Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Monthly Archives: October 2008
Best doggone costumes
Come to the Dark Side. We have Kibbles ‘n Bits.
Enough with the Star Wars costumes, already!
Happy Halloween.
D.
GOTV
YouTube info: A video for North Carolina voters, by Dave Willis (Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Squidbillies) and Scott Jacobson (The Daily Show, SNL’s “TV Funhouse”).
[ Find Your Polling Place | Voting Info For Your State | Know Your Voting Rights | Report Voting Problems ]
D.
Boys State
Memories jogged by the upcoming election . . .
In my high school-era photo album, I have a picture of a tall Hispanic kid with tousled hair, wearing a red terrycloth bathrobe and slippers. His right hand is raised.
Some other kid is administering an oath of office.
Ack! No one told me . . .
that Fallout 3 has been released!
Jewel of the Wastes. For 200 years, Vault 101 has faithfully served the surviving residents of Washington DC and its environs, now known as the Capital Wasteland. Though the global atomic war of 2077 left the US all but destroyed, the residents of Vault 101 enjoy a life free from the constant stress of the outside world. Giant Insects, Raiders, Slavers, and yes, even Super Mutants are all no match for superior Vault-Tec engineering. Yet one fateful morning, you awake to find that your father has defied the Overseer and left the comfort and security afforded by Vault 101 for reasons unknown. Leaving the only home you’ve ever known, you emerge from the Vault into the harsh Wasteland sun to search for your father, and the truth.
You know what I’m going to be doing this weekend . . .
D.
Waddya think — Sara Benincasa?
This Palin impersonator clearly isn’t Tina Fey, who looks more like Palin than Palin does. But is it Sara Benincasa? Compare:
Warning on this next one: potty mouth language!
Well, maybe not.
D.
Hypnagogia
Was it that old fraud Carlos Castaneda whose brujo, Don Juan, warned his apprentice of the risks of staring at running water? The spirit catches the current and floats away like a twig, like a wisp of algae. If the spirit strays too far, it may never find its way home.
Wind can do the same.
I’m sitting in a car feeling the reality of gravity, my butt, and the vinyl underneath, and I’m thinking of all those other times in cars, and how that same sensation of weight had to have been there before, but it’s never recorded in memory. Few sensations receive such an honor. I can remember, for example, a time when my then-teenaged brother drove us down to some Atlantic beach. The day was warm, the salt air breathed summer. The memory merges with all of my other beach memories of childhood: hot sand beneath me, sun orange against my closed eyelids, tinny music from my green plastic Realistic AM radio from Radio Shack. Shrieks of laughter. The pulse of the surf. And, yes, gravity, as I wriggle my body, trying to hollow out a comfortable bed from the sand.
We’ve crossed the Dumbarton Bridge many times. I can never remember which direction is the toll crossing, but I remember the colored drying pools, the KGO tower, the dry grasses on the eastern hills which flow with the wind making swirls like hair on a dog’s belly.
We missed seeing the dirigible.
Last dirigible to cruise American airspace? The Hindenburg, and we all know that turned out. This time around, things went smoother.
You would think I’d have a better memory for food. I remember the childhood horrors, of course, and I know I’ve blogged that before, too. But what about the good stuff? Let’s see, I remember
the first time I ate rumaki
first scampi
first cantaloupe
first abalone
not all happy memories.
Driving, windows down, it’s sort of like wind and like wind if you don’t pay attention you might suddenly find your spirit quite far from your body.
I remember countless times as a passenger, drifting off to sleep, the road noise would cut in and out with my varying level of consciousness. The little scientist in me took note and was fascinated. The white noise of wind and road had become an instrument to probe the mysterious black box of mind. How could hearing simply shut itself down? But it did.
There’s laughter in the car and now I’m awake. To my brother’s extreme amusement, I’ve fallen asleep using my mother’s ass as a pillow. Now my mother and I are both awake, both grumpy. Are we there yet? No, we’re not there yet. But at least my brother has something to laugh about.
D.
Froschmausekrieg
And Microsoar wins it with his first entry!
Knowing how he used his women and his bloodthirsty history, she devised a tale of mystery, romance and intrigue. In her fable, magic carpets crossed the skies. Fearless heroes slew fabulous beasts, overcame seemingly insurmountable odds and ravished beautiful and willing women. She planned a climactic finish that was not quite an ending, instead offering suspenseful temptation and a promise of even greater wonders.
Unfortunately, no-one had told her that the the Sultan was deaf.
Microsoar’s second entry took second place, making Microsoar Teh RoxXor 75er. Tell me where you want your gift certificate, boss, and I’ll make the arrangements.
Thanks to everyone for playing!
D.
P.S. The title? Just a cool German noun I discovered over at Boing Boing.
Too good not to blog.
I grew up with these characters. Glad to know we’re all on the same side, eh?
Remember to vote, dammit!
D.
Red canyon
I’m not alone.
We’re driving in the desert and I pass, on my right, a canyon that has been familiar to me since my youth. I used to hike there. Once, I made it as far as a cave where pilgrims gathered. I woke up before I learned what we were all waiting for.
In the dream — in this dream — I recognize the canyon but it doesn’t have the same irresistible pull. A meteorite has fallen to earth and we’re heading for the crater. We saw it arc across the sky, a frothy, steamy confection about as menacing as a giant bon bon. Now a white fog rises just beyond the next crest. We’re walking now, climbing, and when we get beyond the crest all we see is a black smoking crater. No big deal. I wake up wondering how much radiation I’ve absorbed.
But then, later, I remember the canyon, and how long it’s been since I’ve dreamed of it. Invariably it’s evening in the dream and the canyon is north by northwest. I have to hike down before the trail rises. A nagging curiosity draws me onward, that and a feeling of comfort. The hike is never exhausting.
I don’t get many chances to visit the canyon. This time, it took a comet crashing down to divert my attention. But it’s not like that at all, no feeling of division, of wishing part of me could hike the canyon while the other part checked out the cool crater. This time the canyon was something from my youth which I had set aside.
Only when I woke up did the curiosity return.
D.
Jesus vs. Buddha
Below the fold is my son’s 75er with no input or editing from his old man. This one’s for your amusement, folks, and won’t be considered for the formal contest.
Warning: if irreverence towards Jesus or Buddha ain’t your cuppa, don’t bother going below the fold.