Drugs

Drugs, and lots of them. Whacking great quantities of mind-expanding and mind-croggling chemical treats. Monster Scarface-style piles of snowy uncut columbian cocaine on the desk. A cut-crystal bowl full of pills, in all the colours of the rainbow. Monster doses of dimethyltryptamine and d-lysergic acid diethylamide to make my mind ripple and flap like a flag flying in the breath of god. Musty peyote buttons and foil-wrapped grams of psilocybin mushrooms. Opium to smoke and heroin to snort. Alcoholic beverages in all their gem-like hues. Sweet stinky tobacco and marijuana, dark brown hashish in both chunks and oil. Mescaline and methamphetamines. That’s what I want.

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I feel the urge to clear the carbon out of the valves, dust off the mental cobwebs. I feel the urge to self-trepanate, sprinkle lighter fluid on the exposed ridges and folds of my cerebral cortex, and light ‘er up. I feel like slipping the surly bonds of earth and touching the cruel, elusive face of god, that old bastard.
But I won’t, because I’m a responsible member of society. I’ll just write a little weblog post about it instead, and hit the button clearly marked ‘SAVE’.

The Tension

It’s all about the hopeful hymn-humming tension between the Two Things, life is, so often. Suspension, floating as long as possible, in that sweet gravitationally anomalous spot between bum and wage slave, between drunkard and saint, between drop-out and rebel, between breather-of-mountain-air and dead-eyed technophile. ‘Course, it may just seem that way after a couple of beers. f–ked if I know.
See, I’ve been a geek, biting the heads off digital chickens, from way back when. I’d spend endless hours at the age of 14 or so, back in 1980, tweaking the math and the BASIC code to make prettier shimmering patterns on the 147×47 pixel black and white monitor of my TRS-80 Model III. Only 16K RAM and 16K ROM on that sucker, with a tape drive for saving my handiwork, a tape deck that I played audio on – Life of Brian taped by leaning it up against the speaker on my little B&W TV and pressing the Play and Record buttons at the same time and being very very quiet – while trying to figure out by trial and error how subroutines were supposed to work. Hours, days, weeks alone upstairs in my lair, hunched over, in the dark.
I hated that machine and loved it in equal measure. It captivated me, hypnotised me. Red-eyed monomania, as the hours died overhead and dropped their dust in my hair. It almost ate my life, that f–king machine, before I discovered booze and women and dancing on the beach with a bottle in my hand and a song in my throat. Before the world opened its legs to me.
The monster is back, and it’s trying to eat my soul this time. I don’t quite know what to do about that.

Good Guy/Bad Guy

This is related to this Metafilter thread I started last week, which had some interesting commentary from US Army personnel past and present, and may be worth reading, if you are interested.

In a small, plain office over a downtown Seoul grocery, eight young men hunch over a bank of computers. They aren’t writing software or playing video games. This is a command center for protest against American soldiers in Korea. Everyone wears a black ribbon that reads “US troops withdraw.”
The group – one of dozens like it – sprang up after a US armored vehicle accidentally killed two Korean girls walking along a country road in June. The incident continues to galvanize anti-American feeling across the country. Members canvas neighborhoods, run e-mail campaigns detailing American soldiers’ alleged crimes, and help organize a permanent silent vigil outside the presidential palace.
“We are like a military operation” says their leader, known only as Mr. Kim. “US troops here are a mistake of history and we won’t be one country until they leave; 9/11 is not our problem.”
Most Americans believe they are making a sacrifice – stationing 38,000 soldiers here – to defend South Koreans against possible Communist attack. Most ordinary Koreans, however, believe the US troops are actually here to promote American interests, opinion polls show. And “since 9/11, a strange but virulent anti-Americanism has gripped South Korea,” notes one expatriate American who works at a US company in Seoul.
….
“It may be difficult for us to sustain the same mood we grew up with,” says one older Korean diplomat who served in Washington. “We know the US helped us. But those under 40 … aren’t swayed by what we think. Their human nature is anti-US.”
[more…]

I reproduce the post here, for your linking-following pleasure, and also to satisfy my own mental-packrat tendencies as senile dementia creeps up on me. Please note that it is not as ranty as those who frequent the ‘bottle may have come to expect – agenda-driven rant-posts at Metafilter are a good way to get a swift kick in the virtual mothras, and that just ain’t no fun, friends and neighbours.

A blip on the radar, or a sign of shifting opinions? Can recent events in the Republic of Korea be taken as an indication that the special relationship between the US and South Korea is changing, and that public sentiment amongst Koreans is turning against America?
There’s always been some friction between US Forces and the locals, what with the 37000 US troops that have been stationed here for decades, protecting against the threat of invasion from North Korea. In the wake of Bush’s ‘axis of evil’ speech, which came at a time when the sunshine policy of Kim Dae Jung (the South’s president, outgoing in December, who won the Nobel peace Prize in 2000 for his efforts) was seeing tangible sucesses, and at a time when new revelations about the ‘My Lai of the Korean War’, No Gun Ri, were coming to light, many Koreans began to think the Americans were less interested in peace than in finding a reason to keep those 37000 troops in place. When Kim visited Bush in 2001, apparently in hopes that the rhetoric could be toned down, he was reportedly given the cold shoulder.
There have been a long series of incidents – hit-and-runs, murders, rapes [Warning : Graphic and disturbing image of rape victim, halfway down page.] – involving US soldiers and Korean nationals over the years. Some would say it comes with the territory. But recently, sentiment turned sharply negative when two 12-year old girls were run down and literally flattened by a US minesweeper during training exercises, an accident in which the USFK admitted it was negligent. This week, there was an altercation between 3 US soldiers, three Korean students handing out leaflets while on their way to a rally (or memorial service – reports vary) to commemorate the dead girls, and one 65-year old lawmaker (who was imprisoned and subsequently released in the late 90’s for visiting North Korea) with them. It’s still unclear what really happened, but tensions are high, and some foreigners I know here are concerned about being caught up in similar events.
This week has also seen Japanese PM Koizumi visit Pyongyang, opening up the possibility of diplomatic relations between Japan and North Korea for the first time. North Korea has admitted (recently discussed on MeFi) that it kidnapped Japanese citizens, and has announced it will allow IAEA nuclear inspectors into the country. The fifth reunion between families separated by the Korean War half a century ago (which was never formally declared over) has taken place, and plans are afoot to build a permanent reunion facility. The DMZ has been opened to South Korean minesweeping troops, and rail and road links should be re-established by Christmas.
This latest is perhaps the most important : although no one is speaking in anything but hushed tones of reunification yet, the possibility of an uninterrupted rail link from Japan and Korea through China and Russia to Europe has massive dollar signs floating in the eyes of all concerned.
Koizumi has made a personally risky but successful move towards rapprochement in the region, and the Bush administration, for the moment, has been left on the sidelines. Although Japan is still disliked by many Koreans thanks to decades of brutal colonial rule and unresolved matters like the ‘comfort women’ – tens of thousands of Korean women kidnapped and forced into sex slavery during WWII by the Japanese army – it is the role of the Bush administration in their affairs that many Koreans are beginning to resent more actively. It would be unfortunate for the last of the goodwill to drain away [u:metafilter12, p:metafilter123] unremarked and the opportunity for peace in the region to be lost, but with Bush’s current focus on oil-wars, it appears that this may indeed be the result.

Shambling

So I’m shambling home after my last class of the day, 9 pm and the hole-in-the-wall factories I thread my way through a couple of times a day on the way to and from the train station are still in full voice, clattering and clanging, eating the souls of the indentured slaves migrant workers inside. Past a couple of the reekier smokepots, the ones that perenially smell of burning plastic, I hold my breath, imagining polyps growing on my lungs, sprouting in quicktime like those sexually arousing stop-motion films of flowers budding they showed us in high school biology. Always gave me a little wood, those films. ‘Course, most things did.
I remember when I was in my twenties, I’d breathe deep of stenches like that, savouring the chemical tang, showing off my misplaced confidence that I was going to live forever, ridiculing my meeker comrades for holding their breath. I was such an asshole.
So, anyway, I’m walking down this filthy alley, warily circling the horizontal metal rod that I’d walked smack bang into this morning (the black eye? no I really did walk into something!) while dreaming of a villa I’ve found on Koh Samui and how I’m gonna raise the deposit to buy the damn thing.
Sitting in an open doorway in front of a massive, rattling, deafening machine, a guy in a tattered muscle shirt was manipulating a gorgeous hi-res texturemapped image of some anonymous mechanical part on a 21-inch monitor, presumably the very part that the shuddering beast in front of him was busy fabricating, and smoking a cigarette. I walked over, pointed at the screen, gave the thumbs up. Grimy and unshaven, he grinned gaptoothed, and returned the gesture. There wasn’t a hell of a lot more to say, so I continued on my way home.

Too Lazy

As I have found myself too damned lazy to futz around with making my lo-fi index page do what I want, we’re back to the old template. The old one will be rebuilt on each new entry, though, and if it pleases you, you can find it here. Note that the still older, slightly more old-browser-compliant index can also be found here, if that’s your cup of tea.
Me, I’m busy downloading and watching the entire series of Six Feet Under. I’ll probably resurface in a few days, with all sorts of death-related ramblings. Or maybe not. I’m funny that way.

Kimchi and Booze

Chung Mong-joon, the sixth son of Hyundai founder and all-around Rich Guy Chung Ju-yung, has thrown his hat into the ring for the upcoming presidential elections in Korea in December. This isn’t a surprise to anyone, really, as his star is at its zenith after Korea’s result in the World Cup, over which he presided as the chairman of the Korean World Cup Organizing committee.
The only thing that interests me about him, really, is the pocket biography in today’s Korea Times, which includes the usual blather : Ph.D. in International Relations from Johns Hopkins, married with two sons and two daughters, and so on. But tucked away in the list, on both the print edition and online edition of The Times, is ‘Drinking Capacity : One bottle of soju.
I love this country sometimes, in the way one loves an idiot brother from whose chin one has to keep wiping the drool.
I must admit, it actually is a relatively important measure of a man (for me) to know his drinking capacity, so this data is welcome. Chung’s capacity is pretty damn low for a man of 51, I’d say, but I suppose that’s to be expected in good plutocratic presidential material. My suspicion is that he’s more a single malt scotch type than a streetside soju swiller, anyway.
Not coincidentally, The Times reported on Tuesday (on page 2 of its print edition, but not online) that Korea was second in the world in per capita alcohol consumption. The average amout of pure alcohol consumed by the average Korean over the age of 15, according to the most recent figures, was 14.4 litres, second only to Slovenia, at 15.1 litres.
And people wonder why I live here.
(Edit : This is funny, as are this and this, if unrelated.)

Pacing The Cage

Pacing The Cage

Sunset is an angel weeping
Holding out a bloody sword
No matter how I squint I cannot
Make out what it’s pointing toward
Sometimes you feel like you’ve lived too long
Days drip slowly on the page
You catch yourself
Pacing the cage
I’ve proven who I am so many times
The magnetic strip’s worn thin
And each time I was someone else
And every one was taken in
Powers chatter in high places
Stir up eddies in the dust of rage
Set me to pacing the cage
I never knew what you all wanted
So I gave you everything
All that I could pillage
All the spells that I could sing
It’s as if the thing were written
In the constitution of the age
Sooner or later you’ll wind up
Pacing the cage
Sometimes the best map will not guide you
You can’t see what’s round the bend
Sometimes the road leads through dark places
Sometimes the darkness is your friend
Today these eyes scan bleached-out land
For the coming of the outbound stage
Pacing the cage
Pacing the cage

Bruce Cockburn

Dear WonderChickenistas, In a development

Dear WonderChickenistas,
In a development predictable to anyone who’s been doing this for a while, I’ve come to the conclusion that this game is not as much fun as once it was, so I think I’m going to take a wee break. I love each and every one of the few hundred folks who show up here every day to read the new stuff that tumbles out from the spin cycle in my brain, I really do, and I thank you for the recognition and the kindness and the pornographic haiku and the cheese-flavoured snacks. Especially the snacks.
But, like many before me, people better, smarter, stronger, faster, and possessed of bionic limbs that are just way out of my price bracket, I must take a wee break to fix – or at least pretend to fix, or make a stab at thinking about fixing, or maybe just drink enough to achieve the erroneous conviction that I’ve fixed – the semi-fictional but nonetheless distracting problems I keep finding in my life at the moment.
Not that the power, wonder, glory and sheer incoherence that is called WonderChicken is going away, precisely. I’ll see you on the ‘Filter, on the ‘Pile, at the MonkeyHouse, and in your blog comments, when you least expect it. Ka-pow!
But I need a break, I think, from approval-seeking, to try and find something that’s a little…meatier… to which I should devote my primary attention.
I’ll be back, soon, no doubt.
Love (and peace, by crikey),
Chris

Same As It Ever Was

And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful
wife
And you may ask yourself-Well…How did I get here?
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the money’s gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.
And you may ask yourself
How do I work this?
And you may ask yourself
Where is that large automobile?
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful house!
And you may tell yourself
This is not my beautiful wife!
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the money’s gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.
Same as it ever was…Same as it ever was…Same as it ever was…
Same as it ever was…Same as it ever was…Same as it ever was…
Same as it ever was…Same as it ever was…
Water dissolving…and water removing
There is water at the bottom of the ocean
Carry the water at the bottom of the ocean
Remove the water at the bottom of the ocean!
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/in the silent water
Under the rocks and stones/there is water underground.
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the money’s gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.
And you may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right?…Am I wrong?
And you may tell yourself
MY GOD!…WHAT HAVE I DONE?
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/in the silent water
Under the rocks and stones/there is water underground.
Letting the days go by/let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by/water flowing underground
Into the blue again/after the money’s gone
Once in a lifetime/water flowing underground.
Same as it ever was…Same as it ever was…Same as it ever was…
Same as it ever was…Same as it ever was…Same as it ever was…
Same as it ever was…Same as it ever was…

Sad, Strange

It tastes like one of those sad strange stories that one stumbles across occasionally on the web, and in real life too, by golly. Definitely the sort of thing that you’d research and write a long article about for some reputable magazine if you were so inclined, but since you’re a blogger with an attention span of approximately six seconds (and unless you’re Mike Golby and core dump tens of thousands of words a day) you don’t.

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Kitten Natividad appeared in such fine films as Tittilation, Tittilation 3, Big Busty 3, Bodacious Ta-Tas, Famous Ta-Tas, Best of Big Busty, Thanks for the Mammaries, Ten Years of Big Busts 2, Big Boob Lottery, Wild Wild Chest 3, The Double-D Avenger, and Fresh Tits of Bel-Air. One gets a sense of where she (or more convincingly the eeek! evil! Hollywood Movie Machine) perceived her primary talents to lie.
I see a long wistful but critical look, the magazine equivalent of Boogie Nights meets Almost Famous (isn’t that how you’re supposed to pitch stuff : “It’s like X meets Y, with Tom Cruise as the lead! Come on, you gotta love that!”), at the titty-film industry of the Seventies. We’re not talking gun-to-Linda’s head hardcore Deep Throat nastiness, here, we’re talking the campy (but equally reprehensible (or is it? you leave that to the reader, kimosabee!)) oeuvre of Russ Meyer and his brethren. Interviews with the aging thick-eyeglassed silk-kimono-clad Hugh Hefner wannabe lotharios, and some of the now-grandmothers who shook their moneymakers in blockbusters like Thanks for The Mammaries. A portrait of Kitten growing up in the fifties. Pop-psych pointers to the so-obvious traumas that led her to a life in the softcore industry.
Then, the kicker. After decades of paying the bills with her breasts, she undergoes a double mastectomy for treatment of breast cancer in October 1999. The piece is about surviving breast cancer, you see, and now it becomes clear that we’re talking about more than just titty-films here. This is a piece about the equality of women, about empowerment, about not letting the bastards grind you down, about triumph in the face of adversity and sisterhood and all that good stuff! The crowd goes wild!
Finally, the oddball, unexpected clincher, of the sort that life provides to the observant, making truth once more (and by now it should be predictably) stranger than fiction : in 2001, two years after her double mastectomy, she reappears on the silver screen (or silver disc, probably) in The Double-D Avenger.
You close out the piece with a wry observation from Kitten herself on the curves that life throws you, and fade to textual black.
[lifted from d/blog]

Encapsulated

Neatly wrapped for your convenience : Tom from plasticbag.org has gone plumb loco, collected most of the pieces that started online, were hoiked and slapped into necessarily design-free dead-tree pages in the book “We’ve Got Blog” (thus, in the absence of bells and whistles, helping this observer to clarify his private thoughts about who can and who can’t write their way out of a paper bag), but are still to be found floating around in the InTArWeb aether, and smacked ’em down into one nice clean list of links.
A most laudable public service. And essential reading for those still getting up to speed on this whole Blog Thing. Thanks, Tom.
Edit : I particularly like this, since it fits in so well with my angry young man grumpy old curmudgeon thang.

I still don't hate Korea

I’ve said it before, and prompted by this unexpected piddling on my pompadour, I’ll say it again. I don’t hate Korea. What I loathe with a white-hot ass-blistering passion is stupidity and greed and cruelty and incompetence and unfairness and a host of other things that people do all the goddamned time, all around the goddamned world. If I lived in Burkina Faso (in the city with the most euphonious name, Ouagadougou), I’d be complaining about the Ouagadougouns. If I lived back in Canada, I’d be railing against the cretin up the street and the f–kwits in the government there. It is in my nature to kick against the pricks. The fact that those pricks surrounding me are Korean, as an outgrowth of the fact that I live in Korea, is merely an accident of geography.

Life, she's a bitch

You know that book I mentioned that I was writing a while ago? No? Ah well, bear with me.
So I started writing this book a couple of weeks ago. Figured I’d do the Nanomowrimomo thing, or whatever the f–k it’s called, and just barf out the story unadorned. The story that’s been percolating around in my head for about 7 years now, the mostly-true-with-the-names-changed-to-protect-the-innocent tale of booze, madness, sex, drugs, and rock and roll on the high seas that those of you who know me In Real Life have heard me reminisce about when well-watered.
It’s been a few years since I’d heard from or about any of the principles in the tale, and I’d pretty much given up hope of ever tracking any of them down, gilded-caged as I am here in Korea.
So who do I hear from yesterday after years of being ‘long-lost’? One of my best friends on the planet, the mad bastard who more than any other helped me transform myself from an overcautious wannabe into a two-fisted beery swashbuckler, the guy who plays the starring role in my Nautical Tales Most Edifying, my brother by dint of shared joy and grief, Craig ‘Pancho’ Oliver.
So the book’s back on the back burner, while life, happily, intercedes. But if I do finish the book, I hope and expect it will be richer and more rewarding for the reminiscences that me and my long lost amigo will be sharing over the next while.
Welcome back, mi hermano, even if you didn’t feel as if you were lost.

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Yay for me!

I forgot completely that I’d gotten drunk one evening recently (in an almost complete turnaround from my customary behaviour on an August evening, I assure you) and signed the old ‘bottle up for Bloghot or Not.
But I saw the URL in my recent referrers doodad over there on the left no, no the other left, went to check it out, and holy crap on a delicious triscuit cracker, I’m rating pretty darn high!

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So it’s official. The A-List can bite me†.
Heh.
[I realize that I haven’t written a long rambling craptacular post on anything in quite a while, and that you kind, intelligent, and slightly demented Wonderchicken Irregulars out there are pining, no clamoring for more dammit more!, but, well, I’m trying to write a book. Really fast. (which makes this recent and excellent MeFi thread all the more amusing ) And it’s (in the amusingly outdated vernacular of the recent bubblelicious fin de siecle) ‘occupying mindshare’ for me at the moment. I apologize profusely, but bear with me, I beg of you.
*begs*
Thankee.]
† I don’t take this hotornot stuff seriously, duh, but them Listers Who Are A really can bite me. Take a big ol’ bite of my bum, right here. *points*
Edit : I realize also that this sort of self-referential wankorama could be perceived as distasteful and beneath the elevated station to which I have winched myself, but I just don’t care. Comedy? Comedy gold.

Distracted

I’ve never been good at mental multi-tasking, and I’ve got this other super-secret double-extra (yeah, whatever) thing I’m working on at the moment, and it’s distracting me away from the posting of the amusing entries at the mighty Empty Bottle.
So go read the archives, my friends. As opposed to the chew-toy mastications of those purist ‘weblog’ wanktards, my old nocturnal emissions actually have some value beyond a pointer to the chronistic equivalent of Mahir or All Your (admittedly amusing) Base… hooo-hah!
No really, there’s some f–king gold back there in the foothills, honest to cheese-topped goodness. Laugh, cry, wet your pants : it’s the Disneyland of Weblogging! Lotta crap too, but Sturgeon’s Law, nicht wahr?

Rank

Following the lead of Jonathon, Mark and Shelley, I’ve done a bit of egogoogling to check out my rankings, and am well pleased with the results.

‘stavros’ : #1, #2
‘wonderchicken’ : Pretty much all of ’em, basically.
And traipsing randomly through my categories and some other wonderchickensian (thanks, Eeksy) phrasology :
‘chafe my scrote’ : #1, #2
‘f–ktacular’ : #1, #2
‘trippy visuals’ : #3, #4 (some work to do, there)
‘booze glorious booze’ : #1, #2
‘korea-related’ : only #8, but that’s pretty good for a whole country….
‘ftagn’ : Emptybottle.org : Your #1 destination for misspelled-Lovecraftia !
and last but not least,
‘uncategorizable crap’ : #1 with a bullet, baby!

Despite my half-assed attempt to be somewhat anonymous here, a googlesearch on my surname brings up this site as #25. Interesting, but only mildly scary.

Naked and Shameless

Back in about ’86 or so, the world paused for a moment in its orbit as the musical colossus known as Naked & Shameless spontaneously appeared, boozily clambered to the very apex of the Vancouver musical scene, and then flamed out and disappeared, all in the space of days, if not hours.
Well, what really happened is that my buddy Deviant, who was responsible for the creation and dismantling of various Vancouver bands of moderate success over the decade, decided that it’d be pretty damn cool to get me liquored up in his studio, record one of my infamous spontaneous rants, then put it to music.
Unfortunately, no matter how much Ouzo I swilled, sitting on the stool in front of the mike, it just wasn’t spontaneous. Performance anxiety. I did force it a bit once the booze kicked in, and pulled some ranty stuff out of my ass, but the resulting track didn’t meet the high standards we had anticipated, and after a few plays on CiTR, the UBC campus radio station (“all spaceship and satan music, all the time”), sank into history unremarked.
v1For the purposes of branding, though (we were ahead of our time, baby), I’d come up with the name ‘Naked & Shameless’ for our two-man band. Myself being Jim Naked, up there under the hot lights, baring my soul, and Deviant being Dave Shameless, the evil rocknroller exploiting my gentle drunken poetic weiner-talk to get chicks and stuff.
That part was good.
Wisely, though, with our first track sucking so heinously, we decided to shelve the project.
Fast forward to a few years ago, and Deviant, who has been living in Chicago and whom I haven’t seen for almost a decade, has restarted Naked and Shameless, with cousin Buck Naked replacing the dearly departed Jim. Buck can actually sing, and play. This is a good thing.
Why am I telling you all this? Besides the usual ‘I’m so goddamn hip I can’t see over my own pelvis’ stuff, mostly ’cause I remembered that N&S have an mp3.com page with some fun songs on, which I’ve been listening to this evening as I get slowly plastered, and they’re currently on tour, and will be playing one of our favorite Vancouver haunts this weekend, the Railway Club.
(The serendipitous thing here being that through completely random chaotic f–king weirdness, one of the owners of the Railway Club, Roger Trentenero, since deceased (murdered on his boat not long after I’d decamped, so to speak, at Playa Los Cocos, by hammer flung headward by his 16-year old Costa Rican girlfriend, is the story that I heard), was the owner of the first sailboat I crewed aboard in the Sea of Cortez, approximately midway, temporally speaking, between then and now…but that, as I find myself saying all too often, is a tale for another day.)
Drinking Song #16 is the one dedicated to me poor old Jim Naked. It’s funny, but not my favorite. C’est la vie.
If you do go have a listen to any of their stuff, don’t miss “Lawrence (Head of Lettuce)“. A true story from our UBC days. Not even the names have been changed to protect the guilty. Rock’n’roll verité, man.

Tick Tock

It’ll be my birthday in about 3 hours, Korea time. I will officially be old enough to know better, while continuing to be too dumb to care.
But that hasn’t stopped me so far, so I think I’ll just carry on as usual, noting the gray hairs appearing in the skateboarder-goatee, but reacting to them with a hearty woo-hoo rather than a weedy boo-hoo. This, my friends, is the secret to my success, longevity, and general all-around air of worldly incoherence.
So happy birthday to me. Have a drink for me, won’t you? I’ll be sure to return the favour when your next birthday rolls around…