Ciudad de México

A veces la agenda tiene que moverse. Hoy salí de Xalapa a Córdoba. Estuve ahí hasta el mediodía. Salí a la ciudad de México, antes de lo planeado. Un viaje conduciendo el auto, muy ligero. Llegue a media tarde.

El tráfico ya no es sorprendente. Hay otras escenas que si lo son. Vi varios pajaros sobre alambres ¿que pasará cuando todo sea inhalambrico? En el parque España todo se veía con una tranquilidad provinciana. En el Paseo de la Reforma poco tráfico. Y allí está, la vi una vez más, la Torre Mayor, el edificio más alto de Latinoamérica.

La ciudad de México también es verde.

Nostradamus Lists

...his favorite albums. Top ten albums of course, in descending order, all genres of music except classical included:

10. My Bloody Valentine-Isn't Anything--Truly outrageous. Amazing sound, amazing guitars, so wonderful.

9. Radiohead-Kid A--Again with the sound. The songs have such a forceful subtlety, great use of mixing, as ever with Rh, but damn, what a great record.

8. Pat Metheney--Bright Size Life--I dig deep into the crispness of this record. Amazingly sharp, wonderful songs, wonderful solos, great Jaco bass... An almost perfect record.

7. Miles Davis-Get Up With It--A classic. Music that is still in many ways forty to fifty years ahead of us, though it was recorded 35 years ago... Weird.

6. My Bloody Valentine-Loveless--What can I say. This album pretty much gave me my idea of sound.

5. Keith Jarrett--Expectations--This album is better than everything else Keith has done, in my opinion, with the possible exception of "Nude Ants" which is also completely sick. Dewey Redman is amazing on this set...

4. Miles Davis-In a Silent Way--If only for the Tony Williams swing section in "It's About that Time".

3. Paula Abdul-Greatest Hits--Honesty, people, hoensty.

3. Sly and the Family Stone-There's A Riot Going On--Ridiculous. Puts all indie bedroom music to shame. So sick, and Sly plays 94% of the instruments.

2. Marvin Gaye-What's Going On--So f'ing funky. The bass on this record makes me cry.

1. Tony Williams Lifetime-Ego-Quite simply the best record ever made. Best guitar playing I've ever heard by Ted Dunbar, Ron Carter supplying some sick bass, Tony as ever a God among ants, his vocals here incredible, Larry Young, so absurd... Buy this album and be amazed, please, it is a strange and wonderful record, and it has taken me almost six years to begin to appreciate its majesty, but now.

Honorable Mention goes to: Keith Jarrett/Nude Ants, Miles Davis/Big Fun, Miles Davis/Jack Johnson, Miles Davis/Dark Magus, Miles Davis/Agartha, Miles Davis/On the Corner, Prince/Purple Rain, Prince/Sign of the Times, The Microphones/Mount Eerie, The Microphones/The Glow Pt. 2, The Microphones/It Was Hot We Stayed In The Water, Little Wings/Magic Wand, Dirty Projectors/The Glad Fact, Sly and the Family Stone/Fresh, Tony Williams Lifetime/Emergency, Deerhoof/Friend Opportunity

Early Forgotten Death-Media Icon

Just a brief trek down the cobblestone path of history, but a recent fascination with post-civil war history lead me to discover this amazing character who has been alas for the most part forgotten.

Jim Miller, no, not proto-Rex Grossman Jim Miller, rather the outrageous bandit who started his career in crime by murdering his grandparents at the age of eight, is a man most worthy of attention! He went on to kill his sister's husband at the age of seventeen. Thanks to liberal Texas laws, Miller was set free after a brief imprisonment, due to lack of evidence.

Some claim he killed over 50 people in his career as a bandit, hired-gun, varmint, etc. This is probably not the case, but his hit-list contains at least eight known for-hire kills. He also pulled off the remarkable "iron under the poncho" trick made famous by Clint Eastwood and copied by pre-Alzheimers Marty McFly.

After committing many wonderfully brazen and without-remorse murders for money, Miller was eventually strung up by an angry mob in Oklahoma. More wild-west posts to come as this fascination grows.

Not to Bury My Countdown Content, but...

...What the heck is going on with the Anna Nicole case? Why on Earth is it taking them so long to a) determine her cause of death, b) determine who Dannielynn's father is, and c) give her a funeral and bury her, for goodness sake! It's outrageous these things haven't been done, and having her dead body in a cooler above ground for so long, essentially in legal limbo, is an eerie replay of the whole Terri Schiavo affair... Her lover and her mother are literally fighting over her corpse, it's insane.

Bury her! I understand that legal proceedings take time, especially when several of the parties involved are deranged, but shouldn't a judge with any sense of decency try and speed things along at least to the point where we don't have to hear constant reference to Anna Nicole's rotting corpse? It's disgusting! It's absurd! It's like a parody of a parody...

Anyway, on to another important issue: those of you who claim that comparisons between ANS and Marilyn Monroe are inappropriate can all go to Hell. Those comparisons are COMPLETELY appropriate; and to those who say Anna Nicole never slept with a sitting President, I say simply, "We don't know that."

Anna Nicole was our Marilyn; she parallels Monroe exactly in our trashy, depraved, media obsessed era. We don't know 1/10th as much about Monroe as we do about Anna Nicole, thanks to her wonderful, epochal The Anna Nicole Show, which I am proud to say I watched in full in its original airing. Anna Nicole and Marilyn are both emblems of the present absence that always marks Male Pseudo-Christo-American Erotic Fantasy Life in relation to its representation in mass media culture. They stand for what we condemn and crave. They are the scarlet letter tattooed into our skulls at birth.

Anna Nicole in death only approximates how dead, how without choice, she was in life. Now, as her body lies contested on a slab, let us ruminate on the future, and how we might all go about preventing such catastrophes from being born within ourselves.


As those in the know know, the number one post of the year 2006 will not be revealed for another few weeks. This will take place along with many other festivities on March 9 at the Nostradaman Lair on the occasion of the latest Blog Party.

The party's theme, as many are already aware, is "Time-Capsule of American Life for our Beloved Actual Rod" or some permutation of said idea. It is going to be a blast, and we will send Rod both video and web content as a way of reminding him of home, and how much we miss him.

Enough utter sentimentality for now, there will be plenty of time for that later. Now, back to the countdown!

Our number two post is a masterpiece from Dan. Really, I reread it five or six times when it first came out, each time laughing a little bit harder at the hilarity of it all... Damn this post is funny, and the best part is the way that it light-heartedly pokes fun at Rich towards the end. And it's so true, Rich did become amazingly arrogant after he got his NFL gig... Ha! Anyway, a masterstroke, I give you:

Housing in NYC


It has been a long countdown this year, and by now most of the steam has expired, but I want to finish up the puppy anyway. Here's number 3, a brilliant post from the master of quick-hitting genius, Rich:

A Tasty but Stressful Lunch
Veracruz es un carnaval

La niebla cubría todo, era intensa. Así, salí ayer por la tarde de Xalapa. Llegué a Veracruz. El norte mecía con fuerza las palmeras. El viento soplaba con fuerza. Poca gente en las calles. Una bebida y a descansar. En la televisión ví que se habían concentrado en el Zócalo, para la coronación del Rey Feo del carnaval.

Hoy, después del trabajo, visité dos exposiciones, ambas con el tema carnavalesco. En el antigüo edificio que fue el convento y hospital de los Betlehemitas en el siglo XVIII y que ahora es sede el Instituto Veracruzano de Cultura, está una exposición fotográfica sobre algunos carnavales. Se trata de fotografías en blanco y negro de la fiesta carnestolenda en la década de los veintes del siglo XX y termina con fotos en color de carnavales de la década de los setentas. En varias de ellas están retratados grupos de gays, con su poca vestimenta. Bellas mujeres.

La segunda exposición, que reune escultura, fotografía y pintura, está en Las Atarasanas, un bello edificio, también construido en la época virreinal. La pintura es de un colorido intenso, como lo es la fiesta. Una de las pinturas expuestas presenta a la bahía en dos planos, al fondo la ciudad iluminada, al frente, sobre la arena de la playa, la basura. Cuánta basura se tira en un carnaval, mucha, alguna la lleva y trae el oleaje.

Terminada mi visita regresé a Xalapa. Seguía la niebla cubriendo todo. Está la llovizna y la niebla. No, no me quedé al carnaval.

Ecos de carnaval

Rostros del carnaval

The Pillory of Satience (Anna Nicole Smith)

A scepter in the hands of a vulgar queen
Should now insult a crowd to dull riot;
A second turning point has been surpassed
And your death is a limit to all projects...

In Irvine, California a graduate student
Lights candles made of inexpensive wax
For you, in a make-shift shrine, now grim,
Within her deep, unsubtly peaked room.

Dead you romp forever as a drunk.
Alive you would have always been a drunk.
At last, you were an overdosing drunk.
Your sadness bears the markings of a drunk.
I wouldn't drink if I were you: a drunk.
When I am dead, forget I was a drunk.

Tribute to Anna Nicole Smith

Anna Nicole Smith

There was a time when I fell drunk upon my face
Face down in a pool of vomit, flesh checked by thick cubes,
My hair dripping wet with toilet water, then:
I knew a gasp of the poisoned air you breathed.
You were a body only before and after you were a corpse.
Like you, my body has been penetrated by many stiff images,
By yours, Anna Nicole, by your slurred and jangly feminine burp
Onto the world's stage, or rather, the world's runway,
Your grasping legs clamped around the firepole up America's ass.
We all stand gawking, probing your remains for any souvenir,
A glint of hair, a hint of oil, a musky vapor of your boiled sweat--
Now that you are dead we will devour you more savagely than ever,
Picking apart your bones until each tendon has been licked,
The cubic centimeters of your flesh roasted on a public spit,
Every ounce of an addled brain fed willingly to our children.

I Can't Believe It

Anna Nicole is no more! I have the feeling this story may be the explosion of media absurdity we've all been waiting for... More to come as the story unfolds. Countdown to be finished soon. I promise.


This story is absolutely unbelievable.

First, this guy, who is, himself, a 29 year old convicted sex offender (apparently he propositioned two six year old boys when he was eighteen), convinces two other, older sex offenders that he is a minor and in need of a new home.

The sex offenders take him in, thinking he's a child, and then molest him incessantly for months, enrolling him in various Arizona Charter Schools as a seventh grader along the way, where he raises little suspicion until his fourth stop... Amazing.

I guess like Michael Jackson he never wanted to grow up. I imagine he shared his bed with many people he loved, because after all, sharing your bed is the most loving thing a person can do...