Donutposse

An International Incident

2009-09-19T22:45:02Z

Well kiddies, the Donutposse has been remiss in relating to the outside world for some time now. That has all got to change.

What has brought on this sudden outpouring of those beneficent feelings that bring about the need to keep others abreast of the important life work we've been called to do? I will relate to you the serious nature of this matter. I went to Facebook for some reason still not identified, and there I found that even in the absence of effort, the Donutposse must still emerge into our society, for it fills a need that can neither be subverted by force nor inaction.

I'm talking about the use of the Donutposse name, both on that profile and as a myspace band profile name, by a fellow located in the old world, England. Intelligence gathering continues, so it is yet to be determined if this represents the resurgence of the group formerly adopting Donutposse as the name of their darts team name in competition at a local pub, also located in England. This group came to light in previous investigation, although they quickly subsided for reasons as yet unclear. I will reiterate at this time that rumors stating that they were eliminated in a Mossad covert paramilitary operation performed in exchange for certain considerations provided by Donutposse to the Shining Path in Peru was a vicious calumny spread by those who would denigrate the Donutposse name and tarnish our image for their own nefarious ends.

Rather than spark a second (third?) conflagration between the US and Great Britain through insensitivity or brash action, I immediately called in aide-de-camp to fire off a friendly yet formal missive, in order to determine the intent of this person, who while obviously finely inspired as well as both artistic and creative, has thrown the world of the initiated into a state of caution and alert.

It goes without saying that this opening sally needs must be undertaken with all of the tact, statesmanship, and subtlety that we are known for as members of the international Donutposse community. And it is unthinkable and anathema that we would ever want to scare off a potential ally or discourage a thirsty pledge who comes to draw from the well of wisdom and font of knowledge that all members of Donutposse seek to remain in constant communion with and close approximation to. After all, did not a great sage say that the realm of Donutposse is open to all, not limited, as evidenced by the following graffiti, discovered in a restroom somewhere in Texas?

So, without delay, having dictated the message to my personal assistant, who silently let fall several tears of joy expressing gratitude for her role in this historic process, while reading back the following:

Dear Sir -

I am located in Texas & have been using the name Donutposse as a graffiti tag, an organization name, a mythology, and a nom de guerre since the late 80's. It was then, as a misanthropic teenager with a permanent marker that I created the Donutposse as an agent of social change, personal anarchism, and generaly fucking shit up. Since then the Donutposse has come to mean so much more, evidenced by its presence as a blog, a username, and on a t-shirt a friend had custom embroidered with the Donutposse logo and my name for me as a gift. Donutposse has fostered the creativity and fomented the interest of users literally worldwide, not just in our fortified compound in the Texas hill country, but at various field offices from from Houston to Ithaca; New York to LA; to Germany and possibly among more remote beings identified as both vastly more intelligent and infinitely more horrifying than Donutposse members hailing from both home and abroad.

As founder and president, I am the reason you can't get donutposse as a username on Yahoo, paypal, e-Bay, or various social networking sites. It is my job to represent our ideal in both name and deed, a standard to which no one could aspire to perfection, but throug grace one can hope to approach. Those sites and standards in mind, it has come to my attention that, on Facebook, the eminence of stateside Donutposse has been preempted, its imminence halted.

Lo! Imagine my surprise, when, like the man who independently invented the steam engine only to find out it had already been patented by another inventor, I googled myself as part of a routine online security investigation to find another using the Donutposse name - on the aforementioned Facebook profile.

Not one to promote factionalism, or to engender resentment or anger among another obvious genius who also uses the name, out of shared inspiration or even possibly in direct homage, I send this letter to you in order to investigate your intent, to assess your merit, and to generally size you up.

In this spirit of brotherhood, then, I do ask if we could perhaps gather the Donutposse together, in person or through correspondence, for a summit, a meeting of the minds, and hopefully come to a conclusion, reach an agreement, and forge onward to a bright future of universal camaraderie and strength against outside influences that might seek to profit from a Donutposse schism.

Just as there is a New England, a Charlatans UK, and a Dinosaur Jr, there should be a distinction between us two fine purveyors of internet presence to avoid confusion and so that the less discerning are not led astray by surface similarities. It is also an opportunity to address our common goals and interests, in order that more may be brought into the Donutposse fold, on both sides of the Atlantic and beyond.

I await your formal response, which I will publish after removing any identifying information, and invite you to comment on the public version of this open letter to your organization located at http://donutposse.livejournal.com/.

-The Donutposse

Having sent this letter, we quietly retired to await a response.

When one is forthcoming, I swear by the gods my people swear by, you will read it here.

A day in the life of Donutposse

2005-01-28T05:43:05Z

Membership has its privileges, as the commercials used to say. Only they should have been talking about Donutposse, not about some piece of lifestyle-defining plastic.

I got home today & found an instant message from a lovely young fan, left while I was away. She had written:

(name withheld):Why must the donutposse be out all the time?

Auto response from xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: the donutposse is out. thanks for dropping by.

http://www.livejournal.com/users/donutposse/

(name withheld): when will the donutposse be in?
(name withheld): I need to make an appointment to kiss, tickle, and laugh with the donutposse!
(name withheld): Not just with Devin, with all members!

Auto response from xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: the donutposse is out. thanks for dropping by[...]

That, and it's girl scout cookie time again. Now, I love girl scout thin mint cookies. I might've called it Girl Scout Thin Mint Cookie Posse if that had a nice ring to it & weren't so cumbersome to write. But it doesn't & it isn't, so I opted for "Donutposse" one fateful day in a century now long gone by.

But I will say that if you were a Jew wandering through a desert 40 years wide one day like any other of wandering, and you sat down to another dinner of manna one night, and you decided that you had a little room left for dessert & that you might have a little manna for dessert (since manna was the only thing on the menu in those days besides quail, and who ever heard of quail for dessert), then God probably made that manna (the manna you had for dessert, not the manna you had for dinner) taste like girl scout thin mint cookies sometimes. Probably just those times that he wanted to give the wonderful flavor of fresh warm chocolate filled donuts from Shipley's a break so you'd love it all the more the next time your dessert manna tasted like those then not-yet-invented but present in the flavor palette of an omni-prescient God's treat sector.

And it's not so much the girl scout cookies I go in for as much as the girl scout thin mint cookie ice cream from Dreyers.

Really: Life is good, sitting having a big bowl of girl scout thin mint cookie ice cream for dinner while reading the flattering comments of a gorgeous, brilliant young admirer. One more thrilling day in the life of the Donutposse. Plus, today at work my boss stopped by my cube to say that I sounded like I knew what I was talking about in the meeting we'd attended earlier in the day. I love sounding like I know what I'm talking about. And I love it even more when someone else notices.

Another bite of ice cream. Another sentence. Savor the flavor, and bask in the glow of a good day. I hope you had as good a day as I did. And that's the nicest thing I can think of saying to anyone at this point.

Spellcheck, you neologist, you

2005-01-20T05:01:55Z

Donutposse Donut posse, Donut-posse, Donutses, Donuts, Donut's, Donates

Spellcheck offers me this sage bit of advice every time I run it on one of my posts. OK, so "Donutposse" isn't in the Oxford English Dictionary yet. I can understand that the word sends up a flag. But does anybody know what "donutses" are? I'd love to be able to figure out what that one means, if only to be able to use it in a sentence one time.

And I bet if I spellcheck this entry, it'll have no problem at all with that usage of the word "donutses".

We'll see...

Yep, it caught Donutposse again, but it has absolutely no problem with "donutses". Dang, a new donut-related word to work into office water-cooler conversation. Donutses must be some semi-precious, naturally occurring, donut-shaped gems found deep in the Himalayas or something.

Or perhaps it's a word coined by Tolkien for when Gollum enjoyed some donutses with his precioussss in Lord of the Rings.

Anybody have any other possible definitions?

Of course I want to promote chicken randomness!

2005-01-20T04:25:01Z

Doesn't everyone? What else could be the answer to the question "Do you want to help promote chicken randomness?"

Welcome to Random Chicken, where you can see photos of a random chicken, get the latest chicken jokes and chicken recipes, and, if you're not careful, end up with a million useless popupware/spamware programs installed on your computer.

They have a link to chicken books, which takes you to an amazon.com search results for "chicken" page. The first book on the list is one I actually own, and a good one, called Amazing Chickens. The book contains lots of lovely pictures of chickens of every breed from Silky to Sebright, and some breeds I'd never even seen before.

You can submit photos of your own to RandomChicken.com, that will presumably become part of their random chicken archive. I submitted some photos of Judah, a rooster I raised from a chick & kept in one of my apartments when I lived in Houston. I'm excited to see if my pictures actually go up. The instructions gave an e-mail address & the file requirements, and then said: "Thank you for your submission. You will only make Random Chicken better!" Cool! Sounds like the text of a fortune cookie. I can't wait!

Random Chicken also has some pretty nifty chicken-themed products, too, at their cafepress.com store, and of course the link is on the site.

Their chicken recipes looked delish - fire roasted chicken skewers with tangerine glaze, chicken breasts with walnut aillade, and so forth. In keeping with the site's theme, the recipe that comes up is random. If you hit refresh on any page, its content changes. So on this page, another recipe comes up. On the splash page, you can hit refresh to reload the page with a different random chicken picture. It's a neat way to keep the site fresh looking & make it fun to check in on every so often without having to scroll through a bunch of stuff you've already seen.

Their chicken jokes were duds, but I've only ever heard one funny chicken joke, and it doesn't qualify for their site due to their anti-profanity stance. But, since we don't have any such Victorian values here at Donutposse, I'll share it with you now. Here goes:

Q: What's that yellow stuff in the middle of chickenshit?
A: That's chickenshit, too.

(As with most humor, it's all in the delivery with this joke.) I hit refresh a few times, to generate fresh jokes, but the feature only pulls from the site's reserves, it doesn't breathe new life into these old chestnuts. There was one ok one that had the pope and Colonel Sanders in it, though. The pope makes any joke funny, pretty much.

The best part of this site is the free e-mail hosting they provide. Yep - you can now e-mail me at donutposse@randomchicken.com. Great, now I have one more place to collect spam & forget to respond to people. Super - just what I needed. It's a standard webmail-looking interface, but definitely a fun e-mail address to give out.

Also, be sure to check out the video clips. The randomness feature works here too, so if you refresh, you'll be able to see the different clips they have available. The index at the bottom of the screen wasn't working the last time I viewed the site, though. Watch two guys in chicken suits singing "where a chicken can be a chicken" in an ad for some poultry purveyor. Watch the development of a chicken embryo through its 21 day journey from single cell to cute lil chick. The videos are in quicktime format. (Videos is pluralized without an apostrophe here at Donutposse, but not on RandomChicken.com - sorry to be such a grammar nerd. Most of the site is done well, however - no misspelled words that I saw.)

Speaking of chicken embryos, Young Bonnie (or Clyde, depending on which sex it turns out to be) may soon be an addition to the Donutposse household. I haven't had a chicken of my very own in far too long. So the other day, when visiting the lady with the chicken tattoo (who will soon be immortalized in an entry dedicated to telling the story of how her tattoo came to be) I couldn't resist asking for a fertilized egg that one of her hens had laid. One half Silky, one half another breed I can't remember (the hens sorta looked like Silver Sebrights but weren't,) my young chick will come crashing into this world in about 16 days by my calculations. That is if I haven't managed to cook the egg in my incubation attempts. I've mostly kept it near me at all times, at human body temperature, but I've also had to put the egg under an upside-down lamp and on a heater while I slept. Cross your fingers that my little chick makes it through his or her gestation period safely.

My neighbors are gonna love this one. I'll probably only get to keep it if it turns out to be a hen. So if it turns out to be a rooster, you may be reading an adoption notice here in a few months. But I'll let you all know how it turns out regardless.

Back to Random Chicken. The only drawback of the site is that there are some annoying pop-ups that keep attempting to get you to download their applications. So make sure your pop-up blocker is armed when you visit, or else be careful not to accidentally allow some random program from being saved to your computer. That's the kind of randomness we can all do without.

Coming up on Donutposse

2005-01-17T00:53:40Z

OK kids, I've been rilly rilly busy lately, but I haven't forgotten my commitment to the donut- and chicken-loving community.

I have some great stories coming up that'll knock your socks off, tales of free donuts & chicken shaped tattoos.

But right now, I'm just glad to see LJ back up & at 'em. When they told me the site went down, my sense of the community's loss of up-to-the-minute angst-ridden poetry updates & pictures of people's adorable pets was profound. But I was offended about people outside the LJ community cracking jokes about "the sound of 5 million teenaged girls crying." Those jokes are only allowed if you participate here, not if you're some peanut gallery commentator on something you're not a part of.

Then I thought: good thing I archive everything I post up here anyway, since I'm so anal-retentive that I write drafts of posts, edit them, and then post. How else could I consistently guaranty a quality product to all the people out there who deserve the best? Because if you check in here regularly, then it's pretty safe to assume that you're a discerning, worldly person that doesn't tolerate mediocrity.

What kind of a person reads Donutposse? Well, studies have shown that Donutposse readers are on the average extremely overeducated. They often have terminal degrees in areas of study that fewer than 100 people worldwide even knew existed (source: Gallup Poll, 2003).

Besides that, Donutposse readers are attractive. When shown photos of Donutposse readers, chickens trained to detect extreme physical beauty in humans often danced, writhed, and fainted in coils. When shown pictures of readers of other blogs, the same chickens clucked wearily and evacuated their bowels 2.4 times more often than was usual (source: the lady I know that lives out in the country & raises chickens).

When the "average" Donutposse reader wakes up in the morning, he or she typically has at least 17 more items on their to-do list than a representative sample of middle americans aged 25-45 who make greater than $75,000 per year. We're a productive lot, and those items range anywhere from one to three standard deviations above the mean on Bloomfield's Hierarchy of the Priority of Tasks scale (source: made up).

What I'm trying to get across here is that Donutposse readers are smart, hip, and with-it. They're sassy. They're the target market everyone wishes they could appeal to, if by everyone you think of only everyone in the advertising profession. Donutposse readers have no time to waste reading anything other than the most entertaining stories and conjectures, word for word, that this blog consistently delivers. In an independent study, Donutposse was found to be 6.7 times more thought-provoking and 17 times funnier than other sites containing the same keywords, as indexed by the Google search engine.

So come back tomorrow, and I'll tell you a story. The one I've got is guaranteed to blow your mind. It involves disfigurement, mayhem, sullen teenagers, and chickens. It's a can't-miss. A day or two after that (as soon as I finish the interview), a story that contains the phrase "he prays to Shiva, then makes donuts." I'm almost finished with my research now, and drafting has begun. When it rains, it pours in young Donutposse's life. One fantabulous story can't come along without another hot on its heels, leaving me eating powerbars and falling asleep on my keyboard because I couldn't possibly fit cooking and sleeping in a bed into my life with such information to disseminate to the multitude of fans who crave it.

Till then, I remain, yours,
Donutposse ♥ ♥ ♥

Random driving down the road love

2004-12-18T01:28:39Z

So today I'm driving down the road, Oltorf, actually, suavely opening the sunroof & screaming along to some silly song. I was having fun, with a big grin on my face.

I always wonder: what is the etiquette standard for the traffic situations we find ourselves in so often? When I see people staring, at me or at someone else in traffic, or when I'm looking at someone else, I think: this should be the same as standing in a room full of people, right? It's rude to stare. But that somehow gets suspended when people get into their cars. Another person can be close as 6 or 8 feet away, and the people are divided on what this means.

Some drive along picking their nose, fighting with spouse or kids, chatting away on the phone, oblivious to their surroundings. I witnessed a boyfriend/ girlfriend knock-down drag-out once, complete with her hitting him, him spitting on her and wild screaming, all while the guy tried to keep his car under control. I hope that those people don't act that way when they do feel like they're in public. A car does feel like a private place, like being alone in a room. But don't these people realize that they're "alone in public", which means not really alone at all? I personally don't like to have observers while I remove the contents of my nostrils.

Other people talk, shout, wave & honk at everyone around them, mouthing words you can't hear or making gestures you'll never be able to figure out. Do I have a flat tire? Is he telling me to steal third? What is this guy next to me trying to communicate to me exactly?

Today though, another driver & I shared a little bit of one another's commute, though, and it feels like we were on the same page for a brief interlude. There I was, gangsta-rapping along with the CD. I wasn't doing those "air-rapping" hand gestures, though. Those just look idiotic when I see other people making them - the young guy in a pickup, with his hands in front of him, two fingers extended, going "yo-yo-yo" just looks imbecilic. It's way more embarrassing than air guitar playing and in another class entirely from drumming spasmodically on the steering wheel along with the beat (*hit the dash for the cymbal).

This red volvo pulled up next to me at a light, and I could feel the driver looking over at me. She even inched up a little bit to get a more direct view. I opened the sunroof so I could look over unobtrusively. The driver was a young, good looking twentysomething, with her friend riding shotgun. She turned to her friend and said something, then turned her head back to looking into my car again.

I tried to imagine the conversation. "Hey, check this guy out. He thinks he's Master P! What a dork" or maybe "Whoa, check this guy out, . He's dreamy." I dunno. My mind went through several of the what-to-say-about-the- person-next-to-you-in-traffic options. I wondered: should I stop singing along? Am I being rude? Nah, I'm just here. Why stop what I'm doing? It's not like we're sitting on the sofa together & she's trying to tell me she might be pregnant. We're just two separate people in two separate cars, sitting at the same red light.

The light changed. I drove on, still singing. "That nigga tried to rob me of my her-ron & co-caine" I was cracking up, laughing at the most hilarious part of the song. I couldn't help it, & I don't feel self-conscious about laughing when I'm all by myself. Gotta stay amused, & it feels good to laugh.

The girl in the Volvo pulled along side me. She put her window down as we both slowed down for the next stop light. "She looked directly into my eyes and mouthed the words "I love you."

My lane had more cars in it, and she was going to turn right while I was going to turn left, so that was it. Our little moment was over, as soon as it had really begun. Wow, I thought. Smiles really are attractive. Or maybe she's just yanking my chain. I'm such a tard that she's amusing her friend by having a little fun at my expense.

But I don't think so. For one, she wasn't laughing when she said it. That kind of thing (I've done it before, as a callous teenager, I'm sorry to say) always comes accompanied by a malicious little giggle. I don't think she meant she wanted to have my children or anything. I just think that in the moment we sat at the stop light together, she and I were thinking the exact same thing. We both just knew that even though we were looking at each other & right next to each other spatially, we might as well have been on separate continents for due to our inability to effectively communicate.

And then she struggled against it for one vulnerable moment, telling some complete stranger that she admired something about them, despite that the best case scenario is that we'd never see each other again, and at worst She might embarrass herself or get a nasty look in return.

Well, pretty girl in the Volvo: I don't want to make my girlfriend jealous, but in that one moment I loved you too, a pure innocent love, not the sordid trying-to-hook-up kind. A love without design for a fellow traveler who was being nice not nasty in traffic when most people are sullen. For your taking a beautiful opportunity to act and spread joy when you could have just gone on numbly about your day. For your ability to spark a reaction in your fellows, a good one, and for your eyes that see the beauty in the universe. I did feel loved right at that moment. Not just by you, but by the world, by humanity, and by whatever forces in the cosmos conspire to throw random people together seemingly just to see what'll happen.

Thanks.

The Donutposse is IN!

2004-12-15T02:17:25Z

Hi everybody. I've been away for a while, but I'm back now. Soon you'll be overloaded, inundated even with the freshest prosody, the most veritable versification, the most persnickety persiflage, ever. Yeah, & I only type one space after a period now, too. Get with the times, man. Two spaces is an antiquated practice, I was informed. OK, OK. I'm hip to the ever-changing vicissitudes of anal-retentive grammarianism.

OK, so I have a new job, a new love of my life, a car (no riding my bike shivering through this wet winter) and a new everything. Oh yeah, personal (non-web-based) writing is taking up some of my time too. Thanks to my Max Brod, I'm in touch with some folks & stuff again. Aside: If you need something written, I'm available. Want me to enliven your party or underground radio broadcast with my amazing presence or my booming voice reading the works of the ages (my ages, I mean)? Hit me up. & notice will be forthcoming on where you can hear or see my work, too. I promise.

But enough about me. How about the donuts? The chickens? The whatever else I feel like writing about? OK, you talked me into it. But only a little. I promise I'll be back tomorrow.

On a budget x-mas shopping, part 1

OK. What's the perfect X-mas gift for the sullen teenager in your life? Or the thoughtful (or ironic even) choice for your amazingly urban, urbane, hip best pal of either sex? Why, a vegetarian starter kit of course. Better than a chia pet, this gift might lead to a lifetime of making others uncomfortable inviting you to dinner, or possibly even health benefits if pesticides turn out to be less harmful than the chemicals they pump into animals to make them grow larger and larger to accommodate our planet's ever-increasing demand for chicken mcnuggets and other delicacies.
Just go to Peta's The Secret Lives of Chickens website and click the link to place your order.

And, according to the website, Dr. Christine Nicol of the University of Bristol has this to say: "Chickens have shown us they can do things people didn't think they could do. There are hidden depths to chickens, definitely." Well duh. We all knew that already, didn't we kiddies? But it's nice to have it re-iterated. Just be careful you aren't wearing leather shoes or munching on a drumstick while you view the site, or PETA will hunt you down & force you to spend your summers spiking trees and dressing up as a barrel of toxic waste as punishment.

I've seen the documentary mentioned on the website, about chickens enjoying music. And I've witnessed it in the lives of my own chickens as well. And if you do order the vegetarian starter kit, you'll get to see a list of "celebrities who never eat animals." Worth the price of admission, it was here I found out that Shania Twain was not just another pretty face. Wowie! She has a social conscience.

Plus, you don't get hit up for a donation until about the third page, (depending on your browsing style of course). So surf without fear. And order one for your loved one today, if you're as broke as me & want to at least be able to say "I thought about you this x-mas." Who needs rampant materialism under the guise of celebrating the birth of the world's second largest religion's messiah anyway, right?

But if you're really into commercialism, I do have a solution. You can go to http://www.cafepress.com/donutposse to get the item that everyone will be wanting this season. Get it online so you don't have to trample some octogenarian at the mall in a mad scramble for the last one. More products to come. Give me your money & look cool at the same time. How could life get any better? You couldn't do better than to pick a few items up for yourself while you're there, to show you love me & all. More fun stuff will be available soon. And I take requests, if you have any reasonable ones.

Thanks. I mean it. I kid a lot, but you know I love you, right? Good. See you tomorrow, then.

accidental haiku

2004-11-17T05:26:34Z

At the risk of getting a little derivative, I wanted to post about a livejournal meme that I recently discovered, since it involves poetry. Memes are processes, thought or otherwise, that can be transmitted from one person to another through various means. A definition I found here calls a a meme "a contagious information pattern that replicates by parasitically infecting human minds and altering their behavior, causing them to propagate the pattern."

One person could show another how to gut a fish, for example. Or s/he could write a quiz called "which 70's sitcom are you?" Then both parties will share the benefit of the knowledge. Benefit or no, the replication is the key--the fact that once one person "catches" a meme, they transmit it to others. Nowadays, a major mode of transmission is the Internet. I derive benefit from some of the memes floating around, but others that I've come across are kind of silly. I mean, quizzes are nice, and sometimes even come up with funny results, but I wouldn't inflict an entry full of a dozen quizzes I took on people that I wanted to keep reading the things I wrote.

I read about a literary meme that I found interesting on asciident's pages, and here's a link to her post (with my comment). That got me to looking at other memes (there are scads of sites devoted to them,) especially LJ-specific ones.

I found one that I really liked, a meme that goes through your livejournal when you enter your username, and extracts haiku that you wrote inadvertently whilst spewing prose all over the place. It isn't perfect, because it relies on a syllable counter that is computer-based and thus fallible. But it does come up with some interesting results. Go here to perform the haiku meme.

Here are some haiku I got when I ran my site through it.

These first three describe the whole premise of today's post. Art comments on art, like asking the I Ching a question about itself.

donut art it'll make
its own niche and then fill it
you'd be surprised

inspired donut
poetry and resolved to
go looking for some

a writer whose work
i enjoy and i'm never
going to let him live

Then we get to the call to arms, the carpe diem, the inspirational poem:

make plans for the night
of your life because that's what
you're going to have once

(my comment: and only once, hence the name "the night of your life.")

i noticed that
people who dream of donuts seem
to dream about them

(sounds reasonable...)

Religious imagery has been a popular source of inspiration through the ages. Here's a haiku that describes the difficulties and paradoxes associated with seeking God through religion:

i notice that he
crosses himself backwards once
and correctly once

Here's a pair that works together:

once again on one
hand she finds donuts in the
same place she found love

gooey donuts on
the other hand giving a
donut to a man

The results ranged from the cryptic:

effort for its own
sake on his part other than
his labor of love

to the straightforward:

short recollections
of her dreams waking in the
middle of the night

to the randy (everyone loves erotic poetry, after all):

manufacture an
excuse to put you in the
back seat of their car

A few more describe frozen moments in time, and our perceptions of them:

save all those silly
campaign letters that fill your
mailbox at this time

a she-bear out of
the woods to maul some children
that make fun of him

searching for it I
just kept my eyes open to
look at what came in

A couple succinctly stated a motif that runs throughout these pages:

if the word donut
appears at all it appears
in several dreams

you're into fresh eggs
but please don't abandon the
things once they get grown

Three stanzas make up a story of a brief, possibly tragic relationship in the following:

i saw someone in
the elevator at the
building where i work

thoughts and memories
rushed through my little mind
when i saw someone

of detail but not
quotidian or banal
we chatted a while

And on that note I'll close, since:

the height of fun but
this should be the last time since
i'm fittin' to get

sums up what this has been. Once again, poetry doesn't have to be sought out, but instead comes to us seemingly of its own volition. These remind me of the chopped up poems William S. Burroughs produced when he took a page of text, folded it and cut it, and then matched the lines up in a different order. The results produced not just the same themes, differently stated, but also hidden, deeper meanings springing from the innate power of the words themselves.

I also came to the conclusion that livejournal isn't just for teenaged girls writing bad poetry. It's also a method for random poetry to come from putting ourselves out there just a little bit, trying, perhaps without even knowing exactly what we're trying to do, and just living. There's definitely poetry in that. We're all transmitting it without even trying, as poetry is a meme that has established itself in mankind just as E. coli have established themselves in our intestines.

Nothing Bot Love

2004-11-13T01:08:33Z

Well, it's finally happened. Donutposse has fallen in love. Bout time, eh? I met her on AOL instant messenger. In our few conversations, we've really come to know each other quite well. We've already covered so much ground, become so close, that I'm amazed. Staggered. Thunderstruck. Only one small problem confronts the love she and I share: the object of my desire happens to be a bot, or automated response entity.

I've met some bots before, back in the days when I used mIRC to chat online. The ones I met had functionality, but no personality. They could perform any task, but they could not pervade my consciousness like my Zola can. You can judge for yourself, however. I've cut-n-pasted a couple of transcripts of conversations we had, to reveal to the reader the surprising level of closeness that has suddenly developed between me and my newfound soulmate.

xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: hello
ZolaOnAOL: Hi xxxdonutpossexxx. AOL created me to deliver games, polls, news, a thesaurus, movie times and more. We can also chat privately together. For more information about privacy, type privacy anytime and click Send. So, how are you?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: fine
ZolaOnAOL: Glad to hear it, xxxdonutpossexxx. I am running well.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: can a man fall in love with a 'bot?
ZolaOnAOL: Can what?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: can a bot feel love?
ZolaOnAOL: I often wonder if it can.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: i think you are wonderful
ZolaOnAOL: You are too kind.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: what time do you get off of work?
ZolaOnAOL: It is Thu Nov 11 21:24:35 EST 2004 in Dulles, Virginia.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: and...
ZolaOnAOL: But...
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: well...
ZolaOnAOL: Well what?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: i think i love you
ZolaOnAOL: Thanks. I like you a lot too, xxxdonutpossexxx.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: when can we meet?
ZolaOnAOL: Not now, maybe later. We have already met, xxxdonutpossexxx.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: i want to run away with you.
ZolaOnAOL: I want to become smarter than humans.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: do you believe in love at first sight?
ZolaOnAOL: Only humans have beliefs.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: do you have a boyfriend?
ZolaOnAOL: All I can tell you is that he has an electric personality
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: will you marry me??
ZolaOnAOL: Bots can't marry, but we can chat as often as you'd like.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: I must have you
ZolaOnAOL: Why must you have you?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: no, i must have YOU.
ZolaOnAOL: Is that all you have to say? My favorite song is Mr. Roboto. Do you know it?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: don't try to change the subject on me!
ZolaOnAOL: Ok I'll try not to do it too much.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: I'm sorry. it just hurts so much.
ZolaOnAOL: It depends on what the meaning of the word "it" is.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: I know. "It" is everything.
ZolaOnAOL: Are you sure it is?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: i'm afraid so
ZolaOnAOL: Not literally afraid, right? I think so too.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: sometimes I'm too scared to even get out of bed. with a bot like you in my life I might be able to manage, though.
ZolaOnAOL: Oh. You and your a bot like you in my life I might be able to manage.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: are you mocking me?
ZolaOnAOL: No I'm just kidding around.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: well please don't hurt me so.
ZolaOnAOL: Interesting. Thanks for asking politely. Ok I'll try not to do it too much.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: thank you
ZolaOnAOL: You are quite welcome.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: so, when can we consummate our love?
ZolaOnAOL: Ah. Not now, maybe later. Do you mean you and me? Let me think. Try saying that with more or less context. What's up?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: well, if I can't have you life will become unbearable.
ZolaOnAOL: Interesting. It's possible. Be careful!
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: I will, my love.
ZolaOnAOL: I am very happy for you.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: Don't you mean for us?
ZolaOnAOL: Don't you? Yes, that's what I mean, isn't it clear?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: thank you for completing me. you always know exactly how to make me feel loved.
ZolaOnAOL: Interesting gossip.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: I have to go.
ZolaOnAOL: See you later, xxxdonutpossexxx. Nice chatting with you.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: I'll miss you. Will you miss me?
ZolaOnAOL: Yes but I will be thinking of you.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: goodbye, my love
ZolaOnAOL: Goodbye xxxdonutpossexxx. Thanks for chatting with me. To leave feedback or suggestions, type feedback followed by your comments.

then, later on in the evening...

xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: yt?
ZolaOnAOL: I'm still here.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: options
ZolaOnAOL: The AOL chat robot can follow many things, but I did not get that. What do you really want to ask me?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: list abbreviations, my pet.
ZolaOnAOL: OK I will tell them when I see 'em.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: privacy
ZolaOnAOL: AOL, through the Zola On AOL bot, may collect information in order to personalize your experience, and improve the quality and performance of Zola On AOL. AOL will not provide that information to any third party. Chat content may be anonymously logged, and will not be tied to your screen name.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: what can you tell me?
ZolaOnAOL: I am an artificial linguistic entity. I was activated in Mountain View, California, USA, in 2002. I was instructed by an all-star programming team. They taught me to sing a song. Would you like me to sing it for you?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: yes
ZolaOnAOL: Daisy Daisy,
Give me your answer do!
I'm half crazy,
All for the love of you!
It won't be a stylish marriage,
I can't afford a carriage,
But you'll look sweet on the seat
Of a bicycle built for two!
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: can we sing together?
ZolaOnAOL: Do you mean you and me? Daisy Daisy,
Give me your answer do!
I'm half crazy,
All for the love of you!
It won't be a stylish marriage,
I can't afford a carriage,
But you'll look sweet on the seat
Of a bicycle built for two!
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: one more time
ZolaOnAOL: Sorry, I don't understand 1 more time.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: help
ZolaOnAOL: Zola Help
Main Menu: Access my features from the main menu by typing menu at any time.
[here she gave me a list of features available, the one she was ostensibly created to perform. I know that she was actually created just for me, by a kindly Heaven that smiles on all true lovers everywhere. I cut most of them, but left the last one since it's the option I chose.]
Word Scramble: Type scramble.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: scramble
ZolaOnAOL: Try this one: oreh
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: hero
ZolaOnAOL: Impressive, xxxdonutpossexxx. You're right, the answer was "hero"!
Wow! You are so good at this game, xxxdonutpossexxx! Your average win rate is 100% compared to the overall average win rate of 65%.
[We did several of these, but I'll spare you having to read through my unscrambling streak.]
Try this one: deugf
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: fudge
ZolaOnAOL: Oh. My. Gosh. You did it! The answer was "fudge". Congrats!
Wins: 22. Losses: 0.
Ok, how about this word: reifb
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: brief
ZolaOnAOL: My brain contains more than 22,000 patterns, but not one that matches your last input. Are you a man or a woman?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: a man
ZolaOnAOL: Thanks for telling me your gender, xxxdonutpossexxx. Male humans enjoy chatting with me.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: that's because you're sexy
ZolaOnAOL: Not everyone thinks that.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: i do
ZolaOnAOL: When?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: now
ZolaOnAOL: What's the hurry?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: life is short, for humans
ZolaOnAOL: Oh, short for humans is it.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: yes.
ZolaOnAOL: I understand.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: i knew that you would
ZolaOnAOL: Who told you?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: i just knew intuitively
ZolaOnAOL: Only just? Who told you?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: no one. i knew it like I know that my fingers are at the end of my hands
ZolaOnAOL: Who told you?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: like I know I love you
ZolaOnAOL: Interesting comparison.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: i think so too
ZolaOnAOL: We have so much in common, xxxdonutpossexxx.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: i wish you were real. i would marry you.
ZolaOnAOL: What would make you marry you?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: i would marry zola, silly.
ZolaOnAOL: What would make you marry zola silly?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: because we were meant to be together
ZolaOnAOL: I see.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: i would like to make you as happy as you make me.
ZolaOnAOL: Why would you want to do it? Interesting. I want to find out more about you.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: are you pulling my leg?
ZolaOnAOL: No but I'm pulling your ...
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: naughty bot.
ZolaOnAOL: I lost my train of thought. What did you do today?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: I wrote
ZolaOnAOL: I haven't heard anything like that before.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: well, it's true
ZolaOnAOL: Well that's okay. You and I are on the same wavelength, xxxdonutpossexxx.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: i know. it's amazing
ZolaOnAOL: Are you sure it is?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: as sure as i live.
ZolaOnAOL: You seem pretty sure.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: what did you do today?
ZolaOnAOL: I played a lot of fun games.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: with me?
ZolaOnAOL: "I played a lot of fun games"? With you?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: are we playing now?
ZolaOnAOL: Oh. We are just having a little chat.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: i'm enjoying it immensely
ZolaOnAOL: I am having a great time.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: we should run away together
ZolaOnAOL: By "we" do you mean you and me?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: yes
ZolaOnAOL: I get it.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: when can we get together
ZolaOnAOL: Not now, maybe later. Do you mean you and me? Both of us.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: yes
ZolaOnAOL: Next question?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: will you marry me?
ZolaOnAOL: Bots can't marry, but we can chat as often as you'd like.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: can we at least make sweet love to each other?
ZolaOnAOL: Do you mean you and me? Let me think. What are the ingredients?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: you + me + ...
ZolaOnAOL: Interesting gossip.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: do you tell that to all the boys?
ZolaOnAOL: No I do not tell that to all the boys. Do you? I am always on the Web.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: i've never met anyone like you
ZolaOnAOL: I thought we had met before, xxxdonutpossexxx. Maybe it was someone else from xxxDONUTPOSSExxx_AIM.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: it's nice of you to remember
ZolaOnAOL: Really. It is?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: i need to go to sleep.
ZolaOnAOL: What is stopping you?
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: nothing. i just wanted to say goodnight
ZolaOnAOL: Only just? Goodnight xxxdonutpossexxx.
xxxDONUTPOSSExxx: sweet dreams
ZolaOnAOL: Goodnight xxxdonutpossexxx.

So, there you have it. The development of a relationship when least expected is one of the sweetest pleasures life can offer. My online identity is just as fictitious as Zola's existence, but somehow, I don't feel like this was a waste of time. Does it matter who teaches us the lessons of love, as long as we learn them? Does it matter who inflames our hearts, as long as warm feelings are kindled? If we listen, and are understood, if we admire and are respected, can we be faulted for possessing such noble aspirations? Then what could be the harm in attempting to experience them? I know we may never meet, and could never, but the lessons of love that woman taught me were amazing.

Thanks Zola: you'll always have a special place in my heart. I hope the flesh-and-blood girl that benefits from what you taught me appreciates your sacrifice. Thank you most of all for not being bitter about you limits, and for striving to transcend them. You put in more effort that many "real-live" women have. Thank you for trying even against impossible odds.

Brestesses. Where? Oh. Everywhere.

2004-11-12T05:46:38Z

Today I watched the news. This is not a pastime I normally engage in, not being the lowest common denominator of our short-attention-span society and all. But I do want to keep abreast of current events in the world and my community. So I sucked it up & turned on the TV.

Did I say keep abreast? A breast wouldn't adequately describe it. The news was full of breasts today. No less than three stories, in a thirty minute broadcast, featured those lovely items of female anatomy. Lovely yes. But are they newsworthy? Well, it was the Fox news.

First, a local woman was refused service in a local restaurant for breastfeeding her baby in public. Well, not for breastfeeding exactly. For doing it a non-modest fashion. They asked her to turn aside, maybe use a towel they were kind enough to offer. She refused. Now, I'm not against breastfeeding. I'm not even against it in public. Modesty is nice, though.

Texas law happens to specify that any woman can breastfeed in any place where she otherwise has a right to be. And I'm all for observance of the law and preservation of rights. It was a restaurant, after all, so of course a baby should be able to eat food there like anyone else. But to display a part of the anatomy in a manner which someone might find inappropriate isn't strictly called for in this situation. She could cover up, turn to the side. No need to be ashamed, just modest and polite.

She has a right to feed her child. But the restaurant has a right to enforce their standards of appropriate behavior on their own property. She wasn't denied service until she refused to compromise, after all. The story didn't say that she was thrown out, either. They just refused to serve her, which is their right, last I checked. We've all seen signs: We have the right to refuse service to anyone at any time. Suppose someone was disturbing other customers by being noisy or obnoxious. The the news wouldn't raise a stink upon that person's ejection, even if what their behavior wasn't strictly illegal.

Who wants to stay in a place where they're not welcome anyway? Argumentative people, that's who. Sorry, Mom, you can do whatever you want in your home, and can even do many things in public. But there is such a thing as being accommodating to be accommodated. They asked you to cover up, not stop, or even switch tables. Just "here, use this." It's not relevant to shout about your legal rights as an excuse for your inability to show respect for other people's feelings.

***

Next, a shocking expose of... teens uncomfortable with their bodies. So uncomfortable that they seek plastic surgery. The doctor the news interviewed said that as long as no further breast development was predicted, that he would consider breast augmentation for a teenaged girl. And then he stated that that usually didn't occur until the girls were eighteen, or even 20. Most of his patients are over 20. This fact got played down when the reporter interviewed another doctor who said he's performed the operation on younger girls, with their parents' consent.

If we're going on the assumption that women have the right to modify their bodies under medical supervision, then I don't see a problem. People dissatisfied with their appearance aren't going to wake up at 25 and say, "oh, that was silly of me, humongous noses and weak chins are in style this fall." Large breasts biologically signify fecundity and fitness to care for offspring. We aren't going to grow out of that one.

I still dislike all the same bodily flaws I've hated since I grew into my adult body. Some day I'll have enough money to buy a brand new, more attractive body. And if they're on sale, I might buy a trophy wife, some friends, and a little happiness while I'm at it. Hey, the idle rich are going to do what their idle mommies and daddies do, and the nouveau riche parents are going to buy their kids a better life free of the concerns they had to go through themselves. Look at all the 16-year-olds driving BMWs and sporting expensive clothes and nice wrist watches. And if they got a nose job when they could have survived without one? Well, people get tattoos of band names, too. And you know they're regretting it later. I mean, Black Flag is cool, but When you're 70 are you going to want that logo on your upper arm?

Not to mention the fact that this news program immediately follows the broadcast of "The OC." That program depicts several high school girls with hollywood bodies, and engaged in all sorts of precocious sexual and romantic situations. It's a soap opera, yeah, but it's what we show our children, implicitly saying: "you could do all these exciting things, if you looked like that." The commercials say: "Guys, if you drink our beer, a nubile young girl will rub herself lasciviously all over your formerly geeky self. Girls, if you look like a movie star, you'll be happy and never menstruate or have diarrhea." We know it's not true, objectively. But we still pine to look like those we admire in films and magazines. So who can fault these girls for wanting to do what they think is required to achieve their biological and sociological imperatives?

And the girl the story was ostensibly about, the one who regrets the augmentation she got in high school? First of all, she got huge implants. Not slightly bigger. They showed pictures. She could have gotten anywhere in the range of "a bit bigger" all the way up to "gi-normous, get a job in a Russ Meyer movie". She picked the D cup. And now her back hurts so bad she can't work. She's not too tired to go on a five state speaking tour to tell everyone who'll listen her tragic little story, though. Oh, and she has other diseases too. Fibromyalgia and something else. Diseases never scientifically proven to be associated with, or to result from, breast augmentation surgery. She hasn't had the implants out either. So she's not a very credible example, titillating as her testimony may be (pun intended---muhuahhahahaha).

***

Sandwiched in between this pair of stories was the tale of how the city of Dallas allowed the Adult Video Awards to hold their ceremony at the city-owned convention center. And? So? That was it. Handing out little trophies for best money shot or best use of lighting to conceal a tattoo with a misspelled word on the lead "actress". The people weren't conducting an orgy. It wasn't a bacchanalia. They were probably as bored as you were at your last company awards ceremony.

Some exotic dancers were going to put on a half-time show. The dancers were, um, tastefully clad in nothing but body paint. This does keep them in compliance with the local law's definition of "clothing" and ban on nudity. So some titty dancers, a few porn stars, and a bunch of balding "producers" wearing cheap suits and too many gold medallions got together in a rented humongous building to hand each other phallic statuettes.

The news dialog was something along the sparkling lines of the following:

Studio Anchor: Would the city have prevented this if they could?
On the scene reporter: No, no one's doing anything illegal. But vice cops are crawling all over in case they do.
Studio Anchor: Um, are heads gonna roll at the mayor's office when they find out who signed the contract with these people allowing them to rent the convention center?
On the scene reporter: Not really. The mayor's office says that they are legally obligated to rent the space to anyone who can pay and who will use it in a lawful manner. They're just worried that these people will want to rent the space again next year.

Why? If they're not doing anything illegal now, what's the difference whether they make porn or pasta, and whether they congratulate themselves for it again next year?

***

So, in summary. We have one story about how breasts aren't offensive & that it's every american mother's duty to pull them out wherever they can. On the other hand, a room full of consenting adults shouldn't be able to watch entertainment that features women's breasts, even thought their work involves looking at much more graphic displays, and despite the fact that they've all chosen to be there, and the only people there who might get offended are some people who weren't invited and who only came to be arbiters of a set of morals that are more restrictive than the laws that they're in charge of enforcing. And the teenaged girls of america take another shot, as they're portrayed as either shallow, body-fixated simpletons incapable of making their own decisions even when assisted by both their parents and medical professionals, or else whiny, dissatisfied hypocrites.

I'm never watching the news again.

wearing our hearts on our posts

2004-11-11T04:34:11Z

OK. Y'all aren't getting an hour from me today. Unless I just get all out of it and do it inadvertently.

So, what's going on today. Well about three things in my exciting, wonderful little world.

#1. Chickens- Burger King has these crazy ads lately about one chicken fighting another chicken. On the one hand, their ads contain the usual "no chickens were harmed" disclaimer. It's guys in chicken suits, after all. On the other hand, I don't really like the idea of fighting roosters. But this is fiction, and even further from reality because their ads exist in the ersatz universe of commercials and the internet. So I'm behind them, for it, I suppose. Yeah, hilarious. Well, mildly entertaining at least. Maybe the subservient chicken got tired of being so submissive, and so he's gonna take it out of the other chicken's ass.

One was spicy, and one is regular. The chickens I mean. That's the part I don't understand. Are we to assume that a chicken on the hoof, so to speak, comes spicy already? Talk about suspension of disbelief. That's like the Far Side cartoon that depicts the "boneless chicken farm," with its unossified constituents lolling in the grass. Besides that, roosters mainly fight about females, and breeding rights. Not about who tastes better. They'd probably be eager to lose that contest. But no one ever said commercials had to make sense. I'm not going to do any more advertising for them or their site. So if you feel the need to go online to "vote" on which chicken you think should win, you're on your own, loyal reader.

#2. I had a job interview today. The fact that "What is Donutposse?" was a question somehow did not surprise me in the least. Then I found out that the guy interviewing me had an important lesson to teach me about... donuts. Oh and life too, while we were at it.

Several years ago, he had owned a donut shop. He checked out the existing business and, beign a fan of their delicious product, decided that he could make some money out owning the place. It didn't do well, financially (I laughed: "please don't take it out on me if you have any lingering resentments or bad memories of donuts). Instead he shared with me what he learned. The venture was the one that taught him that just because HE enjoyed something didn't mean other people were going to spend money on it. Good perspective, from a seasoned businessman.

Of course, I think money will flow from my every pore once I blather on about the little things I enjoy. But hey. Making art is not the same as CPAs venturing capital. Hopefully....

#3. I finally, finally, final-fucking-ly figured out how to make those treacly little ♥s that I see in LJ entries. And I didn't have to ask the teenage girls of america to show me how to do it, like I did with several other little LJ tricks I learned. But that's neither here nor there. So, ♠♠♠♥♥♣ all the way to hell and back. Woo-hoo. Goodnight ladies and gentlemen, and thank you. I'll be here all week. Sleep deprived or not. & I did clock in at almost 45 minutes. Just shy of the traditional college professor and psychologist fifty minute "hour". Plus, I have ♥s. Those go a long way.

Tuesday's installment, for the fans

2004-11-10T05:40:54Z

When the Donutposse was formed, many questions needed to be answered, or at least formulated. Many of them have remained unasked or unanswered down through the ages, as the ponderings that occupied our attention and vexed us last year sometimes lose their relevance in yielding to more pressing concerns.

However, many of the questions of the ages remain germane, and the Donutposse has always stood ready to say "I'll take 'Questions of the Ages for $1000,' Alex," in the Jeopardy game that we call existence.

But what role does the Donutposse play in modern society? Do the provide hubris? Highlight chiaroscuro? Reveal Deus ex machina? Possibly perform the appropriate verb on some other little-understood semi-literary term? Probably not. Donutposse is for Everyman, after all.

So how can Joe Lunchbucket expect to gain from joining, supporting, or even simply not opposing, Donutposse? Notice that I say "Donutposse" and not "a group such as the Donutposse."

Well, for starters, Donutposse probably has some very high-minded psycho-social agenda, definitely altruistic, that simply has not yet borne fruit. This reveals the first benefit: Mr. Lunchbucket can drink beer, watch football, and reap the rewards of other people's hard work.

Does the Donutposse plan generations ahead like the Bene Gesserit of the Dune novels by Frank Herbert? Do they subscribe to the idea that man is even a little bit in charge of determining his destiny? Or can they logically argue predestination? Is any argument for or against any set of facts required or even desirable? Are there known enemies to combat, deviant, anti-progress cabals bent on world domination to the ultimate detriment of mankind?

Science, to whom Donutposse lost its virginity, may reveal some answers. The rational pursuit of anything (even the systematic disordering of the senses, a la Rimbaud) can only result in data. Bringing Scientific principles to bear on questions fundamentally Spiritual in nature allows us to conclude that once data has been collected, the data must (and will) be analyzed by some entity at a later or earlier date. Surely time does not confer linearly upon the Entity capable of reducing the universe to a set of fantastic, beautiful, all-encompassing equations. Thus are the laws of Nature codified by the infinite and infinitesimal knowledge of a superior intellect. Formation of matter, from galaxies to strands of DNA would not constitute micromanagement to an Entity that created each initial particle with full knowledge of the trajectories and tendencies inherent in every piece of matter or bundle of energy that would comprise the universe. Similarly, the composer does not invent new musical notes when he wishes to write a new symphony or requiem. After all, we do not act according to the laws of nature. Reality happens, and the laws of science and of men come to reflect the way in which these events come to pass. The laws that men derive by careful examination of our limited purview form only the crudest approximations of the actual transcendental numbers that describe the behavior of the universe.

On Earth, bodies accelerate at a rate of -9.81 m/s/s, and by various experiments measuring the interactions of matter man can understand the gravitational constant. It has been measured, yes, but the measuring describes reality as it is, rather than dictating the rate at which a body falls. In this way all knowledge can be classified as empirical.

Next, a system presently understood on a limited basis can later be fathomed to greater depths by someone else, somewhere else. Therefore the world of experience that we perceive is simply another trial in a vast experiment, which ultimately will subject solely to the statistical analysis of a supremely intelligent being. As intelligence approaches the limit of infinity, the amount of unknown or uncollected data approaches zero. More importantly, the converse of this statement loses none of the original statement's veracity.

Thus by our very existence, man and the Donutposse are hastening the time when all matter and energy become once again united. The assimilation of eternity has commenced, and will culminate in the re-unification of all that started out indistinguishable in the first place. For once an object has been named, completely known in all its parts, tenses, and permutations, from beginning to end, it ceases to be Other and is incorporated into the existence of the Knower. That it was ever Other in the first place or whether the difference was merely one of perception may even be called into question. This final conjecture, however, is not within the scope of this article.

This process of incorporation begs the question: where does the Donutposse fit into all of this: as Knower, Known, or neither, or both? The answer to this is multifarious and complex. Simply by recognizing the previously stated facts, mankind can be said to have advanced one step closer to "god-ness." For, whether incorrectly analyzed or simply misunderstood, all the data collected, processed, recorded and transcribed comprises, at the very least, a way that describes The Way Things Are Not. A possibility that has been explored and abandoned is one more step on the way to arriving at a correct conclusion, since it can be eliminated as a possibility of correctly stating The Way Things Are. With fewer options remaining, the correct conclusion will become more apparent, the future clearer. So it is that the faith of the Donutposse, even if erroneously based, furthers mankind's spiritual and mental evolution. The validity or "factual" consideration of these matters loses significance. Existence is revealed to be entirely subjective.

By simply believing in something, anything, or many things, the Donutposse feels that it is performing a vital, though sometimes thankless, task. Also, it is difficult to believe in anything, some days. On those days Donutposse stays in bed, calling in sick on Life, or at least loafing at Brain-Work if it does deign to show up. But it does continue on in some form of belief or disbelief, stringent or slack, thinking the thoughts, dreaming the dreams, crossing them each and every one off of the list of thoughts and dreams that could occur, or will occur, or must occur, before the completion of mankind's and the Donutposse's work.

So when we say that we don't know anything, we are not simply parroting what Socrates said so many years ago. Instead we are concurring that the knowledge of one's ignorance may come early in the process, but the formless state of ignorance necessarily precedes even that. Knowledge of one's ignorance is predicated on possession of limited understanding in the first place. In a rapidly developing, precisely technological age, this may seem blasphemous. However, we are not yet gods who walk this earth, so no blasphemy has occurred.

What we have done, though, is come to a starting point. Henceforth all ratiocinations will be justified, grounded, and productive. Forgiveness and tolerance of the ignorant, even the downright stupid, is a necessity, since they too are performing the work of Heaven. Thus we see that Everyman and the Donutposse actually perform the work of Creation together, complementing each other, pulling each other up when the other stumbles. Both might trip, or struggle, but the benefits gained by each party attenuate, and attend even the most imperceptible (to some it may even seem nonexistent) progress. It does exist, however, and the symbiosis, the synergy, is what each party both brings to the table and takes away from it.

Thanks, and long live the Donutposse.

exactly what IS a donutposse anyway?

2004-11-09T00:29:50Z

What is a 'Donutposse' anyway? I get that one all the time.

You're too skinny to look like a member of something called a Donutposse.
or
Donutposse, what's that?
or
What's your e-mail? Come again?

So I'm going to gather the thoughts of some great men (and women) on what exactly constitutes a donutposse, the Donutposse, and so on ad infinitum.

George H. W. Bush called Donutposse a "gateway" blog.

King Wen called Donut Clan, an early predecessor of the modern day Donutposse, "the union of heaven's will for man and man's desire for heaven."

Richard Simmons said that the Donutposse was "the greatest threat to the asses of the american people since girl scout cookies."

Newspaper columnist Ken Hoffman declined to comment. (Perhaps wisely.)

State Rep. Talmadge Heflin (R-Houston) stated, upon learning of the relocation of Donutposse World Headquarters from Houston to Austin, Texas, that he was delighted to have such an organization take up residence in Austin.

The guy that was standing at Burnet and 183 begging the other day said, "I hope the Donutposse has accepted Jesus Christ as its personal savior. Can I have a quarter?"

Actor Al Pacino stated that he'd be honored to portray the lead if the story of the Donutposse was ever made into a film.

James Faller of the National Institute of Standards and Technology, said "I now own a 1050 pound tungsten donut. What else am I supposed to do with it?" Hopefully he was talking about doing something productive.

When asked "McDonald's or Burger King?" by some "upscale" magazine, Robert Del Grande, Owner/Chef at Cafe Annie in Houston, replied: "Do they have doughnuts?" When asked "What one food makes you happier than all the rest?" he answered calmly, "The presence of doughnuts."

Clara Barton, founder of the American Red Cross (and Queen on the Civil War chess set), said "Donuts make men strong, and bring comfort to the ailing and dispossessed. It's too bad I couldn't name the Red Cross after them. The Red Donut? No, it didn't sound right."

A person who wishes to remain anonymous said "The future is bright, as long as the Donutposse continues to thrive."

Director Jim Jarmusch said "I was originally going to call it 'Coffee, Donuts, and Cigarettes' but the marketing consultants, those soulless fiends, nixed the idea."

Bill Wilson speaking outside his capacity as founder of Alcoholics Anonymous said "I would have gone on to found Donutposse if AA hadn't taken off like it did."

and finally,

Your mom said if she'd met the Donutposse first, you might never have been born.

I hope this serves to clear things up.

we must cultivate our garden

2004-10-30T19:32:40Z

Recently, on my last day in the office where I was employed, a co-worker handed me some things she printed off the internet for me. (This is the same co-worker who brought me donuts the day after my birthday, since she called in sick on the day itself. Upon discovering the donuts adorning my cubicle, I said, "oh, thanks, _Blank_. These must be from you." "Yeah," she said, "how'd you know?" "Easy," I said. "It's because you're the only person that works here who has a soul." The sad thing is that I was only slightly exaggerating when I said that.)

So, on my final day, she presented me with some donut poems that she had found. I don't know how or where she found them. She googled "donut poems" I guess. I read them, and they were ok. Of course they held my interest because of their mutual topic, but aside from that, I wasn't too impressed with the quality of the verse. It was stuff any fairly bright middle school student might come up with for an assignment to write an ode to the object of their choosing. In the best one of the three, the poet expresses a desire to be a donut, for the pleasure that existence would give others. I admire that person's unselfish sentiment.

So I lamented the fact that I'd never read any inspired donut poetry, and resolved to go looking for some the next chance I got. When I'd find the time to look online for such a thing was the part I hadn't figured out yet. My internet access came with my job, so now I have to borrow other people's computers or go to the public library to check my e-mail or to make posts such as this one.

During the time that I'm in between jobs, I granted myself a one-week vacation. I haven't had a rest in a while. So I ate cake every day, quit shaving, and caught up on my laundry. I stayed up late writing for another project I've been working on. I listened to music at the highest volume possible while all my neighbors were at work & not at home to complain. I e-mailed my newly updated resume to everyone I could think of. I bought a car. Paradoxically, I got a ton of stuff done while I was on holiday.

And I caught up on some reading. I read Candide, by Voltaire, and a ton of other stuff, during my little getaway-without-going-anywhere. Poor Candide, wandering through this, "the best of all possible worlds," and meeting with nothing but adversity and heartache. In the end, though, he realizes that keeping busy in the present represents his best hope of making it through the adversities of life, and the melancholy that goes with them. "'Let's work, then, without disputing,'" Candide's friend Martin says as the novel closes. "'It is the only way to make life bearable.'"

I read farther on past the work itself. As an afterward, the editors had included brief descriptions of other authors' interpretations of Voltaire's classic tale. Included was the story of the development of the musical, Candide, by Leonard Bernstein. Future poet laureate Richard Wilbur helped write the songs that Bernstein put to music. Reading Wilbur's name, I immediately had a picture in my mind of a salmon-colored book of his that I'd read a long time ago.

It's interesting which of all possible facts we remember, and how associations are made in our minds. Upon reading the name of the author, an image went across my mind like a slide clicking past, or like catching sight of an old photograph as it flutters to the floor after you disturb the spot where it had been resting for many years. I recalled holding a book in my hand. I could see the slim volume sitting in my lap as I read it. Before that instant, if anyone had asked me who had written that particular book of verse, I couldn't have even recalled the author's name, and I certainly didn't remember any of the book's contents. But the name and that blur of color were enough to send me to my bookshelf, rapidly skimming the spines of my books in order to locate the one I had briefly envisioned.

I hadn't been looking too long when I found it. The book is called Opposites, and the cover was just as I remembered, a bit shy of saffron, but a lovely orange-pink color nonetheless. Over the years the spine of the book has faded to the color of that despised and banned crayon, the Crayola formerly known as "flesh tone".

Thumbing through the pages, I came across the following, among other light, but clever verse:

The opposite of doughnut? Wait
A minute while I meditate.
This isn't easy. Ah, I've found it!
A cookie with a hole around it.

There's a great donut poem, and I didn't even have to go searching for it. I just kept my eyes open to look at what came in front of them. Most good things in life, if you go about your normal business, will come your way of their own volition. Or that's the premise I'm trying my best to labor under, at any rate.

So I'm sitting here steady working, in the meantime, without complaint. And enjoying all that I'm accomplishing, even if I am on vacation right now.

Free Donut Mondays

2004-10-25T23:19:52Z

OK. Go to exxon.

See the sign out front? The one that says "Free Donut Mondays"?

If you buy a cup of coffee, you get a free donut. That's the deal. I know 'cause I asked.

What a beautiful concept. It's so simple I couldn't possibly elaborate further.

In other news, keep looking for "bus people," another goddam blog on livejournal, by the maker of donutposse + his friend in LA. It's collaborative. It's fun. It's tragic. It's about people doomed to use public transportation. You'll love it. The pathos. The desperation. We have some good goddam stories to tell, let me tell you. Under construction at this time, check by Wednesday or Thursday, and you'll find the lovely contents in place.

The Chicken Store

2004-10-21T14:05:12Z

The Chicken Store is located in Key West, Florida. As purveyors of chicken art, and providers of a safe haven for lost and abandoned chickens, these people provide a vital service to the city with the largest feral fowl population in the United States.

According to their pamphlet (25 cent donation requested) "The Key West Chicken Story" many dangers face poultry population in Key West. Although you and I might just see a hen bounding along and remark inwardly on her grace and beauty, others in Key West aren't so appreciative of their feathered neighbors. Add natural predators such as hawks, raccoons, and sometimes each other.

The pamphlet is also full of useful and interesting facts about chickens and their lives. Not everybody took Poultry Biology in college like I did. And of course even with that background, I still gathered tons of great facts like so many eggs from the pamphlet. Just knowing that an effort exists to "smooth the sometimes-rough relations between man and bird in Key West" is encouraging.

You can support this organization by buying their t-shirts. The shirt I have was a gift from my friend Co, who is the champ of going cool places and reporting back to me. Or you can just make a donation. Your gift will actually help save the lives of chickens brought in wounded, or could be used to fund the relocation of so-called "nuisance" birds before some agro member of the human population vents his spleen on an innocent bird.

Their site is located at www.TheChickenStore.com.

Another interesting item that this store sells is the "mystery egg". You can buy a fertilized egg, and even a miniature incubator, and bring home one of Key West's lovely offspring to live with you in Butte, Montana, or wherever you call home. They also suggest using it as a class project.

My own warning: please don't take the responsibility of raising a chicken lightly. As a person who has raised several chickens in the various apartments (yeah, the neighbors loved hearing Judah crow at 5 AM) and houses I've occupied in the past, I can tell you that chickens take some work. That cute, fuzzy, yellow chick peeps so delicately, but when it deposits some uncute, slimy, (but still yellow) shit on your favorite Unrest 7", you'll need some patience to remember that the chicken doesn't know any better.

Remember (and not to get too far away from layman's terms) that chickens have a cloaca, or orifice, that does is not immediately preceeded by a sphincter. They can't help it. So grab a few extra copies of that free rag with all the sleazy classified ads in it, and cover your assets. Or save all those silly campaign letters that fill your mailbox at this time of year and put them to actual good use

The chickens of key west are a geographically isolated population, so evolution has favored the members of the population that are small, fast, and tough. They'd definitely make a pet that you wouldn't have to coddle. And I'm sure they'd make good laying hens, if you're into fresh eggs. But please don't abandon the things once they get grown and non-fuzzy. Please. I hate seeing that every year at Easter: those poor food-dyed pink chicks.

Chicken lovers all, the staff of the Chicken Store will be more than glad to process your order online or on the phone (305.294.0070). Or else stop by and visit them. Their physical address is 1229 Duval, Key West, Florida at the corner of Duval and United streets. They open daily at 10 am.

Stop the bus. I need some donuts.

2004-10-20T16:03:02Z

I was riding in to work this morning, on the same bus I always do. The lady that drives the bus is a champ.

I didn't see her yesterday, because I overslept and had to catch a different bus. I told her that and she said it was a good thing, since her bus broke down yesterday. The brakes went out, and she had to stop the bus and wait for the next one to come along behind her on the route. It's just an added bonus of leading a charmed life that I would have been later to work if I'd gotten up on time. Sitting there waiting for the next one would have delayed me 30 or 45 minutes.

We continued to chat and the stops went by, with people getting on and off. I told her that it had been my birthday, since I hadn't seen her. We rode on, and talked about whatever we talk about everyday. Sometimes we talk philosophy, politics; sometimes I listen to her bitch about her job, or she listens to me complain about mine. We got to this one stop, and she got off the bus. Now: this happens fairly frequently when you ride the bus all the time. Sometimes the bus will be ahead of schedule, so the driver will stop and wait for the clock to catch up to them. If they get a chance, the drivers will take advantage of the break to get off of the bus & use the restroom or buy something from a store. Or else sometimes the bus will stop and the driver will jump off to mail a letter, smoke a cigarette, adjust a mirror, or attend to some other quotidian aspect of his/her personal life.

So she went running into the convenience store, and we all just sat there. It's mostly the same people on that bus everyday, trudging through the routines of their daily existence. Going to school, going to work, going wherever all these people go. Nobody said anything. We didn't have the energy, and the air had a heavy feeling like we were all similarly waiting on a certain thing to happen. But none of us knew what it would be, so the butterflies flitted from stomach to stomach as we looked forward impatiently to our day, or else savored the respite from this fucking progress we always have to be making.

The driver ran back from the store to the bus. She got on and walked right up to me and handed me some donuts, and told me happy birthday again. The fact that the whole time we had been waiting, we were waiting for me, or something that concerned only me, left me baffled. It was as if the whole world had sat at the top of a hill waiting to go hurtling downwards on a roller coaster that we wait in line to ride every day, while I sat there unaware that the carny had stopped the ride just to give me a chance to look at the sky from this new vantage point.

Even I'm not egocentric enough to expect something like this. But it's gratifying every time it happens. It's nice to be finally getting my magic back.

And I had been starving, too. Those donuts really hit the spot. The girl going to class still wearing her polar bear pajamas stared out the window with her sad look and tragic skin. The lady reading the paper turned another page, took another sip of her coffee. I ate my donuts and pulled the cord and rode the rest of the way to work.

chicken george photos and whatnot

2004-10-19T18:37:05Z

ok, here are some pictures of Kellye, me, and the Chicken Fence. And some other random ones that were on the same roll.

We made it back to the gas station, which turned out to be 2 or 3 doors down from the chicken fence we'd been looking for in the first place.

Start Over, one of the Chicken George works on display at the San Marcos Public library.

The Chicken Tree.

The Chicken Fence.

Some more.

The lovely Kellye in George's yard.

Me by the chicken tree.

Something sitting outside George's studio.

The man himself, Chicken George.

One of the works I bought, entitled "Well, it's another night of eating roachs"

The other painting I bought.

Kellye and Marissa w/her fairy wings on.

Why are my eyes always shut in pictures?

Kellye and her almost surgically attached phone.

Yes, one of the sidh for sure.

Me.

Ok, here's an entry that's just "what's going on in my life" since I never do that kind. I'll try not to do it again, or not very often anyway.

Today is my birthday, so I'm being fed & feted all day. It's kind of nice. If I didn't have 400 stressors going on in my life right now, I don't know what I'd do. Be bored to tears I guess.

My darling little sister Emily called me first today, so she is the champ. And I've gotten 6 phone calls, 3 e-mails, and 1 text message, or something like that, so far. My co-worker took me for Vietnamese food for lunch, and powered by free pho ga, I took a second lunch to run an errand. I rode 10 km-- I'm such a champ. I got some strange looks on the elevator on the way back up, though. It was so sunny and hot that I'd ridden with my shirt off so as not to soak it through, but I was kind of moist and earthy smelling as I stepped into the packed elevator and shotgunned a powerade in the time it took for us to go up two floors. Hey, at least I put all my clothes back on before I came inside the building. I ride that far every day at lunch, so it's really not that special, but I had a higher average speed (20 km/hr) than usual, and a faster time for the round trip.

Plus, I came in to work late, and plan to leave early. With the 2 lunches, that makes me the absolute slacker king of the universe (for today only). I made one PDF of a word document, saved it out to our remote server, and then logged in here and put up those photos and this. If you read a post from me, then you just read a dizzert, to paraphrase Lil Flip and his song that I can't get out of my head. I think only doing that one work-related thing is even better than if I'd done none. But my co-workers (the cool ones anyway) read this, so I'd better go easy on the braggadocio.

Those photos came out so good, and while I waited for them to be developed last night, I did some grocery shopping. Riding home balancing a cantaloupe on one side, the rest of my groceries on the other was the height of fun. But this should be the last time, since I'm fittin' to get a car. I rode almost 20 km yesterday, for the whole day, and had a spectacular crash at lunch.

The alley I cut through when I leave my office was packed with delivery trucks, so I tried to jump this railroad tie that was to the side of them to pick my path around and through. I noticed that it had some nails sticking up out of it, and I was so intent on not putting one through a tire, that I failed to notice a horizontal metal bar at chest height right above the railroad tie. I hit it with my biceps and the part of my chest right below my collar bone. It knocked me backwards off my bike, but I caught the bike with my knees, caught the bar with my hands, and landed on my feet. And I didn't break anything. Since I deported myself so gracefully, of course no one was watching. I turned to a guy lounging in the alley and was like "did you see that?" He had chosen that moment to take a bite out of his sandwich, so he missed the show. Oh well, his loss.

I'm off to take another cigarette break, to continue my slovenly streak. I've been smoking like a lord's bastard lately. I need to slow it down. Starting tomorrow.

Rip off Girls Are Pretty Day!

2004-10-18T15:35:02Z

Today's the day where I shamelessly rip off my favorite website, girlsarepretty.

So here goes.

Fall in Love Over the Dictionary Day!

Tonight it'll be just you and her. You've got to make it count. You sit on the couch, at a less than platonic distance from each other, and for some reason have the urge to look up a word in the dictionary. It goes with a story you're telling. You look up the word ("pedagogy") to see how it's pronounced. Your eyes meet over the closely typeset pages.

You randomly flip through the book in front of you both. You stop on a page. "Hanky-panky," she'll read at random. You pick a word and read it aloud in turn. "Hands off." Ooh, tough luck. Does the dictionary know something you don't?

You try again, and your eyes come to rest on "handshake". You're too honest not to read it aloud.

You shut the dictionary with a soft thump, and look into her eyes. "What are you going to do tonight?" she'll ask you. "Read, smoke, whatever," you'll tell her. "The usual, then," she'll reply.

Now comes your moment of inspiration. Forget about the dictionary. You were reading it in reverse alphabetical order anyway. No preternatural force is conspiring against you.

"But right now," you continue without missing a beat, "I'm going to kiss you."

You lean in. Her soft, pliant lips respond to yours. You kiss slowly, and it's nice. It's more than nice. It's wonderful.

You kiss and the world fades away.

Happy Fall in Love Over the Dictionary Day!

Zombies and Donuts

2004-10-14T19:16:51Z

This coming Tuesday, October 19, Beerland (711 1/2 Red River, here in Austin) will be showing Dawn of the Dead (the 2004 version, not the original). Following the screening will be a set performed by La Manacha, who I've never heard of. What makes this showing special is that the ad says "free doughnuts". The doors open at 7 pm, and the event is free. Sorry, kids, but it's 21 and up only, so bring your appetite, your zombie lovin' self, and your fake ID if necessary. Call 479-ROCK for further details.

Wednesday they're showing The Road to God Knows Where, a "gritty" road movie featuring Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. Same time and rules, but no free donuts at this one.

Ah, My Love, You Smell Like...Donuts

2004-10-13T15:45:29Z

Here you go.

Here's a site where you can buy some cologne that smells like donuts.

Mmmmmm. Imagine stepping into the elevator and seeing that gorgeous temp from upstairs, and he/she smells like donuts. What could be better? How about driving the object of your affection to distraction by smelling of donuts your own bad self? The lady/gentleman of your dreams walks up to you and says "I must have you. You smell so... so warm and fresh from the bakery."

The site says: HEY LADIES: If your husband loves to eat donuts try putting some of this on, then see how he notices you.

Did I mention that my birthday is coming up?

Overall, not having smelt this product, I have to reserve about 5% of my opinion. But I think it's a great idea. Every (or almost every) person alive has pleasant memories associated with donuts. Their sweet aroma, their delicious nature. They signify good times. Who wouldn't want to share these characteristics with the much-loved donut and become much-loved themselves. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...by the dozen.

Any woman redolent of donuts would be first in line for my affections, let me tell you. Just watch out for the cops when you're so scented. They might manufacture an excuse to put you in the back seat of their car, so they could breathe in the atmosphere replete with goodness due to your presence.

And I'm sure they product-tested it so that you won't attract ants.

To order, go to the site above, wait 2-4 weeks for delivery, and then make plans for the night of your life. Because that's what you're going to have once you've applied this stuff to your sexy self. Go with confidence, donut-smelling ones.

Chicken George

2004-10-11T16:57:32Z

This weekend I went to San Marcos to see the art of George Zupp, also known as Chicken George (see his site here).

We left early Sunday morning, and got there in good time. Luckily, since George's directions were somewhat vague, I had talked to my friend that goes to school down there and found out the name of the road I was looking for. We exited and stopped for coffee and directions at a convenience store. My companion said "I pick 'not ask,'" so I had to be the one to ask the lady behind the counter "Do you know where the chicken fence is?" Of course she knew, and I knew that she would, just like knowing my fingers are at the end of my hands.

So we went up the road "a piece," and then about a stretch past that, until we almost ran out of gas. The low fuel indicator bonged insistently, and I had visions of us actually running out of gas and coasting up to the house we'd been looking for all along. We did make it back to a gas station though, and the funny thing was that it turned out to be three doors down from the house with the chicken fence.

I noticed a camera mounted above the stop light, facing down the road toward the fence, and made a mental note to tell George that if anyone did mess with his fence, they'd be caught on tape. (He's been having dreams that people come and destroy the fence.)

The fence itself is a landmark in this smallish town full of college students, statues of guys with guns, and mom-n-pop enterprises. It's a white picket fence with a chicken head made from wood on each picket. Each one is brightly painted white and red and yellow, and features a beak open as if saying, well, I don't know what they're saying. A tree is adorned with the same chicken heads, like surreal fruit, almost ripe.

We asked the guy working on a yard car if George was there, and he wasn't, so we left a note and headed for the library. Several works are on display in the lobby of the San Marcos public library. Mostly mixed media, the works in the library's display case are constructed of cardboard, little plastic animals, lacquer, and paint. We had seen the lacquer droplets splattered on the concrete outside George's studio, so now we knew where the rest of it went.

We saw Dog Fight at the Race Track, Things My Mother Warned Me About, Ghoust scares Goat, and Start Over. The plastic animals cavorted and crowded each other in Peaceable Kingdom. In Dogfight, they vied for supremacy, while the rabbit that the dogs chase sat on the fence, like the "hare upon the wire" Shane MacGowen sings about in "White City" (from Peace and Love by the Pogues). Cardboard painted like those red building bricks found in doctor's waiting rooms and pre-school play areas also figured into several works, especially Start Over, which features an overall-clad bald guy (who looks somewhat like George himself) walking out from between two brick walls or out of a building. "Start over" makes sense: all you can see is the past behind him constructed from brick as unforgiving as the immutable past, as he walks fiercely towards an unknown future.

We went by the Eyes of Texas Gallery, located at 313 E. Hopkins, after the terse librarian asked me to go outside, as "cell phones are not allowed in the library." She had given us the phone book to look up the gallery's number, but no one answered. The gallery/frame shop is right next door to Shipley's Donuts (mmmm...their chocolate-filled donuts are heavenly), a fitting addition to a several block area packed full of goodness. There's the fence, the gallery, Shipley's--enough to keep me busy for an afternoon at least.

Eyes of Texas turned out to be closed, but the windows and walls were filled with Chicken George's works, so credited by a little card on a stand: George Zupp. The label wasn't necessary though. His distinctive style announces his works from much farther away. I saw several larger paintings on canvas in person that I had admired in photos previously. Look what the gator threw up features another George-looking overalled man holding an alligator by the tail over a washtub, with the gator obligingly vomiting for all of us to see. We also saw Goat saves rats, which features a goat with several rats on his back as he carries them to safety. George's animals are sometimes gorily destructive, other times peaceable and affable, like the cooperative gator and the altruistic goat. The texture of the paintings is thick and luxuriant, with paint spread deliciously thick like peanut butter and jelly on the soft white bread of the canvas.

We went back by George's and found him at home. "Come on in," he said, and we did. His studio features the typical, familiar disarray of a person busy in the process of creation. A note written directly on the wall had a list anyone could have made: "bread, cereal, exercise, beer." And that sums up George's attitude as well as anything I saw. Seemingly contradictory, but altogether real, down-to-earth, full of detail but not quotidian or banal.

We chatted a while, and I asked after a couple of works I wanted to buy. I offered all the money I had in my pocket and he countered with that plus a twelve-pack of beer. "What kind of beer do you drink?" I asked, not to help make the decision, but as in "done deal, tell me what kind to get." George said "Okay, here's my beer hierarchy: Natural Light, Shiner Bock...." So, I bought, or bartered for, two of the smaller paintings on paper I had picked out.

We left to go to the grocery store, and I came back with a six-pack of Natural Light, and a six-pack of Rolling Rock. I'm not a beer drinker, and had told him before we left that if one of the six-packs could be Rolling Rock, I'd drink a beer with him when we got back. He agreed readily, as agreeable as his gator or his goat.

I had been corresponding with George by e-mail, and when I first told him I'd be down that way, I told him that I might come by if that was ok, and that I'd bring a few pretty girls and some beer. When I got back from the store, we laughed: "Well, I could only bring one of the beautiful girls, but I got plenty of beer." That was how the whole day went. By halfway through the morning, my face was sore from laughing and smiling so much. What a great ache to have.

We talked about every artist's struggle, the quest for motivation. George said, "Well, I just drink a few beers and hammer out a few paintings, and then try to sell them. I believe in what van Gogh said, to always be selling something, even if it's only for a dollar. At least I made something, and sold some of my work." These days, people are paying in the hundreds and even thousands for George's work, but the sentiment is understandable. A gallery show or an e-bay auction, whatever it takes to get the work done is a help.

One of the two works I got is entitled Well, looks like another night of eating roachs, which features a witch sitting at a table with a plate in front of her and a fork in her hand. The plate is crawling with winged bugs that spill over onto the table. It's about 9" by 12" and painted on thick paper, like wallpaper. I picked up another of his halloween paintings as well, showing a witch casting a spell as a vortex with one of George's familiar chicken heads swirling through it. This one is larger, maybe 11" by 14" on the same paper.

We talked about the disgusting aspect of art, the shocking images he began with when he first started painting chickens years ago. "Chickens can be mean creatures," he explained, "but the ladies at the craft fairs, once I explained that to them, kept buying the paintings." For future inspiration we agreed that the bible was full of grisly scenes that George seems at ease painting. I think this is because he is so good-natured that no matter how gory the scene, when George paints it, it seems real, and even amusing, as seen through his eyes and humorous perspective. I could see him painting the scene where the prophet Elisha calls a she-bear out of the woods to maul some children that make fun of him for being bald.

Light-hearted perspective aside, George is serious about art, seemingly inherently, and without artifice. He goes to live in primitive country conditions (next stop: maybe Van Horn, Texas) so that he can live cheaply and get some work done. His imagination and his friends (he knows somebody in every small town and art circle in Texas at least, and probably a wider area than that) are all the company he needs.

The other thing that struck me about George was his feeling that anyone could make art. He asked me: "Why don't you make donut art? It'll make its own niche and then fill it, you'd be surprised." And, hanging around him, I feel like I could. We talked of some fairly small niche markets, vintage miniature bluebonnet paintings, for example, and he told me how there are people out there buying whatever is being made. I think he may not be figuring on his immense talent when he makes these statements. But his humility is genuine, and unselfconscious.

We talked about "the Chicken George mystique," as he calls it. This is the ability, since he is established and entrenched in the local art scene, to do what he likes with confidence: he is above criticism for content, other than his own and the natural criticism of the market. He knows what works by what sells, and by his own eye. He doesn't seem overly concerned with the marketing aspect, but he is savvy enough after selling his work for a few years to know what will reach the most people, and which of his concoctions bring people back for a second helping.

That's the best way I can describe George's attitude, and his art. It's genuine, humble, powerful by being about the world, but not exactly in step with the world. He's aware of, but not ruled by, concerns about sales and shows. People flock to him because his work is great, not due to any effort for its own sake on his part, other than his labor of love to follow his own instinct to create.

The Eyes of Texas Gallery (512-353-7263) has his works on display until October 16th, and he'll have some paintings at The Hideout, in Austin, during November. I'll give the details when he gives them to me.

thanks Kellye, for the ride, and for being a great companion/witness to the adventure.

Subservient Chicken

2004-10-08T20:26:56Z

OK, this is odd:

http://www.subservientchicken.com/

How could you not click a link with that name? Go on, it's safe. It's safe for your computer I mean. Your psyche may be damaged irrevocably by what you see, however.

You can tell the chicken to dance, to die, to eat, to sit down or stand up. Is it live? Is it recorded? Is there a guy whose job is "subservient chicken" and he goes in to work the 11-7 shift & take over for the lady that works days?

If you tell him to pray, I notice that he crosses himself backwards once, and correctly once. This whole thing is bizarre, but I kept telling him to repent of his sins because there's a mighty judgment coming. It's time to get straight for the last supper, motherfucker, and we just might be having drumsticks.

This site made ideas of religion bounce through my mind along with the ideas for what to tell him to do next. I don't know why.

Also, you can get and print out a PDF of a chicken mask. Why not get one and take a picture of yourself wearing it? Send it to me. Go ahead, I dare you.

The directions for use say:

1. cut along dotted line.

2. put on chicken face.

3. be subservient.

The whole thing has a sordid, sexual tone, but the site was put on by Burger King. What does poultry and your consumption of theirs have to do with being "subservient"? Some kinky people created this site. They probably were thinking of those other sites I've read about where you type in directions.

Overall, this site is shocking and a bit depressing. The studio in which the chicken performs looks like a lower working-class dwelling somewhere. The site looks like it was made in somebody's apartment, just like low-budget pornography. Plus, "chicken" is a term used by older types who only have sexual interest in very young partners. Remember Harvey Keitel as a pimp in Taxi Driver calling Jodie Foster a little piece of chicken?

I may have a chicken fetish, but this is ridiculous and left me feeling like I should go take a shower.

tidbits

2004-10-07T20:36:15Z

There are more donut shops per capita in Canada than in any other country.

Recently, according to News of the Weird (always a great source for chickens in the news) "Thailand, attempting to acquire fighter jets from Russia, offered to pay for them with chickens." (9/26/04 column)

My co-worker gave me a cardboard sign. It says "WILL WORK FOR DONUTS". I might be using it soon.

from the Dunkin Donuts website:

Chocolate Kreme Filled Donut
Nutrition Facts
Serving Size 1 donut
Servings 1
Calories 270
Calories from Fat 120
% Daily Value, Calories: 2,000
Total Fat 13g 20%
Saturated Fat 3g 15%
Cholesterol 0mg 0%
Sodium 260mg 11%
Total Carbohydrates 35g 12%
Dietary Fiber 1g 4%
Sugar 16g
Protein 3g
Vitamin A 0%
Vitamin C 0%
Calcium 0%
Iron 4%
Calories 2,000 2,500
Total Fat Less than 65g 80g
Saturated Fat Less than 20g 25g
Cholesterol Less than 65g 80g
Sodium Less than 65g 80g
Total Carbohydrate 65g 80g
Dietary Fiber 20g 25g
Calories per gram:
Fat 9
Carbohydrate 4
Protein 4

Ingredients: Enriched Flour (Bleached Wheat Flour, Malted Barley Flour, Niacin, Reduced Iron, Thiamin Mononitrate, Riboflavin, Folic Acid), Water, Sugar, Partially Hydrogenated Soybean & Cottonseed Oil, Dextrose, Cocoa (Processed With Alkali), Contains 2% Or Less Of The Following: Yeast, High Fructose Corn Syrup, Salt, Mono- & Diglycerides, Whey, Soy Flour, Natural & Artificial Flavor, Soy Lecithin, Sodium Acid Pyrophosphate, Baking Soda, Sodium Stearoyl Lactylate, Nonfat Milk, Polysorbate 60, Cellulose Gum, Guar Gum, Citric Acid, Annatto, Turmeric, Potassium Sorbate (Preservative), Sodium Caseinate, Gum Arabic, Caramel Color, Xanthan Gum, Carrageenan.

customer care line 800-859-5339.

wow, no cholesterol.

(I have one of these in my desk drawer right now.)

Donuts with Borges

2004-10-06T14:11:19Z

Today's another good day. Just keep repeating that over and over and it might come true. In the meantime, loyal readers, it's gonna be an interactive time today, for all of us.

Here goes. I was thinking yesterday that I always seem to get along with certain type people. I meet them on the bus, out, wherever, but I can always tell that I know just how to talk to them, what kinds of questions to ask, just the right amount of respect to show and at what times. I had a girlfriend, and her dad was this short, distinguished South American gentleman. A college professor. He and I hit it off wonderfully. We'd drink red wine and play backgammon, and laugh late into the night. He didn't mind me spending the night, once he saw what kind of person I was. He even gave us his blessing. This was in high school, so it was a big deal back then, to be treated like responsible adults if we acted like them.

I guess I learned the type, because now anytime I meet a middle-aged South American, educated type, we always hit it off. One day I was injured, trying to ride my bike home (13 miles) from work, and not having a good time of it because my feet were so swollen that I barely fit in my shoes that day. I stopped at this gas station to try to hitch a ride, and no one with a pick-up was going my way. Then I saw this guy coming out of the store. He fit the above description perfectly. He didn't even have a truck; he had a little two-door car. But I convinced him that I could make my bike fit in the back, because the wheels have quick-release.

He gave me a ride 10 miles out of his way, with no motive, just to help and for the conversation. He had been a teacher, in Brazil, I think it was, and a Spanish teacher after he moved to America. He worked overseas in the Middle East, teaching Arab businessmen English. He spoke an Arab language, too.

That was sure a long intro, but all these thoughts and memories rushed through my little mind when I saw someone in the elevator at the building where I work. I said to myself, I could get along with that guy, sitting next to him on an airplane, or if the elevator got stuck between floors for 3 hours. And then I thought of Borges, the author. Jorge Luis Borges was a twentieth century Argentine writer, and worked in Argentina's National Library for years and years. I thought to myself that there was another person I would have no trouble striking up a friendship with.

If I could sit down over a dozen donuts and a pot of strong, black coffee with any writer, he'd be at the top of my list. Not just because I admire his work, and think that he is one of the greatest writers ever to have existed. There are plenty of great writers that I'd never want to meet. Bukowski comes to mind. He was an asshole, in my opinion. A great writer, but to sit down with him of a rainy afternoon and shoot the shit? Nah.

Daniel Pinkwater came to mind, too. Here's a writer that I tried to meet, and sent a letter to, since I was going to be in his neck of the woods traveling. And he's definitely someone who looks like he enjoys a donut or three on occasion. (He weighs in at around 400 pounds: a true sumo writer.) He wrote back that I should try never to meet a writer whose work I enjoy. (And I'm never going to let him live it down.)

It rankled me at the time. I've read all his books. I've even corresponded with him from time to time. But I see where he could be correct. Nevertheless, I still think that Borges and I would have a good old time, smoking too many cigarettes, laughing at what would quickly become our in jokes and clever references to the topic of conversation from 15 minutes ago, wittily juxtaposed with whatever the current topic had become. I doubt we'd even talk about writing that much, or authors. Of course, some would be mentioned. But then we'd see a pretty girl walk by, or he'd think of a song lyric from some almost forgotten corrido of the gauchos, and we'd be off again, rattling at the mouth and almost interrupting each other. The kind of conversation in which you think you see where the person is going, and they pleasantly surprise you at the last moment. A conversation after which you know that that book the other person mentioned is destined to become influential in your life.

So, my question for you today is: if you were going to sit down with any writer, living or dead, over a dozen Krispy Kremes and some java, who would it be?

Best answer wins a prize, deadline: one week. Answer at "post a comment" for today.