This looks like a coyote. But it is not. ITs' a HACK.
A 'HACK', according to Merriam-Webster's Dictionary is "...(6) a usually creative solution to a computer hardware or programming problem or limitation" .
Here at the 'Tute, HACKS are a time honored tradition, Rory answers the call for two purposes: first, to scare off the Canadian Geese that have been shitting all over the outdoor track, and second, to scare the shite out of newbies to think an actual coyote is staring at them, and so focused on them he's ready to pounce.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Rory the Coyote Hack
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Slick Dancing Mitt's PPS
(Photo Courtesy of Buddy Stone) It would appear that no one's campaign is safe from the sticky-tipped finger of fate anymore. Seems Mitt Romney is now the victim of the same tactics applied to former NYC Mayor Rudy Guliani. According to a leaked document quoted in the Boston Globe - --no love lost there, Mittster! --- the campaign apparatchiks are concerned that " ... His hair looks too perfect, he's not a tough war time leader, and he has earned a reputation as "Slick Dancing Mitt" or "Flip-Flop Mitt."
All that tied in a bow within a 77-slide PowerPoint presentation. The Globe even provided a graphic supposedly from the original (though they did not hesitate to use the branding opportunity for themselves).
I guess you could ask yourself, is this really journalism, or just folks trying to act smarmy at the expense of another's (choose one) fuck-up/duh-moment/larceny? Yes, it is news. And yes, it's fun to read how they are trying to make him ultra conservative AND personable all at the same trough. Which further leads me to believe he is NOT the ultra-conservative he is painting himself these days.
Faust, anyone?
But I really enjoyed the "Things He Can Run Against" bullet list, topped by FRANCE. Will Mitt declare war against the Great Contrarian Nation? What fun! Almost as funny as that BBC mini series The State Within. Bring back the documentaries on Cambrian Cheese!
Too Big for Me Britches
Once again, I prove I am too big for mine own pantaloons. That post yesterday was way too long, and could only be loved by Jude the Obscure.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Berskhires Bongo Bucks - Anti-Globilization, Hooo!
The Berkshires are a lovely part of rural Massachusetts, found in the Northwest corner of the Commonwealth (we ain't no state). It contains some of the prettiest landscapes scenes in New England. And some of the fruitiest people.
If there is a 'People's Republic of Massachusetts', it's here. Like the crazy lemmings of yesteryear who flocked west to California for the Summer of Love, anti-globilization obsessionists often migrate to the western part of 'Mass.' so they can commune with other 'Mass.holes'. I suppose it makes folks from the North Shore, Greater Boston and South Shore communities much happier, though it may be a burden for those living on the Eastern New York State border.
Anyway, I'm sure some of you may have already read this little story on the NYTIMES web site:
This Land: Would You Like That in Tens, Twenties or Normans?
If the link won't work (it's from the TimeSelect Page), here is the article below.
February 25, 2007
This Land
Would You Like That in Tens, Twenties or Normans?
By DAN BARRY
GREAT BARRINGTON, Mass.
The scene could have been lifted from a caper movie:
An old Volvo station wagon zooms through the southern Berkshire Hills. Its nervous driver pulls up in front of a bank. But instead of pulling off some heist, her gang begins hustling boxes of freshly minted currency in, not out.
Once inside, they pause to admire the wads of tens, twenties and fifties. No $100 bills, though; no Benjamins. But there are some Hermans, and even a few Normans.
So began this area’s great socioeconomic experiment, one in which several dozen businesses agreed to include an alternative currency in their daily transactions and give a discount to those who used it.
Now people can pay for groceries, an oil change, even dental work with currency bearing the likenesses of local heroes like Herman Melville and Norman Rockwell.
Be forewarned, though: these bills do not travel well. Try paying a tab in Boston with a Norman and you could wind up in the Charles.
The central purpose behind BerkShares is to strengthen the local economy, perhaps even inoculate it against the whims of globalization, by encouraging people to support local businesses. Amazon does not accept BerkShares, for example, but the Bookloft on Route 7 does.
Five months into the experiment, some people embrace it, some endure it, some ignore it altogether. At the very least, BerkShares have reminded everyone just how complex this thing called community is.
The Volvo’s driver that day was Susan Witt, white-haired and 60, and her bank delivery had been a long time in coming. As the director of the E. F. Schumacher Society, which promotes concepts like regionally based economies, Ms. Witt had spent a dozen years refining the idea of a currency specific to Berkshire County.
She raised the money, gathered a band of like-minded people and secured the support of banks and the Chamber of Commerce for a one-year trial. By late September, a Massachusetts company that specializes in banknotes had printed the bills, complete with serial numbers and anti-counterfeiting features.
Then there they were, 835,000 BerkShares stacked on a bank table.
In addition to Melville on the twenties and Rockwell on the fifties, there was a Mohican on the ones; Robyn Van En, champion of community-supported agriculture projects, on the fives; and W. E. B. DuBois, a founder of the civil rights movement, on the tens.
“I cried,” Ms. Witt recalls.
Now people are walking into banks and exchanging federal currency for a different kind: 11 BerkShares for $10. The idea is that merchants will absorb the 10 percent discount, then use those same BerkShares to pay their own bills.
Theoretically, you would pay Roger the Jester with BerkShares for performing at your child’s birthday party, the jester would use the bills to buy food at Guido’s Fresh Marketplace, Guido’s would pay its vendors, and so on.
Steve Carlotta down at the Snap Shot camera store says BerkShares have strengthened customer loyalty. And Melissa Joyce, manager of the Berkshire Bank branch on Main Street, says they have led to something almost forgotten in this electronic age: lines of bank customers, all waiting to trade Benjamins for Normans.
“Our whole goal is the face-to-face transaction,” Ms. Witt says.
But the Great Barrington area, while simply beautiful to look at — cuddled in the Berkshire Hills, beside the Housatonic River — is a complicated place, with artists and affluent weekenders living beside farmers and blue-collar workers. And BerkShares have come to highlight the tug of war between the ideal and the real.
For example, the Berkshire Co-op Market took in an astounding 160,000 BerkShares in the first three months. But it soon found that many vendors would not accept the currency for large payments, which translated into a $16,000 hit in discounts. The co-op has since cut back on its participation.
Guido’s has become BerkShares central. But Rick O’Neill, the store’s customer service manager, says it absorbs the 10 percent discount by cutting back on advertising, which, in turn, hurts local publications.
That is why John Conlin, the owner of an entertainment-system store called Tune Street, deposits his BerkShares rather than spend them in other stores. Guilt, he says. “I don’t want to impose that 10 percent on another business owner.”
Then there is the unsettling side of BerkShares that goes beyond the suspicion that their popularity is driven more by the discounts than by any sense of community. Simply put: If you’re not with us, you’re dead to us.
Paul Masiero, the owner of Baba Louie’s, a restaurant on Main Street, whose family also owns Guido’s, says he did not immediately join the BerkShares program because of the extra bookkeeping. Then he heard that some were saying baba-phooey to Baba Louie’s.
“We felt they were bad-mouthing us around town,” Mr. Masiero says, half-smiling. “So, eventually, we signed up. And we’ve had a warm, fuzzy feeling ever since.”
He adds that his employees were already nudging him to embrace BerkShares because the principle is sound. So now he accepts them on his two slowest days, deposits them and takes the 10 percent hit.
Ms. Witt makes no apologies for avoiding places that do not support the program. “It’s an economic choice,” she says.
Sipping tea in the Neighborhood Diner, which accepts BerkShares, she talks of hoping to open a BerkShares ATM and smiles to show the handiwork of a dentist being paid in BerkShares installments.
The total job will cost about $1,000, she says.
That’s a lot of Hermans.
Now, perhaps you might wonder just how these people could spin their wheels so extravagently on activities like these, try and ensure that local businesses will LOSE at least 10% of their gross profits (and profits are pretty lean out there to begin with), and continue to exist without needing to follow the mundane existence of the rest of us; i.e., WORK.
It is the amazing ability of an entire region to subsist strictly from tourism, meager farming, and an eternal and unstoppable tidal wave of grant writing (federal and local). Beyond local academic institutions --- a high number for such a sparcely populated region --- the only other occupations are high end carpentry, plumbing and electrical servitude to the very wealthy. Or working for the Mass. Turnpike.
I have no major objections to those who seek an 'alternative' lifestyle. I am a bit odd myself. But does this not smack of the penultimate navel-gazing of aged hippiedom? How cracked does one have to be before the family breaks out the Elmer's Glue?
I suppose this is some sad reflection of the Tax Revolt here in Massachusetts called Shay's Rebellion just after the Revolution. We should all remember that the American Revolution was conceived and organized by thorough capitalists. And that they expected everybody to pay the debts created by this new liberty ASAP. Which drove New England into a financial depression, which caused a back lash by farmers who were being taxed out of existence.
Ultimately, all I can say is that I certainly wouldn't choose to live in such a whacka-whacka community. I just feel sorry for the kids who are stuck there with the old hippie parents. And I hope you all understand I am not anti-progressive politically. I just wish these old fuck heads would lay down and stop sucking up our resources for pointless exercises in futility.
If there is a 'People's Republic of Massachusetts', it's here. Like the crazy lemmings of yesteryear who flocked west to California for the Summer of Love, anti-globilization obsessionists often migrate to the western part of 'Mass.' so they can commune with other 'Mass.holes'. I suppose it makes folks from the North Shore, Greater Boston and South Shore communities much happier, though it may be a burden for those living on the Eastern New York State border.
Anyway, I'm sure some of you may have already read this little story on the NYTIMES web site:
This Land: Would You Like That in Tens, Twenties or Normans?
If the link won't work (it's from the TimeSelect Page), here is the article below.
February 25, 2007
This Land
Would You Like That in Tens, Twenties or Normans?
By DAN BARRY
GREAT BARRINGTON, Mass.
The scene could have been lifted from a caper movie:
An old Volvo station wagon zooms through the southern Berkshire Hills. Its nervous driver pulls up in front of a bank. But instead of pulling off some heist, her gang begins hustling boxes of freshly minted currency in, not out.
Once inside, they pause to admire the wads of tens, twenties and fifties. No $100 bills, though; no Benjamins. But there are some Hermans, and even a few Normans.
So began this area’s great socioeconomic experiment, one in which several dozen businesses agreed to include an alternative currency in their daily transactions and give a discount to those who used it.
Now people can pay for groceries, an oil change, even dental work with currency bearing the likenesses of local heroes like Herman Melville and Norman Rockwell.
Be forewarned, though: these bills do not travel well. Try paying a tab in Boston with a Norman and you could wind up in the Charles.
The central purpose behind BerkShares is to strengthen the local economy, perhaps even inoculate it against the whims of globalization, by encouraging people to support local businesses. Amazon does not accept BerkShares, for example, but the Bookloft on Route 7 does.
Five months into the experiment, some people embrace it, some endure it, some ignore it altogether. At the very least, BerkShares have reminded everyone just how complex this thing called community is.
The Volvo’s driver that day was Susan Witt, white-haired and 60, and her bank delivery had been a long time in coming. As the director of the E. F. Schumacher Society, which promotes concepts like regionally based economies, Ms. Witt had spent a dozen years refining the idea of a currency specific to Berkshire County.
She raised the money, gathered a band of like-minded people and secured the support of banks and the Chamber of Commerce for a one-year trial. By late September, a Massachusetts company that specializes in banknotes had printed the bills, complete with serial numbers and anti-counterfeiting features.
Then there they were, 835,000 BerkShares stacked on a bank table.
In addition to Melville on the twenties and Rockwell on the fifties, there was a Mohican on the ones; Robyn Van En, champion of community-supported agriculture projects, on the fives; and W. E. B. DuBois, a founder of the civil rights movement, on the tens.
“I cried,” Ms. Witt recalls.
Now people are walking into banks and exchanging federal currency for a different kind: 11 BerkShares for $10. The idea is that merchants will absorb the 10 percent discount, then use those same BerkShares to pay their own bills.
Theoretically, you would pay Roger the Jester with BerkShares for performing at your child’s birthday party, the jester would use the bills to buy food at Guido’s Fresh Marketplace, Guido’s would pay its vendors, and so on.
Steve Carlotta down at the Snap Shot camera store says BerkShares have strengthened customer loyalty. And Melissa Joyce, manager of the Berkshire Bank branch on Main Street, says they have led to something almost forgotten in this electronic age: lines of bank customers, all waiting to trade Benjamins for Normans.
“Our whole goal is the face-to-face transaction,” Ms. Witt says.
But the Great Barrington area, while simply beautiful to look at — cuddled in the Berkshire Hills, beside the Housatonic River — is a complicated place, with artists and affluent weekenders living beside farmers and blue-collar workers. And BerkShares have come to highlight the tug of war between the ideal and the real.
For example, the Berkshire Co-op Market took in an astounding 160,000 BerkShares in the first three months. But it soon found that many vendors would not accept the currency for large payments, which translated into a $16,000 hit in discounts. The co-op has since cut back on its participation.
Guido’s has become BerkShares central. But Rick O’Neill, the store’s customer service manager, says it absorbs the 10 percent discount by cutting back on advertising, which, in turn, hurts local publications.
That is why John Conlin, the owner of an entertainment-system store called Tune Street, deposits his BerkShares rather than spend them in other stores. Guilt, he says. “I don’t want to impose that 10 percent on another business owner.”
Then there is the unsettling side of BerkShares that goes beyond the suspicion that their popularity is driven more by the discounts than by any sense of community. Simply put: If you’re not with us, you’re dead to us.
Paul Masiero, the owner of Baba Louie’s, a restaurant on Main Street, whose family also owns Guido’s, says he did not immediately join the BerkShares program because of the extra bookkeeping. Then he heard that some were saying baba-phooey to Baba Louie’s.
“We felt they were bad-mouthing us around town,” Mr. Masiero says, half-smiling. “So, eventually, we signed up. And we’ve had a warm, fuzzy feeling ever since.”
He adds that his employees were already nudging him to embrace BerkShares because the principle is sound. So now he accepts them on his two slowest days, deposits them and takes the 10 percent hit.
Ms. Witt makes no apologies for avoiding places that do not support the program. “It’s an economic choice,” she says.
Sipping tea in the Neighborhood Diner, which accepts BerkShares, she talks of hoping to open a BerkShares ATM and smiles to show the handiwork of a dentist being paid in BerkShares installments.
The total job will cost about $1,000, she says.
That’s a lot of Hermans.
Now, perhaps you might wonder just how these people could spin their wheels so extravagently on activities like these, try and ensure that local businesses will LOSE at least 10% of their gross profits (and profits are pretty lean out there to begin with), and continue to exist without needing to follow the mundane existence of the rest of us; i.e., WORK.
It is the amazing ability of an entire region to subsist strictly from tourism, meager farming, and an eternal and unstoppable tidal wave of grant writing (federal and local). Beyond local academic institutions --- a high number for such a sparcely populated region --- the only other occupations are high end carpentry, plumbing and electrical servitude to the very wealthy. Or working for the Mass. Turnpike.
I have no major objections to those who seek an 'alternative' lifestyle. I am a bit odd myself. But does this not smack of the penultimate navel-gazing of aged hippiedom? How cracked does one have to be before the family breaks out the Elmer's Glue?
I suppose this is some sad reflection of the Tax Revolt here in Massachusetts called Shay's Rebellion just after the Revolution. We should all remember that the American Revolution was conceived and organized by thorough capitalists. And that they expected everybody to pay the debts created by this new liberty ASAP. Which drove New England into a financial depression, which caused a back lash by farmers who were being taxed out of existence.
Ultimately, all I can say is that I certainly wouldn't choose to live in such a whacka-whacka community. I just feel sorry for the kids who are stuck there with the old hippie parents. And I hope you all understand I am not anti-progressive politically. I just wish these old fuck heads would lay down and stop sucking up our resources for pointless exercises in futility.
I suppose you can all now understand just how Republicans can be cultivated in a Blue State like Massachusetts. Mostly out of sheer bile.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Brit Kit Kat Killer?
UK Police interviewed a suspicious tabby cat in Cherry Hinton, near Cambridge. Naughty Mr Nibbs has been suspected of providing comfort and support to his 'master', Miles Cooper, 26; who was arrested at 3am yesterday by detectives investigating seven explosive devices sent in Jiffy-Pak type envelopes to companies linked to motoring enforcement and the “surveillance society”."Crickey!", bemeowaned Mr. Nibbs, "I had nuffink to do widit. Tha' booger's been muckin' about wid all dem envelopes and such like for weeks, and by Gawd I wouldn't lick a single sticker for him. Now, where's me bloody cream, Misses?"
Friday, February 16, 2007
Five Card Studly Wampanoags
Hot dog! The Federalis have granted official 'recognition' to the Wampanoag tribe here in Massachusetts. If you read your newcomer's manual closely upon arrival on these golden shores of America, you might remember they were the welcome wagon for the British Pilgrims that came in 1620.They populate Cape Cod, with a large settlement in Mashpee, MA; and all the Islands of Massachusetts (Martha's Vineyard, Nantucket and the Elizabeth Islands). They were also sea-going Native Americans, who probably met the Vikings when they showed up here in Newport. I do realize there is some debate on this subject, but there are two 'runestones' located in this area that I have seen with friendly Danes, and they agree it looks like Viking runes to them, though they did mention it looked like the Vikings were pretty hammered at the time. So were they, come to think of it!
BTW, the thing that really is great about this Wampanoags recognition is that they then get to fleece white people with games of chance. And this will go double for my buddy Tracy, a member of the Nation, and one hell of a card player.
We used to joke about it years ago; how he would open up a 5-Card Stud table in a cheezy fake tee-pee in his front yard (Wampanoags built their own version of the Wigwam, which they called a wetu.). Most of the time, we enjoyed torturing my old business partner, who could never figure out if Tracy was black or ... what? Tracy would never confirm or deny any potential racial background with him. Once, he even told him he was related to Ghandi.
It would seem that our newly minted Governor Deval Patrick has a commission 'studying' whether the Wampanoags should get a casino or not. I'm not exactly sure he has any say in that, since they have relatively extensive tribal lands on Martha's Vineyard (Gayhead). I think they could go ahead an build it, then set up a defensive perimeter, since the tribal lands are surrounded by water on three sides, and you have to go through a narrow pass, uphill, to get to them. Time to play a little "Yankees and Indians", right Tracy?
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Best Ghost Story I Ever Read
OK, so I'm a sucker. I went ahead and bought the TimesSelect service for the year from the NYTIMES.com; after all, how else are they gonna make any doe-ray-me without actually printing a newspaper?
So, to start enjoying my fair young pretty (bwoo-hoo-hoo-ha-haaa), I clicked immediately to a title and writer that piqued my interest: Ghost Stories from Dick Cavett. DO I need to relate whom in particular Mr. Cavitt is or was within the American Zeitgeist? I'll do what he refuses to: offer a link so you'll have some context before reading the whole post.
Did you read that? Get it? Good. Onward and upward.
Since I paid for this shite, I feel no compunction ---
(Ed. Note: Just like Havelock Ellis 'showed no compunction in planning devilish engines of...destruction' -- Havelock Ellis, you rock!)
--- in sharing a quote from his "Ghost Stories" that I think may be the best ghost anecdote I have ever read.
So, to start enjoying my fair young pretty (bwoo-hoo-hoo-ha-haaa), I clicked immediately to a title and writer that piqued my interest: Ghost Stories from Dick Cavett. DO I need to relate whom in particular Mr. Cavitt is or was within the American Zeitgeist? I'll do what he refuses to: offer a link so you'll have some context before reading the whole post.
Did you read that? Get it? Good. Onward and upward.
Since I paid for this shite, I feel no compunction ---
(Ed. Note: Just like Havelock Ellis 'showed no compunction in planning devilish engines of...destruction' -- Havelock Ellis, you rock!)
--- in sharing a quote from his "Ghost Stories" that I think may be the best ghost anecdote I have ever read.
"Many years ago, Groucho Marx (Must I identify him for the young among us?
I refuse. Look him up.) and his brothers (the real Fab Four) were playing a
vaudeville house in Chicago. Groucho could always go unrecognized in public,
thanks to the painted-on mustache he wore onstage. This allowed him to, as he
put it 'go anywhere and mingle with the common man in all his dreariness.'
Back then, there was a prominent trance medium holding forth, and her devoted
disciples (sometimes spelled s-u-c-k-e-r-s) solemnly offered to take the man
born Julius Marx with them to a séance. Always intellectually curious, Groucho
was glad to be asked along — though he told me he was 'vaguely insulted' when
his new friends solemnly cautioned him to show the proper reverence. 'I’m not a
clown 24 hours,' he said. 'I can also be serious.'
The séance was held in the darkened parlor of some wealthy believer’s
apartment. Groucho reported a heavy air of sanctity about the place, “and not
entirely from the incense.” Lights were low and the faithful conversed in hushed
tones. The medium began to chant unintelligibly, and then to emit a strange
humming sound (I can’t help seeing her as Margaret Dumont), eventually achieving her trance state. 'I am in
touch, I am in touch with the Other Side,' he intoned. 'Does anyone have a
question?'
Groucho arose and asked, 'What is the capital of North Dakota?'
He recalled being chased for several blocks, but escaped injury."
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
NICK FROST GETS ME HOT ... FUZZ
Dearest Readers (all 3 of you);
I must reveal my deepest, darkest secret. I am hot for NICK FROST. His quivery bod is just ... well, disgusting, or used to be. Think he's much more fit nowadays.
Here's the body of an email I got from HIMSELF (well, me and a few hundred other dweebs) to promo the new pic that will release in North America ... sometime.
No, really I don't. I'm just making attempt at being sardoninc, or sartorial, or whatever.
Gay.
I must reveal my deepest, darkest secret. I am hot for NICK FROST. His quivery bod is just ... well, disgusting, or used to be. Think he's much more fit nowadays.
Here's the body of an email I got from HIMSELF (well, me and a few hundred other dweebs) to promo the new pic that will release in North America ... sometime.
Members of The Fuzz -
Enter to win a chance to be one of the first in the US to see Hot Fuzz! One lucky fan and a friend will attend a special advance US screening of "Hot Fuzz" as the VIP guests of Edgar Wright, Simon Pegg and Nick Frost.
Enter now and get ready to meet the squad and sneak a peak at the action-packed ride that is Hot Fuzz!
-Fuzz Leader
No, really I don't. I'm just making attempt at being sardoninc, or sartorial, or whatever.
Gay.
Is This Rude?
Tell me if you think this banner from a Variety Europe email blast is slightly ... questionable.
Any issues come to mind? No?
Any issues come to mind? No?
WTF?
For those of you who are sympathetic, there is something you can get me.
This:
It is supposedly the PERFECT glass from which to drink Sam Adams Beer.
Blogger sent me some weird email response to my request for help. I guess the true test would be to see if I can set up another page called Beantown Bwana. If Blogger doesn't allow the use of the name, then I would surmise they still have all my shit someplace. Bastids.
(Editor's Note: I was unable to use my original post URL, as it is 'already in use'. WTF? WHERE?... but that leads me to believe that the stuff exists SOMEPLACE)
This:
It is supposedly the PERFECT glass from which to drink Sam Adams Beer.
Blogger sent me some weird email response to my request for help. I guess the true test would be to see if I can set up another page called Beantown Bwana. If Blogger doesn't allow the use of the name, then I would surmise they still have all my shit someplace. Bastids.
(Editor's Note: I was unable to use my original post URL, as it is 'already in use'. WTF? WHERE?... but that leads me to believe that the stuff exists SOMEPLACE)
Back from the Dead???
I be thinking I bring back da old site, mun. Find dem ol posts and stick them onto dis one, like.Maybe more better I not do so, but afeared I lose to many friends in the strange new land I be inhabiting.
Wot to do?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
