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    I Hate Your Blog! :)
    I Hate Your Blog! :)
    I Hate Your Blog! :)
    Ebook157 pages2 hours

    I Hate Your Blog! :)

    By Michael Phillips

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    About this ebook

    One or two things needed to be salvaged from the defunct smog.net blog, so I pulled all the old posts up, went through them and thought, "Hmm, some of this doesn't suck - why not salvage a bunch of this stuff?" So this well thought-out volume came to be. It's best not to think too much, and this nasty little bottle rocket is proof of that. If I'd a thought about it, I never woulda done it, as Bob Dylan said.

    Carry the entire Internet - the good bits anyway - in your pocket! Just like our forefathers would have, if they'd been smart enough to invent these things.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMichael Phillips
    Release dateMay 27, 2012
    ISBN9781476306742
    I Hate Your Blog! :)
    Author

    Michael Phillips

    Professor Mike Phillips has a BSc in Civil Engineering, an MSc in Environmental Management and a PhD in Coastal Processes and Geomorphology, which he has used in an interdisciplinary way to assess current challenges of living and working on the coast. He is Pro Vice-Chancellor (Research, Innovation, Enterprise and Commercialisation) at the University of Wales Trinity Saint David and also leads their Coastal and Marine Research Group. Professor Phillips' research expertise includes coastal processes, morphological change and adaptation to climate change and sea level rise, and this has informed his engagement in the policy arena. He has given many key note speeches, presented at many major international conferences and evaluated various international and national coastal research projects. Consultancy contracts include beach monitoring for the development of the Tidal Lagoon Swansea Bay, assessing beach processes and evolution at Fairbourne (one of the case studies in this book), beach replenishment issues, and techniques to monitor underwater sediment movement to inform beach management. Funded interdisciplinary research projects have included adaptation strategies in response to climate change and underwater sensor networks. He has published >100 academic articles and in 2010 organised a session on Coastal Tourism and Climate Change at UNESCO Headquarters in Paris in his role as a member of the Climate, Oceans and Security Working Group of the UNEP Global Forum on Oceans, Coasts, and Islands. He has successfully supervised many PhD students, and as well as research students in his own University, advises PhD students for overseas universities. These currently include the University of KwaZuluNatal, Durban, University of Technology, Mauritius and University of Aveiro, Portugal. Professor Phillips has been a Trustee/Director of the US Coastal Education and Research Foundation (CERF) since 2011 and he is on the Editorial Board of the Journal of Coastal Research. He is also an Adjunct Professor in the Department of Geography, University of Victoria, British Columbia and Visiting Professor at the University Centre of the Westfjords. He was an expert advisor for the Portuguese FCT Adaptaria (coastal adaptation to climate change) and Smartparks (planning marine conservation areas) projects and his contributions to coastal and ocean policies included: the Rio +20 World Summit, Global Forum on Oceans, Coasts and Islands; UNESCO; EU Maritime Spatial Planning; and Welsh Government Policy on Marine Aggregate Dredging. Past contributions to research agendas include the German Cluster of Excellence in Marine Environmental Sciences (MARUM) and the Portuguese Department of Science and Technology.

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      Book preview

      I Hate Your Blog! :) - Michael Phillips

      Monday's coming like a jail on wheels

      I had the misfortune of watching the last 40 minutes of the GRAMMY©®™ awards last night, and they were even more dull and predictable than I had remembered. I haven't watched in many years . . . let's see, I think the last time was when Christopher Cross won an armload of statues. That was a long time ago, and it was clear to me then that this was not a celebration of music, but of music selling. There wasn't one nominated artist this year that I gave half a shit about, so either I was out of the loop or the Grammies were. Or both.

      Anyway, Joe Strummer died recently, and apparently one of the event planners thought a tribute was in order, which is weird enough if you look at all the other music biz folks that croaked over the last twelve months, but they went ahead with it, and it was spellbinding, man!

      Um hm.

      My main question is why was BROOCE Springsteen, who had obviously only heard the song London Calling a couple of times in rehearsal, up there singing and straining his neck muscles in his best imitation of punk rawk? I can see why Elvis Costello was there, and maybe Dave Grohl (maybe), but damn it man, BROOCE should have kept his wiener out of that fire. If I ever see BROOCE in public anywhere I'm going to punch him in his pseudo workingman nose and spill his billionaire blood all over the sidewalk, because that there was some fucked up shit!

      My hatred for BROOCE and all things E Street almost made me forget how this sad exhibition of dry, stinky cheese served to drive home the point of how much ass tributes suck in general. The only thing any tribute ever accomplishes is giving you a greater appreciation of the tributee when you see how badly lesser talents butcher and mangle their work.

      And kids, BROOCE is a lesser talent than Joe Strummer. Every day, in every way. It eats him up inside that he isn't really the blue-collar factory worker that he portrayed himself as early on in his career in order to curry favor with the New Jersey bell bottom jean hippies of the early '70s. BROOCE never held down a job any more difficult than stringing a guitar, and his celebrated onstage passion is as phony as his straight white teeth and Gold's Gym ass. Garth Brooks is more convincing. Cher is more passionate.

      Grammy, Grammy, Grammy - what were you thinking? Why not throw Gene Simmons and Pee Wee Herman up there too? And where the fuck was BONO? They must have had to lock him in a small room and beat him into unconsciousness with broomsticks to keep him away from that tribute. Him and STING. Fuckers. There is no justice in a world where Joe Strummer dies and the rest of these suntanned toad lickers thrive.

      God is dead. Jesus loves the Stooges.

      Monday, February 24th 2003

      What's so funny 'bout peace love and understanding?

      What is it about a war that gives imbeciles such a raging hard on?

      What is this Democrat vs. Republican thing? What is this Christian vs. Muslim thing? Fucking hell man, we are killing ourselves over imaginary lines on a map and imaginary gods and it makes us look like idiots.

      Seems to me that more than half of the country does not support this war, which makes sense seeing that more than half of the country did not vote for the current president. But as usual, WAR makes people into flag waving sub-moronic robuts and they just tromp around spouting whatever they heard earlier in the day on the Fox News Channel.

      Saddam Hussein may be a murdering despot, a cocksucker and cheat at cards, but how did we migrate from murdering bin Laden (which our best military jerkoffs have failed to do so far) to murdering Saddam? I really lost track of things, because I can't put my finger on when we changed targets . . .

      it doesn't matter I suppose. Once Arnold Swartzenegger is president we won't have to worry about this shit, because everyone will mind their fucking manners when a real lunatic is running things.

      My beautiful and loyal border collie is banished to the back yard tonight due to a run-in with a skunk a couple of hours ago. I washed him with a weird concoction of peroxide, baking soda, tuna fish and sweat socks, but this isn't the first time this has happened, and I know that the stink stays on him for a long time. Kind of like the stink that will be on this beautiful and loyal country for the foreseeable future.

      Saturday, March 22nd 2003

      I couldn't possibly be that fat!

      I was looking through a big box of someone's family pictures tonight. The family lived on the East Coast and had pictures of family members and places all over America, Scandanavia, Germany, Scotland and Australia . . . even on board the Queen Mary. It got me wondering how the pictures wound up here in San Pedro. I mean, I know how they wound up here, but it's interesting to think about where else they have been.

      They go back to the late 1920s and include images with captions like, Entrance to Wind Cave Niagara Falls - U.S.A. July 1940, Glasgow - May 1960 Ann age 10 yrs., 1950 before Hydro plant, and Carl and Peg on dock at New Yk. meeting us on arrival on S.S. Merchant 1935. I don't know why they were thrown away or forgotten, but this box contains a good chunk of someone's family history and I bought it a couple of years ago for $10.

      Which makes me think about the internet (naturally, doesn't everything?), and how we believe it to be so permanent and everlasting, but really it's not even as durable as an old box of snapshots. This site could disappear tomorrow and some of the things here would never been seen again. I think a lot of people believe that everything they throw up onto the web will last forever because someone, somewhere has a copy of it (and because we all believe that what we are doing is VERY IMPORTANT). But that's bullshit, and will be even more so after a few hundred of those e-bombs go off and erase all the hard drives in the world.

      Anyway, what the hell was I talking about - pictures. Take those pictures out of the shoe box in your closet and write things on the back of them and send them around to people you know and family if you have any, and friends if you have any. The more you send out the better the chances of a tiny slice of your life making it into the future. If you believe in the future.

      Saturday, April 19th 2003

      This is what I get for leaving the house

      I went to Schwartz bakery on Melrose to get a special birthday cake for Carol, and before I went she typed to me (I was at work), get some fresh holy bread. and I typed back, holy bread??? and she said, yeah, it's yummy! Okay, holy bread. What do I know.

      So I walk into Schwartz and ask about the cake, and the ancient woman behind the counter says, HAAAAH? every time I say anything, so I just figure she's old and half deaf and this is the way it's going to go. She fetches the cake and spends several painful minutes putting it into a box and taping the box shut and then putting the box into a bag, and on and on it went, then when she was finished she asked, Anything else?

      I asked her if there was any fresh holy bread, to which she predictably responded, HAAAAH?

      So I repeated, louder, Holy bread . . . do you have any fresh holy bread?

      HAAAAH?

      Do you have any holy bread today?

      HAAAAH? WHAT? NO, NO, NO . . . HAAAAH?

      Just the cake, thanks.

      When I got home Carol was asking about the bakery; if it smelled good and what they had, and I told her there was no bread, not even a loaf of dark rye. The bread basket at Schwartz bakery is empty on Sunday afternoon, man.

      I even asked for holy bread, I said, and the crazy old woman just said, HAAAAH?"

      Hallah bread, Carol said. It's called Hallah bread.

      The moral of the story is: don't walk around acting like you know something about something when you really don't know anything. If you're smart, you'll admit to yourself right now that you don't know anything about anything.

      One day I'm going to learn that.

      Monday, July 21st 2003

      Pass the aspirin

      I just love how eBay has a search criteria in their art category for Dominant Color. That's just so handy when I'm buying art to match the purple leather couch and overstuffed club chairs in my pricey downtown loft!

      I also love paintings of young girls with huge eyes and enlarged, encephalitis-like heads. The ones that look just like the popular young actress Christina Ricci. They remind me of the paintings of Margaret Keane (who has dedicated her life to Jehovah, by the way, and thinks that you should too) or Kenner Blythe dolls from the 70s.

      And so many people make these kind of paintings nowadays - it's great! It gives me so much more to choose from.

      You've seen them. They are everywhere. Like kudzu vines engulfing an old slave quarters down south, they devour the modern lowbrow art scene in a horrible, indiscriminate carpet bombing of unoriginality rendered in a puke-hued color palette.

      Technically speaking, encephalitis is swelling of the brain, but a side effect of that brain swelling is often a profoundly enlarged head, which is the crux of the biscuit here. I don't know how it happened (if I was a journalist I would go find out how it happened, but I'm not, so I won't), but suddenly the world is full of encephalitis paintings. You can see them on eBay, in your local cool art gallery, on hundreds of web sites - yes, they are everywhere.

      Why? Ah, well, that's easy. It is because only a handful of people walking the earth have original ideas. The rest of us just wait around until those original ideas get to our towns, and then we copy them. If you're the first to copy the original idea in your circle, you can be considered a genius! This happens in music, art, politics, writing, web sites - everything.

      There is no shame in following, borrowing or copying I suppose. Mozart readily

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