Lulubell deck I painted last year. I really should send this down to the crew in AZ.

That really got me thinking. Sure, it wasn’t in the manner that this establishment of the divine long-distance relationship wanted, but I was thinking nonetheless. What if the accepted model for churches was to pick a new deity each year?

I just imagine the church newsletters towards the end of the year:

Greetings parishioners!
Once again it’s getting to be that time of year we all celebrate: the grand selection!

Unlike previous years, Pastor Bob will be taking nominations via email. Additionally, while last year’s “cow pie bingo” made for a fun afternoon, the ultimate selection of Prithvi, in retrospect, should have been an foregone conclusion from the effort. In order to level the playing field a tad this year, and to raise some funds for the new altar, we will be having a bake sale and pie-eating contest. Come join us the second Sunday of December when our new deity is chosen in a swirl of banana bread and blueberry pies.

Honestly, I think is a model that could really work for the typical American. Protestants are inherently afraid of deific pluralities (aside from that whole Daddy, Junior, Spook thing that really just seems to be three sides of one thing), so this is a great way to expand cultural diversity and education while not having to tackle the entire gang-bang of a given Pantheon.

Sure, you may be shaking your head at this point thinking that I’ve finally gone way off the deep end, but I did not originate this idea. Way back in the 16th century, the Hopi did just about the same thing for practical matters their cosmology could not address or weren’t working out for them so well.

I think the main thing holding most Christians back is that whole fear thing. Those of us raised with Christian backgrounds have had the whole “I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God” thing pounded into us from an early age. Sure, given the old guy’s track record for smiting and pestilence-ing places into nothingness, I can see He’s got some separation anxiety.

But, seeing as we having had a good smiting or literal fire and brimstone falling from the sky (sorry televangelists), I think it’s time to put another Baal into play.

With deference to Saint Eddie of Izzard, I believe I am going to lobby for Jeff, god of biscuits or Simon, god of hairdos for 2012. Both of those chaps seem to really be speaking my spiritual language these days.

For that reason alone, you are in for some serious treats today as I bring you what I like to call: character versus character.

In my gourd I find if rather amusing to imagine what a given actor/actress’ characters would do if they faced each other in a fight to the finish. Sure, it’s pretty cool when you have two combat-ready “action hero” type characters, but entirely way more amusing when they aren’t.

Let’s start with an easy one.

Han Solo vs. Indiana Jones

This is practically a no-brainer. University of Chicago trained archeologist verus the scruffy nerf herder. Before he could even clear his whip, Indy would be on the ground because everyone knows that Han shoots first. That’s an end that even Indy wouldn’t complain about. Hell, while we are at it, let’s have Han put a few holes in Mutt Williams as well. I’m not a fan.

Yeah, now you see how it works. On to more.

Doogie Howser vs. Dr. Horrible

This could be a tough one. Sure, Doogie’s exceedingly annoying medical knowledge gives him an upper hand in having all the right anatomy knowledge to kill off Dr. Horrible quickly, but, at the same time, Dr. Horrible has his freeze ray. When it all comes down to it, though, Doogie learns an important life lesson in preparing for the battle and Dr. Horrible dies of boredom while Doogie is typing into his diary. Dr. Howser wins.

Verbal Kint vs. John Doe

Ooooh, creepy. Both of these guys would just stand across the room from each other smiling scarily. Hell, they’d probably have a pretty intense conversation about polyester trousers or something equally inane yet intriguing. Then, quite suddenly, Verbal would fall to the floor in about Se7en pieces (see what I did there?). With a slight nod of his head, John Doe would exit the room.

Legolas vs. Will Turner

Yeah, Legolas is an elf. Will would be so full of holes so fast that Will wouldn’t even be aware that there was a fight on. To add insult to injury, Legolas would probably “surf” Will’s body down some stairs or something. It seems to be his thing.

Sweeny Todd vs. Edward Scissorhands
Once Sweeny Todd got done singing about how old Eddie was about to become a pile of meat for pies, he’d probably dramatically storm out of the arena. Edward, being the simple guy he is, would stand there looking comically confused and wait for the good Mr. Todd to return for the fray. Both would eventually die of either old age or at someone else’s hand because they were confused by the intial instructions. Well played, sirs.

Professor Xavier vs. Captain Picard
Oooooh, the passive-aggressive fight of the century! Picard has some serious Starfleet hand-to-hand training, but the Prof. has the ability to read and control minds. Professor X opens the conflict with his signature move of putting his fingers to his temples and Picard launches into issuing orders. As the wavy lines start emanating from Xavier’s chrome dome, Picard begins gathering up his team of officers in the “ready room.” When that doesn’t work and Picard heads out to visit Guinan at Ten Forward, Professor Xavier lobotomizes himself out of the sheer frustration of the existence of a leader who can’t make a damn decision on his own. Picard is later assimilated by the Borg and left to a lifetime trying to boot OS/2.

I never said my brain made sense.

It’s true. I’ll be the last person to deny it.

What putting this blog together has proven to me is that it really is feasible for me to organize my thoughts and produce a knot of words that might even be mistaken for sentences if taken in the right context. Looking back at the general content of what I’ve written shows that I jump around a lot and have a few “impassioned” things to say about all manner of topics that I probably have no business spouting off about.

I’ve been sitting on writing this 100th posting for a couple of weeks. I definitely wanted to mark the occasion, but honestly had no clue what to address or write about other than, “Hey I write a bunch of stupid shit. Congratulate me for making it publicly consumable.”

That’s utter crap, so I’m going to experiment with some stream of consciousness drivel.

The index finger on my right hand hurts a lot in the joints today. This got me thinking about how many mouse-clicks I’ve made over the past twenty years and then how inconvenient it would be to not have index fingers.

The Fox and the Hound is thirty years old. Unawares to me, this film represents the transition from Disney’s original “nine old men” to a younger generation of animators. It was this movie that caused Don Bluth to quit Disney and go off and form his own studio that put out such gems as “The Secret of NIMH,” “Space Ace,” and the animated chunks of “Xanadu.”

Bamboo Paper for the iPad has been a serious lifesaver. Scraps of paper with random notes scribbled on them have been my method of thought/process organization for the past fifteen years. Being able to “write” notes out on the iPad in a simple way is the second reason I wanted an iPad (the first being an easier way to read comic books).

I recently read that the mere act of recalling a memory alters it. For some reason, this scares the ever-loving crap out of me.

While I have really enjoyed his writing in the past, Chuck Klosterman writing for Grantland makes me want to pluck my eyes out. It’s enough to make me read Douglas Coupland. As a good friend of min succinctly put it, “I don’t have the energy or patience to read a 4000 word essay on why Klosterman’s favorite sports experience was some junior college basketball game 25 years ago.” I would have to agree.

I recently decided that french fries, by and large, are a waste of time. That’s probably a pretty un-American thing for me to say, but there are a hell of a lot more potato delivery systems that I prefer. Don’t get me wrong, there are a couple of places that I think do the fry up pretty damn well, but I would love to have a “salty starch sticks” stamp to “correct” most of the places I’ve had “fries” in over the past couple of years.

OK, that’s probably enough of that. I often have random disjointed thoughts that don’t warrant a full blog post, so now I have to decide if I should just “micro blog” (a term I utterly despise) and have a couple of lines of consumable text, or just save them all up for another post like this one. I’ll probably end up going with the former since my memory (or lack thereof) will keep me from compiling things easily.

Onward and upward!

Part of me really hopes Mr. Camping is right. Aside from his predictions about massive earthquakes and the world splitting and all sorts of unpleasantness, I really can’t wait for a little more elbow room. I, being the terrible heathen I am, will be right here like I always am. If I were a smarter man, I would have gone door to door offering to take care of people’s pets for a nominal fee (paid up front, of course).

As is, I’ll just have to make do with some of the post-Rapture looting. According to the event on Facebook, I’ll be among the almost 500,000 folks who clicked the “attending” button on this Facebook event. Come on along, it’ll be fun!

Here’s the thing, though. Harold Camping made the same prediction in 1994. Hell, lots of people have predicted the end of the world over the past bunch of years. When the time for all Hell to break loose comes and goes, we typically get the “We calculated wrong.” or “God, in his infinite mercy, has chosen to spare us” answer. I am very curious to see what Harold Camping will have to say around 9PM EDT when we are all still sitting here twiddling our thumbs.

This is, however, a great time to screw with people. Here’s an easy one: lay out a full set of clothes (including shoes) on the sidewalk outside your house. Another good one is to write your kids a note to the effect of “Been raptured, food is in the fridge,” hide somewhere in the house, and watch the hilarity ensue when they find the note.

Needless to say, I have a strong feeling that Mr. Camping is going to have to eat a whole lot of crow tomorrow afternoon. In the way way way off-hand chance he is correct, however, you will be pleased to know that this blog will continue (sporadically) as it always has. That’s just my dedication to you, the reader.

Jesus is coming. Look busy.

For all that Star Wars means to me, it is a downright crime that I haven’t done much writing about the subject.

Basically stated, I’m a huge Star Wars nerd. I couldn’t tell you how many different copies of the original trilogy I have on VHS and DVD, and the amount of Star Wars ephemera that occupies my house borders on ridiculous.

I’ve read all of the novels of the Expanded Universe (and actually like those characters and scenarios better than what I’ve seen on the screen so far), collected trinkets from the four corners of the Earth with “Lucasfilm, LTD.” stamped on them and I’m a tad embarrassed at the amount of money I’ve spent on individual action figures.

All that and I find it incredibly hard to write about. It seems that only when I get hot under the collar (reference my “heated” Why, George, Why? blog from last year) do I delve into my Lucas-inspired nerdery.

To be honest, I often only talk about Star Wars to address the things I’m not happy with. I guess that’s all part of being a “critical” fan. Why can’t I just be happy with Wookies, Mandalorians, Jedi, Sith, etc. and ignore the horrible gaffs like Episodes I-III, the Marvel Comics and Rokur Gepta? To that end, why must I justify my love of the Expanded Universe to “purist” fans who find it anathema to look beyond the six movies (does the Christmas Special count?)?

Oh wait. I know. Star Wars fans just LOVE to complain. We bitch about “special editions,” proposed “ultimate editions,” lack of Blu-Rays, lack of the “Yub Yub” song, being a little short for a Stormtrooper and a bajillion other little things that just bug the ever-loving shit out of us. In general we will sit in awed silence for ninety minutes at a time, and many of us will still tear up at the “I know” line on Bespin during Empire Strikes Back, but when that is all over, it’s right back to the bitching.

Honestly, I should really focus my attentions on mocking continuity-lacking Trekkies or those freaks who stuck through Battlestar Galactica (and I don’t mean the one with Lorne Greene).

I know I’m not anymore special than other hardcore music fans, but it was quite striking that I could still sing along with a song I hadn’t heard in a least a decade.

What is it about our brains that allow a person to forget where they put their keys minutes after placing them “someplace safe,” driving away from the house to be stuck with the fear that they didn’t close the garage door, or to even forget a birthday or anniversary; but to remember all the words to a random song?

It’s almost uncanny.

A goodly chunk of us has also experienced the spontaneity of sitting in a bar when an overly familiar song comes on the jukebox just to look around and see other patrons mouthing the words over their beverage. It’s almost a horrible cliche. I am a firm believer that given the right amount of social lubrication, any given dive could burst into a Glee-esque karaoke bar with the right set of tracks. Maybe that’s just a secret wish of mine.

Moreover, what is it about some songs that bring back specific memories? Whenever I hear certain Echo & the Bunnymen or Love and Rockets songs, I am immediately taken back to one particular summer in my youth where I spent my days reading Tom Swift books and eating State Fair Brand Corn Dogs.

In that same regard, I seem to learn the words to songs I hear on the radio or live pretty damn fast. I wonder all the time what “important” information is being pushed out of my head as I learn the words to the newest Iron & Wine or Dawes song I hear on the radio. I know for a fact that records from Catherine Wheel and NOFX are responsible for me losing most of my German grammar and vocabulary. One would think that committing the last couple of KMFDM records to memory would have jogged some of that back into the ol’ gourd, but I think all those oat sodas and brown liquor helped keep that fine learning at bay.

The one terrible thing, though, is that I have a terrible time with song titles and, in some cases, artist.

Recently I was on a cross-country flight where I whiled my time away catching up with season three of Being Human (the UK version, not that wretched version they have tried to put out on SyFy, but that is a topic for another post). In episode six a song was playing that I knew all the words to, but had no idea what the song was or who might have originally done it. I racked my brain for several hours, singing the words to myself over and over, trying to figure out how the hell I knew the song. Almost a day later, in the middle of a meeting when my mind was wandering far and wide, it struck me that what I had heard was an odd cover of Johnny Cash’s “God’s Gonna Cut You Down.” That’s the kind of crap that occupies my brain when I’m staring off into space and/or sitting in meetings.

1. Dethklok – Kill You
What is there to not love about Dethklok? They’re metal, they’re from Mordhaus and they’re cartoons. I love this song because it starts out with an epic drum solo and then launches right into one damn catchy guitar riff. How can you not adore a song that has “Na Na Na Na” all through it while, at the same time exclaiming “Like to smash all your brains with a vase.” That, people, is talent.

2. Smashing Pumpkins – Tristessa
Ahh, Gish era Pumpkins. B0lly wasn’t completely apeshit crazy and, to my knowledge, no members were dead or in jail (Note to self: don’t forget to tell D’arcy to “hold her horses” next time you see her). Anyhoo, Tristessa is just about as core to Gish as it gets. The lyrics are typical early-90′s fare. I still love this stuff.

3. Red Hot Chili Peppers – Higher Ground
The Chili Peppers cover Stevie Wonder. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this. In fact, musicians and scientists, alike, should use this track to calibrate instruments of all varieties. Following the Pumpkins with this makes me a very happy man.

4. The Crash That Took Me – Two Yellow Suns
I love Crash. It’s really not hard to believe that I would considering the makeup of the band and/or their music. This shit is just solid and “Two Yellow Suns” is damn perfection. I’m often afraid to ask Dylan where these lyrics come from, but I have got to remember to make an exception for this one. I have a sneaking suspicion there is some base in tiki drinks, but I could be wrong.

5. KMFDM – Vogue
It is almost single-handedly KMFDM’s fault that my hearing sucks. I’m not bitter, it’s just a statement of truth. Too many times in college and after, I’d end up way too close to the stacks at a KMFDM show in some state of inebriation screaming lyrics at the top of my lungs. Those were some of the best shows I’ve ever seen and “Vogue” is one of those fan faves that has evolved quite well through the years.

6. Nine Inch Nails – The Day The World Went Away
Ahh, the iPod is in a “clumping” mood this morning. During my “formative” late-adolescent years, Nine Inch Nails and KMFDM were two of my absolutely favorite. I like this track because it is short, sweet and has one of the best “droney bits” I’ve ever heard.

7. They Might Be Giants – Mr. Klaw
Ahh, the Johns emulate the Velvets. I like this one. Silly and short.

8. Centro-Matic – Supercar
Mr. Will Johnston is a genius and a national treasure. Centro-Matic is one of those bands that I get annoyed when their shows don’t sell out. “Supercar” is pretty typical Centro-Matic fare. I do have to say, however, that any and all Centro-Matic, Will solo efforts and/or South San Gabriel live performances are better with beer and BBQ. If you happen to be outside rural Goldthwaite, TX (there’s not really an “urban” Goldthwaite, TX, so I’m not sure why I feel I need to qualify “rural”), all the better.

9. NOFX – Franco Un-American
NOFX is one of those bands that I can’t help but to love. Sure, I’ve missed their last seven live shows here in Dallas, but damn I love these guys. Half-political, half-goofy and all drunk, it’s a total party. This particular version of “Franco Un-American” came off of their recent live release They’ve Actually Gotten Worse Live, so, as per normal, Fat Mike took some liberties with the lyrics. Following the song is an excellent rant on some kid for yelling out “Jerry Garcia.” It just has to be enjoyed on your own. Little tiny Nutzies.

10. Blur – My Ark
A gem off of Blur’s 10 Year Anniversary Box Set. Originally one of the b-sides to “Chemical World,” I’d kinda ignored “My Ark” until it came out in this box set. It’s got a really great swirly guitar part that really identifies it as a Modern Life is Rubbish-era track. Brings back some interesting memories of bad beer and good conversation in tiny Waco, TX apartments.

11. Ennio Morricone – The Desert
I’ve said it a couple of times in other posts, but I have a Western problem. I’ve seen hundreds of terrible Westerns and a remarkably small subset of good ones. This amazing track of Ennio Morricone’s is from The Good, The Bad & The Ugly, one of my favorites. What I like about this track, and most of Morricone’s work, is that it really draws the emotion in exceedingly well. I’ve never watched a Sergio Leone movie on mute, but I’m guessing they aren’t nearly as good without Morricone’s score.

12. Mark Kozelek – Rock ‘N’ Roll Singer
Crazy Koz does an AC-DC cover and nails it (per usual). I’ve written about my adoration of Mr. Kozelek before, but I honestly can’t say enough. I wish Mark constantly came through Texas, because I would (and have) gladly travel all over this state to see him. This cover nails it.

13. The Cherry Cokes – Making a Living With You
Ahh, my beloved Cherry Cokes. Japan seems to make a good living off of creating marketable novelties in all genres of everything. While the Cherry Cokes definitely fall into this brash and general categorization, I just don’t feel comfortable lumping these guys in with Pokemon and Chef Morimoto. As per usual, I can’t especially tell if this song is being sung in English or Japanese (why do I always feel so damn racist when I type that out), but the “traditional” Irish-y punk sound is still striking and excellently executed. It is harder than hell to find releases from the Cherry Cokes, so I’d suggest you grab anything you run across.

14. Social Distortion – Don’t Take Me For Granted
Mike Ness is another one of those individuals who I have looked up to for a very long time. Over the course of the past twenty years, I’ve been very fortunate to have seen Social D perform many many times. I’ve been at good shows and I’ve been at a couple really terrible shows, but I always come back for more. “Don’t Take Me For Granted” is a relatively new track in their catalog, but really has the rips and riffs that hearken back to the early releases. Social D has a new record coming up that I have heard nothing from. I’m ready for it!

15. The Dead Milkmen – Tugena
Filler track!!!!! This five and a half minutes of lo-fi “practice” material and sampled gibberish is the perfect wrap-up to today’s playlist. All manner of bands have dropped a track on the end of their records, but this is one that I can actually listen to. It’s useless, mindless and makes absolutely zero sense. Much like me.

Similarly, I have a list of books (comic and conventional) that I tend to read over and over and over. I’m not sure if this is a unique behavior (I would think not) — but who knows?

The first of these books is Umberto Eco’s Foucault’s Pendulum. This book opened so many doors into my budding love of secret societies and cults back when I was in high school. It’s a fantastic story of “what if we make up a conspiracy to sell some books” that gets way way out of hand.

This is a book I read about once every two years just to keep the material (and paranoia) fresh. After I read the Da Vinci Code, I immediately read Foucault’s Pendulum to cleanse my palette. This is a book that was shelved with its own concordance when I first picked it up. Shit like that makes me do a happy dance.

The most important book that I read over and over and over is The Illuminatus! Trilogy by Robert Anton Wilson. Anyone who knows me well should read this book just to see how my brain works. I’m not saying this book will change your life or anything, but THIS BOOK WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE!!!!!!

I read this book every year without fail. Sometimes I read it twice just for good measure. I’ve already finished my first reading of 2010 and I’ll probably pick it up again after I finish reading the odd young adult fantasy series I’m reading now (Fablehaven for those who are interested).

The third multi-read book I keep close at hand is of the comic variety. Warren Ellis’ Transmetropolitan.

Spider Jerusalem is almost as bad ass as Warren Ellis himself and Transmet (as those in the know are oft to call it) is the ultimate in dystopian futures. It’s got drugs, politics, social commentary and oodles and oodles of bad attitude. The fact that it makes me giggle like a little girl is just the gravy on the cake.

While it is always nice to read Transmet all the way through, if I need a quick fix, I read what amounts to the first collected volumes.

Warren Ellis’ Crooked Little Vein is also quickly crawling up as being one of those books I’ll read over and over, but I need to give it a third read just to make sure.

So, gentle blog reader, any books you revisit on a regular basis?

I’m sure I’ll end up writing several postings about the hows and whats of me becoming obsessed with the Illuminati and the Discordian Society, but this one is even more tangential.

I high school (when my obsession du jour was cyberpunk) I read a novel by Jonathan Littell called Bad Voltage. It had some pretty interesting concepts presented in it, but what really stuck with me was the presentation of the cataphiles who explore and organize mischief/mayhem/productivity in the catacombs underneath Paris.

Bad Voltage) made it even more enticing by putting a couple of maps of the catacombs in the front of the book and then proceeded to explain how it was illegal to go into the catacombs. How do you get a teenager excited about doing something? Tell him it’s verboten.

Most recently a gentleman who I am mildly acquainted with by the name of Sean Michaels spent some amount of time doing research on the catacombs and a seemingly clandestine secret society known as Urban eXperiences. Sean put his research and experiences into an incredible read for the literary journal BRICK.

Read this article as soon as you can.

What Sean uncovered is stuff you can’t make up. It was like reading a shortened version of Umberto Eco’s Foucault’s Pendulum. It’s got mystery it’s got intrigue, it’s got secret(ish) societies and a wildly interesting mystery man/men.

After you’ve read the article, email it to a friend. Hell, email it to your entire address book. The Atlantic originally commissioned a shorter version of this article, but killed it. They are utter morons.

Now I just need an acetylene lamp and a ticket to Paris.