Sunday, May 29, 2011

Gil and George: Get It Together

Press "play." These dirty words are not televised.

a mash-up of

"The Revolution Will Not Be Televised"
Gil Scott-Heron
"A Modern Man"
George Carlin

You will not be able to stay home, brother. I'm a modern man, digital and smoke-free; a man for the millennium. You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.

You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip, skip out for beer during commercials, because the revolution - a diversified, multi-cultural, post-modern deconstructionist; politically, anatomically and ecologically incorrect - will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised. The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox in four parts without commercial interruptions. I've been uplinked and downloaded, I've been inputted and outsourced.

The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary. I know the upside of downsizing, I know the downside of upgrading. The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by the Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie Wood and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia. I'm a high-tech low-life. A cutting-edge, state-of-the-art, bi-coastal multi-tasker, and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond.

The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal. I'm new-wave, but I'm old-school; and my inner child is outward-bound.

The revolution will not get rid of the nubs. I'm a hot-wired, heat-seeking, warm-hearted cool customer; voice-activated and bio-degradable.

The revolution will not make you look five pounds thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, brother. I interface with my database; my database is in cyberspace; so I'm interactive, I'm hyperactive, and from time to time I'm radioactive.

There will be no pictures of you and Willie May pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run, or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance. Behind the eight ball, ahead of the curve, riding the wave, dodging the bullet, pushing the envelope.

NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32 or report from 29 districts. I'm on point, on task, on message, and off drugs. I've got no need for coke and speed; I've got no urge to binge and purge. I'm in the moment, on the edge, over the top, but under the radar. The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down brothers in the instant replay. A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary. A street-wise smart bomb. A top-gun bottom-feeder.

There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process. I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps, I run victory laps.

There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving for just the proper occasion. I'm a totally ongoing, big-foot, slam-dunk rainmaker with a pro-active outreach. A raging workaholic, a working rageaholic; out of rehab and in denial.

Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and women will not care if Dick finally gets down with Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people will be in the street looking for a brighter day. I've got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant, and a personal agenda. You can't shut me up; you can't dumb me down. Because I'm tireless, and I'm wireless. I'm an alpha-male on beta-blockers. The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock news and no pictures of hairy-armed women liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose. I'm a non-believer, I'm an over-achiever; laid-back and fashion-forward. Up-front, down-home; low-rent, high-maintenance. I'm super-sized, long-lasting, high-definition, fast-acting, oven-ready and built to last.

The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb, Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth. A hands-on, footloose, knee-jerk head case; prematurely post-traumatic, and I have a love child who sends me hate-mail. But I'm feeling, I'm caring, I'm healing, I'm sharing. A supportive, bonding, nurturing primary-care giver. My output is down, but my income is up. I take a short position on the long bond, and my revenue stream has its own cash flow. The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be right back after a message about a white tornado, white lightning, or white people. I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds, I watch trash sports. I'm gender-specific, capital-intensive, user-friendly and lactose-intolerant.

You will not have to worry about a dove in your bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl. I like rough sex; I like tough love. I use the f-word in my e-mail. And the software on my hard drive is hard-core—no soft porn.

The revolution will not go better with Coke. I bought a microwave at a mini-mall. I bought a mini-van at a mega-store. I eat fast food in the slow lane. I'm toll-free, bite-size, ready-to-wear, and I come in all sizes. A fully equipped, factory-authorized, hospital-tested, clinically proven, scientifically formulated medical miracle.

The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath. I've been pre-washed, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped and vacuum-packed. And I have unlimited broadband capacity.

The revolution will put you in the driver's seat. I'm a rude dude, but I'm the real deal. Lean and mean. Cocked, locked and ready to rock; rough, tough and hard to bluff. I take it slow, I go with the flow; I ride with the tide, I've got glide in my stride.

The revolution will not be televised driving and moving; will not be televised sailing and spinning; will not be televised jiving and grooving; will not be televised wailing and winning.

The revolution will be no re-run brothers; I don't snooze, so I don't lose. I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road. I party hearty, and lunchtime is crunch time. I'm hanging in, there ain't no doubt, and I'm hanging tough.

The revolution will be live. Over and out.

Friday, May 27, 2011

Flag Musings

So... what's up?

Trying to brush up on my German again.

Not going to say why I'm learning German (again). But here's a decent German hit for you to listen to while I ramble on about plans for the future:

So... back from Australia. Still owe everyone some irreverent analysis of the country/continent/island (pick one, but not two).

I'll get to those irreverent analyses eventually. But first, what's next?

Well... in Spring of 2012, two of my former Army roommates (Joe and Mike) and I are heading to Italy, Slovenia, and Croatia for a few weeks. Well, Joe and I are heading there. Mike already lives in Italy. Joining us is a "civilian" buddy, Johnny O (who conveniently speaks Croatian).

After that, it's a return to Japan and Korea in November, to visit family, friends, and document a pretty awesome military ceremony. Also, I'm trying to beat the Mayan doomsday scheduled the following month.

But first! (Wait, I said that already) (Screw it... I'll say it again) (Or write it again, rather) But first, an engineering buddy and I are planning on driving from Los Angeles, all the way through Mexico, and into Belize. Still working out the logistics of that one, so wish me luck.

Oh, and in 2013, I'll be returning to Australia for a couple of months. Adam and I want to drive the entire rim of the country. On motorcycles. Shit yeah. Of course, that's after I hop over to New Zealand for a week or so.

To my friends in the UK and Spain who have invited me to visit, I'm working on it. It shall most certainly happen. Just looking for the right excuse... er... expense account... er... expeditionary force... er... excuse. Yeah... excuse.

And just to wrap things up...

Feel free to come along on any (or all) of these.

Sponsored by JeffScape - Making the world smaller since the day he was born.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

The Best of Museless Propaganda

Someone recently asked me where my fiction went. Well, to answer that question (again), it went to one of two places: Panoramic Mindscapes, accessible only via invitation (readers there are expected to give honest and brutal critiques... or they get deleted), and Museless Propaganda, which is where I put all of my Tenth Daughter of Memory entries.

Why'd I do this? Well, to be honest (and in case you haven't noticed), I'm a little tired of blogging. I am not, however, tired of putting pen to paper (so to speak), which is why those other places exist.

Anyhoo, for those who may still not be familiar, I'm posting my top vote-getters from each 10thDoM Muse from late January to late April (none of them won, by the way).

And, to answer another question, no, I won't be replacing the follower widgets anytime soon.

"They and Their Men" - for the Muse, The Map Says We're Fucked
The black man was, by any stretch of his imagination, the last person he'd think to see walk in through the front door. As he does every Thursday, he was eating breakfast at the diner on the corner of Coldwater Canyon and Ventura. He liked watching traffic at this intersection - no one knew why - and typically it was warm enough that he could eat... Read More

"Gold, Seas, and Blood" - for the Muse, Five Soldiers, Four Whores, Three Lovers & Two Killers
Her toes curl and her back arches. It's hot today, record temperatures for October, but that's not why she's sweating. Not the only reason, anyway. It's not often a trick brings her to orgasm. Thing is, she's in love with this one. Has been for a long time. Soledad Beltrán knows she shouldn't be, for there's little chance her feelings will be... Read More

"Flash" - for the Muse, Give a Hand to the Future
Many like to point out the inherent irony of the term "civilization." Many who do so claim to abhor the multitude states of conflict found among the human race. Many of those also like to claim people should revert to living as naturally as possible. They fail to point the inherent irony in that. Find one species on Earth that doesn't live in a perpetual state... Read More

"An Australian Breakfast" - for the Muse, From Hell to Breakfast
The sun was shining, but it wasn't a good day. A group of ravenous magpies were tearing the shit out of some poor rodent's carcass. My wife - God bless her - was still asleep on the sofa, snoring her ass off like she always did after a night of too much drinking. It must've been a great night, too, because one of our dining room chairs was currently... Read More

"Virginia Has Lost Her Cat" - for the Muse, A Cat Can Look at a King
Princess Virginia was a beautiful young woman in the Land of Donhe. Hopeful princes and lonely kings across the continent wanted to make her a wife, but she was bored by all of them. As far as she was concerned, they had nothing to offer. She didn't want land, nor power, nor riches. She wanted adventure... Read More

Monday, May 23, 2011

Irreviews, 2011: Issue II

Accepted (2006)
Director: Steve Pink
Writer(s): Adam Cooper, Bill Collage, Mark Perez
Starring: Justin Long, Jonah Hill, Lewis Black
Hollywood loves the "nerd gets hot girl" genre. Loves it to a fault. Which is why most of them (with some notable exceptions) are pretty bad. Accepted, starring everyone's favorite "I'm a Mac" celebrity endorser, isn't that bad, but it's still not good. Sure, it has a fun concept (academic failure who couldn't get accepted into even the most banal university creates a fake one to dupe his parents) and a good cast, but that's not enough to save it from groan-inducing scenes full of film cliches and staples.
Verdict: SKIP it.

Red (2010)
Director: Robert Schwentke
Writer(s): Jon Hoeber, Erich Hoeber, Warren Ellis (graphic novel), Cully Hamner (graphic novel)
Starring: Bruce Willis, Mary-Louise Parker, Helen Mirren, Karl Urban, Morgan Freeman
Everyone knows about comic book movies. They're everywhere. In fact, they're so pervasive, a lot of movies people don't realize are based on comic books (or, sorry, graphic novels) actually are. Red is one such movie. And it's a hoot. Willis, Mirren, Freeman, and John Malkovich play retired spies who are forced out of retirement because of a simple misunderstanding. Parker plays Willis' love interest who is pulled into the mess simply because Willis would call her for technical support regarding his social security checks. Yep... Bruce plays a lonely old man who fell in love with a voice. And then kicks some serious ass in order to protect her. A rom-com at heart, this is an action-packed film that's a joy to watch.
Verdict: SEE it.

Sucker Punch (2011)
Director: Zack Snyder
Writer(s): Zack Snyder, Steve Shibuya
Starring: Emily Browning, Abbie Cornish, Jena Malone, Scott Glenn
Zack Snyder has a strange reputation in Hollywood. He makes visually awe-inducing films (Watchmen, 300) that do well commercially (and sometimes critically). But he's long been harped on as a director who doesn't understand the concept of story. I was confused. And then I saw Sucker Punch... I am confused no more. Yet another film full of eye candy (both aesthetically and, er, curvaciously), this one suffers in that it doesn't have source material for Snyder to fool us with (if, in fact, he truly doesn't understand story). Quite simply: there is no story. Excellent cast wasted. Excellent visuals wasted (unless you go to the movies expecting nothing more than an endless music video). Excellent concept wasted. Ugh.
Verdict: SKIP it. Unless you like being sucker-punched.

TRON: Legacy (2010)
Director: Joseph Kosinski
Writer(s): Edward Kitsis, Adam Horowitz
Starring: Jeff Bridges, Garrett Hedlund, Olivia Wilde, Bruce Boxleitner
Let me start out by stating that I love the original Tron. Yes, it had a ghastly, deus ex machina ending, but it was awesome. It's still awesome, even if it reminds most modern moviegoers of a cinema version of Pac-Man. So, when a sequel was announced, I pooed my pants. Then, when I saw the promo stands for the sequel in a theater, I pooed my pants again. Then I heard it had script problems and I shit my pants. Then I heard that Disney (wisely) let the big-wigs from Pixar offer suggestions, and I returned to pooing my pants. Then I saw the film on a flight to Australia. It's a good thing the plane was empty, because I shit my pants. And, I'm sorry, but the computer-animated faces of young versions of Jeff Bridges and Bruce Boxleitner creeped me the fuck out.
Verdict: Agh! SKIP it, unless you're an uber-fan of the original.

True Grit (2010)
Director: Ethan Coen, Joel Coen
Writer(s): Joel Coen, Ethan Coen, Charles Portis (novel)
Starring: Jeff Bridges, Hailee Steinfeld, Matt Damon, Josh Brolin, Barry Pepper
A friend of mine claimed that Joel and Ethan Coen's True Grit was the best Western movie ever. I asked if that included Lonesome Dove. He said yes. That's a tall claim, in my opinion, and I had to see if it was true. Is it? No. But True Grit is pretty friggin' good. Excellent, in fact. Better than the original. Jeff Bridges outdoes John Wayne. The supporting cast is phenomenal. Rooster Cogburn is as good a character as Lonesome Dove's Gus McCrae and Woodrow Call are. The Coens knocked one out of the park (again). What more can I say?
Verdict: SEE it.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Leave Your Hair at Customs, Part 7

Aight, folks... this'll be the last glimpse of my Aussie vacation. It was an awesome three weeks... most relaxed country I've ever been to. In fact, I've added it to my list of places to retire (along with San Diego and Greece... although Greece seems a bit, er, volatile at the moment).

Melbourne, The Return

Went back to Melbourne to check out the Old Melbourne Gaol, which is where they hanged the infamous Australian outlaw, Ned Kelly. Also attended a reenactment of Ned Kelly's (unfair) trial... at which I was somehow recruited into playing one of the witnesses (Sgt. Steele). They wouldn't let me keep the hat.

 More awesome Melbourne peeps. That's Helen's niece, Rebecca.

 Traffic signals for Melbourne's infamous "hook turns." See the hooking right arrow? Yeah... in order to turn right, you have to get in the LEFT lane. Fun times. I did one... after I made Helen do one. She almost cried.

 Swan Hill, Jindebyne, and Canberra

 Pioneer museum in Swan Hill, Australia. This goat was tied up and couldn't reach the tall grass, so I fed him for a few minutes.

 Near Jindebyne (awesome town)... Mt. Kosciuszko... the tallest mountain in Australia. Actually, wait... no, that's just me shaking my hair around in front of Mt. Kosciuszko.

At the Australian Museum in Australia's capital (Canberra), there was an exhibit that had all four of the Ned Kelly gang's suits of armor (which is what I was hoping to see in Melbourne). No photography allowed at the exhibit... but we got plenty.

The Plan to Re-Invade...

Am I going back? Does a kangaroo fuck in the woods? Shityeah, I'm going back... 2013... taking a month or two to drive the perimeter of the entire continent on a motorcycle. And making a quick hop to New Zealand.

My riding partner and fellow re-invasion planner.

For more of my trip, you can check out Baino's Banter at the following:
  1. Quarantined
  2. Clayton's Sailing
  3. Road Trip Trial Run
  4. Aerial Ping Pong
  5. Journey's End

    Wednesday, May 4, 2011

    Leave Your Hair at Customs, Part 6

    Or... "Just Me and Some Australian Nature"

    Yeah, that's a better title.

    Anyway, there will be one more Aussie trip post after this (followed by some Aussie irreverence posts)... this one is primarily just some cool animals and some kick-ass scenery.

    The Great Ocean Road (and some nearby places)

    Couldn't help myself. Two flies were having sex on the rental car. Kodak moment.

    On the Great Ocean Road... a place called the Twelve Apostles, which were twelve spires (some of which have fallen) that jutted out from the beach cliffs. No... I am not pissing off the ledge.

    Spotted a hungry fox on the way to the Loch Ard wreck site. Tried to feed him, but had no food.

    A cove near the Loch Ard wreck site. Awesome place.

    On the way back to our cabin at Aireys Inlet, saw this guy on the side of the road. Picture doesn't show it well, but I hopped out of the car and got extremely close to it. Wallaby? I have no idea.

    Cockatoos the following morning at Aireys Inlet. The one eating out of my hand was cool... the one to the left of that one bit my finger and drew blood. But I fed it anyway.

    More to come...

    Tuesday, May 3, 2011

    Leave Your Hair at Customs, Part 5

    I know, I know... I shouldn't call this "Leave Your Hair at Customs" since I still have my hair. Rest assured, it'll be cut soon. Perhaps I'll mail it to Australian Customs. You know, for accuracy's sake.

    The paparazzi are everywhere. Can't remember where this was taken... I think a place called Lakes Entrance. Or maybe Eden. Or maybe Narooma. Or maybe Ulladulla. I seriously have no idea.

    The Hunt for the Gippsland Worm

    Found a museum display at a replica mining town called Coal Creek in Korumburra. That's actual size, folks.

    At a place called Loch, I saw a picture of this sign. So I drove around for hours until I found it. 
    Poowong Landcare Group
    Giant Earth Worm Habitat
    Rehabilitation Project

    Hunted around that fucking "rehab project" for two fucking hours and all I found were fucking wormholes!!!

    Penguin Parade - Philip Island, Australia

    Saw some cute baby Fairy Penguins waiting for their parents to come home from fishing. Couldn't take pictures, though... but this sign is great.

    Melbourne, Part 1

    Melbourne's an awesome place (more on that in a future post). And I know I shouldn't be smoking... but the devil made me do it!

    Watch out for this woman. She'll feed you too much.

    Definitely watch out for this guy... he'll give you too much alcohol (home brews, at that!).

    And then he'll send his pet alien facehugger after you.

    More to come...

    Monday, May 2, 2011

    Bin Laden Be Dead

    Last week, bitch. Hiding in plain sight isn't as smart when that's where we're looking, punkass, is it? Should've kept your cockhole in China.

    How come all the cool shit happens when I'm not at home? Gah. Well, at least now I can cut my hair.

    Word up to the ground forces who took him out. And to the intel boys who got the boots there. Hoo-ah.

    If you blink, you're too late... Blink; Whisper

    That's all I got.

    Sunday, May 1, 2011

    Leave Your Hair at Customs, Part 4

    Yeah, so, I'm back in the United States now, getting ready for about a year of work before I take off for Italy and Croatia in late spring of 2012 (you reading this Mike? I'm coming!). And what better way to do all of that than to take a gander through all of the photos taken of my trip to Australia.

    A trip, by the way, in which I was supposed to get a haircut (hence the title of this series of posts) but ultimately did not. Which means I still have my hair. Which means that if anyone feels like coming over to braid my hair to kill an hour or so, by all means... come over.

    Anyway... here's more self-indulgent photos with informative and irreverent captions concerning whatever the Hell it was I was doing at the time of the photo. Or something like that.

    The Haunted Quarantine Station - Manly Beach, Australia

    Oh, shityeah... Helen and I spent the night at a haunted quarantine station in order to do a ghost tour. She was scared shitless (supposedly because of the dark), but I... well...

    My first experience with Australian wildlife: a possum. While eating dinner at an outdoor cafe, this dude shows up, climbs up my leg, then steals a bread roll and runs away. I was like, "Dude, I'd have given it to you!"

    At this point in the ghost tour, the guide tells a story of women who've claimed that a ghost of a Chinaman grabbed their ankles from under this building. So I hopped down to take a look. Nothing.

    Disappointed, I crawled under the building with Helen's camera. What did I see that scared the shit out of me? Absolutely nothing.

    This is a picture from carbolic acid showers used to disinfect those quarantined. After the rest of the tour group went home, I asked the guide to lock me in the showers with the lights off. What did I see? Showers. And a dark hallway.

    Again, after the tour group went home, Helen and I checked out the Chinaman's haunting grounds again. I figured I could piss him off by taking a piss in his toilet. Didn't work. Yes, that's my urine. Not sure what the red shit is. Probably red shit.

    The Sydney Opera House - Sydney, Australia

    The following weekend, we went to a concert at the famed Opera House. Supposedly, the architecture resembles seashells. Don't ask what I said they look like.

    Getting snotted before the show. Or not.

    More to come...