Friday, August 03, 2012

Friday Jukeboox: Back in the USSR Edition!

Yes, I know - you're damn sick and tired of The Civil Wars.Well, I'm not, and it's my blog. Deal with it.
The thing is, what I really wanted to put in here was an old song from the Seventies called Brown Shoes by someone called Karen Alexander.
I ran across this song purely by chance - hell, it was the Seventies, and since the alternative was Donna Summer my musical taste at the time ran more to Brit techno-pop and/or American jazz - and loved it both for the catchy hook and the lyrics:
"When I was just a little bitty girl
I had a little bitty pair of shoes;
they were brown and ugly but I knew just what to do.
Well I shined 'em in the morning, I polished 'em bright.
When nobody was lookin' we danced into the night.
We danced to marching music and we danced to the blues
Oh, Lord, help the poor man that I love more than those shoes.

When I was just a little bitty girl
I had a little bitty mouse;
made him a little swimming pool and a big two-story house.
I fed him on chocolates, on tiny leaves of grass,
I kept him in my pocket, I took him into class;
I took him everywhere with me in my old seer sucker blouse.
Oh, Lord help the poor man that I love more than that mouse.

Oh, Lord, ya better warn him, I been training all my life
Been rehearsin', about to verse him
gonna feed him eggs and waffles, gonna love him up real awful
I'll shave him in the morning oh, so good...
I'm the terror of the neighborhood.

When I was just a little bitty girl, I had a little bitty god;
made a velvet temple with a silver lightning rod.
In momma's costume jewelry, I danced before the muse.
I whispered prayers and ecstasy right into his ears
I was a high flyin' temple dancer, those long scarves of chiffon...
oh, Lord help the poor man that I love more than that god.

Oh, Lord help the poor man, because I know I'm gonna sing the blues
Oh, Lord help the poor man that I love more than those shoes."
Turns out that Alexander was a truly odd story; an American expat married to an Iranian about the time of the Revolution on 1979; cut two vinyl albums and then...nothing.

The woman also lived here in Portland, so there's a local connection. I sure wish I could find you that song; it's a treat.

But there's nothing for me to post. The output of the woman's imagination is preserved only on the hissing tracks of a vanishing medium. No YouTube, no audio track, nothing.

And the title of this post?

Because I've been out and about all over Oregon this past week and it's time for me to go home and see my family again, and wake up in my own bed for a change.

Monday, July 30, 2012

Hush-a-boom

Fascinating little website on the history of Soviet atomic weapons.
The Soviet experiment is kind of intriguing and mostly appalling.

It's difficult for an American of 2012 - whose nation is only now beginning to exhume some of the worst aspects of one of the worst periods of governance and social economy (for those of us not in the two-yacht families) in its history - to really understand how for its entire fucking history the polity that is Russia and was the USSR does not have, and never has had, anything remotely approaching a political and economic system that had the sort of responsiveness and approachability that we associate with our own, as corrupt and ridiculous as it is.

Pre-Soviet Russia was an autocracy typified by a vast and brutal clumsiness. When the Soviets overthrew the czar, sadly, they adopted many of the czarist ways. When the Soviets fell they retained much of their economic crudity while devolving back into czarist kleptocracy.

What this has tended to produce is a society and a nation where - though many people have lived decent lives in decent circumstances (as in any society) - the sort of brute-force solutions that often were and are the Russian style can make things very bad for very many very suddenly.
You could extrapolate a lot from the picture at the top; a land that produced a nuclear weapon held together with rivets and assembled by men whose lives came straight out of a novel by Gogol.

(h/t to Lawyers, Guns, and Money that posted this link today)

Dynasty

Thinking back at this month's posts, the thing I note is that I didn't talk one - not once - about this year's Tour de France.
And it wasn't because I didn't watch, or didn't enjoy, this year's Tour. Both Mojo and I are "Tour fans"; that is, while we sorta-kinda follow the sport the rest of the year, we only really get the fever around late May. Watching the Tour is a morning/evening ritual at the Fire Direction Center, and what's kinda of nice is that our kiddos are getting the fever a bit, as well.

This year we all started out sort of hoping that Cadel Evans would do well, perhaps even repeat his win of 2011. When it became clear sometime in the middle of the second week of racing that 1) Cadel just didn't have it, and 2) Bradley Wiggins and the monster that is Team SKY were going to roll over everyone we fell apart, each developing our own favorites. The kids fastened on to Vincenzo Nibali because we had nicknamed him "Nibbles" in the first week and they loved the image of this lean Italian as a little mouse on a bike.
Mojo just enjoyed the racing and the incredible power of the British cyclists. Think back - how many times has a team come to the Tour with two riders who could easily have won the general classification? I'll be intrigued to see what happens with Chris Froome this winter.
I turned to following van Garteren, the young man from BMC who ended up winning the young rider white. He looks like a hell of a promising guy, and perhaps he will turn out to be the Luke Skywalker that brings a new hope to Team BMC next year.

This year's Tour was the story of a team, and a rider, that were head-and-shoulders better than everyone around them.
Sports - hell, history itself - is often a tale about powerful groups or individuals. Us hairless monkeys like power, strength, and so we tend to go all that about those "great dynasties" from the safe distance of our armchairs.
But I think that we forget that drama tends to come from great rivalries, from tense encounters between opponents of nearly equal ability and strength. The great dynasties of history tend to make quick and boringly brutal work of their enemies. It must not have been a whole lot of fun to be, say, a 1st Century AD German warrior. Sure, every so often you get a Teutoburg Forest or two. But usually it's the same old-same old; meet Roman troops, get ass waxed, wash, rinse, repeat for about three centuries.
Every time you hefted the ol' spear and shield there must have been the thought, well, shit, this is gonna suck.
Great teams and great individuals tend to do that to their opponents.

This year it was SKY and Wiggins who put Britain on the podium in the sort of casually brutal way that those great powers do.
Next year? Perhaps not; unlike Rome, cycling teams tend to be quicksilver, and the tension between Wiggins and Froome is almost certain to explode this SKY team very soon.

As always, this year's Tour was a great spectacle, a great athletic event, and a great human story. We enjoyed the hell out of it, warts (doping) and all. Vive le Tour!
But this year the drama was all about the dominance rather than the rivalry. All about the greatness rather than the tension. This year it was Britons first, the rest nowhere.

Saturday, July 28, 2012

Geeks bearing gifts

I sort of bumped into this by accident, but the discussion is kind of fascinating. It's about the whole question of "what is geekiness, and who gets to decide?"

Let me start by nailing up my qualifications.

I was a sort of geeky nerd dork in high school and college.
I was fairly introverted until my sophomore year in college, had a decent but very limited set of social skills, and was clueless as to the value of physical exercise and sports in general not so much as a path to mens sane in corpore sano but as a route to wider social skills and adulthood in general.

I was a geek in the John Scalzi sense; I was a deeply immersed fan of militaria and tabletop wargaming (at a time when war in general - this was the Seventies, remember - and gaming were both in deep cover). I was a comic fan and cartoonist, and a science-fiction freak at a time when both genres are still pretty much outside the mainstream.

I got decent grades (without throating, though - I was stunned to find out that you actually had to WORK hard to get decent grades in college, and my GPA reflected that).

I loved women (hmmm...still do. Must be something to think about there) but between my social ineptitude and intellectual immaturity was unable to do much more than fantasize about having female friends, much less an actual "girlfriend".

And in that I'm sure I was in a hell of a lot of company.

So one the Scalzi Scale I was, oh, probably about 64% geek, 5% nerd, and 31% dork.

But I grew up, and out of my awkwardness. Found that my passions had worked their way into the mainstream. Figured out how to talk to women not as life support systems for vaginae (vaginas? What the hell is plural of "vagina" and does anyone every have the occasion to use it?) but as people, and found out that they're often - not always; it's kind of shocking that for as nice an example of structural design a woman can be as compared to us hairy Y-chromosome type how they can be just as big a jerk as we can be - fascinating as people. People in the have-interesting-ideas-about-things sense and in the enjoyable-as-companions sense.
I even found a woman (well, women, actually, but no more than one at a time; I am not from Havana!) who I liked and liked me enough to form a long term relationship with.

And that was nice.

But in some ways, I'm still that geeknerddork.
I still enjoy wargaming, which is something that I fortunately share with my son. I am an uncloseted science-fiction fan, which is something that I fortunately share with my wife.

But...I'm NOT a big enough geek to go to comic or sci-fi conventions without feeling horribly self-conscious about it, though.
If I were, though, and if I ran into the "booth babes" that this character "Joe Peacock" ran into in San Diego I would a) probably react with a mild sort of "gee...I sure hope she doesn't feel silly having to dress up like that to make a living..." and b) simply enjoy the pretty lady's pretty prettiness.

But, then, I wouldn't be "Joe Peacock".
(Is it me, or does that sound like the name of some guy playing one of the non-non-fucking roles in one of those softcore (i.e. non-fucking) porn films? [Have you ever seen one of those things? They tend to turn up on some of the weaker cable channels, places like Showtime. There's never any actual, y'know, sex - or, for that matter, any actual male or female junk visible - but the lead actors get naked and rub their junk-areas together and moan a lot.]
Perhaps the most classic of the genre is something called "Tarzeena; Jiggle In The Jungle" and should you care you can say I said so. Hell, the scene in which the mad doctor bursts into the prison-break scene and instructs the actor in the mind-controlled-Tabonga-the-gorilla costume to "Kill them all before they escape! And make sure you do a good job; nobody appreciates sloppy work!" alone is worth the price of admission.)
Anyway, this Peacock - sorry, I promise to try and not giggle the next time I say that - guy is all pissy about these pretty costumed ladies because, apparently, they're not there to be all geeky at all!
Now, like I said, I just don't have the stones (or the obsessive level of fandom) to go to a comic convention dressed up like Batman, or a 501st Legion trooper from Star Wars, or Erwin Rommel, forchrissakes.

But I understand that some of us sometimes have to let that Inner Geek go wild. And that some of us are sometimes women(like the gal at the link - she's fun, and funny, and her site is well worth the visit, trust me). And that some of those women like to go wild with the costumes at the conventions.
(The image below is one of Amy Mebberson's "Pocket Princess" cartoons, BTW, and as a Disney-movie-raised-kid and a lover of all things adorable they just tickle the ass offa me. I've GOT to show them to Missy, the princess-lover...)
And, frankly, that's fine. The world's too big to get all inquisitorial about what other people do with their time, their money, or themselves.

But apparently this isn't OK with this Peacock...okay, OKAY, I said it'd try, I didn't say I wouldn't giggle...guy unless they're TRUE geek-girls. The dress-up-booth-babes apparently offend geek-boys because they're there to...tease them, or something. They're not "real", meaning, I can only suppose, that the fact they're there somehow...cheapens? Degrades? Mocks? the true spirit of uber-geekiness that this Peacock (snort! SORRY!) dude and his fellow genuine-geeks represent.

Anyway, all of this got me thinking about the genuine but bizarrely human...need, is all I can come up with, to find some reason for slagging off on other people for things that those people do that do no material harm - neither break the leg nor pick the pocket - of the slagger-offer. Sometimes it's harmless, like Joe Peacock (mmmrphmsnert! I give up...) ripping on women he doesn't approve of.

Sometimes, it's not.

Sometimes it's about preventing lovers from ever being together in public. Sometimes it's about "slut-shaming" other lovers, or witch-hunts for imaginary religious enemies, or finding reasons for afflicting the "undeserving" afflicted, or hating on and bullying people who don't have the ability to successfully fight back.

But trivial or malign, it's beyond just a crime. It's a mistake.

Because I'm convinced that the sort of person who can spout this sort of self-justifying inanity is the sort of person who can be persuaded to acquiesce and eventually participate in, first, injustice and then, perhaps, even cruelty. OR atrocity.

Because first they came for the cosplayers...
Anyway, I can't say it better than Scalzi, so I won't try:
So what if her geekiness is not your own? So what if she isn’t into the geek life as deeply as you believe you are, or that you think she should be? So what if she doesn’t have a geek love of the things you have a geek love for? Is the appropriate response to those facts to call her gross, and a poacher, and maintain that she’s only in it to be slavered over by dudes who (in your unwarranted condescension) you judge to be not nearly as enlightened to the ways of geek women as you? Or would a more appropriate response be to say “great costume,” and maybe welcome her into the parts of geekdom that you love, so that she might possibly grow to love them too? What do you gain from complaining about her fakey fake fakeness, except a momentary and entirely erroneous feeling of geek superiority, coupled with a permanent record of your sexism against women who you don’t see being the right kind of geek?

These are your choices. Although actually there’s a third choice: Just let her be to do her thing. Because here’s a funny fact: Her geekdom is not about you. At all. It’s about her.

Geekdom is personal. Geekdom varies from person to person. There are as many ways to be a geek as there are people who love a thing and love sharing that thing with others. You don’t get to define their geekdom. They don’t get to define yours. What you can do is share your expression of geekdom with others. Maybe they will get you, and maybe they won’t. If they do, great. If they don’t, that’s their problem and not yours.

Be your own geek. Love what you love. Share it with anyone who will listen.

One other thing: There is no Speaker for the Geeks. Not Joe Peacock, not me, not anyone. If anyone tells you that there’s a right way to be a geek, or that someone else is not a geek, or shouldn’t be seen as a geek — or that you are not a geek — you can tell them to fuck right off. They don’t get a vote on your geekdom. Go cosplay, or play filk, or read that Doctor Who novel or whatever it is you want to do. Geekdom is flat. There is no hierarchy. There is no leveling up required, or secret handshake, or entrance examination. There’s just you.

Anyone can be a geek. Any way they want to. That means you too. Whoever you are.
Are we good? Great, because you gotta excuse me; my son has got my 3rd Guards Tank Army caught in a hell of a pincer and I've gotta get some Sturmoviks airborne, and quick.
Ni shagu nazad!, damn it, boy...

Friday, July 27, 2012

Friday Jukebox II: Massacre Boogaloo Edition

More bloody doin's, this time with a score from the Seventies hair band "Sweet";Don't know why, because I'm not a particular fan of the man's work in general, but I get a chuckle out of the ridiculously over-the-top gorefest called "Kill Bill".

And the song is a hookily brilliant piece of power pop. I was all of sixteen when this turned up on FM radio, and I remember jumping around shrieking along to the chorus like a manic suburban white boy.

Have a terrific Friday.

Friday Jukebox: Heathen Massacre Edition

Well, the guy WAS a Sith Lord, after all...Kinda fascinating, the bizarre horrors concealed in the deeps of history.

(h/t to Ed at Gin & Tacos for this oddity. "Zen moment", indeed..."

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Hot fun in the summertime


Here's the soundtrack for this one, by the way...)

[five six seven eight...]

All: End of the spring and here she comes back
Hi Hi Hi Hi there
Them summer days, those summer days
That's when I had most of my fun, back
Hi hi hi hi there
Them summer days, those summer days
Rose: I "cloud nine" when I want to
Freddie: Out of school, yeah
Larry: County fair in the country sun
Sly: And everything, it's true, ooh yeah
All: Hot fun in the summertime
Hot fun in the summertime
Hot fun in the summertime
Hot fun in the summertime...

(Just a couple of notes:

The eighth picture down (after Freddie sings "Out of school, yeah) is the great little soccer bar on Hawthorne 442. My friend Janelle and I went to watch the Timbers' awful debacle at Dallas (see the "Nibbled by Goats..." post down the feed) and met the couple on the far left of the picture. They were young teachers, moving to Idaho for their new jobs and getting married this fall, and were just ridiculously and painfully adorable.)

Two pictures below that is the truck cab on the way to work on a hot summer day, with everything I need to make things happen; phone, camera, notebook, lunch, vis-vest, reading glasses, novel (for the down times), coffee.

And I think the rest pretty much speak for themselves. How's your summer going...?)