Snake Oil For Your Butt

Last night I had a dream in which Darth Vader told me that Chewbacca's constant propinquity to sudden emotional outburst is rooted in the psychological damage done to him by the over-accelerated infant potty training schedule required for integration into human society.

You know it's time to watch your language when the 18-month old in the house says, "Shit!?"

Last night, on a whim, I went to a heavy metal show at the Outback Lodge. Pelican with Black Cobra and Unearthly Trance. Pelican was about as intimidating as the bird itself, but they are a skilled quartet who blast out some engaging instrumental compositions. Unearthly Trance was rather sludgy doomy metal. And Black Cobra was easily the most noise I have ever heard two people make together. They sounded like an orchestra of assault rifles.

The room is absolutely packed. I'm all the way at the rear of the Lodge with my back pressing against a tall table. Toward the end of Black Cobra's set this dude squeezes through the crowd like pudding through clenched teeth toward my position at the back of the room. He's shirtless, young, and totally wasted on some vicious cocktail of booze and barbiturates. He climbs the table behind me and tries to pass out in a comfortable position. Please note, this table does not have four legs. It has single pedestal base for support. The table is starting to rock n roll as this guy shifts his weight and digs his toes into my back. It's not long before I realize that the only thing holding the table upright is me. I have terrible visions of this guy pitching forward, taking the table down on me and chopping me right in half.

During a lull in the explosions on stage the crowd begins to thin and a space opens up off to my right. I yell in the ear of a friend standing next to me, "Hey, I'm going to move over there so this guy can fall off the table." He shrugged and followed, not realizing I was serious. Sure enough, not a minute later, the shirtless wonder tips the table and he goes crashing onto the floor. Fortunately, a couple of beer bottles broke his fall.

And I just laughed. Normally, I'm not a cruel person, but this guy had it coming and the situation tickled me. In fact, it made my day. I still giggle thinking about it. For some reason I derive pleasure from drunks and dope-heads suffering the consequences of their actions. I probably would have been more concerned, but the guy didn't seem any worse on the floor than he had been on his feet. In fact, he probably should have stayed on the floor, but he did have a companion help him up into a chair where he proceeded to pass out again. God loves a drunk.

Do you remember that guy who wrote and starred in the TV Show "Get A Life"? Also, the film "Cabin Boy." Chris Elliott is most probably a TV/film writer and so-called actor, but apparently he wrote a novel. And allegedly, I read it. It is reportedly called Shroud of the Thwacker. And vicious rumors have been spread about it making me laugh out loud (that's LOL, for the illiterate readers of my journal) nearly as much as when I read Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. The plot is ostensibly a Caleb Carr style murder mystery in a grimy 19th century New York City setting filled with the most inexplicably bizarre tangents, metaphors, and situations I have supposedly read in a long time.

Tonight I went to the Gravity Lounge to see local artist Stevie Jay perform his one-man show "Life. Love. Sex. Death...and other works in progress". The briefest description I can give: He delivers a feel good "we can change the world" message through a series of bawdy stories and dirty jokes. It's actually a lot of fun.

I first met him backstage while I was involved with our local theater's production of Hedwig and the Angry Inch, where he offered free massage and positive vibes to the actors. Lately, I seem to run into him every time I go to Whole Foods.

I want a sandwich.

I just ran across this old article about researchers at the University of London’s Institute of Psychiatry finding that workers bombarded with phone calls, e-mails, and text messages suffer a greater loss in IQ than marijuana users. I'm totally in the wrong career. It sounds like I will get smarter if I quit my job and become a pothead. The study must be true, because that career change sounds like a really good idea.

Did anyone else watch the cartoon Inhumanoids when they were kids? I doubt contemporary Saturday morning cartoons feature nearly as many amputations and deadly corrosive acid baths. And who could forget the giant undead subterranean dweller D'Compose, who with one touch turned humans into undead zombie giants hellbent on doing their master's bidding.

I think this audio version of "Cell" is the first "traditional" Stephen King novel I've experienced in perhaps seven years. I did reread and catch up on the Dark Tower series, finally finishing it, but that isn't his typical horror thing. I'm remembering how, when I first discovered King in eighth grade, I used to read his books for all the scenes of graphic violence. Now, I'm reading it for all the stuff in between and actually don't care for all the blood (although without the blood, the stuff in between probably isn't as good). It makes me wonder if I should go back and reread (or listen to) the books I read as a surly teenager, so I can pay attention to the parts I rushed through.

In other news, krasota is making turkey broth. She threw a little bit of everything in the pot with a turkey carcass and intends to simmer it all night long. I like to call it primordial soup, because there is a chance (albeit a slim one) that life will arise in that stock pot, boil itself over, and slime its way across the floor to watch TV in my office.

After the baby was born and my quiet private time disappeared, I turned to audio books to satisfy my need for "reading". I still read paper, but I have a lot of time on my feet doing menial chores around the house during which I would be bored to tears without an audiobook on the iPod. Thus far, bit torrent has been my friend. However, recently, I listened to "The Golden Compass" and found the production quality of the multi-cast recording to be so high that I actually feel guilty for not having bought it.

So, I considered Audible.com. But, with the baby here, my budget is also very tight. I'm not sure I can afford to commit to the monthly fee.

How about the library? The selection is limited, but I am giving it a try. I'm borrowing Stephen King's "Cell" at the moment, which I have ripped to my iPod for listening. I'll eventually delete it, too. Not for any moral reason, but because I'm only choosing to listen to books I never intend to "re-read" or to ones I actually own in hardcopy, so I don't have to clutter my hard drive and iPod.

One problem. Out of 11 CDs, each with 17 or so tracks, there are bound to be scratches. Indeed, there are four tracks in "Cell" that I cannot rip successfully due to some damage on the disc. I'm tempted to just torrent the book to get those tracks.

Which leads me to a weird solution to my moral dilemma. Perhaps I shouldn't bother borrowing from the library, but rather only torrent the books online that I could otherwise get from my library.