Costumfoolery

When his prime crimefighting days are behind him, what will Cap’n America do for fun?

Tonight’s costume tells the story.

Thanks to Joe, Jenn and Catherine for hosting tonight’s costume dance party at KCDC.

I dressed as if Captain America had joined a professional wrestling team in the guise of “Willie Nelson meets ’Macho Man’ Randy Savage”, using EL wire and LEDs for light effects (man, those battery packs were hot):

Parents Shocked By New Trend

In light of the fact that a social networking website pats itself on the back for having 1 billion fake friends (not to mention all the paid “like” button presses), this latest bit of news fell into the shadows.

Parents all over the world are shocked and upset that their children, whom they loved and cared for selflessly, are creating criminal “mug shot” photos of themselves for the social media profile pictures.

The children are also adding fake arrest records to go with the photos.

The photos are works of art, with makeup jobs created by amateur FX painters/sculptors who turn the children into bruised, scraped, bloody, drunk, high versions of their normally-behaved faces.

Pretty soon, the line between real criminals and fake criminals will be as blurry as the line between real friends and fake friends on your social network.

Feel free to add an authentic robo-like to that one!

Two data points

Would you believe that Vladimir Putin is a big fan of the actor, Jeff Daniels?

Yes, it is true.  Putin admits privately that his latest stunt, flying with cranes, was inspired by a film starring Jeff Daniels, Fly Away Home.

Men quit jobs due to Internet addiction but deny they’re asexual, claim it’s just a cat infection problem — news at 12, 1, 4, 5, 5:30, 6, 6:30, 8, 9, 9:30, 10, 10:30, 11, 11:30, 12…as soon as Tom Brokaw wakes up from his sleeping pill addiction, that is.

Drum roll, please!

Wake us up after the ECB finishes its latest fruitless fishing expedition — you won’t find many appetising meals in the EU economy.

Two books for the day

More to add to the reading backlog list:

As they say, it’s better to play dumb and be dumb than to play dead and be dead…

A stack of DVDs on the sofa, crickets chirping and hotrods burping outside

While installing the “Complete New Yorker” on my old laptop PC, I performed a search for a recently-deceased comedienne.  Some cartoon results:

  • Frank Modell, Dec. 13, 1969 — “No, we would not like to hear the same line as delivered by Phyllis Diller.” (Teacher, surrounded by children dressed for a Nativity play, to a little girl costumed as an angel.)
  • Whitney Darrow, Jr., Aug. 4, 1975 — “Guess what I dreamed last night. I dreamed I was at a dinner where Bob Hope, Phyllis Diller, Buddy Hackett, Milton Berle, Alan King, Flip Wilson, and Henny Youngman were roasting me.” (Woman talking to her husband as they eat breakfast.)

Other snippets:

  • Talk of the Town, James Lardner, Sept. 3, 1984 — “[Dr. Albert Lowry, “America’s most interviewed real-estate educator,” at the New York Penta Hotel] told about some of the deals he had made, one involving some property that he had bought from Phyllis Diller. He traced most of the financial failures of the real estate field to a tendency to forget the old maxim “Caveat emptor.” Dr. Lowry is the author of the best-seller “How You Can Become Financially Independent by Investing in Real Estate.” He offers further advice in a two-day seminar that costs $495. Many of those in the audience of the free lecture swarmed to the registration table with their checkbooks at the ready.”
  • Talk of the Town, William McKibben, Sept. 17, 1984: “…the Amazing Kreskin, a mentalist who has made nearly 300 appearances on the Mike Douglas, Merv Griffin & Johnny Carson shows. Phyllis Diller once called him ‘a male witch who should be burned at the stake.'”

Mayberry RFD, the next generation

So, word on the street in Hollywood is a remake of the Andy Griffith Show, with Opie returning to his hometown, OR…

A live version of the Archie comic series, because…

we’ve already re/made these:

So many more to read at my leisure before digging gold in Canada.

Did somebody mention the Gold Diggers?

Fast Food News

Hey, movie fans, this is Neau Tahm Toulouse here with Entertainment Tweetly.

In political news, the governor of Tennessee today signed legislation banning scratch-n-sniff cards in children’s toys.  The legislation is called the “gateway drug prevention” bill by the press.  The governor countered that the new bill also contains subsections that approve the issuance of government IDs like social security numbers and voting cards but not driver’s licences to online personalities, keeping kids more strongly glued to their gaming devices in the hope that obsessive video gaming will act as a form of abstinence from physical contact with other humans, let alone any gateway sexual activity such as breathing the same air as another young adolescent in the room with you.

The Solicitor General has already posted a notice that the new Tennessee bill will probably be challenged in lower courts, so the Supreme Court took the preemptive move to issue an immediate comment about the Tennessee legislative act, stating that with one state recognising the legal right of virtual citizens, corporations now have the right to vote in elections, the corporations’ voting power (i.e., number of votes per voting district) proportionate to their monetary size, number of employees, superPAC donations and former legislators/judges/executives on their consultant/lobbyist payrolls and/or board of directors.

The governor, son of the founder of a large corporation, responded, “He who laughs last usually has his vast wealth in offshore accounts and trust funds.”

I caught Julia Roberts in a moment of regret and sadness during a recent interview, who was bemoaning the fact that she’s almost forgotten and reduced to playing the role of mean, wrinkled witches because she’s considered past her prime.  She admitted that she had wanted to perform nude or topless scenes in film but had been discouraged by her agent because Julia’s breasts are asymmetrical in shape and audiences weren’t ready for mainstream stars to have imperfect bodies displayed larger-than-life.  I only had my cell phone, which has a lousy microphone but I believe she also said, “younger actresses are lucky — audiences are so jaded they don’t pay attention to nudity anymore, as common as it is on the Internet — exhibitionism is expected, not shocking.  Getting a job via the casting couch has changed, too, now that women are sitting in the director and producer chairs these days.”  Julia wouldn’t elaborate when I asked her for details about that last comment.

This is Neau Tahm Toulouse, returning to his hopping spot in the French Quarter.  I gotta take a break and read some real literature.  This pop news reportin’ is ruinin’ my vocabulary and eloquent speechmakin’.

Waxing the Caddy

While our friends in another part of the world — a part-time merchant marine and a being from another planet — sort out where they’re going, let’s take a break, shall we?

A bottle-shaped volume of Founders Dry Hopped Pale Ale (35 IBU’s, 5.4% alc. by vol.) finds its way down my gullet, gulp by gulp.

Young men are completing their requirements for Eagle Scout.

A young woman is completing her winning entry in the Science Fair (Wait!  Don’t tell her that she’s won — the judges haven’t critiqued her entry yet.).

People are poised to tour low Earth orbit or take a trip around the Moon, mere years away.

And an actress gives money to help starving people in the Sudan, yet another celebrity sealing her place in history as a person who’s assisting those “over there somewhere, but not in my backyard.”  Some would call it spreading the gospel, evangelising, or doing one’s duty to serve a mission, share a vision and teach civilised survival skills.

These are mere words.  They are the humble expression of my education, my subcultural training.

In the larger culture, the main channel where innumerable ideas flow past before I can blink an eye, many subcultural practices and beliefs influence my thought patterns.

I return to old thoughts that belong to Rick, the former writer of this blog:

Am I the grasshopper or the ant?  Am I the Eagle Scout who displays behaviours consistent with the moral and ethical teaching of the subculture in which I was nourished, where women were objectified as almost virginal in their demeanor and respected as nonsexual mothers/daughters/sisters, or am I the boy who sneaked peeks at the Playboy magazines hidden in the top of my father’s closet, where women from all walks of life were objectified as sexually desirable in their posed photographic fantasies?

When the genders are equally participating in a fun game of sexually explicit skits on stage, should objectification of any sort sneak into my thoughts?

In that ol’ nature-vs-nurture discussion about the formation of personalities, what are the patterns, the personality archetypes, that lead some people to a life of church-based conformities and others to life without rules that discourage comfortably displaying the body, au naturel, and the actions bodies take to relieve sexual desires?

When two subcultures meet, such as the two described above, how do individuals of different subcultures first greet one another?  What are their ordinary social interaction behaviours in office/school/outdoor environments?

I know I have traveled this path of words before but did I make any conclusive observations?

I have no grand, sweeping statements that try to box all personality types together, forcing them to operate under a set of rules for homogeneous behaviour.

I know better than that.

What can I say?  Tonight, I enjoyed the simple pleasure of watching the performance of local actresses on stage, who sang original songs (accompanied by two male musicians), read original stories, and danced in levels of dress (or undress, if you will).  Forgetting the lyrics once or twice, hitting the occasional note offkey and not on purpose.

Burlesque in the land of cotton and spaceships.

Creativity without question.

The main singer with the stage name of Rosie Profane, sounding like Laurie Anderson at times and looking like a grownup Miley Cyrus, was assisted by Pan Asian Cuisine (Christina Sanderson) and the Lovely Aunt Sofonda Peters (apparently a popular character actress of the Posey Peep Show, exemplified by the warm applause and wolf whistles she received).

Other than the staged reading of the Vagina Monologues (which always makes me want to say the Martian Chronicles, for some reason), I rarely get to read, hear or attend a public event where one is asked to think up a new euphemism for female masturbation such as occurred earlier this evening.

The title of this blog is one such poetic cliché for relieving the former medical condition of hysteria.  Another one shouted out tonight was “freeing the slaves,” a reference with historic meaning here in the Heart of Dixie so soon after Juneteenth but also more generally in terms of feminine empowerment.

At the end of the workweek, I had the choice of listening to a tribute band perform the tracks for the album “Back in Black” by AC/DC, a band I never really cared for in my secondary school days, or seeing Rosie Profane bare her personality, her bosom and her derriere, a performance for which my father’s Playboy magazines prepared me.

Dad never cared for rock-n-roll.

Tonight, Dad, I raised a flask of Bushmills in your name while Rosie Profane-ly declared full freedom of expression by singing a song for a military member serving this great country of ours, where an Eagle Scout can watch a striptease act without an ounce of guilt and later write about it for the [uncensored] world to read.

With mass media outlets around the world reducing their staff, including our local newspaper, the Huntsville Times, blogs like these, as well as other social media formats, become the voice of the people.

As a cartoon caption recently stated, “He’ll keep doing it for free as long as we call him a content provider.”

Here’s your free, friendly mention of a local staged musical performance in a former cotton mill, just short of a full-fledged critical review, courtesy of humble ol’ me.

My choice of euphemism?  Hmm…how about ripening the peach?