Something in red came looking, and it found me.

Been terribly busy today planning my trip to Hawaii, but, something odd did happen in the 1/2 hour or so while I was Stumbling. Apparently, StumbleUpon thinks that I like Russian women, goth chicks and lingerie. Hell, it's smarter than my friends then apparently. But, what was truly uncanny was that all of these files hit me within half an hour, and they are all color-coded. Red. Enjoy.

If Alice were a strumpet. I really do like the muted crimson here.

This is simply beautiful...and so, so sexy.

This is by far my favorite. Red angel wings, stolid -but cute- communist girl, battered USSR flag.

I'm pretty sure the "fiery red" this title alludes to is because of her hair. However, if you're colorblind you couldn't tell the difference between that and her dress. And, seriously, would you care?


Microsoft has never heard of Benjamin Franklin...

"Never put off today that which..." What, it's Bill Gates? Fuck it, then...I'm saving my breath.

So, Microsoft is just now getting around to patching a bug or two...critical ones...25 of them to be exact. And, no, these aren't new problems; they're old ones...17 years old, Only now is  the Redmond Behemoth just now getting around to fixing, them per the BBC. And, why is that? Because, it took an outside third party from Google to examine the code (not presumably write it for 30 years), to notice the freaking problem:

The February update for Windows will close the loophole that dates from the time of the DOS operating system.
First appearing in Windows NT 3.1, the vulnerability has been carried over into almost every version of Windows that has appeared since.
The monthly security update will also tackle a further 25 holes in Windows, five of which are rated as "critical".

Proof that, yet again, Bill Gates hates us all..

Good luck with that, fellas. Which, is once again, why I'm very pleased to report that since 1990, this brain has been hard-wired by Steve Jobs' evil army.

Sure, it makes me a corporate drone, but at least when Steve Jobs rips me off, I know the product will at least fucking work.


Shouldn't Saturday be sleeping in?

Killing Joke. Brilliant, that is all. Carry on. This track is particularly prescient.

Lyrics go now:

You have a choice, we are your voice
Red, blue or yellow.
We will blow away the green
Another five lane motorway
(You'll never get a referendum anyway)
Funny handshakes. insider dealing
Et in arcadia. arcadia ego
Backhanders and salamanders
A powerhouse that is morally

I'm sorry democracy is changing
I'm sorry democracy is changing

I'm not a slogan or a badge
Or a cross in the ballot box
Neither values or objectives
You do not represent my deepest
Thoughts and wishes
Education in obsolete skills
Stereotyping and media projection
Industrial psychologists
Plan a campaign that is financed by
Big business

You have a choice, we are your voice
Red, blue or yellow.
We will blow away the green
Another five lane motorway
(You'll never get a referendum anyway) 



Let's take Friday out with a good joke...

Joke of a lawyer, although, not a lawyer joke.

I'm one of those lawyers who loves lawyer jokes, assuming there is some degree of verisimilitude to them. This one, from Vikar's Rant, is one I can totally, wholly see happening.

A blonde and a lawyer are seated next to each other on a flight from Los Angeles to New York.
The lawyer asks if she would like to play a fun game. The blonde, tired, just wants to take a nap, so she politely declines and rolls over to the window to catch a few winks. The lawyer
persists and explains that the game is easy and a lot of fun.

He says, "I ask you a question, and if you don't know the answer, you pay me five dollars, and vice versa."
Again, she declines and tries to get some sleep.
The lawyer, now agitated, says, "Okay, if you don't know the answer, you pay me $5, and if I don't know the answer, I will pay you $500."

This catches the blonde's attention and, figuring there will be no end to this torment, agrees to the game.
The lawyer asks the first question: "What's the distance from the earth to the moon?"
The blonde doesn't say a word, reaches into her purse, pulls out a $5.00 bill, and hands it to the lawyer.
"Okay," says the lawyer, "your turn."
She asks, "What goes up a hill with three legs and comes down with four legs?"
The lawyer, puzzled, takes out his laptop computer and searches all his references ... no answer. He taps into the air phone with his modem and searches the Internet and the Library of Congress ... no answer. Frustrated, he sends e-mails to all his friends and coworkers but to no avail.
After an hour, he wakes the blonde and hands her $500.
The blonde thanks him and turns back to get some more sleep.
The lawyer, who is more than a little miffed, stirs the blonde and asks, "Well, what's the answer?"

Without a word, the blonde reaches into her purse, hands the lawyer $5, and goes back to sleep.


Worth the trip to Indonesia...

Rule #1 for horror flics...always find a pretty face.
Rule #2...be bloody, and quasi-pornographic.

Hantu Puncak Datang Bulan....That is the name of a film being released throughout Indonesia that has the clerical class completely up in arms. According to the Australian Herald Sun:

"The film is filled with pornography, which indulges the libido and, based on our research, it contains violence," the MUI's Amirsyah Tambunan told Kompas.com."We urge the LSF to use its power to stop the movie from being screened because it could damage the nation's morals."
The trailer for the film, available on YouTube, shows several scenes of young female star Andi Soraya in various stages of undress.
It also shows a man's head being sliced off, a man's head being crushed beneath a car, a man's heart being pulled from his chest and a woman's eye being gouged out with a saw.

Sounds like any ole' American slasher movie doesn't it? Well, it does until you consider Rule #3. be over-the-top. The punchline to this is the plot/translation.... Hantu Puncak Datang Bulan means, hold tight "The Menstruating Ghost of Puncak"...and the "ghosts" are menstrual, bleeding zombies.

 Yes, you read that correctly. The bad guys are zombie tampons.
I don't want to hear shit about how Americans are low-brow with our tastes in the gutter.
I must see this movie. Must. Must.


I want to find this Wendy's

The land where chicken nuggets are, apparently, quite tasty, but the mean fry girls won't let ya' holler.

This has to be a joke. Please.


Friday ain't got no soul

But, it does have Soulfly. I love this song. And I love this video.

 Probably the coolest video made in that last 5 years.



Current sexiest picture...

This is Omnia, one of my two favorite models on Dirty Angels.

I'm not sure why, but for some reason, I look at this picture every day. It's as though Angelia Jolie were spit from the fabric of night, and hell followed her. Which, naturally, is just too damned sexy to even contemplate.

This is pure sin. Absolute, pure sin.

© 2010 by myAnAstAc1A
Seriously, check her out.

And, for the Latin impaired, her one tasteful tattoo reads "Amor vincit omnia" (love conquers all), to which I could only respond "Et numquam periit amor" (and love never dies). 
What else could you say?



and then, disseminate accordingly to your inclinations and/or desires.

3 yr old boy taken by man in Rochester MN driving 2006 Mitsubishi Eclipse... MN plate # 98B351


This is a 2006 Mitsubishi Eclipse. The color of the subject vehicle is unknown at this time. Please be vigilant.


First Jedi, now metalheads...

I'm holding out for Ozzy or no one.

I can't seriously believe that this is being debated as a potential religion:

This week, the UK's Daily Telegraph reported that regional magazine Metal Hammer is campaigning for heavy metal fans to list their music preference as their religion on the next national Census....While this endeavor might initially read as a prank, it does highlight the fundamental role of metal music in the lives of countless people worldwide. Metal has always been a great unifier in that it supersedes race or culture in the name of a common passion. Fans build their lives around it more than many outsiders might realize.

Church clothes...

I don't doubt the sincerity of the adherents who actually want to make an underground music a lifestyle, but, seriously would you want to look to Cannibal Corpse, for instance, for moral guidance? (Hint, read the lyrics to "Entrails ripped from a virgin's cunt".). No, it's really that I don't think there's any set of unifying practices, a creed, set beliefs, etc. that could possibly be a stand-alone religion. Which "creed" counts? Old-School NWOBHM stuff? Hair metal? Pagan-Folk, Racist black metal?  It's just not likely to happen to cobble together a unifying message and set of beliefs and/or practices.  And, in America, that's going to be a First Amendment bar right off the bat. 


However, we are dealing with Britain, and since freakin' Jedi is considered a Census-Category religion there, anything could happen.  Which is why I say they hold out for Ozzy...the rest of us can just keep some perspective and rock out.


Thursday wants it to be Friday

You can never have too much Cure in your life. This is live from Bremen.
On a sidenote, anyone else notice that Robert Smith is looking more and more like a cross-dressing Johnny Cash? It's never nice when your heroes age before you...


12 Things wrong with the Last Supper.

And, I try not end on an angry/despondent/serious note.

Which brings me to this point: A lot of people have emailed/commented, and it is though they are expecting me to be sevens-and-eights to the goth-trough.

Fuck that. Seriously.

It's called "Gothlaw", because that is who I am, and that is my occupation. It's not called that because I'm going to be Glenn fuckin Greenwald on 'Luudes, or regurgitate oh-so-clever analysis. This is my therapy. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

So, if you want to know what happens when the black t shirts are exchanged for a black suit, when the red lipstick yields to a red power-tie, this is it. Questing alone. Finding friends as I can, and loves as they appear.

RANT OVER. Have fun with this one....

You gotta' click this, it's sooo, sooo wrong for reasons other than its title, "Redneck Last Supper".

Why is this wrong? Primarily, because:

1. Most rednecks I know don't drink Coors Extra Gold; that shit is far more expensive than Miller Lite.
2. Ditto, the Wild Turkey in place of "Heaven Hill", "Old Crow" etc.
3. There's not a single gun here
4. Where's the "supper"? 
5. Those look like 'neat' glasses you would pour an apertife into.
6. There's no cleavage, burns or bruises showing on the Magdalene
7. Who freely gives away Marlboros?
8. Why are there Marlboros instead of "Larks" etc...
9. Who serves fresh fruit in place of dead pig?
10. There's only one trucker hat
11. John the Baptist seems to have well too-coifed a beard for my taste...and, where are the greasy mullets?
12. Simon has an unrefrigerated 6 pack in front of him...wrong. Just wrong.


Remember Wounded Knee: A rez story

 No, Russell, we won't forget what you did, and have done, for us. But, we also can't condone what you've done to us, to your loved ones, and the cause either.

This is a hard, very fucking hard, post to write. You've likely deduced from some other posts, that I am an enrolled member of an indigenous Amer-Indian tribe.*  And, it is one of the few things in life that I take quite seriously. It is the obligation of history, of consanguinity, of blood and soul and soil.  This is, to put it frankly, our land to hold and our obligation to remember and our traditions to treasure and preserve. It is a racial memory, and -even if you can't remember it, in my family, at least- it is one beaten into everyone's heads, hearts and consciousnesses upon birth.

From my tribe.
Beautiful, but so, so fraught with emotional landmines.

I've done my best by my People that I can: I tell my daughter the stories I learned, and try to learn the old ones supposedly forgotten. I've sweated and danced and cracked nails and busted bones and built fires and shed blood on the Mountain. I endeavor in my professional activities and personal life. In short, I try to find and fight for our family. I fight for our land, and I fight for our sovereignty...not just for "us" but for all of us...not merely the tiwahe, but the tiospaye. We are all family. And, you let us down again...

(pronounced Wa-Shtay)

As though I could ever, ever forget my People? As though there is not some goddamned gene imprinted upon my psyche that makes me scream like an crazed falcon when I reach the open plains? As if there is not a gut-level mistrust of all things Anglo-Saxon? As though there were not a deep-seated sense of oneness with this world, with this life, that Christianity could ever conquer? As if there weren't a deep and wholly spiritual connection with my surroundings? You can kill a people --we are just bodies--  but you can't kill a meme.

As if Sitting Bull could be  killed by a fucking bullet?


And, this, Russ, is what brings me to your newest low. I had grown accustomed to the grand-standing, to the rock-star demands, to selling the movement out, to self-aggrandizement. But, now, really? You're going to advertise your advocacy, your good works, as fucking mysticism to sell to wasichu?

This isn't fucking mysticism, Russ..this is tiospaye.

Remember Wounded Knee? I do, I've been there...maybe more recently than you, perhaps. And, I've seen my ancestors in their ditch, cut down by Hodgkins guns. The dead women and children and wounded and lame and defeated...all butchered in the snow. And, I've met my ancestors there. And I carry their names, chiseled upon the chapel stone, with me. And no, Russell, no cash contribution from hippies, Europeans or guilty liberals is going to ever...fucking ever...make that right.

A new jet, or paying the bills after you beat your latest wife, makes up for this child (my child, our child) being deprived of his legacy? 

Remember Wounded Knee? I do. Every day. It was my great, great grand aunt and uncle who were left to freeze after being shot. You suffered. We all suffered. You've worked. We've all worked. The difference is, some of us don't want to be rock stars, don't want notoriety, don't want to set ourselves up as Tunkasila. We want what's right.

Think, cousin, think. And then shut the fuck up.

It wasn't just Oglala that died there, Russell...

* Proud enrollee, rez dweller and half breed; born and raised. But, you know what?. Ethnic Gaels who touched down after the Civil War go rather well with pissed off fucking Indians. Not only do we know the woods better, fight better, but, by damned, we carry a grudge that lasts centuries...and, we can outdrink you.


Wenesday may be over its mid-career crisis

...or not. Perhaps ambivalence is really just a deep-seated sign of love. Sorta' like getting married: fear, trepidation, passion, excitement, surface resentment, etc. que sera sera

One of the very best cross-over metal/punk/hardcore bands of all-time (thanks Kanye!), is D.R.I. This track, "Suit and Tie Guy", is a classic. Also, if interested, check out old Fugazi, Black Flag, Cro-Mags, etc.

Lyrics go now:
Suit and tie guy
With his fashion phases
And his quarterly raises
Feels he's better than you and me

Suit and tie guy
Thinks he's real cute
In the bathroom for a toot
Until his nose starts to bleed

Suit and tie guy
I see he always hurries
I know he always worries
He's gonna die of a heart attack

Suit and tie guy
On his way to feeding
Or an important meeting
Just like a car on a track

Suit and tie guy
He travels between stations
With certain destinations
Never varying from that routine

Suit and tie guy
And he'll tell you in one word
That he is insured
And it's not as bad as it may seem



Today's Hot Nerd: Kari Byron. Part Tres.

Seems like every time I think I've exhausted Kari Byron (pun quite intended), I stumble across a new find.  So, appearing for an unprecedented third time here, I give you this image of the lovely Ms. Byron.

For Part One (and nerdentials) here; Redux here.

 I know it's 'shopped, but c'mon you've at least thought about it. I can't be the only one?

Not 'Shopped, which makes this even sexier!

Cats cannot be trusted...

 Meow Mix = human souls.

The headline in the Telegraph (UK) makes it sound like this cat has the amazing predictive ability to know when nursing home patients will die. (Cat predicts 50 deaths in RI nursing home).  According to the article,

The tortoiseshell and white cat spends its days pacing from room to room, rarely spending any time with patients except those with just hours to live.
If kept outside the room of a dying patient, Oscar will scratch on the door trying to get in.
When nurses once placed the cat on the bed of a patient they thought close to death, Oscar "charged out" and went to sit beside someone in another room. The cat's judgement was better than that of the nurses: the second patient died that evening, while the first lived for two more days.

Holy shit, did you read that? This cat will scratch and claw its way to get to a "dying" patient; and has done so 50 times. Then, the person mysteriously, suddenly or imminently (and without fail) shuffles off this mortal coil. You know who else sits outside, and stalks your door, never going away until you've rattled out your last breath?

Yep. Him.


In any event, its pretty damned uncanny, creepy even. According to the story, this kitty was first documented back in a 2007 New England Journal of Medicine article, when it had merely "predicted" 25 deaths. The doctors think that this is some sort of awesome power; that the felonious felines smell ketones from dying cells, especially from the cancer patients. But, I think Occam's Razor has eluded the fine physicians at the elderly home. What's more likely, a cat that sniffs out the dying, or -as the old folk myth correctly predicted- a cat that kills by stealing your breath?

And, that is very clearly what we are dealing with: 15 pounds of tortoise-shelled, Ted Bundy; Ed Gein with a purr.

Not just a hissing, spitting, nuisance and allergy trigger; a likely murderer.


I get emails: Russian women dig me...

Not sure how my email address got distributed to the Russian bride folks, but these emails are at least waaaay, more entertaining than Viagra/Cialis/Nigerian business spam.

Who's got game? I got game...

Olga, for instance, calls me her "gentle sun"

She is getting impatient though...

Elena/Mary is brutally honest about her desire for lucre


 Should I call her Mary or Elena? What is the acceptable protocol here?

However, my personal favorite currently is Svetlana. She is a talker, and can apparently fall madly, deeply in love with her keyboard:


Sure, it's a sad story, but she does like wine and sex!

I think Svetalana is going to win the Russian bride lottery. Besides being more verbose than Olga and Mary/Elena, she also threw in a load of pictures!

I'm sure this is legit...I did mention she likes wine and sex right?

Who knew abandoned naval yards could be so sultry.
Eat your hearts out, haters!

I really hope that everyone's sarcasm meters were on this morning.


Tuesday damns Jerry

So, Jerry got "Davidian" stuck in my head this morning, so now I have to do likewise. Machine Head looks like it would be a hella' intense show, if this live video is any indication.
Let freedom ring with a shotgun blast!



Choose wisely...

You chose...poorly. In some of our cases, three times! Thanks Granpa...Platitudes without avoidance is like handing a rubber fist to a virgin!

My grandfather, who I adored, always told me the three truisms (and, pardon the impending passive voice); to choose wisely the following:
1. A spouse
2. A house
3. A career

WTF?! Why is this on here? Because it's fucking funny. That's why.
And, I did allude to a rubber fist earlier...

Now, seriously, think about this (pardon the pun), sobering statistic...One out of every seven lawyers  (1/7th...14%) consumes at least six (6) drinks every day. Or, to put it mildly, that's called binge-drinking. And they do it every night.

Ignore me...just looking for my brief.

Think also, about this...roughly one in five (18% actually) of alcoholics kill themselves. Not negligently, not stupid shit; just outright suicide.

Now, let's play the numbers game: That's roughly 3 out of every 100 lawyers killing themselves in the bottle alone. And, the numbers don't lie...we kill ourselves at least twice as much as the average joe. 

Any excuse I can get to be Winona's sub, I will totally take.
And, unrelatedly, if you have Google Search, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, make sure you put the filter on if you search for "big fun teen suicide" That shit just got me on some kind of watch list, I imagine.

I chose poorly.

I think all of this comes via a looping, winding road to complete and total job dissatisfaction. Law school sold me a false bill of goods. I dislike people intensely, but, I love ideas and verbal jousting and mental warfare, so I thought it'd be perfect. Ummmm. Not so much: Law school is a racket, the profession of law (noble though it may be) is certainly not for everyone...and that includes those of us who don't have the connections to be a big shit, the money to be a big player, or the family to be yet another superannuated supplicant upon the thrones of firmly-entrenched interests.
Ok. Need to stop now, before I just fucking quit it all together, surrender my licenses, and go be a chef.

Like this...only with more feeling.

Many things to worry about

And, yes, the Hadron Collider is one of them...

or is it?


Got Pretense? Kill your Web 2.0 self.

Please note, that collar-popping is required.

Sometimes, I seriously debate killing my on-line self. There are whole websites devoted to destroying your Web 2.0/social media identity. The best known is probably the "Suicide Machine".  As the site advertises:
Liberate your newbie friends with a Web2.0 suicide! This machine lets you delete all your energy sucking social-networking profiles, kill your fake virtual friends, and completely do away with your Web2.0 alterego...Our service currently runs with Facebook, Myspace, Twitter and LinkedIn! Commit NOW!

Do it, do it!

But, there are of course benefits to some of these. In my case, I live in the middle of the country, with my friends and family scattered from North Carolina to New Mexico...so, not a cheap or easy or quick visit. So, some of these are undoubtedly good things; to connect with those you new, to get pictures of your friends and acquaintances lives; meaning I can't wholly commit Web 2.0 suicide. I am, however, thinking seriously of killing Mr. Bluebird over at Twitter.  And, the reason why?

Rampant asshattery and raging douchebaggery.

Empirical fact: 89% of the Twitterati fall between Categories 2 and 3.

Do you think I jest, or exaggerate? Au contraire, there are whole websites devoted to the assholishness of the 140-character world. For instance, check out the collected "twiticisms" on  Tweetdoucheand Tweeting too hard. Some choice nuggets include:

I gave my cleaning lady a raise today, even though she didn't ask, as my own little contribution to fighting the recession. 

Girl at the gym was checking me out, I could tell she wanted me. A Philly 8, but she had sweaty arm pits. I don't date girls that sweat.
Look, Im not saying Im better at tweeting than you, Im just saying.. 120 people care what i say, about 30 care what you say @MatthewDonnelly 

So, I think I'm going to off my Twitter, goodbye blue bird. I have no doubt that one day these media will have their place, but, for now...just too much clutter; too much douchery. It's a small step, but maybe one day I'll get around to just killing my entire web-self off. Until then, I leave you with the words of wisdom via DigiDonkey:

Being a great social media douche bag is obviously something a lot of people are interested in becoming.  There are plenty of  social media experts, webinars, seminars, guides, blogs, Twitter tools and other sources of information out there that will teach you how to be the best, or biggest, social media douche bag you can be.

Like you'd miss this guy


Monday has been reading too many viking books

From Mastodon's "Leviathan" album comes Seabeast. Unrelatedly, Bernard Cornwell just released the fifth book in his Alfred of Wessex/Saxon Chronicles, entitled Burning Land. I'm about a 1/3rd of the way through...which is why I've got vikings on the brain, and you get a song written from Ahab's perspective.



Should have listened to me...

Yesterday, when I was ranting about the American Taliban's interference into even the most banal of questions growing humans have about themselves, I noted that rather than banning these materials, we should have open lines of communication about sexuality and adolescence. It's called a teaching moment.

What happens when you don't listen? Worse than you could possibly imagine...

The stork will be along shortly.
H/T to Ben for this one via email.

Sunday's Cause of Death? Boredom

Need to wake up...Perhaps, thinking that I were at Wacken or Monterrey would help?