MungBeing Magazine: Consumerism and Product Affiliation an 'intelligently designed' example of 'holidaistic cronyism' with a magazoidnal twist! Don't be the last one on the block without it - own yours today! http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html Copyright © 2005-2007, Pencil Tenet, Inc. in association with Eschaton Media. Thu, 01 Dec 2005 10:39:43 -0800 Wed, 30 Jan 2008 20:02:40 -0800 Forward -- I am a citizen first, a consumer last. Can you believe it's the end of the year already? This season always gets me thinking about the nature of gift-giving and the wild consumeristic goggles through which I view this process. My cynical and snide (Cnyde) outlook tints the "Holiday Season" (one of the only actual organic seasons we get here in these parts) with a sadness and disdain that only a child's smile can erase. And even then it's gotta be a pretty HUGE smile.

But the upside is that I am able to reflect on what consumerism means to mean, what brand loyalty still exists within me, what new products I am going to hitch my wagon to, and how much I despise heavy-handed corporations and their abusive monopolistic mob methods. They make me feel bad. But I'll leave that for another time. It's good to think about, just not too much or my eyes fill with fire and my belly burns. Instead I'll think about the other stuff. See? I'm not mad anymore! Just like that!

Ah, it's not that bad. But thinking about consumerism and, tangentially, capitalism is an important topic to keep straight in my head. It is all too easy to get swept up in a monetary balloonhead so it's important to step back and think about it every now and again. It's important because if you don't, you get tricked into believing that we live in a Capitalist Society. We don't. We live in a Democratic Society. Capitalism is the economic model we employ in our society. Which lead me to this thought:
"I am a citizen first, a consumer last."
That said (and repeated like a fucking Mantra), I acknowledge that I am surrounded by a capitalistic economy. Oh, boy! Don't I know it! I'll talk about that more throughout this issue so I won't go on much longer here. But I do enjoy thinking these things through. Thanks for allowing me to do so with you.

I hope you enjoy this issue. Have a wonderful end of the year and a delightful beginning of the next.


Boycott Frida Kahlo Tequila! Frida Kahlo Tequila? The nerve.]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=139&subID=290rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Mark Givens) Forward -- "Consumption." Rhymes with "gumption."
This is most worthy of mention because no matter how many ways I can justify my purgative actions, I still feel a sense of loss every so often, like when I go searching for a piece of music and remember, "oh, yeah, I got rid of that years ago. Damn." When I left home at eighteen, I tossed my childhood in the garbage: stuffed animals, toys, stories I'd written and cartoons I'd drawn. When I think back to four year old me, I can't imagine ridding myself of my little purple Bunny, my best friend: he was as real and important to me as anything.

Many non-disposable products are insidious, as once we start using them, we imbue them with signifigance and generate associative memory. For me, attachment is one of the worst aspects of consumer culture, because every time I practice detachment I suffer regret.
]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=139&subID=291rss_feed@mungbeing.com (jody franklin) Announcements -- Heyokamagazine John LeKay interviews jody in Heyokamagazine #3 wherein they discuss jody's celluloid excursions. Check it out for yet another dimension of our multifaceted artist/editor.

]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=140&subID=285rss_feed@mungbeing.com (The Editors) Announcements -- MIT Program on Emerging Technologies Fall Multidisciplinary Panel Meeting at MIT where he gave a talk on Open Source Biology, citing his article from MungBeing Issue #2.

Also at MIT, Chuck Wadey illustrated a spotlight page for events. His illustration is in the archives now, about the 22nd picture down (a boy reaching for a frog) when this article was written.

There's also a Flash comic strip in Nature Magazine called Adventures in Synthetic Biology illustrated by Chuck and written by Drew Endy and Isadora Deese. It was even mentioned in Drawn!. Congratulations!



]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=140&subID=286rss_feed@mungbeing.com (The Editors) Announcements -- Pencil Revolution Pencil Revolution is a fine site that I visit daily. I wrote a small piece about the new Tri-Conderoga pencils, specifically the wondeful shavings that spring from them. John, the editor of Pencil Revolution contributed a beautiful piece to MungBeing Issue #4.

]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=140&subID=287rss_feed@mungbeing.com (The Editors) Announcements -- Queer Edge Desperation Squad was on the hit tv show Queer Edge with Jack E Jett the week of Nov. 7-11, 2005. There are many wonderful stories that will make their way to the web on the Desperation Squad site, I'm sure. Keep your eyes peeled (ew). And congratulations, Desperation Squad!
]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=140&subID=288rss_feed@mungbeing.com (The Editors) Announcements -- Town Branding Dish, Texas. They did this to receive free satellite service from Dish Networks. Good consumers. Roll over.

An interesting thing to me about the Washington Post article is that at the very end there's a link for further reading (or something) that points to www.echostar.com, home of Dish Networks. Hmm....

This is not the first time something like this has happened, it's just the most recent. There's an interesting Wired article from 2003 that discusses naming rights of school districts (among other things). The justification is to make up money from budget shortfalls. Good, good consumers. It looks like a nail.

]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=140&subID=289rss_feed@mungbeing.com (The Editors) Announcements -- Helpful Online Library Aids Library Thing let's you catalog your books online. That's what it does. And it does it well.
Plus, it has the BEST sign up procedure ever! Really. Nonintrusive, simple, and quick so it let's you get into cataloging your books. And that's what the site does.

Also, The Internet Book List allows you to look up books. I used it to find out what books are in the Iain Pears "Art History Mysteries" series. It's useful.

]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=140&subID=292rss_feed@mungbeing.com (The Editors) Announcements -- 12,000 ]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=140&subID=293rss_feed@mungbeing.com (The Editors) Announcements -- Santacon write up in the National Post National Post! They even paid tribute to his article with the title of their piece.

Nice job, jody!]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=140&subID=300rss_feed@mungbeing.com (The Editors) With This Brand, I Thee Wed "More about what I am looking for: 'Non-plastic type people. Vegan
girls rock my world. Vegan girls who use macs.'"
--Personal ad syndicated as promotion for online dating service
They called it podjacking. The idea was that as you, a hip iPod-owning urban denizen, strolled or jogged or Starbucksed your way through your neighborhood, chances were good that you'd come across someone else sporting a pair of those distinctive white ear-spores. Being a human, and therefore a social animal, you might be curious as to what this other person was listening to, and they might experience the very same sense of wonder. Why not pull out the plugs and switch them around? It was like the audiophile's version of cruising Golden Gate Park for anonymous anal sex, only, even though a catchy tune might be said to be infectious, it was far safer in almost every way.

In the short-lived buzz that was generated by a Wired Magazine article on the subject, many people commented on how nice and friendly and community-oriented an activity this was. Many -- possibly more -- had far snarkier comments: "Well, of course you could trust someone else who can afford an iPod with your sensitive yuppie ears...." It seemed to me, however, that nobody was commenting on the fact that this could work with any portable music system. iPods, cassettes, CDs, and even lowly transistor radios all use interoperable headphones.

With the exception of the iPod, however, those headphones weren't white.

You'll pardon the tangent, I'm sure, as I look back fondly on a walkman -- excuse me, personal cassette playerlink -- which I owned in my high school days. I carried this thing with me everywhere and used it all but constantly, to the point that it was thoroughly beaten up, held together with packing tape, and it had wires poking out the back where they couldn't have been doing much good. When viewed from just the right angle, however, it looked brand new, perfect and polished. A friend commented that this marvel of already outdated modern electronics functioned perfectly as a metaphor for my own life and personality.

Is that why people so badly crave iPods? Do they need their own metaphor, one that can be taken everywhere and displayed proudly? If so, it's hardly surprising that such a big portion of the population might want to represent their existential essence as sleek, cutting edge, frivolous yet pragmatic, and white.

Forget the racial implications; white is the color of our decade, the naughties, or at least the first half of it. The new black, they say, but you knew that, or are you still using a Discman? In marketing and design circles, white occupies the same vaunted position as slanted typeface. It means now, and not just any part of now but the forward edge of it, the place we find all the momentum. That's why the text never leans to the left. A white ego is a healthy ego (even if it is a bit slanted).link

To be sure, the iPod metaphor isn't for everyone. Some people are simply too Pizza Hut proletarian for that. Others are far too Giorgio Armani sophisticated. Hell, some of us can't help being so damn Volcomlink rebellious, you know? Whatever sort of person you are, you're bound to be able to find a symbol that fits, whether or not you actually try to do so. If one symbol isn't enough, you can always group a few together. In other circumstances, we might call that language.link

So, to what end these metaphors? How useful is it to summarize oneself in an object like this? As in language, it's all a question of communication. Metaphor can be used as an incredibly powerful shortcut to explaining an extremely complex idea. On a day to day basis, it's rare that we deal with anything more complex than each other's personalities, not to mention each of our own. It's nice to have something to use as a quick explanation of a person we otherwise don't really understand. How much less would we know about each other, as strangers passing on the street like podjackers in the night, if we all walked around naked and empty-handed?

Of course, we're not often naked and empty-handed in public. Forget Sneetches with their star-bellies, we've got tattoos and piercings and hairstyles, apples, swooshes, golden arches, jittery mermaids, fuel-injected ram's horns, panopticon dwelling peacocks, omniscient orange X's, hats off the incorporeal heads of platonic truckers, KYOU-FM, dog-eared copies of Koontz or Camus or Karl Marx, skin mags, Bibles, bling-bling or button-down or botox and Brazilian wax. Here in the big iPod-infested city, we even have our own spaces, set aside for each group of us on a metaphor by metaphor basis. Will it be Burger King or Bizou? Tower Records or Tone-Def Grooves? Lefty's Sports Bar or the Lucky 13? Starbucks or the Revolution Cafe?link

This kind of outward metaphor serves much the same function in our world as telepathy does in some science fiction equivalents, allowing us to instantly learn things about each other we could or would never express in words. Does it even matter if these things are, strictly speaking, true? Ah, we can say on first sight, a fellow skater! A fellow musician! A fellow July Fourth Toilet fan! A fellow Harley owner! A fellow patron of my favorite bar!

This may seem superficial, but, at the same time, a sense of fellowship can be nothing short of profound. Even the Pacific Ocean is shallow along its beacheslink, after all, and what good might it do us to shun any means of connection to one another? What difference does it make if we come together around our preferred philosophers instead of our favorite sitcoms? Maybe the differences between the things we come together around are exactly why they work. In the end, maybe it's less about commonality than it is about exclusiveness.

After all, what if I can't afford an iPod? What if I've never had a chance to discover this great author you idolize? What if I'm not healthy enough to play your sport? What if I'm too busy making a living to watch so much anime? What if I've tried to learn, but I just have no talent for the banjo?link What if I don't drink alcohol or caffeine or high-fructose corn syrup at all? When put this way, such differences seem pretty superficial. Do they really point to anything substantial?

On the other hand, if we could actually wear our hearts on our sleeves, we might not like each other at all, finding ourselves instead forever intimidated by the actual meat of the people we meet. Remember Narcissus: when he looked beneath the surface, all he found was himself drowning. Let an iPod be your mirror -- with its headphone jack as your interface of choice -- and your surface will always be white.

And maybe just a little bit slanted.


David "Starchy" Grant owns an iPod, a pair of Volcom cargo pants, and some dog-eared Barthes. At times he can be found at the Revolution Cafe with all three of these items.


]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=148rss_feed@mungbeing.com (David "Starchy" Grant) Consumer Drawings -- Untitled 2 http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=334&subID=256rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Claudio Parentela) -- Untitled 3 http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=335&subID=257rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Claudio Parentela) -- Untitled 8 http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=336&subID=258rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Claudio Parentela) you got the right one baby Milo: The dilemma remains. Coke or Pepsi? Or do we overlook an even more vital national issue?
Binkley: Yes. Both taste like malted battery acid.

- excerpt from a Bloom County comic strip



Fantasy: I enter a party for culture-jammers at the AdBusters Media Foundation building, sporting a Pepsi t-shirt. Eyes are drawn to the logo. People are mildly curious, scratching their heads: it appears the logo has not been cleverly altered in any way: no wordplay, no pseudo-swastika. What statement is he making?, some will ask themselves. Others will chuckle, "getting" the supposed irony in my demonstrative choice of attire. At some point I will be asked, "dude, what's with the shirt? What are you getting at, man?" To which I will reply to the young lad clad in spandex biker shorts and musty dreadlocks, "nothing. I just like Pepsi. And I'm sharing my devotion to this beverage with the world." Hopefully this elicits a self-righteous snub, at which point I'll grab a few cans of Pepsi from the bar and sneak off like a bandit into the night.

I concede the point that Pepsi tastes like malted battery acid. I concede the point that it is a concoction of twisted chemical evil foisted upon me by a soulless monolith of a corporation. Truth is, I will admit to feeling shame for my allegiance to Pepsi. You will seldom see me drinking it in public, and when the corner storekeeper asks me if I want a plastic bag to carry my bottles home, I always say yes, knowing full well that my always present collection of plastic continues to feed garbage bins and landfills. It's my dirty little secret. I live in Vancouver, the most enlightened city in the world, right? I know better than to destroy my body, support a multinational, ignore the plight of our delicate ecosystems. I'm "part of the problem." Besides, drinking Pepsi just ain't cool, I never see anyone I'd consider a peer drinking the damn sludge. In order to legitimize it when ordering in restaurants, I refer to it in front of my friends as "brown wine."

It's a mild addiction. I really do dig the kick, the caffeine-sugar rush: for me, it's the crack of soft drinks. I can't get off doing Coke. Tea can rock me good, but it's missing something, it just doesn't have that pull. (And I can't stand the taste of coffee.) When I need to wake up, when I need to buckle down and write, I drown in the brown. Peppy Pepsi picks me up. On a bad day I can down two litres without batting an eye (no, wait, when I drink that much I get those little stimulant twitches, y'know?) Weird thing is, while I have an indulgent personality, I do not have an addictive personality. Anything else I've ever touched with addictive properties, you name it - recreational drugs, booze, sex, TV, the internet, video games - I can go cold turkey at any time and say bye-bye. Not so with Pepsi: I crave her sweet, disgusting aftertaste, my body (nay, my soul!) cries out for her! nearly every day! O Pepsi, my Pepsi, foul demon scourge, why hast thou enslaved me!

"Dude, you're a sheeple," the oh-so-perfect AdBusters proselyte would say, wagging his proverbial finger. "They got their hooks into you when you were a kid, man, they brainwashed you when you watched TV!" Yeah, right, the beguiling enchantress Gloria Estefan seduced me as an impressionable teen. After hearing her pitch I ran right out and enlisted in the Pepsi generation! My first rocket blast sip of Pepsi thrust me into a conga line! And, O, I joined the dance, my friends. Indeed. (Truth be told, the most memorable cola ad campaign to touch upon my life was Coke's dippy "I'd Like To Teach The World To Sing" series of commercials. I was only but a wee boy at the time, yet I can still picture the hillside choir singing and swaying.)

So I kick open the closet and burst out so I no longer have to slink away in shame. I am a member of the Pepsi generation, dammit, and no amount of hippytalk in the world will wrest me away. I'm Pepsi and I'm Proud; Proud to wave the flag red, white and blue. ]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=341rss_feed@mungbeing.com (jody franklin) The Spectacular Blues (Hitchhiker Blues #8) but that's practically illegal
though despite what a thousand "hero-cop shows"link show
any crime you could do would be dwarfed
by the sins of the pricks in control,
(whose job is not to give you a pot but to force you to piss in one)
but have heart
nothing built on lies ever lasts.

meanwhile the chickens come home to roost in Oklahoma city.

15 minutes of fun
and alot of alienation
hey, get your naked tits out of their eternal flame
what's the matter with you, have you no respect for the holy dead?!
(...well they sure don't in their fascism)
i'll honor that poor sucker buried there
by refusing to become a receptacle for "the spectacle"
man, i'm so lucky,
failure has spared me a lot
it's allowed me to follow a bluebird out of the grand canyon
and to sleep-in and finish my dreams before i get up.

15 minutes of fun and alot of alienation
visions of situationists pickaxing boulevards?
hierarchy the public enemy
it was spring and bricks were in the air
bricks made a hell of a difference in france that year.

15 minutes of fun and alot of alienation
visions of situationists pickaxing boulevards
and heaving them at spectacle receptacles.
they've sure kicked some ass in france
(though it's still a big bourgeois mess)
meanwhile, the chickens come home to roost in
oklalahoma city

you'd like a life
not just something to survive.
you'd like a life not just a lifestyle?
well, take a life.]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=349rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Roger Manning) the tired spy http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=381rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Mark DeLong) Interview with Gus Fink
Gus Fink is an artist with enormous talent. He has illustrated comics, painted beautiful and horrifying paintings, created sculptures, sung in a band, and created an eBay collector's market with his revolutionary listings. He is self-taught (some call him an outsider), verging on brilliance, and most definitely NOT crazy.

I was fortunate enough to overhear a conversation with him and I wrote about it in issue #2. Upon reading the article, Gus wanted to take some time to "set the record straight". What follows, then, is a straight Q-A style interview that will hopefully answer all of the questions about Gus Fink that you might have.



MungBeing: When did you start making art?

Gus Fink: Like most children I started making art at the age of 2. I always loved to draw and paint and when I turned 22, I started to take it more seriously. Each year from that point my work and self has evolved.

MB: Did you take art classes in high school?

GF: I tried art in high school but my work wasn't acceptable to their standards since my work wasn't realistic and that's what school promotes. They want you to copy from life and from other artists, not do something original.

MB: What was school like for you?

GF: I mostly just observed others in high school, sticking to myself and not letting any of it effect me to the point of caring about it. My last 2 years I felt more like myself and was able to make it very easy. I didn't want to go to college afterwards, nor did I participate in anything school-related - I wasn't in any clubs or on any teams - I was unpopular and liked it that way. It was a place that I felt was a waste of time for me. But it does show how controlled our youth is and doesn't really educate anyone about what's truly important in life. It's the first major politics that I was exposed to; a place where a creative person must wait and suffer till it's over to do what they need to. I feel like it's gotten worse since I've graduated too. So much control over everyone and so much fear... it's that sort of seriousness that I always hated. Like going to a doctor's office or listening to someone say you need to do this, or else suffer. So, yah, it's basically a rotting shit hole that attempts to make us all socially ranked so we know what we will do in life afterwards. Jocks, preps, scumbags, losers, goth kids, geeks, druggies - you name it, they got a class for everyone - and most will live ther lives thinking that's all they are. To me, that's sad and gross.

MB: Did you learn about art from books?

GF: Sure, I looked at other artists and when I was around 9 or 10 - tried to look at a few books. But all that was boring to me, I never liked drawing things from real life or learning about artists in school. It all seemed too serious and I hated that part. I just wanted to have fun, making weird things that didn't exist till I drew or painted them. To me that's what it's all about, just going off in your own little world, exploring how much stuff you can extract from it, and then getting better at creating that world each year - evolving as an artist.

MB: What's your earliest memory of making art?

GF: I remember making a necklace for my mom when I was 2 years old - I woke up first thing, got some colorful clay, made it into a ball and put the ball over a string. This was just something I loved to do - creating art in any form gave me happiness.

MB: Do you come from a large family?

GF: I wouldn't say a large family. Most families that are large and stick together are usually one or so race. I'm a mixed breed of many kinds so my family is smaller and distant. I have a brother and sister whom I'm not too close with. The most important family member was my grandfather; I would work on art with him as a child.

link

MB: Do you have any artwork about your grandfather?

GF: I've done probably 10 pieces or so. I used to make portraits of him and say they were me because I felt so connected to him. I still feel connected to him today. He was this perfect father figure that never complained or quit. He just did his job, whatever it would be, and enjoyed the little things in life. I loved that about him and still have never met such an interesting man. even nowI am learning more about my grandfather and how much he hid from his family for reasons I don't yet know.

MB: Is your grandfather still alive?

GF: He died when I was 11 from having a stroke in the Catholic Church. They never called the ambulance or stopped the mass till much later when the damage was deep which, of course, was the reason he died.

MB: Did this influence your view of the Catholic Church?

GF: This was the icing on the cake. When I was 4, I remember crying that I had to go to Sunday School with my brother. He started at 6 and I felt that I wanted 2 more years like he got - free to not go. So early on, I just didn't like it. And I questioned the church at a very young age. Such as, why do they make us give money to them if they are for God? Why do we need to speak with another old man to talk to God? If God loves us so much, why do we go to hell if we don't go to church? Etc., etc. Even a child can see how wrong it is. As I grew up, I found out how right I was and how they hide the real truth about God - which is our Church is inside of us - that's what Jesus wanted us to know. We can speak to him at anytime; we don't need to ask some strange old man that harms children to help us speak with God. We don't need to pay a church to be Spiritual and closer to God... it's all a Big Scam, and if people knew that, then there would be no church. It's so simple when you give it some thought. They are hiding the truth so that they can profit and have power.
Here's the thing... I believe that most people involved with organized religion have no idea where its roots lay. That's the case with any high-power organization - people eat up any info they are given without ever questioning it. This happens over time and, soon enough, everything these Powerful Organizations say goes.

MB: Your expressions of evil and conflict have a definite religious overtone.

GF: My own expression of evil is that it's here, everywhere, we just don't see it, even though it's right in front of our eyes. We suffer in so many ways every day, trying to escape by using drugs, getting wasted, intoxicating ourselves so we may forget it... I would say that over 90 percent of my work isn't pre-meditated at all - it just pours out and can change constantly. There are many times that I feel I'm making horrible work and can do much better and then other times where I feel like it's all coming together perfectly as if I could do it till I fall asleep, which usually is the case for any great piece of my work. Where does all of this come from? I'm really not sure. Lately I've noticed I have been using certain symbols but all of those are for the collector and reader to figure out the big puzzle to it all. The basics of this puzzle are that you must enjoy life, be happy, seek the truth, question authority and know there is more to all of this than it seems.




MB: Tell us a little bit about your 3D works.

GF: Most of them are reworks of things I find or that seem interesting enough to paint over.

MB: Like what?
link
GF: Well, one thing I've done was of a teddy bear I got from the trash. I decided that, instead of this bear being completly forgotten, I would give it a new life. It was once loved before and then forgotten, but now, as a true piece of art, it has the chance of being remembered for possibly hundreds of years. It might be seen by many and even loved again. You can see that piece on my site. I've found antique toys I like, junk from the trash or Salvation Army, things that were mine from my childhood... basically anything that I want to re-invent at that given moment. I like to surround myself with lots of this sort of stuff so it reminds me of what I do, and to live in my own world.

I've also made a bunch of mini sculptures that are like the creatures I draw.

MB: What are these made out of?

GF: Most of them are made from air dry clay or Sculpey. I would work larger and with more stuff, I just don't feel I have enough space yet. One day I dream of a massive studio where each day I can produce many masterpieces - be it paintings, sculptures, drawings or whatever I can make up.


MB: Do you paint outdoors?

GF: I haven't painted outdoors yet because I live in such a grey cold gloomy city.

MB: You work in a variety of different mediums. What are your favorites?

GF: I like to work with a mix - this gives my work a quality that even I can't copy the same piece twice. My mediums change sometimes day to day. I'm always looking for new materials to work with. Some favs would be oil pencil, graphite, acrylic paints, wax sticks, and inks.

MB: Who are some of your influences; what artists have inspired you?

GF: Kubrick, Francis Bacon, Kurt Cobain, Dali...

MB: Your comics are really nice. How many comic books have you done?

GF: I've done 2 issues with Anti-Matter/Hoffman, I did issues 12-18 of Hellcar, and soon my first graphic novel will be out by Slave Labor Graphics titled "The Trouble with Igor". It should be out in April and you can order it from your comic shops in January or February.

MB: What's "The Trouble with Igor" about?
link
GF: "The Trouble with Igor" is about a bald mutant hunchback Zombie looking kid that is not only starving but carries around an evil grim reaper puppet that, unknowingly to him, kills people all the time. There are so many monsters and creatures in this comic, it's hard to believe it's one long journey.

MB: Did you write the story and do the artwork?

GF: I did all the art for it and designed the characters and Chris Reilly is the writer. He's done a lot of comic work for Slave Labor among many other things such as writing screenplays for low budget horror films.

MB: What can you tell us about your involvement with Hellcar?

GF: Yah, I emailed the head of Hellcar, Paul Friedrich. He enjoyed my comics and ever since we have been friends and doing Comic Cons together. He's a great guy and works hard. Hellcar now is a DVD and no longer in printed comic book form.

MB: Do you do a lot of conventions?

GF: I haven't done many yet and don't know if I will continue to do a lot of them but I should be doing MoCCA in NYC this summer and maybe I will do SPX next year too. We shall see how that goes though. Most of the ones I do aren't your typical Super Hero fest but more of the underground cool comics that I feel are more original and unique then the mainstream stuff most people think of when they hear the term comic books.

MB: Does the DVD version of Hellcar still print new stuff?

GF: Hellcar is now only on DVD and the next one will have a short thing with my art and some funky music playing. I got a guy working on something sort of animated of my art coming up in the future, too, for Hellcar.

MB: So your work is on the Hellcar DVD?

GF: I think there is at least something of mine on each DVD. Paul told me he likes to get something, anything, just as long as I'm still in each issue.

MB: Who are some of your comic book heroes?

GF: The heroes I always enjoyed are Batman and Spiderman; I liked Spawn when I was a teenager till they made that horrible movie.

MB: What about comic book artists?

GF: I'd have to say Roman Dirge is one of the best around today since Jhonen Vasquez doesn't do too much anymore.

MB: What do you think of the recent wave of comic book characters on screen? Do you like any of the new crop of comic book-to-big screen movies?

GF: Well I think they are doing some good ones and some horrible ones. It's pretty cool to see it happening after all these years of crappy comic movies. I enjoyed Sin City, American Splendor - even the new Batman was impressive - but I thought movies like The Hulk, Man Thing, Catwoman, Daredevil, Electra, were so terrible it sorta makes me sick.

MB: What are some of your favorite movies?

GF: Movies are what I love the most: The Shining, Fight Club, The Brother's Quay, City of Lost Children, Eyes Wide Shut... the list goes on forever.
link
MB: What about books?

GF: Books I'm not too big on, although I'm working on a novel with AfterBirth books.

MB: Can you tell us about that?

GF: Well, this project is now in its birth stage. We just agreed on which idea of mine we are going to use. I'm pretty good at coming up with plots and ideas for movies or stories, so what we did is I just kept emailing different strange lil plots to my co-writer. The book will most likely be called "Never Stare". It's going to be about a young girl that enters the other side of the mirror, becomes a demon and goes on a 24 hour killing spree. It's pretty fucked up from what we are discussing. There will be some artwork of mine in the book but it will be more of a novel than "The Trouble with Igor".



MB: Are you politically active?

GF: Not really active, but I understand what's really going on.

MB: I overheard you say "I'm a seeker of the truth behind things. I have many of my own philosophies on various subjects such as religion, the human race, our health, how we are poisoned and lied to every day by the masses..." Can you discuss some of these philosophies?

GF: Heh! Well, why not. Let's start with Religion. I always believed that we didn't need to go to church every Sunday to be accepted by God; We don't need to talk to another man (a priest) to get through to God but that our Church is inside of us; that God wanted us to know this and not build the Church up to what it is today... I could go on and on about this but the basics to all of everything is as simple as "Good vs. Evil". The ones that have the control are on the Evil side. The hard workers that get shit on every day and don't get to even think about what's really going on because they have too many other problems. Most of them are Good. They live in a struggle because they are so controlled and let down. They are pumped with Fear and that will result in a man doing things he wouldn't want to normally do.
link
MB: Sounds like the basis for a novel...

GF: Well I was going to write a detailed sci-fi Horror novel about this but it's probably too complicated to start off with. I'd much rather see something like this be made into a movie - or even a short film - but so far this seems to be at least a few years into the future.

MB: It seems like a pretty observant description of how people live.

GF: Well, it's funny... mostly I only know of how Americans live but it seems that most countries, even if they hate us, still want to live like us to a point. I believe that the human race has lost touch with their instincts. Just like all other animals, we had our own too.

MB: What do you mean?

GF: Well for instance, when a child is born they are pure. They grow up mostly being happy, singing, wanting to create art, laughing, just being silly and enjoying the artistic way of life, seeing things in interesting ways, and truly full of greatness. But when an outer source taints our youth, it starts pumping the system into them. This system of how we are supposed to live, what we are supposed to do etc., etc. It all comes down to fitting into the norm. The norm isn't average, it's the whole range - from hobo to doctor to actor to Wal-Mart employee - we recognize these ranks and realize what is a bad position and which are good. We are told to learn art the way they want us to learn it. Same with music. It takes the creativity away and all the fun. It's the whole system. It gets you in and, for the most part, programs us how we should be, how are natural bodies are Offensive and Dirty, how a child that learns different doesn't get recognized for their talents whatever they may be. They only base intelligence on their tests, but these tests are just for the average-based person. They don't take into consideration anyone who is highly intelligent in ways that are outside of this system. Basically, if you do think out of the Box, you are unacceptable and tossed aside in their hopes that you will feel odd and like a failure.

OK, but I'm probably rambling on too much now on this, and possibly contridicting myself as it's been a very long night.

MB: Is this how we are "poisoned and lied too"?

GF: As consumers we all are poisoned with our chemical-filled foods, drinks, beauty products, our toothpaste... even our deodorant is filled with chemicals. Then we use our microwaves, our cellphones, our HDTVs, we take showers with unpure water, etc. etc.
Now I'm not saying, "let's stop living in a nice technological world", but we wonder why cancer is so huge now. It's because there is soo much poisioning us. Even the cure for cancer is a cure that is toxic. We now watch tv and all we see are drug commercials after drug commercials. All these are doing is making it all worse, making us afraid, making us scared to be human, afraid to die and suffer. But this is the scam - this is where we get lost in it all - the fear is what holds us back. If we were to have no fear, if we could believe in a strength of good - a true God that lies here, everywhere on earth - we could be stronger, live longer and healthier. It's all here for us, we just ignore it. Humans aren't above the animals, we just believe we are. We aren't supposed to make what we eat all chemically and toxic; we are supposed to eat and drink what's left of the pure nutrition. It's all here and instead of researching it, we keep destroying nature more and more as if we are above it all.

And the Lies that we eat are the mass media. For instance, when I was 17 I got stabbed in my right hand, a small wound. The paper read, "young boy gets stabbed in the head, a large slash". Just imagine how far stretched the truth is on the big scale. Right now we are so concerned with the Bird Flu. Well, research the truth on the past flus and you will see the lies that they will repeat. They did the same with Sars, too, and Anthrax, It's all to keep the level of fear very high.
We are lied to about the cures, we are lied to about the reasons for war, for oil prices, for all of the major things that we should be concerned with. But instead we just pass it off, as if the big shots are there for our protection - as if they will take care of it all. But it keeps getting worse and worse - we all know it is - yet we just sit and watch the next sitcom, then get smashed on the weekend to forget the pain and fear.

I believe there will be a great change in the near future. My hopes are that the unknown of 2012 will help us and bring forth a new dimension of life that we can't even ponder today.



MB: How does mental illness relate to art?

GF: Mental Illness is when you aren't aware of it, such as a person that thinks he is a rabbit and wants to kill other rabbits. He really thinks he is one and never questions it. If he really knew that he wasn't a rabbit and knew he just feels like one sometimes and understands that's its really fucked up, then he isn't crazy. But really thinking you are one all the time... that's Mental Illness. Most people today don't grasp what is wrong with them. We are fed so much to be afraid of, we are living in such a nerve wracking world today. Now most people for the first time go to their doctor asking them for such n such drug. This is a new thing and it's just making us all more afraid that we have soo much wrong with us. I'm sure if I seen a doctor they would say I have many conditions and put me on many drugs. The way I manage with my own problems is I try to enjoy life as much as possible. I focus of my art and my family and I pray to overcome any problems I encounter.
Mental illness and art - there is a whole new craze with that. People want to buy someone's work just because the person that made it is completely insane, not because they enjoy the art. This is just a fad. Real, true artists make good work and challenge the work constantly. They grow and get better and it's good for reasons far beyond them being insane. And then, on the other side, most artists seem insane compared to a normal person. Artists think differently then a normal person - just like a doctor thinks differently then a stripper - but the real misunderstanding is that most people labeled insane are not, and a lot of them would be good artists because they are so creative and different.

MB: So you are not diagnosed with any particular condition yourself? I brought that whole issue up as a result the description of a show in which you are involved - a show in Louisiana. Can you talk about that show a little bit?
link
GF: I'm not diagnosed with anything by a doctor. I know at times I can be paranoid and feel abstract but that's just part of my routine and thinking patterns. The show I'm doing in Louisiana I think is mostly self diagnosed artists. Barrister's Gallery is actually the first gallery to open up after the Hurricane. But yah I would consider myself crazy compared to most people. My girlfriend always says I'm the craziest guy she's ever met, but also the funniest and sexiest, so what does she know [laughing].

MB: Can you tell us a little about your family life? Are you now a father?

GF: Yes, my daughter Kailyn was born on Oct 13th so I'm a new father and get to enjoy my most beautiful Creation every day.

MB: CONGRATULATIONS!!! How's that going? Are you loving it?

GF: Thanks. I always wanted to have children and to be a good father. It's going great so far. I love to look into her eyes and sing her little songs. I'm looking forward to all the stages she will go through, such as crawling and walking but especially laughing. I love laughter so much especially when it's because of something I said or did.

MB: Do you have time to do anything outside of art?

GF: Art consumes most of my life. Besides that I do dumb lil petty things, I try to workout everyday and watch a movie, I got my own lil family now so that's pretty much the life of Me.

MB: What are some of your favorite bands?

GF: The bands I like are mostly Brutal Metal such as older A Life Once Lost, Converge, I love Flesh Parade, GoreLord, even older Dying Fetus.

MB: Do you play in a band?

GF: I was in many bands before. Now I'm recording with a friend some of the strangest fresh music of today. It's nothing like what I've done before as I used to be in all Metal bands. This new project, I believe, will shake things up, making people laugh and rethink music.

MB: Are there any recordings of this collaboration?

GF: There will be an album out once my friend Henry Kohler is finished with our songs.

MB: What style of music is it?

GF: There is no definite style but we are leaning towards hip-hop sorta stuff. Nothing like anything out there, though. For instance, one of our songs sounds like a Jamaican Death Metal singer with some strange club music. I usually hate club/hip-hop sort of music but what we are doing together is so different and interesting, I can only laugh and enjoy it.

MB: What do you do in the band?

GF: I mostly just do all the vocals for them, and I recently recorded some guitar riffs, too.



MB: You sell a great deal of art through eBay. Is this your primary means of selling your work?

GF: Ebay is where I mostly sell my smaller, quicker work. It helps promote my name and larger work. I do more galleries and fests now.

MB: Where do you sell your larger works?

GF: I sell them off my website and in a bunch of galleries as well as Fest that I jump on such as New York Arts Festival and Folk Fest.

MB: What festivals do you do, or is that an ever-changing thing?

GF: I'm looking to do some Horror fest in the future if I can, but I might hold off for a year to do more fest. I try not to plan too far ahead on this sort of thing.

MB: What are some of your favorite eBay listings? I heard that you put up a year's worth of work for $1 million.

GF: Here's a few favorites: A multi-vitamin with a creepy Christ painting on it (my smallest piece of art to date), my old beatdown wallet, hang out with me for a day, straw wrappers, and a mystery box of junk.
link
MB: The person who bought the straw wrappers is Dave Carpenter, bassist for Wckr Spgt and avid Gus Fink collector!

GF: [laughing] That's funny. I wonder if he framed those or what. I think I drew them on straw wrapper while eating out or something.

MB: What other collections contain your work?

GF: Various galleries sell my work such as Jack Fischer Gallery (San Francisco), Hive Gallery (Los Angeles), Rosensteel Gallery (Phoenix), Christoff Gallery (Seattle)...

MB: How can collectors obtain your work?

GF: The best way to get your own collection of my work is to contact me directly.

MB: Finally, is there anything else on the horizon for Gus Fink?

GF: Hmm... Well, I actually got a cool email today about something fun but I'm probably not allowed to talk about it or anything else that's not guaranteed to happen.

MB: Oh, you mean the cover art for the new Wckr Spgt cd "Shoot the Man in the Tree"?

GF: Well, no, but there is that too. I just hope it all works out so I can survive as an artist.

MB: Well good luck, Gus, and thanks for talking to us.

GF: Thanks for the interview. I hope it helps people learn more about me if they care to do so.

RESOURCES



http://www.artrevolutionaries.com/revolutionaries/gfink/

http://www.moccany.org/artfest-main.html

http://search.ebay.com/gus-fink_W0QQfkrZ1QQfromZR8

http://www.spxpo.com/

http://theedgeunderground.net/interviews/melting-ghost.html

Mr. Chancre Scolex (known more popularly as Jhonen Vasquez)
[http://www.lambiek.net/vasquez_j.htm]

Roman Dirge [http://www.lambiek.net/dirge_r.htm]

http://www.jackfischergallery.com/fink.htm

http://www.thehivegallery.com/

http://www.rosensteelgalleries.com/products.asp?cat=29

http://www.barristersgallery.com/katrina.htm

http://www.afterbirthbooks.com/

http://www.gusfink.com
]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=296rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Mark Givens) Silent Night Angela darts past, weaving through the shoppers toward her Chevy Malibu in the parking lot.
Flash of badge.
"You'll have to show me the receipt for that, ma'am."
Shit. DING ding DING ding.
Angela crinkles something the pocket of her down jacket. DING ding DING ding. She balls up the Christmas list.
The security guard takes the shopping bag, reaches in. Bratz Rock Angelz. Yu-gi-O Pegasus. DING ding. His hand gropes every present. English Leather. Beyblade. He pulls out a book, squints. Rich Dad Poor Dad. DING ding DING ding.
"Lady, you're in a heap of trouble." ding DING ding. He flips the book back into the bag.
Angela stares at the dirty snow. DING ding DING.
He grabs her arm. DING ding. Such a cold night.
He hustles her past the bell ringer, toward the automatic doors, opening and closing. A bright hungry mouth.
DING. She bumps into the bell ringer.
Sorry. All three of them say the word together.
The clanging stops. For a moment, it is quiet outside Wal-Mart.
]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=385rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Suzanne LaFetra) Full of Moon http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=375rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Kim Richardson) Goulash Goulash was Grandma Jozsa's foul-weather tradition, her culinary masterpiece. Then again, she had plenty of practice - it rained a lot. Sara and Christopher hurried home from school on rainy days to help.
They began by mixing flour, pepper and salt. Christopher loved getting his fingers sticky from rolling the meat in the mixture. Then Grandma Jozsa browned the beef in olive oil and butter in the big pot, and the kitchen would suddenly smell very good. When the beef was brown, Grandma Jozsa used the tongs to remove all the meat from the pot and put it in a bowl with a little broth in the oven to stay warm. Sometimes Christopher got to help.
During this time, Sara was trusted to chop the vegetables: nice, fresh red and green peppers and big yellow onions. Sara never cried. Then she chopped the garlic - never mince, mincing is cheating, Grandma Jozsa believed - and together they added the vegetables and more butter to the pot with the meat juice. A little more flour and the sauce thickened enough that they could add the spices.
Paprika always came first. Sara carefully measured a quarter cup of good Hungarian paprika into the pot. Christopher gravely took a bay leaf from the jar above the stove and let it fall into the broth. Sara added a tablespoon of fresh marjoram (dried marjoram was cheating, too), Christopher a spoonful of sugar, and Grandma Jozsa completed the task with one cup of dry white wine, admonishing, "Egeszsegetekre. To your health, my loved ones."
A little hot beef stock and a can of tomato paste, and the beef went back into the pot. All that was left to do was read a book or watch TV while Sara and Christopher's stomachs growled. The goulash simmered more than an hour, sometimes two. Then Dad came home from the boat yard, and Grandma Jozsa boiled thick egg noodles, dripping with butter.
Sara brought out the wineglasses while Christopher set the table. Grandma Jozsa set out a basket of warm, soft rye bread and hot green beans. Dad finished his shower and sat down at the head of the table, Grandma Jozsa at the foot, Sara and Christopher on the remaining sides. Food was always good, but never as good as on a rainy day. And goulash never tasted as good as when Grandma Jozsa made it.
Grandma Jozsa passed away a few years later. Dad married and moved to Florida. Christopher married and had a son. They lived in the house where he and Sara grew up.
One rainy afternoon, Aunt Sara showed up with two grocery bags. The whole family crowded into the kitchen that once seemed so big and mixed flour and pepper and salt.
It was almost as good as Grandma Jozsa's.
Egeszsegetekre.
]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=383rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Amy Frushour Kelly) The Play Starring Scarecrow
Advocate in dialect, have you had your break today? A nice light snack might fill the desire, of hollows from somewhere afar. Mr. Christie, your cookies come at an underlying premium to some but we perceive comfort in every box. You've baked your place in our hearts so we look at your cost through the bulk or weightlessness of our wallets. Chips Ahoy you shallow pond, would you like another shot of auntie's pancake? How about a cigarette with your toast? How did that old lady in the ad remind you of what home felt like?

What kind of wind whispered in this feeling that we must consume our way to feeling good, hoard as though we are afraid of running out and look upon our brothers badly if their socks don't meet with current trends? What good does it do us to think that there are souls that do not own the right to realize their personal visions of pride as well? Not quite as shiny as you because maybe that feels better. Oh how you fill up your well of shadow, how you reach for might so far beyond yourself, in entitlement. And for what?

We can blame governments for the way things have come to be but it's a multiply layered kind of web with all sorts of players don't you think? I do feel that government capitalizes upon fear but how much control are we willing to give to them? Offer up a slice of your pie, cuz it's surely not any of our responsibility then.

What does it serve us to be invisible in this, to front that our movements do not affect a higher reality? What does this do for us that love can't provide? Is not the drone of fear in scarcity a tone that does not vibrate in ways that are quite with calm? Some place within us knows that this is the other end of love.

Feast or famine we find these merry fright go rounds. These little ditties that pinch in trains that loop. This quake falls out of us like leaves slip to the earth. We contend that trees have purpose to be rooted and grow. Do you stretch at all? Can you bend enough to love yourself in all ways? Power is a source of creative energy colored up by us individuals to tailor our mirrors. Oh welcome the treason, when our desire exceeds our possessions and we can no longer hide. Much like the unforgiving itch on the roof of your mouth so too breeds the landscapes telling. Investment is an interesting perception and this all screams meal replacement of the heart. The passing up in opting out of love's movement.

Ever climbing ladder of abundant scarcity in feeling? What do you think the angels would ask of our very own selves? What is missing, spend just a minute on that. Just because we do not go to the depths of our feelings, does not mean that they do not exist. I mean really, speak of our cries in satiation's exhausted tongue! And speak of balance as though it is a perception that everyone has a right to feel complete, as is.

Holding space without possession and mass consumption in a position of safety is to know that we are far superior to circumstance. Let the essence seep forth in play with experience until the feeling is ever present. Perceive a blessing in something you would normally call a wound, this is the call to love. Present beauty tapped right into the source. It will respond, if you wish it to be so.

I ask again, do you stretch at all? Can you bend enough to love yourself in all ways? ]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=377rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Heidi Morgan) Comics -- Meatmouth http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=143&subID=97rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Gus Fink) -- Maurice http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=345&subID=267rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Julian Lawrence) -- Gustown http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=293&subID=246rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Mark Givens) Infotainment
Of course, I'm proud to say we didn't do that sort of thing back in my day, we didn't pay attention one to advertising and there was a good reason for that. We were too fucking loaded (and not with money!). Oh sure, we had Rolling Stone and they had ads that told us what to do, but no one gave a crap about that. A great review, that was something different, but we all know the difference between editorial and advertising, right?

Oh, excuse me, I'm dating myself! Most of you are too young to know about that! Yes, in journalism, there used to be a thing called a "wall" and the two sides never met. Editors didn't know anyone from sales and vice versa.

Now we are fully submerged in the Infotainment Era. Advertising has always paid the bills in media (although if you read Robert McChesney's Rich Media, Poor Democracy you'll find out that once upon a time radio aspired to be known primarily as a education medium, until someone invented a revolutionary concept called "selling time") and nothing broadcast, printed or sent through cyberspace stands a ghost of a chance of being seen without being tied to the hips with ads. And advertising has always been about getting people to consume something that they don't necessarily need - hence the term "consumer".

But we've come a long way from Rodney Allan Rippy saying "It's too big-a eat!" and "Where's the beef?" Where once advertising was only on the rarest occasions "cool" now it is one full side of the Infotainment pyramid. Ads are sexed up, jazzed out, funny, hip, clever and mind-numbingly essential to today's consumers. The fact that more people watch the Super Bowl to see the new Nike and Coke ads than to watch the game being played is a testament to how topsy-turvy and misdirected Americans lives have become.

But, hell, that's just TV, and we have been muting, fast-forwarding or Tivo-ing the ads away for years now. But it was sort of like splashing the big puddle - many more new puddles were formed. Advertisers are reaching out to more and more parts of our lives, in ways that even ten years ago seemed farfetched.

And it's not like the advertisers are sipping martinis and playing back-slap at all their good fortune. The sheer mass of advertising assaulting us every day has created a boondoggle called "clutter" in which more and more money is being paid out to increase brand exposure, that's the "clutter" part, but are receiving less public recognition for their brands. So they have to spend more money, and more and more and more and . . . you get the picture. It's a nasty industry and it's only getting worse.

But the kids don't care. They want people to tell them what to do.

"Please, Nike, put together a dope, hip ad that makes me feel like I'm not looking forward to a dead end job for shit pay and zero security, that distracts from the fact that I knocked up my girlfriend and I'm going to have to invest in disposable diapers and SUV style baby strollers - I still want to believe I can jam on LeBron James!"

"Please, Boost Mobile, put together a funny piece that reinforces my right to yak on a cell in the most inappropriate places, that will give me up to the minute Brad-Angelina reports, that will make me a solid gamer in the eyes of my peers, so I don't get beat up cuz I'm not wearing the right sweats!"

"Please, Diesel, justify your line of retro wear so I can feel good about paying the equivalent of a down payment of a house for a pair of pants that already has ten holes ripped in it!"

As I have stated, it disappoints me, but I know why this trend exists, or at least I think I do. It's all this damn pressure on kids to flaunt their freedom of individuality, and it's an extremely murky throughway, think of the river trip in "Deliverance". I'll never forget returning to my old high school and talking with a student and seeing her yawn unimpressed with every change that I saw, until I mentioned that in my day no one cared what you wore to school, just simply did not care, you could go to class in pajamas and no one would blink an eye. She refused to believe me!

But I would like to take this thread and stretch it to the most absurd length possible - the difference between American culture and Muslim culture.

In case anyone has been asleep for the last five years, we are embroiled in a War on Terrorism, that in some part, and exactly why and how we wage this war is the province of politicians and policy makers and not me or today's youth, has to do with the cultural differences between one part of the world and the other.

I know almost nothing about Muslim life. But I perceive that part of the tension the world faces is the intrusion of Western culture and individuality being imposed on religious based societies that downplay the role of freedom to express ones self.

So we have "lids"; they have "head scarves". And the more we push for certain of their society's members to lighten up and embrace freedom and liberty, the more the most fanatical of them push back. We are not torn at all, but we are helping to rip them apart. That is just my opinion.

So why, then, are American youth and beyond (because all of America is in the thrall of Infotainment) choosing to express their "individuality" by going to such great lengths to look like everyone else? Think about it. Whether it's tattoos or piercings or punk accessories or hair styles or vehicles or what have you, America, now more than ever, chooses to embrace individuality by cloning themselves with whatever fad comes down the pike and washes up at the door. Have we forgotten women's jeans with acid washed spots on the ass? Or the ones with the brown spots that looked like you had just shit your pants?

What I want to know is, why is that? Why in a country that so esteems its rights and freedoms is it so important to not stand out? We are telling the rest of the world it is entirely necessary to have these freedoms yet we ourselves flog to the death anyone who careens off course. It's the old Firesign Theatre joke:

"Mudhead, what are you going to do after we graduate?"

"Well, I thought I'd go out and find a bunch of guys and dress up like them and follow them around!"

So we mock those in other parts of the world for their devotion to principle, as much as it reviles us, then we go out and do essentially the same thing as they do - dress and act and worship alike.

Except it's not necessarily religion we are worshipping. It's brand names and clever advertising and bands that all look and sound the same.

Here's the truth of the matter: We have no individuality and we know it. We will never be rich and famous and we know it. We will lead miserable lives filled with conflict and tragedy and we know it. We are just drones and we know it.

So, sure, it that light, maybe the new X-Box is exactly what we need. We need to feel comfortable in our blandness because we know that the only way we can truly have an identity is by matching the identity of someone else, preferably someone sexy and desirable.]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=107rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Kevin Ausmus) Purchasing Power www.i4u.com: "Well I see it this way: its free, nobody forces users to use GMail, so why is it such a big deal?" But GMail is not free, it is ad supported. Moreover, it is "relevant" ad supported but that's a topic for a different article. Now this discussion has been revived again by a "free" computer that is being given away to people in developing countries - as www.worldchanging.com observed, it seems to be the consumer-solution inverse of the "One Laptop Per Child" project. The computer has hotkeys that take the user to a sponsor's website (provided the poor person in the developing country has dial-up internet access and working electricity) in the hope that those poor people will buy stuff from the sponsors.
From an end-user point of view it means getting straight to what they're looking for with one touch [...] Not only will Sponsors benefit from a huge new market, but the social responsibility and impact of being involved with [this project] cannot be underestimated. Not to mention the fact that sole ownership of a hotkey ensures a level of brand loyalty that you could only dream about.
Again, the computer is not free, it is sponsored. In this case, disturbingly and paradoxically so. And while I think a very interesting discussion could develop around that subject too, I am going to focus on some other pitfalls of our current invasive advertiscape and how powerless we have made ourselves. But just remember that no matter what the "free" computer ad campaign says, no matter what the GMail advocates say, it is not free. You are paying for it.


We have come to take for granted that we will be marketed to. We expect advertising. We are not saddened anymore by the invasive and pervasive nature of today's advertising efforts. When a company's product shows up in a video game, or a brand name is dropped into the dialog on a TV show ("I want you to keep talking your Zoloft".... "You know, a better Amy") we are not angry or shocked or surprised at all. We expect it. In fact, I will go out on a very short limb and say that much of the time we look forward to it.

I understand the role of advertising in our culture. I have grown up in a society that revels in its love for jingles, slogans, catch phrases, and (almost irrelevantly) products. I also understand how marketing campaigns can work themselves into our society so much so that the images they present can become "Cultural Icons". Hell, the image of Santa Claus that our society is most familiar with was developed by Coca-Cola. How telling is THAT?

I am infatuated with a wide variety of products myself. I am intrigued by advertising campaigns and presentations. I laugh at good ads and am insulted by bad ones. My love for typography has a very direct link to posters, albums, and magazine ads. I can sing TV show theme songs from my childhood and jingles from the radio. I think we are all affected by the wide breadth of advertising's alluring embrace. This advertising - she is a seductive beast. I think we suffer from Advertising Stockholm Syndrome.

And we describe and define ourselves by the connections we make to products and companies. The iPod revolution is a good example of this. And the fanatical iCommunity continues to flaunt the product, proudly display the logo, rant and rave about the glorious iPod well after the initial campaign has ended. That's some powerful kool-aid!


It is true that what I see, what I look at, is up to me. That is why I do not go to the theater to see Slasher Movies; I do not enjoy watching them. And sometimes when I'm watching the TV and I see an ad for a slasher flick, it reaffirms my knowledge that I do not what to spend money to go see a slasher flick in the theater. But this kind of injective marketing, the kind that puts logos and products into our line of sight without our consent, makes it a little trickier to spot and even harder to avoid.

And the right to advertise to you should be retained by you; it should be your choice. Why would you unwillingly subject yourself to a corporation's advertising (in whatever form it takes)?

I am not going to give away my power as a consumer, as a willing participant in a capitalistic society, to receive "free" services. I still have control over what I see and hear and, most importantly to the folks trying to hawk products to me, what I buy.

So, yes, GMail is free in that you do not have to expend any cash to use the service. But the right to market products to you is worth something, isn't it? That's why companies spend billions of dollars trying to market products to you. That's why companies continue to look for new and innovative ways to reach you. So, GMail is free? No, it is ad supported. You are giving Google the right to put advertisements in front of you. You are telling them that it is okay to market products to you. You are telling them that their market research finally paid off. But it is not free.

Your purchasing power is just that - power. And I think that we've forgotten that.]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=294rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Cash Nexus) Exclusive Musical Tracks

Mancat is Matthew Maggs (England) and Gavin Allen (Wales). These delightful ditties are musical gemstones. Listen to these hits now before Matthew and Gavin blast off into rock stardom, break up, get back together at the behest of David Bowie, record a Bowie song that he writes for them, get EXTREMELY popular, self destruct, and head off on successful solo careers.

Download: link
Download: link
Download: link
Download: link


Matt and Gav knew each other as kids although they never hung out together. Gav lived just a few houses down from Matt's parents. About 1998, Gav went to Matt's house with his folks. The parents went out for a drink and Matt and Gav got chatting about music.

Turned out they both played guitar and soon enough were getting together in Matt's conservatory to play bizarre music with an old keyboard and electric guitar. This madness was called "Satan's Church". The first recorded track was called "Domanic" and, needless to say, they were "chuffed to bits" with their new creation. Many more late nights were spent recording that filth.

This evolved into "Scary Porn", a funky Satan's Church. Many long sessions were spent recording tracks like "Break Things" and "Not Your Fault" untill the funk faded and Mancat was born with "Sometimes" being their first song.

Matt now lives in Bristol and Gav now lives in Cardiff so the weird days of Satan's Church are long gone but the Mancat is gaining strengh with each recording.

They have not played live yet but have not ruled it out. A full-length studio recording is on the menu for next year sometime, so look out!


]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=344rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Mancat) Fiddle-Faddle Faddle! Faddle! Faddle!
Fiddle! Fiddle! Fiddle!
FADDLE! FADDLE! FADDLE!
FIDDLE! FIDDLE! FIDDLE!
FADDLE! FADDLE! FADDLE!

And so on and on rained down the exchange of the brand names of the two great manufacturers of soes and all the attendant inferences that burst from the names as they impacted ground. "The Finest Trummeling" spread out in cloud-like formation as finely sculpted as cauliflower following Fiddle's kiss of ground; "The Absolutely Best Gonculating" instantly answered it, sending out tendrils of mist to ensnare intentions and force open a purse, ensuing its acquaintance with the ground. And such continued, unabated during the better course of an evening, with some pauses for entertainment, though the attendant canned laughter was most assuredly a manufacture of both Fiddle and Faddle.

For in the struggle for gain and for supremacy, this was a most coveted ground indeed. A patch of mental terrain as yet still unclaimed completely by either manufacturer, though already decent tracts of its space and its denizens of thoughts had already been occupied by earlier advertising campaigns of Fiddle and Faddle. Convolution after cerebrum's convolution had fallen, but still at least one remained unoccupied by devotion, by loyalty to brand. Such would conquer one last mind which would shift the balance and sway the mind belonging to a member of a treasured and youthful demographic that had yet to establish a brand loyalty in soes.

Both Fiddle and Faddle knew well the stakes of a capture that would advance their fiscal agenda, feeding their coffers with the nourishment of lucre, and through whose devoted auspices of product satisfaction thusly communicated, yet more realms would be laid open to the advance of the company. For proper trummeling, the perfect gonculation, though hitherto unknown to past unfortunate and primitive ages stretching back to a remote Paleolithic past until just scant years ago, was at last revealed as a primal need of humanity and a transcendent good to the race, whose great philosophers and celebrated scientists were inexplicably ignorant of. Fiddle and Faddle stood forth with their particular soes as the means to address that need. And scant few years ago the battle had commenced in earnest with confident campaigns that were assured to the fiscally enthroned in the glass towers of commercial authority in both the Fiddle and the Faddle companies to win over the masses even before that Christmas season, perhaps even before the leaves fell that first autumn.

And such had happened, but still a few minds persisted in evading a corporate grasp and hold, mostly in that particular youthful demographic. Ministers of Mammon cried forth to complete the conquest before the despised rival company and Captains of Industry were called upon to formulate a new, vast campaign to seize these last mental territories. Aided by music that would cause the thunder of Mars to tremble and retire and images to also cause a rapid ascent up the ramparts of fear, both the Fiddle and the Faddle companies engaged in the final struggle casting both word and note into wire and upon the air to transfix the course of Persuasion before it embarked upon an erroneous course.

The campaign was exhausting and exhaustive, and soon Fiddle and Faddle were contesting over one last individual who had yet to come to a decision that would bring about uncontested supremacy and unquestioned dominion. Through the courtesy and auspices of technology, a slew of personal messages filed in from electronic devices through eye and ear and wended their way to the portions of mind where either Fiddle or Faddle already held sway. There refreshed, these messages then sought out that final uncertain, indecisive convolution in the cerebrum of this last individual whose decision would make either Fiddle or Faddle the very partner of Fortune.

And decision was at hand. The last barrage of the Fiddle Company, so recently drawn in, now blasted across the subcranial fields and with a multitude of thumps, landed into the convolution with a burst and broadcast reasons as an invading troop and investing force that rapidly spread out through the convolution in the shape of bayonets compelling concurring thoughts and ordaining the very course of possibility. The convolution became rather fiddle shaped as yet another barrage fell thereafter in the name of consolidation; birthed in impact, yet more inferences from the name Fiddle cavourted about in their wake, arresting thoughts and confining them in pens protected by copyright.

But at once, the Faddle Company launched a counterattack, a blare of infinitesimal bugles sounding now across the subcranial fields, conveyed by a minute cavalry that swept over the edge into the convolution, falling at once onto the fervid and febrile activity of the Fiddle Company. Instantly, the convolution was the unfortunate cockpit of microscopic clashes of steel, glints of insight sparkling in the midst of the miniature mayhem. The struggle was pitiless, as heaps of fallen inspirations gathered up as vain piles, around the ebb and flow of temporary advantage. All was tumult; all was din as a thousand points of contention fed the rancour of Concord and the generosity of the convolution to house their discord much longer. The walls of soft grey constricted and thence reduced the arena of their contentions, but this did not register on the two combatants who still crossed diminutive swords in clashes from which cogent sparks flew, illuminating the murk and the dim of the indecisive.

One such spark, rather vaster than its fellows, illuminated the sudden arrival of a third party onto the scene, the cry for the need to flummer that had been insouciantly left unaddressed by either the Fiddle or the Faddle Company, a cry that had followed their course, unnoticed by either and exacting its toll for this; the Boffo Company, whose sudden arrival in a sudden thought had narrowed the convolution in a rather quizzical moment.

Suddenly this one convolution suddenly dismissed the clamour within it, bringing down a cold gale of Indifference onto the battlefield, frosting the competitors, stilling their struggle into rigid, icy postures, chill and forgotten. It had succumbed to a sudden inspiration that the primal need of humanity not yet met either by gonculating nor trummeling was the ability to flummer. Such was a moment of indisputable epiphany, a discovery that reduced the triumphs of Archimedes, Newton and Einstein to inane frivolities. Boffo met that need with its new and improved soe. This truth, as transcendent as any propounded by Plato, at once overran all the other convolutions, making its prize the complete cerebrum and hence harvesting the profitable deed of a customer.

The Fiddle and Faddle Companies retired to ponder and investigate formulas before again going on campaign with soes even more new and yet more improved.]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=343rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Buzzsaw) Recessive Traits -- He would miss his family... http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=330&subID=252rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Ken B. Miller) -- Her parents' first mistake... http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=331&subID=253rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Ken B. Miller) -- While the dolly was scolded... http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=332&subID=254rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Ken B. Miller) -- Far from what the commercials had made her believe... Susie's crushing sense of ennui only increased
with each appliance she purchased." by Ken B. Miller, Acrylic and Collage on Luan, 8" x 10", 2005]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=333&subID=255rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Ken B. Miller) Poor Craig Schmeizer Senior Vice President,
forced to sign off
on credit card offers.

I don't know you,
nor you me,
but I feel for you
and your old rickety typewriter.

I imagine you
at your cluttered desk in the corner -
dust hanging in the air before dirty windows,
a bare lightbulb flickering,
and you
(just trying to make a buck)
pounding out a memo
"from the desk of
Craig Schmeizer,
Senior Vice President"
forced to sign off
on credit card offers.

link]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=255rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Mark Givens) Creative Darwinism
Ayn fucking Rand. Ain? Ann? Rand? Rind? Nobody knew for certain, but one thing I knew was that this book discussed the crushable parasites of humanity. You know, all the fun and dark stuff that somehow gets my mind super hot. So? I bought the book. Humanity? Crushable parasites! WW3! Machine holocaust! Flowers in the wind! Party time!

Needles to say, the book was an utterly horrible disappointment, (could I get past page 90? could you buy a republican an abortion?) but for some reason it gave me a few ideas of my own. See, the premise of this book is that our society is being supported by a few select individuals who run our society because they're powerful enough to stomp-for-cash. The question of this book is as follows: what would happen if these select few individuals were to suddenly stop their motion? The answer is thus: society would fall apart and be full of worthless parasites.

This is where my theory, Creative Darwinism, comes in. It's actually a lot like Atlas Shrugged, only the complete fucking opposite. See, I don't think that the parasites of our society are those mindless worker collectivist slaves. Those people are just boring. I think the parasites of our society are the corporations who feed off the ideas of the lunatic fringe and the underground.

Creative Darwinism is a theory that I base upon survival of the most creative. Those who come up with the most interesting ideas are the highest on the evolutionary ladder. Those who come up with no ideas whatsoever are the mindless parasites who need to be destroyed. In other words, the corporations. Wir müssen die Korporationen vernichten! What do corporations come up with? Absolutely nothing! What do they do? They take our ideas and sell them back to us, only watered down and utterly pathetic. Our ideas lose their original meanings and are reduced to a point of such banality that they end up contradicting everything they initially meant to stand for.

Corporations are a worthless disease, and the entire world rests on the shoulders of the homeless street preachers and experimental musicians and radical subcultures. If it wasn't for us there would be no society whatsoever. There would be no ideas to cash in on. We're the makers and the inventors. We're the reason that the world exists as it does today. We're the Creative Darwinists who are survivalist-as-fuck.

Picture a world based on survival of the most creative. That's what I'm talking about, yo! Let's throw in intelligence while we're at it too. Survival of the most creative and the most intelligent. Anyone without an interesting idea or a high functioning brain? Get the fuck off this planet! Unless you're an incredibly attractive model for some cutting edge fetish site, of course. Must be this taboo to enter.

Yeah, let's bring on some Creative Darwinist riots. Those worthless corporations are sucking the life out of our inventions. They're marketing them to a generation that would rather go to some commercialized cyber-rave than explore the provocative and challenging aesthetics of war, torment, damnation, and lunacy. They are useless wastes of human sludge. They are, undoubtedly, at the bottom of the creative evolutionary ladder.

Looks like it's time for a bit of a chop. A bit of a push. A bit of a saw. A bit of a crush.

So what if they're good at socializing? Who gives a fuck, really? It's the loners who have the best ideas. It's the loners who are the most evolutionarily adept. This is Creative Darwinism here. If you don't have the people with the ideas you have absolutely nothing. Just a bunch of parasites running around, attempting to sell products and ideas that have never been thought of or invented. So what are they selling without us? Nothing. Nothing at all.

What would happen if we select few individuals (not to be an elitist or anything) were to suddenly stop our motion? The answer is thus: society would fall apart and be full of worthless parasites.

I'm going to conclude this by saying that I hate Ayn Rand and America. I miss Berlin, even though they killed a bunch of my ancestors during WW2. At least their uniforms were sexy. I wish the Zionists had that kind of style right now. One more thing. The entire state of countercultural evolution can be summed up by pirate to robot to zombie. It's really that fucking simple. You're a pirate. Then you're a robot. Then you're a zombie. Or sometimes you become a zombie before a robot.
]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=378rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Rachel Haywire) File Things Down http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=380rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Jason McLean | Mark Connery) The Decommodification Of Music I first encountered C.P. McDill on Livejournal four years ago. His elegant creativity shone in his writing and aesthetic design style. When he began composing electronic music, I paid close attention to the development of both his sounds and his method of delivery. He quickly became a prolific creator of dark, idiosyncratic ambient soundscapes released under a variety of names that reflected the subtle diversity in his musical ouevre. He created his music in relative isolation, enencumbered by the constraints of genre and subculture based music scenes and industry mores. He started the net distribution label Webbed Hand Records as a means of freely sharing his blossoming output with the world. As of this writing, the non-commercial Webbed Hand site hosts 72 albums available for download and streaming.

jody: What motivated you to start a net label?

Chris: When I first started making recordings, I had the habit of sharing them online for free, even though I knew at the time that they were very crude baby steps. That was my way of getting good feedback to allow me to grow faster as an artist. Eventually there came a point when I was encouraged to start a CD-R label, especially once my body of work started to get up around about a dozen albums' worth. So I founded Webbed Hand as a CD-R label (with select tracks from each release available for preview/download). I didn't have the money to do professional short-runs of CDs, especially not with the number of releases I had out, and I didn't know what kind of success any given release would have, so I took a "print on demand" approach.

After a while of doing this I took a good look at how things were going, and I realized that even selling CD-Rs I was only breaking even, expense-wise, and only selling a few of any given release per month. Since I was much more interested in getting people exposed to my stuff than I was in making any kind of profit, I looked at ways to increase my listeners within my budget (basically, no budget at all).

I decided to go back to making it all free for download, and somebody mentioned the Internet Archive as a hosting service for my albums. I set up with them, and people could then easily download entire albums (as mp3s) with cover art so they could print their own jewel case liners. Doing this totally freed me up to explore things I couldn't if I had a profit motive. As a result, Webbed Hand has become known for its series of long-form (avg 74 minute) minimal-ambient recordings, among other things.

jody: I was schooled in a much more traditional style of music dissemination. Punk and DIY, for sure, but most musical artists I know, even those who are most out of step with the mainstream music industry, expect to receive money for distributing their recorded music or playing shows, and they are proprietary over their music. Many indie labels release tracks for download on the internet, but it is usually only a few songs intended to draw people into buying full albums. How does net label philosophy differ from this, and what would a serious musical artist gain from participating in this new movement?

Chris: I have observed that many independent artists, especially rock-oriented, tend to be very possessive of their "intellectual property." I see less of that in experimental genres. I suspect that rock and pop people (and hip-hop, etc) tend to be more interested in cultivating stardom and glamour than they are in sharing their art. Then again, it may just be that those people have an inflated sense of their commercial potential. Just as experimental and electronica artists tend to sell themselves short.

The netlabels of today exists as a result of several factors. A significant one being broadband and the falling cost of data storage. Next to that, the inspiration of the "open source" movement. Most important of all, the advent of Creative Commons licensing. Prior to CC, some artists did share their work as "copyleft" or "copywrong" or some variant, which was more of an anarchist/DIY way of throwing ones work into the public domain. In fact, many of the older netlabel owners were involved in the whole DIY mail art, zine, and tape network scene prior to the rise of the internet, and still hold to the ethic of non-commodified art.

By now a majority of netlabel releases are licensed under Creative Commons. Under CC, artists can share their work, and still have some degree of protection. For example, my work is typically licensed under CC as "by-nc-nd." This means that the recordings can be freely disseminated, broadcast, etc, without expectation of royalties, but under the condition that the work have proper attribution, that the work is not being sold, and that no derivative works can be made without permission. Some people think CC is the death of copyright, but I disagree. It is simply a reform of a system that has gotten too grotesque.

I consider myself a "serious musical artist." Someday an opportunity to make a profit from some of my recordings may come along. If that does, I might take it. In all likelihood the opportunity would only happen as a result of all the groundwork I've already laid, and all the music I've freely shared.

If I had a commercial release, it would not affect the 30-odd prior releases that I have released for free. They'll continue to circulate freely.

For a commercial recording artist who has the liberty to (I know how restrictive label contracts can be), the netlabel approach would be an excellent way to release alternate takes, unreleased material, experiments, and live shows. The advantage of net-releasing live shows is that it would prevent bootleggers from profiting.

As an afterthought I should add that in my opinion another driving force behind the rise of netlabels is the ready availability of quality home-recording software. This, combined with the rise of file-sharing applications, means that there is a hell of a lot more music out there, and consequently even really good music has less commercial potential or value. Music has become cheap and disposable.

jody: It seems to me that net labels are a natural evolutionary answer to an overly commodified music industry. In a way, it's the new punk, directly challenging the music industry establishment. Or possibly it's a new folk form for the digital age.

Chris: While I can see that punk was a reaction to the spectacle that pop music had become, it seems to me that it all too quickly embraced its own commodification. Most punk groups I ever knew never gave it away for free.

I am inclined to see this more as a folk thing. Like street musicians busking the information highway. It's there for free and you can listen as you browse around, and it's strictly voluntary whether you throw some coins in the hat.

jody: A majority of the net labels I've encountered release music that could be broadly categorized as electronica. Why are electronic composers driving the net label movement?

There has been a lot of discussion of this in the netlabel forums. Things are starting to change, but the netlabel scene has grown parallel to the computer scene in general. That is to say, it's been dominated by solitary white geeks who like to tinker with gadgets, and who network with each other. A great many early netlabel artists were people who traded in cracked and pirated audio applications ("warez" such as multitrackers, sequencers and plugin effects), and who made techno, d-n-b, noise, etc, and shared it with each other. Some other artist were those who modified videogame interfaces and constructed new music along the idioms of familiar games.

However, now that there is more diversity among internet users, that diversity is starting to appear among the netlabels. More non-electronic instruments, more diversity of genres and ethnic influence, and (thankfully!) a growing female presence. The web should ideally offer a level playing field, so I'd like to see the netlabel scene evolve into something that more closely reflects the true demographic of the world, and especially place an emphasis on those people and music genres that have been excluded from the mainstream of music.

Related article: "Hello Outsider Music" by Otis Fodder, from MungBeing #2. Includes full downloadable CD courtesy of net label Comfort Stand Records.]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=384rss_feed@mungbeing.com (jody franklin) Drawings -- Spirit of Xmas http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=337&subID=259rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Liz Parkinson) -- She only sees money http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=338&subID=260rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Liz Parkinson) -- Xmas Demon http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=339&subID=261rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Liz Parkinson) Recipes -- Egg Nog for Franklin BACKGROUND
Egg Nog is a readily available seasonal drink (with vanilla and nutmeg is it seasoned) but what if you need to obtain a quantity outside of the designated holiday timeframe? What if a certain event required you to procure this delicious and festive beverage?
What if, for example, Professor Franklin Bruno had at one time in the dark and murky winter of 1990 made his first appearance with the experimental avant garde rock act Wckr Spgt during a philosophy lecture on Aesthetics? What if the performance consisted of Wckr Spgt reciting the rock opera "The Charles Mansion" while Professor Bruno ate Cap'n Crunch cereal covered in egg nog from a trough-like bread pan? And what if 14 years later Wckr Spgt wanted to pay homage to that ground-breaking event at a concert on a non-holidate, say August 26th? Then what would happen?

Thankfully, there would be a solution. This simple recipe, a concoction pieced together from several long hours of experimentation and research, is just the thing to get you by in a pinch. Hell, it might even replace your store-bought version on the Holiday Buffet!

INGREDIENTS


  1. 2 eggs*
  2. 3 T sugar
  3. 1 t vanilla
  4. 1/8 t nutmeg
  5. 2 1/3 cup milk


*I would like to strongly suggest that you use EggBeaters or a similar egg substitute for this recipe. Most egg substitutes are pasteurized and, since you won't be cooking this delicious mixture, a pasteurized product is so much safer. I found that EggBeaters tasted the best in this recipe.

DIRECTIONS


Mix everything together completely.
Taste it and, if you want, tweak the spices to your liking. Perhaps a little more nutmeg is your favorite, maybe a touch more vanilla. If you're going to be putting it over Cap'n Crunch (not a serving suggestion), keep the spices to a minimum. And remember to cleanse your palate between tastings. That's it. It really is quite good.

Now chill (yourself and the egg nog).

Happy Year-Round Holidays!!
]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=142&subID=250rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Cash Nexus) Going For It
The churches are coming to see you. Lumbering large cathedrals that have lain dormant for hundreds of years. Cathedrals that go door to door with their stained glass stories wavering. These are not people that travel missionary style in pairs knocking gently waiting for an answer- no response as you peer lightly through a gap in the closed curtains-then departing with the telltale sign of tracts on your doorstep. This is far more volatile than that! They want you. They want to devour you! Here is the church and here is the steeple. It's very reverent once you get inside. To make that happen they will harness all of the elements to get you into them. Inside it's all crooked, numerous design flaws.

The wind does not blow gently. It does not answer to your passive curtains. They don't move smooth, these cathedrals, so much as creak. Loud creaks, staccato bangs and beats rumble low rider style. They do not crush everything in their path, these cathedrals just push it out of the way. Bells are ringing to the sashay side to side. Going the distance. If one were to look up close they'd see delicate contours but when it comes towards you- look out! Men have died with their horses trying to cross large bodies of water, bodies of water that the cathedrals can cross with ease. Many have prayed inside church, outside praying mantis but not so deadly. Just tinges of danger through sudden expectation never before realised. Or actualised.

The churches want you to quell their emptiness. Force is not a bad thing. It can be used in many ways to get what one wants. When was the last time you really believed in something? And that something was so immense and ethereal you couldn't even wrap your head around it. Then that something takes physical form and comes to your door. In all your years of devoted charity work you've never seen anything like this before! Not in the soup kitchens, not in the toy runs, not in the meals on wheels, not in the hospitals. The valuable volunteer services that you rendered helped a lot of people and it gave you a real sense of worth, it filled a lot of gaps inside of you but not all. Now the gaps are all filled. Welcome!

P.S. Where did you get that huge welt on your head?
]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=379rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Robert Dayton) Raw Art -- Muscles http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=274&subID=232rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Kelly Moore) -- Fall http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=275&subID=233rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Kelly Moore) -- Lean http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=276&subID=234rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Kelly Moore) Things I've Learned About Babies
  • There is a line of clothing for small babies made by McDonald's. Curiously, the rear end is larger than other baby clothing lines. The brand name of this clothing line: McBaby.
  • What does a baby hear? A baby hears an endless barrage of meaningless babble.
  • What does a baby mean when it babbles? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
  • There are some very expensive products out there for babies. Imagine if our baby had a credit card. Woah boy!
  • We saw a parenting magazine in the doctor's office that suggested we buy a t-shirt for our baby that reads "My Mommy Drinks Because I Cry". What a GREAT idea!
  • How did Einstein get to be so smart without Baby Einstein? He didn't. He got to be so smart without Baby Mozart.
  • A cool breeze does wonders for a baby's disposition. And it doesn't cost a thing!
  • There's a specialized remedy for every (perceived) baby ailment and a plethora of ingredients to avoid. Who knows which is which. (this is something I have not yet learned)
  • A parent who stays home to care for a child is not homosexual, taking a day off, divorced, or a sexual predator. But she could be!
  • You can buy a really fancy rear-facing carseat and watch as your baby outgrows it with each passing day.
  • Feet are really funny.
  • I want to buy a human-sized aspirator. And don't say "Turkey Baster".
  • Your baby doesn't care about being in TV commercials, you do. Lay off.


    NEXT ISSUE: Your baby is concerned about body image! Who knew?


    ]]> http://www.mungbeing.com/issue_5.html?articleID=347rss_feed@mungbeing.com (Mark Givens) On Santa Claus and Saturnalian Revival
    I. on discovering the secret of Santa Claus

    1.
    I had a strange childhood. I was a loner, an egghead, an outsider, I often found myself socially isolated, especially during my painfully awkward adolescent years. I always looked forward to Christmas. This had little to do with getting loads of loot, as most years this was just not financially feasible for my modest lower working class family living in small prairie towns. My parents were in love with Christmas and always put a lot of effort into making it "the most wonderful time of the year." And it always was, no matter how hard we were hit by the cruel realities of blue collar life. Mom ritualized and drew out the opening of gifts. Dad took my sister and I out into the snow-covered evergreen forests to hunt the perfect spruce or pine for our living room. The living room would stay dimmed for weeks to give the multi-coloured lights and tinsel room to sparkle and shine. We listened to Burl Ives, Gene Autry and Arthur Godfrey, Elvis' Blue Christmas and the Buck Owens Christmas record. Television transported me to the Land of Misfit Toys. Dad took us out into the back woods on cross country skis, snowshoes or Ski-Doos. We kamikaze tobogganed rolling slopes on the edges of dead wheat fields. Old Ukrainian ladies served perogies and cabbage rolls to us at community dinners. There was even a local farmer who offered hayrides on horse and sleigh. Very Norman Rockwell; and this was the eighties. In Canada.

    My parents were never very religious. If you asked them then, if you ask them now, I imagine they will tell you they believe in God. But they weren't churchgoers, nor did they speak of God or teach us prayer. Regardless, I was encouraged to go to Sunday School, and I did attend a holy rolling evangelical church where the parishioners babbled in tongues. When they tried to get the Holy Spirit to touch me with His fire I balked, afraid of the strange glossolalia-spewing adults and their bizarre basement rituals. I remember us kids had our heads down in prayer sitting in a circle. Our eyes were closed while our teachers went around touching our foreheads and faces, calling upon the Holy Spirit to reach into us and bestow upon us the gift of tongues. All the children were crying, and it was not out of the joy of religious ecstasy. I told my Mom the church was "weird," and I never returned.

    I was eight years old, and this experience led me to question the existence of God, of Jesus Christ, for the first time. In my new liberation I allowed myself to blaspheme and take the Lord's name in vain, something I avoided doing lest I find myself falling into the depths of hell. At a Bible Camp one summer previous I recall a spirited yet amicable debate with my bunkmates after the lights were turned out. The philosophical topic on our young minds was, which swear word is the worst in the eyes of God? In the end the consensus was "hell," because, as my chum Gordie put it, "hell is where the devil lives."

    In kindergarten I was declared a wunderkind of sorts, a designation that followed me throughout my school career, and dogged me in my rebellious teens. High IQ, a reading level well beyond my age range, I apparently topped many major assessment tests in Saskatchewan. I began devouring books before I ever set foot in a school, but my education ultimately suffered as there was little way to nurture a "genius" living in a trailer park in a poor rural community of a few hundred people. Looking back, it does not surprise me, given all these factors, that the existence of a higher power provoked deep and probing skepticism.

    So why on earth did I persist in the belief of Santa Claus until I was twelve years old, long after my peers had abandoned this obviously fabricated spirit of Christmas?

    2.
    I was stubborn. There was no doubt in my mind that Santa Claus existed. No arguments were able to sway me. Friends told me for years that their parents had exposed the ruse. When I was eight and rejecting Jesus, most of my classmates had already outgrown the Santa myth (and, ironically, many replaced him with Jesus.) But I held on, I held on tight. As I grew older I had to cast a shroud of secrecy and silence over my attachment to Santa to avoid ridicule and derision from other children, many of whom had already decided I was worthy of such treatment. I could give no bully such a legitimate excuse to bury my head in the snow.

    I was filled with mounting excitement in the weeks leading up to my twelfth Christmas, awash in the magic that always embraced my spirit in December. One evening in the kitchen I spoke to my parents with great enthusiasm about the imminent arrival of my patron saint Nick. I can still see the look on the faces of my parents; their eyes, glancing at each other, betrayed their concern. Bad news eyes. I picked up on it immediately, what, what's wrong? "We have something to tell you. We always hoped you'd figure it out for yourself."

    They revealed to me the elaborate fiction, the magical illusion they'd fed to me since birth. We buy the presents and stuff the stockings. Dad eats the shortbread and drinks the milk you leave out on Christmas Eve. There are no flying reindeer, no elves, no workshops at the North Pole. My childish rationalizations melted like icicles. I was crushed, but I took it well. There was no denial, there was no bitterness. I questioned why, of course. "Santa Claus is a symbol of the spirit of Christmas." Mom's love for the holiday was so strong and pure, so implicated in the magic, that she was able to transform the stunning devastation into something even more wondrous: "Now you can be Santa, too."

    I played the jolly fat man for my younger sister that year, and I fell even more in love with the concept of Santa. When she went to bed, I ate Santa's cookies. I took small presents I had for her and my parents and stuffed their stockings. No longer was I surrounded by the magic, I had become one with the magic.


    II. on the revival of the bawdy archaic

    3.
    As the time of Capricorn creeps up on me in my thirty-second year, I am for the first time approaching the winter with dread, uncertainty and sadness. Shy of our sixth anniversary, Jane and I have made the excruciatingly difficult decision to separate. Separate: an ambiguous term, an acknowledgement of both enduring love and the need to follow different paths. Amicable yet painful. No longer will I feel every night the warmth of sleeping snuggled into the generous body of my best friend, my soulmate, the person with whom I've made the deepest journeys of heart, body, mind. Reflecting upon our relationship the story of our meeting is one of romantic legend.
    If not for Santa Claus, myself and my sweet Lady Jane may never have known the passions of a life shared.

    4.
    By the time I had "grown up" I was a self-styled bohemian art fag with a penchant for pranks and hedonism. The Norman Rockwell meets the Trailer Park Boys landscape of my childhood was behind me, replaced by sympathies for the moderns in 1930s Paris, surrealism, the Situationists and the only communities that would have me, the indie kids and the Burning Man cultists. Sex, drugs and rock n roll: indulgence was elevated to high ideology. Or even religion, perhaps, as I found myself traveling spiritual roads snaking around mushroom caps and passing through bottles. My late teen years were marked by a Marxist zealotry so fierce that I still feel the hangover twelve years later. In this cultural context, as with many in my milieu and social strata, Christmas ceases to be important, and Santa Claus (my Santa Claus!) is virtually irrelevant. The vulgar consumerism of the season is repellant, especially to those of us who cannot afford to blow hundreds of dollars on material goods. (Convenient rationalization: had I the money, I'd spend it like everyone else. I claim no moral superiority as an anti-consumptionist.) Yes, we recognize the destructive influences of rampant capitalism, of mass consumption and commercialization, yet how many of us born into and raised within this culture would lash out against these forces if we joined the upper middle class? Make me a millionaire and everybody I know will receive material gifts.

    Enter the Cacophony Society. This band of merry drunks and fools liberated me from the oppressive restraints of White Christmas and gave me permission to immerse my world in magic again. In the centre of a roving autonomous zone I fell into mysteries ancient and deep, conjuring up forgotten Gods heretofore lost in my ancestral memory.

    5.
    I'm not a pagan, I do not adhere to a specific spiritual path. I'm agnostic to the core. Yet I cannot dismiss any of my spiritual activities, "borrowed" from, or accidentally (intuitively) stumbled upon, as being the mere flirtations of a profane, undisciplined dilettante. The gurus and their followers, the monks, charlatans and fundamentalists can live their lives of devotion and adherence to moral codes. I've found my own way through mystical corridors and into the realms of power, into communion and union with archetypal figures that have shaped human culture. Though a(n overly serious) pagan priestess may whip me (please!) for saying this, uninhibited tomfoolery and reckless silliness I've discovered is an effective means of spontaneously invoking the Gods of old. I need not stand in a circle surrounded by candles nor have ritual anal sex with a Thelemite to hit upon the secrets of the mystics. I merge unto the entity of Santa Claus, the cartoon, the Puckish buffoon, the grandfather, the patron saint of shopping malls; a symbol so crass that it can't possibly be deified beyond childish dreams or taken seriously by ant spiritual seeker. Unless, of course, you happen to be an odd fellow like me.

    6.
    The time we know as Christmas is dominated by two memeplexes: that of Christ the Messiah, born to the Blessed Virgin, and that of Santa Claus, bearer of gifts, instigator of economic mania. The two memeplexes are often complementary, harmonious, existing side by side: picture a nativity scene on a front lawn, steps away from the smiling visage of Kris Kringle. Christ and Kringle are behemoths towering over our culture, exhorting us to sing glories to God, to spend our hard-earned dollars in mad frenzies that would be considered imprudent the rest of the year. The rat race goes into hyperacceleration as people rush to fulfill all their seasonal obligations.

    In recent years, scholars and archaic revivalists have spread their own memes reminding us that what we know now as Christmas, and all its associations, has a history hidden by the gargantuan paradigm. Christianity has flourished due to successful memetic survival strategies, one of the most important being the appropriation and absorption of, and adaptation to, cultural and religious traditions that would otherwise seem antithetical to its theology. One of the cherished myths of all Christian sects is the story of early Christians resisting Roman persecution. Christianity and its four for the price of one God rose while the decadent cabal of Roman Gods fell along with the Empire. The spread of the new religion was relatively rapid. In a world where information was transmitted and passed down generations via oral means, the assimilation of non-Christian traditions into the dogma of the Church was pret