Thursday, December 27, 2007

Your New Year's Resolution

In the book Jitterbug Perfume, Pan, a centaur-like God loses power as the number of his human believers dwindles. The argument made by author Tom Robbins, by way of fantastical novel, is that the things that are important in life aren’t the actual thing but rather the belief in the thing.[1]

The Superhero Complex is the belief in that thing in all of us.

We all have abilities that we believe are exceptional. Skills like cooking, painting, decorating, arguing, dressing, trading stocks, anything under the sun that we (a) really enjoy doing and (b) think we are uncommonly good at.

The Superhero Complex is the belief that in one area of our lives, in one specific way, we are extraordinary. The Superhero Complex needn’t be confirmed by any third party or objective source, it need only exist within the individual.

The Superhero Complex in all of us is what is great about humanity. It isn’t that we are all actually great or extraordinary at something it is that we believe we are. The pursuit of the Superhero Complex activity is the purest and truest way for each of us to spend our time. The loss of the Superhero Complex is the saddest fate that can befall an individual and has led to untold misery.

My Superhero Complex is my belief that I have ideas that are worth sharing. I share these ideas through this space and the point isn't whether or not I succeed in garnering a wide readership but the pursuit of my Superhero Complex. When I write and when I post I am feeding my Superhero Complex and that is the most important aspect of the complex and its universal truth. We are our happiest when we believe in our Superhero Complex and pursue that in which we believe.

For my New Years resolution I am pledging to pursue my Superhero Complex with greater vigor. I recommend you decide what your Superhero Complex is and go after it like the pro you think you are (even if no one else does).

Because God only ceases to exist in the hearts of those that don’t believe in him.[2]

[1] This assertion could be entirely wrong.

[2] I’m one of them (kind of).

Friday, December 21, 2007

10 Things I Would do if I Were a Famous Rapper

The great thing about being a famous rapper is that I'm essentially supposed to be as self-indulgent as possible. Even things that I might not actually want, I have to indulge myself so that I seem excessively indulgent. Not all of us famous rappers actually care about having chrome rims (note: I could be entirely wrong about this) but we all roll on 22's. Not all of us famous rappers think men should wear diamonds but we all rock so much ice we could be glaciers. So I put together a list of excessively self-indulgent Things I am Going to do Because I'm a Famous Rapper:

10. Hire a band to follow me everywhere playing my own personal soundtrack. (eg. when I'm running they play Hustlin' by Rick Ross (while running behind me). When I'm tagging one of my bitches they play Biggie's I'm Fucking You Tonight, when I'm making sweet love to my hood rat chick they play Marvin Gaye or Bill Withers etc.)
9. Commission a cologne that smells like money. (After writing this I googled "money cologne" and found this).
8. Wear excessive amounts of said cologne.
7. Have women crawl behind me wherever I walk.
6. Have women walk in front of me throwing rose pedals in my path.
5a. Purchase a small building in Time Sq
5b. Knock the building down
5c. Erect a bronze statue of myself in its place
4. Not carry a cell phone
3. Tattoo a $100 bill on my forehead.
2. Have gold bullets with my initials engraved on them in platinum.

And the number one thing I'm going to do because I'm a famous rapper and need to be self-indulgent is...

1. Kidnap 50 Cent and make him work a desk job.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Rehashment and Endorsement

I forgot to mention something in yesterday's post. The Princeton story provides a good test for journalists who wish to present information in a fair and balanced manner (which having gone to journalism school, I know few do). The test is simply this: If the crux of a politically divisive story turns out to be flatly false, are you still be happy with the way in which you reported it?

Obviously a journalist should never be happy with reporting false information but in a case like the Princeton story a reporter has no choice but to report the information available. As long as its done in a manner that is free of bias their conscience should be clear and they should be happy with their work. Too often a sense of glee pervades the reporting of stories that favor a certain perspective. Good journalists avoid that crutch.

On another note, I just realized that you can listen to all of Okkervil River's fantastic fourth album, Stage Names on MySpace. Wonderful record by a very good band, check it out if you have the time.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Why is it called "overheard"? Question mark?

It should be "overlistened". Most people pay far more attention to conversations they overlisten to than those they are involved in.

For the uninitiated: Overheard in New York

On the American jury system:

I took the Are you a Political Radical quiz on blogthings (a killer killing-time site) the other day and ended up in an argument over whether people on a jury should be able to vote "not guilty" if they think the law is wrong. I am absolutely in favor of this practice.

We live in a society that is highly stratified politically. A cursory glance at America's 43 presidents reveals a striking similarity. The fact that they're all white men says a lot about racism and sexism but it speaks even more to a socioeconomic divide between those in this country that make the decisions and those that are forced to live with them (which also says something about racism and sexism but I'm getting off topic).

If we the people are unable to get elected those that express our beliefs through the channels allotted to us by the forefathers (well at least to the white land owning males among us) than we must assume power through other means.

If I am in a jury box, yawning through a trial, and the man that awaits judgement in front of me is being tried for marijuana use and/or distribution, there is absolutely no way that I am convicting. Period. (Quick aside: Wouldn't it be funny if people started using that prop for other punctuation marks? Question mark? I really think it would! Exclamation point!)

Those that argue of the dangers of runaway jurors talk about the structure of government and the importance of law and order but sometimes the government is plain wrong. And if a person truly believes that the accused is not guilty of a "natural" law then they have a moral responsibility to vote not guilty. Just as one would have had the moral responsibility to do so when abolitionists were being put to trial for abetting slave escapes or any of the other myriad mistakes our government has made in a little over 200 years.


I've been following this bizarre story about a Princeton pro-marriage student who beat himself up in an attempt to vilify those that opposed him. This is the link to the Princeton Conservative blog site.

This is the link to the former site of the on-line editor at Esquire, Eric Gillin (among others). They stopped producing new content at the beginning of 2006 but there's a lot there to sink your teeth into.

Being a man who rarely consumes one Guinness but frequently consumes many, I was happy to see that I'm going to be extra healthy.

Have a nice day. Period.

Friday, December 14, 2007

WTF Mate?

I accidentally own a pair of Seven jeans. I hadn't realized they were Seven jeans when I bought them and may have reconsidered the purchase due to my antipathy toward flashy designer labels but nevertheless I own a pair of Seven jeans.

I am lazy. I pay people to do my laundry, they wash it, dry it, and fold it for 60 cents a pound. It's almost as cheap as if I were to do it myself, but still I have to actually bring the laundry to the laundromat (which is 32 steps from the front door of my apartment). I did this yesterday for the first time in several weeks.

I am not wearing any underwear. Not in like a sexy Sharon Stone kind of way but in a "I don't have access to any boxers because all of them are at the laundromat" kind of way. And the point of this whole, seemingly pointless, string of words is that Seven jeans are uncommonly comfortable commando pants. I'm free and I'm lovin' every minute of it! Kudos to Seven, you may sell exorbitantly priced jeans and probably exploit child labor to do so but man do you guys make a nice pair of pants to wear when your not wearing any underwear.


There is a BMW showroom on Wall St. that I walk by everyday on my way to work. There is a sign on the store that says something to the effect of "No dogs allowed except dogs for the visually impaired," this intrigues me greatly. Are there allot of blind people looking to purchase BMW's in Manhattan? Are any of the people reading this sign visually impaired? Do people often take their dog for a walk and decide to buy a BMW? These questions plague my daily commute.

In summation:

I'm going to be a contributing writer for Dance Retailer Magazine. I am uncertain what that will entail but I imagine it will include exposing the dirt of the dance retail industry. Frankly for too long the dance retail industrial complex has corrupted the minds of our youth and I'm just the man to put them in their place. The first and last sentence of this paragraph are true, have a good weekend.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

The Warren Effect

Everyone has a retard thing. A retard thing is the lack of knowledge of a fact or bit of wisdom that is so utterly common it makes others laugh with scorn when they learn it has passed by their conversation partner.

The retard thing lurks in the recess of the brain, looking for its baseball, waiting to strike an unsuspecting victim. Sometimes the retard thing is so pervasive that it returns even after the initial slip up, further haunting its victim.

My retard thing is that I often confuse the word animal for the word mammal. I don't know why I do this and it invariably draws the ire of my conversation companions but I'm still always hesitant to use the word animal when referring to fish or reptiles.

Another example - within the fish er animal kingdom - a friend thought that tuna was the food name for dolphins (eg. venison; deer). (Aside: this was my friend Miguel Bonaparte, who said this while actually eating tuna, I love the fact that animal activists are all up in arms about tuna fishermen catching dolphins in their nets and not releasing them while Miguel actually thought he was actively eating dolphins).

Other examples include: A person who thought "soap operas" were called "sobapras"; a person who thought that Costa Rica was an island until a year ago because it's name sounds island-like; the common misconception of "intents and purposes" for "intensive purposes"; etc.

Two other notes:

Anyone familiar with Nip/Tuck or the OC is familiar with AnnaLynne McCord the young sexpot placed on both shows to stir up controversy and frustrate aging virgins. What those familiar with her may not know is that it is very, very difficult to find her age on the internet. (If you want to try for yourself, go now, I'll wait). It took me nearly 30 minutes before I came across this link which puts her age at either 19 or 20 years-old depending on her birthday. I find it to be really interesting that her or those that represent her (or Nip/Tuck) have gone to such great lengths to disguise her age.

And finally, congratulations to my New York Football Giants for setting the NFL single season record for most headlines that employ the word "escape" when describing victory. We couldn't be prouder fellas.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Potter's Post

When I don’t know what to listen to I have a couple of handfuls of albums I listen to that I know will keep my attention and require little commitment of thought.

Kill the Moonlight is one of the aforementioned and this made me briefly think of you. This also gave me a reason to open up a word document and quite literally use you to un-board myself. And because of this, it made me mull something over that may be interesting to you and two or three other people I know – not that there aren’t others ironing their favorite tie while listening to Cream or Interpol or even the Ramones that wouldn’t also find this interesting – it’s just that I don’t know them and I don’t want to, because anyone ironing a tie while listening to Ramones has to find another job or at least a second job that will make them satisfied.

But I don’t think everyone has two handfuls of albums they can listen to when they don’t feel like deciding what to listen to. I assume you aren’t one of these people and I encourage you to play this little game yourself – how many CD’s would you grab at and both have memorized the content and not care that that content may not in anyway be pertinent to the present situation.

I’ve driven on a sun-drenched desolate road on the rural side of Waldo County Maine, wind lining in through the sunroof across my forehead and forking out the front and rear open windows, and listened to Johnny Cash kill himself with a smile on his face. I can study to Rusted Root without losing my place on the page. I can wake up to Rage and eat breakfast with the Times without making that lacquered plaster/aluminum scratch a knife makes when it’s handler is too emotionally angry to not look ridiculous while sitting at table.

Now this might be a point in which you think, how terrible. He doesn’t find emotion in music. That is anti-symptomatic of music lover’s plight. But you didn’t let me finish. I’ve also sang to a bartender, ‘fuck you I won’t do what you tell me,’ because she scathed at me to stop studying her breasts and spent the rest of the night repeating the inspirational words, ‘people of the sun, it’s coming back around again,’ again and again.

[there is a large blank space here in which I think I was supposed to make an argument – I didn’t, so just keep reading and don’t think so much]

My possibly complete, but it’s unlikely, list of all-purpose CD’s:Kill the Moonlight, The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, Ten, August and Everything After, Rage Against the Machine, Hot Fuss,Graceland, The Concert in Central Park, Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, American Beauty, Elephant, London Calling, Billy Breathes, Hoist, A Quick One,Tough Gong, Mellow Gold, Audioslave, Purple, Nirvana Unplugged, Kristofferson, Appetite for Destruction, Funeral, Best of the Talking Heads, White Blood Cells and Is This It (that was fun, you should really try it).

I count 26 – which is extremely weird because that is my lucky number, and the lucky number of every rugby player to go through [edited] in the last 15 years (the rugby house is on 26 [edited] Street; one time Waldo Italiani won $3200 by betting variations of 26 on Keno the first time he ever played Keno; I’ve won perhaps $3000 betting 26 at Foxwoods, etc.). I’ll take a minute or more to explain the roots of when each of my choices became untouchably important:

I became obsessed with Kill the Moonlight when I was at [edited] and the schlockrod (the name of the blue olds cutlass sierra I beat to the ground) was stuck in as now bank on the bottom of the driveway at 26. I traded time shoveling around the car and sheltering myself from the 10 degree weather inside the warmth of the schlockrod. I listened carefully to Spoon while I watched liquid dirt seep through the floorboards of the car – and was both moved by the music and the previously unknown phenomenon of melted snow’s ability to enter a car through its bottom.

Bowie b/c no one can understand what it’ll be like for the world to end and thought experiments make me strangely contented.

Ten because the first time I remember saying ‘fuck’ in front of my father was when [edited] and I were in Maine in October putting the dock in the water and jumping into the lake while singing ‘Even Flow.’ And because without that album I’d be a completely different person and probably love Justin Timberlake.

The Counting Crows because I actually can admit I cried at their concert and because I was caught by a Jones Beach Park Ranger having sex with [edited] in the front seat of my car outside the aforementioned concert (which reminds me: were you at that Alman’s concert when the beer cooler broke and a man yelled ‘beer for all’ and40 people swarmed and scavenged all the beer Olie bought at Sunny’s?).

Rage because I like to pretend they were special to me when I was younger, but actually I was scared of what they were saying, and only later when I was in Barcelona for the first time and I read the lyrics in full to ‘Fuck the Police’on the side of a wall did I think that maybe this was a band I could now identify with.

The Killers for obvious reasons to any one of us who has soul but isn’t a soldier.

Paul Simon because he was one of the few artist that my whole family could agree upon when driving to Maine as a child (Billy Joel, Meatloaf and the Carpenters are the other), and I thought even then that mixing music from two completely different cultures successfully deserves merit (Graceland) and I thought it was cool that my parents would let us listen to him when he would say ‘lose joints’in public (The Concert in Central Park). And I have a distinct memory of telling one of my mom’s friends that Richard Cory was my favorite song because he happened to put a bullet in his head – and it taught me at a young age that Republicans aren’t all happy with their lives. And I learned a lot about my mother when she thought the Boxer taking comfort in the arms of a prostitute was understandable and not deplorable.

The Flaming Lips because as I mentioned with Bowie, thought experiments and albums that tell a story are made to be listened to all the way through.

The Dead because I literally watched my metal-head devil worshiping sister and brother take a u turn and idolize the habits of Jerry Garcia rather than Gene Simons.

The White Stripes because without them, the Goo Goo Dolls (or their inspired replacement) would probably still be considered the best band in American Rock. And because Jack White speaks to relationships the way I think about them in my head when I’m alone but would never say to the one I love at the time.

The Clash because discovering them was discovering that I liked music.

Phish because I hadn’t smoke pot until just after college because I detested drugs because my family had been so affected my them, but wanted to partake –so I just went to Phish shows and got contacts highs – seriously. And because [edited] wrote his essay to get into Hopkins while high drinking a handle of rum while in a hotel room in Auburn, Massachusetts before a concert.

The Who because they figured out operettas could be put to rock music and the aforementioned albums by Bowie and the Flaming Lips would have never have happened otherwise. And because I’ve never been one to put posters on my wall, but I had a Who poster on my wall junior year.

Marley because finding peace is something I’ve always idolized, because I have no idea how to do it.

Beck because I found something that my parents wouldn’t let me play in their house.

Audioslave because I felt angry and they let me be angry and discover emotions at the same time.

STP because I learned how to rock out to them.

Nirvana because they changed my life and they’re the most important band of our generation

KK because he kept me sane while studying for med school tests – and allowed me to feel alone because no med student knows who he is.

GnR because they were the only band that my sister made me listen to that I actually wanted to listen to (and Pink Floyd – but I was too scared to sit through a whole album when I was 6).

The Arcade Fire b/c Bowie says so, but also because they represent something entirely new to me even though they use concepts that are entirely unnew; and they sing a song about Haiti so I guess now I’m obliged.

The Talking Heads because the way they get weird is the same way I like to get weird at 4:30AM.

The Strokes because they (along with the aforementioned WS) changed rock for the better – and I once drank a fifth of JD with [edited] listening to the album for the first time – and they were the first band I saw on Conan that hadn’t yet released a major album and then did because of their appearance and so I started to like Conan a whole lot more.

Maybe I’m right and am special for trying to find 26 albums I can listen to in any situation; maybe I’m wrong and am even more special for trying.(I blame this email on Chuck Klostermann; I’ve now actually read every word he’s written in a book and I still like him – this makes me question if I might not like myself)

Friday, December 7, 2007

Dont you feel it growin, day by day Part I

Last week my friend Potter sent me an email recounting the 26 albums he listens to when he can’t decide what to listen to. This list included many great records, was very well written and highly entertaining (with permission from Potter, ie. a wave of his sorcerers wand, I’ll post it in this space). But the premise doesn’t actually work for the way I listen to music. I tend to take between 7 and 14 listens to love an album during which a 5-step process occurs 1) I listen to the record once through and find a couple tracks I like 2) listen to those tracks a few times while my taste for the other tracks grow in concentric circles (ie. if track 4 kicks ass I’ll probably like tracks 3 and 5 before 9 even if it’s a better song) 3) I have a startling revelation that the record totally kicks ass from play till stop 4) I listen to it 4 times a day for 2 months 5) I ween myself off only to return when a track surfaces somewhere in my grey matter and possibly starts the cycle over again.

This cycle has probably happened two to three times a year since I first consciously heard Michael Jackson argue about the genetics of an infant in falsetto sing-song. Below are a few albums I distinctly remember devouring like a pothead with Funyuns in chronological order from when they entered my realm.

Michael Jackson Thriller – I liked Thriller so much I choreographed a break dance to the entirety of Billie Jean and used to perform in front of the summer camp my father ran. I was 4 at the time.

Snoop Dog Doggystyle – Fast-forward to the impressionable days of middle school when all I wanted to do was drink Tanqueray and bang bitches in my parents’ living room. I must have listened to Lodi Dodi about 5,000 times.

Hootie and the Blowfish Cracked Rear View – Not only were Hoot and the Fish the first band that I ever saw in concert, but CRV was the first CD I ever owned. My first CD player woke me up every 8th grade morning with Only Want to be With You and while I may joke, I look back on that record with a great deal of fondness. The perfect album for the time, never would have made it in the cynical world of now (both my “now” and the collective “now”).

Dave Matthews Band Under the Table and Dreaming – I’m not sure if I listened to this record because I liked it or because everyone I knew liked it but I still know that Ants Marching is on by the second drumbeat.

G Love and Special Sauce Yeah, It’s That Easy – Tower records used to be one of the only record stores with listening stations (when Tower Records used to be a record store). I was walking by one that had YITE for listening and as my nickname at the time was G Love, I felt obligated to check it out. Four tracks and 18 minutes later I was on-line on my way to an extended love affair with a black sounding, Philly born, prep-school raised, lanky, white, blues singer.

Beastie Boys Paul’s Boutique – my personal favorite BB record and definitely the most critically underrated in their collection. I remember arguing that Paul’s Boutique was a superior record to Check Your Head in my 11th grade physics class. I do not remember anything else about 11th grade physics class.

Be back on Monday with part II (which has much better music, I promise)

Thursday, December 6, 2007

Katt Williams American Hustle Intro

I can't believe how funny this dude is and I just learned about him last night. That's poor form on my part. This video is part of a larger movie/stand-up dvd that is not to be missed. Also that song is Hustlin by Rick Ross and my loose leaf white ass worked out to it everyday for a good two months so that opening is spot on.

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Like a Fine Wine

It takes a long time for a person to realize they're young
- Pablo Picasso

Last night I went to Radar Magazine’s toast to the “New Radicals” - not the band - which they were billing as a celebration of the “most exciting rogues, renegades, and rule-breakers of the year.” I don’t know about all that but Ed Koch was there as well as Bret and Mel from Flight of the Conchords and a bunch of people who wear funny hats and feel comfortable with open displays of homosexuality.

The event was held at the newly renovated New Museum (I could devote a whole post to complaining about this name but for readability sake I wont) and there was an open bar which proves that you don’t only get what you give.

I got plastered on free Svedka vodka, and stumbled around trying not to knock over any of the coke heads. At one point I thought I saw John McEnroe and then I realized it was just an old guy. That was the type of party it was. Everyone was young and everyone was trying to see famous people. There is a certain look people assume when trying to see famous people and it requires they look through everyone who is not famous. Many of the individuals at the party struck me as the type of people who always look through everyone who is not famous.

Anyway, the party was generally forgettable much like the magazine which I always confuse for a music mag but the McEnroe incident did get me thinking about age.

One day last summer I went out to the east end of Long Island to visit my grandparents. We were all sitting in their den when my grandfather complained that often times he doesn’t hear what my grandmother says because the pitch of her voice is not picked up by his hearing aid to which I said “it’s either that or the 60 years of marriage.” For the next three seconds (the longest of my life) there was dead silence in the room and then thunderous laughter from both of them.

They laughed because they thought it was funny but more importantly they laughed because they would have laughed at such a joke for their entire lives. I’m slowly coming to realize that we’re always the same. No matter how old I get I’ll always be the same person as I am right now. Getting older might change my activities and behavior but it is not going to change my outlook on life or who I am at the core. I’ll still laugh at the same things I think are funny now and I’ll still get angry at the things that anger me now. And as far as behavior goes I’ll still want to get drunk and flirt with pretty girls. The fact that I wont be able to is inconsequential because I’ll still want to do it and that’s what really matters. That’s who I really am.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Hit 'Em Up

Before we get to the worst film in the history of modern cinema I’d like to acknowledge the J-train subway conductor who sounds like Ving Rhames. Few things cheer up a dreary winter morning like imagining your subway conductor saying “Please stand clear of the closing doors…and wait for the Wolf who will be coming directly.”

That guy could put a smile on my face in the middle of a rectal exam.

And Now: & Thank you for coming to Lowes, sit back and relax, enjoy the show &:

About 45 minutes into Hitman, a soon-to-be victim of Agent 47 (i.e. Hitman), says “you think it’s done but it’s only just beginning,” the exasperation on the face of Agent 47 was matched and surpassed by the horror on mine. I knew he was right, I knew we had at least another hour left, but how was this possible, how could they expect so little from me while taking so much?

I had gone into Hitman with some serious reservations. I was suspicious because a good deal of money was spent on special effects and marketing but the producers had been unable to secure a big name actor for the lead roll. My reservations were further aroused when I was informed (about an hour before the movie) that it was based on a video game. There are two formulas that I find useful when predicting the quality of a film:

Lots of production money – big name actor = shitty flick
Video game movie – ninja turtles = shitty flick

And a new one after seeing Hitman:

Lots of production money – big name star – ninja turtles = bonding with fellow movie goers as thoughts of ritual suicide pass through our collective minds

Still at the outset of the film I was willing to give it a chance. I wanted to like Hitman, I wanted to relax and enjoy a Bond type film. I don’t mind suspending a bit of disbelieve, I liked The Transporter. But this shit was unbearable.

Absolutely unbelievable scenes:

1. Our hero, Agent 47, wears a suit and has a bar code tattooed on the back of his shaved head yet at no point does this arouse suspicion FROM ANYBODY. This premise might be acceptable if he spent his time in underground vampire clubs but he eats at nice restaurants and walks the street in squares in which Russian dignitaries are about to give speeches (and he’s about to assassinate them). I get the feeling somebody might notice a fellow like that.

2. At one point Agent 47 walks into an abandoned train car and is greeted by a man with a gun trained on him. He too has his gun trained on the man. Then, two other men step on the train and each of the four have two guns trained on them and two guns trained on other men. They all walk toward each other to the point that they are almost touching when Agent 47 announces “lets die like men” and they all drop their guns, pull out swords and fight to the death. The only problem is that they are all fighting him. If they were all going to fight him why did they have their guns trained on each other only seconds earlier? (Alright, that is not the “only problem” with that scene but it is a fundamental one). This movie was so stupid it made me wish I smoked crack.

3. A love interest develops between Agent 47 and a former concubine of the Russian President. I was going to elaborate, but that sentence stands on its own.

Other notes:

I’m fairly certain Agent 47’s name is an homage to Forty-seven Ronin but that might be giving the minds behind this way too much credit.

The film takes place in 5 or 6 different cities throughout Europe and Russia. Each time a scene opens in a new city the name of the city is typed along the bottom left of the screen in addition to the country with no other information. The amount of credit the film gives its audience is evidenced by the need to tell us that Big Ben is in London, England - Oh, I had thought London, Texas, and St. Petersburg? They have one of those in Russia too? Crazy shit man.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Beliefs Without Reason ie. Religion

Last week my friends and I were debating the relative merits of drawing a red X on the front door of the apartment building in which one resides. As far as I can figure the only real "pro" that it delivers is tremendous comedic value. The "cons" include frightening/horrifying neighbors, possible arrest and the unintentional demolition of ones own living quarters. I endorse virtually any and all behavior done in the name of comedy but I cannot endorse this act of vandalism.

The reason has nothing to do with jail or (the admittedly unlikely) destruction of my building. It's rather due to interpretation of the red X by my neighbors, and there is an ethical inconsistency in that logic.

Every action we take is subject to the interpretation of those whom the action affects. Every time we joke, every time we avoid eye contact, every time we make eye contact, every time we avoid small talk, every time we ask a question, anything, can be misperceived as a slight of some sort. So why would I have any reservations about a joke that poses no physical harm to other people (barring building demolition)?

I don't know.

But I do.

Why has our generation failed to produce any "cool" men?

I'm not sure I can live in world in which Shia LaBeouf and Ryan Gosling are the "it" guys. I have nothing against either of these two gentlemen, I'm not even sure if I've ever seen a movie with either of them in it. But I am certain that they are not cool in the way that Johnny Depp and Frank Sinatra and Steve McQueen and Samuel L. Jackson were/are cool. What is it that has prevented our generation from producing the icons of cool the way that previous generations have? Why is the coolest man under the age of 40 - according to virtually any objective metric - the former lead singer of a boy band? We can't do better than that? I mean could we please find some one respectable for Scarlett Johansson to have sex with for Christ's sake.

The wonders of google analytics.

Google analytics allows me to track the amount of hits this blog gets. It's pretty neat and a useful tool to see if I'm writing anything that is worthwhile and/or what people enjoy reading about. It also allows me to see what terms people search on google in order to arrive at my blog. Below are some of the stranger searches that have resulted in hits:

stripper art portrait
tom tancredo's logo, button, or campaign slogan
cool asian cliques (the logic behind someone searching this escapes me entirely)
cliquish asians
passed out asian chick
older men than 60 y o fucking eachother (this one is particularly disturbing and I have no idea how this blog possibly shows up on that search)
garbage man party
dr. phil + sleezy
and last but certainly not least: bestiality bloger (yikes)

With that, enjoy being thankful.

Friday, November 16, 2007

Living to Kill Yourself

I saw a band called Scotland Yard Gospel Choir at a small venue in Brooklyn last night. When we walked in they were playing at a verrry slow tempo and it appeared as though the lead singer might hang himself with the microphone chord. Somehow by the end of the show the band was dancing around the stage and singing about their feelings for young men (quick aside - so the name of the song – which happens to be their second single – is, I never knew I could feel this way about a boy, (which I think is a joke) and the band is all dudes minus the bassist who’s a rail thin, punkish-looking rock chick. So it occurred to me that it would be funny for them to say the lyrics were written by her. Further aside – rail thin bassist chick was wearing a green tank top that said “This is the Irish Curse” and she also happened to be an overwhelmingly pail, red haired, freckled woman. If she has the gall to make fun of her own appearance to that extent she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen).

The show was free and more than worth the price of admission. The band reminded me of Belle and Sebastian but I thought that might just be because Belle and Sebastian are Scottish. Upon a bit of research this morning I discovered that they did in fact remind me of Belle and Sebastian (that linked review was fucking harsh btw).

After we went to a place called Trash Bar that served $4 PBR’s. Honestly, if your gonna serve $4 PBR’s you don’t get to call yourself Trash Bar. How about Overpriced Place That Sounds Badass but Really Isn’t Bar – fit that on your sign bitches.

Several entirely unrelated notes and some links:

Rail thin has funny cocaine connotations

I just finished Killing Yourself to Live and Of Mice and Men. Both were excellent. That John Steinbeck might be on to something.

This story has some pretty interesting implications for the future of media, I’m not sure where I stand.

RIP Norman Mailer, I wish more writers could paint a picture with a pen like you.

I had seen this link on Reddit and Digg for a couple days before finally watching the trailer. Not sure if it’s going to be good or funny or worthwhile but it’s certainly unique.

Have a good weekend.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007


Not again.


Struggle, stretch, cold, cold, cold, piss...


Did I already use the shampoo?

Clothes. Day.

I walk fast, I'm late (most of the time), I pass people.

Subway. Read, try not to look at phone for time, look at phone for time.

8:58: "Last stop, Broad St."

I want to be the first one out of the subway. Not out of the car or train but out of underground. I derive a frightening amount of satisfaction from this success.

Walk. Fast.

Pass two asian cops, never seen two asian cops together in New York. I've seen two asian cops in Tokyo, are there two white cops in Tokyo?

Boots. God bless the women of New York.

Eyes. She gives'em, I squint.

Bagel, coffee. Same cart, same pleasantries, same order. I have cart brand loyalty.

$2.00, "Have a good day fellas"

Elevator, desk, 9:06.

Asleep 40 minutes ago?

Monday, November 12, 2007


My new recommendation/prediction/suggestion is for South Park to do an episode on social networking communities. Myspace and Facebook have taken over the social existences of people between the ages of 3 and 30 to a degree that is unfathomable (and certainly would have seemed completely preposterous no more than 5 years ago). The communities - the way they shape our lives, the way they alter our perspective of others, the way we try to alter others perspective of us, and the bizarre goups and events they spawn - are a comic goldmine just waiting for prospectors Stone and Parker. I would be very surprised if a full season goes by before they take on this topic.

Interesting note: I watched Saturday evening's Mosley/Cotto fight at a friend's place on 34th Street in Manhattan. He lives on the 13th floor and has a clear view of the Empire State Building from his living room (where we were watching the fight). The fight took place at Madison Square Garden and at one point a camera shot panned around the City and particularly the Empire State Building as Jim Lampley described what a wonderful night it was in New York. Lampley was correct in his description of the evening and the camera displayed the ESB in a radiant red towering over the city. The only problem was that the Empire State Building was yellow on Saturday night. Apparently the $50 pay-per-view subscribers offer up for fights only allows for stock filler footage. I guess we can't complain though, if boxing had structured its business model after the NFL or MLB they wouldn't even have money for that - oh wait, that's not true at all.

Movie thoughts: I saw No Country for Old Men last night. Afterwards I described it as Texas' American Gangster and although I haven't seen AG it seems to fit. The pacing is slow and at times painfully slow but the story is excellent and having read Cormac McCarthy's work in the past, I think the Coen's probably did the book justice. The cinematography is amazing, particularly to someone from the Northeast who isn't accustomed to seeing past the corner delivery truck. The ending is unexpected, original and unusual. All in all, I'd give it a Pitchfork score of 8.267.

Be back soon with the moronification of Yfbfb's reading interests.

Friday, November 9, 2007

Blog of Horses

Band of Horses show, Terminal 5, Manhattan's west side:

There were two opening acts. The first was a one man act (who's name I've forgotten and can't seem to locate - I'm nursing a pretty nasty hangover right now). There's just not enough going on in one-man acts to properly whet my musical appetite. Plus one-man acts seem suspicious. Is the man so intolerable that no one will be in his band? Does he have really bad BO? These questions distract from the music (plus he just wasn't very good).

The second act was a band called the Drones who were programmed to play very, very bad music. Every song they played had a bridge where they broke down to one (or no) instruments before building it back up. This technique is great in small doses (Radiohead's Let Down being the best example) but when done over and over it becomes a crutch.

On a non-music level this band also annoyed to the point of repulsion. The lead singer convulsed rather than danced, the bassist stood with her back to the crowd for most of the time and the lead guitarist looked like he was in a Dolce and Gabana ad. I do not like the Drones.

Then Band of Horses came out and hit like a six footer. These guys really love playing music together and it was very evident. Ben Bridwell, BoH's lead singer, said at one point that the show was the largest the band had ever done. This was not evident. They play a type of music that is well suited for large concert halls, anthemic songs like Funeral and Is There a Ghost seem like they were made with large venues in mind. And BoH performed them with an excitement at the big venue realization. If you haven't checked out BoH do so, otherwise we'll fistfight again.

Two strange occurrences:

Today I walked past a group of construction workers on Wall Street who were listening to NPR.

Yesterday there was a headline on that said "Jim Kelly breaks down Tom Brady's keys to success" - this is like Custer breaking down Patton's WWII plans - I'll find my analysis elsewhere, thanks.

I'm a Giant's fan so I particularly enjoyed this article but it's an excellent piece of sports writing.
Submitted by McNuts: One of the funniest opening lines to a "news" story in long while.

Monday, November 5, 2007

SNL Bites YFBFB: Makes Idea Less Funny

Last week I wrote that Saturday Night Live should do a skit in which they spoof the I-Phone commercials. On Saturday, SNL did a skit in which they spoof the I-Phone commercials. Of course true to form, the skit isn't nearly as funny as it could be but that's to be expected.

On another note, the other day I was sitting around with a couple friends, expanding our intellectual horizons, when I broke out Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs and read through the series of 23 questions Chuck Klosterman claims to ask everyone he encounters to find if he can really love them. After picking through a couple randomly we came upon this one:

Genetic engineers at Johns Hopkins University (Yfbfb's alma mater) announce that they have developed a so-called "super gorilla." Though the animal cannot speak, it has a sign language lexicon of over twelve thousand words, an I.Q. of almost 85, and--most notably--a vague sense of self-awareness. Oddly, the creature (who weighs seven hundred pounds) becomes fascinated by football. The gorilla aspires to play the game at its highest level and quickly develops the rudimentary skills of a defensive end. ESPN analyst Tom Jackson speculates that this gorilla would be "borderline unblockable" and would likely average six sacks a game (although Jackson concedes the beast might be susceptible to counters and misdirection plays). Meanwhile, the gorilla has made it clear he would never intentionally injure any opponent.

You are commissioner of the NFL: Would you allow this gorilla to sign with the Oakland Raiders?

Most of the 23 questions are open-ended and leave a good amount of room for debate. Upon first read I had thought this was also a question worthy of debate, I was wrong.

The only answer that allows for cohesion of moral belief is that if the "super gorilla" is capable of reproducing (fertile children) with humans then he is allowed to play. If he is not, then he cannot. The reason this argument holds true is that if the "super gorilla" is capable of procreation with humans then he is not a gorilla at all, he is a human. And if he is a human than he must be afforded the same opportunities as other humans.

Those who would argue that the beast's origins in a laboratory disqualify him from competing in organized competitions have a difficult argument to make, one that is certainly fraught with moral and ethical peril (I love writing like a philosopher).

We live in a time when many children are more a product of the lab than they are of loving parents. The first "test-tube" baby was born in 1978, and since then there have been myriad advances in conception technology that allow children to be born to those who could not have children on their own. There is no debate as to whether these children would be allowed to compete in the NFL and there should not be.

Be back tomorrow with a review of Band of Horses at Terminal 5 from Sunday night.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Lone Drinker V

Editor's note: This is the fifth installment of the lone drinker. The previous four installments can be found here: I, II, III, IV. As always this is entirely unedited:

8:50: Tonights lone drinker is being brought to you by a magnum of First Run Shiraz with a bottle of Svedka Vodka as the backup. First Run: Making costomers wish we provided samples since 2005. Svedka Vodka: Because consuming rubbing alcohol is illegal since 1973.

8:58: Tonight I will be viewing two straight hours of MTV. The line up includes a half hour of the Hills, an hour of The Real World and a half hour of Pageant Place (I've never heard of this show). I wish I could keep a running tally of which substance is killing brain cells faster, alcohol or MTV.

9:08: Humanity has yet to devise a system that can properly estimate the amount of brain cells I'm losing watching this idoicy. It's gotta be in the gogleoplex range. On another note, two ideas I might have pursued if I had the time, money and wherewithall to dress up for Halloween: One, A Micheal Vick jersey with a stuffed animal dog hanging from my shoulder pads. Two, a suite with cardboard bathroom stall dividers constantly tapping my foot. (second glass)

9:19: "Yo Brody, this is Spence, hit me up bro," is said by a white man without a touch of irony.

9:28: The shows over, not much to report, Common's getting a ton of time on MTV's in show commercials though. Selling out is a way overhyped concept, but I'll be interested to hear Common's next record. Onto the Real World Sydney, haven't seen this show but I have Great Expectations.

9:36: Better idea for Real World Sydney: An Islamic Fundamentalist, an Evangelical Christian, an Orthodox Jew, a Transexual, a militant Athiest, a butch lesbian, and move the show to sub-Saharan Africa.

9:40: One of my favorite aspects of reality television just reared its beautiful head. One of the chicks just mediated a debate in defense of not only her friend but "all women." There is nothing more precious than the self-importance of virtually unknown reality television stars. (glass 4)

9:44: "I've always been told never feel, or care, more than anybody else than about yourself, and I can't do that." A character in the Real World just said that!?!?

9:58: Something happened while I was watching the dog. One of the Real World chicks invariably overreacted to an action that was invariably douchebaggy by one of the guys. On another note, my friends and I have this running joke that should definitely be an SNL skit.

10:03: Dumb Real World chick: "The last thing I would expect to hear from one of our bosses mouths is that we're going on a vacation." Really? They go on one every fucking season, this is a surprise? Have you seen the fucking show? On another note, my friends and I have a running joke that should definitely be an SNL skit. This style of Iphone commercials is absolutely ridiculous. Do they mean to claim that central command's instrumentation is inferior to the I-phone? So what we proposed is a series of commercials that would go something like this: "We had departed New York on our way to Dallas when our engine failed, fortunately I had my Iphone with me and was able to affix it to the cargo space. The Iphone recognized the instability and corrected it allowing for a safe landing." Or, "I was in the Congo and was told I had contracted a rare venereal disease, as I was sitting there scratching my testicles I turned on my Iphone and was able to obtain the vaccine via an obscure aboriginal tribe." What do you think Mr. Jobs? (glass 6)

10:26: The Real World's cookie cutter southerner, "females don't fight with females, that's not how things work." This officially confirms my suspicion that the south is a different country than the rest of the United States.

10:32: Not entirely sure whats going on in the show, Pageant Place, but I do think all these morons are driving up rent in New York and it's starting to piss me off.

10:48: of the chicks was saying that she was able to overcome her addiction as a result of the friendship she had established with the other broad. I honestly don't believe that anyone as dumb as either of these chicks can or could have been adicted to anything. It takes some level of intelligence to be addicted to

11:28: The Lone Drinker was distracted by company; one last Iphone idea: The world had suffered Nuclear Winter; fortunately my Iphone was able to locate a bomb shelter and inform me as to the superior way to repopulate humanity.

Friday, October 26, 2007

The Beginning of Poverty

I'm reading The End of Faith by Sam Harris. The book is essentially an argument for the abolishment of the three main religions. It's excellent and I'll review it in full when done but wanted to mention two quick points before bidding adieu for the weekend.

First, since I started reading I'm 0 and 4 in sports gambling. This is a stunning turn of events and I believe there may be larger "cosmic" factors at play here. If this trend continues I may be the first person driven back to the Church by this book.

Second, this book has made me come to believe that every Muslim I encounter secretly wants to kill me. If reading books were a more socially acceptable activity in the United States, Harris' arguments could very well have created serious public unrest.

While I write that half tongue in cheek, I invite you to join me in reading this book, I'd be interested to hear other opinions. His writing is very persuasive but also very provocative and potentially dangerous (although he would argue to not engage in the discussion is even more dangerous).

Merry weekend to all and to all a good night.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

The Bands Played On Part II

Before we get to the the other two bands a couple random thoughts:

Two nights ago I was watching a show on the history of tobacco on the History Channel (oh the irony). At one point they were discussing all of the endorphins that nicotine release in the brain upon consumption of tobacco. There was a graphic that showed all of the nicolicious goodness that passes through the brain during the drug's travels. It was the strongest endorsement for tobacco I've ever seen. I actually felt like I was depriving myself by not smoking.

I've actually just returned from a cigarette. That's how good the segment was.

The other point I want to mention occurred to me while I was watching the Seinfeld where Jerry passes on a threesome claiming he's not a "threesome guy". After watching Curb Your Enthusiasm I'm convinced that bit of humor was pure Larry David. Jerry is definitely a threesome guy and does not have the type of neurosis that would even allow for such a thought. I have absolutely no way to prove this theory but I think it makes sense.

On to the show.

The first note I wrote about the second band was "AP Biology A students"...apparently I hadn't realized that their name is Tacks, the boy disaster - cause I think I might have had a thought or two about that (current thought: if your a band and you have a comma in your name, you might want to shore up your bartending abilities). My next note was about the mustache that one of the members sported which was neither kitsch nor ironic, it would probably best be described as a Chris Hansen stache. Regarding their music, it was both powerful and disorganized, I saw glimpses of real talent but not enough cohesion as a unit to warrant much more explanation (see for yourself at their myspace page).

The final performer was Chase Pagan, who was honestly very good. The only complaint I have was that he was a bit flip during his performance. I normally appreciate acts that don't take themselves too seriously but I felt like it did a disservice to his talents. He does have quite a bit of talent and with a bit of refinement to his stage presence he has a serious future.

The Living Room as a venue was unusual but agreeable. The front room is standard LES bar fare but it leads to a curtain covered back room where the performances took place. The back room has a service bar and about 20 tables which seat probably 60 or so people in sum. Its a cool space, one in which a drunk might end up talking about Bikram Yoga with the bartender despite a complete lack of understanding of Bikram Yoga, perhaps.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

The Bands Played On Part I

I've seen a pair of shows over the last couple weeks. The National at the Music Hall of Williamsburg (with Elvis Perkins opening) and a series of bands at a Paste Magazine show at the Living Room in the Lower East Side. For the National show I didn't take notes and got overwhelmingly drunk while for the Living Room show I did take notes and got overwhelmingly drunk. What follows is a couple thoughts on each show.

Apparently the Music Hall of Williamsburg is a new venue or at least under new ownership because it used to be called Galapagos. Very cool place, a bit expensive (like $5-7 a beer (remember this is Williamsburg, things should at least try to be cheaper)) but really a knockdown venue. Elvis Perkins put on an excellent set that did well to calm the clamouring for the National. He plays a folky Dylan-esque kind of music crossed with something of an Arcade Fire type sound. Also upon a bit of research I learned he is the son of photographer Berry Berenson, who was on one of the planes that crashed into the World Trade Center, and actor Anthony Perkins, who played Norman Bates in Psycho (and also has a sordid tale surrounding his death). This has (understandably) led to some melancholy tunes but there didn't seem to be any insincerity in his performance and my research seems to confirm his earnestness.

The National then came on and killed. I honestly adore their most recent record and couldn't recommend it more. The Onion review of it is perfect. The National is like a good steak dinner and that night the Music Hall of Williamsburg was Peter Lugar's. Seriously, buy The Boxer, listen to it 5 times, rinse and repeat, if you don't love it we can fistfight. I don't really remember too many specific details beyond their awsomeness cause I was drunk.

A British group called Air Traffic opened up the Living Room show. The first note I took on them was Naomi Campbell (sp?). This was due to the guitarists hair. It looked like Vidal Sassoon had just finished his masterpiece on the kids head. I don't understand how this works with bands. The first three guys are sitting around with their barbershop cuts and all of a sudden the fourth sashays in with his supermodel salon cut and he's allowed to remain in the band? I think more bands need to be held accountable for this lapse in judgement.

Anyway, they were okay, a little like Coldplay crossed with Ben Folds.

Tomorrow*, the other two bands and some thoughts on Living Room.

*Tomorrow meaning any day that might at some point be rightfully called "tomorrow".

Saturday, October 13, 2007

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Stripper

I'm sorry I haven't been posting more frequently. Now that I've moved to Brooklyn I've devoted most of my time to the pursuit of my career as an MC. My name is Cervantes and my band is the Extraditables. We play post-funk hop, it's really starting to take off. There's a picture of my group and I sitting at a bar with sippy cups instead of beer mugs in front of us. That's our publicity photo. I'll be posting it in the near future. The rest of my time is spent with my dog, Pavlov. I love him and indulge most of his food requests.

I have an idea for a painting. Unfortunately even as a child I could barely fingerpaint so instead of attempting to paint my idea I'll describe it for any budding artists who happen upon this post and desire to attain artistic immortality. The idea is relatively simple but its implications on the art world would likely be tantamount to what Da Vinci did with the Mona Lisa. Prepare to have your mind blown:

A first person depiction of what life appears like from the eyes of a man getting a lap dance in a strip club.

This idea is brilliant and possibly revolutionary for three reasons.

First: it's provocative. Not only do you have a woman's naked body but you have all the other visual delights that your typical strip club offers. Including, but not limited to, sleazy old men gawking at (possibly) 18 year old women, clear heels, a neon Stroh's sign, a greasy dj and a world of other possibilities

Second: I would name the painting Don't Touch. As such it would mimic the reality of the art gallery experience.

Third: it appeals to pseudo-intellectuals and dirtbags equally.

If you or somebody you know would be interested in pursuing this endeavor please contact me at 555-4327.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Standing next to a Hasidic Jew...

under the JMZ elevated subway in Brooklyn. After several minutes of conversation, we look out at a downpour of biblical proportions:
Yfbfb - So you think Noah will save us
HJ - One of us, probably

Check out this Hitchen's article from Vanity Fair. If you haven't had a teary-eyed moment by the end see a therapist.

I'll be back in the next day or two, sorry, bloggers block.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Lone Drinker IV

3:25 - Welcome to a special afternoon version of the lone drinker. Today’s lone drinker is being brought to you by a bottle of Jacob’s Creek Shiraz Cabernet. Jacob’s Creek: not bad, not fucking bad, since 1847. Today’s post is also being brought to you by a handle of Seagram’s V.O. Seagram’s V.O.: proud sponsor of 87% of Yfbfb’s blackouts since 2002 (soon to be 87.01%).

3:30 – I’m going to watch TRL today. Dane Cook and Jessica Alba are co-hosting. Dane Cook seems like a gigantic douche to me, I’ve yet to see him be funny as well. Seems about right he’s a Red Sox fan.

3:32 – Apparently Jessica Alba won the Teen Choice “Hottie Award”. Can’t wait to see 20 second clips of videos by artists I’ve never heard of before.

3:33 – In at number 10 is J.Lo with a song called ________. J.Lo is surrounded - in a very bizarre club – by transvestites and women who could only fit two in the back of Biggie Smalls Mercedes – she still doesn’t look particularly good.

3:37 – Number 9 is a video by Chris Brown (?). It sounded catchy for the twelve seconds it was on.

3:39 – God I hope Jessica Alba didn’t sleep with Dane Cook.

3:47 – Four inane morons are babbling on the stage in Times Square (the host Damien (?), Alba, Cook and somebody dude who looks like Lloyd from Entourage), I’d like to take this moment to recommend The National record, Boxer, fucking kickass.

3:49 – Avril Levine is apparently still alive. Who would’ve guessed (or cared)?

3:58 – Damien is interviewing Cook and Alba about their new movie. Later I’m going to watch paint dry.

4:01 – What?!?!?!?!? Apparently Dane Cook called Jessica Alba a “genius” for her work on their new film. This is like Einstein calling Oppenheimer a genius for only the exact opposite.

4:13 – They’re currently interviewing a 22 year old about her music playlist. If you’re 22 and you’re sharing your playlist on TRL it’s time to re-evaluate. Paramore (hadn’t heard of till now (thank god)) is currently number three, the countdown till number one has my stomach in knots. (glass four)

4:28 – Chamillionaire comes in at #1. Cool name, bit the multi-personality schtick from a bunch of other rappers (biggie and eminem come to mind), twenty seconds of a potentially interesting video.

4:44 – Just switched over to VO and Ging, I can’t begin to describe the dangers here. This drink is like capitalism, it may not be perfect but it’s the greatest system that man has yet to create in its field.

5:02 – This is the video that everyone wanted me to watch about Britney and this is Seth Green’s (invariably) unfunny impersonation of the clip. (1st vo and ging in)

5:05 – (2nd VO and G – very strong) Gonna do some push-ups and take a piss, as Mario said in MarioKart – here we go!!!

5:21 – I’m watching TV Guides 2007 Fall Preview. I can’t believe Prison Break is going to be back for a 3rd season. I mean shouldn’t that shit have been broken by now?

5:23 – Fuck that, Dr. Phil has a show described by time warner as “Guests say they want plastic surgery to erase ethnic identities.” Dr. Phil and a troupe of retards, dynamite.

5:26 – Dr. Phil just self-promoted his 7 books. This is weird cause VO and Ging normally doesn’t make me feel like I’m going to puke

5:35 – The current debate on Dr. Phil is about an anti-asian looking procedure that plastic surgeons are performing. The concern is that the surgery is being performed because the western perception of beauty is being purveying too many sectors of society (I don’t know if this is an apt description of the debate, I’m quite drunk) – regardless Dr. Phil makes me feel sleazy.

5:45 – Now there’s an Italian that wants nose surgery because it makes him look too Italian. I’m mic and I have a big nose, silly Eyetal.

5:50 – Two important programming notes from someone who is very drunk. My next post is an allegory. If you pick it up I’ll be impressed. Two, I look forward to the next several moments because I’m bordering on black out.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Dear Person of Ambiguous Gender,

I first saw you in college. You were but an aberration among the sea of frat boys in plaid shorts and Asians in textbooks. A welcome respite from the JAPs on their cellphones and the hippies on their mescaline. You passed like a cool breeze on a hot day in your knee length carpenter shorts and your laceless skater shoes; your hair cut short, dyed slightly and parted to the side, riding high on your square back neck. You caught my eye and for a second I caught yours before you returned to your ska music or Annie Lennox or whatever it was. You captured my heart.

I then moved to Manhattan and you moved with me. I saw you frequently on the subway reading David Sedaris and listening to your I-Pod. You hid yourself from me in your vintage sunglasses and over sized (late 80's) t-shirts, but you couldn't hide from my furtive glance. I thought the world of your uniqueness and was compelled by your individuality.

When I moved to Syracuse you nearly disappeared, I still caught a glimpse of you from time to time but you had put on a great deal of weight, wore ketchup stained hoodies, and frequented fast food restaurants. You had lost something and I feared it might be gone forever.

Now I live in Brooklyn and you abound in the streets of Williamsburg. You've lost all of that upstate weight and wear tight shirts to show off your nubile body. I see you frequently and sometimes you return my inquisitive glances. I love you person of ambiguous gender, I just want to know, does that make me gay?

Monday, September 17, 2007

Derek Jeter is my Hero

That is all. Lone Drinker coming Wednesday or Thursday. Another post also on Wednesday or Thursday.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Korea baseball game fight

Fucking Hysterical

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Ramblings of an absent minded teaching assistant

Over the last two weeks I've killed somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 house flies in my restaurant. This is good for about a 75% kill rate. Generally, any fly that stays in the same room for more than 10 minutes without retreating into a lighting fixture or maintaining a supremely high altitude flight pattern catches last weeks Economist in the grill. Yet despite my kill efficiency I'm starting to grow concerned that I may be selecting for a mutant race of genetically superior flies.

Has there ever been a more well crafted musical blow-off than Bob Dylan's supposed ode to Joan Baez on Positively 4th Street?

I wish that for just one time you could stand inside my shoes
And just for that one moment I could be you
Yes, I wish that for just one time you could stand inside my shoes
You'd know what a drag it is to see you

Honestly, I feel like 50 Cent should be taking notes on this song.

This is a pretty interesting article about how the conveniences of modern living are making us miserable. Although I must take issue with the Naked Photo Test as posed by the article. I don't think I have a single friend who I would trust with a photo of me engaging in bestiality or vice versa and I'm okay with that. Bestiality suggests a level of depravity that defies normal human activities like friendship. Honestly, if you fuck dogs we probably can't be friends.

This is a fascinating story that does well to confirm the dangers of the internet.

This website is a brilliant attempt at harnessing the power of advertising to raise money for poor people throughout the world. You can also link to it at the bottom of your facebook page or blog. I definitely recommend giving it a look.

And finally, apparently GWB likes doing impressions of Dr. Evil in the halls of the Whitehouse...well I guess his father was given to making outrageous claims, particularly when he requested we read his lips...

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

10 Questions a Northeast Liberal Elistist Might Pose to a Texan

My girlfriend is from Texas. Her mother is from Texas and her father is from Texas. They both went to college in Texas. She's a Texan.

Prior to meeting her I had known three people who had ever been to Texas. My Uncle and two cousins had been forced by the United States Military to take up residence in Abilene, Texas for some time.

I am from New York. My Father is from New York and my Mother is from New York. I have travelled all over the world yet have only been west of the Mississippi River once.

To me Texas has always been a bit of an anomaly. I remember going to a Notre Dame game in South Bend and thinking that I had never encountered such wildly idiotic fans as those of the visiting Long Horns. I was in 9th grade and as time has passed I've come to view their football fanaticism with a greater appreciation as a unique quirk of a unique people. However on the whole I still find Texans to be insane and as a Liberal Elitist I have no problem grouping wide swaths of people into a single category as long as they're predominantly white and disagree with my point of view.

But my rampant stereotyping has failed to answer all of the questions I have about the people from America's sub-continent. So here esixt those questions left unanswered:

1. How many guns do you own?

2. Are you the only person from Texas in your high school graduating class not to attend UT or Texas A&M?

3. How many times have you had dinner with George W. Bush?

4. How many people have you personally electrocuted?

5. What species do you most associate Mexicans with?

6. How many men have you shot?

7. If you were to pick an American most responsible for the downfall of U.S. supremacy who would it be?...No seriously?...come'on...for Fuck's sake, be honest with me...

8. Would it be easier to pick off Karl Rove or Dick Cheney's head in a global warmingly deforested region?

9. Is that gun loaded?

10. Has it been more detrimental for you guys to be associated with us or for us to be associated with you?

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Martin Luther's got 95 Theses but a Bitch Aint One

What follows is the most accurate rendering I could put together of a series of thoughts I had this afternoon. The thoughts may or may not have been affected by the fact that I knew I was going to blog them. Feel free to make your own assumptions, true story:

3:24: Drudge - Republicans are mad gay, the Allen guy who was arrested for soliciting a man to allow Allen to service him, can't believe there is a market for allowing others to perform head, wish I were gay, I'm excellent at getting head, hair, hair product, taffy, jerry garcia, bob marley, boston, red sox, douches, feminine products I don't understand, curlers, shirley temple, work, wondering if the dumb girl at work is attractive, wondering if there is any such thing as non-subjective beauty, wondering if my girlfriend will be upset, concluding no, cigarette, stairs, marco, polo, polio, scooters, whatever those thing are that Gob rides in Arrested Development, keep wanting to call it a sidewalk, water, wine, alcohol, too early to start drinking? could make this part of lone drinker post, applesauce, apple fights in orchards with cousins, hayrides, youth, winter clothes, snowball fights, snowball, clerks, kevin smith, selma hayek, allanis morrisette, that fergie video spoof that was both amusing and disturbing but maybe not for the right reasons, going to set time limit, nother two minutes, time, high school clocks, click back click forward, ap biology, truncall, jewish, reubens, us open, federer, woods, forest, camping, dunes, sun, beech volleyball

3:51-3:57 - My roommate is really into Bravo and Project Runway was running on marathon when I got up this morning, she's since left but I've now turned it back on after turning it off when she left, fascinating show, I wonder if more people like it for serious reasons or humor reasons, I like it for humor, bruno, ali g, Ireland, flight of the conchords, new zealand, australia, surfing, my old bartending partner, the return of ProRun, delete, neighborhood, spelling, bee, the loss of the bee population

4:09 - one of the primary sources of humor on ProRun is how inept the contestants are in real-life, practical situations, it's really perfect, also funny is how ridiculously poor their personal styles are, every designer walks that fine line between 70 and 71

4:34 - Dowdy seems to be a fashionable critique word on ProRun, pedantic, pedestrian, the next customer that asks me how an item on our menu is get's the reply - pedestrian, I cannot currently conceive of doing something funnier than that, Owen Wilson, I can't believe he takes life seriously enough to attempt suicide, didn't see that one coming, Kate Hudson, I read in the paper today she left Wilson for Dax, the guy from punk'd, yikes that might be seriously depressing enough, I just referred to the New York Post as "the paper"

5:10 - Guinness, Dublin, Copenhagen, Carlsberg, Rules of Attraction, Dawson, Varsity Blues, Texas, Red, Jordan, 23, poker, fat people, the news story I saw today that charted the demographics of fat people, an awesome rant I once read entitled Fuck the South, my stay in charming (not sarcasm) Charleston, Sc, the overly sarcastic nature of our generation (sarcasm), dinnner, plans, shower, gone