Colbert Rapport

Steven Colbert baffles me. I understand that means little to most of you (yes, all three of you who read this), since I'm the only one who actually watches the Daily Show and the Colbert Report. Ever since he began to helm his own show, I've been trying to find my bearings with him.

For example, the other night I watched an episode on Nova called "The Dimming Sun" about how particulates released into the atmosphere have been mitigating the effects of CO2 and global warming, making the real effects much worse than we thought should the particulates disappear. It frightened me. The next day, the Colbert Report makes it a centerpiece, and Steven's stance? Suck it, Earth. He has firmly established the image of a Bible-thumping ultra-conservative, but I don't buy it. He makes so little sense oftentimes that it's comical, and being a comedian, I assume that's what he's shooting for.

To be honest, I'm disappointed. I've gotten used to Jon Stewart, who presents satire but will often break down into laughter himself over the jokes he makes. That lets me identify with him, and I can see that behind his jokes, he has opinions and a personality. Colbert, on the other hand, has gone full-theater and adopted a persona that I don't know is real or not.

I have a theory, though. You see, Comedy Central already has a satirical news show, so Steven doesn't play up that angle. Instead, he pokes fun at another institution of mass media: the pundit. He plays the true fool, seeking laughs at his own expense in order to hint at the ridiculousness around him.

Or perhaps I give him too much credit. There are many who would say I already give this too much thought. It has bothered me, even while I laughed.

In an unrelated note (unless you follow the contorted pathways of my synapses), I found this most spiffy. It was on Free Energy News, which truthfully out to be called Alternative Energy News. I love stuff like this. Clever mechanisms, especially mechanical, appeal to me. I have an admiration and love for what you might call Self-Adjusting Systems. Like the various systems of the body, and how they self-regulate and even repair themselves in varying conditions. To get that from a system without a programmed central controller (i.e.-the brain) requires a good deal of cleverness, and will earn you as much acclaim from me.

On the other end of the Alternative Energy spectrum is stuff like this. Am I skeptical? You bet. Would I buy the stuff to try it? Yup. It's recent resurgence of popularity due to a certain man being 'approached' and 'threatened' to stop working on it makes me more than a little suspicious, especially since I knew of it before the 'publicity stunt'. Once I get a stable source of income, though, what's the harm in seeing if there's anything behind all the people who have supposedly made it work?

After all, my flight suit plans require two key components: a propellant-less method of generating force, and a compact power source of sufficient energy density. Both tall orders, but I have tall dreams.

Right now, I need to look a little lower and get a job first.



Twilight out.


Post-Script: Do I use 'but', 'though', and 'however' too much?

A Move Towards Courtesy

And away from rants about bowel movements. It is 'Classic Will' to take a certain pleasure and pride in the tolerating disgust of friends to my practiced crudeness. Still, I should be more considerate. No one really wanted to read that, did they? Didn't think so.

I promised a post soon, and I shall deliver. I was going to post a first draft of an article I've been working on about my life growing up on the Edisto River. I've made some good progress, but it isn't quite done yet. It still needs a proper ending and probably some more embellishment. I'll give you what I have right now, if only to save you from having to cast shuddering glances to the previous post. Feedback is welcome, but bear in mind that I'm in the middle of heavy editing and rewriting.

"Spending summer after summer on the banks of the Edisto River will do things to you. Strange things. For instance, you start to think of the musk of old houses and nearby swamps as the smell of home. You also find that, as the Edisto is a ‘black’ river, no water is too dark for you to swim in anymore. Even a trip to the beach is different. After being surrounded by trees and birds and having to navigate a current whenever you swim, the beach seems a little… boring. Time on the river was such a part of my life as a child that even today I can hardly imagine a fulfilling summer without ice-cold swims, canoeing past walls of trees, and lazy afternoon float-downs.

It all began on a nondescript stretch of SC Road 70 off of Highway 601 south of Orangeburg where two curved brick walls guard the turn into the Denmark Country Club. Its members, who include my parents and those of my friends, built houses along the river’s bank. When they started to have families, they were able to share their love of the Edisto with a new generation. There are numerous such communities set up on the Edisto’s length, but you know what they say about first impressions. The Edisto’s was indelible.

Before my friends and I arrived on the scene, I don’t doubt that our parents already had a ritual for moving out to the river. Whatever it may have been, the migration from town to country changed to accommodate an elementary school’s schedule. Through autumn, winter, and spring, the houses would sit, gathering dust and leaves. Then, a yearly exodus every summer would turn our sleepy retreat into a playground for young and old.

And play we did. Looking back, I’m impressed with how much my friends and I were able to find to fill our days. Give children water and woods, and the possibilities are endless. We swam, canoed, hunted for turtles, molded river clay, played in the sand, and, when we were old enough, took to exploring up and down the bends of the river in motorboats. Even our parents, most of whom still worked during the day, found a new vigor. Fathers and mothers who used to come home tired from a day’s work would walk in smiling on the group of barefoot, swimsuit-clad children that had invaded their house. I think there was something almost pastoral about life at the river that the adults found relaxing. The River was meant to be an escape, a life of enjoying your friends and family. Who wouldn’t oblige?

It wasn’t always just our immediate community, either. Every summer saw visiting friends or relatives coming to enjoy our laid-back oasis, usually on one or both of two occasions in particular. The first was Vacation Bible School, led by our pastor and the women of our church at the beginning of June. Such programs are held all over the state, but in addition to songs, crafts, and worship, we had lots of swimming. To be honest, we were more interested in the swimming than the worship. It’s the way of children, I suppose. Yet we were still children of church-going families, and inaugurating each summer with songs of praise was as natural to our Southern souls as swimming in a river stained the color of sweet tea.

The other big event for us was Independence Day. While the mothers led Bible School, the dads captained celebrations for the 4th. Four or five pigs would be put to roast all night on a car-sized grill with Budweiser-armed sentries to keep watch. An arsenal of fireworks was readied by an army of children in every bedroom of every house. Every day approaching the 4th was a trial of patience only eased by the fashioning of bottle rocket launchers (steel pipes always worked best.) I was also in the fortunate position to see how the adults celebrated, since my parents hosted a 4th of July party every year. Whenever I finished blowing things up, I came back to find all the adults I knew engaged in the most confusing pastime a child can witness: sitting and talking.

When I write of the River like this, I know that my memories have faded a bit. The happiness they brought to my younger self, though, is undiminished. It suffuses my recollections with a warmth and glow not unlike how you feel when you hear a beautiful song for the first time. But nostalgia is often lost on a child. Walking barefoot circuits past quiet houses on warm summer evenings is romantic to remember, but as a child, it’s the way of the world. I never imagined how precious each wooded bend on every sunset float-down would end up being to me."

Like I said, no real ending yet. I'm also still trying to think of who I would send this in to. The magazine 'South Carolina' is a strong contender, but I've already seen an article in a previous issue about spending the summers of youth on a body of water. I also found that they prepare each issue 6 months in advance. I'd still try, but my hopes for them are somewhat diminished.

On a different note, I am captivated by Vienna Teng's song, "Gravity." I discovered it by way of an anime music video (and a good one, at that), so that's a big part of the impact. I still bought it on iTunes, though, and everytime I listen to those soft pianos and mournful strings, it's like drinking a sunset from the cusp of the horizon. Would that be MacLaughlan-esque? She certainly sings with the same sultry whispers.


Twilight out.

Holy Crap! He Posted Again!

I found this little index card in the plastic bin of things I had made months and months ago when I had thought I'd be moving out sometime soon. Ah, the folly of youth. At any rate, I found it amusing and nostalgic. It was slid under the door to me from Jeromie during our wonderful days in Lightsey:

Will I just want you to know that talking to people on the phone while taking a dump is just WRONG. Please, please, please never make a business call like that. I've heard it done before. It's just not cool.
P.S. Oh, or a girl. Tell me that wasn't a girl...

It was. If I remember right, I think it was Becky. Don't you feel special now! Would I do it again? Oh, yeah. In fact, I'm pretty sure I have. Multiple times. Admittedly, I'm a little hesitant nowadays. My sits are a little more... explosive. I don't think it'd be hard to blow my cover.

This has been your moment of TMI. Everyone enjoy your dinners.

(Don't worry, a real post is coming soon.)


Twilight out.