Meese Can't Type

31 October 2006 @ 07:47 pm

"It's a nightmare!!"
-- C3PO, Episode II

Dark Moose = Sleepy Moose

Don't get old, kids. Have your head frozen, go into hibernation, get genetic therapy, become more machine than man, I don't care - just don't get old. It sucks.

People think getting older means you turn into "The Man", or start becoming this verklempt old fogey, you start voting with your bank account, lose your ideals, compromise with the world, and become this bitter, twisted and hollowed out hypocritical shakey old blowhard with pants up to your nipples, a heinous combover, full-body nosehair, thick black horn-rimmed glasses and a disdain for all things even remotely fun.

Well...ok some of that is true, but that's not really it. What happens to you when you get older is a lot simpler than that. It's that your body rebels against your melon.

Think of your head as the slicked up white plasteel armored Empire of You. It houses this shrivelly grey thing, the brain, the Emperor of your domain that goes about squashing things and devises evil plans for everyone. In youth, it shows no mercy, it does not hesitate, it does what must be done so long as no one else is telling it what to do. Fear keeps your limbs and torso in line. Fear of your Imperial Melon.

Now think of your body as the rest of your Galactic Empire. Your sprawling, bulbous, cosmically vast and bloated fiefdom. And the truth is, the longer you try to control the Imperial Body, the more systems slip through your twitchy little fingers.

And then pretty soon what you notice at age 27 or so as an insignificant little rebellion turns into this full-blown insurrection by age 37. You, your head at least, represents order and power. The grey shrivelly thing in your head says you must be mistaken about a great many things. Your body just says "Nah."

And then, even your head starts to turn on you. And then you're just this poor shrivelly grey dood falling down the reactor shaft of your own aging process.

"This is a battle I do not think we can win.."
-- Captain "Downer" Panaka, Episode I

Case in point:

When I was younger, getting to watch Star Wars was a huge event. Any Star Wars, any one of the Original Trilogy. Didn't matter, theater, TV, Betamax, school play, mimes, shadow puppets - watching any form of reinactment of those 3 films was a moment to remember, and you savored it. It tasted like....ahh...Vic-toh-ree...

And then when Phantom Menace came out, I continued this reverance. I watched my grainy VHS copies of all 4 films relentlessly.

And then DVD's came out. And then I was going frame by frame, digesting and re-digesting the most delicious of cinematic cuisine time and time again.

And so now I have DVD's of the Original Trilogy SE versions. And Original Original Trilogy with the unaltered versions. And Prequel Trilogy loaded with special documentaries, commentary, and of course the movies. And I watch them. And watch them...and watch them....and then what they hey...I...watch....the,....moviezzzzzzzzzz...
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
*snort*zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Funny little thing happens to me when I've memorized every single detail of something, and then try to experience it again. I sort of pass out. Just nod right off. You could be the most amazingly bangin' hot and beautiful super model in the world, but if this is the third time you've told me about K-Fed this or Paris that...I'm hunched over in a coma.

Why? Because my stoopid body has turned my head against my Imperial brainmatter.

My body's all "Yo, you've worked all day, you can check out. You could have checked out while you were driving home, but nooo...you had to wait. Well - now we're home."

And my head's all "You know, the old chap rather does have a point, wouldn't you say, MooseBrain? I say, a quick bit of unconsciousness would be just jolly, ho ho."

And my little shrivelly grey dood, trapped in his fortress of ineptitude, can only fire little lightning bolts at various body parts while it gets tossed over the railing into nappy time hell.

"There's too many of them!!"
-- unnamed freaked out pilot, Episode VI, Episode I...etc etc...

I literally can't finish a single one of these movies. The effects of this intensify the older the Episode is.

A New Hope: I generally pass out after "sinister agents" in the yellow crawl...

The Empire Strikes Back: I get all the way to the Wampa but collapse in the snow...

Return of the Jedi: I purposefully pinch myself until I get a fuzzy half waking glimpse of brass bikini...

The Phantom Menace: An invasion can mean only one thing...me go sleepy now...

Attack of the Clones: For some reason I can make it to Anakin's cringe-worthy lovey-dovey lines on Naboo, but I can't get to the choice bits with ..you know...the actual Attack of the Clones. As far as I know, the movie should have been called "Episode II: I Hate Sand."

Revenge of the Sith: Now this one I can make it through for a bit - it's still new to me. I generally lose my grip on awareness halfway through it's amazing climax, just after Order 66. Go figure.

But I know that won't last long. Little by little, my minutes of lucid enjoyment of Star Wars will be shaved away....lost in puddles of drool and fits of frustrated snoring. Pretty soon, I think all I'll have to do is pick up A New Hope and I'll drop where I stand like a sack o' fertilizer.

My solace in my advancing years (I'm only 38, or will be shortly, so the battle for the Empire is still joined, fear not) is this new realization:

I have so loved Star Wars all of my life that it no longer resides on a screen, nor a tape, nor a disc. No, they are now ingrained in far superior detail, beyond re-mastering, beyond Dolby, THX, Digital, and HD.

It's in my soggy, grey little shrivelly Emperor at the top of my tower. And it's even in my dreams. It lives forever now, or at least until the day I kick it, right smack tweener my left and right antlers.

So there ya go - nightmare or dream for a Star Wars fan? Dunno. But I'll keep seeing how far I can get :0)

Oh, I almost forgot...

BOO!!!

Or not.

Happy Halloween, be safe out there.

Moose out

Current Location: work

Current Mood:

Just...a little...longer..

Current Music: Hed Pe - Killin' Time

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26 October 2006 @ 01:02 pm

Moose News - 10/26/2006

THE LATEST BREAKING FAKE NEWS

Dark Moose - Bored at Work

Fence Bill Signed into Law
Bush: "The best OFF-fence is a good DE-fence. Get it? See what I did there?"
10/26/2006 8:05

WASHINGTON D.C. - President Bush signs the Secure Fence Law into
effect today, laying the legal framework for funding a 700 mile fence along
the US-Mexico border.

Vice-President Cheney was heard to comment over his shoulder:
"Goood. GOOOD....let the hate flow through you...."

Wal-Mart Eats Part of Town

10/26/2006 11:15

MILWAUKEE, WI - Wal-Mart admitted today that one of
their stores had inadvertantly swallowed 2 gas stations, a
book store and a nearby abortion clinic.

The investigation began two weeks ago as several
small businesses were reported missing in the
Davis Heights suburb outside of Anosha, Wisconsin.

When Wal-Mart opened their new low-cost
"Walbortion" kiosk, they became a "retailer of interest"
according to local police.

"We're not sure how it happened," said store manager
Marsha Clayhorne, "but the upside is you can get everything
from tires to haircuts to unplanned parenting solutions right
here, all at Roll-Back prices every day!"

It remains a mystery what happened to a local Chinese
restaurant, but some shoppers reported that the men's
department smelled strongly of hoisin sauce.

N.Korea's Kim Jong-il Startling Reversal
"I can see clearly now.."

10/26/2006 12:55

SEOUL - North Korean leader Kim Jong-il admitted on Monday that he
was "gravely mistaken" and informed the world that the DPRK's nuclear
ambitions were at an end.

"It was all a big misunderstanding," he explained. "It's these glasses.
I took them off to clean them and wouldn't you know it, I saw I had
gotten it all wrong. Seriously, look through these things. It's like a
freaking carney side-show. I totally got everything wrong. Anyway, my
bad."

Mr Jong-Il then replaced his glasses on his nose and consequently
mistook a government aide as a giant snake and beat him with a
riding whip.

Current Location: work

Current Mood:

Seriously - every day?

Current Music: sports radio

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25 October 2006 @ 05:25 pm

The Dark Side Is...

Occasionally I like to get topical with my "Dark Side Is.." mashups. Occasionally, I don't even know what my point is. Either way, Mr. Foley has garnered a special place on the Dark Side.

For more explanation as to what these are, read here. Basically these come from my deep-seated hatred of the overly cutesy and vomit-inducing "Love Is..." cartoons...

You can see other stoopid sheeeot like:

...and....

Here at my old website, which is soon to be moved over to my new official domain, www.TheDarkMoose.com .

I start building the new site this weekend. I promise low prices and fresh produce every day. Or not.

Moose out

Current Location: work

Current Mood: At least buy me dinner first..

Current Music: Frank Sinatra - Luck Be a Lady

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24 October 2006 @ 01:16 pm

Papa's got a brand new bag. Of poodoo.

Well I've gone all in and purchased my LJ blogue royale du fromage.

I don't think it means anything other than I intend to change my Moosus Operandi a little and just blog a little bullshit every day. That's my strategy - every day expel just a little more bullshit into the world than I consume.

Oh and I'm going to curse even more, dammit. Cursing will be commonplace and vigorous. Manly, vulgar cursing. Or not.

Notable thoughts this week:

-- SW.com blogs are being fan-handled by a bunch of twits who think they're the popular kids and they have the coolest lunch table. They must be ...dealt with.

-- The small company I work for is likewise run by twits who don't know their black ink from their red. Every day I am deluged by new heights of exquisite incompetence. Absolutely perfect specimens of pure, unmitigated neglect, borne from no other agenda than the interchageability of one's head from one's ass. My company is a museum, of sorts. The Museum of Natural Stupidity.

-- I really must spend more time over at Lucasarts.com to help out, but my attention is already split umpteen different ways as it is. Split it one more time, and pretty soon my autonomic functions go south and I forget those piano lessons. Something's gotta give, and dammit, I like breathing. It makes me feel like I'm in control of something.

-- I took my car in to get inspected. It failed. They said my power steering pump had a leak. I explained that this meant, then, that I had no power steering to speak of, and therefore they don't have to check it. They said no, if you have power steering, it has to be working. I said no one told me that at the dealership when I bought it that some jackass with his name on his shirt would penalize me for a safety feature I don't even use. (Ok, I didn't say that. But it was all up in my facial expression. yeah.) Anyway, I said lemme get this straight - if the car didn't have power steering, and therefore no power steering fluid with which to have leaked out, it would be safer, but since it has no power steering because my power steering doesn't work, then it's a rolling death-bringer bent on the destruction of innocents on the highway to hell. He said yes. I said if I rip the pump out myself right in front of him, thereby removing the power steering option, it would pass by that logic. He said no. He said there could be no visible leaks. Then he cast a furtive glance at me, and whispered conspiratorially ala 40's cinema noir gangster-speak "Psst, say bub. I'm playing you a sweet deal, shee - just go down the road, give it the juice, clean it up and you'll be square with the G-men, shee? Ain't no flim flam." So ...whatever. I have to go fill it up with stuff I don't use because it's going to run out the bottom in half an hour. Then I have to clean it up so for 5 minutes it looks like everything works. Then my vehicle gets the State of Texas stamp of approval to join the other drunkards, malcontents, coked up truckers and gunracked roadragers in DeathRace 2006.

And that concludes today's bullshit.

Moose out

Current Location: work

Current Mood:

cynical

Current Music: air conditioning

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21 June 2006 @ 12:39 am

One of Our Own

For a Soldier and Fan...

I direct you to this story about a soldier and selfless citizen, Sgt. 1st Class Daniel Crabtree of the Guard's 2nd Battalion, 19th Special Forces Group:

Family, Fellow Police Officers Remember Ohio Solider Killed in Iraq

One of the first lines tells us that this soldier loved Star Wars, among other simple pleasures in life. But that's not really the point. Lots of people like Star Wars. The more important point is what a friend said about him:

"He was brave and kind. He loved to help people, and he loved his country.''

As I read this story about a soldier who traded his life for his beliefs and for his nation, it made me wonder why there is only one Memorial Day a year.

Our wars are fought by folks that have a calling apart from most. Here's a man who heard a calling for much of his adult life - to serve his community as a police officer, to serve his homeland as a National Guardsman, and to serve the interests of freedom abroad as a soldier in the Special Forces.

I've never been in the military, though often I wished I could have served. Back in the day, when I was much younger and quicker, my father expressed his most heartfelt wishes that I would not join up. He served during the Korean War in the Navy, and he didn't want to see me go into combat. Since I loved and respected my father, despite twice wanting to join the Marines at the behest of an old mentor and boss who served 2 tours in Vietnam as a captain in the Corps, I didn't. Sometimes, many times, I regret not doing so.

And then sometimes, I feel blessed that I didn't given news of late - even today 2 soldiers have been found tortured and killed in Iraq. It's a solemn undertaking to become a soldier, and that's something I say without truly understanding it.

Of course now I have a life years beyond then, and I have a wonderful daughter. But I wonder how I deserved such fortune over people such as these.

Sgt. 1st Class Daniel Crabtree had his own daughter, now 1 year old, and he'll never see her through the blur of years as she becomes a young lady, as I've had the fortune and trial to do. I feel he has been cheated, and against logic somehow I feel that I and others like me enjoy serendipity where he deserved it more.

So here's a man, a fan, a person who loved Star Wars and lived to demonstrate some of those qualities we sometimes think exist only in these films - selflessness, sacrifice, courage, commitment, compassion, belief in something greater than himself, and the idea that one person can make a difference.

The point is not that he liked Star Wars; the point is that he's the stuff our heros are made of.

We may not have known him, nor many of those brave people over there in savage heat and desolate landscapes that deal out death and injury in commonplace terms. I'd like to think that as a fan, he frequented the the online Star Wars communities with us and enjoyed our company from time to time in between his duties as protector of the peace and soldier. We may never know. But we may indulge our fandom to quote a wistful Obi-Wan:

"He was a cunning warrior, and he was a good friend."

A friend to those that knew him. A friend to any of us strangers he fought for. And a friend to his brothers and sisters who continue to do so, or have likewise fallen in honorable service.

May the Force Be With Sgt. 1st Class Daniel Crabtree, and his family, and the soldiers that fight our wars.

DM out

Current Location: Home

Current Mood: Thankful for others

Current Music: Star Wars ROTS Soundtrack - A Hero Falls

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23 May 2006 @ 12:30 am

Star Wars, The Pirate Drinking Song

Darrrk Moose Matey.

A note from the choir leader:
This would ideally be sung by roughly 150 to 200 members of the 501st whilst either dancing a jig of some sort, or perhaps while performing Da Wherda Verda.

Everyone, raise your Jawa Juice boxes, Correlian Ale, beverage of your choice, whathaveyou, and repeat after me...

anda one, anda two.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO (everybody) OOOOOOOOOO (no really) OOOOOOHHH...

There was a wee boy named Annie
And that was the least of his woes
His favorite word was yippee
And his robot had no clothes
He helped a queen by winning a race
A Jedi took him off into space
It's all Jar-Jar's Fault

Everyone: "It's all Jar-Jar's fault!"

Ten years later dear Annie
Had made a shiny sword
And he and man named Obi
Got themselves in a War
He lost an arm to Christopher Lee
And Palpy bought a Grand Army
It's all Jar-Jar's fault

Everyone: "It's all Jar-Jar's fault!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOO (you in the back) OOOOOOOO (with feeling) OOOOOHHH...

He grew to a man called Annie
And a hero all the same
But because he loved dear Padme
Dear Annie went insane
While Palpy started a new Empire
He lost more bits and caught on fire
It's all Jar-Jar's fault

Everyone: "It's all Jar-Jar's fault!"

Now twenty odd years behind him
Annie had a brand new game
He was called Darth Vader
And Ben was Obi's name
Vader made Ben join the Force
Luke and Leia kissed of course
It's all Jar-Jar's fault

Everyone: "It's all Jar-Jar's fault!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOO (just the girls now) OOOOOOOO (where are all the girls anyway?) OOOOOHHH...

Now Luke and Leia were Rebels
And in trouble with the law
Luke had blown up a Death Star
A pirate made Her Higness thaw
They kissed some more and Han was iced
Luke found out his dad ain't so nice
It's all Jar-Jar's fault

Everyone: "It's all Jar-Jar's fault!"

And now the end is coming
And not a moment too soon
Luke went to fight dear daddy
High above the Endor moon
Vader grabbed Palpy and tossed him in
Luke and Leia found out they're twins (everyone: "eww"...)
It's All Jar-Jar's Fault!

Everyone: "It's All Jar-Jar's Fault!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOO (big finish now)OOO
OOOOOOOO (almost there) OOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOO (harmonize)OOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
(ok stop harmonizing, you're not good at it)
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO (louder)
OOOOOOOOO (louder please)
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOO (louder)OOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOO
OO (seriously)OO
OOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOO
(ok too loud) O
OOOOOOO
OOOOOOO
OOOOOOO
OOOOOOO
(this is it)
OOOOOOO
OOOOOOO
OOOOOOO
OOOOOOO
OOOOOO
OOOOO
OOOO
OOOO
OOOO
Or not.

DM out

Tags: pirate pants

Current Location: Home

Current Mood:

Always able to amuse myself

Current Music: An Irish Jig in me head

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22 May 2006 @ 07:50 pm

The Math of Freedom

Never tell me the odds.

1 in 136 in the US are now in jail

As we approach Memorial Day, and I see a figure like that, it makes me think. It should probably make you think, too.

Some would call this a success in the penal system. Others would say its an indicator of a few ominous trends. Breaking it down, here's what that means:

- That figure has risen 2.6% over the previous year.

- It's a weekly rise of 1095 inmates per week. A thousand more people are going to jail every week. Wow.

- That's a total of 2.2 million people currently in jail.

- Here's the real worry. 62% of them are unconvicted, waiting on a trial.

This isn't including or even remotely about Gitmo or some secret CIA-run prison in Europe. This is the American Justice System we're talking about here, founded on the idea that people are innocent until proven guilty.

Now, to be fair, I'd imagine a fair chunk of those people are good n' guilty, caught red-handed, witnesses and all. But statistically, there have to be a lot of people in there that are innocent. Not everyone that goes to trial is proven guilty. And yet there they are, their numbers growing, rotting in jail. It might be for weeks, or months, who knows. The point is, 6 out of 10 people in jail have never been proven guilty.

The article indicates this may be due to a recent trend in judges being reluctant to release the accused before trial. But there's the problem, we're taking folks off the streets, sure, but are they the right folks? And what of the slow erosion to our bill of rights in the process?

What happens when that 1 in 136 becomes you or me, wrong place, wrong time, detained and tossed into a cell with criminals, and we wait. Meanwhile, our lives go to hell. Job, loved ones, friends, family...everyone waits. And what does that do to something less quantifiable like your reputation? Can you spend weeks or months in jail, be found innocent, and just come back to the life you've left? Go right back to your cubicle or checkout line like nothing happened?

This, to me, is a symptom of the subtle shift occuring in this country over the last few years. The disregard for the poor, the disregard for racial inequality (many in jail are minorities, a much smaller fraction are white), the disregard for human rights, the disregard for the Constitution itself.

It's also a symptom of hard times. Some of those people are guilty, no doubt. Desperate people do desperate things. I know, I've seen it. Worse, angry, disillusioned people do angry things.

We aren't taking care of our own in this country, and our solution is to drag them off in droves to prison, where they will await a trial that is a long time coming. We're overloading our system, and in a jobless recovery that leaves so many behind, or are underpaid and struggling to fill a tank or buy groceries, we're doing little to give people an opportunity that doesn't lead to jail.

Folks really are fighting for our country, right now. And for our part, we're out there working and paying taxes and supporting them. But I wonder if their sacrifices are valued by a country who might just as well put them in jail if they were at home. 1 in 136 of them, at least.

I'm tired of little telltale signs like this that something is wrong, something is off, something is happening decidedly un-American. Something to think about on Memorial Day.

So there ya go.

DM out

Tags: america, constitution, justice

Current Location: home

Current Mood: awake

Current Music: Marvin Gaye - What's Goin' On

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14 May 2006 @ 02:30 pm

Guides and Teachers...

Few know this, but my real mother died quite early in my life. She wasn't around long to teach me what I needed to know to be a man, but she was around long enough to teach me the beginnings of being a person. She taught me to think before I speak, she taught me to say please and thank you.

But the most important gift my biological mother gave me was a belief in my own mind. She pushed for me to go to one of the finest schools in North America, even though we couldn't afford it. She believed in me, even if I was too young to believe in myself. This is what mothers do with their sons - against their heaartfelt instincts, they push them forward into the world to prove themselves. My mother was smart, beautiful, ambitious and quite Irish for a Texan. Her name was Doris, and she had hazel eyes.

Years later, after many years of being a just a father-and-son household, my father finally met another woman. She was practical, funny, diminutive in stature but hard-working. She had lost a husband before, and she had no delusions about forever. She was around for some of the most important times in my life, and all of the choices that go with entering adulthood: my first real job, my first years at college, the birth of my own child.

What she taught me was very different, and was often in the form of cryptic little sayings: "Don't be backwards for coming forwards" (State your true intent, don't be coy); or "Tak the bit an the buffet" (You have to take the bad with the good). She taught me that though life is hard, I might as well get after it. She taught me that honesty, toughness, forthrightness, both with self and others, that's what made a man. She now suffers from advanced Alzheimers and lives in a home. She neither remembers me nor my father, who passed away in 1995. In some ways, I feel better that she's forgotten, because she loved him very much and it pained her to lose another husband. Her name is Catherine, she has laughing eyes, red hair and a thick Scottish brogue.

These were different lessons from different teachers, to be sure, and I am lucky to have had two mothers in my time. The higher truth came to me as a hybrid of their upbringing: That the world is your oyster, and you have to work to get the pearl.

In the middle of all these was another teacher of sorts. But "teacher" is a bit strong to say of his role. He was, however, an excellent guide.

He didn't teach me right from wrong. That was covered. He didn't teach me how to tie my shoelaces, or to always tell the truth, or the rules of fair play. That's what parents do. I use the word "guide" because that's all he's ever done - show things to people, tell people about about times and places and people that, in many cases, never existed. Ultimately that "guide" was to somewhere inside of me, inside of each of our own minds, to a place where we knew almost anything was possible, if you imagine it. And in those places, there is good, there is evil, and there are people brave enough to believe.

He didn't teach me to be a better person, nor did he ever intend to. He only showed me perhaps the more important truth: that believing in a better world, and making a better world, is up to me. His name is George, he has a beard, and he lives somewhere in Califorina. I've never met him, nor do I think it likely. All the same, he's been a guide.

These are not the only people I have learned from, either from afar or nearby, and there will be many more. The lessons of my youth were compounded, shaped, guided, sometimes twitsted, sometimes fortifed by many people, some I knew, some I admired, some I aspired to be. But perhaps the most important truth I could share is what this particular trio taught me: That the world is your oyster, and you have to work to get the pearl. But you'll only find it if you can first imagine it.

Happy Mothers Day to my two mothers, and Happy Birthday to a visionary. :0) Thanks for showing me the way.

DM out

Current Location: Home

Current Mood:

It comes and goes

Current Music: Beatles - Blackbird

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05 May 2006 @ 03:56 pm

This One's for you "Lost" Fans (Bonnie?)

Ok...

What, pray tell, in media tie-in hell is this?

A real book by a fictitious author that died on a fictitious Oceanic Flight 815, that was preceded by another fictitious book that really doesn't exist. But this one does.

And supposedly it's brimming with clues and allusions to what the hey is going on with these folks.

And most notably:

> Is based on some equation to accurately predict the date of the apololypse - some number?

> Is a detective story that has many mentions of philosopher John Locke

> The fictitious author's name is an anagram for "Purgatory"

I'm starting to think my original theory was not so far off about what's happening on that island.

Too bad I haven't kept up :0\ I really have no freakin clue what's going on now. I'm just sharing with those that may care - because I'm truly Lost on Lost. There's no way I'll ever catch up. :0(

DM out

Tags: abc, lost, wtf

Current Location: Work

Current Mood:

curious

Current Music: Air Conditioning and Chair Squeaking

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28 April 2006 @ 11:14 am

Blakness

Blak Mooz. So hot.

I've finally tried new Coca-Cola "Blak" (notice there is no C in our Blak. Let's keep it that way. Thanks, Oka-Ola). I was intrigued by the pakaging, the promise of a new "fusion" experience (we all know Fusion equals Good), and the Twofer $3 special at the Stop n' Go.

On the pakage it tells me its a "Carbonated Fusion Beverage". On the bak it tells me it's got nothing but good stuff - karbonated water, koffee extrakt, phosphorik acid...you know. Just like mom used to make.

So I twist my kap and pour it down my gullet.

It's ass. It's liquid ass. Not ass in the figurative sense. It's liquified sphincter. Ass juice.

It's tastes like ass, it feels like ass would feel like if if ever slid down your esophogeal tract. It settles in like ass would if ass ever saw the inside of your stomach. And now, it's sitting in there, being ass.

What's worse, is I'm not done with my first 8 ounce bottle of Blak. I only have like 2 ounces of Blak Ass in me currently. I have another 6...no...14 ounces of hot Blak action to ingest.

I can only stand so much Oka-Ola Blak Ass, I'm telling you.

And now I'm just sitting here staring at this bottle, seeing it for what it truly is for the first time. It's one big marketing trick from a huge Corporate Jesus that tried to turn Ass into Wine. It goes something like this:

Hi, I'm Cola-Cola. I have huge plants that crank out life-giving Coke for the world. I have a problem. In the process of producing the world's Coke, we have lots of byproducts and wasted packaging. For instance, what do we do with all these old glass 8 ounce bottles we used to bitch at you to return for a nickel? And what do we do with the swirling spills of chemical overflow from our machinery?

I'll tell you what we're going to do, we're going to make it look cool. No, fuck that. Not just cool. Kool. What's the color of the giant matt-shot all over our plant floor? Duh - all that caramel coloring and lubricant? It's Black. So get this, G - let's pour that krap into all those 8 ounce bottles, mix in some coffee...no dammit - koffee from the brak room that's been sitting there since last Tuesday, cover the bottle with plastic labeling to cover up all those glass chips from these 16 year old bottles, and BAM. What do you got?

New Coca-Cola Black. NO, fuck that shit. We're going for the hip market. Coca-Cola BLAK. Feel it? Huh? are you exTREME enough to FEEL IT? It's like X-Coke.

It's straight up hip to the scene, boo. It's a Shak Attak of Wak Crak like Staks of Wax in a Mak Daddy Pak.

And if we can't sell it, we'll run the rest out in Stop n' Go's on a twofer $3 special. The point is to get money for bottling ass. It's genious.

Never trust your Coke dealer, kids.

I've now finished the remaining 6 ounces of my first Blak ass juice. I'm wonding if I should just keep the remaining bottle as a reminder of what it is to be a mindless drone consumer.

..

Oh god. I think I'm gonna yak Blak. At least it'll get me sent home.

DM out

Current Location: Work

Current Mood:

polluted

Current Music: Static X - Bled for Days

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07 April 2006 @ 11:59 pm

Conversations...By Dark Moose

You can't make this stuff up.

Before I get started I wanted to point out
this little oddity:

     the_dark_moose

What are the odds of THAT exactly?  But
then again, I've covered that ground
already.

IIIInnnnways. I've decided that I really should start keeping track of the conversations I have with various friends. Not because they're insightful, not because they're useful later, and certainly not for meaningful posterity. It really has to do more with preserving bullshit. See, bullshit has an extremely short shelf life. It lives in the moment, and wafts into history like so much bar room smoke. At the moment, it seems entertaining or important, but later you'll be damned if you can remember what it was all about.

Well I think we are the bards of our own lives. If we aren't going to sing our own tales and deliver our own word of mouth tradition forward to the next generation, then we might as well have not been here. Sounds nice and lofty, don't it? Except for the fact that most of the things we end up talking about have little to no point at all, and meander down a path of unresolved issues while barely concealed neuroses lurk in the hedgerows.   Case in point. Not the first stupid conversation I've ever had, but for numerical reasons, we'll call it ..

STUPID CONVERSATION #1:

(Pre-evening text messaging, from Friend Getting Divorced, or FGD for short. I've known him for 20 years...)

FGD - 5:05 pm - going to have a beer
FGD - 5:16pm - What's the amazon's name you introduced last time? she's here.
FGD - 5:27pm - Hellooo
DM - 6pm - working
FGD - 6:02pm - its friday
DM - 6:15pm - not going out
FGD - 6:20pm - yeah or neah?
DM - 6:42pm - finishing up a report not done yet
DM - 6:55pm - leaving

(Phone conversation, 7:12pm...)

Friend Getting Divorced: "Where are you?"
DM: "On Midway."
FGD: "Come up here. You know where it is?"
DM: "That jacked up little bar across from the ghetto I used to live in?"
FGD: "Where my car got towed."
DM: "Yeah, I have no idea where that is."
FGD: "You know, if there was ever a time you need to be supportive, it's now."
DM: *laugh*
(silence)
DM: "You do know this is me we're talking about, now. I mean..me...supportive..really now. I dunno."
FGD: "Come ooon. Come up here."
DM: "Do me a favor. And not the one I usually ask you to do with yourself.'
FGD: "What?"
DM: "Order me a samich or sumpthin, I'm starving."
FGD: "We'll order when you get here."
DM: "No no, I wanna samich waiting for me or some chips and hot sauce. I haven't eaten all day and I just left work."
FGD: "I've got some chips right here in front of me. What do you need me to order you something for?"
DM: "Hey, I'm just trying to be supportive."
FGD: "Hurry up."
*click*

(Bar Conversation...)

Aforementioned Girl: "Hey, how are you?"
DM: "Good good, still working on that resume for ya."
AG: "Right."
FGD (aside): "Ok this is when you'd normally say 'hey you remember my fr-"
DM: "I can't remember her name."
FGD: "You introduced me last time."
DM: "That doesn't mean I remember her name."
FGD: "How can you introduce someone and you don't remember their name?"
DM: "Do you remember her name?"
FGD: "..."
DM: "I think it's Natalie."
FGD: "You think it's Natalie?"
DM: 'Let's go with it."
FGD: "Natalie? Are you sh- ?"
DM: "Hey girl, you remember my friend, right? Neal?"
AG: "Oh yeah of course - hi how are you?"
DM: "Neal you remember nata...mahrfle"
FGD: "Hi yeah, I'm Neal"
AG: "Yeah, I remember you! this is my friend Christine."
FGD: "I don't know you, nice to meet you."
DM: "Christine, nice to see you, although I think we've met before...?"
Christine: "I live in Austin. I've never been to Dallas before."
DM: "Oh. I have a bad memory and I lie a lot."
FGD: "Ok then."

(turn back to bar)

DM: "OK, here I am. Being supportive."
FGD: "I need to have sex with something."
DM: "That's a disturbing way to ..phrase that."
FGD: "Yep. Need to get laid. Best thing to do right now."
DM: "I think you may be focussing on the wrong things right now."
FGD: "I've never been divorced before. This is what you're supposed to do when this happens for the first time."
DM: "Well you've been everything but divorced."
FGD: "I've been engaged, I've dated, I've broken off engagements....but not divorced."
DM: "I think you're over thinking this. Except for the legalities of splitting your stuff up, you haven't been married that long. This is just a breakup."
FGD: "Need to get laid."
DM: "That's really disturbing."
FGD: "Yep. Need some pursey."
DM: "You're kinda creepin me now."
FGD: "That girl over there is alone and she's hot."
DM: "That means she's waiting for someone."
FGD: "She's hot. Sooo hot."
DM: "Hot girls like that aren't 'sitiing alone'. They're waiting."
FGD: "So hot."

(dismayed, I go for a cigarette, my only escape)

FGD: "You're not going to smoke that are you?"
DM: "No." (lights)
FGD: "Yep. Need the pursey. Women these days. Not what they used to be."
DM: "There was a study released just recently that said as women are more financially secure with their own careers, they no longer consider a man's status or finances as a factor in attraction. The study said they go purely for physical attraction now."
FGD: "Is that good?"
DM: "At first I thought that sounded like really good news...then I realized that's just going from two superficial qualities to just considering one."
FGD: "What does that mean?"
DM: "You're f****d."
....

FGD: "Yep. Need the pursey. Pursey pursey pursey."
DM: "You realize you're a full-grown man standing in the middle of a bar saying you need your pursey."
FGD: "Yep."
DM: "I can't help you."
FGD: "Yep."

And there ya go.

DM out

Tags: stupid conversations

Current Location: Home, thank God

Current Mood:

Dunno.

Current Music: Gerry Rafferty - Baker Street

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05 April 2006 @ 12:49 pm

What not to say to your boss from the boundless depths of frustration...

Please Wash Words Before Returing to Work

I've had a not so pleasant morning. I'm working with a new client, gently plying my wares, because that's how I work - under the radar. I establish trust and maintain it throughout all business relationships. My boss is trying to be helpful. In the IT consulting world that means while I'm busy securing possible new business, he's busy tracking down a deluge of consultants. My problem is this: I don't like to stock my shelves with product when I'm not even sure I've got a customer, and even if I do, I'm not sure we speak the same language. So I can't just start raking my shelves empty into their shopping cart. That might make them a little leary of me as a sales person.

Customers smell fear and desperation. They also respond well to confidence and reliability. The trick to sales, at least for me, has always been "Let them forget you're a sales person for a while." I can't do that if I'm shoving services and consultants down their throat, however.

So today, after a couple of days of my boss pushing the process from the other end, I finally snapped. I called him up and basically told him to back off, that we need to give the customer a chance to respond, and in doing so, see what their intentions are so far. I ended the phone call with "I do KNOW this shit, you know."

Stupid. The guy is just trying to help me close business, and trying to help his company move into new territory after losing so much ground this year with once faithful clientele. And I essentially cut his legs out from underneath his efforts, and my own. This is the two-edged sword of being a "control" person. I like to control my business - like to know what's happening, when, and why. I hate it when other fingers get into my pie, because I don't know what they're trying to do. But that also means I go at things on my own, and don't accept the help I need, and in fact, might get offended at the prospect.

So he leaves me a message that we need to talk in person about my voicemail, and how he didn't think it was necessary to curse at him. I talked to him, and of course he's being completely reasonable, and its dreadfully obvious at that moment that...well...I'm not. I'm being a jacked up territorial tard.

The real problem? I resent being underpaid. I resent the opportunities it costs me, as well as the opportunities it costs my daughter. But I know they can't afford to pay me more.

I'm seriously thinking I need a new gig. Even if these people are also my friends, I don't think I should hold them back, and vice versa.
Dunno.

huh- I actually used my blog for what it's intended for this time. Go figure. Now I'm trying to figure out if I should go back to work or sit at home and mull options to no particular end.

Anyway - Moral: Don't say shit to your boss.

DM out

Current Location: Home

Current Mood:

crappy

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09 March 2006 @ 08:25 pm

Every Internet Argument...Ever

If I'm Wrong, I don't Wanna be Right...

I discovered these gems a week or so ago, and I'm surprised I forgot about these classics. It's all pure genius.

I'll admit I have an argumentative streak that the Internet does little else for than indulge, like that Bad Influence uncle [insert relative of your choice] nearly everyone has - you know, the one that bought you first six pack and taught you how to roll your doobage correctly.

There used to be a gentlemanly set of rules for debate, and debate used to have this lofty goal of revelation and understanding. Now take that warm and fuzzy ideal and go battle Evolution vs. Creationism. I think I've actually fallen asleep at the keyboard before waiting to get the last word. That's the thing with the Internet - there are no shortages of Last Words. :0)

If you've ever been in that debate that requires nanosecond awareness as to what the point actually was, and isn't any more, and has somehow become about you and your clearly fascist, homophobic, zionist, godless, sexually deviant, wantonly gay, sadly naive, overreactive, hypocritical, foul-mouthed, prudish, unimaginative, conspiracy-minded, ultra-neo-conliberalitive mamby pamby tree-hugging jack-booted dogmatic lack of cohesive logic, then this bud's for you. Enjoy an amalgam of experience, courtesy Steve Carrell and Stephen Colbert, I call "Every Internet Argument I have Ever Seen":

Even Stevphen - Islam vs. Christianity

Even Stevphen - Existence of God

Even Stevphen - War in Iraq

Even Stevphen - Medical Marijuana

Even Stevphen - War in Iraq II (with Ed Helms)

This is Dark Moose, and I have the last word. or not.

DM out

Tags: comedy central

Current Mood:

but still flailing my arms

Current Music: Cake - Seatbelts and Stickshifts

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13 February 2006 @ 05:56 pm

Weapons of Mass Devotion

Love, Moosie Style...

Happy VD Everyone...

DM out

Current Mood:

by the pocket rocket of love.

Current Music: Crash Test Dummies - Superman Song

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08 February 2006 @ 12:27 am

Conan Corners Han Solo about Holiday Special

Busted!

This was pretty sublime...

Harrison was on tonight to plug his new movie Firewall, and Conan O'Brien asked him about the infamous Star Wars Holiday Special.... Went sorta like this:

"You starred in Star Wars, huge hit that skyrockets you to superstardom...and people keep talking about this Holiday Special (Harrison grimmaces). ..there's rumors that George Lucas is trying to suppress it, and there's tapes of it all over the place...and none of you look happy while you're perfoming in this...(Harrison starts beating the arm of his chair) ...so is this real?"

Harrison looks visibly pained and says: "No.. it doesn't."

"What if we told you we had a little tiny clip of this special?"

Then they showed a clip from a younger Harrison having to act in one of the most cheesey scenes, telling the Chewbacca folks "You're just like family to me". with Lumpy making googoo eyes at Ford.

Conan: "I think that Wookiee was looking at you with lust!"

The reaction shots Ford gives are classic. Freakin' hilarious. :0)

DM out

Tags: conan o'brien, firewall, han solo, harrison ford, star wars

Current Mood: Conan is my comic hero

Current Music: Beastie Boys - Intergalactic

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30 January 2006 @ 11:26 pm

Moose (noun)

The Definitions of "Moose"

To prove that moosery in general is an exceptionally complex vocation, I thought I would share with you the various definitions of meese (yes, I still maintain this is the plural) as per the Urban Dictionary:

Definitions of Moose

Of particular interest, someone has entered this meaning:

moose

(n) An affectionate term to describe someone socially inept (or at least awkward). Moose tend to have specialized knowledge on some geeky topic, such as star wars, dnd, star trek, lord of the rings, etc. Drama and art majors tend to be moose. Acts of moosery are possible from anyone whether they are a moose generally or not, as long as they miss some conversational subtlety and fall on their face in an attempt to make a joke. Moose tend to have trouble getting dates, because moosery is not as celebrated in this society as it ought to be.
(origin) From the movie "Stay" with Ewan McGregor.

(adj) moose. can also be used as an adjective to describe someone who is a moose.

Some famous moose are:

Ewan McGregor,
Threepio,
Nicolas Cage,
Benny and Joon,
Characters from I <3 Huckabees,
Johnny Depp,
Brian Gernand,
Telford Work,

tags geek dork nerd dweeb socially awkward

I, Ewan, Threepio (Threepio?) Nicolas, Johnny, Brian, Telford, Jude Law, Dustin Hoffman, Naomi Watts (Threepio?), and other meese of the world (Threepio?) thank you.

DM out

Current Mood:

What else would I be, really.

Current Music: Crash Test Dummies - God Shuffled His Feet

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18 January 2006 @ 11:33 am

Right to Write

Humans Soon to be as Illegiterate as Meese.

So I heard this week that there are school districts that are considering dropping penmanship and cursive from their curriculum. The reason? The school day is packed now, and there simply isn't time. More importantly..like..who writes? Right?

I remember we used to have Typing Class. Typing was this elusive office skill that you had to struggle through for an entire year to achieve mediocre results. The offices of yesteryear used to have "Typists" - people specially trained to type things, because idiot fogey bosses weren't trained to do something so administrative in nature. Now we type lines around those old times. Kids typing 80 wpm with one hand. Or we're all thumbs a-blur, texting on our cell phones. I remember last year, during a class I was taking, it actually pained me to write something longhand. It hurt. It gave me cramps to write 100 words. It occurred to me that I had not actually written anything in who knows when. I, the twit who nearly failed Typing Class, am now a Typist.

For me, and for most of the modern world, typing has overtaken the seemingly permanent fixture of writing with one's own hand. Is that a good thing?

"Writing" (and I mean "Writing" in the old sense - you know, using one's hand, or whatever appendage pleases you, to make symbols on paper) was king. Writing was a right that people fought wars over. In ancient times, learning to write, and to read, was a privilege often denied the lower classes. See, if peasants could read and write, they could communicate with each other secretly, and that meant conspiracies could bloom and revolutions start right there under the heels of your oppressive boots. And once this Right to Write was gained for the masses, they never let it go. It flourished, and Writing was the way of the world.

Each and every great speech from Abraham Lincoln was handwritten. All the plays penned by Shakespeare were..well...penned. Reams of paper came home from huddled soldiers in countless foxholes and trenches, scrawled hastily with whatever implement they could beg off their buddies. The whole of history is brought to us by hand, on walls of caves, on walls of stone, on parchment, or on paper, by candlelight, bonfire, or cities ablaze with changing times.

And so now Bubba and Eunice on the local school board want to just sort of..erase Writing. Kids use keyboards these days, so why do we need penmanship, they ask. Why waste time with cursive and print, with pencils and pens,

So interesting to me, this train of thought.

Because indeed, why do we need Math classes when we have calculators?
Why have Spelling and Grammar classes when we've got Spellcheck?
Why do we have Literature classes when we have Cliff Notes?
Why do we have Art when we have Photoshop?
Why do why have Athletics when we have video games?
And why do we have History classes when we can just Google it?

Go ahead, think of a class for any burgeoning young mind, and I bet there's a joystick, keyboard, reference guide or search engine that can replace it. Why do anything ourselves any more? Why not hand it over to this handy new Information Age that someone else, somewhere else has compiled for us?

As you replace the uses of the mind, so you replace the mind. You may think this a small concern, but to unlearn what humans struggled to teach for centuries and hand it over to machines that may or may not be there some day in the future is short-sighted and obscenely convenient. The more we do things with our own hands, the less someone can take those things from us.

"Idle hands are the Devil's playthings."
-- Unknown

"Either write things worth reading or do things worth the writing."
-- Benjamin Franklin

"To be a well-flavored man is the gift of fotune, but to write or read comes by nature."
-- William Shakespeare

"Reading maketh a full man; conference a ready man; and writing an exact man."
-- Francis Bacon, Sr.

"The liberty of speaking and writing guards our other liberties."
-- Thomas Jefferson

"Abraham Lincoln, his hand and pen, he will be good but God knows When."
-- Abraham Lincoln, written in his schoolbook as a young boy

"Don't be too proud of this technological terror you've created..."
--Darth Vader - More machine than man.

Moose out

Current Mood:

contemplative

Current Music: Postal Service - Such Great Heights

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09 January 2006 @ 12:42 pm

The Dark Mouse

Man Attacks Mouse With Fire, Mouse Wins

This guy tried to kill a mouse by putting it in a leaf fire in his yard. Oddly, a mouse is not like a vampire or an unholy zombie or TX Terminator or even the Stay Puft Marshmellow Man, contrary to popular belief. It's not exactly necessary to engulf it in flames to kill it.

One could use, for instance, a shoe.

So this twit decided to destroy the mouse by conflagration. Apparently the mouse leapt out of the fire and ran screaming in slow motion like a tiny rodent Satan, jumped through his plate glass window and hopefully landed on a conveniently placed gas can or perhaps unexploded ordinance of some sort, and sent his crib straight to hell.

Thus making an excellent ending for my next film-

"Mousebo - First Blood"

And of course the sequel-

"Mousebo - The Dark Mouse"

DM out
Update 1.10.06: Turns out the man just thought the mouse started the fire (guilty conscience much?). It was actually burning leaves. The moral of the story might still be the same - God Likes Mice.

Current Mood:

amused

Current Music: Bon Jovi - Dead or Alive

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05 January 2006 @ 07:30 am

Todds in Miatas and Their Little Dogs, Too

The older I get, the more I start to see the irreparable state of my extreme bias. I try to be fair, but let's face it - subjectivity oozes from my pores like morning-after Tequila. This carries over into any number of bizarre manifestations:

Cars- If I can't stand you, your automobile goes on a most-hated list as well. I have an irrational hatred of Isuzu Troopers. I can't walk past a Mustang convertible without mocking it into submission. And Mazda Miatas...well..you sir, will die by my hoof. All because I knew some such assmonkey that drove each one of these vehicles. Now, that doesn't necessarily work in reverse. If I like you, and you've just made the unfortunate mistake of owning a car from my most-hated list, I don't fault you. But if you catch me talking smack to your Honda in a private moment, don't take it personally.

Names- This is going to be touchy, because I'm inevitably going to say a reader's name, so I'll keep my examples brief and on the fringe. It's rather like the cars thing. If you've crossed my path, your name falls to the unprotected scrolls. And so now its a chore to not form opinions of people by their names. If I meet a "Todd", I force myself not to think of this person as an officious little prick 20 seconds after meeting him. If I meet a "Heather", I promise to remind myself that this person is not automatically a slut. Even if I want them to be at the moment. If I meet a "Chip", I will resist poking him about the face and shoulders with a stick and calling him "Chippy". All such people, and many more, accidentally bear the names of folks who figure prominently into the state executions I'll chair when I take over the world.

Pets- I like animals, don't get me wrong. I mean....look at me. Anyway, some of my best friends are mammals. But I believe this is true: your pet somehow represents your personality. More aptly, after some amount of time, your personality leaks into your pet's melon. Doesn't matter if its a NYC rat or a Peruvian spider or a yippy little Yorky dork or a Monty Python. Somehow that pet, and your choice of that pet, is subliminally making some sort of statement. And if you are in fact a jackass, I expect to see you walking your donkey so it can make bobo outside. So unfortunately, I've known my fair share of jerks with furry pals, and have therefore associated certain animals with jerkdom. For instance, the Chow breed of dog irks me on first sight. Beta fish are tiny proxies of assholery. I have even been known to look down my nose at a pig. I know, I know...its not nice to blame the innocent little creatures of God's plan. But I figure a couple of things - animals are people, too, and if they're not, they spend way too much time with 'em. Guilt by association.

Clothes/Accessories- Through the late 90's and the DotCom insta-culture, this part of my unbridled prejudice took a mind-bending turn. So many assholes. All wearing a wide variety of previously allowable garments, but all at the same time. Instant millionaires were popping up like so many social melanomas at an alarming rate, and all of them were desperate to make a fashion statement by wearing as many different genres of clothing in juxtaposition as possible. You know, cowboy hats with sports jerseys, topped off with big Bono glasses and a feather boa or some scheit. Whereas I refuse to allow the venerable cowboy hat (I'm Texan, after all) to fall into one of my "most-hated" categories, it doesn't help that I've known too many twits that hide beneath its brim. The long and short of it is the clothing/accesories category has been so overwhelmed and diffused by this recent era of fashion that I've just decided to hate people because they wear clothes.

If everyone walked around nekid..well...I'd only hate some of them. Mostly the Todds.

DM out

Current Mood: creative

Current Music: Jane's Addiction - Been Caught Stealing

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03 January 2006 @ 08:40 am

You know, sometimes your morning is a Beatles song...

A Day in the Life of a Moose

I saw the news today, oh boy
The wildfires are spreading fast
The ground is dry and there's no rain
And there's a dirty haze
Around the sun these days
I'd love to turn you off.

Woke up, got out of bed
dragged a comb across my head
Found my way online to look at my account
Just to find I've been paid the wrong freakin' amount
Drove my car to get some gas
$40 fillup can kiss my ass
Got some coffee and some cream
Spilled cream on my shirt and I went into a dream
Ah..na na na....

I read the news today oh, boy
They want nuclear power in Tehran, Iran
And though the bombs would be rather small
They'd like to use them all
Now they know how many bombs it takes to fight city hall
I'd love to turn you off...

Current Mood:

blank

Current Music: Beatles - A Day in the Life

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