A matter of a difference of preference

Over at the wonderful Sundries -- which you should be reading daily! -- Victoria and I had a minor disagreement of the merits of Scarlett Johannson in her interesting post on Vamps. While she and I may disagree, we here at Fluffy Stuffin can find many reasons to support our claims for Ms. Johannsons' talents.

Here, for example, are at least two.

Pining for Love(seat)

It's late and I'm up. Sigh. I kinda knew this would happen today, as sleeping was hammered into me in none-too-pleasant ways, and at indeterminate times. I had a couple of friends over this past weekend, and it was truly a festival of eating. Not that I mind, given how bland and depressing my diet has been due to lack of food diversity, (which is due to lack of money) but I've been oddly training my body to eat less, so when these events occur, they tend to knock me over. I suppose I could endure this but the whole problem is made worse by the fact that there is no really comfortable place in my house. The futon is a mess, the loveset way too small, the dining room chairs too stiff; even the rocker is not enjoyable as it once was, and it's the most comfy thing in the house! Even the bed isn't really comfortable anymore, now feeling so stiff I pile on blankets to produce a 'comfy' effect, which doesn't work as well as you'd hope.

So there isn't really good, relaxing sleep, as I said, it seems to be pounded into me, but always with difficulties. Crashing occurs, but it doesn't feel like good sleep, and I'm never really refreshed by it.

I only write this to observe my own thoughts on the need for a Comfy Chair! And how much such a thing would make the Engines of State perform that much better!

And the whole thing makes me laugh just thinking of it!

Hi. I'm Ronnie Cash.

For the 100th post in the History of Fluffy Stuffin' I give you a bit o' the Man in Black!

Got up, couldn't write that post, wrote this one instead

I had a post that my noodlenoggin thought would be good, but when I saw it 'on paper', it looked like crap! I just couldn't send that spew of electrons out into the world, so here I am at 6:13AM, all ready to blog but with nuthin' to say...


So...whatcha up to? Is that right? Hell, I love that too! That's just the best, especially with that caramel sauce crap, even better. I mean, I always wanted a series of breakfast cereals that you should have to set on fire to actually enjoy; Cherries Jubilee, Baked Alaska, Bananas Foster. Christ, who wouldn't enjoy Bananas Foster for breakfast? Hell, how come they haven't made Bacon flavored cereal? Fuckin' A!

Christ, Hell, Fuck...It's a good morning! [drains sluggo coffee] Ahh...[not enough milk for cereal, we indulge in cheese and crackers for breakfast]

Yep...

Sun's still not up yet...maybe I can still get in some snoozin, even after a mug of Joe...yeah, snoozin...zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

A man may kill the Bloody Hun, but a woman's work...

I spotted this one on StrategyPage today:

September 17, 2006: India has formed the first all-female police unit for peacekeeping. India has had female police officers for decades, and peacekeeping commanders have long noted that the presence of female police would be a big advantage. That's because, in many parts of the world, the women are more willing to discuss important information with a female peacekeeper, than a male one. Moreover, women tend to be victimized by the violence more than the men. In these areas, the women are already familiar with the concept of female cops, thanks to the availability of cheap (pirated) tapes and CDs of Western TV shows and movies. The female police company will have 125 female cops, who will have received peacekeeping training. This includes the use of assault rifles and riot control. All of these policewomen have at least several years experience in India. Their first assignment will be Liberia.

The question I ask those of us who know her: WWCD? What Would Camie Do? Would she go for the assault rifle and riot control training? Or would being in Kofi's Angels just be too damn depressing? I have here your topic. Talk amongst yourselves. Discuss.

Don't see the cathedral, be the cathedral

That whole thing I wrote the other day about the savory and the sweet; it's been buzzin around in my cabbage. What was I thinking? Why was I thinking it? But then it hit me; I was goin' back and kickin' it truly Old School: Plato. My conversation was an echo of one of those big epistimological Steel Cage Matches that's be goin' on for, literally, millenia. But I'm not here now to talk about that. God knows I could bather on here for way too long! No, what I'm here to say is that I'm very happy I wrote that post, and a few days later, saw why I did what I did. This is the way I've always wanted to read and think. They're not books to me, they're friends who are in the process of a long beatdown of the stupid out of me. I'm not even sure I like people who "read books." Don't go through the University of Paint Booth and get a nice baked-on enamel of culture. If it's any good at all, it's got to make you destroyed, disfunctional,dangerous. Let it do all that and then make it your own! Sand off what sticks out, polish it, buff it, weld this onto that to make you one of those, and fall in love with that. Keep doing that until you can't keep doing that anymore. Flood over your banks like the Nile, just give it away, out of raw excess. You can't keep it in any longer, you've got a hundred children to father all at once, and hording is for nerds. Then one day you wake up and realize you haven't "read Kant," Kant is this part of you over here, more attached to you than your pinky. You don't refer to your pinky by some external name do you? Of course not! My point -- exactly.

I'll Join in the fun!

Picking up -- sort of -- on a meme started by The Blond Badger Lawprof of Madison, Ann Althouse and further enhanced by the William Powell of New England Furniture Makers, Sippican, I show off some old 45's. I have no idea if they're too scratched to play or not, but here goes!

Leading off, in a color that doesn't occur in nature, Kraftwork!


with sleeve!


45's that commemorate successful seasons of The Detroit Lions are only slightly rarer than piano rolls that praise successful Polish tank engagements in WWII, but here is Jimmy "Spiderman" Allen doing "Another One Bites The Dust!"


O Wendy, we hardly knew ye! With Lemmy, covering "Stand By Your Man."


I never doubt why I have an Ex. At the height of the worst of things, I actually bought this to play on 'our' stereo everyday, just to create banshee howls of discomfort! I may have to appear before the Geneva Convention.


Foolish Mortals at way-too-square computer companies I worked for let me make the Christmas Party mix tapes. This was one of my headliners. They were always gratified when I'd end the tape with the DK's "Too Drunk to Fuck!"

Fluffy Thoughts on Writing and Living

The savory and the sweet. Let me talk about that for a bit. These two things are not all there is to me, but they are probably the best way I summerize how I can get by with the world. The sweet is all robins egg blue, end-of-summer memories, clear, clean ozone-laden smells, a resonant tone throughout all of me, a me that I like, a me that I'd like to stay for at least a while, a me that's happy. It's the me I want to give to others; it's not a selfish happiness. It's a me that's both gracious and gentle, sympathetic and empathetic. Of course, since it's a me that wants to be happy all the time, it's a me that's a liar. That's where the savory comes in, all the sugar crystals get dissolved by the various acids of the savory. The savory is where all the tools dwell, the sharp, the quick, the vitriolic, the bilious. It destroys because it must destroy, it must get better and better at destroying. It doesn't want things to be destroyed though; it wants what is true. Destroying is a mere prelude to creating, but a necessary prelude. The dross of what was there before would keep you from seeing, from growing, from pushing yourself into your discomfort zone; that's why all the venom.

Both the sweet and the savory fall into their own egomanical self-delusions; that's why they need each other, just to bring each other back to earth. They're the squabbling couple in the next room, whom you only hear when you press your ear to the door. You're sucked in like an old gossip, you can't not listen, it's too juicy. But what are they saying to each other? Why is it so loud sometimes, so quiet others? Why can you hear how they say things even if you don't know what they're saying, and why do you impart meaning to that how?

That's the function I provide, I think, when I write. It's my ear to the wall, fingertips delicately balanced there, embarrassed at my self-discovery if the sweet and the savory were to burst through the door, where I could see them, even though you'd think you could then talk to them directly, it just never seems to work out that way...

Too much sweet and I can't be honest with you reader. Too much savory and I can't write at all, and can barely live. With proper cooking techniques, the pages will emerge.

Ah...

Relaxin'... I'm a bit sore cause I slept the wrong way, but what of it?

Coffee's done, a late breakfast will be made, and perhaps the paper will be read, if I can find one. For some reason fleets of Harleys are rolling past my door, but my mood is good enough, so roll on, brothers! I have errands to run, but we'll get there when we do.

and how's your morning? Things here are just fine!

Boom-shaka-laca-laca, Boom-shaka-laca-laca!

Here at Le Monde du Fluffy Stuffin, we are indeed very grateful that C.Vog's illness she spoke to me of yesterday was not indeed the mumps! So, to celebrate, we play for her...

Sly-va and The Family Stone!