Uncanny isn’t it? We could very well be twins, Chris and I– separated at birth, but forever bonded on some bone-deep, intuitive level by our mutual love of awkwardly protracted silence and sensual mouth-breathing. The only real difference is, my tits are hairier.
Via DJ Dead Billy, who says “if only L RON would’ve delved into anime!” Think of the possibilities.
That cute and cuddly bearded fellow you’re watching in the above clip is none other Shoko Asahara, founder of Aum Shinrikyo (Supreme Truth), the infamous Japanese Buddhist/Christian cult obsessed with psychedelics, yoga and apocalypse. They’re now known as Aleph. Guess they felt like they had to change their name after receiving a smidge of bad press back in 1995, when a group of their members released sarin nerve gas into Tokyo’s subway system, killing twelve people and sending thousands more to the hospital.
Yeesh! Asahara with the Dalai Lama, sometime in the late 80s. This was a while before Aum Shinrikyo’s terrorist activities, kidnappings and murders started, mind you. The DL’s inner circle members was initially supportive of the cult’s bid for legal religious organization status, but later severed all ties. More recently, Asahara has been a vocal critic of the Dalai Lama and Tibetan Buddhism.
It’s worth noting that Aum’s previous deployment of sarin gas on the central city of Matsumoto was officially the world’s first use of chemical weapons in a terrorist attack against civilians. Asahara was convicted of masterminding both attacks in addition to committing several other crimes, and sentenced to death. He’s now awaiting execution.
Picture yourself as a young ballerina, fresh out of the academy. Your head held high, your posture perfect, you feet turned out just so. The years of training, all those countless hours of acerbic critique, nights spent awake with debilitating foot pain, cold instructor hands twisting your ankle into the correct position on the barre, all those things are falling away behind you like a house of cards. No more Swan Lakes and Nutcrackers. It’s the 70s, you’re Czech, sassy, and your future is bright. So you join the The Ballet Company of the Czechoslovak Television. You’re gonna be famous.
A few months later, thousands watch in awe as you strut your shiny stuff across their TV screens. In your go-go boots, fancy hat, and chic shoulder pads you’re almost unrecognizable, moving in unison with your colleagues, merging into one unified body of DANCE. Now they see you as you truly are.
Check out the silver fox with a poetic streak at 1:28: “Who so binds to himself a joy, doth its winged life destroy.” Poignant and all-too-often true, no? Love will die if held too tightly, love will fly if held to lightly, and pal, love will most definitely elude you if you insist on bringing up that sponge ball incident EVER AGAIN.
Kishka is a Slavic word, meaning gut or intestine.
Eastern European kishka is a blood sausage made with pig’s blood and barley or buckwheat, with pork intestines used as casing. Ashkenazi kishke, on the other hand, is traditionally made from kosher beef intestinal links stuffed with matzo meal, schmaltz, paprika and other spices.
For no readily apparent reason, the trials and tribs of this venerated dish seem to have inspired a YouTube trend: scores of youngsters (and the occasional strong-armed adult) are shooting homemade music videos (of varying degrees of complexity) for versions of the classic polka tune, “Who Stole the Kishka?” It’s inexplicable, ridiculous, and totally friggin’ adorable. As of this moment, some of the videos are even stealthily linked to (hurr hurr… link… geddit?) on the kishka Wikipedia page.
Quickly, in honor of International Talk Like A Pirate Day, here’s George Harrison on the BBC’s beloved Rutland Weekend Television show back in 1975, demonstrating why he’s my favorite Beatle:
I witnessed a bit of the “Voice of Gollum” contest while visiting friends at Weta’s Comic Con booth last summer. Imagine trying to work in the middle of this madness! No idea how anyone managed to keep a straight face. Vote for your favorite Gollum impersonator here. It’s a tough call, but my money’s on Piotr:
Have I mentioned lately that Archive.org is the sh…
…aving cream? It really is. You could stand to spend more time over there, trust me.
Avid listeners of Dr. Demento will recognize this song by Benny Bell. I’m too young to boast that I listened to Dr. D back in the day, when he first brought about the Jewish-American singer/songwriter’s revival. However, I was lucky enough to live down the block from one Mister Goodman, a charming alcoholic widower with a portable record player. On balmy late summer afternoons, he’d sit on his front porch nursing a tall glass of “ice water” and playing old LPs. Naturally, Benny Bell’s relentlessly juvenile double-entendres were a huge hit with the neighborhood kids.
Mr Goodman was more than happy to play us classic Bell ditties like “Without Pants”, “A Goose For My Girl” and “My Grandfather Had a Long One” over and over again, provided we promised never to sing them in front of our parents. We were more than happy to hang out on his lawn for hours, sipping cans of 7-UP and shouting “SSSSSHHHHHAVING CREAM” at appropriate (and inappropriate) intervals until Mr. Goodman fell too far into his cups and started muttering darkly about Korea. At which time we’d all claim we heard our mothers calling and head home for dinner.
In 1985 men and women from around the globe gathered in Mocrabeau, France to witness the nightmare fuel produced by human beings who can unhinge their toothless mandibles and swallow their faces. In the end, Herbert Kraft of West Germany was crowned the winner. Watching this clip, however, I’ve come to the conclusion that he stole it. The true winner should have been the unfortunate gentleman who appears at :20-:24 and whose demonic gyrations and twisted visage will haunt my dreams for months.
At SocImages, illness Gwen describes ways in which morticians/funeral directors have sought to remove some of the stigmas associated with their profession:
In my Intro to Soc course I assign K.R. Thompson’s article “Handling the Stigma of Handling the Dead: Morticians and Funeral Directors” (Deviant Behavior 1991, v. 12, p. 403-429). Thompson looked at how those involved in preparing the dead for burial and planning funerals try to manage the negative perceptions they suspect much of the public has of them. Language was a major way they tried to do this–redefining themselves as “funeral directors” rather than “morticians” or “undertakers,” referring to dead people as “the deceased” rather than “the body” or “the corpse,” “casket” rather than “coffin,” and so on. The point was to try to reduce the association with death–to never blatantly refer to death at all.
They also tried to avoid what they felt were stereotypes of funeral directors. Some mentioned trying not to wear black suits, and one man went so far as to keep hand warmers in his pockets so his hands would be warm when he shook family members’ hands–a reaction to what he said was a belief that funeral directors have cold, clammy hands. Others lived in a different town than where they worked and tried to keep their careers secret.
In 2007, California-based funeral director Kenneth McKenzie went one step further to battle the stereotype of the gaunt, morbid mortician by releasing the “Men of Mortuaries” calendar. According to an Obit Magazine article about the calendar, the hundreds of applicants for the 2008 calendar were narrowed down by a mixed-race panel that included a gay older man, a gay young man, a straight older man, a straight younger man, a young straight woman and an older straight woman “to hear all voices.” McKenzie sold 20,000 calendars in 2008, and proceeds went to an organization McKenzie started to support women who, like his sister, were undergoing breast cancer treatment.
