this just in from an amigo embroiled in a stint of corporate training

“Our instructor just used the made-up word “untemplatize”.
Used in a sentence. “Your Supervisor will have a template of needs for a job file. However, when they use it for any particular job, they will need to untemplatize the information to suit the job.”

I will also use this made-up word in a sentence:
“And you shall know my name is the Lord, when I begin to untemplatize thee.”

this just in from an amigo embroiled in a stint of corporate training

There really isn’t a better distraction to morning traffic

than watching a slug make it’s way across your windshield.

I noticed the slimy bugger around I35 and Johnson:


by I35 and 75th it was well on its way to committing self-slugicide:

sluggy mcsluggerson

I’d never been had the luxury of being on the underside of a moving slug and, with the sun shining at just the right angle, I could watch the rapid undulations that propelled it along my car. And that was some neat stuff. Fare well, yon slugster. I’m sure you’re smushed on the highway somewhere around 95th and 69. May you provide a decent brunch for some brave bird.

Something that’s not so neat: the Left Behind books. I got about 1/3 into the first one and then just couldn’t take any more hackery. Besides, if I wanted to read a fictionalized account of the Ending to End All Endings, I’d read Revelations. Eschatology seems an idle pursuit.

Anyway, here’s why I bring up these vomited books:

Having read 13 of the Left Behind novels, a popular series of 15 books selling around 70 million copies since the mid-1990s, I can certainly say the books are very novel-like. On the surface they seem to embrace all the elements novels contain: characters, plots, settings. They tell stories of past, current or future events. They claim to offer much in the same fictional substance as science fiction or thriller genre fiction, and in many ways they do. But below these veneers, there are important questions we should ask ourselves: Are these fictional and novel-like Left Behind books, in fact, novels at all? Can we call them novels, in the traditional sense? Or are they pseudo-novels, a form of manipulation of the novel for other means? Does it even matter how they are defined? Does the political coloring of an individual reader determine if that person sees the books as novels or not?

There really isn’t a better distraction to morning traffic

Mommy Cadaver

Generally, I think Jenee’s FYI articles in the Star are rather poor in content and theme. But, since this one’s about our friends Eanna (aka Abra Cadaver), Brian and their newborn, Finn Cutty, I had to cut and share (didn’t want to link ’cause I think you probably have to register):

Posted on Sat, Aug. 26, 2006


Giving birth gives mom a new life

The Kansas City Star

She was always a rock star to me.

I met her two years ago at “The Gun and Knife Show” at Fahrenheit Gallery. She was dressed as a BB gun-toting assassin with shimmering blond hair slicked back and a mischievous smile painted red. I liked her right away.

Slowly, I came to call Eanna Clark my friend. She starts the party when she walks through the door with the slightest flash of that smile. She’s effortlessly cool. She’s a member of the KC Roller Warriors, jokes about eating puppies for breakfast and it’s no shock when she starts firecracker fights on the Fourth of July.

The surprise came when she got pregnant. Suddenly, the fearless Eanna was scared and excited and changed forever.

Eanna, 23, says pregnancy gave her patience, made her selfless and tested her strength.

“I am one of the most impatient people I know, and waiting nine months to meet someone is the ultimate test of patience,” she says. “There is no amount of charm or no person you can know that will help move the process along faster.”

Her wait ended about two weeks ago when Finnigan Cutty Holton was born, a boy with the lightest brown skin and prettiest green eyes.

Although he’s the newborn, there is something new about Eanna, too. Sure, the changes were gradual. She and her fiance, Brian, grew inseparable. They slowed down the partying, and they stopped drinking. Eanna was a lot more like apple pie and less like steel nails.

And her smile is different. It’s filled with warmth and comfort. I see my friend jam-packed with joy, the kind that overflows to everyone around.

My rock star is a mommy now.

“He is the most successful thing I have ever done,” she says of Finnigan. “For the first time I have to put someone else before me, and the weird part is that I want to. Before I only lived for me, I wasn’t required to be anything less than selfish. Now, his priorities are my priorities; he eats before I eat.

“I don’t waste time being angry anymore, getting mad about rush-hour traffic or bad service, it all seems silly now. Instead of being ticked about some guy who cut me off on the highway, I just look at Finn. People say children stop your life, and they do in a way. But it’s like you stop, re-evaluate and redirect. My life has changed in a good way.”

Now more than ever, Eanna is determined to reach her goals.

“I am motivated to succeed and be who I always wanted to be, so that he can grow up and know that he has to do the same thing. I have to make choices he can respect. I have someone watching how I live now.”

When she looks at her life a year ago, she is amazed.

“I think this is the dream I dreamt when I thought of how I wanted my life to be. Everything fell into place. Finally, I feel in place.”

We took RAP to roller derby Saturday night where he got to meet Finn for the first time.

go kcrw!

Mommy Cadaver

Ghost Ride Da Whip

Has anyone yet in KC blogged about this? Probably, as much of this is related to Bay Area hip-hop and we know how tight KC and Bay Area rappers were before Mac Dre and Fat Tone got into it. But, seeing as how I haven’t lived in the Bay Area for 15 years and have no real reason to keep my ear to the curb about Bay Area rap trends this is news to me. Perhaps what I’m about to share will come as news to you as well.

First, background:

My second job is swell. I listen to modern rock radio stations across the country and manually ID songs that the company’s robust computer system can’t figure out. Half of the time this equals to telling the computer that what it can’t figure out is just a bunch of DJ blabber. The other half of the time is actually spent listening to new songs and figuring out what they are and who sings ’em. So, it’s like Name That Tune for hipsters (although I’m no hipster and apparently neither is anyone in New Orleans because their modern rock station is more or less an 80s metal station, which would make you think New Orleans would be crawling with hipsters as hipster metal is all the rage these days). I digress.

In CA, there are more than a few stations that play a fair amount of rap mixed in with their mod rock. Well, last week, one rap song in particular kept coming up. I suppose it’s relatively new to the radio and not yet in the computer. So, I heard the song, in bits and pieces, 50 or more times. Now this rap song wasn’t all that remarkable save one thing: it sampled Ray Parker, Jr.’s ‘Ghostbusters’. The name of track: ‘Ghost Ride It’.

If I’d heard the song once, I probably wouldn’t thought much about it…but like I said, it was getting some mad radio play and when you’re that saturated with a song it can’t help getting stuck in your head. Some of the lyrics sparked my curiosity. They had to do with “ghost riding.” When I was growing up, we ghost-rided our bikes all the time. You’d pedal full speed, hit a ramp and then let the bike go crazy while you fall to the ground. I knew the rappers on this song weren’t rapping about bicycles. I had to know what “ghost riding da whip” was.

Well, a quick visit to youtube enlightened me.

And now, I’ll share my new-found knowledge with those of you who have no idea about this retarded phenomenon sweeping the coasts.

This is a prime example, representative of what ghost riding da whip is all about:

And if it isn’t painfully obvious already, here’s why ghost riding da whip is retarded:

Just for the heck of it, while we’re talking about retardation, it isn’t really ghost riding da whip but…

This is the kind of thing that makes you dread being a parent.

Ghost Ride Da Whip

So I was e-mailing with

Happy in Bag the other day about the new OutKast album, Idlewild, and he was talking ’bout how much he liked it and I agreed and upon reflection realized that OutKast have not yet put out a bad record. Idlewild is their sixth full-length album. 6 albums and not a bad one in the bunch?! That’s an incredible track record.

At any rate, tonight we’re going to see the cinematic counterpart to such sweet music. We’re also heading to Lansing for a b-day dinner. We’re gonna be leaving Baby Awesome with my mum for about 5 hours. This’ll be Sarah’s first time away from her son for any length of time. Should be appropriately nerve-wracking for the both of us, really.

Finally, I need home mailing address from a few of you, so expect an e-mail from me sometime this weekend. (Toast, Pom, Sir Vin, Happy, Courtney and Patchchord, I’m looking in your general directions.)

What else?

The other day I had to walk a bit down on 124th and Antioch in JoCo and noticed that there are massive gutters there.
Who knows why? The gutter was so big as to be a sidewalk. KCK needs to widen their gutters to this almost-sidewalk size since people there walk in the street way more than they do on the sidewalks (but given the skills of KCK drivers…this might be more of an evolved trait for survival on the part of KCK pedestrians).

That’s it, bitches. Here’s poop in your eye.

So I was e-mailing with

Thank you, existence, for everything.

To talk about gratitude more precisely, however, means looking specifically at the facts of human dependence on forces beyond our control. We derive our existence from, and belong to, both natural forces and the generations that preceded us, from the big bang that created the sun, to the microbes in the soil, to proto-humans developing skills in relation to the natural world around them. They have bequeathed us air and water and arable soil, habitat and language, and networks of tools and technologies. Each generation is rooted also in its inheritance of consciousness, including literatures, expectations, and even of course debilities and limitations. Whoever and wherever we are, we start from where those who came before left off, our lineage of development stretching all the way from early humans learning to use fire and migrating from Africa and then forward to particular peoples, nations, religious and ethnic groups, classes, and families, with their collective and individual struggles to be treated and live more decently. It is no less profound for being a truism: all of this history is indeed our story.

Thank you, existence, for everything.

I was downstairs working yesterday afternoon

when Sarah brought down a fussy Baby Awesome to me cause she’d had to deal with his awesome fussiness all day long. When one is delivered a fussy baby, one usually attempts to quiet the little beast. Last night, I quieted Baby Awesome with some music.

Of course.

But not just any music. Oh no.

No Teletubbies, Barney, Disney, nursery rhymes or whatnot (although I’m sure there will be a time and a place for such things.)

Nope. I used pop music. More specifically I used Milli Vanilli’s ‘Blame It On the Rain’. And Roman hushed…because he knew right then and there that any time he had a gripe he could just go ahead and blame it on the rain, ’cause the rain don’t mind and the rain don’t care.

you got to blame it on something

He also really enjoyed the first few tracks of the new Thermals album. And Sarah reports that of Montreal and The Walkmen also strike his fancy. He doesn’t like Mariah Carey. As soon as one of her songs came on at Price Chopper last night he cried and spit up.

I was downstairs working yesterday afternoon