Mytilini Radio, Berlin Journals

site news no 10. Feb 23, 2002
Well gang,

Last night I went to the college radio station here in Mytilini and did two hours for them. I have never seen a radio station run on less. It is thanks to sheer will that they get a signal out at all. The studio monitor was a flickering clock radio tuned to the station. We passed around the one microphone which had a bad cable. During the course of the program someone made the mistake of closing the door behind themselves, probably me hunting down the toilet, which meant WE WERE LOCKED IN! The bad boogie band rehearsing in the next room were unlikely to come to our rescue, so Giorgos the host of our show called a friend who lived nearby to come let us out. Or course, I had a great time.

I have been beavering away today on two things. First thing, I have been sorting through e-mails in my down-time effort to make my journal current. I have caught up with myself up to my splendid adventures in Berlin from May to July 2000. This is a cracking read, folks, Blaine tells all in this day by day breakdown of the anything goes world of Berliner theatre. We have live chickens, horses, love, bicycles, ping pong tables and La Bamba. It’s all there, including a link to a virtual tour of Berlin. I sighed many a nostalgic sigh watching that little Javascript go around and around some very familiar sights indeed. Unfortunately all of my own photos of this period are still there in Berlin, awaiting uh….something.

I haven’t figured how to link to a menu that is contained in a frameset, so this link takes you to the page in question.

While you’re at it, take the virtual tour yourself at


Is Bill Gates the Anti-Christ? (Is Jesus Christ the anti-Gates?)

Is bill gates the beast?

No. 9 February 21, 2002


Excuse me if I sound a bit cranky on this one, folks. Snow Crashes will do that to one.

I have been running microsoft software on my computer for some time, since it was conveniently included with the package. Quelle coincidence! Suddenly, IT happened to me too. A computer dying on you like Generalissimo Franco did, that is, one piece at a time(“Today G. Franco’s kidneys failed, today G. Franco’s lungs failed, maybe you aren’t old enough to remember the daily bulletins on the news”). This kind of disaster is “something that always happens to someone else” like a traffic accident or hemmorhoids UNTIL IT HAPPENS TO YOU.

My cyberguru Coti and I sat up with this ailing beast for almost two days, watching in despair as one program after another packed it in. At one point, prior to his arrival, I even tried chanting Sufi healing mantras to it, and I was convinced that I had healed it with my mystical powers. Alas, I was deluded.

Like so many others before, I was privileged to experience for myself the arcane labyrinth that is the dark forest of SYSINI, and follow the track of The Dark Lord in my quest to destroy his ring in the Crack of Doom or whatever.

We obviously succeeded, or I would be unable to write this piece of fluff. Exhausted, I sat down to my laptop to engage in my nightly surfing activities. The only thing which came to mind as a basis for a search was “I HATE MICROSOFT”. I might as well have been searching “e-mail”. There were that many entries. I copied and pasted the first few and then worked up a lovely image for my holy site.

The text included there is a semi-literate e-mail which has become a much-quoted classic on anti microsoft sites, as has the “blue screen of death” haiku.

I will continue to use this stuff because everyone else does. Life can be like that sometimes. Basta.

Here is the link…….

Blue Screen of Death n.

[common] This term is closely related to the older Black Screen of Death but much more common (many non-hackers have picked it up). Due to the extreme fragility and bugginess of Microsoft Windows, misbehaving applications can readily crash the OS (and the OS sometimes crashes itself spontaneously). The Blue Screen of Death, sometimes decorated with hex error codes, is what you get when this happens. (Commonly abbreviated BSOD.)

The following entry from the Salon Haiku Contest, seems to have predated popular use of the term:

Windows NT crashed.

I am the Blue Screen of Death

No one hears your screams.

— Peter Rothman

Three things are certain:

Death, taxes, and lost data.

Guess which has occurred.

— David Dixon

Everything is gone;

Your life’s work has been destroyed.

Squeeze trigger (yes/no)?

— David Carlson

More Hacker Jargon:

I found this, much to my delight and/or consternation.

Guido /gwee’do/ or /khwee’do/

Without qualification, Guido van Rossum (author of Python). Note that Guido answers to English /gwee’do/ but in Dutch it’s /khwee’do/.

nerd knob n.

[Cisco] A command in a complex piece of software which is more likely to be used by an extremely experienced user to tweak a setting of one sort or another – a setting which the average user may not even know exists. Nerd knobs tend to be toggles, turning on or off a particular, specific, narrowly defined behavior.

guru meditation n.

Amiga equivalent of `panic’ in Unix (sometimes just called a `guru’ or `guru event’). When the system crashes, a cryptic message of the form “GURU MEDITATION #XXXXXXXX.YYYYYYYY” may appear, indicating what the problem was. An Amiga guru can figure things out from the numbers. Sometimes a guru event must be followed by a Vulcan nerve pinch.

This term is (no surprise) an in-joke from the earliest days of the Amiga. An earlier product of the Amiga corporation was a device called a `Joyboard’ which was basically a plastic board built onto a joystick-like device; it was sold with a skiing game cartridge for the Atari game machine. It is said that whenever the prototype OS crashed, the system programmer responsible would calm down by concentrating on a solution while sitting cross-legged on a Joyboard trying to keep the board in balance. This position resembled that of a meditating guru. Sadly, the joke was removed fairly early on (but there’s a well-known patch to restore it in more recent versions).
Apropos of Nothing:

Here is a wee French text about one of the weapons our boys are using in Aghanistan. The Predator Drone is an unmanned aircraft equipped with “Hellfire” missiles which can be piloted from a bunker in Kansas via new virtual interfaces while it rains death on the enemies of democracy far far away. Damn.

Octobre 2001

Predator, drone armé : la guerre sur une télécommande

CJ 18/10/01

Le département de la défense américaine a révélé utiliser des drones (avions sans pilote) en Afghanistan. Mais désormais, ceux-ci ne serviraient plus seulement au renseignement : c’est la première fois dans l’histoire que des drones seraient utilisés comme véritable machine de guerre. Selon des sources informées, le RQ1-Predator aurait en effet été équipé avec des missiles anti-tanks Hellfire, armes puissantes habituellement utilisées à partir d’hélicoptères. Plusieurs de ces missiles auraient ainsi été tirés à partir de ces drones.

On imagine facilement la suite : des drones qui seraient capables d’aller tirer un missile sur une cible n’importe où dans le monde.

Rappelons en effet que 23 avril dernier, le RQ-4A Global Hawk, dont l’envergure est supérieure à celle d’un Boeing 737, a pu assurer un vol télécommandé de 8600 miles, de la base Air Force Edwards en Californie jusqu’à la base Edinburgh, au sud de l’Australie.

There is an organization of ex-radar technicians who meet to promote electronic warfare. They call themselves “Two Crows” because the WWII nickname for radar technicians was “Ravens”. Ho ho ho. You can find all about state of the art military hardware there if you really want to.

Here is a link to a guy who claims to have found something like a perpetual motion machine.

Bedini energy.


February 14, 2002

Greetings all. Here are the latest fruits of my labors watered by the sweat from
my brow, planted in the earth of my site. Sounds disgusting, no? Who wants a sweaty

As I was sitting here thinking of amusing ways to give myself carpal tunnel syndrome and
back problems from sitting in front of a computer screen for eight hours at a time, I thought
“Hello! Let’s translate the site for the benefit of our many non-English speaking visitors! There’s
a jolly idea, old fellow! Huzzah!” And then I wondered why I had started talking like a British
schoolboy from 1918.

I went and did it. There is a website, a venerable institution by web standards, perhaps 3 years old,
called BABELFISH. This name derives from “The Hitch-hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” in which one would
insert a tiny fish into one’s ear which would translate all known languages for the host. Babelfish is
a site where one may insert text in one language and have something vaguely resembling that text return
after a few minutes. One may also type in the URL of any given site and have the text “translated”.
“Hello, Harry!” I told myself, becoming Harry Potter for a second “there’s a capital idea!” But there is
usually a catch. The translation program got in there and stepped all over my code, man, inserting its
own links and other gremlins which took as long to clean up as it would have done to just translate the
damn thing myself. Also, the literal-minded sheer stupidity of the translation algorithms makes this
site a better destination for surrealist poets than people in need of translation. Of course, this is one thing I love about it.

Oh yes, here is the link before I forget.

So, I have translated the opening page of the site into




There is also a little musical offering on each page just for the hell of it.

My thanks to Isabelle Corbisier who helped me translate at least the French version over Microsoft Messenger.
Quite an experience translating line by line from a chat program.

Now I will demonstrate Babelfish

I have translated this text using Babelfish. Babelfish is an online translating program.
I have 5 nipples. My left foot is an illegal alien. My right foot is lobbying for independence, but I
am only willing to grant it limited autonomy. If you remove the grey scratch panel from my eyes, lo I will
behold the universe in all its splendor. Pass the mashed potatoes, Elvis, I think Gladys is beating the
chickens again.


J’ai traduit ce texte en utilisant Babelfish. Babelfish est un programme en ligne de traduction. J’ai 5 mamelons. Mon pied gauche est un étranger illégal. Mon pied droit incite à l’indépendance, mais je suis seulement disposé à l’accorder ai limité l’autonomie. Si vous retirez le panneau gris de brouillon de mes yeux, bas je behold de volonté l’univers dans tout son splendor. Passez la purée de pommes de terre, Elvis, je pensent que Gladys bat les poulets encore.


He traducido este texto usando Babelfish. Babelfish es un programa en línea el traducir. Tengo 5 entrerroscas. Mi pie izquierdo es un extranjero ilegal. Mi pie derecho está cabildeando para la independencia, pero estoy solamente dispuesto a concederla limité la autonomía. Si usted quita el panel gris del rasguño de mis ojos, bajos yo behold de la voluntad el universo en todo su splendor. Pase las patatas trituradas, Elvis, yo piensan que Gladys está batiendo los pollos otra vez.


Ho tradotto questo testo usando Babelfish. Babelfish è un programma in linea di traduzione. Ho 5 ugelli. Il mio piede sinistro è uno straniero illegale. Il mio piede destro sta incitando per indipendenza, ma sono soltanto disposto ad assegnarla ho limitato l’ autonomia. Se rimuovete il pannello grigio della graffiatura dai miei occhi, bassi io behold di volontà l’ universo in tutto lo relativo splendor. Passare le purè di patate, Elvis, io pensano che Gladys stia battendo ancora i polli.


Ich habe diesen Text mit Babelfish übersetzt. Babelfish ist ein Onlineübersetzungsprogramm. Ich habe 5 Nippel. Mein linker Fuß ist ein ungültiger Ausländer. Mein rechter Fuß beeinflußt für Unabhängigkeit, aber ich bin nur bereit, sie zu bewilligen begrenzte Autonomie. Wenn Sie das graue Kratzerpanel von meinen Augen löschen, niedrig ich Willensbehold das Universum in seinem ganzem splendor. Führen Sie die gestampften Kartoffeln, Elvis, ich denken, daß Gladys die Hühner wieder schlägt.

And then back the other way, one language to the other into

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+English again! Works great!-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

I have to translate this text with Babelfish. Babelfish is a program in the line of translation. Ho 5 nozzles. My left foot is an incorrect foreigner. My infuences of the skilful foot for independence, but me am only ready with the assegnarla that I limited autonomy. If cancelled the gray of panel of the draft of my eyes, the bottom of level Willensbehold relative universe in the splendor entirety. To carry out planted potatoes, Elvis, I think that Gladys always strikes the polli.


Blaine L.

Ear Candling


Number 6
The bulletin from Mundoblaineo, Sunday February 10, 2002

I put a lit candle in my ear.

Greetings, all. I have been very busy with my little hobby, my ever-expanding website. I have been selecting, copying, pasting, revising, clicking and double-clicking that mouse until it gets red-hot.
Before I digress too wildly, let’s get to the recent developments in Mundoblaineo.
Read all about my new bicycle! Stop a minute and catch your breath. A ‘piece’ called “Zen on Two Wheels.”
a cracking read

I know I told you about my slang “webportage” but now I have included slang as used by our fine upstanding moral troops in Afghanistan, a new pic, and several notable quotes from America’s generals. A stunning khaki layout.

New entries on Steven Brown’s page. I live to serve. I will keep posting that stuff to my server as long as Steven supplies me with it. Read about Baron Brown’s visit to the Mexican Rodeo, link to Wilhelm Reich, everything you always wanted, at half the price.

I have done a lot of image work this weekend, including some actual unprocessed photos from here on the Isle of Lucy, Lesbos. Still here, it’s still beautiful. Also, watch out for a dazzling new javascript feature. Damn!

same thing goes for this link. Image is everything.

So, get busy browsing. I wanna see smoke from those overloaded cpu’s. Enormous image files, yours for the downloading.

My friend Chris Silvey casually mentioned on the phone that he had burned himself while “ear-candling”. Now, I had heard of this practice as a medieval curiosity, or as one of Beethoven’s desperate measures to save his hearing, but I had no idea it was a done thing in the states. Live and learn.

What it is, in case you don’t know, you stick a cone-shaped hollow candle in your ear and light it. The resulting convection performs a demonstration of thermodynamics, vaporizes all the gunge which has been collecting in your ears throughout your entire life and you can collect it in a bowl and take it home to show the kids.

Sounds great!

Here are some FAQ’s about this subject.

Ear Candling

The Six Most Frequently Asked Questions
About Ear Candling

1. What is Ear Candling?
Ear Candling is a natural and mildly erotic way to clean out accumulated wax and white, flaky fungus from the ears. The accumulations withdrawn from your ears may be many months or even years old and are so disgusting they make me want to blow chunks. Ear Candles are custom designed from natural fibers and tapered to precise specifications. New Elvis-shaped ear candles have recently become “all the rage” in Athens’ trendy Kolonaki district. The collected discharges are especially favored by Greek bakers, who make a delicious pudding from them. They are often used as a sauce for calamari on the island of Lesbos.

2. Does Ear Candling hurt?
Absolutely not! It is a painless, harmless and totally relaxing experience. If it weren’t for the intermittent crackling and hissing sounds the agonized shrieks and the smell of burning hair like a dog in a concentration camp oven– due to the burning of the wax and fungus being drawn up the chimney of the candle — you would never know that anything was happening in your ear. Many female ear candling therapists have recently taken to wearing black leather aprons and will perform other services, such as writing limericks on the client’s buttocks with a soldering iron if requested. Many patients like to have an ear candle inserted in their rectum and lit cigarettes in each ear, the new therapy called “butt candling” which is gaining favor in alternative healing circles.

3. How long does an Ear Candling session last?
About forty-five (45) minutes per session, however, you should allow one (1) hour for your appointment. There have been reports of marathon 30 day “ear candling raves” being held on the west coast by former fans of the rock group “The Grateful Dead” but San Francisco police chief A. Eichmann refused to comment when we contacted him. Schoolchildren in Butte Montana have been detained for suspicious wax traces on their clothing, alleged to derive from satanist ear candling sabbaths held in the mountains outside of that city but no charges were filed.

4. How often should I have Ear Candling done?
Initially, most people need just 2 or 3 candling sessions to get their ears clean. Often gangs of ear candlers in Los Angeles have been known to waylay victims and ear candle them at gun point, insisting that their clients return five or six times a day. Groups of homeless ear candle addicts “candling up” in vacant lots are becoming an all too frequent sight in American cities and President George Bush has recently announced a campaign to “Round up and hang these hairball slime” as part of his ongoing anti-terrorism measures.  However, some people, may need up to eight (8) sessions over a six month period. Once your ears are clean, personal preference should determine how often you have your ears candled. Every three to six months would be practical.

5. Who can benefit from Ear Candling?
Ear candling can benefit almost everyone, from infants to adults. Primary monetary benefits have been substantial among bee keepers who supply the wax for the candles.  Musicians can benefit – especially singers and horn blowers – who often have a lot more wax build up than other people. People who wear hearing aids can benefit. Also, those people who have had previous ear injuries, can benefit from ear candling as they tend to have a greater build up of wax and fungus.

6. Who should not have Ear Candling?
Ear Candling should not be done to people who have ear tubes, perforated ear drums, artificial ear drums, penis implants, breast-enhancement surgery, pierced eyelids or tattoos featuring disney characters.

And there you go. If you aren’t careful, I might turn this newsletter into a full-fledged online magazine. Provided, of course that there is an audience for a fairly geeky American muso with a hell of a lot of free time and a distorted view of his own importance in the scheme of things.

that’s it for now
your working boy signing out


Zen on Two Wheels

new bike, 2002
my new used bike, 2002

Zen on Two Wheels

Saturday Feb. 9, 2002

The good news is that today I bought a bicycle. The bad news is….there isn’t any bad news. Yesterday I was out on Athena’s bike, just drifting around when I happened upon a bicycle repair shop. This may be no big thing to you, but this is Greece and a bike repair shop isn’t that easy to find. The guy, I forget his name, though he told it to me, had some used bikes for sale, looking grungy enough to fit my budget. I pointed at one and asked, and he said “No problem, my friend. I feex and tomorrrrrow you take. 60 evRO.” My guy was as good as his word, and today I took delivery of my new old bicycle. He put it into the best shape possible and it is quite rideable. I took it out on the long jetty that protrudes into the harbor. This is heaven. Riding out into the sea with the mountains in the distance is about as close as one can come to riding out on the water itself. Whizzing along with the water on both sides is like shooting through a tube made of sky and sea, an ecstatic blue-white warp in the very fabric of Samsara, illuminated and vibrating like a bouzouki string.

Continue reading “Zen on Two Wheels”


Number 5
February 9, 2002

Obsesso man is not satisfied with just sending text-based site updates. Oh no. He goes online to find an image editor
for ascii images and HE FINDS ONE. I also discovered that there is a community of dedicated geeks out there who make art
in this medium. That is, for those of you who don’t know, when sending e-mail with the various programs dedicated to that
function, one has the option to format as either “text” or “html”. With HTML, you have all the marvellous colors and pop up ads that we have come to know and love in our information age. With text, you have the bare bones characters which exist on your keyboard, no more, no less. Most mailing lists are limited to this format due to the miniscule size of the files in question. This one here, for instance.

If all things have worked out, you will see some handy dandy images which one can easily stick into the window of a chat program or cut copy paste and send to your friends. These images seem to read best with “courier” as the font and 10pt as the size.

If you LIKE this stuff, there are a couple of places to go.
for examples of this art form, very heavy on manga since the japanese seem to dig it.

and there is dave barry’s humorous take on “emoticons”, the inane punctuation analogs which have arisen to fill in the blanks left by our standard set.

par example:

 :)  Happy person
 :(  Sad person
 :-)  Happy person with a nose
 :-(  Sad person with a nose
 :---(  Person who is sad because he or she has a large nose
 :(  Person who is sad because he or she has a large fish for a nose
 :-D  Person laughing
 :-D*  Person laughing so hard that he or she does not notice that a 5-legged spider is hanging from his or her lip
 :-|  Person unsure of which long-distance company to choose
 >8-O-(&)  Person just realizing that he or she has a tapeworm
 ;-)  Person winking
 -)  Person who can still smile despite losing an eyeball
 :-0WW  Person vomiting a series of Slim Jims
 :-Q  Person who just had cybersex and is now enjoying a post-coital cybercigarette
 >:-Q -...  Person who was enjoying a post-coital cigarette until he suddenly noticed, to his alarm, that there is some kind of discharge dribbling from his cybermember
 :-{8  Person who is unhappy with the results of her breast-enlargement surgery
 :V:-|  Person who cannot figure out why nobody wants to talk to him or her, little suspecting that there is an alligator on his or her head
 ~oE]:-|  Fisherperson heading for market with a basket on his or her head containing a three-legged octopus that is giving off smell rays
 >:-[ -{9  Person who is none too pleased to be giving birth to a squirrel

Here are some fine examples of emoticon art from the “macros” site.

Screenshot from original sitenews page.

I conclude by attempting to paste in an ascii image of my very own haid. Hope you can read this. If not, don’t blame me.
(it helps to get up and walk back a few paces from your computer. This helps anyway. Walk away….turn it off, blaine…turn it o f f f…….)

uncle guido

American Slang

No. 4 Feb. 8, 2002

M U N D O B L A I N E O  NEWS    F E B. 8,   2 0 0 2

No sooner do I finish something than I have to tell everyone about it. It’s things like this that make life worthwhile. I have completed a wee lexicon of American slang that
I just couldn’t wait to post up to the site.

“Man Feebus, those are some pimp kicks!”
“Word, road dawg, these Nikes are wet!”
“Do tell, Fraaz. I wanted to Poonj my baitch, but she’s riding the cotton pony.”
“Yo man, that’s whack!”

If you are a citizen of empire, perhaps these bits o’ jargon won’t do much for you. If you are European, look out.

I have begun investigating u.s. army slang, just for the hell of it. Strange things on the way.

“I wanted to hit that Sergeant with the misery spoon when I was talking to the pig master”
“Bohica. Snafu for the DMOP.”
“Gimme some more Lifer Juice, Billy Bob”
“Yes sir.”

And these catchy tunes as sung by our marching lads.

Bin Laden

bin laden is a son of a bitch
drives his people into a ditch
when he’s through they’re always dead
till we put a bullet through his head

one from you
one from me
now he’s dead
you can see
good for you
good for me

*******T U X E D O M O O N    AND  O T H E R   C D    R E L E A S ES********

There are things being discussed right now for  TM’s 2002 events.
1. We will most likely play St. Petersburg and Moscow in June, dates TBA.
In june we are also slated to play Sonar Festival  in Spain.

2. The live in St. Petersburg CD is just about ready for release.

3. “Night Air” by BLR will be re-issued, together with “Paris en Automne”
Les Temps Modernes.

4. A collection of new tracks will be released by Gigolo Records very

5. We will continue work on the new “proper” CD either in Mexico or

6. A collaboration between BLR, Roger Eno,Giancarlo Bigazzi and Pier Luigi
Andreoni will be released in spring, featuring vocals and texts by BLR.

thanks gang

blaine leslie outta here

Origins of February

No. 3 February 6, 2002


Howdy folks. Hope everyone made the transition from January into February unscathed. A brief note for the pedantic.

february Feb”ru*a*ry, n. [L. Februarius, orig., the month of expiation, because on the fifteenth of this month the great feast of expiation and purification was held, fr. februa, pl., the Roman festival of purification; akin to februare to purify, expiate.] The second month in the year, said to have been introduced into the Roman calendar by Numa. (who the hell was numa? blr) In common years this month contains twenty-eight days; in the bissextile, or leap year, it has twenty-nine days.

Source: Webster’s Revised Unabridged Dictionary, © 1996, 1998 MICRA, Inc.

See? We’re all pagan all over the place and don’t even realize it when we’re going down to the Mithraeum to drink blood on Sunday. (SUNday? Dies Solis? The day of the sun, Mithra’s dad. Oh lordy lordy lord they’s conspiracy everwhere ya look!)

I digress, as usual. I’m still here on the island, it’s still splendid and I’m having big fun. Thought you’d like to know that.

The major piece of news in Mundoblaineo is that I have gone and added a page for my erstwhile pard, Steven Brown. I have left content up to him and I will exercise no editorial control over what kind of far left pinko commie subsersive drivel he sees fit to post there. Hey, that’s the kind of tolerant, even-tempered all around good guy I am. If I have visions of Joseph Cotten and Orson in Citizen Blaine, that’s my hallucination, ain’t it?

Here’s the link. I guess I’m finished yakkin’.

Beverly Hillbillies Lyrics


29/Jan/2002 1:04

Hi gang, Blaine here. I just want to say that I am overwhelmed, touched, a tear comes to my eye at the many confirmations and
new signings to my little list. Rest assured that

1. I will endeavor to provide the people of this city with…………….wait a minute, that’s
Charles Foster Kane’s Declaration of Principles.

It will certainly help at my sanity hearings to know that the public which I address on my website can be proven to exist. I was beginning
to wonder.

Please note that the opening page now includes MUSIC!! way hey, quickdraw.

*******************TODAY’S SITE WORK INCLUDES**************************************

A FANCIED UP JOURNAL PAGE, with pix an’ everthang!!!! Read about the Halcyon days on the Isle of Lucy, my trip to the dentist,
all the news that fit, we print (wanta buy a Grit?)
I haven’t found a better way to present this than with frames, so the link goes to the frameset page. If you have suggestions, there are
provisions in Mundoblaineo for you to send them along to me.


This was the second page I tackled way back when I started on this white whale using a tutorial about how to download a picture of a cat
from the web. The second page was a tables tutorial, hence the name of this page. I have included links to some of my favorite things, like
the weekly world news. (Home of the bat boy and those stories about Elvis Forcing UFO Abductees to have his love child). I have tacked
on some revised info about my home town, Pueblo, Colorado and spent many hours deciding whether teal or maroon makes a better
background color. You be the judge.

Some of the things in store for my loyal readers…………MORE “WEBPORTAGES”. This is a term of my own devising (as far as I know)
meaning “web reportage”. Get it? Ride along with me on my midnight voyage through the dark underbelly of the Galvanic Difference Engine
Telegraphy Network. (Is there a clever acronym there? You do it.)

I have recently researched the current state of american slang, as spoken by perma-fried chodes from coast to coast, waiting for the za dude
and macking on the pebbles at the mall. WORD, ROAD DAWG.
I shall endeavor to whip this into digestible shape and post it on up.

That’s it for today, thank you for your kind attention. Now, an exclusive for my readers, the complete lyrics to the Ballad Of Jed Clampett,
theme music from the Beverly Hillbillies, including the Apocryphal verses from Nag Hammadi. (I think that Buddy Ebsen as Jed was really channeling Lao Tzu, but that’s my personal opinion.)

Come ‘n listen to my story ’bout a man named Jed
Poor Mountaineer barely kept his family fed
An’ then one day, he was shootin’ at some food,
An’ up thru the ground came a bubblin’ crude.
Oil that is! Black gold! Texas tea!

Well, the first thing ya know, Jed’s a millionaire
Kin-folk said, “Jed, move away from there.” Said
Californy is the place y’oughta be, so they
loaded up the truck, and they moved to Beverly.
Hills that is! Swimmin’ pools, Movie stars!

Ol’ Jed bought a mansion. Lawdy it was swank
Next door neighbor was pres’dent of the bank,
Lotsa folks objected, but the banker found no fault,
‘Cause ol’ Jed’s millions was a-layin’ in the vault
Cash, that is! Capital gains, Depletion money!

Well now it’s time to say goodbye to Jed and all his kin
An’ they would like to thank you folks fer kindly droppin’ in.
You’re all invited back again to this locality,
T’have a heapin’ helpin’ of their hospitality.
Hillbilly, that is! Set a spell, Take your shoes off!
Y’all come back, here!
Copyright 1962 by Carolintone Music Company, Inc.

Thanks, G
I’m ghost


Halcyon Days, My Dad's Camel's Hair Coat

halcyon days


Halcyon Days (the privilege of down time)

I am still here on the Isle of Lucy (Lesbos that is). Today the weather was wondrous. These days of faux spring come regularly to Greece in January or February. They call them the “Meres Halkionides” the origin of the English word halcyon . This word, introduced to the language by Bill Shakespeare, is defined as “Idyllically calm and peaceful; suggesting happy tranquillity”. Forsooth. Ain’t it the truth?

(Halcyon refers to the kingfisher bird of greek classical legend who would nest on the waters after they were calmed by the gods for a period of two weeks each year during winter.) I am on my own here as Athena and my son are now in Athens. This is the first time in quite a while that your working boy has had a place to himself. This is also the first time for some while that I have desired solitude in which to work and think.

Someone said (it was Joni Mitchell) that as artists, it is our privilege and our duty to have intervals of “down time” between major periods of work. During these times one may plunge into the psyche like a pearl diver and bring up objects from the bottom. There is the luxury to wash off the slime and sludge and see if the takings of the day are pearls or swine.

With this in mind, it was my duty as an artist to drive out to an area of scenic delight and soak in the resplendence of the sights. I went out to a flatland surrounded by mountains overlooking a bay of such astral magnificence that I often find myself exclaiming the highest accolade an American can bestow upon any given situation. “Wow!” I will say.

My mind is positively buzzing with strange little ideas. Perhaps this is due to the vats of caffeine-rich diet coke I guzzle daily. Perhaps it is a sign that the winter arc of my polar orbit is ending and I am about to scale the dizzy heights of the annual spring mood swing.

My Dad’s Roadster

Apropos of pretty much nothing, I found myself remembering a story about my father, Blaine Morton Reininger as I piloted Athena’s old Honda Civic through the celestial radiance of this day. I was brushing cigarette ashes off of my “cashmere” jacket when it Prousted itself into view.

Ol’ Mort, black sheep of the family, had been obliged by The Great Depression of the thirties to find employment wherever it could be found. Sometimes he scored, more often he went hungry. Like his son, when he came into some money he would generally celebrate his new-found prosperity by spending it as soon as possible.

On this particular occasion, Mort had happened onto a good thing. He had some change in his overalls. He ran right out and bought a new Stutz Bearcat Roadster (a snazzy vehicle of the time) and a camel’s hair coat. He, like me today, was out feeling his oats on a mountain road, puffing one of his perpetual Camels. To his dismay, the burning coal of that cigarette fell off onto his reet new coat. As he tried desperately to save it from destruction, he forget about the Stutz for a minute and went over the side of that steep road.

As he hung there over the cliff, he was forced to decide between staying in his ride or dying. Ever-sensible Mort leapt out of the doomed vehicle and stood there in his charred camel’s hair coat watching the Stutz plummet down the cliff. Ol’ Dad was left sans coat, sans car, sans everything.

What is the moral of this story? There isn’t one. I just wanted to tell a tale of my Father now that I have become one myself. The other day, holding little Ian I realized with a start that I had become Mort. I was the spittin’ image of my dad from the cigarette to the glasses to my stubborn tendency to be tall. Like him, I have gone salt and pepper in the hair, like him I have a head of hair that could double as a toilet brush.

Identity is like the waves and ripples in my faithful Indian companion the wobbly blue sea. Things take on a certain form for a time, then transmute into something else. The fact of the sea remains, but its features are in continual flux.

If I am become Mort today, tomorrow I will be someone else. Privileged as I am to behold the sea every day, I am often struck with just what a wonderful metaphor it is and for how many things. Would we have decided that energy and the very fabric of reality moves in waves were there no sea for us to use as a model?

Sogyal Rinpoche, author of The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, a book which sustained me during the darkest days of grief over the loss of JJ also compared identity to waves in the sea. If the atoms and smaller particles contained in that wave are attached to being there, they are in for a pretty sorry awakening. In any case, a wave is only a manifestation of a force moving through the water. No one set of particles can ever be said to be the wave in question. In the same manner as that wave moves over its matrix, the sea, our personalities move through existence, propelled along by the force of will until we coalesce back into the cosmic background noise.

Such are the thoughts that this noble Aegean , formerly sailed by Argonauts and Atreides family members, inspires in old Guido. And over there across the water is Turkey, where once was Troy. Perhaps there is some cosmic symmetry in the fact that ersatz Agamemnon now hangs in sight of his old stompin’ grounds. Perhaps not.


Non linear note on the Euro.

As things seem to be shaping up, one of the major pains with this coinage is how tiny and fiddly it is. The one cent coin is the size of an aspirin and the others are little better. Everyone in Greece has bought one of the handy dandy Euro conversion calculators such that prices listed in drachmas end up being silly Euro amounts like 1.73. In view of this fact, there was a run on change purses the day after the new coinage hit the streets. A coin purse was not to be had for love nor money on this island. I went to the same shop 5 days running, only to be told that they were coming in on the boat from Athens “Avrio”. Domani, tomorrow.

In keeping with enlightened modern free market practices the streets are now full of gypsies peddling Chinese coin purses. I saw one erstwhile couple in front of the bank selling them from a cardboard box. Then the cops came and they hotfooted it outta there, stuffing the box into a gym bag and ducking into a doorway. Cops left, they re-appeared.

There is a clandestine nod nod wink wink trade in drachmas still going on. Shopkeepers keep drachmas under the counter and keep two tills going. I have yet to travel with this money. How strange to avoid the necessity of changing money. How many times was I stuck in a train station with a fortune of unuseable money in my pocket after hours without the wherewithal to buy a cup of coffee, make a phone call, take a taxi. How many times did I whip the driver of the van onwards coming back from a gig, trying to make it to the bureau de change at the Belgian frontier so that JJ and I could eat when we got home. Now these stories will just bore my son a few years down the line. “Son, in my day you had to show your passport when you went to france. Then you had to buy different money. The people spoke a DIFFERENT LANGUAGE. That’s right, almost no one spoke English!”

“Dad, take your medicine. Here’s your virching glasses. Good Night. Keep your hands off the nurses’ butts. They’ve been complaining again.”

Who Makes All of Those Chinese Lighters?

No. 1 January 27, 2002
The latest and the greatest from
The site that could would be a man, this man, Blaine Leslie Reininger
Greetings potential members of the Mundoblaineo elect.

Blaine here. Blaine L. Reininger, star of stage, screen and his own imagination. As the day wears on I find that my site is taking up more and more of my life. Often, my site goes out and does the shopping for me. My site has been seen out driving around in the company of beautiful women in a BMW it somehow acquired. I am becoming a hollow man while my site is taking over the best parts of me. You too can be kept current on the million trivial things that get me going.

Take for instance the burning question “Who Makes All of Those Cheap Chinese Lighters?”
Haven’t you always wanted to know this? Of course you have. Go to my site and find out.

There is always my journal, an ongoing repository of the events in my ever so exciting life

I have whupped up some stunning graphics which you may view at

and there is continual updating of Tuxedomoon events, history, bruhaha


go there and find out what you have been missing.

your humble slave and webmaster

blaine leslie reininger
lesbos, greece
january 27,2002

Hah. Leaving us, eh? Well, they told me at the university I was mad….ha ha ha!!! We showed them, eh, Dr. Caligari?

Coming of the Euro

December 21, 2001

the empire’s new dough



What did do today, you may ask? Probably not. I went to the bank here on Mytilini. This is worthy of note simply because I purchased a bag of euros, for a piddling 5.000 drachmas. I will now be able to remember the first time I laid eyes and hands on the new coin of the realm. Had a chance to heft it, shake it around, finger it, see how it will handle on the road.

I think that every economy has one coin which is the “shilling” or “florin” of its day. That is, one coin which guarantees for the average street beggar or other soul dwelling at the bottom of the heap a fighting chance at acquiring some piece of indispensable piece of matter. A loaf or bread, a jug of wine, thou.See what I mean? Judging by its design, I wager that the 50 cent piece will become that sort of coin. It is durable, it has serrated edges, it has a secret compartment that is a gateway to a parallel universe. Few people know this, outside the circle of the Illuminati behind this whole thing. I dare not say more.
Out, oh master.

(note from posterity: How could I know that the one euro coin would become the modern florin? It didn’t seem fair at the time. It was too valuable.)

Long Time Gone

December 18, 2001

view from the veranda mytilini
view from the veranda mytilini


Long time gone.

How do I sum up the course of my existence since the last entry in this document? Why should I try.? At the moment, my son is lying on the bed howling. This is not his usual thing.Now I have picked him up. Now the torture and angst  and the great howling anguish of being alive in samsara has ceased for a moment. Now he naps in my lap as I write these words. I am on the island of Lesbos, near the capital city, Mytilini. This is where the boy and his mother now live. I suppose this is where I live as well.

Well, well, welly well, how did old guido end up right where he started from? You may well ask. It has been a hell of a time since last I wrote in here. I have been all over the world, I have up and left to pursue greener pastures and younger women, I have voyaged to the further reaches of my definition of self, and wondered just where the hell I was and how I had arrived there.

As one may gather from other information on this site, I have spent a lot of time in Italy this last year and a half. I have been floating around that country like a lone bean in a turbulent bowl of pasta fagioli. Then I have decided that this boy sitting here in my lap was worthy of my attention and care. Now he sleeps on my chest. Awwwww…..we say. He stinks. I smell infant fecal matter. Thus it goes, I presume. It is certainly tough to concentrate upon sending error messages into the ether when a being so simple and complex demands one’s attention. Oh my oh my does the mind ever go into a giddy whirl to contemplate all of this mortality and birth and re-birth. Enough of this shit.

There are some journal entries later, dating from when I purchased my laptop. Before that all was ignorance and outer darkness.

Here I am, miss me?

Guido in Arezzo

alone in arezzo

19/11/2001 22:06
Guido in Arezzo

In the dressing room in Arezzo, my “spiritual home”. Touring with Gian Luca Lo Presti to promote our CD “Sun and Rain”. Perhaps I have made an error in staying behind here instead of going to the hotel. The music is too loud, the lights too bright. This photo taken by gabrielli the bass player. Blurry, but evocative. Now it’s R.E.M. on the loud louder loudest house system. Me back here with laptop. Earlier I chatted with Isabelle in Belgium and Oleg in Russia while standing at the bar, using the phone line of the club guy who was getting nervous, not sure what the hell I was doing, exactly.

As I have this digital camera I will include photos from now on in these entries. What the hell else am I to do with all of these self -portraits? There you go. I downloaded Microsoft instant messenger or whatever the hell it calls itself. Only because more of the people I know have hotmail addresses. C’est la vie.

Doesn’t bother me to be alone in this overlit cold little cube of a camerino. I have this thing about not wanting to leave the dressing room. In the meantime, I will instruct the spell checker on this program not to be so stupid (camerino is a perfectly good Italian word, no reason to highlight it, waiting for it to turn into English) Maybe I will get a handle on this damn stupid software, maybe not. Who gives a fuck, right?

Now it’s 22:30 and we are supposed to play at 23:00. Oh well, show biz.

I should give this poor beast of a laptop a rest.

I promise myself, I haven’t been obsessed about Susi for at least an hour or so. I have decided that this affair will probably go the way of all flesh. Then she will probably surprise me by being the same when I get back to Berlin. We shall see. Now I will go and see if there are some people here.
In Hindsight

Shit howdy dang, sergeant carter, no one at all, that’s right, not one customer showed up for this show. I got the idea that perhaps I was not backing a winner with the tour of “Sun and Rain”. Easy for me to say now.

It's Just an Old War (Not Even a Cold War)


more fun in airports

Back from Sardinia, sitting in Fiumicino Roma, not my favorite airport in the world, not by a long shot. I have often wondered why absolutely no one refers to this airport by its given name “Leonardo da Vinci International Airport.” Perhaps this joint ain’t classy enough to deserve Leonardo’s name.  The usual drill, waiting to be loaded into a bus to take us to the plane, gwine Firenze.

Hurry up and wait. Hurry up and wait. I suppose I should open the outlook express and see what the hell my address is in San Casciano. whoops. False alarm. Boarding time set back some, pa.

Up in the air, Bullwinkle, up in the air. Underway after a miniature delay. Been settin’ hyar and mah mind is a-wrigglin’ like a ol’ worm in a skillet. There is an anger now present, my face is often drawn up in a sneer, or a resigned, yet disgusted grimace. We on one of them prop jobs they run between Roma and anywhere else in Italy. Little Legoland airport in Firenze. You’d think what with all that cultura and all them touristas and the brits livin’ in Chiantishire they would have a more serviceable port. No such luck. Now plane is rockin’ and rollin’. Turbulence. JJ used to get so nervous over turbulence. She really hated flying, it really scared her.

Welcome, folks, to the Blaine review. I haven’t written about anything but me and my feelings, my feelings and probably won’t. There is a war of sorts on, you know. Thankfully, Europeans mostly couldn’t give a shit. It’s an American thing, remotely embarrasing to most Europeans. They have their own problems. They have been through a war, they have seen their towns blown to smithereens, often by the good old Americans themselves.

They have sifted through rubble for loved ones, been lined up against walls and shot, made heroic last stands in apartment houses or in the hills. The plaques are all over, memories of WW II in particular. I remember finding a sort of war memorial mass grave high up on a hill overlooking Athens while I was bicycling around looking for a promontory from which to view the city and shake my head wearily. There were some decaying headstones, a plaque with something about the men who died defending that hill from Germans. I then remembered a house I happened upon on one of my meanders through Brussels, likewise a place where a desperate band of men, probably young, had fought off the Germans for a moment or two before being obliterated. How strange to imagine those bourgeois streets of Brussels, those smog choked hills of Athens, the stage upon which man’s favorite activity was played out. We just seem to love war. We are on and on about warrior poets, self-sacrifice, the purity of the warrior’s mind, the samurai mysticism, all that bullshit. Now we are climbing from the skies. Landing in other words. off laptop. off