Why?

These are Hawai'i based Marines and Sailors that will never ever again hold their children, never kiss their parents, never embrace a lover, or watch a sunset or smell a rose. And for what? For fucking what?

Lance Cpl. Jonathan E. Etterling

Lance Cpl. Brian C. Hopper

Hospital Corpsman Third Class John D. House

Lance Cpl. Saeed Jafarkhani-torshizi Jr.

Corporal Sean P. Kelly

Lance Cpl. Allan Klein

Corporal James L. Moore

Lance Cpl. Mourad Ragimov

Lance Cpl. Rhonald Rairdan

Lance Cpl. Hector Ramos

Lance Cpl. Darrell J. Schumann

First Lt. Dustin M. Shumney

Corporal Matthew R. Smith

Lance Cpl. Joseph B. Spence

Support the troops. Bring them home.

Outrage du jour

So now the military has a special unit to do "extra-legal missions to combat terrorism in the United States," at "high-risk events like the Olympics and political party conventions." At what point are people going to start giving a shit what is happening?

Must stop reading the news

Oh, THIS is charming. The defense attorney for the guy accused of leading the torturers in Abu Ghraib says: Don't cheerleaders all over America form pyramids six to eight times a year?" Well sure, counselor... if the homecoming games at YOUR high school looked like this.

Oh, news bad. Pale ale good.

New place to be

Hey, sorry I haven't posted much in days, and sorry if the rants below freaked anybody out. I was just super tired and I made the mistake of looking at the news sites. It's an awful fucked-up world, just most days I try not to get too much into the details...

As you must have noticed since you are reading this, I moved the files onto my own site. Finally got that pesky word "blog" out of my URL...

Also, check out my online radio site at Last.FM... can't wait until I have a consistent Internet connection so I can enjoy it my own damn self!

OK, just trivialities today... first week of school and all that.

Humanitarian Relief as Photo Op

The ongoing U.S. effort to turn incalculable human tragedy into good P.R. is captured perfectly in this corporate media story. Bill Frist taking tourist shots in front of a bunch of rubble, telling staffers, "Get some devastation in the back." Jesus fuck.

Here's a clue: if you want to be seen as helping people, it might be good to actually want to help people, rather than cynically exploit their suffering for your own political gain. You dick.

Ohhh, really cranky today...

Sleep deprived and grumpy

They were partying at my house until after 2 last night, but I woke up at 7 this morning anyway. I swear, my insomnia thing comes up at the worst times. It's my last weekday of break!

Also grumpy because the fuck that wrote this memo is going to be the next Attorney General. The guy who defends the law thinks we should break it. People have been using the word "Orwellian" to describe so much down through the years that when the real thing shows up, everyone just goes "oh well," and turns on Desperate Housewives.

FUCK.

My Tsunami Two Cents

Probably more has been written about this than any other one subject in the blog-o-snorp-o-sphere... it's particularly hit home for me as I live in a tsunami-prone area.

One thing that bugs me about the media coverage, is that far too many of the interviewees, at least on American TV natch, are rich Yankee tourists. I mean, could we please have a moratorium of people telling us about how their yachts got stuck when the tide went out?

My Mom is convinced they're all there for underage prostitutes.

Anyway, if we want to "improve our image in the Muslim world" as is apparently the main concern of the U.S. in these tragic days... shut these people the hell up.

Listen...

Don't overlook the "Listen..." links on the sidebar, you guys. They're updated by RSS to reflect the most popular MP3 related blogs on http://del.icio.us - there's some occasional real gems that come along.

Snorp on!

The Updated Mochi Post

(The original pictures I uploaded to go with this post were corrupted; everything should work now.)

Every year for the last seven, my friend Akiko has held a mochi-pounding festival at her place in Waile'a. For six of those years I have helped out, getting out there at 5:30 to start the fire, and get the rice cooking. Then, the rice goes in this (heavy-ass!) stone basin, and people come up to pound the rice with wooden mallets. It's considered in Japanese tradtion to bring good luck for the new year. My main responsibility is turning the rice while others pound, and keeping that big stone basin clean. It ends up being a lot of hard work, and I'm wiped after about six hours of this. Fortnuately one of Akiko's guests was a massage therapist, and very generously and compassionately gave me a full body massage at the end of the day. This was the first year that I was able to put the traditional kazare mochi on my altar and that made it special.

Blog is Dead

The Motley Fool has an article up where they somehow make it sound like there's some investment future in the "blog" phenomenon, though they don't seem to know what that could be. I don't either.

I want to stop using the word "blog" now. Too many people who don't know what the fuck they are talking about are saying "blog, blog, bloggity blog blog blog." It's like "spam:" a joke word that now gets tossed around by idiots like it means something.

I propose we all change to the word "snorp." We're "snorpers," who are "snorping" in the "snorposphere." Oh, and we have to always use the word with "inverted commas," too.

That'll freak 'em out...

The Short Life and Unlamented End of Foghorn Leghorn

It wasn't until the first night I slept at my current apartment that I realised there was a huge, loud, fighting rooster right outside my window. Being a rooster, he did what roosters do first thing in the morning. He did that thing over and over again, for ten to fifteen minutes at a stretch, then took a break. Whatever roosters do for a break. Take a little drink, I don't know. Then another aria, and on and on for hours. I haven't slept past 5:30am in months, and neither has anyone else in my house.

I called the rooster "Foghorn Leghorn." I don't know what his owners called him. They probably called him a good payday. You can win a lot of money with a good fighting chicken, and this one was a bruiser.

Anyway, about six this morning one of [shall remain nameless]'s overnight guests, [shall remain nameless], couldn't stand the racket. So he went out and liberated Foghorn. "Be free," he said, and opened the cage to let Foghorn breathe free air at last. Not being an idiot, Foghorn stayed right where he was, with all the free food. So [shall remain nameless] did what any half-drunk, stupid, reckless college kid would do: took the rooster out back and broke his neck.

I slept until 7:30 this morning.

It pains me to be happy about the violent death of any of God's creations. I had fantasies of taking Foghorn out to the countryside somewhere, to seek his fortune. But I do like the extra sleep, and it'll really feel good once school starts. Even if the people next door get a new one, it'll be a while until he's as big and loud as Foghorn, and I'll be gone by then.

So farewell Foghorn Leghorn. I won't say I'll miss you, but you did make life colorful. (Now I have to use an alarm!)