Monthly Archives: January 2013

Of Special Note From The Chemo Lounge Shuffle Play

Legendary Texas guitar slinger Johnny Winter, doing Highway 61 Revisited. I listened to this three times in a row.

Legendary California guitar slinger Thurston Moore, of Sonic Youth, doing Leaky Lifeboat — wildy different genre, but equally enjoyable for guitar slinger fanbois:

Back to the Lounge today for a Neulasta shot, which promises majestic BONE PAIN, or minimally to suppplement the majestic BONE PAIN from the taxotere yesterday. Half the time I think that the mere suggestion of side effects makes my monkey brain generate side effects. Oh, and possible hair loss. I wonder if my deep hair vanity will override that. Probably not…that shit seems to always effect. The upside is major savings on shampoo, razor blades, and haircuts. The downside is hair everywhere, for I am pretty much a damn grizzly.

Memo to the Facebook COO

Chief operating officer tells Davos women are less liked as they become more successful

Lady, it ain’t the ‘women’ part, it’s the ‘successful’ part. All bosses are hated, always have been, always will be. All successes are resented, always will be. Jeebus, that seems obvious. Since it’s Davos, and she’s talking to a cohort of Scrooge McDuck megalomaniacs, I’m sure it seems like something new, this insight from the dawn of time.

Or I’m just a vagina-fearing misogynist.

Science Marches On

The printed AR magazine:

From Defense Distributed, Texas nerds who make me even prouder to be a Texas nerd (Ret).

The California nerds are peeing their sparkly panties over the application of technology to liberty, rather than applying it to their preferred use of making cute cases for your telephone. A Democrat from Jay-Z State is now threatening to legislate (more precisely: gasbagging the living hell out of everybody) 3D printers…I guess he wanted to get a flag planted ahead of Mommy Bloomberg.

As Jeff says often, “This is who they are. This is what they do.”

Dang it, no wolverines

The first quick trip through the internet doesn’t show any sign of angry wolverines at King Golfpants Coronation II. Mostly warmed-over tranformative progressive horseshit, burbling up from the Fourth Estate putting lipstick on the hogs.

Meanwhile, China’s directive to the People’s Liberation Army: Get Ready for War

Although past directives have directed soldiers to be prepared in case of war, this year’s directive, for the first time, uses the Chinese word “dazhang,” which means “fighting war,” and uses it 10 times in the 1000 word directive.

NB: I have no idea who this Xenakis fellow is, nor have I ever heard of He features an interesting Generational theory that I have heard supported elsewhere. Well, China’s a long way away from the Reviewing Stand of His ‘Oliness. Let’s not mess up His Day with bad karma thoughts…time enough for that tomorrow, after we sweep up the confetti, and it’s back on your heads.

Best line about the coronation

I’m a frickin’ hermit in the frickin’ desert, and even I know what frickin’ Michelle Obama will be wearing to the frickin’ ball. That’s just wrong.

Total media blackout hereabouts. Not clue one. I guess I’ll read about it when I read the internet in the morning. For now, I practice avoidance

And I’d only care to hear anything if it involves a massive outbreak of Guns-of-Navarone-pissed-off wolverines. And the wolverines all got away.

Cocktail Approval Achieved

I got word last week that the insurance had agreed to pay for some version of the chemotherapy recommended by the doc, so Monday morning I’ll be getting that little stick. Whee.

They say it’s a one or two hour ordeal. They say that the side effects are less than the previous cocktail. I hope so. I don’t want to be a hairless ape again. That’s SOOOO vain, I know.

Good timing, though — hockey starts again tonight, so there will be plenty of good clean fun on the toob.

I reckon we’ll be seeing more of this in the coming days

Casual slander of great unnamed swathes of people in order to promote an agenda of control:

Yet when I say I know these people personally, I mean I know their faults and foibles too. Many, a majority even, have an involvement in the grey economy of these West Texan small towns – stuff that “falls off the back of a truck” or cash in hand that the taxman doesn’t need to know about. Many take drugs – weed, meth and prescription painkillers are the favorites around here. Many have done time for some crime themselves. Still, they fear “the other” – people who they may have experiences in common with but are not them or their small clique of good ol’ boys. The hypocrisy is obvious but never mentioned, because that simply makes the tension between their notion of what should be and their notion of what is unbearable. There’s a lot of “exploding white men” in West Texas, what Bruce Jacobs describes as “an emotional breaking point inherent in the late-capitalist tension between the venerable white male expectation of dominant power and the widespread white male reality of pain and loss and rage”. Gun control, crime, religion, race – they’re all part of and stand as proxies to an underlying zeitgeist.

That’s the second article I read today with this trope or meme in it — anecdotal hogwash about angry white guys with guns who are little more than hopped-up gangsters their ownselves. I imagine there are plenty more blog posts in Draft folders from these poor benighteds out in the hinters forced to rub shoulders with the ticking time bombs.

Note that the linked website knows from ‘falls off the back of a truck.’

The Fusilier Pundit has something important to say

you joined the NRA . . .
. . . so now you want a medal, or something?

Spend as much on these institutions and organizations as you would on your next scarcity-overpriced case of ammunition or your next batch of standard-capacity magazines—if you can find the ammunition or the mags. You can’t now, because they’re gone. They’re gone now because you didn’t buy them before the sphincters closed. The sphincters closed because you didn’t support the organizations back when this stuff was cheap.

I pretty much agree with his position, except…I’m not a member of anything (I dropped all the extras a year and a half ago.) I’ve gone back and forth on the NRA and their utility, but one undeniable point is that they are NATIONAL and they do a fine job of being NATIONAL. Since we seem to be moving to a NATIONAL Imperator model of government, that’s quite necessary.

They are also quite effective at making Our Progressive Reality-Based Betters’ heads explode.*

*I could do a week’s worth of posts on the New Jersey Fat Boy, called “Upon Which Side Is My Bread Buttered?”

Winter blues temporary relief

DirecTV is all over the Australian Open.

I’ll just go ahead and admit that I mainly watch the womens’ matches. With few exceptions, it’s the epitome of graceful athletic beauty, an ideal, if you will. If you go for that kind of thing. The matches are generally better, too — point/game/set strategy — if you go for that kind of thing.

I also giggle over the ballkinder showing their palms like a Vegas blackjack dealer at the end of a shift. Odd.