2006, this is how we roll:
Today featured plenty of blue skies and sunshine over Southern Connecticut. Every time I visit my family I am furnished with a list of chores, and traditionally I wait until the very last minute to accomplish them. The steamy atmosphere and the blooming vegetation motivated me to get up, out, and on to my work early this time, however, and I’ve already finished one of my chores. On the list, what I did today came down to two words: “cars, garage.” Two words took all afternoon.
My aunt gets a big kick out of waking me up with a method she patented involving animals. As an animal lover and a practicing animist, the technique really shouldn’t bother me as much as it does. But I am a heavy sleeper and I’m always worried that my eyes are going to be scratched out before I can sort out whats happening. What she does is herd the cocker spaniel and somewhat blind tabby cat over to the pull out couch where I sleep, and then repeatedly throws each animal right on my head and holds it down. Yes, I wake up in a giant panic, but I do wake up.
With my eyes intact I could see how it was sunny and beautiful outside. One of the chores on my list this week is “lay out in the sun”, and so after hydrating with a couple cups of coffee and a 30/70 ratioed glass of cranraspberry juice to water, respectively, I joined my aunt and grandma out on the deck. My aunt is a flower person, in the mold of the Lupine Lady, and so the deck was besplendid in spring tulips and lilacs and I could go on, but I’d be making up flower names. Florally, I’m ignorant.
“Cars, garage” is a subject I know much more about. My favorite chores are the ones that I have done before, because I can modify my approach to tackling them and thus do the work more efficiently, with better grace, thus to garner sweeter results. I remember springcleaning the garage last year… hanging the bicycle, taking advantage of the overhead storage, organizing and de-cobwebbing, and ultimately sweeping out. So I was in very good shape to step into the ring for the match.
No I did not wear my boxing shorts, although I have two pairs in different bold colors, and they are reversable. So thats really like four pairs. Which means I could fight four complete boxing matches without washing my boxing shorts. Though after one round of a real boxing match I’d probably have soiled my boxer shorts. Do boxers even wear boxer shorts? I bet you that they don’t. Boxer shorts do very little to protect the junk. Isn’t that the whole appeal?
I digress: what I wore was not boxing shorts but what I found in my cleaning out of the garage could have been a costume from the original Rocky movie or any one of the sequels. It is a windbreaker, ladies size medium but who’s keeping score, in not just the colors of the American flag, but with stripes and a couple stars it is a near replica of the American flag. Exactly the sort of thing Apollo Creed would wear if ladies’ medium was his size. Thats the kind of karma cleaning brings. The pseudo-American-flag-80’s-windbreaker-ladies-medium kind. Yay!
After three hours of garage cleaning, to the krumping spins of Big Man up at Hot 93.7, broadcasting from the Hot Spot, Hotford, the Rising Star, I was ready to move on to the vaccuuming of the automobiles. Not that I didn’t take breaks. Believe me, if I am allowed to smoke on the job I most certainly will. For the new Gnarls Barkley jam I was crouched down by the grill of my aunts whip, sleeves rolled up to my shoulders, sitting on the asphalt driveway baking in the sun. Very nice.
The suckage of the crap from the cars went rather smoothly until I found this gross pile of dehydrated beef in the backseat of my whip. About a week ago during one of the wild Monday nights after work I stopped at 7-11 for my friend Julian, who can’t even get into a car without the promise of soon stopping at a 7-11, and got him some beef jerky. The big jerky wolfed down the dehydrated beef in such abandon that he left a pile of it on the floor of my backseat. I sucked it up and moved on with my sucking attachment.
Later in the day, after chores, I shaved my head. Actually, immediately following chores, once everything was in order and my aunts car was back in the garage, I lay out on the sofa to rest and read about the first inhabitants of the Grand Canyon in the Smithsonian magazine. My aunt and grandma were caught up in an episode of Law and Order about a black woman addicted to crack who surrendered her baby upon her incarceration. The child was adopted When she was freed from jail and rehab she paid a man to find the baby, now a young boy, and kidnap him. Apparently someone was killed in the process.
The defense lawyers were arguing that the case was about race because the mother and child were black and the family that adopted was white. Not to delve into the subleties of the show; its really more effective if watched properly on television, but I got to thinking in my own head about race for a minute. Black Americans are the most popular and imitated people on the planet, right now, and throughout the 20th century, but white Americans are still in control of most of the traditional levers of power.
I don’t think the racial tensions caused by slavery can ever be totally healed except through mixed race love. One day I dream that America will be populated by a majority of mixed race peoples… all the skins as one. On that day I will be happy to wear my pseudo-American-flag windbreaker, if only to hide my shamefully pale skin, and it will be blue skies and sunny, just like today, and more hopefully, tomorrow.
And just in time to save intelligent design, passage found in Bible proves Whale/Hippo Hybrid was in plan all along. Quote God: “Whale/Hippo hybrid mammals will be superior to the modern automobile circa 2006. They will get 75 miles per gallon. And when I say gallon I mean cubic ton of seawood. Golly gee, take a gander at the chompers on my whip!”
“Whales are warmblooded animals like we are—that has been known for a long time,” Gingerich explains. “Yet they’re so different from other warmblooded, furry things that it’s been a mystery, both how they came to live in the sea and what ancestors they might have come from on land.”
“In findings to be published this week in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, scientists say the gradual shrinkage of the whales’ hind limbs over 15 million years was the result of slowly accumulated genetic changes that influenced the size of the limbs and that these changes happened sometime late in development, during the fetal period.
“However, the actual loss of the hind limb occurred much further along in the evolutionary process, when a drastic change occurred to inactivate a gene essential for limb development. This gene – called Sonic hedgehog – functions during the first quarter of gestation in the embryonic period of the animals’ development, before the fetal period.
“In all limbed vertebrates, Sonic hedgehog is required for normal limbs to develop beyond the knee and elbow joints. Because ancient whales’ hind limbs remained perfectly formed all the way to the toes even as they became smaller suggests that Sonic hedgehog was still functioning to pattern the limb skeleton.
“The new research shows that, near the end of 15 million years, with the hind limbs of ancient whales nonfunctional and all but gone, lack of Sonic hedgehog clearly comes into play. While the animals still may have developed embryonic hind limb buds, as happens in today’s spotted dolphins, they didn’t have the Sonic hedgehog required to grow a complete or even partial limb, although it is active elsewhere in the embryo.
“The team also showed why Sonic hedgehog became inactive and all traces of hind limbs vanished at the end of this stage of whale evolution, said Cohn. A gene called Hand2, which normally functions as a switch to turn on Sonic hedgehog, was shown to be inactive in the hind limb buds of dolphins. Without it, limb development grinds to a halt…
Gingerich had expected that the feet and hands of the older whales would be more like those of land animals than they turned out to be. While they are more fully developed than those of Basilosaurus, they still are not designed for walking long distances.
“It’s clear that these animals could hitch their way out of water and back in like sea lions do today, but they were more aquatic than I realized,” says Gingerich. The size and shape of their bones suggest that they had webbed hands and feet and probably also used their tails to propel themselves through the water.
“The DNA that animals carry in their bodies today gives us a better picture of the past than we might have thought it did. If we can make reliable inferences from animals that are living today, we can learn a lot about the past much faster. These techniques will never replace paleontology, but they will complement it and expand on what we can competently infer.”
The amount of spam that has been hitting my inbox lately is ridiculous. Ever since I started putting up movies on the biz I have been at the mouth of a flood of crap comments. The comments are ridiculous strings of words and letters hawking herbal medicines and who knows what else. They are arriving from unique IP addresses so it is very difficult to ban whoever is behind it… but I’ve been reading up on what kinds of people do this sort of thing.
In my readings I have come across the name of an internationally known spam baby, by the name of Leo Kuvayev. In the late 90s Leo apparently ran an “internet spam gang” and used the website badcow.com, alls the while living with his moms in Porter Square, Cambridge, right down the street from me. He also had an apartment in Montreal, and apparently was involved in the trading of child porn and beastiality pics. In the articles I perused there was no explicit mention of fishsex.
That all went sour as the sleeping heads of the law woke up to the sounds of spambells ringing right up close to the ear. Leo Kuvayev fled Cambridge, apparently for Russia. In absentia, the Massachusetts Attorney General charged him with the high crime of gross spamligence, which carries a fine of tens of millions of dollars. No one knows exactly where Leo is now, but he’s probably in Russia, and until just last year he was running around with the domain name “badcow.biz”.
All this information marinated in the slowheat of my brain stew for the past week, while I tirelessly cleaned out my inbox and Word Press dashboard of these spammy bits. At some unknown point, perhaps when I was sleeping, the idea arrived that Leo Kuvayev is the one who is spamming me, from Russia, because I challenge his biz dominance. I don’t spam and have no involvement in the trading of pornography, but I do have a widely popular and publicly beloved biz domain, and Leo is possibly jealous and trying to bring down my dynasty.
Well, he can’t do that, because even if he does do that literally, in terms of flooding 3rdarm.biz with so much spam that I can no longer operate it, I will soldier on. Like a bear with a paw in a trap I will gnaw off my 3rdarm and like Big Ursula at the end of the Little Mermaid I will grow in the middle of the ocean many tentacles… wait, I’m getting carried away. Redo. Just like a lizard tail I will easily grow back the 3rdarm domain name.
Really, I wish the one behind all the spamming, especially if it is my former fellow Cantabridgian Leo Kuvayev, will take a quick look at my website and come to the conclusions that for one, his spammy comments aren’t getting through this big filter, and two, my website is a reason unto itself not to experiment with any herbal supplements, unregulated medicines, penis pumps, etcetera. I’ve tried all that shit, including the stomach muscle belt, and unless you want to be more like the biz I strongly recommend you do not attempt any of it at home.
No I have never tried a penis pump, but the stomach muscle belt is something I used regularly, when I lived in the South Loop of Chicago. It was an electric device that wrapped around my stomach. Special lubricant was provided so that when the belt was activated waves of electricity would stimulate my stomach muscles. Not that I expected it to give me rock hard abs, but the stomach muscle belt didn’t even help me go poopies. But I used it a lot. I took the electric pain.
Thats the kind of crap these spam peddlers peddle, whether in pill form or penis pump. It may be exhausting for me to constantly filter this crap out, but I promise none of this spam will ever reach you, the readers, as I will be holding it back with all the force of my 3rdarm. Leo Kuvayev, if you’re reading, please stop. Shoot me an email. Maybe we can re-register badcow.biz and krump out together, Cold War style.
Anyone interested in reading about spam and the small circle of people on this globe that live like rockstars (like Russian rockstars, that is) off of spamming money… just a few people are responsible for up to 50% of total global email… I strongly recommend checking out The Spamhaus Project. The people over there promise “A Spam Free World Just Clicks Away” but I haven’t figured out what clicks to click yet. If anyone knows what clicks to click, please email me. Use the subject line, “NOT SPAM- the couple clicks to click spam to the curb.”
Recently I read on one of the blogs I check regularly that the models in Italy are going on strike, in order for the state to step in and set up some regulations for international agencies doing modeling work and jobs in Italy. The image to the left is supposed to be models “on strike, with their arms defiantly crossed, not posing.” They are clearly posing. As a semi-professional model myself, I can tell you quite simply that this is a classic pose. Its called the “arms crossed” look, and they are doing it quite badly. Unnatural. Why are Europeans so nutty?
The blog I got this from is Sometimes I just Think Funny Things, by Carolyn Yak. A ‘graph from her modeling strike rant: “My industree is treeeting mee so unfairlee. I will nut smile, and I weel cross my arms. And my styleest weel nut brush my hair. Weee are een protest! Quoi? Donatella ees here? I weel go. But I weel nut go via the catwalk. Because I am protesting!”
‘Bears eat monkey in front of zoo visitors’ is the subject of an email I got from one of my many media watchers, Ari aka ‘Stubborn Lion’. She wrote me a frantic email, and I immediately replied to let her know that I am in fact healthy and well. You see, just after I left the Netherlands, Sloth bears in a Dutch zoo chased, mauled and ate a macaque monkey in front of the horrified human visitors. Being a ring-tailed monkey myself, one who is wary of bears, she was no doubt worried that it was me that was mauled and eaten. I feel much sorrow for the macaque monkey and sorrow that it was eaten, but I’m happy to be here to say that it wasn’t this monkey.
Some people think its funny that I spend a lot of my time with bears, and have befriended many bears. But just because I am attracted to their silky coats, snuffling noses, and lumbering lifestyle does not mean that I’m not cautious around the bears. There happen to bears… I happen to like bears… but one can’t be too careful. Bears can turn bad, and mean, and maul any little monkey in the time it takes to snap your fingers. For the squeemish, I say skip the next couple paragraphs… it is a reprinting of the news item. Let it serve as a cautionary tale:
Bears killed and ate a monkey in a Dutch zoo in front of horrified
visitors, witnesses and the zoo said Monday. In the incident Sunday at
the Beekse Bergen Safari Park, several Sloth bears chased the Barbary
macaque into an electric fence, where it was stunned.
It recovered and fled onto a wooden structure, where one bear pursued
and mauled it to death.
The park confirmed the killing in a statement, saying: “In an area where
Sloth bears, great apes and Barbary macaques have coexisted peacefully
for a long time, the harmony was temporarily disturbed during opening
hours on Sunday.”
“Of course the habitats here in the safari park are arranged in such a
way that one animal almost never kills another, but they are and remain
wild animals,” it said.
Witness Marco Berelds posted a detailed report on the incident,
including photos, on a Dutch Web site. He said one Sloth bear tried
unsuccessfully to shake the monkey loose after it took refuge on the
structure, built of crossing horizontal and vertical poles.
Ignoring attempts by keepers to distract it, the bear climbed onto a
horizontal pole, and, standing stretched on two legs, “used its sharp
canines to pull the macaque, which was shrieking and resisting, from its
The bear then brought the animal to a concrete den, where three bears
To support Marco Berelds, the photographer who took the above picture and is no doubt bear/monkey traumatized (and probably all set with zoos for the moment, please click on this sentence and follow the instructions in the PDF to send him cash using Paypal. Unfortunately, his website couldn’t handle the bandwidth and he needs the money add more.
This fellow spits a sharp beat out of his mouth, but unfortunately, like Dostoevsky’s The Idiot, I seem to just talk over it without making any apparent sense at all. Or am I more like Paul Simon laying down everlasting poetry over Brian Eno’s sweeping sonic landscapes on the new album, Surprise? For sure, I can spit lines more rhythmically than these, but since here I am collabing with a famous human beatboxer, thought I’d lay it out there for you.