drink it...you gotta problem with that?  He decides to hit me in the nose.  Well, let me tell you, that hurt something awful!  That's not your coke, he tells me, it's mine.  MINE!  So keep your hands and your mouth off it, see?  Well, I thinks to myself, ok, it's only one small can of coke, what's the big deal, just give it to him and everything is gonna be ok.  But, no...I'm not that smart.  So I pulls out my Visa credit card (valid until 2012) and I slice him up with it.  He just falls in half and lays on the floor, bleeding and stuff.  I sorta knew Visa was a good credit card and that's why I always carry one...You never know when it will come in handy.

The Most Boring Day in the 20th Century


Boredom!  The Princess Who Never Smiled, by Viktor Vasnetsov

A computer program named True Knowledge has calculated the most boring day in history, or at least, in the 20th century. That day is April 11, 1954.

True Knowledge, the creation of William Tunstall-Pedoe, came to that conclusion when fed some 300 million facts about "people, places, business and events" that made the news.  Reportedly, on April 11, 1954, a Sunday, a general election was held in Belgium, Abdullah Atalar, a Turkish academic was born and an Oldham Athletic footballer called Jack Shufflebotham died. Aside from that, according to the software, nothing much happened.

Tunstall-Pedoe said: "Nobody significant died that day, no major events apparently occurred and, although a typical day in the 20th century has many notable people being born, for some reason that day had only one who might make that claim - Abdullah Atalar, a Turkish academic.  "The irony is, though, that - having done the calculation - the day is interesting for being exceptionally boring. Unless, that is, you are Abdullah Atalar.

Monday, January 3, 2011

A Pig, A Centipede, And A Vacation Poem

What do you get when you cross a pig and a centipede?
Bacon and legs!

Vacation Poem

It feels so good just to heed
my unsatified inner need
just to stay home and read
not go anywhere, just read
read, read, read, read, and read
read my head off...indeed

No tweeting for me.  
No facebook for me.  
No texting for me.
(but sub-texting is ok...
and I can text in Chinese...)  
No instant communication for me.
Just old-fashioned email for me.
Slow motion email for me.
Just reading printed books for me.

Channel Marker



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