THE ZENFORMATION WIRE: Random Web Reviews for Random People

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BOHEMIANS 2, PROSTITUTES 0:

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WHORES & WHOREHOUSES...
[YOUTUBE VIDEO]

Miz BoheMia's Rhapsody

The Bay Area's most famous homesick Spain Dweller Goes Gonzo on European Sex Trade as only she can.

SPAIN (ZP) -- There are very few bloggers out there that can leave me speechless.

Homegirl MizzyB does it constantly.

I've been trying to leave a comment for days regarding this video, but I almost piss myself every time she says the word whores.

A few months ago, she began including video content on her blog, documenting her day-to-day life as a mother and wife to her very chill husband, known only as Loverboy.

The video clips, which Miz Bohemia hosts through YouTube, provide a unique, truly original look at the life of an ex-pat struggling to find a way back home to California, come to grips with various family issues, and, well, even exploring the world of dental repair and chickenpox in ways only a former Bay Area resident can.

Every once and a while, MizB posts a vid to her YouTube account that explores the cultural differences between her more progressive, multinational background and typical life in the small Spanish city she and her husband have been trying to escape for several months.

In her latest installment, she and Loverboy hit the streets of her city's industrial areas, seeking to document the region's legal, working class prostitutes. One part Blair Witch Project and part in-the-moment gonzo journalism, MizB and Loverboy cruise around town, camera in tow, capturing stark images of streetwalkers, brothels, and other elements of the Spanish sex trade.

The conversation between a husband and wife, impishly discussing ways to capture better angles and swapping dialog off-camera, is amazingly comical, pure improvisational genius.

It's actually one of the best reality vlog projects I've seen all year, and Miz Bohemia holds true to her blog reputation as one of the most brutally honest and open bloggers out there.

If Hunter S. Thompson hadn't sucked down live ammunition back in 2005, and happened to be a sexy free-spirited yoga instructor with an equally devilish husband, I'm sure this is the kind of stuff he'd define as true Gonzo.

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FINE ARTS...THAT YOU SHOULDN'T VIEW AT WORK:

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GWAR! :: THE OFFICIAL CYBER-FORTRESS OF YOUR LORDS AND MASTERS

Virginia's Legendary Demonic Spawn and How The Wisdom of Oderus Urungus Built One Sick and Twisted Librarian

RICHMOND, Va. (ZP) -- Okay. Cool story.

It was sometime back in high school, probably 1995 or 1996. Three friends and I, having decided that beautiful spring days in Virginia were meant for things more important than stupid AP History courses, ditched class to spend a few days hanging out in Richmond's Shockoe Slip and Shockoe Bottom districts with these girls we'd met at a music store.

We were, in all honesty, heavily intoxicated most of the time. We slept in my friend's rusted-out '77 Buick at night, spending a good portion of our time drinking way too much MD 20/20 and Colt 45 malt liquor. During the day, we'd wander the streets aimlessly. We spent a great deal of time hanging out on Monument Avenue, back before that butt-ugly Arthur Ashe sculpture was erected, the one where the tennis great seems to be beating a group of schoolchildren.

At one point, while grabbing some grub at one of Richmond's awesome greasy spoons (the place is probably a Starbucks or Blockbuster now, thanks to the recent infestation of Yuppie Scum), one of my buddies spotted this very un-GWAR-looking dude sitting at a table near ours.

Oh dude! Dude dude DUDE! I think that's Dave Brockie!

Oderus Urungus?

Naw, the guy from Death Piggy!

Oh shit! My cousin hooked me up with a mixtape with their shit. They were like the greatest Richmond Hardcore band ever!

And being young, stoned, and, well, stupid kids, we didn't realize that GWAR's lead vocalist and Death Piggy's lead vocalist were actually the same person. Before adopting the gruesome makeup and shocking stage antics, Brockie was already a local music legend.

The guy at the table was indeed the Legend himself, the No. 1 Scumdog of the Universe, in the flesh and sans gigantic rubber penis or other prosthetics. Oderus/Dave turned out to be one of the coolest cats, more than willing to discuss everything from GWAR's artistry to his being shocked that a bunch of high school kids from rural Southside Virgina actually knew about the Death Piggy days.

Didn't ask for an autograph. Figured the twenty minutes of conversation was worth much more than any signature. Still one of the coolest days of my life.

I've been a very bad librarian here in Oxford, in the very naked now, utilizing WorldCat's advanced search options to assist the youth of America in locating GWAR-related materials.

Not much out there, actually. Who'd a thunk it?

But check out GWAR's awesome web portal, one of the most creative (and nauseatingly original) band sites out there. Very interactive and fun.

And who doesn't love having to scroll over the fingers of a severed arm (image above) to access a web site's navigation controls?

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MUSIC: KEEP ON RAPPING FOR THE FREE WORLD...

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RAMALLAH UNDERGROUND
ARTIST COLLECTIVE

[RU MySpace Music Link]
Bringing the Palestinian Visual Arts and Urban Music Experience from the West Bank to the Western World

RAMALLAH, PALESTINE (ZP) -- I discovered this site a while back, through a friend. For those unaware, I'm a huge supporter of the global hip-hop phenomenon, as the medium serves as a positive, artistic outlet for many folks in impoverished and/or oppressive societies.

One song currently in heavy rotation in the ZenFo Pro apartment, for example, is the R.U.-produced Amputate [MP3], a rocksteady-driven collaboration between Palestinian emcee Boikutt and London-based hip-hop activists, The Unpeople.

And check out the stellar photography of collective member Mohanad. This photograph alone is worth a view or three thousand, capturing life in a region of the world that's been a war zone for almost a century. Or how about this photograph by Collective member Jana, depicting a grinning child in front of graffiti that reads Palestine = One Giant Concentration Camp?

Like the work of their American hip-hop forebears, The Ramallah Underground takes a simple formula and recreates it in their own image, the image of their culture and issues important to their community.

Now that's power. And that's the real spirit of hip-hop, too.

* * * *

Rap music was birthed in the ghettos and inner-cities of America's poorest communities and, like jazz in the 1960s, has become the beacon of hope and musical medium of choice for protest and expression worldwide.

Who needs the worthless mass-marketed, overpriced shit the American major labels are pushing in Moscow when there's the lyrical mastery of guys like Seryoga, who bumps out out the Post-Soviet beats? And Big Black Boots [check out the video for Opasno at YouTube] gets Slavic asses a-grindin' from Kiev to St. Petersburg.

Africa?

Tanzania still mourns the loss of the late Faza Nelly, a founding member of the legendary X Plastaz. Faza's last music video, completed right before he died in 2006, is probably one of the best examples of how rap music has evolved on the continent, a native-language testimonial on the true face of global poverty.

Or how about Ugandan emcee Tshila? Uganda needs strong, empowered women - all of Africa does. And if there's any one female emcee who embodies this, it'd probably be this Kampala native. If you are brave enough, feel free to watch this video clip.

I couldn't through it without tearing up. Tshila's brand of hope isn't the kind mass-marketed here in the States.

Honestly, listening to the ever-expanding world of hip-hop makes my own country's hip-hop scene look bad. Talk about a collapse of conscience. In 20 years' time, we've seen the mainstream subculture "evolve" from the message of acts like Public Enemy to the almost Amos 'n' Andy aesthetics of Crunk.

While American emcees spent much of last year trying to prove

their worth in Bling, stapling platinum fronts to their grills, and gloating over homes and cars worth more than the GDPs of some nations, Turkish emcee Jonturk was putting together one of the most powerful anti-war protest songs of all time (screenshot, right), an international collaboration that included everyone from Germany's Albino, Irish alt-rockers Cyclefly, Turkish compatriots Sirhot and Elnino, and Greek/Albanian rap act, the Microphone Snipers.

Jonturk and Co. had the downright cajones to create a video detailing just about every major human rights atrocity of the 20th and 21st century. Think Diddy would bother to put forth that kind of global effort, would risk pissing off those affluent neighbors in the Hamptons, the ones who own stock in the very companies that make the war profitable?

In many ways, the parent has become the child. And like many children in the Developed World, it chooses to stay blind to the bigger world around itself, enveloped in a world of self-absorption, too much comfort, and very little acceptance of responsibility.

That may be the enduring legacy of American hip-hop as a mainstream medium. Thank goodness for the rest of the world.

- REVISED April 3, 2007

(Left Sirhot, one of Turkey's big cheese emcees and producers,
out of the graph discussing Jonturk's Refuse, Resist, Say No clip.
Sorry about that.)
~ Jason

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OXFORD CONFIDENTIAL:How To (Intentionally) Avoid Sex in a Land of the Oversexed and Undersatisfied

OXFORD, Ohio (ZP) -- So I'm standing outside of one of my favorite watering holes last night, smoking a cigarette in single-digit weather.

It was a friend of mine's last bar shift at this particular establishment, her last hurrah before getting the fuck outta Dodge for a much-needed change of scenery. Several of her friends had gathered to pull a drunken "all-nighter" at the bar, to commemorate her special evening, to keep her company and provide mischievous entertainment, and to, well, make sure she tipped out for the night a wealthier woman.

My intention was to just hang out and to have a good time with a few friends. I don't go to bars for any other reason - not to seek female bedwarmers, not to check out the usual meat market, not to find true love in some drunken haze.

As I'm standing out in front of this bar, out on the steps in the freezing cold, chatting away with one of the cooks, an attractive younger woman walks up and asks for a light. The cook goes back inside, leaving me alone, on the steps, with an intoxicated marketing major.

Per the typical Local U. male undergrad standard, the woman would probably qualify as fucking hot.

Artificially tanned, well-built brunette - the kind of girl who has probably spent more of her collegiate career in the gym doing cardio than actually learning anything.

If I were a typical Local U. undergrad, I might've been interested. But I haven't been an undergrad in six years. Hell, I haven't been any type of college student in more than three.

I figured out said woman was hitting on me pretty quick into our brief conversation. The signals were pretty straight forward, almost exaggerated for comical purposes - the leaning against the wall, the downright silly As Seen on the WB eye contact and lip chewing, the rubbing my bare arms to "get rid of the goosebumps." Her speech, slurred by obviously too much alcohol (and the white powder on her nostrils explained her linguistic speed), was loaded with less-than-subtle innuendo and rather blunt flirting.

Examples of her side of the conversation somehow managed to stick in my mind, despite my own intoxication...

You know, I've always wanted to fuck a guy in the library...

...You're sweet. Can I take you home?

Sometimes a girl just needs an older guy...

Aww. It's Valentine's Day weekend. You need a sweetie...

I'll bet you read lots of girls bedtime stories...

Wow.

Original.

* * * *

I think she thought I was smiling and looking away rather impishly because I was somehow planning how to get this fucking hot girl home for a night of drunken, pointless, sneak-out-before-dawn sex.

Actually, I think I remember laughing to myself about how I'd wished I'd told her I was a mechanic, just to hear her inanely chatter on about lube jobs, tune-ups, and body work.

The whole "conversation" lasted maybe ten minutes, the time it took me to smoke my first Marlboro and to get two-thirds of the way through the second. Aside from answering her questions, I didn't get in more than maybe 20 words.

I made a polite exit while she answered her cellphone.

* * * *

Back inside, I returned to my seat at the bar.

One friend of mine, who I'll call Lao Tse, stirred his umpteenth cocktail slowly.

He seemed annoyed that the bar was packed, filled with what seemed to be the most preppy of the preppy J. Crew U. crowd.

"I guess its good _____ gets a busy last shift," Lao Tse said. "But I really wish there weren't so many fucking annoying people."

I looked around the bar. The place was packed with groups of girls, whole tables' full of single fucking hot girls like my intoxicated marketing major.

Yup.

The weekend before fucking Valentine's Day in Oxford Fucking Ohio.

* * * *

I don't do drunk girls. I don't do stupid women. And I don't tend to go for the same fucking hot girl personality types that many male bar patrons typically seek out around these here parts.

If one were to hunt through the Zenfo Pro archives, one will find numerous references to these concepts in numerous blog posts. Offline, I've had numerous conversations about these concepts with close friends for more than a decade. These personal rules of sexual engagement have been carefully crafted over years' worth of bad relationships and one-night mistakes, through way too many trials and excessive numbers of errors.

So it shouldn't shock anyone who reads this, anyone who's known me for some time, that the revelation I had last night, while doing shots of Johnny Walker, has been a long time in the making.

I'm finally comfortable admitting that I've become a Woman Snob.

And I'm damned proud of it, too.

Wow, I thought, sitting there at the bar, just admitting that makes me feel so much more at peace with the world.

Or maybe it was that Long Island Iced Tea I put down before the Johnny Walker.

It's amazing the types of revelations one can have while completely blitzed, sitting on a bar stool and staring into a room full of female bar patrons that one wouldn't even consider going home with unless they could prove they weren't just another fucking hot girl.

I felt like naked ol' Archimedes, ready to streak across the countryside, screaming Eureka! at the heavens.

* * * *

Another friend, this one I'll call Zhuang Tse, had told me a story about a woman earlier in the evening, a tale about woman he'd finally decided to cut out of his social life. The woman in question, over the course of their friendship, had been willing to basically use him to get whatever she wanted without giving anything of any substance in return.

While in the midst of my revelation, while staring into the mirror behind the bar, I noticed for the first time that my intoxicated marketing major was sitting at a table behind me.

The fucking hot girl had gotten over my abandonment. I watched, in drunken amazement, as she snuggled close to another guy, a guy who looked like just another typical male undergrad, fresh from a weeks' worth of classes as the Local U.

Well, somebody was getting laid, I guess. And somebody else was getting what they wanted out of another guy.

Not only is it amazing the types of revelations one can have while intoxicated, but it's also amazing the profound parables a 21st century Zhuang Tse can tell without even knowing it.

I don't think I've ever been so excited to watch somebody else stagger out of a bar with some fucking hot girl instead of me.

Let that guy develop his own rules of sexual engagement, figure out for himself that dumb women are just about as worthless as lead shoes in quicksand, that drunk women are just as likely to puke on or piss in the bed as be memorable, that all of those pointless one-night things tend to lead to more questions than boastful exclamations.

Somebody else can catch the Clap for a change. I gave that up when I was an undergrad myself.

* * * *

I looked over at Mr. Zhuang and Mr. Lao. They were both chatting away with our female bartender friend, cracking jokes and bemoaning the fact that she still had a few hours left until she could count out her drawer, could call it a night here in Oxford Fucking Ohio for the last time.

The woman behind the bar looked at me and smiled, her silver necklace swimming across her Hustler tank top as she laughed, her cheeks glowing and bright and...

For fuck's sake, dude, you're not checking ______ out, are you?

Whoa dude. You really are fucking drunk. Better slow the fuck down, chief.

Remember that time back in college, that time when you accidentally hit on that riot grrl deejay friend of yours by mistake? Remember how you woke up in her apartment, only to find out that she and a few other female friends decided to get their revenge by letting your drunk ass strip naked and pass out drunk in a pink Hello Kitty bathrobe? Dude, ya gotta focus and remember how ugly you look in an avocado mud mask...

Women can be merciless when their guy friends get a little, er, confused.

I laughed out loud at the memory, hoping to God that ______ didn't notice, that my twin philosopher drinking buddies hadn't noticed, either.

Life's not too shabby, dude. Just think... if you hadn't had a revelation tonight, you might've ended up like that fucking preppy dude who left with the fucking hot chick.

Drunk girls. Dumb...drunk...girls.

There's nothing empowering, nothing invigorating, nothing that screams out for the lust of life in the temporary embrace of skanky women.

And man, you're just smart enough to realize that Empowered, independent, confident women just ooze with the lust of life, nothing more invigorating than waking up next to someone you can talk to, someone you can learn from and can share in the exploration of the universe.

Err...

Dude, you're really, really drunk.

* * * *

After last call, after wishing one of the few Fucking Hot Women (yes, there are WOMEN here) in Oxford Fucking Ohio a good night and reminders to call when she gets a chance, Mr. Zhuang, Mr. Lao, and I made our way to Zhuang Tse's condo.

We kept drinking and philosophizing until the wee hours of the morning as we watched reruns of Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, ate pizza, and drank tequila.

I made my way home just before sunrise. My apartment was cold but welcoming, quiet and, most importantly, fucking hot girl - free.

* * * *

I stretched out on my bed, enjoying the peace offered by its emptiness, its lack of baggage and drama. I thought about the various women who've spent the night here with me, the ones since I adopted my steadfast rules.

I've had some of the best sex in the history of this goddamned town with some of the most intelligent women I've ever known. Call me a bastard if you must, but I'm damned proud of that.

I've had debates about evolutionary theory naked. I've listened as a nude pixie compared the stories I tell to Frank Miller and Mike Mignola graphic novels. I've argued against the historical importance of the Beatles, read Walt Whitman aloud, and gotten lessons in the influence of French designers on American women's fashion.

Once, I had an Italian woman wrestle me to this very bed because I refused to accept her theory that Americans were more responsible for the plight of Sub-Saharan Africa than the continent's former European would-be conquerors. I've lost shirts to women who claimed they couldn't kiss me hard enough, simply because I told them that watching them think was sexy.

Sure, there have been a few mistakes. But, well, thanks to having even the simplest of standards, those mistakes are getting fewer and farther between as time progresses.

Dude, you really are a hot fucking guy sometimes. Downright sexy. Way too sexy to waste any time with fucking hot girls, the young, horny, drunk, and stupid.

Okay, so sue me.

I realize that's a rather arrogant statement coming from me, something that - trust me - feels much more unbelievable writing out than could ever feel reading.

What can I say? I really am a Woman Snob.

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AND NOW...COMPLETELY RANDOM SHIT:Quick Bits and Other Crap to Fill the Holidays

CINCY POLITICIAN LOSES FIRST BATTLE AGAINST LOCAL U.; STILL SCARED OF GAY PEOPLE WITH DENTAL..

Gay employees of the Local U. will continue to have access to same-sex "domestic partner" benefits, at least for the time being.

A lawsuit brought against the university by state Rep. Tom Brinkman (R-Cincinnati) was dismissed earlier this week in a Butler County courtroom.

Brinkman, who is also the father of two students, had sought an end to such benefits, claiming the university's policy was a direct violation of the state's 2004 Marriage Amendment.

While the suit was dismissed because Brinkman and his legal team could not provide evidence that the university's policy damaged him individually or concretely, the judge did note in his ruling that the suit may still have merit if brought by a more impacted party.

Brinkman, of course, plans to appeal the ruling.

For a previous ZenFo Pro opinion on the subject, click here.

Anywho...

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BITCH-SLAPPING THE TASTE OUTTA CELEBRITY ACTIVIST MOUTHS ...

See...this is what happens when I get back to reading my usual four or five newspapers a day...

An interesting piece appeared in the Toronto Star Nov. 19, an editorial concerning the way Western celebrities approach "supporting" the developing world.

Special correspondent Dominic Hilton hits the nail on the head perfectly:

... Unlike Sir Paul McCartney, many African countries have actually got poorer since the '60s. Why? Well, for starters, because they're locked into a cycle of dependence on Western aid. The last thing Africa needs is more celebrity - encouraged Western guilt. The world's poor are not skint because Brad Pitt is loaded. The West has poured billions into Africa and the result is a continent described by Prime Minister Tony Blair as "a scar on the world's conscience." Most celebs look at this situation and demand... more of the same...

When celebs feel they have a duty to speak out, it is always we (the West) who are blamed for the fact that the world's wretched don't live in Beverly Hills mansions. You never hear a celebrity say, "What Africa really needs is a good dose of regime change." Why don't our rock stars organize a concert demanding African property rights or the scrapping of Africa's protectionist tariffs on agriculture and drugs? And when will we see a business-suited Gwynnie in our magazines highlighting the cancer of African state corruption? ...

- FULL ARTICLE HERE -

Nothing more to add, really.

I think Hilton read my mind, actually.

As did an editorial writer for the University of Virginia's Cavalier Daily earlier this month.

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MAYBE KRAMER COULD INSULT PEOPLE IN KATHMANDU NEXT TIME...

In the last seven days, Nepal formally ended one of its bloodiest civil wars and demolished its monarchy, a former KGB whistleblower died mysteriously in London, some dude tried to blow up Northern Ireland's parliament, Ethiopia's sent troops into Somalia to protect the Somali government from yet another Islamic militia, and Lebanon's losing anti-Syrian leaders left and right.

And I'm supposed to give a shit about what some comedian from Seinfeld shouted racial slurs at an audience?

This is what draws national outrage? This draws the media attention? A friggin' comedian says something that a group of people find insensitive and racist?

Racist comments and insults from Hollywood...who'd a thunk it?

Wow.

And people at a local bar were upset that a cultural geographer and I were discussing why a good portion of the world thinks Americans are too self-absorbed to even care about the rest of the world...

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PERSONAL NOTES...

• Well, seems I have another damned local cyberstalker. It's one thing to read this blog from the confines of Oxford Fucking Ohio, to enjoy the fact that, yes, there's a local librarian who says "fuck" a lot, who admits to doing things most librarians wouldn't in regards to their personal lives. But please don't leave me notes on my fucking truck. Very creepy. Don't do that.
  

• A friend of mine recently had her car keyed, presumably by an ex-boyfriend of hers. After getting the vehicle back from the auto-body shop (we're talking deep scratch here), her windshield was keyed. Days after discussing how insane it is for an ex-lover to damage a car, the ZenFo ProMobile was also damaged - and I'm almost certain it was done by one of my own psycho exes.

• I spent part of Wednesday night explaining to a high school kid how to properly use a condom, in the middle of a friggin' Wally World. The girl had about a mile to buy the condoms, because her boyfriend was too chickenshit to buy his own. Yes, it was rather embarrassing. And no, I don't regret it one bit. The last thing Rural America needs is another teenaged single mother.

• When the students are gone, Oxford ain't half bad, actually. I'll spend at least a portion of this weekend celebrating what locals call Townie Weekend - the one break between Labor Day and December when there are virtually no drunken preppy kids stinking up some rather decent local dives.

• I've had a grand total of six people this month tell me that they've always assumed I was either part-Latino or part-Middle Eastern based on my physical features. No fucking clue why, really.
  

• Recently, I've become addicted to Justice League: Unlimited, thanks to the release of a new boxset. And I've now watched Transformers The Movie four times since I purchased the 20th Anniversary Edition a few weeks ago. Still cry when Optimus Prime dies - just like I did in the theatre back in 1986.
  

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MORE THAN JUST MAKE THE SEXYTIME: Borat and the Joke Most Americans Won't Get No Matter How Hard They Laugh

OXFORD, Ohio (ZP) -- Watching any film at the Princess Four, one of the last of the old time movie theaters in this part of the country, is an acquired taste. The ancient building predates the "cineplex" concept, a former single screen matinee house that once hosted the films of Humphrey Bogart, John Wayne, and Boris Karloff now chopped up into four tiny screening rooms to accommodate the kids who dig Van Wilder type flicks and the arthouse crowd simultaneously.

Films aren't presented in THX or Dolby Digital; viewers are treated to films presented in groundbreaking Stereo. The paint's peeling off the incandescent-lit sign outside, the bathrooms smell of six decades' worth of urinal mints, and the smell of unfiltered Pall Malls hangs in the fabric of the now smoke-free rooms.

But I didn't go to the movies to simply take in the atmosphere of yesteryear. I'd was there to be supposedly offended, to sit through one and a half hours of jokes aimed squarely at a portion of my ancestry, to supposedly get angry at some British comedian for poking fun at killing Roma (Gypsies - and yeah, I'm, according to one account, at least an 1/8th) and Southerners.

A friend told me I should see the film. She wanted my input. She felt guilty for laughing a jokes about other peoples' cultures. She was pissed, too, because the comedian in question had caused her grandmother, a proud Kazakh who'd immigrated to the U.S. after the Second World War, to break down in tears at a recent get-together when she learned of this Borat character.

* * * *

The friend told me abut her viewing experience in one of those huge, modern multiplexes. She'd gone with a group of coworkers to catch the film's opening. The crowd she'd experienced was a stereotypically diverse urban California crowd - she remembered seeing a line full of representatives from Asian and African cultures, WASPish New Agers intermingled with Hindus in Lamb of God tee shirts.

Going to the movies in Oxford Fucking Ohio is a completely different experience. As one of the least diverse college communities in America, Oxford is a land where anyone without blonde hair and blue/green eyes could qualify as a minority, a place where I've heard words like "nigger," "chink," and "faggot" used more readily by college students than I heard in Louisiana or Virginia.

While waiting to buy my ticket to see this Sacha Baron Cohen guy do his thing, I listened to the audience banter around me.

A group of undergraduate males, dressed in overpriced clothes designed to make them look like COPS rejects fresh from the meth lab, were making fun of a friend who'd blacked out the previous night and recently learned that he'd accidentally fucked a girl without a condom rumored to have the Clap.

Another group in front of me, all dressed like extras from a Panic! at the Disco video, were discussing how their worship of Saint Sylvia Fucking Plath, how they hated the Greek system poseurs who had hijacked their scene, and who were (loudly) worried they'd get caught sneaking malt liquor into the theater.

I was one of three people over 24 in line to buy a ticket for this fucking movie. The people working at the theater represented the only black contingent, the few international students, a group of Chinese girls (Peking region, I'm guessing, given the accent) in line to watch some Christmas-based comedy, filling out the remainder of the diverse crowd.

I'd heard that Borat! included a scene involving something called the Running of the Jew, an imaginary Kazakh village festival.

For some reason, I was hoping - praying - that the flick didn't give the whitest of the WASP Higher Ed kids any ideas.

After all, this is a land where some of the nation's most affluent, sheltered progeny once enjoyed an annual block party called "Ghetto Fest," an even that unrealistically glamourized inner-city life in ways only those who've never seen urban decay could. And given some of the comments I've overheard concerning student peer-pressure racism (examples 1 and 2), I wouldn't put it past some idiot to come up with a similar, nonfiction event...

* * * *

Borat! is a film the vast majority of Americans would probably consider offensive - but not in the way most people would think.

Sure, every Jewish and Central Asian immigrant stereotype is played up to serve as a backdrop for childish humor. And, sure, most Americans have probably never seen anyone wave a fist-shaped dildo around, much less anyone chase a fat man around a convention center with one in the middle of a professional conference.

The offensive part, when one looks beyond the politically correct, is that Americans are finally forced to look at the same joke a good part of the rest of the world has been making for much of the last decade.

American culture isn't merely the vehicle for the film's sick jokes. While the theater where I watched Borat! was full of laughter, there were also scenes - like one involving a fraternity member drunkenly agreeing to participate in a "Kazakh" drinking game involving one's penis and the insertion of a baby mouse - that led to hushed "how dare he?" comments.

Kazakhstan thinks Sacha Baron Cohen makes their country look bad? Try being the global equivalent of the funny part of a "Yo' country so stupid..." joke. Americans are the butt of the joke.

Hey, I didn't see former high-ranking Kazakh legislators meeting with an actor posing as a foreign documentarian, eating ceremonial cheese supposedly made of breastmilk. But I did see former Rep. Bob Barr (R-Ga.) struggle to swallow the boob cheese, a gag reflex he apparently shares with the former blowjob-giving interns he once tried to use to topple a presidency.

And I didn't see some mustachioed caricature of "generic male Eastern European tourist" demonstrate the paper-thin fortitude of a women's rights group's membership, simply by challenging their views with obviously pulled-from-the-ass fictional studies and facts, either.

* * * *

The sight of a feminist storming off camera, unwilling to even try to defend her stance in the face of obvious on-camera ridicule, sent a message to women in Lesser Developed Nations, one I've heard echoed in real life by women from countries where Borat's fictionalized ideas are not so harmless, where fighting for equal rights requires more than just lip service from American soapbox goddesses.

That message?

Don't count on American women's rights advocates to bring about real change in your country, because they are prone to pout and retreat the first time one of your male leaders compares a woman's intelligence to that of a squirrel. Or maybe they'll hold a press conference about it. Or "raise awareness" by preaching to the choir. But put up a fight? Nah.

I can't take credit for the critique of American women's rights activists - I'm paraphrasing a quote I once overheard. The whole scene reminded me of an argument I witnessed in a coffee shop years ago in college. Two female students, one from a southern African nation and the other a white urban American, were arguing about the validity of the Second-Wave Feminism in Africa. From what I remember, the white American found the African woman's write-off of this woman's works offensive and wanted to argue academic theory, mixing continents and cultures freely.

The African woman laughed and reminded the American that, well, being famous for infiltrating the Playboy Club isn't exactly in the same league as staring down the AK-47s of local warlords and corrupt government officials...

Pamela Anderson - Pamela FRIGGIN' Anderson - ends up being the most intelligent woman in the film, primarily for agreeing to play along with an obvious satire. By demonstrating the fine line between the American objectification of female celebrities and the type of rituals still practiced in some parts of rural Central Asia (something I believe may have been completely accidental), the former Baywatch star may have done more for "promoting awareness" of the plight of some of the world's women than a thousand activists ever could.

I can't even claim that Anderson is the most intelligent American woman in the film - she's originally from Canada. For some reason, I think she and the central African woman I once met might want to form a "Saving American Women from Wanting to Save All Women with Cultural Bias" group.

The female viewers sitting next to me laughed at the feminists, but the sight of a woman being shoved into a "bridal sack" wasn't funny to them. One exclaimed that nobody really stalks and abducts women for marriage in the 21st century, even in the world of Boratistan.

Oh no...never happens, ladies. That's why the United Nations General Assembly adopted this little gem back in 1964. They thought some guy might make a movie about it four decades later ... sure.

I wonder how many of those women were actually inspired to do a little research on such not-so-funny things, simply because a Playboy Playmate agreed to pretend to be abducted as a bride?

Hell, it made me think. One blog reader asked me to pull articles, so bothered by the depiction that she and her roommates spent the night after viewing the film's opening drinking wine and discussing that scene.

The feminist group member who stormed off screen? Yeah...maybe she should hire Anderson's publicist. Or maybe just continue to pretend to fume while she basks in the newfound media light, perhaps?

Nah. She's got artwork to sell. Leave the brilliant feminist strategy to Canadian immigrants once linked to both David Hasselhof and Tommy Lee's penis.

* * * *

And then there's, well, Mr. Jesus.

The film's portrayal of American Christianity borders on blasphemy, sure. But it's not the film's creators who create the blasphemy - the U.S. does just fine, all by its lonesome.

Watching as a group of cultural elitists/Southern Presbyterians call the cops on a guy for inviting a prostitute to dinnerparty was both funny and ironic. Kinda made me feel sad that I never took that piss in the punch bowl at at least one of those silly cotillion things when I was a kid.

But watching a fake conversion at a Pentecostal in Texas, watching politicians stump for votes amongst the speaking-in-tongues faithful, was the most telling depiction of how this AmeriChrist version pitched by politicians and storefront preachers damages American society since Elmer Gantry mocked the fervor of Father Coughlin and Billy Sunday.

That, coupled with a gentleman from my home fucking state making all Virginians look like homophobic, racist rednecks, left a pit in my stomach.

Borat didn't have to do a thing. America did it to itself.

* * * *

Leaving the Princess Four, I watched the crowd carefully. I studied the facial expressions of people, listened to their conversations.

Fraternity members laughed nervously as they discussed the scene that hit home for them. Two older women bickered about the blistering attack on the Womyn's Movement.

I called the friend back and gave her my review of Borat.

She didn't think my deep thoughts about such a film were too entertaining. She found she, too, had been thinking too much about such a silly movie.

I did tell her that, as a Southerner:

I probably should get back to my usual ritual of cornholing my sister in the outhouse while reading the Bible, flossing my one remaining tooth, or planning my next Klan Rally bake sale. And my dirty 1/8th gypsy blood was calling me to give Borat the Evil Eye, turn him into a fucking werewolf, and to steal the firstborn children of the film's producers.

Stupid Gypsy Hunters and their Anti-Southern attacks. I shall now go spread the Plague and make bad moonshine while playing Dixie on a violin, put curses upon them from my tent while watching Hee-Haw...

Go ahead and laugh. You know you want to - stereotypes are funny.

She laughed. Sometimes, it's the bluntness of humor's sledgehammer that cuts through the shit faster than the delicate tweezers of political correctness.

It's when those stereotypes are reflections of the truth, living testimonials to the everyday bullshit image of a nation or group, that they become no laughing matter.

# # #

TAKE FIVE...With the ZenFo Pro

- 5. -

I'm a dork.

Proud of it, in fact. I watch tons of sci-fi and horror flicks. I have obscure musical tastes. I read comic books and graphic novels. According to my transcripts, I'm the proud owner of a combined 48 undergraduate credit hours in cosmology, physics, calculus, and biology - most of which I took for fun.

How dorky, exactly?

I've spent portions of the last ten days watching the entire seventh season of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine...

Twice.

- 4. -

The most exciting things I learned last week:

Sub-Saharan African nations are getting ready to launch one of the largest multinational information infrastructure projects in the history of the Developing World. A faculty member at Washington's prestigious I-School earned some much needed press for the fact that, yeah, the tools used to measure information poverty levels need to be recalibrated to reflect the Real World. Moyers on America has an episode dedicated to Net Neutrality, the digital divide, and the Ownership of cyberspace.

Most depressing things I learned last week:

A group of students told me, point-blank, that they'd never heard of this digital divide thing, that they always figured somebody like Bono would just buy the Developing World iPods and laptops, and that, well, I'd be more cute if I didn't talk so much about all those poor people. (Too depressing.)

- 3. -

Don't even get me started on the Material Girl's latest mid-life crisis.

Who the fuck adopts a kid, then leaves the child with their "entourage?" Damn straight there are people in Malawi seeking to halt the adoption. Seriously, Africa is not "Baby-Mart for Rich White American Entertainers Who Feel Guilty for Living Like Gods While the Developing World Starves."

- 2. -

Political Commentary of the Month, based on a Conversation with one of those pesky Over-the-Top Ivory Tower Academics, the kind of prof who has no problem blending their political views with their syllibi into something more important than, well, teaching what they're paid to teach (and who apparently has no problem insulting students who dare to challenge them):

//:-------BEGIN RANT --------://

So North Korea may or may not have the Bomb. Either way, they now have the UN sanctions to show for it. Iran's not backing down, either.

We're in a position now where the world probably wouldn't mind seeing the U.S. threaten the Bullies of Pyongyang - but we can't. Tehran will eventually require some sort of military threat - but we don't have the manpower.

Axis of Evil? Sure sounded nice when some speechwriter watched too many Justice League cartoons and coined the phrase. How is it that of the three members of that Axis, we somehow invaded the one nation without the potential to one day be able to turn major cities into radioactive wastelands?

Since the end of the Cold War, the American Public has been quite content to sit by while brutal dictators committed everything from genocide to the suppression of democracy, content to grow fat and lazy, in peaceful, self-imposed ignorance.

That time is over. Welcome to the Real World.

The Far Right deserves some of the blame, sure. Six years of worthless chickenhawk rhetoric has taught Joe Sixpack a valuable lesson. But don't be fooled into thinking that Joe Sixpack is ready to jump into bed with an equally menacing chickenshit Far Left. America - and the world - needs leadership willing to make tough choices, willing to build consensus, dedicated to making the world a better place.

Ideology is irrelevant, in the end, when a nation's leaders command respect simply by being something more than politicians who say anything to get their side to vote their way.

North Korea may have the Bomb. Iran will probably be next.

And if you're not terrified yet, maybe it's time to put down the crackpipe.

//:-------END RANT --------://

- 1. -

Speaking of clusterfucks...

After discovering that a few colleagues and readers were a bit uneasy with the subject matter of the previous post, I figure I'd better offer a bit of clarification...

• The young woman in question is not a local woman, nor a student of the Local U. or any other U. for that matter. She is, however, someone's daughter and sister. If it were your daughter or sister, wife or lover, I seriously doubt anyone would bother questioning my involvement.

• The person in question is not a patron of my library and has never visited my library. The incident did not happen at work. Patron refers to any customer of an information resource - in this case, my patron was someone I was once paid to tutor (in rabbit and venison, because the family couldn't afford to pay cash and refused to let me work for free.)

• There is nothing romantic about violence and I don't wish to glamourize it any more than I already have. But there is nothing wrong in one defending him/herself- or others - if one has the ability to halt certain actions.

• If you're a librarian and you're offended by my vulgarity and my critique of the profession, please don't IM me about it. I could really care less. For every "shame on you" IM I've received from library folk, I've received five or six from college students, parents, and victims of domestic violence. Please feel free, if you must, to shove that into your next PowerPoint presentation.

• I even had a very sweet patron/reader pull me aside Sunday afternoon, tell me her story, of how she once took advantage of my library's late evening hours to hide and eventually escape from a violent ex. She offered me a hug. That was the highlight of my career as a librarian, to date. If you're the kind of librarian who thinks being a human being is somehow secondary to whatever it says in your job description, well, please feel free to visit Oxford Fucking Ohio. I'd love the opportunity to tell you, face-to-face, where you can shove that.

# # #

THE ZENFORMATION PLAYLIST 9/23/06: When Librarians Can Find Better Club Tunes Online Than in Your Local Clubs, Your Music Scene is in Trouble...

Last night, a relatively new reader dropped me a line. First-year student, extremely bored, stuck in a local dorm room with evil-ass sounding roommates, and extremely homesick.

I responded this morning, as follows:

Hey ________,

No worries about writing. Lol, I was a dorm rat once. Trust me, I am very aware that Oxford Fucking Ohio has probably the worst college music scene this side of Oral Roberts U.

When I found out Steve Fucking Miller - an act from my parents' generation - was scheduled to be the big music act on campus this year, I readily admit I threw up in my mouth, just a little bit. Not to knock Steve Miller, but college students deserve college music, from their era, not Mom and Dad's era. I've been to funerals that attract better bands than this town.

And yeah, the emo kids can kiss my ass, too. My advice is to ignore the scenesters, be yourself, and use your first year in college to find out who YOU are. Be yourself and figure out how to best play the Higher Ed game in a way that works for you.

I have no clue why the hell local undergrads haven't revolted against the overplaying of bad Crunk remixes in the local "dance" clubs. I'll see what I can do to help you find some good dance music. At least you'll have some tunes to listen to while ignoring your roomies' nyphomaniac tendencies.

~ Jason

Well, I guess this calls for another Zenformation Playlist...

* * * *

TURN THIS THING AROUND [MP3]
El Presidente, El Presidente (Red Ink, Sept. 12, 2006)
Who doesn't dig Scottish dance rock? This Glasgow-based band literally lit up Europe's underground last year, and they're making their way across the pond slowly. Feel free to download and shake the boo-tay.

IT GETS WORSE [MP3]
DJ C and Pamelia Kurstin, Mashit 002 12" (Mashit, Avail. Online)
Legendary Brooklyn Theremin artist Kurstin teams up with one of Boston's greatest beat artists. Sorta like dropping LSD while reading Albert Camus at a basement rave in high school. Er...not that I've ever done anything like that...

Dedicated to my late-night rock rambling buddy, Wombat.

IT'S ALL ABOUT [MP3]
Unit.R, Artist Website, 2006
Currently tearing up the MySpace Kingdom, this Cape Town, South Africa, quartet is, hands down, that country's Next Big Thing. This is "Fuck Your Significant Other Beneath a Disco Ball" music. A thousand times better than half the Electronica we're producing on this side of the Atlantic.

TOURA TOURA - THE MEDINA REMIX [MP3]
DJ Cheb i Sabbah, La Ghriba-La Kahena Remixed (Six Degrees, 2006)
Algerian-born Cheb, according to his web site, performs at Underground SF (420 Haight, San Francisco) on Wednesdays, during World Music Night.

SERIALS CRISIS [MP3]
The Cold Archives Experiment, Scholarly Work, (2006)
My latest. Chopping up a little DJ Food, a couple of stock drum loops, and some static from an old Modest Mouse recording. Lost the notes I had for the tail. Possibly Yo La Tengo in there somewhere. What is the Serials Crisis? Well, if you've ever wondered why your academic library doesn't have that copy of that journal you need, it's probably because they can't afford it. More at Wikipedia.

There. Professional development done for the year.

INSOMNIA [MP3 AVAILABLE HERE]
Pete Philly and Perquisite, Mindstate (Epitaph, 2005)
Need something to listen to after a night of clubbing? Not a hip-hop fan? Need something mellow and jazzy, rap music your parents will love? Try this track. Perfect soundtrack for that 3 a.m. post-club trip to the coffee shop for tiramisu.

I had a student from Columbia University, of all places, IM me last week, bored and stuck doing research in that institute's humanities library. She found my blog while conducting this search on Google. For some reason, this track reminds me of that conversation.

RIVERTON ROAD [MP3]
The Considerate Builder's Scheme, Exit to Riverside (Combination, 2006)
Unit.R has already made this list once, and now one of their best-known member is making the list a second time. The CBS is the hip-hop project of Justin de Nobrega - South Africa's answer to Timbaland.

RAZORBLADE SALVATION f. Shara Worden [MP3]
Jedi Mind Tricks, Servants in Heaven, Kings in Hell (Babygrande, 2006)
What happens when Philly's legendary underground hip-hop act lifts its beats from Indie folk darling Sufjan Stevens, borrows one of Stevens' frequent collaborators for background vocals, and takes the sad-eyed songster to the mean streets? Some might call it the best damned hip-hop track of 2006.

# # #

TECHNORATI TAGS:
Blog Readership Boredom Cheb i Sabbah Considerate Builder's Scheme Clubbing Cold Archives Experiment Dance Music DJ C Dorm Living El Presidente First-Year College Experience Homesickness Librarianship Jedi Mind Tricks Oxford, Ohio Pete Philly and Perquisite Serials Crisis Unit.R

THE ZENFO WIRE: Digesting the Web, One Byte at a Time...

I started the ZenFo Wire a while back; I'd intended for it to be a regular feature. Jeez, how time flies...and how work seems to pile on when one actually has fun for a change. No time for a long, thought-out post...so check these out instead.

- Jason

---

STELLA IM HULTBERG.COM
Artist's Professional Web Site
Happiness is a Warm Gun, Stella's LiveJournal Blog

I found Stella's site accidentally this afternoon.

While cleaning up my Bookmarks tab on the ZenFo Pro work machine, I opened up a new Firefox window and found a review of her work at Boing Boing, of all places.

Lord, I think I've found a new favorite up-and-coming artist in this extremely talented New York-based painter and illustrator.

Check out her 2006 portfolio...amazing stuff. Great lines, the blurring of crisp strokes and wonderfully chaotic, almost erotic stainwork.


KNOWLEDGE MANAGEMENT FOR DEVELOPMENT JOURNAL
Peter Ballantyne et al., eds.

The hottest read in global knowledge management and development. I discovered this open-access, peer-reviewed online journal a few weeks ago and have become addicted to its quality, scope, and sheer badass-ness in terms of my own research interests.

Cooper, girl, I'm assigning you some summer reading:

An interview with Kingo Mchombu: Knowledge sharing in Africa: the key to poverty alleviation? Interviewed by Dina El Halaby. KM4D. Vol. 2 No. 1, 2006.

There is perhaps no other equalizer of humanity than the ability to accumulate knowledge, to build upon information, to create from nothing more than thought. And there is no part of the world more in need of knowledge sharing than its poorest and most exploited region.

As a librarian, I do my part to fight information poverty here in the More Developed World every damned day, simply showing up for work. That's the coolest part, for me, in what I do for a living. And I owe it to my colleagues on the other side of the world to help them, any way I can, help their clients.

Most (but sadly, not all) librarians and library staff do the same thing, whether we're helping patrons find a good book to read, teaching college students how to effectively utilize databases and other online resources, advocating for greater access and funding for knowledge products, or simply showing that Little Old Lady from Pasadena how to set up a web-based email account.


BRIEF THOUGHTS ON THE GO /!@#$%&*
Ogbuefi Stephi,
blOgbuefi, July 2006

I'm not the only one who calls Oxford home who's been having weird ex moments.

I debated whether or not to actually include Steph's tale here because, well, I know a little bit more about the backstory than she posts. And I've met the ex, which puts me in a rather awkward situation.

But, well, the fact that he's been treating a wonderful person, not to mention one of Oxford's most energetic community activists, like shit for too long leaves me no choice.

Hey, if I'll piss in a local college alum's new convertible for sexually harassing a hardworking bartender friend, then I have no qualms whatsoever in calling a fellow OxBlogger's ex a douchebag.

A very talented artist, but, yeah, a douchebag nonetheless.

- MORE -

OTHER READS I'M DIGGING...

Four words -- I SAW SHAYNA'S ASS. And now she's taken the photo down, so you missed it. But it was a very cute ass...

Belle of the Brawl's Sar is quite possibly one of the most savvy media critics to come out of the ZenFo Pro home state of Virginia...

Well, happy damned birthday, Ms. Savage, and may the powers that be grant you many more...

THL is not afraid to get all introspective and shit when it comes to the word SLUT. This is perhaps her most revealing, most insightful post ever. And, well, anybody who still wishes to use the word slut after reading her story, well...

MizB. needs some love, since her extended family has been driving her nuts lately...

And my main man G. over at Library Bitch is back with a passion - and the legendary Photoshopping Posts have returned!

- MORE -

RANDOM WACKY WORK QUOTES OF THE DAY:

"Why are you doing chin-ups? Why are you showing off? There are no girls watching."

- A coworker, observing my less-than-traditional use of
traditional library steel shelving frames.

"Long night? What were you doing last night? Or who were you doing?"

- A coworker, after observing that I looked tired.

"So... I'm going to Skippers after I get out of class tonight. If you want to call me, you can. You don't have to, if your busy..."

- MU business major, female, after helping her find a Mac workstation

FEAR AND LOATHING IN CYBERSPACE: Bad IT Monkeys, Helping Africa Help Itself, and Chinese Democracy Problems NOT Linked to Axl Rose

THEME MUSIC:
Ministry of Disinformation [MP3]
The Cold Archives Experiment, June 2006
Note - The CAE is a quasi-scholarly endeavor (ha!) designed to test the limits of open source audio production software. And, well, the ladies just dig information scientists with a flair for downbeat noise art.

How to Hide the Tiananmen Square Massacre from a Billion People...

Yahoo censors more online content than other search engines in China, according to one watchdog group.

According to a Reporters Without Borders report, 97 percent of search results returned from the official Yahoo China portal linked to "authorized" content.

Eighty-three percent of results returned by Google China linked to authorized content, while 78 percent of links recalled via MSN China were officially sanctioned.

The organization reportedly tested the search engines using a list of subversive words and phrases believed to be restricted by Chinese authorities.

Apple Jacked, From Sea to Encrypted Sea
Denmark Finds Something Rotten in the State of Media Players

Former PC/current Geek-Gadget giant Apple has found itself under constant attack recently, with everyone from European governments to human rights advocates questioning the company's business practices.

France and Norway launched legal attacks earlier this year on the company's iTunes Music Store.

According to a report filed earlier this week by PC Magazine's Mark Hachman, Denmark and Sweden are gearing up to help turn these attacks into a multi-national war.

Apple will, one way or the other, be racking up some major legal bills in the near future simply to protect its DRM policies and legal contracts with the music industry.

Apple's iWoes don't just stop in Europe, either.

The U.S. International Trade Commission will reportedly open an investigation into possible patent infringements involving the iPod's navigation system.

Singapore-based Creative Technology Ltd. filed the complaint with the ITC, claiming one of the patents linked to their Zen media player was violated by Apple.

Apple has reportedly filed a counter-complaint.

And the iSweatshops allegations?

Who'd a thunk it?


No Matter How Many Charity Concerts He Gives,
Bono Can't Write Songs in Dinka:
Using Literacy and Language as a Peacemaker in the Sudan

As the politics of warfare begin to cool in war-torn Sudan, the world's focus must change as well.

For years now, citizens of the world have been calling for an end to one of Sub-Saharan Africa's bloodiest conflicts.

With well-intentioned activists in the West grabbing the headlines, it's easy to overlook the ideas being produced by, well, Africans.

For instance, New Sudan Vision editor Mading de Ngor Akec de Kuai produced this utterly stellar piece that takes a holistic look at the links between the loss of indigenous identity, postcolonial Africa, language, literacy, and the rebuilding of a continent.

I'd hate to break it to a lot of Industrialized World activists, but the people of the Sudan are the only people who can truly fix the Sudan. It won't be international peacekeepers, Western-based charities and action committees, or celebrities who change the way Africans think.

Sure, putting on concerts that raise money and publishing editorials that raise awareness of African issues are meaningful acts. But it's important for Westerners (including myself) to realize that outside compassion does not equate with speaking for a continent, especially when speaking the Queen's English.

Mading's commentary is a reminder that, yes, Africans can think for themselves and, yes, the Western World helped create many of the problems in the region, through colonialism, political manipulation, and resource exploitation.

Mading is himself a member of the Sudanese diaspora, a college student living in Canada. Before anybody calls Bono, I'd recommend reading what Mading and other Africans have to say.

Africans have minds, mouths, and can speak for themselves.

* * *

And on that note...

Celebrities and Africa...hmmm....

It sure was nice of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt to raise the profile of the nation of Namibia, but I'll start reading the tabloids when they quit publishing this Brangelina garbage and start talking about the Namibians who welcomed the couple with open arms.

Are you a desperately-spoiled housewife, overly obsessed with Brangelina? Well...how about dumping those subscriptions to People and Us Weekly, saving those pennies, and planning the next family vacation around a trip to the Kavango Region? While Mr. and Mrs. Pitt's child will receive nothing from your purchase, your tourist dollars could sure help out a lot of children.

Or why not skip the stupid fucking t-shirt and support distance education initiatives for Baby Shiloh's countrymen?

Um...

Have I ever mentioned that I totally fucking hate America's obsession with Infotainment?

* * *

The responsibility of any compassionate citizen of a More Developed Nation is to support the natural progress of our brothers and sisters in Less Developed Nations - and vise versa.

Progress cannot be forced; it is grown like fruit on a vine.

And that fruit always tastes better when it's homegrown, plucked fresh from one's own garden.

AS I LAYETH THE PROFESSIONAL SMACKETH DOWN: Portrait of a Blogger as a Young Professional

I took ur advice and I'm chilling at the Chicago lib right now
OMG
the guy next to me is so dork hot...haha
There are alot of hot guys here actually ;) I know I must sound like a freak
but I'm done fucking with dumbasses
my pussy is now marked "information literate" only lol
lol...i can't believe i;m writing this to a librarian
you're not really a librarian are you ?
you're too young
but hey youre down you know what smart girls want
thats cool fucking shit man Thanks Mr. Zenpro
:)

- College Student/blog lurker, 20, [via Instant Messenger]*

*Before anybody freaks out, I asked the student in question if it was okay to repost the content of the IM. I'll ask before I divulge private IM conversations containing private or personal information...

* * *

A few weeks ago, I received a rather nasty email from a fellow librarian who called me "a self-promoting disgrace to librarianship." The person in question suggested that I take my "burlesque and tawdry personal soapbox" off the AltLibrarian listing. Apparently, my "misogynistic rants and accounts of violent personal history" and "excessive use of profanity and gratuitous disregard for standard practices" are causing harm to the "sense of professional pride and betterment" some librarians feel is needed to promote "a more democratic and informed citizenry."

Well, holy fucking shit. Ask me if I give a rat's ass.

The author of said email suggested that I needed to be "reminded that librarianship faces too many challenges as a profession" to be "distracted by topless women, oversexed co-eds, blatant exhibitionists, and women of questionable dedication to Third Wave Feminism."

Insult my blog friends and readers with obsessive-compulsive, overly academic diatribes?

Time to bring some fucking pain.

* * *

That email has been bugging me for weeks. I'd open up that correspondence, hit reply, and stare at a blank Yahoo window for hours.

Maybe I'm a bit over-the-top. Maybe I shouldn't share so much information in such a public forum. Could it be that my ramblings have been negatively impacting the public perception of libraries and their purpose? Is this stupid personal weblog misrepresenting who I am at work, what I do for a living, the J-O-B?

I've had patrons cross the Cyberspace/Offline barrier, users who've felt just as comfortable asking for help on research projects as they are discussing Casanova kisses and their sex lives (or lack thereof). Maybe that should bother me, but, well, I guess I'm getting used to it.

I figured out a long time ago that most bloggers, in the real world, don't like to admit they are actually bloggers. Likewise, quite a few blog readers would rather not discuss the fact that they spend time reading the online journals of others.

Blogger/reader relationships are, at the primordial level, simply discreet rendezvous of knowledge. It is an intimate, yet very public, affair. The secrecy heightens the experience; the mysterious illusions created by simple CSS and HTML builds an almost sensual, downright seductive corner of the World Wide Web, a world of lovers and monsters, brutes and poets, heroes and villains.

Sometimes, people forget that there is always a very human wizard operating behind the curtains, controlling their own Emerald Cities in this so-called Blogosphere. Those wizards are flesh-and-bone, honest-to-God folks. They blog because they're lonely, curious, or simply bored. They blog because they want to share, to network with others, to document their corner of the Human Experience.

To insult those who blog or read blogs insults the very nature of information-seeking behavior. Humans are naturally curious; we instinctively seek answers to our questions in the same way we seek companionship and intimate relationships.

Advocating the restriction of one's desire to not only build upon their knowledge but to also interact with a world beyond their own is a much greater sin than any use of the word FUCK on this stupid blog.

The human need to answer those Why? questions in life is as natural and beautiful as great sex. What can I say? People have a innate desire to FUCK just as they have an innate desire to KNOW.

* * *

I'd just about given up on responding to that crazy email.

Then I receive an email from another colleague, some stranger whom I've never met. The subject line read simply "Thumbs Up." The email reassured me, at least, that I'm not the only one fed up with some of the batshit aspects of librarianship.

At the same time I'm re-reading the guy's nice message for the hundredth time, I'm sitting in a WiFi-friendly cafe, sipping on my bottomless mug of fairly-traded coffee. I'm supposed to be working on an article for another peer-reviewed journal, a follow-up to my previous scholarly endeavor.

I'm clad in flip-flops (I'm learning to wear them), a straw hat, and baggy jeans. I'm listening to a mix of the Dickies, Fort Minor, Ice Cube, Social Distortion, Billy Bragg, Ministry, and the Alkaline Trio through headphones, reading up on telecentre projects in Nigeria, illiteracy in the Sudan, and NFL star Ray Lewis's recent humanitarian trip to Sub-Saharan Africa.

I log onto Yahoo IM quickly to see if anybody's online. I find that a girl I've never met, some faceless, nameless college student from a university in central Indiana, sent me a long string of IMs while I was offline. Portions of that string appear at the top of this post.

I still have no fucking clue what advice I gave, exactly. Apparently we chatted online several months ago - I helped her figure out how to locate older research articles using print indexes.

Sure, I'm a bit unorthodox in how I maintain this blog and how I do my job. Fine - feel free to hate my methods. But I get the job done - online or off.

If a young woman is sitting in one of the nation's largest public library systems, spending her summer vacation checking out "dork hot" guys and tying information literacy skills to her sex drive, well, I think I've done my job.

I finally found the inspiration to respond to Ms. Your Blog Offends Our Mutual Profession:

Dear Ma'am,
I'm sorry you find the views expressed on my personal web blog offensive or crude. I'm sorry you feel the content is detrimental to the information sciences.

But I'm going to be frank here. A college junior just sent me a message indicating that she's macking on guys in a public library and has tied info. lit. skills to a guy's chances of getting into her pants. That blows my fucking mind. And..um...I don't think she learned about information literacy through the READ campaign.

I'm sure your coworkers at your prestigious institution have been dying to say this to you, so I'll go ahead and say it...

Why don't you pull that high-and-mighty telephone pole outta your ass and find something productive to do with your fucking life. Try being a human being for once - it's kinda nice and I think library users appreciate librarians from THIS planet.

Sincerely,
Jason _. ________, MLIS
The Zenformation Motherfucking Badass Professional

Just so you know, that's how we roll around here at the ol' ZenFo Pro homestead. I'm finally taking the Library Bitch's advice and laying the smack down on folks who treat blogging as some sort of invitation to launch personal and professional attacks.

I think Pia also gave me similar advice a while back - hell, she's been featured in major dailies - regarding lurking bullies.

If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go read Miz Bohemia's awesome Titty-Sucking Loverboy Tales and Cooper's Journey to the Center of Batshit Reader Land now...

I guess I'm just mysogynistic and tawdry like that...



Oh...what the hell...just to piss off the prudish, stereotypical librarian types...

FUCK FUCK FUCK SHIT GODAMN FUCK.