Sweet feet

I’ve always considered myself more of a pie person than a cake person, but Chris Campbell‘s wedges

cakewedgesand flats

cakeflatsare making me rethink matters. The cherry pie shoes I’ve seen online are clever

cherrypiemule
but they seem a little dangerous. I could actually run around town in Chris’s Jimmy Chews and not impale anybody.  Maybe a soft lemon meringue would work better…

Get along, li’l’ hot doggies

You may be expecting me to post a vintage technicolor cartoon with a bunch of rainbows in it today, and I would like to, but I think I’ve already posted all of those through the years.

Instead, I’m posting a black and white cartoon depicting a time not that very long ago when a gay duck couldn’t walk into a dog bar and sing a drunken song without getting a bottle broken over his head, let alone get married. We’ve come a long way, baby.

Fork queue

Benny found these large brass utensils on the sidewalk today.

forks
He didn’t take them, because they weren’t ours. Also they seemed flimsy. “They wouldn’t hold a bean,” says Benny.

If I had found these utensils, I’m not sure whether I would have left them on the ground with a sign. I might have taken them home for safekeeping, taken a picture of them and put that up instead. Or… I’m not sure.

forkscuIt’s possible they’re cursed*. I mean, who leaves giant brass utensils on the sidewalk unless they’re cursed?

*Another thing leading me to believe that these utensils may be cursed is the mysterious alert I got when I tried to open photos of them in Photoshop: “This file contains file info data which cannot be read and has been ignored.” I have never seen that alert before. Have you ever seen that alert?
Published in: on June 22, 2015 at 7:11 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Inky dinks

I’m reading this book. I’m reading this book that I got from the little library kiosk a few doors down from my house, a book that I didn’t know anything about but I picked it because I recognized the name of the author. My roommate in college liked this author a lot when we were in college, but I never really got into him. I picked up this book because I just started this office job where they have an hour lunch and I don’t really know what to do with myself having an hour lunch unless I want to go walking down to see the fake shark down the way, which I have done a couple of times already. This office job is at a movie studio, and my job is clearing music that the movie studio owns for use in other projects. Sometimes I clear music related to that fake shark but mostly other stuff. A couple of weeks ago I cleared something from Conan the Barbarian for use in some time-shifty scifi TV show.

I need something to read at lunch and I also need something to listen to on the commute, and my roommate from college, who is still a very close friend, tells me that this podcast about old-time Hollywood has just started posting some new episodes. All of the new episodes are about Charles Manson. This is interesting to me because Vincent Bugliosi, the prosecutor in the Manson murder trials and author of Helter Skelter (the book about the murders) just died, but this podcast series on Charles Manson started a week before he died. It’s also interesting to me because the first words on the first page of Helter Skelter are my birthday. August 9, 1969. When Vincent Bugliosi came to my college campus to speak, I got him to autograph my copy of Helter Skelter. I don’t think I said anything about my birthday, but I might have because that’s the sort of thing I could have done back in college.

Anyway, I’ve been listening to this podcast about the Manson murders on my commute to the movie studio. I am working clearing music in a building they have called John Ford, after one of the iconic directors associated with this movie studio. This is interesting to me because one of John Ford’s most famous movies is My Darling Clementine, and Darling Clementine is the name of the first album my band put out in the mid-’90s. A band I was in with my former college roommate. Also, in the mid-’90s when I was working in a video store, this guy who had been on about nine posters in my bedroom when I was in high school came into the video store and asked where the John Ford movies were. I was totally floored to be talking to this guy who had been all over my high school bedroom but I also couldn’t understand him through his British accent so I had to keep asking him what he was asking for. Johhhhn Forrrd. Johhhhn Forrrd. I wasn’t dumb about John Ford – I had been a film major in college – but I couldn’t understand him. He clarified with a film that John Ford had directed: The Molly Maguires*. This last point I am putting in here so you know I am not lying about the rest of this.

So I am working in John Ford clearing music and on my lunch break I am starting to read this book. This book is about some guy who travels to Hollywood because he’s a film freak, and he winds up in Hollywood on August 9, 1969 and he gets picked up a few days later by the cops as a suspect in the Tate (Manson) murders. He gets out of that, and then he gets some work as a set carpenter for films, and he has a weird encounter with a burglar who winds up talking a lot about John Ford and My Darling Clementine, and then after a big earthquake he meets some bearded fat surfer guy with a lot of opinions identified in the book as the Viking.

I immediately know who this guy is, even though he is identified only as the Viking. He is John Milius. John Milius, who went on to direct Conan the Barbarian. I know this because I met John Milius in college when I was a film major, and he talked a lot about surfing and he had a beard and he was fat. I read further on in the book and now he is being referred to as John. Well, then.

I come back from reading this book at lunch back to my desk, and the guy who I share an office with starts playing a song over and over for the next couple of days. Because I signed a confidentiality agreement for this job I cannot explain why he is playing this song over and over, but I think I can say that it was for work reasons. And the song is “Helter Skelter” by the Beatles.

So now I’m expecting something else to happen to tie all of this together. Either I’m going to meet the writer of this book or there’s going to be a big earthquake very soon.

*Actually, Martin Ritt. Why did he say John Ford?
Published in: on June 21, 2015 at 1:02 pm  Leave a Comment  

Stefan, sing for us

If you have never listened to the “Spawn of the Subhuman” episode of the old Dark Fantasy radio show, please do so now. I’m not sure it actually has anything to do with subhumans or spawn of same, but that is beside the point. Don’t give up on this thinking you know what’s going to happen; things take a very sharp turn after that layover in Centella.

Soothing the savage beast

Yes, it’s a bible story, but it features sporks.

Magic chef

I’m not a scientist, but I imagine that if I were a scientist I’d hate science reporting in mainstream news even more than I already do. Take, for instance, this recent study conducted around whether chimpanzees would trade in a piece of raw sweet potato and wait to receive a piece of cooked sweet potato in return rather than eat the raw bit immediately.

This study was intended to test a few hypotheses about human evolution and patience and understanding of how a tool or device can transform something else, I guess. It was hard to tell what exactly the scientists were looking for and what they concluded because in the hands of the NY Times the story, much like the sweet potato bit in the scientists’ shake-and-bake device, transformed into:

  • CHIMPANZEES WOULD COOK IF GIVEN THE CHANCE
  • CHIMPANZEES CAN COOK A MEAN POTATO, RESEARCH SAYS
  • CHIMPANZEES ARE LIKE TEENAGERS COOKING POT PIES IN THE MICROWAVE

After watching the video, I felt like CHIMPANZEES ENJOY A GOOD CUPS-N-BALLS MAGIC TRICK ESPECIALLY WHEN PROVIDED WITH SNACKS would have been just as accurate a headline.

So yes, I’m annoyed with the current state of science reporting. And yes, I have to admit I’m mainly annoyed because I was expecting to see a monkey chef preparing a delicious dish. Thankfully, YouTube provides what the New York Times cannot.

Bunnyburied

This post isn’t about that front yard in Glendale with all the bunnies, the place I like to call Bunnybury. This post is about The Bunny Museum in Pasadena, a place I have wanted to go to for a long time. It’s been in the Guinness Book of World Records, Ripley’s Believe It Or Not, and amongst other luminaries, Huell Howser has visited; it’s a famous place. This weekend I finally went there.

And I don’t know. It was all a little much for me. I wasn’t prepared to be surrounded by so much bunny, I guess. Frankly, I was worried I was going to be trapped alive and at certain points I actually got lightheaded. If you have claustrophobia or you grew up in a hoarder household, this might not be the place for you. If you don’t have these issues, then by all means go visit the Bunny Museum.

There were some specific themes as you flowed through the rooms that I picked up on despite my incapacitated state. This place could have used more of a curatorial/editorial eye for me, but damn it, it sure was organized. There was the salt and pepper nook (sorry for some of these being blurry; like I said, it was all a little much for me and so there were times my motor skills kind of failed):

bunnysaltandpepper
There were remnants of a baby bunny souvenir:

bunnypackage
remnants of a non-baby bunny loved one:

bunnyhoney
remnants of a non-baby bunny non-loved one, encrusted with pearls:

pearlbunny
then a complete pearl bunny suit:

pearlybunny
more bunny suits:

bunnysuited
a different kind of bunny suit:

bunnysuit
and then we were in the kitchen:

bunnydrawings
where there were tons more bunnies, including a baby Flemish Giant that was the size of a Jack Russell terrier.

bunnygiant
Yeah, these photos don’t really capture the feeling of being surrounded by over 30,000 bunnies. Maybe if I had used a wide-angle lens and stood on a ladder in the corner, I could have captured that feeling. Or maybe I would have fallen off the ladder into the bunny collection, never to be seen again.

A man’s day

You may have read some articles lately about how some really, really mad MRAs are really, really mad about the “damn political lecture” that is the new Mad Max movie.  Maybe you don’t know what an MRA is. Here’s a cartoon featuring two of them.

 

Published in: on May 31, 2015 at 8:35 am  Leave a Comment  
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Etiquette & superstition: not really dead soldiers

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I was going to go on this whole thing about how it’s a terrible idea to have Memorial Day at the end of May because everybody defaults to “Summer! Yeah!” rather than “Dead soldiers. Sad,” but the day was in fact established for decorating the graves of dead soldiers with flowers, and once upon a time we couldn’t get flowers year-round from Safeway or Trader Joe’s or wherever, so it actually makes sense to have the day during the part of the year when traditionally there have been flowers available. I’ll just shut up and not go on that whole thing.

ETIQUETTE: During a mock battle, war re-enactors have to balance their desire for authenticity with their desire to not get heatstroke. Reenactment styles vary by region and personal focus, but it is generally agreed that if you are wearing a wool uniform in the middle of summer on a sunny battlefield, it is acceptable to die under a shade-bearing tree, provided it seems natural for you to be fighting under that tree in the first place. A hat cocked over one’s eyes after a fatal hit is an alternative, as is screaming, “I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!” and running off the battlefield. Seriously. It’s authentic.

Re-enactors seem to have strong and varied opinions about soldiers who die too quickly on the field vs. soldiers who are miraculous anonymous action heroes who survive with nary a scratch. To avoid issues of this sort, some societies have taken to assigning death times to participants via a card or token system. Don’t cheat if you have been assigned to die. It doesn’t work in real life, either.

SUPERSTITION: A Russian soldier’s name coming up on a list of war casualties by accident portends a long and happy life for that soldier, provided his family doesn’t kill him for upsetting them so much when they were told he’d fallen.

Photo by Woody Hibbard via Flickr
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