Tengrain wins the Internet today.

My blog buddy Tengrain over at Mock, Paper, Scissors wins the Internet for May 9, 2011 with this sparkling sentence.

Show-girl legged former mayor Rudy Giuliani is now mulling over a seat in the 2012 Goat Rodeo*. But with OBL out of the picture, doesn’t that make him a parasite without a host?

*For those unused to Tengrain's prose, the 2012 Goat Rodeo is the race for the presidential nomination in the Republican Party. It can be inferred by context, but I wanted to make sure it was clear.

The relative strengths of bloggers. Or the blogging strengths of relatives.

I now have three people related to me by blood who are also on my blog buddy list.

Let's review, shall we?

My nephew Joshua Macrae has a blog called Castle Park, which is about the stuff nearest and dearest to his heart, writing music and being a dad and husband. He gets first place on the list because he's been at this blogging stuff for the longest period of time, which is a couple years now.

Next longest in duration of blogging is my baby sister Karlacita!, who discusses many things of interest to her, including her new book The Language of Emotions.

She has many interesting insights and you should check her stuff out.

The most recent addition to my blog buddy list is Books 4 Grandchildren, which is the creation of my big sister Kimberly Haskell, her son Galen Dobbs and photographer Randy Castillo. Kimberly and her crew will be spending most of their time reviewing kid's books, including one of their first recommendations, Shark vs. Train, an allegedly accurate account of what it's like when brothers are growing up.

I remember no such brouhaha from my childhood. My older brother Michael and I would sit in the reading room, or read in the sitting room, and on festive occasions we would regale our friends and neighbors with Michael singing in his lovely clear tenor voice, whilst I accompanied him on the grand piano.

(p.s. Michael told me to write the paragraph above or he would shave my head.)

(Again.)

Philip Glass and melody.

I saw the Ensemble Parallèle's production of Philip Glass' 1993 chamber opera Orphée at the Herbst Theater last weekend and I loved it. I got a comp ticket from my very generous blog buddy sfmike, the author of the Civic Center blog, who was also a supernumerary in the show, one of the spooky strongmen/clowns who move everything in the Underworld that is incapable of moving itself. He writes about the many rehearsals and the critical review, which you can read about through the links.

The show only played twice and I will be able to tell people years from now that I saw it. They will be positively envious or I will be silently judging them.

I struck up a conversation with a fellow audience member, a woman named Bonnie who was connected to the new wave/punk scene back in the day, so we had many common points of reference. She loved the production but said she wished Philip Glass was more melodic.

Allow me to retort with embedded videos from the You Tubes.



This is the movement entitled Some Are from Glass' Low symphony, based on side two of David Bowie's great album Low, produced by Brian Eno. Some might argue that this is melodic because the work of Bowie and Eno is melodic, and that argument has some merit.





There is yet another Philip Glass work from the early 1990s called Passages, a collaboration with Ravi Shankar. Shankar plays on nearly every piece, but Glass wrote half and Shankar half. This one by Glass, Ragas in a Minor Scale, is very melodic indeed. I actually have a large section of it running through my brain on heavy rotation right now, and I don't mind a bit.

Again, thanks to sfmike for the ticket to the show, and also for an impromptu Oscar party with a prediction competition that neither of us won, sad to say. Congratulations to Cindy, the winner.

My connection to John Barry, 1933-2011

Composer John Barry died this week at the age of 77. He was famous for his film scores, notably several James Bond films as well as Out of Africa and Dances With Wolves, and unlike some film score masters, he could also write pop tunes. My blog buddy Abu Scooter has a nice tribute. Actor Alec Baldwin put up a good essay on the Huffington Post.

For me, I started teaching myself piano many years ago. The first tune I remember figuring out all the chords and changes for was the theme from Born Free, one of Barry's great pop tunes. I played it over and over again until I felt I got it right, playing the melody with my right hand in octaves and breaking the chords into simple arpeggios with my left. No one was in the piano room with me, but it could be heard all over the house. When I got up and went to the kitchen, my mom asked why Chris, one of my older brother's musical friends and a much better pianist than I was, was playing Born Free over and over. I told her it was me, I had just learned it. I still remember feeling proud about the comparison.

Best wishes to the family and friends of John Barry, from a fan.

Stuff I like:Dreams for teens from long ago.

During the Bush Administration, the blogger formerly known as Princess Sparkle Pony gushed like a schoolgirl over the fashion choices of Condoleezza Rice, with the usually clear subtext of mocking her complete lack of success as a diplomat. When the administration changed, the blog lost steam and the Princess retired, much to the sadness of her many fans, but eventually returned, under a new nom de blog Peteykins (always a male, just pretending to be a schoolgirl, not unique on the Internets) and with a more personal and eclectic direction.

One of my favorite features of the new blog is Book Shelf, where Peteykins dusts off some odd piece of pop culture he saved and scans it for all his fans to see. His collection of the pop music fan magazine 16 Magazine is by no means complete, but each one is like a moment in time captured in amber. 16 was aimed at girl fans of music, but the dreamy guys featured in the photo spreads were sometimes actors, like David Selby and Christopher Pennock featured here, stars on the gothic horror soap opera Dark Shadows.

Teen girls getting all excited about vampires! Who knew?

As fellow Sparkle Pony commenter Lulu Maude wrote, the magazine would have been more accurately called 11 Magazine, and of course the genre is not completely gone. (Simple celebrity math: Justin Bieber = Donny Osmond + Time Machine.) For someone my age or even possibly younger, the nostalgic pull is terrific and when you click on the scans, they blow up to a large enough size to read the text or enjoy the pictures more completely.

I've written it before and will likely write it again. If you read my blog but do not read Princess Sparkle Pony, you are only cheating yourself.

'Cos it's Stuff I Like.

Linking to what other people have to say.

I haven't written anything about what happened in Arizona on this blog. It's not that I have nothing to say, but having read stuff online, other people have already said most of what I would have written myself anyway.

Dr. Zaius, for example, doesn't think this particular shooting incident can be blamed on violent rhetoric, but other incidents can.

Oliver Willis liked Obama's speech a lot, but the comments to the post degenerate into the standard name calling and flame wars.

And while it may seem less political than other recent acts of violence and threatened violence, this Friday, a 49 year old money manager was arrested for making threats against a list of federal regulators.

All kinds of Americans still fear the threat of terrorism, but if the nation falls, it's much more likely it will us tearing ourselves apart.

A few words from Tiger, Internets superstar.

Have you voted for me at Golf's Amazing Videos yet today?

Do you think you have something better to do?

Lemme 'splain. You are a human. I am a cat. You were put on this earth to do what cats want you to do.

I want you to vote for me in the Internet competition.

That's not so hard to understand, is it?

Thank you for your kind attention.

(Sheesh. Humans. Sometimes you've gotta draw them a flowchart.)

Bigger than Jesus - Internet 2010

If you are an old person like myself, you might remember the fire storm John Lennon brought upon himself when he said "We're bigger than Jesus." at the height of the Beatles' remarkable success.

No one would be so silly as to tempt fate in a similar manner now, would they Matty Boy?


That's where you are wrong, hypothetical question asker. Somebody collected the data for web traffic on the Internet in 2010 and turned it into this handy bar graph.

As anyone paying the least amount of attention would guess, cats are bigger than Jesus on the Internet. I was a little surprised that Justin Bieber is bigger than the entire species of cats and Lady Gaga is even bigger still, but that's probably because I am old enough to remember John Lennon's original comment. If I were a little younger, their Internet dominance would be obvious to me.

But as I said, cats bigger than Jesus? I mean, d'uh. That's as plain as the nose on your face.



Submitted for your approval, a cat, singular. This is Tiger Woods, household god that lives with my friend Mike Strickland and his partner Tony in San Francisco. They recently submitted a video of Tiger chasing balls on the TV screen hit by the other Tiger Woods to a competition called Golf's Amazing Videos being sponsored by the Golf Channel. Their video was selected as one of the final four and if they are the one with the most votes by December 7, the Golf Channel will send them a nice chunk of cash. You could not hope to meet two more deserving human recipients or a more deserving cat.

You can follow the link and vote once a day. They then ask you if you want to be included in e-mail alerting you to stuff on The Golf Channel. Do with that information what you will.

I am more than happy to give Tiger, Mike and Tony the plug. As for the competition itself, Tiger is the only cat entered and Lady Gaga and Justin Bieber are nowhere to be seen.

One cat against three humans in an Internet competition. It's very close to not fair.

Are we ignoring the superficial?

Some traits are all a matter of perception. A person might be considered cheap, while others call her frugal. Another is perceived as mean, but well-wishers call him no-nonsense and tough-minded.

With some traits, the best defense is a good offense. If called a racist, a counter-charge of political correctness might soften the blow. If a public person is called stupid, why not call the accusers elitists?

But what can you do if you are called superficial? If still in high school, the counter-move would be to say, "Well, you're not one of the cool kids and nobody likes you!"

If past the age of consent, your options shrink significantly.

Superficiality has gotten a bum rap. My first blog hero was (and still is) Peteykins, the artist formerly known as Princess Sparkle Pony. He looked at politics and diplomacy through the lens of hairdos, dresses, shoes and accessories. Sometimes it was tongue in cheek and sometimes there was more to it. While the official birth legend of The Other Blog is that I awoke from a nap on my birthday with the concept fully formed, I would never have thought about writing about something so superficial had I not first seen a master do it so well.

Consider the two main statewide races in California. There are a lot of similarities. The Democrats have two career politicians on the ticket, the Republicans have two political novices from the world of business. The differences at the big level are that Jerry Brown is much more of a retread than Barbara Boxer, and Meg Whitman can point to a business record of success, while Carly Fiorina has a lot of baggage about driving companies into the ground and sending high paying jobs overseas.

Both Brown and Boxer are leading in their races, but Brown has been comfortably ahead for about a month while Fiorina is keeping it much closer.

What are we missing? Why is Fiorina a better candidate than Whitman? Let's take a closer look at the superficial.

Meg Whitman looks like hell, and it is within her power to do much better. She's a billionaire, for Lenny's sake! She can't find a hairstylist that can give her hair some body, some highlights, a more flattering cut? I'm not saying go crazy with the plastic surgery like she's some Hollywood wife, but straight white teeth would go over a lot better than crooked yellow teeth.

Fiorina was treated for breast cancer and was bald less than a year ago. Her hair came back in salt-and-pepper and she's making it work. High marks for her stylist and high marks for her dental hygienist.

Moving away from the superficial, I deeply hate the political positions both these women take. Should the polls be correct and both of them taken a beating a week from Tuesday, I'll be happier Meg and Carly lost than I will be that Jerry and Babs won. But if there is a reason why one of these women has a slim hope and the other almost none, the superficial goes a long way to explain the difference.

Yet another reason to love Princess Sparkle Pony.

If you know about lolz and you know about Delaware Senate candidate Christine O'Donnell and her anti-masturbation views, this joke kinda sorta writes itself.

Well, I know about both those things, but I didn't write this.

Peteykins, the artist formerly known as Princess Sparkle Pony, wrote this.

This is yet another reason to love Princess Sparkle Pony's Photo Blog.

You should visit sometime. Seriously.

Lazy blogging Thursday.Wait, what day is it?

What? Is it Caturday already?

No, it's Thursday. It says so in the title of the post and it says so on my calendar.

Wait! This isn't the Cat In The Bag blog! Okay, now I'm confused.

Okay, a lolz! This must be Lotsa 'Splainin' 2 Do!

Sure it is. It says so in the title at the top!

Sheesh. I'm glad we cleared that up.

A trip to hell with friends and colleagues.

Tracy Camp teaches math at Laney College. Her mom Ernestine also taught here back in the day as well. She's also a mom. You'd think that would be enough to keep anyone occupied, but you would be wrong.

A few years ago, Tracy caught the acting bug and she has been in many roles in local theater productions, mostly musicals.

Earlier this year, she told me she was in rehearsals for Jerry Springer: The Opera which would be performed at the Victoria Theater down in the Mission District. It's a very ambitious modern piece that was originally produced in London several years back, and it does count as an opera. The only role that isn't sung is Jerry Springer himself, who is relegated to the side of the story in Act One but becomes the clear protagonist in Acts Two and Three, which take place in Purgatory and Hell.






(Photo by Kat Wade, S.F. Chronicle)

When I heard about this, I immediately thought of my blog buddy Mike Strickland, who loves opera from the ancient to the avant garde. This publicity still features Jordan Best as a crack whore, Keith Haddock as Steve the head of security (a very meaty role for operatic spear carrier), and Tracy as Peaches, the long time girlfriend of the fat, bald guy in the background, who in the best tradition of Jerry Springer's guests is constitutionally incapable of keeping it in his pants.

(photo by Mike Strickland)

Steve Hess plays the unfaithful Dwight in Act One and God in Act Three, and Timotio Artusio plays a pre-operative transsexual who is another of Dwight's close personal friends. My friend Mike works as a supernumerary at the San Francisco Opera and has been in several productions with Timotio, who did a wonderful star turn in the upbeat Talk To The Hand in Act One.

As you might expect, your choir group is not the target audience of Jerry Springer The Opera. When I told Tracy I'd be coming to see it, she apologized in advance for all the profanity I'd be hearing.

It was a remarkable evening at theater. You can read Mike's review at Civic Center, where he lavishes praise on the band that played the very challenging music and Jonathan Reisfeld, who played Jerry Springer's warm up man in Act One and Satan is Acts Two and Three. I'd like to also give a shout out to Chris Yorro, who played Montel, the guy who likes to wear diapers in Act One and Jesus in Act Three.

(Photo taken from the Ray of Light Productions cast list)

After the show, Mike remarked that this British opera continues in the tradition of oratorio that has been a hallmark in England since Handel moved from Germany to London. In oratorio, the chorus gets a major role and the cast list shows that many of the chorus members have had much larger roles in their careers. As often happens, there is someone in the chorus I found myself watching more than anyone else, and in this show it was Gregory Marks. Among his other credits, he played The Mysterious Man in Into The Woods and Nicely-Nicely in Guys and Dolls, so this is not his first time stealing scenes.

If you'd like an interesting evening at the theater in San Francisco, it's hard to beat Jerry Springer The Opera. It's long, it's loud, there are times you want to look away but you just can't. Don't be surprised if you find yourself singing "This is your Jerry Springer moment!" for a few days after seeing the show. The cast is filled with strong voices and good acting in an over the top sort of way. But hey, it's the Springer show! What, you were expecting Strindberg?

More than that, the guys from Security walk around the crowd beforehand making sure there aren't any troublemakers. I had a new found level of respect for their work when the show was through.

Random 10, 8/13/10

This Old Heart of Mine Tammi Terrell
Lonely House Teresa Stratas
In The Backroom Brian Eno and John Cale
Ask The Lonely Vonda Shepard
Just One Cornetto Pookiesnackenberger
Papa's Got A Brand New Bag James Brown
You Don't Have To Say You Love Me Dusty Springfield
Hand In Hand Elvis Costello and the Attractions
Respect Aretha Franklin
Fingertips, Part II Little Stevie Wonder

Whenever I put together a Random 10, my old buddy Padre Mickey is never far from my heart. I wouldn't have heard Tammi Terrell's fantastic version of This Old Heart of Mine, much more up tempo than the hit versions by the Isley Brothers or Rod Stewart. I wasn't listening to pop music much in the 1970's and without the Good Padre, I wouldn't know about Brian Eno. While he didn't exactly turn me on to Pookiesnackerburger, we did discover Stiff Records at about the same time, and Just One Cornetto is off the Stiff Records Box Set, a great collection of music. I was very close to invoking the Padre Mickey rule after Mister James Brown sings his great signature hit, one of many to be fair. But also being fair, Aretha singing Respect and Little Stevie ripping up Fingertips, Part II. They don't get kicked off stage for noBODY and that's a fact!

This is the Word of the Lord.

Correcting a misconception.

Blog buddy Karen Zipdrive is the dearest friend of my Other Blog. Today, she speculated that I have a crush on an actress that was on a TV show I hated from the 1990's. I won't even name her, though she is mentioned nearly every week in the tabloids. She is very pretty, but she means nothing to me.

Let me repeat. Nothing.

Who am I mad for? I've made no secret of it.


I am mad for Indira Varma. Anyone who has read my blog for any period of time knows this.

My very first blog post, I had nothing to say. I posted a picture of Indira Varma.

Should the day arrive when I stand in front of her, if she should smile, or even grin, and snap her fingers, I would be on my knees.

I'm old. My knees are crap. That doesn't matter.

I'm mad, I tell you. MAD! MAD!!!!!



Then there's Melissa Theuriau.

And her golden eyes.

I know words. I bet I know... like a hundred. Maybe two hundred.

I look in a picture of her eyes... no words.

I know words in French.

Je n'ai pas des paroles.

Je ne sais rien.

I LOOKED IN A PICTURE OF HER EYES!

I'M LOST!

J'AI BESOIN DE L'AIDE!

She's... purdy.


Julie Newmar.

Words. Wuuuuuuuuuurds.

Carpet.

Rug.

T-t-t-towel.

Liiiiip... lipstick!

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm... lipstick.

Feet.

Arms.

Akimbo.

Okay, the vocabulary's coming back.

I hope I have made myself clear. That's the list. That's my team on the court, as Gene Hackman said in Hoosiers. If the list jumps up to four, I'll certainly let you know.

Happy International Workers' Day, comrades!

So May Day rolls around once again. I'm a little late to the party, what with having a real job and all for a few weeks, so Padre Mickey beat me to the punch. Notice how he goes all Commernist about the whole thing. Did you know he spent most of his childhood in a foreign country, alegedly as the son of "Christian missionaries"? A likely story, I'm sure you'll agree. He says he was born in the Good Old U.S. of A., but he's never actually shown me his birth certificate.

I'm sure you can put two and two together, gentle readers, and that adds up to COMMIE!

I, on the other hand, am an American through and through. I even became ridiculously fat just to prove it! As further proof, I will not expect you to join me in seven verses and choruses from The Internationale, but instead I offer that truly American way to celebrate labor, which is...



taking stuff from work.

People send me stuff, Part 1

This blog was barely six months old when I admitted I had a thing for giant women. I had friends and family who knew about this quirk from a long time before I was a blogger. I also actually made close personal friends based on this mutual interest through the Internets. Some of them I met nearly twenty years ago now, and I jokingly call them My People and our interest, Our Agenda.

I haven't made this blog All About Giantesses. There are actually plenty of websites devoted to that topic, but I do bring it up from time to time. To me, the interesting thing is how many of my friends and family will find stuff on the net of interest to My People and send it to me even though technically they are not among My People, but instead friends who share some other interest, like math or music, or family, with whom I share genetic material, blood and love.

Some examples.

I went to grad school with my pal Jeremy, who sometimes sends messages under the name 47th Problem of Euclid. He recently took a trip to Norway, and while in Oslo he put pictures on his Facebook page from Vigeland Park, an 80 acre park devoted to the bronze and stone statues of Gustav Vigeland. Vigeland's work includes many massive nude sculptures, including this stone titaness on all fours with her braid in her mouth like a gag. (Note: the object that looks like it is sprouting from her head is actually an obelisk far behind her.)

The people around her give some idea of the scale of the statue, and she is so large that we cannot see the children playing on top of her, riding her like a very large pony.

If I had made this trip with Jeremy to Norway (a seriously unlikely prospect given my general broke-assesed-ness), the first sentence I would want to learn in Norwegian would be...

Yo, kiddies! Tick, tock, tick! There are other people waiting to get on this ride, know what I mean?

This is not the first giantess picture my close personal bud Padre Mickey has sent me. He has no personal interest in the Big Girls, but her does search the Interwebs for wacky album covers, and this one has a giant woman vibe to it.

We can see that there are two snow bunnies resting their heads on weird contraptions, but tricks of perspective make the ladies in the foreground look like sleeping titanesses, who when awoken will be filled with a terrible resolve and turn the tiny town below them into toothpicks and kindling.

I have to say, this picture makes it look like the gal-gantua on the right is sleeping right on top of the only road out of town. I may love giant women but please! Good manners are never out of style, even if you are 500 feet tall.

And last but not least, here's a giantess collage sent to me by my adorable niece Holly Smith-Smith. Her particular interest is in fashion, and flipping through an old copy of the American fashion magazine Allure, she found this picture from a photo essay called Bodzilla!, which featured supermodels bursting out of billboards to tower over a helpless New York City that trembled beneath their stylish and stupendous stilettos.

This particular colossus is Linda Evangelista, dressed in a leather jumpsuit designed by Theirry Mugler.

Twenty years ago, Ms. Evangelista's most famous quote was "I don't get out of bed for less than $10,000 a day". If she was actually this size, the raw materials for her outfit would cost at least that much, so her extravagant demands seem much more reasonable, don't they?

Say yes. She'll probably step on you if you sass back.

Looking for a job?

Wonder what the people who read resumes are like? Here's my blog buddy CDP's take on the situation. It's worth a read.

Abu Scooter FOR THE WIN.

Several of my nerdy friends sent ideas for how to solve my Mac problems, but the first guy to get it right is Abu Scooter, which means Father of Scooter for those of you with limited Arabic vocabulary. He made some suggestions and damned if they didn't work. This is the first post written on my shiny new Mac Mini.

Yay, nerds! The most helpful people on the planet if you ask nice.

This is a picture of Scooter, not his daddy. Also, though his blog is called The Ghost Grey Cat, these colors are washed out some. The real Scooter is not this pale. Getting pictures pulled off the Internets to work properly is going to be a learning curve.

Still, not to complain. My new computer works in all the important ways and life is good.

To reiterate. Yay, nerds!