Yes, another best of...

...not mine, though. January Magazine's Best of...

...and the crime fiction best of is right here...

...and more pointless ellipses are right here...

...as a pointless photo is featured right here...

This image suits 2005 - cumbersome, flawed and sinking fast.

Jenerous

I could have kept this to myself and parcelled it off over time. For years, even.

But I've chosen to share it.

For those of you who are bored.
Or in need of pointless escape.
Or in need of a box to confine the ego in.
Or wanting more html with which crap to load your websites.*

It is:

The Generator Blog!!!**

A few random generations:

Generate your Outlaw Bike Name

My name is "Bitch" and I apparently hang out with the White Werewolfes MC

Generate a Haiku My haiku was

boatman encircles
richly, limply, mice groaning
singing, painlessly

Generate your Fluffy Kitty Name

My name is Nightmare DaVinci.

Generate your Chakra information

My chakra is today is blue --
This has to do with how I communicate with others.
This is a good day to speak out.
Yep.

Generate a Goth Lyric. Mine is

by Abyss Alien
Serpents call forth feral clutches
This torrential rain summons cringing beauty
The asylum quivers hollow psychosis
Lonliness destroys lugubrious treachery
Pyres kiss delicate prayers
Persephone ascends silver clutches
The spider secretes hollow void
A ravenous She-wolf mourns labrynthine disillusionment
Death mourns luscious brilliance
The moon quivers perfidious penance
My slave howls darkened divide
Thorns drink trembling carrion
My lust plucks silver fragments
Banshees cling to unclean deception
The slave slices desperate addiction
Thine eyes recoil from whirling torment

Generate your own Ramone's name!

Mine is... um, Jennifer Ramone. Yeh!!!!! Uh-hum.

Generate you own Victorian Sex Cry. Mine is, gosh, this is so embarrassing!. Mine is... gee, I can't type this while all of your are looking! Look away and maybe I can finish this. OK. Mine is... hey! Quite peeking! OK. Mine is

What joy inexpressible!
My joy is lost in a sea of greater bliss than I have ever known!

And just remember, They Fight Crime!

He's a fast talking bohemian master criminal gone bad. She's a strong-willed African-American queen of the dead with the power to see death. They fight crime!

**see, James O, I do learn! For a while...

*exclamations points mine - they seem to think this much generation is commonplace.

Phew!!!!!!!!!!

That was work.

Really.

My eyes... they are streaked with red and they ache.

My brain... it is... well, same as it ever was. A bit overstimulated, happy yet vaguely restless.

Hundreds of templates were entered, worked with, rejected. I tweaked to no avail with many then dismissed them. Some lasted all of the time it took to load the page before revulsion overtook me.

In the end, something old, something new, something borrowed and something wavy worked out quite well.

Sleep beckons.

As does a large antacid.

Experiment V

This is it for now.

I had to post something because every time I went to preview the page, that creepy guy stares out at me, daring me DARING ME, to get a clipper and set to the mane growing out of his ears.

STOP STARING AT ME!

He doesn't listen.

To thwart him, I post another photo.

See! He's staring back! Not so tough now, are you Mr. Ear Hair! HA!!!!!

Experiment IV

Yet again, I shall head off into HTML land, this time in an attempt to perfect a template that hapless users of Internet Explorer can viddy without glitches.

I have taken in much caffeine, herbs and almonds to fortify myself before the grand journey.

If you don't hear from me in four hours, start laughing to yourself because something stupid has happened.

To your right, the man with the longest ear hair brought to you by my sister.

Lets all say thanks that she's out there patrolling cyber space whilst I tackle more code.

Always remember to floss.

Jen + Three days of festivities =

Alive

This holiday, I was surrounded by people I love, the things that they gave me and more than enough food. So much. So very much.

The absence of my Dad ran like a shot of red in a black and white movie. Everything went on without him and yet everything was colored by missing him.

I went home with my Christmas booty. I drove through the dark night avoiding five deer crossing the road, listening to the sounds of a great horned owl as I unpacked the car and the very quietness of the house as I trundled in. Of course, it didn't stay quiet.

Life goes on. I have writing to do, massive correspondence to catch up on and many shorts to read for CrimeSpree. Music accompanies me. And, connected by glimmering silken threads, all the people I love all over the world.

Thank you.

Thank you to everyone who's got my back although I go about blissfully unaware. Thank you to everyone who forgives my cave dweller habits. Thank you, everyone.

I've got a lot to learn. Never fail to remind me of that.

Surly, lifted mullet

When the going gets tough,

...go shopping?

...sing at the top of their lungs?

...light incense and meditate?

...play sumo trucks?

...hunt 'possum?

Well, we do a few things but shopping is damn near the top of the list.

I was in the truck with Mamasan, driving back from another round of Christmas shopping. She started singing a song to herself and it seemed familiar.

"What's that you're singing, dearest mother of mine?"

"Oh, it's a Rolling Stones song."

I did my version of the raised eyebrow which is, apparently, contorting my face in an odd manner. I asked her to sing it for me.

Here is the song that Karen sang:

"Presario! Na na na na, na na na na, presario!
Presario! Na na na na, na na na na, presario!"

I starting laughing my ass off.

"What?"

"Mom, they're singing 'Start Me Up', not 'Presario!'"

"Oh. That makes more sense."

God, I love my mommy.

A Lesson in Idiocy

Tucker Carlson. Bow-tied fool of the conservatives.

He's taken pot shots at Canada, a erudite and culture-filled neigherbor, and displayed an abundance of glittering generalities in the process.

'Anybody with any ambition at all, or intelligence, has left Canada and is now living in New York,'' he said.

''Canada is a sweet country. It is like your retarded cousin you see at Thanksgiving and sort of pat him on the head. You know, he's nice but you don't take him seriously. That's Canada.''

Carlson also said it's pointless to tell Canada to stop criticizing the United States.

''It only eggs them on. Canada is essentially a stalker, stalking the United States, right? Canada has little pictures of us in its bedroom, right?''

''It's unrequited love between Canada and the United States. We, meanwhile, don't even know Canada's name. We pay no attention at all,'' he said.

Proud I am not. Agree I do not.

Amused I am.

Angel of Dark Words and Twisted Tomes

I've asked someone to be a part of the anthology I'm putting together called "Fuck Noir." He is one of the best writers I've read, yet he is grossly un-read and painfully brilliant. One of those that inspires private moments of, "Damn, I wish I wrote like that!"

Read him.

Tell him to keep writing.

Kick his ass.

It is for the good of us all that you do this.

Michael, you're that good. Good enough for me to make a gigantic ass of myself. OK. That isn't that special.

Good enough for me to plead.

And I never plead.

Except for you.

Write, Michael, write.

For the good of us all.

Write.

Start a Love Train

Haven't had much to say, thus the huge allotment of photos.

Here's one now:

My Dad has been very ill and the effect of this has been to turn me into more of a cave dweller than usual. I dread answering the phone. I haven't been keeping up with my email; even forgot to pay the damn ISP bill.

Moody. I've been very moody.

We've all had loss touch our lives in some way. If there is anything positive to take away from it, it is to never take for granted the people you still have in your life. Freely forgive, cherish and admire your people. Hug them, soothe them, have silences with them and never forget them.

This season, however you celebrate it, is a good one to reach out, reach out and touch someone.

Really.

Put aside regret, guilt, long-standing miffs and tiny angers.

Love your people without hesitation while you can.

Not Aging Gracefully

How soon...

...before the hunter becomes the hunted?

Jen very happy

Riding home in the Big Brown Beast the other day, I had a radio flash back to my youth that put a smile on my face and it stayed with me. The local alternative station, WMSE, was playing The Damned.

It had been a long time.

The tune? SMASH IT UP!

It's a rudimentary, basic 'yell the lyrics' kinda punk song and I loved it!

The Damned have an amazing history displayed best when you look at who's been in the band.

Current Members

• Dave Vanian (1976-present)
• Captain Sensible (1976-1984, 1996-present)
• Patricia Morrison (1996-present)
• Monty Oxy Moron (1996-present)
• Pinch (1999-present)

Other Members

• Rat Scabies (1976-1977, 1978-1996)
• Brian James (1976-1978)
• Lu Edmunds (1977-1978)
• Lol Coxhill (1977)
• Dave Berk (1977)
• Jon Moss (1977-1978)
• Lemmy Kilmister (1978)
• Henry Badowski (1978)
• Algy Ward (1978-1980)
• Gary Holton (1978)
• Paul Gray (1980-1983)
• Roman Jugg (1981-1989)
• Bryn Merrick (1983-1989)
• Paul Shepley (1985)
• Robert Fripp (1990-1991)
• Kris Dollimore (1993-1995)
• Allan Lee Shaw (1993-1995)
• Moose (1993-1995)
• Garrie Dreadful (1996-1999)
• Spike Smith (1999)

And Dave Vanian has made an appearence beyond the Damned tour that's taking place.

Andy Rosen spent much of the late seventies and early eighties photographing The Clash, Sex Pistols, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Peter Murphy, Ian Dury, etc. Rosen has gone into the vaults and is letting the world in on his fantatic collection of photos.

Also making me happy today - NIN is heading to my town in February.

The Impurrfect Crine

Tigger, Thomas and Max are a crime-fighting trio of tabbies not to be taken lightly by foolhardy burglars in the Hawkshaw area. But that's exactly what Gary Sutcliffe did. And he's paying the price.

After breaking into a house threw a forced window, Sutcliffe managed to make off with only a handbag for all his trouble when the owner surprised him with her return.

Tossing a scarf and gloves out the window as he sped away in his Ford Fiesta (snort!), Sutcliffe gave the police a merry chase until he rolled his car. Under the bare bulb at the police station, he denied all.

But the owner of house, handbad, glove and scarf was under a bare bulb of her own. The bare bulb that indicates a brilliant idea!!!!!!

The window Sutcliffe made crawled through was a favorite entry way of Tigger, Thomas and Max, her three tabbies. "Check the culprit for fur!" the owner cried.

And, they did.

Sutcliffe tested positive for all three.

Said DC Mick Balfe, “The forensic evidence uncovered in this case provided an inextricable link between Sutcliffe and the scene of the crime.

"The presence of Max, Tigger and Thomas in the house provided us with evidence that we could really get our claws into.

“You could say that this cat burglar has just lost one of his nine lives!’’

And you could just as easily say that DC Balfe is a big silly.

Sweet Juliette and the Prince of Pleasure

"I walked out on that dark beach thinking I was going to hook up with the girl of my dreams," the rattled bachelor later admitted. "And there she was, wearing white shorts and a pink tank top, just like she'd said she would.

"But when I got close, she turned around -- and we both got the shock of our lives. I mean, I didn't know what to say. All I could think was, 'Oh my God! it's Mama!' "

On the Wing

Last week, a family from Sarasota, Florida found the perfect Christmas tree and carted it home. Busy, they kept the tree around for five days before they finally decided to decorate it. As they adorned the branches with lights and baubles, they made a strange discovery.

Within their tree branches was, no - not a partridge in a pear tree. A screech owl.

Pelican Man's Bird Sanctuary sent out a team to retrieve the little guy. As they plucked him from the pine, a strange odor met the nostrils of the officers. Wacky terbacky*.

"Curiously enough, the owl's feathers smelled very, very potently like marijuana," said Jeff Dering, of the sanctuary. "They examined the owl, looked at its eyes, ... and the owl was, in the vernacular, stoned."

Blood tests confirmed the owl's drug state.

After giving "Cheech" the screech owl a full check up, it was determined that being up in smoke would not cause any permanent damage. Cheech also inadvertantly gave the staff at the sanctuary an early gift. The attention he garnered has brought in enough money ($250,000) to keep the sanctuary buzzing in the years to come.


Marijuana, Mary Jane, Cannabis, Tetrahydrocannabinol, Weed, Kif, Butter flower, Doradilla, Lobo, Mootie, Kali, Root, Splim, Blue Sage, Angola, Cavite all star, Green Goddess, Jay Smoke, Marley, Zambi, Yen Pop, Lubage, Manhatten Silver, Mooster, Poke, Skunk, White-haired lady, Baby bhang, Carmabis, Ding, Gash, Durag, Giggle smoke, etc.

What Jen Doesn't Want for Christmas

In no order:

Anything marketed by or for Paris Hilton, Britney Spears, Hello Kitty, Antonio Banderhead or other celebrity/logos who want to make a buck off their names.

Anything by RonCo.

Anything yellow.

The John Lennon action figure.

Anything with my "birthstone".

Don't name a star after me.

The Man Catcher Voodoo Kit

Bubbles Butt Lifting Lingerie

Unless I'm going out with you, underwear.

What Jen Wants for Christmas - the Short List

In no order:

Video of Keith Richards electrocuting himself on stage in 1965. UPDATE: not really quite as jazzed about this one after my Mom told me she saw the Rolling Stones on her soap today.

Stephen King's peace sign.

The Patriot Act blocked.

Everyone sings Cthulhu Carols.

One of the 10 Most Puzzling Ancient Artifacts.

A clue. UPDATE: A good clue. Not some run of the mill, mundane duh clue. A good eye opening, jaw dropping revelationary clue.

For No Damn Reason

Let's have some cuteness!








Go to Cute Overload for more.

Fa-la-la-la-laaaaaa

Diametrically opposed:

Merry Christmas! or Fuck Christmas.

Some People Don't Watch TV

People we don't know spend a lot of time doing things we may nt understand. But we can appreciate their efforts.

Pencil carving:

Microscopic photography:

Backyard roller coasters:

A catalogue of celebrity lookalikes.

World's Largest gum wrapper chain.

Weird Beards Win in Berlin

The World Beard and Moustache Championships are held annually across the planet, This year, in Berlin, hairy men from every walk of life sported face-do's of epic proportions.

Above,twenty-one-year old Jack Passion, from Santa Cruz, California, with a massive, thick, red beard only two years and three months old. Jack's beard earned him third place and a bronze statue for Team America in one of the most competitive categories, full beard natural, at the WBMC 2005 in Berlin.

Check out the Beard and Moustache Categories for information and words that may help you win at Scrabble one day.

He's Real

We've all heard of him. We've all referred to him. Um, here he is:

Captain Obvious: Faster than the speed of stupid.

Thank you, Blueline Comics. For the gear, go here.

Death: The Ultimate Outlaw

Mayor Roberto Pereira da Silva, of Biritiba-Mirim, has instigated a law making it illegal for residents to die.

Why?

The town's cemetery is full.

The law would see relatives of people who die face fines or even jail.

Mayor Pereira da Silva said, "Eighty nine per cent of the town is rivers, the rest is protected because it is tropical jungle."

Gym memberships have reportedly shot up since the mayor announced his plans, and more people are visiting doctors.

The state government had promised to help build a new vertical cemetery. They didn't say when, though. Tricky bastards.


No one is a fan of Death.
Well, maybe this man's version of Death:

But Death is something we all spend out lives noticing, contemplating and experiencing on some level. Fear of Death is may be the strength behind many religions. Worship our way and transcend Death is the welcome mat that takes many across the threshold.

The ancient Egyptians (at least the upper class) welcomed Death as it led them to a greater existence as gods.

And this leads me to death masks. Extensive subject.

How is a death mask made?

First, a mould is made by covering the face with a thin layer of plaster of Paris (the eyebrows and lashes are usually smeared with oil first to keep them from sticking to the plaster). Once the first layer has begun to dry, a second, thicker layer of plaster is added. When the outer layer has dried the whole mould is removed from the face.

The hollow mould is used to make the mask itself. Plaster, wax and metal are often used.

At right is the death mask of Alfred Hitchcock.

Beethoven's

Dillinger's

Goethe's

Ulysses Grant's

James Joyce's

Keats'

Lincoln's

Napoleon's

Ned Kelly's

Oliver Cromwell's

George Bernard Shaw's

Tesla's

Voltaire's

Dante's

Nietzche's