'The Moken Clock Has No Face'

          The Moken people are a nomadic tribe who have no word for 'When'. Completely disconnected from American culture, they would be confused by the phrase "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away" or the Enterprises "5 year mission" (or "continuing mission" for you TNG fans). For the Mokens, time is not of the essence as it is they live in the moment (perhaps a bit like Dr. Who or Marty McFly).
          I am no expert on the quasi-temporal place we call "Now", as it is I have to look at my watch for a good 2 count before I can properly ascertain the time, but it would be kind of refreshing in my opinion to exist so purely in the present. I want to be like that. But I can't tell the Mokens that because they have no word for "Want". When I first read this fact my greedy little mind naturally thought, "How do they order a salad?" But they don't order one. They just make a salad.
         I am an American, which means I bathe in the extravagance of food thrown at me from a window sometimes or the comfort of some headphones blaring music I didn't make into my skull. But before you think I am preaching their gospel, allow me to clarify.
        While I respect their ways and imagine the Moken people to be in possession of a deep wisdom that is absent from my 21st Century Schizoid brain, I also am very aware of how lucky I am to live in a world that has Firefly and Batman comic books. It is thoroughly awesome to be spoiled. A part of me even slyly mourns that these fine folks may never know the glory of kicking back with a beer and watching Roy Batty's death scene in 'Blade Runner'(he has seen things you people wouldn't believe). Do you, my loving followers ever feel this way?
        What I am getting at, and I do have a point, is that the nerd, itself, is a creature that almost solely exists in industrialized nations. We have separate hobbies, interests and sometimes even thoughts that distinguish our lives from the rest of the world. As a nerd, I have occasionally wondered things like "How can 'so and so' hate Captain Kirk and Morrissey? Really? 'So and so' thinks Stallone and The Cure are lame but, feels Jackass and Nickelback are culturally significant?" Such judgemental thoughts, as many of us know, can lead nerds to worry. But, I dare not tell that to The Mokens.

(They don't have a word for "Worry")


written by Tony Santiago, all rights reserved

BeatBox Cutter

                                                Here is a funky fresh one for the funky fresh folk.
                                    All sounds made by my mouth(with the help of my sampler, of course)

by tony santiago, all rights reserved

'Grey Areas'

          A friend of mine said, "You know what, Tony? Life isn't so simple as everything being black or white. There are grey areas."
          And my friend is right. Cuz he's a mulatto.

          Come to think of it, they call black people black (they're not technically black) and white people white (they're not really white). Why don't they call mulattos grey? It is still an incorrect color designation.
And isn't that the point?

written by Tony Santiago, all rights reserved.

'Frankenstein's Taco Power'

                        Here is my newest opus. Perhaps one of the most powerful films ever made.

all rights reserved (but by all means, share what I have made with your friends and/or enemies)

The 32nd Flavor

This is a film I created for a phone call I made to an ice cream parlor. You should watch it.

by tony santiago, all rights reserved

Happy Fathers Day

This Fathers Day I am reminded of the Absinthe-Minded Vincent Van Gogh, father to many a fine painting.
And Paul Bunyon, father to many fainting pines. That's right. I said it.

"The Wild Details You Asked For About My Birthday"

             My 35th birthday was a joy filled with tamales, tacos, snowcones and vomit. I ate 3 of these 4 things(I'll let you guess which one I left in a parking lot). I am a healthy eater but, not on my birthday. That is the day I throw caution to the wind and seeds to the birds. This way, the birds are fattened up and ready to be eaten.
             Sorry, birds. Take it up with evolution. I didn't make you delicious. If any of you birds are christian, on the other hand, you may have a bone to pick with God rather than evolution. Be careful, though. I hear God bones are way stronger than chicken bones. If both variety of bone were to, say, enter Thunderdome, rumor is only one bone would leave. And that bone would have more than a few DNA strands in common with Jesus Christ. So watch yourself. Perhaps some of you want to cry fowl, claiming it politically incorrect of me to assume Jesus could not have been a chicken. Well, answer me this, my fine feathered friends. How would a chicken fit on the cross? I contend that not even the mightiest of chicken with it's wings stretched out to maximum potential could be crucified on the standard 12 x 16 foot crucifix we so often see in Hollywood blockbusters these days. Nope. If there is a God(of which I am uncertain), and if he made a son with a married woman just so he could sacrifice that child at a later date(of which I am uncertain), that child was NOT a bird(of which I am VERY certain.)
            Do not question my wisdom, birds. I am 35 now. I could be your president. Oh, you don't wanna vote for a human? We're not winged enough for you? Well, I am twice the bi-ped any of you are!!! So put that in your gizzard and let the muscular walls and digestive enzymes break it down for you so you know what I say is true.
           What was my point? Oh yeah, for those Blog followers who asked, I had a very happy birthday.

written by Tony Santiago, all rights reserved.


        

'Middleland America'

                              This is a movie I made. You can watch and follow my YouTube channel.

written by Tony Santiago, all rights reserved

"Post Mortem Birthday Gifts"

1. I read that scientists have successfully sent a musical note(I hope C)a couple of milliseconds into the future. I know it doesn't sound like much but, it is a start, temporally speaking.

2. Jazz hero Charlie Parker and singer/songwriter Elliot Smith both died at the age of 34 but approximately 50 years apart.

3. From 1942-43 there was a strike in the music industry halting the commercial recordings of most popular music at the time which was largely Jazz. This caused much of Charlie Parkers early Be-Bop sessions to go unheard by future generations.

4. In 2003, Elliot Smith shoved a large steak knife into his chest killing himself. At the time, he had been working on an album. The portions that had been recorded were released however, Elliot had not completed this work.

5. I'll be 34 soon and would like Charlie and Elliot to send every unfinished note to me on a post mortem-mix CD entitled "To DJ tiny Tony from a couple of friendly ghosts."

6. It would seem that nobody will ever learn to time travel to the past or we would be getting visits from the future.

7.


written by Tony Santiago, June 10th, 2010, all rights reserved. And no, I have no intention of finishing this.

"Tony's Advice For Bloggers."

         When one is deciding what they should Blog about, I feel it is important to remember to exclude magic chants that could cause the death of one's readers. They've done nothing to deserve such mystical animosity so be careful. Just because you are a wizard does not give you the right to wiz on everyone you know. Also, when Blogging, include as many references to He-Man's furry shorts as possible. This could not be more popular I am told by my people who have been doing lots of research with study groups, study gangs, and study brigades.
         And when I say "My People", you should know that I do not mean Robots. Robots are machine men created to water our plants and wash our feet and should always be treated in a friendly manner but held at a distance socially so that they don't forget their place.
         And when I say "Their Place", you should know I do not mean McDonalds. McDonald's is a fast food restaurant most commonly run by a gentleman known to the masses as Ronald and he is a Scottish clown, not a robot.
        And when I say "Scottish clown", you should know I do not mean Zed as played by Sean Connery in the film Zardoz. Zed is an Exterminator who is less brutal and far more intelligent than the Eternals think he is. It is up to Zed to destroy the artificial intelligence known as The Tabernacle.
        And when I say "Tabernacle', you should know I do not mean a Blog. A Blog should always contain a genuine intellect promoting the most pertinent feelings and information about it's author. Things like, "The peas at my local grocer leave much to be desired" or "How about this weather? It sure does give me super boners."

written by Tony Santiago, all rights reserved

"The Clipped Frozen."

It is a marvelous blueprint.

Wait unitl your snow angels melt.

Bury your mistletoe to ensure one day you get to kiss the dirt.

written by Tony Santiago, all rights reserved

Jupiter Carrot

This is a film I made. You can watch it. It is about a carrot named Jupiter. He is a film critic. He has problems.

'The Tale of ONY.'

         In 1995 or so I lived alone in an apartment and I liked it that way. I loved my friends and family but I did not like to entertain guests in less we had discussed their visit ahead of time as a planned experience. In time I would learn that many kind people like to "pop in" on a loved one and bring a plant or a warm dish, something that has always struck me as a strange way for them to kill time. I have never fantasized about bringing someone a meal or a plant and then called this fantasy into action. I would kill time often by going outside and staring at something until it changed like a sunset or an old man. Basically I treated many things the way one treats a fish aquarium. Later I was told that staring at things was weird and so I stopped but, not before one evening when dusk was approaching and I could feel someone doing the same to me only they were staring at my back. I decided I would turn around to see who it was but, very slowly with a slight bounce in my stance and a practiced facial expression that says, "Hey, I'm not turning to look at you. I am just turning and your body happens to be in my eyeline."
        I could sense that the person staring at me was near a dumpster behind me to my left. What I could not know until turning around was that this someone was only a head balancing on the dumpster. Once I saw her I felt a bit uneasy so I turned back to my front. However I distinctly recall feeling that she had not averted her gaze whatsoever and I twisted my body more deliberately toward her as if to say, "What? It's my shirt, isn't it? You don't like my shirt."
       I took a few steps in her direction and began to study her. She was one of those heads I have seen in a hairstylists home or more often in my theatre experiences I would see many of them in a row with large wigs on which always made me uncomfortable because it seemed to me like I had wondered into the abode of a plate spinner who, when he had broken the last of his plates, turned to scalping women and placing these fine scalps on mannequin heads which I found only to be slightly less creepy than if they had used sticks. The head before me, however, bore no resemblance to these. It was not in a decapitated chorus line like so many that disturbed me in my youth. It was alone on a dumpster, had almost no hair and an almost Tammy Faye quantity of blue eyeshadow.
      It seemed bizarre to me that she was on the dumpster and not in it. But even stranger still was the inscription on her neck. Someone wrote 'Ony' in bold black letters which blew me away. Why would they do that? What does Ony mean? Egad! That is almost my name!
      Quickly, I grabbed the head and ran inside where I immediately began dousing her in copious amounts of rubbing alcohol since she was a mysterious dumpster head and that, I believe, is what you do. I followed this with a thorough shampooing. Also, I considered dying her hair and writing a T in front of the Ony to complete my name but I felt labeling her after everything she had gone through would have been a bit much. Having no idea how long she would stay I found myself contemplating her purpose.
      Eventually I decided Ony was her name and gave her a proper spot on the mantel to greet me when I came home. I found Ony to be a friendly albeit silent presence in my home. However, it didn't take long for me to notice the strange reactions she got from visitors. Many were creeped out by her and would either not stay very long or stop 'popping in' altogether.
      Ony has become a permanent fixture in my home continuously staring at me and waiting for me to change.

written by Tony Santiago, all rights reserved