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Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine Volume VII, Issue 10, AD MMII Monday, June 24, 2002 ISSN 1482-0471 ------------------------------------------- I was part of that strange race of people aptly described as spending their lives doing things they detest to make money they don't want to buy things they don't need to impress people they dislike. -- Emile Henry Gauvreay ------------------------------------------- "You know you worked in the 90's if... You've sat at the same desk for four years and worked for three different companies." ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial 2. The Windows of Apathy 3. The Thunderthief 4. How to Drive Home Drunk 5. Writings on the Bathroom Wall ------------------------------------------- This week's Golden Testicle award: http://www.1800autopsy.com/ For fast, friendly thanatology services! ------------------------------------------- 1. Editorial Random Observations of the Newly Employed By Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro It is currently day three of my new job. I'm standing in front of a store. Metallica is blaring. "Ah, these kids listening to their vampire music! When I was their age, I took me girlfriend to see Frank Sinatra and she was screaming and standing for him!" The old Scottish guy who looks disturbingly like uncle Scrooge is talking. Not to me per se, and not really talking either. More like mumbling incomprehensibly. The only reason I haven't pushed him towards oncoming traffic is because he's one of the owners. "But that was real music... none of the crap you kids listen to today. Oh I remember a lot of the good bands back when I was a kid. I love that stuff and I listened to it with a passion!" The battle between those that like Metallica is briefly overcome by those in favour of rap, judging by the shuffling noises from the PA. Lil' Bow Wow's voice comes alive through all fifteen speakers, echoing through the empty parking lot. "Oh now they are listening to black music! My mother was stabbed fifteen times by a black guy! I really don't like this music! What is this crap you kids listen to? I really don't understand why you guys do this!" The music makes the mumbling even more unintelligible. He walks towards the garbage can, still talking. Not to the garbage can either. I slowly walk backwards towards the doors. "Four shopping carts have gone missing! Four!" The man is obsessed with them. "I counted them all twice, there are only 48 of them now!" I take this chance to make a run for it inside and disappear. A few weeks ago it came to the point where I found myself completely broke. Employment Insurance had finished, funds had ran out in my bank account and all I had left to my name was some assorted change in the pockets of various pants. Until then, I had used the advantage of the cheques the government sent me, to look for work and be a little picky about what I applied for. By picky I mean that I applied for jobs that asked for a little more than just "Ability to read and write" or being able to distinguish between a Tall and a Grande at Starbucks. However, when you find yourself with no money, you have to put what little pride you have left aside and start looking for something, anything, to get the flow of cash going again. It would seem that the field of Technical Writer, for as unexciting as it may be, is dead. I'm one of those thousands of unemployed people that the employed (a rare breed of people these days) either snob (because being unemployed is like being of the pariah cast) or feel sorry for. You know the kind: they give you that understanding smile and tell you that the market is picking up, that things will get better... I think the next time that someone says that to me, I'll kick him straight in the nuts. He will fall to the floor, clutching his genitals, unable to talk. Half an hour later, when he's regained the ability to focus with his eyes, he'll look at me and with a tiny whisper of voice will ask me, "What did you do that for? It hurts!" I'll say, "Don't worry, they will get better." Because I didn't want to go down to the local grocery store and ask my former manager for a job, much less work there again, I called up a friend that runs a security company. After a quick call and some paperwork, I was officially a security guard. Looking back in my history of employment, it would seem that every job I've had so far has been thanks to knowing someone from the inside. And it's not like I am not qualified or incapable of working, but when you go look for work the traditional way, there is a lot of competition you have to fight against. So perhaps being a security guard isn't the best form of employment ever, but it's better than stocking shelves and besides, I look spiffy in the uniform. Ironically enough, my first assignment is at a grocery store. The first thing I did was to introduce myself to all the staff as "Leo" and get to know them. I did this to avoid having problems people calling for "Leonardo" and I not having a clue that they were looking for me. "LEONARDO TO THE FRONT!" Sound of guns shooting, people screaming "LEONARDO TO THE FRON..AARRGGH!!" Hmm. I wish. It seems that the only problem people have is with my first name. At College for four semesters, I kept having any document that had my name on it written as Leanne Asnaghi-Nicastro. It puzzled a lot of people, especially me. I just muttered `Casablanca' and something about `Still have to get my vagina implant' whenever a professor queried about that. People who look at my ID usually refer me as `Leonardo'. When I ask them where they read that, they point at the document they have been looking at. I point out it's `Leandro' not `Leonardo' and they go, "Oh." "Can't you read?" I ask. "I'm dyslexic," they tell me in an irritated tone. I've met a lot of dyslexic people. As I am walking around the store, bored out of my mind, I decided to entertain myself a little by looking at things in a Jerry Falwell state of mind. You know the type: right wing Christian mentality, capable of spotting perversion and attacks on morality on just about everything. The first thing I noticed was a product display with the photo of a kid who looked way too happy for something as insignificant as Kool Aid. My guess is that the kid, rather than mixing the crystals with water, snorted a few of the bags. The rest of the display features psychedelic colours followed by floating products, clearly a sign of intoxication. If this isn't telling kids that doing drugs is good, I don't know what is. Clearly children's food is filled with messages designed to corrupt their young minds. For example, a box of cereals that featured marshmallow clone soldiers from the Star Wars movie. Fairly innocent, at first. If you think about it, the clone soldiers were genetically altered. Kids eat the marshmallow representation of genetically altered soldiers. In other words, eating genetically altered food is okay, and also fun. And talking about cereal, what's the message children are getting out of Trix? You know how the whole gag in the commercial: rabbit tries to get cereals, kids snatch the cereal away and say something like "Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids!" and they laugh, evilly. The rabbit walks away looking like someone just shot, cooked and ate his parents in front of him. And we're supposed to laugh at this? This is teaching kids that discrimination is plenty of fun and we should abuse those who are different, without any of the guilt that should come along. But it gets worse. Remember the Monsters Inc. movie? The movie featured a big blue furred monster and a small one named Mike Wazoski. Mike is a monster. He has a big eye. Get it? Mike is the one eyed monster. That's also slang for penis. So here we have Fruity Peel Outs (and may I emphasise fruity!) which feature the one eyed monster. And kids put this in their mouth! I'm not sure if to look at this as some corrupt way to turn all our children homosexual or if this is some perverted way to promote paedophilia. As you can see, I have plenty of time at work. ------------------------------------------- 2. The Windows of Apathy By REVSCRJ You know how greeting cards sometimes have an "About the Artist" statement on the back of them? You know how those statements, regardless of the quality, always make the art seem like the be-all- and-end-all of artistic accomplishments? You ever think to yourself, "Jesus, who the Hell can write this drivel?" Well, that would be me. Semantics run the world in a more direct sense than even money. See, everyone has their jargon and interpretative style in regard to language, their individualised dialect and in regard to that you can tell anyone anything if you phrase it right. The Word is a powerful tool with an almost infinitely subtle range of potential. My strength is the printed word. Once in a chat room I got a (theoretically) Christian cop to admit that "chaos" was, in fact, "God." It took about an hour and a half of exchanges, but eventually I got him to sacrilege. I mean, I believe chaos is God, at least the primary hand of, so it wasn't like I was being malicious. But I learned his jargon, analysed his arguments, and approached him in a leading Socratic manner so that, to him, it appeared as if he came to that conclusion on his own. I was very proud of myself. The Word, when used correctly, can accomplish feats money simply couldn't. I try to use this skill for good. Luckily, at the greeting card company, most of the art was truly great so I didn't have to slip into 'copy writer' mode. For your edification, 'copy' is the term for a blurb of written words meant to achieve a commercial purpose. It is the most twisted version of creativity you can endeavour in. Poets who go to Hell write copy. However, since most of the work was good, I wouldn't really need to stretch at all to write up a few glowing paragraphs of prose on how glorious X's art was. There were, however, exceptions to that... There was this guy who painted windows. Just widows. Oh, Hell, occasionally there would be a flower on the sill or a half-drawn curtain, but it was always windows! White wood panelling with shadow of noon sun. Aged red brick with Bird-of-Paradise behind pane. I looked over this guy's work trying really hard to come up with something, ANYTHING, to say about it other than "Initial concept both inexplicable and weak, after which gathering a momentum of repetitious monotony." I'm not trying to be a prick here, but JESUS, if you'd seen one you'd pretty much seen them all! The angle I kept dwelling on was "Fascinating that someone would put as much time as G. Paris has on a singular, and most mundane, topic as the still life with so little diversity. Surely the works of G. Paris are a testimony to the zen like patience, or psychotic focus that a human is capable of." Of course the C.E.O. would have tried to backhand me over that if I had submitted it. And really, I didn't want to have to kick his ass, so I tried to come up with another angle. Now, I'm pretty easy to please in so far as art is concerned--the fact that one is actually creating is enough to make me happy inside--so the art either has to be really bad, really tired, or totally commercialised for me to be unmoved. This guy's work wasn't moving me enough to even feel venom--at least with venom I could write something fascious and then rewrite it to sound serious. I was drawing a blank. Unlike other several of the other artists I wasn't able to meet up with him in order to get him to explain himself, deadlines needed to be met so one day I sit down in Tillies's Cafe, drink a pot of coffee, and write something like this: "The windows of G. Paris, at first glance, appear simplistic and commonplace-- something that the eye would pass over walking down the street--but at a closer inspection one begins to notice a solemn beckoning from the darkened interiors, as if there were a calling from deep inside where another world waits, inviting the observer to come. Angles and lines take on powerful characteristics in the world of G. Paris who places the observer of his work as eternally on the outside looking in. Mr. Paris shows us, so elegantly, that somehow there is magic in even the most ordinary things and does it with a grace that is purest subtlety." Had to smoke a hefty bowl after that stream of fertilizer left my pen. To know the way The Word works is both a curse and a blessing. I can do things like write copy which entails making the beautiful ugly, the ugly beautiful, confusing and titillating with words and images. These are things I intimately understand and as a result I could make a lot of money in the field of advertising. Ultimately it has been experiences such as the time I was an art director that showed me, firsthand, how truly wrong they are in the form that they exist and are desired by employers. The Word is a malleable medium that is accepted as a vehicle for truth. Advertisers use this to manipulate their fellow humans into wasting their lives spending the money that they clocked hours off of their lives to make. I ask you: where is the beauty in it? I try now to use The Word only in honesty, and toward ends that are good, serving truth. One more quick thing to say about this job: I did actually write the insides of a few greeting cards and, perhaps to my credit, they didn't sell too well. Here, I'll let you be the judge: "Another kissy ass day chokes up phlegm and spits. Its all grind in and grind out and I'm stuck in the back of the line EVERY mother-lovin'-time Howabout you?" "Discord is my lord, but chaos is my master here where there is silence all I hear is laughter." "Crumbs beginning to mold... fingertip twitches on the remote... I begin to drool... and somehow I'm reminded of you..." PERFECTLY MARKETABLE MATERIAL! Heh heh. I mean, how many times have YOU wanted to express those sentiments with someone else's words, by mail, with someone else's artwork...? --- REVSCRJ is a writer/musician living in Monterey, California. Constantly on the verge of homelessness, he hopes that you enjoy his work or else his life has been in vain. Contact REVSCRJ at revscrj@cloudfactory.org to lodge complaints, notify of lawsuits, or receive spiritual advice. ------------------------------------------- 3. The Thunderthief "Take the bull by the horns, darling, what do you say?" By Sean B. Palmer Review of: The Thunderthief, John Paul Jones, released 2002-02 on the Discipline Global Mobile label as DGM0104. A mark of musical quality is when an established artist- notwithstanding previous success and fame-can produce albums that make good musicians weep for joy in this world of "one shot and then they're serving you drinks at a fast food outlet" bands. John Paul Jones has already attracted critical acclaim, and manages to further underline his superiority with his 2002 release, The Thunderthief. This is Jones's second major solo album since he put his production work aside, with the legend of Led Zeppelin still looming but ever more distant. The theme of his first album--Zooma--is continued and extended, with the thunderous bass-driven tracks still evident, but giving way to traditional mandolin workouts such as "Down By The River To Pray". Jones's mastery of a dazzling array of instruments showcased on this album (from the autoharp to the ukelele) produce a eminently listenable and cohesive sound. Jones contributes vocals to the album, with lyrics co-written with conceptual artist and cartoonist Peter Blegvad. Robert Fripp--of King Crimson, and now Jones's label boss--is the notable guest on the album, providing the wailing guitar for the catchy prolegomenon of "Leafy Meadows". All of the songs on the album are impressive, although the post- punk-punk "Angry Angry", and the whimsical "Freedom Song" may not appeal to some. Personally, I find the former amusing, and the latter inspirational. In any case, this album is its own highlight, so I'll just pick some songs out of the tracklist at random to give you a feel for what you'll be getting in return for your hard earned cash. "Hoediddle", track three, features a wailing and heavily-delayed guitar for the first three minutes. At 2:52, yank the volume all the way up, and strap yourself in. The bass comes in following the guitar riff, and then a clattering of symbals heralds the entrance of the percussion. More overlaid guitars in the background account for the thickness of the sonic explosion, with deft variations thrown in quickly (this is the usual ten ideas in five minutes JPJ). The piece quickly leads to a wonderful celtic mandolin piece, reprised for the coda. "Daphne", split from "Hoediddle" by the atmospheric and slightly No- Quarterish "Ice Fishing At Night", is a fairly conventional electric blues song, with synthesized voice embellishments bringing an end to the slightly jazzier middle section. With its catchy riff, wailing guitars, and conversation overdub on the bridge (evocative of an ocean cruse party), this song has plenty of feel. "Down To The River To Pray" is a traditional bluegrass song here in a full main riff triple-neck mandolin interpretation. It's great that there can be one fully acoustic song on an album with lots of variations--consistency is itself here a variation. The song itself is finely layered, with delicate harmonies, and a duet of memorable main passages and phrases. Jones's timing, impeccable on every song, is particularly notable here for the depth of the multitracking. Picasso once said that success is dangerous since "one begins to copy oneself, and to copy oneself is more dangerous than to copy others." John Paul Jones achievements in diversity are that he continues to develop his own music whilst providing inspiration for others. It's very difficult to rate a new album in terms of its longevity, but the genre-independent aspect of The Thunderthief ensures that it will always be an interesting album to listen to. Overall, The Thunderthief is an album full of variations, and musical surprises that not only entertain you the first time around, but will also keep the dust from the cover. --- Sean B. Palmer: now cooler, swhackier; more chic, proactive, and phenomic. ------------------------------------------- 4. How to Drive Home Drunk By Brian Newman Okay, let's face it. Drunk drivers are the lepers of the modern day. Yet driving 'over the limit' happens perhaps to us all. We go to a party, we have a beer too many and we drive home. The trick, of course, is getting home. Hopefully uncaught. Ideally, in one piece. Drunk driving, however, is the major sin of the decade. The police are out to catch you, the courts are out to punish you, and public disapproval is at a media intensified all time high, but people still do it. And with good reason, too. Some people get completely smashed and then have the balls to drive home. Now, lets say you had one too many. I'm talking `the ugly girl over there still looks ugly, but I feel somewhat tipsy' type of drunk. How to get home safe should be a real concern. It can be indeed difficult to judge ones 'limit' and even an average good time can make you 'legally drunk. The courts themselves define that limit with different levels of intoxication. In some places a mere .06 reading can get you in trouble, while other places allow you .12. Generally a .08 or a .10 makes you over the legally drunk. If you are ever over the limit, with no cab fare home, and you need to keep your driver's license, the following may just be the advice you need. Most police forces combat drunk driving in two ways: 1. They rely on the regular officer on patrol pulling over a 'suspicious' car. 2. There are also special programs to set up spot checks, on certain roads, at certain times, to check for drivers who have been drinking. Let's deal with these possibilities one by one. You are rarely at risk at being pulled over by a regular patrol if you don't do something obvious that the police specifically looking out for. Don't speed, don't weave. Wear your seatbelt. Red lights are for stopping. Stop signs are for stopping. While it would seem that some people have trouble understanding that concept even when completely sober, you should avoid directing any attention to you by not following the rules after you have been drinking. Also, before you head out for the night to go to the bar, give a quick check to your car. Do not drive a car that has a burnt out headlight, or taillight. Doing so considerably increases the odds of being stopped. It is not worth the risk. A noisy muffler, a cracked windshield, or obvious body damage makes your car stand out, and will increase the odds of that random check. If you have a leaking tire, get air before the visit to the bar, not after. Make sure you have enough gas to get home. Any unnecessary stop could become a problem. You know those folks you see driving at night with only the parking lights on? That is almost a sure sign of a drunk driver. Police pay extra attention to those cars, just for that very reason. So make double sure, you drive with your lights on! Do not drive with your bright lights on either. And while letting your 'friends' yell out the window might seem like fun, those flashing lights behind you may be a good party pooper. Avoiding simple mistakes virtually eliminates a random stop by police. The police also use special roadside stops to catch drunk drivers. Usually these crackdowns are announced well in advance. Watch the local newspapers, and know when they are coming. At any special holiday season, expect more roadside checks. Both New Year's Eve, and St. Patrick's Day are prime time for extra spot checks. The locations of those spot checks are often easy to figure out. Most towns and cities have areas that are known for having lots of bars, and spot checks are often the major roads leaving just those places. Police often pick a street that had no turn off areas, and they like a location somewhat hidden behind a curve in the road. In talking to friends, one car hear the exact locations of pervious spot checks. Those checks often return to those same spots. Can you avoid streets like that, and get home via a secondary road? Now, lets say you have been at a bar all night, and as you drive home, you see a road check ahead. You may be contemplating gunning down the block, crashing through the barrier and ending the long enduring car chase in a glorious ball of flame. Relax and realize that is not worth it. You want to go out drinking tomorrow, don't you? Fear not, all is not lost. As soon as you see the roadblock, tab a stick of gum, and/or a cigarette I was once saved by taking a bite from an apple I had in the car! If going out on the town, why not put a n apple in the car? And have gum ready. The road stop involves a short conversation, with the police officer looking for signs of impairment, and trying to smell booze of off the driver. Open your car window. Put the car's fan on, to move the air. Pull up smoothly to where they want you to stop, and do not panic. The police often start with an explanation of why they are stopping you. Never argue, always be polite and refer to the nice man in uniform as `Officer'. Being rude only ensures that they will be rude to you. And they have the power to cause you real trouble and inconvenience. They will often peer into the car, looking to see any open bottles. Never, ever, have open alcohol in the car. Not only does doing so magnify the smell of booze, it gets you an automatic further check, and in most places, an automatic ticket or charge. Should you have prepared with a bite of that apple, or the gum, never swallow that while the cop is talking to you. That is a sign, to him, that you are trying to get rid of something. Drugs, he suspects! You will be asked if you have had anything to drink. The best answer is No. Unless it is more that obvious that you have had been drinking. Often that simple no gets you a polite wave through the road block. Sometimes, the police ask where you have been coming from. You must have a sensible answer ready. If you say the name of a bar, they automatically assume you have been drinking. If you claim to have just come from work, they will ask you where you work. Coming from a job that has usual business hours will obviously raise more questions. Saying that you are coming from, or going to, a girlfriend's place is a common and innocent answer. There are times, however, when you have to admit you have been drinking. Especially if you have been followed from a bar's parking lot, or if that spot check is within sight of the bar. Sometimes it is better to answer in half-truths or, if you prefer, half lies. But be prepared, because anyone who admits to have been drinking will receive the immediate question: 'How many have you had?' Almost everyone who answers that they have indeed been drinking says the exact same thing about the amount: two drinks. The police hear that so much, the no longer believe that. So, saying something different may be to your advantage. Admitting drinking anything is dangerous, should you have a short explanation to go along with it. You explain your one beer with the statement that your buddy did not show up, so you left the bar. Or, that the place was too expensive, too busy or that you got a call to meet friends elsewhere. Or, you explain your three drinks with the fact that you also had dinner there. If there are well behaved buddies in your car, you can just say that you are the `designated driver' and you're taking your friends home. Any statement of more than three drinks is almost a guarantee of more questions, and of a test of your soberness! As always, be calm and polite. Do not mention your friends on the police force. Concentrate on answering the questions, and getting through the check point. If you find that difficult, just think of the alternative! Roadblocks and most random checks happen in, or just past, bar hours. Knowing a nearby coffee shop or twenty four hour restaurant, and stopping there is very much in your favour. The coffee and the food help you sober up, but the time spent might just be what saves you. As such places attract people who have been drinking, they often see disputes of various kinds. Do not get involved. Do not stir up a fuss. Be polite. Leave a tip. Workers there often get low pay, and have been known to report drunks to the police themselves. You do not need that. Keep your car keys out of sight. Oddly, many people are charged and convicted of 'drunk driving' and they have not actually driven. Laws are often written that having the car running, or even keys in the ignition, can be enough to convict you. Do not warm the car up, or fall asleep in the back seat, with your keys in the ignition. That could cost you the same penalty as the drive home even though you have been very safe. Now, it should be pointed out that it is never a good idea to be well blitzed, and try and drive home. Especially after reading these ideas meant to save you. However being one beer over the line is an easy thing to do. Acting smart may just save you a lot of time and trouble. --- Mediocrities, entrusted with power over their fellow-creatures, invariably develop into tyrants. All history proves it. -- Frederick Baron Corvo ------------------------------------------- 5. Writings on the Bathroom Wall (Found on a bathroom wall somewhere in the U.S.A.) You've taken over my mind. You've raped my thoughts with your image viruses then sold me fake cures for your own disease. Your words and pictures scream orders at me like angry prison wardens. When I cover my ears, your voices echo in my head. I hate you. When I see your billboards, your talk shows, your rock concerts and your factories, when I see the work of your twisted libidos, I want to kill you. I want to set fires, plant bombs, derail trains. I want to smash your buildings and tear at your bodies until the skin of my hands is worn to the bone. I am filled with a rage that burns my eyes. I don't want to feel this way. You have done this to me. These feelings are the fruits of your multi-billion dollar sowing. And I am not alone. There are others like me out here. Every suicide, every madman, every man and woman who gets a gun and just starts shooting -- these are your illegitimate children. They don't all know what they are doing. All they know is hate for the invisible walls which you have raised around them, hate for the narrow path you have tried to make them walk. And the innocent pay in blood for your negligence. Remember this: My mind is big. The more you try to push me down and make me small, the greater the pressure inside me becomes. The greater the pressure, the greater the chance of an explosion. There was once a time when I felt love, but now I feel only hate and anger, and fear at what I might do. And you can tell me to "BE HAPPY," but I know that you really mean "BE QUIET". Believe me, I want to be happy. You stand in my way. ------------------------------------------- CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org. CoN: Destroy what bores you on sight. Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine "media you can abuse" In memory of Father Ross "Padre" Legere Published every second Monday (or when we get around it) Disclaimer: unintentionally offensive Comments, queries and submissions are welcome http://www.capnasty.org ISSN 1482-0471 A bi-weekly electronic journal. Subscriptions available at no cost electronically. Available on Usenet newsgroups alt.zines and alt.ezines. This mailing is sent exclusively to those poor souls who chose to subscribe to the Capital of Nasty mailing list. Spread the word! If you have friends who would like to receive CoN, ask them to send email to join@capnasty.org. If you'd like to unsubscribe because such email aggravates your security guard intolerance, simply send an empty message to leave@capnasty.org. Brought to you by C.C.C.P. (Collective Communist Computing Proletariat) Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro Colin Barrett <leandro@capnasty.org> <tyrannis@capnasty.org> ZimID 708EC8D1 1994/09/14 EC B0 97 59 1D FE 7C 32 7E 04 2C 66 47 41 FB 7D