The crystal ball rolls on…

A little fuzzy right now, a little misty, foggy, but the images inside the crystal ball show the IRS, along with SWAT teams in riot gear, raiding, then accidentally destroying the offices and equipment of Rolling Stone magazine, its publishers, writers and subcontractors over the possibility that one or more persons (remember, a corporation is a person) has allegedly evaded tax liabilities illegally, including late tax payments, falsified/missing receipts, and/or miscategorized tax deductions. Racketeering charges based on algorithms that will show subliminal collusion to cheat the government of tax revenues will be placed on all involved, requiring the alleged perpetrators to defend themselves in secret tax court cases that will never see the light of day because combined tax evasion and racketeering charges are now considered an act of terrorism that the government does not want promoted in the free press.

The government will be avenged.

Praise be the power of subbacultcha. Coochie coochie coo, Charro, baby.

Getting up by backing down

R&B Classics on the tellie.

Dagnabbit rabbit (not rabid, or rapid), I am in the mood to dance (echo: “dance, dance, dance…”).

However, I’m out of sequence with the marital unit (i.e., me wife), who agreed to retire early Thursday night because I had driven seven hours from Huntspatch to Nawlins and used that as an excuse to retire early from a night of dancing so tonight she has a sore knee and I must agree to retire early to the hotel room even though I’m in the mood to PAR-TAY on the dance floor in preparation for the Pro-Am competition tomorrow at noon, thanks to the secret of staying smooth on either nicotine, alcohol or…?

This, my dear young readers, is my secret and my curse — lowering inhibitions that make no sense through the use of external stimuli.

Dagnabbit.

No, take that back, God’s Frozen Chosen Presbyterian readers.

Damn! I want to dance and I want to dance now.

Follow the Philips head patterned tap (e.g., “screw it.”).

Let’s give it over to LaBelle in Lady Marmalade: “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”

G’nite!

Well-done, well…read?

In addition to Umberto Eco’s book I slowly absorb, for this trip to New Orleans I’ve brought along “Small green roofs: low-tech options for greener living,” by Nigel Dunnett, Dusty Gedge, John Little & Edmund C. Snodgrass; “Wonder Woman Volume 1 Blood” by Brian Azzarello, Cliff Chiang and Tony Akins.

These feed my subsequent storylines.

Below me, Bourbon Street narrows perspectively into the distance.

Bridges over Lake Pontchartrain hump up like snake skeletons.

Broken windows, torn roofs and new construction remind me that Hurricane Katrina is still a fresh memory, if not as painful as before.

Late-night dancers remind me that my years of running, training for 5ks, 10ks, 10-milers, half marathons and a couple of full marathons resulted in no style points — only start-to-finish times.

On the desk beside me, a Mason jar mostly full of Ole Smoky Tennessee blackberry moonshine, a half-pint of homemade moonshine, a corked jug of Chattanooga Whiskey Co 1816 Reserve handcrafted whiskey, 875 ml of Captain Morgan original spiced rum, and an open container of Monster Rehab Green Tea + Energy handed to me on a dark street corner from the bed of a truck dripping/gushing with ice meltwater by a gal sporting tight shorts and T-shirt promoting infused water in a Ball aluminium canister.

Q: What am I doing here?

A: Helping my wife make a dream come true.

What am I doing here for me? I don’t know. It’s not always about me, despite fermented contradictory evidence.

Dr. Sim C. Liddon once told me that I and only i can decide that I truly want to live, rather than merely survive until I die.

Every so often I take his advice and act as if I want to live. Usually, though, I watch the calendar days flip past in some clichéd film about the passage of time.

Who, me? Mais oui!

This evening, I compete with my wife in the less-experienced/least-judged competition category of West Coast Swing dancers.

We will dance, no doubt about that, but what are we competing against?

I compete against my own thoughts all the time, finding the most personal joy writing these love notes with my present self to my future self about my past selves in order to perpetuate the illusion of time.

…one set of states of energy…hmm…enough about me!

A nod to Buzzy & Kellie, Dean & Dawn for putting together an event to give my wife a dream realised. Time to find our dance instructor Abi for one more mini-lesson in how to keep from tripping over my and/or my wife’s feet for at least 90 seconds in front of a crowd of onlookers.

Meanwhile, back in the subsubsubbasement…

When we last looked at our protagonist (or, depending on your view, the antagonist), he was busy digging under his house.

Lee thanked the HVAC technician for inspecting the ductwork.

“And you say everything is in good working condition?”

“Yes sir. We replaced the torn ducts and repaired the few holes we found. We suggest you get the plastic on the ground redone. Also, the insulation in crawlspaces is no longer recommended.”

Lee nodded. “Anything else?”

The technician shook his head.

Lee wrote a check for services rendered and watched the technician back out of the driveway.

He smiled.

Three HVAC technicians had surveyed and worked in the crawlspace. Two crawlspace reparation salesmen had carefully measured and photographed the crawlspace for potential work.

None of them, not a single one, had seen the entrance to the cave network that coursed under Lee’s house and stored the parts, shelving and equipment for the new supercomputer.

Lee put on his gloves and unlocked the crawlspace door.

Once inside, he donned his welder’s goggles and “moon suit.”

A few adjustments, a couple of dial twists and Lee continued vaporizing the Alabama clay from around the cave entrance, making room for a rack of prewired mobile phone-based servers that would be the core brain of the supercomputer.

Although the vaporizer was noiseless, the occasional flash of light illuminated and disturbed the wildlife in the cavelike jungle of the crawlspace.

Camel crickets leapt from the walls to piles of pink insulation. Spiders, their shadows bigger than crows, spun long silk tendrils, hoping for a single cricket to feed an egg case bulging with new babies.

And, crouched in the crook of a leg of ductwork, a hybrid mouse, a long-lost experiment from the previous supercomputer, observed and counted, calculating the next flash of light, guesstimating the distance to the next hiding place, wanting to escape and breed, recreating the network of beings that were able to beat any silicon-based computing system at future forecasting, farming ants as combination algorithms/data points.

If it tastes good…

As an industry consultant, I’ve seen just about every combination of cross-product marketing there is.

Until now!

A popular soft drink manufacturer, in order to increase its market share because of recent losses to niche products, asked me to look for inspiration that its vast advertising/marketing executives had not found.

So, in order to figure out just what makes a soft drink a soft drink, I bought 7 days of time to have a small, local, corner convenience store to myself for a week.

The first day we removed the labels from every product in the store.  Customers were left to decide what they wanted simply by looking at the foodstuff inside the container.

Most customers were perplexed.  They wanted to know if the shape of the bottle or bag indicated the product they were used to.

Using a hidden earbud system, I told the employees behind the counter to say yes.

The second day, we applied the labels of popular colognes and perfumes to the drink and food containers.

For instance:

  • The two most popular soft drink competitors we labeled Chanel and Dior.
  • The three most popular beer competitors we labeled Old Spice, Grey Flannel and English Leather.
  • The five most popular chip/cookie competitors we labeled Drakkar Noir, Stetson, Wild Musk, White Diamonds and Viva La Juicy.

The customers from the day before were a little confused but went ahead and bought the bottle shapes or bag sizes with which they were familiar.

New customers again were perplexed.  Some of them wanted to know if the shape of the bottle or bag indicated the product they were used to.

Again, using a hidden earbud system, I told the employees behind the counter to say yes.

That left a large group of customers who couldn’t remember the shapes or sizes of the products they thought they liked.

Their formerly favourite labeled can of energy drink looked like the can of beer labeled Brut and their formerly favourite labeled bag of cookies looked like the bag of cheese crisps labeled Nautica.

I told the employees behind the counter to assure the customers that their satisfaction was 100% guaranteed — if they didn’t like their mysteriously-labeled product, they could return it for a full refund.

Without prompting the employees to encourage the idea or coaxing the customers to think otherwise, within a couple of days, customers both old and new came into the store to get their more exciting product, which seemed more flavourful and nutritious despite the only change being a new label.

Our lip gloss section we left alone since it already contained liquids and waxes with names like Dunkin Donuts and Dr. Pepper.

Of course, in our small three-shelf section of fragrances, we applied labels like Coca-Cola, Pepsi, Budweiser, Coors, Doritos, Golden Flake, Twix and other foodstuff products.

Those few customers who bought their fragrances at our convenience store were surprised at how their usual cologne or perfume had a new aroma, a certain je ne sais quos that enhanced their dating prospects for the night.

By the end of the week, we had increased sales for the convenience store owner due mostly to the curiosity factor.

The following week, the proper labeled bottles and bags were returned to their respectful locations, disappointing a whole new customer base that complained the old labeled products just didn’t taste as delicious as the products with the switched labels from the week before.

I completed the research project report and gave a short presentation to the popular soft drink manufacturer.

Thus, I imagine, you will soon see new adverts promoting the carbonated beverages and processed foods you like, combining them with fragrance manufacturers to show how your whole lifestyle will change when you drink Dior’s favourite wine cooler or Fanta’s favourite cologne.

Rocky, with a chance of statues

From our esteemed colleague of a correspondent in Santa Barbara, Ashleigh Brilliant:

July 13, 2013

Dear Friends,
It doesn’t happen often that something pleasantly new appears in my life, which has actually been there all the time. The stone bench shown below is here in Santa Barbara, facing a busy intersection at the corner of Mission and Garden Streets, not far from where I live. I don’t know how old it is, or anything of its history. (Santa Barbara is full of interesting old stone-work, including a surprising number of curb-side hitching-posts, many with their metal rings still attached, though they’ve been unused by horses, or by anyone else, for many years.)

What I do know is that, until recently, and all the time I have been living here, this charming and convenient structure was practically unusable, and virtually invisible, because it had become overgrown with thick shrubbery emanating from the garden behind it.

Not long ago, however, that property changed hands, and in the selling process some heavy pruning, trimming, and clearing was done — with the result that the Old Stone Bench, perhaps for the first time in living memory, became clearly revealed and accessible, as you see it now. I don’t know how many people in town have even noticed this change. But to me it’s a very dramatic and welcome one, because the bench happens to be directly on my walking route between home and office (a distance of almost exactly a mile) and a very good place to rest, especially when I am struggling home on foot with a load of groceries.

Ashleigh-Brilliant-2013-07-13-01

And now that I can sit there, I have been noticing that this bench provides views in several directions, not only of palm-lined streets, and distant mountains, but also of two remarkable works of art, standing outside houses on different corners of that same intersection.

Across one street from the bench is this locally-famous statue of a large dog, about which many stories are told (most of them probably untrue.)

Ashleigh-Brilliant-2013-07-13-02

And on the diagonally opposite corner to the dog is this boulder decorated by our eminent Santa Barbara mosaicist, Dan Chrynko, whose colorful and highly imaginative works can be seen all over town:

Ashleigh-Brilliant-2013-07-13-03

And just for the sake of completeness, on the 4th corner (diagonally opposite to the Bench) stands a strange monolith whose story and purpose I can tell you nothing at all about. It appears to contain no holes, no inscription, and no identifying marks of any kind:

Ashleigh-Brilliant-2013-07-13-04

I originally intended to write you only about the stone bench — but you can see how one thing leads to another.

All the best,
Ashleigh Brilliant

Ashleigh-Brilliant-2013-07-13-05

——————————————————————————
ASHLEIGH BRILLIANT, 117 W. Valerio St. Santa Barbara CA 93101 USA. Phone (805) 682-0531 Orders:(800) 952-3879, Code #77. Creator of POT-SHOTS, syndicated author of I MAY NOT BE TOTALLY PERFECT, BUT PARTS OF ME ARE EXCELLENT. 10,000 copyrighted BRILLIANT THOUGHTS available as cards, books etc.World’s highest-paid writer (per word). Most-quoted author (per Reader’s Digest.) Free daily Pot-Shot cartoon: www.ashleighbrilliant.com CATALOGS:[h&m included]. Starter $2. Complete Printed Text version: $75. Electronic Text-Only (emailed $25, on CD $30). Electronic Illustrated Catalog/Database (CD only) $105 (includes shipping anywhere). Details: www.ashleighbrilliant.com/IllustratedCatalog.html

Love is academic

Many a former lover once told me that, although my love and devotion was incomparable, I was susceptible to falling in love with everyone I meet.

Thus it is so.

And probably always will be, considering how internally perfect every one of us tends to be, being ourselves in our particular peculiarities, and perpetually attractive to me.

My three semesters as a post-secondary school instructor taught me that I need not teach because it’s difficult to assign low/poor grades to my wonderfully unique students.

However, unlike the characters in these reviewed books, I never consummated my love for students in those three short school cycles.

Liken likin’ lichen like in lye kin

Our mailbox at the street resembles a small wooden house, a look similar to our main house.

On the “chimney” of the mailbox house grows a small patch of lichen.

Do you like lichen the way I do?

Lichen falls onto our driveway almost everyday, attached to bits of tree — twig, branch, bark — that break away and follows gravity’s path onto the concrete surface.

One species of beard lichen in particular, but not this one.

As our climate gradually warms, lichen is migrating north, bringing symbiotic organisms along.

As with the variety of tree species in our yard, we have a multitude of lichen species.

Same with mushrooms, algae, bacteria, ants and other organisms I won’t encounter together on Mars.

What will migrate with us when we live off-Earth?

What will survive without us and adapt to new environmental conditions?

How many organisms on Earth didn’t originate on our planet?

I owe our next-door neighbours a copy of books on trees and edible wild plants so they can identify which plants not to kill in their yard to protect their curious one-year old child from eating less-than-nutritious green stuff.

I see the Trees book in front of me, under a pile of “French Idioms,” “Russian for Everyday,” “The New College French & English Dictionary,” “Peterson Field Guides to Stars and Planets,” “The Associated Press Stylebook and Libel Manual,” “2004 Far Side Desk Calendar,” and “The Yale Book of Quotations;” on top of “Gödel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Golden Braid,” “RE/SEARCH #8/9: J.G. Ballard,” “The Complete Cartoons of The New Yorker,” and a spiral-bound copy of my book, “The Mind’s Aye,” not to forget issue #500 of MAD magazine.

Speaking of books, I have a few to finish reading, including “The Big Questions” by Steven Landsburg and a hyperreality book, “Travels in Hyperreality,” by Umberto Eco.

I wonder, which set of beliefs, particularly in the realm of religion, makes one more likely to approve of government/private industry spying?  In Christianity, God is always watching, just like Santa Claus, ready to mete out rewards and punishment for our behaviours/thoughts.

Does our general culture encourage us to believe in seeking our fifteen minutes of fame, even if it’s only on a hidden security camera or set of IM chat logs?

Does lichen care about our meme-ridden upper brain functions or our labyrinthine specialty tasks and hobbies that spin out of a growing economy?

Likely not.

That’s why I like lichen — symbiosis that doesn’t require ritual or dogma.

Cultural scientists today argued their proof that silicon-based organisms such as computers are living beings.

I thank my living being for letting me write this blog entry on its plastic key skinned surface.

Enough meditative humour for the day — time to eat lunch and read a couple of books loaned by the public library.