The Life and Times of Jerry Fischmaker (@Understatedman)

I love twitter but I can't stand all the interaction.

Observer alters the outcome

When I read something on social media, I also think about all the things I didn't read on social media because of all the things that are written on social media which causes many things I wish I could be reading to go unwritten.

Sweat roll

Listen to Sweat Roll, the song on Suno.com

I could control this expression or I could dance on the keyboard. I could batter this tendency, I could confront the mental enemy. We walk hours, we wake years, live lives loved and wives and sons. I am a man who's full of gas. I parse relentless at the pass.

Never divide, only add. The last 15 years were pretty much a fad.

Include yourself in this argument, take it all personal, everything here was meant for you. That's why the author is anonymous too.

Quiet yourself. There is silence somewhere on the shelf. He never even tried to shut his mouth. It takes amazing willpower and that has been thrown out.

Look through the dust in drawers: Rubber bands and paper clips and all of your awards.

Amaze yourself, unphased, loaded up like a room service tray, dedicate the games to the gays and the sun to the rays, the only day (today) to the one deity, the gaze, your gaze, her gaze, all paid up and ready, all taut and unsteady, straddling dynamite to take a side bet on the afterlife. I didn't finish that thought, you did, they did, they do it a lot. I was passed out on the cot.

It takes a certain sameness and everpresent drain to sharpen a knife edge nose and lead us to suppose there is magic in the fluff, that a wink is not a trick, that the end has an ending and our logic isn't sick.

I can't end on this note. I'm 35 and on my bucket list: Spain in May in a 32-foot sailboat. 

Ludicrous Canadiana Interpretation of Now For Plan A by The Tragically Hip

[Go buy it now!]

My song by song analysis shows some overlooked connections between the meaning of the Tragically Hip's latest album, Now For Plan A, and this great land we call North of America.

1. At Transformation: This is a rock-hard stage-melter that will put clicks on iPhones, but undulating deeper this an opaque stab at the Western Canadian shale gas fracking industry, which transforms water into money via bad-smelling gas by-products.
2. Man Machine Poem: How did Margaret Atwood's long-distance book-signing quill change literature and the Internet as we know it? Listen to this multi-vocalic screamer and absorb.
3. Lookahead: The fact Sarah Harmer sings on this one means it's about the Niagara Escarpment, a large landmass one can't easily look-ahead of, lest it escarp' your eyes out!
4. We Want to Be It: The Hip have won many Juno awards, yet have never hosted the Junos. A blood-hearted romp that teases political scion Ben Mulroney about his amazing hair, as Ben 'dripped' with promise but never achieve gubernatorial transcendence.
5. Streets Ahead: A song about love, not between a man and a woman, but a man and his dogsled team. The dog team - can he keep it together? Iditarod-know that!
6. Now for Plan A: Since the Avro Arrow was scrapped, there have been many plans, including the current F-35 debacle, to harness the future of our skies via superior aerial war machines. Sarah Harmer returns us to our pre-Diefenbaker roots with an ode to the Arrow. Nothing short of everything will be enough to revive this long-dead Icon of aerospace. If this song were McDonald's it wouldn't be an 'all beef patty', it would be an 'All-Dief Plan A'
7. Modern Spirit: A sinuous ear-trip along Halifax's Blowers Street, this song reminds us that the full-bodied nourishment of the stately Donair sandwich can only be appreciated with more 'modern' condiments, including the 'spirits' or harsh liqueurs once imported by the 1700s' rum trade into Dartmouth harbour. An apoplectic tromp l'oreille.
8. About The Map: As the eruption of Nunavut's existence redrew the Canadian mapscape, a cartographer reminds his curious child about what lies 'beyond the maps' of the frozen north: a lush canticle that gets to the truth about pemmican, Northern values, and the pernicious igloo stereotypes that retard progress among our north folk.
9. Take Forever: As singer Gord Downie flies among the skies to tour the West, he has a nervous breakdown and realizes that only Calgary's mayor, Naheed Nenshi, will grant him clearance to land. A song about a province turned away from its 'forever' values of Ralph Klein-conservatism to a swaggering stage-strut driven by good loud music that only Eastern boys like the Hip can hustle up. 'Take' that to your Stampede and lasso it.
10. Done and Done: Inspired by the Vancouver Stanley Cup riots, this is also a song about the Hip's quest to secure better digital copyright laws for us all, as well as a stab in the face of Tony Clement's gazebo-building megalomania masked in the soft strains of a 50-year-old Bill Derlago fan's plea to finally get his way on the hockey rink.
11. Goodnight Attawapiskat: The Hip go to Northern Ontario and build a canoe out of birch, just as Tom Thomson did. What erupted was an amazing outdoor all-night BBQ perfectly described in this emotive palette-cleanser.

Esoteric Insults Revisited

You masticating Marmaduke, fraught with impotent friction-making malarkey, all sparks and spithammers, lacking any lust for levity! You drink the pigeon's gall and call it a tasty grilled-cheese sandwich. Lend me a time machine so I can smite your ancestors; meanwhile I'll blacken your every nanonotion across the wide Web's comment boards. O crabcake-eating micelicker, lighten your dungarees from their present shade of brown, O bepampered poopulouse! Scram from my boardwalk, you lurching orangutan, lest I unleash a quiver of quartz-quilled moronocide to shatter every non-sense in your ululating husk. O big flamboyant monk in a monastery of Melvins, I shudder at your puissant horsebuggery and general lack of concern for what even a dying vulture has the basic sense to blush at. I could calculate the sum total of your ignorance but my abacus is spent for zeros, you null-set and non-existent irrational number! Leave this wasted realm and surrender your sideways scupperheadedness!

(See original Highfalootin' Insults)

Better alive!

Oh my grandma said something strange to me a in dream. She said, 'Do not knot the donut hole.' Which thing, a string cannot make, what is round and baked. Ever we sit and stare and wonder why those sitting and staring do not care. Where is the first man to crack? He is there sitting quietly at the back. Have some sympathy for the soldiers in Syria. Firing rounds into the sky out of spite, proving all the great thing about a society run by men, for the sanctity of the state, a conspiracy across international lines, you know one country won't mess with another's mojo rising. Right and wrong has ceded to power and vacuum -- which I guess becomes the more urgent paradigm faced with your own annihilation and the disappearance of your birthright which used to be the afterlife? 

Second Floor Ryerson Library

Potent pizza is a perfect pestilence possibility. I was screwing a large caboose into an onion bun and it occurred to me, shall I shallot a scarecrow? Shall I shimmy with slimy murk into a bodum of unfair frothery? Things are piglet-worthy and mucusmaking. 

If ever a cylindrical cullulent pigeon did unman a masked mysterioso then surely sixteen succubi could collect an unemployment cheque from a red-faced postman. If a college degree meant anarchy then the streets of Quebec would be swept with sweaty pit stains and colander-cudgelling jesuvants. If a jesuit, I mean, did quaggle and fleck then surely his hysteria about the biscuit was just another knottleneck? Poor pissed pachyderms, prancing without the ability to jump, large elephantine fairy queens dusting rhythm guitars like so many Ron Wood replacements uttering magic passwords in the basement of the Rivoli, lacking hot heat, lacking fresh feet, drying wet wit with looks of loathing and curled lips, eating too many tofu tacos in an underwear commercial's catering van restroom.

Can I quell a Cosbyfest? Could Theo ever drive a bus? We waste what we waver, we waive all rights to disenslavement that is emancipation if we neglect the ballot box out of jade frustration. I was warm to the world but cooked like a log, blackened charcoal in my nether zones and soggy from the bog. If a klepto took my tethering hooks--how will I climb a mountain? I shake like Evgeni Malkin, he of fame, of mispronounceable name. Twagger your digits like a disapproving simpleton sloshing about in tens and twenties from hours vending Bingo cards at the bingo place on St. Clair, where chain smokers don't care and lives wind down like the west wind, and a win is a win and a loss means it's time for a smokebreak.

Have a cup of ice-cold gelato. It's after 1pm; I'm drowning on my tip toes in Arizona heat, killing strangers with stares and oozing blackheads from my feet. We ooze proud, we yodel ever loud, we will publish or perish or perhaps both at once, going on vacation for 72 months. Can I call you in the morrow? I need a ride to the Scarborough Zoo, my driver has the flu. He was not reliable like you.

Hamish Macbain trolled for hours in the wild, eating dried skins from the tree whose name no one has written, taken tidbits of misfits and missed facts and complaints and loaded them all onto a server in a closet in a hallway of an office in the suburbs of the capital city of a minor province in a confederacy of future lands locked down under empire struggling for solvency due to solar flares interfering with economic growth models fashioned by 19th century professors amid the dust of a chalkboard.

Palm Beach Calisthenics

1. Why not smucker your pucks and drop your digits? It's a little after ten and I'm slewshing anew. Big Bill Boggins bought a racecar. Left out to throw out music from the ashtray, slapped on plastic and masked Michaelmas mournings. Ovid drew a nice noose from a sluice caboose, yelling half an hour an hour near the suburbs of Toulouse, "Crack my gills, smack windowsills - I'm yellow and fed on fear, I've eleven of your twelve-year-olds, they're German and they're kind." I don't swear like I used to but otherwise I'm fine. 
2. Gob left the Earth and tried to jump, I never knew he didn't have an elephant and I was killing peanuts to the potions to the best of the rest, the leftout cassocks, the rousted mass monks, the fifty-four five-fruit trays filled with kiwis, the wired rests the diacritical extrapolations and the Federation of the Jest. 
3. Oh Meg, you could drum! So easy to hum. I don't know what love is. In Piazza Grande lies the bum. 
4. We worked too hard. We were tired. I lived too long, didn't leave myself to future generations, I consumed all I had, I was afraid of leaving, stretched out the living, didn't invest in centuries of infrastructure, took civilization-building as someone else's problem, couldn't make the connection between watching reality tv and ignoring reality.
5. Left to devices, the bridge ices, smoker vices, rice dries, pies fly, sighs cry, eyes die.
6. Clogged to the cuffs, I considered all the stuff I had. I let out the hallway. Filled with dust. I must mop, I can't stop. Sheer smiles are worth the admission, left out on sidewalk with a hat and poor nutrition. Contrite and bleeding, walking up and around all about with yellow, moments of mild meanness mixed with patience, stayed up all night working on your science project, the baking soda volcano, year of the ash, Anno domino, pompeii exploded in seventy-nine, trapped in time 20000 loose living Romans coughing on their rapidly crashing property values, priceless tourism snapshots to be vandalized and voyeured like Snooki's blog. 

Paste this into your search bar

Stop wondering why you're not number one. Start feeling the bottom of the sun. The things you think you deserve, you didn't create the earth, you didn't build your car from scratch, you couldn't start a fire without a match, so many generations came and went so you could own a couch, I didn't know it was an evolutionary trait, you know, the adaptability of the slouch.

Make me more like screen-mediated teen idols, make my mind like guinea pigs tossed into a snakepit of marketing gurus, make my taste portable like a digital tongue, sell my preferences to Google and say it's good right in front of the UN.

Kim Jong Il's son is set to be number one, nepotism yet again, mediocrity throughout the 'Stans, leave your country to a kid who thinks a thermonuclear toy is his birthright. What can the North Koreans do for you? They can put away their blackmail, they can turn tales through their brainwashed wailing, they can dig themselves an economy, they can resign themselves to the worst part of the Old Testament -- you know, all the circumcision and concubine stuff in the less quotable parts of Deuteronomy.

We don't ask what we don't know anymore. Siri doesn't have an answer to the question you don't ask. I could have hired a secretary instead, she'd have worked hard, you know, like everyone else in Saskatchewan. Now she's stuck in Moose Jaw, ll'never know the joy of working for the man, for me, she might have an extra three kids out there, all that space out on the plain.

Have you ever sealed out the air, with a plastic sheet, against a glass wall, on a Monday evening, just to save a few bucks, because YouTube showed you how? That's the kind of universe that's happening right now.

15 lacklustre scintillating pronouncements

1. Cardigans are totally unnecessary.
2. Warm winter wetnaps are useful for three w-words in a row.
3. When we think about the piling on of popular opinion, we may as well soak our heads in a tile bath.
4. Would it not be strange to unlock a locket and see that it was full of shark teeth. That means you were actually in love a shark, or you were a shark dentist (that is, a dentist for sharks). Or your lover got eaten by a shark, and you decided to avenge her. That is the full set of solutions.
5. I was sitting in a restaurant and the waitress came up to me and asked for fifty cents. I said 'are you really a waitress' and she said 'please sir, get into the movie theatre.' I forgot to add, this took place in a movie theatre, and the first part is made up.
6. Nothing exists that does not exist. 
7. That is: Nothing is that isn't
8. Existence exists
9. Farmers farm
10. And yet, words don't always mean what they say?
11. Ok back on track: if you are ever in Toronto I can recommend an excellent sandwich.
12. When I get like this, and I'm NOT in front of a keyboard, there's a lot of lousy dancing.
13. My problem is I can remember almost everything I've ever said. Repetition is the enemy. And yet, the underlying form is not to be touched. Form over content.
14. I could have a niche covering all the people who kill bats for a living, who need cheap Rx pills mailed in five business days or less, who polish saxophones for military marching bands; these are important segments.
15. Ever get frustrated by the keyboard or the mouse? I mean, have we ever blamed QWERTY? What would literature be like if we had the Dvorak keyboard? I know I would probably be a Romanian count.

16 things I just gotta tell you

1. There are people out there who have written entire books about lactic acid. And molybdenum. I bet they wish people had more than two eyeballs. Especially now that attention spans are directed centrally by Evan and Biz from Twitter.
2. Baseball players get to work in pajamas. Before you boo me off this blog for a non-innovative thought, remember - this is a sign they find baseball as sleepy as you do. 
3. All this technological innovation, and we still have HR recruiters out there who hire based on 'handshake quality'. Glad I went to university but too bad I failed the course on 'handshake confidence' that is a mark of preparedness for the digital workforce.
4. I eat a lot of refreshing yogurt products and still I don't get silky-smooth skin. What gives, lifestyle ads?
5. Also, I have an appetite for dried figs, but I have never eaten a dried pineapple. Dried citrus doesn't seem to work.
6. When things are going bad, consider the Kurds. They haven't given up. Although, maybe they should.
7. Someone told me I wrote dark humour. I said, "That would strain your eyes," and I apologized. He said "don't take it literally" and I chided him for littering in an alley. He said "no pun intended" and I told him that ignorance of the law is no excuse.
8. Sing after me: "Turn around, bright eyes". Great song. But now stop and consider how creepy EYES TURNING AROUND IN THEIR SOCKETS would actually be. Clearly Bonny Tyler wrote this song for the undead. It's disgusting.
9. When I look at Google Earth and consider the vast expanses of undeveloped land in the New World, I feel that my bid to conquer the Antarctic still has a chance.
10. Weird expression, "drowning in tears." You can't drown in your own tears. Unless you save them for later, and compile a reservoir of tears. But you are more likely to suffocate in your own hair, or fall down a hole while being chased by your dandruff.
11. With amazing advances in prosthesis, an amputee may get an artificial limb and live a mostly normal life. But when my favourite wallet gets stolen, why can't I get an artificial wallet? Hey, that wallet was one of a kind.
12. Public drunkenness is far more tolerable if you are the drunk.
13. Don't be angry if your bus is late. Be angry that the bus has a lousy farebox recovery ratio, and future taxpayers will have to pay a subsidy. Remember that Ayn Rand never took a bus, and built a flying contraption not unlike a helicopter, fashioned out of old bookshelves and a shard from her cold iron heart, all powered by an invisible hand.
14. It's weird that young people think that adding powdered cheese to a bag of baked corn chips is 'the new normal'. Not to mention, if cheese can achieve a form so powdery fine that I could just inhale it, then let's skip the corn chip step, and just charge me monthly per cubic foot of powdered cheese.
15. Calling someone you dislike 'crabby' does almost nothing to improve the odds that they will get tossed alive into a pot of boiling water. You may as well call them 'lobstery'. 'Hey, there's Lobstery Joe!' You could even call them that to their face, and they would be none the wiser. There's an upside to everything.
16. We expect people to cover their mouths when they yawn. We expect people to cover their nose when they sneeze. Can you see where I'm going with this? Why should I be ridiculed for selling a new line of vomit-suppression scarves. Also, why don't people cover their hands when they tickle?

Why do I ask so many questions?

Could it be that history is a lie?

Could it be that what survives isn't what's good? Are cockroaches good? Were dinosaurs bad?

Could it be that there is no Plan? Is that a narrative fallacy? Do you believe in progress? Do you believe in chaos? Do you really think it could have happened by accident?

Could it be that, in the face of randomness, you could still choose something good?

Could it be that you can choose something bad, because you know it will turn out right in the end - because you believe there is a Plan?

Is religion for simpletons? Is atheism for the smug and the dejected?

Do you care about getting the credit? Do you just want your descendants to survive?

Have you ever thought about this--even for a second? Were you drunk?

Do you wonder why people need to take drugs? Have you ever tried connecting the dots? Is it any wonder we're tortured by sociopaths?

When was the last time you voted? Is abstinence the answer? Do I have a selective memory?

Seriously what is UP with this shit??

Pledge

[more nonsensical than usual]

Got drain leavings to declog. When I'm done you'll hear me every day for a month. Acid builds up in the soul's muscles. Massages hurt the next day. Another twisted neck, case of heartbreak, gut rot. 

Put yourself on the line and things get interesting. Stake your rep on a promise. You won't let down the fans. I mean, if you had fans. I mean, whatever.

We want myriad things, too many to encyclopedize. The massive gut wants more.

Building a tent beside the highway to Dubai, the most overbuilt shitstorm on the planet.

"I just came to say hello." ~Martina

I'm a master mummy; fully drained of fluid in my rocking chair, dessicated but with useful anecdotes. I told the one about the tortoise and hare, and the kids got bored. I said 'ok check out my art exhibit'. I try not to make children scream, but they get lollipop fingers on my knitting needles.  Never mess with a middle-aged man's makework project.

Reconstruct awareness. Reconstruct ray of consciousness. Reconstruct the last authoritative version of your hopes and dreams- -a narrative to disguise your personal chaos. The trackable tale convinces passersby. Need a copywriter to tell the story of your olive oil, pressed from virgin trees in a small town in Abruzzo, so it'll be worth a 500% markup on the big box stores. One taste and you know what your tongue was for.

What words wind from mind, and what from keyboard rhythm, product of muscular bias--easier to spell depending on spacing of keys? Whatever became of the random flight of bumblebees?

Anarchy won't let you be. Sid Vicious, a bassist dead from an overdose, a '70s badboy with BO and sweat stains, blew his brains out on fame. I wanna be, the prince of malarkey. He never know God though. The mass is too predictable, too slow.

No matter what you say, people need to tell you later. Everybody wanna step on their creator.

Climbing Lou Reed's mountain of feedback - he powers his soul with battery acid. Don't be part of the scenery, step out from the machinery, grab your things, I've come to take you home.

Sooner or later you face off with bananas or booze. You've got the love, the handshake, the warmth, you've got the what-to-keep and what-to-cut. Though don't preface with hurried praise - you're telegraphing 'but'.

Verbatim

Exercise
Write
Act, no plan
Read
Rent
Invest
Organize
Gather
Cultivate
Network
Get born
Flower
Flourish
Take stock
Account
Develop

Top 10 Cupcake Man Jersey Shore Nicknames

[inspired by Mike 'The Situation' Sorrentino]

1. Xupcake Man
2. FREE-CUPPs
3. Bloggzy
4. TDottily
5. BloodCuddler
6. Ramblo
7. MiSCter E
8. Prose-Echo
9. Misa Fred Moe Cupcake
10. The Internast

Exploding Cupcakes

Love it or list it

1. I would produce a lot more blog posts if I were batting cleanup.
2. Drunk driving would pay more if jail was like the lottery
3. People in coffee shops are more serious than is comfortable. Perhaps there is an opportunity for some enterprising coffee shop clowns to brighten our moods with heavily-makeuped antics and horn-honking while we type into this apathetic oblivion.
   
4. Driving in a swamp with an outboard engine on your boat is a good idea if pirates are chasing you and they are relying on wind power. Driving in a swamp at most other times is inadvisable.
   
5. Facebook has neutralized complainers. This doesn't sit well with me. I want more violent public outburst. This blog will have to do. INFIDELS.
   
6. 99% of everything meets with casual contempt -- the jackasses would have you believe.
   
7. Cynics only think they win if they think you are listening
8. Don't open a cheese shop if you can't handle the smell. This goes for anything you might do that might have consequences you might not handle. Basically, to accurately predict your performance far into the future is an invaluable skill, although if we master this skill the psychic industry will go out of business--but they'll see that coming so it's just a part of globalization.
   
9. Try opening the door for someone. Now, try doing it for 45 minutes straight. You've gone from being 'polite' to being 'a doorman', you cranky doorman!
10. Don't complain about things not tasting like they used to. Newsflash: Nothing tastes like it used to. Once you eat it the first time, it's gone!
11. Wait until midnight before setting your alarm. If you want to sleep for 7 hours, set it for 7 o'clock. There, I just saved you the hassle of arithmetic. Of course, if you want to wake up at 7 o'clock regardless of when you go to bed or how much you want to sleep, you can set your alarm at anytime.
    
12. Don't put on clothes if you're about to get the electric chair. Worse than being electrocuted naked is getting an autopsy done with static-y clothes.
13. Speaking of static: Plastic dryer ball in the dryer - good idea. Plastic dryer ball in your mouth - a bad idea. Who cares if your throat is wrinkle and static free. You are poisoning yourself needlessly. If you want to swallow things, try vitamin D tablets - 1000 units daily can help prevent cancer.
    
14. Rap music, polka music, banshee music, hip hop music - it's all just music. All music is identical if you are from outer space and an alien with no ears. We all could have saved a lot of time for the aliens and just had one radio station called Homogeneous Radio FM. Now when the aliens invade they will be more pissed off than necessary. Enslavement + extra punishment = smarten up next time, humans!
    
15. Until we either make peace with or annihilate the ants, they will continue plundering our dust mines. Simple as that. I have my magnifying glass, but no one I know can speak the language of antish diplomacy. Next move is totally up to you guys.
    

Agh fest 2010

Agh, I am spitting again, we lug loogies to mouth, then shout. I see, agh, a cowboy atop a church organ. It's a Spaghetti Western, Ennio Morricone as the angel of life and death. A fist flashes, light extinguishes itself.

Attempt to reincarnate. Attempt to relate. Mind-reading will be a feature on our next beta release. Don't bother teasing, individuality happily ceases, empathy's well-worn when I know everything you do, we are to each other a bland familiar stew...

Oh my dove, fly away, find land. Was the Odyssey just evolutionary adaptation? I'm on cold charred Galapologan islands, finding fish with finger-hooks, eeking existence from the pages of a book.

Agh - I was drunk this month, I was a pedestrian run over by a Hummer. Winter without snow, lets the homeless lie low, on King Street, where we eat street meat, where beauty meets slush, and anyone well-dressed is probably in a rush.

Tell me a story, write about your travels. To travel is to work. Packing and unpacking like George Clooney, up in the air, we expect customer service, lug lives here through air. We mostly hit eject, sucking in information, like children eating to prepare for the next stage of growth, just a billion little larvae who've grown a second mouth.

We are electric these days, we travel in every direction instantaneously. She said "I don't need your word of mouth when I got the search engines on my side."

Resolutions

1. Resuscitate more life forms via electrostatic reverse-cryogenics
2. Part hair in accordance with a normal distribution
3. Master the truck-to-truck propane transfer
4. Relentlessly self-actuate. Failing that, wiltingly self-deprecate
5. Cell-divide mitotically on even-numbered days of the month
6. Three words: Laser-tag Wednesdays
7. Burn down the Museum of Arson
8. Punctuate more punctiliously. Alliterate less repetitively. Write more adverbially
9. Perform at least one gastric bypass surgery
   
10. Increase sandwich production, decrease sandwich consumption. Invest sandwich-offset credits in emerging shawarma economy
    

Every time I stare at this screen

...I feel 1 frickin inch tall. Like Pac-Man in the maze, but I can't see any blinking edible pellets, and the blue ghosts are after me.

Mostly there is the waiting, and the empty space, and the strangers in the coffee shop if I'm out on the road looking for inspiration, and the guilt at not writing. The writing happens in about 2.5 minutes. The rest of the time is wasted, or maybe praying is what they would have called it 150 years ago.

Do you know what ultramontanism is? It's the sort of crap I look up on the Wik instead of facing this job: write a crapass FIAC blog post that don't make no sense. Which is we both expect. Ex pectin. Like the man who gave up strawberry jam was ex pectin. Argh.

I have almost deleted this blog entirely about 57,000 times. But the other 2,454,000 times I didn't so who cares right?

Last night I met this huge tall Asian dude who wants to open up a bake shop in Nashville, Tennessee--a Christian bakery in Nashville that serves discount baked goods to starving country music artists and pays them decent wages to perform, because there's so many GD musicians in Nashville that they don't get paid. Ha. Just like the blogosphere. Such is the landscape when 99.9% of your colleagues are barely 1% distinguishable from you. Ability to discern is victimized by Hick's law, whereby increased infomation prolongs decisionmaking time, and by corollary, apathy. Low barrier to entry. High cost of breaking through the dip. Know what I thought about the Asian baker? I thought this guy has it figured out. Good for him. There are still saints out there.