Andrea's last day with the Rathanna Marching Band was in a field in Kilkenny with lots of old cars and small dogs. This is what it looked like.

(YouTube put the crazy motion bars on the top and bottom, not me.(

Ping Hero

Celebrate Pingist author and critic Anton Kaichevsky is the closest thing Pingism has to an intellectual. Although primarily known for his syndicated chess columns in many international newspapers, he has written an attempted study of the notoriously mercurial nature of Pingism, 1979’s Invisible Forces, which suffered poor sales in part due to a title that led readers to expect a Tom Clancy thriller rather than a dry data-dump.

Kaichevsky’s parents were both circus performers, which in Russia at the time was almost a respectable career. As a boy, he would frequently wrestle lions and bears, but never came to any harm. (After Anton’s death in 2004, his wife, Svetlana, revealed that on most of these occasions the animals were dead. However, he had so much self-esteem bound up in these misremembered tales of youthful bravado that no one had the heart to tell him.) After his parents were killed by an angry clown from a competing circus, the young Anton was transferred to his uncle’s estate in Ukraine, where he showed initial promise as a chess player, and engaged in weekly bouts of wrestling with champion horses which were, again according to his wife, dead.

His wife also told the story of his favourite cat, Perkins, who followed him around the house, and went for walks with him, and so on. It was obvious to everyone that Perkins was a dog, but again no one had the heart to tell him. One night, she claims she cornered him with the information. His reaction was the following piece of inspired Pingist philosophy: “What is a cat, but a dog with autism?” His wife had no answer. No one did.

Despite clearly being divorced from reality, his frequent, often bizarre articles on Pingism were validated, at least in the opinion of members of the movement, by a single article published in a peer-reviewed journal about a certain breed of moth, and how it was actually an already-established breed of butterfly that liked flying around in the dark sometimes. This one publication was enough to refer to him as Dr. Kaichevsky in all correspondence with the religion, which he obviously regarded more as an atavistic philosophy. Despite the fact that his qualification (non-existent in any case) was in entomology, he felt that being a doctor of something was very similar to being a doctor of everything, and advertised himself as such on various talk shows, and on his book blurbs.

Anton Kaichevsky died in 2004, mid-way through his final book, ironically titled, Not The End. We will never know what his last words were going to be, and maybe the hardcore Pingists are right when they say that it just doesn’t matter.

Related: The origin of Pingism and Pingist sources.

This is a weed I found in my front garden.

The leaves taste sharp and acidic (yes I sometimes eat things I find on the ground, shut up), but not necessarily unpleasant, like rhubarb. I’m sure they could be used as flavouring in some way. I have no idea what they are, but I think they’re some member of the oxalis family.

Any ideas or suggestions are appreciated.

On Existentialism

  • murphyb: Must... make... self.... care... about existentialism.
  • solo1: Yeah. Sorry.
  • murphyb: I guess I prefer not to think about existence in that finite way. I just do.
  • murphyb: After all that's what most existentialists suggest anyway.
  • solo1: No one WANTS to think about existence in terms of reality.
  • murphyb: Isn't it, in a way, futile to analyse existentialist thought?
  • solo1: It's a real fucking effort to switch off all that bullshit where the good guys win in the end.
  • murphyb: I'm aware of the reality. I don't dwell on it.
  • solo1: I think religious people are closet existentialist too. I think everyone is.
  • murphyb: Lazy ones maybe.
  • solo1: No, even the other ones. Because they choose. They construct elaborate fictional worlds where Jesus will save them and they go and live in them.
  • murphyb: I suppose.
  • solo1: It's like the most complicated community art project ever.
  • murphyb: It irks me. But then so does existentialism.
  • murphyb: Hierarchy becomes inconsequential for the Colonel in the battle of nerves because his own existence has an authenticity which he believes must be enough to make the battle worth the fight. In short, merely because he has fought, even if he loses, he has not lost.
  • solo1: That's what Albert Camus was saying in "Le Mythe de Sisyphe".
  • murphyb: Oh yeah we have to do that too
  • murphyb: It looks so wishy washy when you type it though.
  • solo1: I don't know. I guess my problem is that it's such a simple idea that any discussion of it seems redundant.
  • solo1: "You're on your own. Good luck."
  • murphyb: Yeah!
  • solo1: There's not a lot you can add to that.
  • murphyb: Exactly.
  • [ has stopped typing]

How could anyone not love Werner Herzog? The man’s an international treasure, and very possibly immortal.

Find some of his documentaries, and watch them. It doesn’t matter what they’re about, because they’re always about Werner Herzog. With Grizzly Man, he even managed to use someone else’s footage, and make a recognisable “Werner Herzog movie”.

If you’re one of the few people on the planet who hasn’t, check him out. It might change your life.

I mean look at this ten seconds of footage from Encounters At The End Of The World. Look at that penguin. Look what Herzog’s done. In ten seconds! What have you done with the last ten seconds of your life

(Reblogged from proverbsforparanoids)

I used to work in the record store.
I had everything before anyone.
I was there in the Paradise Garage DJ booth with Larry Levan.
I was there in Jamaica during the great sound clashes.
I woke up naked on the beach in Ibiza in 1988.

But I’m losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they’re actually really, really nice.

I’m losing my edge.

LCD Soundsystem, Losing My Edge

Andrea did the Ice Bucket Challenge. Donate to Motor Neuron Disease here, if you like.

Tear Gas Challenge

The citizens of Ferguson, Missouri are the latest group to bravely volunteer for the Tear Gas Challenge, which has been taking the internet by storm. Many celebrities, including Drake, Li’l Wayne and Wiz Khalifa have chosen to walk through a cloud of tear gas to raise awareness of being black in a place where the entire social and economic infrastructure is owned and operated by white people.

The challenge requires nominated participants to have a tear gas canister thrown at them in the 24 hours after they are nominated to complete the dare; otherwise, the participant has to pay their taxes. Some very generous volunteers have agreed to walk through the tear gas and pay their taxes anyway.

Being black while living in a white area is a condition that affects 43 million Americans every year. While people always had an uneasy feeling about it, the Tear Gas Challenge has confronted people with the actual bodily harm that can occur to black people simply by existing. Few people realise, for instance, that shooting unarmed black teenagers multiple times in the head is legal in the United States.

In non-American parts of the world, people are finding it difficult to take the Tear Gas Challenge as tear gas is a chemical weapon and is prohibited by various international treaties that most countries have signed.

I took these photos on the back road from Mallow to Castleisland on the way to Tralee. The lady in the GPS seemed to think it was a good idea.

I’m deeply suspicious of any road that carries on for miles in a straight line over the horizon, and when you get over the horizon, there’s another one.



This Missouri stuff is PRECISELY what they’re always telling us might happen.

The defence of citizens against militarised state action is the ONLY Constitutional justification for their gun ownership. This should be their playground. They should be down there by the thousands.


Where the fuck are they?

(Reblogged from postsatire)