Yearly Archives: 2007

Holiday Movie

Thom was pretty upset we did not partake in the annual holiday movie this year. In lieu of the normal video bacchanal, I made this. Much like Werner Herzog had divine inspiration to make cinema while walking in the Bavarian Mountains at age 14, I think I heard God(s) prior to filming Holiday Movie. In Herzog’s film, Even Dwarfs Started Small (1970), Herzog claimed to use a very special technique to get the actors to achieve their performances. The special technique would be immortalized in a Youtube viral video 27 years later, fulfilling the Herzogian prophecy that of all his films, Dwarfs would rank among the most celebrated. Thus, I likewise have employed a special technique with the actor in Holiday Movie. Unlike Herzog however, I am not at liberty to discuss my methods which are top secret.

Happy Holidays with much love, prayers of world peace, general happiness.

Sincerely,
Mike

Things forgotten

I remember some of the things that I used to love when I was a kid. Two prominent ones that have popped up recently in my life are long underwear and knives.

I bought a pocket knife. I’m always in need of something to cut open packages or whatever, so I finally just bought one at Target. I’ve used it so many times in the last week, it’s awesome. And it’s small. Again, as a child, I, like most boys, loved knives. I should have remembered those lessons learned as a kid.

I was cutting something in my office today (a string or something similar), and my female office mate goes, “You have a knife in your pocket?!?! That’s kind of scary!” Whatever. Comments like that show you exactly what is wrong with the world today. Yes, its a pocket knife. The blade is 2 fucking inches long. What the hell am I going to do with that? It’s actually useful to have a knife. Why have people become super-sensitive to this stuff?

I didn’t quite realize how cold your legs get in pants. Well, I realized it, but never really thought about fixing it. I got a bike recently to commute, and in case you haven’t noticed, its below freezing outside, so riding around in a pair of jeans just isn’t going to cut it. So I got ‘wicking athletic tights,’ which is just fancy speak for tights. They go right under your pants and they are made out of some material that supposedly dries really quick, so it doesn’t become a soggy mess when you sweat in them. Why we didn’t have materials like this when I played sports, I’ll never know.

Briefly, (ha, pun intended), long underwear rocks. We loved long underwear as kids.

War Without Sacrifice

By Elias Richarts

It took twenty-five years. Twenty-five years of merciless slaughter.

I rose all the way from second lieutenant to colonel in only seven years. That shows the appalling losses we were taking. The last seven years were the hardest. But little by little we pushed them back from Styx, Charon, and finally back to Proxima. We were closing in to finish off those fuckers and that damn message came through on all channels. I’ll never forget it:

“We are the Partisans. We wish to end hostilities. We wish to negotiate. Please respond.”

The message was relayed back to Allied HQ on Poseidon and we were given the order to halt. I couldn’t believe it. We had the bastards on their knees. But no, the politicians decided to take up their offer.

The Partisans, who had been so vicious in war proved to be remarkably docile in negotiations. All they wanted was a half-billion mile sphere of space around Proxima Centauri. The Allies could have everything else. After four hours it was all over.

And so the Great Partisan War ended.

Almost immediately the defense budget was cut in half. Most of the veterans who had been in the war from the start took the retirement offer and got out of the service. left. Those diehards like me who stayed discovered we weren’t really wanted anymore. I found that my colonel’s rank was only a “brevet commission” and I was reduced back down to a first lieutenant. And I stayed a first looey for fifteen years. Finally there were enough retirements that I was promoted to captain. They offered a new retirement: twenty-five years service and retire at the highest rank. This is my last year. I’m taking it. I know when I’m not wanted. And what about the Partisans?

Nothing.

For eighteen years there was nothing. Nothing but the Partisans’ homeworld racing around Proxima Centauri every twelve days, one side in light, the other in darkness. Blasted with enough X-rays to kill ten thousand human beings with one dose . And nothing was known of them. Like the ancient Japanese, suicide was apparently part of their military tradition.

For eighteen years they lay waiting like a cancer metastasizing. Waiting for memories to fade, for budgets to be cut, for Man’s attention to once again turn to new worlds and away from a feeble red dwarf.

But as the ringing in my ears subsided, I knew today was not going to be like all those other days of the last eighteen years.

For today was the day the Partisans came back.

It started like any other day. Just like any other day of the last eighteen years. I was going out on the flight deck on Neutral Zone 42. That was the outpost I was assigned to which monitored the treaty zone set up with the Partisans. They were allowed outposts too. They never built any. We built ours on asteroids orbiting Proxima. Cheaper than building them in space.

They looked at me with reverence and awe. A real live veteran of THE WAR. So I spun my tales and told them what they wanted to hear. I told them of past battles and past callsigns of fallen friends and how they got them:
Spanky (got caught jerking off in the barracks)
Dweezer (had a fetish over a 20th century musician)
Mr. Moto (Master of the Obvious)
Asshole (self-explanatory)

And what was my call sign do you ask?

Shrike.
Honest

Ok. Not orginally.

Originally it was Breeder.

Well what do you expect when you’re the only strate in the whole damn squadron?

But after I got 12 kills, after I nuked that Partisan heavy carrier with 40 fighters on it, after I put that 20 KT right down the throat of the refueling station on 3487a927G which, according to the official history, “opened the way for the final invasion”, then they finally let me change my call sign.
But they still wouldn’t promote me.
What the fuck?

It happened only once. I grabbed her tight little ass. I kissed her and then I pulled back.
“I’m sorry” I said.
“It’s Ok. I’m bisex.” She replied.
“Oh”
“Ohmigod. Ididnt know. Youra strate.”
“Frade so.”
“Wow. Thatz OK. I always wanted to make it witha het.”
WE made love like crazed weasels.

Yeah, right.

Now for the real story.

We were both drunk off our arses. We went back to my quarters. Made out. Did it. The whole thing was over in fifteen minutes. Two years worth of friendship down the shitter in fifteen minutes.

When I saw her this morning on the flight deck I noticed the sparkle in her eye was gone.

I’m sorry Jess. I’m so so sorry. But it’s the only way. Don’t you understand? It’s the only way. We can’t let that fucker get back alive. Who knows what they’ll do. Will they just send out another ship? Or are they gonna come at us with everything they’ve got? No, that sonofabitch has got to be destroyed. And we both took an oath Jess. We both took an oath that we would give our lives if need be. If you would just stop screaming in my ear. Please stop screaming that doesn’t make it any easier.

Then everything went black.
The flash brought me back to consciousness. I would have been blinded if I hadn’t put my blast visor down before…
Before I ejected.
Then I remembered what I had done.
Back during the war, an old Banshee mechanic had shown me a trick that saved my ass. He showed me how it was possible, by just rewiring a few simple nanoelectric circuit lines located next to the pilot console I could rig an overload in the Banshee’s reactor with a 15 second delay. Enough time to hit the switch and punch out. The 20 kiloton blast would fry or at least seriously fuck up any fighters that were on my tail. I used it once when my gunner had been killed and I was about to get my ass waxed.
I’m sorry Jess.

Then I checked my suit. There was a tear in my right arm. Moving as fast as I could I got the emergency repair kit and sprayed on the sealant. But it was too late. I checked the oxygen gauge. Seven minutes. It would take at least twenty for them to get a rescue ship out here. Guess fifteen seconds isn’t long enough.

I’m an atheist. The idea of God showing up as a burning bush makes me laugh. And if God didn’t want Adam and Eve to eat the apple, why did he put the fucking tree in Eden in the first place?

But I’ll pray for you Jessica Wu. I’ll pray for your immortal soul. It’ll be the only prayer you’ll get from the only person who knows what really happened.

Because the Partisan ship is destroyed. So they know not to fuck with us. We’re still ready for them. But Earth can’t let it out that the Partisans challenged us. That would cause too many problems. It would disrupt the colonization program, make them put more money into the defense budget, panic people. Bring back all those bad memories of the war. Open a real can of shit.

So they’ll bury it. Put it down to “pilot error” or some other such bullshit. An old guy, past his prime, fucked up, didn’t see an asteroid and boom.

The 2nd Partisan War ended before it began. And don’t worry about the casualties.

* * *

Download the story in Word document format [here](/content/other/1107/WarWithoutSacrifice2_finalCensored.doc).

The Hold Steady, Art Brut and the 1990s – 11.20.07, The 9:30 Club, Washington DC and 11.21.07, Terminal Five, NYC

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The Hold Steady, Art Brut and the 1990s – 11.20.07, The 9:30 Club, Washington DC and 11.21.07, Terminal Five, NYC

The 1990s have just completed their set and thrown their set list (written on a paper plate) into the crowd of Washington DC’s The 9:30 Club. A group of three girls directly in front of me have caught the plate and are currently giggling over their newly acquired treasure.

I’m given cause to wonder if the girls are even there to see the 1990s but rather to see the better known acts Art Brut and/or The Hold Steady instead. It is certain that for most of the audience the latter is the case.

It is no matter because the 1990s are rock solid. Singer/guitarist Jackie McKeown even manages to recover from having his fly down for the entire first song. Where many of the 1990s songs on their debut album, Cookies, sounded poppy, in their live incarnations, the songs take on a grittier, garage-rock sound. Even weaker songs like “Weed” prove to be compelling when played live. McKeown’s solo style, the centerpiece in the live rendition of “Weed”, is organic and dirty, perfectly suited to the band’s music. Drummer Michael McGaughrin’s strained backing vocals add additional richness to the songs. Frequently running out of breath, McGaughrin jokes with the audience after most every song. At one point McKeown remarks that the band must truly be a mesmerizing live act to a man directly in front of him who is talking on his cell phone. McKeown asks the man who he is talking to, and he replies “Taylor”. McKeown is sure not to forget Taylor, and when the band plays “You’re Supposed To Be My Friend”, he cleverly makes allusion to the cell-phone conversation in the lyrics. The standout song of the night, though, is “Situation”, which the band introduces as their last number. Before starting the song, they modify the statement by adding that the crowd needn’t worry because the song is a long one. Played live, “Situation” evokes an underlying darkness only hinted at on the album.

Continue reading The Hold Steady, Art Brut and the 1990s – 11.20.07, The 9:30 Club, Washington DC and 11.21.07, Terminal Five, NYC

Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band – The Magic Tour

Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band - The Magic Tour

Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band – The Magic Tour: 10.5.07 & 10.6.07 Philadelphia, PA, Wachovia Center; 10.9.07 & 10.10.07 East Rutherford, NJ, Continental Airlines Arena

Tim has always been good with his money. When I got in a tight spot two years ago on my rent, Tim spotted me. The long and the short is that although I am his older brother, I cannot ever recall lending the man cash.

Ever.

Even as kids, when the legal tender was candy, Tim had a savings plan. Only once, when Tim was age five or so, did he invest unwisely. Somehow I managed to convince him that nickels were worth more than dimes because nickels were larger. It was a devious scheme, and a trade ensued as did Tim’s eventual knowledge that he’d been had. Though I can’t prove it, I’ve always suspected that this event led to Tim’s decision that he’d never let anyone outsmart him again, let alone his brother. And so Tim went to Princeton, while I opted for a life of irresponsibility, quitting jobs working for oil tanker certification companies to take other more career-tracked vocations like selling Sierra Club subscriptions door to door. Three days into the Sierra Club wildnerness I quit yet again, this time to stay gainfully unemployed for months on end. When I went to Tim for money I wondered, was I borrowing because my boss at Sierra Club had ended all his statements with the word “sweet” and had a penchant for kick-starting the morning with DJ Shadow, or was Tim finally collecting interest on the nickels and dimes debacle?

So you cannot imagine the shock I felt when Tim ran out of cash and asked me to buy tickets for Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band’s October 9th show at Continental Airlines Arena in East Rutherford, NJ.

Actually. I embellish. I wasn’t shocked in the slightest.

There will only ever be one time in Tim’s life when he runs out of money. These rips in the time-space-continuum will somehow always involve Bruce Springsteen. When I saw the show with Tim on October 9th, Tim had, of course, already seen Bruce on his two previous stops at Philadelphia’s Wachovia Center on October 5th and October 6th.

Like any sort of fandom, being a disciple of the Church of Bruce is impossible to explain. To significant others, friends, co-workers and taxmen, you are a freak no matter how you cut it. In fact only one type of person understands. The nut in the bandana beside you who has also seen the Boss every date of the tour so far and at the rehearsal show in Asbury Park.

Of the two shows at the Continental Airlines Arena, the October 10th show was better, perhaps because we had general admission tickets that night. The standout song from the set(s) was Nebraska‘s full band and bullet-mike rave-up of “Reason To Believe.” Par for the course, the show was “magic”. And if the Boss adds more dates after the European leg of the tour, I’ve got good “Reason To Believe” that Tim may be running out of money in the New Year, too.

Click here to see photos from the show.

The Dragon Flag Board

I’m into bodyweight strength exercises.

While this probably stems from my martial arts background, it isn’t because I believe there is some magical difference between using free or machine weights versus bodyweight. In fact, I’m going to guess that using a complete set of free weights is “better” than using bodyweight, in terms of workout input and gain output. The problem is, those aren’t the only factors.

My interest in bodyweight strength exercises solidified when I read The Naked Warrior, by Pavel Tsatsouline, a former Soviet Special Forces instructor. While the guy is may be a little nuts, he brings up some good points; gym weights, are great but, as he notes, unless you live a life with the predictability of a house plant, they won’t always be available.

What it all boils down to is a regimen of doing 2 exercises: the pistol squat and the one-armed push-up.

The results have been good, and, while one-armed push-ups can work out your abs quite a lot, I’m ready for the next level: the dragon flag

Click here for a youtube video demonstrating the dragon flag

So, here is what I’ve constructed for myself, a dragon flag board.

Dragon Flag Board

I’ve been meaning to make it for a while, but I just got a little store credit for returning a lid-less trash can to Home Depot, after using the lid to make a shield, completing a costume of King Leonidas from 300.

SPARTAAAAAA!!!!

Return policy abuse, you might suggest, but maybe someone at Home Depot should have thought of this before refusing to sell me just the lid.

Anyway, the board works by laying yourself on your back, with the bulk of the board under your torso and your head between the handles. You can then grasp the handles and it will support leg lifts and dips. And, it slides nicely under Gus Gus and Buster‘s table when I’m not using it.

I figured, with plenty of athletic experience between us, some sort of weight training post was going to come up. I’d like to hear sometime what anyone else does. Maybe Tim could give us a rundown on his hulkening sessions.