I officially “moved in” to my new place on March 28. At the time, I figured that at worst, I had about 3 days of being beholden to my antiquated DVD collection before the DirecTV installer showed up on the first of April.

He never showed up. As soon as the 9 to 5 window had expired, I called DirecTV and was informed that the driver “couldn’t find” my place but apparently hadn’t bothered to call me for directions. So I heard myself do something of which I didn’t think myself capable: I told them to go fuck themselves.

I spent the next 3 weeks essentially TV-free. Sure, once in a while I would throw on an episode of the Trailer Park Boys or Bob’s Burgers to watch while I ate dinner, but I was pretty much left to my own devices when it came to entertaining myself.

Last weekend, I picked up a Roku TV and now I have Hulu and Amazon Prime and all sorts of shit I never had before. Problem solved.

But was it really a problem that deserved a solution?

My point is that despite what I would have predicted, the psychological effect of a sudden pulling of the TV plug after years of constant consumption really wasn’t all that significant. My brain simply looked elsewhere for occupation. There’s plenty of wildlife up here, not to mention foliage the likes of which I’ve never seen before. Oh, and one hell of a great local cannabis dispensary within half a mile of my home.

We feel beholden to media consumption because we’re told that we are by the very media that we consume.

Old movies have something of the taste of the familiarity of an old friend. We know the dialogue inside and out and there’s no chance of being unpleasantly surprised by the outcome. But of course, old friends are better than old movies for the simple fact that they’re not static. Surprises are assured. And even when those surprises are unpleasant or contrary to the image of that friend we’d cultivated in our minds, they still contribute to the vitality of life while re-watching old films does quite the opposite. That’s not to say that I won’t re-watch my favorites many more times before I slip off this mortal coil — it’s just to say that when I’m engaged in such an activity, it has about the same effect on my life as a good nap.

But one good thing came of my 3 weeks of nothing but DVD fare on my TV: Letterkenny introduced me to yet another kick-ass band called The Tune-Yards. Check ’em out:

Oh yeah, if you haven’t yet watched The Goldbergs, do so immediately. Thanks, Hulu!

Smooches,

‘Mudge

Dear Mole,

Where were we again? Oh, right — I sold my car, they raised my rent, ain’t got no job, oh woe is Mudge!

Hey, if you’re going to publicize your troubles online like you’re writing a bad country and western song, you gotta own it, right?

Speaking of country and western songs, I must once again paraphrase the late Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr (who, in turn, was famously paraphrased by the late Neil Peart): plus ça change plus c’est la même chose.

That single-wide trailer up there is my new home. Jesse’s, too. My dad bought it for me and it’s situated in the mountains about 10 miles outside of Albuquerque. That white shit on the ground is snow because Cedar Crest, NM is 6,500 feet above sea level. The trailer park looks like a campground and my place is all the way at the end with a rock wall encircling the back yard that overlooks the Sandia and Manzano Mountains.

And I’ve just enough to spare to buy myself a shitty used car so’s I can journey into Albuquerque when I need to forage for groceries and, um…*cough*…supplies.

For the time being, I won’t be inviting Bubbles to move into a shed in the yard with his cats nor will I let Ricky sleep in his car in the driveway. Leahy and Randy are watching.

So I’ve nearly achieved my dream of becoming a mountain hermit. And this is but a scant mile away from my new mountain hermitage:

Fucking Burger Boy.

Entropy, Cohesion, Repeat ad infinitum,

‘Mudge

DNA’s downfall may be that evolution has finally created a species whose intelligence is great enough to contest DNA’s prime directive, assumed to be – go forth and multiply. Until now, all life has succumbed to this directive. Slavishly so. Indeed, all are ill equipped to rally against it. To do so would be the antithesis of existence.

Yet here we are, humans, capable of analyzing DNA’s command. Mulling it over and challenging it.

With DNA’s singular raison d’etre comes a cadre of supporting clauses. To multiply one must survive. One must not perish due to myriad environmental conditions set on killing you. You must drink, eat and shelter in perpetuity. In addition, you must procreate. And in doing so, ensure that your offspring advance in age and ability to the point where they, themselves can then take on DNA’s decree. And it doesn’t stop there. Your extended family, tribe or country must be protected so that your specific variant of DNA can prosper and spread.

This is DNA’s unspoken demand. And it works like a charm. Or did. Until us.

In continuously, unconsciously elevating a species ability to survive, DNA has unwittingly created a being that can now question DNA’s own defacto intent. We humans can now contest DNA’s mandates and whether or not its builtin purpose continues to hold merit.

DNA would cringe to learn of this development.

A snippet from a proper philosopher:

There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy. All the rest — whether or not the world has three dimensions, whether the mind has nine or twelve categories — comes afterwards. These are games; one must first answer. And if it is true, as Nietzsche claims, that a philosopher, to deserve our respect, must preach by example, you can appreciate the importance of that reply, for it will precede the definitive act. These are facts the heart can feel; yet they call for careful study before they become clear to the intellect.
~~~
I draw from the absurd three consequences, which are my revolt, my freedom, and my passion. By the mere activity of consciousness I transform into a rule of life what was an invitation to death — and I refuse suicide… Obeying the flame is both the easiest and the hardest thing to do. However, it is good for man to judge himself occasionally. He is alone in being able to do so.

The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays – Albert Camus

Looks like someone in Romania has decided to mine content here.

Each of ~60 posts were hit exactly once today. Don’t know what their intentions are, so it will be interesting to note what the future holds for such mining activity. FYI, the top-level domain for Romania is .ro.

We had a spate of content thieves from India about a year or more ago. They’ve subsequently vanished. Can’t imagine what the Romanians will do with the claptrap they found here… Good luck monetizing that, foolish nimrods.