What Happens in Las Vegas ... or Mykel's Blog for November 2023

What Happens in Las Vegas ... or Mykel's Blog for November 2023

You’re STILL Wrong

or

Mykel's November 2023 Blog/Column 

What happens In Las Vegas    

by Mykel Board

If life gives you lemons, make lemonade. If it gives you cancer, make lemonade and spike it.” – Unknown

“Las Vegas: all the amenities of modern society in a habitat unfit to grow a tomato.”
                                                 – Jason Love

“For a loser, Vegas is the meanest town on earth.”
                                                – Hunter S. Thompson

Some point to the horrors of the Israeli – Palestinian war… where bombing by the Palestinians is terrorism and bombing by Israelis is air strikes. I point in a different way… to the bulging cotton in my Depends… weighting me down… sloshing right and left… forcing me to walk like a cowboy just dismounted from a 20 mile ride on his appaloosa. Evil to the right. Evil to the left. You cannot doubt that there is a God… and she’s a bitch. So much evil… so much wrong… so much pain… so many embarrassing leg drips do not happen by accident. If there’s a coin toss and after 25 flips you haven’t won once… you know the game is fixed. God did it.

So back to my full Depends. No... further… to the doctor who said my cancer was “still operable.” Just a shot and 5 times with my legs spread for the cyberknife… and I’ll be right as rain. Oh yeah, THE SHOT.

“The cancer feeds off of testosterone,” says Dr. Marrans. “If we get rid of the testosterone, the cancer will starve to death. One shot of this super anti-testosterone magic elixir… and blam! Good-bye testosterone!”

“And what are the side effects?” I ask.

“Nothing good,” answers the doc. “You’ll go through menopause… hot flashes… fatigue… temper tantrums. And…”

He points toward me with an outstretched index finger. Then, he gradually relaxes the finger until it points toward the floor.

I flush hot... right there… before any needles... my testosterone still at my horny 73 year old level. But the shot I get. My insurance company tells me it costs $2180. They’ll pay a chunk of it.

The cyber-surgery itself is no problem. No doctors in the room, just the control panelists outside and a scary robot arm inside. I can choose the artist of my choice to sing to me during the operation. I change it ever day: Louis Armstrong, Patti Smith, Frank Sinatra, John Cale… I avoid any band with DEAD in the name… Boys, Kennedys, Grateful, Milkmen… It might be bad luck or spook the robot operator. You never know. Frank Sinatra should be safe… soothing to all of us. I’m lying there and the first song starts:

And now the end is near...
And so I face that final curtain

This does not bode well

But the surgery goes smoothly… five treatments over six months. After the last one, the technician takes me into a special room with an old fashioned bell. “You’re done with the surgery! Ring the bell.” he says. I grab the rope attached to the clapper and swing it back and forth… heralding in the start of my misery.

On the way home from that final surgery… on the subway… I piss in my pants. It’s only been worse from there. Hot flashes… always tired… farting up a storm… pubes fall out… it doesn’t end. I haven’t had a hard-on in six months. And suddenly, my left eye doesn’t see straight lines.

I look at the edge of a table, or the top of an elevator door and I see a bump… a flare… something that’s not there. My macular degeneration has… like my Depends... gone from dry to wet. Pow! Off to the eye doctor.

“Sorry, Mykel” he says, “it’s not my department. You have to see a retinologist... and you need to do it fast.”

Eyeball shots. I need eyeball shots. A hypodermic filled with some magical –unimaginably expensive– liquid… PACHOOKII! Right in the eyeball… and that fixes it right up… yeah right. Every 5 weeks another eye poke. Feels like I have a small pebble in my eye for a day… for the rest of the week it just itches.

I wonder if the Brooklyn Bridge still has space enough to let me climb over and jump. But I get on with my life.

Now, I should tell you about THE GIRL… but you need some context.

CONTEXT: Couch-surfing,org is like Air BNB for free. Well, you do have to pay a yearly membership fee. But after that, there’s no charge at all. You don’t need to pay to stay. You just flop on someone’s couch, or sometimes even a bed. It’s like touring with a punk rock band. You converse with with your hosts, make friends, maybe go out together. I’ve couch-surfed in at least 10 countries. And the best meal that’s ever been cooked on my NYC stove has been cooked by 2 couch-surfers from Lebanon. I don’t know how they found the ingredients here, but whoa boy… they got it right. They stayed five nights I think. The microwave got a rest.

Every Tuesday, there’s a couch-surfer meet-up at the Peculier Pub just down the street from me. I go when I’m not teaching. I like to sit at the head of the long table where the surfers meet, then go their separate ways to circulate among the crowd. It’s about fifty percent locals and fifty percent people from everywhere… Alaska to Saudi Arabia and most everywhere else.

It’s surfers and surfees… mostly 20/30 somethings… a couple of actual adults. I’m probably the oldest. The crew at our table grows and shrinks… people from Mexico, Croatia, Dusseldorf and the Lower East Side. As a natural show-off, I switch my vernacular when I can and offer to teach “cheers” in various languages. I usually lie. Ask your Serbian friends what Pitchka Ti Mate means. Those couch surfers think it means cheers.

A butch young woman… in her twenties comes to the table. Butch... young... woman… need I say more? If I weren’t just cyberknifed, my throbbing throbber would make me unable to walk from the table to the bar. “Is that a double-A battery in your pocket or are you happy to see me

But tonight, I can only greet her and entertain her with my German translation of “cheers”… Leck mich am Arsch. We talk in English and German. She plays guitar and loves punk rock. And I’m the most famous punk-rocker no one has ever heard of. I’m in heaven… except for the limpy. Her name is Lucie.

She’s surfing with somebody in Brooklyn, but she’ll meet me tomorrow for a punkrock tour of the lower East Side. FLASH TO THERE

“This is where CBGBs used to be”… we walk inside the fashion store.

I walk to the back, and make a broad hand gesture.

“This is where the stage was… yes, I played on it… and around the side in the back was the dressing room. And the bathrooms… I never went to the ladies, but the mens room was a piece of art… The toilet was by itself.. no walls around it… up on sort of a stage.”

Then we go outside to Joey Ramone Way, and I take a picture of her under the street sign. We talk punk.

“You know,” she says, “there’s a punk rock museum that just opened in Las Vegas. We should go there.”

I’m in love.

Bonus: I soon find that my old pal Fat Mike from NO FX is a big macher at the museum. AND he now lives in Las Vegas. Hooeeee I could impress her with that. Maybe I could even get him to take us on a tour… show us the Mykel Board Room… I could sign autographs for the other museum visitors.

“Let’s do it.” I tell her. “You set a time. I’ll meet you there… in the desert. Las Vegas is a strange city. I haven’t been there in decades though. It’ll be fun.”

That’s what I say. What I think is: “Fuck you God. Here I am with a punk rock girl who wants to go to Las Vegas with me and I’m wearing diapers and couldn’t get a hard-on if a 1976 Joan Jett and a 1979 Leif Garrett danced naked in my living room.” But still... Just to hang out with her. Spend some time talking punkrock. Hold her in my arms as I fall into a farting, get-up-to-piss, snot-dribbling sleep. Ah what a joy that would be.

“Don’t worry Mykel,” she says, “I’ll take care of reservations and stuff.”

We split with a hug and the next day she returns to Germany. It isn’t long after that we connect on WhatsApp.

“Hey Mykel,” she writes, “dates are fixed and I booked a place for us.”

Ahhhh… If it weren’t for the hormone shot… if… if… if…

So I book my round trip ticket to Vegas. I’ll stay a week… maybe once I can… well, even if I can’t. She’s just so cool, just sharing a bed will bring me dreams to dream about. A couple weeks later back comes the WhatsApp message: All booked, Mykel. Got us three nights at The Sin City Complex. We can walk to the punkrock museum from there.

“Three nights?” I whine. “I’ve got a week!”

“I’m meeting a girlfriend,” comes the reply. “We want to go to Grand Canyon and stuff, sorry”

Oy.

The Sin City Complex is easy to spot. It’s across from a mural/painting of a girl puking into a toilet with a graffiti-esque caption “Vegas Night!”:

I go inside to check in. I give my name to the desk clerk and explain that Lucie booked the room. She looks it up.

“I gotcha,” she says. “You’re in room eight… bed three.”

“Bed three?” I ask.

She nods. “If you’d prefer a top bunk,” she tells me, “I think one’s available.”

After I download the room key on my phone, I trudge upstairs to the 8-bed (4 bunk beds) room, stick my backpack into a locker… hold back a tear or two and head downstairs to find some place for lunch. Lucie hasn’t arrived yet and I need some air conditioning. I’m having a hot flash.

See you in hell,

Mykel Board

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me on facebook or by email at mykelboard@gmail.com. Through the post office: send those... er... private DVDs..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003. If you like my writing, you can be notified when anything new is available. Send me an email with SUBSCRIBE in the subject line. Back blogs and columns are at https://mykelsblog.blogspot.com]

→ Admissions dept: It really wasn’t as bad as I made it sound, although we had a horrible snorer in bed number 5. Lucie was a terrific companion, and we did meet up with Fat Mike who gave us a tour of the museum. Mike was really great to us. Besides the tour he gave me a copy of the NOFX book… a NY Times best seller... really! We also got to the Double Down Saloon and saw the great band Franks and Deans… and they had a stripper… 2 strippers as a matter of fact. People were friendly, and Anil, my pal of 40 years, took Lucie and me out for a patty dinner. Delicious! I also went to the Mob Museum, to spend some time with Al Capone and some model electric chairs. You can see my Las Vegas pictures here.

→ Giving Good (Doll)head dept: Lucie introduced me to THE DOLLHEADS, a very young band (13 year old drummer) with a great sense of humor. We met up at the museum. There is a “jam room” upstairs. The band played up a storm, and Lucy joined in for a rendition of 99 Red Balloons. It was one of the many highlights of my stay. Actually, I had fun.

→ I missed this in Vegas Dept: After I got back home, I read a news story about what happened before I got there. Mysterious brown or black droplets fell from the sky on some Las Vegas homes. One resident said the droplets had rained on his home, cars, RV, basketball court, and just about everything else for three to four weeks.

"It could be grease? Oil? I don't know," said the home owner while looking at the hood of his mystery liquid coated SUV. "It's very hard to maintain my vehicles. It's very very difficult to be outside in my backyard knowing that I can't even cook or barbecue or anything like that because of droplets on my food."

See you in hell redux,
MB

THE NATION AGAIN

I’m a long-time subscriber to the The Nation. It’s the only lefty publication that I find myself not only agreeing with, but also getting inspiration from. Strangely, when I post this stuff on facebook, no one looks at it. My “friends” would just rather call me a “Trumpist” or a “Republican” for all the times I don’t follow the party line. If it’s printed in THE NATION, it should give me street cred, right? Yeah right.

Just when Bill Gates has almost rehabilitated himself, here’s more information about how he’s working with Big-Farm on genetically modified seeds that help destroy small farmers in Africa.

And Sascha Cohen writes about a new law that supposedly helps “sex-trafficked” people, but actually endangers them.

And I just found an old (2018) article that questions the believe the woman focus of #MeToo# and shows how things can be different (better) without the pre-conceptions.

LINK TRADE DEPARTMENT:

I did a nice interview with The Aither zine. Interesting questions, complete, and questions I’ve never been asked before. You can read it here. It’s a good one.

I read that the search engines like lots of links... and it's also nice to support my friends and enemies in their blogs. So facebook me or email me if you have a blog, webpage or something else to connect to. I add you. You add me.

Here's a start:

Jason Rodgers sent me his book Invisible Generation… free! And I lost it. Jason, a long-time partner of Suzy Poe, has been bugging me to review it… and I can’t. So the best I can do is promote it. I have a lot of respect for Jason… he is a libertarian (in the best sense of the word), and a super-smart guy. When/if I find the book, I’ll give you some more details.

Video of the week: My long-time friend Sid Yiddish appears on a YouTube DatingGame-like video. Guess who wins the bachlorette!

Here’s Richard Goldberg: goldberg.wordpress.com

Poetry and humor fans will like Justin Martin in The Latency

And my friend Mike R has a nice site with recipe hits from the past! (He cooked for me once... great stuff.) Check out Yesterday's Recipes.

And here's one by a member of ANTI-SEEN... a tour diary of sorts.

Andy Shelton has an interesting blog here.

Savage Hippie is a guy who has been YouTubing for a long time. Our opinions largely overlap... but he complains that I'm a Communist. I'm not! I'm a communist.

Chris Stecher publishes a zine called PRECIS. You can see the back issue links there... and he promises a new issue soon.

George Fertakis has a very nice graphics-heavy blog... with music and books featured prominently. If there’s no link here (I can’t find it temporarily), then Google… er… Duckduckgo him for information.

And my long-term pal Sid Yiddish contributes with his Mishegas Master Blog.

And connect to TRUST Zine, a long-running German punk zine… that STILL PRINTS!!! Yeah, they have a website too… of course! It’s here.

Here are a couple video links.

This from Jon Cox https://squelchchamber1.bandcamp.com/album/down-so-low

And this one from my very long-time friend Roger Armstrong.

Jim Testa moved his long running zine, Jersey Beat, to the blogosphere awhile back. You can read it here. Jim also recommended a kind of unique album… in a style you don’t see to much of these days… or any days. Neo-Hassidic Rock Opera. You can stream the album here.

Kyle Nonneman is in prison in Portland. At least he can’t be kidnapped by the secret police… I think. I post his blog for him, he can’t do it from the klink. Lots of stuff about noise metal… and some very weird politics that will either fascinate or repulse you… or both.

My long time pal, Jim Hayes rightfully complained about my leaving out his blog. He’s a great writer, so it was a tragic omission. Here it is.

Oh yeah, then there’s me. I have a blog of stuff I’ve written mostly from last century. You might enjoy it. Then again, you might not. It’s here.

Let me know if you have a blog… or a print zine… or a YouTube and want to be added to the list. You show me yours… you’ve already seen mine. god@mykelboard.com

MB

I WAS FRAMED! or Mykel's October 2023 Blog/Column

 I Was Framed ... or Mykel's Blog for October

You’re STILL Wrong

or

Mykel's October 2023 Blog/Column 

I Was Framed!    

by Mykel Board

The instrument that measures all other instruments– the human nervous system– has its own laws, and one of them involves always seeing the results one wants to see until and unless something really startles the brain enough to reframe its experiences. --Robert Anton Wilson

Popular authors do not and apparently cannot appreciate the fact that true art is obtainable only by rejecting normality and conventionality in toto, and approaching a theme purged utterly of any usual or preconceived point of view. --Edwin Baird

I think people have to set up little battles. They have to demonize people whom they disagree with or feel threatened by. But it's the ideological framing of the debate that scares me. – Barbara Kruger

It’s slightly pornographic… or could be. Just three fingers... lady’s fingers clearly... but what’s between them? Is that a urethra canal? Could it be the centerfold of a “men’s” magazine? Will the Google gods post this behind a SENSITIVE CONTENT SCREEN? How about if we look at the picture another way? Maybe that can tell us something different about those fingers:

Flash to the motel room: The floor is bloody… The door hangs on one hinge… lopsided as if forced in from the outside… it was.. Lying on the couch is a woman… clothed only in her own blood. Her vacant eyes stare blankly at the ceiling. A man… scruffy… wearing a beat up overcoat... sits on a chair at the desk. On either side of him is a cop. One tall… macho looking.. a strong chin cleanly shaven. Squinting, the disheveled man can read DETECTIVE BASTINI. The other cop is somewhat shlubbier… beer belly just poking over the front of his belt. The name on his badge is not visible to the sitting man.

“You realize this looks pretty bad for you,” says Detective Bastini.

“But officer,” says the disheveled man, “you gotta understand. This was a set-up. I was framed!”

You got it buckaroos! I want to write about FRAMING! How our entire view of the world, of people, of good and bad… right and wrong... is all about framing. And framing is everywhere… what we see out of a window is framed… what we hear on the news… what we listen to in a punk club… what appears in store displays… It’s all framed. White-washing, green-washing, pink-washing, ad-washing, even face- washing… BUILD THOSE FRAMES!

Yeah, I’m going to repeat myself here. I often repeat myself. I often repeat myself. I often repeat myself. I often repeat myself. I often repeat myself. I often repeat myself. I often repeat myself. But in saying what I’ve said before, I’m going to frame it with a frame. Show how you’ve been tricked by what the frame let in the picture and what it kept out.

So says the Google search. I don’t have time to dig further because my stomach is begging for release… Last night was Drink Club and I’m paying for it now. Aaaahrgh! I feel like I’m being fist-fucked from the inside. The pain… the pain… the bathroom… the toilet… sit down… ahh… ahhh… aaahhhhhh! An explosion… splashing down with the force of a space capsule in the ocean. BLOOOF! BLOOF! BLOOOF! Feces-filled water splashes back up... dribbling drip… drip… drip back into the muddy waters below. No, I can’t see it, but I feel it… against both lower cheeks… and the back of my thighs. 

Ecstasy! Poetry in brown! I just sit a bit and enjoy it... closing my eyes to focus on the relief. Then the wipe… the double wipe… the pull up… What’s that? A hard-yet-squishy feel. I again pull down my boxers. A brown stain discolors the top… right near the elastic. A single dingle-berry... hanging by a hair… too high up to reach through the legs… still there. I have to go around the side… grope for it. Aaaah, if only I could pay someone to make sure I’d got the last one before pulling up. A pro to take care of errant hanger-ons… to save my underpants… and my embarrassment at the laundromat. But wait... a dingle-berry remover!!! I’ve created a job! All I need is someone to fill it. Get it? It’s easy to create a job, though likely it’ll be a shitty one. 

It’s the frame! If we only look at jobs… at how many people are employed or can be employed… we mistake the Mona Lisa fingers for the painting. If we frame it as happy people... fulfilled people… people able to live a good life… then Biden’s 6.6 million jobs are meaningless. 

MOST jobs are worthless. They contribute nothing and may do more harm than good. 

That guy sitting at his desk shuffling electrons to buy and sell stock… What does he contribute? The greeter at Walmart... the CEO of a tech corporation... the maitre ‘d at a restaurant… bookkeepers… corporate lawyers… insurance brokers… advertising copy writers… the list never ends. Framing “job creation” instead of “life improvement” skews the equation.

It’s sometime in the late 1970s. Milton Friedman has already won the Nobel Prize for his defense of the crime of capitalism. The local PBS station shows a short series where Friedman explains his theories.

A twenty-something me sits in front of the TV as Friedman walks around the streets of New York, talking to the camera. He passes a beggar.

“It seems cruel,” says Friedman, “but if we don’t support this man… if we don’t give him money… he’ll have to get a job. The state… other working people… will not have to pay for him”

I close my eyes… take a deep breath… wish for the beggar to jump up, slam a lead pipe into the back of Friedman’s head… grab his wallet and take off. “There’s your have to get a job, motherfucker!” And I smile.

I tell this story to my Ayn Rand-loving friends. “No Mykel,” they tell me, “That’s what the police are for. They catch the guy and throw him in jail.”

“Where he’s supported by the state… working people,” I answer.

WORK --more precisely HAVING A JOB-- is something that’s lauded by Communists and Capitalists alike. There’s dignity in having a job. And a gauge of any president’s performance is whether or not he creates FULL EMPLOYMENT! So, destructive and useless jobs are better than no jobs at all. NO THEY AREN’T.

Let’s move the frame. Let’s value the ability to enjoy life. The ability to help others enjoy life. Lets value a smile on a poor man’s face more than a billion dollars in Jeff Bezos’s pocket. If there were no garbagemen, who would take away the garbage?

Who takes it away now? Who removes the banana peels from your kitchen? YOU DO! The garbage is taken away because it needs to be taken away… not because there are garbagemen.

I can hear Literary Device complaining now.

“Forget about garbagemen, Mykel,” she says. “What about doctors? Teachers? Architects? Those things take years of study. Are you going to have everyone be her own doctor?”

“Not quite,” I answer. “But I can tell you that I get paid to be a teacher. It’s my job. I’d do it though, even if it weren’t my job. I love doing it”

There are enough people who love doctoring and teaching doctoring that –job or not– they’d do it. With so many worthless or destructive jobs gone, people will be able to do what they love. Think of all the kids that want to be doctors or firemen or athletes, but end up stock brokers or insurance salesmen as adults. Are they happy wearing their white shirts and ties... spending a third of their lives moving electrons from one computer to the next… I bet MOST people are unhappy in their jobs, especially the useless or harmful ones.

Move that VALUE frame. Value humanity... satisfaction... time... rather than having a job. You’ll get a much nicer picture.

FLASH TO The Every Little Bit Helps frame: I generate a lot of garbage. No, I’m not talking about this blog. I’m talking real, physical stuff. Junkmail… bills (always shredded and thrown out), old magazines, plastic containers from yogurt, deli sandwiches, styrofoam trays from frozen chicken… the list goes on. The only garbage separating I do is pulling out the deposit bottles and cans. I put those in a separate clear plastic bag and leave that outside for the street people who live on bottle and can deposits. Many of them are my friends.

According to Green Matters, only around 9 percent of goods separated for recycling are being recycled. But there’s the frame. If you separate your soup cans from your bleach bottles you’re part of that every little bit. You can go ahead and buy your Campbell’s 12 pack and your Costco size bleach bottle. You’re still doing your part. But if we expand the frame… include the rest of the Mona Lisa... we can see the whole picture.

We can see that there’s a relationship between feeling good about your consumption… and consuming more. It’s okay if I buy so much more than I need. More to throw away…more junk… I RECYCLE… so it’s all right.

NO IT ISN’T! Recycling encourages consumption. Consumption encourages waste (and corporate profits). In this frame, RECYCLING MAKES JUNK. Instead of framing the junk our consumption makes, why not frame the consumption itself? Instead of recycling, why not avoid buying in the first place?

FLASH TO the war in Ukraine. Oh, the bad guys invade. “We” have to help. It’s good guys against bad guys… a typical American frame… cowboy movies… war movies… comic books. The good guys need to defeat the bad guys… the invaders. Send in weapons… train the soldiers… beat the war drums… put up Ukrainian flags. Measure success like in a war movie. CHASE THEM OUT. MAKE THEM DIE. They lose. We win. What can be more American than “Winning isn’t everything… It’s the only thing?”

But let’s use a different frame. Let’s keep score… if score must be kept… a different way. Let’s use a GOLF frame, instead of a comic book frame. In golf, the lowest score wins. So players work hardest at getting the lowest score. How ‘bout if, instead of keeping score by advances and retreats and downed airplanes or destroyed infantry, we count dead people. The fewer dead, the better the situation. So if “we” want to get a good score, we provide negotiators instead of bombs. We offer cash, concessions, trades, to keep the number of dead low. We exchange the frame of winning and losing for one of dying or not dying.

NEXT FRAME INTRODUCTION: It’s called “pre-judgement” and includes one of my favorite idioms of the last decade or so. It too is an extension of the American good guy/ bad guy frame. That is, anything done by a badguy must be bad. If the cowboy wearing black picks up a a dog in scene one, he’ll shoot it in scene three. He can’t be NICE to the dog… he’s a bad guy. That phrase I love is Trump Derangement Syndrome

FLASH TO Miami beach: It’s crowded. Throngs wanting to get in their last wave before Hurricane Bruce slams the coast and ruins their fun. If you walk quietly in a corner of the beach, you’ll see what looks like a typical American family: a chubby balding man… gray chest-hair, a woman, obviously his wife, with bright red hair, obviously from a bottle. A boy and his younger sister play on the bright blue picnic blanket spread in the sand. The boy carries a plastic bucket and a little plastic shovel. The little girl is empty-handed.

If you listen carefully, you’ll hear that they are speaking French. Maybe they’re tourists. With a peal of kiddie-laughter the empty-handed girl grabs the bucket from her brother and runs toward the ocean. The brother gives chase, finally catching up and wrestling the bucket free. Then he pushes his sister who falls into the increasingly violent waves smashing against the shore. The girl washes out to sea.

“Aide! Aide!” screams the father, as the little girl is rip-currented further and further from shore.

Donald Trump, passing by, hears the shouts. Not taking the time to remove anything but his shoes, he runs to the water and jumps in. Powerfully, he swims out to the girl, grabs her around the chest and… careful to keep her head above water... brings her safely back to shore.

TRUMP MOLESTS TODDLER AT THE BEACH is the headline in The Times the next day… along with a photo of Donny Trump in the water with his arm around the girl’s chest.

For so many people, Trump is incapable of doing anything right… of doing a good deed. If it appears good… pardoning non-violent offenders, keeping the US out of war, downsizing The Pentagon… there’s always some reason it’s BAD. Getting out of NAFTA and TPP… disastrous trade bills that would have allowed international trade with no oversight. Slave conditions unanswerable by the US courts. President Trump saved us from them.

No he didn’t. Come the answers. Those were good for trade… come the TDS answers… except for Bernie Sanders, Elizabeth Warren and AOC who also opposed the treaties when they were presented by the Dems… those treaties are left out of the frame.

And finally… briefly… a pair of frames I’ve written about before: the GENDER frame and the RACE frame. Seeing abortion as “a war against women” where most of the anti-abortionists see a war against murder. Or seeing street crime and armed robbery as BLACK street crime and BLACK armed robbery instead of POVERTY-INDUCED street crime and POVERTY-INDUCED armed robbery. Framing… framing… framing.

So please… face the wall and look at that picture. Take it down… open the back and spread out the painting so the unframed parts become clear. Then REFRAME it, so those twat-showing hands become the Mona Lisa.

See you in hell,
Mykel Board

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me on facebook or by email at mykelboard@gmail.com. Through the post office: send those... er... private DVDs..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003. If you like my writing, you can be notified when anything new is available. Send me an email with SUBSCRIBE in the subject line. Back blogs and columns are at https://mykelsblog.blogspot.com]

→ Framing Step-by-Step Dept: There’s a great step-by-step analysis of news- framing in the New York Times. It’s not published on any of the monopoly-internet sites, but you can find it here.

→ How you react DEPENDS dept: Many of you know that I’ve gone through radiation treatment for prostate cancer. Called Cyberknife, the treatment itself is painless, though expensive. But the cash expense is only part of the problem. I pissed in my pants on the way home from the last treatment. I’ve been wearing (and needing) DEPENDS ever since. I have daily brain fog and the only time I’m not tired is late at night when I should be sleeping. If cyberknife is recommended for you… consider it VEEERRRRRY CAREFULLY, before you agree to it. You have been warned.

→ Put A Bag On It dept: The Canadian Broadcasting Company reports that in an environmental move, rock climbers in British Columbia have been encouraged to use WAG BAGS, to shit in. The idea, you shit in a bag that contains deodorizing chemicals, and then carry the shit with you, out of the wooded areas where you dispose of it at home. Sure, that’s gonna happen. Yeah right.

See you in hell redux,
MB


THE NATION AGAIN

I’m a long-time subscriber to the The Nation. It’s the only lefty publication that I find myself not only agreeing with, but also getting inspiration from. Strangely, when I post this stuff on facebook, no one looks at it. My “friends” would just rather call me a “Trumpist” or a “Republican” for all the times I don’t follow the party line. If it’s printed in THE NATION, it should give me street cred, right? Yeah right.

I found, in an old issue, a great argument against those who charge “What Aboutism” when others make points about a parallel issue outside the frame. The author’s basic (and correct) point of view is that the anti-whataboutism argument justifies hypocrisy.
Then there’s Thomas Graham who spots a little more subtlety in the Ukraine war than the media and the current war-mongers are showing.

LINK TRADE DEPARTMENT:

I did a nice interview with The Aither zine. Interesting questions, complete, and questions I’ve never been asked before. You can read it here. It’s a good one.

I read that the search engines like lots of links... and it's also nice to support my friends and enemies in their blogs. So facebook me or email me if you have a blog, webpage or something else to connect to. I add you. You add me.

Here's a start:

Jason Rodgers sent me his book Invisible Generation… free! And I lost it. Jason, a long-time partner of Suzy Poe, has been bugging me to review it… and I can’t. So the best I can do is promote it. I have a lot of respect for Jason… he is a libertarian (in the best sense of the word), and a super-smart guy. When/if I find the book, I’ll give you some more details.

Video of the week: My long-time friend Sid Yiddish appears on a YouTube DatingGame-like video. Guess who wins the bachlorette!

Here’s Richard Goldberg: goldberg.wordpress.com

Poetry and humor fans will like Justin Martin in The Latency

And my friend Mike R has a nice site with recipe hits from the past! (He cooked for me once... great stuff.) Check out Yesterday's Recipes.

And here's one by a member of ANTI-SEEN... a tour diary of sorts.

Andy Shelton has an interesting blog here.

Savage Hippie is a guy who has been YouTubing for a long time. Our opinions largely overlap... but he complains that I'm a Communist. I'm not! I'm a communist.

Chris Stecher publishes a zine called PRECIS. You can see the back issue links there... and he promises a new issue soon.

George Fertakis has a very nice graphics-heavy blog... with music and books featured prominently. If there’s no link here (I can’t find it temporarily), then Google… er… Duckduckgo him for information.

And my long-term pal Sid Yiddish contributes with his Mishegas Master Blog.

And connect to TRUST Zine, a long-running German punk zine… that STILL PRINTS!!! Yeah, they have a website too… of course! It’s here.

Here are a couple video links.

This from Jon Cox https://squelchchamber1.bandcamp.com/album/down-so-low

And this one from my very long-time friend Roger Armstrong.

Jim Testa moved his long running zine, Jersey Beat, to the blogosphere awhile back. You can read it here. Jim also recommended a kind of unique album… in a style you don’t see to much of these days… or any days. Neo-Hassidic Rock Opera. You can stream the album here.

Kyle Nonneman is in prison in Portland. At least he can’t be kidnapped by the secret police… I think. I post his blog for him, he can’t do it from the klink. Lots of stuff about noise metal… and some very weird politics that will either fascinate or repulse you… or both.

My long time pal, Jim Hayes rightfully complained about my leaving out his blog. He’s a great writer, so it was a tragic omission. Here it is.

Oh yeah, then there’s me. I have a blog of stuff I’ve written mostly from last century. You might enjoy it. Then again, you might not. It’s here.

Let me know if you have a blog… or a print zine… or a YouTube and want to be added to the list. You show me yours… you’ve already seen mine. god@mykelboard.com