Open Forum: Here Comes Your Man

Song lyrics. Always a subject of interesting, and sometimes vigorous, drunken debate. In fact, a couple weeks ago, I climbed up on the intoxication soapbox to ramble on about how The Pixies' "Here Comes Your Man" is about homicidal, or possibly cannibalistic, railroad-riding vagrants. Even sober, I'd stand by this assessment. A couple days later, my friend, who was on the receiving end of said drunken rant, took to the internets to see what she could find. Her conclusion that the song was about the bombing of Hiroshima. Veery Eenteresting. The two wildly differing interpretations made me wonder what else was out there. And so, the forum is opened on just what, if anything, Frank Black is talking about in Here Comes Your Man.

Possibility 1: Killer Hobos: Boxcar-dwelling hobos wait for someone to walk by, hit him on the head with a "big, big stone", serve him up in a tasty "family stew" and escape when the train starts moving again. It's gotta be right, because the wine and I said so.

Possibility 2: The Bomb: August 9th 1945. US bomber the 'Bockscar' dropped an atomic bomb on Nagasaki. The bomb was called 'Fat Man'. This one seems to be pretty popular among the self-appointed experts in the comments sections. Beat out the references to WWII and Nazis at least.

Possibility 3: Old-school funeral procession: Back in the old days, bodies were transported by train. When the train was arriving at the station with someone's dead loved one, they used to say "Here comes your man". How's that for not softening the blow? Better than just tossing 'em out, I guess, but still an unlikely explanation for the song.

Possibility 4: 'Waiting for the Man': About the anticipation of waiting on a drug purchase, possibly in response to the Velvet Underground song. People who wait on drug connections always want songs to be about waiting for drug connections. Get a job.

Most likely explanation: A pre-Pixies song that Frank Black wrote when he was about 15. "It's about winos and hobos travelling on the trains, who die in the California Earthquake...before earthquakes, everything gets very calm, animals stop talking and birds stop chirping and there's no wind. It's very ominous...It's like the earth is shaking, and what can you do? Nothing." [Interview with Frank Black, NME, 1989]

So yes, my interpretation was twisted, a little bit sick and shows my general lack of trust in hobos, but at least I wasn't that far off. The Open Forum is now closed.

Subway Zealotry

The ads on the subways here pitch anything and everything, from cheap, quickie divorces to surgery for hammer toe correction. Among the ubiquitous liquor posters and promos for technical colleges, commuters can find their morning dose of good old-fashioned bible talkers. Chief among these is one Dr. Creflo A. Dollar of the World Changers Church International. That has got to be the most perfect name for someone in the evangelical sales business.

The ever-curious Karma Cycle took a look into Dr. Dollar, whose message combines your standard Christian buzzwording with the added bonus of relieving his followers of personal responsibility for their own prosperity. The "God will work it out" school of life management. Today's message is "How to get angels to work for you". This practical advice outlines "six steps to activating angelic protection", available through purchase only. My theory is that this works like a clogged drain. You pour your big bottle of extra-strength angelic protection down the drainpipe of your life, wait fifteen minutes and flush the sex, drugs and rock-and-roll away with hot water. That's not what I need. I'm more interested in how to get angels to do real work for me. At the moment, my laundry needs done and my tub could use a good scrubbing. Pray tell me, Dr. Dollar, how do I get the angels to get busy on that?

For the nominal fee of $4, you can get your very own copy of the six steps. I, of course, am too cheap to bite that bait, and have a strict policy against giving money to proselytizers. In fact, most of Dr. Dollar's messages come in easily-digestible, numbered step format, and are not too expensive as far as quality, feasible life advice is concerned. So if you are tired of being responsible for your own bizness, send your dollars to Dollar, and he'll give you a bullet-pointed list that no doubt includes lots and lots of praying. The best part? His wife's name is Taffi. That's right, Creflo and Taffi Dollar. Jim and Tammy Fay ain't got nothin' on them.

The Project

One year, one camera, and one pedometer. A thousand miles in Manhattan. The project started initially from my New Years resolution to quit the gym. I don't like the idea of only having one day a year to address all the stuff that's messed up in your life and get it sorted out, so I generally resolve to do something contrary to all the "lose 20lbs-eat more vegetables-find true love" rubbish declarations that are ancient history by the end of February. My gym is boring and it has the not-so-faint odor of sweaty feet on the workout mats. I figured out that was costing me about $15 every time I went, and that I definitely wouldn't hand over a ten and a five for the privilege of walking in the door. The final straw was that two weeks ago, they moved it 10 blocks north. Never going. Ever. Cheap and lazy, you say? Perhaps, but I don't know anyone who would pay $15 to walk ten blocks for the smell of feet. I'm sure they're somewhere on Craigslist.

A friend's office has sponsored a weight loss challenge for the staff, so we took a walk on the weekend after New Years to get some exercise. I needed to waddle off a large lunch I had in Chinatown. Soup dumplings from Joe Shanghai are worth navigating the crowded streets, holding your breath and trying not to retch when passing the fish markets. We did over five miles from South Street Seaport to East 57th. Didn't take that long, and was pretty enjoyable. Decided to do it again. At the end of the first week, I'd logged 30 miles, both on my own and with my friend. We got inspired to turn this walking endeavor into a project and really get to know Manhattan. I'm gonna take the camera out, document whatever interesting stuff I happen across and see what it yields. Who knows how far I'll get, but as of now, it's on.

Back in fighting form

Hallelujah. My computer is fixed, and for free. A faulty power cord was the root of the problem, which was replaced with a salvaged cord from my office's tech guy. I'm once again able to zap my random thoughts into the ether where they can sparkle and fade away like fireworks lit on the beach at night.

Karma strikes again

Alas, as soon as I decide to do a blog and keep it updated with some regularity, my trusty old Dell gives up the ghost with a sputtering beep of despair. Most likely a bad DC jack, which will require a costly and time-consuming return to the mother ship for repairs. I was tempted to round up a soldering iron and make the fix myself, but since I haven't soldered anything since high school (and my skills were poor then at best), I figured I'd do considerably more harm than good. My technological situation such as it is, the Karma Cycle will be offline for the near future, to return in excellent form at the soonest possible moment. Of course, I doubt anyone's reading this, but if by chance you, lone internet traveler, are hanging on my every word, well, you'll just have to hold your horses or send me $150 for parts.

You can't get fitter than a breastfed nipper

Your friendly proprietor of The Karma Cycle is in the health business. With all the hullabaloo about trans-fats, bird flu, obesity and the rest of it, business is good. It seems that everywhere you turn in New York, there's an advisory for cootie testing, healthy food, sex toy safety or whatever issue of the moment the government is taking a swing at. But we're not the only ones with an abundance of health-themed advertising. Here are a few of the more interesting ones I've run across:

I think this old motorcycle safety poster is from Germany, though it's archived at University of Amsterdam. It's pretty badass.


This little gem from Scotland proves that rhyming and breastfeeding are not mutually exclusive.

This vintage military/communist-y morale booster is from 1932 Japan, and translates as "Safety Leads to Efficiency". Makes every day into a Monday after a long weekend.


Leave it to the good ol' American government to make the ladies feel special:


And China wins the gold medal for ominous, gross and disturbing health advertising.

Swallowing atomic bombs kills thousands of Chinese children each year.

MSG is very, very bad for you.

But the award for homo-erotic tuberculosis control posters goes to Japan (translation: "Prevent Tuberclosis", 1930). I have no idea how naked wrestling prevents TB, but I like it. Though I bet they had to beef up their budget for other prevention posters (syphilis, anyone??) the next year...


And last, a little subtlety as only the Australians can do it.

Happy 2007!

Don't fuck it up.