SemiConscious Dot Org

At last, someone has finally combined my two favorite pastimes:

Reading books and drinking beer.

That is all.

That it not dead which can eternal lie
And with strange eons even death may die.

-Abdul Alhazred, The Necronomicon

And at last, the hour has come round for this blog to once again issue its highly coveted 2008 Presidential endorsement. This time around, the sheer volume of concentrated evil inherent in the candidates caused far more protracted deliberation than normal. They have staked out some truly admirable positions in favor of widespread, indiscriminate slaughter and carnage.

Obama took the early lead with his promise to attack our ally Pakistan, but has since been thoroughly eclipsed by Hilary’s threat to nuke Iran. Both candidates’ potential death tolls, however, would pale next to those proposed by John McCain, who promises America 100 years of war and actively seeks the endorsement of loonies who openly pine for the Apocalypse. Truly inspiring, Senator!

Whatever to do? Who to choose? The wailing and gnashing of teeth could be heard from orbit! But, finally, the choice was clear, and it’s a familiar choice.

The human candidates in the race, potentially murderous though they may be, simply can’t compare with Great Cthulhu, whose policy platform consists of driving mad, then devouring, the entire human race. Not even Dear Leader can match Cthulhu’s record of spilled blood, however noble and persistent his attempts.

The final factor clinching our endorsement is Cthulhu’s stated promise to devour his loyal human servants last, thus insuring us a few precious extra minutes of life at your expense. As our race screams for a thousand years in the stomachs of The Elder Gods, such small mercies will be all important.

Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn!

We’ve warned you time and time again that the Time Of The Monkey is nigh, and still you refuse to believe us. Maybe this will change your mind:

Oh sure, there are those Nattering Nabobs out there who will attempt to convince you that this Chilling Portent Of Doom is nothing more than a bad Photoshop job. Our first instinct was to accuse the doubters of being Objectively Pro-Simian America Hating Monkeyfascist Fifth Columnists…but then another, more terrifying possibility occurred to us:

What if monkeys have learned how to manipulate Photoshop?

Well, kids, it’s been a long time since I posted any music reviews. This is mostly due to a regrettable lack of funds; quite simply, fixing up an old house ain’t cheap. However, the arrival of my tax refund check, coupled with the onset of advanced New Music Withdrawal symptoms, led me to the record store for an orgy of wanton spending. And thus I can inform all of you what new tunes you need to own in order to be hep. You’re welcome.

The Black Keys – Attack & Release
After four albums of basic guitar-drums blues crunch, they expand their sound with everything from bass and keyboards to horns, banjos, strings, and the occasional backup singer. It all works. Early contender for Album of the Year.

Flogging Molly – Float
They’ve noticeably mixed down the punk in their Celtic-punk mix, sounding more like a traditional Irish band – albeit one on steroids. The songwriting is better, as is the singing. As a diehard Dropkick Murphys fan, it pains me to admit this, but this cd blows the Dropkicks’ latest out of the water.

The Raconteurs – Consolers of the Lonely
Jack White’s other band releases its sophomore album. This one is significantly grittier and more raucous than their debut, Broken Boy Soldiers. In fact, parts of it sound suspiciously like the Stripes would sound if they had a second guitarist, bassist, and professional drummer.

Black Mountain – In the Future
Another band whose second album stomps their debut like a grape. Indie rock meets acid rock, gets injected with a healthy dose of Pink Floyd, and then is blown up stadium-size with lots of crunchy power chords.

The Sword - Gods of the Earth
And continuing the “what sophomore jinx?” trend, these guys transcend the unapologetic Black Sabbath worship of their debut by markedly upping the tempos and mixing a thrash element into the bongwater. (Bonus points awarded for “Fire Lances of the Hyperzephrians,” the year’s most awesome song title.) It’s crushingly heavy.

But not as heavy as:

Meshuggah – Obzen
This might be the heaviest band on planet Earth. All the tortured bellowing, bludgeoning riffage, and neck-snapping rhythmic shifts of their Swedish compatriots Opeth, with none of Opeth’s silly mellow acoustic prog rock interludes. Sheer brutality from end to end.

Drive-By Truckers – Brighter Than Creation’s Dark
It’s official: by replacing departed third guitarist Jason Isbell with a steel guitar player and noticeably raising the percentage of slow songs in the mix, the Drive-By Truckers have morphed from Southern Rock into Country. Not that this is necessarily bad – it’s a dark, grim, melancholy kind of country, light years away from the slick, overproduced shit churned out by Nashville – but it’s not really my thing. And, quite frankly, there’s too much of it. At 45 minutes, this would’ve been a masterpiece; at 75 minutes, it drags.

Rustic Overtones – Light at the End
If you live outside New England, you’ve probably never heard of these guys, which is entirely your loss. The pride of Portland, Maine hit hard luck when the major label that had just released what was to be their breakthrough album went belly-up. They broke up shortly thereafter. Now they’re back, sounding like they never left. You ain’t got shit if you ain’t funk…

Ok, so maybe I’m the only one speaking about it.

Except for (surprise, surprise!) a Republican congressman:

Concerned that the military is selling pornography in exchange stores in spite of a ban, one lawmaker has introduced a bill to clean up the matter.

“Our troops should not see their honor sullied so that the moguls behind magazines like Playboy and Penthouse can profit,” said Rep. Paul Broun, R-Ga., unveiling his House bill April 16.

His Military Honor and Decency Act would amend a provision of the 1997 Defense Authorization Act that banned sales of “sexually explicit material” on military bases.

The new language would “close existing loopholes” in regulations to bring the military “into compliance with the intent of the 1997 law,” Broun said.

“Allowing sale of pornography on military bases has harmed military men and women by escalating the number of violent, sexual crimes, feeding a base addiction, eroding the family as the primary building block of society, and denigrating the moral standing of our troops both here and abroad,” Broun said.

Broun said he wants to bring the Defense Department into compliance with the intent of the 1997 law “so that taxpayers will not be footing the costs of distributing pornography.”

Exchange officials noted that tax dollars are not used to procure magazines in the system’s largely self-funded operations.

But Broun’s spokesman John Kennedy contended that taxpayer dollars are involved — “used to pay military salaries, so taxpayer money is, in effect, being used to buy these materials,” he said.

(link via TBogg)

I suppose it would be redundant of me to point out the unmitigated lunacy of a political party which believes that torturing prisoners doesn’t sully the troops’ honor and denigrate their moral standing, but looking at skin mags does. So I won’t point that out.

Instead let’s tackle the bigger issue here: why are Republicans so COMPLETELY, UTTERLY FULL OF SHIT? Why does every self-appointed Republican moral guardian eventually end up sending lewd emails to his underage staffers, writing about sex with falafels, heading to the Caribbean for a weekend of Viagra n’ jailbait, or striking a “wide stance” in a public men’s room? Given the proven track record of his peers and hysterical tone of Rep. Broun’s moral outrage, I fully expect him to eventually be found hogtied in a wetsuit with foreign objects shoved up his you-know-where.

Whoops, looks like another Republican beat him to it.

Huh huh. I said “beat.” Huh huh huh huh huh…

Best. Book. EVER:

I have several friends with birthdays coming up. Looks like the job of picking out presents just got a lot easier…

If you happen to live in Maine or Massachusetts, tomorrow is Patriot’s Day. In honor of the holiday, I decided to take a drive down to Kennebunkport and let the President know what I’ve thought of his job performance these past 7+ years:

Yes, I’m fully aware that Dear Leader was not actually home. Had he been, the road for miles around Walker’s Point would have been closed off by the Secret Service in order to prevent various and sundry riff raff like me (otherwise known as “voters”) from showing up and pestering Our President (otherwise known as “our employee.”)

I’m pretty sure that under Article 666 of the Patriot Act, making fun of Dear Leader constitutes treason. So if I happen to disappear and none of you ever hear from me again, you’ll know why.

So, um yeah. It’s National Week Library Week. Or, rather, was. Oops.

Man oh man, I am really dropping the ball these days. First I bring shame upon my house with my inability to beat up five years olds, and now I’ve completely failed to notice and acknowledge the ALA’s desperate annual attempt to make a dying profession appear relevant.

Wicked sorry about that.

Hey, remember how Yankees fans used to look down on Red Sox fans for our massive inferiority complex and obsession with history and curses?

Yeah, me neither:

Meanwhile, in the Bronx, they’re concerned that polyester threading might lead to 86 years of an Ortiz jinx, digging through two feet of concrete to pull out an absolutely intangible sign of their impending doom.

Yankee fans always had the curse to lean on when it came to facing their rivals. Now that it’s “dead,” they’re walking around in the dark seeking enlightenment, a group of lost soldiers that Scientology could have a field day with.

Along comes Castignoli, and New York can’t even wait 48 hours before proving to the world its dysfunctional front office ways. Initially laughing it off as a prank, the Yankees couldn’t get the jersey out of their collective heads, ordering it dug up at the site yesterday, where construction workers held it up with alternating smiles and looks of embarrassment for the cameras.

As for Castignoli, Hank Steinbrenner urged the other workers to “kick the (expletive) out of him” while the team considers filing criminal charges against him. Can Yankee fans counter by suing the Yankees for making an entire fan base look like a group of nail-biting worry warts?

You stay classy, Empire…

For the past several weeks, I’ve been trying my absolute damnedest to ignore the ridiculous spectacle that is the 2008 Presidential campaign. I’ve done so mostly out of mounting, teeth-gnashing frustration at the Democratic Party’s insatiable need to tear itself to ribbons with petty squabbling, turning what should have been the easiest Dem win since 1964 into a possible loss and raising the terrifying possibility of Certifiable Batshit Loon John McCain as our next (and probably final) President. Another four years of Republican rule will sound the final death knell of any last lingering, desperate hope that this country can somehow pull itself out of its current death spiral…a prospect that depresses me so greatly that I’ve preferred to pretend it isn’t happening.

However, sometimes a manufactured political controversy comes along, one so ridiculous that it punctures even my comfortable bubble of self-absorption and triggers my Tirade Button. Like, say, when a Presidential candidate makes a speech pointing out the rather obvious fact that millions of poor and rural Americans are feeling angry, abandoned, and bitter towards a government that has left them to twist in the wind for the past thirty years…and is promptly branded an “elitist” by the very same cheerleaders of the policies that threw poor and rural Americans under the bus in the first place.

Oh, and also by Hilary Clinton and John McCain. Assuming anyone can tell the difference between the two anymore, based on what comes out of their mouths. I sure as hell can’t.

Now, it goes without saying that the concept of Hilary or McCain or any Republican (and yes, I’m including Hilary in that category from now on) casting themselves as spokespeople for the concerns and frustrations of economically eviscerated Rust Belt voters is so palpably ludicrous as to defy description. Trying to wrap my poor brain around the jaw-dropping lunacy of the situation sent my Irony Meter into the red and shorted it out completely. So I’ll let this commenter at Balloon Juice sum it up for me:

1. Hillary helps pass NAFTA.

2. Pennsylvanians lose good jobs.

3. Obama empathizes and understands why they’re bitter.

4. Hillary calls Obama out of touch with the people.

5. I go off the wagon and start huffing paint again.

Amen.

But then again, is it really necessary to go to great rhetorical and oratorical heights in order to defend Obama from this idiocy? He does an admirable job or skewering his opponents’ hypocrisy all by himself:

“I was in San Francisco talking to a group at a fundraiser and somebody asked how’re you going to get votes in Pennsylvania? What’s going on there? We hear that its hard for some working class people to get behind your campaign. I said, “Well look, they’re frustrated and for good reason. Because for the last 25 years they’ve seen jobs shipped overseas. They’ve seen their economies collapse. They have lost their jobs. They have lost their pensions. They have lost their healthcare.

“And for 25, 30 years Democrats and Republicans have come before them and said we’re going to make your community better. We’re going to make it right and nothing ever happens. And of course they’re bitter. Of course they’re frustrated. You would be too. In fact many of you are. Because the same thing has happened here in Indiana. The same thing happened across the border in Decatur. The same thing has happened all across the country. Nobody is looking out for you. Nobody is thinking about you.

“And so people end up- they don’t vote on economic issues because they don’t expect anybody’s going to help them. So people end up, you know, voting on issues like guns, and are they going to have the right to bear arms. They vote on issues like gay marriage. And they take refuge in their faith and their community and their families and things they can count on. But they don’t believe they can count on Washington.

“So I made this statement—so, here’s what rich. Senator Clinton says ‘No, I don’t think that people are bitter in Pennsylvania. You know, I think Barack’s being condescending.’ John McCain says, ‘Oh, how could he say that? How could he say people are bitter? You know, he’s obviously out of touch with people.’

“Out of touch? Out of touch? I mean, John McCain—it took him three tries to finally figure out that the home foreclosure crisis was a problem and to come up with a plan for it, and he’s saying I’m out of touch? Senator Clinton voted for a credit card-sponsored bankruptcy bill that made it harder for people to get out of debt after taking money from the financial services companies, and she says I’m out of touch?

“No, I’m in touch. I know exactly what’s going on. I know what’s going on in Pennsylvania. I know what’s going on in Indiana. I know what’s going on in Illinois. People are fed-up. They’re angry and they’re frustrated and they’re bitter. And they want to see a change in Washington and that’s why I’m running for President of the United States of America.”

Sweet Jesus, it’s so nice to imagine having an grownup occupying the Oval Office again. After eight long, dreary years of DubYa, I’d almost forgotten what that felt like.