Thursday, January 28, 2010
Gratitude combined with apology. Often delivered by neurotic people with self-esteem problems. "Thanks for coming to my party. Sorry it was so lame," Sheila thankspologized.
An admission of culpability delivered with backhanded attacks on others. "I'm sorry if you were so stupid as to have your feelings hurt!" Dan said apolfiantly.
Editor's note: Apolfiance? Not Defology? Keep looking.
Secretly happy conflict. He sent his degrets that he could not attend the Baroque music fest.
Sort of like guilty schadenfreude.
I'd like to thankspologize to you for your reading this post.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
I'm not advertising it because The Ks have a show on Saturday (9 p.m. at the Ace of Clubs). But I'm excited. Some members of The Ks are going to play as well. Going to play some songs no one's heard in a while.
Enjoy the President's State of the Union.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
I’d especially like to welcome our newest Senator from Massachusetts, Scott Brown. Hope you like that truck, Senator, it was brought to you by a “Fascist Socialist Power-grab.” You really fucked me good Scott. Suddenly I’m in trouble. No one mentions that if Coakley had spelled Massachusetts right I’d be on the way to Mount Rushmore. Just hasn’t been a good political season for blond women who want to coast to victory. I think some of those yobs who voted for you thought they were still voting against Hillary.
So now we’re screwed on Healthcare, because a bunch of people who already HAVE healthcare were pissed at Ben Nelson. Well I can tell you, Ben Nelson’s an opportunistic asshole, that doesn’t mean you have to stick it to the whole country. Just throw eggs at the guy’s house or something.
Hey Congress! Remember when I asked for Healthcare in August? Ha ha, right? Well there was a reason for that deadline. Now if by some miracle you guys get your act together and find someone else to vote for this bill, DO IT. You will not have everyone forever. The next time someone gets caught sleeping around it might not be a Republican. And look at Robert Byrd. He looks like David Bowie at the end of The Hunger.
Now everyone’s saying I was too cool, didn’t show enough passion, enough emotion to get this thing across the finish line. Think about that. Now I’m not going to say this too many times, but I am a black man. How do you think I managed to become President? By never ever ever never doing anything to frighten white people. When was the last time you heard a white person say “Boy, that black fellow sure is stirred up emotionally, let’s do what he says.” When a black man gets emotional, he isn’t respected; he’s usually hauled off to jail. You people really do think racism is all over, don’t you?
Okay, so you want cheap bullshit? I can do that. Let’s pretend the sensible thing is to slow down government spending in the middle of the Great Recession. We can do that. It’s a spending freeze! That ought to create some jobs. We won’t touch social security, I know you don’t want us to touch your Medicare (You all just pissed away the last chance to do anything about that.), and of course we won’t touch the military. In short, we won’t do crap about anything that really matters budget-wise, but we’ll squeeze the balls off some programs that don’t really add up to a hill of beans, just to impress you fiscal hawks. Because Lord, you were always all so hung up on the debt when W was in charge.
Then you’ll probably elect Brown president, he’ll pass another completely unjustifiable tax-cut and we’ll do it all over again, until China dumps us for the Euro.
Meanwhile, pay no attention to the explosions in Iraq. We’re still getting out. At least my generals no how to get something finished.
Dear God you are all so stupid and Dear God America.
--Transcribed by Dan Kilian
Monday, January 25, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
What's a masochistic Bene Gesserit's favorite snack?
What coordinates do Guild Navigators use to specify their position relative to the galactic plane?
Why do spice miners always go back to the place they were born?
Because there's no place like CHOAM.
Who's the best Bene Geserit basketball player?
Kareem Abdul Gom Jabbar.
What’s the latest Bud campaign on Arrakis?
A bunch of fat guys calling each other up and yelling "Kwiiiiiisaaaatz Haderach!"
What happened to the glory of House Harkonnen?
What happened when the Sardaukar pushed the Fremen too far?
The worm turned.
--The anonymous J
Friday, January 15, 2010
It hadn't been a sterling semester, at least not academically. The fact that he'd had his first kiss (Margaret, cool) and drunk his first beer (Molson, warm) would not distract his father from the C in AP Bio and the two electives that he dropped back in October. He'd need to get a 5 on the bio test for college credit and pull a couple of 21-credit semesters to graduate on time.
"This is not the performance I was expecting. That school costs money," said his father, drawing out the unnnh in "money."
"I know, dad, it's just that --"
"It's just what? Are you not intellectually capable of completing, what is it, 'Shop Fundamentals'? Baffled by the lathe, is it?"
"No, dad, it's not the coursework --"
"Maybe public school would be a better match, better preparation for your upcoming career? Which is what, exactly?"
"I'm not sure, dad. We've been over this, I want to go undeclared for my first year --"
"Right, so you can find yourself and then need to go on to tens of thousands of dollars worth of grad school so you can have more than an English Lit degree. It's not like we'll be getting financial aid," said his father, gesturing at the office and the five-bedroom house around it.
They were both silent for a moment. Walt put his hand on the door jamb, steadying himself. He'd stood there a thousand times. "I'll try to do better next semester, dad."
Walt walked away. His father took off his glasses and tossed them on the desk. He rubbed his eyes and noticed the date on the desk-blotter calendar. The number was in red. "Huh," he grunted, not entirely with conscious control. He was thankful that there were brave men in the world.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
D/ C/ F/ G/ 4x
D/ C/ F/ G/ 2x
You love your mother you love your father
You love your brothers, you’re gonna love me
All your friends, the old men, these screaming nuns,
I’ll set them all free
I’ve got my soldiers; my soldiers got the order to shoot
Sealing off the exits, what happens next is up to you
D F C Bb 2x
Sleep with me or the whole town dies. Sleep with me, Shiraqin
D/ C/ F/ G/ 1x
D/ C/ F/ G/ 2x
I’m not a bad man, no twisted madman,
Still my commandments, they must be obeyed
My sovereign duty, show a little cruelty,
Still for your beauty, my hand has been stayed
I’d never force you, but I will enforce my right
This could be a black, bloody day, or you could find true love tonight
D F C Bb 2x
Sleep with me or the whole town dies. Sleep with me, Shiraqin
D/ C/ F/ G/ 2x INSTRO
D F C Bb
I love you I love you
I’ll be Citizen Supreme, you’ll be my Queen
I’m gonna take you out of this place. You’re coming with me, Shiraqin
I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you Shiraqin
D/ C/ F/ G/ 1x INSTRO
--Song by Dan Kilian
--Performed by The Ks
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
"As such, we are now looking at a negative endgame scenario," concluded the analyst.
The cabinet members looked down at the packages that accompanied their briefing materials. Each contained a glass vial of clear liquid and an eight ounce bottle of spring water. Hardly a last meal fitting for the leaders of the free world.
Or what was left of it. The monitors showed images of burning cities, strands of DNA with anomalous sequences highlighted in red, a map of Washington DC with an ever-shrinking green zone.
The analyst said, "Our studies have shown that outcomes are optimal when the entire group ingests the dose simultaneously." Two or three of the men around the table tore into the cellophane. Someone choked back a single anguished moan.
"Aw, hell," said General McPatterson, "I always knew you were a bunch of pansies," as he hauled out his .45 and blew his brains out.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Innocynicism: The period of life or attitude wherein one frequently displays cyniplicity. Oh for the sweet sour innocynicism of my youth!
Scoundrelous: In a manner that shows one to be a scoundrel. Dick Cheney’s attack on the President could be seen as merely despicable or contemptible, but his distortions of the truth, which he must be aware of, transcends rotten-ness and bring him to a level of scoundrelousness.
Cinemaplicity: The tendency among Hollywood screenwriters to reduce complex emotions and situations using clichés, feel-good philosophy, or violence. Also the tendency among addled souls to treat real life situations as if the players were in a movie, resulting in trite mottos or thrown punches. When his advice to “follow your dreams” was met with scorn, my friend punched the guy he was giving advice to, swing from one extreme of cinemplicity to another. Not to be confused with Cyniplicity.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
"The vision of the thing."
"Really. And what's that?"
"It's about the duality of her experience. Also, the android isn't torturing her. It's interrogating her."
"Yes. And the tubes running back from the syringe and from under her loincloth – they're linking the process back to the vast array of systems that make up a mechanized society. It's more than the android that's doing the interrogating, is what I'm saying."
"Furthermore, the manipulator claw should be almost part of the syringe – it's an extension of the android, much as the android is an extension of the society that has imprisoned the young lady."
"All right, I'm getting it. Should the syringe have one needle or two?"
"Two, yes, I like that – you're picking it up now."
"And the look on her face, I'm guessing it should be more than horror."
"Yes. What else?"
"A mixture of horror and . . . anticipation?"
"Yes! We've synchronized, I can see that."
"OK, a few more strokes of the pen. There. There. How about this?"
"Shall we pack another?"
"Yes indeed, I think that's exactly what's in order!"
--Steve Kilian, Dialogue
--Tim Fryatt, Art
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
9 Great Jones Street (3rd Street) http://www.aceofclubsnyc.com/
This show will be called Going Around The Corner
Now some linKs
While we’re still reeling in the New Year, Ks singer Dan (Happy Birthday me!) has a New Year Song. It’s about a Pirate Spiderman New Years Baby!
Look out for the lonely Scanner
Really cool stereo 3-D pictures from old Japan!
Sherlock Holmes Review
Playing Guitar Well Enough To Get You Some (slightly blue)
Hitchhiker’s Guide to Murder
Sick of all your social network sites? Try the Suicide Machine. Really, don’t. We’d miss you.
Nicolas Cage as everyone. Stole this one from Rob!
Last Trip to the Well The Ks video!
Who are The Ks? If you don’t know who the Ks are, you really should click on one of the several links they’ve got to their music. They might actually be good.
Is it really Dan’s birthday? This very day. Quite frankly, I think despite everything, that the world is a better place for it.
Editor's note: Yes, a lot of you got this as our e-mail, but this is a site about The Ks, so this is the stuff we've got to plug. Also, when I say "a lot of you" you know I'm exaggerating. You readers are a pretty select group. Congratulations on making it here. We accept submissions. More content tomorrow.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Yes, it’s fun to watch Robert Downey do just about anything. I’m thinking that Hollywood could save a lot of money on their next version of The Hulk by casting Downey as Bruce Banner. Whenever he gets angry, instead of a bunch of crappy CGI, Downey could just shout “Now I’m the Hulk! Arr! Me angry!” and run around, doing stuff. If would be a marked improvement on either of the recent Hulk flics.
The Marvel Superhero he’s playing in this over-elementary film is Sherlock Holmes, pugilist extraordinaire. Wait, you’re saying, Sherlock Holmes wasn’t a Marvel character, and he was better known for solving mysteries than fisticuffs? You clearly haven’t seen this movie. Lucky you. Actually it could have been worse; (High praise for the standard Hollywood offerings of late.) Downey gets to do stuff, and there are moments in between fight and chase scenes where the great detective pretends to be sleuthing.
This movie is clearly a sequel to some excellent introduction that was never made. We’re brought in halfway through, and it’s assumed we know the characters already and like them. We do know them, though we might not recognize them, so the goodwill has to be maintained by the likeable actors. Too bad about Rachel McAdams, who seems childish, even Liza Minellish as a femme fetale con-woman. There’s a depressing Watson-is-leaving plotline which feels sequelish as well. Note to screenwriters: If you want to develop suspense, don’t suggest that one of the most famous pairings in literature (and your attempted franchise) is about to break up. Likewise, even the most historically illiterate of us would probably remember if there was ever a moment when the parliament of Great Britain was taken over by an evil wizard, unless one counts Tony Blair.
The plot rambles on, there are fights, and it’s all relentlessly ugly looking. After a good deal of time, the bad-guy is caught. Then Sherlock makes a speech explaining the mechanisms of the evil wizard’s elaborate ruse. Aha! Holmes was a detective after all! It’s one of those end of the movie monologues, aided by a rapid montage of flashbacks that’s supposed to show you the truth that was there all along (Remember the boiling frog?), if you’d only been paying better attention. You see? The movie wasn’t stupid after all; you were! This is handled so clumsily that not only will you not feel delightfully dumb; it also ruins the whole revelation montage device for all films to come. Seriously, no one should ever attempt it again.
Guy Ritchie (whom I always momentarily confuse with Guy Maddin. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Maddin were to take on Sherlock Holmes? No?) will no doubt attempt another Sherlock Holmes film, if the money rolls in as expected. He should attempt that first movie he never made. Now that he’s won an audience over with a big dumb Sherlock Holmes, maybe he should use elements that made the character popular, and timeless, to begin with. He can still blow things up and have him punch people. Or he could just get weird with it. Or lazy. As long as he give Robert Downey stuff to do, it’ll be halfway entertaining, which must be all we can hope for these days.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Heads exploded around him as he walked through the crowd. Scalps and skulls hinged open to expose vacated cavities where brain had boiled and flesh curdled. The tanks and personnel carriers sat inert, soldiers slumped over the controls, blood soaking into the levers and wheels. Those far enough to run left behind wives and children who stood mute in the middle distance between freedom of thought and sudden concussive death. If they were lucky they'd come to when he had walked past. If they had the misfortune to be in his way, or to be standing next to something that caught his fancy, he would amble over the carpet of tangled limbs and sure enough they'd see that bright shining point of consciousness just before all of their glial cells dropped their electrons to the innermost shell and turned to steam.
Soon he made his way to the ocean, horseflies and sandfleas dropping as he approached, a swath of shoreline fish bubbling to the surface, inciting a circular feeding frenzy at its perimeter. Gulls swooped and fell. He skipped stones and shells into the surf, hearing the muffled pop of fiddler crabs and clams exploding under the sand as he walked down the beach.
He grew hungry. Not in the mood for fish, he went back inland to an abandoned supermarket. The drone of refrigerator compressors drowned out the single explosion of a fertilized egg that had somehow -- miraculously – found its way past all of the screens and tests. He could plainly hear the crackle of insects dying in the produce aisle, however. So much life! He filled a knapsack full of canned ham and peaches, some beef jerky and bottled water.
He needed to find a place where he could be alone.
Friday, January 1, 2010
There was a knock at the door. He marched dutifully into the lobby. He saw in the front room the boy was brooding over the baby in its crib.
“Did you hear the door?” he asked.
“You know what it’s going to be. I don’t want anything to do with it.”
“Well, you do have something to do with it. Go make sure the cribs are made.”
Cribs and beds. All anybody did was sleep.
He opened the front door and sure as clockwork there were two infants, bundled in baskets. He tried to see if he could determine which was which. He couldn’t. Babies are babies. It would take time.
He scooped up the baskets and brought them to their room. The boy was still at the other babies crib, his arms dangling into the cage. The boy looked up at him. “He doesn’t ever get any older.”
“I used to think that about you. But look at you; you’re almost a man now. And I’m old. You’re going to have to put me to bed and start looking after things.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You have to. One day you’ll be an old man and one day the baby will be an old man. Eventually. That’s how it works.”
The boy digested this, and then moved on to a new concern. “Everybody’s mad at me.”
“They were mostly mad at me and the other old man. You’ve got plenty of time to win them over. You’ve got to stop being so violent.”
The boy scowled and ran off. It was hard to manage that one. Soon it would not be his job. He chuckled meanly at the hypocrisy of his advice: he had so much blood on his hands.
“No more violence for me,” he thought. He climbed the stairs, shuffled through the ward with the sleeping old men. He went into the empty ward, with ten empty beds, and climbed into the first bed, put himself to bed. Time for sleep.