Back in the early 90s, we were introduced to the magical world of “cyberspace,” a place where you could chat with friends, check “electronic mail,” and even talk to strangers.  “Going on cyberspace” was like copulating with a pack of unicorns — no one had ever done it before, so everyone wanted to know what it was like:  How does it feel?  How does it work?  How can I get a screechy dial-up modem too?

But once cyberspace became mainstream, its better half decided that it would take on a whole new meaning.  In the seedy dark corners of AOL chatrooms, “cyber” lost its innocence.  With this transformation, thousands of curious 13-year olds were lured into predatory situations with creeps who wanted to “cyber”… Yes, like any rogue prefix-turned-slutty-verb, “cyber” became a term of virtual copulation.

So, forgive me for not embracing “Cyber Monday” as a new retail holiday.  To me, it’s as if retailers decided to name a random day “Boom Boom Tuesday” or “Bang Me Wednesday,” then offer 30% off all items in stock.  Sorry, but that doesn’t make me want to buy Ginsu knives, even if they’re 43% off on Amazon.  In fact, I feel less inclined to shop on Cyber Monday, and more inclined to join shady chatroom discussions about Grady Sizemore.

I am surprised that conservative watchdog groups haven’t boycotted “Cyber Monday” yet for its underlying sexual innuendo.  Perhaps they’re too busy snapping up Sarah Palin’s book on eBay… or maybe these “teabaggers” just don’t get the reference.

In the end, there are so many words in the English language that we’ve allowed to die an honorable death, like “beeswax” and “cassette tapes” and “groovy” (although this may still be used to describe Hideki Matsui’s face).  Had it not been for this inane Monday, “cyber” would be with them now.  I would like to call for an end to using this word (though, really, it’s a prefix), and retire “cyber” to Cyberia (apologies).  Let’s just call “Cyber Monday” for what it really is: “Virtual Deals… Monday.”

When I found out that people actually collected ice cream scoopers I stopped having a problem with Bush's torture program. Enemy combatants, all of them.

When I learned German there was always one word that stuck with me.  I just loved saying it.  Sammeln. When pronounced the word sounds an awful lot like “salmon” said by a kid who needs speech therapy.  (I’m still considering writing a letter to Merkel asking her to put Germans through speech therapy)  During class, when Professor B would make us state things in German I would always just fall back on sammeln. “Am Mittagesen sammeln ich Serviette.“  When my turn passed I would just daydream about the things that I used to collect.  We’ve all done collected something–stamps, butterflies, various meats.  Show me a person that didn’t collect something at childhood, I’ll show you someone who didn’t have a childhood, an “invisible child” if I may.

Some of my earliest memories start in my uncle’s truck sifting through a new deck of Upper Deck trading cards.  Oh, shit.  You should see my collection.  It’s an early to mid-90s who’s who of professional football, basketball and baseball.  Off the top of my head, I can remember having Ken Caminiti, Allen Iverson, Keyshawn Johnson, Eddie George, Steve Young and Terry Glen rookie cards.  That’s a Hall of Fame class, son.  I was so crazy about trading cards.  Outside of beating Sonic and Knuckles, trading cards were all I could think about.  When am I getting my next trading card fix? Every fall there was a new line.  I needed it.  Unfortunately, I grew up poor, so I wouldn’t get like the whole set.  I would just get packs from time-to-time and luck out.  I don’t know what the trading card industry was really like in the 90s, but it seemed booming.

I remember staying up on weekends watching the Home Shopping Network.  I would gawk at the collectors sets they would parade across the screen.  Getting the entire Upper Deck baseball trading card series of 1997 seemed like the coolest fucking thing on the planet.  For some reason I thought TY Beanie Babies were a waste of fucking time, but getting my hands on a Rafael Palmero trading card wasn’t.  Oh, the Nineties.

HSN convinced me that perhaps trading cards and sports memorabilia  were too expensive for my blood.  I stowed my collection away, which is still alive in Houston, and moved on.   I moved on to POGs.  I moved on to POGs–hard.  I would stack ‘em high.  I loved POGs so much that’s all I could think about in elementary school.  When can I get my POG on? I didn’t “collect” POGs.  I defeated people and took my spoils.  It was my first foray in Modern Vikinery.

“I got some sweet purple ones.  Oh, shit. I’m willing to sacrifice some of these stupid white ones. Let’s do this! I NEED POGz!!!1″

Like purchasing trading card packs, it was a gamble every time you stepped into the POG Arena.  Much like dude-brahs with their poker today, POGs was a great distraction for snot-nosed brats to compete, lose “chips” and enjoy each others’ company in a totally platonic way.  The nineties seemed like a time when boys were encouraged to engage in competitive games with moving parts and yelling.  Some of you might remember Crossfire, the ressurgence of Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots and super soakers.

I run into kids who love Pokemanz and Yugi-Oh way too much these days.  Whatever happened to crushing people without having to resort to “magix” or wizardry?  What happened to a good ole whack to the POG and a fair handshake?  You couldn’t cast a spell on a sweet spin from my Power Rangers Battle Spinner, could ya?! It’s no longer about physical skill, but about how much you coddled your stupid ass Magikarp or Goldeen.  You might as well be playing with your Polly Pocket at that fucking point.

As I deal with adulthood, I find myself sort of missing out on collecting.  I don’t really collect anything these days except for paychecks and lame friendships.  I suppose guitar playing has taken up a substantial amount of my life for the past 12 years, but I really do miss the exhilarating effect of getting a new “toy” to add to your collection.  The older you get, the more expensive the things you want to collect become.  I could probably afford that 1997 Collector’s Set of Upper Deck trading cards now, but what purpose would that serve?  I’m sure the people buying those sets in 1996 were mostly the thoughtful parents of some lucky kid, but a few of those were probably sex offenders or graduate students.  At a certain point, we’re expected to put down childish pursuits and keep our eyes on some fictional “prize” that no one has clearly explained to me.  We don’t give ourselves time to appreciate how wonderful time by ourselves with the silly things that we love.  Life doesn’t get much simpler than your Ninja Turtles Van and action set.

As the sun sets on my adolescence, I’m going to try to remember that.  I’ll accept that my need for a collection-type hobby will eventually manifest itself into something totally awesome like being a Trekkie or Ewok enthusiast.

Anyone wanna POG?

-dago

playing with india ink and my obsession with unicorns…what if all queers had unicorn horns? we could identify each other and gore haters….

<3 j.bee

Hello friends, I’d like to share with you some music from a new project I’ve been working on with a couple of good friends, Sarah Good & Scott Johnson. Trillium Foundation is √øxå-∂røne hea√en for sleepy bå†s. We’ll be making tapes/cds/vinyl/8-track and phonographs real soon. In the meantime, please enjoy this short preview:

My assignment for English was to write a short Fable that has a moral, so I decided to get my creative juices flowing and this is what my teacher will read.

Enjoy! (especially if you love unicorns and dragons)

Long ago, there was a dragon that had a very lovely dragon life. He married the dragon of his dreams and had 4 beautiful dragon babies. He had everything he had ever dreamed of. One day, Papa Dragon was flying over the vast fields of Nepetwa in search for snozberries to feed his family, when suddenly, shimmering objects from below caught his eye. Papa Dragon had come across a pack of wild enchanted unicorns with the most beautiful adorned horns sitting so gracefully atop their heads. He flew down for a closer look. The unicorns immediately laughed at the dragon and told him that they could not be seen with such an ugly hornless creature. Papa Dragon felt a fool.

That evening, Papa Dragon spent the whole night gathering different rocks and stones from his home in the cave to fashion himself his own horn. He blew fire to mend different stones together and to shape them to resemble the beautiful horns he had admired earlier that day. He worked shut off from his family and alone all throughout the night.

Papa Dragon searched for the pack of unicorns again the next day. He wanted to impress them with his new horn. The unicorns stared and then began to laugh at him again. They critiqued that the horn was much too small for his big dragon head.

Papa Dragon was shamed again. Desperate to impress the enchanted unicorns, Papa Dragon went back to work. His family felt the neglect very heavily this time. Weeks passed as Papa Dragon toiled away working on his new horn. Baby Dragon even said her first word, “twitter”, all unknown by Papa Dragon. Papa Dragon dug deep into the walls of his cave to find the most beautiful stones for his new horn. After many weeks of digging in his walls and hard labor, his masterpiece was complete.

Papa Dragon had made the most astonishingly beautiful horn anyone had ever seen. He was finally ready to unveil his work to the unicorns who once mocked him. He stepped out of his cave in preparation for his journey to Nepetwa to search for the enchanted unicorns, when suddenly, the whole cave collapsed due to the many tunnels dug in the walls in search for stones. Mama Dragon and the baby dragons were all instantly killed.

Moral: Don’t neglect the things that are truly important in your life.

Alternative Moral: Unicorns are a-holes.

“Why Do Girls Love Unicorns?” by Nina Shen Rastogi is a good example of the writing style featured on Double X.

The topic, unicorns, is not necessarily timely or of great importance, to say the least (although many of the articles on Double X cover more substantial subjects). The tone is light, but the subject is still treated with some degree of dignity and the article is backed up by research.

Rastogi begins by describing the unicorn image many women grew up with. She then traces this modern unicorn back to its significantly darker ancestors in the Middle Ages. She describes this make-over as “as slow transformation from a creature both dangerous and seductive to something mincing and insipid, best suited to serve as a decorative motif in little girls’ bedrooms or the apartments of slightly cracked adults.”

The text is sprinkled with links, ranging from a YouTube clip from the movie Dodgeball for “the apartments of slightly cracked adults” to The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Web site when Rastogi mentions the Unicorn Tapestries on display there.

The academic research keeps the article grounded in accuracy and reality, while the silly parts make it fun to read. The same can be said for many of the stories on Double X.

Next week’s Author of the Week will be fantasy author Steven R. Boyett. He wrote the ultimate boy and his unicorn story in 1983. Ariel is post-apocalyptic, with samurai swords, hang gliders, and evil wizards. Don’t miss this interview on Monday, November 23rd! Two reviews will cover Ariel and its long awaited sequel, Elegy Beach, released just this November.

Steven R. Boyett is a musician as well as a writer, and does podcasting and DJ’ing in his other guise.

Lucy requested numerous time last night that I post a new blog.

I requested she shut the fuck up.

We were drunk and it wasn’t Rage Sunday. Fuck.

I feel that I can justify the drinking on a day that was not Rage Sunday because a celebration of sorts was called for…..and because we went to a hipster art party and I cannot be around people wearing rancoon tail skirts and un-ironic silver lame unless I’m drinking.

I felt the need to celebrate because a corner has been turned. For weeks I have been a quivering, skinless mass of mopey pus and tears. I felt like I had no control over any of my emotions. I was angry, devastated, listless, hopeless, unmotivated and so, so sad. Each time I broke into another round of tears I was perplexed at myself. Sure, I’m a basketcase sometimes but generally I can keep my shit in check. It was a humbling and miserable few weeks.

Any girl in my age group will remember the scene in My So Called Life when Angela pops out of bed after months of brooding over Jordan Catalano and realizes that suddenly she feels nothing. Cue The Violent Femmes and dancing around room in pajamas. She was free.

Whatever had a hold on me has loosened it’s grip and I feel back to my old semi-emotionless self. I’m able to think about exactly the same things that were causing breakdowns last week and not even feel a twinge behind my eyes. I still have some things to deal with as always but now I can choose to deal with them in a rational way as opposed to an angry way. Yippee fucking doo.

As for the blog, who knows what will happen here. I’ve cleared out the stables. They’ve all been put out to pasture. The Unicorn, The Bartender and Tiny Baby are no more. Okay…well Tiny Baby might sneak back in because Lucy is so insistent about him and good god he’s attractive.

There are no dates on the horizon just vague threats from friends who want to set me up with so and so. The Lovelab ad was deleted FOREVER and numerous names have been deleted from my phone.

A new wave of dates might roll in but I’m less frantic now. I’m tired and quite content to relax and hibernate a bit. Chris has mentioned that I have 29 years of ridiculous material to mine from if I want to keep writing. God knows everyone needs to know about Paul The Butt Spitter and the guy who dry humped me while Fraggle Rock was playing.

I feel a change in the air, kids. Something is about to move. We’ll see what it is. For now, I’m a stronger, quieter Sweet Bird. For today at least.

ft. garbage juice on bass

I am legally required, as a former franchisee of Dip-A-Pet incorporated, a subsidiary of the World Wide Dipping Conglomerate, to include the following text:
Dip-A-Pet does not, has not, and will not, condone animal cruelty in any manner.  Furthermore, the use of  NON-toxic paints in all Dip-A-Pet locations has been strongly recommended by Dip-A-Pet incorporated to all franchise owners.  Close to a third have complied as of the writing of this post.

The Unicorn

                Unicorn: A mythical creature resembling a horse with a single horn growing from it’s forehead and with wings that allow it to take flight.

            Sitting on last evening, in oceanic thought, my mind ventured to the image of the Unicorn and the idea of such a creature’s existence. As I thought of it’s single horn, it’s wings, it’s ability to fly, it’s magical, fantastic beauty, in the form of a horse, my mind instantly turned to the idea of ‘Real Love.’ The type of love when one loves you for who ‘YOU’ are, nothing more and nothing less and I pondered if ‘Real Love,’ like the Unicorn, truly exist or if it is just a myth.

            Throughout my life of 39 years and my experiences with personal relationships and witnessing the relationships of those around me it seems as if ‘Real Love’ is a mythical creature, conjured up in fantasy, only to be found within the pages of books or upon the big screen in movies. In the natural world today and  in today’s society, this seems to be fact because what we notice through man’s actions would have us believe no differently, but my heart will not succumb to this truth.

            From day to day I observe people become involved in relationships, friendships, partnerships and marriages with no thought of ‘Real Love’ being the main ingredient. They enter into these unions for monetary, material, societal, and egotistical gain, for status. They fail to learn the heart, mind, and soul of the person they are merging with and without the element of ‘Real Love’ the relationships become terminal and those reasons that initially motivated them; the money, material, status, society, ego become ‘grey-haired’ and they no longer want the relationship or care to be invloved with the other individual. On the other hand, when ‘Real Love’ is the main ingredient, the motivation for a relationship, it lasts, no matter if all of those other things are there from the beginnning or disappear with time. With ‘Real Love’ the relationship is built on the foundation of who each individual is as a person, a human being, not any outside influences or circumstances, making for a lasting union.

            Eventhough what we see today in society, so many not taking ‘Real Love’ into consideration, it is not the truth. ‘Real Love’ is not a fiction, it is not a Unicorn. It exist because I have observed it with my parent’s marriage, the marriages of family members and the relationships of friends and strangers. Yes, it can be akin to locating a ‘needle in a haystack’ at times because it is such a rarity but contrary to belief, its out there and its real. I am sure that GOD meant for marriages, patnerships and any other relationship that we enter into to be built on ‘Real Love’ when HE created the concept,  we only need to follow HIS way and put an end to building relationships on anything less than ‘Real Love.’

            …I guess Unicorns do exist.

                                                                                                -PM Bishop

Sally Shapiro’s “Miracle” has really got that 90’s shoegazing sound and I like it.

Clues features members from Arcade Fire and the Unicorns. They also have a video for “You Have My Eyes Now” starring Tim Heidecker of Tim & Eric fame. And it is grand.

Tim also directed Aimee Mann’s Christmas Carol last year and the video for “You Don’t Know Me” by Ben Folds. I hope he keeps it up because I have enjoyed his video work so far.

The modelling industry has been described as “cut-throat”, and is demonstrated in the Silversun Pickups‘ video for “Substitution”. Fierce.

Throw Me The Statue’s “Hi-Fi Goon” sounds like it could have easily been a Built To Spill song. I like Built To Spill though.

Dating sober means to me that I will not imbibe any judgment impairing alcohol during the outing.

It does not mean that I won’t take two Ativan before my date picks me up. So technically, I’m still under the influence. However it is a prescribed medication for anxiety which we all know I have buckets of. Yeah it’s prescribed to my mother who then gives me half of her’s but so what? I have no effing health care people! And  I threw away my 10 packs of Lexapro in a fit of mental health back in San Diego.

I think my drug tolerance is shrinking now that I’ve moved away from southern California where they prescribe you Vicodin for everything from ear aches to stubbed toes. No joke, I was given a Vicodin prescription ten times in one year. You could say that I got to know it’s recreational uses quite well. Add to that the Ambien that I took to combat insomnia which resulted in hallucinations of rock operas and carpet made of oatmeal, you could say that I was building up a wicked tolerance. I say that because once upon a time, two Ativan would do jack shit to me. Now it makes me spout out crazy like a jesus freak on a street corner.

What’s that? You’d like some examples of the shit that came out of my mouth last night on The Unicorn date? Here are some gems.

“Well if the tables were turned, I’d shit on you for that. I mean not literally shit on you. That’s more of a fourth or fifth date kind of thing. Depending on how good the date before had gone.”

“Tell you what, if by some fluke of nature, we get married; on our wedding night you can force me to watch Sienfeld while you fuck me.”

“If we go to your house do I have to hang out with your roommates? Ugh. No thanks.”

“I think you could make a lot of money doing gay phone sex. You have the voice for it.”

“You’re welcome to call me an insane bitch with verbal diarrhea at any point.”

Yup…Gee, can’t understand why I don’t have good dating experiences.

This was the first time that I really saw myself from outside and realized what a complete nutcase I can be. After spending four days with one of my closest friends who finds all the same shit hilarious it was hard to flip back into well behaved mode. He told me that some of the things that come out of my mouth are unbelievable. Oops.

But not really oops. I do believe that part of me is trying to scare the guy off. We have no chemistry whatsoever.

I tried. I swear. I tried to be into it when he was kissing my neck and sliding his hand way too far up my thigh. Unfortunately, I was bored.

OH, by the way, he was late picking me up resulting in us missing Army Of Darkness. FAIL! So after dessert he gave up all plans of being out and decided we should watch a movie at one of our houses. FAIL FAIL!!!

Home movie watching is wonderful but not when your 4 roommates are there and you barely know your date. Especially if your date had put on a cute dress and some heels. She did not dress up to sit on your stinky couch.

We ended up at my place. Out of all the amazing movies I own he picked Training Day which he had already seen “300 times”. Ooooookay…..

Obviously he was more interested in making out than movie watching. Unfortunately for him, Frankie promptly curled up on my lap.

“Uh, your dog is totally cock blocking me.”

Ha! Quote of the night.

At the end of the movie I decided to man up, straddle him and really give making out with him a go. I wanted to feel even the slightest tingle of excitement.

But no. I did not. His kisses got more urgent, pulling me to him harder. I kissed halfheartedly back and listened to Frankie dragging his dog bed into the middle of the room. We paused the gropfest for a minute to turn and watch Franks dry hump the holy hell out of his bed.

“So I was really turned on but I think that just killed it.” The Unicorn said as he stared at my lilliputian pup gyrating and growling at his love toy.

“Time for you to go then!” I pulled him off the couch and shoved him towards the door gleefully.

He wants to “do this again soon” and of course I agreed because I am a total idiot. I think it’s safe to say that The Unicorn and I will never climb the stairs to my bedroom and make the bad decision to fuck. There’s just no spark.

What a shame.

Date? SOBER????

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

I’m sticking to my guns, kids. No drinking ’til Thanksgiving. But I’m going out with The Unicorn one last time to see if he really is as charming as he thinks he is. We’re both currently not drinking so this should be interesting. He’s taking me to some classy dessert bar and then to see Army Of Darkness at Living Room Theater. You can’t really beat that with a stick. I’m impressed right now so I figured I should document it. When I come home and write the after blog we’ll see if I’m still wearing my impressed face.

Tiny Baby has requested I get in touch with him on Sunday. Sunday is still rage night with Lucy after all. Yeah so I’m going to drink one night a week. I have to entertain you fuckers somehow. I doubt sober dating and good decision making is going to keep you riveted. Besides, Lucy has been Tiny Baby’s champion this whole time. If she thinks I should give him one more shot then why not? Gee because he almost puked on me, head butted me while drunk and refuses to go to movies with me? Well sure….But Lucy is in grad school and therefore smarter than me so she must know something I don’t know…..Right?

Well he is damn hot. Except for his hobbit feet. But you can’t win them all.