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For all you communist party animals

Crazy but true fact number one: There are a couple of Catholic prayers with a stanza that goes “…and protect us from the evils of communism”. I know, not from research, but because I’ve read them at memorial prayer services for my grandmothers.

It sounds sort of quaint in these post-Berlin Wall days: “Lord, protect us from a bunch of cruddy pasted-together countries who couldn’t get their act together enough to put together a half-decent garage punk band, never mind stuff like concrete, a menu that wasn’t three-quarters cabbage, decent infrastructure or an economy. The only good things that came out of communism were getting some people to think about societal inequities (which could’ve been done without communism), some amusing graphic art, the early James Bond flicks and the fact that Yakov Smirnoff (“Eeen Soviet Russia, TV watches you!”) amused both George’s parents and mine.

(The rest of it was pure, unadulterated crap: ridiculous five-year plans which led to industries fudging numbers just they could look as though they were performing, assaults on freedom of speech, assembly and religion, military buildup at the expense of the people and worst of all, snotty liberal arts students during my time at Queen’s, breathing my oxygen and having to analyse every damned thing through a Marxist lens messin’ with my Zen — half of whom I’m sure are now paid to dream up new Tide-delivery systems for Procter and Gamble.)

Crazy but true fact number two: A number of people whom I consider good friends — and at least one “um friend” — were raised by communists. Poor sods. Raised on the Red Book, the Internationale and probably enough cabbage to keep a medium-sized city’s bowel movements regular, all of them have switched to materialism, becoming early adopters of high-tech gadgets and other de riguer “little luxuries”. All of them — save Cory, who had a “Road to Damascus” kind of experience at Disneyworld and has his head screwed on better than most people — are complete misery-seeking missiles. These are people that you couldn’t imagine inviting to a party — at least not one where you wanted people to have a good time — never mind actually throwing one.

Crazy but true fact number three: The American Communist Party expected its members to do just that back in the 1930’s, according to a party-throwing guide recently unearthed by a history prof at Brandeis University who was riffling through the campus’s collection of radical pamphlets.

Some excerpts from the New York Times piece on the pamphlet:

Among the suggested high jinks: cutting editorials from The Daily Worker into little pieces and having guests compete to see who can put them back together fastest; passing around pictures of party leaders and having guests try to name them correctly; holding a mock convention on, say, nonintervention in Spain. “One guest is made chairman. Another is Chamberlain, another Leon Blum, a third Mussolini,” the pamphlet cheerfully explains, adding, “A clever gathering can do wonders in political satire. It’s grand fun.”

Or why not try a round of anti-Fascist darts? “Buy darts from your stationer’s, sporting goods or department store,” the pamphlet instructs. “Draw a picture of Hitler, Mussolini, Hague or another Girdleresque pest. Put it on a piece of soft board with thumbtacks. Six throws for a nickel, and a prize if you paste Hague in the pants, or Trotsky in the eye.” (Mind you, all this doctrinaire diversion is to be had on the cheap: the pamphlet recommends conserving beer by pouring into the middle of the glass, a method that “gives more foam and less liquid — stretches each barrel further.”)

In other words: Heavy-handed didactic, da! Actual fun, nyet!

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Kickass Karaoke — this Wednesday

The middle of the week of the middle of the month means Kickass Karaoke at Accordion City’s infamous Bovine Sex Club, with your host (and former Naked News science/tech anchor) Carson T. Foster. It’s not your father’s karaoke; it’s toxic rock and roll karaoke!

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A notable shortage of accordion stories

Luckily, there’s at least one recent one that I haven’t yet blogged. Coming soon.

(Jacqui P., if you’re reading this, this one’s about the night we went out drinking on your birthday.)

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Your second-to-last reminder

If you enjoy this weblog and you haven’t yet done so, please nominate me for the 2003 Weblog Awards. The most applicable categories would probably be Best Canadian Weblog, Most Humorous Weblog, or Best-Kept-Secret Weblog. To entice you, I’ve promised that if I make the nominations, I’ll tell the stories of my worst dates ever (and yes, these are sitcom-worthy stories, as you should come to expect from me).

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We had the exact same problem on New Year’s Eve

At Peter’s New Year’s Eve party, a couple of women were making out in the corner just after the clock struck midnight. The following conversation ensued.

Paul: Chicks making out. Coooool.

Me: Poetry in motion. But I think one of them is a guy in drag. Look at those calves.

[I can’t remember whom]: Actually, s/he’s got the operation done, so you’re both right.

Think you could’ve done better? See if you can tell the women from the men in the Female or Shemale? test.

[Thanks to Doc Searls for the link.]

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What kind of newpaper do you want?

From the Columbia Journalism Review:

This is not a blueprint for the newspaper of tomorrow. This does not offer a neat, complete answer to the question, What would it take to get the kids to read the paper? (Dream on). This does not represent the desires or demands of a generation of readers — Gen X, Y, or otherwise. Our sources for this story, young newspaper journalists all, are admittedly more focused on — and likely more interested in — news and newspapering than the average twenty-something.

So what is this? This is a loose description of The Dream Newspaper, as imagined by young journalists from around the country. As part of the continuing discussion of (or fixation on) what young people want to read and why, we sought journalists ages thirty and under to talk about the kind of newspaper they would like to read — and work for — and to report back to us with their ideas.

The rest of the story is here.

[Thanks to Plastic for the link…it’s a busy work day for your ‘umble accordionist.]

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"Down and Out" is out and about!

My friend Cory Doctorow’s new book, Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom has hit the bookshelves…and the Web!

Photo: Cover of Cory's book, 'Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom'.

Down and Out is Cory’s full novel, and it’s full of all his pet obsessions: Disneyland, technologically-enhanced humans, pop culture, audio-animatronics, online identity and reputation (the term “Whuffie”, which he uses in the novel, was originally a term he used at OpenCola as a measure of reputation or “karma”) and ad-hoc collectives of talent working together to form a whole greater than the sum its parts. Here’s the opening line:

I lived long enough to see the cure for death; to see the rise of the Bitchun Society, to learn ten languages; to compose three symphonies; to realize my boyhood dream of taking up residence in Disney World; to see the death of the workplace and of work.

Here’s the quick summary:

Jules is a young man barely a century old. He’s lived long enough to see the cure for death and the end of scarcity, to learn ten languages and compose three symphonies…and to realize his boyhood dream of taking up residence in Disney World.

Disney World! The greatest artistic achievement of the long-ago twentieth century. Now in the care of a network of volunteer “ad-hocs” who keep the classic attractions running as they always have, enhanced with only the smallest high-tech touches.

Now, though, it seems the “ad hocs” are under attack. A new group has taken over the Hall of the Presidents and is replacing its venerable audioanimatronics with new, immersive direct-to-brain interfaces that give guests the illusion of being Washington, Lincoln, and all the others. For Jules, this is an attack on the artistic purity of Disney World itself. Worse: it appears this new group has had Jules killed. This upsets him. (It’s only his fourth death and revival, after all.) Now it’s war: war for the soul of the Magic Kingdom, a war of ever-shifting reputations, technical wizardry, and entirely unpredictable outcomes.

You can get the book in one of two ways:

  • Hardcover. You can buy it at your local bookstore or one of the usual online suspects.
  • Online, and for free! Yes, that’s right, you have Cory’s permission to download the text of the book, for free — you don’t even have to give away any personal information. He’s making it available in plain old ASCII text, HTML, printable PDF and Palm PDB formats, and without copy-protection, digital rights management or anything else that prevents you from sharing the files. Why? Because he believes — and I think that he’s right here — that file-sharing isn’t piracy, but fandom and promotion. As the computer industry’s most beloved publisher Tim O’Reilly puts it, piracy isn’t the artist’s worst enemy; obscurity is.

(The license under which Cory’s releasing electronic versions of the book is a Creative Commons license. This particular license says you must attribute the work to him, you’re free to distribute it for non-commercial purposes, and you’re not allowed to make derivative works with first getting his permission.)

And finally, a picture of the author that I took when we went to Disneyland:

Photo: Cory standing outside the gates of the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland.

Out and about at the Magic Kingdom. Cory Doctorow, taken October 2000.