It Finally Happened...

I have had my moments when I have missed the city. When I have thought it would be nice to be sitting in the bar with my friends until the wee hours and then trudging back to the Q Train so that I could get home to my cold little room. I have had these moments a few times a week. But something all together different happened the other day. I truly missed the city. That uncanny pang that calls you elsewhere... I was watching the Chappell Show and it was the episode where Talib Kwali was the musical guess. It was filmed under the Brooklyn Side of the Brooklyn Bridge. It was an odd sensation. This would have been the end of it if not for the movie that came on right after it. It was called "Adrift in Manhattan." I was later informed that the movie itself was crap but the opening credits were sent against the back drop of scenes of subway stations and the trains themselves in transit. The trains (aside from the Q at Atlantic Avenue between 12:01am-5am) were one of my favorite aspects of that sojourn north. It had never happened until that moment. And to the few of you who want to say "I told you so..." Maybe, we will see. Until then I have my job working with schizophrenics and the scent of the summer in decline

This is not me...

I appreciate all of you who have written in confusing me for this young man. *Blows Kisses To The Crowd*

My job...

So I am on my third day of orientation for work. I am a service coordinator dealing with deaf children who also happen to have behavioral issues. This means that they get violent. I am not going to say that I have the best jobs in the world but I do have interesting ones. For instance, for this job I have spent the last two days learning how to take down violent kids without hurting them. Most of which revolves around the P.R.T. (the Primary Restraint Technique). It looks like this.
There are also ways to break holds, take kids to the ground, and deflect punches/kicks. This might be the job I need so that I can take down E in a one on one battle. Prison vs In-Patient Rehabilitation Centers. Texas vs Arkansas. Whitman vs Rorty. Truly monumental. I still think he would win. But that is another issue. The job itself will be good for me. I like kids. I am patient with them and they are always good for a laugh. I also have to admit that the circumstances will lend themselves to my less than bright and sunny shiny sense of humor. I will let my loyal readers know how it goes as it unfolds.
I want a dog.
My roommate bought a gun.
Lots of rain today.
Been thinking about the City a lot. Was at a party the other night where someone had a huge aerial photograph looking south from the Flat Iron building. I did not have to count very long before I found 14th and 5th and that hideous building that I have been buzzed in so many times. I need to come visit. But money first.
Have started running as I am fat. This is a good thing.

Saturday Morning...

I feel that if my hang over's where a sensation that I could impart to others I would be the thing of legends. Today is one of those days I would make you make me a legend. My insides are reeling. My brain feels dehydrated and rusty and yet I am up doing laundry and taking care of dishes. I am out of BC Powder and can't find my ibuprofen (probably stolen by one of the swine I call either friend of roommate). So, i make do with what I have. I chase a multi-vitamin with a limeade/metamucil concoction and chase all of that with water. Water. Water is the sure fire hangover cure. I hear old wives tails and the urban legends of college students about how to cure a hangover. A hangover is essentially being dehydrated so you must fix this first. Rest in a cool dark place and plenty of water (and codeine if it is to be had) are the way to fix hangovers.

I start work monday. It has been a heinous endeavor thus far. Friday I had to do all of the prefatory work. I am not talking about your I-9 or picking out what size of shirt you need. I was violated for the sake of being paid. I got a drug test, a tb skin test (which involves a needle if you don't know), and a long wait in a small cold room in my boxers and converse with nothing to read but redbook that terminated in be being told to drop said shorts, turn my head, and cough. You can guess what the doc was doing at that time. I would CYA measure by my employer to make sure I would not cost them big bucks in the long run for having cancer or by turning out to be some drug addled fiend that eats children, corn on the cob, and finishes it off with a hit of hash and a long cool pull from a glass of the blood of infants. So, my future employer, now that you have violated me you should know I am fit for work! Not to the glue factory with me just yet!

Redbook (and yes this is the issue I read) is no consolation for being groped (and not in the good way)

And now a shower while listening to Glen Gould's Bach's Goldberg Variations. Might clear my muddled head.

Considerations...

Death: Did you hear that Bush was condemning Russia for invading a sovereign nation?
Dream: Yeah.
Death: That's rich isn't it?
Dream: ...

Considerations...

Dream: Did you hear about Georgia?
Death: Yeah. I am not worried about it. Cultural politics will bring a peaceful resolution to all of this.
Dream: What? Are you retarded?
Death: HA! GOTCHA!
Dream: ...

Up Early...

So I got up early to go to the DMV. I have an on-going point of contention between me and the state concerning getting my vehicle registered: I want to do it and they act like the would prefer me not to.
But this is a great day to be up early even if it has begun with the bitter brew of bureaucratic bally-hoo. The days of rain have rendered this morning cool, dewy, and bright. I think I shall make some coffee.

Resistance...

You leave the dishes for a few days and nature gains a foothold.

Google Maps Street Imager

It finds weird things on accident. (This image from a suburb of Little Rock, AR)

Some News From Mike Huckabee (or more good reasons we should thank our lucky stars he wont be president)

So former Arkansas Governor and republican presidential hopeful took some time out of his busy schedule to talk about why he won't work for a McCain administration.

If McCain wins and offers you a position in his administration, would you consider it ?

No. No way.

Why ?

Why would I want to do that ? What possible reason ? I’m gonna have a good life out here in the private sector. Why would I go back to telling everybody in the world how much money I make and being limited to what I can make and living in a very expensive city and barely surviving to have some obscure Cabinet post and have some 20-year-old from the White House telling me what I’m gonna do ? Thanks but no thanks. I have better things to do with my life.

So children what does this tell us about the Huckster? He believes in himself over public service. He likes to make money. He likes to keep it a secret how much money he makes. And he would not like to work for the leader of the free world. What an ass and as my mother always said, "Good riddance to bad rubbish."

Things I Buy That I Shouldn't.

So I went to a comic book convention yesterday. Imagine how depressing and crazed a large, reputable comic book convention is. Now think of it being really small in a moldy conference room at the Downtown La Quinta Inn. That all being said. I geeked out hardcore and purchased a few things. That money could have been spent on paying down student loans or taking are of rent. But hey, it is better than blowing cash on booze. Right?
Ignore the things at the top. But yes, that is issue one of "The Dark Knight Returns," all three issues that make up "The Dark Knight Strikes Again," and the single issues of The Sandman that make up "The Wake" and "The Kindly Ones." It is awesome. I am a dork.

Raining on Sunday...

So it has been a hell of weekend but not really that great in some respects. I was in a bit of an accident on Friday. A large SUV (and I mean even in comparison to my vehicle this thing was big) was looking as though it was going to crush me from behind so while I was looking over my shoulder I did not notice the stopped traffic in front of me. I hit a vehicle in front of me. I am still shook up over it. Not because of what could have happened to me but what could have happened to that vehicle in front of me. My vehicle was much larger than their's. If their is such a cosmic force as luck it did just about all it could for me in this instance.... Except stop me from hitting that car in front of me. No ticket. No injuries. All I need now is a new hood.

Went swimming yesterday. That was nice. I got pretty drunk and passed out on a couch for a while. I woke up in time for sushi. I love white tuna. But this is all pointless.
Now it is raining and cool. A week ago it was 100 degrees. Now it is 69. I have the front and back door of the house wide open to circulate the cool, clean air. What could be better? Oh I know....

I had another dream in New York last night. Not so much about New York but I dreamed that everything transpired there. Some of you were there as well. I will not name names here. But it was nothing exciting. That is just such an odd sensation. When I was in New York I used to dream in the Natural State. What have traded?

"I can't make her eyes light up no matter how hard I try," said the painting in my dining room.

The New York Times at Work...

This was at the end of an article about the new Hunter S. Thompson biography. I found it amusing.

Correction: August 3, 2008
An article on June 29 about Hunter S. Thompson described incorrectly the context for a quotation by his widow, Anita Thompson, in which she said he was “surrounded by leeches and hanger-on-ers.” She was referring to the early 70s, around the time that Mr. Thompson covered the Ali-Frazier fight in Zaire; she did not mean at the time of his death.

Correction: August 10, 2008
An article on June 29 about Hunter S. Thompson described incorrectly the context for a quotation by his widow, Anita Thompson, in which she said he was “surrounded by leeches and hanger-on-ers.” She was referring to the early ’70s, around the time that Mr. Thompson covered Muhammad Ali’s boxing match in Zaire; she did not mean at the time of Mr. Thompson’s death. And a correction in this space last Sunday misidentified Mr. Ali’s opponent in that match. He fought George Foreman, not Joe Frazier.

Friday Afternoon Folderol

Hunter S. Thompson on Conan a few years back.

For the NSSR Philosophy Crowd

Things you discover when you do an Amazon.com search for Critchley:

I need more things to do with my time...

(Rorty and America) and other bull shit rantings on a rainy day...

I have attempted to find thinkers out there that share my faith in democracy. These are surprisingly hard to come by if one digs down deep through rhetoric and theoretical mind games. Rorty is one of these thinkers for me. I have dedicated the summer to reading more democratic things (if we exclude the unthinkable amount of Batman comics I have read and there may even be a case here). One of the book I am reading to this end is Rorty's Achieving Our Country. It is a great book. It is a passe thing these days to right about pride in one's country (unless you are from another country living in America) or maybe it is simply unthinkable these days to be proud of being an American. Though I see Michelle Obama's point. Rorty started his book with the words, "National pride is to countries what self-respect is to individuals: a necessary condition for self improvement." A point well made and a point well taken. Those of you who know me or have heard me rant from atop a bar stool know of my pathological love of the American Pragmatic tradition. I am sympathetic with almost all of it: its democratic ethos. Its distrust of epistemology, the correspondence theory of truth, and metaphysics in general. Its embracing of flux and change. Its belief that things can be made better and that we must stop wasting time. I suppose that in all of my rantings against philosophy it is precisely pragmatic philosophy that fuels this ranting and at the same time my own thoughts that come to me when I am in the midst of doing something else. I suppose we must believe in what we are doing and know that in doing so that we can affect change. This goal cannot be separated from time and place in my mind. The pragmatic spirit has a thorough going American spirit in it. That is where my goal comes from and returns to I suppose. I modest and delusional goal perhaps but mine none the less.
"To say that the United States themselves are essentially the greatest poem is to say that America will create the taste by which it will be judged. It is to envisage our nation-state as both self-creating poet and self-created poem." -Richart Rorty

What I want to be when I grow up.

Scottish Summer...

I remember going to Scotland. Not that this is hard. But I remember how cold the rain was and how it blew at your back. I remember going to my cousin's wedding one august and being so blown away by how cold the rain was. How gray it was. I loved it. Today is one of those days.

It makes me listen to Radiohead's "Climbing Up the Walls" on repeat. I know, how emo.

Another commment on markets...

For S. and for all of us.

Scroll down to Still President Bush - His Not Yet Legacy: Language

What the fuck IS a market anyway?!

Ok, so the word "market" (as an economics term) is one that is frequently used in such a way that drives my blood pressure through the roof.
This morning I was listening to the Diane Rehm show (that warbling fox) and she had a panel discussing Obama and McCain's energy strategies. They were discussing government incentives to push the auto industry towards hybrid technology. This got one guy (I am guessing he was the Cato Institute guy) all up in a tizzy. "How do we know that hybrid technology is the best way to power our vehicles? Why should government dictate the market? The government doesn't know what is best for the market!" All of this said very aggressively. Then the phrase "Central Planning" was dropped as if tax incentives and cafe standards where the same thing as Soviet style farming in the Ukraine. Fuck ALL!!!
My question is this: Who the fuck does the market think he or she is? And more over what the fuck is the market. Stalwart right wingers talk about the market like it is some wise thing that hangs out on the penis tip of Manhattan and makes important decisions. Like it is a sentient being! Where does it live? Can I just call the market up on the phone? Can I send it mail or a christmas letter, "Dear Market. Well another great year at the Smith house is coming to a close. Little bobby discovered buggery" And so on and so forth....
"The Market." As far as I know it is a name for a bunch of things all bundled into one phrase. I know that the market does not solve. I know that regulation of the market protects people. Allowing the market to do as it pleased does not work for the best interests of all. Look at the sub-prime disaster. The government created a mood on Wall Street of "you guys do whatever you want no worries!" See where that got us. History provides numerous examples.
But what do I know? I will never own a home now.

Tha' Bitch...

So I said in an earlier post that I had bought a vehicle that catered to my bubba shit side of things. And here it is.

My friend nicknamed her "Tha' Bitch."

1993 GMC Sierra with 61k miles on it. New tires. New stereo. I even bought a gun rack for it. Just for shits and giggles. I do not not own a gun... yet....
I am still wrestling with the environmental impact of such a vehicle. I am going to be working 6 blocks from home. I do not really need to drive anywhere. But having all of my friends being in flux someone always needs help moving. The gas mileage is not terrible (thanks to the V6) and it is actually better than the early 90's volvo I was going to try to buy.

In other news I am writing a lettter. A very long one and I am fucking stoked about it. The recipient of this letter reads this fluff I call my blog so I cannot go into too much detail. Let us just say I am relishing the experience. The practice of writing letters is almost a lost one. It feels good to let one's ideas cook in the post. There is also a sense of finality with letters. Once it is on paper and mailed that is that. There is a hard copy record. You write in pen and there is no erasing. Their is no spell check aside from your own competence with a writing accutrement. Mine own competence is lacking in some parts if you have not noticed. But I must get on with this...

Detoxing...

So I have been a bit hard on myself of late. Too much drink. Not enough sleep. Other things. And bad food. This changes today. I am detoxing. What does one need to detox in classic DRF style? Well, I am glad you asked Terry....
I have taken to spending a day in the quiet. No talking. Music is allowed but I will stick to classical. I have a collection of Carl Nielsen that I have not listened to all the way through so that is how this shindig gets off the ground. Symphonies number 1&6. Great stuff. Next water. Lots of water. Juice: orange and lime. None of that from concentrate business either. And lastly metamucil. Now, I know this intimates all kinds of things but it is good for getting everything out and getting one's cholesterol under control. Ah, even as I right I have finished Nielsen and have now moved on to Mozart's 40&41 symphonies. 41 was his last and called the Jupiter symphony for anyone who reads this and didn't know and gives two and a half shits. But back to the task at hand. On top of that I have a few tangerines I am going to eat. A trade paper back of Transmetropolitan to read. Some zyrtec for my sinuses (which are fucked all to hell). And some letters to write. A good friend of mine from the city sent me a package that I got today. I have already cracked out two pages simply about receiving the package. More to follow through out the day. I also need to clean this damn house. Being in a house by one's self has its advantages but also its disadvantages. Oh well, lets get everything cleaned...
"To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight"-Excerpt from the Boy Scouts of America Oath (two outta three aint bad)

There is nothing like a long night time drive to examine one's life. Had one of those today. I had run up to my old college town to see a buddy of mine. He's a veteran (tour in Iraq), married, owns a house, couple of vehicles, and is a contractor for the natural gas company. He is a happy man. The old town is good for some people. But not for some other people. It had an uncomfortable almost hostile feel to it. It oozed the sensation of not belonging. Of being past it. Of being to old to be running around at night. It left me slightly ill at ease. So I went.
I-40 is a 2,559.25 mile long stretch of interstate running from Barstow, California to Wilmington, North Carolina (i.e., across the whole damn country. I utilized about 27 miles of it for the ride. So with the windows down, Radiohead's The Bend's blasting, and chomping on a cheap Clint Eastwood looking cigar I took off home into the night. I had my 4 years in college. They were great. I had my two years in the city. They had their rough moments. But now here I am. But being in that town tonite give me the sensation of being past it. Not necessarily like bad cheese or old cabbage. Just that it is time to start closing doors. Or even more unsettling that there are doors that closed and you sure as shit didn't close them and now you couldn't go back through them even if you wanted to. You reach a certain age and their is just no going back. This is not say that one has to fucking get a job in a cubical, a midsize 4 door with good gas mileage, and a ranch style home. But certain things are now simply not allowed.
So there I was. After I while I put on this mix I had with the Talking Head's "Once In a Lifetime" and simply listened to David Byrne interrogate my thoughts. It was one of those moments where you really thought about whether you had simply wasted vast sections of your life. I have wasted some of it. Drunk. Reading comic books. Watching TV on DVD. Sleeping. Reading Harry Potter. Walking. Driving. Talking. And then there are the parts that I don't remember and I am sure I did some pretty wasteful things their... and some other things to boot. So there I was. Driving. Thinking about......
But, I am glad to be back where I can put those thoughts aside. Crack open a cold beer. Listen to Neil Young. Watching the days go by...

And you may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right? ...am I wrong?
And you may tell yourself
My god!...what have I done? d

Like That...

Ok, what the fuck is this!?

Soda.
I like soda. I am ok with Obama. I do not understand this. I wonder if McCain soda tastes like butter mints, depression era woes, and other such things.

Mischief managed. Hangover ensues. The one thing I do like about my hangovers is that it makes water taste sweet. Lying here in the cool (it is already 100 outside) reading Transmetropolitan. Good shit. A little over the top. I've read Hunter S's books. But hey, its fun.

Problems...

a)I think a good indicator of an individual is what they have problems with. I was taking a shower and saw a huge cockroach on the ceiling. This did no bother me at all. I blew some air at him so that he knew that I knew I was there. He shivered and then just stood there. People have problems with all kinds of things. I am not sure what things I have problems with other than flying. I do NOT have a problem with bugs, dirt, the cold, binge drinking, the dark, etc. I actually kinda like some of those things. Binge drinking and I are not friends but we send each other christmas letters.

b)calories should not only be consumed in liquid form...


c)party+mischief inclination+beer=?
Lets find out the hard way.

Friday Stuff...

It is a curious sensation if you can isolate it. It is easy and subtle but it is amazing.
These days are hot down here. And I do not mean hot: I mean hotter than hell. The daily highs have cracked 100easy since monday. The evening provides little relief. Spending any time out in it (or in inadequately air conditioned inside) well drain you of fluid. I take off my black shirt and you can see the white ghosts of deposited salt in contrast to the dark material. I drink lots of water but many days it is just not enough. Today was one of those days. I came back to the house. Turned the AC on. Poured a glass of the good stuff and showered. If you have ever seen me drink beer you know how I can take it. That is how I take water. I need to do it quick so that the feeling hits me quick. Turn the shower to freezing. Let every dried out muscle in your body contract into cold leather. It is like turning every bolt you would ever imagine your body possibly to have instantaneously. You drink three, four, five mason jars of water. Then you lie down. If you time it right your muscles will go slack and rehydrate simultaneously. It is a curious sensation if you can isolate it. It is easy and subtle but it is amazing.
Today is one of those days. Everyone is out of town or hiding from the heat. All else be damned. The house, the neighborhood, the city (and this city allows itself this luxury) shuts down. The cicadas are the only thing about. This generates the omega man feeling. The only person left. Just me and whatever is left when we snuff it. It is melancholy and stealing feeling but it leaves me feeling like I should get into some mischief. For some reason this goes with that sensation...

And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful
Wife
And you may ask yourself-well...how did I get here?

D. Byrne knows best. Or does K. The Frog?


Well, mischief it is. But first two things:
1)"Normal people"-My learned colleague e said something about them. I still like them. Who should we really be leery of?
2) I bought a truck today. It is bubba as fuck. It is sweet as fuck. Pictures to follow. I think I need a gun rack and maybe a gun to go in it.............

A Weekend of Possibility...

So, today is friday and even though my schedule has not quite settled into a routine so that I would technically notice that it is friday I have noticed. It is just the feel when you wake up that the weekend is upon you and that mischief is afoot. I am probably going to buy a vehicle today. I have the cashed tucked into a book. I can feel it radiating. The book is not one you might expect. Mr. Dewey or Rorty has no business holding on to cash like that. It would sully them I think. The vehicle itself will probably only further reveal my predilection for what my good NYC friend K calls "some of that bubba shit." And he is probably right but it also misses the point of the whole thing too....
I am trying to decide what to do with my weekend. I have a bookshelf I need to build and my backyard needs some maintenance. I also have some grub in the fridge that has to get eaten before it goes bad. I think first though I will eat a tangerine. Even our fruit these days comes so easy to use, so unnatural (as seen here).
But cutting apples up to look like french fries and selling them at Burger King is just one more thing I find out in the world I do not understand. I was in Target yesterday and thought I was going to have a panic attack. And it wasn't heinously obese people or the flagrant consumerism or even the bad lighting. It was the overwhelmingness of the whole thing/the Unheimlichkeit of it all. It was all just too much for me.
Needless to say I will not be at Target this weekend. I could do this...

Kinda reminds me of E.
Or I could just listen to Whiskeytown and drink too much. Who knows.