Number 1 clearest sign that communication in modern America is dead:
Friend is a verb.
Befriend was a verb already there and ready to go but it didn't make the cut. Maybe because it actually means something good, referring to the compassionate act of befriending someone. No, they had to take one of the noblest nouns in our language and strip it of decency, emotion and meaning. Friend is now a verb that lives in the wasteland of computers. In computer-speak you can talk complete nonsense and people will respond to you in kind. So anyway here's how my day went:
I woke up and floored my feet so I could food myself. After that I outsided myself and got biked. I biked over to Jack's and we automobiled to the beach where we oceaned until we got sundowned. Then we barred at the Breakers and I beered Jack because he hasn't been moneyed lately. After that we womaned. We didn't woman very well so we just homed. It was real.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
WMMO – Fifth Turd Bank - more than a feeling?
I heard a folksy ad for Fifth Turd Bank on guess what radio station. It starts out with a little acoustic guitar to relax our sphincter muscles, than tells about their Aw shucks “relationship banking.” I happen to have first hand knowledge of this relationship. Here's a clue about the type relationship it is: it starts when you bend over.
My down-home neighbors at fifth Turd were able to exercise basic human decency only after Greg Dawson of the Orlando Sentinel called them. It was stunning how completely the threat of bad publicity improved our “relationship.”
WMMO – Fifth Turd Bank - more than a feeling?
My down-home neighbors at fifth Turd were able to exercise basic human decency only after Greg Dawson of the Orlando Sentinel called them. It was stunning how completely the threat of bad publicity improved our “relationship.”
WMMO – Fifth Turd Bank - more than a feeling?
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
What does WMMO really stand for?
Just when you think you're done writing about how spooky WMMO fm radio is, you tune in and soon you're further impressed. If these people really know their "listeners" and their "listeners" really relate to the sort of patronizing, spoon-fed crap the disc jockeys say, then there is a large segment of our population beyond my comprehension. So here it is: Once in a while I tune in WMMO because they play over and over again a couple of my favorite popular tunes. As they play about two dozen songs total, I figure there's a pretty good chance I'll hit one. What I heard today, I never could have imagined, much less imagined hearing over the air. The disc jockey started plugging a wonderful new service for anybody gutless enough and living in a soup of office-bound misery so pervading his life and his being, to take advantage of it. Wait for it....
He prefaced it by saying what a really bad idea it is to give somebody who gets on your nerves, some "tool" the finger in person. So - some entrereneur out there will anonymously e-mail the finger to someone in your office who is a "real tool". I confess I have no idea what he means with this use of the word "tool". I am sure only that he is mocking his "listeners" when he uses it. Then, to justify this, he speaks of how "they've seen some amended behaviour as a result of this". "They" has to be God, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny because omnipresence is the only way anybody could be in these offices and see and judge this behavior amendment.
Now just imagine the positive effect these anonymous fingers will have. Someone gets one and wonders who in the office sent it, who hates him. Could make for a real improvement in an already oppressive atmosphere. He didn't give any examples of the "amended behavior". This guy is no John Tesh.
I thought when I turned it on a few weeks ago and heard a lady disc jockey talking about what great botox this one doctor gives, that was as perverse as it got. Guess i was wrong. This station is clearly some sort of nauseous support system for people whose office job is their life so they may continue making that substitution for the greater good. It does keep me tuning in and writing about it in cyber space. Maybe that's the real purpose. I'd feel a lot better with that.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
For God's Sake, Don't Drink the Water!
Looks like the year 9595 is arriving ahead of schedule. Instead of “panic in the streets” we have teenage girls panicking because their cellular telephone stopped transmitting. According to a reliable source, girls at school actually become hysterical upon temporarily being excluded from the web - like adults who can't find the teevee remote but worse. Also there is a segment of society who cannot go anywhere without being directed by a satellite. GPS quits, they are helpless to advance. But that's all topped by a horrific tale of suffering related to me at the Lake Lily Art Show. A man and a woman kayaking on the Wekiva River when they - imagine how scary this would be – ran out of water. Of course I thought they meant the river suddenly dried up and they were stuck on the bottom. But that wasn't it. They were talking about the water in their little bottles. Well, they had foolishly prepared inadequately for the expedition and thirst
began to overtake them, gnawing at their throats, parching their very innards.
“It was really terrible,” they said, being out there with nothing to drink, probably at least a half mile from safety.
If this had been the Cleveland River I could sympathize but the Wekiva is a clear spring. When I visit Florida springs, I always enjoy drinking the water so I said, “I have to ask you something. Why didn't you drink the river?”
They paused for a moment like it was unfair of me to ask this most pertinent question. Then the woman claimed fear of alligators, which are not known to police the river vigilantly for unauthorized drinking. The man dismissed the alligator threat, then looked a little sheepish and alluded vaguely to the possibility of germs.
I would love to know how much thirst they would have allowed themselves before caving in and chancing natural water; or if they'd have just given up and died out there. Clearly these people are adapted to life inside the house but some vestigial instinct pushed them out into nature. It's still in their genes if not their brains.
On the subject of germs, that nasty horde always waiting to swarm up and take over the world, I recommend financial investment in Purell. Going to many businesses as I do selling my books, I am in the unique position to know that every single office out there has a big old bottle of that goo sitting on the counter. I don't know what forces inspired this revolution but I believe it is just for appearances. It's hard to imagine anyone but a German standing there and squirting some into his palms. If people do actually start to bathe every time they walk into a new office, then we will see some formidable germs arise, much like the antiseptic hospital setting that gave us Mersa.
So here it is, our great society which would rather publicly debate the policy on gays in the military or whether or not there should be a new basketball stadium than the shocking scandal that across this land people have lost their minds and their independence to the degree that they tend lawns but not gardens. PERHAPS IT NEEDS TO BE A HEADLINE. Here are a few suggestions:
FLORIDA TEENAGER FALLS INTO PIT OF DESPAIR WHEN CELLPHONE QUITS
FLORIDA DRIVER CAN'T READ A ROAD MAP
FLORIDIAN WON'T DRINK WATER WITHOUT A PLASTIC BOTTLE
FLORIDIANS SANITIZE THEMSELVES ALL DAY
FLORIDIANS GROW GRASS INSTEAD OF FOOD
FLORIDIANS WATCH TELEVISION OVER AND OVER AGAIN
FLORIDIANS SEEN WALKING ON TREADMILLS
Hey – how about this one?
FLORIDIAN SEEN BREATHING FRESH AIR -
Nah – too far fetched
began to overtake them, gnawing at their throats, parching their very innards.
“It was really terrible,” they said, being out there with nothing to drink, probably at least a half mile from safety.
If this had been the Cleveland River I could sympathize but the Wekiva is a clear spring. When I visit Florida springs, I always enjoy drinking the water so I said, “I have to ask you something. Why didn't you drink the river?”
They paused for a moment like it was unfair of me to ask this most pertinent question. Then the woman claimed fear of alligators, which are not known to police the river vigilantly for unauthorized drinking. The man dismissed the alligator threat, then looked a little sheepish and alluded vaguely to the possibility of germs.
I would love to know how much thirst they would have allowed themselves before caving in and chancing natural water; or if they'd have just given up and died out there. Clearly these people are adapted to life inside the house but some vestigial instinct pushed them out into nature. It's still in their genes if not their brains.
On the subject of germs, that nasty horde always waiting to swarm up and take over the world, I recommend financial investment in Purell. Going to many businesses as I do selling my books, I am in the unique position to know that every single office out there has a big old bottle of that goo sitting on the counter. I don't know what forces inspired this revolution but I believe it is just for appearances. It's hard to imagine anyone but a German standing there and squirting some into his palms. If people do actually start to bathe every time they walk into a new office, then we will see some formidable germs arise, much like the antiseptic hospital setting that gave us Mersa.
So here it is, our great society which would rather publicly debate the policy on gays in the military or whether or not there should be a new basketball stadium than the shocking scandal that across this land people have lost their minds and their independence to the degree that they tend lawns but not gardens. PERHAPS IT NEEDS TO BE A HEADLINE. Here are a few suggestions:
FLORIDA TEENAGER FALLS INTO PIT OF DESPAIR WHEN CELLPHONE QUITS
FLORIDA DRIVER CAN'T READ A ROAD MAP
FLORIDIAN WON'T DRINK WATER WITHOUT A PLASTIC BOTTLE
FLORIDIANS SANITIZE THEMSELVES ALL DAY
FLORIDIANS GROW GRASS INSTEAD OF FOOD
FLORIDIANS WATCH TELEVISION OVER AND OVER AGAIN
FLORIDIANS SEEN WALKING ON TREADMILLS
Hey – how about this one?
FLORIDIAN SEEN BREATHING FRESH AIR -
Nah – too far fetched
Monday, April 19, 2010
Golf, Anyone?
Anybody else notice how creepy the terminology is on WMMO FM radio? It seems to issue straight from the bosom of the great corporate mother, soothing and consoling her minions in their monotonous presence, the queen bee blowing her slaves a common experience in their ears, granting brotherhood in their unified purpose never to flag in feeding the beast they were born to serve.
Yes, they have music for your “drive time,” you hordes of insects on your way to work, altogether swarming from the little houses and apartments you swap your lives for. They even run interference on the highway to ensure you arrive on time. To ease you back to your “quality time” music, of course is music for the drive away from work.
They have your life fine tuned, music for every aspect of it – driving to work, driving home and the “quality time” before you go to sleep. Why do they divide your life like this? Why can't they just play the music? It's rude not to speak to those Orlandoans who don't nine-to-five, leaving them out of this mass medium of existence, alienating them from the mainstream.
Since it is ultimately all about maintaining the Great Work Pyramid, none of this is haphazard. And while you may have somewhat individual, if largely indistinguishable lives, you are enhanced by the same soundtrack. And what a soundtrack it is! Some time back WMMO dropped the pretense of playing many different songs, claiming no longer variety but “the best variety”, meaning a handful carefully chosen to maintain your hypnosis, recycled ad nauseum. Many of the mid-day songs are rendered by someone apparently straining his voice through the anus of a unicorn, venting for “listeners” the anxiety produced by their sensory overload of an existence. If they do play a song you love, keep “listening” – you'll soon tire of it. But to spice up life, they offer “listener rewards” and “free money!”
For sure clones of WMMO are directing lives all over the land of the free and the home of the brave, “listeners” dutifully drinking their cups of coffee so they can volunteer to be cogs in a machine, then trading caffeine for Budweiser Saturday and Sunday, stupidly being swept into that sweet goodnight, satisfied to be one small drop in the vast tide of consumers drawing ever farther from the shore to drift without landmark or foothold.
What is the meaning for the targets? I think it can be found in the language, literally true. You say you work for so-and-so. Exactly right, you do. You do little for yourself, the bulk of your life devoted to the entity you “work for,” no doubt facilitated by the human propensity for worship. Imagine allocating this much time to your family or to nature. Perhaps you would not constantly be seeking a connection. But that would be too much “quality time” which is supposed to be a rare thing that happens briefly once a day with WMMO setting the tone. You are a “listener,” not making even your own noise. What an astounding gift is time, how readily squandered when in great abundance. WMMO hides nothing in the blatant patronization of her listeners. Listen closely and you will hear the broadcasters droning as to morons.
With only one day to live, few would spend it like this. But they willingly spend thousands. I'm just waiting for unicorn anus beer.
Yes, they have music for your “drive time,” you hordes of insects on your way to work, altogether swarming from the little houses and apartments you swap your lives for. They even run interference on the highway to ensure you arrive on time. To ease you back to your “quality time” music, of course is music for the drive away from work.
They have your life fine tuned, music for every aspect of it – driving to work, driving home and the “quality time” before you go to sleep. Why do they divide your life like this? Why can't they just play the music? It's rude not to speak to those Orlandoans who don't nine-to-five, leaving them out of this mass medium of existence, alienating them from the mainstream.
Since it is ultimately all about maintaining the Great Work Pyramid, none of this is haphazard. And while you may have somewhat individual, if largely indistinguishable lives, you are enhanced by the same soundtrack. And what a soundtrack it is! Some time back WMMO dropped the pretense of playing many different songs, claiming no longer variety but “the best variety”, meaning a handful carefully chosen to maintain your hypnosis, recycled ad nauseum. Many of the mid-day songs are rendered by someone apparently straining his voice through the anus of a unicorn, venting for “listeners” the anxiety produced by their sensory overload of an existence. If they do play a song you love, keep “listening” – you'll soon tire of it. But to spice up life, they offer “listener rewards” and “free money!”
For sure clones of WMMO are directing lives all over the land of the free and the home of the brave, “listeners” dutifully drinking their cups of coffee so they can volunteer to be cogs in a machine, then trading caffeine for Budweiser Saturday and Sunday, stupidly being swept into that sweet goodnight, satisfied to be one small drop in the vast tide of consumers drawing ever farther from the shore to drift without landmark or foothold.
What is the meaning for the targets? I think it can be found in the language, literally true. You say you work for so-and-so. Exactly right, you do. You do little for yourself, the bulk of your life devoted to the entity you “work for,” no doubt facilitated by the human propensity for worship. Imagine allocating this much time to your family or to nature. Perhaps you would not constantly be seeking a connection. But that would be too much “quality time” which is supposed to be a rare thing that happens briefly once a day with WMMO setting the tone. You are a “listener,” not making even your own noise. What an astounding gift is time, how readily squandered when in great abundance. WMMO hides nothing in the blatant patronization of her listeners. Listen closely and you will hear the broadcasters droning as to morons.
With only one day to live, few would spend it like this. But they willingly spend thousands. I'm just waiting for unicorn anus beer.
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