Saturday, July 29, 2006

Big Questions With A Ring Ding

Putting things into perspective is potentially very hazardous to one's ego and sense of well-being. It's alternately satisfying and deeply disturbing to set down your picnic basket, have a Ring Ding, and think some big thoughts. You don't want a Ring Ding? Well fuck you, because that's all I brought with me.

Now take a moment and suck in just how tiny and insignificant is a single human life. The age of the Universe is estimated at 10 billion years or so, and the Earth is about 4.5 billion years old. Human beings have been toolin' around for about 250,000 years. I don't know about you, but I can't begin to comprehend the amount of time we're talking about. I get impatient waiting for my Hot Pocket to heat up in the microwave.

Now there's a fucking vile produce...a Hot Pocket. If I had any self-respect, I wouldn't know what it's like to heat up a Hot Pocket because I wouldn't go near them. But I digress.

Last I heard, we were approaching a population of about 7 billion people. That's the number that gets me. It's too many....knock it off. And pretty soon we'll have robots and clones to deal with. There just aren't enough parking spaces or Hot Pockets for everyone. I was surprised to learn that there is possibly as many as 100 million unnamed species on the planet; we've classified about 1.5 million of them. Naturally, most of them are single-cell creatures or insects. But there's got to be a subterranean, man-eating worm or C.H.U.D in there somewhere. Or perhaps an invisible bigfoot. This is just science, folks. Human beings are cutting down on the variation out there by wiping out about 25,000 different species a year. And if one of them is an invisible bigfoot, we'll never know. Think of it.

That's not going to help, though. The damage is done. I'm an educated man, and I'm inescapably aware of how meaningless and trite is my life. As I said earlier, this knowledge can be satisfying. I'd rather not draw from the Christian lexicon and talk about guilt, shame, judgment and omniscience. Eternal life? Feh! I don't know what the hell to do with the 70 or so years I have to spend now. Imagine playing kick-the-can with Jesus for a billion years. And that's the best possible scenario for Christians! According to them, most of us will spend eternity getting our asses kicked by some fucking thing literally designed to make us as miserable as possible. And you can forget about going to the movies or taking your significant other out for dinner. No, that's out. It's all pain and heat and teeth-gnashing and severe pitchfork pokage.

So from that perspective (and it's all about perspective), I'll take the nugatory, jejune life among the billions. And with apologies to all you theists out there, the sky-king concept just doesn't make any sense at all. Deep down you know it doesn't.

On the flip side, why can't I stop the hideous self-loathing and enjoy the time I have? It's all relative. When I get a toothache, the world may as well be ending. When I'm horny, every woman who walks by transforms into the Greatest Show on Earth. The Universe is only as big as my senses will allow it to be. Objectively, is there anything more absurd than an erection? Subjectively, however, if I have one for more than four hours I'm supposed to gear-up for a humiliating trip to the emergency room.

You can bounce back and forth between seeing yourself a tiny, worthless speck and then travel the length of the spectrum back to knowing that the world begins and ends with you and your ability to take it in. Saying "nothing matters" to yourself can be a comforting mantra, or a prelude to a leap off the John Hancock.

I'm going to get some more pretzels.

This would be a good time to plug a pet cause of mine. Please send a check or money order to the Save the Invisible Bigfoot Fund, 2100 "L" Street NW, Washington, DC 20037.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Douchebag Snowflakes

Earlier this evening I took a break from letter writing and Internet pornography to read an excellent article about evolutionary biology in the May/June 2006 Yale Alumni Magazine. No, I'm not a Yale alum, but Donna went there and they still have this as her address. I'm disinclined to give them her new address because I like getting things for free.

I went to UMass Boston and majored in physical anthropology. Had I not gone mentally ugly and put on the straight-jacket, perhaps I would have gone to graduate school and studied evolutionary biology. Because I'm fond of romanticizing my failures and framing them as tragic instead of pathetic, I embrace this interpretation. And is there anything more lamentable than regret? In truth, I can't imagine what I'd be like without depression, bipolar disorder, oppressive anxiety and social phobia that borders on paranoia. Well, I just wouldn't be me, the unique snowflake...the fat, poor, idiosyncratic snowflake that is unique from all the other douchebag snowflakes out there. So I have that going for me.

But I digress. The article, Evolution in a Petri Dish by Mark Ostow, is in part about the relatively new field of experimental evolution. A fellow out at UCAL-Irvine, Richard Lenski, took 12 colonies of Escherichia coli and monitored them in a specific way as they evolved in response to environmental change. He started this years ago, and 40,000 generations later he has watched these colonies of bacteria evolve again and again and again. Experimental evolution! I got all excited about the research that I read about, and felt compelled to call someone and talk about it. That didn't pan out. That's why I'm on here talking about it. If you'd like to get a copy of the article, just email me and I'll happily send it to you.

The picture above is of an exposed biological film in a Petri dish. The E. coli bacteria produced dark pigment when exposed to light through a negative, similar to how photo paper is processed. It's referred to as a "living photograph." And it mocks intelligent design nicely with the drawing of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Scientists are a hoot.

Another matter on my mind right now is the Tangerine Sour Altoid that I'm sucking on. Fucking thing is outstanding. And finally, I want to make it clear to Anne that the term is banana "peel" NOT banana "skin." We got into an argument about that the other day that got pretty heated. If they still had duels, we would have dueled over that. I was just reading about Alexandr Pushkin and I learned that he died shortly after a duel went bad. Duels. I wonder if it was kosher to challenge someone to a duel over something really stupid. It probably was, so long as both parties took it seriously. Just imagine a friend laughing at you because your marshmallow caught fire whilst trying to make S'mores. "I challenge you to a duel!" There would be countless duels over stolen bandwith and Star Wars movies and whatnot. Maybe we should bring it back.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

A Book Of Poetry From An Old Comrade

Today I happily received a book of poetry from an old comrade, J. Quinn Brisben. It's entitled, I Saw This: New and Old Poems and is put out by Scars Publications. He sent me a copy after I took an interest during our brief conversation a couple of weeks ago, when Frank P. Zeidler died. As with the last book of his he sent (The Significance of the Frontier) he simply wrote, "For Darren Lyle, In Comradeship, J. Quinn Brisben." I hoped that he would have written more, something to make me look special (Quinn has a lot of comrades).

Since the mail slid through the lacquered brass slot in my front door, I've given our relationship some thought. I put down a delightfully-vulgar novel I've been reading, Perfume, and consumed some newly-received poetry. My fawning admiration for anyone who manages to get a book published (who is not already famous) makes it certain that I'll treasure my gift. But there is so much more than that; my genuine respect for Quinn leads me to the conclusion that I'm really lucky to know the man at all.

People who know me know that I absolutely despise myself. Enough of that, I've written about that and it's so boring, and at this point I don't think anything will change how I feel. I do respect myself for admiring all the right people, though. That includes my friends, who do things like write novellas just for the fun of it, maintain a modicum of idealism even while engaged in soul-crushing jobs, and those who fight against ignorance and cruelty. Because I'm such a wretched failure (which one cannot be without attempting to succeed), I'm in awe of what my friends manage to accomplish.

Naturally, given that I'm a person of no consequence, I don't know how flattering any of this will be to those around me. It's worth mentioning, though, that the world is full of people who have given up. They embrace ignorace and cynicism, and mock those who see the possibility of a world with just a little less misery than a minute before. I don't hate them, at least in the abstract. But I sure as hell don't admire them. And so many enjoy favored celebrity or high office...we're not talking about a few miscreants of no regard.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

A Few Pictures, Not Much Else

A blood-covered girl screams after her parents were fatally shot by soldiers with the 1st Battalion, 5th Infantry Stryker Brigade Combat Team of the 25th Infantry Division

"I'm getting a little fed up with hearing about, oh, civilian casualties."
Ann Coulter






"America is a Nation with a mission - and that mission comes from our most basic beliefs. We have no desire to dominate, no ambitions of empire. Our aim is a democratic peace - a peace founded upon the dignity and rights of every man and woman."
George W. Bush

"The United States is committed to the worldwide elimination of torture and we are leading this fight by example." President GW Bush June, 2003

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Bush Sinks Lower Even Lower

That's right, folks. For the first time as president (he's the "decider"), Bush whipped out his veto pen. Surely Bushie would only veto a bill that clearly needs to be stopped for the well-being of our fair republic. After all, stupid decisions and pandering to religious fanatics is certainly not something Bush would do.

Yeah, I like to pretend sometimes. My imagination transports me to a magical place where compassion, reason and scruples prevail. It's sort of like an abused child pretending that he or she is living in a far away kingdom with unicorns and elves. When Bush makes a decision, particularly when he talks about that decision, every thinking person who hears his voice winces like a 5 year old kid on the business end of a huge belt buckle shaped like Texas. In the end, though, I have to reconcile with reality.

Today, President Fuck-Nut vetoed a bill that would allow federal funding for stem-cell research. Given how much money the government grants to universities, colleges and other research facilities in the private sector, this is no small act of cruel stupidity. Not to mention the money that the federal government spends on "in house" research. At least the man is consistently bad. He never fails to maintain his stranglehold on the title of "Worst President in American History." The trophy itself is an image of President Bush blowing his nose on the drapes in the Oval Office.

Seriously, if you still support this president you must have suffered a terrible head injury. That being the case, I pity you. But you shouldn't vote. Really. It's ironic that the very stem-cell research that Bush opposes would probably be useful in repairing brain damage that would make you a Bush supporter in the first place. Perhaps that's his motive, he doesn't want to lose his base.

Anyway, I hope you liked the cartoon. We'll get through this together. We'll laugh, we'll cry, and we'll mark the days on the calender to the next election.

Snail Revisited


My father brought this poem to my attention. It was published in the New Yorker Magazine back in 2002, if memory serves. The spaces are there intentionally.


Snail Revisited

I want to say everything there is to say about you
how you slept on the ceiling of a plastic salad box
how sometimes, one eye tentacle swivelled & stretched
looking updown northsouth eastwest your eye
meeting mine, curiously, the other a separate sleepy creature
slow to wake and follow the effect extraterrestrial
once, late at night, the house so still, I heard a sound
it was you ravenous unstoppable eating a carrot strip
I confess I too have know such hunger
You were companionable undemanding but in December
you died without ceremony for days I wasn't sure
I waited for you to resume movement to climb clear walls
to eat your lettuce but No you were dead
&I pallbearer of one carried you outside
where no sun wind rain could restore you the worst
I won't tell (what Death will do to the body) finally
you were only a shell a monument a memory
I buried you in the herb garden where your glistening minerals
leach into dark soil & now I want to know:
What is your shape & where is your spirit?
are you leafy? fragrant? do you flower?
a balm to butterfly & bee? then go to seed?
time passes it is midsummer & I am alive
& done with Death until the next time it happens

-Elizabeth Spires

Monday, July 17, 2006

Fragile Ego? Stifle It.

My ego, such as it is, was recently squashed into the dust and I found myself in the process of deleting my 'blog. I ended up just going to bed. In the morning, I took a handful of aspirin, my medications, and had some coffee. Needless to say, I decided to keep my 'blog, despite a shrill voice in my head that kept telling me to stop embarrasing myself.

The main reason for this "flip-flop" (in the parlance of the day) is the ongoing support of the Chubb Group, Kerr McGee, and viewers like you. Actually, it's because I had my brother and a couple of friends who were on my ass about being a self-pitying boob. My brother wrote, "I have already amounted to nothing, so join the club." Strangely, that means a lot to me. Probably because I see Kent as a big success in life. He seems to piss away money like a pisser would piss away piss, and he has a really excellent coffee-maker. And then there is Donna, my ex-fiancee, who told me, "Quit pissing me off with this self-loathing bullshit and get back to writing the good stuff." There's nothing subtle or maudlin about that commentary. Anne said, "Ah, I see we're doing this again." The fourth friend I heard from today, who will remain nameless, also spoke highly of my 'blog and my writing in general.

Again, I respect all of these people, although I question their judgement when it comes to choosing me as a friend. Anyway, because they slapped me around and told me to shut the fuck up, I got over a moment of crushing self-hatred. Those are common with me, but when it comes to writing I try to convince myself that it is a worthwhile endeavor. True or not, it does me good.

Besides, who wants to read or hear this pity shit. I know that it's boring, unless it is punctuated by a magnificently self-destructive act, like jumping off the John Hancock Building or going to Mohegan Sun. Anyway, thanks everyone.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

Frank Zeidler, Milwaukee mayor from 1948-'60, dies


I awoke this morning to the news that Frank Zeidler died yesterday at age 93. I met him in 1992 at the Hotel Wisconsin in Milwaukee, at the SPUSA National Convention. He helped me refine a motion I was trying to get passed, something about supporting Marty Russo's (D-IL) proposal for a national health care system. I'm so honored to have met him. Every year since, we would exchange Christmas cards; I saved every one. I loved him as a comrade, and will never forget him.

This is the obit from the Boston Globe.

-----------

Frank Zeidler, 93, former mayor of Milwaukee

By Colin Fly, Associated Press | July 9, 2006

MILWAUKEE -- Frank Zeidler, a former Milwaukee mayor who was the last Socialist to run a major American city, has died. He was 93.

Mr. Zeidler died late Friday of congestive heart failure and diverticulitis, hospital spokesman Gregg Hartzog said. He led Milwaukee from 1948 through 1960.

Born in Milwaukee on Sept. 20, 1912, Mr. Zeidler was part of the Socialist Party's city stronghold, which was fueled by German immigrants who flocked there. The party had thousands of members, a congressional seat, and control of the mayor's office for nearly a half-century, ending with Mr. Zeidler.

``Historians described him in the tradition of Milwaukee's sewer socialists," said Mr. Zeidler's youngest daughter, Jeanne, who followed her father into politics and is mayor of Williamsburg, Va.

``They were community leaders, mayors of Milwaukee who thought everyone should have access to plumbing in their homes," she said. ``But he also had a bigger vision than that. He really was an activist of world peace, of tolerance, of people working together."

His three terms as mayor were marked by large-scale construction of public housing, creation of the first educational television station in Wisconsin, and city beautification programs. He also made strong statements on behalf of civil rights as Milwaukee became the 11th-largest city in the United States by the end of his term, Jeanne Zeidler said.

Mr. Zeidler said the word ``socialism" was discredited when Stalin and Hitler used it in their rhetoric. Still, he remained an ardent Socialist until his death, serving as chairman of the national Socialist party, even as numbers dwindled.

He never moved from the house he owned before being elected mayor, an office he retired from.

Mr. Zeidler wrote a 1,022-page manuscript in 1962 called ``A Liberal in City Government" that was a memoir and a reflection on municipal government. It was finally published last year.

``I thought I would discharge the contents of my mind," he said of his work.

Mr. Zeidler ran for president unsuccessfully in 1976.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Draw It Mild, Chavez...You're Dealing With A Maniac

Ah, Venezuela...sweet, sweet Venezuela. If you know me well enough, or have simply been in one of the online discussion groups that I lovingly frequent, you probably know that I'm quite the fan of President Hugo Chavez. Naturally, he is far from perfect, and does a lot of things that worry me, but I can't help but admire him. Because of him and his "Bolivarian Revolution," billions of dollars now flow into the Venezuelan economy instead of into the pockets of a few capitalists. The nationalization of the oil industry in Venezuela via the Petroleos de Venezuela S.A. (PDVSA) is an attractive socialist model...it turns me on. And I also have a thing for funding massive social welfare projects, from literacy prgrams to health care clinics (with help from Cuban doctors) to improved housing and infrastructure.

But Chavez can be a tricky guy to embrace, especially for a peacenik lefty like me. I don't think he cares, and I know not the subtlies of running a country in the midst of a economic and social revolution. Who am I to judge him? Still, I wish he would stop with all the "we will crush you if you fuck with us" military talk. Again, if I were him, I'd probably be paranoid about a U.S. invasion (we have a bad reputation). But posing with Kalashnikov? What the fuck!

For those of you who don't know, Mikhail Kalashnikov is the designer of the infamous Kalashnikov series of guns, including the AK-47. Every single bad guy in every spy movie made during the Cold War at one time or another brandished an AK-47 menacingly at the hero. It's the most popular assault weapon in the world, and is still prized by anyone trying to kill large numbers of people. And from what I understand, they're a good bargain.

Chavez, in an attempt to bulk-up the military of Venezuela, has purchased 100,000 AK-103 guns from Russia. They've also picked up some other toys, jets and things, and the Russians and Chinese are more than happy to sell the oil rich Venezuelans anything they want. Washington protests, and Chavez tells them to screw. I would, too. What moral high ground could we possibly take here? I don't think I have to point out that the U.S. spends more on her military than every other country in the world combined. Well, I guess I just did.

Today is Independence Day in Venezuela, and they like fireworks and military displays almost as much as we do. Amidst all this, Chavez pointed out that "Venezuela is not preparing to invade anybody. But nobody mess with us, because we are ready to die to safeguard the sovereignty of this land." Fair enough.

Unfortunately, this sort of thing provides mucho ammunition to Fox News, Forbes, The Wall Street Journal and the Topeka Sun. They paint him as some sort of dangerous "left-wing dictator" that is trying to take over the world, control oil and natural gas supplies, make friends with China and engage in militaristic displays. Actually, none of that is a problem if it's done by a right-wing dictator. What they are really afraid of is Chavez' desire to fuel a socialist revolution with THEIR oil. People in South America are supposed to know that if oil is found, it has to be given to a gringo capitalist.

Basically, I still (heart) the Bolivarian Revolution. But I admit that I wish Chavez would tone it down a bit. If I find out that he's going to play the villain in the next 007 movie, then I know he's gone too far. But who among us could resist the temptation to antagonize the Bush Regime? Just be careful, comrade...the man in the White House is out of his fucking mind.

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Baretta Had A Cockatoo? Yes, he did!


I'm about to go brush my teeth, and then walk over there and climb into bed. Toulouse, my cat, will curl up next to me and purr loudly. I'll grind my teeth and think about some embarrasing moments and some nasty experiences I've had. Shortly after that, I'll be overwhelmed with the feeling that I'm some sort of hideous abomination and that my friends just don't want to tell me. There will be terrible guilt, and then a feeling that something unpleasant is about to happen.

Because I took lorazepam, I'll get to sleep within an hour, instead of staying up all night in this state. But the nightmares of late have been so bad, you can't imagine. Or maybe you can, what do I know. Goodnight.

It's now 24 mintues after I wrote, "Goodnight." That's not really long enough to be a whole night, unless you're sleeping on Mercury or are a Chinese laborer or something. You know, because they work a lot and get very little sleep. My bed frightens me, though, so I'm trying to muster the courage to get under the covers. As I said before, I'm not fond of staring at the ceiling while feeling guilty about the time I stole a painting out of a hospital lobby. There are a lot of memories in there to make me feel stupid, guilty, retarded...the whole schlmiel.

But I have the 'net to keep me company. I'll post some ridiculous "facts" on Wikipedia, and "Google" images of skydiving naked women. With a computer in your boudoir, you never have to be alone or think an ugly thought...unless you want to. Although tonight, not even an idiot lighting farts is enough to distract me from the abyss.

Would somebody turn that music down?!?!??!

Monday, July 03, 2006

Star Jones To Lift Off, Despite Foam Loss


I saw the ad on the right in a The Boston Phoenix Erosphere, a place where people find each other for, you know, a good time. The first thing that comes to mind when I look at this ad, which is for a website where fellas can hook up, is that context is everything. Yes, a "hard man" can be a good thing within the context of a delightful sexual romp (four stars!). But a hard man is the last thing you want to find under your bed, or leering at you while Iron Butterfly's In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida blares in the background. And such a man can blind a midget if he is not careful.

Actually, you never really want anyone leering at you.

Man, what a strange mood. I really have a lot to talk about tonight, as I enjoy talking to myself. For example, at some point I'm going to rave about how people on the left repeatedly make the mistake of underestimating the intelligence of right-wing bananas. We shouldn't do that. These are the people who successfully painted John Kerry as a coward and George Bush as a stalwart military leader. They're not stupid, they just have no moral scruples, dignity or compassion. They are also selectively ignorant, that's not the same as stupid. They just don't like to incorporate reality into their world-view...it irritates them. How else could you explain shock and awe or Intelligent Design? Or Ann Coulter, for that matter. If we're going to pry power away from these chickenhawk lunatics, we have to stop thinking of them as ignorant hicks.

So there's that. And this election in Mexico is pissing me off. And why is foam flying off the space shuttle? It's not even moving. And what's the deal with Star Jones? What did she do to become famous? While I'm flinging my opinions out into the zeitgeist, or amonst the zeitgeist, I'd like to make it known that I think Joe Lieberman of Connecticut is a total douchebag. Oh, and the chicken pot pie at Harrows' looks really good.

OK, I'll stifle.

Saturday, July 01, 2006

Please Don't Take My Someday Away


I flipped open my Boston Globe and found this story, "In Somerville, Someday may be a memory - Regulars at the coffee shop in Davis Square express outrage." Yes, it looks like Someday Cafe, a place near and dear to me and most of my close friends, will be closing its doors in September to make way for Mr. Crepe. I assume it's a place that sells crepes.

This upsets me a lot...I have a lot of memories tied up in that place. It's a classic meeting and hanging out spot, a place that Clare, Melanie, Donna, Mary, Anne, Adam and I shared a cup of coffee or tea whilst hatching one plan or another. There's a regular cast of characters, a set of old but comfortable couches and chairs, and original art on the walls (for sale). The bathroom has graffiti literally from (an on) the floor to (and on) the ceiling. Best of all, though, is the people watching. Students, profs, yuppies, crazies, bums, artists, undefinables and canines converged at Someday in great numbers every morning and afternoon to get their fix.

Maybe this can be averted...I hope so.

In an attempt to get a chuckle, today's quote of the day is a classic from Independence Day: "You know they'll never let you fly the Space Shuttle if you're married to a stripper."