Category Archives: bad karma

On ties

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I have a passel of ties, but I hate wearing them–all that rigmarole with the fancy knot. Most guys don’t know how to tie the knot, so they do a simple slip-knot, and it always looks like hash. Crooked, I mean. Sort destroys the whole point of the tie if you can’t tie it properly. They are adjustable, you know, according to my friend, Sha. As far as a totally useless piece of clothing goes, the tie is the most useless. Except if you want to keep gravy off of your shirt, the tie has no known use or value. Some guys with fat necks use ties as a cover for not buttoning that top button, but all that means is that they need to buy bigger shirts or lose a little weight. Some might say that a tie adds elegance of color and design to a man’s suit, but that is just style and caprice, meaningless, in other words. So men collect ties, always looking for that perfect shade of red or that one odd shade of gray that will look good with their favorite shirt. Many ties are just flat out ugly. In fact, most ties are flat out ugly. Murphy’s Law of ties says that no matter how you place your napkin, you will stain your favorite tie with bacon grease no matter what. Polyester ties are the worst of the worst. Pink ties? I think paisley is coming back, so hang in there paisley lovers. Murphy’s second law is that you will forget your tie for that one important interview. Never run a drill press with a tie on. Men will never throw away a tie no matter how out of style it might be or how blood-stained it might be. One should never dab one’s mouth with your tie after slobbering on yourself.

On ties

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I have a passel of ties, but I hate wearing them–all that rigmarole with the fancy knot. Most guys don’t know how to tie the knot, so they do a simple slip-knot, and it always looks like hash. Crooked, I mean. Sort destroys the whole point of the tie if you can’t tie it properly. They are adjustable, you know, according to my friend, Sha. As far as a totally useless piece of clothing goes, the tie is the most useless. Except if you want to keep gravy off of your shirt, the tie has no known use or value. Some guys with fat necks use ties as a cover for not buttoning that top button, but all that means is that they need to buy bigger shirts or lose a little weight. Some might say that a tie adds elegance of color and design to a man’s suit, but that is just style and caprice, meaningless, in other words. So men collect ties, always looking for that perfect shade of red or that one odd shade of gray that will look good with their favorite shirt. Many ties are just flat out ugly. In fact, most ties are flat out ugly. Murphy’s Law of ties says that no matter how you place your napkin, you will stain your favorite tie with bacon grease no matter what. Polyester ties are the worst of the worst. Pink ties? I think paisley is coming back, so hang in there paisley lovers. Murphy’s second law is that you will forget your tie for that one important interview. Never run a drill press with a tie on. Men will never throw away a tie no matter how out of style it might be or how blood-stained it might be. One should never dab one’s mouth with your tie after slobbering on yourself.

On the end of the world (or maybe not)

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This may be the last note I ever write, or maybe not. That lunar eclipse last night has a lot of people worried about about the end of times, the end of the world, the second coming, the apocalypse. Some think that the full red moon was one of the signs of the end of the world. I must say, though, I have my doubts since normally occuring astronomic phenomenon are both predictable and regular. In other words, since time begin this lunar eclipse was on the calendar for last night–no way to avoid it, no way to be surprised by it. Since the moon goes around the earth and the two of them go around the sun, it is only logical that at some point the earth would come between the moon and sun. It only stands to reason, then, that there was absolutely nothing special or mystical about last night’s lunar eclipse–simple astronomical physical mechanics of planets orbiting other planets–no mystery here. The fact that the moon turned a reddish color is also irrelevant–red light waves are the longest and refract easily in the earth’s atmosphere, lighting the dark moon. Again, no mystery here at all. Stellar and planetary mechanics are naturally occuring phenomena that are predictable and describable and fall into a science that we understand pretty well. This is not a sign of the end of times, not a sign of the coming apocalypse, not a sign of any kind–good or bad. Unfortunately, people have tendency to see “signs” where there are none–black cats, broken mirrors, tea leaves, tarot cards, calendar dates, white whales, spilled salt, raining frogs, ripped pants, falling silverware. When are we going to get it through out heads that there are no such things as “signs” of the future? So I guess I’ll just have to keep writing.

On the end of the world (or maybe not)

Posted on by

This may be the last note I ever write, or maybe not. That lunar eclipse last night has a lot of people worried about about the end of times, the end of the world, the second coming, the apocalypse. Some think that the full red moon was one of the signs of the end of the world. I must say, though, I have my doubts since normally occuring astronomic phenomenon are both predictable and regular. In other words, since time begin this lunar eclipse was on the calendar for last night–no way to avoid it, no way to be surprised by it. Since the moon goes around the earth and the two of them go around the sun, it is only logical that at some point the earth would come between the moon and sun. It only stands to reason, then, that there was absolutely nothing special or mystical about last night’s lunar eclipse–simple astronomical physical mechanics of planets orbiting other planets–no mystery here. The fact that the moon turned a reddish color is also irrelevant–red light waves are the longest and refract easily in the earth’s atmosphere, lighting the dark moon. Again, no mystery here at all. Stellar and planetary mechanics are naturally occuring phenomena that are predictable and describable and fall into a science that we understand pretty well. This is not a sign of the end of times, not a sign of the coming apocalypse, not a sign of any kind–good or bad. Unfortunately, people have tendency to see “signs” where there are none–black cats, broken mirrors, tea leaves, tarot cards, calendar dates, white whales, spilled salt, raining frogs, ripped pants, falling silverware. When are we going to get it through out heads that there are no such things as “signs” of the future? So I guess I’ll just have to keep writing.

On karaoke

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I was just at a place on Thursday night that featured karaoke. Like many forms of entertainment, this past-time is not for everyone, but most people think they can sing. Far be it for me to tell them otherwise, but the strange sounds emanating from the stage caused my beverage to go up my nose at one point. I am not a champion karaoke singer–let’s just get that out on the table, but to sing a popular pop tune just like the original pop star did is nye on impossible and very near hilarious depending on how weird either the song or its singer were in real life. One woman really knocked a Stevie Nicks cover out of the park, but the next guy’s rendition of who-knows-what sent foamy suds up my sinuses. But is that the fun of karaoke in all its kitschy phantasmagoria where popular culture mixes black velvet paintings of dogs playing poker with a live microphone, a drunk audience, and dark desires of fame and failure? You never were Engelbert Humperdinck, but you want to sing one of his crooner masterpieces just like he did? You never met Lynn Anderson, but you want to sing about unpromised rose gardens? It is amazing, however, how brave a person can get after a few beers. They pick up that microphone and stand up in front of their drunk friends and start to sing their own weird cover of “Knock Three Times.” I admire their courage, and although I have sung karaoke a couple of times, I’m not convinced that that little world of pop culture turned odd is for me. My karaoke will have to stay confined to the shower, and even then I know when to stop singing and let Johnny Cash do his thing.

On karaoke

Posted on by

I was just at a place on Thursday night that featured karaoke. Like many forms of entertainment, this past-time is not for everyone, but most people think they can sing. Far be it for me to tell them otherwise, but the strange sounds emanating from the stage caused my beverage to go up my nose at one point. I am not a champion karaoke singer–let’s just get that out on the table, but to sing a popular pop tune just like the original pop star did is nye on impossible and very near hilarious depending on how weird either the song or its singer were in real life. One woman really knocked a Stevie Nicks cover out of the park, but the next guy’s rendition of who-knows-what sent foamy suds up my sinuses. But is that the fun of karaoke in all its kitschy phantasmagoria where popular culture mixes black velvet paintings of dogs playing poker with a live microphone, a drunk audience, and dark desires of fame and failure? You never were Engelbert Humperdinck, but you want to sing one of his crooner masterpieces just like he did? You never met Lynn Anderson, but you want to sing about unpromised rose gardens? It is amazing, however, how brave a person can get after a few beers. They pick up that microphone and stand up in front of their drunk friends and start to sing their own weird cover of “Knock Three Times.” I admire their courage, and although I have sung karaoke a couple of times, I’m not convinced that that little world of pop culture turned odd is for me. My karaoke will have to stay confined to the shower, and even then I know when to stop singing and let Johnny Cash do his thing.

On Catwoman (Julie Newmar)

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The fascination for this character is extraordinary and produced one of the worst movies (Catwoman, Halle Barry, 2004) ever–horrible is generous way of describing that incarnation of the myth. The highly camp television version of the Batman story was both horrible and edgy at once, and the few episodes done by Julie Newmar in the Catwoman role are a tour-de-force in a no-holds-barred examination of blind materialism, greed, and ego. By contrast, Newmar played the role as a strong, take charge, get-it-done woman, but her character is unwilling or unable to take an ethical stand as a law-abiding citizen, which is the great tragedy of the character. Unwilling to share her loot with even a single henchman, she drugs the last one in order to keep her ill-gotten booty for herself. Appearing in thirteen episode during the show’s run, she is finally “killed off” when she falls into a bottomless chasm, unwilling to let go of a bag of silver and gold. Granted, she is supposed to be the ultimate femme fetale, curvy, beautiful, and very sexy, but she is fatal for all around her, unable to demonstrate even the slightest ounce of empathy for either friends or foes. Even though the show was rather cartoonish and production values were low by today’s standards, the script, if you could see past the silliness of it all, was really a kind of morality play populated by characters that were unambiguously either good or evil. Catwoman, though beautiful, was evil, egocentric, and sadistic. As a metaphor, Catwoman is a medieval misogynistic representation of the feminine, which is portrayed as uncontrolled animalistic emotion. Catwoman is the dark side of human behavior, uncontrolled, chaotic, and anarchic. Catwoman isn’t capable, though, of even saving herself, dying while trying to steal a bag of pirate loot. Even though the show was high camp and extremely exaggerated, the comedy only thinly veiled its criticism of poor behavior and bad choices.

On Catwoman (Julie Newmar)

Posted on by

The fascination for this character is extraordinary and produced one of the worst movies (Catwoman, Halle Barry, 2004) ever–horrible is generous way of describing that incarnation of the myth. The highly camp television version of the Batman story was both horrible and edgy at once, and the few episodes done by Julie Newmar in the Catwoman role are a tour-de-force in a no-holds-barred examination of blind materialism, greed, and ego. By contrast, Newmar played the role as a strong, take charge, get-it-done woman, but her character is unwilling or unable to take an ethical stand as a law-abiding citizen, which is the great tragedy of the character. Unwilling to share her loot with even a single henchman, she drugs the last one in order to keep her ill-gotten booty for herself. Appearing in thirteen episode during the show’s run, she is finally “killed off” when she falls into a bottomless chasm, unwilling to let go of a bag of silver and gold. Granted, she is supposed to be the ultimate femme fetale, curvy, beautiful, and very sexy, but she is fatal for all around her, unable to demonstrate even the slightest ounce of empathy for either friends or foes. Even though the show was rather cartoonish and production values were low by today’s standards, the script, if you could see past the silliness of it all, was really a kind of morality play populated by characters that were unambiguously either good or evil. Catwoman, though beautiful, was evil, egocentric, and sadistic. As a metaphor, Catwoman is a medieval misogynistic representation of the feminine, which is portrayed as uncontrolled animalistic emotion. Catwoman is the dark side of human behavior, uncontrolled, chaotic, and anarchic. Catwoman isn’t capable, though, of even saving herself, dying while trying to steal a bag of pirate loot. Even though the show was high camp and extremely exaggerated, the comedy only thinly veiled its criticism of poor behavior and bad choices.