Terror In Mumbai, India; Memories of Mosquito University

I don't know when Bombay became Mumbai, but I was unaware of it until I saw on TV that it was being blown to hell. I'm never up to date on these changes in geography--I was already embarrassed enough about Burma's change to Myanmar, and there's no telling what other name changes have occurred since I paid attention to countries that I never set foot in. Of course, I've never been to Canada, but I'd probably notice if they renamed it Arthritis or Calaban or something. After all, it's almost close enough for me to trip over, though I guess for a Texan like me that's a statement that would be more true of Mexico. A quick review of Internet sites indicates that "Bombay" goes back to the 16th century when the Portuguese arrived, but that in 1996 the official name was changed to one by which the local population had long called their city. (Therefore, suck it up, American and other foreigners!) In any case, I'm sorry that such terror has come to India. Terror has been there before, of course, not to mention death and destruction. I've always liked India. I've always liked their citizens, though mostly in the guise of Ghandi and other famous persons one knows from History, movies, or TV; I've hardly known any living citizens of India, although the few I've known in person (who worked or attended school at the university where I was employed as Ratcatcher-Exterminator) were likeable, too. So, too, were the Chinese, Arabs, and persons of other national origin I met at Mosquito University!

Kill Them All (Some More)!

What does Axl Rose have to do with China, democracy, or Dr. Pepper? Why would I ever, no matter what, care about such total crap? I say, let's kill them all! But then, that's my answer to everything that's meaningless. So I guess that's meaningless, eh?

Curiouser and curiouser?

I'm a bit nonplussed by this notion of the "followers" that Blogger recently introduced. I already use Bloglines to do my "following" of other blogs and those who are interested were mostly already following me in some manner. How this Follower crap improves things, I cannot guess. No doubt, it is explained somewhere, but it doesn't look all that interesting. Possibly hundreds of years could pass before I'd get that curious. I believe in curiosity, I think it's a good thing. But we don't need to be curious about Everything, do we? I thought not. p.s. I note that so far I only have 2 defined "followers", and those are attached to "Most Frequent Blogger Questions", not to "The Rat Squeaks". I don't create new posts for MFBQ very often, so that seems like a waste of a Follower's time! It doesn't sound very promising to me so far.

Semolina Dildo

Feeble, fible, fable and all, They say Jay Lemmon tried to sound like Bad Dylan in this song And left a sad pleasant confusion for us all!! Textperts, jexperts, it jus may be Just as you say, boy, messed in the way, oy! The crowd's all gone now except for the bad boy, Colors gone too how, all fished out from frim to Fry-day, And as faded as some poor little Jewish Tuesday can ever be! [MEANING: Words, what they mean and what they sound like, Can paint a picture, either internal or external, Real or imagined, for the author or for the listener, And that meaning's not always the same For either or neither or even Any third party who's just looking on...] This was or is a taste of the old "I am or was The Walrus" sort of thing... I hope you didn't blow your mind out in a car Or anything like that. We all have been somewhere by now, old chaps, So prepare your Steely Dese and get wit it!

Wondering About Suicide

Reading recently about a young man who committed suicide online and who was variously encouraged and discouraged to complete his mission by gawkers, I took a few minutes to look up suicide sites or at least sites that mention suicide on the Internet. Some teenagers make "pacts" to commit suicide, just as they agree with one another to do other weird things. What should they do, they're teenagers. I remember some "odd" things I did when I was a teenager, none of them seriously murderous or self-destructive or even self-abnegating. I was just crazy, and full of piss and vinegar. Me and some other guys were going to have windbreakers printed up with a bit of Dylan lyrics imprinted on the backs, but we never did it. Finally I took a Magic Marker to the windbreaker I already owned and wrote on it: "In ceremonies of the horsemen, Even the pawn must hold a grudge..." I was a club of one, I guess. I don't recall how long I wore it, but not more than the season for it that particular year. The same group was going to be very cool and wear one cowboy spur (instead of one ear-ring, you know?) and two of us did finally manage that one. We probably never found more than the one old pair of free spurs (I think it was from some sort of life-debris from the other guy's wastrel uncle). All the rest of our misbehaviors were related to things like driving our cars too fast, or wearing our hair longer than we should have or putting some pills in our coffee that made you fall asleep (what was the logic in that one?) or maybe letting some guy drive you around your home town when you knew he was probably too fucked up to identify the planet he was on. And what about that strange guy in Houston one night who pulled a gun on everyone and you had to plead with him for five or ten minutes to calm down, just calm down--there "wasn't nothing happening!" The incident was soon over, though it stuck in my memory like some bad movie I wish I'd never seen. I wonder if he ever blew his brains out later? We were never really certain who it was that he wanted to shoot. There would have been a certain logic, and even poetic justice, in his suicide. Whether he did or didn't, it's taken me forty years after that night to even wonder about it.

Here I Am?

It's not so cold a day as before, though my fingers still get cold too easily. My podiatrist offered the other day to give me a circulation test (don't ask me!), so that's scheduled, for tomorrow, I think--it's written down on my calendar. It's free, he said, so that sounds good, I guess, though I can't help wondering why neither he nor my GP ever bothered to think of it before now. I have always complained of being cold, especially my extremities. Well, we'll see. If it's anything that bears repeating, I might even tell you here. But probably it's another one of those loads of crap that don't amount to much beyond the advertising. I hate advertising.

There I was

It's so goddamn cold out here in my study. I never keep enough heat on or else none at all. All the plastic computer parts get so cold and stay that way mostly. Sometimes I use a hairdryer to warm things up, but it doesn't last. I've leaving now.

Understand?

Pling plang, Pixie dixie dash, Wash you mosh? Ween woon wim. I don!

Kill Them All!

If you ONLY could let the management of General Motors, Ford, Etc. go down the toilet and straight to hell without taking the jobs of so many employees, direct and indirect, I'd be all in favor of it. Who has ever been more worthy of hatred than the big American car makers? Maybe it's not even the wrong thing to let all those jobs go to hell, too, but I can't claim to know that! I'm not certain how one would be in the position to know the situation that well. God knows, maybe--but the rest of us are just egotistical shits (whether we're on TV or not), as usual!

For Yoyo

If I could doodle you well enough, Either in my imagination or anyone else's, Not to mention in some sweet stone reality, You'd smile so neatly, We'd be in a spin, It'd cheer me up Or on to victory Or out of this dismal daunting dread I'm in, And then maybe we'd break out of this sin together Where mere veneer covers us, thinly like skin, All our beastly blessed ventures-- It'd poke right through this dearth of confession, This yearn and yen, This deadly wedly den of thought Combined with all our thoughtlessness And just desires and desserts.