Issue 27: Don't Bother Me, I'm Thinking
By Medulla Vesuvius

Happy Birthday, Copernicus

A friend of mine recently alerted me to the fact that February 19th was the 534th birthday of Copernicus. Let the unmitigated nerdiness of that last sentence sink in for a bit.

I don’t mind telling you that I cared that it was Copernicus’s birthday. Here’s a hint: it’s certainly not because I love birthdays. I can take them or leave them. No, I care because Copernicus reminds me of the importance and near eternity of minds and ideas.

What do I mean by that? Well, it’s quite simple really.

Nicolaus Copernicus lived a long time ago. (Don’t you like how certain philosophers are known only by one name? Socrates. Aristotle. Copernicus. Cher.) He was born in 1473 and died in 1543 at the ripe old age of seventy. But here we are, 464 years later, and people have still heard of him. Maybe a smaller number of people have not only heard of him but have some knowledge of the things he is well-known for thinking. That’s right…well-known for thinking. And if we’re still talking about him 464 years later, why not 928 years later? And if 928 years later, why not 1,856 years later? And if 1,856 years later, well, you get my point.

I like that. I like how a guy can look at the world around him, ponder and pontificate a little, propose some hunches and it might still be talked about long after he, (or she), is buried.

So, what did Copernicus ponder that is/was so important? I thought you’d never ask. Basically, he thought about the sun and the earth. His big premise was that the earth revolved around the sun.

“Duh,” you might say. “Pretty harmless. Ok, I believe him.”

I found out through a little cursory reading, (Archetypes of Wisdom by Douglas Soccio), that Copernicus wasn’t even the first to propose that notion. A third century B.C Greek dude by the name of Aristarchus beat him to the punch by about, oh, 1800 years. Remember what I was saying about ideas and minds and their permanence?

Aristarchus’s idea didn’t really stick the first time, but people really latched on when Copernicus said it. So much so, that his theory has since been named the Copernican Revolution. How cool is that, to have a revolution named after you?!(You may at any time commence with the Vesuvian Revolution.) Why did Copernicus’s words echo throughout eternity? One simple reason: church folks. You see, people didn’t really have any problem with his main idea that the earth went around the sun. But they had MAJOR problems with the resultant converse: the sun didn’t revolve around the earth. Copernicus brought into question a very proud notion-namely, that the earth was the center of God’s universe. For your average church-going, God-fearing person in that time, the earth not being the center of the action was a real mind-blower. It kind of hurts your feelings to find out that maybe God’s answering a lot of phone calls, keeping a lot of stuff straightened out, not just our little world, which seems so all-encompassing to us.

No less than Martin Luther, his contemporary, was a little pissed by this idea that was spreading in whispers: “This fool [Copernicus] wishes to reverse the entire science of astronomy; but sacred Scripture tells us that Joshua commanded the sun to stand still, and not the earth.” (Bertrand Russell, A History of Western Philosophy, 1945.) And to Copernicus’s credit, a devout man, he refused to publish this idea while he was alive.

Obviously, apart from causing individual believers some cognitive dissonance, this new astronomy made church officials nervous as well, because of the slippery slope: “If the church has been wrong about this, I wonder what else the church has been wrong about?” This is a dangerous question for your congregants to be asking if you have any interest in keeping them under control.

But as Russel explains, it was the astronomers a hundred or so years after Copernicus- Kepler and Galileo- who put some science and math behind his claims and really got into some hot water with the Catholic Church.

That’s the simple part of the Copernican story. Here’s the complicated part.

We all take Copernicus and the rest of those medieval philosopher-scientists’ side in this historical tale. “Of course the earth revolves around the sun! It’s a well-established scientific fact.” But how do I, Medulla Vesuvius, earth-bound misfit, know it’s a well-established fact?

“Because it’s in every science textbook published since the invention of the printing press, stupid!”

True, but we twenty-first century types don’t like to believe unless we can see with our eyes. I have never seen with my own eyes an elliptical orbit. I have never done the math that supposedly proves Copernicus’ and Kepler’s and Galileo’s cosmology. So, why exactly are these theories a given, an unconscious assumption for me? To put it quite bluntly, I think it’s because I trust the authority of the “scientific community,” whatever that is. Short of doing the homework myself, training myself in all the math and jargon and observation, scientific knowledge like this comes down to faith in authorities for an untrained layperson. I used those words “faith” and “authorities” on purpose. Come to think of it, we appeal to intellectual authority all the time. I don’t really know that guys like Copernicus, Aristarchus and Galileo even existed. I’ve never dug up their bones from their marked graves. I have no empirical evidence. All I’ve got to go by is a bunch of books written by people I choose to trust.

It seems to me that the old “faith vs. science” problem presents a false choice. For your average person with no dog in the fight, (i.e. neither minister nor scientist), Copernicus- and perhaps Kepler and Galileo even moreso- would have me replace one unassailable church with another.

Postscript: Rascal Stallion wanted me to posit some examples of a Copernicus for our times–a person with ideas that are dangerous to preeminent thought. I honestly couldn’t think of any. So I invite you, dear reader, to help me out. Leave me a comment if you can think of some.

Issue 27: Superhero Information Initiative
By Amdnarg Toh

Ghost Rider… The Hero With an Inferiority Complex

Ok Ok… Whaddaya get when you mix Satan, an Evel Knievel wannabe, a sappy love story, and a couple of comic book authors obviously smoking some of the good stuff?

Ghost Rider.

No really…

If I were Ghost Rider I’d be pissed. He’s got powers so lame that the first time I saw a story about him, I thought it was a parody like The Tick. But no, he became one of the 80’s comic book “anti-heroes” along with other such stellar hero-hits like Swamp Thing, Spawn, and the Punisher.

I can see it playing out like this: (insert fancy audio visual fade back effects here.)

Johnny says “So if I sell my soul, I’ll become powerful enough to save the ones I love? Where do I sign?”

“There on the dotted line at the bottom of the page,” responds Satan, Prince of Darkness.

(scribbling sounds)

“So… What super-powers do I get?” replies Johnny.

“A flaming head and the Penance stare,” Satan cackles.

“What the hell?” Johnny cries.

Satan smiles, “Hell indeed – you’ll be sharing your body with an undead spirit from now on. Welcome to the club!”

“Hey! I’ll never get any chicks with this fiery skull-head and bony hands! I look like Phyllis Diller!” Johnny moans. “No x-ray vision, super speed, or cool costume?”

Satan responds, “Nope. But I do have a leather biker suit I’ve been saving since I got it from Freddie Mercury. I guess you can have that.”

A guttural cry emerges from Johnny, “Aggggghhhhhh!!!!!”

And in his most sincere Montgomery Burns voice, Satan croaks “Excellent!!!”

And thus is born a new hero, (of sorts). When tormented souls escape from Hell, Satan sends out the Ghost Rider. At night he and his motorcycle transform into the flaming- headed, chain-whip-wielding, hellfire spouting, Penance-staring pawn of Satan.

And speaking of Penance stares… Where did this come from? Defeating bad guys by staring at them so that when they look into your eye that they feel the pain they have inflicted on others? Come on!!!

But… A part of me wants to sympathize with Mr. Blaze. He’s like the waterboy, the team manager, the statistician of the super hero team. All of the high school sports teams had some contingent of folks who had no athletic talent, but were allowed to be “on the team” because the world needs at least a few non-jocks. They were allowed to wear a letterman’s jacket, sport the cool sweater, and even got their picture in the yearbook. All of the trappings of coolness without the substance. As long as no one asked what position they played, they could pretend to be “in”.

So the hero class reunion has gotta be an anxiety-fest for Ghost Rider. Putting on the hellfire flaming head, pulling up to the valet parking like a bat out of Hades, tires a screaming, chain whip a flailing… All the while shaking in his boots hoping no one asks him what part he played on the team.

Issue 27: Various and Sundry
By Clancy Lass

Word on the Street

My memories of Sesame Street-a production of the Children’s Television Workshop – are of happy times on a colorful avenue where I would have loved to live. There was always singing, everyone was happy, and jolly fun puppets roamed the Earth.

Take a look at it now. Your memories, if they are anything like mine, are not accurate. Watching Sesame Street with my son the last couple of months has been an eye-opening experience. It’s absolutely nothing like I thought, and it isn’t just the addition of several characters, including Zoe, Elmo and Rosita. It’s just a brown street with little color and the same problems as the real world.

The most alarming thing on the Street would be the adults. Most of them look exactly the same, especially Gordon. It’s their demeanor that seems to have changed. They are very unsupportive of the puppets, except a few of the younger ones. Most of the time if Big Bird, Snuffy or Oscar have a problem, they roll their eyes (not kidding), huff and seem generally put out being interrupted from their duties. The only person slightly tolerant of their antics is Alan, the Asian grocery store/restaurant owner. Luis, who was a favorite and always seemed very compassionate to the monsters, is hardly around. I fear for his marriage to fellow human Maria, but she’s still there and sometimes the episode pops up where he enlists the monsters to help him make huevos rancheros for her. But that seems to be the extent of their marriage now. Bob is seldom around, and when he did appear the other day, I have to tell you I disagree with the way he treated Fluffy, Oscar’s pet elephant. He didn’t want her to play the W Game with him and Elmo. At least she lashed back and spit water out her trunk at him-which began with W. I had no memory of Gina, an attractive blonde studying to be a veterinarian. She humors the puppets, but most of the time she tells them to stop bothering her because she’s studying.

What example does this set to children? “You’re right. Adults really are WAY too busy to bother with you. Shut up and leave them alone.” Is that the word on the Street these days?

The random times my husband is home to catch a glimpse, he is angered by a very obvious omission in these later episodes. Since the dawn of Elmo, Grover got the shaft. He is no longer flying through the air as Super Grover and only appears in old clips of him as the bumbling waiter. They even added a song about his getting older called “I Do Not Jump Around Much Anymore,” (a play on “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore.”) The absence of Cookie Monster, Count, the memorable One Two Three FOUR FIVE Six Seven Eight NINE TEN eleven twelve, and Teeny Little Super Guy are also deeply felt. Very rarely will you see any of this.

Some of the more beloved characters have not aged well, in particular Ernie’s Rubber Ducky. That thing is nasty! You can see the dirt, and I am not exaggerating. It’s disgusting. You would have thought with all the money they make from merchandise, they could afford to make another damn duck. But no. It’s the same one he’s always had. Very disgusting and unhygienic. I think this point is enough to put to rest the rumors of Ernie’s sexuality, because no gay man I’ve ever been friends with would allow a skanky quacker in their house. And the only thing Bert “is” is an obsessive compulsive with a penchant for paper clips.

Big Bird, once a favorite, is now the most annoying character in the crew. Does anyone else remember him always piping out “La, la, la”? I don’t. But he does it. Often. And out of tune. He is also very nonchalant about pretty much everything, prone to outbursts of jealousy in regard for Snuffy, and is rude to several of the other characters. He is also the oldest, but the most indecisive of the bunch. The episode where he’s choosing a new food to try drives me crazy. It takes him the entire hour to pick from one of three recipes.

If you want to talk about strange relationships, dive into that of he and Snuffy. Forget Bert and Ernie. Most of the time, they sit watching each other lovingly and showering each other with compliments of deep admiration. They will do anything for each other-except share each other’s company with another person.

My new favorite character is Telly Monster. Talk about comic relief for the adults. Telly is in serious need of Prozac, and I wish they would have a “special” episode where Telly sees the Psychiatrist. They even added a vignette where it’s just him against a blank background showing the letter of the day and the announcer says, “And now, Telly has 15 seconds to find something that begins with the letter T.” It’s just him freaking out for 15 seconds, screaming, “OH MY GOSH! How am I supposed to do this???? Someone should have told me!!!!” Then he realizes he begins with a T. It’s awesome.

The new characters seem to be more well-rounded than the older characters, and a little more human. They seem to have more going on than just one gimmick and have more personal interactions with the adults, especially Maria and Alan. Rosita is Spanish. She enjoys making new friends and finding out about people she isn’t that familiar with on the street and getting to know them better, and she’s a photographer. She is also fickle, because she has named two different people her best friend, including Harry Monster and Prairie Dawn.

Zoe is your typical kid who doesn’t like to share and makes up silly excuses to get out of it. She also enjoys pretty much only one thing, like all other kids: repetition. Zoe likes to ride the Zoemobile Maria made her at The Fix-It Shop, and that’s pretty much it. She won’t share it with anyone unless they say they won’t play with her ever again.

And even then, it takes some serious deliberation on her part.

There is more to Elmo than the “Tickle Me” aspect, I promise. He’s actually hysterically funny, entertaining, and a great teaching tool for the children. They respond to him above any other character and actually start doing things he asks them to do. …Now…if he starts telling them to build a giant Cyborg to kill all adults and take over the world, I might start to get concerned, but so far, it’s just small tasks like showing where your ears are or showing him a shoe. He also features the amazing talents of Broadway vets Bill Irwin and Michael Jeeter as Mr. Noodle and Mr. Noodle’s Brother.

Sesame Street will always have a special place in my heart, I’m just surprised how boring and unentertaining it seems, with the exception of Elmo’s World. While I miss the old aspects that bring back wonderful memories, I do understand the need to keep abreast of changing times. They just aren’t doing a very good job. They are in the age of The Wiggles now – fast-paced, very well-written true entertainment with brilliant songs and animations. The Sesame Street Workshop needs to buy a new duck, give the puppets, (who are getting matted and visibly dirty themselves), a bath and move into the 21st Century. Or at least refurbish the stuff that used to make it so unmistakably great.

Issue 27: Escaping Life
By Rascal Stallion

Meeting the Lowest Common Denominator

I drove five hundred miles through a snowstorm so I could wait five hours in single-digit temperatures to watch assholes disrespect geniuses.

I am, of course, referring to last weekend’s Soulard Mardi Gras celebration in St. Louis, at which They Might Be Giants performed a free outdoor concert. For those of you who aren’t fortunate enough to have ever experienced Mardi Gras in St Louis it is essentially an event designed to allow every jack-off in a 4-state region to get drunk while they slowly freeze to death.

Thousands and thousands of revelers braved the cold for the right to vomit on the inch of snow as they gyrated to bad cover bands and hip hop music. No doubt, many attendees will fondly remember Mardi Gras as the greatest time of their lives. After all, Mardi Gras is the fantasy that every frat boy fan of Animal House dreams of. These are the parties that made Joe Francis a millionaire. Unfortunately, it was so cold this time that Girls Gone Wild would have had to hand out parkas instead of tank tops to get the ladies to flash their goods.

(Note- I know I could be coming across as some kind of prude, sheltered pussy. Maybe I am, but let the record also indicate that Las Vegas is my favorite vacation destination. I try to go a couple of times a year and I hit it really hard while I’m there. I’m not sure what the difference is between the two, other than the fact that Vegas is classy and Mardi Gras is just a bunch of drunken buffoons. Seriously, one comes from organized crime while the other comes from Christianity. Which one do you think is going to be cooler? In Vegas, the girls take their shirts off in elaborate shows or at least for wads of cash. At Mardi Gras all it takes is some beads. Have some respect for yourselves, ladies.)

After navigating our way through the throngs of revelers we finally found the main stage where the giants would be performing in a few hours. Unfortunately, an ass-clown cover band was in the middle of their set making it physically impossible to stay anywhere within earshot of the stage.

We began to wander aimlessly. It was so cold I eventually spent an hour looking for a tauntaun to slaughter. I was distracted when I spied a guy doing his best impression of Gary in the alley in Team America: World Police. A couple of fistfights and some sluts chatting up a guy in a hot dog suit also helped me pass some time.

Finally, as I desperately looked for a reprieve from my polar pain I resigned myself to the shelter of a port-a-potty. A strange liquid covered the floor that might have been human but it was only an inch deep so I chose to ignore it so I could savor the 10 degrees of warmth afforded by the toilet.

Eventually 6:30 rolled around. The moment we’d endured all this pain and discomfort for had finally arrived. We joined a few thousand other people crammed around the stage and watched They Might Be Giants perform. The nerds joined the “cool” people in a sea of one as the Giants began their set and engulfed us in their music.

The band started off fine but their play became sloppy, presumably as the cold robbed them of feeling in their fingers. It must have been distracting, too, being continuously pelted by beads.

Forty-five minutes into the set the stage lost power. In the ensuing 30 minutes as the crew struggled to regain power, the crowd nearly broke out into a riot. By the time power was eventually re-established, the Giants only had time to play four or five songs before they were up against the noise curfew.

As I walked back to the car I was saddened by the spectacle I had just witnessed.

They Might Be Giants cut their teeth in Brooklyn so they’ve no doubt played for tougher crowds and felt colder temperatures. That’s not the point. They deserved better. The imagination and intelligence that goes into crafting their songs was completely wasted on the crowd who only an hour before had been so enthralled by an off key cover of Sweet Child of Mine.

They deserve better than that and they deserved better than you, St Louis.

Issue 27: Various and Sundry
By Statica

The Cold Inside: A Lamentation

As you, the reader, have probably already read, the They Might Be Giants show was a bust. They were great, but the atmosphere created by the mindless buffoons who attended the concert was like termites constantly eating at my house of joy. I finally caved. Joyless and cold in St. Louis was I. Even the spectacular melodies of “Birdhouse in Your Soul” and “Why Did You Grow a Beard?” couldn’t combat and remedy the bitterness I was feeling.

So, onward I must trudge in this journey of life. I cannot wallow in this apparent defeat, for life is moving on. Remember Corky from Life Goes On? He moved on with life. And I don’t even have Down Syndrome.

Or maybe I do. I am down, as they say, in the dumps. My world is collapsing fast, like a starship falling from the atmosphere to a foreign wasteland of a planet whose only inhabitants are hostile, cannibalistic, incestuous, bi-sexual creatures.

When I have felt like this in the past, I would just throw Flood by TMBG on my portable discman and let the gloriousness and brilliance of it take the pollution to a land far away from this place. However, listening to the aforementioned album only reminds me of my time in the desert. It was as if I was wandering in a vast land of waste, and I am unable to find my way. My refuge and home have now been destroyed. My family has been raped. Where will I find rest? Where shall I put my head at moonrise? Alas, I am but a wandering fool with no bit of direction. Even the North Star is dimmed and its existence is almost inconceivable due to the pollutants in the once transparent atmosphere.

The previous statement reminds me of why global warming is the enemy of our future. We are committing suicide so to speak….not unlike a once great man leaping from a skyscraper to his death because of his inability to deal with his gambling debt and his involvement in child pornography. It’s as if he is encapsulated by a tidal wave…he is swept out to sea and can no longer find his way home to his soul. I will not resort to self-induced death, but everyone dies sometime.

Even Corky died.

The only hope I have is not to live within the memory of what I would like to call “Journey in Hades.” Life will move forward, but my North Star will always be a little bit dimmer from now on.

I know this is not the typical nonsensical article to which you have grown accustomed, but I must make known my suffering and plight, else my life might soon be over. My soul once was light, but now is dark. Let it be finished, this thing they call life.

Life goes on, but will I allow myself to participate?