Too much isn't a good thing.
Or: maybe I should've had that flu shot.
Remember! Tomorrow Self Help Radio presents my favorite electronic songs of the year! Happening in the afternoon at selfhelpradio.net. Listen if only to hear how fucked up my voice sounds!
Friday, December 12, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
The Self Help Radio Email Archive Project: Submission Seven
Written for a young lady (not named Jane Jameson) in the spring of 1996. There's a sad story here, but I won't put it in here. Needless to say, I invented the "brain gophers" for her & this is the first time I've shared them with anyone but her. I hope she forgives me!
-----
Denver, 1999. In the fairly civil Civil Engineering Lab of the famous Jane "Overpass" Jameson, sewage system designer to the stars, the Civil Engineer confronts Specula, leader of the Brain Gophers.
"What do you want?" says she. "Batteries not included."
"A cup of tea would be nice," Specula responds. Not even a little chagrined.
Pouring tea, Jane realizes that all these years just the hint of flowing liquid would make her have to go the bathroom. Even reading such a sentence, or a wonderful poem mentioning the lovely cascade of an elegant river, would trigger her urination fixation. She thinks she might need some sort of bladder control device, & thinks about designing one.
"Brain Gophers, despite what our name implies (& we didn't name ourselves, Ms. Jameson, our parents did)," says Specula, "don't need brains. We don't have brains. We certainly don't want human brains. We like to dig in them, it's true, but we'd rather have cake. Lots of it. With sticky candies on top. And a thin layer of candle wax & grime. And perhaps a little song."
Jane's ears perk up. "A bunny hop song?" says she.
"Of course not," Specula fumes. "A Brain Gopher song."
Jane consults her World Almanac. Nothing there about Brain Gophers. She watches a little TV. Still not a thing about Brain Gophers, not even on the Discovery Channel. She reads the complete work of Henry James, who, she realizes too late, actually just seemed to have a gopher up his ass, not in his brain. She comes back to find the Brain Gopher beating himself in a double-blind game of of Stratego.
"I have no song," she says, realizing the world is doomed & she made need to start packing, "but I have a rhyming couplet."
"Hit me," says Specula.
"Okay," says Jane. She clear her throat, which hasn't felt well since March of 1996, and intones:
"No one ever can begin to explain
Those pesky gophers of the brain
But we can use lemon juice on that stain."
"That's not a rhyming couplet!" the Brain Gopher snarls. "That's a rhyming triplet!"
"Would you like an overpass with that?" asks Jane.
-----
Denver, 1999. In the fairly civil Civil Engineering Lab of the famous Jane "Overpass" Jameson, sewage system designer to the stars, the Civil Engineer confronts Specula, leader of the Brain Gophers.
"What do you want?" says she. "Batteries not included."
"A cup of tea would be nice," Specula responds. Not even a little chagrined.
Pouring tea, Jane realizes that all these years just the hint of flowing liquid would make her have to go the bathroom. Even reading such a sentence, or a wonderful poem mentioning the lovely cascade of an elegant river, would trigger her urination fixation. She thinks she might need some sort of bladder control device, & thinks about designing one.
"Brain Gophers, despite what our name implies (& we didn't name ourselves, Ms. Jameson, our parents did)," says Specula, "don't need brains. We don't have brains. We certainly don't want human brains. We like to dig in them, it's true, but we'd rather have cake. Lots of it. With sticky candies on top. And a thin layer of candle wax & grime. And perhaps a little song."
Jane's ears perk up. "A bunny hop song?" says she.
"Of course not," Specula fumes. "A Brain Gopher song."
Jane consults her World Almanac. Nothing there about Brain Gophers. She watches a little TV. Still not a thing about Brain Gophers, not even on the Discovery Channel. She reads the complete work of Henry James, who, she realizes too late, actually just seemed to have a gopher up his ass, not in his brain. She comes back to find the Brain Gopher beating himself in a double-blind game of of Stratego.
"I have no song," she says, realizing the world is doomed & she made need to start packing, "but I have a rhyming couplet."
"Hit me," says Specula.
"Okay," says Jane. She clear her throat, which hasn't felt well since March of 1996, and intones:
"No one ever can begin to explain
Those pesky gophers of the brain
But we can use lemon juice on that stain."
"That's not a rhyming couplet!" the Brain Gopher snarls. "That's a rhyming triplet!"
"Would you like an overpass with that?" asks Jane.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Whither Gary's Favorite Electronica 2008?
Ah. cold medicine. How kind you are to those of us whose noses are rubbed red from incessant blowing! You have let me see, through the cotton & fuzz in my head, such winsome colors & marmalade skies. That is why I am proud that this week's Self Help Radio will be a tender & thorough explication, exploration & explanation of my friend the cold/sinus medication.
[Uh, Gary? No, no, it won't. - Ed.]
Who said that? Holy fuck me! Is the cold medicine talking to me again?
[No, Gary, it's me. Your editor. - Ed.]
Ed.? Ed.? Who's Ed.?
[Remember, fifteen years ago, when they pulled you out of a Bombay slum where your vacationing parents had left you with only a sign that read "Help Me - Victim Of Chernobyl"? I was part of the team who put your back together. We wanted to make you bigger, stronger, faster. We had the technology. Instead, we found you liked to do radio. I was asked to keep an eye on you & make sure you could string proper English words together in a sentence. - Ed.]
I don't remember any of that. Is it true?
[What's true is true if you think it's true, Gary. - Ed.]
I think I should up the dosage of my cold medicine!
[& I think you should make sure that this week's Self Help Radio is your pick of your favorite Electronica of 2008. - Ed.]
Favorite electric cold medication!
[We would have made so much more money off you if you had just let us replace your brain with a barrel of monkey. - Ed.]
Monkeys on cold medication!
[Uh, Gary? No, no, it won't. - Ed.]
Who said that? Holy fuck me! Is the cold medicine talking to me again?
[No, Gary, it's me. Your editor. - Ed.]
Ed.? Ed.? Who's Ed.?
[Remember, fifteen years ago, when they pulled you out of a Bombay slum where your vacationing parents had left you with only a sign that read "Help Me - Victim Of Chernobyl"? I was part of the team who put your back together. We wanted to make you bigger, stronger, faster. We had the technology. Instead, we found you liked to do radio. I was asked to keep an eye on you & make sure you could string proper English words together in a sentence. - Ed.]
I don't remember any of that. Is it true?
[What's true is true if you think it's true, Gary. - Ed.]
I think I should up the dosage of my cold medicine!
[& I think you should make sure that this week's Self Help Radio is your pick of your favorite Electronica of 2008. - Ed.]
Favorite electric cold medication!
[We would have made so much more money off you if you had just let us replace your brain with a barrel of monkey. - Ed.]
Monkeys on cold medication!
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Preface To Gary's Favorite Electronica 2008: What's So Bad About Robots?
Warning: I am still cold-sick & am full of difficult medications. So before I tell you why robots will eventually enslave us & make us into no better than toasters for their sick fantasies, let me assure you that I am as lucid as the old mill stream. Or if I could put it in limerick form:
There once was an inveterate drummer,
Whose lack of teeth made him a gummer,
Hoof & mouth disease
Had killed all his fleas
But they couldn't kill his neighborhood plumber.
I drifted off there for a second. What was I saying? Something about the nascent probability of orbital decay? That old party fluke? I never! Still, when it's balmy out, the medication makes me feel the strangest pure joy. I should like to blow my nose exclusively in the shower. We wait, don't we, for the many ways to bend & unbend.
Still not convinced? Exhibit R: robots! They may seem lovable now, but doesn't a knife seem nice until it's cutting your jugular? Could I say the same about scissors? & David Duchovny?
I trust you'll vouchsafe my godspeed as I away? Very well. Damn, this is good cold medicine.
There once was an inveterate drummer,
Whose lack of teeth made him a gummer,
Hoof & mouth disease
Had killed all his fleas
But they couldn't kill his neighborhood plumber.
I drifted off there for a second. What was I saying? Something about the nascent probability of orbital decay? That old party fluke? I never! Still, when it's balmy out, the medication makes me feel the strangest pure joy. I should like to blow my nose exclusively in the shower. We wait, don't we, for the many ways to bend & unbend.
Still not convinced? Exhibit R: robots! They may seem lovable now, but doesn't a knife seem nice until it's cutting your jugular? Could I say the same about scissors? & David Duchovny?
I trust you'll vouchsafe my godspeed as I away? Very well. Damn, this is good cold medicine.
Monday, December 08, 2008
I'm So Cold For You
It's true. Despite another wonderful Self Help Radio in the can - last week's Birthday Show is being celebrated by virtually everyone who ever had a birthday - which may explain why all the robots hate it - damn you robots! - as I was saying, despite being flush with triumph at making another show which is better than most of the other shows being made by anyone within a three hundred foot radius of me (you know, because I have a restraining order against all other deejays - which of course makes segues at the radio station very difficult), I caught a cold this weekend. It sucks.
It may not be simply a cold. It may be what savvy medicos are calling "a sinus infection." Wait? What's that? If it's a sinus infection I may need antibiotics. Antibiotics are heavily promoted by the wealthy & powerful Evolving Germs lobby. I hear that politicians pay to not go to their fundraisers. Anyway, I don't want to see a doctor, so I have been chewing on some kind of cold/flu/sinus medication & it's the daytime formula so I can't even sleep.
You know why my friends are telling me to do? They want me to snort salt water. I'm not kidding. They say it's an old-fashioned way of curing a cold. I imagine it's a new-fangled way to destroy the mucous lining in your sinus cavity. But what do I know? My head feelings like it's filled with cotton. But salt isn't a powder I will snort, sorry.
Wait! Stop reading this blog! I'm still infectious! Sorry! So sorry about that!
It may not be simply a cold. It may be what savvy medicos are calling "a sinus infection." Wait? What's that? If it's a sinus infection I may need antibiotics. Antibiotics are heavily promoted by the wealthy & powerful Evolving Germs lobby. I hear that politicians pay to not go to their fundraisers. Anyway, I don't want to see a doctor, so I have been chewing on some kind of cold/flu/sinus medication & it's the daytime formula so I can't even sleep.
You know why my friends are telling me to do? They want me to snort salt water. I'm not kidding. They say it's an old-fashioned way of curing a cold. I imagine it's a new-fangled way to destroy the mucous lining in your sinus cavity. But what do I know? My head feelings like it's filled with cotton. But salt isn't a powder I will snort, sorry.
Wait! Stop reading this blog! I'm still infectious! Sorry! So sorry about that!
Friday, December 05, 2008
Happy Birthday To You!
Are you Bhumibol Adulyadej, Sheldon Lee Glashow, Little Richard, Joan Didion, Calvin Trillin, J. J. Cale, Peter Pohl, José Carreras, Morgan Brittany, Krystian Zimerman, Doctor Dre, Wayne Smith, Shalom Harlow, Amy Acker, Nick Stahl, Shizuka Ito, or Chris Solinsky? Are you at all like them? Because they have one thing in common, & it's not that they've all seen the business end of Dick Cheney's Saturday Nite Special. No, today is their birthday!
& do you know what? Everyone, even insomniacs & reincarnated douchebags, has a birthday! Especially but not including my lovely Magdalena, the only woman in the universe who has not gotten so tired of my shit that she's kicked my teeth in! Since she has a birthday (it was this past Monday, by the way), & since she's so important to me, it follows that all birthdays must be important to me. Go ahead, give me a logic puzzle, I'll solve it.
So tomorrow's Self Help Radio will be all about birthdays - not just Magda's, but yours, too. Listen to it now or save it for your birthday week. What do I care? I mean, I do care!
Something smells like a microwaved baked potato. (Which is, of course, weird. Why bake a potato only to microwave it?) I'm getting the hell out of here.
Listen to Self Help Radio tomorrow in the afternoon exclusively at selfhelpradio.net. It'll sound as good as a birthday cake tastes. You have my recorded word on that.
& do you know what? Everyone, even insomniacs & reincarnated douchebags, has a birthday! Especially but not including my lovely Magdalena, the only woman in the universe who has not gotten so tired of my shit that she's kicked my teeth in! Since she has a birthday (it was this past Monday, by the way), & since she's so important to me, it follows that all birthdays must be important to me. Go ahead, give me a logic puzzle, I'll solve it.
So tomorrow's Self Help Radio will be all about birthdays - not just Magda's, but yours, too. Listen to it now or save it for your birthday week. What do I care? I mean, I do care!
Something smells like a microwaved baked potato. (Which is, of course, weird. Why bake a potato only to microwave it?) I'm getting the hell out of here.
Listen to Self Help Radio tomorrow in the afternoon exclusively at selfhelpradio.net. It'll sound as good as a birthday cake tastes. You have my recorded word on that.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
The Self Help Radio Email Archive Project: Submission Six
Today's remembrance is from a silly email I wrote to a silly woman with whom I might have once had the chance to have a silly relationship but it fell through due to silliness. I am just posting excerpts of silliness.
The email was called "The Mlik Chocolate Melts In Your Hair, Not In Your Hamster"
She told me she was sad, & I wrote this:
You obviously haven't heard The Antacid Song!
Antacid, antacid
You don't understand my tummy
Antacid, antacid
You think I am a dummy
Just because I eat high heels
& travel with the acrobats
& skip all buffet meals
Doesn't mean I won't get mad
At my
Antacid, antacid
My stomach thinks you hate it
Antacid, antacid
He wished I never ate it
Just because I read real slow
& have a complex about cheese
& married an Asian ice flow
Don't mean I can digest grease
Oh,
Antacid, antacid,
Can't we all just get along?
Antacid, antacid,
I mean, in spite of this song?
Now, *that's* sad!
[Later, I write:]
For example, I am having this conversation with you in my head right now:
Me: Hey! Don't eat that!
You: Why not?
Me: It's a bug with staples all in it!
You: I know, I put them there.
Me: But why?
You: He has a soft exoskeleton.
Me: But aren't you going to eat him?
You: Perhaps on a kaiser roll.
Me: Won't the staples get in the way?
You: Does the toothpick in the Schlotsky's sandwich get in *your* way when *you* eat it?
Me: I take it out first.
You: You do?
Me: You're afraid of it getting all runny!
You: Take that back!
Me: You won't eat a runny bug! You won't eat a runny bug!
You: I'll kick your fag ass if you don't take that back!
Me: My fag ass?
You: You have a very homosexual behind.
Me: You think?
You: So do dachsunds, though.
Me: You just said that because they're called "weiner dogs."
You: You have no faith in my abilities, do you?
Me: I take it back.
You: Your faith?
Me: What I said about the runny bug.
You: Why?
Me: It won't get runny, it'll get mooshy.
You: Not with staples in it.
See? Piece of cake!
The email was called "The Mlik Chocolate Melts In Your Hair, Not In Your Hamster"
She told me she was sad, & I wrote this:
You obviously haven't heard The Antacid Song!
Antacid, antacid
You don't understand my tummy
Antacid, antacid
You think I am a dummy
Just because I eat high heels
& travel with the acrobats
& skip all buffet meals
Doesn't mean I won't get mad
At my
Antacid, antacid
My stomach thinks you hate it
Antacid, antacid
He wished I never ate it
Just because I read real slow
& have a complex about cheese
& married an Asian ice flow
Don't mean I can digest grease
Oh,
Antacid, antacid,
Can't we all just get along?
Antacid, antacid,
I mean, in spite of this song?
Now, *that's* sad!
[Later, I write:]
For example, I am having this conversation with you in my head right now:
Me: Hey! Don't eat that!
You: Why not?
Me: It's a bug with staples all in it!
You: I know, I put them there.
Me: But why?
You: He has a soft exoskeleton.
Me: But aren't you going to eat him?
You: Perhaps on a kaiser roll.
Me: Won't the staples get in the way?
You: Does the toothpick in the Schlotsky's sandwich get in *your* way when *you* eat it?
Me: I take it out first.
You: You do?
Me: You're afraid of it getting all runny!
You: Take that back!
Me: You won't eat a runny bug! You won't eat a runny bug!
You: I'll kick your fag ass if you don't take that back!
Me: My fag ass?
You: You have a very homosexual behind.
Me: You think?
You: So do dachsunds, though.
Me: You just said that because they're called "weiner dogs."
You: You have no faith in my abilities, do you?
Me: I take it back.
You: Your faith?
Me: What I said about the runny bug.
You: Why?
Me: It won't get runny, it'll get mooshy.
You: Not with staples in it.
See? Piece of cake!
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Whither Magda's Birthday Show 2008?
There was an old fellow who lived down by the river. He spent the day taking pictures of the water with his mobile phone. He was a lonely sort. He never had anyone to send the pictures to.
In the night he liked to tap on a keyboard with the computer off. He pretended the croaking of the frogs was lyrics to his spasmodic beat. He would never really admit this to anyone. He spent most of his time in his own head.
A big storm came one day upriver. It was almost like it was looking for a place to live. Since he didn't do much upkeep on his home by the river, the old fellow was ill-prepared for the tempest's ferocity. He might even welcome the danger.
He couldn't take his eyes off the storm. He sat on the porch for a while until the pounding rain & the heavy winds started throwing clumps of earth & stones at him. Then he sat inside for a while & tap-tapped on his keyboard. The storm didn't stop. The storm, apparently, didn't want to stop.
Living in his own head, the old fellow couldn't often tell reality from what he wanted to believe was real. The storm was something real that had invaded his head. You can live most of you life in your own head. Love is the kindest kind of thing from the outside that gets in.
The old fellow's storm was the way he felt about someone he met in the real world whose smile had dazzled him. The storm could hurt him, he felt, but so far it had just been astonishing, swirling his life around. Too much to feel, too much to see, senses working overtime on overload, the storm in his head called love.
If he could, he would have made a radio show for his love's birthday. Since I can, I do. For the beautiful woman who makes a storm rage inside me just by existing. How could I not celebrate her birthday?
In the night he liked to tap on a keyboard with the computer off. He pretended the croaking of the frogs was lyrics to his spasmodic beat. He would never really admit this to anyone. He spent most of his time in his own head.
A big storm came one day upriver. It was almost like it was looking for a place to live. Since he didn't do much upkeep on his home by the river, the old fellow was ill-prepared for the tempest's ferocity. He might even welcome the danger.
He couldn't take his eyes off the storm. He sat on the porch for a while until the pounding rain & the heavy winds started throwing clumps of earth & stones at him. Then he sat inside for a while & tap-tapped on his keyboard. The storm didn't stop. The storm, apparently, didn't want to stop.
Living in his own head, the old fellow couldn't often tell reality from what he wanted to believe was real. The storm was something real that had invaded his head. You can live most of you life in your own head. Love is the kindest kind of thing from the outside that gets in.
The old fellow's storm was the way he felt about someone he met in the real world whose smile had dazzled him. The storm could hurt him, he felt, but so far it had just been astonishing, swirling his life around. Too much to feel, too much to see, senses working overtime on overload, the storm in his head called love.
If he could, he would have made a radio show for his love's birthday. Since I can, I do. For the beautiful woman who makes a storm rage inside me just by existing. How could I not celebrate her birthday?
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Preface To Magda's Birthday 2008: Why Is This Particular Birthday So Damn Special?
To answer that, I may need to employ verse. This is a song I've been working on for the past thirteen minutes called "High School Band":
Met a girl from Poland, she was legally sweet
I gave her my broom so she could sweep me off of my feet
She took it as a chauvinist dig about how women
should be the ones doing housework
& punched me in the face for being a total motherfucking jerk.
I know, it doesn't scan yet, unless Bob Dylan were singing it, but it will once I add more profanity & set it to a totally awesome 1987 beat.
For those of you who think it's way too romantic for the likes of me, I will add that I intend to scream "Kill a cop! Cop a kill!" all through the song in a rad back-up mix-up that will play on a frequency which as well can be heard exclusively by Satanists & Christians afraid of Satanic messages.
All of this for the girl called Magda. Why? What is she? Is she some kind of anthropologist extraordinaire? Does she lay golden eggs? Does she use PowerPoint in ways that shame the common academic? Is this why she gets a Self Help Radio birthday show & no one else does?
Can anyone answer such questions? Or can such questions be satisfactorily responded to with another question? Yes & no, & also yes, but also here's something from the opera Carmen which I believe will further obscure what is truly my clearest of intentions:
La fleur que tu m'avais jetée
dans ma prison m'était restée,
flétrie et sèche, cette fleur
gardait toujours sa douce odeur;
et pendant des heures entières,
sur mes yeux, fermant mes paupières,
de cette odeur je m'enivrais
et dans la nuit je te voyais!
Do you see? Must you see?
Also, I lost a library book on the bus yesterday. If you find it, please get it back to me. I am sad about it.
Met a girl from Poland, she was legally sweet
I gave her my broom so she could sweep me off of my feet
She took it as a chauvinist dig about how women
should be the ones doing housework
& punched me in the face for being a total motherfucking jerk.
I know, it doesn't scan yet, unless Bob Dylan were singing it, but it will once I add more profanity & set it to a totally awesome 1987 beat.
For those of you who think it's way too romantic for the likes of me, I will add that I intend to scream "Kill a cop! Cop a kill!" all through the song in a rad back-up mix-up that will play on a frequency which as well can be heard exclusively by Satanists & Christians afraid of Satanic messages.
All of this for the girl called Magda. Why? What is she? Is she some kind of anthropologist extraordinaire? Does she lay golden eggs? Does she use PowerPoint in ways that shame the common academic? Is this why she gets a Self Help Radio birthday show & no one else does?
Can anyone answer such questions? Or can such questions be satisfactorily responded to with another question? Yes & no, & also yes, but also here's something from the opera Carmen which I believe will further obscure what is truly my clearest of intentions:
La fleur que tu m'avais jetée
dans ma prison m'était restée,
flétrie et sèche, cette fleur
gardait toujours sa douce odeur;
et pendant des heures entières,
sur mes yeux, fermant mes paupières,
de cette odeur je m'enivrais
et dans la nuit je te voyais!
Do you see? Must you see?
Also, I lost a library book on the bus yesterday. If you find it, please get it back to me. I am sad about it.
Monday, December 01, 2008
Ten Berths Below
Someone told me something New Mexico. Someone else suggested something else West Virginia. Someone over there told me something over here Dramatis Personae. All this & nothing more! If & only if there aren't several things you need both off your chest & on your knees. I think we understand each other, South Dakota. If only we didn't have to spend the night in this hell-hole I call your life.
Mother father sister brother gene. How fastidious can you cancel out the last lasting vestige of your earliest unremembered memories? Don't try to bullshit a shitbuller. There's only one exit & that one's blue-balled by the Lord.
The only reason your rationale is crumbling like so much crumbly crumble cake is that you're too caught up in squabble with the rabble when you're too crabby to the cabbie. Look around you! It's as if someone made an entire world from Mary Tyler Moore's tears! You're going to break after all!
If there's therapy, then, my friend Ben, you know you can, within your ken, understand that men, now & then, lose, not win. Listen for example to a The Self Help Radio episode or two. Never you mind thematics - whether dysfunction in the family or hot pants in the cold wash, it forces no pills down the throat to keep you swimming. Just listen. Listen & be ill at ease.
Pony Rhode Island!
Mother father sister brother gene. How fastidious can you cancel out the last lasting vestige of your earliest unremembered memories? Don't try to bullshit a shitbuller. There's only one exit & that one's blue-balled by the Lord.
The only reason your rationale is crumbling like so much crumbly crumble cake is that you're too caught up in squabble with the rabble when you're too crabby to the cabbie. Look around you! It's as if someone made an entire world from Mary Tyler Moore's tears! You're going to break after all!
If there's therapy, then, my friend Ben, you know you can, within your ken, understand that men, now & then, lose, not win. Listen for example to a The Self Help Radio episode or two. Never you mind thematics - whether dysfunction in the family or hot pants in the cold wash, it forces no pills down the throat to keep you swimming. Just listen. Listen & be ill at ease.
Pony Rhode Island!
Friday, November 28, 2008
I Promised A Treat!
My pal Dick Dickenbock (who is kind of a weirdo) allowed me to let you listen to (if you want) & view (at the very least) his subbing of the popular KVRX show "The Heliocentric Hootenanny" which airs Thursday mornings from 7 to 9 am on (obviously) KVRX 91.7 fm & online at kvrx.org. His show, which was trying to fit the format that the normal (if you can call him that) host follows, is available for your listening pleasure at the selfhelpradio.net place. Please to enjoy.
Also, you know, this week's show will appear in a matter of hours. I should perhaps get some sleep.
Also, you know, this week's show will appear in a matter of hours. I should perhaps get some sleep.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Whither Dysfunctional Family Holiday 2008?
I mean, what am I, some sort of hypocrite, since I don't celebrate Thanksgiving & I don't go home to be with the family during this long ass weekend?
No, I am doing it for you. You suffer with the family. I will provide the soundtrack.
Silly.
No, I am doing it for you. You suffer with the family. I will provide the soundtrack.
Silly.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Preface To Dysfunctional Family Holiday 2008: Painkillers Are Our Friends
Look at this remarkable website: http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/family/
It says this: "Our collection of Family Poems describe the special relationship between brothers and sisters, the love for ones [sic] mother or father, the love of a mother for her child, the love between a grandmother and grandfather for their children. Emotions range from the beautiful memories of childhood innocence to the horrible memories of childhood abuse." Oh fucking boy!
& sure enough, it begins. Apparently eschewing good taste for alphabetical order (I approve), the site has as its two top headings "Abandonment" & "Abortion." I should ask these guys to do my show this week!
About "abandonment": "Family is who we look to when we need help. We expect our parents to raise us, our grandparents to love us, and our brothers and sisters to always be there for us when the chips are down. They are our blood and we depend on that connection. When a family member doesn't live up to our expectations we feel abandoned. When a parent, grandparent or older brother or sister puts their needs in front of our own, we feel abandoned and alone. In such a case, we are likely to feel sad, alone and anger." Blah blah blah. Look to family when you need help! They're usually the cause of the problem. Next!
About "abortion": "Abortion Poems. Poems about abortion by Adults and Teens. Poems for Mothers who have had abortions. Poems on abortions and unwanted pregnancy. Poems by teens about abortion. Abortion will always raise strong emotions." & though there are only six poems (six! come on!) in that section, I have to appreciate this dedication, from the poem by Kira which has the immortal line "Abortion is a motherfucker": "This poem is dedicated for anyone who had a abortion and felt remorse afterwards."
I didn't find any poems about unwanted pregnancy, by the way. I shall write some!
I dedicate these poems to you, Self Help Radio listener. Read them to your family this weekend. Oh you know you wanna.
It says this: "Our collection of Family Poems describe the special relationship between brothers and sisters, the love for ones [sic] mother or father, the love of a mother for her child, the love between a grandmother and grandfather for their children. Emotions range from the beautiful memories of childhood innocence to the horrible memories of childhood abuse." Oh fucking boy!
& sure enough, it begins. Apparently eschewing good taste for alphabetical order (I approve), the site has as its two top headings "Abandonment" & "Abortion." I should ask these guys to do my show this week!
About "abandonment": "Family is who we look to when we need help. We expect our parents to raise us, our grandparents to love us, and our brothers and sisters to always be there for us when the chips are down. They are our blood and we depend on that connection. When a family member doesn't live up to our expectations we feel abandoned. When a parent, grandparent or older brother or sister puts their needs in front of our own, we feel abandoned and alone. In such a case, we are likely to feel sad, alone and anger." Blah blah blah. Look to family when you need help! They're usually the cause of the problem. Next!
About "abortion": "Abortion Poems. Poems about abortion by Adults and Teens. Poems for Mothers who have had abortions. Poems on abortions and unwanted pregnancy. Poems by teens about abortion. Abortion will always raise strong emotions." & though there are only six poems (six! come on!) in that section, I have to appreciate this dedication, from the poem by Kira which has the immortal line "Abortion is a motherfucker": "This poem is dedicated for anyone who had a abortion and felt remorse afterwards."
I didn't find any poems about unwanted pregnancy, by the way. I shall write some!
I dedicate these poems to you, Self Help Radio listener. Read them to your family this weekend. Oh you know you wanna.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Happy Evolution Day!
Well, I'll be a monkey's nephew, if today isn't Evolution Day! On this day in 1859, Charles Darwin's seminal work "On The Origin Of Species" was first published. Early copies were naturally burned, & (not a lot of people know this) but early great sales were for fundamentalist bonfire circles, who were very happy to take a break from burning Voltaire's Candide for a while. I am happy to report that the fundamentalists then, like the religious today, refused to read the book at all. They were afraid Satan would fuck their brains with his hot, throbbing ideas. & they weren't wrong!
This has nothing at all to do with last week's Self Help Radio, which was all about stillness, & which is still waiting for you to listen to it, trembling imperceptibly, at selfhelpradio.net. Listen!
& happy Evolution Day! See you in hell!
This has nothing at all to do with last week's Self Help Radio, which was all about stillness, & which is still waiting for you to listen to it, trembling imperceptibly, at selfhelpradio.net. Listen!
& happy Evolution Day! See you in hell!
Friday, November 21, 2008
My Heart Stood, Still
So I'm looking around for songs about "stillness" & I am continually faced with the idiomatic fact that the condition of stillness - the lack of of apparent absence of movement - which is asked for in a sentence like:
Damn it, Winston, stop wiggling around! Sit still!
- is a different word (though probably still related, since time & motion are interdependent) than that in a sentence like:
Winston won't stop wiggling! Still, if it means he's happy, he shouldn't sit.
Ack! Anathema to your average theme-oriented radio show! We want specifics, not vagueness! & what's this with cross-part-of-speech behavior? I know yesterday was Transgender Awareness Day, but should a part of speech be able to change its "orientation" with impunity?
Uh oh. I shouldn't have written that. The gerunds are going to be mighty irked. I don't know why I can't keep my yap shut when it comes to insulting grammar. Oh course they're P.C.! That's an abbreviation!
Well, never mind me & my impending lawsuits. Visit selfhelpradio.net tomorrow in the afternoon to listen to a celebration of stillness. It will be peaceful. Tranquil. Other nice words.
I can still promise that, right?
Damn it, Winston, stop wiggling around! Sit still!
- is a different word (though probably still related, since time & motion are interdependent) than that in a sentence like:
Winston won't stop wiggling! Still, if it means he's happy, he shouldn't sit.
Ack! Anathema to your average theme-oriented radio show! We want specifics, not vagueness! & what's this with cross-part-of-speech behavior? I know yesterday was Transgender Awareness Day, but should a part of speech be able to change its "orientation" with impunity?
Uh oh. I shouldn't have written that. The gerunds are going to be mighty irked. I don't know why I can't keep my yap shut when it comes to insulting grammar. Oh course they're P.C.! That's an abbreviation!
Well, never mind me & my impending lawsuits. Visit selfhelpradio.net tomorrow in the afternoon to listen to a celebration of stillness. It will be peaceful. Tranquil. Other nice words.
I can still promise that, right?
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Extra! Extra! Read All About Self Help Radio Extra!
Yes, friends & sailors, it's that time again, the sort-of middle of the sort-of month wherein your faithful spoon-feeder descends on an uncollected mass of songs he's heard lately & emerges soiled but smelly with another Self Help Radio Extra mix.
Self Help Radio Extra is not supported by any unions, trade organizations, chambers of commerce, fraternal conspiracy organizations, record labels, radio lapels, lapel labels, nor elementary school principals, & for that reason we can freely choose what tickles what we call our "fancy" & also probably what you call our "fancy" even though I'm absolutely certain we mean two different things.
No matter! Self Help Radio Extra exists & that's enough for you. Go! Go listen to it now! If not, later! If not, earlier! Just enjoy!
Self Help Radio Extra is not supported by any unions, trade organizations, chambers of commerce, fraternal conspiracy organizations, record labels, radio lapels, lapel labels, nor elementary school principals, & for that reason we can freely choose what tickles what we call our "fancy" & also probably what you call our "fancy" even though I'm absolutely certain we mean two different things.
No matter! Self Help Radio Extra exists & that's enough for you. Go! Go listen to it now! If not, later! If not, earlier! Just enjoy!
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Whither Stillness?
Shh. Can you hear that? Of course you can't. There's no breeze at all. The night. The night is perfectly still.
As is this blog. Shh.
As is this blog. Shh.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Preface To Stillness: A Slight Flutter
Old school listeners of the old-skool Self Help Radio, when it was in the Wednesday 1 to 3pm slot, will not be surprised that I still keep up with the "Weekly Review" which happens weekly at harpers.org. (I have become a big fan of the magazine, & read it almost from cover-to-cover every month.) I used to read the Weekly Review on the air, for my & everyone's edification, & miss doing it from time-to-time, especially with news reports like this one, summarized in the Weekly Review thus:
A German shoplifter with no arms stole a 24-inch television. “It's hard to believe,” said a police officer, “that the sight of an armless man walking along with a giant TV clamped to his body did not get anyone's attention.”
That's just wonderful. However, the week's news wasn't great for every differently abled felon, as this report shows, summarized in the Weekly Review:
A man in a motorized wheelchair robbed a Space Coast Credit Union branch in Merritt Island, Florida, telling employees that he was rigged with explosives; police caught him ten minutes later and recovered the stolen money from his prosthetic leg.
Space Coast Credit Union? Or Space Ghost Credit Union? I wonder.
I just wanted to give a big ups to the Harper's website today. It's a lot of fun. & since I'm a subscribed, I have access to all their archives. Nyah!
A German shoplifter with no arms stole a 24-inch television. “It's hard to believe,” said a police officer, “that the sight of an armless man walking along with a giant TV clamped to his body did not get anyone's attention.”
That's just wonderful. However, the week's news wasn't great for every differently abled felon, as this report shows, summarized in the Weekly Review:
A man in a motorized wheelchair robbed a Space Coast Credit Union branch in Merritt Island, Florida, telling employees that he was rigged with explosives; police caught him ten minutes later and recovered the stolen money from his prosthetic leg.
Space Coast Credit Union? Or Space Ghost Credit Union? I wonder.
I just wanted to give a big ups to the Harper's website today. It's a lot of fun. & since I'm a subscribed, I have access to all their archives. Nyah!
Monday, November 17, 2008
Anyone Could Have Directed That Movie
MAN I am sleepy. But my teeth are clean. Or they were clean as of 1pm today. Now I've been chewing gum & drinking soda. But even so, they're cleaner than they were at 12:30pm today. I have the bag with the toothbrush & floss to prove it!
MAN it's been a hell of a day. I spent the morning talking to credit card people & then cable people. If you can call them people. I have to pretend they're people, though, as they know the mystical integers that control my life: the last four digits of my Social Security number. If anyone doubts that we're not one day going to be slaves & laborers for computer overseers, just mediate on the last four digits of your Social Security number. All will be revealed.
MAN it's weird that I keep saying "man." It sounds vaguely sexist. Was there ever a time when sexist was sexy? For women who believe that being hateful & condescending is manly, maybe? I wonder if that has more to do with their self-esteem or their fathers. But I don't wonder too much. It's just a passing thought into which I put very little thought. Still, I need to mix things up.
WOMAN but saying that seems odd. I think I'm going to break into the John Lennon song.
WOMAN I can hardly express my tender feelings & my thankfulness for showing me the meaning of successssssssssss.
Ah well. I've written in my blog. Dooby-dee-doo. Go listen to last week's Self Help Radio show, all about tides. It's just me, Squeaky, & music. How can it be wrong?
MAN it's been a hell of a day. I spent the morning talking to credit card people & then cable people. If you can call them people. I have to pretend they're people, though, as they know the mystical integers that control my life: the last four digits of my Social Security number. If anyone doubts that we're not one day going to be slaves & laborers for computer overseers, just mediate on the last four digits of your Social Security number. All will be revealed.
MAN it's weird that I keep saying "man." It sounds vaguely sexist. Was there ever a time when sexist was sexy? For women who believe that being hateful & condescending is manly, maybe? I wonder if that has more to do with their self-esteem or their fathers. But I don't wonder too much. It's just a passing thought into which I put very little thought. Still, I need to mix things up.
WOMAN but saying that seems odd. I think I'm going to break into the John Lennon song.
WOMAN I can hardly express my tender feelings & my thankfulness for showing me the meaning of successssssssssss.
Ah well. I've written in my blog. Dooby-dee-doo. Go listen to last week's Self Help Radio show, all about tides. It's just me, Squeaky, & music. How can it be wrong?