So we’re all tired of the Onion.  What else to read, then?  Well the Weekly World News is reliable, but is only partially on-line.  The Daily Show has clips online with no commercials.  Fafblog seems a little too desperate. Girls are Pretty bangs the gong of manic bewilderment more strangely.

I must admit to lately reading now and again various stuffs by, I am guessing, nasty 14 year old guys.  Something Awful is, most of the time.  But I look anyway.

Tonight I wasted much time at the stupid but embarrassingly addictive BigBoys.  It’s a huge collection of video clips of stuff teenage guys would dig.  Wipeouts, fights, crashes, disasters, soft porn-ish stuff and supposedly funny commercials.  But there seem to be some valuable life lessons to be gleaned from these tapes:

1) Resist peer pressure and beware of Cops. (violent; fake?)

2) Old Europe has Capitalists, too.  (violent)

3) Watching sports is not always boring.  (meteorologically disturbing)

4) Finally, even World Peacekeeper Kayaker-Sniper-Assassins would well to remember that their position in the food-chain may be less secure than  imagined (sweet violence of nature)

So, as usual, I’m walking around Big Lots.  I wanna buy a cheap phone, and I’m dismayed at how ugly phones have gotten since the advent of the cordless.  Loads and loads of serious boring phones and no little cheap phones with cords.  Big Lots couldn’t help me with my lack of a neat bedside phone.  Instead I was confronted by this intense little man:

He seems kind of odd, doesn’t he?  Well, he’s a kayaker, and also a sniper.  So maybe that explains something.  With his gear he looks like this:

Now, it is just me, or is this a little fucked-up?  I mean, I am no strident enemy of violent toys, but a kayaking sniper?  Please.  As in, Please no.

And during every televised sporting event, there are commercial for the Army which are full of snipers.  There is a mountain desert version, where the sniper watches some Arabs in a pickup truck, and an alpine version where a sniper hide in pine trees and puts some cars in his cross hairs, as they turn-out their headlights (they should have known better than to try and hide from the sniper!).

These commercials are odd, because the Sniper never pulls the trigger, and towards the end of the commercial you see some guys driving around in a military transport, leaving us unsure just exactly why the sniper guy was putting everybody in his crosshairs.  Apparently he wasn’t trying to kill anybody, but was just sort of enjoying the feel of having some Arabic bad guys under his unseen trigger finger.  I guess viewers are supposed to see this and become enthusiastic about the sniping life.

And maybe this works.  Judging by the Army’s release of the alpine follow-up to the Arab sniper bit, the response to these must be good, and is surely well-researched.  The Army also, of course produces and supports a video game, who’s sole purpose is to get you to join the Army, to get the full immersion experience.  Funny that we’ve not heard too many objections to this bit of decadent art.  By playing it you enter into a whole on-line community full of recruiters and people who will try their best to pull you into a real firefight. 

The romance of the sniper.  Big Lots also has a series of “America: Our Action Heroes” sniper collections, that features Army, Navy Seal, and SWAT snipers.  These snipers are designed to be sold in firing position.  The forth sniper in the “heroes” series is actually a firefighter, holding his firehose in sniper position; the new heroic pose, I guess.

Did you see the 50 Most Loathsome People in America 2004?

Apart from the totaly unjustified inclusion of Ellen Degeneres, it’s pretty good.  And I like the Dante-esque inclusion of appropriate Punishments for the Loathsome.

Who’s missing, though?  Surely Rush Limbaugh is still Loathsome enough to replace Ellen D.?  Also Roberto Gonzales and Zell Miller.  And everybody in the media, starting with Stone Philips and Chris Matthews, but including Jay Leno, and not omitting the lately inconsequential but sill horror-show Dennis Miller. 

Am I forgetting a few others?

Former Neo-Con Michael Lind, via the Daily Kos:

In a second inaugural address tinged with evangelical zeal, George W. Bush declared: “Today, America speaks anew to the peoples of the world.” The peoples of the world, however, do not seem to be listening. A new world order is indeed emerging - but its architecture is being drafted in Asia and Europe, at meetings to which Americans have not been invited [. . .]

Here’s a Link to the longer article, which is dead-on in its analysis.

In response, one poster at Kos wrote:

power shifts (4.00 / 2)

This is going to be an interesting century. Imperialism and isolationism are dead.

To which a second (brilliant) poster at Kos answered:

* [new] I’d postpone the funeral, for now. . . (none / 0)

Chances are that the U.S. has entered a period of long-term decline as an international power.  This is fine, since the relative wealth and power of the US were excessive anyhow.

But it seems overly optimistic to declare therefore that imperialism and isolationism are “dead.”

The New World Order that will come to replace the old one has yet to be drawn up, and it remains to be seen whether the new political reality will be one of mature and enlightened multilateralism, or whether the return to a multi-polar world will be a return to the last (volatile, imperialist)  multilateral period, which prevailed before the first world wars.

The relative decline of the US was inevitable; however in the last days of its omnipotence, it might (if Bush hadn’t been elected) have worked to engineer political and diplomatic structures to prevent a return to the risky nationalistic alliance-making that prior to the Cold War always characterized world politics.

This sudden and abrupt switch to a multi-polar world may, I fear, turn out to have been too abrupt.

I hope that as Russia, China, Japan, and others (including post-national blocs) assume the role of great powers they are able to resist nationalist, regionalist, fundamentalist, and imperialist sentiment which is now gathering strength in those places.

Well, it looks like the mighty hittin stick which once lived by the Viper’s front door has been passed to the next generation. 

Word on the street is that the firm of Irene, Ann, and Viper have entered the property owning class over D.C. way.  I shall indiscrimanently give out their new contanct info to any marketing companies that might be interested.

I’ve been a little slack blog-wise just lately; and it’s hard to say how much I’ll manage to post as the semester assumes its full ferocity.

But I have started teaching, which promises to be fun.  I seem to have some pretty interesting students this semester–for now I’ll refrain from attempting little personality sketches of some of them, but I have the sense that in the future such abstinence may be difficult.  I will say that although I’m teaching three classes, my having only one prep will probably make life notably easier as the semester moves forward.

I met with my advisor yesterday who was more enthusiastic about my latest chapter that I am, which I guess is good.  Still some confusion about this next chapter with regard to exactly which texts I’ll be discussing.  The Early Modern Group on campus here wants to know if I’ll present to them this semester — I think I’ll say yes although this chapter is barely started and it seems unlikely have much time to work on it after the next week or so.  I can probably scrape *something* together for them, although I’m hesitant to propose a talk on what will probably be the text I’ll write about first, and most centrally in the chapter.  There is after-all something a little funny about people who write on this, isn’t there?  Maybe I can spice things up by using  this edition of the play. 

So, anyhow, I’ve been in a sort of darkish mood lately, what with the inauguration and my stupid car and all.  But car has been fixed, and seems fine.  Stupid, but fine.  I get a little post-traumatic driving it, however, and have difficulty avoiding the habits I’ve acquired over the past *months* of erratic operation.  I get nervous in the left turn lane; I watch the heat-gage; I approach stop lights slowly and try never to stop the car.  It’s weird, actually, driving with the constant expectation that the engine may at any moment stop.

It’s snowing ardently today, so I’m glad I made it out to Meijer last night (again, my driving instincts prevent me from crossing North Prospect during the day).  Meijer was interesting but kind of disturbing.  They had no dried apricots (the apricot, as we know, is the prince of fruits); however they were selling Grapples.  Grapple: “Looks like an apple.  Tastes like a Grape!”  Sadly I fear there may be little market for these until  grapes are made to taste like apples.  Then, watch out.

There are other sundry problems blackening my outlook, but I omit them here.  Apparently however I am on the anxious side lately.  Last night I bought a nice little plastic bottle of vegetable oil (why, btw, does cooking oil almost always come in the same oddly shaped bottles, regardless of brand?).  My old bottle was not really empty but old and dirty and sort of smushed.  Better, I figured, to have a small bottle in the cabinet and perhaps to replenish it from a bigger one if necessary.  Anyway, so last night I dreamt that I went to some sort of fondue party, and took my bottle of vegetable oil with me.  There was some sort of dip or something that somehow looked like it could use a little more vegetable oil, so I added some from my little bottle.  However the dip required *canola* oil or some other kind of oil, apparently.  Soon I heard a angry and disgusted voice: “Did someone put *vegetable* oil in here?!”  And I saw the dip (some sort of cheese-thing) congealing in a weird way.  I looked around and kind of hid my little bottle of vegetable oil.

This is particularly odd, since I hardly ever have dreams that relate this closely to real life (setting aside the dubious usefulness of either vegetable or canola oil for fondue purposes), or anxiety-type dreams about teaching or social situations (oddly, I seem to dream most often about architecture).

Well, ok, I leave this then there.  I’d better go get started with my day.

. . . all I seem to be worrying about lately, anyhow.  Throwing together course materials for the new semester, which for me begins on Wednesday.  Teaching three sections can be a somewhat  crushing and disheartening experience when you’re still trying to write on your diss.–especially when one’s not written as much as one needed to over the holiday break.

But whatever.  Today I’m building my syllabus, which is to some extent copied from last semester, but with enough revisions to make it tricky.  I’m trying to jam more readings on ethics and mimesis into the course, without forgetting about the actual stories that we’re supposed to be learning how to read.

Yesterday a tasty brunch at Radio Maria, were I got to meet Exene for the first time and say hi to the indefatigable FamousP as well as Jen and her parents.  It was also nice to see department expatriate Mark H., who later gave a sneak preview of the upcoming RM menu.  It looked plenty good to my naive palate.  That my sad lack of money and dating partners has made me an infrequent visitor to RM lately is regrettable indeed.

Two days ago Dan and Sarah and I took a trip to Chicago, where we bought stuff.  Things obtained by me:

IKEA:
Cutting board (1)
Cutting board oil
Wooden hangars (1 6-pack)
Wooden grapsy hangars (6)
Medium size candles (2)
Tiny little candles (100)
Little glass tiny-candle holders (5)

Quimby’s:
Adventures Unlimited Catalog
Copy of Infiltration zine-thing.
A strange zine-thing called “POWER”  (n/a)
A lovely pretty zine thing by pleasantly unknown but very interesting Lilli Carre.  (It is called “Deep Sea Diving” and is a quite beautiful love story about a boy and an octopus and isn’t even listed at the Quimby’s website.  Maybe I can stick it on my syllabus…)

Powell’s:
The Moor in English Renaissance Drama, Jack D’Amico.

O’Gara and Wilson:
The Plays of Philip Massinger (an old complete edition–all 19 plays!)
Hamlet and Revenge, by Eleanor Prosser — a well-written interesting piece of criticism (1967), heretofore unknown to me.

So, a pretty good haul, and a generally fun trip.  We might perhaps have found more more interesting places to eat, I suppose, but whatever.

We were at least able to pay a visit to Loraedo Taft’s typically ponderous (but secretly delightful) The Fountain of Time, which is beautiful in its abandonment at the end of the U of C’s Midway Plaisance, marking the point that was the remotest edge of the 1893 Columbian Exposition.  Watched by the figure of time, across the reflecting pool, a vast series of figures completes the march from childhood through vigorous adulthood, and finally into the grave.  One figure, approaching it, turns to regard the end-point of the journey:

Anyway, so, it was a fun trip.  Have a nice day.

We’re waiting, today, to see what gets sent back from Cassini-Huygens.  The ESA’s Huygens probe has separated from Cassini, landed on Titan, and apparently sent back more that 90 minutes worth of data to Cassini, which is now turning its antenna back towards the earth.  Huygen’s data should be back in just a few hours.  Scientists once believed that Titan was covered by an enormous methane ocean; it’s now thought that methane lakes and seas may only partially cover the planet, but no one knows for sure.  Upon what will Huygens descend?  It seems we’ll learn shortly.

From time to time I find myself challenged about the usefulness of the Space Program.  Why spend such money studying rocks, when there is so much suffering here on earth?  A fair question, so say the least.  Perhaps one answer lies — ummm — with the children.

But not just with them.  In this dark time of religious apocalypse, evidence that humans from different places and cultures can work together, with curiosity and respect for the world, is tonic in this nasty desert of the unreal.  I have not so much need for masculine flag-planting on distant ova-shaped bodies.  Unmanned (small pun intended) space exploration is mostly where it’s at as far as I’m concerned (at least til technology makes prolonged human spaceflight easier) . 

I like that there’s no guy on Mars planting a flag, but rather a couple of cool little rovers, who serve as the eyes of millions of people across the world, who downloaded the Martian images as they returned to the planet (these suffering rovers are apparently rather chilly lately, though still oddly cheerful in the face of their immanent demise).  The world needn’t adopt a scientific monoculture — people and groups will continue to look through eyes of our own.  But a shared interest in the world and a sense of what can come from working together are values worth remembering ourselves and offering to others.

Congratulation to NASA and the European Space Agency.  Here’s hoping that by the time most of you read this, we know a whole lot more about the surface of our solar system’s largest, and possibly oceanic, moon.

[2:08 pm CST: Update:  They are streaming the video at NASA (the ESA’s coverage just ended).  I think I just saw the first (very blurry, via Realplayer and in life) pictures of Titan…It looked almost coastal, with complex twisty channels.  Amazing!  Sharper pics and ones from closer in still to come…]

[Update II; Here it is — but what *is* it?  Wow.]

Yesterday I chatted briefly with DR about removing comments from the site.  There’s an attractiveness to the idea.  I may eventually do that, as some of my favorite blogs, even those that have become a little toddler-centric lately, are blessedly comment-free.

A few people have complained of trying to post comments but having trouble with the captcha-code thing.  But this should be fixed now.  So if you have trouble commenting on something please do let me know about it.

You’ve probably seen this video already.  If not, take a look.  It’s quite something. 

Many of those fighting against the US in Iraq are thugs, and others are religious fundamentalists who oppose most of the principles in which I believe.  But how noble and compelling the cause of these fighters seems in this video, set against their swelling anthem.  And I surely agree with the need to resist US imperialism, although I’m also sure that I part company with many fighters with regard to their objectives and beliefs.

Those who believe in secularism and democratic social reform in places like Iran must now face being marginalized as stooges of US imperalism.  It’s difficult to imagine a Chinese protest today including an image of the Statue of Liberty, now that that statue has been appropriated by Bush’s Neo-Fascist Imperialism.  The tainting of the high ideals for which the US has (at its best, on occasion) stood is one of the more insidious and dangerous consequences of the Iraq debacle. 

In 1917, when the clouds of World War I hung over the capital, Woodrow Wilson had no parties, saying they were undignified.

Not this year.  Not this president:

The festivities culminating Jan. 20 are expected to cost $40 million, not including millions more for the most extensive inaugural security ever.

The highlight - Bush’s second swearing-in and then his speech - will be accompanied by nine swanky official balls, a parade, a concert hosted by the First Couple’s twin daughters and fireworks. Premium tickets are going for as much as $250,000, which includes a lunch attended by the President.

The parade will feature even more of a military presence than usual, and there will be a new addition to the itinerary: a Commander in Chief’s Ball for soldiers just back from Iraq or Afghanistan or those soon heading into combat. The Pentagon is arranging 2,000 free tickets for the troops - fat cats need not apply.

Except for security, the megabucks tab for the four days of inaugural festivities will be picked up by private donors. Several oil companies have already kicked in the maximum $250,000. The editorial pages of a few small newspapers around the country have advocated scaling back the show, calling it unseemly. Some critics argue donors’ cash would be better spent making sure every soldier has body armor.

Really, why this?  Why now? They keep calling it an “inauguration,” but Bush is *already* president.  This is a militarized triumphal celebration.  Aint’ nobody or nothin’ being inaugurated.

Unlike many stories that you may know, this one does not end happily.  So, if you prefer stories in which things work out for the best, then may I suggest you quit reading this right now.  This tale, you see, concerns a most unlucky sequence of occurrences. 

One rainy Winter morning the almost-young James Darkqualm awoke from a long night of gloomy reading and saltine crackers, to the ringing of his telephone: “Who is this, calling me at this late hour of the morning?,” James wondered to himself.  James was glad to find that it was his friend, V..  Would James like to go have breakfast, or perhaps (at this hour), lunch?  Of course he would!

James and V. enjoyed a tasty meal that was half breakfast and half lunch, consisting of (on the one hand) one part waffle and (on the other hand) one part hamburger.  As the rain drizzled down outside (”drizzled” meaning, here, “fell out of the sky”)  V. and James talked and talked.  Soon it was time to go.  What a pleasant day it had been so far!

Yet I am sorry to tell you that things don’t go very well from here.  Are you sure you really want to finish this story?  It is entirely your decision.  But you have been warned now, fair and square.

So, then.  V. dropped young(ish) James Darkqualm off at the automotive garage.  The garage was blue, and in a back alley, and inside was a man with short cut hair and latex gloves on his hands.  He jumped up from a fancy computer, saying :”Hello, Mr. Darkqualm!  It seems I have repaired your car!  It purrs like a kitten now that I’ve adjusted the throttle.”  The man seemed friendly and very knowledgeable.  His latex gloves made him look a little like a doctor for cars.  “Yes,” he remarked, “I drove with it all the way out to Hobbico.”  James was glad.  “You’re welcome,” said the mechanic, with a smile.

James drove his car, which now purred very nicely indeed, all the way out to the edge of town.  Yet as he pulled into the edge-of-town bookstore, something most unlucky happened: the engine, I’m sad to report, died.  James managed (after some time) get the car running for just long enough to park it nicely.  He then walked into the bookstore, to wait for the engine to cool down, so that the car would start again.  While waiting in the bookstore, James read many interesting volumes, including a slim book describing the adventures of some decidely unlucky children. 

Soon, James felt, it was time to leave.  His little red hatchback scarcely made it out of the parking-lot before, I’m sorry to say it, it stalled again.  From the car behind him, a friendly English professor shouted: “Hey! do you need a phone!” 

Well, no James didn’t.  He waited a few minutes, and drove another fifty feet before stalling once more.  “Well,” James thought, “this won’t do at all.”  So he turned on his hazard lights (”hazards” meaning here, flashing lights that one turns on to show that a car has changed from a vehicle to an obstacle).  He then walked into the Target store: “Do you have a phone book”?  he asked the unhappy teenager behind the front desk.  Soon James was on the phone with the towing company; or, more precisely, with a kindly old lady who promised that a tow-truck would come to the rescue in no more than fifteen minutes.  Relieved, James bought an ICEE, exited the Target store, through the rain, to go find his little red car.

But when he got there, it was gone. 

Oh dear reader, I can hardly bear to tell you the rest.  For the police (who are not always as nice as they might seem), had already found and towed poor James’s car in hardly more than ten minutes!  And now there was nothing left for James to do but call the police, and wait at the bus stop at sunset in the windy rain, for a bus to take him to the dark run-down tow yard, where a large man with a cigar told James that his car had been towed by a flat-bed truck, and so he would have to pay extra.

If only I could tell you that things had gone well for poor James after that.  But alas, let us lower the curtain on his sad story.  If you are sad from reading of these unlucky occurrences, (surely you didn’t *enjoy* it?) you mustn’t blame me — I did warn you, after-all, that the story of poor James Darkqualm is at best a gloomy one indeed.

C’mon . . . you know very well that in the future, we’ll all be doing this.

Like everyone else however, I suppose I’d want a prosthetic one.