Secret Mojo Dumbs It Down for You

November 4, 2006


Filed under: Uncategorized — secretmojo @ 2:49 am

What frightens me is that all moments are real, and equally eternal.


August 7, 2006


Filed under: Knitting,Uncategorized — secretmojo @ 9:51 pm

Now I have another knitter to stalk.

August 6, 2006


Filed under: Uncategorized — secretmojo @ 5:20 pm

Did you ever wonder if it is like a stone skipping, kissing in instants to keep aloft, until the weight of the world or the turbulence boiled within slants its bearing, wrecks its flight, and forever buries it, fluttering, beneath the sea?

The world has more than gravity. Oceans dwarf their waves. It is all beautiful whole; if only the parts had no say…

July 25, 2006

Knit fu: a sock-wearer’s perspective

Filed under: Blogroll,Knitting,Random Thoughts,Uncategorized — secretmojo @ 12:23 pm

I don’t knit. I have knitted, but only enough to discover how much I didn’t like doing it. I won’t knit in the future, and probably won’t wear any knitted clothes by choice.

But that doesn’t stop me from digging knitting culture. It’s punky. Filled with smart, iconoclast chicks (yes, mostly chicks) knitting everything from book covers to penis covers, the knitting culture—at least the part of it I like—sticks it to the man who dares call them “frumpy”, with fingers ablaze and, well, sometimes a potty mouth.

The first thing to understand is that everything can be knitted. Sort of like everything can be turned into a bong. I’ve been told tales of bikinis, iPod cases, steering wheel covers, mouse covers, floor mats, washrags—just about that anything can can be covered, held, worn, displayed, or played with is a knitting candidate. And these chicks can do it without a pattern, at will, while chatting on the phone, drinking at the bar, or I presume driving a motor vehicle. Give them a couple skeins, two pointed objects, and lock them in a room with a boring movie playing, and you can come back in about a half hour to claim your brand new backpack with matching socks.

About the only thing that cannot be knitted is machinery. If this were true, we’d have colonized space by now, and have been cozy warm whilst doing it.

The second thing to understand is you don’t tease a knitter about knitting. I don’t make fun of your children, do I? Nor do I giggle about how silly your God is. You don’t pull the mask off of the ’ol Lone Ranger (which can be knitted, by the way), and you don’t tease a knitter. Especially when they are knitting, which is particularly dangerous because they may take time out to “talk with their needles” if you get my drift. They’re serious. They can crack jokes about knitting, and even knit gag items for the hell of it. But you aren’t in the club, buddy, so don’t be saying shit like “hey, could you knit me a surfboard? Ha ha!” because two weeks later, they’ll have that knitted surfboard, and shove it, painfully, up your butt.

Third, unless you’re extremely interested, avoid talking about knitting. Knitting is a social device to begin with, a way to showcase impressive needle fu while bitching about politics, talking music, or bragging about your pets. So it’s very easy, unlike it is with, say, programmers, to find a knitter who can talk something other than knitting. But if you do dare to go into those waters, be prepared for a lot of enthusiasm in response. And I mean a lot. For instance, only sissies use those needles with the connected wires to knit socks. The real way to do it is with many double-pointed needles, one floating, and make your way around the circle transferring from one needle to the other until it’s done. Otherwise, why knit? Why not just buy the damn sock? Oh and please, don’t brag about your crocheting skills to get on the good side (I’ve tried it). It’s an impressive skill, of course, but so is being a mime, and that ain’t knitting, either.

Fourth, knitting is hip. It may not be “cool,” but it certainly is hip. You’ll know what I’m talking about if you sit down with one of these knitters and watch their blurry needles do an Edward Scissorhands all over the place while a ball of worsted deteriorates before your eyes. All while comfortably relaxed, as if there weren’t an armageddon going on in their hands. Further, the knitted items today aren’t your granma’s scarves: they have style, especially the hats and the shawls, and despite my prediction in my first paragraph, are actually worth wearing.

Finally, it’s not about knitting at all. This one is the hardest one for me to grasp. I mean, if I talk to a comic book junkie, it’s about the comics. If I talk to an exercise freak, it’s about the pecs. But if I talk to an avid knitter, or read the blog of one, it could be about anything. Or maybe it’s about all the stuff you can knit for other people. It’s about spreading the word. Using it to do things you’ve been wanting to do. They’ll have a story behind nearly every knitted piece. They’ll remember everyone they ever knitted for. And, I’ve found, they can describe the first thing they ever knitted, including the type of yarn, size needle used, and who they gave it to.

So it’s about life, I guess, recording it in miles of yarn—if I wanted to get schmalzy about it. Life at the barrel of two pointed rods. They knit to live, rather than live to knit.

Okay, they actually do live to knit. I lied about that part.

[ if you’ve enjoyed this post, and are one of the aforementioned knitting- or chrocheting-obsessed, please consider whipping out a hat or two for chemo patients in New York. The drive ends October 31, 2006. (thanks, Kis*Knit!)]

Villainous Language

Filed under: blogging,Humor,navel gazing,News,Uncategorized,writing — secretmojo @ 2:16 am

Many times words don’t live up to the passion that serves them. So when things heat up in an argument, we pull out our Pocket Stalin™ and Insta-Hitler™ and do a wham-bam on our opponents. “Stalinist agitprop,” screeches the mighty Coulter. Then Billmon whips out the Third Reich card. And we all go home happy feeling either that the argument’s been won, or that our opponents are despotic psychopaths anyway, so whatever.

But do we truly take proper advantage of villainous language? Surely Procrustes would be appalled with “Gulag Guantanamo” metaphors when it was he who stretched prisoners to fit the size of their beds. (never mind Stalin, who might just laugh at the ineptitude). Why do we need to summon demons to our cause? Are we dubious that the true horror will go unnoticed by our cold, cold, audience, and pump up the volume?

Stalin’s scoring higher lately, I think, because of the introduction of Godwin’s Law into the netiverse. He fills the leftover need for “genocidal maniac” accusations because yelling Hitler (or even Eichmann) has fallen out of fashion, and frankly, makes a person look crazy. Poor guy, Josef. He could’a been a contender, but he’s reduced to picking up the ad hominem trash behind the master.

Part of the paucity of creative villainous language is simply education. Who the hell knows their Torquemada from their Tocqueville? And who wants to travel back further than the 20th century to get their Fightin’ Dictator Pen™? Genghis knows best what wrath is, but ancient history makes him legend, so should we even care? And all the different kinds of evil dudes—who do you bring up, and in what situation?

Now, we do say “Sadist,” and this is a very nice compliment to the guy who poked holes in people for pleasure, but don’t these truly wicked beings deserve more than the dilution of their names through ubiquitous use? Hell, I can be a sadist nowadays if I tease someone too much. Is this what the sensually debased Count had in mind?

And what of Machiavelli, who now has to answer for office politics? Or Vlad Tepes, the man who brought us the slow-baked impalement of thousands of mothers fathers and babies, who inspired Transylvania 6-5000? Or Goebbels, who’s the biggest fucking liar that ever lived: how does he like it getting compared to Karl Rove?

And poor Benedict Arnold. Now he must keep company with all the teenage girls who smiled at their friend’s boyfriend during lunch hour. Heck, his name is so pathetically comic that even the hardcore pundits just say “traitor” instead.

I suppose all these villains shouldn’t complain of their watered-down names. At least they don’t get meanings like “Platonic” — who the hell would want that one? Or “Einstein”, which is used sarcastically as stupid. And worst of all, “Crapper,” who isn’t responsible at all for the word crap, but picked up the residue anyway. Better to be “bacchanalian,” “sapphic,” or even a “sandwich,” I say.

Seems to me we’ve exaggerated so much over the years that even the nefarious originators of the most brutal atrocities in history can’t express our inner pain. Their names’ weakness shows how jaded we’ve become to the idea of gruesomeness. Or, proves how melancholia feels similar to the slaughter of millions.

We either need to be more sensitive, or we need new villains. Now, I’m not advocating another tyrant rise to power and start lopping off heads just so we can get more colorful language. However….

Nah. That’s a horrible idea. Horrible! Positively fiendish. How “Faustian,” ultimately “Pyrric,” yet in some way…“tantalizing.”

July 17, 2006


Filed under: Uncategorized — secretmojo @ 3:05 am

I have nothing interesting to say today. How demeaning. What was it that Blake said? It’s like a pack of jackals ripping into my brain.

Again today I was seduced by an imagining of my own greatness, as if each post were an opportunity to crawl further towards glory. Clearly, I know this is not true; but you gotta have unreachable goals take over your perspective, or you’ll never improve. So I set the bar high, discovered my muscles couldn’t do the pull-ups, and slouch now, exhausted, in my chair.

I’m beat today. 2,400 words, all ill-defined wanabee sketches; none of them I like. Jackals. Those fucking jackals.

July 5, 2006

How Fate Works

Filed under: Uncategorized — secretmojo @ 2:53 am

As I sat down to write the first of my posts, I thought, “hell, what am I, like the fourteen billionth blogger out there? What’s the point?” But then, I was given a sign.

Something exploded behind me.

You heard me right. As I squiggled my butt in my chair trying to eke out something worthy, something groundbreaking, yet was besieged by doubt of how stupid the venture was, a couple of M-80s and a roman candle thunderclapped behind my back, making the most heroic noise I have heard in perhaps a year.

So I turned around. How dare these peace disturbers destroy my train of thought. Where were these hoodlums?

But just then, my retinas caught sight of the most beautiful blooming of sparkling colored lights. Was I hallucinating? Were trees exploding? Had the end of the world come?

Or: was I given a sign?

“Type, you bastard,” these exploding cheerleaders seemed to say. I spun back to face the computer screen and began typing. Like the 1812 overture, each word provoked its own explosion; I was in dreamland or perhaps a movie, where everything is punctuated by flying debris. So I typed “As.” WHAM! “I” WHAM, BLAM!

And I was on my way to a first post.

Some people never receive visions like this. They’ll spend their whole lives without revelation. But today, I was blessed: wherever they came from, for whatever reason, these crackling booms told me in no uncertain terms: “Yes, you can dumb it down for them. If anybody knows dumb, you do!”

Therefore, on July 4th, let it be known that Secret Mojo started his WordPress blog. If you choose to celebrate the event with fireworks, I won’t mind. I’ll just smile when I hear them, and know they are for me.

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