The Brain Dump

Big news! I have decided to move The Brain Dump to WordPress.com because that's what Christina uses and I see how easy it is for her to fiddle with her blog and make posts that I want it to be that easy as well. So, from now on, you can find new posts of and pertaining to me . . . here.

I'll slowly be filling my archives over there, but there's a bunch of posts and I got shit to do, so it's hard to say how long that'll take.

Anywho, see you there.

Now, I like technology. It preserves my food; it conditions my air; it flushes my shit when my intestines are done with it. But there is a lurking danger that comes with it. And I'm not talking about pollution or weapons or deforestation or postmodern angst.

I'm talking about one thing and one thing only:

Robots.

Scientists, especially the Japanese, seem to have this obsession with them, and that's all well and good. UNTIL THEY BRINGS US TO THE ROBOT APOCALYPSE!

Horseman the First: the Energetically Autonomous Tactical Robot

EATR, as it is so diabolically referred to by its maniacal creators, is the first robot vehicle that will be able to "scavenge sticks, grass, leaves and other biomass to fuel itself," according to a recent Scientific American article. It then places them in a combustion chamber and, voila, robot fuel. "The electricity created by this energy will feed into a multicell rechargeable battery pack that powers EATR's systems, ideally making it a hybrid vehicle that can perform long-range, long-endurance missions without the need for manual or conventional refueling." The scientists insist that EATR will be a strict vegetarian, so we don't have anything to worry about . . . until it gives itself a little human flesh "upgrade" and initiates Phase One of the Robot Apocalypse!

C'mon, scientists! Are you trying And to encourage them!

Me: “[The Beast] makes me realize I’m a lot more radically liberal than I think I am.”
Christina: “You call yourself a socialist. . . .”
Me: “Good point . . . but I still think of myself as fairly moderate.”
Christina: “Weren’t you once an anarchist?”
Me: *giggles* “Briefly.”
Christina: “Good, because that’s what I told Robert and he laughed.”
Me: “Well, my anarchist days are long gone.”

Me: I don't know what to read.
Christina: What are your options?
Me: Essays on feminist Surrealism . . . or Batman comics.
Christina: I feel there's a middle ground in there.

The King of Pop is dead. That is a strange thing to say. And yet, it's stranger still for me to think of him as fifty years old. As Christina put it, “He is forever in his mid-twenties to me.” I first heard about it yeasterday, catching an NPR headline on my iGoogle homepage. Then came the subsequent media storm.

I am continually confounded by the news and fan frenzy following the death of a superstar. And Michael Jackson certainly makes for a sensational frenzy.

Wow,” Michael Harris of New York City says, “It’s like when Kennedy was assassinated. I will always remember being in Times Square when Michael Jackson died.” And Harris, who's 36 (so clearly remembers what it was like when Kennedy was assassinated), isn't even close to being the most hyperbolic in his comments.

I think that's what bewilders me most—this absurd sense of loss people feel when something like this happens. As reported by TMZ.com, people inside the hospital were screaming “You've got to save him! You've got to save him!” And I'm left asking, “Why?” Why are you sobbing? I don't understand. And that's not to say that I'm laughing maniacally at the news or that I don't feel a little sad myself. Before now, there had never been a moment in my life when Michael Jackson wasn't a huge star. I feel like we did lose something. I just don't know what it was.

He was certainly a charitable person, getting in the Guinness Book of World Records for “Most Charities Supported by a Single Pop Star.” And there is a healthy dose of tragedy mixed in—what with his fifty sold-out shows in England (and possible pop-sensation-comeback) coming up. But I can't seem to tap into this sense of overwhelming despair that some people feel. But perhaps I'm not expressing my grief in the proper way. Maybe I would feel a little more if I joined celebrities on Twitter:

“NO OMG,” tweets Lindsay Lohan, her bereavement clearly expressed by the capital letters, “... sending my love and prayers out to Michael and his family ... i feel sick..”

Miley Cyrus, too: “michael jackson was my inspiration. love and blessings” - so distraught she couldn't even manage capital letters.

Even Arnold Schwarzenegger got on the Tweet-wagon: “We lost a great entertainer and a pop icon. My thoughts and prayers go out to Michael Jackson's family, friends and fans.”

Really? This is the forum on which you choose to express your condolences? Twitter—the funereal equivalent to a high school yearbook signature? “MJ – This school year rocked! Have a great summer. Sux that ur dead! Hugs and Kisses!”

Sigh . . . I'm death-spiralling into bitterness. . . . It's just so bizarre to read all this, and it's coming from every news site on the web. Did these people give a shit about Michael two days ago? How many of these news sites fed his isolation and neuroses by hounding him all his life? And how many now will continue feeding on his corpse.

Like the Belmont Club, who wasted no time in seizing a chance to decry the horrors of plastic surgery.

What happened? What does the death of Michael Jackson mean? That's what I wanna know. What did we lose? We're keeping Thriller. All his moves—we got those too. His body will decay, but can Michael Jackson die? Well, he'll have a few more weeks, at least. People will continue ogling the last desperate pictures and videos. And we still have the autopsy reports to look forward to.

Of all the times to go, ay, Farrah?

It's that time again . . .

No, not my semi-annual workout or my annual recommittal to start working out. No, it's time to watch the entire Buffy the Vampire Slayer television series!

Yaaaaaaaaay!

And Christina's watching it with me! Which makes it easier because we only have the one bedroom . . . and I need her computer to watch it. This comes on the heels of my unsuccessful attempt at hooking her on Battlestar Galactica. "Not emotionally engaged," she says. . . . Well, she watched Buffy when it was new, so I knew she wouldn't fight too hard against it. She might have even suggested it. I can't remember--and that's not important. What's important is that we are already halfway through the second season (*claps hands like a giddy fool*). Buffy and Angel just did it . . . so tragic.

What's super-fun, too, is that Christina hasn't seen the sixth or the seventh seasons yet (my two favoritest seasons), so I'll get to witness that magic as it happens.

Just have to convince her to stay the course through season five. . . .

Seriously, Joss, Dawn? So annoying. . . .

. . . no one would ever get diarrhea . . . ever.

Intelligently designed, my chafed tokus!

OK, so . . . almost two months without a post. That's my bad. . . . Well now I'm back. Because I found something that I absolutely couldn't--couldn't--keep to myself. What is this mysterious secret? Is it the formula for cold fusion? The cure for cancer? The missing link?

Nay!

It is allghoi khorkhoy, colloquially called the Mongolian Death Worm (Mongo, for short). In addition to being the title of my debut album, this bad-mamba-jamba has the ability to spew sulfuric acid and kill at a distance(!) with electric shocks.

Yes!

Alas, so-called "scientists" have been unable to find any evidence of Mongo's existence.  But if you just ask the Mongolian locals, you'll find out the truth.

Fun Fact: Mongo's name translates to "blood filled intestine worm" because of its resemblance to the intestine of a cow!

So, clearly, I have to feature Mongo in a Sci-Fi Original Movie. I mean, it would just be immoral not to. "Attack of the Mongolian Death Worm" is the working title. With a tentative sequel planned: "Mongo Takes Manhattan." I'm thinking a team of scientists (including a fat, crude, but lovable misogynist (Putnam), a young man from Iowa with a square jaw (Rex?), and a glasses-wearing, ninety-pound city-girl, who just can't get taken seriously in the science community because of her perfect figure, blonde highlights, and natural tan (maybe . . . Ellassandra)) go to the Gobi, researching a way to stop rampant desertification of the neighboring area. But while researching the desert they make a terrible discovery. Acid and electric shocks everywhere! Rex, Ellassandra, and Putnam manage to escape back to the US, but not before Putnam is bitten by one of the little Mongos. All seems well (and Putnam's eating more than ever) when all of a sudden, Putnam experiences a horrible seizure. Moments later, dozens of Mongos erupt from his quivering fat! Then it's up to only Rex and Ellassandra to stop the worms from taking over the world!

C'mon!

I would at least Tivo that bitch!

[Lights cue on a full courtroom. THEME SONG SINGER wails over the TITLE CARD]

TITLE CARD
Judge Daddy Mack

THEME SONG SINGER
Judge Daddy Mack! The Mack Daddy of the Justice Department!

[Camera sweeps over the full studio audience, who cheers wildly]

THEME SONG SINGER
When justice is down and the people frown
Get the toughest Mack Daddy in the whole damn town!
Judge Daddy Mack!
The Mack Daddy of the Justice Department!

[Super-imposed JUDGE DADDY MACK (JDM) walks onto TITLE CARD, face grim and ready for justice]

JDM
The Daddy presides.

[TITLE CARD disappears, camera moves in to BAILIFF]

BAILIFF
All rise, the honorable JUDGE DADDY MACK presiding.

[Enter JDM]

JDM
Let's get down to justice! Today's case: TED STEVENS v. SOME INCOMPETENT DOUCHEBAGS (SIDs). The charges: TED STEVENS has been charged with seven corruption felonies and one Daddy Smackdown for being an embodiment of all that is wrong with democracy. Would the defendant like to make any opening statements?

TED STEVENS

JDM
Fair 'nough. DOUCHEBAGS, what'cha got?

SID #1
As you can see clearly from all this evidence that we have amassed, the defendant is in fact guilty of vast corruption and is, in fact, the embodiment of--if not all then--most of what is wrong with democracy.

JDM
Holy shit-balls! That is a lot of evidence. Mr. STEVENS, did you have any idea they would be able to amass this much evidence?

TED STEVENS

JDM
Well, this seems pretty clear cut. I find the defendant guil--oh, before I forget: You prosecutors did submit all this evidence properly to the defense, as is standard procedure in any trial?

SID #1
*laughs like a douchebag* Of course we did. I mean, what do you think we are? Incompetent d-d . . .

[turns to other SIDs]

We did right?

[SIDs frown. SID #1 swallows, turns to JDM]

SID #1
It appears we did not.

JDM
Hot damn--you incompetent. I'm dropping all charges.

[Smacks gavel]

THEME SONG SINGER
Daddy smack!

JDM
Justice is served. Mr. Stevens, do you feel any remorse for the things you have done? Will you turn over a new leaf, aid in the representation of all your fellow Americans, stop breaking the law, stop yelling at people . . . awwww, you know his answer.

Cut to: JUDGE DADDY MACK'S OFFICE

[JDM sits nonchalantly on the edge of his desk, looking at the camera fondly]

JDM
So what did we learn today, folks? Well, we learned that justice is not a dump trunk; it's more like a series of tubes. We can't just drive up to anyone and dump a whole mess o' justice on 'em. *chuckles good-naturedly* Nope, not even the Daddy. You gots to bring that justice through the right tubes, and hope to hell those tubes lead up to that sumbitch who guilty. Anywho, hope you enjoyed the show. Now, Daddy's gotta serve some lovin' justice to his bitches. Good night.

THEME SONG SINGER
Judge Daddy Mack! The Mack Daddy of the Justice Department!

[GUITAR commences a blazing exit solo]

GUITAR
Bwaaaaaaaaaow biddledly woo meedley mraow dabble dee dee dee dee bellalalalalalalalala brweeearw wah waooow . . .

THEME SONG SINGER
When justice is down and the people frown
Get the toughest Mack Daddy in the whole damn town!
Judge Daddy Mack!
The Mack Daddy of the Justice Department!

GUITAR
. . . meedley meedley meedley meedley meedley meedley meedley meedley . . .

FADE TO BLACK

I'm not gonna lie . . . I know I should update this thing tonight. But I'm not going to (aside from this). And the reason is because of Thomas Pynchon. I just started the last chapter in his book V., and, well, that trumps blog right now.

I recommend it.

OK . . . back to reading.