(Source)
(WCL) COLUMBUS- Charles Handsy is no ordinary 22 year old college graduate. He’s battled a lifelong, debilitating disease that has kept him bound to a wheelchair. Now he seeks to overcome Satan by ensuring that every home is equipped with ramps so that he can ring your doorbell and offer each and every homeowner the possibilities of “The New World Translation of the Holy Scriptures” and the “Watchtower” magazine.
“It is only fair that I be allowed to spread His word to every home. People with two good legs come to your house to sell magazines and cookies. I want the opportunity to bring something with more substance and less calories.”
Mr. Handsy has been a Jehovah’s Witness for the past eight years. He started his door to door crusade in the summer of 2002 and has since become discouraged at the lack of accessibility.
“At first it wasn’t so bad when I had other Brothers and Sister with me that could reach the door. We used walkie talkies to share His word and if the door was really far away from the street, cell phones.”
And it seems like Mr. Handsy has got the ACLU on his side. In July of 2009, the ACLU released this completely unrelated message concerning free speech in Ohio. Part of this Press Release is as follows:
“The principles of the First Amendment are indivisible. In a nation of laws, the rights established necessarily apply to all. Extend those rights to one group and they protect all groups; deny them to one group, and all groups suffer. We cannot remain faithful to the First Amendment by turning our backs when it is put to its severest test. “
When questioned Mr. Handsy about the cost of making every home accessible to wheelchairs he quickly changed subjects and said, “You wouldn’t believe how many homes don’t have ramps going up to them! Surely Satan has designed these homes to keep me away from spreading God’s word.”
We failed on several attempts to contact the ADA-Ohio, mainly because we did not call nor did we e-mail the non-for-profit group on this completely fictional story.
Our analysts have determined that the cost of adding ramps to the average American household will be $2,500. Stainless steel and platinum ramps could cost homeowners as much as $145,000.
Mr. Handsy shrugged off the costs, "Give unto Cesar what is Cesar's, give unto God what is God's” though later he admitted, “I do buy the occasional box of Girl Scout cookies.”
Brother Handsy can be contacted at Charles.Handsy@gmail.com.
Word(s) of the Day (Part 2 or The Last Page)
A few months ago, I posted the Word(s) of the Day list. Here is part 2. Notice the last word which basically means this is also will be the last page of the list.
WWBD is What Would Brad Do
servotage is defined as what IT guys do to your server so that they can come in and fix it for a nominal fee
I put "redacted" in quotes so that you wouldn't think the word had been crossed out. The word is redacted. The word is not redacted. Get it?
WWBD is What Would Brad Do
servotage is defined as what IT guys do to your server so that they can come in and fix it for a nominal fee
I put "redacted" in quotes so that you wouldn't think the word had been crossed out. The word is redacted. The word is not redacted. Get it?
Damn it
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.
I got laid off.
Damn it.
It's for the best. Damn it. Damn it.
Now the fun begins!!
I got laid off.
Damn it.
It's for the best. Damn it. Damn it.
Now the fun begins!!
D comes before E
Erik moved to within 1.2 miles of my home. Tonight, I helped him move a last few items into his new house and then he and I went in search of a neighborhood bar.
I’ve been in the neighborhood about a year, but no neighbor wants to drink with me. Many people were drawn to Westerville due to its dry status and so many of my neighbors are not into neighborhood bars. I have been barless and must travel tens of miles to grab drinks with friends. Now that Erik is close by, that is all going to change.
Well, no it’s not. The only thing that is going to change is that Erik and I will both have an untouchable bar that is that much closer. We won’t go out more, we’ll just not be going out closer to home more.
But we do like to kid ourselves and our wives like to let us pretend that we can tell them whatever we want, so we were both allowed to go check out a local establishment.
It sucked. Bad, loud music. Horrible atmosphere. No Golden Tee.
Three beers and a free shot later, it wasn’t so bad.
The bartender had asked us what we were doing and I said that Erik was new to the area and we were interviewing bars. She said, “What do you mean?” And I calmly replied, “Where do you see this bar in five years.” Well, she didn’t get the joke (no one has so far) and she thought I was asking her where she was going to be in five years. She immediately thought that I cared for more than her ass crack sticking out of her too small jeans and took a liking to us. She asked for our names and we did not lie.
Fifteen minutes (and that free shot) later, we shuffled out the door with promises to return. She said, “I’ll remember your names because D comes before E.”
D comes before E. For the next five years Erik and I will be debating why D coming before E is better and or worse for the other person. We laughed the entire .9 miles back to his house.
We found our bar.
I’ve been in the neighborhood about a year, but no neighbor wants to drink with me. Many people were drawn to Westerville due to its dry status and so many of my neighbors are not into neighborhood bars. I have been barless and must travel tens of miles to grab drinks with friends. Now that Erik is close by, that is all going to change.
Well, no it’s not. The only thing that is going to change is that Erik and I will both have an untouchable bar that is that much closer. We won’t go out more, we’ll just not be going out closer to home more.
But we do like to kid ourselves and our wives like to let us pretend that we can tell them whatever we want, so we were both allowed to go check out a local establishment.
It sucked. Bad, loud music. Horrible atmosphere. No Golden Tee.
Three beers and a free shot later, it wasn’t so bad.
The bartender had asked us what we were doing and I said that Erik was new to the area and we were interviewing bars. She said, “What do you mean?” And I calmly replied, “Where do you see this bar in five years.” Well, she didn’t get the joke (no one has so far) and she thought I was asking her where she was going to be in five years. She immediately thought that I cared for more than her ass crack sticking out of her too small jeans and took a liking to us. She asked for our names and we did not lie.
Fifteen minutes (and that free shot) later, we shuffled out the door with promises to return. She said, “I’ll remember your names because D comes before E.”
D comes before E. For the next five years Erik and I will be debating why D coming before E is better and or worse for the other person. We laughed the entire .9 miles back to his house.
We found our bar.
Spelling (Update 1)
A few months ago I posted a Spelling List of words that my guys in the field (and I) spelled horribly wrong in e-mails and reports. A smattering of those might have been typos, but a majority were just blatent misspellings.
Six months later, we have an update to that list. Here is page two:
My favorite is either stike or chash.
Six months later, we have an update to that list. Here is page two:
My favorite is either stike or chash.
The made-up word story
Thanks to everyone who contributed to the Cratousum story. It turned out a bit dark as I have been listening to Margot non stop. See if you can find the words that are made up and the ones that are just horrifically misspelled.
Love without Definition
It was raining. Again. If this were a movie, you’d see the shadows of the rain on the windshield crossing my face. I turned the wipers on and the only good they did was to rhythmatically kick "The Girl from Ipanema" song that was dittyitising around in my skull. Now all I heard was the first stanza of “The Stroke” repeating over and over. The day was not going to get better. Thanks Billy Squire.
I drove off into the morning darkness. Though the sun was dragging itself up, it was getting darker. I reached up to the dash and put my hand on my kickidoe mounted next to the broken compass. It was a “Buddy Jesus” I bought after a murksom night of cable television. Glame, I know, but he always seemed to give me a sense of…
Shit
I slid sideways in the roadway as the breaks decided to work and then didn’t and then did. The car jumped and kicked itself straight.
Shit.
The 45MPH traffic had slowed to a crawl as some plippethead snailobily decided that 13 MPH would keep them from wrecking in the downpour. In trying to maintain safety, the goody two shoes almost caused a neekabaum. With the sudden stop and instant panic, I was about to have a neekabaum in my pants. I pulled into the berm and drove past 14 cars who only had time to honk once I passed them. I pulled into Jack and Jacks and smontelorped across the parking lot. The woman coming out of the front door decoded my walk and held the door for me.
In the bathroom, I barely got my pants down and speelisher on the toilet seat before I let loose with a rage that only a victim of Crone’s disease that had been pharmaphlarneffed 1500ml of prune juice extract would be able to withstand. My chest burned white hot. Sweat mixed with the rain on my face and I realized that I had left my inhaler at Jesse’s house in her kitcheneteria next to the half cup of coffee. The walls of the stall started closing in and I felt zoofloged and helpless.
I was fading. And I felt Jesse’s presence from the night before, her hair swuuuping across my legs. She was humming to herself.
The manager who called 911 later told me that he puked from the smell when he came into the bathroom and found me half in the stall and half on the floor. He told the paramedics it must have been mine. I can live with that.
Love without Definition
It was raining. Again. If this were a movie, you’d see the shadows of the rain on the windshield crossing my face. I turned the wipers on and the only good they did was to rhythmatically kick "The Girl from Ipanema" song that was dittyitising around in my skull. Now all I heard was the first stanza of “The Stroke” repeating over and over. The day was not going to get better. Thanks Billy Squire.
I drove off into the morning darkness. Though the sun was dragging itself up, it was getting darker. I reached up to the dash and put my hand on my kickidoe mounted next to the broken compass. It was a “Buddy Jesus” I bought after a murksom night of cable television. Glame, I know, but he always seemed to give me a sense of…
Shit
I slid sideways in the roadway as the breaks decided to work and then didn’t and then did. The car jumped and kicked itself straight.
Shit.
The 45MPH traffic had slowed to a crawl as some plippethead snailobily decided that 13 MPH would keep them from wrecking in the downpour. In trying to maintain safety, the goody two shoes almost caused a neekabaum. With the sudden stop and instant panic, I was about to have a neekabaum in my pants. I pulled into the berm and drove past 14 cars who only had time to honk once I passed them. I pulled into Jack and Jacks and smontelorped across the parking lot. The woman coming out of the front door decoded my walk and held the door for me.
In the bathroom, I barely got my pants down and speelisher on the toilet seat before I let loose with a rage that only a victim of Crone’s disease that had been pharmaphlarneffed 1500ml of prune juice extract would be able to withstand. My chest burned white hot. Sweat mixed with the rain on my face and I realized that I had left my inhaler at Jesse’s house in her kitcheneteria next to the half cup of coffee. The walls of the stall started closing in and I felt zoofloged and helpless.
I was fading. And I felt Jesse’s presence from the night before, her hair swuuuping across my legs. She was humming to herself.
The manager who called 911 later told me that he puked from the smell when he came into the bathroom and found me half in the stall and half on the floor. He told the paramedics it must have been mine. I can live with that.
WELCOME TO NEW IRAQ
I had a wonderful idea just the other day. It solves many problems and creates wealth, which we all know and love.
I’m sure most of us agree that we have fucked up Iraq and that there is really nothing we can do to fix it without continued blood shed on both sides. We can’t pull out because the minorities will be slaughtered and while that would have been easier to stand years ago, now with the slaughter happening LIVE on CNN, it makes it harder to ignore.
My plan is simple and genius.
Let’s carve out a chunk of the United States and give it to anyone in Iraq who wants to leave. Here is my 8 step plan.
1. ADVERTISE
Posters (as a bonus, bulletproof posters) will line the streets, telling Iraqis of a better life over the ocean. All they need to do is pack two bags each and prepare to leave on July 4th.
2. PREPARE THE LAND
Choose about 400 sq miles of hurricane devastated land in the United States and kick off the squatters. Set up temporary housing that was never used after Katrina. Build a wall around it. Erect the WELCOME TO NEW IRAQ sign. Dust off hands.
3. LOAD THE CARGO CONTAINERS
Iraqis will be loaded on to cargo containers and shipped to the states. As a bonus, video screens will simulate a porthole view of a ship passing by the statue of liberty. The video will repeat every 10 minutes.
4. PULL OUT OF IRAQ
Anyone left behind can deal with it.
5. LAND HO!
Dump off the Iraqis and hand them shovels and brooms to begin the clean-up. They will fill the now empty cargo containers with trash and the bodies of the people that didn’t handle the trip so well.
6. CLEAN AND BUILD
The Iraqis will be provided with food and shelter. They will be provided building materials and help to construct cities. Coincidentally, the cities will be near gas refineries and bio diesel plants that are also under construction.
7. PROFIT!
The Iraqis will build cities where they will live and work in harmony. Cheap labor will provide Americans with goods. As the older and bitter Iraqis die off from working in the refineries, the younger folks will be Americanized through the free MTV2 pumped into their homes. In twenty years, we can tear down the wall.
8. REPEAT?
Oh shit? During this time we went to war with Iran? Crap… OK, play old tapes of the Iraq/Iran war and use the young Iraqis as cannon fodder. Once New Iraq is empty, fill it with Iranians and change the last letter on the WELCOME TO NEW IRAQ sign.
I’m sure most of us agree that we have fucked up Iraq and that there is really nothing we can do to fix it without continued blood shed on both sides. We can’t pull out because the minorities will be slaughtered and while that would have been easier to stand years ago, now with the slaughter happening LIVE on CNN, it makes it harder to ignore.
My plan is simple and genius.
Let’s carve out a chunk of the United States and give it to anyone in Iraq who wants to leave. Here is my 8 step plan.
1. ADVERTISE
Posters (as a bonus, bulletproof posters) will line the streets, telling Iraqis of a better life over the ocean. All they need to do is pack two bags each and prepare to leave on July 4th.
2. PREPARE THE LAND
Choose about 400 sq miles of hurricane devastated land in the United States and kick off the squatters. Set up temporary housing that was never used after Katrina. Build a wall around it. Erect the WELCOME TO NEW IRAQ sign. Dust off hands.
3. LOAD THE CARGO CONTAINERS
Iraqis will be loaded on to cargo containers and shipped to the states. As a bonus, video screens will simulate a porthole view of a ship passing by the statue of liberty. The video will repeat every 10 minutes.
4. PULL OUT OF IRAQ
Anyone left behind can deal with it.
5. LAND HO!
Dump off the Iraqis and hand them shovels and brooms to begin the clean-up. They will fill the now empty cargo containers with trash and the bodies of the people that didn’t handle the trip so well.
6. CLEAN AND BUILD
The Iraqis will be provided with food and shelter. They will be provided building materials and help to construct cities. Coincidentally, the cities will be near gas refineries and bio diesel plants that are also under construction.
7. PROFIT!
The Iraqis will build cities where they will live and work in harmony. Cheap labor will provide Americans with goods. As the older and bitter Iraqis die off from working in the refineries, the younger folks will be Americanized through the free MTV2 pumped into their homes. In twenty years, we can tear down the wall.
8. REPEAT?
Oh shit? During this time we went to war with Iran? Crap… OK, play old tapes of the Iraq/Iran war and use the young Iraqis as cannon fodder. Once New Iraq is empty, fill it with Iranians and change the last letter on the WELCOME TO NEW IRAQ sign.
Darwin Robinette
Darwin Lee Robinette, 82, a longtime Rushville resident, died at 6:30 a.m. Thursday, May 10, 2007, at his home.
Darwin was the son of the late Orville and Gladys (Roebuck) Robinette.
He served in the U.S. Army during World War II and graduated from The Ohio State University with a bachelor's degree in aeronautical engineering.
He was recruited by North American Aviation as a flight test engineer working on the Vigilante, OV10A Bronco and the B1 Bomber.
Darwin was very involved with the Boy Scouts of America and was Troop Master of Troop 278 for 10 years.
He and his wife, Thelma, were the owners and operators of the Baskin Robbins Ice Cream Store in Lancaster for 30 years.
Surviving are his wife of 59 years, Thelma (Bliss) Robinette; three sons, Michael, Paul and Jon (Lauren) Robinette; three daughters, Peggy (James) DeJarnatt, Nan (Ralph) VanGundy and Jill (Kelly) Adams; 14 grandchildren; four great-grandchildren; a brother, Nolan Robinette; and a sister, Margaret (Richard) Hamilton.
In addition to his parents, he was preceded in death by his brother, Howard Dale Robinette.
A celebration of life will be from 3 to 5 p.m. Saturday at the residence of Jill and Kelly Adams, 758 Schadel Drive N.W., Lancaster, OH 43130.
In lieu of flowers, contributions may be made to the Alzheimer's Research in honor of Darwin Robinette, The Ohio State Medical Center of Develop-Ment, Fund 305835, P.O. Box 183112, Columbus, OH 43218-3112.
The family would like to express their heartfelt thanks to the AlternaCare and FairHoPe Hospice and Palliative Care, Inc. of Lancaster.
Bope-Thomas Funeral Home in Somerset is in charge of arrangements.
{Author's note: I worked at Baskin Robbins in Lancaster, OH in 1988 through 1991. Darwin (“D”) and his wife Thelma (“T”) were the owners of the store. Because I was 17 and didn’t know any better, I just thought he was just an old guy.
Looking back, I remember a very kind man with a terrific sense of humor. He was very patient with his hormone infused staff. He’d raise his voice when we did stupid stuff, but most the time he’d just roll his eyes.
One of Darwin's well known sayings was, "You've got time to lean, you've time to clean.}
Darwin was the son of the late Orville and Gladys (Roebuck) Robinette.
He served in the U.S. Army during World War II and graduated from The Ohio State University with a bachelor's degree in aeronautical engineering.
He was recruited by North American Aviation as a flight test engineer working on the Vigilante, OV10A Bronco and the B1 Bomber.
Darwin was very involved with the Boy Scouts of America and was Troop Master of Troop 278 for 10 years.
He and his wife, Thelma, were the owners and operators of the Baskin Robbins Ice Cream Store in Lancaster for 30 years.
Surviving are his wife of 59 years, Thelma (Bliss) Robinette; three sons, Michael, Paul and Jon (Lauren) Robinette; three daughters, Peggy (James) DeJarnatt, Nan (Ralph) VanGundy and Jill (Kelly) Adams; 14 grandchildren; four great-grandchildren; a brother, Nolan Robinette; and a sister, Margaret (Richard) Hamilton.
In addition to his parents, he was preceded in death by his brother, Howard Dale Robinette.
A celebration of life will be from 3 to 5 p.m. Saturday at the residence of Jill and Kelly Adams, 758 Schadel Drive N.W., Lancaster, OH 43130.
In lieu of flowers, contributions may be made to the Alzheimer's Research in honor of Darwin Robinette, The Ohio State Medical Center of Develop-Ment, Fund 305835, P.O. Box 183112, Columbus, OH 43218-3112.
The family would like to express their heartfelt thanks to the AlternaCare and FairHoPe Hospice and Palliative Care, Inc. of Lancaster.
Bope-Thomas Funeral Home in Somerset is in charge of arrangements.
{Author's note: I worked at Baskin Robbins in Lancaster, OH in 1988 through 1991. Darwin (“D”) and his wife Thelma (“T”) were the owners of the store. Because I was 17 and didn’t know any better, I just thought he was just an old guy.
Looking back, I remember a very kind man with a terrific sense of humor. He was very patient with his hormone infused staff. He’d raise his voice when we did stupid stuff, but most the time he’d just roll his eyes.
One of Darwin's well known sayings was, "You've got time to lean, you've time to clean.}
Honesty is the best policy except that I’m lying
I went to MegaRed and Mike’s Cinco de Mayo party on Saturday. They are awesome hosts and always throw a good party. You can see the photos HERE.
The next day, my wife and I were flipping through the photos. I was pointing out the different people and that we were playing flip cup in the basement and which girls I thought were cute. She was somewhat interested. Then we came to this photo:
And I said, “…and this was the girl I was flirting with.”
Oh boy.
See, my definition of flirting is that I was talking directly to this one (female) person and was making an effort to get her to laugh. I wasn’t attempting to get her in the sack or anything of the sort. We were just standing next to each other during the flip cup game. I was just looking for attention from a very attractive, fun girl. Harmless. Right?
Oh boy.
Miss Sally gave me a look that caused my testes to slide back up into lower intestine and quietly build a nest. I think she said, “Oh? That’s just great.” And she walked off. Her feet left scorch marks in the Pergo.
So now I have two choices:
1. Quit flirting
2. Quit flirting
I think I’m going to have to go with number two.
Let this be a lesson to all you men!!
{Please note: #2 is actually “Quit telling Sally all the truth.” She stops reading after about the 200th word. It’s not like I’m lying. It’s just to protect her from the awful truth that flirting is the only thing I do well.}
{Please note again: I told this story to my co-workers and pleaded my case that I was just flirting harmlessly. Beth walked over and slapped me in the head. I guess the sentiment is Universal.}
The next day, my wife and I were flipping through the photos. I was pointing out the different people and that we were playing flip cup in the basement and which girls I thought were cute. She was somewhat interested. Then we came to this photo:
And I said, “…and this was the girl I was flirting with.”
Oh boy.
See, my definition of flirting is that I was talking directly to this one (female) person and was making an effort to get her to laugh. I wasn’t attempting to get her in the sack or anything of the sort. We were just standing next to each other during the flip cup game. I was just looking for attention from a very attractive, fun girl. Harmless. Right?
Oh boy.
Miss Sally gave me a look that caused my testes to slide back up into lower intestine and quietly build a nest. I think she said, “Oh? That’s just great.” And she walked off. Her feet left scorch marks in the Pergo.
So now I have two choices:
1. Quit flirting
2. Quit flirting
I think I’m going to have to go with number two.
Let this be a lesson to all you men!!
{Please note: #2 is actually “Quit telling Sally all the truth.” She stops reading after about the 200th word. It’s not like I’m lying. It’s just to protect her from the awful truth that flirting is the only thing I do well.}
{Please note again: I told this story to my co-workers and pleaded my case that I was just flirting harmlessly. Beth walked over and slapped me in the head. I guess the sentiment is Universal.}
Shrimp Attack! on MySpace
You can now check out full songs of Shrimp Attack! on MySpace.
Click here to go the the Shrimp Attack! MySpace page.
If you are into such things, you can become a friend and spread the word!
cratousum
I have been trying to involve my readers in my life and besides being stalked, I have failed. Or succeeded depending on how you look at it.
Here’s my newest attempt to attain some dialogue between you and me.
I want you to make up a word of between six and twelve letters. My definition of “make up” means that Google cannot come up with for a match for it. It should look and sound like it could be a real word. For example.
Put your word in the comments below. I would like you to then provide a definition for the cratousum. Or leave it blank and I will make one up.
In a week or two, I’ll write up a story with those words.
One of those words is cratousum, which now means “a word that didn’t exist until right now.”
Well? What are you waiting for? Get your speelishers in gear!
Here’s my newest attempt to attain some dialogue between you and me.
I want you to make up a word of between six and twelve letters. My definition of “make up” means that Google cannot come up with for a match for it. It should look and sound like it could be a real word. For example.
Put your word in the comments below. I would like you to then provide a definition for the cratousum. Or leave it blank and I will make one up.
In a week or two, I’ll write up a story with those words.
One of those words is cratousum, which now means “a word that didn’t exist until right now.”
Well? What are you waiting for? Get your speelishers in gear!
The White House plan on how the US can break even in Iraq
(Click to enlarge or move face really close to screen and squint.)
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419 Scammer UPDATE
A few weeks ago I posted a series of e-mails between myself and a 419 Scammer. I said I'd update if he replied. And guess what!!!
My 419 Scammer replied to my last message with what seems to be a last message of his own. My last message to him was:
To: allan grooves
Subject: RE: ATTENTION
Date: Tue, 27 Mar 2007 22:34:14 -0400
Well Allan?
WHERE IS MY MONEY!
I SENT YOU THE MONEY ORDER!!!!!!
WHERE IS MY MONEY!!!!!
His reply:
From: allan grooves (allan_grooves@canada.com)
Sent: Sun 4/15/07 5:50 PM
i think you are so mad and a joker of the century.
I think he finally caught on. I’ll miss you, Allan Grooves. Dick.
My 419 Scammer replied to my last message with what seems to be a last message of his own. My last message to him was:
To: allan grooves
Subject: RE: ATTENTION
Date: Tue, 27 Mar 2007 22:34:14 -0400
Well Allan?
WHERE IS MY MONEY!
I SENT YOU THE MONEY ORDER!!!!!!
WHERE IS MY MONEY!!!!!
His reply:
From: allan grooves (allan_grooves@canada.com)
Sent: Sun 4/15/07 5:50 PM
i think you are so mad and a joker of the century.
I think he finally caught on. I’ll miss you, Allan Grooves. Dick.
Erlina Kim Photography - The Proofs
I must be going through some very odd emotional stage. I feel like a ceiling fan that is missing two blades, turned up on high.
I spent the entire week listening to Shrimp Attack! and Dust of Retreat. I’ve been completely flippant with my boss and with our clients. It’s a case of To The Death Determination mixed in with I Don’t Give A Shit.
Erlina uploaded the proofs from the photo shoot on her Lifestyles website. Click here to see a larger selection of photos. At the bottom of the lifestyles page, click on the number one circle to load our portfolio.
They are amazing. I got all teary at work watching the slideshow of the photos. Spent an hour “during my lunch break” going through all of them.
I only look gay in half the photos and fat in eighty-five percent. There is only so much an artist can do with photoshop.
Once again… if you have any photography needs, give Erlina Kim a call.
I spent the entire week listening to Shrimp Attack! and Dust of Retreat. I’ve been completely flippant with my boss and with our clients. It’s a case of To The Death Determination mixed in with I Don’t Give A Shit.
Erlina uploaded the proofs from the photo shoot on her Lifestyles website. Click here to see a larger selection of photos. At the bottom of the lifestyles page, click on the number one circle to load our portfolio.
They are amazing. I got all teary at work watching the slideshow of the photos. Spent an hour “during my lunch break” going through all of them.
I only look gay in half the photos and fat in eighty-five percent. There is only so much an artist can do with photoshop.
Once again… if you have any photography needs, give Erlina Kim a call.
Shrimp Attack!
I am passionate about few things. And most of those things hover around debauchery and immorality. But the new album, Shrimp Attack! from Stuart Hyatt and the Shrimp Attack Collective has got a firm grip somewhere in my chest, where there still hides a ragged suggestion of a soul. I’m not sure where it’s pulling or pushing, but it feels good.
I marginalize people on a daily basis. It makes life much easier. Push away the unwanted, the mentally disabled and anyone else whom I might have to spend a few extra minutes of my life understanding. Shrimp Attack! nudges my inhumanity and asks for a second chance.
This album isn’t a morality trip. It’s a simple request.
Since I have no talent for such things, here is a description of the album from the Team Records website:
“Shrimp Attack is a fifty-member collective of artists and musicians. The first album, the eponymous Shrimp Attack, is an orchestral pop epic that tells the story of marginalized souls fighting for love and acceptance. The initial limited edition pressing comes packaged in unique hand-made cardboard binders. To coincide with the album's release, the artist collective created an outdoor sculpture installation, designed a clothing line and accessories, and hosted a giant shrimp boil. All proceeds from the initial release helped to fund the programs at Creative Clay, a non-profit arts center that allows artists with developmental disabilities create and exhibit their work.
Shrimp Attack has been re-released by innova recordings, the label of The American Composers Forum. This special limited edition release comes in handmade packages, featuring drawings and text by the member artists of Creative Clay, assembled with ninja tree seeds in a U.S. army canteen pouch used in the Vietnam War era.”
And from innova recordings, the distributor’s website:
“For his second release on innova, Stuart Hyatt has assembled a most unusual group of performers. The new album, Shrimp Attack, chronicles Hyatt’s extended musical collaboration with the member artists of Creative Clay, a non-profit arts center that allows adults with developmental disabilities to create and exhibit their work. These artists have never been recorded before; their heartbreaking lyrics and powerful voices cast a stunning light onto Hyatt’s lo-fi orchestral pop arrangements.
The resulting nine tracks loosely follow an epic wartime narrative. Each song also manages to reflect the engaging spirit of marginalized people finally having their voices heard. On the song Good, Mike, who only says a few words ever (Good…good stuff…big hot dog….yummy), becomes the inspiration for a rousing call and response rock song. On another, March, Mark plays the role of The Shrimp Commander, announcing his plans for domination, but falls into a spiritual stupor. Another song, Ben’s House, features lead vocals by a man who never speaks at all. Hyatt describes the song’s germination: “Ben lives in a mysterious world…but seemed excited to participate…he doesn’t really hear or speak… I put the headphones on and turned the beat up REALLY loud…and Ben began to tap his chest and hum…the result is really beautiful.”
The voices on the album are haunting. The lyrics are sometimes garbled and incoherent, but their meaning is not lost. I found myself digging though the liner notes to make sure I heard what I heard. The music is very enjoyable with both simple instrumentation and complex arrangements. I cannot seem to get this CD out of my player. Or my iTunes. Or my head.
Hyatt has taken on a very complex and difficult issue. And the making of the album, the process, is the answer to that issue. You do not need to give these people a voice, they have one. Give them an opportunity to speak and listen to what they say. They want what we all want. Life. Love. Simple respect.
I cannot promise you that I will go out tomorrow and change the world. I’ll still be the same son of a bitch. But I will see others in a different light. Not with pity or artificial benevolence. Just with simple humanity.
If you have the opportunity, check out the Team Records website and listen to some snippets of the album. If you like what you hear, head over to innova and buy the album. When it wins a Grammy for best packaging, you’ll feel special.
Plus, the album comes with Ninja Tree seeds. No one should be without a Ninja Tree.
I marginalize people on a daily basis. It makes life much easier. Push away the unwanted, the mentally disabled and anyone else whom I might have to spend a few extra minutes of my life understanding. Shrimp Attack! nudges my inhumanity and asks for a second chance.
This album isn’t a morality trip. It’s a simple request.
Since I have no talent for such things, here is a description of the album from the Team Records website:
“Shrimp Attack is a fifty-member collective of artists and musicians. The first album, the eponymous Shrimp Attack, is an orchestral pop epic that tells the story of marginalized souls fighting for love and acceptance. The initial limited edition pressing comes packaged in unique hand-made cardboard binders. To coincide with the album's release, the artist collective created an outdoor sculpture installation, designed a clothing line and accessories, and hosted a giant shrimp boil. All proceeds from the initial release helped to fund the programs at Creative Clay, a non-profit arts center that allows artists with developmental disabilities create and exhibit their work.
Shrimp Attack has been re-released by innova recordings, the label of The American Composers Forum. This special limited edition release comes in handmade packages, featuring drawings and text by the member artists of Creative Clay, assembled with ninja tree seeds in a U.S. army canteen pouch used in the Vietnam War era.”
And from innova recordings, the distributor’s website:
“For his second release on innova, Stuart Hyatt has assembled a most unusual group of performers. The new album, Shrimp Attack, chronicles Hyatt’s extended musical collaboration with the member artists of Creative Clay, a non-profit arts center that allows adults with developmental disabilities to create and exhibit their work. These artists have never been recorded before; their heartbreaking lyrics and powerful voices cast a stunning light onto Hyatt’s lo-fi orchestral pop arrangements.
The resulting nine tracks loosely follow an epic wartime narrative. Each song also manages to reflect the engaging spirit of marginalized people finally having their voices heard. On the song Good, Mike, who only says a few words ever (Good…good stuff…big hot dog….yummy), becomes the inspiration for a rousing call and response rock song. On another, March, Mark plays the role of The Shrimp Commander, announcing his plans for domination, but falls into a spiritual stupor. Another song, Ben’s House, features lead vocals by a man who never speaks at all. Hyatt describes the song’s germination: “Ben lives in a mysterious world…but seemed excited to participate…he doesn’t really hear or speak… I put the headphones on and turned the beat up REALLY loud…and Ben began to tap his chest and hum…the result is really beautiful.”
The voices on the album are haunting. The lyrics are sometimes garbled and incoherent, but their meaning is not lost. I found myself digging though the liner notes to make sure I heard what I heard. The music is very enjoyable with both simple instrumentation and complex arrangements. I cannot seem to get this CD out of my player. Or my iTunes. Or my head.
Hyatt has taken on a very complex and difficult issue. And the making of the album, the process, is the answer to that issue. You do not need to give these people a voice, they have one. Give them an opportunity to speak and listen to what they say. They want what we all want. Life. Love. Simple respect.
I cannot promise you that I will go out tomorrow and change the world. I’ll still be the same son of a bitch. But I will see others in a different light. Not with pity or artificial benevolence. Just with simple humanity.
If you have the opportunity, check out the Team Records website and listen to some snippets of the album. If you like what you hear, head over to innova and buy the album. When it wins a Grammy for best packaging, you’ll feel special.
Plus, the album comes with Ninja Tree seeds. No one should be without a Ninja Tree.
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