Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Cerulean Vole: Flying Kill Terror of Bang!

This is not me. It is a cute lil' fat Indian, which kind of describes me, but it is not me. Sorry.

Someone bought this in Seaside, Oregon back in the 1920's. I'm not making the connection between a coastal town in Oregon and the Cherokee, or why anyone would have bought a souvenir of what at that time was a bunch of scroungy loggers and some fishing boats sinking into the mud; but onward...

Remember when the Health Department lady would come visit your class in grade school with a great big huge toothbrush and set of these choppers and proceed to demonstrate The Correct Way to Brush? I was busy thinking " Oh damn, I must own those!"
I do now.

What the-? Hey, leave shit alone.
No it's not valium.
Listen, it's not valium.

Ok fine, it is valium.

Are you hungry?
Oh, sure you are. It's no trouble, really.
Honestly. I'll make a sandwich.
No, it's no trouble at all, I mean it.


I found Rinty here at a storage unit sale. This was a tv had lost its cord, though, and the moon-shaped piece of glass behind the dorg. But at one time, screw in a lighbulb, and voila! The ghost of Scooby Doo.
I remember people actually believing in these and using them.

I can't cook a really great meal without the supervision of my buddy the Magnetic Dashboard Shriner. When he got lonely, I gave him a Plastic Dugong to keep him company. He used to have a girlfriend, the Cheap Red Magnetic Porcelain Naughty Naked Lady, but she keeps diving off behind the stove.

You cannot defyyyyyy my wiiiiill.
You must obeeeeeeeeey.
Regis Phiiiiiiiilbin must father your chiiiiiiiildren.

Sorry, were you thirsty?
We only have a little pop.



This is all that remains of a collection I used to have of antique kitchenware. I had hundreds of items at one time. One day I looked around and thought to myself 'why am I nuts?' so I sold it.

Well ok fine, this is left too.
But it works!
And theres a tomato on it.
Tomatoes rule.

Fine, yes, this too.

Would you like another sandwich?
Too bad.

Vital message space does not go to waste here at rancho FirstNations, as you can see.

"Eggs! Eggs! I love eggs! Oh hurry, hurry Mr. Egg Man, give me my eggs! I'm hongry!"

When the guy would come to refill the cigarette machines, back in the day, sometimes he'd drop off a premium. Here's one from a gas station.

I don't think they would let a real smoking dog hang around a gas station, do you?
That would be stupid.

Here are two more smokin' dogs.
This one is my girlie woof, Jett.
She is a GOOD GIRL. Yes, she IS.
Without her we would be COMPLETELY AT THE MERCY of women pushing strollers and guatamalans playing soccer.
WHEW. We are SAFE.

This is my boy dog, Opie.
He is my TATER PIGGIE. He is also totally shocked that I took his picture.
He has just come in from tatoing around in the yard.
If the yard is not periodically tatoed in, it gets untatoey, and he has to go out and tato it up again.
Yeah, I'm a retard.

You know who else is retarded?
The person who thought it would be a really good idea to carpet a damn kitchen.

That was just some of the incredibly marvellous and fabulously valuable collectables from my kitchen.
Wow. It was exciting, wasn't it?
I know my little heart is going pitty pat.
Next time we will tour the outbuildings.
Or maybe the grocery store.
Now go away.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006


Being my Random and Poorly Connected observations on new media, because if all the other kids jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge I SO would too.

Ms. Betty's Utility Room made a comment about oldschool diary type blogging and the concept -and the phrase- ran 'round my darlings faster than pasta d'oglio through a colostomy patient. "Hm," is what I thought. This is what I did: I took a gallop 'round the WWW to re-introduce myself to the tenor of the virtual times. Lo and behold, I discovered that NOW is so bloody immanent, among the technosceti, that it's 'then' before the author hits 'post'.

As soon as I hit 'post', it'll be so last week.

What will this mean to you and me?
Absolutely nothing.

The impact of new media on people socially, from what I've seen, is not very evident here in rural Whatcom County. It is primarily a leisure entertainment medium for folks here anyway. People may be more cognizant of things like yiffing and whatnot but they certainly don't discuss it over coffee at Dutch Mothers. They take it as seriously as they take anything else they encounter in media, which is 'not very'. Like the Jerry Springer show. It isn't very nice.

It's impact on business is real, though. Around here it's common to see grungy old farmers driving their tractors while yakking away into a cell phone, and those same sitting in the Dutch Treat cafe, eating their appel pannekoekken, wearing wooden damn shoes and tapping at their wireless laptops as they monitor their investments. Honest to God, I shit thee not. The internet means speed and speed is money in the agriculture business. One thing a dutch farmer is not is stupid. Thats why we still have so many successful family farms here as opposed to the rest of the United States. Ain't that a trip?

Speaking generally, where there is meat community involvement, there is less interaction with any type of media. Outsiders around here resort to the net (IF they have access; some idealist groups forbid it) for a sense of community unconstrained by personal history. Online you get to be a new you, but none of your status, accomplishments or creations follow you offline. Offline you still have zits and smell and everyone still remembers when you peed yourself in first grade. All you have is a very detailed fantasy life with a killer 'random' option. What can you do when the electricity is OFF is still a very real measure of success here. How many saleable game objects you have doesn't mean jack shit while you're watching the doors and windows freeze over and trying to keep the fireplace going...or keep your log truck on the road, or keep the cows milked when it's 20f.

It certainly brings the migrant kids and the poor kids into the library, though, and thats always good. The library is free. During the day you cannot get online. Each terminal has a bunch of kids huddled around it playing games or doing homeschool work. And the ones who have to wait their turn? Read. All these kids are red hot, self-taught technogeeks who are (and I'll make a leap and say they're growing up pre-radicalized by) coming along on the margins of society. They are going to be the ones running things in ten years. Fuck YEAH.

The internet was supposed to create a new human.
Yes, well. It was supposed to create a paperless society by the year 2001, too. I don't see any new humans (although I might not know one if I saw one. If you are a new human, do the 'comments' thing and let me know will you. We'll chat.)
Now posthuman? I really like the idea of 'posthuman', even though it sounds kind of...prosthetic. I know one person who claims to be posthuman. But no new humans yet. Meat constants continue to define the paradigm.

Crap; I used the word 'paradigm'. Someone stop me NOW.