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A Six Random Things Meme. April 21, 2008

Posted by littlebangtheory in Love and Death.
Tags: , ,

OK, I’m abandoning my general principle of stiffing meme-passers and taking Mathman up on this one, because it’s easy and quick and I have more coffee to drink before I head out with my picture-box.

Here’s The Deal:

Link to the person who tagged you (done. )
Post the rules on your blog (done. )
Write six random things about yourself.
Tag six random people by linking to their blogs.
Let each of the six know they’ve been tagged by leaving them a comment (on their blogs).
Let your tagger know when your entry is up.

Had the task been “six things we don’t know about you,” I’d have screamed and sent him a virus for his troubles. I mean, I’ve already showed you my ass, what else could you want to know.??

Anyway, here goes:

1) I almost always wear two pairs of socks. The explanation is more complex than I really want to get into at the moment; it’s sunny out and this sitting-around-blogging stuff is making me fat!

2) I prefer to eat my tomatoes with lots of black pepper and NO SALT. Salt is for pussies who can’t handle pepper.

3) I’ve been arrested in three states, though not all of them “took.” If there were truly any justice in the world, that number would be much closer to forty-nine (haven’t been to Hawaii yet…)

4) As nature abhors a vacuum, so do I. My floors can be a bit, um, “festooned,” shall we say? But I keep my kitchen, bathroom and bed-sheets in What-If-I-Get-Lucky condition. If you know what I mean.

5) Speaking of which, I only have six. But I have it from Reliable Sources that they’re six particularly nice ones!

6) While I’m always, ALWAYS ready to try something different, and am foolishly looking forward to my first Haggis, I’ll pass on the fermented duck embryos which I heard described on NPR, thanks to some “foul” -smelling experiments I did in the fifth grade.

OK, that’s all I have time for, I can feel my nascent tan fading and my ass spreading out as I sit here typing, so I’m off into the ecosphere to fish for photos!

Oh, yeah, the “tagging” part –

Phydeaux and Phriends

A Few Choice Words

pidomons posts

Saying Nothing Charmingly,

and last but not least,

Hill’s Country.

Sic ‘Em, Kids!

Curses! Tagged Again! December 17, 2007

Posted by littlebangtheory in Love and Death.
Tags: ,

…with the “Finish The Thought” meme. This comes via Phydeaux Speaks, by way of Pidomon, by way of Konagod

The “curses” part derives from the fact that I was “tagged” by my Siamese Cousin, Phydeaux.

Before I continue with the meme, let me take you back to late April/early May of this past year. I had just started blogging when I came across Phydeaux Speaks and began trading witlessisms with it’s proprietor, Phydeaux. It soon became apparent that we couldn’t be in the same e-room without finishing each other’s sentences, couldn’t respond to our common blogfreunds’ posts without duplicating each others’ comments. This led us to the astonishing yet logical conclusion that we were Siamese Cousins – separated at birth (by a thousand miles and a couple of years,) but not entirely successfully so. Seems they accomplished the meat-world chop-job but missed the psyche entirely.

Anyway, it’s been my Great Pleasure and Lasting Joy to have been reunited with my Nethertwin Phy by the Miracle of the Intardwebs. Thank You, Ceiling Cat.

And thanks to The Bear O’ The Lair, Der Bingle Of The Dingle, the One And Only (thank Gawd! 😉 ) Cuz for the tag. You said just about everything I would have said had I been tagged first, thus allowing me to be mercifully brief herein.


I never… watch television. Pass up a chance to try new foods. Drink Budweiser (sorry pido,) Millers, Natty Lite, or any other American beer-water. Unless it’s actually bad enough/dumb enough/cheap enough (think Old Bohemian here, with a h/t to Frau Biergut) to qualify as a funny photo-op. Where was I? …Oh yeah. Go swimming if it’s below 90oF out. Leave anything, anything on my plate. Go anywhere without my camera. Fart in church.

I rarely… go to a brick-and-mortar church. Eat without flossing. Pass a day without spending some of it in the woods. Make eye contact with a stranger without smiling and saying “Hello.” Eat dessert.

I cry… too easily. In sadness and despair, when I see innocent children being burned, maimed, killed in a war which is being waged in my name, or in a Genocide which my country, The Richest And Most Powerful Country In The World, is doing precious little about. I cry in anger and in frustration and in rage when Asswipes On High ignore We The People and do whatever the fuck they want to do, refuse to abide by the laws they sign into being, laws which all the rest of us are bound by, ignore Congress and the Supreme Court, lie through their artificially whitened teeth, claim to have God on their side.

And I cry when I’m presented with Gifts of Beauty; the voice of Dulce Ponts, a solo cello piece, flowers in the snow, a Spring morning, the love of my children. The kindness of strangers, the warm support of friends. Thank You.

I am not always… right. Kind. Strong. Patient. But I’m trying.

I lose… my shit when… (see I Cry, Part 1, above.)

I’m confused…  .  That’s a period. ‘Nuff said.

I miss… my Mom and Dad. My ex-Mother-in Law, far across the sea, whom I may never see again. My innocence.

But of all the things I’ve lost, I miss my mind the most. 🙂 Not original, but appropriate.

I need… to make love. To find a way to make a difference. To learn how to friggin’ type. A shoulder operation. Socks without holes. To sack up and get out there for a walk-about, freezing rain notwithstanding. Another cup of coffee.

I should… learn when to STFU.

I love… “…little baby ducks, old pickup trucks, babies when they cry, and onions.” For $600 and the win, Name That Tune!

But mostly, I love Elder Progeny and Ultimate Spawn, much more than words could ever say. And My Hero, My Friend, My Brother.

Now look what you did – you went and made me cry again!


So there you have it folks, The Rest Of The Story. Another layer of my Psychic Onion peeled away to reveal the Sordid Truth about Yours Truly.

I’m passing this on to DCup and MadPriest. Don’t kill me, kids – Phydeaux made me do it!

The Six Remaining Things November 23, 2007

Posted by littlebangtheory in Love and Death.
Tags: , , , ,

An embarrassingly long while back, Sparticus tagged me with the task of revealing ten things about myself which you “regulars” don’t know.

Well, given my penchant for pitiful, self-deprecating exposés and shameless psychic self-portraits, I came up a good bit short (now, don’t you start!) on new material, and humbly “passed” on the task.

But Sparticus, being the good-hearted team player that he is, wouldn’t let it rest. He kindly supplied the First Four of the Intended Ten, and urged me to round out the roster.

And you know, I’m not the kind of guy who lays in the shade while a Good Samaritan tills my fields, so here goes:

Sparticus’ First Four

1.) I’m an awesome cook. Thank you. I enjoy eating, and it behooves me to cook food which I’ll enjoy. I’ll gladly whip up something humble for any blogger who makes it this far off the beaten path.

2.) I write awesome poetry. There’s that word again… I’m a bit taken aback when I hear this – up until this summer, every poem I ever wrote started with either “There once was a man from Nantucket” or “Here I sit, broken hearted…” But Thanks, Spart, I’m workin’ on it.

3.) I’m a Good Man. Holy Cow, is THAT subjective! But Momma raised me right, so I’ll just say “Thank-you” and blush.

4.) I have a cute ass. Tactfully attributed to “some of the gals in the blogsphere.” Thanks, gals. I’d like to point out that at the moment, it’s up for grabs. And I’m dying from the back-pressure, so either get your sweet selves over here or send your sister. ‘Nuff said.

Sparticus, you get a gold star for being a Team Player. Thanks for the virtual kick in the ass.

Well now, that leaves me with six to go.

5.) I’m a Clutter-Monkey. A pack-rat, a hoarder, a slob. Not dirty, mind you, just a collector of stuff, unwilling to throw away things which aren’t, strictly speaking, junk. Here’s the entry room into my apartment:


Nice, huh? Great first impression when I finally bring That Special Someone home for the first time. I know, I’m working on it. But a lifetime dysfunction is hard to kick.

6.) I used to be SERIOUSLY into music. Played keyboards for most of my younger days, not very well, but enough to have a deep understanding of music. I’ve written nearly a hundred songs, some of them quite good (IMHO) and still write today. One of these days I’m gonna start playing again, and then you’ll be sorry!*

*My brother has gotten back into playing the guitar and has been encouraging me. I’m rooting for him.

7.) Some people equate “big” with “hard.” I’m living proof that It Ain’t Necessarily So.

The biggest thing I ever climbed was a 2,200′ cliff in California, atop 3,000′ of steep granite slabs. The resultant mile of vertical exposure was trouser-filling, to say the least:


That’s my buddy Mark The Canadian yelling, “Get this! ” We got it, Mark. You rock!

The hardest thing I ever climbed was an eight-foot tall boulder near my home. Took me six months of trying, several evenings a week, to get up it. Ridiculous, I know, but when you’re a climber, you can’t walk away from that kind of an opportunity.

8.) I turned down a MENSA membership when I graduated from high school. Back then I was a brilliant little hippy who thought that kind of thing was way too “establishment.” Fuck. Now that I’m a feeble old half-wit, I wish I had taken them up on it. A MENSA card would be a funny thing to drool on when they put me in The Home, and a great retort in the present for all those Reicht-Wingers who assail me with “So you think you’re so fuckin’ smart, do ya??”

9.) Closin’ in on it here, folks.

OK, here’s something from my present which you may or may not have picked up on: I’m horribly insecure.

This shortcoming was recently exacerbated by taking the on-line test (GAWD I hate those things!) proffered by DCup by way of Phydeaux and Phriends. The “test” gaged the readability of one’s blog and rated it at an appropriate level of schooling, from “elementary school” to “genius” (is that a level of schooling?)

Now remember, I’m insecure. But I had recently been complemented on a poem** I wrote, and was feeling a bit more confident…

..OK, I won’t make you wait. **Say this in your gayest voice. “Pewemm,” or something. It’s a H/T to a guy I used to work with who just about died every time he heard Garrison Keillor read a “pewemm” on The Writers’ Almanac on NPR.

…so where were we, oh yeah – so I submitted my proudest pewemm to the Blog Rater and got rated as “Junior High School.”


Sorry, that hit me right in the tenders. I mean, WTF?? I don’t define myself as this blog, but I had hoped to present myself in a somewhat more flattering light than Junior High School!

Now please understand that there’s a difference between being insecure and being a pansy. So rather than take this lying down (or doubled over, as the case might be,) I did some investigating. I pasted url’s from various blogs I visit into Dunderback’s Machine, and was mystified by the results – unadorned youtube videos of Jerkwad’s Cat got rated “Genius,” while some of my favorite Blogwriters got “High School.” I smelled a rat here.

So I sucked it in and threw my best shot. My recent post on God v. Religion seemed to be well received, so, taking a deep breath, I sent it off to be vetted…

“Elementary School!”

Well Fuck Me Runnin’! (H/T to konagod, my current favorite Texan) I’m done, I’m through, I’m outa here!

But while I was braiding my bed sheet and tying it around the steam-pipe, I did one last Earthly deed. I pasted the url from a recent stellar post from BlueGal, Goddess of the Left-O-Sphere, my Muse, Saint Blue, Sistah Truth, into the Rater. The result:

“Elementary School!!!”

OMFG! I’m saved, saved! Except that now I’m sleeping on a nest of shredded bedsheets. Damn!


And finally, last but not least:

10.) It’s Ralph, if you haven’t already noticed. Not an easy ride in the middle grades, but it is what it is.

So Sparticus, perhaps you see why I balked at doing this. I don’t take it lightly (ok, I lied, I do take it lightly) and it takes me some time and considerable effort. But all in all, it wasn’t that painful, and I owed it to you for your vote of confidence (which is what a “tag” is, really.) So thanks to those of you who suffered through this, and I’ll let any who wish take up this torch. I’m not a proper arbiter of who has the time or inclination to spill The Goods. Just serve it up if it’s hot!

My Pathetic Little Universe July 9, 2007

Posted by littlebangtheory in Politics and Society.
Tags: ,

Well this was sure a wake-up call!

Got “tagged” by my Siamese Cousin*, Phydeaux of Phydeaux Speaks, in an Evil Ponzi Scheme which is ostensibly designed to encourage us Little Folk to link up, branch out and support each other.

Problem is, most of you nice folks who stop by here are already aware of each other, and probably were since long before I entered the fray. Plus, I’ve been kinda incommunicado recently, with my work vehicle out of commission and my replacement vehicle being sans radio. Makes me feel totally lobotomized, if you get my drift.

So I’m afraid I’m going to fall short of the bar on this one, on accounta I don’t have five new thought-provoking “reads” for you all. But I do have at least a couple of spots I go to where the air is fresh, the thoughts are clear and the horizons are uncluttered.

For starters, and perhaps most in line with my perception of the intent of this “tagging,” I’d like to point you at Marc McDonald’s excellent blog, Beggars Can Be Choosers. Marc is an experienced journalist, and it shows in his writing. Unlike the M$M “journalism” which is made up mostly of White House press releases, Marc dresses his blog in a more fitting attire, tailored from facts rather than from Whole Cloth. And without the restrictions usually accompanying a paying journalism gig, he can and does express his well-reasoned opinions. Why there aren’t longer lines to get a comment in, I can’t imagine; let’s just say you’re invited to a small party where the grazing is quite elegant intellectual fare.

And while we’re enjoying the better aspects of Texas (!) I’m going to give a tip o’ the cowboy hat to Hill Country Gal.

OK, wait a minute, let me back up a bit. You Texans, we need to have a word. Everybody else, talk amongst yourselves. I’ll give you a topic: “How hard does Bush suck?” And it’s not a trick question.

OK Texans, back when He Who Shall Remain Nameless (but whose initials are George Fuckin’ Bush) first got sElected, I took no small solace in pooting out my favorite Couplet of Disdain,

Here I sit, cheeks a-flexin’,

Just gave birth to another Texan.”

‘Course as a fatally flawed human being, I was willfully ignoring the existence of St. Molly of the Ivins, on accounta she seemed like the odd fly in an otherwise rather homogenously foul ointment. Little did I know there were more of ya, holed up in your haciendas with a rifle propped near the door, muttering stuff like “Remember the Goddam Alamo, and pass me that thar tequilla, will ya?” So here’s my blanket couplet apology, for the first and last time: I was makin’ neocon republiturds.

Now back to Hill: This broad (her word, not mine) is smart as a whip, cool as a cucumber, and funnier than a fart in church. Her writing style is conversational, her observations are spot-on, and if she’s pulling any punches, God help us if she ever gets pissed! Off, that is. Excellent Content + Righteous Indignation = Hill Country Gal. And while the commenting lines can be long, it’s most often her and her friends having way too much fun!

So while I’m suckin’ up to Texas, let me throw youz a riddle:

Q: What do you get when you plant the Soul of Ella in the Heart of a Fella?

A: Konagod.

Kona’s another astute Texan who sometimes posts pithy observations and opinions regarding politics and society, but other times posts pictures of his cats or of the bounty of his garden, of which I confess to being obscenely jealous. Hey, we only get two seasons in this part of Massachusetts – Winter and Not Quite Winter. So it’s a good year when my tomatoes actually turn, what’s that color, oh yeah – red.

A visit to Konagod’s place is always an adventure, and always makes me think. Even if I sometimes think, “What the fuck… ?”

So on the slim hope that those three stellar examples of Life After Texarcana have undone my bad couplet karma, lets move north to a place After The Bridge where our hostess Sherry will ply us with poetry and prose, personal and profound, and worthy of our attention. She makes me feel like family with her straight-forward accounts of life in Pittsburgh, then lets me in on the really juicy stuff which floats her boat, poems popular and obscure, but as with most poetry, beautiful and true. Thanks, Sherry 😉

Last but not least on my list (hey, that’s alliterative!) is Lizz Bartlett, an actual bricks-and-mortar (can’t believe I said that!) neighbor whose Notes From The Edge takes me where I long to be, far from the maddening East Coast crowds, up into the High Country, down into the desert, always exploring. Lizz is a dear, true friend who takes amazing photographs of places I’ve been and miss, as well as places I hope to some day get to. Meanwhile I have Notes From The Edge as a balm for my brain, because I can’t spend every waking moment thinking about Theofascist Dirtwads or my head will explode.

And Holy Cow on a Pointy Stick… I did it!!! Five webstinations to point your browsers at for a change of pace and a helping of sentience.

And now, because I don’t do chain letters no matter who’s gonna die if I drop the ball, and I don’t sell Amway no matter how rich I’ll get if I just turn off my brain and do it, I’m not going to “tag” anyone. I’m going to rather ask that all of you mentioned herein (aw, you know who you are) look through your favorite haunts and see if you can come up with a few worthy suggestions for us others to visit. And if you come up with a list of five, feel free to get with The Program and keep this train on track.

* Oh, and Phydeaux – I have a theory that we were separated at birth (albeit by a thousand miles and several years) but the surgery never fully “took;” hence our proclivity toward finishing each others poems, employing similarly obscure language, etc. It’s cool to find a kindred bloke out there in the big, big world. Thanks for being there 😉 !