To those of you who still visit this post-deficient blog, thanks and have a great Xmas and New Year. I hope to resume posting on a more regular basis in the New Year - my thoughts on the 12 step program, science's misunderstanding and pharma's misrepresentation of depression, the return of Fox Force Five, the introduction of Foxxy Love, Mystery Solver, the Memoirs of Morris E., the Melancholy Mouse, and anything of note that may have happened over the holidays.
Until then, have a wonderful holiday season and don't forget to be jolly.
Friday, December 23, 2005
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Dopaminutiae.
Part One in a series of short pieces describing my perspective of ongoing research into my favorite neurochemical and its role in the physiology and pathology of addiction. Will there be a Part Two? I have no fucking idea.
Alcoholics, junkies, crackheads, pill poppers, tweakers. Stick 'em in a detox unit together and they'll soon realize they have something in common. They all smoke. But, apart from that, they share a common goal. It can be summed up in two words. Gimme more.
Nerves transmit information which is processed by particular areas of the brain to elicit a response. The information is transmitted as an action potential, a transient change in the resting voltage that exists across a nerve's cell membrane. When this wave of depolarization reaches the nerve ending, pockets of a chemical neurotransmitter are released into the space between that neuron and the next, the synapse.
The neurotransmitter interacts with receptor proteins on the outside of the post-synaptic neuron and the action potential is regenerated. Since persistent neural transmission is generally undesirable, the signal is rapidly terminated by re-uptake of the neurotransmitter by protein channels on the surface of the pre-synaptic nerve ending. Each neuron typically uses one particular neurotransmitter to relay information.
When we consider that this form of neurotransmission can be "filtered" by the impact of other neurons using different neurochemicals, known as neuromodulators, and the fact that each part of the brain uses different sets of neurotransmitters and neuromodulators, we start to see the immense complexity of the brain.
Less than 1% of the brain's neurons use the neurotransmitter dopamine to communicate with other neurons. Yet this fairly simple chemical (its chemical structure is next to Foxy's head, above) plays a central role in behavior such as motivation, pleasure seeking, survival and learning. Disruption of dopamine levels underlies psychosis, schizophrenia, Parkinsons disease and addiction.
Part of the brain is responsible for sensing and processing information that is important for survival and preservation. Sensory information related to fundamental cues that are key to survival, such as food, sex and danger is relayed to the ventral tegmental area (VTA) of the brain, from where it is sent to the nucleus accumbens (NAc) for processing. The response to this processing is either one of attraction (the smell of fresh baked bread, the sight of Jessica Alba/Brad Pitt in a swimsuit - take your pick) or repulsion (the sight and smell of Dick Cheney in a swimsuit). Since it was once thought that pleasant stimuli were the overriding motivators, the NAc used to be referred to as the brain's reward center. Now that its realized that fear signals equally impact the NAc, its function is more often referred to as a salience processor. In chemically dependent individuals, however, the VTA-NAc axis might best be referred to as the Gimme more center of the brain.
All drugs of addiction produce an increase in dopamine levels in the NAc. Some drugs have a direct effect on dopamine levels. Amphetamines increase release of dopamine from pre-synaptic nerve endings. Gimme more tweak. Cocaine decreases reuptake of dopamine by these nerve endings, causing an elevation in synaptic dopamine. Gimme more coke. Other drugs exert their primary action on other neurotransmitter systems, but ultimately impact dopamine levels. Gimme more booze, smokes, smack, vicodin, xanax, ex, weed. Just gimme more.
Normal environmental stimuli, like food and sex, elicit a satiety signal once enough has been experienced, mediated in part by another neurotransmitter, serotonin. However, although some drugs, like nicotine and heroin, may create a temporary feeling of satiety, most drugs, including alcohol, override this signal completely. Enough is never enough.
In response to the ever increasing supply of drug-induced dopamine in chronic addicts, the NAc starts to compensate by decreasing the number of post-synaptic dopamine receptors. This desensitization causes the need for even more drug to achieve the same effect as before and tolerance sets in. The addict becomes faced with two alternatives; continue the upward spiral of tolerance and craving or quit. Titrating off the drug is no longer an option. The former option almost inevitably results in death. Choosing the latter option slowly resets the balance between dopamine and serotonin in the brain and craving becomes less intense and less frequent.
But, why do most addicts relapse, often many years after gaining sobriety? Though there are many reasons, one of the strongest provocations for relapse is drug associated memory. A recovering drunk or crackhead puts him or herself at risk simply by walking into a bar or a crackhouse. Proximity of the previously used drug, even years after use, can trigger powerfully persuasive memories. Often the drug associated memories are more subtle; the clink of ice cubes in a glass tumbler for the recovering alcoholic or the early morning coffee for the ex-smoker.
Two recent scientific studies have shed some light on the nature of this phenomenon and point to possible avenues of clinical intervention.
In last week's issue of the journal Nature, the world's leading science publication (yours truly has a couple of papers published in it, LOL!), Liu et al studied the effect of repeated doses of cocaine on the VTA in mouse brains. Mice and rats are most often used in addiction physiology experiments because their brains are sufficiently similar to those of humans to allow extrapolation of the results to people, besides alcoholics and addicts are not the most reliable of subjects. Cocaine is most often used as the drug of addiction because it directly impacts dopamine-using neurons and rats and mice evidently like it.
The researchers found that repeated doses of cocaine induced a phenomenon called long term potentiation (LTP) in the VTA of mouse brains. LTP is a basic form of memory in which subtle long lasting changes in synaptic function can store information. They determined that the effect of cocaine was to block the impact of another neurotransmitter, GABA, on dopamine synapses. GABA is a so-called inhibitory neurotransmitter which tunes out many neuronal pathways. Its receptors are a major target of both alcohol and benzodiazepines like valium and librium, indeed the researchers found that valium inhibited cocaine-induced LTP. The results suggest that stimulation of GABA receptors in the VTA might be an effective way to reduce craving and drug associated memory in individuals addicted to cocaine and quite possibly many other drugs. Notably the anti-epileptic drug vigabatrin, which mimics GABA, is currently in clinical trials for coke addiction.
In a recent issue of the journal Neuron, the effect of cocaine on the retrieval of memories elicited by environmental cues in rodents was examined. The establishment and maintenance of drug associated memories by conditional stimuli is known as consolidation. The retrieval of these memories involves a reinforcement process termed reconsolidation which requires the activation of a pattern of genes within neurons. Miller and Marshall identified a signaling pathway inside the NAc which appears to mediate reconsolidation in response to an environmental cue. Such signaling pathways are chains of molecular events which transduce a message, in this case from dopamine, from outside a cell to the cell's nucleus where gene programs are activated to produce proteins. The particular pathway activated by dopamine is one very familiar to scientists working in the field of cancer research, since it is hyperactivated in many types of cancer. For this reason it has been the subject of intensive research and drugs have been developed to block the passage of information along the pathway. Using one such drug, the researchers showed that inhibiting the pathway markedly reduced stimulus-elicited reconsolidation. Although the drug used is probably too toxic for use in chemically dependent people, the results identify multiple potential targets for clinical intervention.
Taken together, the studies reaffirm that expanding our understanding of how drug associated memories are retrieved may lead to the development of specific drugs to reduce drug craving and the danger of relapse in recovering addicts.
Until then,
Gimme more espresso, gimme more smokes, gimme more diet red bull. Just fucking gimme more!
Alcoholics, junkies, crackheads, pill poppers, tweakers. Stick 'em in a detox unit together and they'll soon realize they have something in common. They all smoke. But, apart from that, they share a common goal. It can be summed up in two words. Gimme more.
Nerves transmit information which is processed by particular areas of the brain to elicit a response. The information is transmitted as an action potential, a transient change in the resting voltage that exists across a nerve's cell membrane. When this wave of depolarization reaches the nerve ending, pockets of a chemical neurotransmitter are released into the space between that neuron and the next, the synapse.
The neurotransmitter interacts with receptor proteins on the outside of the post-synaptic neuron and the action potential is regenerated. Since persistent neural transmission is generally undesirable, the signal is rapidly terminated by re-uptake of the neurotransmitter by protein channels on the surface of the pre-synaptic nerve ending. Each neuron typically uses one particular neurotransmitter to relay information.
When we consider that this form of neurotransmission can be "filtered" by the impact of other neurons using different neurochemicals, known as neuromodulators, and the fact that each part of the brain uses different sets of neurotransmitters and neuromodulators, we start to see the immense complexity of the brain.
Less than 1% of the brain's neurons use the neurotransmitter dopamine to communicate with other neurons. Yet this fairly simple chemical (its chemical structure is next to Foxy's head, above) plays a central role in behavior such as motivation, pleasure seeking, survival and learning. Disruption of dopamine levels underlies psychosis, schizophrenia, Parkinsons disease and addiction.
Part of the brain is responsible for sensing and processing information that is important for survival and preservation. Sensory information related to fundamental cues that are key to survival, such as food, sex and danger is relayed to the ventral tegmental area (VTA) of the brain, from where it is sent to the nucleus accumbens (NAc) for processing. The response to this processing is either one of attraction (the smell of fresh baked bread, the sight of Jessica Alba/Brad Pitt in a swimsuit - take your pick) or repulsion (the sight and smell of Dick Cheney in a swimsuit). Since it was once thought that pleasant stimuli were the overriding motivators, the NAc used to be referred to as the brain's reward center. Now that its realized that fear signals equally impact the NAc, its function is more often referred to as a salience processor. In chemically dependent individuals, however, the VTA-NAc axis might best be referred to as the Gimme more center of the brain.
All drugs of addiction produce an increase in dopamine levels in the NAc. Some drugs have a direct effect on dopamine levels. Amphetamines increase release of dopamine from pre-synaptic nerve endings. Gimme more tweak. Cocaine decreases reuptake of dopamine by these nerve endings, causing an elevation in synaptic dopamine. Gimme more coke. Other drugs exert their primary action on other neurotransmitter systems, but ultimately impact dopamine levels. Gimme more booze, smokes, smack, vicodin, xanax, ex, weed. Just gimme more.
Normal environmental stimuli, like food and sex, elicit a satiety signal once enough has been experienced, mediated in part by another neurotransmitter, serotonin. However, although some drugs, like nicotine and heroin, may create a temporary feeling of satiety, most drugs, including alcohol, override this signal completely. Enough is never enough.
In response to the ever increasing supply of drug-induced dopamine in chronic addicts, the NAc starts to compensate by decreasing the number of post-synaptic dopamine receptors. This desensitization causes the need for even more drug to achieve the same effect as before and tolerance sets in. The addict becomes faced with two alternatives; continue the upward spiral of tolerance and craving or quit. Titrating off the drug is no longer an option. The former option almost inevitably results in death. Choosing the latter option slowly resets the balance between dopamine and serotonin in the brain and craving becomes less intense and less frequent.
But, why do most addicts relapse, often many years after gaining sobriety? Though there are many reasons, one of the strongest provocations for relapse is drug associated memory. A recovering drunk or crackhead puts him or herself at risk simply by walking into a bar or a crackhouse. Proximity of the previously used drug, even years after use, can trigger powerfully persuasive memories. Often the drug associated memories are more subtle; the clink of ice cubes in a glass tumbler for the recovering alcoholic or the early morning coffee for the ex-smoker.
Two recent scientific studies have shed some light on the nature of this phenomenon and point to possible avenues of clinical intervention.
In last week's issue of the journal Nature, the world's leading science publication (yours truly has a couple of papers published in it, LOL!), Liu et al studied the effect of repeated doses of cocaine on the VTA in mouse brains. Mice and rats are most often used in addiction physiology experiments because their brains are sufficiently similar to those of humans to allow extrapolation of the results to people, besides alcoholics and addicts are not the most reliable of subjects. Cocaine is most often used as the drug of addiction because it directly impacts dopamine-using neurons and rats and mice evidently like it.
The researchers found that repeated doses of cocaine induced a phenomenon called long term potentiation (LTP) in the VTA of mouse brains. LTP is a basic form of memory in which subtle long lasting changes in synaptic function can store information. They determined that the effect of cocaine was to block the impact of another neurotransmitter, GABA, on dopamine synapses. GABA is a so-called inhibitory neurotransmitter which tunes out many neuronal pathways. Its receptors are a major target of both alcohol and benzodiazepines like valium and librium, indeed the researchers found that valium inhibited cocaine-induced LTP. The results suggest that stimulation of GABA receptors in the VTA might be an effective way to reduce craving and drug associated memory in individuals addicted to cocaine and quite possibly many other drugs. Notably the anti-epileptic drug vigabatrin, which mimics GABA, is currently in clinical trials for coke addiction.
In a recent issue of the journal Neuron, the effect of cocaine on the retrieval of memories elicited by environmental cues in rodents was examined. The establishment and maintenance of drug associated memories by conditional stimuli is known as consolidation. The retrieval of these memories involves a reinforcement process termed reconsolidation which requires the activation of a pattern of genes within neurons. Miller and Marshall identified a signaling pathway inside the NAc which appears to mediate reconsolidation in response to an environmental cue. Such signaling pathways are chains of molecular events which transduce a message, in this case from dopamine, from outside a cell to the cell's nucleus where gene programs are activated to produce proteins. The particular pathway activated by dopamine is one very familiar to scientists working in the field of cancer research, since it is hyperactivated in many types of cancer. For this reason it has been the subject of intensive research and drugs have been developed to block the passage of information along the pathway. Using one such drug, the researchers showed that inhibiting the pathway markedly reduced stimulus-elicited reconsolidation. Although the drug used is probably too toxic for use in chemically dependent people, the results identify multiple potential targets for clinical intervention.
Taken together, the studies reaffirm that expanding our understanding of how drug associated memories are retrieved may lead to the development of specific drugs to reduce drug craving and the danger of relapse in recovering addicts.
Until then,
Gimme more espresso, gimme more smokes, gimme more diet red bull. Just fucking gimme more!
Sunday, October 09, 2005
Then and now.
In one of my few memories from childhood I remember the parties my parents used to throw. We would be allowed to stay up to greet their guests, most of whom we knew well. There would be much laughter and a sense of anticipation of the party ahead. Dad was renowned for throwing the best parties. After the guests had arrived we'd go to bed and as I lay in bed the soothing sound of conversation and laughter percolating up from downstairs would soon send me to sleep, happy in the knowledge that I, too, would one day be able to join in the partying.
The next morning I would get up early and creep quietly down the stairs, the same ones i'd run up as fast as possible at night to avoid being jumped on by whatever it was that lurked in the shadows of the landing. I'd go straight to our large living room - we lived in a huge boarding house at the school where Dad was a teacher, and all the rooms were large, or so they seemed to me - and stand in the doorway. It would be quite dark, the curtains still drawn shut, and there would be many, many glasses of all description on the tables and floor, some empty, many half empty. Ashtrays filled to overflowing with extinguished cigarettes and cigars nestled between the glasses. The air would be musty and stale, at once both acrid and aromatic, with lingering traces of perfume. I'd walk carefully around the room, stopping to pick up glasses, sometimes taking a sip of their half empty contents. They all tasted quite disgusting but i knew that one day I'd discover the reason that adults so clearly enjoyed drinking these drinks.
Soon enough Mum would come down to clear up and, after drawing the curtains open, I'd help carry the glasses out to the kitchen for washing and i'd empty the ashtrays. I'd draw the curtains, rearrange the furniture while Mum vacuumed and the living room would be back to its usual self, clean and bright.
I woke up and tried to focus through the gray blur. I could see the hard, gray floor I was lying on and, by moving my eyes, the lighter gray wall opposite. I moved my head slightly up and down and saw, on one side, a toilet bowl in front of another gray wall and, on the other, black metal bars. It was hot, very hot, and the stench of urine filled the still air. I tried to sit up and winced as pain swept through most of my upper torso. Slowly I pulled myself into a sitting position and the pain started to ease until it was a dull soreness around my ribs and stomach. I pulled up my shirt and lokked for bruises. None. I figured I should stop feeling sorry for myself, it couldn't be that bad if there were no bruises.
I drifted in and out of half-sleep until I heard the lock being turned. I looked up and a cop was standing at the door pointing to his right. He didn't say anything, he just pointed. I slowly got to my feet and the pain returned. I stumbled towards the barred door and followed the direction of his finger. I didn't expect him to help, didn't want him to, and he didn't. At the main desk the duty sergeant pointed to the door. I walked out. The sun was bright, blinding. When i was able to see again I inched down to the steps and started the long walk home.
As I walked up Broadway I tried to piece together the strands of memory of the previous day and night. I had been at an afternoon lab party, that much i remembered. Playing with the kids, talking, laughing and drinking, and drinking. After I got home I must have hit the gin pretty hard. i remembered standing outside B.'s door yelling at him to come out drinking with me. He'd tried to calm me down, that much i remembered, but must have given up after a while. The cops arrived and bundled me into the cop car. One of our neighbors must have called them. I would find out who it was and go and thank them. The cell was full when they threw me in. Any cash and cigarettes I'd had were soon gone. My cellmates scared the hell out of me, drunk as i was, and i needed out. I vaguely remembered banging on the bars, shouting for them to let me out. Their warnings to shut the fuck up went unheeded - what did they expect?
I bummed a cigarette off a homeless guy and for the first time noticed the dried blood on my hands. As i walked past the medical center i started to question whether it was indeed the Nashville Police Department that were responsible for the pain still emanating from my upper body. I decided to let it go. Better them than my cellmates.
Eventually I got home. I walked into my apartment, the carpet was strewn with broken glass - so that's where the blood came from. I headed for the fridge and opened it. Beer. Thank God. I grabbed a six pack, headed for the couch and switched on the TV. I was going to have to go out for gin and cigarettes but it could wait. For a while.
"This is a life-changing event for you!" insisted M. from behind her reception desk. I was skeptical and more focussed on what lay behind the closed doors of the detox unit to my right. S. and I said our farewells and I walked in. Less than three hours later, sitting in my room, it started to rain. It doesn't rain in San Diego in September. I found it hard not to wonder whether this was an omen of some sort. Washing away a dusty film of false protection or just a sign of the approaching storm? Sure enough, that night the thunderstorm arrived. We don't get thunderstorms in September. Another portent? Or just confirmation that we've fucked up our atmosphere beyond saving. Probably.
Though my old friend was, of course, not allowed to be there with me, my new, transient, chemical friend helped me through the next four days. I was introduced to "groups", sharing and, of course, The Big Book. We've yet to become friends, and maybe never will, but at least I no longer demonize it. My fellow in-patients and i killed the time exchanging our stories, our secrets, deceits and hiding places. For the first time, whether it was booze, crack, H or vicodin, i realized the undeniable, unbreakable bond we shared, whether we liked it or not.
One morning we were sitting outside in the designated smoking area, smoking, when three elderly folk walked by. They were clearly lost, pointing this way and that, no doubt trying to find a particular building or unit within the huge hospital complex. One of them started to walk towards us, apparently to ask for directions. Before reaching us one of the ladies shouted after him, "Don't asked them, they probably don't even know where they are!" We cracked up. She was right.
And now? Well, now is really just exactly what its all about. When i was drinking the past offered little consolation and less to learn from. Yet i insisted to myself that my blurred, hazy memories of what had gone would serve to guide me through the future, to change its inevitable course. For more than twenty years i labored under this delusion. Characteristic of the alcoholic #27; we do the same thing over and over and over again, expecting different results. So now the past is past, like a mountain stream its still there but its not the same, and though i can guess where its going, i can neither predict its course nor change it. So its down to "now". AA and Leah have written about this recently - it ain't easy but i'm gettin there. And though I won't dwell on it, i'll occasionally look back, not in anger, just look back at the times spent with my estranged friend. Just now and then.
The next morning I would get up early and creep quietly down the stairs, the same ones i'd run up as fast as possible at night to avoid being jumped on by whatever it was that lurked in the shadows of the landing. I'd go straight to our large living room - we lived in a huge boarding house at the school where Dad was a teacher, and all the rooms were large, or so they seemed to me - and stand in the doorway. It would be quite dark, the curtains still drawn shut, and there would be many, many glasses of all description on the tables and floor, some empty, many half empty. Ashtrays filled to overflowing with extinguished cigarettes and cigars nestled between the glasses. The air would be musty and stale, at once both acrid and aromatic, with lingering traces of perfume. I'd walk carefully around the room, stopping to pick up glasses, sometimes taking a sip of their half empty contents. They all tasted quite disgusting but i knew that one day I'd discover the reason that adults so clearly enjoyed drinking these drinks.
Soon enough Mum would come down to clear up and, after drawing the curtains open, I'd help carry the glasses out to the kitchen for washing and i'd empty the ashtrays. I'd draw the curtains, rearrange the furniture while Mum vacuumed and the living room would be back to its usual self, clean and bright.
I woke up and tried to focus through the gray blur. I could see the hard, gray floor I was lying on and, by moving my eyes, the lighter gray wall opposite. I moved my head slightly up and down and saw, on one side, a toilet bowl in front of another gray wall and, on the other, black metal bars. It was hot, very hot, and the stench of urine filled the still air. I tried to sit up and winced as pain swept through most of my upper torso. Slowly I pulled myself into a sitting position and the pain started to ease until it was a dull soreness around my ribs and stomach. I pulled up my shirt and lokked for bruises. None. I figured I should stop feeling sorry for myself, it couldn't be that bad if there were no bruises.
I drifted in and out of half-sleep until I heard the lock being turned. I looked up and a cop was standing at the door pointing to his right. He didn't say anything, he just pointed. I slowly got to my feet and the pain returned. I stumbled towards the barred door and followed the direction of his finger. I didn't expect him to help, didn't want him to, and he didn't. At the main desk the duty sergeant pointed to the door. I walked out. The sun was bright, blinding. When i was able to see again I inched down to the steps and started the long walk home.
As I walked up Broadway I tried to piece together the strands of memory of the previous day and night. I had been at an afternoon lab party, that much i remembered. Playing with the kids, talking, laughing and drinking, and drinking. After I got home I must have hit the gin pretty hard. i remembered standing outside B.'s door yelling at him to come out drinking with me. He'd tried to calm me down, that much i remembered, but must have given up after a while. The cops arrived and bundled me into the cop car. One of our neighbors must have called them. I would find out who it was and go and thank them. The cell was full when they threw me in. Any cash and cigarettes I'd had were soon gone. My cellmates scared the hell out of me, drunk as i was, and i needed out. I vaguely remembered banging on the bars, shouting for them to let me out. Their warnings to shut the fuck up went unheeded - what did they expect?
I bummed a cigarette off a homeless guy and for the first time noticed the dried blood on my hands. As i walked past the medical center i started to question whether it was indeed the Nashville Police Department that were responsible for the pain still emanating from my upper body. I decided to let it go. Better them than my cellmates.
Eventually I got home. I walked into my apartment, the carpet was strewn with broken glass - so that's where the blood came from. I headed for the fridge and opened it. Beer. Thank God. I grabbed a six pack, headed for the couch and switched on the TV. I was going to have to go out for gin and cigarettes but it could wait. For a while.
"This is a life-changing event for you!" insisted M. from behind her reception desk. I was skeptical and more focussed on what lay behind the closed doors of the detox unit to my right. S. and I said our farewells and I walked in. Less than three hours later, sitting in my room, it started to rain. It doesn't rain in San Diego in September. I found it hard not to wonder whether this was an omen of some sort. Washing away a dusty film of false protection or just a sign of the approaching storm? Sure enough, that night the thunderstorm arrived. We don't get thunderstorms in September. Another portent? Or just confirmation that we've fucked up our atmosphere beyond saving. Probably.
Though my old friend was, of course, not allowed to be there with me, my new, transient, chemical friend helped me through the next four days. I was introduced to "groups", sharing and, of course, The Big Book. We've yet to become friends, and maybe never will, but at least I no longer demonize it. My fellow in-patients and i killed the time exchanging our stories, our secrets, deceits and hiding places. For the first time, whether it was booze, crack, H or vicodin, i realized the undeniable, unbreakable bond we shared, whether we liked it or not.
One morning we were sitting outside in the designated smoking area, smoking, when three elderly folk walked by. They were clearly lost, pointing this way and that, no doubt trying to find a particular building or unit within the huge hospital complex. One of them started to walk towards us, apparently to ask for directions. Before reaching us one of the ladies shouted after him, "Don't asked them, they probably don't even know where they are!" We cracked up. She was right.
And now? Well, now is really just exactly what its all about. When i was drinking the past offered little consolation and less to learn from. Yet i insisted to myself that my blurred, hazy memories of what had gone would serve to guide me through the future, to change its inevitable course. For more than twenty years i labored under this delusion. Characteristic of the alcoholic #27; we do the same thing over and over and over again, expecting different results. So now the past is past, like a mountain stream its still there but its not the same, and though i can guess where its going, i can neither predict its course nor change it. So its down to "now". AA and Leah have written about this recently - it ain't easy but i'm gettin there. And though I won't dwell on it, i'll occasionally look back, not in anger, just look back at the times spent with my estranged friend. Just now and then.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Opportunity.
I had written a post last week entitled "The End". I couldn't resist the irony of using a song written by an alcoholic who drowned in a bathtub to describe an alcoholic's surrender to detox. It started something like this ......
"This is the end,
Beautiful friend."
J. Morrison.
A beautiful friend who ......
stood by me for more years than I can remember and helped me forget them,
lifted me up when I was down and let me down when I was in need,
embraced me as an lover and embarrassed me as a fool,
disclosed secrets to strangers and hid them from those I love,
made me powerful, invicible, all knowing and weak willed, pleading, lost,
made me lie to myself and made me lie by myself,
encouraged my desires and disabled my ability to achieve them,
boosted my Ego and destroyed my Self,
and so on.
But now, upon more sober reflection and in the light of the support of those close to me, the experience of those who have been through this and the wisdom and support of Penny and other blogger friends, I prefer to consider my current situation as an opportunity, a possibility, there to be seized.
"The sea's the possibility
There is no land but the land
There is no sea but the sea
There is no keeper but the key
Except for one who seizes possibilities, one who seizes possibilities"
P. Smith.
or, in another poet's words,
"You only get one shot, do not miss this chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime, yo
..... Success is my only motherfuckin' option, failure's not"
M. Mathers.
Maybe I'm overblowing it a lil, but how many chances do you get?
As he pondered his future, waiting, anticipating in unfamiliar detox
Realizations dawned, futures unfurled, somewhere in the mind of fox
A change in course from failures to triumph, remember the Red Sox?
Or more of the same, one big step closer to a cold and lonely pine box
Woefully inept poet.
So, what's it gonna be, fucker?
"This is the end,
Beautiful friend."
J. Morrison.
A beautiful friend who ......
stood by me for more years than I can remember and helped me forget them,
lifted me up when I was down and let me down when I was in need,
embraced me as an lover and embarrassed me as a fool,
disclosed secrets to strangers and hid them from those I love,
made me powerful, invicible, all knowing and weak willed, pleading, lost,
made me lie to myself and made me lie by myself,
encouraged my desires and disabled my ability to achieve them,
boosted my Ego and destroyed my Self,
and so on.
But now, upon more sober reflection and in the light of the support of those close to me, the experience of those who have been through this and the wisdom and support of Penny and other blogger friends, I prefer to consider my current situation as an opportunity, a possibility, there to be seized.
"The sea's the possibility
There is no land but the land
There is no sea but the sea
There is no keeper but the key
Except for one who seizes possibilities, one who seizes possibilities"
P. Smith.
or, in another poet's words,
"You only get one shot, do not miss this chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime, yo
..... Success is my only motherfuckin' option, failure's not"
M. Mathers.
Maybe I'm overblowing it a lil, but how many chances do you get?
As he pondered his future, waiting, anticipating in unfamiliar detox
Realizations dawned, futures unfurled, somewhere in the mind of fox
A change in course from failures to triumph, remember the Red Sox?
Or more of the same, one big step closer to a cold and lonely pine box
Woefully inept poet.
So, what's it gonna be, fucker?
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Get Pissed, Destroy!
We were hanging out in Victoria Square, outside our sleepy town's only record store, conveniently located next door to Blewetts, where the best pasties in town were sold. I ate one of our county's famous delicacies with one hand, the other clutching my latest purchase, Generation X's debut single, "Your Generation"/"Day by Day". Though I was eager to get home and listen to it, we first needed to decide on what to do later that evening, it being Friday. Dibs scoured the West Briton for signs of nightlife, rarely spotted in our quiet backwater.
"The Garden, Penzance. Friday night, Mystery Band. You don't think it could be...." he wondered aloud.
The Garden was a smallish club, the only respectable venue for rock bands in our languid county. We'd been there many a time to see mid-level british rock bands, the likes of Hawkwind and Be Bop Deluxe. But now our ears and hearts were tuned to a new sound, one of vitality and energy that we hadn't experienced before, but which we could immediately relate to and feel part of.
"Nah. Why would they play down here?"
"They'll play anywhere. We should at least check it out."
In early 1977, the lead singer of the Sex Pistols used the word "fuck" in an interview on national TV. Instant infamy. Just as they attracted fanatical followers, they attracted many who wished them and their fans more than a little harm. As much as they revelled in the hatred levelled against them, after getting the shit kicked out of them after every gig, the Pistols decided to start playing anonymously. We had to check it out, of course we did.
We rolled into the cozy fishing port of Penzance in the late afternoon. The doors to the Garden were still closed. After a brief stroll down the promenade to take in some sea air, we claimed a table in the pub next door. As time passed the pub started to fill with people around our age, with the same expressions of anticipation and subdued excitement. Eventually the Garden doors opened and we got tickets. But still no confirmation as to who was playing. As we walked back to the pub (if they were playing that night they'd most surely come to the pub first), it was apparent that the local cops were patrolling in unusual numbers. An excellent sign.
More time passed, more pints were consumed and pernods were added to the rounds. By about 9.30 we were getting not only well pissed, but also somewhat concerned that no one was showing up. It was my round and I forged my way to the bar, now quite filled with expectant drinkers. As I tried to catch the barman's attention, I noticed the volume level drop somewhat around me. I got his attention and was about to order when, in my left ear, came an already unmistakable voice. A nasal, sneering half-whine that suggested both malice and derision.
"Four pints of bitter." Lingering on the "s" as if "four" needed more explanation.
I turned my head slightly. John Rotten looked back with his head cocked.
"We're thirsssty." He sneered.
"Sure, sure. Go ahead." I mumbled.
"Thanks."
"He said thanks, he said thanks!" I thought to myself giddily.
The Pistols established themselves at the bar and started drinking several pints in quick succession. About a half hour before closing time they headed out. We and the rest of the pub followed.
Within no time they were on stage, ripping through songs we knew, "Anarchy", "God Save the Queen" and "Pretty Vacant", and songs we were hearing for the first time, "Holidays in the Sun", "EMI", "Liar", "Submarine". We were in the midst of a seething, surging, sweating mass of energized bodies. The energy level in the small club was unmatched by anything we'd experienced before and wouldn't even quite be equalled by the even more kinetic Clash a few weeks later.
Afterwards, while my friends headed to the bar, abuzz with the electricity of the show and the pernod, I ventured backstage. After asking Rotten, sitting, slouched and soaked with as much sweat as me, about the upcoming album - he was polite, friendly but clearly not too interested in chit-chat - I asked Sid if he fancied a beer.
"Sure."
We sat at the bar, had a couple of beers and chatted about stuff - the album, the ex-record labels they hated so much, Sweden (they'd just toured there - "fucking boring, fucking cold too"), football - regular pub talk really. Finally we were kicked out as the club closed. Though not before Sid scrawled his name on the sleeve of my denim jacket.
While we staggered toward the car, though I was clearly the most drunk of the six of us, I fished out the keys from my pocket. Still buzzing from the show, meeting Sid and several pints and pernods, I took off, completely ignoring the mini-roundabout outside the club, instead driving right across it. We sped down the road running parallel to the promenade and seafront, talking excitedly about the show. At the end of the promenade the road gently curved right, towards the quay where, as a child, I had so often boarded the Scillonian for our annual family summer trip to the Scilly Isles. As the road curved, the car continued on its linear path, ending with an inevitable, yet surprisingly quiet crunch as it hit the wall lining the pavement.
Within seconds, it seemed, we were surrounded by three police cars. They had been expecting trouble and had finally found it. We staggered out of the car aided by the cops, actually a pretty friendly bunch, no doubt happy that something had finally happened. No one was hurt, though Dibs would complain for days afterwards that his thumb had been bent and hurt like hell. Frankly, the little fucker deserved it. Though there was no damage to life or limb, my dad's Datsun was completely totalled. This was not good - he really liked his Datsun.
Weeks later a friend of my parents, a locally respected lawyer, would stand before a judge pronouncing me a fine student, planning to go to a well respected college at Cambridge who didn't know that pernod was a strong drink. Naturally I received the maximum possible fine and suspension.
A few years later I would be sitting in the bar of that same respected college when a friend would walk in carrying a newspaper,
"Well your old buddy's really fucked up this time" (I'd played the story up a bit).
Throwing down the copy of the Sun on the bar, I read;
"SID KILLS NANCY!"
Yeah, he'd fucked up real good this time. Though I'd spent barely twenty minutes drinking with Sid Vicious, I'd grown to resent the media's treatment of him, first demonizing, then ridiculing. Something like this was, at least in hindsight, inevitable.
A few days later, just as inevitably, he too would be dead.
The day after wrecking my dad's car I decided it would be diplomatic not to drink.
To the best of my recollection, that day in 1977 was the last that I went without a drink.
The last day until tomorrow.
I'll be back.
Soon. I hope.
"The Garden, Penzance. Friday night, Mystery Band. You don't think it could be...." he wondered aloud.
The Garden was a smallish club, the only respectable venue for rock bands in our languid county. We'd been there many a time to see mid-level british rock bands, the likes of Hawkwind and Be Bop Deluxe. But now our ears and hearts were tuned to a new sound, one of vitality and energy that we hadn't experienced before, but which we could immediately relate to and feel part of.
"Nah. Why would they play down here?"
"They'll play anywhere. We should at least check it out."
In early 1977, the lead singer of the Sex Pistols used the word "fuck" in an interview on national TV. Instant infamy. Just as they attracted fanatical followers, they attracted many who wished them and their fans more than a little harm. As much as they revelled in the hatred levelled against them, after getting the shit kicked out of them after every gig, the Pistols decided to start playing anonymously. We had to check it out, of course we did.
We rolled into the cozy fishing port of Penzance in the late afternoon. The doors to the Garden were still closed. After a brief stroll down the promenade to take in some sea air, we claimed a table in the pub next door. As time passed the pub started to fill with people around our age, with the same expressions of anticipation and subdued excitement. Eventually the Garden doors opened and we got tickets. But still no confirmation as to who was playing. As we walked back to the pub (if they were playing that night they'd most surely come to the pub first), it was apparent that the local cops were patrolling in unusual numbers. An excellent sign.
More time passed, more pints were consumed and pernods were added to the rounds. By about 9.30 we were getting not only well pissed, but also somewhat concerned that no one was showing up. It was my round and I forged my way to the bar, now quite filled with expectant drinkers. As I tried to catch the barman's attention, I noticed the volume level drop somewhat around me. I got his attention and was about to order when, in my left ear, came an already unmistakable voice. A nasal, sneering half-whine that suggested both malice and derision.
"Four pints of bitter." Lingering on the "s" as if "four" needed more explanation.
I turned my head slightly. John Rotten looked back with his head cocked.
"We're thirsssty." He sneered.
"Sure, sure. Go ahead." I mumbled.
"Thanks."
"He said thanks, he said thanks!" I thought to myself giddily.
The Pistols established themselves at the bar and started drinking several pints in quick succession. About a half hour before closing time they headed out. We and the rest of the pub followed.
Within no time they were on stage, ripping through songs we knew, "Anarchy", "God Save the Queen" and "Pretty Vacant", and songs we were hearing for the first time, "Holidays in the Sun", "EMI", "Liar", "Submarine". We were in the midst of a seething, surging, sweating mass of energized bodies. The energy level in the small club was unmatched by anything we'd experienced before and wouldn't even quite be equalled by the even more kinetic Clash a few weeks later.
Afterwards, while my friends headed to the bar, abuzz with the electricity of the show and the pernod, I ventured backstage. After asking Rotten, sitting, slouched and soaked with as much sweat as me, about the upcoming album - he was polite, friendly but clearly not too interested in chit-chat - I asked Sid if he fancied a beer.
"Sure."
We sat at the bar, had a couple of beers and chatted about stuff - the album, the ex-record labels they hated so much, Sweden (they'd just toured there - "fucking boring, fucking cold too"), football - regular pub talk really. Finally we were kicked out as the club closed. Though not before Sid scrawled his name on the sleeve of my denim jacket.
While we staggered toward the car, though I was clearly the most drunk of the six of us, I fished out the keys from my pocket. Still buzzing from the show, meeting Sid and several pints and pernods, I took off, completely ignoring the mini-roundabout outside the club, instead driving right across it. We sped down the road running parallel to the promenade and seafront, talking excitedly about the show. At the end of the promenade the road gently curved right, towards the quay where, as a child, I had so often boarded the Scillonian for our annual family summer trip to the Scilly Isles. As the road curved, the car continued on its linear path, ending with an inevitable, yet surprisingly quiet crunch as it hit the wall lining the pavement.
Within seconds, it seemed, we were surrounded by three police cars. They had been expecting trouble and had finally found it. We staggered out of the car aided by the cops, actually a pretty friendly bunch, no doubt happy that something had finally happened. No one was hurt, though Dibs would complain for days afterwards that his thumb had been bent and hurt like hell. Frankly, the little fucker deserved it. Though there was no damage to life or limb, my dad's Datsun was completely totalled. This was not good - he really liked his Datsun.
Weeks later a friend of my parents, a locally respected lawyer, would stand before a judge pronouncing me a fine student, planning to go to a well respected college at Cambridge who didn't know that pernod was a strong drink. Naturally I received the maximum possible fine and suspension.
A few years later I would be sitting in the bar of that same respected college when a friend would walk in carrying a newspaper,
"Well your old buddy's really fucked up this time" (I'd played the story up a bit).
Throwing down the copy of the Sun on the bar, I read;
"SID KILLS NANCY!"
Yeah, he'd fucked up real good this time. Though I'd spent barely twenty minutes drinking with Sid Vicious, I'd grown to resent the media's treatment of him, first demonizing, then ridiculing. Something like this was, at least in hindsight, inevitable.
A few days later, just as inevitably, he too would be dead.
The day after wrecking my dad's car I decided it would be diplomatic not to drink.
To the best of my recollection, that day in 1977 was the last that I went without a drink.
The last day until tomorrow.
I'll be back.
Soon. I hope.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Fox Force Five! (continued!)
As you may recall, the Fox Force Five! are looking for clues as to the whereabouts of a missing super-secret stealth bomber and its pilot, Lt. Col. Brock Towers. The trail of clues has led them to the world renowned Getty Center in the L.A. hills. Team leader Lark is scouring ancient korean documents in the South Pavillion, in the hope of coming up with a clue. japanese martial arts expert Suzume, frustrated by everyone's mistaking her nationality, is keeping a low profile in the azalea garden, while Michelle, the french bombshell, is having cautious sex with a docent in the cactus garden. Meanwhile Raven and Robin are sitting in the central courtyard, reflecting on what they've seen so far over iced lattes .......
"Sure, he's a great painter, you just have to look at the nuances of the apostles' expressions to see that, I'm just saying it's all so freakin dark. I mean, didn't they have windows back in seventeenth century Holland? How about some candles?" asks Robin of the exhibit of Rembrandt's Late Religious Portraits.
"What do you expect? He painted his girlfriend as the Virgin of Sorrows - how happy could the guy be? Besides, these paintings were pretty revolutionary in the way they portrayed the apostles as real, vulnerable people. You can only knock down walls one at a time." countered Raven "But maybe it would be a good idea to go look at some lighter stuff."
"SHOW ME THE MONET!" yells Robin.
The two of them burst into laughter.
Their reverie is interrupted by the shrill ring of Raven's phone. She fishes it out her pocket.
"Hello ....... Okay, we'll be right there." she looks to the South Pavillion, "Lark thinks she's found a clue, lets go."
Lark is closely examining a very large, beautifully engraved book, clearly of great antiquity and value judging by the broken glass and comatose guards on the floor around her. Suzume is already there, clearly irritated that Lark had taken out the guards before she got there.
"What've you got Lark?" asks Raven.
"Where's Michelle?" asks Robin.
"Something that shouldn't be here....... She said she'll be coming in a few minutes." replies Lark to them both.
Raven, Robin and Suzume roll their eyes.
"Look here", Lark points at a section of faded parchment. "If my memory of ancient korean dialect serves me right, this is a reference to the hunting of the great black hawk by the ancestral followers of Tangun. Do you agree Suzu?"
"Japanese, you fucking bitch," Suzume mutters under her breath.
"What's that Suzu?" asks Lark, engrossed in the manuscript.
"I wouldn't know, Lark hun, I'm Japanese, remember." she chirps merrily.
"Oh yes, sorry Suz - you know how it is." responds Lark with a wave of the hand.
"Sure, I'll know how it is when I kill all four of you bitches. We'll see who can remember who's japanese, chinese and korean then!" Suzume thinks to herself and grins.
"And thai?" thinks Robin.
"Fuck!"
"So what's out of place, Lark?" asks Raven.
"Well, it's this," says Lark, turning a huge, fragile parchment page gingerly.
"Wow, that IS out of place," exclaims Michelle as she walks in, tucking her blouse into her jeans.
"Yes, but there's something even more out of place" exclaims Lark with urgency, "I need to get to the library!"
"What is it?" asks Raven.
"It's a large building with books in it. But that's not important right now," replies Lark, hurrying out of the door.
As the five make their way across the courtyard towards the Getty's impressive research library, Raven spots something unmistakeable in the reflection of the window opposite - the reflection of of a sniper's telescopic sight! Or someone wearing sunglasses. She spins, in one fluid movement reaching to her boot to retrieve the knife and flinging it upward in a perfect spiral. A body falls from the roof, a rifle crashing beside it. The Five! gather around the fallen sniper, knowing they have little time before having to call in some favors. Reaching into the dead man's jacket, Robin pulls out an ID card. "Ngoyen Van Luc; Vietnamese Department of Virus Control, Special Attache to the Centers for Disease Control".
"The guy's a virologist - why'd he be shooting at us?" she asks, bewildered.
"And why are the vietnamese involved now?" asks Suzume, fearing yet another misunderstood asian nationality trait.
From behind them a commanding voice exclaims,
"I might have guessed the Fox Force Five! wouldn't be able to go to a museum without killing someone!"
The Five! whirl on their heels, unaccustommed to being referred to by their supposedly covert group name.
"And who may you b..." starts Lark, instantly recognizing the face of the person standing before her.
Guest Starring Vincent Vega as Special Agent Cliff Powers
"The face you clearly recognize is that of my identical twin, Lieutenal Colonel Brock Towers." says the tall, dashing man standing before them. He holds in front of him an ID card; "Special Agent Cliff Powers. FBI, MI5: Super High Level Clearance."
"Wow! FBI and MI5," exclaims Raven, clearly impressed.
"My mother was british," explains Special Agent Powers.
"But I saw no mention of a brother in Lieutenant Colonel Towers' dossier, and it was pretty detailed." recalls Lark, once again calling on her photographic memory.
"Well up until just recently I didn't know I had a twin brother ....."
Cliff Powers goes on to tell the Five! the story of the two twin brothers. Their parents had both been deeply engaged in espionage at the height of the cold war, Rock at the CIA and Rosie at MI6. They had made many enemies between them, not only in the Soviet block, but all around the world, even in their own home countries. Each of them had made decisions that no person should ever have to make, often resulting in the death of not only their adversaries, but also their colleagues. But when Rosie Flowers discovered she was pregnant and, later, that she was expecting twins, they faced the hardest decision they would ever have to face. They decided that, since both they and their children would be at risk of assassination for the rest of their lives, they would separate, never to see each other again, each assuming new identities and each taking one of the twins. Rock took Brock and Rosie took Cliff. No one, including the twins, was to know of this.
In 1981 Rock was tracked down and killed with a botulinus toxin-tipped umbrella by a vengeful bulgarian widow. Perhaps because she had children herself, she spared Brock, who rapidly rose through the US Air Force's ranks. Rosie had covered her tracks well and eluded assassination by enemy counterparts. only to be defeated by her own genes and habits. She had succumbed to lung cancer just six months ago. But before dying she revealed the whole truth to her beloved son Cliff. Eventually Cliff had uncovered the identity of his twin, only to find that he was missing in action during a routine training flight over North Korea.
Engrossed in the Special Agent's story, the Five! temporarily forget about the dead vietnamese virologist with a knife sticking out of his chest at their feet. As Cliff starts to relate his own meteoric rise to Super High Level Clearance in the FBI and MI5 he is interrupted.
"Do any of you know anything about the dead guy with a knife sticking out of his chest here?" asks a California Highway Patrolman.
"Oh my god! Look Raven, there's a corpse right at our feet!" exclaims Robin.
"Oh my god, oh my god!" replies Raven.
"Okay folks, move it along, this is a murder scene." orders the CHP officer.
As the Five! and Cliff walk away, Michelle uses her experience, and the knowledge that she's not wearing a bra, to divert the attention of every cop at the scene, while Raven reaches down to retrieve her favorite knife from the virologist's chest.
As they walk away Luc breathes a relieved, if very painful, sigh of relief.
Within minutes the Five! are headed south on the 405 in the Big Mutha Foxmobile, their customized SUV. Lark is at the wheel with Raven beside her. Suzume and Robin are seated behind them and Cliff and Michelle are in the back.
"Where are we going Lark?" asks Raven.
"South, we're headed South." replies Lark mysteriously.
"Wouldn't be the first time," chimes Robin.
"Hey, where's Michelle?" asks Lark looking in the rearview mirror.
"Umm I think she uhh dropped something on the floor," replies Cliff distractedly.
"MICHELLE!" yells Lark.
Michelle's head suddenly bobs up from behind the back seat, a startled expression on her face.
"You know the rules!" continues Lark, anger in her voice. "No intimacy with team members!"
"I'm sorry Lark, I forgot for a moment," replies Michelle apologetically.
"Actually I'm not technically a member of the ......" Cliff starts timidly before being cut off by the harsh glare from the rearview mirror.
To break the ensuing uncomfortable silence Robin makes a suggestion;
"How about one of your jokes Rave?"
"Yeah, lets hear a joke, Rave," chime in the rest of the Five!
"Okay. So three tomatoes are walking down the street- a poppa tomato, a momma tomato, and a little baby tomato. Baby tomato starts lagging behind. Poppa tomato gets angry, goes over to the baby tomato, and smooshes him... and says, Catch up."
To break the ensuing uncomfortable silence Robin makes a suggestion;
"How about some music, Rave?"
"Yeah, lets hear some music, Rave," chime in the rest of the Five! and Cliff.
Raven flips on the music. Soon the Five! are singing along, as they usually do when listening to the Bangles covering a song by one of their favorite girl bands. This time its Sleater-Kinney's "The Fox".
"Shiny pretty fox" thought the duck,
The duck came up on to the land
The fox saw her and he just laughed ....
"Great song," remarks Cliff as the music fades out. "Reminds me of a guy I used to work with in the FBI some years ago. Claimed his sister had been abducted by aliens. Good agent though. They retired him in the end to keep him quiet."
"What does he do now?" asks Suzume.
"Apparently he's getting his message out through the internet. He's got a blog under some pseudonym. Duke Of Me or something like that." replies Cliff.
"Good for him, everyone has to maintain their belief in something," comments Robin.
About a mile behind the Five! on I5 a sleek black limo with black tinted windows cruises in the same direction. Sunglasses in the passenger seat follows the red blip on the laptop in front of him.
"Looks like they're headed for San Diego," says sunglasses, turning to face the suit in the back seat.
"Just follow and keep distance," replies the suit in a calm, level, measured tone.
"I think I know where they're going," as he lights another cigarette.
Join us after the commercial break, when the trail of clues lead the Five! to the San Diego Zoo, where Suzume takes on a pair of ninja pandas and Michelle takes on a bunch of horny meerkats.
"Sure, he's a great painter, you just have to look at the nuances of the apostles' expressions to see that, I'm just saying it's all so freakin dark. I mean, didn't they have windows back in seventeenth century Holland? How about some candles?" asks Robin of the exhibit of Rembrandt's Late Religious Portraits.
"What do you expect? He painted his girlfriend as the Virgin of Sorrows - how happy could the guy be? Besides, these paintings were pretty revolutionary in the way they portrayed the apostles as real, vulnerable people. You can only knock down walls one at a time." countered Raven "But maybe it would be a good idea to go look at some lighter stuff."
"SHOW ME THE MONET!" yells Robin.
The two of them burst into laughter.
Their reverie is interrupted by the shrill ring of Raven's phone. She fishes it out her pocket.
"Hello ....... Okay, we'll be right there." she looks to the South Pavillion, "Lark thinks she's found a clue, lets go."
Lark is closely examining a very large, beautifully engraved book, clearly of great antiquity and value judging by the broken glass and comatose guards on the floor around her. Suzume is already there, clearly irritated that Lark had taken out the guards before she got there.
"What've you got Lark?" asks Raven.
"Where's Michelle?" asks Robin.
"Something that shouldn't be here....... She said she'll be coming in a few minutes." replies Lark to them both.
Raven, Robin and Suzume roll their eyes.
"Look here", Lark points at a section of faded parchment. "If my memory of ancient korean dialect serves me right, this is a reference to the hunting of the great black hawk by the ancestral followers of Tangun. Do you agree Suzu?"
"Japanese, you fucking bitch," Suzume mutters under her breath.
"What's that Suzu?" asks Lark, engrossed in the manuscript.
"I wouldn't know, Lark hun, I'm Japanese, remember." she chirps merrily.
"Oh yes, sorry Suz - you know how it is." responds Lark with a wave of the hand.
"Sure, I'll know how it is when I kill all four of you bitches. We'll see who can remember who's japanese, chinese and korean then!" Suzume thinks to herself and grins.
"And thai?" thinks Robin.
"Fuck!"
"So what's out of place, Lark?" asks Raven.
"Well, it's this," says Lark, turning a huge, fragile parchment page gingerly.
"Wow, that IS out of place," exclaims Michelle as she walks in, tucking her blouse into her jeans.
"Yes, but there's something even more out of place" exclaims Lark with urgency, "I need to get to the library!"
"What is it?" asks Raven.
"It's a large building with books in it. But that's not important right now," replies Lark, hurrying out of the door.
As the five make their way across the courtyard towards the Getty's impressive research library, Raven spots something unmistakeable in the reflection of the window opposite - the reflection of of a sniper's telescopic sight! Or someone wearing sunglasses. She spins, in one fluid movement reaching to her boot to retrieve the knife and flinging it upward in a perfect spiral. A body falls from the roof, a rifle crashing beside it. The Five! gather around the fallen sniper, knowing they have little time before having to call in some favors. Reaching into the dead man's jacket, Robin pulls out an ID card. "Ngoyen Van Luc; Vietnamese Department of Virus Control, Special Attache to the Centers for Disease Control".
"The guy's a virologist - why'd he be shooting at us?" she asks, bewildered.
"And why are the vietnamese involved now?" asks Suzume, fearing yet another misunderstood asian nationality trait.
From behind them a commanding voice exclaims,
"I might have guessed the Fox Force Five! wouldn't be able to go to a museum without killing someone!"
The Five! whirl on their heels, unaccustommed to being referred to by their supposedly covert group name.
"And who may you b..." starts Lark, instantly recognizing the face of the person standing before her.
Guest Starring Vincent Vega as Special Agent Cliff Powers
"The face you clearly recognize is that of my identical twin, Lieutenal Colonel Brock Towers." says the tall, dashing man standing before them. He holds in front of him an ID card; "Special Agent Cliff Powers. FBI, MI5: Super High Level Clearance."
"Wow! FBI and MI5," exclaims Raven, clearly impressed.
"My mother was british," explains Special Agent Powers.
"But I saw no mention of a brother in Lieutenant Colonel Towers' dossier, and it was pretty detailed." recalls Lark, once again calling on her photographic memory.
"Well up until just recently I didn't know I had a twin brother ....."
Cliff Powers goes on to tell the Five! the story of the two twin brothers. Their parents had both been deeply engaged in espionage at the height of the cold war, Rock at the CIA and Rosie at MI6. They had made many enemies between them, not only in the Soviet block, but all around the world, even in their own home countries. Each of them had made decisions that no person should ever have to make, often resulting in the death of not only their adversaries, but also their colleagues. But when Rosie Flowers discovered she was pregnant and, later, that she was expecting twins, they faced the hardest decision they would ever have to face. They decided that, since both they and their children would be at risk of assassination for the rest of their lives, they would separate, never to see each other again, each assuming new identities and each taking one of the twins. Rock took Brock and Rosie took Cliff. No one, including the twins, was to know of this.
In 1981 Rock was tracked down and killed with a botulinus toxin-tipped umbrella by a vengeful bulgarian widow. Perhaps because she had children herself, she spared Brock, who rapidly rose through the US Air Force's ranks. Rosie had covered her tracks well and eluded assassination by enemy counterparts. only to be defeated by her own genes and habits. She had succumbed to lung cancer just six months ago. But before dying she revealed the whole truth to her beloved son Cliff. Eventually Cliff had uncovered the identity of his twin, only to find that he was missing in action during a routine training flight over North Korea.
Engrossed in the Special Agent's story, the Five! temporarily forget about the dead vietnamese virologist with a knife sticking out of his chest at their feet. As Cliff starts to relate his own meteoric rise to Super High Level Clearance in the FBI and MI5 he is interrupted.
"Do any of you know anything about the dead guy with a knife sticking out of his chest here?" asks a California Highway Patrolman.
"Oh my god! Look Raven, there's a corpse right at our feet!" exclaims Robin.
"Oh my god, oh my god!" replies Raven.
"Okay folks, move it along, this is a murder scene." orders the CHP officer.
As the Five! and Cliff walk away, Michelle uses her experience, and the knowledge that she's not wearing a bra, to divert the attention of every cop at the scene, while Raven reaches down to retrieve her favorite knife from the virologist's chest.
As they walk away Luc breathes a relieved, if very painful, sigh of relief.
Within minutes the Five! are headed south on the 405 in the Big Mutha Foxmobile, their customized SUV. Lark is at the wheel with Raven beside her. Suzume and Robin are seated behind them and Cliff and Michelle are in the back.
"Where are we going Lark?" asks Raven.
"South, we're headed South." replies Lark mysteriously.
"Wouldn't be the first time," chimes Robin.
"Hey, where's Michelle?" asks Lark looking in the rearview mirror.
"Umm I think she uhh dropped something on the floor," replies Cliff distractedly.
"MICHELLE!" yells Lark.
Michelle's head suddenly bobs up from behind the back seat, a startled expression on her face.
"You know the rules!" continues Lark, anger in her voice. "No intimacy with team members!"
"I'm sorry Lark, I forgot for a moment," replies Michelle apologetically.
"Actually I'm not technically a member of the ......" Cliff starts timidly before being cut off by the harsh glare from the rearview mirror.
To break the ensuing uncomfortable silence Robin makes a suggestion;
"How about one of your jokes Rave?"
"Yeah, lets hear a joke, Rave," chime in the rest of the Five!
"Okay. So three tomatoes are walking down the street- a poppa tomato, a momma tomato, and a little baby tomato. Baby tomato starts lagging behind. Poppa tomato gets angry, goes over to the baby tomato, and smooshes him... and says, Catch up."
To break the ensuing uncomfortable silence Robin makes a suggestion;
"How about some music, Rave?"
"Yeah, lets hear some music, Rave," chime in the rest of the Five! and Cliff.
Raven flips on the music. Soon the Five! are singing along, as they usually do when listening to the Bangles covering a song by one of their favorite girl bands. This time its Sleater-Kinney's "The Fox".
"Shiny pretty fox" thought the duck,
The duck came up on to the land
The fox saw her and he just laughed ....
"Great song," remarks Cliff as the music fades out. "Reminds me of a guy I used to work with in the FBI some years ago. Claimed his sister had been abducted by aliens. Good agent though. They retired him in the end to keep him quiet."
"What does he do now?" asks Suzume.
"Apparently he's getting his message out through the internet. He's got a blog under some pseudonym. Duke Of Me or something like that." replies Cliff.
"Good for him, everyone has to maintain their belief in something," comments Robin.
About a mile behind the Five! on I5 a sleek black limo with black tinted windows cruises in the same direction. Sunglasses in the passenger seat follows the red blip on the laptop in front of him.
"Looks like they're headed for San Diego," says sunglasses, turning to face the suit in the back seat.
"Just follow and keep distance," replies the suit in a calm, level, measured tone.
"I think I know where they're going," as he lights another cigarette.
Join us after the commercial break, when the trail of clues lead the Five! to the San Diego Zoo, where Suzume takes on a pair of ninja pandas and Michelle takes on a bunch of horny meerkats.
Monday, August 22, 2005
FOX Breaking News.
"We interrupt your regularly scheduled broadcast to bring you this FOX exclusive news story. FOX News has learned that a group of liberal anti-americans has issued a request to the government of Venezuela to assassinate the Reverend Pat Robertson.
We go live to our political correspondent in Washington, Dick Risingtall.
"Yes, indeed, Brat, I have in my hands a copy of the written request sent to the Venezuelan President by this coalition of liberal subversives. If I hold it up to the camera you can see it reads as follows:
"We the people who have sined underneath, formerly request that the government of Venezwailer take out Pat Robinson.
Sined,
"Now unfortunately, Brat, FOX News is currently not able to show the signatures or to release the names of those signing the document. However, I can say that there are some notable liberal politicians and namby pamby hollywood celebrities included in the list."
"Dick, has there been any word from the White House on this?"
"Yes, Brat. A spokesman for the White House has said that this threat to a highly respected US citizen will not go unanswered. Unofficially, Brat, its been known for some time that the President has been wanting to hit back at some of these jackasses, especially after seeing himself on film sitting in a children's classroom for several minutes."
"Well thanks, Dick. FOX News of course joins all americans in supporting the Reverend Robertson and condemning these evil, liberal anti-americans.
In other breaking news, at least one person is feared dead after a mysterious automobile incident on a bridge in New England.
We now return you regularly scheduled programming."
We go live to our political correspondent in Washington, Dick Risingtall.
"Yes, indeed, Brat, I have in my hands a copy of the written request sent to the Venezuelan President by this coalition of liberal subversives. If I hold it up to the camera you can see it reads as follows:
"We the people who have sined underneath, formerly request that the government of Venezwailer take out Pat Robinson.
Sined,
"Now unfortunately, Brat, FOX News is currently not able to show the signatures or to release the names of those signing the document. However, I can say that there are some notable liberal politicians and namby pamby hollywood celebrities included in the list."
"Dick, has there been any word from the White House on this?"
"Yes, Brat. A spokesman for the White House has said that this threat to a highly respected US citizen will not go unanswered. Unofficially, Brat, its been known for some time that the President has been wanting to hit back at some of these jackasses, especially after seeing himself on film sitting in a children's classroom for several minutes."
"Well thanks, Dick. FOX News of course joins all americans in supporting the Reverend Robertson and condemning these evil, liberal anti-americans.
In other breaking news, at least one person is feared dead after a mysterious automobile incident on a bridge in New England.
We now return you regularly scheduled programming."
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Cali/steve t has started tutoring biology and chemistry to high school kids as a first step in career transition to teacher/science writer wannabe. Since he has to re-learn high school/college chemistry, his mind is somewhat distracted by dissociation constants, perturbed by the periodic table and submerged in subatomic particles. Therefore I, Foxy, will take on more blog posting responsibility. Expect more foxiness.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Friday, August 05, 2005
I never noticed before, but it seems the flags of Romania and Belgium are almost identical. Its not like they have much else in common.
Ancestral home of Count Dracula and assorted undead misfits. More recently home to one of the most evil dictators of the past hundred odd years. Play football with more flair than yer average east european team. Hate being mistaken for hungarians.
Home to a bunch of useless bureacrats. Good chocs, if you like 'em. Great beer, if you like gettin wasted. Play football with as much flair as a doorstop (Scifo excluded - with a name like that he should be italian anyway). Hate being mistaken for the french, but deserve it.
Now, if I was either Romanian or Belgian I'd probably be pretty pissed off about these stereotypical generalizations. But between them they've only visited the blog twice, so I'm not too worried.
Ancestral home of Count Dracula and assorted undead misfits. More recently home to one of the most evil dictators of the past hundred odd years. Play football with more flair than yer average east european team. Hate being mistaken for hungarians. Home to a bunch of useless bureacrats. Good chocs, if you like 'em. Great beer, if you like gettin wasted. Play football with as much flair as a doorstop (Scifo excluded - with a name like that he should be italian anyway). Hate being mistaken for the french, but deserve it.Now, if I was either Romanian or Belgian I'd probably be pretty pissed off about these stereotypical generalizations. But between them they've only visited the blog twice, so I'm not too worried.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Who took the bomp from the bompalompalomp?
"How many times have you bust, Jane?"
"I don't know, I don't think I have yet," replied the dealer with an apologetic smile.
I think she was right. But it came as no surprise. The previous night had seen the start of a quite impressive losing streak, one which I'm sure would have contended for some kind of record, had it been recorded. Yet all around me seemed to be raking in the chips like the clean up guy in a Pringles factory. For instance,
"You sure you want to split them?" asked the dealer looking at the pair of two's in front of the guy to my right, then at her ten.
"Ummm, yes, I think so..."
Needless to say he won both hands after she (and I) went bust. But this was how it went all night.I was finally persuaded to quit after losing my last two chips to consecutive blackjacks.
I consoled myself with "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas". Or so I very much hoped.
My mood level was elevated (lets say to pink on a totally arbitrary and meaningless color scale) when, while walking through Mandalay Bay, I discovered that Le Tigre were playing that very night at the House of Blues. Woohoo!
They totally ROCKED! And the delicious irony of seeing them play in Vegas made it even sweeter. If you know Le Tigre and you know Las Vegas, I think you'll know what I'm talking about.
In other news there seems to be a veritable dogfight going on for bronze medal position on the counter on the right, between UK and Taiwan. Familiar territory for the brits, but, I suspect, less so for the Taiwanese.
Okay, clearly this is one of those filler posts. Next up, continuation of Fox Force Five!
BTW - what's YOUR take on Cassavettes?
Misogynist? Genius?
Alcoholic? Messiah?
"I don't know, I don't think I have yet," replied the dealer with an apologetic smile.
I think she was right. But it came as no surprise. The previous night had seen the start of a quite impressive losing streak, one which I'm sure would have contended for some kind of record, had it been recorded. Yet all around me seemed to be raking in the chips like the clean up guy in a Pringles factory. For instance,
"You sure you want to split them?" asked the dealer looking at the pair of two's in front of the guy to my right, then at her ten.
"Ummm, yes, I think so..."
Needless to say he won both hands after she (and I) went bust. But this was how it went all night.I was finally persuaded to quit after losing my last two chips to consecutive blackjacks.
I consoled myself with "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas". Or so I very much hoped.
My mood level was elevated (lets say to pink on a totally arbitrary and meaningless color scale) when, while walking through Mandalay Bay, I discovered that Le Tigre were playing that very night at the House of Blues. Woohoo!
They totally ROCKED! And the delicious irony of seeing them play in Vegas made it even sweeter. If you know Le Tigre and you know Las Vegas, I think you'll know what I'm talking about.
In other news there seems to be a veritable dogfight going on for bronze medal position on the counter on the right, between UK and Taiwan. Familiar territory for the brits, but, I suspect, less so for the Taiwanese.
Okay, clearly this is one of those filler posts. Next up, continuation of Fox Force Five!
BTW - what's YOUR take on Cassavettes?
Misogynist? Genius?
Alcoholic? Messiah?
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
The creative element of the blog ("What creative element, Cali?") is temporarily in limbo (who's limbo, Foxy?).
In the meantime, I just finished watching tonight's Daily Show - the only consistently excellent TV show in a lake of pond scum. Tonight's guest was Robert F. kennedy Jr., who seeks to increase awareness about the danger of childhood vaccination. In particular he points toward a "scientifically proven" link between the use of thimerosal (mercury) based vaccines and autism, which he claims to account for frightening increase in autism incidence in kids over the last twenty or so years. As I've discussed before, the increasing rate of autism diagnosis is truly alarming, but there simply is no good scientific evidence, as far as I'm aware, that it's linked to thimerosal-based vaccination. The simple fact that autism and autism spectrum disorder diagnoses are continuing to skyrocket, while thimerosal-based vaccines have been used for more than twenty years, argues against a causative link.
People need someone or something to blame for that which they don't understand and which hurts them; mercurial vaccines seem to be the moslem vehicles of the medical world. There's no doubt in my mind that Kennedy's heart is in the right place, and research should still be rigorously applied to the possible link between vaccines and autism, but such strident rhetoric can only deflect from real research into the causes of these disturbing developmental disorders.
After quite a few weeks, and one postponement, I saw my therapist today; 9 am appointment, as usual arrived at 9.30 with an excuse. It was a short session to catch up with a few weeks of being "off schedule". I explained, or excused, myself about the wedding trip and pointed our upcoming trip to Vegas this weekend (we have an old friend staying - we're driving there). Bottom line? Back on schedule next Sunday or we talk about detox. It is a very scary prospect for me.
K. asked me again about how I would feel living without alcohol. Out of the blue I mentioned a few blogger friends (not by name!) who were bipolar. The descriptions I've read from them of being bipolar and off the meds, and the reluctance to go back on the meds seem to mirror so closely what I can only imagine it will be like to live without alcohol. It should be no surprise, after all, addiction and psychological disorders are controlled by the relative levels of certain neurotransmitters (fuck you, Tom Cruise!) It's the sense of loss, the feeling you'll never experience THAT feeling again. But, more than anything, its about being prepared to endure the unendurable lows for those ephemeral highs. Or is it? Let me know, hee hee hee!
In the meantime, I just finished watching tonight's Daily Show - the only consistently excellent TV show in a lake of pond scum. Tonight's guest was Robert F. kennedy Jr., who seeks to increase awareness about the danger of childhood vaccination. In particular he points toward a "scientifically proven" link between the use of thimerosal (mercury) based vaccines and autism, which he claims to account for frightening increase in autism incidence in kids over the last twenty or so years. As I've discussed before, the increasing rate of autism diagnosis is truly alarming, but there simply is no good scientific evidence, as far as I'm aware, that it's linked to thimerosal-based vaccination. The simple fact that autism and autism spectrum disorder diagnoses are continuing to skyrocket, while thimerosal-based vaccines have been used for more than twenty years, argues against a causative link.
People need someone or something to blame for that which they don't understand and which hurts them; mercurial vaccines seem to be the moslem vehicles of the medical world. There's no doubt in my mind that Kennedy's heart is in the right place, and research should still be rigorously applied to the possible link between vaccines and autism, but such strident rhetoric can only deflect from real research into the causes of these disturbing developmental disorders.
After quite a few weeks, and one postponement, I saw my therapist today; 9 am appointment, as usual arrived at 9.30 with an excuse. It was a short session to catch up with a few weeks of being "off schedule". I explained, or excused, myself about the wedding trip and pointed our upcoming trip to Vegas this weekend (we have an old friend staying - we're driving there). Bottom line? Back on schedule next Sunday or we talk about detox. It is a very scary prospect for me.
K. asked me again about how I would feel living without alcohol. Out of the blue I mentioned a few blogger friends (not by name!) who were bipolar. The descriptions I've read from them of being bipolar and off the meds, and the reluctance to go back on the meds seem to mirror so closely what I can only imagine it will be like to live without alcohol. It should be no surprise, after all, addiction and psychological disorders are controlled by the relative levels of certain neurotransmitters (fuck you, Tom Cruise!) It's the sense of loss, the feeling you'll never experience THAT feeling again. But, more than anything, its about being prepared to endure the unendurable lows for those ephemeral highs. Or is it? Let me know, hee hee hee!
Friday, July 15, 2005
Amazing Anonymous was kind enough to ask Fox a set of five questions. My answers and the mandatory instructions are below. I'd be quite happy to ask anyone else who wants to play another five questions.
Instructions.
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying "Interview me." "Blow me" or "Eat me" are not acceptable substitutes.
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different. I'll post the questions in the comments section of this post.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
1. Most important discovery of the last century?
Penicillin.
2. Candy is dandy, but liquor quicker. Which do you prefer, though?
Kandy Kiwi Mousey. Yummy!
3. What do you have in your pockets right now?
The 8 ball. (Don't ask me what that means, I've no idea).
4. 'Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe. All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe. Explain.
I'm going to let Scully handle this one.
"Oh, freakin' great! You couldn't give me the most important discovery question?"
Just thought you'd be familiar with Jabberwockies and Jubjubs, that's all *smiles pathetically*.
"Loser."
5. Who is your favorite Bob?
I'm torn between "yer uncle" and the great Sir Bobby Charlton. But glancing across at the nationality hit counter, it seems pretty unlikely that anyone will know either of them.
Instructions.
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying "Interview me." "Blow me" or "Eat me" are not acceptable substitutes.
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different. I'll post the questions in the comments section of this post.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
1. Most important discovery of the last century?
Penicillin.
2. Candy is dandy, but liquor quicker. Which do you prefer, though?
Kandy Kiwi Mousey. Yummy!
3. What do you have in your pockets right now?
The 8 ball. (Don't ask me what that means, I've no idea).
4. 'Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe. All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe. Explain.
I'm going to let Scully handle this one.
"Oh, freakin' great! You couldn't give me the most important discovery question?"
Just thought you'd be familiar with Jabberwockies and Jubjubs, that's all *smiles pathetically*.
"Loser."
5. Who is your favorite Bob?
I'm torn between "yer uncle" and the great Sir Bobby Charlton. But glancing across at the nationality hit counter, it seems pretty unlikely that anyone will know either of them.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
I'd planned a post about our week in TN, and M and J's wedding.
Somehow I can't do it.
It was a wonderful week though.
To share with two very special young people entering a new life, to enjoy being part of a large, new(ish) family, to sneak out for cigarettes with a whole bunch of new friends.
Priceless.
See what I mean? Blogger's block.
Somehow I can't do it.
It was a wonderful week though.
To share with two very special young people entering a new life, to enjoy being part of a large, new(ish) family, to sneak out for cigarettes with a whole bunch of new friends.
Priceless.
See what I mean? Blogger's block.
Friday, July 01, 2005
We're off to Tennessee tomorrow - family wedding. Back in a week or so, not that that will affect post frequency! Still in the stone age of photography (no digital) but maybe I'll post pics.
Happy Canada Day, Canadians!
Happy Fourth of July, Americans!
Happy, well, just Happy, Spirit Of Owl and any other non-North American visitors!
Happy Canada Day, Canadians!
Happy Fourth of July, Americans!
Happy, well, just Happy, Spirit Of Owl and any other non-North American visitors!
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Well, its 4.30 in the morning, and I can't sleep. I can hear the rats in the roof - they're obviously pissed off they can't come down. I have two posts in mind - one is a Fox Force Five follow up, the other is, well, something else.
Did y'all see the "nationality" hit counter over there on the right? Cool yet retarded, huh? But kinda interesting - I really didn't think so few people visited here. Whatever.
I lied when I said it was 4.30, cos its now 4.22. I just hate this time of the day. It takes away from me any sense of being - its cold when I'm sweating, its smothering when I've thrown off the sheets. Yet it offers the promise of sweet daylight.
Daylight's promise tends to depend on twilight's demise. The more consumed, the deeper the sleep, the shallower the soul. If I were to believe in such things as souls, that is.
I'm going back to bed - and will no doubt delete this later.
Did y'all see the "nationality" hit counter over there on the right? Cool yet retarded, huh? But kinda interesting - I really didn't think so few people visited here. Whatever.
I lied when I said it was 4.30, cos its now 4.22. I just hate this time of the day. It takes away from me any sense of being - its cold when I'm sweating, its smothering when I've thrown off the sheets. Yet it offers the promise of sweet daylight.
Daylight's promise tends to depend on twilight's demise. The more consumed, the deeper the sleep, the shallower the soul. If I were to believe in such things as souls, that is.
I'm going back to bed - and will no doubt delete this later.
Sunday, June 26, 2005
Blogenesis.
"seizethenite writes much better than you" observed S. as she browsed through my bookmarked blogs. I agreed.
"What's your blog about, anyway?" She asked, while reading a now de-posted post about a "Fox" character describing to his imaginary partner a devious scheme to create a mass market for highly profitable anti-depressant drugs in China.
I was going to answer with the well-worn Seinfeldism of it being about nothing, but replied with "Connections, its about interconnectivity" since the post she was reading was connected both to the Foxy theme and to the previous post. So I guess that is what it will be, if it hasn't so far been, about. After all, the site's logo is the molecular structure of dopamine, a neurotransmitter which enables one neuron to connect to the next.
The science blog started life as a means to an end, one not yet reached. It was intended as a forum through which to present pieces of science writing to potential publishers. Suffice to say my career as a science writer is still taxi-ing on the runway. However, if it didn't attain the goal of launching a new career, it did introduce me to the world of blogging. A few bloggers stumbled upon the blog and apparently liked it enough to leave comments, setting in motion the reciprocation/appreciation cycle.
Since my only means of "personal" blogging was through commenting on others' blogs, I decided to start another one and came up with the brilliant idea of a blog composed solely of lists. I labored under the delusion that this was a brilliant idea for a few days, posting my lists of most and least favorites in sport, music, cinema and so on, until I realized it was quite stupid and changed the blog title appropriately. These days I don't pay it much attention, but plan to at least post a list or two every now and then, if only for the one person who graces it (hehehe) by visiting.
After a while I realized that its pretty easy to create a new screen name and blog, and so could blog in a way that would not compromise my career goals. This blog began as a chronicle of my life with alcoholism. Not my "battle against alcoholism" or my "endless struggle with addiction" but more how I was (and am) trying to embrace it and convince it that it needs to moderate itself "a lil". I deleted those early posts, mainly because they were mostly written not only under the influence, but also at some very low points; it defeated the purpose. I think Super Kitty was the only person to see them. So I determined the blog would become more upbeat, focusing on the highs more than the lows.
And so it went. And one day, not so long ago, on a whim, I invented Fox and his foxy blog. It soon became apparent that having three screen names was more trouble than it was worth - leaving comments at others' blogs and having to decide who should be leaving them was just not worth it. So Fox joined Cali and here they are, apparently with an inspired agenda of interconnectiveness in mind.
Oh yeah, I shouldn't forget Pura Vida. This is where the novel that stirs and develops within me will some day find its stage. Until then its an empty blog - not sure which is most stupid.
Ohhh, that post about poor old Fox? I removed it because it was pretty stupid.
But when has that stopped me before?
"Hello, Scully? Look, can you get over to the National Institutes of Health as quickly as possible? I'd like you to find Dr. Riccardo Cerrione at the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, he's an old friend."
"Well it looks like our friends have hatched up a new plan to increase their power base and we'll need Ricco's help in figuring out how to deal with it."
"Yes, I'm pretty certain he's behind it, but apparently he's using a nicorette patch these days."
"Okay, I'll explain. As you know, they've been buying up shares in high profit business sectors for a while now. Well, it looks like they've pretty much got a stranglehold on one of the highest profit sectors."
"Yeah, that's the one. And they're not wasting any time in using it."
"Okay. You may have seen a story on the wire about a new drug which can counter SARS infection."
"Yeah, Cinanserin. Like you say, its curious, but its not coincidental. Seems they've tweaked the SARS genome so that it produces a protease with an active site that accommodates a molecule of Cinanserin. We need Ricco to prove that this strain of SARS has been purposefully genetically engineered, and didn't just arise from random mutation."
"Well, as you know, Cinanserin was first introduced as an anti-schizophrenic. It blocks serotonin neurotransmission by acting as a 5HT-2 receptor antagonist."
"Exactly, just the opposite action of SSRI anti-depressants. Can you imagine the consequences of treating even a fraction of the Chinese population with a drug that may induce severe depression?"
"Well how would you treat it?"
"Exactly! With long term SSRI treatment. Bottom line? There's a SARS outbreak in China and overnight you've got the largest market the world's ever seen for a profitable psychoactive drug. And the Chinese Government pays for it! My source tells me they've already started ramping up production of Prozolaxil about a hundred-fold."
"Okay, great. While you and Ricco get to work on the virus' DNA I'm going to take a trip to Beijing - someone's getting ready to release a virus, and I plan to be there. Call me if you make any progress Scully.
Scully? Scully??"
"What's your blog about, anyway?" She asked, while reading a now de-posted post about a "Fox" character describing to his imaginary partner a devious scheme to create a mass market for highly profitable anti-depressant drugs in China.
I was going to answer with the well-worn Seinfeldism of it being about nothing, but replied with "Connections, its about interconnectivity" since the post she was reading was connected both to the Foxy theme and to the previous post. So I guess that is what it will be, if it hasn't so far been, about. After all, the site's logo is the molecular structure of dopamine, a neurotransmitter which enables one neuron to connect to the next.
The science blog started life as a means to an end, one not yet reached. It was intended as a forum through which to present pieces of science writing to potential publishers. Suffice to say my career as a science writer is still taxi-ing on the runway. However, if it didn't attain the goal of launching a new career, it did introduce me to the world of blogging. A few bloggers stumbled upon the blog and apparently liked it enough to leave comments, setting in motion the reciprocation/appreciation cycle.
Since my only means of "personal" blogging was through commenting on others' blogs, I decided to start another one and came up with the brilliant idea of a blog composed solely of lists. I labored under the delusion that this was a brilliant idea for a few days, posting my lists of most and least favorites in sport, music, cinema and so on, until I realized it was quite stupid and changed the blog title appropriately. These days I don't pay it much attention, but plan to at least post a list or two every now and then, if only for the one person who graces it (hehehe) by visiting.
After a while I realized that its pretty easy to create a new screen name and blog, and so could blog in a way that would not compromise my career goals. This blog began as a chronicle of my life with alcoholism. Not my "battle against alcoholism" or my "endless struggle with addiction" but more how I was (and am) trying to embrace it and convince it that it needs to moderate itself "a lil". I deleted those early posts, mainly because they were mostly written not only under the influence, but also at some very low points; it defeated the purpose. I think Super Kitty was the only person to see them. So I determined the blog would become more upbeat, focusing on the highs more than the lows.
And so it went. And one day, not so long ago, on a whim, I invented Fox and his foxy blog. It soon became apparent that having three screen names was more trouble than it was worth - leaving comments at others' blogs and having to decide who should be leaving them was just not worth it. So Fox joined Cali and here they are, apparently with an inspired agenda of interconnectiveness in mind.
Oh yeah, I shouldn't forget Pura Vida. This is where the novel that stirs and develops within me will some day find its stage. Until then its an empty blog - not sure which is most stupid.
Ohhh, that post about poor old Fox? I removed it because it was pretty stupid.
But when has that stopped me before?
"Hello, Scully? Look, can you get over to the National Institutes of Health as quickly as possible? I'd like you to find Dr. Riccardo Cerrione at the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, he's an old friend."
"Well it looks like our friends have hatched up a new plan to increase their power base and we'll need Ricco's help in figuring out how to deal with it."
"Yes, I'm pretty certain he's behind it, but apparently he's using a nicorette patch these days."
"Okay, I'll explain. As you know, they've been buying up shares in high profit business sectors for a while now. Well, it looks like they've pretty much got a stranglehold on one of the highest profit sectors."
"Yeah, that's the one. And they're not wasting any time in using it."
"Okay. You may have seen a story on the wire about a new drug which can counter SARS infection."
"Yeah, Cinanserin. Like you say, its curious, but its not coincidental. Seems they've tweaked the SARS genome so that it produces a protease with an active site that accommodates a molecule of Cinanserin. We need Ricco to prove that this strain of SARS has been purposefully genetically engineered, and didn't just arise from random mutation."
"Well, as you know, Cinanserin was first introduced as an anti-schizophrenic. It blocks serotonin neurotransmission by acting as a 5HT-2 receptor antagonist."
"Exactly, just the opposite action of SSRI anti-depressants. Can you imagine the consequences of treating even a fraction of the Chinese population with a drug that may induce severe depression?"
"Well how would you treat it?"
"Exactly! With long term SSRI treatment. Bottom line? There's a SARS outbreak in China and overnight you've got the largest market the world's ever seen for a profitable psychoactive drug. And the Chinese Government pays for it! My source tells me they've already started ramping up production of Prozolaxil about a hundred-fold."
"Okay, great. While you and Ricco get to work on the virus' DNA I'm going to take a trip to Beijing - someone's getting ready to release a virus, and I plan to be there. Call me if you make any progress Scully.
Scully? Scully??"
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
After screening a large chemical library, researchers have come up with a drug that may be useful in treating infection by the SARS virus. They found that the drug Cinanserin could inhibit the SARS protease and thereby halt the SARS life cycle in much the same way as HIV protease inhibitors block HIV proliferation. If another outbreak were to start in China, or anywhere else, it's hoped that drugs like this, even if not 100% effective, would be able to stop the outbreak before it becomes epidemic. Curiously, and coincidentally, Cinanserin was first developed as a treatment for schizophrenia, based on its ability to block the neurotransmitter serotonin. In a simple sense it has the opposite effect of the "SSRI" anti-depressants like Prozac and Zoloft. Hopefully with the help of Cinanserin, the people of China will feel secure in being SARS-free.
Really fucking depressed, but SARS-free.
Batman began, came and went. And it totally rocked! Christian Bale was so impressive as Bruce wayne/Batman that its hard to fathom how Keaton, Kilmer and Clooney were ever picked to play the role. Clooney? What the hell were they smoking when they came up with that idea? Cillian ("28 Days Later") Murphy was superbly creepy as Scarecrow and Michael Caine defined the role of Arthur.
Talking of miscasting (the Clooney thing), on getting home, being too boring to go out on a Saturday night, and there being nothing else to watch, we started watching the movie "The Jackal". Now, in contrast to the inspired casting of the original "Day of the Jackal" which I've already referred to, this one featured Bruce ("Yippee-Kai-Yay, M*therf*cker!") Willis as the suave, low-profile, man-of-many-disguises, super-smart Jackal. But, even stranger, Richard Gere played the imprisoned IRA terrorist! Each time he came on screen I couldn't help smiling, then laughing ou loud when he started talking - didn't do much to suspend the tension ...... which was pretty much non-existent anyway.
The soundtrack to this morning's workout on the Precor. Not because you care, but because I can:
"Bela Lugosi's Dead" Bauhaus; "The virginal brides file past his tomb/Strewn with time's dead flowers/Bereft in deadly bloom"
"A New Morning, Changing Weather" The International Noise Conspiracy; "Hey independence, we're playing a little game"
"Gut Feeling" Devo; "I look for sniffy linings, but you're rotten to the core"
"Take It Off" The Donnas; "Stop staring at my D cup....Come on baby just give it up"
"Search and Destroy" Iggy and the Stooges; "Honey I'm the world's Forgotten Boy/The one who's searchin', searchin' to destroy"
"Regaining Unconsciousness" NOFX; "And you still believe this aristocracy gives a fuck about you/They put the mock in democracy and you swallowed every hook/The sad truth is you'd rather follow the school into the net/Cos swimming alone at sea is not the kind of freedom you actually want"
"Columbia" Oasis; "This is peculiar/We don't want to fool ya"
"Commando" The Ramones; "Second rule is be nice to Mommy"
"Alex Chilton" The Replacements; "If he was from Venus, would he meet us, on the moon/If he died in Memphis that'd be cool"
"On Top of your World" Sahara Hotnights; "Once and for all and forever to be"
Really fucking depressed, but SARS-free.
Batman began, came and went. And it totally rocked! Christian Bale was so impressive as Bruce wayne/Batman that its hard to fathom how Keaton, Kilmer and Clooney were ever picked to play the role. Clooney? What the hell were they smoking when they came up with that idea? Cillian ("28 Days Later") Murphy was superbly creepy as Scarecrow and Michael Caine defined the role of Arthur.
Talking of miscasting (the Clooney thing), on getting home, being too boring to go out on a Saturday night, and there being nothing else to watch, we started watching the movie "The Jackal". Now, in contrast to the inspired casting of the original "Day of the Jackal" which I've already referred to, this one featured Bruce ("Yippee-Kai-Yay, M*therf*cker!") Willis as the suave, low-profile, man-of-many-disguises, super-smart Jackal. But, even stranger, Richard Gere played the imprisoned IRA terrorist! Each time he came on screen I couldn't help smiling, then laughing ou loud when he started talking - didn't do much to suspend the tension ...... which was pretty much non-existent anyway.
The soundtrack to this morning's workout on the Precor. Not because you care, but because I can:
"Bela Lugosi's Dead" Bauhaus; "The virginal brides file past his tomb/Strewn with time's dead flowers/Bereft in deadly bloom"
"A New Morning, Changing Weather" The International Noise Conspiracy; "Hey independence, we're playing a little game"
"Gut Feeling" Devo; "I look for sniffy linings, but you're rotten to the core"
"Take It Off" The Donnas; "Stop staring at my D cup....Come on baby just give it up"
"Search and Destroy" Iggy and the Stooges; "Honey I'm the world's Forgotten Boy/The one who's searchin', searchin' to destroy"
"Regaining Unconsciousness" NOFX; "And you still believe this aristocracy gives a fuck about you/They put the mock in democracy and you swallowed every hook/The sad truth is you'd rather follow the school into the net/Cos swimming alone at sea is not the kind of freedom you actually want"
"Columbia" Oasis; "This is peculiar/We don't want to fool ya"
"Commando" The Ramones; "Second rule is be nice to Mommy"
"Alex Chilton" The Replacements; "If he was from Venus, would he meet us, on the moon/If he died in Memphis that'd be cool"
"On Top of your World" Sahara Hotnights; "Once and for all and forever to be"
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Fox Force Five!
Long thought to have been destroyed by jealous husband Marcelus Wallace, the last reel of a legendary TV show was recently discovered collecting dust in the wine cellar of director Jimmie Dimmick's Beverly Hills home. Now, after more than ten years waiting, we bring you the pilot episode of Fox Force Five!
As the Fox Force Five theme, a Bangles cover of "Foxy Lady", plays, the opening credits roll.....
Starring:
Mia Wallace as Raven McCoy. Expertise; knife play, acrobatics
Beatrix Kiddo as Lark Dakota. Expertise; team leader, photographic memory
Go Go Yubari as Suzume Taka. Expertise; martial arts
Vernita Green as Robin Banks. Expertise; demolition
Jaqueline Brun as Michelle Auspree. Expertease; coolness, seduction
And with Bill Caine as "Falconer"
Episode 1. The Pilot.
The Fox Force Five are lounging, bikini-clad, around the pool at their luxurious Malibu beach house. Suddenly a large, two-sided screen emerges from the center of the pool. As the water streams down the shining black surfaces, an image of a man appears on each side of the screen. Perhaps in his late fifties, yet with a youthful glint in his eyes. He reclines in his black leather chair and speaks with a quiet, understated, yet strangely commanding voice.
"Hello Fox Force Five."
"Hello Falconer" reply the Five in unison.
"Fox Force Five, I have a code 1, top priority, maximum security, super secret assignment for you. At oh six hundred hours eastern standard time this morning, a top secret US Air Force prototype Solaris supra-sonic stealth fighter bomber carrying a full complement of short-range, search and destroy, air to surface, laser-guided, nuclear smart missiles and its pilot, Lieutenant Colonel Brock Towers, went missing during a routine training test flight over North Korea. The Vice President just called me to fill me in on the details and instructed me to assign you to the mission ASAP. Our national security depends on you finding and recovering the top secret prototype supra-sonic stealth fighter bomber, the search and destroy, air to ground, laser-guided, smart missiles and Lieutenant Colonel Towers."
"You can rely on us Falconer."
"Lark, as usual, as team leader you will be responsible for making executive decisions in the field and for communicating progress to me. However, since you'll probably be encountering some Koreans along the way, you should make full use of Suzume's experience and language skills."
"Ummm, actually I'm japanese...." Suzume interjects sheepishly.
"Okay, enough talking, Fox Force Five. Let's kick ass!"
In no time at all (quite literally), the Five are headed down Sunset in Lark's Chevy convertible, Lark at the wheel, Raven beside her and Suzume, Robin and Michelle in the back, swaying from side to side as the Chevy lurches around the bends and curves.
"Where are we headed, Lark?" asks Raven.
"I saw a piece in the Times last week about a visiting exhibition of ancient korean art at the Getty. I thought we'd start there. 너 생각한다 무엇이 저 아이디어에 관한 Suzu?" She asks Suzume in fluent korean,
"Japanese!" hisses Suzume through clenched teeth, glaring at the back of Lark's head.
Robin and Michelle stifle their giggles, and to diffuse the situation Robin shouts out,
"Hey, Rave, put some music on!"
Raven turns on the CD player and the speakers burst into life with the Bangles playing a cover of Bikini Kill's "Rebel Girl". Soon all five of them are singing along;
"Rebel Girl, Rebel Girl,
Rebel Girl, you are the queen of my world"
As the music fades and the Chevy winds its way northward toward the Getty Center we cut to commercial.
When we return .......
The United States, North Korea and China at the brink of nuclear war. And Raven tells the tomato joke.
As the Fox Force Five theme, a Bangles cover of "Foxy Lady", plays, the opening credits roll.....
Starring:
Mia Wallace as Raven McCoy. Expertise; knife play, acrobatics
Beatrix Kiddo as Lark Dakota. Expertise; team leader, photographic memory
Go Go Yubari as Suzume Taka. Expertise; martial arts
Vernita Green as Robin Banks. Expertise; demolition
Jaqueline Brun as Michelle Auspree. Expertease; coolness, seduction
And with Bill Caine as "Falconer"
Episode 1. The Pilot.
The Fox Force Five are lounging, bikini-clad, around the pool at their luxurious Malibu beach house. Suddenly a large, two-sided screen emerges from the center of the pool. As the water streams down the shining black surfaces, an image of a man appears on each side of the screen. Perhaps in his late fifties, yet with a youthful glint in his eyes. He reclines in his black leather chair and speaks with a quiet, understated, yet strangely commanding voice.
"Hello Fox Force Five."
"Hello Falconer" reply the Five in unison.
"Fox Force Five, I have a code 1, top priority, maximum security, super secret assignment for you. At oh six hundred hours eastern standard time this morning, a top secret US Air Force prototype Solaris supra-sonic stealth fighter bomber carrying a full complement of short-range, search and destroy, air to surface, laser-guided, nuclear smart missiles and its pilot, Lieutenant Colonel Brock Towers, went missing during a routine training test flight over North Korea. The Vice President just called me to fill me in on the details and instructed me to assign you to the mission ASAP. Our national security depends on you finding and recovering the top secret prototype supra-sonic stealth fighter bomber, the search and destroy, air to ground, laser-guided, smart missiles and Lieutenant Colonel Towers."
"You can rely on us Falconer."
"Lark, as usual, as team leader you will be responsible for making executive decisions in the field and for communicating progress to me. However, since you'll probably be encountering some Koreans along the way, you should make full use of Suzume's experience and language skills."
"Ummm, actually I'm japanese...." Suzume interjects sheepishly.
"Okay, enough talking, Fox Force Five. Let's kick ass!"
In no time at all (quite literally), the Five are headed down Sunset in Lark's Chevy convertible, Lark at the wheel, Raven beside her and Suzume, Robin and Michelle in the back, swaying from side to side as the Chevy lurches around the bends and curves.
"Where are we headed, Lark?" asks Raven.
"I saw a piece in the Times last week about a visiting exhibition of ancient korean art at the Getty. I thought we'd start there. 너 생각한다 무엇이 저 아이디어에 관한 Suzu?" She asks Suzume in fluent korean,
"Japanese!" hisses Suzume through clenched teeth, glaring at the back of Lark's head.
Robin and Michelle stifle their giggles, and to diffuse the situation Robin shouts out,
"Hey, Rave, put some music on!"
Raven turns on the CD player and the speakers burst into life with the Bangles playing a cover of Bikini Kill's "Rebel Girl". Soon all five of them are singing along;
"Rebel Girl, Rebel Girl,
Rebel Girl, you are the queen of my world"
As the music fades and the Chevy winds its way northward toward the Getty Center we cut to commercial.
When we return .......
The United States, North Korea and China at the brink of nuclear war. And Raven tells the tomato joke.
Monday, June 13, 2005
I drink therefore I am.
What philosophy do you follow? (v1.03) created with QuizFarm.com |
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Hire Me ....... Please!
Cali: "Man, reality TV reached a new low last night. I mean, admittedly I've been pretty picky about trying to get a job, and I probably could have tried harder to get one, but there have been many jobs I was perfectly qualified for, yet didn't get. To watch a bunch of jerks being given a job and then trying to fired on their first day to win $25,000 makes me pretty sick. There must be a hell of a lot of people out there who need jobs much more than I do - how the hell must they feel if they watch this crap?"
Fox: "Hopefully 'Fire me - please.' will bomb in the ratings and the m*therf*cker who came up with the idea, the asshole who produced it and that total dickhead of a presenter will all get their sorry asses FIRED. That would be sweet justice indeed, my friend. Though primetime redeemed itself a little with the Brad Pitt interview on ABC afterwards. I mean, Diane Sawyer was her usual sugary self, but Pitt really came across as a cool guy - someone who really means what he says about issues and cares enough to follow through on it."
Cali: "Yeah, he's a good guy - you know he did a guest appearance here before you joined us."
Fox: "Get outta here - really? Did he say any more about Angelina than he did to Diane?"
Cali: "Wouldn't stop talking about her. He was saying that during the filming of the movie they used to ......"
Angelina: "Hello boys."
Cali: "Oh shit, ummm, I mean hello Ms. Jolie, how are you? What brings you here?"
Angelina: "Brad sent me, said you were looking for someone to comment-whore for you."
Cali: "I thought he was sending Clooney - I mean, not that we'd rather have Clooney here ...."
Fox: "We were just talking about the great job that you and Brad were doing helping out in Africa and all that."
Angelina: "Thanks boys, now you'll stick to that topic, right?"
Foxycali: "Yes Ms. Jolie!"
Angelina: "Good. Now I have to get going, we're shooting a remake of Fox Force Five and I'm playing Raven. I'll see you later boys."
Foxycali: "Okay Ms. Jolie - may we call you Angelina? No, okay - that's fine, can't wait for the movie - who's playing Lark?"
Angelina: "Can't tell you boys, watch the original and maybe you'll get a clue."
Fox: "Hopefully 'Fire me - please.' will bomb in the ratings and the m*therf*cker who came up with the idea, the asshole who produced it and that total dickhead of a presenter will all get their sorry asses FIRED. That would be sweet justice indeed, my friend. Though primetime redeemed itself a little with the Brad Pitt interview on ABC afterwards. I mean, Diane Sawyer was her usual sugary self, but Pitt really came across as a cool guy - someone who really means what he says about issues and cares enough to follow through on it."
Cali: "Yeah, he's a good guy - you know he did a guest appearance here before you joined us."
Fox: "Get outta here - really? Did he say any more about Angelina than he did to Diane?"
Cali: "Wouldn't stop talking about her. He was saying that during the filming of the movie they used to ......"
Angelina: "Hello boys."
Cali: "Oh shit, ummm, I mean hello Ms. Jolie, how are you? What brings you here?"
Angelina: "Brad sent me, said you were looking for someone to comment-whore for you."
Cali: "I thought he was sending Clooney - I mean, not that we'd rather have Clooney here ...."
Fox: "We were just talking about the great job that you and Brad were doing helping out in Africa and all that."
Angelina: "Thanks boys, now you'll stick to that topic, right?"
Foxycali: "Yes Ms. Jolie!"
Angelina: "Good. Now I have to get going, we're shooting a remake of Fox Force Five and I'm playing Raven. I'll see you later boys."
Foxycali: "Okay Ms. Jolie - may we call you Angelina? No, okay - that's fine, can't wait for the movie - who's playing Lark?"
Angelina: "Can't tell you boys, watch the original and maybe you'll get a clue."
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Introducing Fox.
"Look Vivica, duckies! Quack, quack!"
"Hmmm, nice."
"And over there Vivica a giraffe! See how long his neck is!"
"Yep, long, nice."
"And look Vivica, a fox!"
"Whoa, get her freakin' autograph! She totally rocked in Kill Bill!"
Okay, you thought that was bad? Fox and Cali decided to join blogs - this is just an example of what you're gonna get! Just wait til you hear the Fox Force Five tomato family joke - again.
Of course I managed to delete all my links while introducing fox.
"Hmmm, nice."
"And over there Vivica a giraffe! See how long his neck is!"
"Yep, long, nice."
"And look Vivica, a fox!"
"Whoa, get her freakin' autograph! She totally rocked in Kill Bill!"
Okay, you thought that was bad? Fox and Cali decided to join blogs - this is just an example of what you're gonna get! Just wait til you hear the Fox Force Five tomato family joke - again.
Of course I managed to delete all my links while introducing fox.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
I really should be posting something, but i don't really have anything, so i guess this will be one of those rambling, pointless posts that so many of y'all sometimes post (ohhh - just kidding).
Saw Star Wars Ep. III yesterday. I'm not really a big Star Wars fan, but everyone (well, except NYPinTA) seemed to really like it. I was surprised how much i enjoyed it, and gratified that i'd been filled in on Anakin's "I shouldn't have killed an unarmed man" line by Trina - i think i would have missed it. Having not seen I or II, I couldn't quite get why Obi Wan and Natalie Portman's character (hey, its not like she had an easy-to-remember name like Molly) saw so much in Anakin, who came across to me like a complete dickhead, even before he crossed over. And can someone answer this? If Obi Wan had finished off the job, instead of leaving him to be rebuilt as Vader, would Harrison Ford have been offered the role of Indiana Jones?
Since I have one of those Blockbuster All You Can Watch, Two At A Time deals for a month while its cheap, we followed light SciFi with light RomCom (I don't know if that's an accepted abb. and it turned out to be not as light as i thought it'd be) with Garden State. The second half of the movie and Natalie Portman's great performance as Sam (See? Now that's easy to remember) won me over, despite some pretty lame scenes in the first half. The one thing that kept holding me back from really liking it though, was the soundtrack which sucked except for Zero 7's wonderful "In The Waiting Line" and the Thievery Corp song. If you're gonna make a soundtrack so prominent (and it was), pick some good songs, not songs from artists you think will be seen as cool. There again, I'm not the target audience - oh well.
Whenever y'all get the chance, go check out the Complimenting Commenter, its a very cool idea. Leave him a compliment and maybe he'll visit you and leave one for you. And talking of blogs, I started another one the other day (different screen name). As it is I barely manage to maintain this one, the science one and the stupid list one that i think only one person reads. How stupid am I?
Okay, I've fulfilled my posting duties on this blog, now off to the science blog edit page. Hey, I did warn you I didn't have anything, didn't I? What do you want - a refund?
Saw Star Wars Ep. III yesterday. I'm not really a big Star Wars fan, but everyone (well, except NYPinTA) seemed to really like it. I was surprised how much i enjoyed it, and gratified that i'd been filled in on Anakin's "I shouldn't have killed an unarmed man" line by Trina - i think i would have missed it. Having not seen I or II, I couldn't quite get why Obi Wan and Natalie Portman's character (hey, its not like she had an easy-to-remember name like Molly) saw so much in Anakin, who came across to me like a complete dickhead, even before he crossed over. And can someone answer this? If Obi Wan had finished off the job, instead of leaving him to be rebuilt as Vader, would Harrison Ford have been offered the role of Indiana Jones?
Since I have one of those Blockbuster All You Can Watch, Two At A Time deals for a month while its cheap, we followed light SciFi with light RomCom (I don't know if that's an accepted abb. and it turned out to be not as light as i thought it'd be) with Garden State. The second half of the movie and Natalie Portman's great performance as Sam (See? Now that's easy to remember) won me over, despite some pretty lame scenes in the first half. The one thing that kept holding me back from really liking it though, was the soundtrack which sucked except for Zero 7's wonderful "In The Waiting Line" and the Thievery Corp song. If you're gonna make a soundtrack so prominent (and it was), pick some good songs, not songs from artists you think will be seen as cool. There again, I'm not the target audience - oh well.
Whenever y'all get the chance, go check out the Complimenting Commenter, its a very cool idea. Leave him a compliment and maybe he'll visit you and leave one for you. And talking of blogs, I started another one the other day (different screen name). As it is I barely manage to maintain this one, the science one and the stupid list one that i think only one person reads. How stupid am I?
Okay, I've fulfilled my posting duties on this blog, now off to the science blog edit page. Hey, I did warn you I didn't have anything, didn't I? What do you want - a refund?
Friday, May 20, 2005
This post brought to you by Tanqueray.
Steve: "Dude, the babbling brook that was your comments box has dried up into a trickle since last weekend."
Cali: "Yeah, I thought I saw a comment on your blog the other day, it turned out to be a mirage. Looking back at previous comment boxes its easy to see why. Lets just hope NYP doesn't decide to go off-line too."
Steve: "How about asking Brad Pitt to do another guest post appearance to pick up the flow?"
Cali: "Uh, uh, last time he was here he was all Angelina this, Angelina that, and if you mention anything about her exes he goes all Tyler Durden on you. Nope, not Brad. Besides, this isn't a popularity contest for me - its really no big deal."
Steve: "Yeah, I feel the same way - strange how we always seem to do that, huh? But maybe I should spice up the science blog - maybe the science behind the female orgasm, that's in the news these days, y'know, coming attractions."
Cali: "Dude, stay true to the science, after all what's our logo?"
Steve: "Yeah, point taken. Can you believe some bloggers actually get sponsorship for their blogs?"
Cali: "No way! Besides, who'd I ever get to sponsor a post here?"
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