Time is not measured by the passing of years, but by what one does, what one feels and what one achieves
Jawaharlal Nehru

Jazz No football this weekend. None.
Why bother with weekends if there’s not a feeling of football.Private Hell 36
It gives me time to think. Who needs time to think? What I think about is life and guilt.
Every time there’s a tragedy there’s a pretty human response to feel like some how you’ve failed. Like you could have done or didn’t do the one thing that could have made things different. Somehow different always feels better.
Maybe its not a human thing. Maybe its a catholic thing, this guilt.
HK Pepnx II But like when the little blind dog died I spent weeks thinking what I could have done to give him more time. When the car died I still keep rolling through my mind what I could have done differently, what I should have done. Even when I conclude that we did what we could there’s another possibility.
This doesn’t detract from addressing issues. It doesn’t bog you down. Maybe Catholics are trained to feel and deal with guilt.
We have found a place that sells cars at a reasonable cost. With a couple that look pretty possible. Used cars but . . .
When you remember that my first 3 cars each cost less than fifty bucks . . . I even got one car that ran until I sold it for a game ball used cars costing over 10 grand kind of freak me.
Some of these cars still have warranty time left so we’ll check it out.
For various reasons that reminds me of stupid errands I did with my second car (the first car, a green 52 Pontiac with the amber indian head for a hood ornament [yes, older even than me] the one where I shoe polished the leather upholstery – the car still ran great, especially with my specially Indians Hunting Buffalo by Charles Russel Marion designed coat hanger choke, but the smell of the shoe polish got you super sick after about 10 minutes).
I was writing songs so I thought I should check out some poetry. I was driving back from the beach when I saw this book store I’d heard of on the wrong side of the street. I did a you turn and went into Papa Bach’s. It was a weird hippie joint. They burned incense which still makes me queasy. They had all these small press books and this line called new directions.
They had this book by William Borroughs. “Naked Lunch”. I thought it was “Naked Came a Stranger” which was like this porno book I’d read about in the LA Times. It was supposed to be an “erotic” novel that was written by a different author in each chapter. Being a kid I was most stunned that women had written some of it. I was still convinced that women hated sex and only endured it with a huge amount of cajoling and pleading. The idea of women writing porn was jaw dropping.Rape Squad
I figured in this hippie shop they’d sell porn even to a grossly underaged kid. So I grabbed “Naked Lunch” (thinking it was “Naked Came a Stranger”, how many books could there be with naked in the title anyway) grabbed a mess of small press poetry and New Directions books (to conceal my real intention was the purpose) and stood there, a fifteen year old surfer in baggies ready to make my purchase.
I went to school that day and spent the whole day reading “Naked Lunch” in class. I didn’t care if it was the wrong book. It had plenty of porn, but all the wrong sort. It was the fact I found it funny, mystifying and well, at that time my world consisted of the beach, football, clubs, school and avoiding my step father.
“Naked Lunch” was about places I never imagined could be, about people I didn’t seriously think existed. I thought it was great.
After reading it through twice in a day I loaned it to my friend Tom. He thought it was crazy but liked some of the funny bits. We began having conversations straight from the book, talking in that weird broken metier of drug addicts and William Burroughs. Our favorite joke became, “I am the Great Slashtubitch and I can tell you fake the orgasm by the way you wiggle your big toe!” I have no idea why we thought it was funny except in some sort of Bevis and Butthead way.
Pretty soon we’d infected the entire football team with the book. About 80 high school kids roaming the halls reciting chunks of “Naked Lunch” to each other was not something I figure the Board of Education would have approved of.
Anime There was an Assistant Principal at school. He was in charge of discipline. That meant he was the guy who gave you detention and called your parents if you were absent or parked your car in the wrong spot or if your muffler was too loud. He carried a hunk of celluloid in his pocket so he could measure your hair to make sure it didn’t cover more than 1 and 1/2 inches of your collar . . . Catholic School.
Thing is, he dug the job, the power we guessed.
His name was close enough to one of the “Naked Lunch” characters, the Sollibees, that we all took to calling him Mr Sollibee (The sollibees were creatures who lived underneath tavern bars, they poked their heads out through holes in the bar to “service” customers while they drank. The name fit our attitude towards him perfectly. Soon the whole school was calling him Mr Sollibee. I don’t think he ever twigged as to why we were all suddenly mispronouncing his name. None of the other teachers did either. At least we never caught any of them laughing.
Because that book was such a hit I checked out the other things I’d picked up that day. I wasRide The Pink Horse amazed. Kenneth Patchen, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Gregory Corso. Beat poets.
None of them helped me write any songs but they led me to believe that poets were the next Superman. I read how Corso used to read his poetry to a simple bongo accompaniment, which still sounds totally cool to me. And Kenneth Patchen explained the movies in his head and made them sound cooler than “The Great Escape” and “A Fistful of Dollars” combined.
I rally thought these were the guys who had powers “far beyond those of mortal men”. I doubt if they helped me write better lyrics . . . (look for me babe but I ain’t there; could hardly stand improvement . . . ) but I felt these guys understood parts of the world that I sensed were out there but had never seen. I thought that they had the map to something important. Something important to me and to the world and that it was a power they had, power louder than my Fender amp. I liked them, adored them and didn’t want to be Jeanne D'Arc by Michael Parkes like them but I wanted to know what they knew even while I thought it was impossible.
Their effect on me was that I lead the conference in yards and touchdowns that season.
For the first time in my life I wanted to go someplace that wasn’t in California.

Its been cold here. But we seem to be in the middle of a snow drought. There’s enough snow on the ground to keep everything pretty and the constant snow means the dogs and I have got solid paths wending through the yard. Great paths that lead no where but are easy to follow.
The giant dog has suddenly decided he won’t go outside without me. I have no idea why. His attitude hasn’t changed and when we go out together he gets full on dog play crazy. Bears watching.The Shining
A couple of weeks ago the gentle dog went to work with my friend. He got so excited he leapt in the air and landed sleeping on the ice. Lately we’ve noticed that he starts to limp every time he first gets up from sleeping or just lying around. Its not a bad limp and it vanished pretty quickly. He has no tenderness in his legs and no change in his attitude. Walking him is still like walking a kite. So I worry. Today started to give each of them 500 mg of Glucosamine to lubricate their joints. Reports as events warrant.
Of course my puppy still loves me and I love her.

Nothing valuable can be lost by taking time
Abraham Lincoln

Erotic Apera by Alex Varenne

Click images for desktop size: “Erotic Opera” by Alex Varenne
I wasn’t very overwhelmed with the inauguration speech.
Somehow it reminded me of a my old physics professor berating the class for doing so poorly on anHere Comes Mr Jordan exam that he had to throw out the bell curve.
I don’t mind being underwhelmed. FDR was not a very magnificent speaker and he pulled this country out of a similar set of nasty circumstances.
I was very disheartened by the actions and comments of people like Rush Limbaugh. I mean there’s a fat kid who clearly had his butt kicked every day when he was growing up and now has so much nastiness left in him that all the other fat kids with bruised rear Penguins by Wallpaper Coll

Click image: “Penguins” by Wallpaper Collection
ends follow him slavishly.
And the other Republican antics are just so much dross that its apparent they’re committed to becoming a third party.
One thing is that Cheney reminded me of was Mussolini. An evil man as judged by history who viewed himself as compassionate and who cared for his people. He did not think he lied. He thought he was being Machiavellian clever.
There was this odd book, “Inferno” by Larry Niven. I don’t usually like much of Niven’s stuff but this book had an interesting conceit.
It retold Dante’s “Inferno” in the simplest Cliff Notes way possible. The guide through the Seven Circles of Hell was Benito Mussolini.
Here the endless damnation, pain and torment was not seen as an end in and of itself. The layers of hell were seen not as a test but a rite of purification. A voyage through lakes of boiling blood and burning pitch to self awareness and discovery. So that by making the long path of torture through hell one can finally understand themselves and rise up to heaven.
Girl, Scotty and Violin by Archie Dickens

Click images for desktop size: “Girl, Scotty and Violin” by Archie Dickens
The book uses people like Billy the Kid to show how this rite can be abandoned but not failed. “Inferno” eventually ends up listing the seven circles of hell the same way De Sade’s last book descended into being a simple lists of tortures he wished he been able to try.
Its an nteresting read and as Mussolini details his sins and regrets it is words that belonged in Dick Cheney’s mouth. Cheney has implemented torture and been directly responsible for the death of thousands and still feels no regrets.
Who moreso deserves hell and an eternity of struggling through the lake of boiling blood.
Not even Bush, moving into his restricted multi-million dollar home has been so callous, unrepentant, blame shifting and vile he’s a man doomed by himself.
Here’s to a future.The Incredible Shrinking Man

My puppy’s aun made a suggestion: that we look for a year old car that still has a few years left on the warranty. A pretty good idea. The main stumbling block is that brand new cars can be had with 0% financing. That might make the slightly used car more expensive. We’ll have to keep searching though. Its worth investigating.
One idle thought I’d had was trying to pick up a junker, “Transportation Cars” they call them in the ads. Something to last a few months until the Honda hybrids come out. The price on them seems to keep rising but its still cheaper than most out there and 63 mpg is pretty cool.
So much to consider and time is like a taxi meter right now.

Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.
Dalai Lama

Amazing Taprohmtom Braid Tree Temple by Whamuel
Click images for desktop size: “Amazing Taprohmtom Braid Tree Temple” by Whamuel
It snowed. Another 2 and one half inches, I’d guess.
I was only partially joking about snow shoveling and martial arts having a similarity. When I shovel snow I get a feeling eerily similar to the feeling I used to get at karate special trainings.Blood Beach
Its the constant repetitive motion perhaps. Or its like the comedy training in “Return to the 36th Chamber” where the monks have the acolyte do what seems to be a dull never ending task. It ends up that the acolyte has been martial arts training. So well he isn’t even aware of it. “Karate Kid” stole the well and condensed it to “wax on, wax off”. Which is easier to remember but not quite as deep.
What I’m referring to is the meditation part of the exercise. Shoveling snow and throwing 1,000 kicks aren’t as different as I’d Dark Days by PicDeskTop
Click images for desktop size: “Dark Days” by PicDeskTop
like to think. The major difference is that at the end of the snow shoveling exercise you can look back and see a clear path that, hopefully, leads somewhere. With martial arts you only have a tired body and the feeling that you’ve accomplished something great.
I’m not sure which is more zen.
In the “Lone Wolf and Cub” manga and movies there’s a story about Ogami Itto being hired to kill a monk. a very holy monk; a Buddha walking the earth.
Ogami confronts the monk as he prays in a temple. In the manga Ogami’s sword slashes and cannot touch the immobile monk. In the movie Ogami cannot even draw his sword.
The monk tells Ogami he cannot be killed because he “is one with the void. The universe begins and ends in me. There is no place where you can strike the heart of the universe. You are enlightened Ogami Itto but your enlightenment is only that of the assassin.”
In the comic the exchange ends with the monk saying, “to kill a Buddha you must be a Buddha.”
Woody Acres by Jon Draperr
Click images for desktop size: “Woody Acres” by Jon Draperr
In the manga Ogami goes to a temple, fast and prays for 3 months before feeling he is ready. He confronts the monk in a procession and attacks. A line of blood drops down his forehead. He raises his hand and says, “A magnificent stroke.” Then his body splits in half, sliced down the vertical from skull to hips.
In the movie Ogami uses a scandalous trick to get the monk in his grasp. He pulls the monk from a boat and drags him underwater. There Ogami stabs the monk with a knife. The monk says, underwater, “so this is the path to enlightenment you have chosen.”
I don’t think I have a preference between the two ways of telling a story.
I do know that I used to do an annual fast. The first week was rough as the body tried to live off the toxins I’d ingested the previous year. After that first week I felt great. Demonstrably stronger, Belle et la Bette faster. Better concentration.
I used to run five miles every day. During those runs my mind thought of nothing. I didn’t have a Walkman or an iPod. I only had the white noise in my brain to keep me company. I marked out the distance previously. I’d start the stop watch and run. Very few of those runs produced any memories. I’d look at the stop watch and 32 to 35 minutes had passed. I was at the mark I knew was five miles from the starting point. That was the only evidence that I had done what I set out to do.
I wonder, now not then, if this was the state of meditation that the Shaolin monks strove for when they practiced their martial arts. To simply flow. To live with their minds filled with something like my white noise?
I’m not a good Buddhist or Christian, I’m not much of a good anything, except a good man. I can say Autumn White Birch by Maxfield Parrish
Click images for desktop size: “Autumn White Birch” by Maxfield Parrish
that with pretty much a calm self assurance.
Shoveling snow produces some similar meditative ideals in me.
Lewis Carroll, (Charles Dodgson), wrote a book that’s been fairly well maligned: “Sylvie and Bruno”. Dodgson was a great writer. No contest. Most people would call James Joyce a great writer. He wrote three great books. William Faulkner is a great writer. He wrote three great books and created a lot of great scenes. Even my pet, Raymond Chandler only wrote two great books. Charles Dodgson was a great writer.
His “Sylvie and Bruno” is hard to track down. It has some problems but also some great scenes. One of the Chapters of the book is titled, “Bruno’s Revenge”. It was based on a short story he’d published years before in some dwee Victorian Kiddie mag.
In the story Bruno is angry with his sister, Sylvie. He feels he’s been wronged and seeks revenge by Black Ceasar destroying her carefully tended flower garden.
Before he can begin his odious task the narrator, an ill defined adult who alternates between being omnipotent and hapless, stops Bruno and then helps him expend his rage by lovingly enhancing the garden, finding colored stones to accent and line the paths, removing weeds and whatever other stuff you do for a garden.
At the end of his labours Bruno and the narrator are exhausted. Bruno finds his rage has dissipated. The physical exertion in the spirit of kindness, not forgiveness but kindness has removed his rage and transported him closer to the Victorian God Dodgson fervently believed in.
I think you need to pay attention to Dodgson. He made a deep impression in four different disciplines, Kids Lit, Math, Photography and Religion. I mean, any guy who can mathematically prove that Jesus Christ was the Messiah is a force to contend with not against. And its in nice Western terms and not alien Eastern philosophy.
My shoveling the driveway, I guess that’s a difficult task, some consider it ridiculous, was my “Bruno’s revenge.”
I’ve been angry about the neighbor’s dumping a ton of snow pressed against the gate, angry about shoveling it out at midnight so we can get into the house, angry that I still can’t use the man gate, angry that even after shoveling it out he sees fit to block the gate with his trailer and snowmobile.
The physical labour locked me into the white noise in my head. It expelled my rage and accomplished something positive.
An Impossible Dream by Sweibel
Click images for desktop size: “An Impossible Dream” by Sweibel
Last night I went out with the dogs to tour the house, like we do every night. I bought them inside and back out to get the mail. I have to use the car gate to do this now and while the gentle dog and the giant dog are getting better at it they still can’t be 100% trusted outside. So I went back out to get the mail and was shocked to see that the snow mobile was parked so close to the gate I had to climb over it to get out.
I came back inside enraged. I know that I have to let the rage out or it turns into dark fury so I complained. I got responses that I didn’t anticipate.
I went back, climbed the snow mobile and knocked on his door, filled with undisapated rage justified with ludicrous “facts”, like the fire department can’t get into the house, an ambulance and how he had no right to dictate what times we were allowed to come and go.
Angrier still that I still don’t feel that this is malicious more that this guy is such an ass he doesn’tBorn for Hell think or care about others.
Luckily he didn’t answer the door. I think he was asleep and I didn’t press it. I wasn’t that angry yet. That’s the furious parts job, to be irrational.
This morning I dealt partially with the snow. When the snow stops I’ll finish the rest of it, if I’ve time.
When cleaning the car I was surprised that it was coated all over with ice. There’d been no rain and the temperature has not gone above freezing, the car hadn’t been moved in 3 and half days, so I’m bewildered. My only guess is that the sun shone yesterday. I guess it heated the glass and metal enough to melt stuff and then it refroze. Its just a guess.
When my brain isn’t filled with white noise its filled with thoughts like that. Those thoughts always lead to other thoughts like that.
The noise is better, calmer.
Maybe its because I’m dumb. I’m the kind of dumb who believes people are smarter than me because they say they’re smarter than me. It takes a lot to change my mind.

The sun can’t shine on all creatures
Shonen Knife

Soa Lee
Click images for desktop size: “Untitled” by Soa Lee
Its snowing now. Big fluffy snow flakes. Sweetly sunny. Pretty stuff. Distracting.
My friend took the gentle dog to work with her today. They’re having a doggie party today.1984 Hopefully there’ll be a half dozen pups there ensuring nothing work related gets done, only important doggie chores accomplished today.
Click image: “Fans” by Gothic Walls

The BSC Championship was sort of boring. Sloppy too. I never saw any really decent football. Percy Harvin and Tim Tebow had moments that were very satisfying but mostly it looked like the SEC and Big 12 were both grossly over rated conferences. Neither looked like Champions.
I can understand Utah making all kinds of whiney noises about law suits demanding to be called the Champs. What a waste of intelligent energy.
I don’t think Utah looked indomitable either, but they have an argument. Times like this I prefer the Alice (The Devils Bride) by Stephen Fabian
Click images for desktop size: “Alice (The Devil’s Bride)” by Stephen Fabian
old Bowl system where their was no definitive champion just people’s opinions and good arguments for the rest of the year. A playoff system is the only thing that would work if we really have to have a “true Champion”.
I’ll still hold to my stance that all kids who play this game and struggle to the end are Champs.
I was impressed with Tebow after the game. Percy Harvin said the right things very sincerely. All the kids deserve to be Kings of the Football World.

Watching the game made my mind wander (boring sloppy games often do).
I thought about Obama working so hard to reconcile the country. He’s trying to do that “hands across the aisle” thing. The Republicans are circling and like most demagogues see his attempts at rightness to be weakness. A weakness to exploit for gains that have nothing to do with us, the 1984 people who suffer their indignities.
I don’t think anyone ever sees themselves as evil.
Even a monster like Hitler was a vegetarian for moral not health reasons. And that vile thing probably believed he was doing the right thing for himself and the world. You wonder if at the moment before he died he had a glimpse of the wretched hateful thing he had become.
I’ve listened to Dick Cheney proudly explain why he thinks torturing people we assume are guilty was a brilliant thing to do. How he circumvented the law to “protect” us. I’ve listened to Bush not feel responsible for the economy, and how he wishes he had invested the entire Social Security Fund in the stock market. In fact, that’s his biggest regret. Not wiping out Social Security.
(Since the Destroyer books once did a edition that involved outside forces destroying America by manipulating the stock market, I wonder where he got this idea. In the book America is saved because of a massive infusion of cash that secretly came from the Social Security fund. Maybe this is Bush’s idea as well. Scary stuff.)
As I listen to everyone rewriting history and replacing fact with fancy you have to say that not all these people could be lying. I think they really believe that stuff they’re spouting. That from their ivory towers they see not the same sun as we see, nor the same earth.
We invaded Iraq because we thought Hussein did not provide ample proof he had no weapons. We Toot Sweet
Click images for desktop size: “Toot Sweet” by Unknown
justified staying there because Hussein murdered his people, denied them simple civil liberties such as freedom to travel. He rested in gilded palaces while his people struggled to survive. He tortured people to get them to confess to real or imaginary crimes.
He was hung for these crimes. Probably rightly so. I don’t know enough about anyone that would justify killing them or not killing them for that matter. (That belief kept me out of a lot of jury duty.)
What bugs me is that Cheney and Bush are now boasting about doing almost the same things that Hussein was murdered for.
I think that they need to be tried for war crimes, for torturing human beings, for holding American citizens in prison on suspicion, for killing people.
As they have said, “if they are innocent we have the system in place to allow them to prove it.” Which might be contrary to what I thought were the American Principals and laws but why not let A Bullet For Joey them be subjected to the World Court.
Forcing them to testify and to confront the evidence against them would clear the air. It would raise our world status, our own self respect not matter what the verdict. Do most American realize how hated we are in the rest of the world. How hated George Bush is? Tony Blair escaped scandal after scandal but he was ousted as Prime Minister of the UK because he chose to side with Bush.
It won’t happen. We still have segregated neighborhoods and a President who chooses to spend a few million to live in it. And too many people who think that is cool.
The Republican administration doesn’t think its evil. They think they did what was right. A lot of people agree with them. I don’t. I don’t want to live in a world that sees nations collapse in on themselves with self serving stupid arrogance. We used to lead the world, maybe we still do.
It was Ibsen who wrote, “by simple fact the majority is always wrong.”

The Medicine Teepee
Click images for desktop size: “The Medicine Teepee” by Unknown
Didn’t sleep well last night. Worries. Finances. So what else is new?
All that scrapping has resulted, not in a surplus so much as an ability to take care of some things. Health and car mostly.
Eye tests and brake jobs sort of extravagances.
I’ve also cut my pain killer intake in half. More economy. Maybe was too drastic a cut off. Discomfort level rising sort of thing. So that now I just feel hollow and a little frightened. I’m not scared. Its that sort of fear you can’t ignore or escape. Not dread. More grounded and less elliptical than dread.
I’m lucky to have dogs and friends. The only known antidote.
I’m a lucky guy.

I don’t exactly know what I mean by that, but I mean it
J.D. Salinger

Returning the Sphere by Michael Parkes My friend goes back to work today.
Feel rather blank about that. She made this a happy holiday. I fell way behind in my self assigned chores but had nothing but memorable fun.
Sunset Blvd I think the dogs will miss her being about even more than I will.
Predicted horrid weather did not really materialize. No ice storm. So she’ll go in and I’ll take the dogs for a long walk and everything will settle back into place. The dogs will have the hardest time getting back onto the non-holiday schedule.
I know its been a good holiday because I have a morbid fear of taking out the garbage tomorrow.

We watched an interesting movie the other day, “Wendy and Scar Nebula Lucy”. I don’t think I liked it much.
Its about a girl who is traveling by car from Muncie, Indiana; going to Alaska to find a new frontier, a new life with just her and her dog, Lucy. Wendy’s plans are vague. She takes employment advice from a drunken reprobate who dances around a bonfire while exhorting the other reprobates with stories of past drunkenness and destruction.
She sleeps in her car that night after calculating her meager finances. She’s awakened by the store security guard who tells her that she has to move her car. It won’t start. She grinds it. It sounds like a blown head gasket, but no one seems to know this.
She eats and waits for a garage to open. When she goes to feed the dog she discovers she’s out of dog food. She goes to the local grocery store, ties Lucy to the bike rack while she goes inside. The Wolf by Wallpaper Collections Wendy gets busted by some nerdo high school kid for shoplifting two cans of dog food. The kid insists that they call the cops. The cops take her away ignoring her pleas about her dog, who is still tied up in front.
Several hours later she’s released. She has to pay a fifty dollar fine. Cops being the jerks they like to be let her take a bus back to find her dog. Lucy’s gone.
The rest of the film plot is about Wendy trying to find Lucy and to get her car running. This is probably enough plot for a movie. What’s frightening is that the theme of the movie is the intense vulnerability of twenty-ish Wendy. One person is modestly kind to her, the security guard who made her move on. His kindness is manifested in directions to the dog pound and then by letting her use his mobile to call the pound even going so far as to let her give them his number if there’s word on Lucy.The Host
The rest of the world, her family, the people on the street, the sun, the moon and the star, the garage mechanic could care less about her devastating plight. They all have their own lives and there is the pervading ill feeling that they are all just an unforeseen incident away from joining Wendy in her fall from stability.
Vulnerability, lack of stability and the lack of a caring world, where victims can only victimize each other and dreams are gambles and well meaning promises that cannot be kept.
Its a sad film. Well done for the budget. Slow but interesting enough to keep watching. Nothing dramatically tragic happens in the movie which makes it sadder still. Its a movie that’s too easy. Its like watching the legacy of George W Bush, the train wrecks of the lives of the common man.

Somehow that movie made me think of the greatest tragedy of the 21st Century. The loss of our free press. A very systematic destruction caused by the freedom of the press being exploited by the rich. The constant dumbing down of America and the world.
Journalism used to be nobel. Reporters used to work on stories. The people trusted the press to blandly report staggering facts. We all knew the press was manipulated. One of the few scenes I liked in “Citizen Kane: was when he had the two A Walk In Time by n0rcalguy headlines prepared for election day. One read, “KANE WINS” while the other read “FRAUD AT POLLS”. We were trained to look past that, to interpret and refine. Only the “other guy” was stupid enough to fall for the obvious ploys.
In the 60’s guys like Truman Capote, Tom Wolfe and Hunter Thompson raised journalism to an art form.
They worked with unflagging energy, visiting the places, interviewing the people, assembling the facts from the phantasmagoria of conflicting views and distilled it to a vivid narrative that had the power and purity of fiction. But it was real. Almost too real to bear.
Capote’s “In Cold Blood” showed the power of the “true crime” novel. All the facts and the words were real. The emotions, the words, the actions, the emotions were all real, verified and accurate.
At about the same time Tom Wolfe was also working on the “new” journalism. He produced some The Damned Don't Cry interesting work. (Although I’m still trying to understand what the surfers in his South Bay surf story were actually saying when they used the slang term “panthers” to describe non-surfers. It a word I’ve never heard used. I don’t know if he misheard them or if they were having some one day joke, perhaps at Wolfe’s expense.)
It culminated with the brilliant “Electric Kool Aid Acid Test” describing the life of Ken Kesey and Jack Cassidy, two giants of fiction. One a writer of not insignificant talent and the other a character transformed by Jack Kerouac into one of the great fictional characters of all time. Wolfe lived with them, reported on them and wrote a non-fiction book that burst with drama, reality and perception.
While Capote’s book left him an emotional wreck unable to follow it up Wolfe’s no less interesting but emotionally safer work enabled him to continue to the present day.
Spirit by Seven Edge The west coast had another journalist – Hunter Thompson wrote “Hell’s Angels”. He realized his job was not to create characters but to divine and then to define the character, conveying them with a clarity that infected the milieu. He worked not with boring stats and charts but with a vivid present that made the people even more real than they actually were.
Thompson then went on to create Gonzo Journalism with his serialized masterwork, “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas”.
The success of these new journalists didn’t go unnoticed by other aspiring reporters. But their work was too hard. Not only was it necessary to find the story but then you had to meet all those people, distill the facts, report the facts (which used to be the usual reporters job) but then you had to build these facts into aThe Man Who Turned to Stone narrative, adding drama and imagery. and somehow avoiding those moments were real life is not as exciting as drama.
It was a lot easier simply to create the whole story under the old justification that “someplace out there there really is somebody like this”. Not only was this a tidier mode of reporting and story telling, it was quicker and much less stressful. Things could progress the way they should go instead of the way they might.
So we had all the scandals of award winning reporters actually just writing pure fiction. It created some scandals but it still is going on today.
So reporters got lazier. They saw the ambitious caught in their own scandal, they saw hacks get TV shows that replaced facts with opinion. They saw guys doing less work and getting more money while their employers refused to publish the big real stories for fear of offending advertisers and because it didn’t fit the way the rich thought the world should be.
Now we have the internet. Which seems to be nothing but personal bias. Its easy to find a news source that fits your personal prejudices and easier still to find sites to revile. The reporting is sloppy most of the time. No one investigates or digs through to truth. They seem to start out with a concept they want to prove and look for the facts that prove it while ignoring any facts that might disprove.
The insanity of this was bred in the law. OJ Simpson is an easy example. We all “know” he is guilty. It used to be that only an idiot would dispute the verdict of judge and jury. But California passed a The Long Leg by Edward Hopper law that said it didn’t matter if you were found innocent, we could apply a new standard for the civil courts that ignored the criminal courts decision to redefine the truth.
Now we weren’t idiots we were people who were capable of deciding the truth because we were told there were several black and white truths that were ours for the choosing. News became nothing more than entertainment to feed us the different truths we wanted. Pick one.
The free press gave way to entertainment and laziness that was rewarded more handsomely than those fools who put themselves at risk, who dug and fought to find the one truth.
Sad stuff for us. The end result is that a movie gets made about a nice girl who loves her dog and The Shiver of the Vampire discovers that the world is nothing but an uncaring place where what we are no longer matters and love has to be discarded for dollars and pence.
A documentary.
I think its just the end result of a press that ignores that our leaders have turned us all into war criminals who torture and violate all the principals that used to make us the good guys. They bow to the pressure instead of standing tough armed only with the truth and an unquenched desire to reveal that truth to us all.
So we suffer and we suddenly can only notice our own suffering and not the anguish of the man next to us.

The sun is out. Its time to take the dogs for a long walk. They don’t like the fact that the world changes on human whims. They’ll still laugh, are laughing now.
So am I.
Its just harder to notice when I do it.

Life must be understood backwards; but it must be lived forward
Soren Kierkegaard

Cracked Wheat
Click images for desktop size: “Cracked Wheat” by Unknown
When I was around 7 I remember being in the car with my new step-father and my mother. We were on a two lane highway going someplace I don’t remember. It wasn’t very important, to me anyway.
Robot Monster We were in a salmon cake colored Plymouth Belvedere, old but fancy, when suddenly I saw behind us a bunch of motorcycles: choppers.
In a few moments the car was surrounded by choppers. Big hairy brutes wearing Hells Angels colors, riding choppers. Some of the bikes were elegant and beautiful. Others were ratty and rusted while others were in the middle of their transformation. All of them glistened gloriously in the bright California sun.
It was a Hells Angel snake about 50 bikers just tearing up the highway.Ghosts
Click images for desktop size: “Ghosts” by Unknown

I heard my father yell at my mother, “Whatever you do DON’T look at them!” as he scrunched low behind the steering wheel. My step-father was the biggest adult I’d ever seen. I was fascinated that these bikers scared even him.
Of course I clung to the window staring at these guys. They were big, ugly brutes. They looked beautiful because they looked like freedom.
Some of them even waved at me but mainly they were focused on something else; on being free I’d have thought. For about five minutes the bikes roared past us. The snake trailed two abreast and when they reached the car they zipped and passed us on both sides. They counted only on their sheer presence to hold my step fathers fear in check to stop him from veering the car to either side and wiping one of them out.
It was incredibly exciting. Free to be anywhere they chose with their buddies who were just like them. That they scared the bejeezus out of adults was only a fringe benefit. What was cool was their Wall Of China
Click images for desktop size: “Wall Of China” by Unknown
arrogance in their sheer presence.
I read the papers and looked at adult books about the Hells Angels. For a while they were my icons. They represented everything I wanted to be.
That’s how I discovered Hunter Thompson. I was about 10 when I read his book on the Hells Angels.
I never became a biker. I had a couple of friends who did. Two of them are dead and the others in prison. The two who died did so on the road. One smashed into a culvert on PCH. They figured he was doing over a hundred on his old Indian Chopper. The other smashed into a truck on the 405 during rush hour. The third is in prison. He was the “pick up man” in some sort of kidnapping. I never got the full details. He was just the guy who was supposed to pick up the money. When he did he was descended upon byShe Creature cops. I’ve seen enough movies to understand that.
If you go down to Venice Beach you always see the burned out bikers hanging around. Like the old norse crones who shared one eye and a tooth between the three of them you can see the drug wrecked bikers passing a joint and, you assume, their surviving brain cell as they laugh and tell stories that don’t make a whole lot of sense. A lot like listening to Sky Saxon tell you about his plans for the future. (Sky Saxon and the old drug casualty bikers should be hired by the government to travel to high schools. Twenty minutes of listening to them talk is the surest inducement to not to drugs that I can imagine.)
I’ve been thinking about bikers because I’ve been reading this book: “At War With Hells Angels”. War?
Its a bad book. I find it amusing. This is the third book this guy has, apparently written about the Angels. I think he’s obsessive. The book is about the war between bikers in Illinois, Canada and Luis Royo
Click images for desktop size: “Untitled” by Luis Royo
I’m a SoCal guy so I’ve always been a touch perplexed about how you can be a biker in a place where you can only ride about four months out of the year, but that’s just my own personal concern. Who wouldn’t want to be part of a family that represents freedom and fear?
This writer tries to paint the Angels as the new Mafia. Maybe its so but I’m befuddled by how you can be a secret crime organization when everything about you marks you as a biker. When you wear a uniform that is known throughout the world.
He paints the Angels as the ultimate evil in the world. I’m not exaggerating. He sees the Angels as evil incarnate and proof that God is in retreat!
I think he saw the totally cool movie “Stone Cold”. Its the last great biker movie staring Brian Bosworth (Awesome line backer from Oklahoma who fizzled as a Seattle SeaHawk in the NFL – Bosworth’s big claim to fame was being one of the first Scarlet Claw athletes suspended from the NCAA for steroid use, which prompted Bosworth to show up at the OU bowl game wearing a knee length T-Shirt that used the NCAA initials to spell out National Communists Against Athletes . . . strange. Maybe it was this attitude that kept him from being a movie star. He’s pretty good here, especially as a debut.)
In “Stone Cold” Lance Henriksen gives his greatest performance as “Chains” the president and leader of “The Brotherhood”. A Hells Angel’s clone. Henriksen gives the movie the edge and movement towards greatness. He;s incredible and undefeatable. He raises evil on earth to giddy heights. Tres cool.
But even this fictitious character so brilliantly embodied cannot compare to the evil that this writer paints for the real world Angels.
The writer uses too many charts and diagrams to ever prove his point to me but I like that it reminds me of my child hood when I could think of nothing more gorgeous than ripping through the highways with my friends while my step-father cowered behind the wheel of his safe car.

Lots going on. All just life. The drains here are clogged. This is an old house and the clog is at a junction of ancient cast iron where PVC pipe has somehow been welded on. The runs of pipe are over thirty feet long! I have a six foot snake . . . So it will be interesting.

You’re my brother. You should have looked after me
Bud Schulberg

Falling Star by Emperaa There’s a writer, Stanley Elkin. He likes to be identified as a Chicago writer. A pretty select group, I guess.
I can only think of Elkin, Saul Bellow and Sara Paretsky and that fellow who wrote “Man With the Golden Arm”, Nelson Algren.
I always think of ALgren as New York based because of all his early TV work. The Legend Of Hillbilly John Thing is I always think writers who locate themselves in a particular area are pretty interesting. I mean, Faulkner had his mythic south, Kennedy has Albany New York, Joyce had Dublin and Chandler had L.A.
It always seems that the more specific a good writer gets the more universal his story becomes. I’ve got no proof of this. Its just the way things feel to me.
Stanley Elkin had multiple sclerosis. It killed him. He was probably thinking about how it was going to kill him when he wrote “The Living End”.
“The Living End” is a funny story about this jewish guy who dies. The fellow goes to Heaven. He’s disappointed because Heaven really doesn’t come up to his expectations. He thinks it looks a lot like Disneyland, but he guesses its better than the alternative.
Suddenly he is confronted by the voice of God. God begins to berate our hero. He condemns him to hell because he once ate a piece of bacon, he wore pants with zippers instead of buttons, he worked on the sabbath. God casts this guy into the darkest pits of hell shouting out his final transgression; “and you thought Heaven looked like an amusement park!”
Fernando Vicente For this sins the hero is doomed to suffer eternal torment alongside murderers, rapists, child abusers, lawyers . . . That his seemingly minor sins were seen, by God, to be as serious as genocide. A commandment is a commandment. A sin is a sin. Its a funny little book. Too hard to find, I think, but worth picking up.
There’s always something about divine justice that horrifies and interests me. I think its pretty normal to at some part of your life to think that you’ve been hard done by. What’s important, I think, is not to let it bug you to the point of being morose or silly or cruel.
I’ve taken it too far, often. I have an adolescent concept of correctness. My greatest fault has been in not allowing people who love me to be a part of me. Sometimes in idiotically minor ways. To let a player help me set up the field, help me carry stuff when my arms are full. The Canyon by Maxfield Parrish Little meaningless things that might have let them know that I valued them and trusted them to be a part of me.
Its an old true cliche that the easiest way to get someone to feel indebted to you is not to do them a favor but to allow them to do you a favor.
Somehow I turned that into a code. I didn’t want to have people feel indebted to me. I feel indebted to so many and sometimes it weighs heavy. I wanted everyone I loved to feel unencumbered, free to pursue their dreams and to help others they met to pursue their dreams.
I have to remind myself that this tic of mine when added to my natural aloofness can make me seem heartless and unfeeling. That’s not very important in itself, others perceptions of me. It is important when it makes people think that I think less of them. I don’t grasp sometimes that how I feel about people is sometimes important to them. Probably a lot more The Hills Have Eyes important to them than how they feel about me.
Its just something I have to remember.
My friend sent me one of those test things that was supposed to tell you how much of an animal lover you are. I had a problem with it. The basic premise was skewed. It relied on a faulty concept that you could only love animals if you hated people . . . there was no lee way in thinking that animals and people are pretty equal in my eyes.
Its that same sort of thinking, not realizing there are alternatives that exist outside of ourselves that plagues me. I have to stay always aware of it or I become nothing except some sort of monstrous saint.

I’ve been calling the school twice a day trying to reach the HC. I left a message today. If he doesn’t call me back I’ll move along. There’s a limit to how much stalking I’ll do to get an unpaying gig.
My friends interview went well. They pointed out she’s pretty well over qualified for the position. From what she says her potential immediate superior was the most concerned about this.
She liked the people and the job seemed interesting enough, at this stage, to keep her interested. They were seeing 9 applicants and will start their short list call backs on Tuesday.

Last night watched the last of this summers comic book flics. “The Incredible Hulk fits in nicely between “Iron Man” and “The Dark Knight.”
I didn’t think it was that good. The acting was fine and for the first time I appreciated Liv Tyler. Fat Frac by NBD I had a hard time thinking of skinny Tim Roth as a quasi killer super soldier . . .
What I liked about the Hulk movie was that he wore purple pants, the Lou Ferrigno and whack Bill Bixby cameos, and that he says, “HULK SMASH!”
I also got excited because the story played out almost like the comic book “Abomination” I remember reading when I was a kid.
I was pretty disappointed in the action. I guess Corey Yuen was a lot more responsible for “The Transporter” than given credit for.
Of course all misgivings were forgotten at the end when Robert Downey Jr enters the bar and gives a hint that there’ll be an Avengers movie next summer!
I know it wasn’t promised but in these kind of things a hint is more binding than a promise.

He was a man so much like other men that he seemed unique

Click images for desktop size: “Nautilus” by Unknown
Our big pizza party had a hitch.
The giant dog stole the frozen pizza off of the counter and made a line for the corner of the backyard. Before I realized what had happened he finished the whole thing . . .
My puppy and I spent the day ostracizing him.
Teenage Caveman Strangers On A Train He has to figure out how to make three bucks to replace our pizza. If he ever stops laughing I plan to tell him so.

I had the cat out for an hour or so. She kept trying to find a dark nook to hide in. I spent the time dragging her out and putting her in the middle of the room.
The improvement in her walking was noticeable as she worked her leg. Towards the end she even managed to climb the child gate to the closet without too much difficulty.
She’s way too thin. I’ll keep working on her. She’s no stoic. She’s uncomfortable, I think but not really suffering.
I still don’t know if she’s going to make it. She’s old but its anyone’s guess as to how old.
She did noticeably better when my friend held her in her lap and stroked her.

“Mary Shelly Overdrive” is a band that’s doing something I like.
They’re giving away their newest EP. Seven Songs, all covers. Cool covers too – Bo Diddley, Devo, Antiseen. Cool stuff. You can download “Hideous Sexy”, their album by clicking on the name. The cover art is included and it is uber cool. Very much worth seeing. I also like the caveat on the album: “If you try and sell this music we will find you and we will kill you”. Grrr-eat stuff.
The only thing I’m not too wild about is the music. Disappointed. They do serviceable covers of some great songs, but, for me, the sound is too dark and cavernous. Doesn’t mean you won’t like the noise they make. Everything else about this project is totally right headed. It is definitely worth the bandwidth to download the tracks (oh yeah, all 192k mp3’s, encoded with iTunes). If you’re in a band the package should get you excited about getting your music out there.

I saw “Red Cliffs” last night. The big big movie Chine made sort of for the Olympics. Its based on a six hundred year old historical novel, the most popular book in China. The characters in it and variations permeate and form the base of most Chinese fiction, written and movie. Its a very cool movie. What keeps it from greatness is that its in two part! The second part due out in December.
John Woo returns to China with a flourish. He’s done a sweet job of encapsulating Hollywood and Chinese story telling techniques. Its cool and all the lead characters are memorable and lovable.
There’s a scene where two of the leads are feeling each other out trying to figure on a military alliance against the bad guys. Neil Doshi
Click images for desktop size: “Untitled” by Neil Doshi
They don’t talk instead they play a duet on those wild Chinese dulcimer like things. When the duet finishes the visitor gets up and leaves with barely a word. His companion follows after him and says, “you never even asked him about going to war!”
The advisor replies, “He told me in his music. He will fight for freedom.”
Back inside the wife asks the general, “What was that about?”
The General replies, “I heard it in his music. He needs a friend.”
That put me deeply in mind of Del Shannon and the new album of his I got: “The Further Adventures Of Charles Westover”.
The albums from 1967. In ’67 the charts were dominated by The Beatles “Sergeant Pepper”, (I know its getting considered as the greatest album ever made. I’ve never been able to listen to all the way through. I’ve heard all the tracks. Some I really really hate. A couple I think are okay. When you’re not in agreement with the greatest ever its a time to consider Soylent Green getting out of music . . . ) Jimmy Hendrix, Cream and the burgeoning Hippie Movement.
A couple of years earlier Del Shannon had been touring in London. He met Andrew Loog Oldham (best known as the guy who made the Rolling Stones and for wearing tons of eye makeup.).
A lot of American pop stars went to England after they discovered just a how badly the Americans and the RAIA had ripped them off.
Oldham and Shannon recorded an album. The label shelved it because it wasn’t psychedelic . . . Shannon was rightly stunned. Songs like “Stand Up” show an evolving talent that was encapsulating his urban vision to a world view, keeping the teen aged fighting spirit. Shannon’s take on relationships remain quixotic and passionate.
The label had Shannon return to America and work with a new “hep” producer. The new album got close to Shannon’s skin. The title reflects it. Charles Westover is Shannon’s real name. “The Further Adventures” part refers to having to make a second attempt to get out a record, at least on the surface.
On the record the producers showed, at least that they had a grasp on the power of Del Shannon. In an time where concept albums and “Rock Operas” were the new vogue he realized that Shannon was composing teen operas from the start. Shannon didn’t need to 24 tracks to tell a deep story. He could so it in 2 minutes thirty six seconds.
They recorded “Runaway ’67” a rococo stab at wildness, trying to plant Verdi onto pop. With its chiming mandolin and dark brown string section it nearly works. Regretfully the rest of the tracks take off from that basis. It does have a few cool numbers. What project by Del Shannon wouldn’t?
Shannon’s cover of Boyce & Hart’s “She” has a certain power where Shannon cuts through the Mujer con Rebozo Azul
Click images for desktop size: “Mujer con Rebozo Azul” by Unknown
strange production effects.
“The House Where Nobody Lives” shows that Shannon could walk away with any project. He was a major talent as a song writer and a performer. The production tries to undercut this but fails.
The best thing about the disc is that it gives life to the shelved album.
Listening to this and to the last album of Shannon’s career, before he pulled a Cobain and shot him self in the head with a 22 rifle, songs like “Walk Away” show that he retained his clear vision and knew his tools and power. I’m always reminded that Shannon learned to play ukulele at age 4. His mom taught him. He taught himself guitar. He got kicked out of school at age 14 for playing the guitar in class!! He perfected his guitar chops and vocal style screeching and wailing the school bathroom.
The guy’s talent was eternal and too brief.

Get on your feet. You make me nervous in your seats!
Robert Parker

Circles Ny Aleksander Maksimow
Click images for desktop size: “Circles” by Aleksander Makimow
Today is an international holiday!
Isn’t it?
It’s my puppy’s birthday. She has a full itinerary lined up.
I’m not kidding. I’m expected to participate and to enjoy myself fully. It all culminates with a big surprise party with a new taste treat promised. French fries ala mode with beef gravy . . . Its a surprise party because my puppy seldom listens to much I talk about.
Yesterday I cleaned my keyboard. It had gotten beyond gross.
The last time I cleaned my keyboard I killed it. Totally and irrevocably killed it. So I was, understandably reticent to try it again.
I used the utmost care, swabbing each key gently with pure alcohol and a Q-Tip. And needless to say I killed it again.
Since a new keyboard is at least 50 bucks I thought a lot about the prudence of Mac clones and how Ubuntu really looks like a decent alternative.
This time it appears that the keyboard had gotten so gunky that the residue from my swabbing had caused some of the gunk to shift under the board to the contacts so it was working as if I was constantly pressing the command (Mac only) control -alt-shift key. Which made for some interesting results.
I pried all the keys off and re-swabbed. Then re-integrated. I then took my puppy and my little blind dog for a quick walk and came back to find out that it had dried out and started working again.
I am a genius at breaking stuff. Fortunately I am still half a genius at fixing stuff.
If only I could get my ebike running . . .

During all this my mind drifted, as it generally does. I was thinking about a mediocre science fiction book I’d read years ago. I got it from the Charing Cross library in London. I’ve never seen it any where else or heard it talked about. I don’t remember the author or the title of the book. They only had volume one of a series. I don’t know how many books in the series, but it was called “The Amtrak Wars”. Pinup
Click images for desktop size: “Pinup” by Unknown
I originally thought it was about our decrepit train system but it was about an intergalactic war!
It was pretty tedious stuff but it had one wonderful conceit. It predicted that human beings were the most dangerous and aggressive warriors in the galaxy. That even a middling small nerd type had twice as much endurance, strength, speed and blood lust than the previous galactic champions.
That was very appealing to me. I figure if you added a Belgian Sheepdog to the mix you’d have a serious combat team (who would also have a few laughs.)
Like I said, I never was able to find any other books in the series. Its one of those things a dispassionately look for in used book stores.
David Drake is an odd writer. He has his own science fiction trips. But he also touched on a similar theme. He had some guy conquer the universe by capturing an ancient Roman Legion and forcing them to fight for him.
Ray guns are no match for iron, steel and precision it seems.
My Gun Is Quick Cool stuff.
For some reason day dreaming about the destructive capabilities of our race makes a lot of insanity more sensible.

Now the rest of the day will be spent rejoicing in my puppy and the joy she brings into my life and the life of others. Three years old today. Three years and we’re still inseparable. Still bicker all the time. Still need each other.
There’s not much better than that. Not much better than a good dog. Together we are perfect, for each other and for others.

We can have us some fun cause we got a little mon
Joe Penny

Flaws Of Fancy by Anonymous Okay, so two people got my joke . . .

Writing out of that exquisite boredom that only comes from being on hold on the telephone.
Figure to spend the morning on one task and the afternoon on another.
Keoma Pain has not abated. But I’m doing better with it.
I figure that most of the effects of torture are derived from the ability are derived from the fact that there is the possibility that the pain can cease.
That thought is one of the reasons that I get agnostic about the fundamentalist version of Hell. What good does eternal torment do?
There’s this one little book by a Chicago writer that takes it to the necessary extreme. In Stanley Elkins’ “The Living End” a pretty normal guy, a Jew, is condemned to eternal suffering because he wore zippers on his trousers . . . It could happen.
Without the possibility of redemption what’s the sense of pure revenge, eternal revenge.

I’ve been listening to the new Raconteurs’ album, Consolers Of The Lonely. I wish it were great. It isn’t but its okay.
Best bit is how nice it is too hear Jack White’s guitar. There’s a bit of acoustic thrown into it as well. White isn’t overwhelmed by his band members, which is good but they don’t let those pure Jack White excesses come to the front, and I like them excesses.
I’ve also been listening to the Nomads. A Scandinavian punk group! They’re alright and a few tunes hit the great mark.
I first came aware of them because they covered She Pays The Rent (not one of my songs but one of the songs I played).
Its funny. I guess if I was uber successful I’d get uptight about bands covering my tracks without contributing 20 bucks of the 200 they make from the gig to my well oiled coffers. As it is I’m merely flattered and hope that the bands get to keep playing. Except in this case where they do a better version of the tune then I ever envisioned! Long live the Nomads!
Alladin by Maxfield Parrish
I’m also near finished with the serial “The Purple Monster Strikes”.
Its pretty cool and features one of the greatest ham bones headed heroes in serial history.
Ignoring the fact that he fights the Purple Monster single handedly (or takes along his girl friend who valiantly tries to assist but only gets knocked out in the path of some greater danger necessitating a rescue that enable the henchmen to escape) the great hambone headed play of all time was when his car is blown up by a destructo ray, the most powerful weapon on earth. After a good fight where he manages to daze the head henchman he then runs off after the truck driver leaving the henchman time to recover and speed away WITH THE WEAPON!
I mean, compared to the top villain and the most destructive weapon n earth how important is the truck driver . . .
Well, he got the job and I didn’t. Maybe the idea is that if all the truck drivers are shot down or put away the villains plans would crumble for lack of transportation.
Killers From Space The Purple Monster is old cowboy star Ray Barcroft. He’s not very monstrous but is a good movie fighter. I guess his leotard is purple and he does monstrous things. He’s from Mars and is a one man invasion. The plan is he steals the plans for a jet plane, flies it back to Mars and then they build a fleet and invade earth.
Somehow I figure they’d have done better if they sent a mess of Purple Monsters, but who am I to question the wisdom of the Emperor of Mars . . . He does get an assistant, a girl who looks pretty snazzy in her purple monster costume (with cute drum majorette skirt). Her name is Marcia . . . seriously. Then I realized MARS-cia . . . get it?
Its still a lot of mindless fun and moves so fast that only an adult would think to contemplate the plot holes, and only then only after the episode was finished.