FRQNC


Wednesday, June 27, 2007 We're going to derail rather abruptly from tales of puppy dogs and flying machines, and for that I apologize. However I think this is kind of important. The CIA "Family Jewels" report, a document outlining the illegal activities of the CIA during the 1950's, 60's and 70's, fell into FOIA status 48 hours ago. And HERE IT IS. [[Caveat emptor: It's a really large file.]] Enjoy, and come up with your own opinion. j.s. (For those who want a general synopsis, HERE'S the Wiki on it.)



Tuesday, June 26, 2007 All right folks. Guess who's rocking the Flugtag in August... Go ahead, guess. No, not Rip Taylor. Me. See you kids and the "Chupacabra Iditarod Sled" in Austin on Aug. 25. j.s.



Monday, June 25, 2007 Hi. So the side-effect of bringing a puppy home on Friday evening is that your blog post on Monday tends to be lacking in the "verve" department. I mean, it's mind-boggling enough to think that people out there actually want to read about where I went out/got drunk/fell down... But it'd be sheer arrogance on my part to think that a weekend spent reading The Subtle Knife on my porch, a puppy sleeping next to me, with occasional pauses to absterge puppy vomit from the floor (Jib is currently dealing with a moderate case of kennel cough), could possibly be noteworthy. I can say, however, that we're getting along quite well. He's picked up the whole "the bathroom is outside kiddo" thing surprisingly quickly; in fact, his only mistake was this morning, which was attributable to his owner being too tired to wake up early enough to take him out. (That kennel cough is wreaking havoc on my ability to sleep through the night.) And, just like his daddy, it seems he has developed an unnatural affection toward monkeys. See, I bought him a stuffed monkey on Thursday, and he gleefully picked it up and tossed around the house when he came home...right up until the little monkey made a squeaky noise. Jib dropped it immediately, gave it a worried nudge with his nose, then picked it up, carried it to his bed, and gently laid it down. He's slept with this monkey in his paws the past 2 nights, and often picks it up when he needs to cough. (An act I believe to be the canine equivalent of Linus's "security blanket.") Yes, he's adorable. And now, I'm off to survey the damage of his first day spent at home alone. Talk to you tomorrow. j.s.



Friday, June 22, 2007 So I found myself with a little free time today, and spent it fiddling about with Wikipedia. First was to simply Wiki my name, where I ran into the lovely term "broken-hearted prophet." And although saying so here might a little self-aggrandizing, I still found that to be interesting. Because the whole raison d’être of the praying mantis that's tattooed on my back was to highlight that very thing, before I ever knew about the "broken-hearted" bit. Granted, I knew the word "mantis" was Greek for "prophet," which was indeed a purposeful play on my name. But I thought I was being clever in involving the female proclivity to lop the heads off their gentlemantids to the equation. (In a strictly metaphorical sense mind you. I'm not into beheading, thank you all the same.) And it occurs to me now why I haven't told many people the meaning behind that tattoo. Anyway, so I switch to Googling "Jeremiah," and run into the meaning behind the name. As it turns out, Jeremiah means "hurled by God." Which, in turn, would make me...God hurl. Not exactly what I was hoping for. However, a friend has just explained that this is not at all the correct definition. He claims I'm Wolverine, God is Colossus, and together we're employing the "Fastball Special." And while I'm not sure how accurate that etymology is, I like it a lot better than the first one...so I'm going with it. j.s.



Thursday, June 21, 2007 If you ever recieve a parking ticket in Maryland, I advise that you pay it immediately. I say this because apparently I recived a $20 parking ticket when I lived in Fell's Point (news to me), and in my four year absence it has mutated into a $780 monstrosity. I'm sorry, but a $780 parking ticket is a testament to bureaucracy gone wild... j.s.



Tuesday, June 19, 2007 Okay, so I'd like to talk about the SPCA for a moment if I might. As many of you know, I'd been kicking around the idea of getting a dog for quite some time now. I've had the "you're a single guy, have a backyard (of sorts), drive a Jeep, go to the park/beach/camping pretty often...where in the hell is your dog?" conversation more times than I care to count. So last weekend, I decided to swing by the SPCA and give the matter some practical application to go along with the theoretical. To be honest, I'd expected this trip to be horribly depressing. I imagined wandering by little fluffballs in cages, all whining tiny puppy prayers for kind people to show up, love them, and finally take them home, wherever that may be. And just the thought of that was enough to make me mostly cloudy with a chance of lachrymal rain. But! When I got there I was completely surprised. Now it's true that there were sad puppies everywhere. Yes, they put their little paws and cold noses through the cages, in the hope that someone might stop and pay attention to them. And yes, this was heartbreaking. But nearly every time I'd stop to look at their information, they'd have a big red "ADOPTED" stamp blazed across the center of their name card. And this made me smile, kneel down to play with them for a moment, and quietly whisper some variant of, "you're going home little guy. Good luck," when I was sure there was no one around to hear me. Yes, I know. Shut up. So as I'm ambling along I happen across a pair of the saddest brown eyes you have ever seen in your life staring up at me from a curled ball of black Labrador Retriever. "Ahoy there." A flash of excitement flickers across the brown eyes, but the rest of him stays curled up, having obviously played this game with more than a few people as they passed by. I kneel down, and this is all brown-eyes needs to get wearily to his feet, and press his nose to the fence. He looks up at me calmly. I look back. And there we are. Me sitting on my heels, fingers extended between a gray chain-link fence, gently touching the dog's head and ears. The dog sighing, his black head lowered pitifully, and occasionally glancing up to give me an "I have no idea who you are, but please don't go," look. Can you see us? Yeah, I could too. So, without any further gilding of the lily, I'd like you all to meet "Jib." Jib...meet everyone. j.s.



Monday, June 18, 2007 More news to come... j.s.



Thursday, June 14, 2007 The verbiage is a bit brusque, but still pretty clever. "Kings 3:27 'And God rudely interjected: "Sorry guys, I forgot to mention, Pi is irrational.'" j.s.



Wednesday, June 13, 2007 Ahoy there. So I've been hesitant to bring this up, mostly because I don't want to bloggy-jinx it somehow... But! The Flugtag is making its return to Texas. Specifically, to Austin. So not only am I currently lobbying/pleading to be allowed to hurl myself off of a 30' ledge into the Auditorium Shores Lake, I've also come up with what may be one of the most absurd and non-sequitur ideas for a flying craft...ever. Unfortunately I can't tell you a whole lot about it just yet (Flugtag-augen are everywhere), suffice to say it involves chupacabras and the Iditarod. I am the Flying Dadaist. j.s.



Tuesday, June 12, 2007 Keith Olbermann channelling Edward Murrow. (As well as he can anyway.) j.s.



Friday, June 08, 2007 Goddammit...and now Blogger has completely lost its mind, and is publishing things twice while telling me they aren't publishing at all. Sigh. j.s.



I would normally be posting here now, but I'm currently involved in a really interesting email discussion about the Fischer-Tropsch process of turning coal into liquid diesel, and whether legislation allowing such is a positive environmental step forward. (The socio-economic benefits are obvious.) Learning is fun! Back in a bit... j.s. (Well, I would be if Blogger would just get their poop in a group, and stop timing out when I try to publish this...)



Wednesday, June 06, 2007 "KEEP YOUR GAS TANK FULL - IT IS NOW HURRICANE SEASON" This is what blinked down at me from the signs along the freeway this morning. The ones designed for functional uses like accident warnings, construction detours, and "Amber" alerts. Now I ask you, does anyone else feel that's just a bit over the top? As if hurricanes weren't massive, slow-moving storms created over days and days in the middle of the ocean, but rather surreptitious beasts in trenchcoats and dark glasses, lurking in alleyways, waiting for the right moment to burst out and huff/puff/blow your house down. Gotta hand it to Houston though, that's an excellent sales pitch. Suburbubbas caught in rush hour, their SUV's slowly slurping away, are an easily excitable lot. And with that one little maneuver I'm quite certain they managed to panic thousands of these idiots, who will now stop to fill up their tank with the same frequency as their engorged, fast-food-riddled prostate forces them to piss. "Cuz ya never know, ya know? Huhrracanes could be right 'round tha corner anytime... I reckon I might not have time ta stop for gas!" And this doesn't take into account that the city just added hundreds of thousands of dollars to its coffers by terrifying morons into going out and buying new canned goods, water stores, crank radios, and generators. (All of which they will promptly leave behind at the first sign of a storm, as they leap into their topped off Excursions and run for the hills.) sigh I just wasn't ready for that kind of idiocy this morning... j.s.



Friday, June 01, 2007 Okay, now someone make this into a t-shirt for me please... j.s.