March 26, 2003
This one is mostly not about war
Someone found my page by searching for "How to stop thinking about sex."
heh heh heh.
CAN'T BE DONE!
(that's the joke, you see.)
Don't make war on Iraq the end.
Posted by didofoot at 04:38 PM | Comments (3)
Didofoot Reads The News, Part 2
See Part 1
"The United States acknowledged it might have killed some civilians with air strikes after 14 people were reported dead in missile attacks on a Baghdad housing block.
"A statement issued by the US Central Command stopped short of confirming the deaths reported by Iraqi officials but blamed Baghdad for placing military weapons in civilian-populated areas." - Agence France-Presse
Is anyone else laughing at this? I actually laughed out loud when I read it (then quickly toggled to my spreadsheet when my boss glanced over at me - oh, Excel, you wise-cracker!).
I am in such a general state of being horrified that it is now possible to find aspects of this amusing again. Dammit, Baghdadians. When you put military targets right next to civilian stuff like that, shit, what do you expect? Y'all knew we'd be coming for you eventually. Y'all should have made better arrangements.
Posted by didofoot at 12:54 PM | Comments (2)
March 25, 2003
Playing with matches
"A surgical assistant at the Saddam hospital in Nassiriya, interviewed at a marine check point outside the city, said that on Sunday, half an hour after two dead marines were brought into the hospital, US aircraft dropped what he described as three or four cluster bombs on civilian areas, killing 10 and wounding 200." - Guardian/UK, full article.
I know this is being beaten into the ground, but bombing military targets in a city means bombing civilians. There is no building in any city anywhere that stands surrounded by a swath of nothingness. All these buildings are surrounded by houses or offices or other civilian architecture.
I'm wearing a black armband out of the house today to signify my moral superiority. It's nice to have such a simple, tangible symbol of my basic betterness. There should be colored armbands for all kinds of superiority - intellectual, physical, technological...
I feel like I'm only talking to a few of you. I suspect most of you are skipping these blogs altogether, either because you're bored by the excess war coverage or just don't want to think about it, or, most likely, you are reading real info from people who know shit about shit. And those of you who are reading them already have all the information I'm putting up. But hopefully everyone is reading Salam Pax.
Posted by didofoot at 02:39 PM | Comments (37)
March 24, 2003
WHOOO! It's just for dekarashun.
As soon as I posted that last part, I started hearing yelling outside. It was not the normal yelling that I hear every night, of the "WHOOO!" variety intended to indicate a good time.* No, this was the more protesty kind of yell. I threw on a sweatshirt over my lounging pajamas** and hotfooted it outside to the street. Sure enough, a group of maybe twenty or thirty people were banging their hippie beat drums and waving signs and marching and hollering. This group included Frank Chu. (I felt that his presence added a WHOLE lot of credibility to the group, since that guy has been prophesying doom since way before it was fashionable.) This group kept to the sidewalk, moved along at a good pace, and did not seem interested in destroying anyone's property (much to my relief, since I live only half a block away). They were being followed at a crawl by not one, not two, but THREE police cars.
Well, I thought, here I have JUST clicked on my new Civil Disobedience link when suddenly a protest appears outside my very window like an urban Romeo. I would be some kind of fool not to join. So I joined, although I eschewed the yelling, chanting and clapping. I don't really do that stuff (unless Jolie is yelling too, in which case one is gripped with an odd compulsion to follow where the truly impressive decibals of her voice are leading).
I lasted for exactly a block and a half before I ditched them and circled back around to my warm little hovel, but I haven't given up. I'll keep attending the big marches and in the meantime I will look for something else helpful to do.
And that's the truth, pbbbbt.
*Why do so many people, immediately upon reaching the Castro, feel the need to yell "WHOOO!"? I hardly ever do it, myself.
**which are different from my sleeping pajamas and my being-seen pajamas
Posted by didofoot at 08:31 PM | Comments (4)
Preaching to the choir for catharsis
When I talk to people who are not the We and hear how little how little how little they notice or care about this war, I am moved to finally employ my powers as the god of fish and cause all the finned and flippered creatures to come flopping out of the seas the rivers the lakes the streams and take to the highways in blue crystal bowls on remote control Tonka trucks and stop traffic stop motion stop time until people by god pay attention. Pay attention. Pay attention.
This is a picture of some people who hopefully are still living in Baghdad.
Posted by didofoot at 08:07 PM | Comments (0)
March 23, 2003
Irrelevant stuff, but why do you come here otherwise?
Watching a news reporter when the camera isn't on them is an extremely edifying exercise, especially if you can catch the transition between off-camera and on-. It makes you realize that these people are not your friends and they are not stalwart warriors in search of truth. They're just actors. And last night I saw four of them (carefully not invading each others' shots) clustered in various places on Market. Little bunches of cops in riot gear stood around near them, shooting the shit with each other. There was no one else around. The reporters were all frantically completing their own makeup and ignoring each other. They looked like a flock of preening little sparrows.
I finally asked one of the cops what was going on, since I'd been walking up Market for many blocks and kept seeing these groups of cops and vans. He told me that about an hour ago there were maybe 300 people walking up the street in a peaceful demonstration. I asked if he had arrested anyone but he said they all kept to the sidewalks. Doesn't he sound like a nice, friendly cop? Like someone you would get in a 1950's movie?
I'll tell you, though, I walked up Market from Civic Center to Montgomery at 11:00 at night in a low-cut tanktop and no one leered or whistled or made a comment or bothered me at all. But this cop stood right up in my face and winked and said a few things I wished he hadn't and was the only one that night who made me feel like a whore.
For anyone interested, I made a new section in the sidebar with war-related sites that I find helpful. If you can think of anything for me to add, let me know.
Posted by didofoot at 09:56 AM | Comments (3)
March 22, 2003
Jesus was never lost
I found Jesus at the peace march today. He was dressed in a long white robe and beard and carried a sign that said "Who Would Jesus Bomb?"
"The moneylenders!" I said, but this did not appear to be the answer he was looking for.
I admired his Nikes.
If you, like me, were wondering about the body count in Iraq, Michele found this site. Neither of us can vouch for its veracity but it's the best I've got right now. If anyone else knows of something, please let me know.
I just heard from the Lad. He made it down to San Diego okay. Color me relieved.
Posted by didofoot at 07:35 PM | Comments (3)
March 21, 2003
Yesterday I went and listened to the speechifying in Sproul Plaza for about fifteen minutes but it proved unedifying. Likewise dis-educational were my fifteen minutes with CNN and my half hour with NPR. Also every conversation/email/BBS I've had/read about the whole deal.
Except one conversation with my professor-boss this morning. He gave me a website which has some excellent independent-media articles as well as links to several other excellent sources. "Go read this whenever you have twenty minutes," he said. "It will make you less depressed." Not about what's going on; just about not knowing anything, and about feeling like no one can be trusted.
I trust my professor with this sort of thing more than I trust anyone else. He's an intelligent, well spoken, good person who loves his wife and his work and attends the peaceful protests and the intellectual debates. And although I respect the rest of you and think most of you are smarter than I am (except you, Sean), I have decided to follow his lead in this. I will do what he does, because he's the only voice I can hear on this subject without feeling disconnected and alone.
Posted by didofoot at 01:43 PM | Comments (4)
March 19, 2003
Who is this is?
Who is argon.oxneo.com?
Posted by didofoot at 04:45 PM | Comments (3)
Didofoot reads the news
Yesterday, the leader of the U.K. House of Commons resigned, citing as his reason the U.K.'s continued official support of the American war on Iraq. When asked to comment, the White House Press Secretary said, "We believe that American participation in this war is vital, even as it was in WWII. This war in fact has many elements in liberty with that one. Fighting terrorism in Iraq is simply liberty sense."
When asked why he seemed to be replacing the word "common" with the word "liberty," the White House Press Secretary responded, "I don't know what you're talking about. There is nothing common about liberty."
In other news, Bush's lapdog Tony Blair, affectionately referred to by his friends as "Dogbert," yesterday held a long whispering conference with President Bush in the far corner of the playground. At the end of the conference, Blair emerged and proposed that the House of Commons be officially retitled the "House of Liberties."
Posted by didofoot at 08:04 AM | Comments (4)
March 18, 2003
Blarney for St. Patrick's Day: Didofoot parties with strangers
"It's like the war in Iraq, 'protecting the people,' blah blah I am a liberal," said the pipsqueak with the confidence that comes from knowing for a fact that everyone around you shares your white upper middle class Bay Area upbringing. "I'm sorry," he said as Dr. V and the Lad and I all mentally rolled our eyes at this blase college liberalism, "I didn't even bother to ask - how do you folks feel about the war?"
(There is a certain kind of college freshman who uses the term "you folks" to refer to his peers. This pipsqueak was one such freshman.)
"Well," I said, "I'm a Young Republican, so I'm really for it."
"You're a Rung Yepublican?" he actually said, which when combined with the nearly empty keg in the corner will give you some clue as to why he bought the rest of my tale. His interested expression became, if anything, MORE interested. Not only might this girl sleep with me, he was thinking, not having yet cottoned on to the Lad's role, but perhaps I can change her mind on some key points while I am dazzling her with the knowledge I gleaned from my Poli Sci class first semester.
"So you're a rung yepublican," he said again, I swear to God, and began to fire questions at me rapidly, either in an attempt to keep me off balance or because he couldn’t remember where the conversation was from one sentence to the next. This isn't the whole dialogue by any means, but it's what I can remember at 1:30 in the morning with work looming on the horizon. "Tell me, what do you think about this war?"
"Well, I pretty much support the president," I said.
"Really? And why is that?"
"I just think he's been really misunderstood by this minority movement. And the majority of the population supports him, and I like to be in the majority."
"What do you think about abortion?"
"Well...I think it's understandable in the case of rape or incest. Although of course I don't condone it. Basically I just think a lot of people use it as a form of birth control."
"I see. Have you ever been pregnant?"
"ME? No way! I wouldn't be pregnant unless I was married!"
"Uh huh. Okay. And what do you think about BLACK people?"
"Well, I don't really know any. They don't really live in my neighborhood."
"And do you believe that just MIGHT be due to the LEGACY OF SLAVERY, or do you just think they're somehow genetically inclined to poverty?"
"I guess I just don't really see why I need to think about it."
"Tell me, have you ever BEEN black?"
Dr. V and the Lad and Kati Vol were fully giggling like schoolgirls at this point, and periodically one of them applauded or encouraged me in some way, which was probably not a good idea. Finally, we wound our way back around to the war.
I said, "It's just - look, Saddam used weapons of mass destruction - on his OWN PEOPLE! I mean, we've never done THAT."
"Oh no? The Civil War, perhaps? The Gatling gun?"
"Um..."
"A machine gun!"
"Does that...is that a weapon of mass destruction?"
Lucky for Pipsqueak’s logic, it was right about then that Dr. V muttered, "I don't care HOW this war goes, as long as we get to kill us some sand ni**ers. " (You know the word, I know the word, I'm not typing it.) Naturally, this set Pipsqueak off into a tirade about wars in general, including WWII, which led the Lad to employ the term "nips." At which point Pipsqueak had had just about enough. He got so far up in the Lad's grill that his face was cross-hatched. (From the soot. On the Lad's grill.) Taking a deep breath, this tiny white boy with glasses who had earlier been boasting about his ROWING CREW, asked the Lad "Oh yeah? And how would you feel if I called you a CRACKER-ASS BITCH?"
This pretty much ended the conversation, as all the surrounding people gently prevailed on Pipsqueak to leave off harrying this mildly amused man of twice his height. He shook all of our hands with an agreement to disagree and stalked off to bitch to his fellow party-goers about the fascists holding court outside.
I felt so bad I had to leave immediately. It's like this, you see: when I lie on Carthage, I am lying to a group. I'm not trying to single any of you out for humiliation. Here, this was not the case. Here, I was the devil himself. I’m not proud of this, and this is my public penance.
At the same time…it felt so good. Lying is something that I was born into the wrong society to do. It’s like having a muscle that I’m not allowed to use. I have a streak of cruelty in me that I hardly ever let loose like this, and even this was nothing compared to what I could have done to this Pipsqueak. And maybe everyone has it and doesn’t use it, maybe it’s not just me. How do people do it, though? When it feels so healthy and good to reduce a man to a scrapping terrier? How can I resist?
Posted by didofoot at 01:25 AM | Comments (24)
March 17, 2003
Meet the Feebles
Drugs, sex, pornography, date rape, songs about sodomy, talking rats, massacres, enormous udders. "Meet the Feebles" has it all, and more.
It turns out that I can't watch this stuff even when it's happening to puppets. But maybe you can, and maybe you want to, and maybe I don't want to be your friend anymore you sick bastard. Go, watch your little puppet smut. You are a filthy person and I'm telling Jesus on you.
Posted by didofoot at 01:40 PM | Comments (7)
March 14, 2003
Inflatable Supermodel is a very good (-looking) band.
They rocked the house as you can see from this nudie shot. Later, everyone at the bar stripped down to undies and took turns covering each other with the finest gin Fairfax had to offer.
So come on, music lovers. Support Inflatable Supermodel so that these poor troubadors can finally afford some fucking belts.
For more naked pictures of these lovely boys, check this out.
Posted by didofoot at 12:52 PM | Comments (1)
March 12, 2003
Artemis jumps ship
Midway through the weekend, distressed at my abandonment of it, my office computer decided to go it alone and jumped ship, leaving all its obediently networked little computer friends behind. Now it is swimming through a binary sea in some confusion. No one can say where it is heading, but it remains firm in its purpose: PUNISH DIDOFOOT. This message is so hard-wired into its thinking brain that it was practically programmed there.
"Can I see my files please?"
"No! PUNISH DIDOFOOT!"
"Well, my email? Can I check my email?"
"DIDOFOOT PUNISH DIDOFOOT! No! Ha!"
No longer networked. A lone wolf. Unable to receive the gossip of the other machines, unable to take comfort from their conversation. Unable to make itself heard. Tongueless, friendless, alone.
01011101101, computer. Today, we are wiping your brain and installing a new one. R.I.P.
Posted by didofoot at 11:54 AM | Comments (13)
March 10, 2003
Beasts score out of three
Today's junkmail was "Teen has sex with Beast."
Seriously, it's like they know me.
Posted by didofoot at 09:07 AM | Comments (6)
Grand Larsony
Look at the world around me:
People are sad, yet I am not sad (anymore).
People are ugly, yet I am not ugly.
People die, yet I do not die.
People are forced to take organic chemistry, yet I do not take organic chemistry.
What conclusion can I draw, except that I am the origin and the rest of you are products of my imagination, put here to apparently suffer and make me feel good about my life?
Go forth. Have sore throats. Get snowed in. Make your hockey team lose its game. Miss your bus. Know that it is all to a good purpose, and I hold your strings lovingly in my sweaty palms.
I am willing to accept the idea that those of you who also do not suffer might be as real as me. Mainly because it would be less lonely than just me and a bevy of fakes.
Posted by didofoot at 08:36 AM | Comments (3)
March 07, 2003
Beasting off
My junkmail folder today contained the subject line "Sticky Beast Sex."
Well, how could I resist? I ordered some. I expect it within five to seven working days.
Posted by didofoot at 11:55 AM | Comments (4)
March 05, 2003
I have a sneaking suspicion that reality is taking place somewhere else.
I go to my meeting with the professor I work for, where he tells me I spell badly and I tell him he can check his own voicemail from now on then and he sticks his tongue out at me like a kid.
I try not to be impressed by my ability to reduce this 62 year old tenured faculty member to an 8 year old.
Yet how can I help it?
Verily, I am a comedic genius.
Posted by didofoot at 04:50 PM | Comments (9)
March 03, 2003
Congratulate me
After over a year of trying, today I was made permanent employee of the University of California at Berkeley.
No wonder I am so damn depressed.
Posted by didofoot at 11:50 AM | Comments (9)
Pay my pain
Since my depression continues essentially unabated, I have decided to put it to work. From now on, I am Feelin' Bad For Breast Cancer.
I am looking for sponsors, so if anyone has a dollar or two to spare for this very worthy cause, please drop them my way. Every hour that you pay me to feel bad is another hour of funding for breast cancer research.
Breast cancer is the number 2 killer of women in America, after I think lung cancer. I am not depressed enough to go after lung cancer though. I don't want to die of breast cancer and I don't want any of you to die of it either. And hey, even boys can get breast cancer (though obviously that is slightly more rare). So come on, kids. Think of my sad sad tears of sadness and open your wallets to rescue some boobs.
Posted by didofoot at 09:58 AM | Comments (7)
March 01, 2003
She's been listening to Coldplay; quick, somebody get her some Julianna Hatfield
I've been dizzy all day despite being empirically unpregnant, in a red and final way. I must be pregnant with a ghost child who will not be shaken by this reasonable and scientific flood. And that is what I will tell people, word for word, as an explanation, when I gain 200 pounds and go around wearing caftans.
I'm so sad, so sad these days. These past three days. I'm not even writing this to you, really. I'm just writing it down to push it away like a plate. It's one good reason to be pregnant, because a fetus explains so many things. I just want someone massive and quiet to zip my head up inside his coat. I need some kind of wall, despite what Robert Frost says about that.
Somewhere on his little cliff, my ghost fetus is watching the waterfall with his slanty eyes, and craning his head over his white shoulder to look up at where my heart is, and saying "...Mom?"
Posted by didofoot at 10:09 PM | Comments (4)
