They're Cute -- But They Screw Around With You

(Photo: Freshmandy.org [Warning! Not All Images Work-Safe!])

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Speak, America -- Speak! Good Boy.

Mongo Is Listening

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They Like Me; They Really Like Me

I don't often have good news to report when it comes to My Place Of Witless Labor™. The days are frequently packed far too full, and things tend to drift or slop over the sides, and the feeling of seeing Abandon Hope All Ye carved over the doors is all too palpable.

However, this week there has been good news -- via an annual Review that was better than good, a possibility of promotion; making (relatively) a bit more money; and, a long conversation with my Boss' Boss, which -- as conversation with the Boss' Boss often is -- a little more metaphysical and global. With some actual meat in there.

And, let's be real: I have a job to discuss, as opposed to not. And there are millions of people who can't say that, courtesy of The Big Boyz; so some gratitude, as well as a counting of Blessings, is overdue and in order.

I mean, I can be cynical next week. Today, I'm grateful.

Reviews and talks with one's boss usually have little if any nutritional value in a spiritual sense. Manager-employee communication is on the Macaroni-and-no-cheese end of the scale; not so with this person.

It's always a treat to have a conversation with an adult, given that (as the Boss' Boss recognizes) so much of Business seems childish in comparison with, well, larger things.

Now, let's also be real: Things in my Place Of Da Labor™ aren't going to get any easier. In fact, they're about to get kicked up a notch. But, you know -- while I reserve the right to complain, and at least for today -- I think we can deal with it.

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Holiday Cheer

Sarah Palin and Michelle Bachmann Want To Kill This Puppy.

I was taken to task recently for being insufficiently cheerful during the Holiday Season™. In fact, most of my acquaintances find me just a little too depressing to be around generally, which is why I'm not invited to more dinner parties. Who wants to be reminded about what's going on behind the curtains?

So -- just for them -- I'm adding photos of cute animals. Enjoy.


Mr. and Mrs. Blankfein* Would Make Hassenfeffer Out Of The
Bunny, Take The Puppy's Toy Away And Laugh When It Cries.
[Note: Mr. Blankfein is the CEO of Goldman-Sachs.]


Badgers Are Our Friends. Newt Gingrich Would Hit This Little Guy,
Keep Driving, Lecture You About Being Weak, And Laugh (Kind Of
Like The Time He Told His Stepfather, Crying Because He Was Dying
Of Cancer And Frightened, To Shut Up And "Be A Man").


Limbaugh Would Have Eaten Benson The Carp All By Himself,
Years Ago, Made Fun Out Of It Flopping Around And Drawing It's
Last Breath, And Laughed. Kind Of Like He Did With Michael J. Fox.
Good Luck With That Heart Attack, Lard Boy! Have A Ceegar!


Huckabee and Palin Would Force Ted The T-Rex To Love Jesus
(Palin Would Probably Just Like To Shoot Him); However, Ted
May Have Other Ideas.


...And, Ted Is Too A Cute Animal -- And, Curious! Here, He
Attempts To Show Mr. Gingrich Why Striking A Defenseless Animal
With His Car Is Wrong, And Hopes Newt Will Try To Run For It.

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Ia! Ia! Chtulu fhtagn un White Sale!

Children Waving To The Cthulhu Balloon In The 2009 Macy's Parade
(Original Photo: Ruth Fremson / New York Times, 11/26/09)

The Macy's Parade in New York City: Another American Thanksgiving tradition, like pumpkin pie, 'pardoning' the Turkey; mulled wine; and the Trail Of Tears™.

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It's Akma -- Ama -- Aunt Jemimadad -- That Guy

...just so Linde gets a chance to look at it. It's the juxtaposition of this anti-sensualist, anally-retentive religious totalitarian with a happy, exuberant little Anime product of dreams and the human imagination -- where real freedom comes from -- that I like about it.

I'm distantly fond of Pikachu (over-marketed little guy that he is), but think Ahmadenijad is an ever-smiling weasel, clinging to power over the dead and broken bodies of his fellow countrymen. If he were to exit this Vale O' Tears™ unexpectedly, I'm not sure how bad I'd feel.

And yes, I understand: I'm only a dog, but I think in this case, others should trust my nose and my judgment, here.

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For The Lurkers

America Can Rest Easy Tonight: The Spiny Blenny Is On Guard.

Incidentally, "Naw; Mongo straight."

Out Of The Past

Wonderful, Wonderful Copenhagen...

Some time ago, another writer with a blog and a penchant for travel mentioned he'd been to Denmark, where "everyone looked like Sigourney Weaver".

So, with a little effort, I sent him the "postcard" above. How many Ellen Ripleys can you find?

Ekstra-special super-hemmelig bonus, hvis du kan finde Ian Holm's hoved, ansigt-Hugger, og Mort De Alien. Face-Huggers er alle de vrede i København denne årstid, de er behagelige i sommer, og er tilgængelige i Designer farver.
[Hint: Try Google Translate, Danish --> English]

Hoo-Ray For The Red, White, and Blue

Fireworks I can believe in. (Photo: NASA / Hubble)

While I like being an American, I've always had a wish that someday, we could consider ourselves citizens of -- well, something larger. Really a lot larger.

Unfortunately, we'd first have to stop arguing, demonizing and killing each other long enough to deal with real threats to our entire species -- Global Warming, or possibly dormant Supervolcanoes; and then pandemic disease; changes in animal or insect behavior; or big rocks from outer space; things like that. Any one of these could spoil the party, for everybody.

And any one of them are reasons to think about cooperating -- in order to move humankind off the planet. Because as a species, if we don't, at some point the music will stop and there may not be a chair left. Because, as Robert A. Heinlein was quoted as saying in the early 1960's, Earth is just too small and fragile a basket for the human race to keep all its eggs in.

A permanent Moon base is something the Chinese would like to establish -- and as a result, the Russians, and even the U.S. are now committing budgets for Lunar 'research' (tough to do when your economy's been wrecked by a crew of Oligarchical greedhead Masters of Finance, huh?). Mining the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter, or terraforming Mars itself aren't the ridiculous notions they used to be. Even the idea of traveling to colonize potential Earthlike planets in the 'local neighborhood' isn't as utterly crazy as it once was.

All it takes is the perspective, the desire, and the committment. But, for most Americans on this specific day, we care about things that are right in front of us: Children, family; Teevee football; corn on the cob, and hot dogs and beer. And, of course, fireworks after dark.

They're all good things. It would be nice, though, if sometimes we could look a little higher and see a little farther.

Apocalypse? Well; I Just Have An Answer To THAT...

This weeks' banner is a publicity still from the website of Columbia Pictures' end-of-the-Planet-and-all-humankind film 2012, to be released this November 13th -- absolutely, a Friday. Nothing like opening a film (with a theme of eliminating humanity) within weeks of major festival days of several religions. Too cool, Columbia!

Yep; that's the Indian Ocean in that picture, rising over the foothills of the Himalayas -- about 10,000 feet above sea level. If that were actually happening, the entire Indian subcontinent would be under several thousand fathoms, and something tells me the movie can't last another ten minutes after a scene like that.

There is a good bit of disaster-mongering hucksterism surrounding the 2012 Winter Solstice. Depending upon whom you read, it's either a once-in a thousand-plus generations celestial alignment; the conclusion of a single, 26,000-year Great Progression of the Earth's axis; the end of one of the Great Yurgas and the end of the Mayan Long-Count Calendar, which opens the Underworld / the Human Unconscious, and usher in the Return Of Chtulu -- or an opportunity to raise the collective consciousness of the species a la Tielhard de Chardain's 'Noosphere'.

Others have said that by the Winter Solstice in that year, as our Solar System's orbit reaches a position relative to the plane of the Galaxy, reaching the completion of these cycles will mean some combination of celestial and natural disasters which have wiped out life on the planet before -- and about which the calendars and religions of the Ancients were warnings to future generations, presented in the symbols of their mythic worldviews, or mathematical puzzles. It also could be that whether 12.22.2012 is the last gasp of humanity or not, Columbia intends to make some money out of that possibility in the meantime; a very human attribute.

Even if it is CGI hogwash, considering the premise of the movie gave me some pause -- I mean, as Monty Python puts it in the 'Crunchy Frog' skit: Where's the pleasure in that? The total destruction of humanity isn't precisely a feel-good ending; people are liable to throw their Big Gulps at the screen, because there's just enough plausibility and dark attraction in the idea to make us wonder how possible it really is. We're already aware that asteroids and comets and earthquakes and volcanoes and plagues and Rush Limbaugh and Michael Savage exist, and are potential destroyers of life on Earth as we know it.

I don't even know how the hard drive in my computer works (some say it's electronic; some say it's magic), so I don't have any answers to how likely any end-of-the-world scenarios are -- except that I might have a glimmer of an idea on how to face the possibility of Armageddon.

Reflecting on the wisdom of any of the world's great religions (or, the one operative on your street) may help at a Final Hour. Prayer may be one response. Getting blindingly, staggeringly high may be another. Or, making love, followed by the most excellent meal you can imagine.

But here, Brian Griffin shows us what I believe to be one True Way to face the End: Ride The Cosmic Giggle, Ladies and Gentlemen -- Do The Peanut Butter Jelly Dance.



Family Guy, Season Four, Episode 16; "The Courtship Of Stewie's Father": Peter, roundly taken to task by Lois for acting like himself, is depressed. "Aw, don't feel bad, Peter," Brian says. "I know what'll cheer you up." "Naah; I'm just not in the mood," Peter replies. "Are you sure?" Brian says, and exits stage right -- to return as:





PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME !!

Peter, sadly, is just not brought out of the doldrums ("Sorry, Brian; it's just not doin' it today"), and he shambles off stage left.



But, does Brian fold? No !! He continues !! He ramps it up !! And in that is the wisdom we might profit from.

I believe, as Saint Roger did in Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, that "Laughter is a very powerful thing -- why, sometimes, it's the only thing we have". We already take so much too seriously. If we were presented with a situation which spelled certain death, total annihilation -- how would we choose to go out? Making a joke in the face of one's own end takes a certain amount of courage, and style.

Here endeth the lesson.

So, as right-to-lifers go after their targets; as the possibility of being fired or laid off continues to hang in the air like the stench of Little Bernie Madoff's aftershave; as we prepare to send more men and women to Afghanistan; as the Oh-for-crying-out-loud wackiness of these days plays out, perhaps the old stories of an End Of All Things are coming to pass. Maybe not. If they are, I will make the best peace with that I can; but, in my heart, I will take my stand, dressed in a large Banana suit and holding a pair of Maracas, singing:



...Peanut-Butter-Jelly !! Peanut-Butter-Jelly !! Peanut-Butter-Jelly wit' a Baseball Bat!!

Schweinflu and The 100 Days

I'm adopting a wait-and-see approach, but my guess is that the effect of the new, antigen-shifted H1N1 influenza virus will be something between the Flu that ate Christmas for me last year, and Stephen King's The Stand. The scale between severe annoyance and apocalypse is fairly large, but it's early days yet. And, this whole pandemic thing is just... inconvenient.

We already have a moderate to severe Economic Crumble going on here at home.

Radical climate change continues to be the most significant challenge to our species, no matter how many manufacturers rush to put the word Green! on their labels and product packaging

The [West Asian] Taliban are pushing Pakistan closer to the status of a Failed State, and salivating at the opportunity of having an entire population to oppress, not to mention seizing a nuclear weapon or two. In all probability, the United States government will not allow that; no chance for confrontation or fuck-up there, right?

An avowed Likud wingnut (who will never allow Iran to develop a nuclear weapon) is Prime Minister of Israel. An avowed Islamist Holocaust Denier (who may or may not want the bomb) is the leader of Iran; what could happen?

Kim Jong is still Ill in Pyongyang, and those freaks actually have nukes. And missiles. And they're very crazy, and very hungry. What could go wrong there?

The Sad Little Circus of politics is open, as usual. Silvio Berlusconi (Silvio !) channels Barbara Bush in observing recent Italian earthquake victims should see their loss of homes and possessions and loved ones as just the cost of doing business. Our domestic Taliban continue to claim torture is great and good, and that capping Carbon Dioxide emissions is wrong and bad.

So, an influenza pandemic at this point is -- well, just in extremely bad taste. Whoever is responsible for writing code in the programming running our little portion of the Matrix must have had a bad weekend with their Significant Other. The planet's plate is full, meine Damen und Herren. We really don't need this just now, thanks. And if I lived in Mexico City, I doubt I'd be quite this flip about it.

I try to keep things in perspective, though. For example, the former Sainted War Leader is now just another ex-dictator -- one with a trust fund (much bigger now than it was ten years ago, I'd wager), and lots and lots of security guards paid for by my taxes, and yours; and a crazy mother with a pig heart; and one brother who channels a 3,000-year-old Chinese warrior named 'Chang'; and a wife who smokes rope, and a dog who hates him -- and is writing his "authoritarian" memoirs.

Dick Cheney, Alberto Gonzales, "Condo" Rice, Jay Bybee, John Yoo, Dick Addington, and the rest of the Reichsicherhauptamt für Ungeheuerisch Folterungen are all being pulled, very slowly, through the two-inch-pipe of indictment, or public investigation of their fascination with power and excess -- hopefully, courtesy of the Department Of Justice, a term which now means a great deal more than it did 101 days ago.

And -- while I've never had him on a pedestal, and don't agree with every stand he's taken or decision he's made so far -- as he gets close to 100 Days this week, every time I see a photo or video clip of him, I still feel a rush that's very much like pride if not the thing itself: This adult man is President Of The United States Of America; everyone can see it and everyone knows it.

On balance, things are tolerable for me, just now; things for most people in the world could be a lot better. But but at the moment, there's cause for optimism.