Captain Spacepants

Thursday, 29 January 2004

Today’s is­sue of Organic Mechanic mag­a­zine fea­tures a rare in­ter­view with one of the most fas­ci­nat­ing and con­tro­ver­sial fig­ures in the ear­ly twen­ty-first cen­tu­ry. A mas­ter of faux pas, feng shui, and the fox trot; the de­fend­er of all things taste­less: Captain Spacepants.

OM: Captain Spacepants, I must say that it is an hon­or to have the chance to sit down and talk about the nit­ty-grit­ty with a su­per­hero of your stature. You are the biggest name Organic Mechanic has ever in­ter­viewed.

CS: Well, ah, I am equal­ly hon­ored to speak with such a fair and bal­anced pub­li­ca­tion as OM. It isn’t of­ten that I have the chance to sit down and re­al­ly talk about what pro­pels me, what with all of the du­ties that my su­per­hero­ism must ful­fill.

OM: That hap­pens to be one thing our read­ers are quite cu­ri­ous about. Exactly what kind of su­per­hero are you?

CS: I’ve al­ways seen my­self as a nor­mal per­son like every­one else. ‘Superhero’ is such a load­ed term any­more… What I try to do in my work is make the world more tol­er­ant of those it con­sid­ers ‘in bad taste.’ That in­cludes any­one from your great-aunt Martha and those huge framed glass­es she wears, a thir­ty-sev­en year old gay man in Britain named Dennis who wears spats but no shoes and pret­ty much any­thing that Michael Jackson or Britney Spears have ever done.

OM: Some of your de­trac­tors point out that your views are rather ex­trem­ist and that some of the things you de­fend un­der­mine the style and moral fab­ric of our na­tion. For ex­am­ple, you were re­cent­ly crit­i­cized for your un­abashed procla­ma­tion that The Chronicles of Riddick marks a new artis­tic par­a­digm for the film in­dus­try and a new high for ca­reer of Vin Diesel [an­oth­er one of your fa­vorites]. In fact, the Committee On Moral Taste has gone so far to threat­en your life on oc­ca­sion for ‘crimes again­st pro­gress.’

CS: My de­trac­tors, as you call them, and in par­tic­u­lar the Committee on Moral Taste, are in fact, my arch-neme­ses. I am quite aware that the so-called crime that I am ac­cused of has been put forth by the ne­far­i­ous Proctor Pentapus and his defama­tion cam­paign again­st me is be­ing fund­ed by the two most pow­er­ful mem­bers of the CMT, Starbucks and The Church of Martha Stewart and Her Latter Day Cranks. I al­so have sneak­ing sus­pi­cions that Oprah Winfrey and Dr. Phil are plan­ning an of­fen­sive as well. 

But, to an­swer your ques­tion, I am not re­spon­si­ble for the degra­da­tion of moral pro­gress in the world. Far from it, the dy­nam­ic style sen­si­bil­i­ty I try to fos­ter and pro­mote keeps fresh ideas con­stant­ly at the fore­front of the pub­lic con­scious­ness. The CMT’s idea of ‘moral pro­gress’ is re­al­ly about re­gres­sion to 1950’s val­ues, fol­lowed by the cre­ative stag­na­tion of the mind. All this is part of their plot for world dom­i­na­tion. I must ad­mit, how­ev­er, that I might have been mis­guid­ed about Mr. Diesel, some­times taste­less things can be­come as wild­ly un­pre­dictable as J. Lo’s love life. The CMT will take even the slight­est ap­pear­ance of weak­ness and turn it in­to a weapon of mass de­struc­tion.

OM: Don’t you find it hard to suc­ceed at this mis­sion when your com­port­ment, de­meanor and dress are so enig­mat­ic — a cross be­tween her­maph­ro­dit­ic and an­drog­y­nous? I mean, you have a ra­dioac­tive green mo­hawk, a sil­ver half-cape, an un­tanned yak-hair sports bra and your trade­mark ‘spacepants’ — a ti­ta­ni­um chasti­ty belt/​codpiece with a strate­gi­cal­ly placed blink­ing red light.

CS: I guess I’ve al­ways been about shat­ter­ing gen­der barriers…and the bounds of good taste. But as long as I am able to en­sure that there is a place in the world for things deemed taste­less, I feel that I am suc­ceed­ing.

You don’t like my blink­ing red light?

OM: No, it is com­plete­ly fine. Thank you for giv­ing some of your pre­cious time for us to learn more about you Captain Spacepants.

CS: You are most wel­come. And re­mem­ber kids, drugs are for dopes.

The ideas ex­pressed in this in­ter­view do not nec­es­sar­i­ly co­in­cide with any­thing at all. The in­ter­view­er would like to thank Lauren Spisak for her hard work ar­rang­ing a meet­ing with Captain Spacepants. Without her gen­er­ous con­tri­bu­tions and sar­casm, this would not have been pos­si­ble.

lais­sez les bon temps rouler

Wednesday, 28 January 2004


I just got back from a sweet night of the blues fea­tur­ing Robert Lockwood Junior. Lockwood is al­leged­ly the on­ly per­son to have ac­tu­al­ly learned gui­tar from the king of delta blues, Robert Johnson. The blues en­sem­ble that played with him was quite good, but it was ob­vi­ous their style of blues wasn’t the same as Lockwood’s. They had a Memphis blues vibe, more…cosmopolitan than raw. Lockwood def­i­nite­ly proved that less is more. It al­most seemed like the gui­tar was play­ing it­self. If he learned from Robert Johnson, I can un­der­stand how peo­ple thought Johnson had made a deal with the dev­il to gain his skill. Unearthly. He made it hurt and feel good to hurt. The whole band got me in­to their sets, I was ‘yeah’ing and ‘whoo’ing as the spir­it prompt­ed me.

At the end the al­to sax­o­phon­ist came over and chat­ted with us, then Lockwood him­self came over. I got to shake his hand and tell him how won­der­ful the per­for­mance was and asked him about his life. He said, ‘I nev­er looked up to no­body,’ then paused and con­tin­ued, ‘but I nev­er looked down on no­body ei­ther.’

That is a damn good way to live.

J Dreams

The night be­fore last was near­ly sleep­less for me. Typically I have al­most com­plete con­trol over what I dream about, even un­to night­mares. Yet Monday night, I had quite un­com­fort­able dreams, and I am not cer­tain why they were so un­com­fort­able. Every dream I had, and when ever and where ever it took place, my best friend friend from high school and the first per­son I ever fell for, J, ap­peared. She wasn’t as I re­mem­ber her from HS, she was 4 years old­er, pret­tier and even more quixotic. Like some sort of ar­che­typ­al fig­ure. The dreams were all stan­dard fair, noth­ing tawdry, but in­vari­ably J would turn up, act in a com­plete­ly nor­mal way, and freak me out every time. I would al­ways wake my­self up im­me­di­ate­ly af­ter she asked a per­fect­ly in­nocu­ous ques­tion.

At the Fair — Have you rid­den the Ferris Wheel?
At my home — How have you been?
On the street — Do I have some­thing on the back of my coat?
etc. ad in­fini­tum

I’m not sure what this night of cracked dream­ing means. It could mean that I still have un­re­solved feel­ings to­ward J. She could be noth­ing more than the best sym­bol my mind could come up with to rep­re­sent what­ev­er it is that I am anx­ious about at this time. It could mean some­thing else en­tire­ly. I just don’t know. First I need to fig­ure out what is per­co­lat­ing in the re­cess­es of my mind. Then I’ll have a bet­ter idea I think. If you have any ques­tions or need clar­i­fi­ca­tions ask, be­cause I am sure they will help me fig­ure some of this out.

How to Make A Compilation CD

Monday, 26 January 2004

Making a Compilation CD [c-CD] is quite an af­fair. The process is de­scribed in de­tail in sev­er­al places, some shal­low­er than oth­ers.

I nev­er make c-CDs for my­self. The discs I burn that are com­pos­ites of artists, aren’t com­pi­la­tions. I just put them on a CD so I can lis­ten to them else­where. A c-CD must be made for some­one else, and with speci­fic in­tent. That is the over­rid­ing rule. Here are some oth­ers.

a] Each song on the c-CD must have bear­ing on the per­son it is be­ing given to. If this bear­ing is pro­ject­ed through your own doors of per­cep­tion, thats just dandy.

b] Each song must have bear­ing on how you see your­self or want to see your­self in re­la­tion to the per­son the c-CD is be­ing given to. If this per­son is a love in­ter­est, lim­it the sap songs to one or none.

c] You may not have mul­ti­ple songs by the same artist, even if the artist is a mem­ber of an­oth­er band.

d] You may not put a song on the c-CD that refers to the per­son you are giv­ing the CD to.

e] Do not, un­der any cir­cum­stances, put on a song that you think is fun­ny.

f] Do not, put on too many songs that sound the same. Variety is nec­es­sary.

g] Break the­se rules at your own per­il.

That is what I try to go by. I might add some on­ce I think of them.

h] Each song on the CD must re­late to each oth­er song on the CD. This re­la­tion­ship can­not be tak­en to a high­er or­der such as, ‘all the songs re­late to me or the per­son I am giv­ing the c-CD to.’ see a] or b] above. This way, if the c-CD wash­es up on shore of a de­sert is­land and some­one with a func­tion­ing CD play­er finds it on the beach, up­on lis­ten­ing to the disc they will sense the the­me of the CD, even if they are fa­mil­iar with none of the songs. This is al­so pro­vid­ed that the disc it­self is not too sand-etched to be read by a CD play­er.


Sunday, 25 January 2004

I went sled­ding to­day for the first time in sev­er­al years. We went to Edgewater and dis­cov­ered that a pletho­ra of ear­lier to­bog­ga­neers had packed the en­tire hill­side in­to a per­fect sled­ding slope. Anne had got­ten her child­hood sled from her par­ents place and she and Liam had picked up a cheapy plas­tic one from the store. The qual­i­ty dif­fer­ence was ob­vi­ous, the old wood­en one had the foot tiller and met­al run­ners and the plas­tic one looked like some­thing you would baste an en­tire pig in. they both rocked go­ing down the slopes.

to be a brag­gart, i must say that i was the best sled­der there in re­gard to sled con­trol and dis­tance. al­though i was forced to eject sev­er­al times do to a bad vec­tor or un­ex­pect­ed tur­bu­lence, most of my mis­sions were a suc­cess. Hauling my ass up the hill af­ter­ward was te­dious though, since it was prob­a­bly around 130 yards from where i usu­al­ly end­ed up. it was a good work­out, though right now i would like to do some­thing to get me warm and thawed out. a cup of Earl Grey will have to do.


Saturday, 24 January 2004

I won some Cash for Christmas and to­day I re­ceived it. I got the CD- American IV: The Man Comes Around and the DVD- Johnny Cash: A Concert Behind Prison Walls. I al­so re­ceived a cou­ple of stick­ers.


I had heard the al­bum with Phil right when it came out and was im­pressed, so it was great to win it from 97x. I’m al­so look­ing for­ward to see­ing the DVD which is a mu­si­cal syn­op­sis and trib­ute to Mr. Cash. My men­tor at work has is­sued a list of de­mands from me, which in­cludes a share in the Cash. She has al­so given me a nick­name, ‘Bones’ in­con­gru­ous though that might be. I have no idea where she came up with that. The on­ly Bones I know goes to ND and smokes up alot. She’s pret­ty cool though so I’ll let it slide.


Thursday, 22 January 2004

I know I’ve had the South Park Avatar thinger on here be­fore, but its up­dat­ed and much nicer. To save your char­ac­ter you must do a screen cap­ture, the site gives you in­struc­tions on how to do that. Click on the pic to go there.

This guy is from a down­load­able pro­gram called Hero Machine. It ba­si­cal­ly gives you a bunch of op­tions for mak­ing a Super Hero or Super Doofus. The weapons are pret­ty dumb and the col­or palet­te isn’t the best but its still cool.