tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33128657659401953232024-02-20T22:00:37.648-05:00Cthulhu's Family RestaurantFOOD...FUN...SHOGGOTHSChef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.comBlogger204125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-76449553690389589812011-04-20T23:14:00.007-04:002011-04-20T23:37:48.210-04:00Vernal IrreverenceAs yet another stint of long and difficult work hours in R'lyeh is coming to an end, I contemplate the activities to come this weekend when I travel back to the still damp and chilly northeast and final resting place of the greatest weird fiction author the cosmos has ever known. Since I am for a while at least still a servant of the empire and cannot pursue my true calling as a drug-addled fame hog and kick off my <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/charlie-sheen-in-dc/2011/04/19/AFdDqM9D_story.html">Bloviating Shoggoth of Truth Elder Signs Are Not An Option Tour</a> I am forced to think of more temporary and important things.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://blog.seattlepi.com/thebigblog/files/2011/04/bunny_bounce1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://blog.seattlepi.com/thebigblog/files/2011/04/bunny_bounce1.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"How about a little Heisman, motherfucker?!"</div><br />
At first I decided to get all up in arms and write my kids' school a nasty letter telling them they had better not even think of pulling a "Seattle's Best Spring Spheres" or I would personally and violently find whatever misguided fellow non-believer suggested the name and shove that person's overly-sensitive head even farther up his/her ass. <a href="http://blog.seattlepi.com/thebigblog/2011/04/13/seattle-teacher-renames-easter-eggs-spring-spheres-maybe-not-say-officials/">Oh wait, you didn't?</a> Then forget everything I just said. We know the Easter Bunny poses no religious threat. Show me drawings of da' Ether Bunny weeping at the base of the cross, trying to shove jelly beans through the cracks into the tomb (saying "You'll need the blood sugar when you wake up!") or standing among the apostles pushing chocolate eggs through stigmata in awe-stricken awe and I'll re-evaluate.<br />
<br />
That being said, I still have the mythological aspects of the weekend to deal with, which started last weekend (Palm Sunday or, "The day we all wave sticks at Jesus" as my youngest daughter explained) when I had to go to church (well, it's sort of a church - they're Anglican, you know ... "whatever your trip is" seems to be cool with them, very much unlike my Cat-Lick upbringing) to listen to my children sing. It's part of the "unspoken bargain" I feel I have with them that as long as my children are receiving <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Royal_School_of_Church_Music">excellent vocal training</a> from them I should at least show up when they are singing so I can<br />
<br />
a.) hear their voices <br />
b.) know what to tell them to help them pick their way through dogmatic guidance and find their own way in the world<br />
c.) feel like less of a hypocrite<br />
d.) make sure my eldest (at 11 he sings a beautiful soprano) remains on track to be the next King Diamond<br />
<br />
That and the family dinner should be enough of the "traditional" imagery and celebration for yours truly and his minions. While there is bound to be Sphere Hunt at mom and dad's (which will lead to the inevitable hip checks, high-basketing and "She found more than me so she's getting all the dollars!") the Chef's family will revert to a more heathen demonstration of Easter Pride that is worthy of Great Cthulhu...<br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1214635163"><br />
</a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/22100331-peepshi5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/22100331-peepshi5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_1214635163"><br />
</a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2010/03/peeps-recipes-how-to-make-peepshi-sushi-rice-krispies-treats-easter.html">Mutilation</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">It will taste and smell much better than four-day-old boiled eggs. Plus, we will ensure a large portion of our craft is pleasing to the Great Old Ones.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2009/5/19/128872525928891277.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="http://images.icanhascheezburger.com/completestore/2009/5/19/128872525928891277.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://cheezburger.com/View/2161468160"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">from cheezburger.com</span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Free with every kids' meal, while supplies last!</div></div>Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-76149789624292881432011-03-12T08:08:00.001-05:002011-03-12T08:08:58.780-05:00BeautifulIs how the patroller described the conditions on this, the penultimate day of the season at Whitetail. After today, I'm gearing up for the mid-Atlantic surf season. <br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/03/12/701.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/03/12/s_701.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br />Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-67177103341103330322011-03-09T22:52:00.000-05:002011-03-09T22:52:56.452-05:00Securement<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh51CHfz1SL6TvkSldEVYFZ6rKwnfCY1RiEypYGS6_cVcv1VN7Pwog9EbH-sasNNvFWTHCSnU7YpT81Y5cKwyQ_5FXvx74vtE15KbIIKQouxdTHZocNiu7KZq4jrxtvjEL2efgA33-YESeC/s1600/securement.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh51CHfz1SL6TvkSldEVYFZ6rKwnfCY1RiEypYGS6_cVcv1VN7Pwog9EbH-sasNNvFWTHCSnU7YpT81Y5cKwyQ_5FXvx74vtE15KbIIKQouxdTHZocNiu7KZq4jrxtvjEL2efgA33-YESeC/s320/securement.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>That's today's word. At first I thought they were making the shit up. But I looked it up. It's a word.<br />
<br />
I guess "SECURE WHEELCHAIR HERE" is too ambiguous.Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-57819817367224549782011-03-08T23:49:00.002-05:002011-03-08T23:53:45.101-05:00Zombie<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Okay, so I hafta’ admit. I’m becoming a big fan of the zombies. I’m not talking about the old band from the 60’s though it is the time of the season for loving … loving zombies.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://zombiesaresexy.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/Sexy_Zombie_On_Bath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://zombiesaresexy.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/Sexy_Zombie_On_Bath.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At first I tried to resist, I really did. The only real thing I did was write a <a href="http://stickthulhu.blogspot.com/2009/05/splotchys-story-virus-is-back.html">mildly zombie-esque piece for one of Splotchy’s story viruses</a> some time ago and leave it at that. Then, a little more than a year ago, the then-president of one of the Armed Services’ senior war colleges recommended Max Brooks’ <u>World War Z</u> to the student body. “I know it sounds crazy” he said, “but this book deals with a lot of the things that we are struggling to come to grips with in shaping national and military strategies for the future”.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So I picked up the book and started reading it. Unfortunately, my studies soon overwhelmed me and reading for leisure soon took a back seat to reading for a master’s degree. I could see, however, from the first several chapters that this is a zombie book that is about anything but zombies. I only just recently finished it, and it’s truly an incredible book. The thing it really looks at is how might the current mechanisms, habits and trappings of a modern globalized society – governments, post-industrial economies, militaries, transnational crime and black markets, different cultures – easily aid and abet the spread of, fail to recognize, and ultimately face harsh choices in dealing with a truly global extinction-type threat that cannot be mitigated, but only destroyed. It is told in an “oral history” format from the point of view of the man who wrote the U.N. Commission report on the Zombie War ten years after it “ended”. I could write for hours on this book, but I won’t. I will only say READ THIS BOOK. You will not regret it. It is pop culture horror that makes you think long and hard.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Two things that got me off my ass to start reading it again. First, I wanted to start reading more fiction; while I love reading history, especially military history, non-fiction was starting to drag. I needed to start adding some quick-reading and more entertaining stuff to my life. The second thing I did was to watch “The Walking Dead”. I was bored and alone in my room on the Sunday night of the season finale, so I tuned in and watched from start to finish. Another good product that attempts to look at, on an individual and societal level, what could happen when faced with an un-stoppable, un-curable, non-negotiable bid for extinction. Unlike a book, on film you need to see the horror and the action in dealing with it. While there was enough brain-blowing creamy goodness to go around, there could have been more. Still, I’m waiting for Season Two; it is officially the only television series I am following.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Like Beach Bum mentioned previously, I have had some zombie dreams, one in which I actually stopped the zombies and explained to them that they weren’t acting like zombies (they weren’t responding to sound, they were hiding and setting ambushes and other things that require functioning intellects). During my recent trip to San Francisco I got to the airport very early, more than 90 minutes before my 7:40 am flight boarded. As I sat at my gate at the end of the terminal in the early morning I saw the first big push of humanity shambling toward me in that early morning fog – all walking in the same gate, mechanically, slowly, glassy-eyed and holding coffees and laptop cases. All I could think was “Here come the living dead. A sturdy M-4 and a clip or two and I’d have them all down with headshots before they came within 20 yard of me”. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.nationalgeographic.com/wpf/media-live/photos/000/328/overrides/zombie-fungus-infects-insects-mind-control-ant-infected_32848_600x450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://images.nationalgeographic.com/wpf/media-live/photos/000/328/overrides/zombie-fungus-infects-insects-mind-control-ant-infected_32848_600x450.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the world of science, zombies now live among us, terrorizing the insect world. We have discovered that <a href="http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2011/03/pictures/110303-zombie-ants-fungus-new-species-fungi-bugs-science-brazil/#/zombie-fungus-infects-insects-mind-control-ant-infected_32848_600x450.jpg">zombie ants, their brains under control of fungi, are in the Amazon</a> and zombie-creating fungi are potentially in rainforests all over the globe waiting to eat the brains of unsuspecting insects. Or maybe <a href="http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2009/05/photogalleries/zombie-ants/">evil flies hell-bent upon zombifying them</a> will let their larvae eat their brains.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hell, serious authors on serious blogs like Daniel Drezner on Foreign Policy have even written about zombies:</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://drezner.foreignpolicy.com/posts/2009/08/18/theory_of_international_politics_and_zombies">Theory of International Politics and Zombies</a> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_453706002"><br />
</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.foreignpolicy.com/articles/2010/06/21/night_of_the_living_wonks">Night of the Living Wonks</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Note that academic papers have been written about the damned things – specifically stating that <a href="http://mysite.science.uottawa.ca/rsmith43/Zombies.pdf">rapidly and aggressively dealing with zombie populations is the only way to avoid extinction</a>. If you don’t read the body, at least read the introduction and the discussion at the end. <br />
<br />
"Clearly, this is an unlikely scenario if taken literally, but <i><b>possible real-life applications may include allegiance to political parties</b></i>, or diseases with a dormant infection." </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt;">Classic. The neo-conservative ultra-right-wing Christian tea-partier is just a modern political zombie. It’s pretty freaking clear that their brain has been either destroyed or replaced with something – a fungus, a larva, what have you – that makes them mindlessly intent on devouring whatever is left of this country’s humanity.</span></div>Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-2983118105850439042011-03-07T23:39:00.000-05:002011-03-07T23:39:51.785-05:00ApathyThat's a good word to describe how I feel about this right now. I could actually not care a lot less about making my post for today, given what has gone one. Yet, I obviously am taking the time to make a post. So maybe apathy isn't quite the right word. Or maybe it's not apathy towards posting as much as it is towards putting down anything even remotely meaningful.<br />
<br />
A flu-like bug has its grips on me and even though I have some ideas that I'd love to expound upon I just don't have the motivation.<br />
<br />
Youngest daughter tripped and nearly lost two teeth this afternoon, requiring an emergency trip to the dentist and oral surgeon to have them set back in place in hopes that she doesn't lose them. So that takes some mental energy out of you, or at least gives you an excuse to be mentally lazy and say "I got nuthin".<br />
<br />
Still, I enjoy switching on the blog-o-sphere every day and reading what everyone writes down. What that has to do with me being fucking lazy, I have no idea.<br />
<br />
Whatever. Seven days. Seven posts. Zero value.Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-60636247438278875862011-03-06T23:25:00.000-05:002011-03-06T23:25:40.353-05:00HomeThat's where I am tonight. And tired. And sick. And done with this post.Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-68894041348238181642011-03-05T23:55:00.001-05:002011-03-05T23:57:45.773-05:00Free...as Randal foresaw, I had this post planned since I posted the last time.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Wk05PeKSI2E?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
Been listening to a LOT of classic Maiden lately. Love their first album (from which this song comes) but their second album - "Killers" - is the most under-appreciated album in their collection, and among the most under-appreciated in the entire genre of metal.<br />
<br />
But for now, I am runnin' free...more tomorrow.Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-31424082116579183162011-03-04T23:44:00.001-05:002011-03-04T23:45:17.369-05:00Tomorrow...and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in its petty pace from day to day...<br />
<br />
Tomorrow is also the last day - for a while, I hope - that I'm working these crazy shift hours. So after tomorrow I'll be able (and have more energy) to take the time I want to spew a larger volume of meaningless crap than I have been the last few days.<br />
<br />
But first, laundry.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/HvxzvJicwLY?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Eddie looks pretty much about how I feel right now.Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-41426276348197049922011-03-03T23:52:00.000-05:002011-03-03T23:52:53.883-05:00Boots...something made for walkin'<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/HKYYiYcr21Q?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-88088302716234058342011-03-02T23:48:00.000-05:002011-03-02T23:48:44.619-05:00Twice is a ...<span style="font-size: large;">TREND.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">This can be either a good or a bad thing. Like in a screw up. "Two of the same mistakes is a trend." Two of the same mistake is a bad thing when you need to get the right info and the right answer to make decisions in a high-pressure situation.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">However, today it wasn't a bad trend. I was able to get ahead of my schedule enough that I could work out a second day in a row. So I now have a trend. But to continue that trend, I'll need to crash right now so I can get up early enough to do it again before the long day ahead of me.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">So good night. </span> </span>Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-17936519945403271992011-03-01T23:58:00.000-05:002011-03-01T23:58:14.383-05:00In A WordThat is the new theme for March on the NaBloPoMo site. I'm not going to bother explaining it. Because if you write these things I'm betting you can figure it out.<br />
<br />
With the time I currently have in each day, it's a perfect theme. Since I'm working long shift hours without access to blogger, I can just come home before midnight and write a single word that describes my day. Maybe a sentence or two after it. And I'm done. If I have more time, I can expound. It's perfect. So I'm going to make a go of it.<br />
<br />
Today's word is.....<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">UNDER-UTILIZED</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's pretty much what I felt until today, when my 12-hour shift team (of which I was the deputy team leader) got a new team leader. One who wasn't so anal-retentive-up-on-the-governor-get-ahead-of-tasking-and-invent-shit-to-do-and-make-me-some-slides-about-it-while-you're-at-it about everything. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">The new guy let me actually be the deputy. Make decisions. Direct action. Make and answer requests for information. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">So I no longer feel under-utilized. </span> </span>Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-84065663760478644662011-02-23T21:47:00.000-05:002011-02-23T21:47:14.567-05:00Just a quick update......to say yeah, I'm still around. Business travel last week to San Francisco (Always get an Irish coffee at the Buena Vista near Hyde Pier - you won't regret it!) then back to RI over the weekend.<br />
<br />
I've had some great ideas I want to write about, but now that I'm back on a semi-regular schedule things are getting fast-paced and I'll be off-line for a week or more. So basically, I'm writing to say I'll write more in a while.<br />
<br />
Fucking slacker.<br />
<br />
A big part of my time issue is where I chose to rent a room. It's a couple of miles outside the Beltway, so the commute - whether I ride or drive - is a complete pain in the ass. I drove today and it took me almost 90 minutes as the 495 was more parking-lottish than usual from the GW Parkway to Silver Spring. I submit that in addition to everything else, the average Beltway driver is empirical evidence that the National Capitol Region does not attract our best and brightest.<br />
<br />
So my quest, once this next (hopefully brief) chapter is closed, is to secure lodging that is closer to R'lyeh to regain some of the 2.5-3 hrs I lose commuting every day. Then maybe I'll get some of my life back.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://z.about.com/d/politicalhumor/1/0/Q/c/2/dc-traffic-sac0226acd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="388" width="500" src="http://z.about.com/d/politicalhumor/1/0/Q/c/2/dc-traffic-sac0226acd.jpg" /></a></div><br />
I'll still be reading and chiming in when I can.Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-13401052388528554972011-02-13T00:58:00.002-05:002011-02-13T01:15:45.822-05:00This is where the good times went...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://a967.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/21/l_549b710befb1bcd1e5cc0efbccba1246.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://a967.ac-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/21/l_549b710befb1bcd1e5cc0efbccba1246.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="http://thepunkfashion.blogspot.com/2009/06/punk-oi-gallery.html"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">found here</span></a></div><br />
<a href="http://thefilecabinet.blogspot.com/2011/02/duke-of-puke.html">Yesterday Crum introduced me to a band I'd never heard of before.</a> Aside from really digging the music I enjoyed his reflection that<br />
<blockquote><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"...youthful rebellion is woven into our humanity more as a reality check for the rest of us than just the surface pain in the ass it seems to come off as." </i></div></blockquote>How true. Even for those of us who were fairly straight-laced growing up. I think it's woven into our social development as we mature. The case in which this that made the most sense to me was presented in the book <u>The Tipping Point</u> by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malcolm_Gladwell">Malcolm Gladwell</a>. I'm not going to cover it in detail because that's not really what this post is about. The crux of his argument is (and he covers it in his reasoning behind why teen smoking is such an epidemic) that once you start socializing with others - in school, etc. - you start taking more and more behavioral cues from your peers than your parents. There comes a point early on when your parents literally have almost no control over where you are taking your cues from. So I think that, even if you fall in with other "goody-goody" kids, there are bound to be behaviors you take up from them that your parents won't approve of. Rebellion, at some level, is always there.<br />
<br />
Of course, it really took off for me when I got to college. Straight-laced ROTC guy started hanging out with a bunch of hippies, punks, Pink Floyd fans, and others who were antithetical to the "Reagan Youth" that I drilled with every week. The trick was balancing the assimilation of both groups. I didn't care that some of my friends smoked dope and they knew not to do it in my room/apartment, but there were plenty of times when they were taking hits from the bong I was at the other side of the room drinking my vodka. Such was the pattern of mutual inebriation.<br />
<br />
The biggest thing I remember were the parties my junior year. My roommates and I had inherited (that is, we were lucky enough in the housing lottery to be able to choose) an apartment that some graduating friends of ours were in that was famous for its parties. We vowed to carry on the tradition.<br />
<br />
The apartment itself was beautiful. Well, it was for a bunch of college age males who didn't know any better. It had a huge living room, and the previous tenants had put a huge mural of a moonscape on one wall. A great lunar landscape with the Earth high and in the background. They had taped up a cartoon pic of Starship Enterprise from Star Trek, and a floating head of John Madden. Enterprise was shooting Mr. Madden with phasers. We added to the mural - usually with whatever photos we thought were cool out of the Weekly World News. Aliens, 300 lb goat-headed babies, we even had Hitler giving the "Sieg Heil" to a bust of Bette Midler that was emerging from behind a giant moon rock.<br />
<br />
They'd left the bar there for us. And all the alcohol. They had a rule - drink what you like, but if you finish a bottle you need to replace it. Over the three years they'd had it, a steady stash had built up, and since they reasoned none of it was their own by the time they graduated, they told us it was ours. What a great bunch of guys. So we had the bar, we had the new and improved mural, what could we do to improve the parties? We decided we needed a band to play our parties. This was our major rebellion.<br />
<br />
Parties you could have - more than ten people was a party, and you had to register your party at least the night before. But campus rules prohibited bands from playing parties. We decided to push the envelope anyway, knowing that getting caught could get us kicked out, and that would have bad repercussions with my family and with the organization that was paying my tuition. Fuck it. We did it anyway.<br />
<br />
The band was called "Dead Men on Holiday", taken from Koestler's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Darkness_at_Noon">Darkness at Noon</a>.<br />
<br />
<blockquote><i>"For all over the country there were small groups of men who called themselves 'dead men on holiday', and devoted their lives to proving they still possessed life."</i></blockquote>They were a punk band, not to be confused with a country/rock/soul band named "Dead Men on Holidays" from Germany, that comes up when you google the name. They had the usual repetoire of original songs that sounded good to and would only have meaning to their fans, with cool titles like "It Must Suck To Be You" and "Store 24" because I guess every college band needed a song about the local convenience store, who the fuck knows. Anyway, they were popular. They had come out of nowhere and placed second in the battle of the bands the year before, turning the stage-front of our beloved and esteemed theater hall into a frenzied, thrashing pit to the horror of school officials and visiting families. The front man was a fellow ROTC cadet in my unit, known as "Stain" who went on to run nuclear reactors for the Navy and command submarines. Smart guy, great guy, showed me that just because I wore the uniform it didn't mean I had to grow up as some right-wing Niedermayer that my future charges would want to shoot. More bad influence to add to my pothead friends; I'm sure my parents would have shit had they known what their good little Catholic boy in ROTC was now doing.<br />
<br />
The pattern was simple. Buy a keg, buy some cheap vodka for a Kool-Aid punch, advertise by word of mouth, charge two bucks at the door, and Bob's yer' uncle. They took off something huge. By the third party we were turning big profits, enough to finance the next two. Fuck, we could even start paying the goddam band! We started being less covert. Well, the band started being less covert. They would put up posters a week before they played, always tasteless. The mid-December poster showed Santa and Mrs. Clause in a threesome with Rudolph, almost every one had a beer / barf motif. People started coming from Boston, from Providence, the punks from the local scene started showing up. Even the fucking frat douche bags. It usually started with them knocking on the door. I'd answer and notice the usual gang of fucks who I didn't like and didn't like me.<br />
<br />
"What can I do for you?"<br />
<br />
"Hey, we need to (use the phone / use the bathroom / borrow a cup of sugar / verify what this week's physics homework is). Can we come in?"<br />
<br />
"You need what? I can't hear you. The music, you know. Try a quieter place if you need a phone."<br />
<br />
"Can we (borrow some dental floss / see if our escaped hamster is in here / gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today)?"<br />
<br />
"Look, guys. For $2 you can come in."<br />
<br />
"Oh." And $20 or so bucks later, frat douche bags were in. Whatever, it was a business. It was fun hearing what excuses they would come up with. I think they changed with every one and it became something of a game.<br />
<br />
They had a rash of great covers, too. Mostly of the classic, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oi%21">"Oi!"</a> genre. The favorite was "Someone's Gonna' Die Tonight" by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blitz_%28band%29">Blitz</a>.<br />
<br />
What a great fucking song. The way it builds up, unleashes into a frenzy of sound and gives way to a crooning/shouting anthem to violence and football hooliganism. It usually signaled a high point in the party. They knew when the crowd was worked up and it put us over the edge a few times. The cops usually came after that.<br />
<br />
One of our roommates wasn't really into partying so he holed himself up in the attic (Okay, there wasn't an attic. We cut a hole in the ceiling and put a table and chair up there...) listening to the police scanner to see if any complaints would come in and alert us to quiet down before the campus rent-a-cops got there. We normally could quiet down enough (i.e. - get the band to take a break) that they just drove by.<br />
<br />
Until one day in mid-January when they finished up the song and we noticed that the air conditioning had kicked on. Except there was no AC. One of our buds had gone straight from the pit head first through our front window.<br />
<br />
Shit. Fuck. We had blown it. The cops came, shut us down, party ended early. That Monday, the letter came telling us we were meeting with the housing administrator to discus the party, the damage, and our futures as residents at college. We thought we were done. I thought I was losing a freaking scholarship. Rebellion had backfired.<br />
<br />
So the meeting came, and we all dressed in our best unwashed shitty college kid clothes and went to see the housing administrator, a lady in her mid-30's who immediately threw us for a loop.<br />
<br />
"Now boys, you know the school policy is that you cannot have a band play at a party."<br />
<br />
"Yes, we do."<br />
<br />
"And you know that what you did was dangerous, and your friend could have got seriously hurt. This is entirely unsatisfactory."<br />
<br />
"Yes...we're sorry."<br />
<br />
"Well, you're going to have to pay for the window. And I'm going to have to ask that you please don't have any more bands play your parties and that you keep it down in the future."<br />
<br />
Stunned silence for about 10 seconds. Is THAT it? We looked at each other. I think one of us managed an "Okay" or "Yes, ma'am", or "We've learned our lesson" or something equally mundane. The window cost about as much to replace as 1.5 future parties. Hell, the band even chipped in by refusing their cut for that night. So we took one party "off" and didn't have a band, and made enough cash to subsidize another one. A month after that, we proved we hadn't learned our lesson - or simply decided to say "fuck you" to the administration - and brought the band back.<br />
<br />
We were back in business. And housing didn't seem to mind.<br />
<br />
It's good that some people recognize rebellion is part of growing up. So, for old time's sake. Do you feel alright?<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Wz7fN09xgfw?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-71188461026676750362011-02-12T01:03:00.001-05:002011-02-12T01:09:51.885-05:00ConversionI sit here, this evening, a convert.<br />
<br />
I converted.<br />
<br />
But not how you might think.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, seeking a break in my daily grind I proceeded to the gym for a workout. <a href="http://www.crossfit.com/mt-archive2/007434.html">It looked like a pretty hard core workout</a> and I was looking forward to it, as it had two of my favorite exercises - power cleans and kettlebell swings. So, like a good cross-fitter I scaled it to my ability - dropped the swing weight to 35 lbs (about 1 <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pood">pood</a>) and the clean weight to about 80 lbs and reduced the jump height to about 15" and only planned 5 rounds instead of 7. Cuz I'm older, still fairly new to cross-fit and knew I'd be working up a good sweat but didn't want to hurt myself. You know, throw out my back, blow a knee, that sort of thing.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atrial_fibrillation">I never thought I'd throw my ticker out of whack.</a><br />
<br />
I got into a good groove - I was pushing myself hard, and getting enough rest between sets, so I thought. Going into my last circuit, I decide "Fuck it - I'm going to push it HARD". So I finish up my last round of swings and all of a sudden my sternum feels like someone firmly tapped it with a rubber mallet. I can feel my heart beating hard and a weird reverberation at the bottom of my esophagus. I get a little dizzy, and I know that that's it. I am done with this workout. So I calmly put everything away, ignoring how wobbly I am because I know that if I just cease activity and rest my heart will calm down.<br />
<br />
After I put the gear away I go sit on a bench and try to take my pulse. It's freakin' funny. Not getting a very strong one, but fast. I'm getting several fast beats, a pause, and then two or three quick, arrhythmic beats. Here's where the tiny voice says, "Dude, this isn't right. Maybe you should go to the front desk and see if they can call someone from the clinic to come down and check you out." But the big, stupid voice said, "Look, you're breathing okay, you're not in pain, just clean up, go back to your cubicle, hydrate, and you'll be good." So I listen to the stupid voice.<br />
<br />
Indicator #1 that I might be wrong is when I step in the shower and get dizzy again. I ignore it.<br />
<br />
So I get back to the office and the Executive Assistant for my group reminds me that one of my wonderful "staff tasks" is "pre-due" today. Pre-due means the boss needs to look at it two days before it is due so that when it is coming up for approval when it is due then the approval will be expedited. We all know what that is. An artificial due date before the due date that adds pressure to you to get the job done faster, and makes you give less time to those who you need to delegate parts of the task to. In all fairness our office handles it pretty well; the product is not expected to be polished, just a "show me what it looks like as is" that can be reviewed at leisure in the two days before formal approval starts. And in this case the job was almost done anyway so it was fairly easy to gather everything together and get it ready. Indicator #2 came when I got up to go to the printer and got dizzy again. That's when I said as soon as I finish this I'm going down a floor and walking in to acute care.<br />
<br />
Indicator #3 came when I had to get to the printer again. FUCK. THIS. I stapled everything together, handed it to the person in the cubicle next to me and said "I really feel like shit. I need to get to the clinic. When you hear about such-and-such being due today, this is it. Could you please give it to so-and-so?" She said yes; we are assigned as back-ups to each other on most of our work, so it's common place.<br />
<br />
Let the fun begin. I walk down to the clinic, walk in, take my number, think "screw filling out the form" and walk right up to the civilian receptionist. She's doing something besides looking at me so I lean over and say "I took a number but I don't care. My heart is racing and beating funny and I almost passed out twice. I need to see someone now."<br />
<br />
She looks at me and says, "I'm sorry, do you need to see someone?"<br />
<br />
"Yes. My heart is in arrhythmia and I have almost fainted."<br />
<br />
"Sir, did you say you feel like you are going to pass out?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, ma'am. I need to see someone please." (My inner monologue:<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b> "I FUCKING TOLD YOU TWICE! CALL FUCKING TRIAGE YOU DUMB FUCK!!!"</b></span>) In all fairness, they are quite an overwhelmed staff most of the times. 20,000+ people working in the building, too small a staff to handle it all...but I was in no mood. Things seemed screwed up and I was getting scared.<br />
<br />
So the nice nurse comes out, I explain to her what is happening and she asks "Do you want a wheel chair?"<br />
<br />
"No"<br />
<br />
"Sir, look at you, look at me. If you fall, how am I going to get you where I need to get you?"<br />
<br />
"I ain't going to fall. I walked down here from the second floor, I can make it another 50 feet." Stupid, but I made it.<br />
<br />
So they hook me up to the EKG, take my vitals and yeah, things are screwy. Heart rate is 170, in a-fib, BP 150/113, talking amongst themselves. Doctor comes in, looks at it.<br />
<br />
"Are you feeling any pain?"<br />
<br />
"Nope. No pain in my left shoulder area, no numbness in my left arm, I can breathe fine." And believe me, I'm constantly thinking about this..."Hey I'm 42, I work out, okay I haven't been eating as well as I could be in the last month or so, but come on! This can't be happening."<br />
<br />
Cardiologist confirms I'm a-fib, I get a couple of doses of beta blockers, and that gets my HR down to about 85-100 within 90 minutes. The staff starts looking more relieved around me, and talking like things are going to be okay. "Sir, you're heart rate is down, which is good. That's the primary danger. But you're still in arrhythmia, and we need your heart rate to 'convert' back to a normal, sinus rhythm. Now we can keep you here until that happens on its own, but with the weekend coming up we want to make sure you aren't in any danger, so we're sending you to the ER."<br />
<br />
Great, that's encouraging.<br />
<br />
<br />
An hour or so later I've been in the ER, they've taken blood for all sorts of lab work, done a chest X-Ray and everything is clean. No heart damage, no thyroid issues, no blockages. A seemingly perfectly healthy heart in a-fib. Hey that's great, except it's fucking uncomfortable and what the heck are you going to do about that?<br />
<br />
Doc informs me that they'll keep me overnight and see if I convert by morning. If not, they'll stick an endoscope down my esophagus to ensure there is no blockage, and then they'll perform a conversion by sedating me and giving a low-level shock to my heart to unfuck the rhythm. Kind of like a defibrillator but without the huge jolt.<br />
<br />
Great, that's encouraging.<br />
<br />
I think the doc notices this on my face and assures me that my current condition is not life-threatening and neither is the procedure. By now I've talked with my wife a couple of times and the big question is should she come down from Rhode Island? After many discussions involving dozens of variables we decide to wait until early morning to decide. If I haven't converted and want her to be here, she'd hop a flight. Until then, the best place was for her to be with the kids.<br />
<br />
Why? Because this is not a big problem. I'm not in the ICU, the doc was very thorough in explaining what was going on (and believe me, I make them explain everything - the mechanisms at work in the body, the risks, everything. If they charge every time they talk to me as a consult, then I am going to get my fucking information!). I wasn't in any danger and I had come to trust the doctor so that I didn't believe he'd do anything risky to rid me of a low-risk condition, the reason part of my brain said "Hey, this is going to be an annoying 12-16 hours and then I'll go back to my room." Also, I could feel that the a-fib was slowing down. The events were fewer and farther between. I was pretty confident I was trending toward normal on my own and I'd convert before morning.<br />
<br />
However, that wasn't guaranteed. And even though the risk in the "procedure" is miniscule it is still there. And it doesn't depend on how much good luck you've had in your life, or you being due to catch a break, or some being who may be looking out for you or deciding to turn a blind eye at that moment. It is sheer, unadulterated probability based on a number of factors. And if you fall within that small probability, then that risk gets bigger. Much bigger. So the question in my mind as I went to sleep - and it was really bugging me - was:<br />
<br />
"Even though it is a very, very small risk, am I willing to accept that the last conversation or contact I have with my wife may be over the phone?" Really. I think when the lights go out, they go out. No afterlife, no nothing. The last contact with anyone I truly valued possibly being a phone call. In hindsight it seems silly, but in the moment it was a point to ponder. If I have the option to be with someone I loved in the moments before I could lose everything - even if the risk of doing so was so small - should I take it?<br />
<br />
I wake up at 3 am, because I can't sleep and I need to "go" and can still feel the occasional fibrillation. Great.<br />
<br />
At 5 am I was awakened by a knock and the nurse coming in to check my vitals. "Good news, our monitor shows your heart rate has converted to a normal sinus rhythm. As soon as our EKG techs can confirm that, you'll be able to leave."<br />
<br />
Relief. Text my wife. Relief.<br />
<br />
Realization that working here in DC while the wife and kids live 500 miles away SUCKS ASS. Things like this that don't entail serious risk but still benefit greatly from being able to be together suddenly become huge problems. Being a "geographic bachelor" could be the dumbest thing I've done in my 20+ year career.<br />
<br />
Realization that damned near everything in life is a risk-decision. The decision to bump the intensity up just a little harder. The decision that something is happening but I'll "wait awhile and see what happens". The decision that it's too close to the weekend to just let you go without being sure. The decision that based on science and reason I'm going to be okay and I'm willing to accept that this is almost certainly not going to be the last time we talk, so just stay put.<br />
<br />
And, strangely, I'm good with that. The only things I'm going to do differently are not "wait and see what happens" when I know something is really not right and, as part of that, not wait to tell my family when shit does happen, just in case it does happen to be serious. <br />
<br />
Postscript: It turns out that, as I mentioned, I am fine. Of all the reasons a-fib could happen, this was "it just happened". I'm clear to resume my life. The doc recommended that, even though I'm healthy now, I get a stress test given that my family has a history of heart disease. Every indication is that it will be fine, but I should do it. So that is the next step.<br />
<br />
Oh, and there is a third thing I'm going to do differently - make them shave the spots where they attach the electrodes.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGyA6d4S3dd_jekP7BfrB2LT-CHNblKga82XJ4gJPPEMRPnHAaguTi5ikN6W8ymsQAQYogeuhR-l88GiVAO9gq2zxfb-gEqzHzApq4bBRUUKOXxTt1JcWP_8CE45J99Nd-kavgUPA7_6S/s1600/hairpad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGyA6d4S3dd_jekP7BfrB2LT-CHNblKga82XJ4gJPPEMRPnHAaguTi5ikN6W8ymsQAQYogeuhR-l88GiVAO9gq2zxfb-gEqzHzApq4bBRUUKOXxTt1JcWP_8CE45J99Nd-kavgUPA7_6S/s320/hairpad.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-66718280878360500082011-02-08T23:30:00.003-05:002011-02-09T00:15:01.477-05:00Answering the Questions that Affect Us All: Obscure Midwest Rock Bands<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Research Question: What’s up with late-70’s / early-80’s obscure rock bands from the Midwest? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thesis: Obscure and moderately successful Mid-western rock bands from the late 70’s and 80’s rock for a variety of reasons.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i>Case 1:</i></b> <a href="http://www.head-east.com/">Head East</a>, “Never Been Any Reason” (1978).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<a href="http://video.yahoo.com/watch/4954772/13191495">Head East - Never Been Any Reason</a> @ <a href="http://video.yahoo.com/">Yahoo! Video</a></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What it’s got going for it:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">1. Lots of cowbell, including a cowbell solo.</div><div class="MsoNormal">2. A key-tar solo.</div><div class="MsoNormal">3. Two vocalists trading off with some killer dude-harmonizing in a proto-Bruce Dickinson sort of way.</div><div class="MsoNormal">4. Drug reference from a time when drugs were cool, and even the kids who didn’t do drugs (like yours truly) pretended they did.</div><div class="MsoNormal">5. A damned catchy guitar riff.</div><div class="MsoNormal">6. A badass fucking pancake on the record jacket.</div><div class="MsoNormal">7. I was living in the Midwest at the time and rocked out to them.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What it’s got going against it:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">1. A second key-tar solo.</div><div class="MsoNormal">2. Some lyrical non-sequiturs that make it seem as if my seven year old came up with a verse or two. Case in point: “You’ve been talking in circles / since I’ve been able to cry / there’s never been any reason / for never telling me why”. Apparently there’s never been any reason to make sense, either.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Overall Score: 3.5 <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kumato">Kumatoes</a> </b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><i>Case 2: </i></b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Stanley">Michael Stanley Band</a>, “He Can’t Love You”, (1980)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/44bamW7ZbMo" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What it’s got going for it:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">1. Butt-cuts, mullets and skinny ties.</div><div class="MsoNormal">2. A damned catchy guitar riff.</div><div class="MsoNormal">3. Percussive keyboards that accompany the guitar well.</div><div class="MsoNormal">4. Two saxophone solos buy a guy who could probably kick Kenny G’s ass.</div><div class="MsoNormal">5. Sexy 80’s nurses in the video.</div><div class="MsoNormal">6. A message that spoke to a pre-teen living in the Midwest who had a crush on a girl who liked someone else.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What it’s got going against it:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">1. 80’s beard combined with a butt-cut.<br />
2. Designer jeans and white platform shoes. </div><div class="MsoNormal">3. A basist who looks like a car-bomber.</div><div class="MsoNormal">4. No key-tar.</div><div class="MsoNormal">5. He <a href="http://www.fieldsedge.com/MichaelStanleyBand.html">“almost made Cleveland famous”</a> for which he should be held accountable at the ICC.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Overall Score: 15 <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kegel_exercise#Kegel_exerciser">kegelcisors</a> and a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nick_Tahou_Hots">Garbage Plate</a> </b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Conclusion: While analyzing every obscure to moderately successful rock band that emerged from the Midwest in the 1980’s is outside the scope of this brief paper, the above two examples may indicate that despite sometimes numerous and serious flaws in instrument choice, lyrical talent and grooming, these bands can still rock based upon individual appeal.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Areas for further study:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">1. While over-application of a key-tar may have a detracting effect, the lack of a key-tar is perceived as universally negative among the sample. How can an obscure Midwest late-70’s / early-80’s band employ a key-tar and achieve strictly positive results?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">2. A comparison of food imagery vs. health care professional imagery in providing visual stimulation to enhance musical enjoyment.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">3. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shooting_Star_%28band%29">Shooting Star</a> as a candidate for the best obscure late-70’s / early-80’s rock band ever to emerge from the Midwest, and an accurate representative overall score.<br />
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</div><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/qsbjeLupyMQ" title="YouTube video player" width="480"></iframe><br />
<br />
Edit: Seems to be a theme running around about musical tastes. Check out <a href="http://lennui-melodieux.blogspot.com/">Randal</a> and one of <a href="http://clevelandlove.blogspot.com/2011/02/they-all-will-have-exquisite-taste-but.html">Randal's regulars</a> whose site I just decided to check out.Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-23930435349890000172011-01-30T18:52:00.001-05:002011-01-30T18:52:46.917-05:00The view from the liftWhitetail Ski Resort in PA. Loving it.<br /><br /><center><a href='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/show_photo.php?p=11/01/30/2604.jpg'><img src='http://photo.blogpressapp.com/photos/11/01/30/s_2604.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br />Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-35528209905460327062011-01-28T23:28:00.004-05:002011-01-29T00:20:13.004-05:00Thank You For Your Service ™Journalists have been pointing out the growing divide - the lack of common ground - between the military and the population for some time now - how we have so few people under arms, how they are becoming economically and more demographically separate from the country, how almost nobody knows anyone in the military anymore, but most recently <a href="http://www.newsweek.com/2011/01/23/step-up-for-your-country.html">Bad-Boy General turned Yale Professor Stanley McChrystal hit the nail on the head</a>, if you ask me.<br />
<br />
We need to<a href="http://rabbitsofmind.com/post/2924905465/responding-to-mcchrystal-on-national-service"> re-capture or re-define what service means</a>.<br />
<br />
We are now a nation that lives in the context of entitlement and victimhood. We're entitled to everything we want when we want it, and we're victims because <strike>the government,</strike> <strike>the immigrants,</strike> <strike>the Democrats,</strike> <strike>the Republicans,</strike> <strike>the Gnomes of Zurich,</strike> <strike>the Tea Baggers,</strike> <strike>the economy,</strike> <strike>the university intellectuals,</strike> <strike>the Christians,</strike> <strike>the godless atheists,</strike> <strike>fucking China</strike> we are making it hard to have cheap resources, ridiculously high paying jobs, government-funded everything, cheap cell phones, mansions and a huge powerful caveman-bombing military while just wishing the money to pay for it into existence because goddammit we're the most heavily taxed undertaxed nation in the world! We justify our sense of entitlement and sooth our sense of victimhood by doing two simple things:<br />
<br />
1. Thanking the troops. Thank you. Thank you for your service. Thank you for protecting my freedom. Thank you for being there so I can thank you so now I can feel as if I don't have to do anything but continue to thank you and bitch about whatever group of people are bad Americans based upon what my favorite TV pundit posing as a good American tells me. Now that I've thanked you and my well-being is in your hands, all I have to worry about is whether I should switch to Verizon or wait for the iPhone 5 to come out. Thank you for keeping me safe enough to buy an iPhone.<br />
<br />
2. Crying for the troops and their families and talking about how brave they are. Because they are the real victims. It's so sad that daddy has to go overseas and it makes me cry and I wish I could do something, but I need my iPhone and I've already thanked your daddy or mommy, so I'll just cry some more for you or maybe send you some money or some stuff so that I can feel better about the victim culture I live in because your are the real victim, having to get daddy's skull half blown off for iPhones. And freedom. Oh, and to keep those nasty turrrurrururuists from building houses of worship here in America.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>DISCLAIMER - In case my poorly written attempt at sarcasm is unclear, read this. Otherwise, skip to the next paragraph:</b> </span>My intent here is not to belittle what anyone in our armed forces or their families go through or imply that they are undeserving of understanding, respect and sympathy. Their task is huge and unforgiving and after 20 years of active service I know very well what we are involved in and what our families go through. Rather, I believe the ubiquity of the Support Our Troops® mentality points to a certain "hollowness" of many of its practitioners.<br />
<br />
I will not go into the causes or reasons for this as there are many, and blame lays in industry, in government, in the populace, in the military - no corner of this society is untouched.<br />
<br />
But McChrystal's message went largely unheard. Because nobody wants to hear it. But then again, most people can't relate to the General.<br />
<br />
So maybe someone people CAN relate to can get the message across? <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.oprah.com/oprahshow/The-Bravest-Families-in-America_1/1">NOPE</a><br />
<br />
There was an opportunity here. An opportunity for Brokaw and Woodward, two well-known and thinking people to make McChrystal's point as well. Both had an opportunity, but decided to link involvement to having sympathy and compassion for a small segment of the population vice the entire population thinking about how they could take ownership for this place instead of bitching at each other.<br />
<br />
Once Oprah picks something, you know the branding is complete. Not only America's fighting men and women are no longer even remotely accessible or understandable to most other Americans, but they are finally a trademarked message that tells the rest of the country "You don't have to be invested in this place anymore. You just have to feel bad for the troops." What a bunch of fucking crap.<br />
<br />
The whole thought of what I'm getting at is pretty idealistic. It'd take leadership in places where we don't currently have the right kind of leadership. Just thinking that way probably makes me part of the problem. So I'm going to do something about it - tomorrow, I am going snowboarding.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.supportourribbons.com/maker2/get_item_img.pl?id=47334&width=456&height=456&show_url=1" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="http://www.supportourribbons.com/maker2/get_item_img.pl?id=47334&width=456&height=456&show_url=1" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<a href="http://www.supportourribbons.com/custom-ribbon-magnet/47334/I-Support-Empty-Gestures">I may get one of these</a>.Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-70616451258741121732011-01-26T21:09:00.001-05:002011-01-26T21:32:40.946-05:00Dead in the WaterHa. Good metaphor for a blog invoking the name of the Great Old One himself. After November's brief revival things again got bogged down as is wont with my job and the posting dried up pretty darned good. So I made a New Years resolution (yeah, that's it!) to start writing again sometime before the end of January. Sound like a good enough rationalization to wait this long to post anything? Yeah, well piss on you if you don't agree.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFq5Kast3XGJvdaTu8OGcSnlcBuq1zOXnJFrdk9eDh8qB7a_dzoHUQzu1ixXA5HEOEOG3pGQdixLrH2bGlSXA7eeOEThigcfgtAF395w4f2CQo9CLNU05r7ltCxkaYxCXAxGKqAYmYcmuv/s1600/thug-peeing-rug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFq5Kast3XGJvdaTu8OGcSnlcBuq1zOXnJFrdk9eDh8qB7a_dzoHUQzu1ixXA5HEOEOG3pGQdixLrH2bGlSXA7eeOEThigcfgtAF395w4f2CQo9CLNU05r7ltCxkaYxCXAxGKqAYmYcmuv/s320/thug-peeing-rug.jpg" width="228" /></a></div><br />
<br />
In all honesty I have been meaning to start writing / blogging again. The big question is whether or not to start doing so HERE. The place has been mostly abandoned because, for whatever reason, it is not meeting any needs or desires of mine.<br />
<br />
But I have a need/desire to write, and here is where I can write. It's my own place, and I've had it for some time. It has lacked direction in the past - really never had any - but it can still be whatever I want. Or can it?<br />
<br />
I remember back in November that <a href="http://thefilecabinet.blogspot.com/2010/11/blogging-advice.html">Crummy</a> was reminiscing about his own place and how it "violates all the rules" about "successful blogging" as far as theme, content, length of posts, blah blah blah. Like I've stated about this place, he admits that he doesn't really have anything he writes about. It's mostly blogging about himself - an exercise in narcissism. I don't think Crum would take that the wrong way (please don't). All personal blogging is an exercise in narcissism, this is no exception.<br />
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The thing that he has - and the other good ones that I read or have read (Randall, Beach Bum, okjimm, splotchy, <a href="http://rabbitsofmind.com/">my cousin the rabbit wrangler</a>, nunly, and even recently my old college friend <a href="http://gamerblog.twwombat.com/">wombat</a>) all have one thing going for them - they have a certain context, some sort of intellectual or cognitive rug that really ties their rooms together. I'm not sure I have that rug...or maybe some Chinaman came in and pissed on it.<br />
<br />
I do know one thing - if I want to get that rug, or clean the piss off of it, I simply need to write, and do so regularly. For now this place will have to do.<br />
<br />
I'm just not sure this is what I want my writing to be, other than something I'm happy with. I've thought about different ways I could go. I'm guessing the thing to do is write them down - make a list of "Shit I'd Like To Write About" and figure out how/when/where I will.<br />
<br />
But in the meantime I just need to write. I can feel my brain atrophying.<br />
<br />
So I'll call this a start.Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-88116957221862587192010-11-30T23:54:00.001-05:002010-12-01T00:02:07.563-05:00Matchbox Cars - Feel the PWNAGE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2010/08/25/article-1306013-0AE92D90000005DC-724_964x640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2010/08/25/article-1306013-0AE92D90000005DC-724_964x640.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1306013/The-matchstick-armada-Modeller-spends-62-years-building-incredible-fleet-400-ships.html">62 years ... 650,000 matches ... 430 ships.</a><br />
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Seems the Royal Navy ran out of ships about the same time he ran out of matches. Nicely timed.<br />
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<a href="http://www.modelshipgallery.com/gallery/dio/collection/matchbox-pw/index.htm">More awesome pics here.</a>Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-84113311265795524912010-11-30T00:16:00.003-05:002010-11-30T00:24:00.768-05:00Bonus ThanksgivingOne of (if not the) best parts of Thanksgiving is the leftovers. Having a big-ass turkey sandwich with stuffing, cranberry and gravy piled on is a great half-time snack for Monday Night Football. But it depends on getting good leftovers.<br />
<br />
Last year we realized that we never really take home enough of the right kinds of leftovers. It would be easier if we hosted, but we never do. We get our little container, filled with a little bit of everything (typically too much green bean casserole and not enough turkey, ham and stuffing!), just like everyone else who converges on my parents' or uncles' house. We remedied that by buying a turkey breast and roasting it up with all the fixin's that weekend. Voila - leftovers galore! As an aside we never wont for desserts; my wife is an awesome baker and dessert is never scarce at Thanksgiving; so we almost always return home with plenty of her cake and pie to gorge ourselves on.<br />
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This year we absconded with the remaining half of the huge bone-in ham that my dad contributed, with the promise that he will get some split pea and ham soup out of it. The soup will come, but for the time being we've been frying it up with eggs, or just baking up a batch of homemade biscuits and having ham, biscuits and coffee for breakfast. He smokes a good ham. He doesn't make good pies. This year he tried to emulate a lemon pie recipe my aunt makes. I'd never had it before this past week, but I hope she makes it better. The filling is whole, sliced lemon with the rind zested off and part of the sweetened filling. The lemon pulp wasn't bad. Biting through the rind was too bitter. And the crust was thick and hard to cut. I believe he rolled it out with a Panzer III. To be fair, good pie crust is not easy to make. Unless you're my wife.<br />
<br />
So we took a big-ass piece of ham and skipped the pie. But otherwise the container of leftovers was pitifully small. So we did it again - buy more turkey, stuffing, veggies, roast it all up with potatoes, gravy, hot rolls. Don't forget the cranberry sauce. We named it "Bonus Thanksgiving".<br />
<br />
Bonus Thanksgiving is about one thing - maximizing leftovers. The logic is distinctly American (or, maybe 'murrikan) - consume more up front so it will go farther. Spend more so you can get bonus points and spend even more. Hell, it's even more American than the original Thanksgiving.<br />
<br />
On a less sarcastic note, it's also a good thing; it's a chance for my family - I, my wife and my kids - to sit down and just enjoy each other over a meal without the additional ten people who make dinner a quasi-stressful event, without dad spending endless minutes detailing how he carefully constructed a Lemon-Panzer pie and describing things like "letting the dough rest in the fridge" as though he just discovered this long lost ancient trick before he shovels down huge mouthfuls of it while making "yummy sounds".<br />
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So yeah, Bonus Thanksgiving will be a Chef Cthulhu family tradition. I'm willing to bet Bonus Christmas will, too.Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-88888068893540700232010-11-25T22:48:00.001-05:002010-11-25T22:49:28.899-05:00Another Prayer...There are now two prayers that I actually like (well, maybe three if you count the snarky drivel I wrote yesterday). The first is <a href="http://www.hms-victory.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=111&Itemid=152">Lord Nelson's Prayer</a>, penned by the Viscount himself before Trafalgar, where he met his fate. I like it purely for its historic value, rather than the glaring example of someone justifying his desire for victory in something as amoral as battle with an appeal to a higher moral authority. A couple of years back I visited HMS VICTORY and got to see the paper on which it was written. It was rather moving. <br />
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This morning, my cousin posted <a href="http://rabbitsofmind.com/post/1680655067/that-light-may-conquer-darkness-still">a prayer</a> on his blog. This one I also like, a great deal. And I'll leave it at that.Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-65651362627699788012010-11-23T22:20:00.002-05:002010-11-23T22:25:59.060-05:00If The Universe Could Hear You...Well, it's almost time for tryptophan with all the fixin's washed down with the alcohol of your choice, but that doesn't really change the fact that, like the last post I wrote, I have no earthly idea what the hell to write about. It kind of sucks. I started writing here again because I wanted to, but the dearth of motivation is preventing me from really making an effort.<br />
<br />
Well, motivation is not really the word. I am motivated to write. I tried doing NaNoWriMo and got all of 400-odd words done. Yay, it says I win just for trying. There are about 6,000,000,000 things I read every day that I'd love to comment on or analyze, but I can never keep my thoughts straight.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.thevine.com.au/resources/imgdetail/110209033948_hackers-angelina-jolie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="http://www.thevine.com.au/resources/imgdetail/110209033948_hackers-angelina-jolie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://antiduckface.com/">QUAAAAAACK quackquackquack...</a></div><br />
I've thought about crazy-ass things like how globalization has made it easy to travel and pass money around, and consequently has made it easier to spread pathogens throughout the globe as evidenced by Max Brook's excellent book <u>World War Z</u>, a zombie book that is about anything BUT zombies. And then I read about things like the <a href="http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5grX7TQrqvx6xHJGKClpXax9jtvEg?docId=8294874ba6fb4f32af989d3af91f1ba0">Stuxnet Virus</a> that brings to reality crazy things that Angelina Jolie could stop with her youthful collagen duckface just 15 years ago, when she was only just beginning to make shitty movies. After putting 2 and 2 together it seems that this computer pathogen could spread globally along similar vectors as zombies, or pandemic influenza, or whatever, given a motivated enough individual to start the process.<br />
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But then ... yawn. Maybe I'll burn the brain cells doing something more inane like configuring my fantasy football lineup for the coming week to keep my 4-game winning streak alive.<br />
<br />
But I digress. Back to Thanksgiving.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsNs7BBcJbGU8DyH0VrxiopZvhQzzGoCIFgCT80k4Kev2pPNUs43t7vIdA4r8QDNzxXPbhXA0lY60X4npogOVZpz3vtl3Y5ZcPjFGxv_y9qBrdAmDfjbo_f14yNLmu82WNioEk4L2yKd0/s400/Iron_Maiden_-_Run_to_the_Hills.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsNs7BBcJbGU8DyH0VrxiopZvhQzzGoCIFgCT80k4Kev2pPNUs43t7vIdA4r8QDNzxXPbhXA0lY60X4npogOVZpz3vtl3Y5ZcPjFGxv_y9qBrdAmDfjbo_f14yNLmu82WNioEk4L2yKd0/s320/Iron_Maiden_-_Run_to_the_Hills.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Yes the white man came, across the sea, and brought them pain and misery...because, you know, they were already living in harmony and hadn't already been trying to slaughter each other for their land, food and women for the last however many centuries simply because the other injuns lived over the river and through the woods and not here. Doesn't justify shit, but face it - homo sapiens = bastards whether you have rifles or rocks tied to sticks.<br />
<br />
So the Europeans prayed to God and used him as a convenient conversion sham to conquer and when that had petered out they shrouded expansion under his will. The natives prayed to the Great Spirit or a pile of sticks or whatever and it did them a whole shitload of good. At least in Innsmouth they pray to Cthulhu and once you get past the fish transformation you get to live forever.<br />
<br />
So I found it kind of amusing when yesterday, at the office <strike>just stuff yourself and believe you have it good</strike> Thanksgiving potluck, a fellow of mine suggested "Let's have the biggest atheist here say grace." I snerked. That would have been him, because I'm still an atheist in denial holding on to what vestiges of his agnosticism can still get him by. But the reason I snerked was because he was standing behind my boss; a good guy, but a dyed in the wool Christian through and through. Which is probably why he said it.<br />
<br />
So when we had broke to eat, I suggested he try this at his table this Thursday:<br />
<br />
"Oh Universe, thank you for big-banging and expanding in such a way that your physical properties developed in such a way that I can experience and enjoy the life I have right now. But you can't hear or understand this, so why am I even saying anything at all..."<br />
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But alas, in the end, I will always be a sort of middle-of-the-road guy when it comes to beliefs. So enjoy the weekend in whatever way gives you the most benefit.Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-73236855109588630712010-11-17T00:11:00.002-05:002010-11-17T00:24:33.431-05:00Don't just write something...sit there!<div style="text-align: center;">..."What the fuck are you doing here?"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Not much, to tell you the truth. </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">So maybe you should write something.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I would if I had anything to write about.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">But this place has been idle for 9 days and you told yourself you were going to keep maintaining it better.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><sigh...> Oh, all right...</sigh...></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">It's amazing how you can get caught up in the whirlwind of the mundane, just doing shit as it comes. The problem is November. R'lyeh gets little done between now and <strike>Decemberfest</strike> I mean <strike>Hey Buy Shit It's Winter</strike> no wait <strike>Put the Porn Back in XX</strike>Xmas and <strike>Hey Let's Get Smashed On This Night That Happens To Straddle An Arbitrarily Determined Important Day</strike> wait that's New Year's (I'll keep that because I actually like getting fucked up once in a while) so in anticipation of that all the little shit that can wait until after the holidays gets front loaded so you have to deal with it all early when it can certainly wait until later. So you end up working long days on the relatively mundane and insignificant stuff that would be perfectly suited to occupying those first couple of hung over days back in the office. And in the process, you have little time for anything else like writing shit or reading what other people write. I thought maybe this would go somewhere, but it doesn't. So kill it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">Whatever. I wrote something. Can I go now?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">No.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">But I need to. I have to pack for a trip to Atlanta tomorrow. And I really have nothing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Fine. Whatever. At least you know your limitations, as mankind should. So just post a video or something.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/DIiArYI5ass?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DIiArYI5ass?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
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No, dumbass! Something with less talent. And more boobs. And big Flinstone puppets.<br />
<br />
Oh. Here y'go.<br />
<br />
<object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/JnrA6-bgkFk?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/JnrA6-bgkFk?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-4330240491981274852010-11-07T19:09:00.001-05:002010-11-07T19:12:52.450-05:00Barkeep! Prithee adimpleate me another homerkin of your finest ale!For tonight, I toast the Great Cthulhu's lordship over the icthyarchy! I beg your pardon? You refuse to serve me? Then you had best obarmate against my imminent pugnastics by which I shall immediately and impudiciously pudify thee in his great and terrible name!<br />
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No, "obarmate" does not mean to ruin the country, so you Tea-Tards keep that word off your signs.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://voxygen.net/images/2009/09/morans.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://voxygen.net/images/2009/09/morans.gif" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Besides, most of you are obarmated enough already!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.allinthefamilysit.com/images/gloria/openup%21.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.allinthefamilysit.com/images/gloria/openup%21.gif" /></a></div>Won't you please donate just a few minutes of your time, and <a href="http://www.savethewords.org/">save the words</a>?<br />
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(Heh, heh! I've finally figured out how to use "Randal words"...)Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312865765940195323.post-67314853685921989992010-11-05T20:48:00.001-04:002010-11-05T20:49:19.942-04:00Enjoying...<br /><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://blogpress.w18.net/photos/10/11/05/2211.jpg'><img src='http://blogpress.w18.net/photos/10/11/05/s_2211.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />...the night at the Verizon Center. It'd be better if the fucken' Bruins were winning but they apparently forgot how to shoot. And Thomas forgot how to block shots...<br /><br />Off for a weekend away after tonight. Back on Monday.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br /><br />Chef Cthulhuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06210754577326849812noreply@blogger.com2