Category Archives: anarchy

Welcome to the Blogroll, George Orwell

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George Orwell Passport

Do I need to explain why?

Seriously, though, I’d have thought he’d have been a little snappier. If he’d had to compete with all the famewhores out there stuffing their blogs with memes, he’d have stepped up his game a bit.

Check out the August 10th entry:

Drizzly. Dense mist in evening. Yellow moon.

Yeah, ACTUAL diaries are never as interesting as blogs. For one thing, fewer amusing YouTubes. The premise is, one post per day, taken straight from Orwell‘s actual diaries. If it weren’t George Fucking Orwell I wouldn’t bother, but I have faith there will be something other than a haircut blog in it eventually.

We’ve now gone a good, solid step beyond asking what happens to a blog when somebody dies (see Theresa Duncan and Olive Riley) and gone straight into blogging for the dead by proxy.

Tent City Rules

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It’s not as easy to be a free spirit as it used to be. These are the posted rules for Tent City in Oppenheimer Park, two blocks from my house.

Tent City Rules

Tent City Rules @ Oppenheimer Park

by Mobilizing Mouse on FearlessCity

quiz: what is your punk band name

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The Sister always liked Chocolate Bunnies from Hell, not for the music but for the name. But this one is almost psychic. The only way it could be closer is “The Borderline Homicidal Spaceship” and all we’d play would be punk versions of Ennio Morriccone tunes.


Your Punk Band Name Is…


The Grumpy Spaceship

Toxic Love Shack

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Hey, it’s summer and there’s a Gawker commenter meetup tomorrow and I have to get presentable and meet someone I’ve never seen before for drinks at Connor Butler in three hours and I still have to get this apartment ready for a houseguest or at least throw the sheets in the washing machine and take out the recycling so he doesn’t think I’m an alkie and make a post about my new blogging classes and I was supposed to get the press release out today but instead I had to wrestle with the damn computer for hours and restart upon restart and don’t even ASK about the Zune and besides, there’s a total buckpassing issue that I have to solve one way or another in the next 12 days not that you asked but have you heard anything? and don’t even ask about the personal life plus there’s an event going on tomorrow that I’m really looking forward to and was supposed to have all the sequins sewn on by today but I don’t but Irwin says the event doesn’t exist and I suppose an arts administrator would say if an event falls at Trout Lake but nobody administers it does it occur at all? but then I’m an anarchist, so what do you think I said, eh? Plus I’ve had two requests in the past 24 hours for a sandbagging tutorial (ie “I have a troll on my ass and I want to lay the smackdown on him; can you help?” Oh, baby, it’s what I DO!) which I totally would have done except:

A) why let the enemy read your battle plans and

B) computer problems (see above).

So I don’t know about you, but I need this. A mashup of Britney Spears’s Toxic and the B-52’s Love Shack:

Surfwise, Livedumb

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I’ve been waiting for this to hit YouTube: the trailer for a documentary of an archetypal American character, the freewheeling intellectual.

As a somewhat freewheeling intellectual myself, I feel no hesitation at saying that Dorian “Doc” Paskowitz was a completely self-centered man who confused hedonism with enlightenment and whose pathalogical need to be “different” rendered him incapable of being free. The most humbling truth apparent in this biographical film is this: that voluntary subjugation to the tyranny of doctrinaire antiestablishmentarianism should not be mistaken for intellectual triumph or self-determinism. It is fascism.

Now, enjoy your surf movie! Hippies in a bus = good times!

Right?

Here is the much prettier official statement:

Like many American outsider-adventurers, Dorian “Doc” Paskowitz set out to realize a utopian dream. Abandoning a successful medical practice, he sought self-fulfillment by taking up the nomadic life of a surfer. But unlike other American searchers like Thoreau or Kerouac, Paskowitz took his wife and nine children along for the ride, all eleven of them living in a 24 foot camper. Together, they lived a life that would be unfathomable to most, but enviable to anyone who ever relinquished their dreams to a straight job. The Paskowitz Family proved that America may be running out of frontiers, but it hasn’t run out of frontiersman.