http://heyyeyaaeyaaaeyaeyaa.com/
I’d like to thank the Plurals of Baltimore for bringing this to my attention.
My Little Pony Sex Toys? Or American Gods?
Let’s go with American Gods for $1,000, Alex.
I wanted, desperately wanted, to dedicate a post to My Little Pony sex toys. I really did. Because apparently there’s a larger-than-life inflatable Rainbow Dash love doll available, for those who aren’t ashamed to own such a thing. There’s also a plush Lyra Heartstrings with a receptacle sewn in, if you think there’s anything at all socially redeemable about such a thing.
I also desperately want to believe that more than 90% of Brony culture is ironic in nature. I try to remain free of judgement, tolerant of all cultural choices, and encouraging of diversity, but there’s a tiny part of me that believes you should seek therapy if you can get it up for either of these.
So, on to American Gods, because it’s far more important, because it’s literature, honest to goodness literature that causes a person to think and perceive and exercise a muscle other than the penis. I’ll try not to subtract points for being written about America by an Englishman. I mean, fuck it, Nick Cave does it, and he’s fucking Australian.
In American Gods, Shadow, in prison for doing something stupid, is about to be released when he discovered his wife has been killed. He’s released a couple of days early, and encounters his first fascinating stranger on the way home.
Always watch out for those strangers, especially the ones that seem to know too much about you.
The book seems to take Aleister Crowley’s polytheism to a literal extreme, portraying various gods as inhabiting physical entities in an effort to recruit him for work. Seems the god business is suffering a bit in the current climate.
I’m not finished with the story yet, but my favorite moment so far is when the television god inhabits Lucille Ball during an I Love Lucy rerun, and begins to unbutton her blouse, offering Shadow a peek. “C’mon, haven’t you ever wanted to see Lucy’s tits?”
By the way, according to the internet, they’re available.
I’m relieved that American Gods is so much more solid than Fragile Things, and understandably so. It’s meant to be a work that stands on its own, as opposed to Fragile Things, which never claimed to be anything more than a stew of leftovers and shells. I suspect I was correct about it being the wrong first exposure to Neil’s work. But it was still very engaging and entertaining.
[amazon asin=0380789035&template=iframe image]
Recurring Dream: Airships taking planes out of the sky
Have you ever experienced a recurring dream that morphs over time into a different outcome? I woke this morning from one of my recurring dreams.
In the past, I would hear a loud engine noise from the sky and see either an unfamiliar aircraft flying in patterns unsupported by known, existing craft, only to lose control and then crash, leading me to awaken with a sense of despair which can be related to witnessing a disaster.
Sometimes, rather than crashing itself, the strange craft would take out a traditional aircraft appropriate to our place an dtime. Again, despair and disaster.
This time, however, apparently the unidentified craft has improved technology. The first thing I heard was the sound. It was not unlike multiple transport helicopters flying low overhead — a heavy drone with deep undertones. I looked up, and soon realized it was an unidentifiable craft which first appeared to be in some large rectangular shape. In my dream, I went and got a camera and began photographing from my patio window.
It made several passes, starting out quite distant from my vantage point, and then making closer passes. I was able to get multiple photos. At one point the craft seemed to have “captured” a plane. Another pass, it seemed to be carrying a blimp.
In my dream, I didn’t get around to taking a closer look at the photos I had captured in order to draw them from memory. I had to put the camera down to deal with things that were going on in the house, and then I woke. Instead of a sense of despair, I woke with a sense of apprehension, as in the dream, I had realized that They, whoever They were, likely knew I had photos, and might have a problem with that.
The soundtrack throughout the dream was Radiohead, culminating in Subterranean Homesick Alien. Appropriately spooky?
The very last scene prior to waking, probably unrelated, was looking out my window to see folks sunning themselves by a riverside. In January.
Angel or Devil?
I’ve got a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. The devil side is Gawker. Those damned Gawker articles. They are compelling, but they are almost always about the worst things that happen. Gawker: Always compelling, rarely uplifting.
The angel is Dangerous Minds. I don’t like the idea of reposting content posted by others, but this time, I’m going to side with the angel, because the angel is in my head and can read my thoughts.
If you’re not following Dangerous Minds, you really, really should. This alone should be enough of a reason to do so.
A Few Tunes Between Homicides: Never Before Released Song by Leadbelly
There’s also an amazing video “newsreel” feature of Leadbelly. If you’ve ever listened to Leadbelly singing Midnight Special, or Rock Island Line, or Gallows Pole, you owe it to yourself to check out these two pieces.
Gearing up for One More Saturday Night…
(and a Friday, and a Sunday). My manager came into my office on Friday, and said, “I guess I know what YOU’RE doing on July 4.” I didn’t. I hadn’t heard. I had heard that an announcement was coming, but the ripple effect hadn’t quite reached me yet. “What?” Then he told me the Dead had made their announcement.
One last time, three nights at Soldier Field in Chicago. July 3, 4 and 5 of this year. Then that’s it. No more. Final. Nice way to close out fifty years of playing. Not quite as grueling for the band members, who are getting on in years, as a full tour.
Somehow my passion must be infectious, because I got the go ahead at home, and my ticket requests are in the mail! I had Sabina help me with decorating the envelopes, a decades-old Dead tradition. Did you know that there has been a scholarly paper done on Dead fan envelope art? Fascinating. You can check it out here: Uses for Fan Envelopes from the Grateful Dead Archive as Digital and Traditional Primary Research Sources.
There is a certain “Great Pumpkin” feel to it. You hope that the effort put forth in your envelope decoration will be rewarded with the ticket(s) you seek. The reality is, we don’t know if we’ll get tickets for any of the three nights, much less all three. But today’s the first day for mail-order postmarks, and mine are in there with everyone else’s, so I like to think we’ve at least got a fair shot.
I went, with this same manager, to State College, PA in 2008 to see them at the Change Rocks show. Then I went to two of the shows during the 2009 reunion tour — I took Sophie to see them in Charlottesville, and Eve came up to Philly with me to see them just a few months before the Rectum, errr, Spectrum got demolished.
So yeah. Add that to all the times I saw them in the 80s and 90s (RFK, Cap Centre, Three Rivers Stadium, Madison Square Garden, etc), and yeah. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.
That one time at Christian camp…
Yeah, I went to Christian camp once. It was Young Life camp, at Windy Gap, North Carolina. I don’t remember everything about it, other than it was camp, things went on there that normally went on at camp — activities like canoeing, crafts, pranking other campers, especially the ones in the other cabins, etc.
I don’t remember the religious aspect of the camp being overbearing, but it was fun and somewhat seductive. The songs were infectious. Over thirty years later and I still remember the songs, good Lord it’s been a long time.
I remember, vaguely, that I was maybe a year too young to be there officially, but someone pulled some strings. A lot of strings were pulled for me as a kid. I was a quirky kid. I didn’t understand it much then, but now that I have quirky kids, I kind of do. At least a little better. And I’m not much better equipped to help them than I was back then to help myself.
Do you ever reminisce long past days, and remember small things, tiny things, rather than the big events? Sometimes I’ll look back at times like this and remember little but a turn of phrase that someone uttered. And the songs. And the fact that that’s where I learned to saran wrap a toilet.
City Steam Grates, Cellar Doors and other Perilous Entryways
In my younger and more open-minded days, I spent a lot of time in the city. Even when I didn’t live in the city proper, I was a city-dweller. In the city, you see grates and doors in the sidewalk all the time. Sometimes they are steam grates, sometimes cellar doors for store stockrooms, sometimes above Metro, sometimes above drainage systems.
I used to imagine they were a test, and only the pure of heart could walk across them without falling through. And knowing my purity levels tended to waver, I would sometimes actually get a bit nervous in anticipation of walking across them.
Note: not the same kind of purity test as this — if it was that type of test, I would have only had a 30% chance of making it across.
Last week outside the Black Cat, I saw some of those cellar doors, and flashed back to those days of old. Before the show, I didn’t take a chance on walking across them. After the show, I figured, “what the hell,” and walked across. Successfully.
Meanwhile, in Brooklyn:
Brooklyn Man Dies After Falling Through Sidewalk Cellar Grate
Marketing small condoms
http://www.theatlantic.com/business/archive/2010/02/the-challenge-of-marketing-small-condoms/36464/
It’s a shame that so much of male self-esteem is wrapped up the confidence of having an “adequately” sized penis. That’s some caveman shit there. Other than the sheer difficulty of consummation with a “micropenis,” studies have shown that there is no correlation between penis size and fertility/virility.
In fact, they have found something that determines fertility far more accurately. anogenital distance (AGD), which was found to be a much better indicator. AGD is the distance between the anus and the closest connection of the scrotum. Less than two inches means likely impaired fertility. Of course, none of this matters in terms of our roles in the universe… but my AGD is fucking huge. Just sayin’.
Of course, the marketing geniuses are having a tough time marketing condoms to those whose length and/or girth is considered “below average.” I mean, you don’t want to give a guy a complex, right? God forbid you’re buying them in the local drugstore, and Tammy behind the counter learns that what you’re packing is, maybe, less-than-impressive.
As the article points out, this refusal to address size in a transparent manner can result in serious consequences, such as increased rates of infection due to a failure to navigate size propaganda and find the correct fit.
The truth is, a lot of men don’t know how a condom is supposed to fit anyway. Newsflash: It’s not supposed to squeeze you like a sausage. If you complain that condoms reduce sensation, that’s probably why that’s happening, you’re too-tight condom is restricting blood flow and making it numb. Go for a magnum next time. It doesn’t need to be that tight, it just needs to not fall off.
MAYBE, just maybe, if we can get the condom size thing sorted out, we can get WOMEN sorted into various anatomy types and fit preferences, so that those with tighter anatomies who aren’t comfortable with serious stretching can gravitate toward those guys who will fit them the way they like, and the size queens can gravitate toward the over-endowed.
And in Other Penis News
I figured I’d get this other penis news out of the way now rather than post another penis article right away and be accused of being penicentric.
During Vietnam, both the South Vietnamese and the Vietcong soldiers believed that you meet your god in whatever form you are in when you die. So they would cut the penises off of dead soldiers and insert them into the soldiers’ mouths.
I don’t know what kind of God they were envisioning here. The God of high school jocks, who will point and laugh, humiliating the newly-arrived dead soldier for arriving with his own dick in his mouth? Please. I like to think the welcome would be more like, “Welcome. Sorry about the dick thing. War is hell.”
Murder Ballad of the Week 1/19/15: Blackbirds and the Crows
I heard this one for the first time a few months ago on the SiriusXM channel Bluegrass Junction. It has all of the earmarks of an old murder ballad, but it’s relatively recent, written and recorded by Don Humphries in 1997.
Zen magnet fun
