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Archive of Thoughtlessness - February '03 |
| 02/01/2003 |
If you stopped by today hoping to read some snide comment about the Space Shuttle than I suggest that you build a time machine and track down the 19 year old Rodney Anonymous, because the 39 year old one has seen too much death to find it funny anymore. If you came looking for some perspective than here's what I've got. Never forget that that those poor souls aboard the shuttle were just doing their jobs. They were no different from you and I. The media loves to turn victims of tragedies into heroes. I think that this takes away their humanity. We're asked to believe that they sat there, stoically, saluting the flag as they died. I think that the truth is much more heroic. That, in their final moments, they hugged, cried, and wished for just one more minute of life. If you came here looking for something to distract you, I've posted a review of The Corrections . |
| 02/02/2003 |
Shuttles regularly plutonium! In fact, the next shuttle after the original Columbia disaster,(scheduled for launch in May, 1986) would have carried an unmanned spacecraft fueled with over 46 pounds of toxic plutonium. If that plutonium would've been dispersed in fine pieces it would've caused an estimated 950,000 lung cancer fatalities in Florida. If uniformly distributed, it could've induced lung cancer in ever person on Earth (kewl!) Tomorrow, I'll be posting the second short story in the "Celebrity" trilogy Brachman Takes The Wheel |
| 02/03/2003 |
 Last year, my nephew, Jeff, accompanied Vienna & I to Dracula's Ball. OK, I admit, I wasn't thinking about the atmosphere of debauchery that sometimes pervades the event and its possible effects on a 17 year old. Don't worry about Jeff, he danced with some models and had a blast. Anyway, at one point a woman came walking past Jeff and I leading a man in a tattered wedding dress on a leash. Jeff turned to me and said, "You, know, no matter how bad my life may get, at least I'm not that guy." Hey, I've posted the second short story in the "Celebrity" trilogy Brachman Takes The Wheel. |
| 02/04/2003 |
A few years ago, Vienna and I were in University City for a music conference. Vienna turned a corner to enter a conference room and plowed right into Phil Spector (Almost knocking him to the floor). We apologized and moved on. "Do you know who that was?" I asked. "No", Vienna said. "That was Phil Spector" "Who" "The guy who pulled a gun on the Ramones." "Wow, I better be more careful." Speaking of killer, check out the video for Johnny Cash's Hurt |
| 02/05/2003 |
H.L Mencken, who gets quoted on this site on this site way too fuckin' much (seriously folks, there are H.L. Mencken sites that have fewer H.L. Mencken quotes), defined a misogynist as "a man who hates women as much as women hate one another". I mention this solely because, the other week, I got a piece of hate mail (I've gotta start posting my hate mail. The only problem is that I just have trouble distinguishing between who's serious and who's just tuggin' on "little Anonymous") about the personals/ecards in which I was called a "missoginist" (it's called "spell checker"- look into it). True, there is a lot of implied violence towards women in the ecards, but calling me names (particularly misspelled ones) isn't going to make me take down the personals/ecards page (only boredom or a bribe could do that). No, this sorta thing just eggs me on towards new lows. Caterwauling harpies and gentlemen, I give you the newest personal/ecard. |
| 02/06/2003 |
Sometimes I don't know why I listen to NPR (maybe it's because I've never sent them a donation, so I feel like I'm getting free HBO, if you know what I mean). For every thought provoking interview and killer episode of Science Friday, you have to sit though thirty of the most retarded "Thought" pieces possible. Kinda like this site in some ways - in order to get the ecards, you've gotta wade through crap like the very paragraph that you're reading now. Only NPR isn't as honest as I am (and I'm a habitual liar). Most NPR "commentary" usually starts of like this: "My Webster's dictionary defines ______ as..." at which point we, the listeners, are treated to seven minutes of some old fart babbling on-and-on about how a word doesn't mean what it used to and how terrible that is. My friend, Dave Reckner, once responded to one of these pieces with "Wow, imagine that, language is dynamic... what an asshole." About a month ago, NPR hosted another idiot-fest when they featured a commentary by some nut-sucker who was upset over a recent study undertaken by some think tank (Think Tank - the words summon images of a smoky subterranean bunkers where men in $1,500 suits plan our futures.). It seems the think tank had discovered that the average ghetto-dwelling mother of a three-year-old child had the same number of words in her vocabulary as a three-year-old child in a middle-class family. No shit? They needed a study to find this out? For four hundred years, every time a black person even opened their mouth a little, they were either shot, whipped, or lynched. Now, all of the sudden, they need to be George Fuckin' Plimpton? Hell, Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X, and Tupac were all incredibly articulate - right up to the point where somebody shot them. I swear, if I was an African-American, my entire vocabulary would consist of just three words: "Fuck you, honky." Now you would think that the commentator / root vegetable would be spending her four minutes of valuable air time using this study to call for better schools/jobs/anything in urban areas, right? Well, the reason that you would think that is the same reason that you're able to take a piss without leaving a sizable puddle on the floor. You, unlike the commentator, are not a total dipshit. The commentator said that the report should be ignored because it would damage the self-esteem of the poor. First, who many crack hoes are reading these reports ("Damn, the Rand Corporation gots no love for me and mine."), or, for that matter, listening to NPR? Second, if this kind of information is bad for poor peoples' self-esteem, then we shouldn't acknowledge the fact that these people are poor. The next person who shows up at the unemployment office should be told, "What are you talking about? You have a job - a great job. Now go home and feel good about yourself." My Webster's dictionary defines fuckdiculous as a contraction of "fuckin' ridiculous." On the same day that this audio atrocity took place, I signed up for Dictionary. com's Word of the Day. I was using their translation feature to translate dirty words from English into Portuguese for a bit of "comedy" that I wisely abandoned, when I saw the Word of the Day offer. Initially I figured that with a finite number of English words out there (or an infinitesimally small number if you're a ghetto-dwelling mother of a three-year-old.), sooner or later, "Felch" would have its day (My Webster's dictionary defines "Felch-monger" as anyone at NPR who thinks that they have a snowball's change in Hell of ever seeing a check from me.). Each day, a new word arrived in my email. Then something weird began to happen. The words began to function as a sort of "Horoscope". On Tuesday January 28, the Word of the Day was "pule" - it means to whine. I bitched and puled all day. The Word of the Day for Friday January 24 was "scuttlebutt" - you guessed it, nothing but rumors all day. Don't believe me? Sign up. I dare you, honky! |
| 02/07/2003 |
Yesterday, Ronald Reagan turned 92, and if there's any justice in this world, he spent the day soiling himself and suffering from the most frightening hallucinations imaginable (which, in Reagan's case would no doubt involve gay Communists chasing him around the room with a burning American flag.) What? I'm being cruel? Compared to suffering of millions of aids sufferers - a disease that was initial able to go uncheck because of the Reagan administrations indifference to the disease (old bleach-face never once spoke publicly about aids) - the problems of the Great Communicate seem trivial. Reagan is the worst sort of charlatan. He promised the average American the chance to feel proud about his country again and then he and his cronies proceeded to dismantle our country for their own gains. The saddest thing was that the working class loved him - even as their jobs were being exported overseas. Many of you reading this are too young to remember the nightmare that was The Reagan Years. To you, Ronald Reagan is just an abstract boogeyman who traded arms for hostages, began ever sentence with "Well…", and used our tax dollars to hire psychics. But for me, and many like me, he represents the worst in America. Those people who wrap themselves in the flag while wiping their asses with the Bill of Rights. Hey, Ronnie, when you finally make it to Hell, say hello the Jerry Fallwell, James Watt, and, that little prick, Oliver North for me. Speaking of the day when Pops Reagan finally kicks the Teflon bucket, I plan to throw the biggest party/orgy ever to celebrate the occasion. Everyone in attendance will receive the following: 1 (one) copy of The Catching in the Rye (banned in many of what are commonly known as "The retarded states."). 1 (one) Photoshop altered picture of Reagan "getting to know" a donkey (yes, I see the irony). 1 (one) petition asking that Ronald Reagan NOT be burred on hallowed ground. Twelve (12) condoms in a pleasing assortment of colors. Don't miss it. I promise to get you laid. Hey, Life with the Poor Number 10 is here. |
| 02/08/2003 |
Hey gang, we're got I guest thinker today. Her name is Sabrina (her email address is punkrockbean@hotmail.com) and all I know about his is that she's a College student, which means that she's between the ages of 45 and 51 and was responsible for the horrible mutilation of a dozen prostitutes in London's West End during the reign of Queen Victoria - Rodney When Rodney first asked me if I wanted to be a guest thinker on the page, it's needless to say I almost had an aneurysm due to all the thoughts I wanted to include in my meager little paragraph. I was initially going to write about weather, because New York City is having a severe cold spell recently, and yet people still insist on wearing sandals/tank tops, and mini skirts. Fashion has no temperature - I tell you. Then I realized, hell, I'm writing something that will not only be seen by Rodney Anonymous himself, but I will be exposing it to a number of people from the same school of thought (whatever school that may be [Elementary School - Rodney]). Therefore, what better to write about than my fraudulent school?! Those of you who are still in school will writhe with empathy, and those who aren't will palpitate with post-scholastic middle aged nostalgia. And so I commence my expose on St. John's University, (as I sit on my blasphemous ass in Physics class composing my essay). Let me first exhume myself from any hypocrisy by saying that I decided to attend this *cough* school (if I can call it such), because honestly, if someone threw a gob of money at you and said, "Come to this school", you would too. (Considering the poor, Caucasian female that I am). If you are familiar with St. John's University, it's probably due to the notoriety of the basketball team - the Red Storm, who might I add, not only take college basketball by storm, but also take the school's budget by storm, but that's another issue. So coming to this school, I was fully aware that I wasn't anything close to Princeton, but it was passable, after all it is your run of the mill, generic "higher learning institution". Well, after 3 years of realizing that I had made the biggest mistake of my life, and "dealing with it", I was told I had to take a required theology class (that I was deliberately avoiding) in order to graduate, which only amplified my fervor for forging ahead - until now. So I was sitting in this theology class, lead by Father Pope himself telling us how we need to be good little Christian children and read the bible. He even broke out into Spanish to help all the "boricuas" relate to his sermon. (SPARE ME!!!) After 4 classes of hearing about how science is wrong, Nietzsche is an idiot, and the Adam and Eve story could be archaeologically proven - (HA!) - I had enough. I gave his infinitesimally small, close minded protuberance of a brain, the benefit of the doubt. Then I flipped. I stood up in front of the class of 50 people, disproved all of his pretentious, ignorant Pope induced theories, and walked out of the room. That was Tuesday. It is now Thursday, and we have a quiz due, asking us to regurgitate how Thomas Aquinas is a genius and every fundamental radical thinker (i.e. Darwin, Feuerbach, Nietzsche, Marx) were WRONG! So I am torn. As much as I want to prove to this little priest man that I am the reincarnation of Satan, a small part of me (exactly .001%) wants to conform, and just eat it. That's not going to happen. He will have to perform an exorcism on me and "save my soul", then give me a lobotomy and run me over with a Mac truck…..multiple times before I regurgitate that crap. Moral of the story: Oppose while you still have the energy…and for CHRIST sake, stop going to church and pick up a Nietzsche book. Thanks, Sabrina. Hey, bet ya' didn't know i did Tori Amos! By "did" I, of course, mean covered one of her songs - cornflake girl. Here it is. |
| 02/09/2003 |
 This morning, Vienna and I went to great flea market at a community center on 11th and Tasker. That's where I purchased the magazine that you see on the left. Yes, it really says "Gay Teen Ideas" - sadly, it was bereft of hot girl/girl action. Well, life goes on. I need to write more often about my life, here, in Philadelphia. I mean, you should've seen this flea market - half crap, have treasure and packed with South-Philadelphians having a great time. While we were waiting for the bus to return home, two people about half a block away starting hurling insults at each other across the street. They opened their front doors and starting cursing loudly enough that they could be heard above the traffic. Eventually, the cops but in a guest appearance and things quieted down. Meanwhile, in the suburbs, things remain deceptively quiet. |
| 02/10/2003 |
More snow falling on top of the snow that's been there since, I dunno, May? I swear, there are people living in Norway who've never seen this much snow. Its affect on the collective psyche of the people of Philadelphia is akin to inviting the entire city to view three back-to-back showings of Andy Warhol's Empire State. If the snow doesn't melt soon, then the police will never find Bunny's body. Speaking of which, I wish I could tell you all what I've got planned for the Secret History review, but - fittingly - it's a secret. I've updated the links. Just a few additions, no big whoop. |
| 02/11/2003 |
I don't ask for much out of life. A warm room with a wood burning stove. A good bottle of wine. A well-worn copy of the Odyssey. And this Hurdy Gurdy:  Hell, I might even stop calling Bush a pussy if he hooked me up with the things listed above. Hmmmm...probably not. Seriously. Bush is a pussy. |
| 02/12/2003 |
My father worked for the same steel company for like sixty years (Hey, I'm sure it felt like sixty years to him). Just as my dad was getting ready to retire, Bethlehem Steel bought out the company he used to work for. Bethlehem Steel has, of course, gone bust. Yesterday, I got this letter from my mother: Dad lost his life insurance so he no longer is worth more to me dead than alive. We lost our medical benefits, hospitalization, etc. effective March 31st. We still get 90% of his pension. I think the Government took it over - lucky us. We will be able to manage so don't start fixing up our room yet. They assured us this could never happen. I immediately went to the high school and told the students there is no American dream, to burn everything down. You were right, as usual. "...don't start fixing up our room yet." What room? I really wish my folks a lot of luck. They're gonna need it. 'cuz my two sisters and I have all the emotional stability of the Borgheses. PS.Happy Birthday, Gomit! |
| 02/13/2003 |
Obsessing over Ancient Greece I probably shouldn't have read Donna Tartt's The Secret History, because now I'm feeling the burning desire (well, something's burning) to learn Homeric Greek. Quit calling me a Fag and let me explain. Sometime between ninth and tenth grades, I decided I should go to college. This wasn't due to any great love of learning on my part (I was practically illiterate [It took me four years to make it through the Lord of the Rings trilogy] and mildly dyslexic). No, my yearning to attend college was most likely due to the fact that Animal House had hit the theaters that summer and college looked like a lot more fun than the steel mill. Imbued with the fervor that only a beer swilling John Belushi can inspire, I signed up for ILS classes. ILS stood (stands? Is it still out there?) for "Independent Learning Study", but the regular college-bound crowd referred to it as "I Learned Shit." They were wrong. I haven't done many smart things in my life (marrying Vienna is the only other one I can think of, offhand), but taking those classes was one of 'em. The class sizes were small (five or six students to a class. Those of you presently reading The Secret History will see the irony in that. Those of you who don't plan on reading it are, of course, 'tards - be gone from my sight.), and they actually prepared me for college by teaching me to work on my own (Many of the regular college-bound crown - because they were used to being spoon-fed and hand-held by their teachers - ended up dropping out during their first semester. Bwahahaha...I hated those fuckers.). Anyhoo, one of the ILS courses I took was a study of Greek mythology. We were assigned The Iliad and The Odyssey to read. Still, to this day, I can't quite adequately explain why, but my entire world changed. I actually read the assignments. I even raised my hand in class. This was all new to me. Now, this is gonna sound corny as shit, but I don't care - the only reason that I'm writing this (and, therefore, you're reading it) is because a blind poet, 2,700 years ago, had a couple of stories to tell. At one point I even tried to learn ancient Greek (no small feat for a semi-illiterate dyslexic.). Somewhere along the road between there and here, I dropped that torch. Not than any of you would've bought a Dead Milkmen CD sang in Attic Greek, anyway. I really need to pick that torch up again folks. Before I die, I need to read Homer's poems they way he intended for them to be read. I also need to buy cat food - but that's another story. I'm hoping to answer a bunch of your emails (the ones you sent to me, not the ones that you send to other people - lazy bastards) this weekend. I'm also hoping to post that Social Distortion piece. |
| 02/14/2003 |
 Slow Millionaire |
| 02/15/2003 |
Sorry about the lack of updates this week (What? No new Life with the Poors, Personal / Ecards or …um… other crap.), but I've been very busy. I spent all day today working on the third floor of Vienna's Grandmother's house. South Philly represent! Vienna got to go to the protest. I'm gonna grab a nap, then answer some emails and work on that Social D. piece. Maybe, if the blizzard hits hard enough, I'll get a chance to catch up. |
| 02/16/2003 |
My friend, Chris, attended Catholic school. When he was in fifth grade, his entire class was called in the auditorium and informed that there would be no Passion play that year. The reason? None of the fifth graders was good enough to play Jesus. Let's skip over the theological cans of worms that this statement opens up and move on. As punishment / inspiration the kids were then shown a film. The film began with a man and his three-year-old son horsing around at the breakfast table. The man then leaves for work and (this being "Take your child to work day" I guess) brings his son along. There are four of five work places that I can think of, offhand; where you shouldn't be letting your kids hang out. The venomous snake warehouse springs, immediately, to mind. The railroad and drawbridges are two others. The guy in the film was a railroad switchman at a drawbridge. Don't ask me to explain the set up, but this guy ends up having to make the choice between saving his son or a trainload of strangers. He chooses the strangers. As junior plummets to a watery death, these words fill the screen: "For he so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son"I'm no lawyer, but I think that Chris and everybody else, who was subjected to that film as a child, have pretty good grounds for a law suit. There's a thought-provoking treatise on Socials Distortion's Mommy's Little Monster in What To Listen To |
| 02/17/2003 |
Thanks to Mr. Snow Miser, I got to spend the entire day in bed. I'm gonna keep this trend going by having Bradlee Z. of skydaddy.com handle today's thinking. - Rodney During one year of high school, i packed away my clothes and bought a bunch of white t-shirts. I spelled out a different day of the week on each shirt with black, iron-on letters. On Mondays I wore my "MONDAY" shirt, on Tuesdays I wore my "TUESDAY" one and so forth. I conveniently prepared two sets and made a special one for gym class that said "GYM." At the time, my school district was deciding whether or not we'd have to wear uniforms, and I genuinely thought I was rebelling against the proposition with a tremendous demonstration. It was an average public school with average public people, whose below-average sense of humor caused me a lot of strife through the course of that year. I heard every conceivable comment regarding the exhibition on my chest. Everyone suggested that I mix up the shirt sequence to confuse people. Sadly, if confusing those people was my intent, jingling some loose change would have proved a simpler and more economical solution. I never once mixed up the sequence. I wasn't popular in high school, but people suddenly knew who i was... albeit, not by name. I was unofficially dubbed "The Monday Tuesday Wednesday Guy." I suppose that title fit, but whoever came up with it sold me short by omitting two days, and everyone said it condescendingly. There were spin-offs later on as students started making shirts with other words ironed-on, but I just kept on truckin' the whole year through. As my era of notoriety drew to a close, rumors circulated that I might bring a gun to school and shoot everybody on the last day. A GRAND finale, indeed, but the year ended without a hitch. I wore the appropriate shirt and said good riddance to the individualists, the rationalists, and all the horses they rode in on. Nobody understood it, myself included. It was my period of passive-aggressive-conceptual-art, and in hindsight, it's more of a confession than a story. I hope for time to heal this wound. Nevertheless, I sometimes run into people I went to school with, and they always greet me the same way... "HEY!! You're The Monday Tuesday Wednesday Guy!" I respond by assuming my most fancy, intellectual posture (left arm wrapped around stomach, right hand placed thoughtfully on cheek), and in lunging forward I shout, "HEY!! You're the guy who raped a girl at knife-point in the Cinemark restroom!" It takes the pressure off of me, and publicly defames the reputation of another useless cunt. That's two birds with one stone in my book. |
| 02/18/2003 |
Well, here's what happened to me today. I woke up at 5:00am and called the snow emergency line for the pharmaceutical company that I work for. We were open, so I got ready and trudged down to suburban station to catch the R2 to Wilmington. To add a bit of excitement to everybody's morning, the good 'tards at SEPTA decided not to announce when or where the trains would be arriving. By pure chance, I happened to get on an R2 (after climbing around three "Do Not Cross" barriers). "Does this train go all the way into Wilmington?" I asked the ticket taker. "Sure", he said. About a half-an-hour into the trip, the ticket taker reappeared and informed my fellow passengers and myself that we wound NOT be going to Wilmington - due to a Sate of Emergency being declared in Delaware (That should be the state motto. I would look great on license plates. "Delaware - A State of Emergency."). So we went to Marcus Hook (the Riviera of Pennsylvania) sat for awhile, turned around and came back to Philly. It was 9:00am when I finally got home. I took a nap with Vienna and spent the rest of the day watching Alice Cooper host Wrecking Ball (Not only did I get to see a guy knock a coffee cup off of a tree stump with a wrecking ball, but the show was a goldmine of album titles including "Summer of destruction.") and reading, aloud, the myth of Pyramus and Thisbe to the new cat. And then, at 3:25pm, I had an idea. RATYHTL (and, by extension, you) needs a patron God or Goddess! Think about it. What's the most rebellious thing that we can do? That's right, become Pagans (Not the motorcycle club - although my father has several friends in that fine organization.) It'll be great; we'll piss off right-wing fundies and lefty Atheists. Everybody'll hate us even more than they already do! But which God or Goddess? As much as I love Norse Mythology (I wholeheartedly embrace the concept of Ragnarok), we'd be looking at a landslide victory for Loki. Plus, I'm learning Ancient Greek, so I think we all knew from the get-go that it would be the Greek Pantheon. Ladies and Gentlemen, the nominees for RATYHTL's patron God or Goddess are:
OK, everyday, I'll be running an "Up close and personal" on each God. I'll also place a poll on the front page. Just think, in a few days, we'll all be followers of the same God or Goddess! |
| 02/19/2003 |
 Roman Name: VenusOccupation: Goddess of love Known Followers: Stippers, ex-members of 2 Live Crew, Bill Clinton. BABE ALERT! BABE ALERT! HOT, ANCIENT GREEK BABE ALERT! Hey, love-struck mortal, cast your eyes upon mighty Aphrodite. She's the Goddess behind such television shows as Joe Millionaire, Blind Date, and - oddly - The McLaughlin Group. Her theme songs include "Jungle Boogie" and the entire 1963-68 Motown catalog. Aphrodite's father is the big guy himself, Zeus. Her mother was…um…some sea foam. Use your imagination - you'll figure it out. The Goddess of Love is married to the God Hephaestus (Roman Name: Vulcan. Occupation: God of the forge. Known followers: Norm from The New Yankee Workshop.). She cheats on him with surprising regularity, sleeping with other Gods and mortals. Why should this psycho-girlfriend-from-Hell be RATYHTL's patron Goddess? Because she's a party girl. You won't find Aphrodite sitting at home on a Saturday Night. Hell no. If it's a wet t-shirt contest or some guy exposing himself in the subway, Aphrodite is there. Why shouldn't she be our patron Goddess? Well, she did kinda start the Trojan War (I'm willing to cut her some slack on this. Hera offered Paris some pot-holders. Athena offered him a set of encyclopedias, and Aphrodite offered him the most beautiful woman in the world. Not really much of a contest. ). And think about the most painful breakup that you ever went through - Aphrodite had a hand in that. PS. I'm amazed by the amount of email I'm getting about this God/Goddess thing. It seems that some of you are a little upset that some God/Goddesses were left off the list. Yes, I like Apollo - fine lyre player, but is it really necessary to call me a cocksucking communist just because he didn't make the poll? |
| 02/20/2003 |
 Roman Name: MarsOccupation: God of War Known Followers:Professional Hockey Players, Henry Rollins, Scott Farkas (He had yellow eyes, so help me, God - yellow eyes), and Russel Crowe. And now a little sumthin' fo' the laaaaaadies. Hey, puny mortal, meet Ares. He's the God behind such innovative Kung Fu moves as "the punch to the crotch" and "the two-fisted punch to the crotch." His theme song is the first four Black Sabbath albums. Ares is the son of Zeus and Hera. Ward and Juno (that's a joke, son) Cleaver they ain't.Zeus actually said the following to him: "Most hateful to me are you of all gods on Olympus, for ever is strife dear to you and wars and fighting." [The Iliad 5.890 - Yes, it's a bad translation, but what do you want? I never finished college.] His half-sister, Athena, also hates his guts, but his other half-sister, Aphrodite, loves him in that special way only Gods and hillbillies can understand. Why should this Olympian Eddie Haskel be the patron God of RATYHTL. Well, there's his troubled relationship with his folks. I think we can all relate to that. Plus, I've always admired his "Of course I'm violent - I'm the freakin' God of War, what do you people expect from me?" attitude. And if we don't pick him, he might just punch us all in the crotch. Why shouldn't he be our patron God? Because, even if we do pick him, there's still a 50/50 chance of a hardy crotch punching. Now I'm getting emails from old people who live in Florida and are having trouble with the God/Goddess poll. Many of them meant to vote for Zeus, but accidentally voted for Pat Buchanan. |
| 02/21/2003 |
 Roman Name: Minerva (WTF?)
Occupation: Goddess of Wisdom Known Followers: Ralph Nader, Camille Paglia, Alex Tribeck, Jimmy Carter, and The Boredoms 'Tardish mortals should avert their eyes now! The rest of you can meet Athena. OK, it's 2:23am on a Friday night and you're up watching "Boob Academy" on the USA network. There's a pretty girl in the film who wears glasses and keeps her hair in a bun. At some point in the film, the "loser" frat throws a huge party (I refuse to use the words "raging kegger"), the girl attends, takes off her glasses, let's down her hair, unbuttons the top three buttons on her blouse and - surprise - she's a pretty girl. Shit, Luther, we knew that from the get-go. Only now, without her glasses, she's gonna bump into things, and you just know that long hair of hers is gonna get caught in some heavy machinery. This is why the Goddess Athena never lets her hair down. This is also why she's not coming to any of your parties, drunken mortal. In order to understand the uptight behavior of this most complicated of Goddesses, we need to examine her origins. Athena has no mother. She sprang, fully armored, from her father's (Zeus) head. So the next time some baby-factory starts whining about the pain of childbirth, you can cut her off by saying "Oh yeah, try having a Goddess emerge from the back of your skull, you stupid cow. Oh, how I loathe you and your little no-necked monsters." There's no way around this next bit, so we'll just have to bite our lips and deal with it like mature, scholarly, adults - Hephaestus jizzed on her leg. Apparently, Hephaestus didn't quite grasp that whole "no means no" thing, Athena took off running but not before Hephaestus fired his cannon, so to speak. Disgusted, Athena took some wool and wiped the offending material (remember, this was before DNA testing) off her leg and tossed the wool on the ground. From this sticky wool and dirt mixture sprang Erichthonius who went on to rule Athens. All of this inspired me to write the following Greek tragedy, which I call "Hephaestus": Act 1, Scene 1 [Hephaestus sits upon a large rock. He looks sad and forlorn] Apollo [Enters]: Say Hephey, where's your spunk? Hephaestus: He's ruling Athens. The End. I'd like to digress for a second, and just say how badly I feel for Hephaestus. We all know I guy who ate snot in the third grade and was forever after known as "the snot eating guy." Bring up Hephaestus' name and what do you hear? "Oh, the God who jizzed on Athena's leg." I mean, it's bad enough that Hephaestus was lame (Zeus tossed him off of Mt. Olympus) and that his wife, Aphrodite, cheated on him, but just imagine trying to live down jizzing on someone's leg. Especially if that someone is way out of your league. Which brings us back to Athena. May scholars, usually when the cable is on the fritz, have speculated about Athena's sexual orientation. We all know about Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt and Xene, warrior princess, but what about Athena? Well, the truth is that Athena just isn't interested in anybody, male or female. Just like Condoleezza Rice! Why should Athena be the patron Goddess of RATYHTL? Well, there's always the irony factor. Having The Goddess of wisdom associated with an ex-Dead Milkman, is kinda like seeing Stephen Hawking hanging out with the Bloodhound Gang. Why shouldn't she be our patron Goddess? Doesn't she strike you as kind of stuck up? I mean, as stuck up as someone with jizz on his or her leg can be. OK, just a few more things. In exactly three months, I'll turn 40! Yes, let the partying start now! Even though I swore I'd never do it, I'm probably gonna add a Message Board to this site. Oh, the whole rent/movie page thing will be undergoing a major change. By the way, the God or Goddess that wins will be used to determine the future layout and direction of this site, so don't forget to vote! Philly represent. |
| 02/22/2003 |
 Roman Name: Bacchus
Occupation: God of Celebration (i.e. wine). Known Followers: Hugh Hefner, The staff of Barracuda magazine, Vienna Anonymous, and the Bush Twins. Who's to blame? Mr. Booze. Hey, pud-pounding mortal, meet Dionysus. His theme song is Party Time by 45 Grave and I can't believe that he's in third fuckin' place. Look, I don't want to sway the voting, but Dionysus is the God of Wine for Christ's sake - plus he has led a pretty interesting life. His mother was a mortal who was getting it on with Zeus. One day Zeus says "I'll give you anything you want". Dionysus' mother says "Wow, I'd like to see what you really look like." You see, up until that point, Zeus had only appeared to Dionysus' mother as fog. So Dionysus' mother wanted to make sure that it was the big enchilada himself that she was banging, and not just any ol' guy who could turn himself into fog. Anyhoo, Zeus says, "OK, but remember, you asked for it." The he appeared in all of his godly glory to Dionysus' mom, who promptly burst into flame, but not before giving pre-mature birth to Dionysus. Zeus naturally felt embarrassed about all of this so he place baby Dionysus inside his thigh for the next three months. And that's how Dionysus, even though his mother was a mortal, was later born as a God. Being a good son, Dionysus later traveled to the underworld and retrieved his mother. He took her to Mt. Olympus and now she's a Goddess. Yeah, I had trouble following all of that, too. Oh, and then there's this weird shit with the Maenads. The Maenads were female followers of Dionysus. Apparently these party chicks would get wasted and tear apart anyone who happed to stumble upon one of their parties. Is it just me, or are they not making women like they used to? OK, let's cut to the chase: Why should Dionysus be our patron God? Polyphemus: Who is this Dionysus? Is he worshipped as a god? Odysseus: Yes, the best source of joy in life for mortals. Why shouldn't he be our patron God? "This is the effect of your wine. It is a crazy thing. It sets the wisest man singing and giggling like a girl; it lures him on to dance and it makes him blurt out what were better left unsaid." Hey, I'm sorry that this got posted so late, but I spent the whole day hanging out with the other Dead Milkmen. No, no plans for a reunion show (actually I didn't ask, 'cuz I knew they'd say no). We were working on the DM DVD. |
| 02/23/2003 |
 Roman Name: Pluto
Occupation: God of the Underworld. Known Followers: Nick Cave, Cradle of Filth, Dr. Kevorkian, and Robert Blake. Hey, um…mortalish mortal, meet Hades. I've gotta tell you, even though I pass through his domain on my way to work, everyday, I don't know a whole Hell (pardon the pun) of a lot about him. Here's what I do know: Like his brothers, Zeus and Poseidon, Hades is the offspring of Cronos and Rhea. He owns a helmet that renders the wearing invisible. He loaned this headgear to Athena so that she could lay the smack down on Ares during the Trojan War. Despite the lack of information on Hades, he's been doing very well in our poll. In fact, until I opened my big mouth about how cool Dionysus is, Hades was in a tight race for first place with Athena. Why should Hades be out patron God? Because this site would look soooo f'ing kewl if it was dedicated to the God of the Underworld. Plus, where Hades lives is named after him. That would be like if Philly changed its name to Rodney. Why shouldn't he be our patron God? Well, to be honest, he's not the most exciting God in the pantheon.  Here's the poop on what's going on at RATYHTL: The message board is just about ready and it'll be up right after we pick our new patron God / Goddess - Don't forget, voting ends at midnight on 3/1/2003. No matter who will pick as a patron, the message board will, most likely, be dedicated to Athena, since it's the only section of this site that'll be a democracy. What To Rent and the Movie List will both be under going major changes. What to rent will now feature just one movie, instead of two, but you get a review of the movie. The new Movie list page will include short reviews of each of the films that were mentioned in What to Rent. Oh, and I promise to be better about updating the Coming Soon page. Oh, and I'm changing the text color to light grey. Easier on the eyes, I think. Let me know if I'm wrong. - Rodney |
| 02/24/2003 |
 Roman Name: Jupiter
Occupation: God of the Underworld. Known Followers: Hugh Beaumont, Bill Cosby, Screamin' Jay Hawkins, and Chris Mathews Hey toilet water drinkin' mortal, meet Zeus. Right about now, Zeus is looking down from his favorite hang out, atop Mt. Ida, and wondering what the Hell He's doing in last place. Meanwhile, in the other hang out of the Gods - Philadelphia, I'm wondering the same thing. Zeus only has a little over 1 % of the vote. You, gentle reader, almost tied him, and you weren't even on the poll. You know, every time I see a Tel-A-Thon for some disease, I ask myself "why don't they just have a Tel-A-Thon to raise money to wipe out death. After all, death is the big killer." Well, that's the way I feel about Zeus' showing in the poll. All of the Gods pay homage to Zeus; maybe we should just cut out the middle-man and worship him. Ya' know, no matter which God we choose, we're still going to have to pay homage to Zeus. I mean, his gotta be pretty pissed off about this last place thing. We'll be lucky if He doesn't rip our intestines out and let Michael Jackson do unspeakable things to our pets. Oh, mighty Zeus - whose shield is thunder - we're really sorry that you didn't get more votes. There's still a few days left so you never know…oh, sorry, you always know. Well, if you look on the bright side, now that we've decided to become pagans, you can look forward to a comeback. |
| 02/25/2003 |
Wow, this is the first chance I've gotten to tell you about what's going on in my life since I started this whole obsession with ancient Greece thing (which I'm still obsessing over). The big news is that I'm changing companies. Instead of working for a mega-corporation in Wilmington, I'll be working for a mega-corporation in center city - only eight blocks from my apartment, to be precise. This means that I'll be getting four more hours a day back into my life. That means actual time to work on music, update this web site, answer emails, and write a novel or two. But mostly it means more time with my wife, so, yes, I'm happy. I start on Monday. This site was posted on Portal Of Evil today. Apparently, it's some sort of jerking off club that's located less than three blocks from my apartment (and, therefore, less than five blocks from my new work place). The really creepy thing is that I eat at the Indian restaurant next to this place all the time, which makes me more than a little nervous about their "special" sauce. |
| 02/26/2003 |
OK, so I swing by Amazon.com, in order to find some good books on how to read ancient Greek, and I find this in my suggested purchases:  My first thought was "Wow, an Omen! This means we're on the right track - becoming Pagans." Then I thought "You know, this looks like my wedding pictures." Next I thought "No wonder Christians hate things like Harry Potter. I mean, how can they compete with stuff like this?" Finally, I thought Wow, an Omen! This means we're on the right track - becoming Pagans" again. |
| 02/27/2003 |
Since I'm changing jobs, I'll tell you a little story about a company I worked for a few years back: One day, I was in the cafeteria, strolling around with my tray, looking for a place to sit, when I noticed that one of my fellow employees was sitting by himself. I hate to see someone eating alone, so I sat down across from him and tried to strike up a conversation. "So, how's it going?" I asked. "Not so good," said my co-worker, "I'm hearing voices again." Again? OK, I thought, maybe he's just pulling my leg... "...And everyone I speak to, on the phone, is plotting against me." Holy sheep shit, this guy was for real - and he sat in the next row over from me. "Whoa, let's start at the beginning", I said. So the guy told me his story. Turns out that he used to be nuclear engineer, but his wife left him and he had a meltdown (I guess the power plant where he worked almost had a meltdown too. Shudder.), and they found him in the woods...in his underwear...in the middle of winter...in New England. Nowadays, I have a rule. If a co-worker tells me that they're hearing voices, I mention it to upper management. Back then, I was sans rule. Besides, he was a really nice guy, and he seemed harmless. We'll get back to him. Right now, I have to tell you about another co-worker. I didn't know about this next part of the story until about three years after it happened. A friend of mine who knew all the gory details finally broke down (but not like the other guy) and filled me in. It seems that one of the company's female employees was going through a messy divorce at about the same time that Captain Happy started hearing voices again. "Messy" is a bit of an understatement, it turned out that this woman's husband of twenty years was send money (hundreds of dollars a month) to a Dominatrix that he'd met - where else? - over the Internet. "He's sending money to this woman because she says she'll do the kind of sick things that I refuse to" the woman told my friend. "Um...like what?" What followed was a sorted tale involving frozen hot dogs that my friend, to this very day, refuses to devolve in full. Damn, him and his foppish ways! Anyhoo, Super-Loon hears about Mrs. Oscar Meyer's impending divorce and is suddenly smitten. Mrs. Tofu Dog spurns his advances; he goes off the deep end and has to be fired. Well, not so much "fired" per say. Actually he was arrested and lead away in a straight-jacket. You see, when he was told that his services would no longer be needed, he went into the hallway and pulled the fire alarm. The irony being that this place was so Spartan that they wouldn't let us leave our desks during fire drills. Three months after Mr. Voices-in-my-head was taken away to the enchanted kingdom, his pick up truck (which was cherry) was still in the parking. My friend suggested that we take it to a chop shop. Not only because we could get a couple of hundred bucks a piece for it, but also because he considered it "litter' and taking it to a chop shop would be "like recycling" it. Never say that my friends don't care about the Earth. Hey, regular reader (he eats a lot of bran muffins) Jay T. writes "Will you be putting up anymore e-cards? I like passing them around the office and my fellow co-workers like getting them. I have used them all." Well Jay, the newest ecard can be found here RIP Fred Rogers. |
| 02/28/2003 |
Well, today was my last day at my old job. What does this mean for you? Well, more updates to the web site for one. Lots and lots of updates. Updates out the wazoo. I'm also hoping to redesign the site. I'm hoping to have this place looking much better by my birthday. Since this came up at my farewell lunch, I'll mention it now: Whenever you see alien abducties on TV, they're always a hillbilly. If you were an alien, whom would you abduct? Nobel Prize winners? Super-Models? You'd think that toothless guys in NASCAR T-shirt would be pretty goddamn low on this - or would you? You see, my theory is that these so-called "aliens" are actually humans from the future - a future where the redneck is extinct. Most people don't realize that rednecks are the glue that binds our society together. Without farmers, there'd be no food. Without truckers, food would never get to the supermarket. Without rodeo clowns, bulls would run wild on our streets. Rednecks have traditional filled those jobs. Any society without rednecks is doomed. And that's why the "aliens" are here. The "aliens" are harvesting redneck DNA as part of a re-population program. As soon as they have enough to re-create the cast of Smokey and the Bandit, they'll leave us alone. In the mean time, it's open season on Bubba. And it's also mating season for Effie Sue. Hell, they've been taking ovum from Juliet Lewis for years. In other news: Hey, Fongo is pretty psyched about Dionysus' lead in the God / Goddess poll. In fact, he told me that, if Dionysus wins, he plans to get drunk in celebration. I heard Tavis Smiley on NPR today talking to Arsenio Hall like Arsenio was the freakin' Pope. Then, at the end of interview / indictment against mankind, Tavis start praising the movie "Coming to America" as one of his all-time favorite "films". Hey, Tavis - news flash - Coming to America sucks ass. Tune in tomorrow for the Book of the Month for March. The ride from work. Dave is blasting the Butthole Surfers on his new car stereo. I'm coming home to work in the city. Everything is right with the world. |
