How to destroy a company with Management Techniques and Excel.

There’s a version of the American Dream that consists of building a successful company and then walking away with the money to drink umbrella drinks while morons destroy it. It’s my favorite version because it’s so reliable. I have worked for that company no less than three times. The interesting thing to me is not that a standard version of Asshole Capitalism happens, because I learned about that in Econ 101. The cool part is that every company I’ve seen do this failed horribly afterwards. Sometimes the Invisible Hand is just wanking.

The nation’s best state for heavily armed racist wack jobs produces an armed terrorist group; government is going to “monitor” them. I’m sure they’ll follow instructions and only offer food and water to lost illegal immigrants, though. It’s not like any of them are hate-filled crackers itching for a chance at legalized lynching or anything. BAD IDEA JEANS

http://abcnews.go.com/US/wireStory?id=518953&CMP=OTC-RSSFeeds0312

Mayor McCheese, formerly Governor Moonbeam, has a blawg. Wouldn’t it be awful if it filled up with goatse? God I can’t stand him. Even among politicians he’s a whore.

He’s really good at artery.

PRE TURKEY BLOWOUT. I went to this show. My friend Dan was way into the Misfits and this was Danzig’s new band, so off we went. JFA was really good, I remember they did their version of the Charlie Brown theme. Most of the rest of the show was total crap. Samhain did look cool, though.

The best part, though, was that since it was a pre turkey blowout, some maniac had brought some raw turkeys and hacked them up and thrown the bits all over the place, so in this dimly lit fucked-up Hollywood venue there was raw meat everywhere. Dan and I saw this one really big fat skinhead guy slip on turkey guts and fall on his ass, and get really mad but have no idea why he fell down, and then we were laughing and then he was mad and we hid.

I also saw this PiL/Butthole Surfers show. Public Image was great, and they did “Bodies” and “Pretty Vacant”. I hadn’t heard the Butthole surfers yet. Gibby had a bunch of clothespins in his hair and they were crazy and loud. I liked them.

Saw a lot of these shows too. I won’t individually link them because of Tripod’s fucked-up linking setup. Mmm, so nice to see those flyers again.

Suburban Lawns – “Gidget Goes to Hell” 728K MP3.

…that when I see the news that HST has offed himself, my second reaction after “poor guy” is “oh man, I don’t want to see what the blogobozosphere does with this. This is going to be really tiresome.”

I am usually the Vocabulary King, but I can’t find a word for something.

What do you call a system of belief in which people are judged by their race or class or other group membership rather than their actions, i.e.., the same thing done by a member of one group is good and by another is bad.

Examples: A white man beating a black man is appropriate because he’s punishing a lower caste member; a black man beating a white man is committing a crime. Or: a black person who commits a street crime is legitimized as a revolutionary acting out “class rage” but a white person who does the same thing is a criminal. Or: American soldiers who blow up someone’s house to teach them a lesson are heroes, but Islamic guerillas who do the same thing are terrorists.

The opposite being a system of morality in which an action is judged independently of the group membership of the actor: you get a ticket for going 100 mph no matter who you are; anyone who beats a child is arrested for assault; any person who becomes an apostate from the religion is put to death, etc.

Is there a word for that difference, or a word for either system?

You know that feeling you get when you’ve been with a group of people for a while, and they’re your friends and you see them all the time, and you share things, and you think of them as peers, and then one day you realize that they’re all the group and you’re not one of them?

I get that a lot, probably because my social circle has almost no one like me. And because my daily routine, and the things I like to do, are out of sync for who I’m supposed to be.

I’m forty years old and I have a professional technical career. The people I see around here that are my age are married, have maybe a kid in high school, own property, and are appropriately in the middle period of their lives. Their careers are in full swing and they’re busy with child-raising, working on their houses, working on their marriages.

I live with my mother in the house I grew up in. (To be fair, I lived on my own for years and years, but.) I am unmarried, and I’ve not been on a date for years; I’ve never had a girlfriend. I don’t own anything more than my car. I wear a t-shirt and jeans. I hang out at a coffee house almost every night with people 15 years younger than I. I feel like one of them. I’m interested in the same things, my life pattern is similar, I enjoy their company. But I’m periodically reminded that I’m not one of them. And they move past me. They get engaged and married, buy houses, have kids, move on.

I got stuck at about age 18 and never went past it. It’s nightmarish, like a corny Twilight Zone episode. I was reminded of t this again tonight, predictably, at Trader Joes watching the twentysomething couples buying their groceries together and looking clean and pretty and hip and well-organized and couply. They’re as smart as I am, just as interesting, just as sophisticated and cultured as I like to think I am, and they’re miles ahead of me and only a little over half my age.

And as much as I fool myself from day to day about my social scene, I’m not one of them. Twenty years ago I was with my peers and I was in a place where I belonged. That all moved along and I’m still here.

I can’t stand it. I hate pathetic people like that. Like me, I mean. Like me.

A friend of the family is the hospital, having just had surgery on her colon for cancer. As you can imagine, she has no appetite at all and wasn’t able to eat the food provided. Some dietitian was assigned to her by the hospital, and arrived in her room.

Dietitian: WHAT DO YOU WANT? TO EAT!?

Patient: I don’t know. I don’t have any appetite.

Dietitian: YOU MUST KNOW WHAT YOU WANT? TO EAT?

Patient: No, I really don’t.

Result: the dietitian did not give her any dietary prescription or advice, and reported her on the chart as demented and feeble-minded.

Fortunately for all concerned, her doctor disagreed with this assessment. Hospital dietitians are a breed apart, folks.