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LeoZ |
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Hey. I'm Leo Z.
Who I am: I'm a 27 year old person who currently resides in Manhattan which is one of the 5 boroughs on New York City. I was born in Moscow, Russia and moved to the U.S. when I was 8. Oh, and I'm Enamon's brother.
What're my interests: Technology, writing stuff, exploration, phreaking, bicycling, urban exploration, forteana, high weirdness, etc.
Also bad jokes.
For example:
2 dogs walk into a bar. One dog goes "Ouch!" and the other dog says "Hey, I didn't know dogs could talk!"
*rimshot*
I have a MySpace at
http://www.myspace.com/iballphears
My aim name is:
iballsof
My LiveJournal is:
http://leoz.livejournal.com
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| The not-so-Weather Channel 2010-02-25 11:48:45 ET |
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What's up with the Weather Channel?I just had to check it at work about 5 minutes ago and instead of the weather I ended up seeing a CNBC story about the Toyota crisis and then it cut to Al Roker interviewing Bob Costas about the Winter Olympics in Vancouver. What the eff?
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| 2010-02-23 09:46:57 ET |
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I have seen Japan from the inside of an airport. I've traveled through more security checkpoints than a homicidal maniac in a maximum security prison. I've been driven around by friends inside a Mitsubishi and a Toyota with a manual transmission but no tachometer. I'm sure this is of extreme and great interest to you. But you haven't noticed that I was away, have you? How could you? If you average out my updates they end up equaling to none a day. That is if you drop everything to the right of the decimal point. And you should. It's a good rule of thumb. So there.
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| 2010-01-19 14:38:56 ET |
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Sitting on a bus is like sitting in the rear of the plane, feeling the vibrations of the rear engine, and feeling all those little slight bumps and hops a you hit turbulence. Only thing missing is the air marshal in the aisle seat. Oh, and the windows on buses tend to be larger. They need ot be in order to be used as emergency exits if the bus gets all lazy tired and decides to snooze on its side. That's how I tend to snooze these days. On my side.
I was down in D.C. this weekend. Good old DC with its "taxation without representation" license plates and its freakishly warm weather. My visits for the reason, or should I say, my reasons for my visit being the International Spy Museum and a good friend who now resides there.
The Spy Museum was fun. At times it felt like it might be used as a recruiting tool for people actually interested in working in intelligence. For example right where you buy tickets there are 3 wheelchairs. I guess those are meant for people with disabilities to use.
Right?
Eh, except if you need a wheelchair then how the hell did you get to the museum in the first place unless you have your own wheelchair already?
Little things like that make me suspicious.
No, not really.
Anyways, it was a cool place and is surprisingly large (that's what she said!) I always knew the term "cover" but I never knew the term "legend" which basically means a full blown backstory for your cover identity.
That's all the interesting things that I could think of right now. Post your spy shit on here.
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| Letter from Kurt Vonnegut to his parents after the bombing of Dresden 2010-01-12 10:41:41 ET |
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http://www.lettersofnote.com/2009/11/slaughterhouse-five.html
FROM:
Pfo. K. Vonnegut, Jr.,
12102964 U. S. Army.
TO:
Kurt Vonnegut,
Williams Creek,
Indianapolis, Indiana.
Dear people:
I'm told that you were probably never informed that I was anything other than "missing in action." Chances are that you also failed to receive any of the letters I wrote from Germany. That leaves me a lot of explaining to do -- in precis:
I've been a prisoner of war since December 19th, 1944, when our division was cut to ribbons by Hitler's last desperate thrust through Luxemburg and Belgium. Seven Fanatical Panzer Divisions hit us and cut us off from the rest of Hodges' First Army. The other American Divisions on our flanks managed to pull out: We were obliged to stay and fight. Bayonets aren't much good against tanks: Our ammunition, food and medical supplies gave out and our casualties out-numbered those who could still fight - so we gave up. The 106th got a Presidential Citation and some British Decoration from Montgomery for it, I'm told, but I'll be damned if it was worth it. I was one of the few who weren't wounded. For that much thank God.
Well, the supermen marched us, without food, water or sleep to Limberg, a distance of about sixty miles, I think, where we were loaded and locked up, sixty men to each small, unventilated, unheated box car. There were no sanitary accommodations -- the floors were covered with fresh cow dung. There wasn't room for all of us to lie down. Half slept while the other half stood. We spent several days, including Christmas, on that Limberg siding. On Christmas eve the Royal Air Force bombed and strafed our unmarked train. They killed about one-hundred-and-fifty of us. We got a little water Christmas Day and moved slowly across Germany to a large P.O.W. Camp in Muhlburg, South of Berlin. We were released from the box cars on New Year's Day. The Germans herded us through scalding delousing showers. Many men died from shock in the showers after ten days of starvation, thirst and exposure. But I didn't.
Under the Geneva Convention, Officers and Non-commissioned Officers are not obliged to work when taken prisoner. I am, as you know, a Private. One-hundred-and-fifty such minor beings were shipped to a Dresden work camp on January 10th. I was their leader by virtue of the little German I spoke. It was our misfortune to have sadistic and fanatical guards. We were refused medical attention and clothing: We were given long hours at extremely hard labor. Our food ration was two-hundred-and-fifty grams of black bread and one pint of unseasoned potato soup each day. After desperately trying to improve our situation for two months and having been met with bland smiles I told the guards just what I was going to do to them when the Russians came. They beat me up a little. I was fired as group leader. Beatings were very small time: -- one boy starved to death and the SS Troops shot two for stealing food.
On about February 14th the Americans came over, followed by the R.A.F. their combined labors killed 250,000 people in twenty-four hours and destroyed all of Dresden -- possibly the world's most beautiful city. But not me.
After that we were put to work carrying corpses from Air-Raid shelters; women, children, old men; dead from concussion, fire or suffocation. Civilians cursed us and threw rocks as we carried bodies to huge funeral pyres in the city.
When General Patton took Leipzig we were evacuated on foot to ('the Saxony-Czechoslovakian border'?). There we remained until the war ended. Our guards deserted us. On that happy day the Russians were intent on mopping up isolated outlaw resistance in our sector. Their planes (P-39's) strafed and bombed us, killing fourteen, but not me.
Eight of us stole a team and wagon. We traveled and looted our way through Sudetenland and Saxony for eight days, living like kings. The Russians are crazy about Americans. The Russians picked us up in Dresden. We rode from there to the American lines at Halle in Lend-Lease Ford trucks. We've since been flown to Le Havre.
I'm writing from a Red Cross Club in the Le Havre P.O.W. Repatriation Camp. I'm being wonderfully well feed and entertained. The state-bound ships are jammed, naturally, so I'll have to be patient. I hope to be home in a month. Once home I'll be given twenty-one days recuperation at Atterbury, about $600 back pay and -- get this -- sixty (60) days furlough.
I've too damned much to say, the rest will have to wait, I can't receive mail here so don't write.
May 29, 1945
Love,
Kurt - Jr.
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| Nuevo Idea 2010-01-12 10:19:16 ET |
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I think I'm going to make myself a nom de plume and write a random novel that'll be written as beautiful crap. Like this line:
"Sometimes it seemed like the night would never end as if the darkness would linger forever until finally passing after growing tired of squatting over the faces of men."
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| The Genius Philosopher learns to type 2010-01-11 19:54:59 ET |
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Sitting in a sushi restaurant
Spouting words of wisdom.
You can live in a car
You can't drive an apartment.
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| Picture in my head 2010-01-11 18:05:38 ET |
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A daisy chain.
A girl. Smiling, looking slightly up into the camera. White summer dress. Arm around a man dressed in a beige raincoat, and brown fedora. Dressed like a dick, a private detective. Hand stuck in pocket as if it's cold or the guy's a pervert playing pocket pool. Other hand wrapped around identical girl to his side. Who has arm wrapped around identical detective. Whose hand is wrapped around an identical girl. So on and so forth.
Chicks with Dicks.
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