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Capital of Nasty Vol. 05 Issue 10
Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume V, Issue 10, AD MM
Monday, August 14, 2000
ISSN 1482-0471
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"Fuck, I gotta get my gel pack. My ass is fucking sore from the ride
yesterday".
"Let anyone who's intercepting this conversation know, that Leo is
referring to the ride on his bike. I didn't see him yesterday".
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Half-assed? Sweetie, if I shaved my ass and painted a yellow H on it,
I could park choppers on it, baby.
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1. Editorial
2. Writing About Writing, Which I Never Do
3. von Trier Again
4. How to insult foreign netizens
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This week's Golden Testicle award:
http://www.cs.utah.edu/~gk/atwork/
Under Construction.
Or "This icon says more about me than it does about my web page"
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1. Editorial
By Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro
The other night my girlfriend took me to see "Cotton Mary". Despite
the fact that the movie had one famous actor Greta Scacchi (assuming
you know her and even if you do, still remember her), the movie was,
to put it simply and very mildly, a waste of time. I could've added
money to that list, but it was cheap Tuesday and my girlfriend paid
for it.
At least I got to glance at Greta's breasts, which for a second, were
the highlight of the whole two hours I sat there. I could perhaps add
the "love scene" in there too, but the girl in question looked better
dressed and the whole scene didn't last long, ending rather abruptly.
I thought the reason people went to see foreign movies was for the
shameless amounts of nudity. Either the director or I got that wrong.
About 15 minutes into the movie, I was already taking one ice cube at
a time out of my drink and watching the movie through it, then I'd put
it in my mouth and crush it. The movie was that entertaining. My
girlfriend gave me this disappointed look that sort of said "give the
flick a chance". So I did. My ice crushing bothered someone eight
rows behind me as she kept going "sssh". I kept crunching. I'm such
an ass.
I started looking at the movie in an attempt to enjoy it, but I
couldn't help it. It just sucked. The other people in the theatre,
who seemed to enjoy the movie a heck of a lot more than I was, were
intensely staring at the screen. Maybe they were staring at
cinematography, the camera angles, whatever. I tried to look for this
sort of stuff, picturing myself as one of them, but it was pointless.
They were probably film buffs that would never let a foreign movie go
unseen. Or perhaps they just wanted to get their $4.50 worth, no
matter how bad this movie was.
About 20 minutes into the movie I could've told you the rest of it.
It got so obvious at a certain point, I began guessing what would
happen next, and be right about it.
I owe this ability thanks to that great establishment I owe all my
learning to: high school's English class. In that course we were
instructed on how earlier parts in a book would tell you what would
happen next. While I never understood the total usefulness of such a
skill (it seemed to ruin books rather quickly), I got pretty good at
this. This is especially true of the majority of books that got
shoved up my ass during English, which happily followed this trend.
Introduce the characters, say something which will reflect what will
happen next to the climax, build up to the climax, show the irony of
what was said before, have the book's orgasm, and then slowly descend
back into more boredom.
The disadvantage is that for every book I read, about a quarter of the
way in, I know what is going to happen. (This of course doesn't count
in Heart of Darkness. Joseph Conrad was a sick man). The advantage
of this ability is that I can read the back cover, a little bit into
the book, and ejaculate some pompous book report while still sounding
like I had actually read it.
This movie was pretty much the same. If anyone asks me why I like
George Orwell, it's his ability to talk about the most useless stuff
and make it sound interesting. Orwell could make a movie about
crossing a street interesting.
I digress.
I looked around. My girlfriend started to look bored but was
determined to pretend she liked it. You can tell when she is not
amused about something because her hand goes up to her face and one of
her fingers presses against one side of her eyeball. Don't ask, I
just date her and this is one of those things I noticed after a while.
I was thinking that perhaps I should've got down and dirty with the
girl, considering that what was on the screen wasn't worth the
attention. I could still see the movie despite my blank, out of focus,
stare because my chair was pointing in that general direction. I
looked around to check out the situation before making my move.
Other than my girlfriend, her sister and her brother, there must've
been another six people in the entire theatre. Her sister was closely
staring at me. I'm not sure if it was to stop me from what she saw in
my eyes, or it was just a silent request for help. It's hard to tell.
This sister has as many facial expressions as a brick wall. Either
way I began to go back to staring at my ice cubes. I may be
politically incorrect, but I still have some shred of morals.
After a while my girlfriend, clearly not entertained by this movie,
especially since I'm basically staring at the ceiling and thinking
about work, asks me if I want to leave. No, let's see the rest of the
movie, says I, it's great. Was she trying to be nice and let me leave
or was this a way for her to find a way out of this drivel? Cuz you
know, the moment I step out, everyone else would follow my lead. So I
decided to do what was right: be a martyr for a good cause, force
everyone to finish this dreadful waste of celluloid they forced me to
see to the very last frame.
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2. Writing About Writing, Which I Never Do
By Jason MacIsaac
I don't normally write about writing itself. I find that to be
extremely self-indulgent. And revealing. Nor do I make writers
characters in the things I write. There's this thing called "The
idealized self." That's the theory that the main character of the
story is the author, with a few traits he or she would like to possess
added in. That's why I smirk when I see a novel about a writer who
solves mysteries, is loved and cherished by the entire town, and gets
laid a lot. Parade your subconscious naked by the bay window why don't
you?
Today I'm going to break my self-imposed ban on writing about writing,
for reasons that will become clear in a minute. I have some advice
for people trying to write. It has nothing to do with the rules of
the language or finding a literary agent, and everything to do with
attitude and perspective. The urge to write is an extremely delicate
mindset. It comes and goes on a whim, and if you don't swim while the
water's fine, you might not swim again for weeks. You have to keep
conditions so that you can swim at a moment's notice, and do as much
as you can to keep the atmosphere conducive to swimming. Here's a few
tips on how you can achieve this over-extended metaphor.
The first thing most of you learn is that when the urge comes on you,
you get down and write. It's like a person who has absolute authority
over you. They say "Jump" and you say "Sure. Long jump up or
straight up?" The Ancient Greeks came up with the idea of heavenly
creatures that would inspire artists and give them their ideas. The
Ancient Greeks, who named everything short of fast food, called them
Muses. There were seven of them, each in charge of a different
artistic endeavor.
Of interest to writers are Erato, muse of love poetry; Eutrpe, lyric
poetry; Kalli¢pe, epic poetry and philosophy; Klio, history; Thalia,
comedy; and Melpomne, tragedy. The Muse inspires, the writer writes.
Melpomne whispers in the ear of Shakespeare, and "MacBeth" is born.
Erato speaks through the dreams of Billy Ray Cyrus, and "Achy Breaky
Heart" is given to the world.
As you can see, sometimes things get lost in the translation.
Parents have their babies to wake them up at 3 AM. Authors have their
muses. You will have noticed that a muse is a harsh mistress. We're
talkin' whips and nipple clamps harsh. If you don't do what your muse
says immediately, she might say "to hell with you," and hook up with
that garage band down the street for awhile. When a muse slips you a
note, you write. Now, bitch.
This isn't always convenient. You might be at work, having sex,
hanging from the carriage of a 747 with one hand 17,000 feet above the
earth, and you can't exactly get to your word processor in these
instances. My advice is that unless jotting down what the muse tells
you would a) immediately get you killed, or b) prevent sex, get
writing. You don't have to believe in muses to write, but it will
help if you have some kind of spiritual connection to writing to get
you in the writer mindset. Writers can really learn a thing or two
from athletes and drug users here.
You might see the connection between athletes and drug users (ahem,
Dwight Gooden) but not between athletes, drug users, and writers. I
shall explain. Athletes are the most superstitious breeds of people
on the planet. When they're doing well, they make sure that they do
absolutely everything the same way so as to not fuck with the streak.
Hockey players, for example, only shave when they lose. Or, if they
happen to have won on a day they died shave, they make a point of
shaving. They'll eat the same foods. Coaches have been known to get
the same person singing the national anthem in order to preserve a
winning streak.
If they're doing poorly, they'll try something radically different.
Sometimes it's silly, like wearing different coloured shorts. It
could be anything. Writers too need these habits. Many have
identified the times of day when they are most productive, and do
their work then, regular as clockwork. If you don't have any
superstitions, get some. If you find that you wrote better after
having extra onions on you submarine, then pop a breath mint and get
another extra-onion sub. If you write better naked, strip. Or put on
a fucking parka and mukluks if that's what it takes. Just remember the
magic words: don't fuck with a streak. Don't ask why it's working,
just write.
Closely tied in with the Athlete/Streak Theorem is the
Druggie/Equipment Theorem. People who engage in any pursuit that uses
equipment specialize the stuff. Carpenters have a favorite hammer, or
saw. They can tell you what's so special about the blade or grip that
makes it perfect for them. Drug users build bongs or pipes, or have a
drug kit that they use to measure and prepare their drugs, which they
maintain and use with care. If we go back to athletes, they have
equipment that is precisely tailored to their play style to the
nearest micron. It's part practical, part superstition.
Psychologists call it "the fetishization of equipment."
Human beings are natural but selective collectors, and it doesn't
matter what background or situation they're in. They collect things.
Quite often they don't quite understand why, or may not even notice
they're collecting, but nearly every human being collects something.
The strangest things get collected too. I for example collect
different foreign words for "penguin." Why? Damned if I know. I can
only assume it's because I'm quite mad.
Allow me to show you some of the highlights of my collection:
Hindi: Chouree
Italian: Pinguino
Mandarin Chinese: qi'e
Cantonese: kay ngo'
In both Bulgurian and Norwegian it's "pingvin." The significance, if
any, is unclear.
I seem to have wandered a bit. My Muse told me to go in this
direction, so blame her. The point I was trying to make is that
authors too should become equipment fetishists. This art is being
lost in the days of Windows dominance when nearly everything is being
written with Microsoft Word. But fortunately it's an easy art to
recover. All you need to do is find tools you use to write that work
for you. Then you collect them and fine-tune them so that they're
just right. Find a grade of paper you really like and have all your
stuff printed on it. Get your work bound in a certain way. I wrote a
series of short stories, and they were all separately bound with a
grey cover.
Some people actually write better long hand. In which case you should
find a grade of pencil or pen that you like and write exclusively with
it. If it's a pencil, constantly sharpen it to the edge you prefer.
I actually find that certain things I write are produced better in
different formats. Ever read "The Dark Half" by Stephen King? In
that novel Thad Beaumont's other pen name ego George Stark wrote with
pencils, while he wrote with a typewriter. That's the idea.
It doesn't have to be just equipment either. Environment has a lot to
do with it. Maybe a candlelit room with incense burning. Some
writers are lucky enough to have a specific place where they do their
writing. Doesn't have to be a cabin in the woods--I recently
contemplated turning my walk-in closet into a writer's only office.
Write in the tub if that what works (just be careful, especially if
you're using a word processor.)
And once again, don't be afraid to try something strange and radical.
Chuck Palahniuk, who wrote Fight Club, actually wrote his novel in
public. He did all the editing and the fine-tuning in private, but
the raw work was done at bars with his friends cheering him on and
shouting out different stuff for him to throw in.
This stuff might seem ridiculous, but it works. I know, because I
tried altering my writing habits to these guidelines, and it produced
this article in one sitting. Previously I'd done all my writing on my
home PC, but I began to suspect I was associating it with work and
playing games, and this was probably confusing my Muse. She thought I
should be playing Diablo 2 or something instead of writing.
So, recently I helped fellow CoN artist Samantha Craggs do some
moving. She was had an old Brother WP-1700mds word processor that she
was going to throw out, but gave it to me instead. So I took it home
and I carefully cleaned it up (fetishization of equipment in action),
and set it up in my living room. The keyboard feels like it was built
just for my fingers. After running a few tests on the 3.5 inch drive,
I wrote the raw text of this article. It had plenty of extra
characters when I changed it over, need plenty of editing, but it
worked. I now associate that old word processor with creativity. I
plan to do some more writing on it.
This, essentially is why I wrote this article and broke my personal
vow not to write about writing. Not for me, but to basically please
my Muse. Like I said. Don't fuck with a streak or what works, and
when your Muse tells you to do something, obey Mistress or she'll
spank you.
---
No Jason MacIsaacs were harmed during the writing of this article.
Supervision provided by the Toronto Humane Society.
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3. von Trier Again
Psuedo Reviews by Jeff Wright
Lars von fucking Trier!!!! I think I've now recommended 3 films by
this mad genius. I'm afraid I have to make it 4. If you haven't seen
at least one of my previous von Trier recommendations yet (BREAKING
THE WAVES, THE KINGDOM, THE IDIOTS), then fucking blow me! To those
of you who enjoy seeing magnificent filmmaking, here's another film
for you to check out. It's the only one I'm recommending this issue
because it's just that good.
ZENTROPA (a.k.a. EUROPA)
This movie is all about style. I don't think I've seen a movie, quite
this stylized before. It's pure eye candy. I'd rather not tell you
about the techniques employed in case some of you can't tell what's
going on in the film technically. If you don't well you're soooo damn
lucky. I was giddy because of it, but it would be fucking stunning to
just watch the film, and not knowing for sure, what's being done.
The basic plot of the film, is an American of German decent, goes to
Germany in 1945. There his uncle has lined him up a job as the
conductor of a sleeping car, on a train. On his first day, he meets a
woman, who later invites him to her family's house for dinner. The
family is of high class, and eventually he gets mixed up in their
politics and terrorism.
It's just an amazing, beautiful, and downright cool film.
You should be able to find it pretty easily, since it was released on
video by Touchstone. Why the domestic laserdisc isn't letterboxed, is
beyond me. We (When I say `We', I mean, `I' until I've got some other
people on my side) can only hope that they'll release it on DVD in the
near future.
---
Jeff thinks that since Kubrick is gone, that von Trier should take his
place in that joke about God thinking He's Kubrick.
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4. How to insult foreign netizens
By El Goate
Are you on ICQ? Have you noticed the sudden increase in
Authorizations coming to you from Brazil? It seems that the Internet
had a sudden discovery over there, and everyone and their uncle is now
online and using ICQ.
During the day at work, my ICQ will for sure give me that
"Authorization" sound and some person I never heard about with a .br
extension in their e-mail address will ask for validation.
At first, I would validate and be nice to whoever, making an effort to
understand what they were saying in Portugese. The majority of people
that would add me were 12-17 years old, looking for a pen pal outside
of Brazil.
That's fine and dandy, but despite me explaining to them in the best
way I could that I did not speak Portugese, I started to get fed up.
Especially when buddy would give my ICQ UIN to all his or her
buddies...it got to the point where I was getting at least one
authorization request per day from someone that I couldn't talk to
very well (my Portuguese is good only when I read, and even with that,
I have problems).
To top it all, you'll start receiving all the Portuguese versions of
the same English ICQ-forwards you received many years ago (including
the AOL buyout of ICQ and the little dog running accross your screen
if you annoy all your friends with this message) from each one of
them.
Now, I have just two types of people in my book: people I like, to
which I am nice and I will gladly give my left testicle if they were
in an emergency at the hospital and needed a replacement, and of
course, people I do not like. And when I don't like you, my mind is
miles ahead on what I could possibly do to you to ensure a miserable
existance.
So here are some good ways to annoy your foreign netizens when they
start talking to you in ICQ and you have no idea what they are saying.
1. Answer right back in your native language, using jargon and words
that even an English Major would have trouble spelling (Actually, the
majority of English Majors I know have trouble spelling, period). Add
lots of smileys at the end of each message you send back, causing your
newly discovered pen pal to think you really want to talk to them.
You can rest assured it will drive them insane in no time. Just for
fun, quote what their original message was and write something long
and convoluted under with plenty of smileys.
Say things suck as "Hi! My name is El Goate and I like to spank my
monkey in public!" or "Ye shepard! Heed mine words: Thee're Fuckin' A
Right Satan'll Smite Thee".
2. "A lot!". Quote something they say, and just keep adding "a lot!"
to it.
They usually will start with "Oi" which must be some sort of greeting,
kinda like hi. So just write back "Oi, a lot!". You'll notice a bit
of a pause on their third "A lot!" response they get from you. This
is probably them scratching their head going "The fuck?" (in their
language, of course).
3. http://babel.altavista.com - thank the powers that be that the
Internet is so full of useful stuff. This site will translate
anything you say in whatever language you want. While the
translations are far from perfect, it can also be used for some rather
unique offensive remarks. While most common swearwords will be
ignored, you'll have to write like a retard, spitting out short
sentences and simple words. But don't let this limit your
imagination! Phrases such as "I can see your donkey. He has a big
lower back!" or "I can smell your daddy from here!" come out rather
well.
4. Use the above site and write a small personal-ad on a site in their
native language, describing yourself as a beautiful woman seeking a
relationship. Don't forget to add their e-mail address. According to
whatever statistic you like to follow, the majority of people on the
net are Male, half of which have probably never seen a woman naked (a
real one) and will send tons of e-mails to their box. Ain't the net
great?
5. Start talking to them in a fake version of their language - like
Syd Ceaser's Russian - nyo biet me fe pias golfushtuck meen ha!
6. Take a little time out of your day and start sending them a whole
whack of pointless messages. Share the fun! Since he or she was
generous enough to forward your ICQ UIN to all their friends, do the
same, and have all of your friends and have them send useful little
insights and comments. Don't forget pictures of animals having sex,
that's always a killer. A good site to find this is
http://vagina.rotten.com/animals/.
By the way, her ICQ UIN is 60378915.
Is this a form of discrimination? Why, yes it is. I've been told
that I'm going straight to hell for what I'm doing (this coming from
people that live in a society where if you open the door for someone
of the opposite sex makes you chauvinistic, and if you don't, rude).
But unfortunately, since we're all humans, and we like to laugh on
other people's misfortunes, here is your chance to actively pursue
your politically incorrect agenda in the privacy of your cubicle.
---
El Goate roams freely headbutting people in the nads.
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CoN would not be possible without the great help of Scriba Org.
CoN: "I have breasts, I can have anything I want."
Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine "media you can abuse"
In memory of Father Ross "Padre" Legere
Published every second Monday (or when we get around it)
Disclaimer: unintentionally offensive
Comments, queries and submissions are welcome
http://www.capnasty.org ISSN 1482-0471
A bi-weekly electronic journal. Subscriptions available at no cost
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Brought to you by C.C.C.P. (Collective Communist Computing Proletariat)
Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro Colin Barrett
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ZimID 708EC8D1 1994/09/14 EC B0 97 59 1D FE 7C 32 7E 04 2C 66 47 41 FB 7D
