pax compoundia

We don't live here anymore

noreply@blogger.com (karloff) — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 21:02:00 +0000

The Super Yummy Delicious Hour

noreply@blogger.com (Opopanax) — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 00:32:00 +0000

Okay okay! So I like to cook. May might kill me in my sleep tonight if I don't put up my cooking feature post. We've actually been planning it for months now and she's been awesome enough to even plan ahead and take pictures of some of the various meals I've concocted throughout our time together. But me....well, I procrastinate. A lot. Really, I wonder how I ever get anything done.

But here I am and I'm writing something for the blog. I'm not exactly sure which recipe I'm going to put up, but I am sure that we'll both know it when I get there. ;)

I'm not so sure how I'm going to proceed with my feature yet, either. That's all part of my process, though. *Yeah, that sounds good...let's go with that* I'm thinking I'll just put out random recipes of things we've eaten lately. I know, 'sounds' super exciting...but I promise it will be! ;) We eat awesome stuff at the compound. In fact, you might say that our house has the best meals you can find in all of Compoundia. I frequently cook for the compoundian society's elite. ;p

I've been at a minor disadvantage, though. Our oven broke and, in protest, I've stopped using it. At first I wasn't so enthusiastic about the idea. I like to use my oven. It makes me feel warm inside. It makes me feel warm outside, too, but that's only good in the winter. I wasn't a stranger to my slow cooker, but up until now I'd really only ever used it to cook roasts & chickens, never anything complicated. I'd always mooned over the many recipes I have that require a deep fryer, too, but unfortunately I'd never owned one. But as circumstance would have it, right around the time my oven broke down my mom gave me her old deep fryer(*and when I say old, I mean it. I lived with this woman for 17 years and I never even knew we owned it!*). So that opened up a whole new aspect in cooking for me. I may be without oven at the moment, but I've used this experience to expand my cooking horizons by making better use of the tools available to me and not 'relying' on my traditional method of preparing food.

Recently, the governing body of Compoundia has been favouring my Home Made-Ish Taquitos. I made this dish in honor of Karloff's love of Mexican food and it has quickly become a national favourite, or "craze" if you will. It very simple to prepare and the recipe is very flexible. I say it's home made-ish because I'm not going to bother to cook a roast when I can buy one pre-cooked and because I'm not going to make flour tortillas (May does it better anyway). It's also nice if you can get a Tex-Mex shredded cheese mix. Like I said, though...the meal is very flexible so you could use any kind of cheese you'd like, I imagine. Just make sure to pick a cheese that will stand up to some melting and isn't going to go all weird if you heat it up too much.

So you'll need - that's right, you guessed it - a deep fryer for this recipe! I feel a little guilty inside right now because I think of all that time that I didn't have a deep fryer and wanting to try so many recipes that needed one and feeling crappy about it. I hope I'm not making anyone else feel like that right now. Awww! I'm sorry! Don't cry, I'll make you taquitos! I can send them to you by mail....

Okay, no really though...you start off by marinating the meat. It depends on what kind of meat you have, I guess. For beef I'd use some marinating steaks (y'know, the really thin ones) cut up into very thin fajita-like strips, poke some holes in them and let them sit in some kind of spicy marinade. I'd do this for a minimum of an hour before you cook them, but the more time they marinade the more flavour the meat will have. If you don't have a marinade you can add hot sauce to your meat once it's cooked. Of course, you can marinade cooked meat as well. In point of fact, I prefer to use shredded roast chicken in a Club House Tex-Mex marinade. It's just a spice you add to the chicken along with some oil and vinegar, but nineteen out of twenty Helens agree - it makes a big difference!

That's pretty much all the preparation you need. Turning on the deep fryer helps since things don't seem to cook so fast when it's off. Putting the taquitos together is easy. You put a little bit of meat and cheese and the edge of one of the tortillas, roll it into a tight...ummm...roll(for lack of a better word)...and keep it rolled tight by using some toothpicks. Don't put too much into the tortilla initially or it won't roll up tight. When you're done rolling the taquito use a little more meat to stuff the each end. That way all the deliciousness won't be localized at the center of the taquito and all parts of the taquito will be enjoyable. You won't loose any cheese when you put it in the deep fryer, either. Just make sure it's packed kind of tight or else it will come out when you cook it. When they're ready stick them in the deep fryer and cook them until they're golden brown then take them out and let them drain on some paper towel. I think I usually cook them at 400o, but I don't really trust the temperature gauge on my deep fryer so I always just turn it all the way up until I know it hot. Since I'm never actually sure of exactly how hot my deep fryer is, I can't judge cooking times so I always just have to watch it until it looks ready. Fortunately, deep fryers don't really take very long to cook anything, so it's never too much of a problem.

Once they've cooled you can cut them in half and serve them with various sauces for dipping. I like to have a variety on hand that includes salsa, sour cream, guacamole, and a chipotle-honey sauce that I like to make. Okay, okay...don't be such a bug, I'll tell you how to make it...
Take a bbq-sauce(pretty much any will do) and add some liquid honey, lemon juice, hot sauce, and chipotle powder. Ta-da! You can get creative and add garlic, onion, or Cayenne pepper, too. I never really worry about measuring things out exactly when making sauces, though. Add everything to taste! ;p

So, like I said..easy as pie. Actually, much easier than pie. Pie requires an oven.

So I can tell that the format for this feature is going to have to change somewhat. I'm sure I could somehow make this all look much better, but this is a start, isn't it?! :) *lol* I just realized that my first cooking feature doesn't have a picture! Funny considering how many pictures of my meals I happen to have. Oh well...I'm sure I can get one. You'll all just have to wait.

As a final side note, I have decided to name my feature The Super Yummy Delicious Hour. This is in homage to my favourite video game. *Wonder if anyone knows what I'm talking about?* I was initially going to call the post "Craptastic - Things I Make At Home!" but May and Karloff didn't think it would help our readership. *Maybe I was just in a bad mood* ;)

Thus Spake Spidey-boy

noreply@blogger.com (karloff) — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 19:48:00 +0000

I was digging through some of my writing odds and ends and I came across these quotations from Spidey-boy, circa 2007 (age 4), that I'd jotted down:

Karloff: “He’s always afraid of pulling up his zipper.”
May: “Ya, well, he doesn’t want to hurt his willy, I can understand that.”
Spidey-Boy: “If I zip up my wiwwy, I’ll get a robot wiwwy.”

Some other time:

Spidey-boy: “I’m trying to decide which one of you will bring my lunch upstairs. Whichever you does it the fastest is the strongest.”
Karloff: “Uh, are you trying to fool us into bringing up your dishes?”
Spidey-boy: “Yes.”
Karloff: "..."
Spidery-boy: “You’ll win a prize pack!”

scarlet motivation

noreply@blogger.com (karloff) — Wed, 23 Apr 2008 16:48:00 +0000

Inspired by Laurie's post over on Chimaera Contemplations, but with little time in my work day to follow any sort of structured rules or quibbling about making sense, I've decided to create my own religion-related motivational poster out of one of my favourite biblical passages:

People not to take relationship advice from

noreply@blogger.com (karloff) — Tue, 22 Apr 2008 17:32:00 +0000

Last Friday's Exchange

noreply@blogger.com (karloff) — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 19:47:00 +0000

Brownorangestripe, his gnarled orangutan fingers shuffling along a supporting branch, ascended with his two doe eyed charges. The exchange had been brief and for the most part pleasant, despite the unexplained presence of Loudfartsmallturd, one of his brood mates.

Still, Speaksoffood lingered a moment watching the two little ones fade into the treetop greenery. Finally, placing a hand on her belly, swollen with a sibling for the adventuring youths, she began shuffling over the stony ground towards the river and the rest of her clan.

With a glance towards the canopy where Brownorangestripe had disappeared, Loudfartsmallturd brought himself to his full height and let loose a staccato series of grunts at Speaksoffood, ending in a jungle stilling shriek.

“Lupatria!” The interloper cried, stepping from the pillared courtyard, his toga flaring as he exited the arch’s shadow into the wind of the street.

The plain was empty, Jude’s yell having vacated it of even bird song. Marion braced on the wooden bench and held what grip she had on the horses, muttering in soothing tones as Penny worked at lashing their harnesses. Thomas turned a fierce eye on Jude, but at a word from Penny, kept his position in the wagon.

After a moment Jude moved forward and once again began his trumpeting.

“Ya’ll figure you can run this show?”

“I have no interest in this conversation, Jude.”

“You think you can just get what you want!?”

Penny’s hands goaded the rawhide into place.

“You hear me, harlot?”

“This ain’t going to make the judge see any different, Jude, and this sure ain’t helping Joseph in the least.”

“You keep this up, Harlot, and somethin’s gonna happen!” Jude shouted.

The horses bucked and a rag doll, which Elizabeth must have left on the wooden bench, tumbled to the ground. Jude moved forward, but Thomas, with a calming word to Penny, stood down from the wagon.

I step from the car and BabyDaddy’s brother slams the door.

“Thanks?” I say, bending over to retrieve the spilled Yu-Gi-Oh! cards.

Having collected them, I pull the door open against the resistance of the interloper’s thigh. Opopanax, having finished depositing the kid’s car seats in the trunk, returns and props herself within the door’s arc to prevent its closing.

“You think you’re so smart, you won’t get away with this, things are going to get a lot harder from here on, things are going to happen.” He rants.

Opopanax waves me into the car, but for a moment I beg off.

“What? What exactly is going to happen?” I ask.
After a moment without an answer, I re-ask.
Still no response, and at a second coaxing from Opopanax I take my place in the backseat of our two-door hatchback.

Opopanax settled in and closed the door while BD’s brother assailed us with a storm of “cunts”, still unable to come up with any sort of meaningful dialogue beyond shouting down a pregnant woman through her car window.

It is then that he realized that May had located Opop’s phone and was capturing the altercation on video. His hand shot through the gap, clutching for the phone, even managing to briefly ensnare it. Opopanax moved quickly though, snatched back the phone before it cleared the car and transfered it to her distant hand. Eventually she was forced to toss it into the back seat.

Realizing his losing battle, BD’s brother changed tact. Locking his fingers around Opop's wrist he attempted to drag her out the half-open window.

Wrenching free of his grip, she urged May to exit the driveway. Reversing to the outer most cusp, we were held by oncoming traffic. BD’s brother took position in front of the car, a chorus of adjectives stapled to his repeated mantra of “cunt” breaking up long verses of threat against our persons and property.

For a moment Marion considers cracking the reins.

Finally, there’s a break and we slide into the flow of traffic. Taking stock, we regroup and make our appeal to the authorities.

The 7th Compoundian National Address

noreply@blogger.com (May) — Thu, 17 Apr 2008 00:47:00 +0000

Here is the next show for your listening pleasure!

And!

Included is our first ever audio comment! It's from our Interweb friend Bamboo Blitz. You should check out her blog. And look, I have provided you the said link for your viewing ease.
I can't get over the quality of her comment though lol! Great voice, great content, naturally entertaining. Yum! We need to put her on the payroll.

If you would like to send us an audio comment, please email your audio clips to paxcompoundia@gmail.com.

Also, for those of you waiting on Opopanax's cooking feature, you can send your audio complaints there as well. :p

the saddish future of youtubery

noreply@blogger.com (karloff) — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 21:05:00 +0000

I suspect we'll be seeing a lot more of this in the future.

More information available where I originally found the video, on boingboing.

expelled

noreply@blogger.com (karloff) — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 00:30:00 +0000

Expelled * Expelled * Expelled

Have you heard about that craptacular movie Expelled?
I'm just helping out with a little blogswarm.

Daisy's Doctor Doom Discussion

noreply@blogger.com (karloff) — Fri, 11 Apr 2008 21:59:00 +0000

Daisy recently had a post collecting a number of opinions about Doctor Doom's bout of misogyny, and I thought I'd throw in a few random thoughts.

It's unfair to say that everything out of Victor Von Doom's mouth has been brilliant, far too many writers have shuffled him around for that, but: when the character goes off on a rant you should be able to expect the dialect of a modern caricature of an English feudal-era noble, not a fourteen year old The Hills junkie with mother issues.

Doom is a dick, sure, and growing up in the unenlightened nation of Latvia he may have picked up some antediluvian notions about women, but what if he'd said to Ms. Marvel:

"Slattern, I'll trade you to Azneka's Bordello for an afternoon ride if you do not heed my words."

Still misogynistic, but at least in character.

How about:

"Until recently you've only been remembered as the Shazam knock off whom Rogue stole her powers from."

Ouch. It hurts so much more because its true, and it doesn't have to descend into second-grader gender politics.

Doom's character hasn't stayed popular for forty years by lowering himself to useless invective or utilizing the mode of speech stylistic to the time, otherwise when he fought KISS you'd have gotten a whole lot of:

"Boss leather pants, jerkwads."

Lets face it, you can't take that villian seriously ten years later.

More info on Dr. Doom Vs Kiss, as well as the surrounding panels for the image I used, can be found at ferret press.

A Present From Nacho

noreply@blogger.com (karloff) — Fri, 11 Apr 2008 16:03:00 +0000

I know very little about Von. Apparently he appeared on Maury, which, not having cable, I wasn't even aware was still on.

It may help if you occasionally mentally add "and meth."

Egypt Sends Five Homosexual's To Prison

noreply@blogger.com (May) — Thu, 10 Apr 2008 13:12:00 +0000

I was over at the Yahoo News, and I found an article detailing the sentencing of 5 convicted homosexuals. 4 out of these 5 were tested positive for HIV. It is insinuated that this is a ploy to crack down on those diseased, using homosexuality as the disguise. Not a very good one.

They have no law against homosexuality, just obscure jargon like, laws against obscenity and debauchery. Much is left to the discretion of the court.

In addition to their prison time, the men were sentenced to an additional three years of police supervision, meaning they will have to spend every night at a police station, from 6 p.m. to 6 a.m., the lawyer said.

Ramadan said the four HIV-positive defendants were shocked by their convictions.

"Two of them cried, screamed and shrieked," he said. "The other two, they remained silent, but I saw anger in their eyes for the injustice they have been exposed to."

Ramadan said he appealed the verdict to Egypt's Court of Cassation, the country's highest appellate court.
The convictions were confirmed by a judicial official, who spoke on condition of anonymity because he was not authorized to talk to journalists.

I can attest to Egypt's beauty and kind people (And their constant beeping horns). When religion rules a land, when tradition and law are more important than the civil liberties of it's people, they are completely missing the point. At least mine :)

New Shows for Download!

noreply@blogger.com (May) — Thu, 10 Apr 2008 11:49:00 +0000

Here are the next two episodes of the Compoundian National Address

At the end of 6 I did something I little different this time. What do you think???

Send your audio comments to paxcompoundia@gmail.com

UPDATE: My apologies.. Karloff couldn't keep still and it was picked up on the mic. A new sound card is coming so the quality should get another hike up in clarity. Though, I can't promise anything in regards to Karloff's Restless Leg Syndrome.

Do, Re, Meme

noreply@blogger.com (Opopanax) — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 01:23:00 +0000

Hey, so...wow! Bamboo Blitz tagged us with this meme quite a while back. I haven't been much of a presence on the site lately, so I've taken it upon myself to answer this challenge...

Here goes -

26-Random Alphabetical Facts About Myself

A - My given name starts with this letter (I've always chosen to use my second rather than first name)
B - I'm having a *baby* ;)
C - My cat's name is Cat
D - I hate our dog, Deliah
E - My little girl's initials are "eek"
F - I just designed a fairy-wing tatoo for my beautiful wife, May
G - I have *not so lovingly* nicknamed my monster *ahem*...mother "Gamera"
H - Havarti is my favourite of all cheeses (particulary the dill variety) ;p
I - Ice cream just isn't as good to me as it used to be :(
J - Jesus Christ Superstar is one of my favourite movies
K - KHAN!!!!!!
L - I'm a Leo
M - Mother is just smother without the "s"...
N - Ninjabox is a nickname Karloff & May gave me when I was moving out of my ex's place. My boxes were so inconspicously packed they were like ninja-boxes!
O - The name Opopanax came from Black House, a book by Stephen King and Peter Straub
P - My cat's middle initial. And yes, he does have a middle initial.
Q - I refuse to acknowledge this letter. It is dead to me.
R - This is how I always picture pirates talking. "Rrrrr! I do be a pirate! Rrrr..."
S - I single-handedly freed the Scottish people from their evil oppressors in a savage and bloody campaign against the foreign English crown. Okay...I made that one up.
T - Three heads are better than one!
U - The United States scares me just a little...
V - I'm terrified of moving at any great velocity.
W - I want to name my baby Wolfgang!
X - Marxxx - Triple X Communist Porn!
Y - Why not?
Z - Zoo TV was my favourite U2 tour.

So...that sums me up. Hope it was enlightening for everyone involved. I'd like to thank my family and Jesus for making this all possible.

I guess I'll tag Daisy, if she hasn't done it already.:)

Not Even Pseudo-Mormon

noreply@blogger.com (karloff) — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 20:42:00 +0000

From an article entitled "Woman Describes Escape From Polygamy" on msnbc:

“I think it’s a form of pedophilia hiding behind a religion as a protection,” Carolyn Jessop told TODAY’s Matt Lauer from Salt Lake City on Tuesday. “There’s just a desire to control and manipulate and torture people, and religion is just used as the cover.”

As well as:

“Everything you did was monitored and controlled and everybody reported on everyone else,” she said. “It was a police state. You were not allowed to make decisions in your life. I had no power over my life or the lives of my children. It was a terrible way to live.”
The alleged control began in infancy.
“The method he would use with infants was a form of water torture,” Jessop said of her former husband. “He would spank the baby until it was screaming out of control, and then he would hold the baby faceup under a tap of running water so it couldn’t breathe. He would do this repeatedly. Sometimes, it would go on for an hour, until the baby was so exhausted it couldn’t cry anymore. This method he called ‘breaking them.’”

I have no idea what Carolyn Jessop, (who must be a very strong, brave lady to have escaped a bunch of demented control nuts,) actually thinks about polygamy, as she never talks about it in the article. She mentions torture, pedophilia and mental abuse under the guise of religious conformity, but doesn't mention polygamy, negatively or positively, once during the article.

Wouldn't a more honest phrasing have been "Woman Describes Escape From Abusive Religious Sect"? Not enough shock value? How about "Woman Describes Escape From Pedaphilic Torturers"? If you don't like the adjectives in those, try it old school: "Woman Describes Escape From Cult".

Maybe I'm just being a bit sensitive, but it seems to me it might be just as accurate to have the headline read: "Woman Describes Escape From Typhlobasiacs".

Margaret Cho's Donut Pussy

noreply@blogger.com (May) — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 13:21:00 +0000

For some women, having internal orgasm is next to impossible. Let's just say a friend of mine suffers from the same downer.

I found this blog entry by Margaret Cho and had to share it!

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

I had a new procedure called the "G-Shot," which is kind of like plastic surgery, kind of a body modification – but you don’t see it. It is on the inside. It isn’t something I would necessarily normally do, because I am very happy with my vagina the way it is. It is one of the finest in the world, and really needs little embellishment. It has served me well for many years and there are lots of miles left on it.

I got the G-shot as part of my new VH1 show, "The Cho Show," which I am filming right now and it is so fucking awesome you are going to just scream when you see it – I am so excited! Anyway, the G-Shot is an injection of collagen into your G-Spot that is supposed to enhance any kind of stimulation there. It is for women who have limited sensation in their vagina, which is me. My puss is more clitoral than vaginal. I am more into the outside than the inside. I am more about display than content. Whenever I go to a party, I tend to hang out on the steps rather than in the house and I never go into the backyard. And to keep the party analogy going, I don’t even have a G-Spot, per say, one place where the party is all centered, but there are lots of smaller events happening all over the area. Mine isn’t a G-Spot. More like a G-Block Party. My pussy is a lot like Coachella. There are a lot of bands hanging around waiting to play.

So I got it done at a fancy Beverly Hills gyno office and it was somewhat uncomfortable. First the G-Spot must be located. The poor doctor had to poke around in there for a long time, and it reminded me of this one guy who was looking for it many years ago, all thumbs in there going "Where’s your spot? Where’s your spot?" It didn’t feel good and I was like, "uh, I usually park on the street." The doctor came upon an area that felt more sensitive than the other areas (more partying going on there than elsewhere) so she shot up that region with an anesthetic – which was painful!! I needed anesthesia for my anesthesia! It was so prickly and hurting that she had to shoot me up twice with the numbing agent. Then they got the big needle out, which I didn’t feel but looked so scarily long that I thought the end might poke out through my back! OW!!!!

So since then, I haven’t felt any sexual enhancement at all. If anything it makes me not want to do it, which is incredible because I always want to do it – so it doesn’t work as any kind of aphrodisiac, but would be a good punishment for sex offenders. Now my vagina just feels like there is a gel insole in there. Like my cervix is wearing boot socks. I am totally asexual and I feel like I am sitting on a hemorrhoid donut all the time. I really feel kind of bad complaining about the procedure, because the doctor was so nice, and I am all about supporting anything that benefits women and their sexuality. I totally think that the spirit of the thing is cool. Women should feel good in their bodies and if surgery can enhance that, I am all for it. Unfortunately, the G-Shot just wasn’t for me, but it might be for you. There are lots of raves from women about it, and more often than not the results are supposed to be mind blowing, just not for me!

It lasts for four months so I will be at the convent until the swelling goes down.

Thoughts?

Home

noreply@blogger.com (May) — Mon, 31 Mar 2008 03:00:00 +0000

Karloff and I just back from a trip up North. The first trip since the bomb. It was a huge rush getting ready and going, because of the short notice. Karloff's Grandfather died. He was a beautiful man. Completely content, silly, and happily married. A series of strokes took part of him away. And then a cold, turned flu, to pneumonia. His body couldn't fight it.

We really wanted to whole clan to go. But, my mother, the sponsor of the trip thought it best if we go alone. Other than his very immediate family, the rest are unaware of our family structure.

The drive was about 7 hours or so. We stopped rarely as to make the visitation that evening. We got into town, made it into the hotel, changed, and were back out to meet everyone at the funeral home. We went in and exchanged hugs with all appropriate and looked at pictures of our beloved in his personal moments. They captured him well though. Even included were photos of the carpentry projects he had around his home.

We skipped out when it was time and grabbed food at the local truck stop and made our way back to our room.

The next day was filled with visits to our older family and a meal with Karloff's mom and stepfather and sister and sisters fiance. Not to mention the funeral in the middle. Oh yeah, AND driving back home. The service was nice. I guess. The Pastor made the usual mistakes with names of important family members. But after, everyone was offered to speak of something they loved about him. That was the most touching part.

After the service was over I made my way to his widow and we shared tears and my hopes that she is OK and my wishing I could stay and insure her comfort. Then, following good byes, we hopped in the car and rushed back to Opop.

Uh

noreply@blogger.com (May) — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 00:12:00 +0000

Someone close to us, but particularly Karloff, has died recently.

Please be patient. And expect more shows early next week.

I hate snow.

noreply@blogger.com (May) — Sun, 09 Mar 2008 21:38:00 +0000

There are many reasons for which I am hating on this frosty season. We have 40cm of snow. And that was after my plow yesterday. I NEED to go to the store. I'm locked out of the world by a vast tower of snowy hell. Ok, so it's been a few days and I'm getting antsy. Even The Godfather (next door neighbour) got his lane plowed today by a tractor. And he is supposed to be covering our snow removal!

Luckily Karloff is coming out shortly with me and we will be digging our way to the end of the road. Our lane is a giant crescent, a lovely yard in the middle with old maple trees. Lovely in the summer, but with 40cm of snow, I hate you.

In brighter news, here's the next show!

***UPDATE*** 49cm of snow :(

The cholas are calling me.........

noreply@blogger.com (May) — Sat, 08 Mar 2008 14:25:00 +0000

I have found myself on three separate occasions searching out this very video. It's a scientific observation of the "Chola"; where they can be found, and how you to can baptised in the ways of the Chola. Kidding. Really, it's silly and there is monstrously bad grandma rapping. But that's as good as scientific discovery in my book.

It's amazing when I think about how North Americans get their identity. It almost seems like a caricature of stereotyped ethnic behaviours. But it's hilarious. And I'm not judgin'. If you're a Chola, embrace it :p Pick up that eye liner and rub that shit round those intentionally plumped bare naked lips!

The following video is from AskAChola.com.

It's a pretty funny site with lots of content, including blog, video, and podcast. The video has cholaless, but nonetheless hilarious fun.

Audio editing is the devil

noreply@blogger.com (May) — Sat, 08 Mar 2008 01:44:00 +0000

We have a few new shows up. We are looking for an audio player that we can put individual shows on, without a drop down and other various other boring things. But until then, this will have to do :)

And in other EXCITING news! We bought the domain and hosting for paxcompoundia.com! When the transplant is complete, you will be the first to know.

The First Compoundian National Address

noreply@blogger.com (May) — Wed, 05 Mar 2008 18:06:00 +0000

Our podcast is up now! Long promised and finally here for your listening pleasure!

I'm having issues with Audacity (arg) so I'm still working on getting the second and third show up later today.

For comments and questions for the show, contact paxcompoundia@gmail.com

stitch in time

noreply@blogger.com (karloff) — Mon, 03 Mar 2008 18:56:00 +0000

I think these knitted batgirl gloves are sexy, and this knitted Leia wig is hella cute.

I need to get back to knitting actually, as my Tom-Baker-as-Doctor-Who scarf will not knit itself. (Despite my pleas.)

Beirut - Postcards from Italy

noreply@blogger.com (May) — Fri, 29 Feb 2008 00:22:00 +0000

I am in love. Maybe it's the epicness. I love harmonies and layers. And horns sail you wistfully through to the next verse. This beautiful mingling of Latin sounding beats and indie rock vocals is haunting. This piece of music was written when a band mate picked up a discarded old Italian postcard. And found it's old image and Italian text inspiring.

Molly Nix Chapter 1: The Insomniac, Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (karloff) — Wed, 27 Feb 2008 22:12:00 +0000

Hey, little late, but here's the second instalment of my Molly Nix pulp serial, once again in both text and audible format thanks to the lovely reading voice of Opopanax. This time around there's also a little theme music, provided by the lovely May, which I thought a great fit with the radio pulp of the same period I'm hovering around. Whee.

[previously: Chapter 1: The Insomniac, Part 1]

(More information on the audio version is available here.)

Molly Nix,

Chapter 1: The Insomniac, Part 2

The Admin building was built to look like a cattle barn from the air, and I was starting to feel a little like I was off to slaughter as I stepped inside. It was the one building that housed people who could and would tell me my business, and I tried to spend as little time as possible there.

The main hallway ran straight the length of the building, and a trick of the eye and the tiling made the far door seem as tiny as something Alice might stumble across. I walked the maroon, black and gray linoleum, passing office name cards, work orders, staff postings, funny page clippings, and finally taking a right into the den. Schwerdtfeger and Able had standard issue offices elsewhere in the barn, but after hours visits were largely fireside announcements from overstuffed chairs.

The room was smaller than their combined pretenses would allow, and I’d always felt like I was trying to find a corner in which to stand between Schwerdtfeger’s stuffed animal heads, and Able’s shelves of economic treatises and textbooks.

“Well, hello, Ms. Nix.” Able opened, obviously trying to get a rise out of me.

“Well, hello, Madam Able.” Able’s eyes and forehead tightened, but I did notice a rise in Schwerdtfeger’s moustache.

“If you’ll keep your jocular nature to a minimum for a moment, we need to have a quick chat before you take flight, Mrs. Nix.” Schwerdtfeger’s attitude had me wondering if Tom had been right, if this might be a virus after all.

“I’ll see what I can do.” I replied, shuffling under the watchful eyes of some long dead five point buck.

“Aunt Millie called this morning. There’s a shack just south of the permafrost line, vaguely near a town called Milner, a lumber town. There are five bodies in the shack, all stiff at their porridge. The doctor on the scene said they died of dehydration, which is odd given that they all still had the remnants of milk in their cups. We don’t know how long they’d been there, but they’re fairly well preserved as the door was open and the main room helpfully refrigerated. The doctor is not sick, nor anyone else in the area.”

“Couldn’t it have been food poisoning? Hell, maybe even an old fashioned murder?” Despite the lack of outbreak, it was all sounding a little too virus-like for me. I tried to move a little but found myself bracketed in front of the door with a shelf full of Adam Smith and his ilk to the left of me and a small pack of beheaded mammals to my right.

Schwerdtfeger glanced at Able, and Able picked up where he’d left off.

“It’s possible. You’ll have to endeavour to find out when you get there. I believe Junior has the plane fueled and ready to go. You’ve got your usual budget, Junior will fly back with your first round of samples and then pick you up at the end of your five day window. When you touch down you’ll head alone into Milner, there you will locate Constable Lummock and he shall direct you to the cabin in question.”

In other words he didn’t want to pay Junior for sitting on his ass doing nothing for a few days, especially not when I might need some company or backup, that cheap bastard.

Then I was dismissed. I was pleased to be back in the hall, but this had easily been the briefest meeting on the flimsiest circumstances I’d had while in King’s employ.

The snow and wind blew away my train of thought as I exited to find Junior still patrolling the ash can.

“You know where we’re headed?”

“Yeah, more or less,” he replied with a grin. “Is it just me or were they acting weird, uh, …er than usual?”

I took in Junior’s grin and ridiculous leather flight cap, his good hand holding the cigarette he now smoked like a train before our departure.

“If you ask me, you’re all acting weird.”

I missed my wife and husband.

The farm dwindled to speck as we puttered across the black sky in the farm’s single engine cloud buster. It had been modified for long flights, but I honestly couldn’t tell the difference between that one and the crates the bush pilots would drop into Mom & Dad’s lodge.

It wasn’t long before the hum of the plane, and a forward looking sense of self preservation, lulled me to sleep. I found myself dreaming about climbing the massive timbers of the lodge walls, over the gutters and onto equal footing with the swaying treetops. The lake lay blue and infinite in front of me, and my head cocked to better hear an approaching mosquito buzz. A plane shimmered out of the distance, wobbling at first, but soon righting itself and settling into a landing that left its pontoons kissing the shore. The sound of the motor died, and the pines rustled. The wind seemed to smell of gin. I wondered if Dad was around. It was then that I noticed the windows of the plane were black as tar.

Our descent woke me. In those days we pulled up short of habitation and had a local friend meet us with a car if we could, no reason to make the townies think the Germans were launching an expeditionary force. The area was far too small for us to know anyone though, and Junior explained that they’d paid a local for his old Model A, to be delivered to the middle of nowhere beside a stretch of barren back road that they’d paid the same farmer to plow flat. Our landing depended on his work ethic and Junior’s ability to read the plane’s instruments, but we were soon down and not far from my ride.

The car, a Fordor, looked relatively well for its age but had been left at the road side so long it initially refused to turn over. I had my flash light out and was looking over the engine when Junior spoke from somewhere over my shoulder.

“Trouble?”

“I think I can get her straightened out, the cold is just making things stiff.”

I think he muttered some kind of response, but I was too busy tinkering. Suddenly his face loomed beside the manifold and I.

“Ignoring me?” His breath was a solid wall of gin, too thick to have been built since we’d touched down. I was glad the wind had waited to pick up. Still, it must have been a tricky landing given the conditions.

“I’m just busy. I thought you were pitching camp?”

“I’ve got a fire going, but my tent is still waiting.” He seemed to be expecting something.

“Well, that’s something at least, I’m going to need to boil some water to get out of here.”

The fire was burning within the L of the wing of the plane, and I knew Junior would set up his tent right under the flap as some minor added protection. I pulled the kettle from its storage compartment, stuffed it full of snow and placed it directly onto the burning logs, pocketing its detachable handle.

If he’d previously taken drink on the job to wait out the periods while I was off exploring, he’d never let me see it. My black overcoat created a cone of heat around me as I stooped close to the fire, one eye watching Junior pound in the last of his tent pegs.

“There should be some left over for coffee.” I said, nodding towards the kettle.

“Listen, Molly,” he attempted to mirror my crouch, but between wind and drink ended up in a position closer to reclining in the snow. “We’ve been working together for a while now, a long time really. We’ve spent a lot of long hours around campfires and card tables and… remember the first year you came to the farm, when we had that Christmas dance? Remember that dance?” He’d asked me to dance, and both AJ and Tom had smiled their assent. We’d had a stiff swing around the floor, and I’d spent the majority of the time silently and sweetly damning my two loves for letting me leave the table. I’m not much of a dancer.

“Do you know something about this piece of work that I don’t? “ The kettle was beginning to whistle, feasibly through the sheer force of my will. I pulled the handle from my pocket and lifted it from its now sunken position.

“Heh, no.” His face darkened though, which I took to mean he’d been struck by a flash of sobriety. He fell silent and after a moment I moved out of fire’s circle.

I was right, and a little hot water quickly had the car turned over and ready for the road. I was playing my flashlight through the backseat’s window, mentally checking off everything I’d collected from the plane, when I felt a hand reach through the gap between my overcoat’s brass buttons and run its fingers across my belly. I breathed a mist of gin as I turned, my elbow hammering Junior just below his right eye. He reeled, his hand slipping from my coat, and it was then that my boot connected with his left knee. His balance went out and he collapsed into a tangled jelly. To ensure closure I made a final connection with his diaphragm, firmly but not excessively, just as I’d been taught. While he fish puckered for air I dragged him back under the shelter of the plane wing.

“Look you drunken arse, we’ll have a talk about this when I get back tomorrow, but you better get your shit together or I’m going to hand it to you myself.”

He wheezed from his pile beside the fire, and I made my way back to the car.

The road was full of drifts, and it took some time and patience to finally make my way north into town. There was little warning between leaving the woods and entering the town proper, one minute I was keeping an eye out for wolves and the next I was pulling to a stop in front of a squat gray brick building, a single light visible in its large window. It was a meager main street, the police having easily the largest front on the road, the rest of the buildings dark in what was by then the earliest part of morning.

I stepped out and made my way around the hood, eyes straining through the large window to make out a pair of desks. I was wondering if I’d have to awaken Constable Lummock with a thorough door pounding when the entrance in question swung open. A large form lumbered from the doorway shouting harsh, unintelligible consonants back into the warmth. He turned and seemed un-phased to find me in his path on the stoop, passed with a curt nod and made his way further into the subzero dark beyond the building’s meager light.