RKNet Blog... Thing

Today, while walking to work, the darnedest thing happened.

A shifty-eyed man with a sparse mustache approaches me, carrying a large package. He’s dressed like a UPS man, but his uniform is generic. No badge. No hat. Are those Chucks peeking out from below his pants?

“Hi miss…” he stutters, spit collecting in the corners of his mouth. “You, uh, you heading to the mills?”

“Yeah… I work there… can I help you with something?”

“Yeah, yeah you can,” he replies, handing me the package, his arms shaking, still not looking at me. His fingernails are torn. Two have caked blood around their edges.
“Can you take this to…” He pretends to check the label, though it’s clear from his trembling hands that he knows exactly where this box is going. “Can you take this to Gloria Blacke?”

“Uhm, sure I guess…” I respond, not from any desire to help the man, but because this guy with his white spittle and earthquake eyes is beginning to creep me out. That, and because I want to make sure that, whatever this is, the Ironbauchs has it.

The man nods, thanks me and quickly disappears around the corner. I stand on the sidewalk for a moment, bewildered, and then start on my way. I haven’t taken more than five steps before, I swear, the box starts to move. A ball inside perhaps? Rolling around? Throwing the box off balance? No, no it’s not a ball, because now the box is making noise. Wailing. Crying. What the hell is inside this thing? An animal? A dog?

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Jesus Christ,” I think to myself. What the fuck have I gotten myself into? I set the package on the ground and use my ring to slice through the tape. Suddenly, something is gripping my fingers… a hand! Holy shit, a tiny fucking hand!

“It’s a goddamn baby…” I whisper, but, there is something off about this baby-hand. It is strong, slightly gnarled. It isn’t soft, like a baby’s hand should be. No, good god dammit, this isn’t a baby. I rip my hand free and back away from the box just as whatever’s inside hoists itself out.

“Please.” It speaks. Tiny plaid pants. Tiny glasses. Its voice high and strained. “Please,” It says again. Standing before me is a tiny, tiny man. His body is perfectly proportioned, but he can’t be more than two feet tall. Oh my god; he is a primordial dwarf.

“Holy Shit!” I say aloud. I want to say: “I saw a special on you guys on TV once! Man! You guys are freaking adorable!” But, I don’t say that. I just stand and stare at this little man. I picture him dancing a gig. Okay, I’m fucked up.

“Please, read this.” He squeaks, handing me a folded piece of paper. “Please, don’t take me there!”

I take the paper from him, and began to read.

“Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Heat butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Fry chops on each side until browned, about 3 minutes per side…”

“I don’t understand…” I said to the little man, though the pit iof my stomach is beginning to churn.

“Turn it over,” he tells me quietly. I’m impressed with his patience. I flip the page.

INGREDIENTS:

• 1 tablespoon butter or margarine
• 1/4 cup brown sugar
• 4 cuts dwarf tenderloin
• 1 cup hot water

I actually laugh. I don’t know what else to do. I laugh! And then I look at the little man with his earnest eyes and trembling hands. I throw up on myself and on the recipe and on the torn cardboard box that my new friend is now standing behind.

“I wont take you there,” I tell him. But my head is already spinning. My hands shake- just like the man in the brown suit. Shit goes down when the Blacke One doesn’t get what she wants. Did anyone see me take that package? Does anyone know I’ve seen this little man? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Come on,” I say, taking his tiny hand. “Get back in that box. I’ll keep you safe…”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Good Afternoon,” the Blacke One grins at me, like a fox. She’s carrying a steaming plate from the kitchen. It smells delicious, buttery and sweet, golden chops glazed in brown sugar.

“I want to thank you for delivering my package today,” she says to me, her dark eyes locked on mine. She hands me the plate. “Here,” she says softly, “I made up a snack for you.”

It all started with a simple link to BoingBoing, which I don’t ordinarily read, in the ectomo chat (EFNet, #ectomo or through a java module on the site).

The article was a simple video, with the headline “Man electrocutes pickle to demonstrate power of Christianity“.

Within the video, a friendly older gentleman wishes to share a neat experiment and a metaphor with the audience. The experiment involves taking a regular pickle of fairly decent size, skewering either end with metal forks, hanging it from a safely grounded sling, and hooking up electrical clips to the forks. When the wire with the clips is plugged into a source of electricity (in this case a wall socket, as evidenced by the standard US plug on one end), we can see that electricity is conducted through the pickle to create a complete circuit. With the lights off, you can watch one end of the pickle glow and spark like a fourth of july sparkler as seen through frosted glass.

It is at this point which Grandpa John - that’s this older fellow’s stage name I’d assume - wishes to really make his metaphor. His goal was to demonstrate that by introducing the power of Christ in the life of any average person, that person will glow (figuratively) with the power and light of God.

Needless to say, the BoingBoing commenters had a field day with this somewhat dubious analogy.

My favorite comment: “Pickle! Pickle! burning bright,
Between the forks of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?” ~ chriss1519

Later on…

Gia-tan HA. take that expensive, wasteful floor washing kits and mops! Entire kitchen floor cleaned with one clorox wipe and my foot!
Gia-tan toes: best for getting into corners since the jesus pickle invented them

Then Mathiasx mentioned a song called Handlebars by a band called Flobots (which is absolutely amazing, by the by), which in turn reminded me of a song called Jesus Grow a Handlebar Moustache for Me by a band called Pataphysics. Bringing things somewhat full circle. Quite a reach for synchronicity, but without the original Jesus Pickle video from earlier, the odds of my remembering the Pataphysics’ song to make mention of it would have been significantly lessened.

Pataphysics - Jesus Grow a Handlebar Moustache for Me

I think I’ve been listening to too much Röyksopp lately. For context, I’ve found myself highly enamored of a certain track off their album The Understanding called “What Else Is There?“. It features vocals provided by Karin Dreijer Andersson from an electronica duo called The Knife (whose album Silent Shout has also been on repeat a lot for me) and I have fallen in love with her unique and expressive voice.

That being said, on the with the description. I was in this housing area, all cheap houses, run down and small. Looking on from a short distance, I saw a huge explosion rip through 3 or 4 of the buildings, seemingly at random. I looked to my companions (who defy description right now, just some people, I can’t remember) and ran towards the damage. I’ve dreamt almost this same thing before, I know it. Sudden fire in run down houses, or an explosion followed by fire. It was chewing up the old, dry buildings.

Then it all reset. Same place, no explosion, none of that. I rode in the mind of someone sneaking through these projects, tiptoeing by back doors and noticing as they all swung open by themselves. Screen doors, all, and cats of different kinds peering out from kitchens or living rooms. Sometimes there were people within, all walking away, not noticing that the door was open. The creeping person was a thief and although no entry was made into any of these houses, the big black bag s/he carried filled up. A small rip showed a blue and white striped piece of terry cloth sticking out. Perhaps the dishes wrapped in the towel to prevent noise? Who knows?

Finally coming to an unremarkable house near the end of the rows, the thief enters and discovers an old man and a fluffy white cat. There’s a moment of mutual surprise, then the cat makes a mad dash for the open door, and the thief follows, trying to track it down through these houses while still remaining silent and unseen, still carrying the full bag. The cat dashes under buildings built off the ground, and finally the thief is able to cut it off at an awkward turn near a wall and snatches the beast up, dragging it back to its master.

There’s a short conversation after that, and the old man says he’s not going to rat out the thief. The thief cautions that there may be some dangerous activity.

Cut to a group of about five or six people. Storm clouds are high, thready, and getting darker, turning the sky to a psilocybin vision of broadly patterned marble. The people are holding onto what appears to be the female end of extention cords, which are all tangled together and tied to a central location, looking to be pipes coming out of one of the houses. They stretch the cords into the road, fanning out in an uneven manner over about a 180° area. A stroke of lightning comes down slowly, almost like a weighted streamer: straight down, but wavering in the air. It is viewed from the eyes of one of the group before it hits them. The power goes through the cords and infuses the others. One by one they begin shouting, calling down the lightning on themselves, despite the presence of others on the scene insisting they stop (but too afraid to act).

There was only one left, hesitant, stupid, afraid of the lightning. The others had disappeared, disintegrated or wandered off or something. The one left walked away. It may have come back to the explosion at that point but I don’t recall.

Other points which are unclear to me now:

• Pulling a large revolver on someone who wanted to come into a house where I lived. It was large and dull and akward.
• Yelling and throwing things at a group of young, grinning hooligans who heaped things in the middle of the yard and doused it in gasoline, intending to set fire to the whole property
• Counciling a very angry young man, sharing tales with him. We were both in Civil War era dress. I slowly went from persuading him to stay, to comforting, to seducing. Anything to distract him from this blind fury.
• A master/husband type figure appearing during the “seduction” phase, unperturbed by the scenario.

Also, for your convenience here are the lyrics to “What Else Is There?”

It was me on that road
But you couldn’t see me
Too many lights out, but nowhere near here

It was me on that road
Still you couldn’t see me
And then flashlights and explosions

Roads end getting nearer
We cover distance but not together

I am the storm I an the wonder
And the flashlights nightmares
And sudden explosions

I don’t know what more to ask for
I was given just one wish

It’s about you and the sun
A morning run
The story of my maker
What I have and what I ache for

I’ve got a golden ear
I cut and I spear
And what else is there

Roads and getting nearer
We cover distance still not together

If I am the storm if I am the wonder
Will I have a flashlights nightmares
And sudden explosions

There’s no room where I can go and
You?ve got secrets too

I don’t know what more to ask for
I was given just one wish

Note: These are just what I found online, I know there is a verse or two missing and maybe a few lines wrong. Care to help me flesh that out?

Wound and Infection Treatment Stories #1

Tales written for discerning young ladies with a keen admiration of the manliness of the male half of the species, this volume deals with heart-pounding tales of men performing stunning feats of self-surgery and suffering such injuries as would surely destroy men of lesser manliness. Yet never fear! For these manly men always get the better of every trial and tribulation that comes their way! Read on for more exciting stories of the manliness of men!

Mark was a willowy, handsome young lad, with shoulder length flaxen hair which he brushed into his pale, rosy-cheeked face often to cover his sparkling, glassy blue eyes in impish defiance of social mores.

One fine summer’s day he sat on his back porch, clad in his favorite jean shorts. This in and of itself was nothing significant. Yet the story behind his reason for sitting thus when there was action, adventure and, yes, even danger to be had out in the wide world is indeed a stirring tale.

Being as clever and crafty as he was, Mark had made these shorts himself when his favorite pants finally ripped so significantly that his girlfriend at the time had insisted with the venom only a lifelong student of modern fashions could that he do away with them. Yet young Mark would not be denied pants so well-worn that they had become something akin to a companion. Indeed, many was the week which had passed without him parting with them long enough even to wash them. He simply couldn’t bear to part with these pants! No, this was a man of deep concerns in his life who simply would not give up the familiar comforts of the threadbare pockets, nor the subtle sophistication which came with the various inked designs which turned the faded denim into a black and blue patina which echoed his triumphant past’s loves, hopes, and outstanding feats of stunning bravery. It was as grave a sin as asking an honored crusader to part with the finely wrought chain mail which had saved him from savage and ignominious death through countless battles with fierce and pitiless Moors and Turks!

So passionate had our young Mark been when confronted with the possibility of losing this treasure, he had snatched up a sizable blade from the kitchen counter in heated desire for swift yet just resolution to this disgraceful feud between aesthetic schools of thought, and with such fervor did he hack away at the offending lower portion of his beloved jeans that it caused him several injuries. Indeed, he was not mindful of such lacerations! An impassioned and bold man such as this could have no room for outward manifestations of pain when there was a battle of wit and craft at hand.

So deep was his anguish at the mutilation of this jewel of his possessions that he hurled the remnants of the pants - along with the now crimson-stained blade - as far as his slim, tight-muscled arms could manage with a pained howl escaping his chest. Regrettably his then-girlfriend hadn’t the presence of mind to clear herself from the path of the flying objects, and suffered a nasty shock as sharpened metal pierced the drywall beside her head.

What woman can understand the true nature of such manly displays, when the depth of feeling must manifest itself in a true man’s course of action? Few can, and alas this was the last he ever saw of or heard from that young lady. Indeed, though he had won a victory over an intractable situation, she simply couldn’t understand the depth of his sincere heartbreak, nor his truer, sentimental nature. In his woeful mourning over losing both his love interest and a significant portion of his most treasured pants, he neglected to care for himself and the injuries he sustained during the confrontation.

As a result, he found himself sitting on the back porch of his home in a grim and pensive state. He had moments before prepared himself for the task which lay before him in that golden afternoon. The slanting sunlight pierced the smoky air around him and cast a beam better than a surgeon’s lamp on the site of his concern. One of the the wounds he had sustained during his heart wrenching episode of confrontational tailoring had taken a turn for the worse. Such a strong believer in independence was he that Mark was not employed and could not provide the sum necessary to visit a trained medical professional. Nor did he believe in such ridiculousness. As a true student of manliness he felt strongly that anything which could be accomplished by his own hand should be! Oft was he praised for such, and oft chided by those who did not understand. Nevertheless he was prepared for the task ahead of him. His anesthetic of choice was taking hold, calming him adequately for the work ahead.

The wound in question was a clean slice whose depth had allowed all manner of dirt in, and despite having been liberally (albeit indirectly and not deliberately) splashed with cleansing alcohol during the last two weeks it was now a very angry shade of red. The protective layer of dried blood was flecked with dirt and a clear fluid leaked from beneath it with only the slightest pressure. If it was painful to look at, it was surely more painful to actually have and feel, yet young Mark showed no pain or fear. With a trusty pocket knife in hand, he paused only once to take a deep breath and hold it in before exhaling in a great rush. A sagely expression came over him, making his heavy-lidded eyes seem cloudy and distant. With a dazzling quickness he sliced open the hardened surface of his grave injury and Oh! what happened then! A rush of milky fluid rushed forth, gleaming wetly under the light of the afternoon sun. Unfazed by such Mark quickly wiped it away and proceeded to squeeze with the all the somber detachment of a true warrior. Once the rupture in his smooth skin was running with the pure crimson of a clean cut, he wiped his hands off on the comforting cloth of his shortened jeans and simply sat. Clearly this quiet contemplation was his way of cleansing his spirit as well as the site of his bodily harm.

His phone rang and with all the unhurried grace of a seasoned general, Mark reached in his pocket, saw that the name on the phone simply said “Cunty Whore That Dumped Me” and thumbed the silencer with unperturbed ease.

This concludes our first installment of Heart-Pounding Tales of The Manliness of Men Vol. 1: Wound and Infection Treatment Stories! Won’t you join us next time for more thrilling, fascinating and stirring tales of manly men and their aplomb in the face of mortal wounding and dire infections?

DUN DUN DUN….
An article over at NewsTarget.com gives an insightful look at the ingredients and promises put forth by some of the biggest names in fast food. It is particularly interesting to look at some of the chains which seem to enjoy touting themselves as “healthy” or “fresh”.

Kitchen science has really boomed in this century. Cornell’s Department of Food Science celebrated its centennial with a symposium just weeks ago in October. There’s an Institute of Food Technologists, a society for food science and technology.

In my sphere of direct influence (translation: I watch too much TV), Food Network is running a short series called “The Next Iron Chef”. One of the challenges presented to the candidates was to spend the day in the kitchen using new food related tech and chemistry.

This was a fascinating episode because nearly all these trained professionals were intimidated and agitated by the prospect of dealing with “science” in the kitchen. I am of the school of thought that cooking really is a science, but on the other hand I couldn’t help but be encouraged by the fact that these people whose life’s passion is food weren’t comfortable adding chemicals to “real” foods. I can’t embed the episode, but there is a recap available at the Food Network site here.

For general reference, NutritionData.com has a massive list of food additives and what they’re meant to do.

With all this progress in science, and all the groups of science and philosophy trying to find the ideal balance of enjoyment, nutrition and safety in food - something we can all appreciate seeing as we all have to eat - one would think that the fast food restaurants would be VERY on board with keeping abreast of the safest, simplest, most appropriate foods to satisfy their clients.

As illustrated in the originally cited NewsTarget.com article, they are clearly NOT on board with health, safety or simplicity. The ingredient lists put forth as basic examples read quite a bit like the locked cabinet in the local school science department.

Obviously that’s a highly unsatisfactory situation. Still a lot of us appreciate the merits cheap, quick food. Namely that it’s cheap and it doesn’t soak up increasingly precious time in what feels like a massively complicated day-to-day existence.

There are solutions. I would point all my readers to the following sites, replete with lifehacks and sound advice.
Get Rich Slowly - More specifically the category of the blog dedicated to food. There’s dozens of great articles about eating cheap and still eating healthy. J.D.’s solution isn’t just “eat ramen”. There are shopping comparison, cooking tips, even gardening advice.
Zen Habits - This site contains a plethora of “lifehacks” - tips, tricks, and overall advice for living better. There’s no specific category for food, but plenty of overall tips for health and habits that tie into that inevitable human action of obtaining sustenance.

So, MSG, hydrogenated oils, and mystery chemicals in your mystery meat have you down? No worries! Knowledge is power! It is very possible to learn about the foods you love, and learn to love them better by taking charge of them, and your overall consumption. You don’t necessarily have to quit your favorite junk foods - burgers, fries, tacos, fried chicken - but with all the well documented, non-food additions to the fast food versions, wouldn’t you rather do it yourself?

trendy livejournal shit: use the first letter of your name to answer each of the following

Your Name: Georgene

Famous Music artist/group: Garcia, Jerry ;)

3 letter word: gas

Color: Grass Green

Gifts/present: gravy bowl

Vehicle: Geo Storm. XD

TV Show: Gideon's Crossing (best serious doctor show, EVAR)

Country: Greece

Boy Name: Gregory (or Gaston, to fulfill my meme-nerd quota for the day)

Girl Name: Galatea

Alcoholic drink: Getaway Car

Occupation: Grief Councelor

Flower: Gardenia

Celebrity: Gabriel Byrne

Food: Garbage if you are a goat, or Goulash if you aren't

Something found in a kitchen: grater

Reason for Being Late: gastro-intestinal distress

Something You Shout: “GIMME!!”

I am enjoying my vacation well enough thus far. This from the girl who is wretched at taking vacations (as some of you may well know). Still, let me outline some of the more memorable notes before I vent about the horrible nightmares I had last night.

Pros and Cons of Delta Song flight 2047 from Boston to Las Vegas
Con - Plane was an hour late in bording, an hour and a half late in arriving, meaning I didn’t get to Vegas (did I mention I was going to Vegas by the way?) until about midnight.
Pro - I got a Cosmo (of sorts) some really nice fruit and cheese, and got to watch Adult Swim during the flight.
Con - I was in the middle seat, poor Ian is too tall to fly in anything but first class, and there was a guy in the window seat. Result: I was one squished little passenger.
Pro - For 5$ I got to play Bookworm for most of the flight. 5$ is way too much for a shockwave game on a touch screen that doesn’t work very well, I know, but for me it was totally worth it.
Con - I didn’t have room to take my jacket off and it was hotter than blazes as a result. (Finally managed to divest myself of it before the end of the flight, thank god.)
Pro - There was a way to monitor the progress of the flight via a series of general flight data and satelite mapping. It was pretty cool.

The airport itself in Vegas was a little unimpressive, although mum was right about the slot machines right in the terminal. That was just nuts. The cab ride was pretty standard, and I overpaid the guy because it was really frigging late by my standards. Although I did groggily note that I had offically seen a palm tree in person for the first time. Unless I saw one when I was in Florida and just spaced it off. Okay, so it was the first palm tree I ever remember seeing, how’s that? Blah.

The hotel couldn’t find our reservation, at all. Still, the night crew managed to get us into a room and up we went, to the 12th floor and our nicely appointed hotel (timeshare) room. Is it a suite or a condo if it’s got a full kitchen? Either way I’ve got lots of pictures to upload and I’ll be posting them separately.
The drama continued into what felt like the following day but was really the same day. After lots and lots of phone calls, and still more phone calls (mostly on the part of Ashley I’m sure, I <3 you!!) it was finally all straightened out.
I had some of the best mexican food I’ve ever had - that is not just the 2 strawberry margaritas I had talking - at this restuarant in the casino next door to the hotel called Baja Miguel’s. If you ever find yourself in the vicinity of the South Coast casino/hotel, I strongly recommend paying them a visit.
Anyway, aside from some general stress that was all RCI’s fault, I am really enjoying the Grandview. The staff has been really helpful, the room is really pretty, the view is pretty cool, & I look forward to hitting the pool and the gym at least once while I’m here. I do have to remark that the bed has the expected “unattractive hotel bedspread”. Still, I can’t complain when there’s a freaking jacuzzi bathtub not 20 feet away from where I’m writing. Haven’t fired that up yet, but I so totally will.

I think today we’re going to hit the Strip and see all the huge pretty buildings. Unless I mis-read the flyer, the Natural History Museum is there, and I freaking love those kinds of things. So does he, so it’s a really good idea we pay the place a visit. I’m pretty excited about the whole thing.

Now it’s time to get cleaned up, wake the boy-o, and as my google talk sub-title states get “my freaking vacation on”.
Peace!