The Contrarian

Satan's Stargate.

Our friend Tanner hipped us to this awesome YouTube clip of an odd British gentleman explaining how the Large Hadron Collider is a Gateway to the Old Gods. Actually, he calls it Satan's Stargate, but whatevs.

To be fair, the Hadron project has spurred some quasi-legitimate fears about accidental black holes. (Dvorsky examined the collider's existential risk factor not too long ago.) But a trans-dimensional portal through which the Nephilim will reenter  our realm? That's a new one. 

Favorite quote: "Allegedly the machine is to find a particle. . . nicknamed by the scientists or the Freemasons — same thing — as the God particle." And: "You could be seeing some flying saucers by this summer." The latter probably depend on this year's mushroom crop. . . right Jebson?.

Enjoy:

Out Of His Cold, Dead Hands. . .

Charlton Heston has gone to the Great Gun Show in the Sky. Blah, blah, now he gets to meet the real Moses, blah. . .

Of course, this means there's an opening at the head of the NRA! Wonder if they have an online application?

Mountains 'n' Mormons.

I've been taking a lot of pictures of Utah sundry, and will post soon. We checked out the venue yesterday. Majestic. I'll upload some shots when I get a second. We play this afternoon at 2:30. I feel pretty good about our performance in rehearsals, but there are some lingering doubts about the technology. Fingers crossed. Our piece is being recorded, so there's a good chance I'll post it here for your consideration.

In the meantime, read about George Dvorsky's existential angst. I would rarely want anyone to speak for me, but I'm happy to point to this post as an example of my own intimate uncertainties.

Follow-Up.

Two more worthy New York Times Op-Eds this morning:

"Imagined Snipers, Real Challenges," by Roger Cohen. Money quote:

Barack Obama, his speech on race, did important things. He confronted reality, thought big, probed division, sketched convergence. He took Americans and many people beyond U.S. shores to a different mental place. Imagine that capacity applied to GWOT, Iran, Russia, China and Israel-Palestine.

"Obama, Clinton — and Echoes of Nader?" by Nichoas D. Kristof. Money quote(s):

The battle is getting bloodier. Mrs. Clinton spoke this week about the contest continuing for “the next three months” — and those would surely be a toxic three months. There’s already grumbling that Mrs. Clinton’s real strategy is to destroy Obama’s chances of winning the general election so that she can compete in 2012. . .

. . .if the brawl continues, then [Hillary] and her husband may be remembered by many people who long admired them as having the same effect on Mr. Obama this November that Ralph Nader had on Al Gore in 2000.

What does it matter? We're all gonna die, anyway.

Gotta run — Matt Taibbi is on Joe Scarborough . . .

Chart.

Borrowed from Sentient Developments, who linked to a project involving a prosthetic device for a lost human instinct.

R.I.P. Heath Ledger.

Wow. He was pretty talented, and only 28 years old. With a two year-old daughter.

Ledger snagged some interesting roles in his short career: gay cowboy, psuedo-Bob Dylan, The Joker in the next Batman installment.

He was apparently found naked, surrounded by pills, in the apartment of Mary Kate Olsen. That's one way to go out. [LINK]

UPDATE: Now they're saying it wasn't Mary-Kate's pad.

They Just Keep Droppin.'

Apparently, writers are this month's art-house filmmakers. Can Phillip Roth be next?

When I was a kid, I loved Ira Levin. I dare say that Rosemary's Baby, The Boys From Brazil, and, to a lesser degree, The Stepford Wives, helped make me the person I am today. Umm, I think that's a good thing.

Levin died on Monday, at his Manhattan home. He was 78. The Times ran a decent enough eulogy.

I find it interesting that Levin had some regrets about spearheading the whole Kids 'n' Satan fad:

“I feel guilty that Rosemary’s Baby led to The Exorcist, The Omen. . . A whole generation has been exposed, has more belief in Satan. I don’t believe in Satan. And I feel that the strong fundamentalism we have would not be as strong if there hadn’t been so many of these books. . . Of course, I didn’t send back any of the royalty checks."

Trepidation about the effects of an archetype he didn't even recognize. To me, that's like being scared of Leprechauns or Idaho. Because I doubt the existence of both. . .

Thanks for the stories, Mr. Levin.

Invasion Persuasion.

Last night, the wife and I returned home from a hectic day of errand running and turned on the radio for a little background noise while unpacking our purchases. Lo and behold, we dialed in to one of the greatest radio programs of all time: the Orson Wells Mercury Theater production of "War of the Worlds."

Not sure when the last time any of you listened to this thing, but man, it's pretty amazing. I kept trying to imagine what it must've been like back on Halloween 1938, when scattered reports of a Martian invasion crackled across many a mono speaker.

The tension is astounding. Wide-eyed incredulity slowly gives way to a crescendo of paranoia, as Earth's meager forces fall to the encroaching alien invaders.

Many listeners tuned into the broadcast a little late, and missed the disclaimer at the beginning. The result was mass paranoia, exacerbated by an increasingly common piece of household technology: the telephone.

Some claim that Wells crafted the program on behalf of the US government, who wanted to assess public reaction to a mass-scale invasion. The "space alien" stuff was fabricated to create the conditions for analysis; they could later claim it was all just entertainment. Another theory posits that the broadcast was a cover-up for actual alien contact.

While the psy-op premise is interesting, I seriously doubt its legitimacy. Wells rarely anyone towed anyone's line, so why would he cooperate with Uncle Sam? I personally think he was engaging in some preliminary envelope-pushing before taking on William Randolph Hearst with his masterpiece, Citizen Kane.

The influence of this 60-minute radio play was so profound that when Pearl Harbor was attacked, some greeted the official reports with skepticism. Call it "The Boy Who Cried Martian" syndrome.

I was so thrilled to hear "War of the Worlds" again that I absolutely had to own it. I found a copy on iTunes for $5.99, which I bought begrudgingly — shouldn't this be in the public domain? I mean, I doubt my purchase benefits the Estate of Orson Wells.

So, in the spirit of semi-righteous piracy, I present to you a Halloween treat:

MP3: Orson Wells — "The War Of the Worlds"

Molly the Dwarf Hamster, R.I.P.

Sweet wee Molly the Dwarf Hamster passed away last night. She was around two and-a-half years old, which is right about the time they go kaput. Kind of like replicants in that regard.

This beloved critter was not actually named after our equally beloved friend Molly the Human, a.k.a. Undead Molly, but we've always gotten a kick out of their shared appellation.

Molly the Dwarf Hamster will live on, not just in our hearts, but in the story I wrote for a pet issue of that alt-newsweekly I used to work for. One day in an editorial meeting, I made the mistake of talking rather excitedly about our then-new-ish pet. (Note to aspiring journos: don't ever speak passionately about anything in an editorial meeting — they will make you write about it). At the time, I feared the article would deal a severe blow to my cynical music writer credibility, but I've since made my peace with it. Especially now that our furry lass has gone to the Great Excercise Wheel in the Sky.

MTDH had a curious relationship with our handsome bear of a cat, Brando. She was the Ann Darrow to his King Kong. One popular party trick they both liked to perform involved Molly running up and down the length of Brando's body. Sometimes she'd even sit on his head. He never once swatted at her. Actually, he was fond of prostrating himself in front of her cage, rolling over to expose his big, beautiful belly in a way that can only be described as sensual. Yes, it was a little weird.

There will never be a dwarf hamster quite like Molly. We'll miss you, baby.

In other news, the medium-rise building across the street is on fire. I'll post pictures later.

Meat is Still Murder.

The always brilliant George Dvorsky takes flesh eaters to task at Sentient Developments.

I've heard all of the pro-veg arguments before, and pretty much agree with most of 'em. My dirty little secret is seafood: it's tough not to feel partly responsible for the depletion of the world's fish stock by 2050. How do I sleep at night? Fitfully.

A better question is why aren't any of the mainstream Greenies talking about one of the biggest contributers to environmental crisis?

"Given the climate change hysteria currently gripping the planet, one would think that maintaining hordes of livestock would be a hot-button social and political issue. But it’s not. That would be too inconvenient. The ongoing practice of raising animals for food is being ignored as a subset to the larger environmental catastrophe currently in effect."

Amen, brother.

Wanna read some really disgusting pro-meat propaganda? check this NYT article aimed at the female 'n' single set. Then be sure to grab a burger on the way to the Bratz movie.

I gotta go get the car inspected, but I'll be back for a late-afternoon edition of Critical Condition, as well as a juicy ProgBlog update.