Saturday, September 30, 2006

Grazing ruling a blow to fat cats

Salt Lake Tribune - Grazing ruling a blow to counties:

"'It'll be interesting to see what happens if there is no longer state money,' he said. 'I can't see these ranchers spending their own money, but I've been wrong before.' "

Of course they won't spend their own money; they like to use collective land (that is, BLM/Forest Service land for uber uber uber cheap fees) and collective money (that is, state tax dollars) as if it is all their own and only theirs. Funny how these conservative folks love welfare when it is about their own welfare, isn't it?

I also enjoyed the specious "these wilderness people only want to protect their precious hiking trails from the unsightly presence of cows" argument some where in the piece. Do you think they really believe that argument?

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Thursday, September 28, 2006

Uptical

Fun with Macs, originally uploaded by Theorris.

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Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Door

Door, originally uploaded by Theorris.

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Oog

Oog, originally uploaded by Theorris.

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Sunday, September 24, 2006

You can have your free speech as long as you stand in a place where no one can hear you

deseretnews.com | Taylorsville settles in animal rights suit:

"The suit was filed after the city and Mayor Russ Wall relegated UARC members to a city-created 'free speech zone' during the city's 'Taylorsville Dayzz' celebration last July. Activists said they were handing out pamphlets and talking to patrons about animal cruelty in the food industry when they were told by city officials they must stand in the 'free speech zone' near a parking lot and away from the events and crowd traffic."

And now Taylorsville has to dole out $15K for their strident desire that no one be upset at their interestingly spelled craptastic kitsch festival. Why didn't they just go for "Taylorzzville" too? That would violate all bounds of free speech, I should think.

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Wednesday, September 13, 2006

To the tough kid with that drawn look

Too much beer
Not enough pussy
And a nagging at his mind
That he is not and never will be
Enough

So he slumps there,
Bus-stop-waiting,
Holding his breath every
Once in a while
To see what it is
Like

To imagine the blackness
He'd stare up at without
Knowing or maybe knowing
Until his eyes rot
In their sockets

At least it would be quiet
No heart pounding because
Of too many cigarettes
No bratty kid wailing in
The backroom

No thought
No nothing

As the bus pulls up he
Scratches out his cigarette
On the concrete and sticks
The unconsumed portion
In his front pocket

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Sunday, September 10, 2006

Belt buckle art

Belt buckle art, originally uploaded by Theorris.

My artist friend Kali makes belt buckles and whatnot. This one is 8 penny nails and a washer. It turned out great.

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Saturday, September 09, 2006

Hightouch Gourmanderie

The inimitable Hightouch Megastore is throwing a dinner party this evening. I don't know why, but it seems appropriate to write about it. I don't normally write about such social gatherings. It might be because I am eager to see the remnants of her erstwhile meadow (forceably destroyed by the West Jordanarian Garden Uniformity Polizei. I also wish to meet her rambunctious dog and the less-rambunctious dog she rescued some months ago. Oh yes and I want to see the bamboo floor in the study. Hightouch also seems to be quite the cook, so I look forward to eating well. Perhaps a $30 lemon pie is in order?

I don't think I will take my camera as that seems too intrusive.

I've purchased both white and red wines for the occasion. I suppose getting a chardonay and a cabernet sauvignon is a bit pedestrian, but I've come to like them again. One review called the cab "uninteresting." We'll see.

Update: the dinner was very good and the wine was interesting. One dog is rambunctious and the other dog sedate. The bamboo floor stretches through the entire living room hall etc. No 30 dollar lemon pie, but an elaborate chocalote thing that has some fancy frenchy name.

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Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Omelet for the masses

It is all poetic hash
A buffet of lines
Ham frying on the grill

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Monday, September 04, 2006

Why don't we sing this song all together: potatos

Totalitarians really love motley metaphors, macerated in trope, hyperbole, and the mundane:

1) super man
2) sun
3) leader
4) life

But of course Lenin was dead when the film was made.
Filleted by chef Stalin and served to the people: Zharkoye for the starving.

Long ago the sun had set: his brain ruptured in what would be the death throes of his revolution's sunrise.

I told you they love the remixed mix-up metaphor, so why shouldn't I?

And the masses, they eat it all up.
They lick their plates clean:

A) potatos
B) mindlessness
C) sunshine

Love equals mindless devotion as the buried tuber loves the sun.

Or are they eaten? Flesh picked from their bones by the Party?

Maybe I don't understand because I'm not a totalitarian matre d' or a dirt farmer or a canibalistic star sending out rays to be thoughtlessly absorbed and converted, eventually, historically, emphatically to vodka or maybe it is because I am not a potato?

Stick boys
Stick

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Sunday, September 03, 2006

Dali film director

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Dali stabbing artwork

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Insert comment here

Insert comment here, originally uploaded by catinlap.

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Saturday, September 02, 2006

Three musical groups I thought about this morning but this morning was not for thinking

1) Badly Draw Boy
2) Sigur Ros
3) Detroit Cobras

I'm not sure how they fit into a omelet-enhanced morning of a lingering headache, but they do:

1) The sun is caught on the louver blinds like in a film noir.
2) The hot pepper from the south forty was particularly hot.
3) A picture of an old girlfriend is nestled underneath the wires by my computer.

Those are the links in numeric order.

And now it is this, out of the somewhere between me and the text splayed on the screen:

And then they drove me to an Albertson's outside of Boise
And took me into a back room.
And they said the wanted to balance my checkbook;
and they said they wanted to organize my receipts
and itemize my expenses
and that I had the key
to a saftey deposit box,
with treasury bonds and the key
to another safety deposit box
where I'd stashed away
the only pewter pocket watch
that ever belonged to
Joseph Smith's Great-Great Uncle's
Brother-in-law. (Fiery Furnaces, Bitter Tea, "Oh Sweet Woods.")

"This fair child of mine should sum my old account."

And now Bjork comes on the stereo.

I'm going to go lie down before I go out and think of Iceland.

And ice.

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