Children of the world!

This will be my last blog entry for a while. I'm moving to Chicago this Sunday and I'm not sure how long it will be until I have internet support again. That's too bad for you! I'm a genius and, let's face it, you need to me to maintain the thin vail of sanity that keeps people from finding out what a twisted little bastard you truly are.

In other news, I read further in The Summer of the Monkeys and it's gotten much better. By that I mean it contains drunken monkey molestation. By this I mean the drunken monkeys are doing the molestation not the other way around. You see, the main character, Jay Berry, went looking for the monkeys and he found them--get this--sitting around a whiskey still and drinking the fermenting sour mash. The chief monkey, who's name is--get this--Jimbo, gave Jay Berry, an underage boy, a couple of cans of mash. He got wasted and passed out. When he woke up, he found the monkeys had stolen his britches (to use the vernacular). This is a children's book, mind you, so the molestation had to be implied rather than specifically stated.

What's really funny about all this is that I just called you a twisted bastard.

I'm going to Columbus tonight to say good-bye to all of my dear, close friends. Tomorrow, I have to pick up my U-haul at 2:00 PM and load all my shee-it so I can leave as early as possible on Sunday to drive to Chicago where I get to unload all my shee-it and build my bedroom so I have a private place to sleep, write, and play sad love-ballads on my accoustic guitar.

Airport Off the Gumballs is the greatest band ever. That's all I'm saying.

Later,
Logical Frank

P.S. On my sidebar, you can see a list of beers I've tried lately. Click the links to find out more.

Well, I'm still in Toledo but I'm leaving after dinner tonight. It's not so bad. My dad, at least, isn't screaming mad anymore and he's in Columbus anyway. Free food is good, too.


I finished Foundation last night. I was impressed enough that I decided to go look for the book in the series, Foundation and Empire. The place I wanted to look was this very good used book store called A Novel Idea (Get it? Ha!). I set out with the idea of buying that Foundation novel and God Emperor Dune which is the only of the original Dune series I have yet to read. I ended up with the third book of the Foundation series, Second Foundation (which you would be the title of the second book but isn't) and House Harkonnen one of the Dune prequels that were written by Frank Herbert's son, Brian Herbert. Since I had to settle, I bought two Kurt Vonnegut novels to cheer myself up, Godbless You, Mr. Rosewater and Cat's Cradle (I think).

By the way, I started reading The Summer of the Monkeys by Wilson Rawls, the same guy who wrote Where the Red Fern Grows. It's written for ages ten and up so it means I'm cool to read it as long as I pay attention real good and all. I figured since I liked Where the Red Fern Grows when I was twelve and I also like Nirvana and Tool when I was twelve and I still like Nirvana and Tool, I might still like books by the guy who wrote Where the Red Fern Grows. It's turning out to be OK, I guess. The Summer of the Monkeys is more or less exactly the same as Where the Red Fern Grows except the little boy, supported by his dear old granddad and his faithful dog, are hunting for monkeys that escaped the circus rather than raccoons that didn't escape from anywhere. Since it was written for kids, Rawls didn't use any dialect in his writing to make easier to understand which is really annoying when the main character uses colloquialisms. They come of really flat sounding: "It was as smooth as the handle of my mother's butter churn, good sir."

Anyway, I gotta get crackin' and get my things packed. Later.

I'm in Toledo. Boo!

I had to pick up some things here and see my family before I go to Chicago this Sunday. I'm glad to have my deep fryer back but not so glad I had to come up here to get it.

I bought the wood I need to build some dividers to make sort of a makeshift bedroom for the loft I'll be living in. It should provide me with a good deal of privacy, maybe not as much as a normal bedroom but enough.

I mentioned I was reading The Subterraneans the other day. I'm done with it now. I enjoyed it. The prose was really interesting but could get kind of confusing. There's one point in which the main character (Jack Kerouac of course but I can't recall what name he used for the book) went home and spend the night at somebody-other-than-his-girlfriend's house. It left me with two questions:

1) Did the main character sleep with the person he went home with?
2) Is that person male or female?

If anyone can answer these questions for me, drop me a line. I need to know.

Now that I'm done with The Subterraneans, I started reading Foundation by Isaac Asimov. It's brilliant! I swear to god. I'm not done with it yet but so far it's one of the best books I've ever read, especially as far as science fiction is concerned. I'm also really glad to have a break from the prose-centric stuff I've been reading lately and read a book by a guy who just wants to tell a damn story. And even without all the flowery language and over-long description, it's still dripping with personality and humor. Plus, Asimov's autobiographical notes on the last page are one of the funniest things I've ever read.

I just got back from Cincinnati. I went to visit my friend Rachel who's leaving for the Peace Corps tomorrow but I got to see everyone--Jake, Ian, Bob, Lauren, Maria, Beth, Chris, Fricky, and of course Andy was there too. I kind of feel like I forgot someone though. Hmmmm.... Rachel's mom? Maybe...

I'm really trying to get my stuff packed up so my move won't be as much of a fiasco as the last one. I have a lot of stuff that I need.

My beer turned out pretty well. People seemed to like it.

I finished Nausea last night and it turned out to be pretty good in the long run. I enjoyed the philosophical aspects of it but their really wasn't much in the action that interested me. Anyway, I found it interesting enough that I tried to look up some more on existentialism.

The problem with existentialism and philosophy in general is that people who write about it choose do so using indecipherable language. I get the feeling a lot of philosophers' philosophy of writing is "If I write in such a manner that's so obtuse that nobody can understand it, people will think I'm smarter than them and they'll say they agree with me so nobody thinks they're stupid." Screw you, obtuse philosophers!

I choose not to fall into their trap. If you have something worth saying, you should say it plainly so that people understand you. It's that simple. I'm a college educated person and somewhat well-read. If I can't understand what you're saying, there's a good seventy-five percent of the population that can't understand you. That makes what you've written at least seventy-five percent worthless. That's an automatic F, if you're in school. You need to retake English 111: Composition for Assholes.

You know, I could go on about this for a good long while but I'm starting to get pissed about it. I'd rather not be pissed so on to the next subject....

Now that I'm done with Nausea, I'm thinking about what I'm going to read next. I'm thinking The Subterraneans by Jack Kerouac but I'm worried that instead of being really good like The Darma Bums it's gonna suck like On the Road. I guess there's only one way to find out.

The Subterraneans is the last of the books my friend Ian gave to my friend Andy to read. Andy had told Ian he was interested in reading more so Ian gave him a bunch of books. Andy, as you would expect if you knew him, read half of Tropic of Cancer and hasn't touched a book since. I've read everything except The Subterraneans. I think the books might have been a bad choice for someone who doesn't read much (though they were all good books). I'm gonna give Andy Fight Club and see if he can sink his teeth into that. It's a quick read and there's a lot of ass-kicking so it's fun.

I'm really struggling on writing my review for this months Crux of the Biscuit. It's gonna turn out really weird and stupid, I hope.

The ham I made yesterday weighed fifteen pounds. Andy and I ate about one pound total. I bought some potatoes today and all I'm gonna eat for the next week is ham and potato's. It's a daunting prospect but one I can live with.

I've started pronouncing potato with a "uh" on the end rather than an "oh." I don't know how this came about. I think I started saying it that way as a joke and it's just crept its way into my ordinary speech. How do you like that? I thought so.

You know what I like about blogging? I can spout out random opinions on Sartre and Ted Nugent and nobody ever argues despite the fact that my arguments are normally as thin as a speed-freak on a bender.

Anyway, I read some more of Nausea last night after logging out and it's getting more interesting. It's still not really interesting but it is kinda interesting for a couple two or three page bursts every now and then. I just thought you would want to know what I thought is all...

I'm making a ham tonight. Andy got it as his Christmas--sorry, "holiday"--bonus from his work. I suggested he use it to pay his mortgage but the crazy kid wants to eat the sucker for some reason. I'll never understand that kid. Seriously...

I prefer milk chocolate to dark chocolate. Dark chocolate is too bitter for me. It tastes too much like raw cocoa. I just thought you would want to know what I thought is all...

Bullocks!

When I shake up my beers that I have sitting in bottles and carbonating, they foam up like a beer should. It's a good sign but I'm still keeping my fingers crossed, leading to quite a few typos as I write.

Bullocks!

I just thought you'd like to know what I thought is all...

So I was reading today... I was reading Nausea by John Paul Sartre. While I was reading this, I decided to put on Tooth, Fang, and Claw by Ted Nugent and his Amboy Dukes. Ian bought me this album a few years ago since I have this sort of obsession with the Nuge. I never really listened to it since I'm really more interested in Ted Nugent as a cultural icon rather than a musician. But I put it on today just for a lark. You know what I mean? It's kinda kitschy but it's still kind of fun to listen to. This got me thinking about exactly two things:

First, I thought about how I was very probably the only human being on the face of the planet reading Sartre and listening to Ted Nugent at the same time and almost certainly the only person who was indulging in those two exact works. Now, there's a lot of people in the world so that made me feel pretty swell--special, even. I also enjoyed the dichotomy of the whole thing. I mean, all-American-I-go-hunting-and-use-everything-from-that-dear-aside-from-its-death-cry bullshit combined with French existentialist bullshit? Ya kiddin' me? I'm not. I was staring directly at a multifaceted diamond of bullshit and I loved it.

When I was done thinking about all that--it took quite a while, I assure you--I started really listening to the Amboy Dukes record. It's actually not at all bad. In fact, I enjoyed it much more than I enjoyed reading Sartre, which brings me to the next thing I was thinking about. Ted Nugent is a far more relevant and inspired artist than Jean-Paul Sartre ever was. The realization dawned on me so suddenly and profoundly it makes it hard for me to explain exactly how and why it is true. Either you understand what I'm saying and you're smart or you don't and you're stupid. I'll put it this way: Nobody has ever danced to a Sartre novel. Nobody has ever listened to a Sartre book-on-tape and had sex (at least, I hope not). People have done both many times to Ted Nugent's music. Of course, this example is not limited to just the Nuge and Jean-Paul Sartre; it applies to all music vs. all literature. Seriously. Music is the most important art form because it makes people dance and have sex. You should've already figured that out. Pay attention.

To coincide with the two thoughts I had while absorbing two very different works by two very different artists, I watched two very different movies by two very different directors today.

The first was Underworld which is about a war between Vampires and Werewolves--an entertaining flick, I must say. It's not exactly the most creative thing in cinematic history but it was fun to watch. I appreciated the fact that the special effects were done mostly by putting people in make-up and hanging them from wires like in the first three Star Wars movies rather than CGI like the prequels. Also, it's worth watching just to see Kate Beckinsale kick some werewolf ass in a tight leather body-suit. It's a shallow thing to say, I know but it's true. She looks that good.

I also watched Adaptation which is damn good. It's a movie about itself--very interesting and emotionally powerful. As my friend Andy put it, "I think I have a split personality and each one of the characters is me." Well put, Andy. You're smarter than you think. I was a bit touched by it myself. It gave me quite a notion that I might go ahead and do something terribly romantic in the next few days. I mean, I probably won't but I should. It's a bad idea but I collect bad ideas so who knows?

Regardless of that, I'm starting to feel myself sliding down the slippery slope of inspiration so I feel I should get off my duff and write something other than this silly blog...

Later,
Frank

P.S. Ted Nugent has an album called If You Can't Lick 'Em... Lick 'Em

Hey everybody!

I haven't been up to much lately. I was working on writing some for the Crux of the Biscuit but apparently my creative juices are all but dried up so instead I'm here blogging and drinking very cheap port wine. It's terrible but as you all know the trick to drinking very cheap port wine is to ignore the taste. Also, you can put ice in it so it tastes more like water and less like very cheap port wine.

After weeks of struggle, I finally finished Ken Kesey's Sometimes a Great Notion. It turned out to be very good in the long run if a bit difficult. The most interesting part of the story was the conflict between Lee and Hank Stamper but it wasn't always the focus. There's too much about a logging strike and the people behind it. The strike was important because it put stress on Lee's and Hank's relationship but the people behind the strike really weren't. Kesey probably could have left out about two-hundred pages of gibberish regarding them and not lost the essence of the story.

I've been being very lazy lately. Well, not so much lazy but tired and indifferent. I can't fall asleep until very late--I think most people would call it very early--sometimes not until 6:30 in the AM. When I finally do fall asleep, I only crash for a few hours but even a few hours wastes about half your day when you fall asleep at 6:30. All I've managed to do this week is reserve a truck to move to Chicago and write just a little bit. I have so much to do before I go too--get new phone numbers, leave a forwarding address at the post office, pack, get some job leads, etc. etc. It's a lot of work to move.

Andy is sick with pneumonia. He got shots in his ass and now has a bunch of inhalers to use and pills to take every day. I think it's funny but he sure doesn't.

Well, in the touching words of Forrest Gump, that's all I have to say about that.

I bottled my beer today. Judging from the uncarbonated stuff I tried today it tasted pretty good too--very hoppy, slightly fruity, and I dare say better than some of the stuff in the bottles I emptied to put it in. I just hope it carbonates well and doesn't get infected.

I went to Columbus this weekend which is always a good time but I spent to much money. I need to conserve damnit! I hung out with my friends Bob and Travis one nigh, met my sister, Liz, for lunch the next and met up with my friends Rachel, Maria, and Chris later. We went to a hookah bar and smoked some apple flavored tobacco. It was an interesting experience more so than good. Then I went to my friend Ant's house where just about everyone was hanging out. Good times. Good times.

Yeah, I know I haven't been blogging much. I just haven't felt the need to. Also, as I grow older and wiser, I grow more lazy. Laziness is as close to nirvana as one can come on this mortal coil.

So here's what's up:

I went to Chicago. Tribes of Neurot put on one of the best shows I've seen in a while and I ultimately decided to move into my friend Chad's loft in the next few weeks.

My beer's almost done. I'll probably bottle it tomorrow or on sunday. Once it's bottled I only have a week or two to wait before I can drink it. Hot damn!

The blower on the heater in my house broke. It was cold as hell for a few days but it's fixed now and I don't have to wear my coat when I'm downstairs.

I have a plethora of new music to listen to: Neurosis and Jarboe, Sleep, Archers of Loaf, Minutemen, 5ive, Tribes of Neurot, Botch... It's good stuff.

There's another Crux of the Biscuit finished, if anyone cares.

Yup.

I think most everything that exists can be sufficiently explained by science, though we don`t have the technology to do so yet. The funny thing about science is that everything we know will inevitably turn out to be wrong to some extent. We can only explain what we have the capability to observe.

Newton was right in that his physics explained the world as he could observe it. Over the centuries that followed, as our ability to observe the universe increased, we found flaws in Newtonian physics and made new theories that are consistent with our new observations, including Einstein`s Relativity among other things. Scientists of today are working and should always be working on proving the scientists of yesterday wrong.

However, I often wonder if maybe somewhere in the deepest black recesses of our existence if there isn`t something that can never be explained, a question that cannot be asked let alone answered. What might this ageless enigma be? God? Who can say?

I sometimes suspect that this problematical conundrum might be locked up somewhere within the law of gravity. We understand how gravity works and have experimental data and observations to prove it. However, we have yet to come up with a reasonable hypothesis for what the mechanism behind it might be, one that we can test and prove scientifically. Newton himself offered no help in this regard. There`s theories, of course, but nothing solid, nothing that could hold up against the inspection of what would undoubtedly every physical scientist on the face of the planet.

Do scientists ever worry that their work might accidentally prove the existence of god thus making them obsolete? I would.