The common and continual mischiefs of the spirit of party are sufficient to make it the interest and duty of a wise people to discourage and restrain it.
Listening to the radio as a teenager in the early 80s, I wasn't very impressed with what I heard of Genesis, nor of Phil Collins' solo efforts. Simply too pedestrian , too pop for my tastes, which were running very heavily toward progessive and psychadelic rock. It was very popular, so I heard a lot of it wherever I went, and thus my disdain grew. I had been told, however, that their earlier stuff was different.
When I found out that one of my favorite "new" artists, Peter Gabriel (trolled here), had once been the front man for the band, I knew they had to be different, so I bought the Nursery Cryme album on the strength of the title, the cover, and the need to hear what a song called Return of the Giant Hogweed sounds like. After several listenings, I decided that there is only one word to describe it.
It's different, all right. Different from the FM schlock the three-man Genesis put out, and different from the Peter Gabriel work I'd heard. Different, in fact, from everything else I'd ever heard.
I later read an interview with Gabriel where he said that the band at that time had a deep disdain for pop music, and refused to listen to almost all of it, the one exception being King Crimson. That'll make a band different, for certain, expecially since they made no attempt whatsoever to sound like King Crimson.
From left: Phil Collins (drums), Steve Hackett (guitar), Mike Rutherford (bass), Peter Gabriel (vocals, flute), Tony Banks (keyboards).
This music was definitely progressive, and fit in the same mold as bands such as KC, Yes, and ELP. While having a lot of jazz-fusion sounding elements, it didn't really come off as fusion. It didn't sound like classical, either, yet the structure of the music was reminiscent of it. Like Yes, ELP, and Pink Floyd, they played longer songs with different passages. And they told stories, too.
Now, lots of songs tell stories, but the Genesis style sounded far more theatrical than a rock opera such as Tommy or a folk story of the type that Gordon Lightfood might spin. Genesis wasn't just relating a yarn, they were spinning a medieval tapestry, whether they told a tale of gods or of thugs fighting it out in the street. As with many of my favorite bands, expecially in the prog-rock category, it is far easier to listen to them than it is to describe them.
Now, this preference for the earlier years presents a problem for the underground collector in the form of fewer available shows. The fact is, with the exception of in Italy, they weren't really very popular in those days. This is often the curse of being different. As a result, their early shows weren't being recorded. While they had formed in 1967 and released their first album, From Genesis to Revelation, in 1969, the earliest known live recording is from a Belgian show on March 7, 1971. While it is a treat for several reasons, such as Phil Collins' and Steve Hackett's very recent additions as drummer and guitarist and the performance of a Collins song called The Light which was never recorded (but was later re-tooled into a song called Lillywhite Lilith), I don't play it here because of the sound quality. It's not atrocious, but would only be pleasing to someone really into the music. The next available show is from almost a year later! It's sad that shows from five years after the band's origin are still considered "early recordings," but that's how it is.
The first cut I share today is from September 25, 1972, and I chose it because it sounds sweet. Where would we undergrounders be without the BBC? The show is mostly songs from what had been at the time their two most recent releases, Nursery Cryme and Foxtrot, but this song stands apart in two ways. Called Twilight Alehouse, it is a simpler tune than the longer, more progressive songs the band was best known for. Besides that, it is the only one in the show that had not been recorded and released. While it was a popular concert tune, played live from 1971 (at least) until 1973 (at least) , it was not released until 1974 when it was used as the B-side for I know What I Like (In Your Wardrobe). Despite the fact that they played it a lot back in the day, it never made it to an album, and I think that's a shame since it's such a fine song. It will also give people who aren't familiar with early Genesis a taste of Gabriel's flute, which he stopped playing when he went solo and found new directions to go. Hear it here.
It wasn't until a few years ago that I had a second "awakening" to the early Genesis, when I was able to get some underground video. While I knew that it would be theatrical from accounts I had read and from seeing Gabriel live, and while I had seen photos of some of the costumes used, I was still blown away while watching it. The level of musicianship, as well as the sheer fun of watching Gabriel's whackadoo frolics - quite different from his solo approach by design - makes video a definite must in a posting abouit this band. In fact, while listening to this early stuff is always great, listening to it and never seeing how it is performed is incomplete, and keeps one from reaching a full appreciation for how utterly unique this act was. Since that would be tragic, I will show you one of the best clips out there.
On October 30 and 31, 1973, a better-known Genesis with a popular new album, Selling England By the Pound, played a very intimate show before a small audience at Shepperton Studios in Borehamwood, UK. It was professionally recorded on 16mm film. It was used for record company events and such, but never released. It shows this incarnation of the band at the height of their career both musically and visually. I first got this in MPG format, but afterwards found a lovingly cleaned and crafted DVD version which is much crisper (but hard to share here, natch). The song, called Supper's Ready, is exactly the opposite of Twilight Alehouse. Not only is it longer, it is the very essence of prog rock - differing movements bound by repeating interludes, with a wide variety of sounds and moods. In it you will see Tony Banks playing guitar, Gabriel playing flute, Rutherford playing a double-neck bass, and Phil Collins' ass planted behind a drum kit where God meant it to be. But mostly you'll see why Gabriel was utterly unique in his field, with his makeup, reverse mohawk, and several costume changes and characters acted out within the song.
These clips were found on YouTube, and are from that same film, except that somehow this version ended up with a counter on it (this sometimes happens with video boots that are taken from clips made by TV stations) where neither of my versions have one. It does not distract, however. Because of the length of the song (despite the omission of the instrumental intro from this version of the film), it is split into three parts. The whole thing is worth watching, and I think it will easily hold your attention (as it did O'Tim's when he visited) but if you absolutely can't watch something that long [glaring at Paula] at least watch the second part. That will give you a great picture of Gabriel's whackadoodliness, let you hear a fantastic jam from the band, and show you what Pete was doing in that flower outfit . (BTW, if any Genesis fans would like a copy of the whole film, speak up. I'm sure it can be arranged.)
As you can see, this is a band that fit into a particular time frame, and even loosely at that. Few bands reach the musical height or the unique distinction of Gabriel era Genesis, however. They'll always be among my very favorite bands.
Tonight, I want to tell you the story of an empty stocking. Once upon a midnight clear there was a child's cry. A blazing star hung over a stable, and Wise Men came with birthday gifts. We haven't forgotten that night down through the ages. We celebrate it with a star hung on a Christmas tree, and a cry of bells, and gifts; especially with gifts. We bind them and wrap them, and we put them under the tree. You give me a tie, I give you a book, Aunt Martha wanted an orange squeezer, Uncle Harry could use a new pipe;
Oh, we haven't forgotten anyone, adult or child. All the stockings are filled. All that is, except one, and we have forgotten even to hang it up!
The stocking for the child born in a manger.
It's His birthday we are celebrating, you know. Don't let us ever forget that. Let us ask ourselves what He would wish for most, and then let each of us put in his share:
Loving kindness, warm hearts and an out-stretched hand. All the shining gifts that make for "Peace On Earth."
My dad has always been hard to pin down, politically. Mom was, too.
As far as I know, they never picked a party, either of them. They may have registered with one, but they both refused to talk about it. If an election was coming, they would absolutely refuse to say who they intended to vote for, and would add just enough indignation to their non-answer that I'd be sorry I had asked. If you wanted an opinion on an issue, that was fine. But don't ask which candidate. It's none of your business.
The results were threefold. First, political arguments were rare in our household. Fights of every other stripe flourished, but not political ones. Second, I grew up with no artificial loyalties. I didn't, as so many Americans sadly do, ally with a party simply because my parents did and theirs before them. That's fine for football teams, but this is serious. Third, I learned to distinguish an issue from a candidate. These are things to think about, if your children are small yet. My folks did have an occasional good idea, it seems.
Now, from a personal rather than political viewpoint, you'd think you never met a more conservative guy than my dad. He listened to country music in his big car. He had a government job, contracted with the defense department. He did things for them that he still can't talk about, and he retired in 1983!!! He joined the Army at 16 years and was assigned to the 101st Airborne. Look up their last year in action during WWII and you can see how he spent what we now call part of "childhood."
He worked two jobs and saved every penny he could. He wore "Hask" hair oil as long as there was still a hair left to hold some. He never wore anything considered in style past 1955, and didn't see why he should. He watched the Lawrence Welk Show. He did his own car repairs until the computers and shit were added to the mix. His entire life as a parent has been a long example of hard work, husbandry, personal responsibility, and suspicion of popular culture.
The past few times we've spoken, he's wanted to tell me about his new car, and he has done so repeatedly and at great length. I don't mind - he's alone for the first time in his life, and he needs to have targets for his words. It's also important because the last vehicle, the Windstar, was bought specifically for mom's condition, as it had room for the wheelchair and could have the hydraulic seat installed to help get her in and out. This shows that he's moving on a bit.
This car, a Toyota, is the first foriegn car he's ever gotten, although who knows where it's actually made. He loves the gadgets that he's got (the one aspect of pop culture he will eventually embrace is gadgets - we was an electronic engineer, after all. He can be slow to adopt them, but he does eventually.). But what he loves the most is the technological advancement that allows him to get 50 MPG. That just tickles his curlies, and well it should.
Was I surprised to see someone I once considered highly Babbittlike choose such a vehicle? Not at all. Dad isn't cheap, usually (I'll disregard some very specific examples I could give in favor of the bigger picture). He won't assume that higher price is better, either. He is the shoppingest man I have ever known, on everything major. I suspect that I never saw a copy of Consumer Reports in our home because they simply hadn't delved into any product enough to earn dad's respect.
Anyway, he will definitely buy the higher priced item with the proven long-term savings. That's the way it was with the heat pump as well. He sees that the engines have been around long enough to be considered "untested" no longer, got a great warranty, and now watches the gas he isn't buying as carefully as he used to watch the gas he bought. He's loving it, because having grown up in this historical inconvenience called The Great Depression, which no one born since can even begin to relate to, making the most of every resource makes him feel smart. And as usual, he doesn't care what others may do, but he'll make sure his money isn't wasted on the high price of gasoline.
Now, when I said to him "Hey Dad, you're green!", he interpreted "green" with his generation's definition - "naive, unschooled." I quickly told him the modern, "environmentally friendly" definition, and he said "Oh. Yeah. I guess. Anyway, this thing has a really weird key..........."
The environment? Not even an afterthough. He didn't do this for the birdies or the minnows or the polar bears or even his third son who almost died from an asthma attack 30 years ago. He did it for HIMSELF, because it seemed a lot smarter than buying too much gas at too high a price from people - both foriegn and domestic - that he has reason not to trust.
And the best - "For my next purchase, I'm going to get an SUV just to spite John Edwards!" And, assumably, your own pocketbook.
Never mind the obvious benefits to those who bother looking at such things as the obvious. To these people, being conservative can mean going out of your way to waste resources. Unlike the conservatives of dad's generation, who shunned Volkswagens and Sonys, these people will line up to give their money to a culture that they also support war against. Well, why not? Isn't it a sign of success that we can not only afford to support our own forces, but the enemy's as well? Hey, it's GOOD to be rich!
And if we were that rich, I'd agree that it would be good, although waste would still be, well, wasteful. We're not, though. Not really.
But why? Isn't this going to hurt the auto companies? Isn't hurting them the UNION'S job, what with those pesky safety standards, and people's KIDS getting DENTAL?
Isn't this just another unfounded government mandate? Doesn't this fly in the face of the Republican ideal of individual responsibility? Shouldn't it be left to the market to determine what our consumption standards should be? Where is the insistance on personal responsibility which spills out so easily when we talk about social services and mandatory sentancing?
And most of all, where are the folks that are going to hold on to their beloved gas-guzzlers to spite George Bush? Where are the vows to never drive anything that gets more than 15 MPG? Come on, you Proud American Conservatives! Where are your God-given rights to pollute the air and waste your money now?
Or is it that the message is now okay, because the person sending the message is now more acceptable? Perhaps buying less gas isn't such a bad idea when Bush mandates it? That damn Edwards better not suggest that we do it willingly again, though. Commie bastard.
Sad, isn't it? We don't have elections, we have popularity contests. I have to wonder if any of these people can recognize that there was an issue being tossed around at all. I cannot help but think that they honestly can't see that the issue Edwards spoke about was the same one addressed in the freshly signed law. Obviously, their parents did not keep their own council as did mine. I'm sure they heard a lot more about parties than issues as they grew up, as well.
Even sadder, they really can't see how their attitudes, their beliefs, and most of all their rantings don't reflect anything at all of a "conservative" frame of mind, with or without regard for the traditional political meaning of the word as well as the personal meaning I've outlined. They know how to CLAIM to be conservative, but they have no idea how to BE conservative.
I know an old man in Arizona who does. And he'd be MORE than happy to lecture them about it, were their minds conservative enough to want to listen.
It seems that a black newscaster is turning white. Here's a quote.
Lee Thomas' skin is betraying him.
His once brown, even complexion is now mottled with pale patches around his eyes and mouth, along his nose and on his ears; his arms, shoulders and chest are speckled and blotched.
"I'm a black man turning white on television and people can see it," says Thomas, an anchor and entertainment reporter for the local Fox Broadcasting Company affiliate. "If you've watched me over the years, you've seen my hands completely change from brown to white."
Of course, the first thing I thought of was the film Watermelon Man, where a white bigot turned black. What would this guy's movie be? Yankee Pot Roast man? Apple Pie a la Mode Man? Corned Beef and Cabbage Man?
My second thought was "Well, that's what working for Fox will do to you."
Evidently, it's the result of a condition called "vitiligo", which prevents the skin cells from producing pigment. The article says that Michael Jackson had this back when he was black.
The humor drains from the article after that. Thomas goes on to explain how he's been using makeup to cover the condition for years. That seeing it on his hand once frightened a little girl. That people with this condition tend to stay indoors for long periods of time. Why? To avoid stares, ridicule, and rejection - the stigma of turning white.
But why should that be? Isn't being white the key to success and riches in America? Shouldn't he be getting progressively higher pay, quicker promotions, and readier access to voting machines? Perhaps it doesn't work that way as frequently as some would have us believe.
In the end, a once funny thought becomes very sad. It shows once again, just like this did, that we just haven't matured as much as we like to say we have. It highlights the fact that the race issue is far from one-sided, as well. Despite all our talk about leaving racism behind us, and despite our PC hand-wringing and tsk-tsking from all quarters, we as a "diverse society" still let the pigmentation of our skin cells determine a lot of what we think of each other - and of ourselves.
There I was, just a couple minutes from posting the American Asshole ballot, and I was trying to think if I had missed anyone. I had a bunch of assholes listed, but it didn't feel quite done. I decided to surf for a few minutes, and see what popped up. When I saw Lori Drew, I thought "How did I miss her???" Ithen thought, "There's no way she's going to lose."
I was right. My hopes of putting Phelps in faded quickly. I don't think anyone else has won AA with such a clear margin in the first round. I didn't even vote this time around, because a vote for or against Lori could not have made a difference (not that my votes ever DO). She was the clear winner.
And boy, she deserves it. If you don't know why, let me first say "Welcome back to the western hemisphere", and then you can read it here. No need to go into the details when so many of you know them already.
Not only did her actions infuriate every living being with a touch of decency in its soul, but so did the fact that evidently, harrassing a teenage girl to suicide was perfectly legal at the time. A lot of people wonder still how this could be. After all, if someone did the same thing that she did (that is, start a fake MySpace account and pretend to be a teenager) for a different reason, say to have sex with the child, that person could go to prison without even having to complete the crime. When the object, however, is emotional damage rather than sexual abuse, and the adult in question is TOO SUCCESSFUL, well, there is not a thing the law can do. Plainly put, that's fucked up.
At least we have good ol' reliable mob mentality to fall back on. Their address, phone number, and cell numbers were posted on the internet (don't worry, lurkers, I swear it wasn't me this time!). Their business was closed down because they started getting some negative reviews, and I'm sure more than a few phone calls and cancellations. This Zabasearch site shows a sprinkling of America's attitude toward Lori, and bloggers almost universally reviled her. The family of the child she targeted has been destroyed.
Her response to the bereaved mother? "Get over it."
She seemed, in fact, to be reaching for greater assholitude by publishing this blog, MeganHadItComing. This was an Ode to Assholiness, a diatribe putting forth the notion that Megan's fate was deserved. At first it was from the viewpoint of another teenager, then it was claimed to be Lori herself. Then it was suspected of being a hoax. As it stands now, the posts that blame Megan are gone, and someone named "Jeff" is taking credit for the blog. We may not know who started that site, but we can be certain that the site itself is the work of a grade A asshole.
She's so hated, people put on the "blurry face" when they think they may be photographed with her!
On top of it all, she is suing the family she victimized because they took an axe to a foosball table they were storing for her. I don't think I need to tell you who I would have taken the axe to, were I Megan's dad. Now, if the problems with this family were so long-lasting and two-sided as she now claims, one must wonder why she would have asked them, out of all her neighbors, to store something for her.
The police have been watching her house for her family's protection, as there have been a few instances. They are looking for some back door to indict her with, but if that doesn't happen, Lori and her family will have to move. But where? I doubt even a log cabin in the back woods of Idaho would be safe. She might want to start pricing some real estate in South America. Or, perhaps, the Autralian outback. Because while this was a small poll on a small blog, this is not a small result.
Almost all of America has voted her the Asshole of the Month. And a lot of them aren't as nice as we are.
As I'm sure you've all suspected, I just live for creative writing. That's why I haven't done any fiction in over 20 years - I'm saving and internalizing that muse's song, intending to let it explode in an literary storygasm one of these years.
No, not really. Don't have much feel for it at all, in fact.
I've been, however, tagged and nagged, but at least no one is trying to have my blog shut down over it, so what the hell. This came from here.
I woke up hungry. I pulled my bedroom curtain to the side and looked out on a hazy morning. I dragged myself into the kitchen, in search of something to eat. I reached for a jar of applesauce sitting next to the sink, and found it very cold to the touch. I opened the jar and realized it was frozen. (Splotchy)
"That's strange," I said out loud to no one in particular. My fingers slowly reached towards the jar again. My body experienced a wave of apprehension as weighted blanket covering me as I did so. The jar was completely frozen.
I picked it up and stared at it, my fingers stung with little knives of chill. "What the..." again I spoke aloud. Then I realized what had happened with a shock. Suddenly the jar flew from my hand. It shattered creating a collage-like mixture of frozen applesauce and glass shards on my kitchen floor, the lid lazily rolling to a stop across the room. (FranIam)
I stood for a moment considering what all this meant. Oh, I knew what it meant, I didn't need to waste time thinking about it. He was back. And he was mad.
I ran down the hallway and flung open the door at the end. I was immediately hit with a blast of cold. I took a step back as I tried to catch my breath. I bent over, hands on my knees panting. He always had this remarkable effect on me. After so much time, it no longer scared me, but it was a shock nonetheless……
"You know," I panted, "There's no need to break things to get my attention." (Politits)
I woke up in the same position as in my dream, on my knees. I was sweating even though the room was freezing. (Mathman6293)
I was used to the house being quite cold in the mornings, as the night log usually burns out around one a.m. when I am dreaming cozily under my covers, not normally waking to put a new one on until morning. I was surprised because on the rare occasions that it actually had reached sub-freezing temperatures in the house, I had awakened in the night to restart the fire. I would have been worried about the pipes before P-Day, but there hadn't been running water in two years and that was one of the few advantages to being dependent on rainwater, no pipes. (Freida Bee)
The nightmares began during the following spring. The apple trees came to life in my dreams. At first the trees spoke and I thought they were amusing. That changed when the messages arrived. Lately, their anger was directed at me. (Mathman6293)
There is only one thing to which I can attribute this shift. Since the shock wore off of realizing that Coker's P-Day "festivities" had split me into two identical, morphable beings (what did it take - two, three weeks?), I spend much of my time trying to advance to the simultaneous rather than the sequential. I haven't progressed to an understanding of the chronological differences of the continua, nor am I absolutely sure there are just the two. But from everything he's displayed to this point I know Coker can't be happy that I am making progress, and so it appears that somehow he's broken through and is giving me shit during the only time I can recharge. I've got to find a place where I can focus one hundred percent. This cold weather combined with a slowly increasing Green Time isn't helping.
How many more are there like him? And are all of them as paranoid about their power? Surely there's an individual out there, a collective perhaps, that's hip to newbies and sees spreading the knowledge of the planes as the only way back to sanity, the only way toward the sublime society that Vandreau advocated for so many years before the fucking wheels fell off. (O' Tim)
Perhaps, I thought, I should just kill myself. After all, who can truly say which is better - to escape the pains and heartaches of life, or to fight against them in the slim hope of winning? The Sleep that is Death would be a rest from all the pain that life brings. I could really use a rest like that. But suppose, in this "sleep", I begin to "dream?" That could be a bitch. After all, the sort of "dream" might one expect in the final sleep is a daunting thought to consider. That's what can make a long life such a sad thing. I mean, who would put up with all of life's bullshit - oppression of many sorts, insults, the betrayal of false lovers, slow justice, infuriating politicians, and abuse from people who have no right or call to abuse- when he could just put a dagger in his chest and get away from it all? Who would bear the burdens of this world and sweat and drag himself through life if it weren't for the fact that fear of something that may happen after death, from which no one can return, makes us think twice about trading the problems we have for something potentially worse, like Hell. These second thoughs can make cowards of all of us, turn determination into hestation, and prevent us from attempting something grand.
Oh, look - here comes that hot little bitch, Ophelia. Darlin', I hope you remember me in your prayers. (Joe the Troll)
Could you please remove all personal information
you've posted of others from your entries?
It would also help if you didn't do this in the
future.
Sorry for the request. We've got rules and
such.
We'll be forced to disable your blog if this is not
done in 24 hours.
Well, NOW we know why Mark REALLY took that post about me down. That "I'm protecting other people named Mark Firestone" bit was obviously too stupid to believe unless you're one of his giggle-toys. He was just preparing to act on warm, loving Earth-mother PJ's advice that he try to have my blog shut down for the insult of playing his own game better than he did.
I mean, HE PUT HIS OWN NUMBER ON THE WEB, WHERE IT STILL IS. It takes a special brand of gullibility to think that I endangered him with information that he himself had already posted. He simply can't stand the fact that you all know he was stupid enough to do it. Now you know what an underhanded, phony little whiner he is - for the umpteenth time.
It was on December 1st that Jefe wrote a comment to the effect that if I stop going to Mark's blog, Mark will leave me alone. I informed him that he was incorrect, because that had been my first ploy, and the attacks just kept coming. I did offer to prove it to him, though, so I haven't gone there since. It lasted 10 days. A mere 10 days before he's trying to have me shut down. And I've left him and his blog completely alone. Don't even try to tell me that he's being "reactive."
So be careful when you deal with him, if you are unfortunate enough to do so. If he sees you as a threat - and he obviously feels threatened by me - he'll concoct an excuse to try and get you shut down. This is how he "handles disagreement." This is how he handles speech he doesn't agree with. This is why he's a hypocrite and a liar every time he gets on his fucking pedestal and waves the flag - a flag that stands for freedom, strength, and bravery. Because when it comes right down to it, he does not want any free speech except that with which he agrees, and is coward enough to slink around behind one's back to get one removed from the internet.
You know, Mark, when you threatened me online, I didn't go to the authorities. But then again, I figured you'd be too much of a pussy to ever actually try anything. But the point is, I didn't go "running to mommy." Perhaps I should. I wouldn't doubt that your threat broke a law or two. Shall we find out? After all, you didn't do that at YOUR blog, where you could delete it and pretend it didn't happen. Your threat is still there in Lucy's comments.
Not enough stupidity? Okay..... how about this comment that showed up today?
I'm going to say this as a lawyer, you need to take
this post down lest you find yourself in the midst of a libel action.
Unlike Mark's decision to post your IP address (which contains no real
indentifiable information), this is actionable.
And all of you who back this aren't any better yourselves.
Well, Folly - (or should I call you "Carol", or "Bar Slut?") you're just showing, once again, that "lawyer" does not equal "smart." First, you've already told us that you aren't a trial lawyer, so let us not pretend. Secondly, "libel" requires that you prove:
That I published something about Mark that is untrue. Mark is the one who's been publishing lies, over and over and over. So that should be fun.
That the info I published has caused Mark to suffer a loss. The only loss Mark has suffered is the loss of intelligent friends who don't like the way he acts. Oh, and any semblance of manhood, but I didn't take that away from him. He never had it in the first place.
So, no, Carol, I don't think you're going to sue me for libel.
Thirdly, if you had bothered to read before you posted, you would have seen that the phone number had already been replaced by text and the links were disabled. I did that yesterday when your pussy boyfriend had Blogdrive send me a threat.
I didn't mind. The existence of the threat shows, once and for all, that Mark KNOWS deep inside his little heart of hearts that he is nowhere near being smart enough or man enough to deal with me by himself.
Oh, and you seem to think I'm scared of legal action on the basis that I endangered Mark. What a laugh. No judge is going to accept that I endangered Mark by linking to info that Mark himself posted. Only regular readers of his blog are stupid enough to buy that.
Like you. I'll give you credit for one thing, though - you didn't make up some stupid fucking pseudonym like "Jesus of NM" and use a proxy server. Small credit, to be sure, but deserved.
So, what advice do people have for me now? I've tried leaving him be, and he can't let it rest. He keeps dredging up old shit, posting with glee about my misfortunes, mocking my mother's death. I've tried sticking to the actual topic at other people's blogs, and you know he can't do that. Once a fact gets thrown in his face, he's back to his own blog throwing his poop like the simian intellect he embodies, making up anything he can come up with to discredit me so no one will notice that he cannot counter my argument itself. Fighting back only makes him go runnning to your blog provider to get you shut down.
Is there anybody - anybody besides Mark's mouthpieces, that is - who is going to continue telling me that I am in some way provoking this? Is there any doubt that it is Mark and his Witches of Eastwick that have the obsession? I was - more than once- accused of organizing efforts to make everyone hate Mark. None of you have seen these efforts. Can anyone doubt, though, that Mark has done the exact thing to me that he, Gekko, and PJ have all accused me of doing to him? Certainly JennyJinx and Blogfest Tim, who both recieved "watch out for Joe" e-mails, can't.
And Mark - just for curiosity's sake - have you EVER in your life handled a problem on your own, instead of running to a woman or an authority figure to handle it for you? You never face me head-on. You run to your blog, where you can alter comments, to take swipes at me but normally have someone else come here to bash me. Don't you get tired of hiding behind skirts? Haven't you ever wanted to stand up for yourself like a man, instead of acting like a little boy?
By the way - that site you put up with your phone number? Might want to take it down. That is, if having that number on the web REALLY endangers you. If it DOESN'T, then what is this all about?
If you leave that number up, you admit that this is not about the danger of having personal info on the net.
You are admitting, by leaving that page up, that this is just ANOTHER in a long list of ways to get even with me for not liking you.
1 - For each question, type the answer into Google search. 2 - Post a picture from the first results page (I used the "image search".)
1. Age at next birthday
2. A place I'd like to travel
3. My favorite place
4. My favorite object
5. My favorite food
6. My favorite animal
7. My favorite color
8.Town where I was born
I was surprised to see this come up on the "Elgin, Il." search. This is the house on the corner of Liberty & Chicago, one of the grandest in this old blue collar town. I used to know the couple that lived in it, but we didn't really hit it off as friends.
9.Town where I live
10. Name of a past pet
11. First name of a past love
Mine was a redhead, though.
12.Best friend's nickname
I have no idea why this came up in the search, since I wasn't looking for "Hulk", "Leader," or "Comic Book Guy." It was the most interesting one to come up, however.
13. My screen name
14. My first name
15. My middle name
16. My last name
17. Bad habit of mine
18. My first job
19. My grandmother's name
20. My college major
Now, some of you may be thinking that I cheated on at least two of these, not actually Googling the pictures, but you're wrong!! I only cheated on one.
As you know, I don't normally tag people for memes, preferring to let people choose for themselves what they'll blog about. So I'll only tag O'Tim.
