Cab Calloway’s Jive Talk Hepster Dictionary

I’ve been watching Ken Burns’ history of Jazz documentary. In it he references Cab Calloway’s Jive Talk Hepster Dictionary. It includes some great phrases (many of which have seeped into the popular lexicon) to pepper your vocabulary with:

INSTRUMENTS

Guitar: Git Box or Belly-Fiddle
Bass: Doghouse
Drums: Suitcase, Hides, or Skins
Piano: Storehouse or Ivories
Saxophone: Plumbing or Reeds
Trombone: Tram or Slush-Pump
Clarinet: Licorice Stick or Gob Stick
Xylophone: Woodpile
Vibraphone: Ironworks
Violin: Squeak-Box
Accordion: Squeeze-Box or Groan-Box
Tuba: Foghorn
Electric Organ: Spark Jiver

JIVE TERMINOLOGY

A hummer (n.) — exceptionally good. Ex., “Man, that boy is a hummer.”
Ain’t coming on that tab (v.) — won’t accept the proposition. Usually abbr. to “I ain’t coming.”
Alligator (n.) — jitterbug.
Apple (n.) — the big town, the main stem, Harlem.
Armstrongs (n.) — musical notes in the upper register, high trumpet notes.
Barbecue (n.) — the girl friend, a beauty
Barrelhouse (adj.) — free and easy.
Battle (n.) — a very homely girl, a crone.
Beat (adj.) — (1) tired, exhausted. Ex., “You look beat” or “I feel beat.” (2) lacking anything. Ex, “I am beat for my cash”, “I am beat to my socks” (lacking everything).
Beat it out (v.) — play it hot, emphasize the rhythym.
Beat up (adj.) — sad, uncomplimentary, tired.
Beat up the chops (or the gums) (v.) — to talk, converse, be loquacious.
Beef (v.) — to say, to state. Ex., “He beefed to me that, etc.”
Bible (n.) — the gospel truth. Ex., “It’s the bible!”
Black (n.) — night.
Black and tan (n.) — dark and light colored folks. Not colored and white folks as erroneously assumed.
Blew their wigs (adj.) — excited with enthusiasm, gone crazy.
Blip (n.) — something very good. Ex., “That’s a blip”; “She’s a blip.”
Blow the top (v.) — to be overcome with emotion (delight). Ex., “You’ll blow your top when you hear this one.”
Boogie-woogie (n.) — harmony with accented bass.
Boot (v.) — to give. Ex., “Boot me that glove.”
Break it up (v.) — to win applause, to stop the show.
Bree (n.) — girl.
Bright (n.) — day.
Brightnin’ (n.) — daybreak.
Bring down ((1) n. (2) v.) — (1) something depressing. Ex., “That’s a bring down.” (2) Ex., “That brings me down.”
Buddy ghee (n.) — fellow.
Bust your conk (v.) — apply yourself diligently, break your neck.
Canary (n.) — girl vocalist.
Capped (v.) — outdone, surpassed.
Cat (n.) — musician in swing band.
Chick (n.) — girl.
Chime (n.) — hour. Ex., “I got in at six chimes.”
Clambake (n.) — ad lib session, every man for himself, a jam session not in the groove.
Chirp (n.) — female singer.
Cogs (n.) — sun glasses.
Collar (v.) — to get, to obtain, to comprehend. Ex., “I gotta collar me some food”; “Do you collar this jive?”
Come again (v.) — try it over, do better than you are doing, I don’t understand you.
Comes on like gangbusters (or like test pilot) (v.) — plays, sings, or dances in a terrific manner, par excellence in any department. Sometimes abbr. to “That singer really comes on!”
Cop (v.) — to get, to obtain (see collar; knock).
Corny (adj.) — old-fashioned, stale.
Creeps out like the shadow (v.) — “comes on,” but in smooth, suave, sophisticated manner.
Crumb crushers (n.) — teeth.
Cubby (n.) — room, flat, home.
Cups (n.) — sleep. Ex., “I gotta catch some cups.”
Cut out (v.) — to leave, to depart. Ex., “It’s time to cut out”; “I cut out from the joint in early bright.”
Cut rate (n.) — a low, cheap person. Ex., “Don’t play me cut rate, Jack!”
Dicty (adj.) — high-class, nifty, smart.
Dig (v.) — (1) meet. Ex., “I’ll plant you now and dig you later.” (2) look, see. Ex., “Dig the chick on your left duke.” (3) comprehend, understand. Ex., “Do you dig this jive?”
Dim (n.) — evening.
Dime note (n.) — ten-dollar bill.
Doghouse (n.) — bass fiddle.
Domi (n.) — ordinary place to live in. Ex., “I live in a righteous dome.”
Doss (n.) — sleep. Ex., “I’m a little beat for my doss.”
Down with it (adj.) — through with it.
Drape (n.) — suit of clothes, dress, costume.
Dreamers (n.) — bed covers, blankets.
Dry-goods (n.) — same as drape.
Duke (n.) — hand, mitt.
Dutchess (n.) — girl.
Early black (n.) — evening
Early bright (n.) — morning.
Evil (adj.) — in ill humor, in a nasty temper.
Fall out (v.) — to be overcome with emotion. Ex., “The cats fell out when he took that solo.”
Fews and two (n.) — money or cash in small quatity.
Final (v.) — to leave, to go home. Ex., “I finaled to my pad” (went to bed); “We copped a final” (went home).
Fine dinner (n.) — a good-looking girl.
Focus (v.) — to look, to see.
Foxy (v.) — shrewd.
Frame (n.) — the body.
Fraughty issue (n.) — a very sad message, a deplorable state of affairs.
Freeby (n.) — no charge, gratis. Ex., “The meal was a freeby.”
Frisking the whiskers (v.) — what the cats do when they are warming up for a swing session.
Frolic pad (n.) — place of entertainment, theater, nightclub.
Fromby (adj.) — a frompy queen is a battle or faust.
Front (n.) — a suit of clothes.
Fruiting (v.) — fickle, fooling around with no particular object.
Fry (v.) — to go to get hair straightened.
Gabriels (n.) — trumpet players.
Gammin’ (adj.) — showing off, flirtatious.
Gasser (n, adj.) — sensational. Ex., “When it comes to dancing, she’s a gasser.”
Gate (n.) — a male person (a salutation), abbr. for “gate-mouth.”
Get in there (exclamation.) — go to work, get busy, make it hot, give all you’ve got.
Gimme some skin (v.) — shake hands.
Glims (n.) — the eyes.
Got your boots on — you know what it is all about, you are a hep cat, you are wise.
Got your glasses on — you are ritzy or snooty, you fail to recognize your friends, you are up-stage.
Gravy (n.) — profits.
Grease (v.) — to eat.
Groovy (adj.) — fine. Ex., “I feel groovy.”
Ground grippers (n.) — new shoes.
Growl (n.) — vibrant notes from a trumpet.
Gut-bucket (adj.) — low-down music.
Guzzlin’ foam (v.) — drinking beer.
Hard (adj.) — fine, good. Ex., “That’s a hard tie you’re wearing.”
Hard spiel (n.) — interesting line of talk.
Have a ball (v.) — to enjoy yourself, stage a celebration. Ex., “I had myself a ball last night.”
Hep cat (n.) — a guy who knows all the answers, understands jive.
Hide-beater (n.) — a drummer (see skin-beater).
Hincty (adj.) — conceited, snooty.
Hip (adj.) — wise, sophisticated, anyone with boots on. Ex., “She’s a hip chick.”
Home-cooking (n.) — something very dinner (see fine dinner).
Hot (adj.) — musically torrid; before swing, tunes were hot or bands were hot.
Hype (n, v.) — build up for a loan, wooing a girl, persuasive talk.
Icky (n.) — one who is not hip, a stupid person, can’t collar the jive.
Igg (v.) — to ignore someone. Ex., “Don’t igg me!)
In the groove (adj.) — perfect, no deviation, down the alley.
Jack (n.) — name for all male friends (see gate; pops).
Jam ((1)n, (2)v.) — (1) improvised swing music. Ex., “That’s swell jam.” (2) to play such music. Ex., “That cat surely can jam.”
Jeff (n.) — a pest, a bore, an icky.
Jelly (n.) — anything free, on the house.
Jitterbug (n.) — a swing fan.
Jive (n.) — Harlemese speech.
Joint is jumping — the place is lively, the club is leaping with fun.
Jumped in port (v.) — arrived in town.
Kick (n.) — a pocket. Ex., “I’ve got five bucks in my kick.”
Kill me (v.) — show me a good time, send me.
Killer-diller (n.) — a great thrill.
Knock (v.) — give. Ex., “Knock me a kiss.”
Kopasetic (adj.) — absolutely okay, the tops.
Lamp (v.) — to see, to look at.
Land o’darkness (n.) — Harlem.
Lane (n.) — a male, usually a nonprofessional.
Latch on (v.) — grab, take hold, get wise to.
Lay some iron (v.) — to tap dance. Ex., “Jack, you really laid some iron that last show!”
Lay your racket (v.) — to jive, to sell an idea, to promote a proposition.
Lead sheet (n.) — a topcoat.
Left raise (n.) — left side. Ex., “Dig the chick on your left raise.”
Licking the chops (v.) — see frisking the whiskers.
Licks (n.) — hot musical phrases.
Lily whites (n.) — bed sheets.
Line (n.) — cost, price, money. Ex., “What is the line on this drape” (how much does this suit cost)? “Have you got the line in the mouse” (do you have the cash in your pocket)? Also, in replying, all figures are doubled. Ex., “This drape is line forty” (this suit costs twenty dollars).
Lock up — to acquire something exclusively. Ex., “He’s got that chick locked up”; “I’m gonna lock up that deal.”
Main kick (n.) — the stage.
Main on the hitch (n.) — husband.
Main queen (n.) — favorite girl friend, sweetheart.
Man in gray (n.) — the postman.
Mash me a fin (command.) — Give me $5.
Mellow (adj.) — all right, fine. Ex., “That’s mellow, Jack.”
Melted out (adj.) — broke.
Mess (n.) — something good. Ex., “That last drink was a mess.”
Meter (n.) — quarter, twenty-five cents.
Mezz (n.) — anything supreme, genuine. Ex., “this is really the mezz.”
Mitt pounding (n.) — applause.
Moo juice (n.) — milk.
Mouse (n.) — pocket. Ex., “I’ve got a meter in the mouse.”
Muggin’ (v.) — making ‘em laugh, putting on the jive. “Muggin’ lightly,” light staccato swing; “muggin’ heavy,” heavy staccato swing.
Murder (n.) — something excellent or terrific. Ex., “That’s solid murder, gate!”
Neigho, pops — Nothing doing, pal.
Nicklette (n.) — automatic phonograph, music box.
Nickel note (n.) — five-dollar bill.
Nix out (v.) — to eliminate, get rid of. Ex., “I nixed that chick out last week”; “I nixed my garments” (undressed).
Nod (n.) — sleep. Ex., “I think I’l cop a nod.”
Ofay (n.) — white person.
Off the cob (adj.) — corny, out of date.
Off-time jive (n.) — a sorry excuse, saying the wrong thing.
Orchestration (n.) — an overcoat.
Out of the world (adj.) — perfect rendition. Ex., “That sax chorus was out of the world.”
Ow! — an exclamation with varied meaning. When a beautiful chick passes by, it’s “Ow!”; and when someone pulls an awful pun, it’s also “Ow!”
Pad (n.) — bed.
Pecking (n.) — a dance introduced at the Cotton Club in 1937.
Peola (n.) — a light person, almost white.
Pigeon (n.) — a young girl.
Pops (n.) — salutation for all males (see gate; Jack).
Pounders (n.) — policemen.
Queen (n.) — a beautiful girl.
Rank (v.) — to lower.
Ready (adj.) — 100 per cent in every way. Ex., “That fried chicken was ready.”
Ride (v.) — to swing, to keep perfect tempo in playing or singing.
Riff (n.) — hot lick, musical phrase.
Righteous (adj.) — splendid, okay. Ex., “That was a righteous queen I dug you with last black.”
Rock me (v.) — send me, kill me, move me with rhythym.
Ruff (n.) — quarter, twenty-five cents.
Rug cutter (n.) — a very good dancer, an active jitterbug.
Sad (adj.) — very bad. Ex., “That was the saddest meal I ever collared.”
Sadder than a map (adj.) — terrible. Ex., “That man is sadder than a map.”
Salty (adj.) — angry, ill-tempered.
Sam got you — you’ve been drafted into the army.
Send (v.) — to arouse the emotions. (joyful). Ex., “That sends me!”
Set of seven brights (n.) — one week.
Sharp (adj.) — neat, smart, tricky. Ex., “That hat is sharp as a tack.”
Signify (v.) — to declare yourself, to brag, to boast.
Skins (n.) — drums.
Skin-beater (n.) — drummer (see hide-beater).
Sky piece (n.) — hat.
Slave (v.) — to work, whether arduous labor or not.
Slide your jib (v.) — to talk freely.
Snatcher (n.) — detective.
So help me — it’s the truth, that’s a fact.
Solid (adj.) — great, swell, okay.
Sounded off (v.) — began a program or conversation.
Spoutin’ (v.) — talking too much.
Square (n.) — an unhep person (see icky; Jeff).
Stache (v.) — to file, to hide away, to secrete.
Stand one up (v.) — to play one cheap, to assume one is a cut-rate.
To be stashed (v.) — to stand or remain.
Susie-Q (n.) — a dance introduced at the Cotton Club in 1936.
Take it slow (v.) — be careful.
Take off (v.) — play a solo.
The man (n.) — the law.
Threads (n.) — suit, dress or costuem (see drape; dry-goods).
Tick (n.) — minute, moment. Ex., “I’ll dig you in a few ticks.” Also, ticks are doubled in accounting time, just as money isdoubled in giving “line.” Ex., “I finaled to the pad this early bright at tick twenty” (I got to bed this morning at ten o’clock).
Timber (n.) — toothipick.
To dribble (v.) — to stutter. Ex., “He talked in dribbles.”
Togged to the bricks — dressed to kill, from head to toe.
Too much (adj.) — term of highest praise. Ex., “You are too much!”
Trickeration (n.) — struttin’ your stuff, muggin’ lightly and politely.
Trilly (v.) — to leave, to depart. Ex., “Well, I guess I’ll trilly.”
Truck (v.) — to go somewhere. Ex., “I think I’ll truck on down to the ginmill (bar).”
Trucking (n.) — a dance introduced at the Cotton Club in 1933.
Twister to the slammer (n.) — the key to the door.
Two cents (n.) — two dollars.
Unhep (adj.) — not wise to the jive, said of an icky, a Jeff, a square.
Vine (n.) — a suit of clothes.
V-8 (n.) — a chick who spurns company, is independent, is not amenable.
What’s your story? — What do you want? What have you got to say for yourself? How are tricks? What excuse can you offer? Ex., “I don’t know what his story is.”
Whipped up (adj.) — worn out, exhausted, beat for your everything.
Wren (n.) — a chick, a queen.
Wrong riff — the wrong thing said or done. Ex., “You’re coming up on the wrong riff.”
Yarddog (n.) — uncouth, badly attired, unattractive male or female.
Yeah, man — an exclamation of assent.
Zoot (adj.) — exaggerated
Zoot suit (n.) — the ultimate in clothes. The only totally and truly American civilian suit .

Merry Pranksters: “Not That Pivotal”

I went off to the Furthur Festival completely uncertain about how that would go. I met up with Zane Kesey and the folks on the Furthur Bus and we sat for a day in the rain outside of the venue. We had some very surreal moments trying to get the Furthur Bus on site. There were a handful of very quotable moments.

Zane approached the gate and was given a spot in the venue. He went back out to get the bus and drive it in and we were positioned to help him back it into this spot on a hill. It was all a very precarious series of maneuvers. Just as it’s about to be in place, a very angry aggressive production guy pulls in in a golf cart and parks right behind the bus so that Zane can’t park it.

We try to explain that this is the bus that the festival is named after. (It’s actually the sequel, but, y’know, still a fitting mascot.) This angry guy’s henchman walks up and says “well, anyone can paint Furthur on the front of their bus.”

I don’t know who these two guys were but the henchman proceeded to make a handful of really stupid statements. First he said “This isn’t the ’60s where you guys can just pull in and do your own thing.” Then he said the Merry Pranksters were “not that pivotal.” My jaw was on the ground. Not that pivotal to WHAT?!? The band named itself after the bus, the event was named after the bus, the band wrote a song about the bus (“The Other One”) with the lyrics “the bus came by and I got on, that’s when it all began.” How much more “pivotal” did the Pranksters need to be?

I asked this guy if he read the Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. He said he had but was dismissive about the book and it’s importance to the Dead scene. This guy kept putting his foot in his mouth. He said that Zane didn’t “create” the Bus, so Zane replies “No, but I inherited it.” And then Zane backs the vehicle up and is gone and this guy turns to me, “Was that Ken Kesey’s son?”

I got a very big grin on my face when I said “Yes.” This guy had stood there acting important to us for twenty minutes and just now figured out how stupid his “anybody can paint Furthur on the front of their bus” comment came out sounding.

There was plenty of comedy and irony to go around.

Furthurmore with Furthur after Furthur

From the Always Traveling Furthur Department:

After the Furthur Festival in Mountain Aire, we’re going Furthur with the Furthur Bus…

The afterparty, which I rather uninventively dubbed Furthurmore, is going to be at Tuolumne, California, about 35 miles up the road from the Mountain Aire Furthur Festival site.

Here’s the image for the event flier:

I recently updated the Furthurmore web page to include site directions, too.

Hope to see you at the jubilee!

Say Hello!

It looks like the High Weirdness Project linked my Port-O-Pulpit on Wheels entry… I got a bunch of unexpected “views” on my page and traced the link back…

How I Became Pope Shady

I wasn’t always Pope. And I wasn’t always Shady. So it stands to reason, that I certainly wasn’t always Pope Shady. Shady came before Pope. In the winter of 1988, I went home from Antioch College for Christmas Break. I went to a redneck bonfire party and this denim clad guy I didn’t know said, “I ought to call you Shady.” He said that because I was wearing purple John Lennon glasses and it was dark out. The glasses were proscription and I didn’t have a second non-tinted pair to wear after dark.

Well, I liked the name Shady. The name Backflash just sort of occurred to me. I was always a fan of Ziggy Stardust, so I figured it was a mutation of that. It had never occurred to me how close Shady Backflash was to Snidely Whiplash, the nemesis of Dudley Do-Right.

In honor of Easter, I’d like to tell the tale of “How I Became Pope.”

My first year at Antioch I was heading to Dark Star Comics in Yellow Springs and buying and reading a lot of very strange books, many of them published by Falcon Press. Prior to my first year of college I’d never heard of Falcon Press. My first Falcon Press book was Neuropolitique, a Timothy Leary book on the Evolution of Consciousness. Leary examined the themes that became central to his scientific outlook, namely whether it was possible to “wash” brains and, if so, whether psychedelics could assist in the program. Much of the book was written while Tim Leary was in a maximum security prison, having been imprisoned for possession of two joints and labeled by Richard Nixon “the most dangerous man in America.” At one point Leary is introduced to Charles Manson, serving life in prison for orchestrating numerous very high profile “Helter Skelter” Manson Family murders.

In the course of the book Leary examines whether the Manson Family was brainwashed and whether he, himself, after all of his experiences with psychedelics had learned to “wash his own brain”… He arrives at something he calls “imprinting” and sets out to “map” the mind with an 8-circuit model. At each stage of development, he says, the mind is most vulnerable to receiving imprints. As the mind develops, new circuits are impressionable. At a later stage it is difficult to go back and re-imprint the mind, but that the use of psychedelics open up opportunities to do so. He also examines the ability of trauma and related events to make one more susceptible to new imprints. He examines the kidnapping of Patty Hearst by the SLA as an example of traumatic re-imprinting.

I read and reread Neuropolitique. Then I went back in the bookstore and the woman running the store said “You must also be interested in Robert Anton Wilson.” I told her I’d never heard of Robert Anton Wilson. She pointed to a stack of books by this unknown author. I picked out one titled The New Inquisition: Irrational Rationalism and the Citadel of Science.

A friend down the hall was studying psychology and bong hits. He majored in bong hits and minored in psychology. And even though he only stayed on campus for a year before dropping out to hang around Strawberry Fields in NYC, I learned a tremendous amount from late night conversations with him. One night we got to talking about a guy on our campus who was calling himself Tao Jaffee who wrote a long winded piece for the campus paper called “Who Is John Galt?” We were first year students and not terribly familiar with the “tempest-in-a-teapot-controversy-of-the-week” nature of LIfe At Antioch, but we were plenty curious about this whole scenario. Turns out, not much of this was as unique as we’d thought. John Galt was from Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged and the question “Who Is John Galt?” was lifted directly from there. There is even a website called whoisjohngalt.com. But the rumors swirling around Tao Jaffee were that he’d started a cult.

That’s when I decided I wanted to start a cult of my own. My friend was railing against my book The New Inquisition, so I started The Counter-Revolution Against The New Inquisition and declared “we’re starting a cult! Give me your lunch money!”

Another friend was working on launching an “alternative campus paper” and agreed to run my first article as Shady Backflash.

The cult never got off the ground in spite of numerous attempts on my part to keep restarting it. In the end, I didn’t have much to offer. Even my philosophy was half-baked, warmed over reworkings of R.A. Wilson and Leary, sprinkled with esoteric Deadheadisms.

The following year I returned to campus, but had a rather traumatic and abrupt departure for brain surgery on September 23, 1989. (Readers of R.A. Wilson will note this significance of The Number 23.)

When I returned in the spring, I returned to Dark Star Comics for my fix of Falcon Press books. I picked up another Robert Anton Wilson book, this one titled Coincidance.

At the time that I was reading Coincidance, I was also writing a term paper on “Acausal Coincidental Principle and Ceremonial Magick”. Acausal Coincidental Principle is one of those long-winded bullshit terms that seems to say a lot and nothing at the same time. I was hoping that Coincidance could help me understand What It All Meant. Essentially what I was trying to get at was the idea of seemingly unrelated things coming up at the same time in the form of “meaningful coincidence”. I read books on empiricism by A.J. Ayer. And I read all the prominent writings of the time on Synchronicity. I read about Jung and Pauli. I read about seriality. I read Koestler’s investigations. No one really knew how to explain the occurrence of causally unrelated events happening at the same time. Today I see that there is a prominent sentence in the scientific world to deal with this strangeness: “correlation does not imply causation.”

Casauity is something we all understand. Baseball is the perfect example of causality. Someone throws a ball. Someone swings a bat. The bat either hits or misses the ball, and the outcome begins to dictate the movements of the play. If the bat connects with the ball, the ball flies through the air and the batter runs. If it misses, well, there are a few variations, but in the vast majority of them, the batter doesn’t run for a base. Most scientific models are based upon the causal model of the world. Or at least they were until Einstein, who introduced the idea of relativity and when he began to delve into quantum mechanics, even he did not even accept many of the results of his own findings, going so far as to proclaim “God does not play dice with the universe.” Stephen Hawking retorted “God not only plays dice, but sometimes throws them where they cannot be seen.” (As has been stated elsewhere, God does so in the dark and the dice are loaded.)

The gist of what I was trying to understand in college was whether or not there was a way to increase the frequency of the occurrence of meaningful coincidences. It seemed like a lofty ambition, but I was doing a lot of acid at the time and seeing meaningful coincidences everywhere.

In the course of writing this paper, I hoped that Robert Anton Wilson would provide some insights. So I began reading Coincidance. And in case that book did not provide enough insight, I picked up a giant doorstop of a book titled The Illuminatus Trilogy. Coincidance, as the name implies, was a look at meaningful coincidences. The doorstop was a trilogy that wove historical data about The Illuminati in with very strange humor and sci-fi elements. I came to learn, in the course of reading R.A. Wilson, that he lived in Yellow Springs, Ohio when he was writing the books and that portions of the Illuminatus Trilogy were set on my college campus and the adjacent nature preserve, The Glen Helen.

I had also gotten a gig writing for The Antioch Record, the campus paper. The Record editors humored me by letting me write a column as Shady Backflash alongside my more mundane campus coverage. I’d been influenced by the R.A. Wilson writings enough at this point that I began to expand on the idea of a campus cult to a religion and wrote a quick article called “Shady For Pope.” I wrote that I was expanding from politics to religion and sought to attract converts.

The following week, a friend, John Wells, was convinced to render a cartoon of me as the Heirophant Tarot card, wearing a propellar hat and holding an ankh. Above the Heirophant were the words Shady For Pope. As a last second addition one of the editors found a Weekly World News Headline that read “As If She Didn’t Suffer Enough With Brain Surgery” and blacked out the S and made the “h” into a capital letter. It was perfect! The cartoon appeared on the back of the school paper.

Then a series of very strange things happened. Someone gave me a card that read “The Bearer of this card is an official and authorized Pope” (you can create your own here.) Then someone else gave me a photocopied stack of papers titled The Principia Discordia. But that was only the beginning of the weirdness. In the course of reading Coincidance, I saw the Pope card replicated in the back of the book under a caption “You Too Can Be A Pope.” And I learned that the entire Illuminatus Trilogy that I was reading was based upon this “book” called The Principia Discordia that I’d been handed in a stack of photocopied pages.

So there I was back on campus staring at a term paper on Acausal Coincidental Principle analyzing whether I could “invoke” coincidence. I didn’t do it by ritual, but, rather, I’d inadvertantly opened a portal for Eris Discordia, the Greek Goddess of Chaos and Discord to wander into my life and introduce herself.

And so even though I believed I was starting my own religion, The Born Again Pagan, Christian Mystic, Zen Gypsy Warlock, Psychedelic Mind-Fucked Church, unseen forces were conspiring to draft me into theirs. I kept my religion, but expanded my cult portfolio to be poly-denominational and omnidirectional. I’ve been a proud Discordian Pope ever since. The Discordians, I’ve come to learn, define a Pope as “someone not under the authority of the authorities.” What is it they say? When the student is ready, the teacher will arrive? I guess The Secret MisChiefs decided I was ready to be Pope.

Don’t Let The Milk Float Ride Your Mind

“Don’t let the sun blast your shadow
Don’t let the milk float ride your mind”
– Ziggy Stardust, “Rock & Roll Suicide”

I’ve been increasingly uncertain about the role of this blog and yesterday I wrote a long tirade about how microblogging via Facebook status updates and Twitter have seemingly supplanted a lot of the blogging activity that I used to participate in and how that seems a lot more like microwavable meals on wheels than actual interaction, but by the end of the long winded tirade, I’d bored myself with how tedious it sounded and I didn’t post it.

Then this morning I clicked over to Technorati.com, the site that tracks all of the thousands of blogs online, and saw that it lifted my ranking from 1 to 103 and listed the following tags as descriptive of what this blog is all about: “blotter art, blotter, merry pranksters, ken kesey, lsd, acid, psychedelic art, art, jerry garcia, grateful dead, deadheads, burning man,”

Granted, I probably put those tags in there. In fact, I’m nearly certain I did when I submitted the blog for inclusion on their site, but what I’m noticing this morning is nowhere in there did I include “curmudgeonly rants about how facebook and twitter and microblogging are superficial and deteriorating discourse in the modern world,” so I decided this morning that I need to get over my grumpy old man tendency and get back to the meat of the matter, which is cheerleading this weird little art world that I’ve found myself in and that I’m spending my time trying to promote as an alternative to venturing out into the cold scary world of employment to earn my rent and groceries.

Kesey once used the term The Intrepid Trips Society for Artistic Revolutionary Training (ITSART) as the umbrella under which he threw parties. I’d like to see the ITSART faction of the Grateful Dead scene have a second life. In that vein, I should say it does look like our afterparty is going to happen. At least that still seems to be the hope… Furthurmore is still the working name… Two days, May 31st & June 1st, a continuation of the Memorial weekend event at Mountain Aire…

I’ll post more here and to ATFurthur.com when some contracts get signed and announcements are ready to be made.

And in the meantime, I’m creating some new blotter art designs, tweaking some old ones into new variations, working on scanning images to the Shakedown Gallery website, and still plodding along with Google Page Ranking.

George W. Bush: Asshat or Fucktard?

He may not be President of the United States anymore (thankfully!) but that doesn’t mean George W. Bush still isn’t a total clown. Watch as he attempts to act like a statesman on a recent humanitarian visit to Haiti:

Asshat or Fucktard? Definitely both!!!