The Usual Dosage

I have a new set of heroes. After reading an interesting back story on ABC’s website regarding so-called “hoax websites”, ala the Bonsai Kitten, I was impressed by the antics of the “Yes Men“. Evidently HBO recently did a documentary on them entitled “The Yes Men Fix The World”. One of their acts was to put up a website called “Dow Ethics” (http://www.dowethics.com). The site was so convincing that in 2004 the BBC contacted the men through the site to book an interview with one of the “executives”, well, at least the BBC thought they were Dow executives. The Yes Men obliged and gave an on-air interview taking full credit for the Bhopal, India disaster and informing that they would pay billions to the citizens for the loss of over 8,000 lives. Dow’s stock price plunged on the news.

I applaud their efforts.

White Rabbit’s Percussion Gun is an interesting song. I’m not sure how it makes me feel yet, but I’ve liked listening to it so far.

I’ve been out of town, practically incommunicado for 4 days. It was nice, I relaxed (some), drank (a lot) and reminisced about the past, which, I will say, is very dangerous while drinking.

I spent a few hours in my childhood house walking around. It was empty, I was alone, and it was very still. I perused my old books, laid flat on my back on my old bed and ambled around the property, looking for something.

I was, but I’m not sure what. It’s cliche, but I’d know if I found it, and I didn’t. It was bittersweet. The memories of my youth flooded back, less clear than they were a few years ago, but still very real. I would sit at the edge of my bed, or on the last stair of the flight, or stand, transfixed, like I was looking off at something in the distance. I wasn’t, there was nothing there.

I can only express visiting my childhood home after a long absence in simile. It was like being the child in line for the water fountain: you eagerly anticipate getting there, languish in the chilly wetness once you are there, and, when your inevitably short moment passes too soon, feel as if something has been ripped from you.

Or perhaps I just had an over dramatic childhood.

Your friends have been listening to this for several months. Now it’s your turn. Sorry for the fucking MySpace commercial bullshit. Everyone has to get paid.

This is what Google thinks it looks like. I can’t say I disagree.