What if everything is an illusion and nothing exists?  In that case, I definitely overpaid for my carpet.

I hate reality but it's still the best place to get a good steak.

Some guy hit my fender the other day, and I said unto him, "Be fruitful, and multiply."  But not in those words.

There are worse things in life than death.  Have you ever spent an evening with an insurance salesman?

Why does man kill?  He kills for food.  And not only food: Frequently there must be a beverage.

As the poet said, "Only God can make a tree" -- probably because it's so hard to figure out how to get the bark on.

How wrong Emily Dickinson was!  Hope is not "the thing with feathers."  The thing with feathers has turned out to be my nephew.  I must take him to a specialist in Zurich.

I just can't listen to any more Wagner, you know ... I'm starting to get the urge to conquer Poland.

I believe there is something out there watching us.  Unfortunately, it's the government.

It's better to be rich than poor if only for financial reasons.

The lion will lay down with the lamb, but the lamb won’t get much sleep.

In case you missed it, here is the latest Lewis Black satire  (strong language advisory)

Governor Rick Perry has been airing radio commercials in Illinois, California, and New York, inviting local businesses to move to Texas.  But the main reason people choose to live in New York, says Lewis Black, is that it's not Texas.

It was a dark day in the big city. Normal for this time of year, but something felt
darker today... something more sinister. "Is it a forgery...?" Hartman asked quietly.
"Oh ya, great idea. Just kidding. No. Absolutely not. Definitely not a forgery," I
barked. Oh ya. The new kid was really on the ball. Just like they said when they
pawned him off on me. "Listen," I said, "How about I just work this one myself and you
head down to Louie's and grab a Get The Hell Out of My Way Sandwich and a Coke."

I found this wonderful "Film Noir Script Generator." Instead of blogging, just hit THIS LINK to get the opening of a hard boiled detective story. Now grab a Get The Hell Out of My Way Sandwich and a Coke.

Hit refresh as often as you like for a set of new paragraphs. How do they do it? It is miraculous.

How I miss the 1940s. (I was never there actually, but I miss the 1940s movies.) This century is not working for me. I want to go back to the days of Film Noir, where it rains all the time, everybody smokes, detectives know the score, and fast talking floozies know how to wrap you around their little finger.

DOUBLE INDEMNITY 1947

Phyllis Dietrichson: Neff is the name, isn't it?
Walter Neff: Yeah. Two "F"s, like in Philadelphia, if you know the story.
Phyllis: What story?
Walter: The Philadelphia Story.

ALL DELIVERED RAPID FIRE, IN DEADPAN. Ordinary people do not talk like this. Clearly it comes all smudgy from the typewriter of some bald, fat screenwriter, but we accept that Phyllis says this. We buy it. This is the magic of Film Noir.

Phyllis: Mr. Neff, why don't you drop by tomorrow evening about eight-thirty. 
He'll be in then.
Walter: Who?
Phyllis: My husband. You were anxious to talk to him weren't you?
Walter: Yeah, I was, but I'm sort of getting over the idea, if you know 
what I mean.
Phyllis: There's a speed limit in this state, Mr. Neff. Forty-five miles 
an hour.
Walter: How fast was I going, officer?
Phyllis: I'd say around ninety.
Walter: Suppose you get down off your motorcycle and give me a ticket.
Phyllis: Suppose I let you off with a warning this time.
Walter: Suppose it doesn't take.
Phyllis: Suppose I have to whack you over the knuckles.
Walter: Suppose I bust out crying and put my head on your shoulder.
Phyllis: Suppose you try putting it on my husband's shoulder.
Walter: That tears it.

WHEW.

Suppose you insert that motorcycle in your nostril.
Suppose you work it in with a shoehorn or something.
Suppose you try jumping in the lake.
Suppose you try to throw me a leaky life vest.
Suppose there is a dolphin near by to rescue you.
Suppose he mistakes you for a school of herring.

We could go on like this all day. Suppose you write your own hard boiled dialog.

Here is another requiem for Xanga, this one by Carly Carr, titled  I went through my old myspace and xanga accounts and found myself in a black hole of teenage angst

"You were much more innocent/naive/closed-minded during those awful teen years. So you probably said some pretty stupid shit. It's okay though; you had no idea that the bullshit you were ranting about in your very public online diary would make you want to vomit years down the road."

Haven't we all been there . . .  No, we actually have not.  I don't know these people.  But I assume they were here.

WordPress:
I spent years learning to use the Xanga editor* -- fonts, pictures, videos, tables, iframe embeds, assorted html tags -- and I sense that the WordPress interface is going to be more difficult.  But I believe it is a better place to blog, primarily because the top blogs, called "Freshly Pressed," are selected daily by a group of editors rather than by a comment- or recommendation-count.  The Freshly Pressed blogs are remarkable in their polish and literacy. 

* isn't it curious that the editor marks Xanga as a spelling error.

Anyway:
Let's look at some more Kliban cartoons.

Bernard "Hap" Kliban (January 1, 1935 – August 12, 1990) was born in Norwalk, Connecticut.  In 1962, Kliban became a Playboy cartoonist, contributing cartoons until his death.  He is best known for the book Cat, a collection of cartoons about cats.

This was going to be a blog about the wonderful ladies of Slutwalk International.

They believe society teaches, "Don't get raped," which is true, or at least anecdotally true.  The Toronto Police officer who ignited the whole controversy with, "women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized," teaches this.  And he is society.  At least he is part of society.  Presumably.  I think.

You see my problem.  I agree with the lovely sluts, but I just don't know why.  What are society?  Who is in them?  And how do they get certified to teach us shit?

Perhaps "society" is just a construct of the Piagetan transition from concrete operational to formal operational thinking.  We were all thirteen once. We all lurched and staggered into an understanding of ourselves as individuals.  Along the way, we all fervently believed that society was trying to crush us.

Those bastards.  Let's see what the incomparable Urban Dictionary has to say: . . .

"An utter fucking shithole!
Society is in a rapid advanced state of moral decay!
We are swirling the proverbial toilet bowl folks!
Society is fuckin frightening!!!"

More thirteen year-old thinking.  I can't use it.  I tried a keyword search in Xanga:

"But then society as a whole goes and tells us that being tan is sexy, and healthy."

"At any rate, don't ignore your own cravings for sexuality just because society tells you that, 'that's not what good girls want.'"

"Society expects us to be perfect, so we can all look the same, and be beautiful."

"Society often tells you to 'follow your gut,' and that feeling is never stronger -- and more fallible -- when it comes to issues of romance."

"i hate trying to keep up to the standards society has set for girls. . . . but really, i hate myself the most i hate myself for giving a shit about how society sees me, how u see me"

Uh, nope, we're still in the seventh grade.  This is distressing.  It is still not clear whether society is a group of people, enumerated or united in a common trait, or perhaps a type of group behavior . . .

Society Explained:

This is just between you and me.  It will be our secret.  I will tell you the true meaning of society.  Society consists of me, ex-president Clinton, and this authoritarian Javanese lady who will not give her name.  Bill claims he knows it, but (he says) he is not telling.

Anyway, we did it.  We're responsible, and that's all you need to know.  We (society) got together and judged the shit out of a lot of people ha ha. And we expect things.  We (society) expect you to be a tanned, a good girl, showing skin, perfect, and have standards.  Whooo how we laughed about this last expectation.  Bill said, "when's the last time I had any standards!"  The lady deadpanned, "funny."

I have been "harvested" in spam lists over the years.  Now the Chinese are doing it. They're spamming my oldest e-mail, the one that was in my first web site.  I did not click on any attachments, so I think I am pretty much safe.  But look what happened to my old inbox.  

I mark them as spam of course, but it doesn't stanch the flow.  I opened the one from tracy.wei586 by mistake.  She had some lovely advice on child rearing.

Yeah, child rearing.  What do you do if the child is three minutes old?  Read your spam messages of course.

only the heaven while not fondle you

Sometimes they are spiritual, like this one from qianzhuanvuay.  Or maybe it's pedophilic?  I don't know.  Could be both.

This is from Google Translate:

From: qianzhuanvuay

Subject: Yang Yanni

Tonight, you went to my window, hanging in the high days, whether you want to tell me, that the true Buddha nature, like Seoul pure Yuet Wah, only the heaven while not fondle you missing round, whether to remind me, unreal world, perhaps, came from the ancient, just to let me, all these see through 

Hello!

Annex contains a large number of domestic not see the forbidden news, video, Wang Lijun surrendered U.S. embassy true E phase, six bL four true T, Sichuan earth yG earthquake true 7, sN Lu $ retire c Party a tide etc., the relationship between you and me the right to know and the future life 0 fate.

Please download the attachment to read!

Maybe they are looking for fighter jet blueprints?  Hah.  They're not getting them from me.  

Because . . . unreal world perhaps came from the ancient. 

What are the wonders and horrors that loom in the future?  What is looming today?  After all, today is yesterday's tomorrow.  I found all the answers in The Paleofuture Blog. 
 

In the Future We Will Be Streamlined (1934)

From The San Antonio Light:  "Why shouldn't men and women have their ears clipped to a torpedo raciness, get their trunks windcurved, be equipped with a set of toeless, graceful feet and possess a filtering device which will give them pure rather than germ-laden air?"  Click to expand the image.

Bearded Men of the 21st Century (1939)       This is from Vogue, February 1, 1939.    "The man of the next century will revolt against shaving and wear a beautiful beard, says the designer of boilers, pianos, clocks, and metal furniture. His hat will be an an antennae - snatching radio out of the ether. His socks disposable, his suit minus tie collar and buttons."

Robots for Romantic Old Maids (1928)

"In this happy future, no old maid need look under the bed for a man, in vain. He would always be there and such a nice man, a perfect imitation of her favorite matinee idol or film star, with blond or dark hair, moustache or clean shaven, anything her heart desired. These would be stock models, turned out in quantity production and quite reasonable in price. This year probably a 'Lindy' model would have been a big seller. Or, if the customer is willing to pay a little more and have one made to order, the manufacturer might send artists and photographers to some notorious lounge-lizard and deliver a perfect counterfeit of him. She could order the late Rudolf Valentine's face and John Barrymore's voice or most any other combination.

"He can sit beside her on the couch or take her on his substantial knees, embracing her with a tireless mechanical arm. The introduction of this kind of automation would throw out of work a small army of 'gigolos,' young men who in Europe, pay attention to old and unattractive ladies of wealth, for a consideration."

From The San Antonio Light, July 1, 1928 
 

  Instant Baby Machine (1930)The 1930 film Just Imagine shows how babies will be made in the futuristic world of 1980.

Giant Babies of the Future (1937) 
from the 1937 Nov 21 San Antonio Light.  Click to expand the image.

There's a great big mystery, and it sure is worryin' me.
This diddie wa diddie, this diddie wa diddie.
I wish somebody would tell me what
diddie wa diddie means.

Blind Blake was Paramount Records' biggest star.  Between 1926 and 1932 he recorded 110 sides, at least one new record every month.  Born Arthur Blake, in Jacksonville Florida, his virtuoso vocal and guitar rhythm style was known as Piedmont blues.  I can't stop humming it.

In the Piedmont guitar fingerstyle, a regular bass thumb pattern accompanies a syncopated melody on the treble strings picked with the fingers.  ( Link )  It has its roots in ragtime and stride piano styles. 

Had a little girl about four foot four.
She said, "C'mon papa won't ya give me some more
of your diddie wa diddie, of your diddie wa diddie."
I wish somebody would tell me what
diddie wa diddie means. 

I went out and walked around.
Somebody yelled, "Look who's in town.
Mister diddie wa diddie, Mister diddie wa diddie."
I wish somebody would tell me what
diddie wa diddie means. 

I went to church, put my hat on the seat,
Lady sat on it, said "Daddy you sure is sweet,
Mister diddie wa diddie, Mister diddie wa diddie."
I wish somebody would tell me what
diddie wa diddie means. 

I said, "Sister, I'll soon be gone,
Just gimme that thing you're sittin' on.
My diddie wa diddie, my diddie wa diddie."
I wish somebody would tell me what
diddie wa diddie means. 

Then I got put out of church,
'Cause I talk about diddie wa diddie too much.
Mister diddie wa diddie, Mister diddie wa diddie.
I wish somebody would tell me what
diddie wa diddie means. 

"Blake exhibits a panache, a stunning statement born of overwhelming technique and utter confidence. Blind Arthur's Breakdown (1929) will show what Reverend Blind Gary Davis meant by sporty, but you can place your pin anywhere at random in Blake's discography and still come up with him at his best," says Lawrence Cohn in his book Nothing But The Blues. 
 

Dozens of performers imitated him, but nobody matched him.  But let's give Leon Redbone credit for an entertaining try.

I sure wish somebody would tell me what diddie wa diddie means. 

dangerous demoiselles of toronto

31 March 2013:  A 19-year-old man in Toronto reported being sexually assaulted by group of women.  The man said he met four women at a downtown nightclub.  They offered to drive him home, but instead, took him to a parking lot and jumped him.  ( Link )

The four suspects are described as 30 to 36-year-old Caucasian women, approximately 5'4" and 200 lbs.  The driver is described as having short blond hair, a tattoo of wings on the back of her neck and an accent that is "possibly British."  Another suspect reportedly has longer dark hair dyed red at the bottom.  All of the women were wearing short dresses, high heels, and no pantyhose.  Police say they were driving a silver Honda SUV.

Apparently they raped him, though it is hard to know, since "sexually assaulted" is something of an inclusive term.  Perhaps they just groped him.  In any case, it would be best to avoid visiting Toronto until this high heeled gang of cows women is apprehended. 

In Tunisia, Amina Tyler, 19, shocked this Muslim nation when she posted Facebook photos with the words "my body belongs to me" scrawled across her naked chest.  She was soon hustled away by her family when religious hardliners issued death threats against her.  ( Link )

Amina was snatched by her cousin from a cafe, beaten and had her cell phone SIM card destroyed.  She was then taken to her aunt's and then her grandmother's house, where relatives admonished her and made her read from the Muslim holy book, the Quran.

"Two old women of my family checked to see if I was virgin or not.  That was horrible and against my freedom," she said in the video.  "They took me to the kitchen and said take off my clothes and we will see if you are virgin."  She added that she was given large doses of medicine that made her sleep a great deal and that her family was now searching for her.

"I don't want to leave Tunisia before I do a topless protest.  I will do a topless protest and then I will leave Tunisia," Tyler said in a filmed Skype conversation with a member of FEMEN, a group that often uses nude protests to display support for women's rights.

"MY BODY BELONGS TO ME"

FEMEN joined in, much to the annoyance of Tunisians of both genders

Legendary singer George Jones passed away today at age 81.  And really, few expected him to live that long.  Other singers with the same drinking life-style, Jim Morrison, Amy Winehouse, and Hank Williams, died much younger.

Listen in these songs for the complex vocal arpeggios and tenor high lonesome voice that became his trademark.

From the beginning of his career George Jones was drunk much of the time.  Let's be honest.  He was a boozer who made his share of enemies in show business and was famously called "No Show Jones."  At the same time, his fans cheered the tales of his alcoholic struggles, which Jones never tried to hide.  They noticed that whenever he tried to stop drinking, his music suffered, therefore they tended to applaud his drinking.

In 1955 George Jones broke into the Billboard country charts at #4 with "Why Baby Why," a song he co-wrote.  George Jones explains that he once saw a woman punching a man repeatedly in a bar in Texas.  The man did not try to defend himself but only said, "why baby why?" over and over.  

Lord, I can't live without you and you know it's true
But there's no livin' with you so what'll I do
I'm goin' honky tonkin', get as tight as I can
And maybe by then you'll 'preciate a good man
Tell me why baby, why baby, why baby why
You make me cry baby, cry baby, cry baby cry

Bartender's Blues was written by James Taylor, but it was left to George Jones to give it its master interpretation.

I need four walls around me, to hold my life
To keep me from going astray
And a honky tonk angel, to hold me tight
To keep me from slipping away.

 Wine Colored Roses is the story of a fellow who can't stop drinking and can't admit to his girlfriend that he can't stop drinking.  Instead of saying so, he gives her a bouquet of roses the color of wine.  Yeah, she'll understand.  Heck, we've all been there.