Dystopia Now

I'm 52 and I'm hoping an asteroid hits us ASAP.

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"Yo, I been slingin' mad volumes and packin' FAT benjis!"

Pinned Post: Please read.

I recently changed this blog's tone from a hard R to a hard PG. Still, some folks out there may not like what I post, which I admit can be a bit suggestive. That's groovy. Just don't read my blog. I'm a retired educator, 52 y.o. I usually don't put explicit politics into this blog, but if you read it, you'll figure out my opinions.

If I see ANY use of artificial intelligence or if I suspect you use AI in any way on your blog, I'm blocking you. In fact, if you rub me the wrong way in ANY way I'm blocking you. It irritates me already that tumblr thinks it has to make me more open minded by deliberately inserting blogs that are contrary to my interests on my feed. Ergo, I block rather generously.

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Delores: "A 'toon killed his (Eddie's) brother."

Bar Customer: "His Brother?"

Delores: "Yeah. Dropped a piano on his head...."

She should have received at least an Oscar nomination for saying that line with a strait face. The cinema nuts among you will recognize Ms. Cassidy as Zohra, the lethal replicant in Blade Runner.

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My coffee porn selfie.

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Realistically, I'm aware that Nobody Cares,

but if they fix it so that there's no way to use the internet unless one uses AI, I'm done with it. Okay, yes, I'll need to maintain an email account, my weed account, my charge account, etc.

On the other hand, I have been steadily reducing my presence on the 'net for quite a while. Difficult to believe, but I used to have a Facebook, an Instagram, a Twitter, even a Livejournal and a Greatestjournal.

Not anymore. Regardless of past decisions, it burns my ass that they're trying to force us to use AI, just because the oligarchs decided to avariciously invest practically every dime in it like a bunch of ...well, oligarchs.

It'll be a pain, but I feel little compunction about turning this into a hard journal, spending much more time reading, watching DVDs, listening to CDs, playing piano, exercising, etc. I'm researching typewriters now. I had a great Royal manual when I was a kid. It must have weighed twenty-five pounds. I wish my unsentimental mother had not given it away.

(sigh)

I like the idea because it would (and should) concern Zuckerberg, Gates, Thiel, and the other Tech-Tyrants who long for the day that their tech controls the world.

As if it's my fault that kids stole your lunch money when you were in elementary school. (Ahem). Were you tech goons bullied as children?

Yes?

Good.

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Today's entry is about Robert Rodriguez's Bedhead, a short film he made when he was a film student at UT Austin. It starred his brother and sisters, and was crewed by his friends. Rodriguez wrote it along with his brother, David. David is the "villain" in this short, along with his bed head, both pictured below.

The film is narrated by Rebecca (pictured below), as she describes how IRRITATING her bed-headed brother can be and how it all came to a head. It is absolutely silly and fun, and if my own kids had produced it I would have had it instantly available on my phone so I could show it to absolutely everyone on Earth. For Robert Rodriguez fans it's fun also because you can clearly see his style developing in this early film.

Aside from satisfying a course requirement (as I assume it had), it had another practical benefit. He entered it into a number of competitions and it won cash, which he then used to produce his first feature length film, El Mariachi.

Thanks for tuning in. El Mariachi requires its own post so I'll save that for next time.

Link for Bedhead:

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Blessed Juneteenth to all of my friends and followers.

“If you walk through life and don't help anybody, you haven't had much of a life”--Fred Hampton

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It's not as though I made this up. By necessity, the first rule of being a leader has always been, "Everything is YOUR fault." I'll never understand how people accept it when well-paid leaders blame their subordinates for spectacular f*ck-ups under their maladroit leadership.

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Another sad development. Stacy King, former Chicago Bulls player and broadcaster of Bulls games for 20 years, has just died. He was a Bull when Chicago was the envy of the NBA, with MJ and its first three-peat (in the early 90s). He also played for two other teams. I'm not much of a sports fan, but when I've been in the mood to watch some hoops, I watched him and Adam Amin call the games.

I offer my best wishes and condolences to his friends and family and also to Adam. What a drag! The two of them had a great rapport, and I always learned a lot from their show.

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I hope that someone canned because of AI invents an easily downloaded and effective AI blocker. I'm positive it'll be made "miraculously" illegal, so it must be done soon. Many, many thanks.

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Yet Another Episode of Obsolete History to Ignore

Tonight's episode: Not a Very Fine Mess

I was a latchkey kid. My dad worked and mom did also, and later went back to school. Hence I was largely brought up by The Little Rascals/Our Gang, The Three Stooges, and the animators at Hanna-Barbera. I must add, that I was also brought up by the multiple PSAs from the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare, before health and education were separated into their own cabinet departments.

In Chicago, these PSA were provided by the TV shorts The Most Important Person, Could Be You, Time for Timer, Snipets, and probably others that I don't remember because I'm 60 and I'm too lazy to start an exhaustive search. They would air during the commercial breaks between shows.

The themes varied. Sometimes they were about having glasses and being called "4-Eyes." Sometimes they were about snacking on cheese and bread rather than cookies and candy. Sometimes they gave career advice. Sometimes they discussed self confidence. Invariably, at some point, the shorts would echo a constant theme of the 60s and 70s: Be yourself.

Thinking about this now, I realize that this was TERRIBLE advice. Sure, it might have helped my self confidence a bit to always have faith in my judgement (despite it being so very wrong so very frequently). It might have made me a more honest person. It took a long time to realize it, but people don't need to know everything about me. I constantly overshared when I was a kid.

What I didn't understand at that time is that who I really am is a weird person, whom not everybody likes. That's okay, I'm fine with that. But if I had kept my thoughts to myself I would have been much happier and had more friends. A helpful PSA would have had the message, "Be yourself, but only to those who deserve to see the real you. Be guarded."

Oh well. These PSAs were discontinued when funding was shut off by Reagan. I guess by 1981, kids were feeling too good about themselves. If you want to amuse yourself with 1970s feel-good rhetoric, search for these videos on Youtube.

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Fuck me. I just realized that I'm no longer middle aged. I'm a senior f***ing citizen.

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I was just rewatching the third season of The Wire and I became intrigued by the practical partnership of Omar and Brother Mouzone. BTW, this post has lots of Wire spoilers, but tough titty. The show's twenty years old! Get with the times.

Omar (the late, great Michael K. Williams) is a somewhat hedonistic, shamelessly gay armed robber of drug dealers. He concentrated on taking the Barksdales' stashes because they had been responsible for torturing and killing his lover Brandon, pictured above with Omar.

Mouzone (Michael Potts, whom you may recognize from the first season of True Detective) is a bookish, bow-tie wearing member of The Nation who earns his living as a hitman. Clearly they have little in common aside from being impressively fearless.

They had already had a near-fatal meeting in the second season, after Stringer had framed Brother Mouzone for Brandon's brutal killing. Omar gut- shot Mouzone and was about to finish him off when he correctly concluded that Mouzone was not the killer, and called him an ambulance. "All in the Game", as the show frequently intones.

In the third season, they meet again. Mouzone received information from Avon on when Stringer would be exposed and vulnerable. He decided to approach Omar for help in putting Stringer and his crimes to rest. Anyhow, they do so, and satisfied we all were at Stringer finally getting what he deserved.

After watching that episode (season three, episode 11), I thought of what a hoot it would be if their relationship continued and they kept working together. Of course, it couldn't go on for very long because Omar dies in the fifth season. Still, it would be so incredible if a good comic book artist could illustrate this idea. (SIGH). Thoughts?

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I think I could fall in love

with anyone who made it absolutely clear she was listening to me. Why else would I have a blog?

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Time for another spinal tapping chapter of "Obsolete History." Above is a pair of slip-on roller skates. When I was in forth grade or so I skated with these. The skate key at the bottom was a wrench for adjusting the skates so they would fit my shoes. It also had a wrench for removing the wheels. The metal wheels limited speed and maneuverability and hitting even the tiniest rock would send me to the ground. I was among the last of the kids to use this type of skate. Clearly, they were intended for outside use.

A couple of year later, urethane wheels were invented. They were applied to regular boot roller skates and they became fabulously popular. Roller rinks had already existed. With the new wheels, couples began to skate and dance. This took off when someone thought of combining roller skating and disco music. Yes, roller-disco existed for a few years. Around me, there was a rink called Axel Roller Rink, which had a huge rink and one of those disco floors that would be an absolute nightmare for anyone with flashing light issues.

These went out of style by the mid 1980s. Disco music went out after that idiot Steve Dahl hosted a "I hate disco festival" at the old Comiskey park in Chicago in 1979. Roller skating became roller blading, because frankly, it was much faster and more fun. Of course skateboarding also grew exponentially after the invention of urethane wheels.

What made me think of this? I heard the Melanie song, "Brand New Key." I read all about her today so maybe I'll post about her tomorrow.

This has been another Oscar winning episode of Obsolete History.

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Michael B. Jordan pictured with his first major role as Wallace, the ill-fated hopper in the first season of The Wire. He was fifteen when they shot that season. I found this on the net, but I believe the original art was by ＠justralphy .

It's a couple of weeks later since I posted the above paragraph. I've been re-watching the first season of The Wire. I couldn't stop thinking about the four kids Wallace was taking care of when his best friends murdered him.

Sometimes I think of Poot, who was on the corner when Snoop stopped by on the back of a motorcycle, let loose with a clip of 9mm bullets. He survived, but I think that incident, followed by Bodie's unjust murder made him realize that The Game didn't have retirees, just the dead and the incarcerated. During the fifth season we see him again, and he's wearing a referee shirt and working at Foot Locker. That's awesome that he got out when he was still alive.....but he'll still have to live with having killed Wallace and forcing his little siblings into foster care.

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It's taken 60 years, but I finally understand. At some point, just about everybody has had enough of me.

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"We get the world we deserve."

--Rust Cohle