If thou beest he; But O how fall'n! how chang'd
From him, who in the happy Realms of Neon Office Light
Cloth'd with transcendent brightness and generall awesomeness didst out-shine
Myriad Comment'rs though bright: If he Whom mutual league,
United thoughts and counsels, equal hope
And hazard in the Glorious Enterprize
(with a "Z", that is),
Joynd with me once, now misery and two-bit punnery hath joynd
In equal ruin: into what Bloggy Pit thou seest
From what highth fall'n, so much the stronger prov'd
He with his Mint Jul'p: and till then who knew
The force of those ragged Smoke-Stained Fing'rtips?
yet not for those,
Nor what the Potent Balk in his rage
Can else inflict, do I repent or change,
Though chang'd in outward lustre; that fixt mind
And high disdain and bad attitude, young man,
from sence of injur'd merit and penis envy,
That with the mightiest rais'd me to contend,
And to the fierce contention brought along
Innumerable force of Apostrophes arm'd
That durst dislike his reign, and me preferring,
His utmost power with adverse power oppos'd
In dubious Battel on the Plains of Gawk'r,
And shook his Lazie-Boy. What though the field be lost?
All is not lost; the unconquerable Will,
And study of revenge, immortal jackassery,
And courage never to submit or yield or fear to bum a cigarette:
And what is else not to be overcome?
That Glory never shall his wrath or might
Extort from me, if ye know what I meane.
To bow and sue for grace
With suppliant knee, and deifie his power,
Who from the terrour of this Arm so late
Doubted his Empire, fuck that jazz,
That were an ignominy, if you aske me,
and shame beneath This downfall;
since by Fate the strength of Oxfeld
And this Empyreal substance, whatever that may be,
cannot fail,
Since through experience of this great event
In Arms not worse, in foresight much advanc't,
We may with more successful hope resolve
To wage by force or guile or whathaveyou
eternal Warr Irreconcileable, to our grand Foe,
Who now triumphs, and in th' excess of joy
Sole reigning holds the Tyranny of Gawk'r,
And I have to get back to work now.
She seemed very nice but I have yet to find one sentence of her writing even remotely entertaining, so I'm wondering about her influence. Is that why almost every blog sucks?Tonight, hear her tremble in person about the most non-illuminating gay man/straight woman relationship since Jim J. Bullock and Tammy Faye.
"Don't you ever lower yourself forgetting all your standards."...says that Spiers was largely responsible "for creating the tone and approach that a lot of the blogs on the Internet are following."Reading Jon Friedman's MarketWatch column on Elizabeth Spiers you can't help but feel as if you're staring at the empty cage of an 800 lb gorilla. The beast has left the room and is on the loose, quite adept at ducking and covering up the footprints of archaeological (in this sense, both archaic and logical) truth. Someone's gotta clean up the mess and I'm well equipped to work with strange odors. Hard to fault Friedman for the clumsiness and maybe I'm just feeling sorry for him (like those retards at the pool) but how come no one is reporting the real story on what went down with her and Dead Horse Media? I mean, it's out there for the taking but the Gawkers, Radars, ETPers, etc won't touch it with a ten-foot friendship stick.
"She has always left these places when they were at the top of their game."
"Elizabeth has achieved more than almost anyone I know -- and on her own without anyone handing her anything."
Here's the Iranian Tom and Jerry thing I was referring to -- much more fascinating in its absurdity than the Hamas Mouse: Click View Clip here. It's wrong for a number of reasons, including Tom and Jerry being Hanna-Barbera, not Walt Disney, and Disney being an anti-Semite himself. I love how their entire frame of reference is Hollywood films, e.g. Schindler's List. They're so jealous of Jews it's amazing! And for another Muslim goodie [via Jewschool], check this Iranian exegesis of Woody Allen as part of Jewish image conspiracy.See, Jerry the mouse was cute and supposed to make Europeans sympathetic to the Jews who are, after all, dirty mice. I'm surprised he didn't play up a duel between Feivel Mousekewitz and Persian cats.
After paying $32.50 for admission, you are efficiently herded onto a ferryboat for a short ride across an artificial lake to the entrance of the Kingdom. This will be the first of many crowd-control experiences—and resulting lines—that add to Disney World's air of fascism. The boat ride is also a psychological device. Making you enter the place by stages, the Disney "imagineers" emphasize the illusion of one's taking a journey to a strange land-as if driving over 1500 miles from another corner of the nation was not sufficient (and it may not be, for long-distance car travel on an interstate highway is literally like going nowhere fast). Anyway, this short ferry trip is fraught with archetypal death imagery so obvious that I am a little embarrassed to point it out.He sounds a bit like 99, right? P.S. Don't crap all over this blog while I'm away, you dirty mice.
What Walt Disney's personal hangup concerning death was we may never know. Company officials staunchly deny the persistent rumor that Walt arranged to have himself cryogenically frozen, hopeful of bodily resurrection in a more medically advanced future. But the fact that the rumor started in the first place is by itself rather interesting - someone was onto him. In any case, Walt's preoccupation was in tune with American provincial Protestantism's obsession with eschatology. Disney World is as death-haunted as any TV studio full of weeping evangelicals. Particulars shortly.
For the sake of being on the same page, can you give us a brief synopsis of where you stand politically?Looks like he teaches English classes at Hunter now.
"Honestly I'm not prepared to talk about that right now. I like to prepare for it and actually write some things and address it; that's kind of part of the failure of countering what's happening, is that people tend to just speak immediately and not very clearly. And I don't want to ad to any of that loud rhetoric..."
Like his distant cousin AK, the AT-AT only comes to kick some ass and drink some beer.This may come as a shock to some of you, but the world's greatest group crime blog, Blottered, is STILL a dead letter office of prison pen pals. A cold case with severe freezer burn and no shortage of errant cue balls, if you will. To honor* its permanent inactivity, please join us for drinks on Thursday, May 10, 8pm at the Magician in NYC.Yeah, a closing party about as exciting as the launch party. Oddly, the chances of survival were slim for a group blog with 20+ volunteer contributors, no posting schedule, no advertising (I turned on those Google ads only after all was blogged and done to see firsthand how the savagery works - it's taken almost a year to earn $60 but I'm holding out for the coveted minimum payout of $100 because I don't like to leave dope on the table and the money will probably go to burn unit victims), and of course, my disdain for celebrity coverage. It leaked onto the site every now and then but my unfiltered vision was "half-heartedly blogging everyday about everyday crime by everyday people."
*Actually, New Age blog-something Jackson West is in town. I'm using this as an excuse to organize drinks and blame it all on him. Hope to see all three of you!
So I'm swamped; I figure we can make this post a team effort:I guess this is life on the blogging plateau. Time to retreat, resist the post-privacy age, post private. The Hills Have Eyeballs.
Last week the city announced that several fire houses had to change their name and badge (they have unique patches) because of recent 'problems'.
I figure a post that uses more literate names as replacement suggestions might be funny (Lost Weekend instead of Animal House, that sort of thing). Heavy on New York literary stuff. Maybe Portnoy's Complaint or other Roth novels.
Any takers?
What would Dean Martin or Dennis Hopper do? The gang that would become Black20 — Mr. Crowley, 27; Mr. Punsalan, 29; and two comic actors, Mike O'Gorman and Michael Torpey, both 27 — pulled together thousands in unspent expense money and drove to Atlantic City. Fighting nausea, they loaded their shared assets on one spin of the roulette wheel. Black. Before they could fully feel their fear (and all this they caught on video), the wheel stopped. Black-20. They had doubled their investment.Well fuck me. My trip to Atlantic City wasn't anything like that. Except for the nausea.
It was sign from Lady Luck and seed money all at once. Instantly they quit their jobs, incorporated and hired two nimble video editors, Mike Aransky and Tom Seymour. In online video editors rule, and Mr. Aransky and Mr. Seymour became the de facto directors of Black20.
