I repost this a couple of times a year.

Partly because it’s amusing, and partly because it sums up my feelings about impending doom of all kinds, from personal death to universal apocalypse. The topic of “we’re all screwed, and what’s to do?” has come up a lot lately. So here’s R.L. Stevenson, as quoted in Blyth’s Zen in English Literature and Oriental Classics, once again.

THE SINKING SHIP

By Robert Louis Stevenson, from Fables II

“SIR,” said the first lieutenant, bursting into the Captain’s cabin, “the ship is going down.”

“Very well, Mr. Spoker,” said the Captain; “but that is no reason for going about half-shaved. Exercise your mind a moment, Mr. Spoker, and you will see that to the philosophic eye there is nothing new in our position: the ship (if she is to go down at all) may be said to have been going down since she was launched.”

“She is settling fast,” said the first lieutenant, as he returned from shaving.

“Fast, Mr. Spoker?” asked the Captain. “The expression is a strange one, for time (if you will think of it) is only relative.”

“Sir,” said the lieutenant, “I think it is scarcely worth while to embark in such a discussion when we shall all be in Davy Jones’s Locker in ten minutes.”

“By parity of reasoning,” returned the Captain gently, “it would never be worth while to begin any inquiry of importance; the odds are always overwhelming that we must die before we shall have brought it to an end. You have not considered, Mr. Spoker, the situation of man,” said the Captain, smiling, and shaking his head.

“I am much more engaged in considering the position of the ship,” said Mr. Spoker.

“Spoken like a good officer,” replied the Captain, laying his hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder.

On deck they found the men had broken into the spirit-room, and were fast getting drunk.

“My men,” said the Captain, “there is no sense in this. The ship is going down, you will tell me, in ten minutes: well, and what then? To the philosophic eye, there is nothing new in our position. All our lives long, we may have been about to break a blood-vessel or to be struck by lightning, not merely in ten minutes, but in ten seconds; and that has not prevented us from eating dinner, no, nor from putting money in the Savings Bank. I assure you, with my hand on my heart, I fail to comprehend your attitude.”

The men were already too far gone to pay much heed.

“This is a very painful sight, Mr. Spoker,” said the Captain.

“And yet to the philosophic eye, or whatever it is,” replied the first lieutenant, “they may be said to have been getting drunk since they came aboard.”

“I do not know if you always follow my thought, Mr. Spoker,” returned the Captain gently. “But let us proceed.”

In the powder magazine they found an old salt smoking his pipe.

“Good God,” cried the Captain, “what are you about?”

“Well, sir,” said the old salt, apologetically, “they told me as she were going down.”

“And suppose she were?” said the Captain. “To the philosophic eye, there would be nothing new in our position. Life, my old shipmate, life, at any moment and in any view, is as dangerous as a sinking ship; and yet it is man’s handsome fashion to carry umbrellas, to wear indiarubber over-shoes, to begin vast works, and to conduct himself in every way as if he might hope to be eternal. And for my own poor part I should despise the man who, even on board a sinking ship, should omit to take a pill or to wind up his watch. That, my friend, would not be the human attitude.”

“I beg pardon, sir,” said Mr. Spoker. “But what is precisely the difference between shaving in a sinking ship and smoking in a powder magazine?”

“Or doing anything at all in any conceivable circumstances?” cried the Captain. “Perfectly conclusive; give me a cigar!”

Two minutes afterwards the ship blew up with a glorious detonation.

Musical note: Tubas and Tijuana Techno

After reading this post on Freeform FM, I downloaded the mp3s from Drum & Tuba and the Tijuana Sessions and loved them. I then did what you’re supposed to and clicked through to Amazon and bought both CDs.

Wow! I’m now a big-time fan of Drum & Tuba. They’re math-rock with brass and loads of fun. Plus they cover a Minutemen song on that record and that’s the door to my heart. It’s sort of like the Dirty Dozen Brass Band getting all post-whatever and bumpy and having complex funky rhythms. Try it, you’ll like it.

I didn’t expect to like the Tijuana Techno stuff as much as I did. It has that banda sound that drives everyone nuts in Southern California but with cool smashed up rhythms and other styles layered on top. It feels like a good direction for Latin music, like something Mexican college kids would groove to.

Both recommended; visit the FM link above and sample and/or click through to Amazon if you’re interested.

I want to find and marry the exploding aardvark but I think she’s already married.

  1. Best enjoyed with gin and juice, I suppose. Jack & Diane are wiggers nowadays so they’ll be delighted.
  2. Shaun O’Boyle photographs modern ruins, and does so very well.
  3. salome_st_john alerts me to Jeremy Harris, who takes similarly good pictures of broken stuff, including a fine set of Pilgrim State Hospital. Reminding me of Brad Laner’s old punk band, Pilgrim State. More about that some other time.
  4. Here is the complete list of infected music CDs released by Sony. These all have their nasty DRM software on them that roots your machine. Do not buy them or put them in your computer. I am sad to see Shel Silverstein and Earl Scruggs on this list. And Louis Armstrong? HOW DARE THEY.
  5. I am not averse to a tipple now and then, but an entire meal arranged around flavored vodkas paired with foods makes me feel queasy just thinking about it.
  6. There’s hope for me. I could date an older female fish! In fish years, that’s…
  7. Neo-Nazi “historian” David Irving made the mistake of going to Austria and got busted for Holocaust denial. At least he’s shaved off the Hitler ‘stache. What an unpleasant loonie he is.
  8. I don’t have a jackabellum problem, but my cake-coveting gland is no doubt enlarged and distorting the entire area of the brain.

Door to Door (slight return)

Another college guy showed up at the door with the exact same spiel.

ME: You guys already hit me up.

HIM: It’s not what you think, we’re not selling magazines.

ME: Right, you’re selling books!

HIM: …yes. Did he have something like… ::shows brochure::

ME: Right, exactly. Books for kids, in the hospital.

HIM: Well, crap. I’m just around the corner on Francisco. No one around here is in my class! What the heck?

There’s a pause and the poor guy looks genuinely lost.

ME: I’m not sure he was at UCLA like you. Maybe he is at a different school that’s doing the fundraiser.

HIM: Oh man, yeah. Crap. Yeah.

ME: So, anyway, this area has had the pitch already. Sorry.

HIM: Thanks, man. ::wanders off sadly::

good MORNING!

Power outage in the office; UPS-protected machines eventually shut down due to extended power outage; alerting system goes nuts; alerting system does not stop being nuts after outage resolved; mysterious issues remaining after end of outage even though all machines were on UPS and cleanly shut down and restarted; blowjobs; suicide; Heil Hitler.

Unbearable

The always useful and entertaining Maciej Ceglowski explains better than I ever could exactly how hard The Unbearable Lightness of Being sucks. “The Dave Matthews of Slavic Letters” is just about perfect. It’s a dumb, trashy book.

But he fortunately doesn’t stop there. The rest of the article provides a guide to the best in Slavic dating literature! Including one of my personal favorites, The Good Soldier Svejk.

But if you really still just need to get laid, the Kundera is there for you. The cock has its reasons than the mind knows not of.

late nights and freeway flying always makes me sing

I got an In-N-Out double-double last night and ate it in my car. I had the seat kicked back and the sunroof open, and I was looking straight at the full moon. Mars is still very close, so I could see the Red Planet with an unaided eye right there too.

It doesn’t take much to send me into an astronomical trance. I think about the fact that I’m looking at another planet, and how far away and huge it has to be, just looking up at the moon. When it’s full and looks oversized on a clear night, the moon is just hypnotizing. Mars even more so, since I can look directly at and see an impossibly remote place that maybe, just maybe people might visit someday. I was pleasantly dragged back into sophomoric “oh wow the universe” mode that way and spent a while there.

Years ago I noticed that living in suburban Southern California has a particular depressive effect. When you’re surrounded entirely by man-made things — signs, stores, roads, parks, airplanes, houses, gas stations — the world starts to feel like an extension of the people around you and their attitudes. And here, the man-made world around us is new and cheap and tawdry and already falling apart. It’s a mess of convenience stores sprinkled over beige bedroom communities, strip malls, sterile little parks, drive throughs. The scenery does not inspire. Eventually I get bad theology in my head: the world was built by money-grubbing assholes who didn’t care about their work, and it’s falling apart.

The cure for this is nature. I am a city boy at heart. I don’t much enjoy camping, small-town rural life terrifies me, and I feel naked without a used bookstore and some good coffee down the street. But I like to visit nature. Even an hour staring out into the Pacific Ocean is a decent recharge. But really I need a day in the desert here every few months. When you’re out past 29 Palms with nothing between you and some craggy mountains 30 miles away, and it’s perfectly silent except for creatures you can’t see, there’s no 7-11 to get you down. For me it’s a reminder that the world has its own vastness, its own power, its own logic and function, and that my little world of stoplights and shoe discounters and empty greasy parking lots is small and not representative.

Slumped back in my car seat staring at the moon and Mars last night, I thought “Yeah. It’s time to go there.” Not Mars or the moon (which would be cool also), but the desert. It would be good to shed a layer of suburban grime and doom again.

Then I sat up to get going and fries fell down my pants.

this song don’t have no video

  1. This is some impressive video of the recent Iowa tornado. You have to ask about the brainpower of someone who was running around in the middle of that with a camcorder, much less with an unleashed dog.
  2. Via springheel_jack: Why does this bird hate dominos?
  3. wearescott directs me to the nightmare world of Paula Dean’s cooking show. She puts WHAT on her hot dogs?
  4. Oldest living Australian celebrates her 175th birthday with a hibiscus flower cake. So, Harriet, what was Darwin like?
  5. Also from Aetiology, a detailed analysis of the science of cow tipping.
  6. NASCARlequin wasn’t enough. We present: 50 Cent Novels.
  7. The new lame-o journalism term is apparently “ubersexual”, referring I guess to… plain old-fashioned masculinity. Or something. This is tiresome because 1) who needed a name for that? 2) neologism! argh and especially 3) “uber” as a prefix suggests faux-Nietzsche Nazi horse pucky and needs to go away. Thanks in advance!