The young people enjoy it when I get down verbally

The Annals of Questionable Music

2011-06-02T08:33:00.004-05:00

The last song I heard before I got on the bus this morning was almost "Hips Don't Lie," which in all honesty I would have been cool with. Instead it happened to be this awesome/terrible thing:

And that's just not right. Especially offensive is the lyric: "hear the cricket singing softly / never heard a sweeter sound / and you know crickets do their singing / by just rubbin' their legs around." Could this be country music's only frottage reference?

So when I got to work I had to combat it by listening to something else. I don't think you can just get rid of an earworm by listening to another catchy song, though. First you have to subject yourself to the offending song (if possible) and listen all the way through, so you have some closure. Then, you have to put it in its context by listening to similar shitty songs. In this case, I had to find some more terrible pop-country with clumsily suggestive lyrics. Let's see ...

No, that won't do, because that song is actually kind of good. Actually, once Baby I watched this TERRIBLE independent movie because Parker Posey was in it. That song was literally the only good thing about the movie. Regardless, I think the innuendo isn't bad enough. Let's see what else we have. How about this:

Holy shit, that's actually pretty awesome. And that innuendo is truly perplexing! What exactly is the plastic saddle? Do I even want to know? I could speculate, but I feel it's beneath the diginity of even this mostly-defunct blog to make suggestions. And God only knows what would happen to my search hits if I mentioned revagination.

Bananas and Lemons

2010-12-03T09:09:00.007-06:00

So I took the day off yesterday to celebrate my birth and hang out with Baby, Alia, and ... uh, the new baby, whose nom de blog has yet to be generated. His nicknames around the house are Ike (he bears -- as many babies do -- a passing resemblance to Dwight Eisenhower) and Benazir Bhutto, but I don't think either of those will do. Baby got me a new amp for my Rhodes piano so I can once again torment the household with my sub-mediocre renditions of popular songs and Christmas carols. We ate twice-baked potatoes with steak (mmm ... beef allowance) and afterwards drank beers and played Bananagrams with Arkay and our housemate Mollrats. (I hope she doesn't mind that nickname -- I can't imagine why she would have a problem with it.) It was good times.

Yesterday, I ran into the word "cisgendered" for the first time -- twice. First, in this overlauded but amusing video mocking "postmodern" Christians somewhat accurately. Second, in this thoughtful but amusing blog post ruminating on "Liz Lemonism." Turns out cisgendered is the opposite of transgendered. Who knew? That will be useful in future Bananagrams escapades.

The Liz Lemon post is smart enough, but reading it on the bus this morning -- the wrong bus, by the way, since the driver put the wrong text up on the sign and denied it, despite six of the eight riders having to get off at the first stop and walk back to the transit center -- clarified something about what bothers me about certain segments of feminism. Now, before I go and say something ill-advised about feminism, know that in certain crowds I could easily be called a feminist. My wife, whose RSS reader proves her bonafides, may or may not agree with that assessment depending on the day, but ultimately I am generally inclined to be sympathetic to feminism and highly suspicious of anyone who, like me, would make generalized claims about feminism on the whole.

However, reading the post and the comments I was reminded of my young adulthood as a sort of fundamentalist Christian. Specifically, I was reminded of reading Focus on the Family's BreakAway magazine for teenaged boys. One of the recurring themes of BreakAway was analysis of the content of media from a "Christian perspective," to determine whether the music or movie in question could be called Christian -- primarily to satisfy a legalistic requirement that one only consume Christian products. Readers would write in asking if their favorite bands were Christians. Is Metallica Christian? Is Beck Christian? Is Sonic Youth Christian? Spin Doctors are not Christian because "Two Princes" encourages rebellion against one's parents, by the way. (I don't remember them ever actually critiquing the generally vapid content of any of the "actual" Christian musicians popular at the time.)

Christian

Satanic

Now, I was an English major, so I'm aware that critique of pop culture from an ideological perspective is essentially all the humanities have to offer at this point, but there is something really dumb about this "in or out" attitude. One of the commenters says, "someone once told me that 30 Rock was premised on Liz Lemon’s ugliness, and . . . that made me swear to never watch it. That doesn’t sound like feminism at all to me. Just more picking on women." So, she won't watch a show because it's "not feminist?" That's silly. Even as a young fundie I knew it was okay to listen to The Who, even if they say "fuck" now and again. Lighten up!

Having said that, I'm now going to be accused of supporting the myth of the humorless feminist, so I'll stop on this note: I like women. I like feminism. I'm glad my daughters will reap the benefits of the hard work of feminists past and present. But seriously, avoiding 30 Rock because Liz Lemon is too pretty and not feminist enough is dumber than Dan Quayle decrying Murphy Brown's proud single motherhood.

UPDATE: Baby says this is basically me just now:

Using an image from the very blog I was writing about is a nice touch!

Xmas Wars

2010-12-02T10:15:00.002-06:00

It's officially Advent, and that means it's time for everybody's favorite holiday tradition: listening to blowhards complain that Christmas is becoming secularized. My favorite of these complaints -- which are best made from the campout line in front of Best Buy on Black Friday morning as the complainer laces up his Nikes and tightens his elbow pads in anticipation of cracking the skull of anybody who gets between him and his $250-off HDTV -- is that using the abbreviation "Xmas" in place of "Christmas" is part of an agenda to remove Christ himself from Christmas.

Most to least ethnic: Joseph, Mary, Jesus

I'm not really sure what those who would remove "Christ" from Christmas could possibly do to desecrate the holiday any more than we modern Christians have already done, but some people are insistent that this abbrevation is just plain evil. Who would do such a thing? My first thought would be people who are running out of space on whatever they're writing on, but beyond that I can't really come up with a profile of your typical Christmas abbreviator. Except, there is this one blatant instance that comes to mind ...

There! Right at the top of the page, it says "ARXH TOU EUAGGELION IU XU" -- "The beginning of the gospel of I.X.!" What is this I.X. blasphemy? Is this some XX knockoff with gospel influences? Oh wait, it's Mark 1:1 from Codex Sinaiticus, a fourth-century Bible manuscript, and I.X. is an abbreviation for Jesus Christ. Well, fourth century -- that's kind of late. Maybe the Church was already corrupted with secularism by then.

What about the earliest known gospel fragment that contains Jesus's name? What does it say, eh? Let's see, it refers to someone wearing a purple robe and a crown of thorns, going by the name of ... "I." Oh.

This really leaves only one question: why did the early Church insist on secularizing Christmas?

Performance Evaluations

2010-12-01T12:55:00.006-06:00

Yesterday I had to lay off a young, hardworking employee so that I could keep Mustafa -- an old, incompetent, lazy, passive-agressive bastard who is taking Friday off so I can't -- on my payroll. Shit ain't right. My more-competent employee may be a grown man with a shrill laugh more girlish than my five-year-old daughter's, and he may have an underdeveloped sense of professionalism, but dammit, he actually works on shit when I ask him to. You may ask why I can't just fire Mustafa instead. Turns out when you're a member of four protected groups (elderly, foreign, minority religion, slightly disabled) and old family friends with my boss's boss's BOSS, and you have a spouse on the faculty in the same department -- HR won't let you "just get fired." So we're doing these performance evaluations where Mustafa and I sit down with my boss-of-sorts and we go through his job description and enumerate the ways in which he has failed at his modest tasks. This is a painful procedure that I dread every week. In fact, I made my wife have a baby just so I could get out of a month of these evaluations. But I've got one lined up for Friday -- OH SHIT HE'S TAKING FRIDAY OFF! YES! Hot damn, another evaluation postponed! Anyway, the idea is that these evaluations are supposed to (a) lead to the possibility of firing Mustafa or (b) make him realize it might be time to retire, but neither (a) nor (b) is happening as of yet.

I'm supposed to be working on his eval, so I've been thinking about million-dollar t-shirt ideas instead.

Here are a couple of my ideas:

1. Scrawled in fake handwriting: "I'd rather get laid oft than laid off!"

2. A drawing of William Shakespeare (a.k.a. the Bard of Avon, for the slow among you), and above him, in beautiful cheesy calligraphy: "I have a BARD-ON for reading!"

Just spitballing some ideas here. Returning to my terrible management skills -- Mustafa's strategy for keeping his job is primarily to send me a shitload of emails anytime I ask him to do something. So I'll ask him to do a simple task and he'll shoot back (four hours later) an email filled with inane questions that I don't have time to address, along with a list of impediments towards doing his work. Then, when it comes up in the performance evaluation that he's fucked everything up beyond hope of redemption, he can say "Lazlo didn't answer my email about this, so how could I possibly know what I'm supposed to do?" My counterstrategy has yet to be created.

Anyway, this was a blog post I wrote. I was at a Thanksgiving feast the other day (and it was a feast!) and I came up on two friends who said "we were just talking about your blog." I immediately felt the awakening of a long-dormant sense of shame I once knew well, pertaining to not writing enough on my blog. I'm going to turn 31 tomorrow, and I don't want to be that lame 31-year-old with a shitty dead blog just hanging out on the Internet, so I'm going to try to post a bit more. Blame Twitter for my lack of posting, btw.

Yeah, Twitter.

The end of the internet

2010-06-06T00:08:00.010-05:00

It's insomnia time, and I've just run out of internet.

Here's the order in which I check for new shit on the internet to amuse myself:

1. Email
2. Twitter
3. Comment threads I've posted on
4. My RSS reader
5. The Onion
6. The Onion A/V Club
7. My wife's blog, to check for new comments
8. Facebook
9. Flickr
10. Huffington Post
11. Drudge Report
12. CNN
13. Fivethirtyeight.com
14. Random comment threads on newpaper websites
15. Chat Roulette
16. Hacking acquaintances' email
17. Casual Encounters

Just kidding about those last three, but God help us all if there's nothing new on any of my sites. I mean, it's pretty obvious that I'm scraping the barrel with the Huffington Post, but it turns out there is more material underneath the barrel, not to mention the possibility of reconstituting whatever was in the barrel from barrel shards trapped in amber in the stomachs of prehistoric termites.

My insomnia-and-boredom-induced browsing this evening has only reinforced my conclusion that the internet is going to destroy civilization as we know it. Democracy simply can't endure the existence of newspaper website comment sections. If Thomas Jefferson had read the comments on any article linked to by the Drudge Report, I have no doubt in my mind he'd have been all "fuck this shit, I'm just going to be king of America."

"ppl are just so fucking dumb lol"

That being said, the internet has brought us much to enliven our lives. For instance, this Gawker article which highlights the "conspiracy theory" (is there a term that does more to discredit the word "theory?") that President Obama (PBUH) was in the video for Tag Team's world-changing 1993 hit "Whoomp! There it is." (My love for this song, and the inanity it represents, is well-documented.) Also, there's a certain amount of satisfaction that results from the schadenfreude (HOLY SHIT I SPELLED THAT RIGHT ON THE FIRST TRY) of watching my distant relatives' nuttier friends utterly lose their shit over the continued presidency of secret Muslim HRH Mr. Obama.

I thought about doing a post where I rate the relative idiocy of Huffington Post commenters and Drudge Report commenters (via articles he links to, since there are -- wisely -- no comments on the Drudge Report itself), but I got depressed coming up with the criteria. Both sites' readers score high on the Reactionary / Didn't Read The Article Before Commenting matrix, but HuffPo readers would probably wreck the curve on Hypersensitivity portion of the exam -- as would the Drudge readers for Vigilante Justice / Internet Tough Guyism.

Anyway, I think I've now bored myself enough that I might be able to get to sleep. So, let me just add this one last thing: HAPPY 30TH, JAMIE! You've had 'em all. You are a super-ho. I bet you're doing something regrettable right now (well, it's 7am where you are, so you're hopefully sleeping it off by now) but I wish you my sincerest well-wishes on this, the anniversary of your birth. You make the world a little bit better; may you continue to do so for the next 30 years and beyond. Prosit!

McCafe revisited

2010-01-22T11:57:00.004-06:00

After dramatically spilling every last drop of coffee from my otherwise-untouched travel mug onto the living room rug this morning, I decided I didn't deserve the convenience of homemade coffee and used my recently-acquired Starbucks gift card to get some "Café Estima."*

Since I have, in the past, implied that Starbucks is hardly the right target for McDonald's anti-hipster McCafe radio spots, I felt I would be morally remiss if I didn't tell you what I saw there: the gentleman in front of me in line was wearing -- I shit you not (I would never shit you) -- a black turtleneck. Exactly as the commercial says.

I didn't touch it to feel whether it was itchy or not, and I didn't attempt to strike up a conversation about impenetrable French cinema, and the dude was more of a yuppie businessman type than a hipster, but DAMN if the commercial wasn't right.

I didn't take a picture because I'd hate to have to tell people I got my ass beat in Starbucks taking a picture of a dude in a turtleneck for my blog.

*(I THINK IT MEANS COFFEE RESPECTFUL OR SOMETHING ALL I KNOW IS THERE'S A LADY ON THE LABEL WHO LOOKS LIKE SHE'S BEING PAID A FAIR WAGE FOR HER LABORS.)

How people found this blog in 2009, pt. 3

2010-01-11T11:40:00.003-06:00

This is the final installment of the list of search terms people used to find this blog in 2009, categorized and italicized.

Category eight: Beyoncé
beyonce vocoder
obstacles beyonce had to overcome
beyonce reader

If you're looking for a good Beyoncé reader, I'd recommend Scott Foresman Company's Beyoncé Reads! Learn to Read with Beyoncé Knowles, second edition. It's aimed at kids in first grade, and reinforces phonics and "sounding it out" through a series of short stories involving Beyoncé and her coterie of friends and associates.

Also, obstacles Beyoncé had to overcome include being average height, the breakup of Destiny's Child, and acting in a Steve Martin comedy made after 1990.

Category nine: Misc.

This is really my favorite category, becuase for the most part I have no idea how these people ended up at my blog.

christian mccafe the porn star

I'm guessing there's a porn star whose name is Christian McCafe or something similar. Which is pretty awesome, really -- the idea that she decided to call herself McCafe, after the cut-rate McDonald's espresso drinks. Because that was the most sensual or suggestive thing she could come up with. I'm guessing this post is responsible for this searcher ending up here, along with a number of other McCafe-themed searchers.

Since writing my post on the confused McCafe hipster-bashing radio spots, I have actually had the occasion to try McCafe. I have to admit I was a little afraid at first -- what if it were really delicious, and everything I knew turned out to be a lie? Would I have to throw out my beloved scratchy turtlenecks and stop watching French films? Well, that turned out not to be a problem because my "Americano" (ordered black) was a sickly sweet, high fructose corn syrup-laden cup of filth with almost no discernible coffee flavor. I was so relieved.

how to get people angere
is there a reason it seems to be faces on rocks

Probably because you're tripping balls.

nostic cargo shorts

I think you're looking for gnostic cargo shorts. Those are with the rest of the early church artifacts, such as Marcion's Jams and the True Umbros of Paul of Tarsus.

people breathing annoys me

Sorry.

s it rocked mean?
simple simom sxhool fpr advamces pie thrpwong
teddy ruxpin thriller
case study song and lyric bring negative things to the youngs
groupie confessions adam ant
bill cosby gets pie in the face

I don't have time to analyze the last few search terms, but I had to include these because they're so awesome. I love the internet.

Anyway, here's to 2010 -- may it be less 'tarded than 2009.

Postscript to my blogging friends who never blog anymore: HOW DARE YOU. HOW. DARE. YOU. I like Twitter and all (really, I do), but you cannot delve into the minutiae of life with the necessary depth in 140 characters.

I forgot

2010-01-09T11:15:00.000-06:00

Today is Saturday, and nobody reads blogs on Saturday. So the third part of that last post is going to have to wait until Monday.

For reasons too dumb to go into in this space, I've been listening to various versions of Hot Chocolate's "You Sexy Thing" this evening.

Every time I listen to this song, I am left with the impression that the singer has a fuzzy concept of how human sexuality actually works. The specific lines in question are: "Yesterday, I was one of the lonely people / Now you're lying close to me, making love to me" and later "Now you're lying next to me, giving it to me." The phrase "lying close to me" makes me think of people who are near but not touching each other. I don't know of a sexual position that matches that description. "Lying next to me, giving it to me" makes sense in that it is actually physically possible, but it still strikes me as a really weird description of sex.

Just saying.

How people found this blog in 2009, pt. 2

2010-01-08T08:30:00.000-06:00

Continuing yesterday's post, here are the Google searches that led people to this blog in 2009, broken down by category and italicized for your viewing convenience.

Category five: Perverts

Other than Jon Bon Jovi searches (see below), this category utterly dominated, proving that the Internet is pretty much the grossest thing ever. Below is a small sampling (no, seriously, it's just a sampling) of the searches in this category. (See this post if you're confused about why I'm getting these searches.)

actor young bare feet
devon sawa bare foot
dirty bare soles
dirty barefeet walking pictures
kids barefeet
"bare feet" actors
"messy bare feet"
bare feet in paint
bare feet in pie fight
bare feet kids in movies
bare feet messy
barefeet walk for charity
dirty bare soles gallery
flikr barefoot guys
foot fetishist's wife
feet pie face
feet of actors
kid bare sole
kids "dirty bare feet"
kids bare soles
kids in their bare feet
kids walk around bare feet
kids who love bare feet
sexy guys bare soles of feet
pranks "her bare feet"
writing on bare sole
young barefoot guys

Ahhhhhhhhhhh ... internet. Contrary to what certain commenters may think, I'm not creeped out by foot fetishists. What I'm creeped out by is people who -- to steal a quote from one Amanda Hess writing on the "Christian side hug" -- sexualize even the most mundane forms of human contact. Watching a PG movie primarily in the hope that you're going to see some sexy, sexy feet ... yeah, that's weird. I stand by that. Oh, also I'm creeped out by pedophiles.

Category six: Jon Bon Jovi

There are about a millon of these, and most of them aren't even slightly interesting. My favorite Bon Jovi search is definitely:

cite instances when bon jovi considers his life important

Sorry, pal, but I'm not going to do your Psychology of Bon Jovi homework for you.

Category seven (also 5a, 6a): Questions, various

was bon jovi two face?

No. That was Aaron Eckhart, who looks nothing like ... wait, let me image seach this first. Holy shit, he's practically a dead ringer for Bon Jovi! See?

JBJ

Aaron Eckhart

Also, Aaron Eckhart has the best coffee table art ever:

So, that wasn't a bad question! I liked that one. Thanks for not creeping me out, random Google searcher. Let's see what else we've got.

why do people enjoy going to the islands?

That's another nice question. Maybe a little obvious, but I'll answer it regardless. People like to go to beautiful places with nice weather when they're vacationing, and tropical islands have economies centered around tourism. It can be very relaxing to go to a place where people are accustomed to serving tourists, even if it can feel a bit exploitative at times. Good question. Next?

why do people enjoy fucking

Oh, hmm. Okay, well, you're going to want a question mark on that. And ... well, I'm not going to answer that one. Next?

why do guys like other guys bare feet?

Oh, for fuck's sake.

pic "his feet" "jon bon jovi" fetish

AAaaahhhhhh! Okay, so that one is in the wrong category, but just imagine how disappointed our Google searcher must have been to find a blog that mocked not only foot fetishists, but also Bon Jovi. Just to make it up to you, my pervy friend, here is a picture of JBJ barefoot and humping a tablecloth.

TOMORROW: THE THRILLING CONCLUSION

How people found this blog in 2009, pt. 1

2010-01-07T10:19:00.012-06:00

2009 was an interesting year for this blog. Well, the first nine months or so were, since I didn't actually post in the last quarter of the year. I have a good reason for that, though -- you see, I didn't feel like writing anything at any point during those three months.

Nevertheless, a lot of people found the blog, and a large number of them arrived here via Google. Here are some of the interesting search terms, broken down by category and italicized.

Category one: Incompetence in the workplace
incompetent coworker
my coworker is incompetent
my coworker skips work
what to say to an incompetent coworker
jobs you can't get fired from
i am an incompetent worker
long list of diversions in an attempt to avoid responsibility

If you came to this blog looking for advice on what to do about an incompetent coworker, you're in the wrong place. I have an incompetent subordinate and I haven't been able to do anything about it in the almost two years I've been at this job. If you are searching for jobs you can't get fired from, you're on the right path, but the job you're looking for is currently filled by Mustafa and is -- sadly -- unlikely to become available anytime soon.

Category two: Young people, enjoyment
things that people enjoy
25 things young people think
band names for young people
band names list for young people
because young people today enjoy
ross fashion for young people
enjoying in the face of little less than sixteen
things that people enjoy from trees
some joys of like people enjoy

This one just breaks my heart. I'm imagining oldsters trying to figure out how to entertain their grandkids or whatever, only to discover this terrible blog. Well, I'm going to become part of the solution: young people enjoy croquet and mostly they listen to good, wholesome music like Pat Boone or Cannibal Corpse. Also, they love receiving clothes from Ross Dress For Less. And some joy of like people enjoy include running happy in field yes and to drunk easter mallow. You know, from trees.

Category 2a: The bone roller coaster, riding it
ride the bone roller coaster
bone roller coaster

I really wish this had drawn a lot more traffic to my site, but yes, young people also enjoy roller coasters.

Category three: Lil Wayne
what's wrong with lil wayne's voice
why does lil wayne use the vocoder so much
lil wayne's voice
do lil wayne get stuck writing
down lil wayne's voice
is lil wayne's voice natural
obstacles lil' wayne face

In response:
1. What's wrong with Lil' Wayne's voice is that it makes him sound like he's a robot dying of emphysema. He uses the vocoder so much because a teleporter accident fused his larynx with a nearby autotuner.
2. No, he does not get stuck when he's writing songs, because he doesn't "write" anything, per se. He freestyles terrible rhymes over shitty samples, laughs at his own jokes, and repeats words in order to make his rhymes work.
3. Obstacles Lil' Wayne has had to overcome include addiction to cough syrup and a general lack of talent. Working in his favor, however, is the apparent inability of music consumers to discern between music that is good and that which is well-marketed. Also, the aforementioned teleporter accident has doomed him to slowly transform into Jeff Goldblum.

Category four: Hipsters
hipsters in san antonio
40 year old hipster
overweight hipster

Don't get nasty, brother. Also, I'm not forty. And I'm only ... slightly overweight. Fuck you, Google.

Coming tomorrow: MORE EXCITING GOOGLE SEARCH TERMS OOOOOH SHIIIIIIIIT

The Talented Mr. Snipes

2010-01-07T08:09:00.009-06:00

(or: The blog post in which I pretend to be a racist)

Greetings, blog friends.

Below is a new blog post that "I" "wrote."

laaazlo: morning
danecookfan4life: good morning
laaazlo: without consulting the internet, do you know what the vietnamese currency is called?
danecookfan4life: dong?
laaazlo: yes
laaazlo: dong
danecookfan4life: lucky guess on my part
laaazlo: always bet on dong
danecookfan4life: that's what that guy from designing women said
laaazlo: yes, wesley snipes from designing women
laaazlo: or maybe it was in ghostbusters
danecookfan4life: no. wesley snipes said always bet on black
danecookfan4life: the guy from designing women said always bet on dong
danecookfan4life: although i think he said it in mannequin
laaazlo: i've always preferred wesley snipe's work in driving miss daisy
laaazlo: although his standup movies (delirious, raw) were quite excellent, if a little homophobic
laaazlo: pretty good for a guy who got kicked off the mets for doing cocaine
laaazlo: and then murdered his wife and her lover but got off scott-free with some highly skilled self-representation in court
laaazlo: although you feel for him, since he was only recently allowed basic civil rights in south africa
laaazlo: which is ironic, since mr. snipes is 70% of the population of that country
danecookfan4life: you should publish this under a pseudonym.
laaazlo: my most well-known pseudonym is probably a little too well known
danecookfan4life: you can find another
danecookfan4life: Here's one for you: The Talented Mr. Snipes
laaazlo: i'm going to start another pseudonymous blog for mock racism
danecookfan4life: you can't go wrong with that
laaazlo: all right
laaazlo: i'm on it

UPDATE: Early reviews of this post have declared it as truly racist, since there is no such thing as mock racism. I have also been equated with the kind of man who would wear a shirt with a rape joke on it. I would like to state for the record that I do not presently own any rape-themed shirts, nor do I currently have plans to acquire any. I also plan to prove that I am in fact not racist by following this post up with a completely non-racist one.

So I'm getting into this "blogging" thing

2009-09-20T11:46:00.007-05:00

It's just the coolest! See, weblogging -- or 'blogging for short -- is where you update your homepage with links and stories about all the shit you do and want friends and strangers to know all about! I found out about it from these guys Matthew and Jake from MIT. They're sort of iconoclasts; one wears a JESTER'S HAT and the other has dyed his hair purple. PURPLE! Anyway, weblogging is hot shit right now and everybody's going to love it. I'm hoping this "Yahoo" homepage that Matthew and Jake have on their reverse links page might "link" to my weblog. I wonder who I'd need to write for that?

But seriously folks.

I got an offer for a freelance writing gig, based on the Bon Jovi post. At first I was excited -- I like writing, and I would love being paid for it. The trial assignment was reasonable enough, but the client wanted something hip with recognizable pop culture references and I realized pretty quickly that I know jack shit about pop culture. (Also, I'm not hip, but that's well-known.) I know a lot about some things -- namely classic rock -- but my main exposure to current pop culture comes from radio hip hop* and The Hater; and even with those I have to refer to Urbandictionary and Wikipedia constantly to get references. So I flaked on the dude (if you're reading this -- sorry!) and somehow that completely killed my ability or desire to write. I think I didn't want to look like an asshole by writing for my own pleasure after I left somebody else in the cold.

But the reality is that I am, in fact, part asshole. I occasionally need to scream out "I DON'T WANT NO PART OF YOUR TIGHT-ASS COUNTRY CLUB, YA FREAK BITCH!" This blog is the Franklin to my Buster.**

With that in mind, I'm about to type something so annoying, so asshole-ish that I would never in a million years say it aloud. Are you ready? Here goes: I don't have a TV.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," you're thinking, "not one of these douchebags. Get off your fucking high horse already you hipster piece of shit. Go ride your fixie down to Best Buy and order a fucking bigscreen already." Your internal monologue isn't afraid to work blue and is surprisingly hostile but I'm going somewhere with this, so calm down already. Ever since I moved out of my freshman dorm room, I haven't had a TV. At first, I just didn't buy one because I didn't get around to it. Then I realized that I actually like not having a TV of my own (I've lived with numerous TV-owning roommates in the intervening years). It's partially due to my extroverted personality -- watching TV by myself is unsettling and I can't pay attention.

Regardless, when I realized I was going to be one of those people without a TV, I decided not to mention it if I could at all avoid it. This decision -- ten years running -- has given me an especial dislike for people who LOVE to mention their TV-less status whenever possible. The other day I was talking to a new employee who happens to have the same last name as a character on 30 Rock. When I mentioned that fact she said, "Oh I rarely watch TV -- I actually don't even have one." Oh really? Well, la-tee-dah, lady. Aren't you just St. Francis of Assisi? Look, I've been "rarely watching TV" since you were "rarely" watching the Smurfs in your Underoos, so S-T-F-U already.

Of course I didn't say any of that to her face -- I'm just going to make a point of asking who she likes on American Idol every time I see her.

* Shut your mouth, this shit is delightful.

** Yeah, I know Franklin is GOB's puppet, but he's most brilliant in the hands of the eternally-repressed Buster.

On the internet, everybody knows you're a perv

2009-07-23T09:13:00.003-05:00

I'm going to start with a digression. The title of this post is a reference to a famous New Yorker cartoon by some guy named Peter Steiner. The cartoon has one dog using a computer, talking to another dog. The computer-using dog says: "On the Internet, nobody knows you're a dog." And that's the joke. He's a dog, and nobody knows it -- on the Internet. You know it's a good joke because it has the word "Internet" in it, and the internet is inherently humorous if you're a print cartoonist or Jay Leno. It's really quite droll, trust me. Just think about it.

Oh, there it is up there. Ha! A dog. Oh man, the life of a New Yorker cartoonist must be difficult. First you have to find out what are some good joke topics by spending upwards of five minutes listening to CNN while you make breakfast, and then you have to come up with a sentence that includes one of those topics. And then draw a picture. (In defense of Peter Steiner, his quotes in the linked Wikipedia article make it sound like he thinks the joke was dumb too.)

Anyway, a few years ago I was innocently browsing the IMDB user reviews of the movie Hook (I have no idea why), when I noticed an interesting review by one "Mr. SNL." Here it is, in its entirety:

I liked this movie a great deal. I enjoyed the actors performances a lot and I am glad to see such great actors in these roles. The story is well done as well with all of the original cartoon's aspects as well as some new ones. My favorite scene in the movie is where they're all at the table eating their imaginary supper. That is, until Peter starts a huge food fight. That's why it's enjoyable for kids because they all end up getting pies in the face and getting messy. I liked how they even threw pies at Tinkerbell. And it always makes me laugh to see Tinkerbell's bare feet get covered in messy pie and then she slams her bare feet down in the mess. I also find it hilarious when all of the cake and mess squishes up between her toes. Even Robin Williams stands in the mess on the table in his bare feet. I like how actors will do lots of stuff like this. This is a very good film.

I clicked on Mr. SNL's name to see the rest of his reviews, and I started to notice a theme. Let's see if you can detect it as well, dear readers. Here is the review that Mr. SNL (email address: simmadownnow) wrote for "Malcolm in the Middle":

They're a real family, bare feet and all!
This show is very realistic. I especially like how all of the characters act like real members of an average family. They all seem like they ARE part of a family. I also like that they don't always stay in their shoes like on other shows. They walk around in bare feet and the actors aren't afraid to take their shoes and socks off and show their bare feet and soles on camera. All in all, this is a very realistic show.

And his review of "Bill Nye, the Science Guy":

Great show for kids!

This is a great show and i hope it sticks around for a long time. It teaches kids many different things about science and uses things that they find enjoyable and fun to watch. For example, on the dinosaurs episode, they had two kids put their bare feet in paint to make footprints on paper...kids love to get their bare feet very messy! On the momentum episode, they had pies thrown at Bill's face. I don't know anyone who doesn't like getting a pie in the face! Kids like to walk around in bare feet also, and in one episode, these two guys were in their bare feet and they fell over in their chairs so you could see their bare feet. It was great. I really like how this show relates to kids. Kids love it and I hope it's around for a long time!

Although he wasn't quite as positive about the 1999 Seth Green vehicle "Idle Hands"; it seemed to be lacking some important elements:

Amazing movie, but....

This is a very funny movie from start to finish. It is very interesting how the actors interact with the hand. I like how Devon Sawa did very well manipulating his hand the way he did. I notice in films and on TV that actors sleep with their socks on. I like the way that Devon slept in bare feet and put his bare soles on the table for us to see. They were dirty bare feet which was also realistic because after walking across the floor, your bare soles do get dusty. I think an added piece of humor would have been if someone popped up and smashed a pie onto Devon's bare feet. It would have been interesting to see him react to his bare feet being covered in pie. I think Seth Green should have been in his bare feet in his house too. All in all, this was a good movie.

If only the director had listened to the fans for once, then Idle Hands could have been a blockbuster, at least among the pie/foot fetishist set.

FAP FAP FAP FAP FAP

I encourage you to read the rest of Mr. SNL's reviews. They're full of childlike naivete and/or unspeakable perversion. The best comments are those in which he makes suggestions like "I think if they wanted to make it funny, they should have used cream pies instead of mousetraps and still had them walk in their bare feet and step in the pies," or just when he makes little observations such as "kids love messy feet," and "kids love having messy bare feet," or even "Who doesn't love pies in the face and messy bare feet?" Who indeed. It's like this guy's never heard of porn. Frankly, he would be a lot less creepy as a porn collector than as somebody who watches regular TV shows and movies in the hopes of glimpsing a bare foot and/or pie. However, he is less creepy than accidentally stumbling across a foot fetishist's flickr photostream, and infinitely less creepy than the time an innocent flickr picture of my wife was favorited by -- I shit you not -- an apparent gaucho pants fetishist.

A question for cellphone designers

2009-07-22T09:37:00.003-05:00

Is there a functional reason why cell phones are deisgned to explode like a Rock'Em Sock'Em Robot when dropped? I'm only asking because I would feel slightly better to know that my phone's histrionic part-shedding explosions weren't just for the benefit of some sadistic product designer who gets off on that kind of thing. Of couse it can't be the work of one man, since literally every phone I've owned has lost its battery and back case when dropped from more than a few inches.

The first person who tells me their iPhone doesn't explode when dropped gets punched.

Back again, my face

2009-07-21T09:10:00.006-05:00

I'm back. I was in El Salvador last week. No, not for the last month. I just haven't felt particularly inspired with the blogging and whatnot.

What was I doing in El Salvador, you ask? Why, I was building houses. Houses for POOR PEOPLE. What were you doing? Something not as awesome, I bet. (I am fronting here because in the real world I feel a mixture of (a) reticence about mentioning that this was a charity trip so as to not sound like a self-righteous dick and (b) genuine excitement about the fact that I did actually get to do something really cool that helped some really needy people. But that kind of complexity doesn't play well on the blog, see?)

The highlights of the trip were spending time with a great team of people from my church, building a house, hanging out with lots of kids, and eating a shitload of beans and rice. We had a $275 food budget for 10 people over 7 days -- and we made it! On the other hand, it will be a while before I can see a corn tortilla without retching. I'll cover the trip more later. In short, it was a great time and I got to translate the phrase "lago con fuego y azufre" (lake of fire and sulphur, that is) at least once. Good times.

Getting home was kind of a pain in the ass. My flight was to land in Houston -- where Baby and the girls were waiting for me -- but it got diverted to Austin due to poor weather. But I couldn't get off the plane in Austin and had to wait for the plane to refuel and fly back to Houston, so that I could take the airport shuttle to the crazy half-finished hotel Baby chose for us, where we stayed the night before driving back to Austin. The girls liked the hotel, but a roach encounter early on meant that they were talking about roaches the whole time we were there. (Mainly this consists of Alia saying "Daddy! Woach! Daddy! Woach! I saw woach!" over and over again.)

Shortly after getting back to Austin, I decided I was going to surprise Baby by shaving my glorious, full, beautiful beard, the pride of my face. (I did this partially because yesterday was our seventh anniversary, and partially because my sunburn/beard/tattered clothes combo was making me look more homeless than I usually aspire to.) Unfortunately my face seems to have grown accustomed to my laissez-faire shaving policies and has revolted against the razor. In short, I look like Michail Gorbechev headbutted me on the mouth and his birthmark came off on my face. Or sort of like I have face herpes. Or perhaps like the Phantom of the Opera. Or maybe it's more like I'm wearing a pain muzzle. Or possibly that I'm sporting a youth minister goatee made of suffering. Regardless, it's fucking embarrassing to be seen in public. I am really looking forward to getting my beard back, but it seems unwise to grow it out until my face is healed from whatever the fuck is wrong with it. Yesterday, nobody at work was tactless enough to mention the SARS mask of abomination clinging to my face, so I thought "perhaps it's not as noticeable as I'm thinking." But that was only because Mustafa took the day off. The first thing he said to me this morning -- after ten merciful days of not seeing one another -- was "what happened to your face?"

And I had nearly forgiven him for saying my beardlessness made me look "very chubby" when I shaved last year.

MJemories

2009-06-26T16:05:00.001-05:00

Four memories loosely associated with Michael Jackson.

(1) 1984. The first cassette in my Fisher-Price tape deck was either Thriller or Weird Al Yankovic in 3-D. Therefore, literally the first song I can recall listening to is either "Beat It" or "Eat It."

Later, I would put the Thriller cassette in Teddy Ruxpin's back, but he could never move like Michael. Or Weird Al for that matter.

(2) 1985. When I was five, I remember for some reason comparing things I did to imaginary things my favorite celebrities would do. For instance, when I flushed the toilet before I was done peeing, that was something Bill Cosby would do. When I frantically wrestled with the pillows on my parents' bed, I told them it was something Michael Jackson would do. My other favorite celebrities were Eddie Murphy and Mr. T, but I can't remember what actions I attributed to them. I also tied a bandanna around my knee to be cool but my brother called me out for imitating Punky Brewster so I cut that shit out.

(3) 2001. Kinsolving cafeteria. My friend Bryan was singing Billie Jean: "Remember to always think twice." Two strangers, apparently independently of one another, simultaneously responded with MJ's trademark "HEE-HOO-HOO" scream and then looked at each other in utter shock.

(4) Last night. After class, this guy named Rick paid tribute to MJ by attempting to moonwalk. He knocked over a row of chairs and fell over. It was pretty hilarious.

Rest in peace, MJ.

That's "Señor Hollyfeld" to you, pendejo

2009-06-04T14:51:00.003-05:00

So this blog has really been taking off lately. Actually, that's the opposite of what the blog has been doing. It's more like I've been taking off from the blog, right? I know, right?

Basically it's like this: I am incredibly unmotivated to do anything. I'm not sure why exactly -- it feels vaguely like depression, but it's not actually, since I'm not, you know, depressed. But what little motivation and time I do have is routinely divvied up among my family, my job, the class I'm teaching, YouTube videos, the blog, and now Twitter. Yeah, that's right, I joined Twitter. It's pretty cool actually -- it's the good parts of Facebook (interaction) without the nonsense (quizzes, groups, spam, photo galleries, profiles, etc.). So I get it now, and it's good.

All that to say, sorry blog. This is what feed readers were invented for; I'll probably pick up with more regular posts and cutting observations on the state of music, fashion, and Beyoncé sometime soon, but it'll probably be slow for a while. I know my moods and brain chemistry well enough to know that I will be posting the shit out this blog in about three weeks.

Now the good news:

1. I just got a promotion. Booyah! My formal title was "Desktop Support Specialist." It will now be "Sr. Desktop Support Specialist." Yes, the title officially has an abbreviation at the beginning. It technically stands for "Senior" but I'm going to alternate between pretending it stands for "Señor" and "Sister" (as in a nun). I have also officially gained the unofficial title (ah, bureaucracy) of "IT Manager." This is pretty cool, since it means I can talk to people in other parts of the University without them wondering who the hell I am, but it's also a little intimidating since I am now officially responsible for the lazy undergrad losers I've hired to work in my lab and if one of them doesn't show up for a week I'm expected to notice and do something about it.

2. Baby and I are going to Mexico tomorrow! Woo! We're going to an island off the coast near Cancun. It'll be awesome and I'm very much looking forward to it. Baby's mom is watching the girls for three whole nights. Woo!

A comparison

2009-05-20T11:00:00.000-05:00

Fuller's new library looks great and all ...

... but I can't help but be reminded of something else:

In-put. Need in-put. I'm looking forward to seeing that library in person some day. Hopefully it doesn't look like Johnny 5 in real life.

Twitter digest, 5/18

2009-05-19T10:58:00.001-05:00

It has been suggested that I join Twitter. It is out of sheer obstinance and a fear of the unknown that I have thus far avoided really figuring out what the point of Twitter is, and it's looking pretty unlikely that I will join anytime soon.

Instead, I'm going to give you, the blog reader, all my tweet-worthy thoughts of the previous day, in digest form. This may seem rather pointless, but ... well, there's no second half to this sentence.

5/18 10:31am -- Chick-Fil-A's new "Chick Fil A" sauce (honey mustard plus something creamy) is fucking delicious, but I'm sticking with Polynesian sauce.

5/18 10:44am -- Listened to the Commodores' Night Shift on YouTube.

5/18 10:55am -- Rode the lollercoaster after watching this.

5/18 1:49pm -- Fuck this, I'm out.

Insert Jim Anchower reference here

2009-05-18T09:52:00.004-05:00

So it's been a couple weeks since I blogged. Mostly I've been busy with the class Arkay and I are doing. In the process of planning the class I discovered a German theologian named Horst Balz. I couldn't find a picture of him, but here is a picture of his car:

That is all. Aside from the class, I'm finding that not being busy at work makes me extremely lazy and unmotivated. WTF is up with that? I'm supposed to walk across campus now to work on a problem I've been putting off for several days now, but it feels like I'm wearing one of those lead aprons you wear for dental x-rays. WTF. I already drank my coffee, too.

Also we've been driving around looking at houses for Rupe and Conk. We're really looking forward to them moving here, and not because I'm running out of amusing sound effects and Indigo Girls songs to add to the videos we make. Oh no, I have plenty of those. I am really enjoying driving the beige minivan through various ghettos with a video camera, and I will miss that once they've moved here. Maybe we can just make it a thing we do for fun.

Can nobody think of a decent title anymore?

2009-05-04T20:55:00.004-05:00

So, you know that terribly-titled Coldplay song "Viva la Vida?"* Well, apparently some stupidly-named band called Creaky Boards claimed that their ironically-monikered song "The Songs I Didn't Write" was the basis for it. (Most honest line: "when you heard the notes that would have vaulted from my throat, there is a meaning past the awfulness.") I'm not sure if they actually sued or what, but shortly after Creaky Boards started making this claim, Joe Satriani stepped up to claim that Viva la Vida was actually a ripoff of his song "If I Could Fly" from the abysmally-titled album "Is There Love In Space?". (Best line: "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANK.") Coldplay did what anyone would when faced with allegations of listening to Joe Satriani and claimed that those CDs were their brother's and they have no idea how that shit got in their car.

Regardless, Satriani is suing Coldplay. Creaky Boards -- perhaps afraid of being called to testify and potentially having to listen to that Satriani song at deposition -- rescinded their claim and speculated that perhaps everybody was actually inspired by a song from Legend of Zelda. The obvious question at this point is which Legend of Zelda song sounds like Viva la Vida, but apparently I'm the only one who cares and I can't find anything even remotely like it online.

Anyway. Then, my personal hero Cat Stevens (a.k.a. Yusuf "Radical" Islam) stepped in to bring a dose of sanity into the proceedings by pointing out that actually all three songs sound quite a bit like part of his "Foreigner Suite." (Best/worst line: "Heaven must have programmed you." Cylon reference?) He's not suing -- unlike when he settled with The Flaming Lips over similarities between their "Fight Test" and his "Father and Son." (Speaking of which, Wayne Coyne from The Flaming Lips looks a lot like Cat Stevens, don't you think?)

The best thing to come out of this whole mess is easily this video by someone named Michael. It is definitely the best song yet recorded with the phrase "ride the bone roller coaster" in it.

All that to say: I am not a Coldplay fan but I can't really hate them after seeing Chris Martin on Extras. Also, he's married to Margot Tenenbaum. What, where did you think this was going?

Fashion angers and confuses me

2009-05-01T09:23:00.008-05:00

Before I begin, I need to say two things.

First, I need to say that both of Craig's comments on my last post made me laugh aloud (I believe the kids call that "LALing.")

Second, I need to tell you that I'm currently wearing cargo shorts with black socks and tennis shoes. For the first time I can recall in my married life, my wife said, "you can't wear that to work," as I left the house. I explained to her that there are certain relaxed standards for fashion applied to IT staff. Also I couldn't find any clean pants. This to say I don't know shit about fashion, and if you are looking for an informed opinion about fashion and style, you should go elsewhere.

Moving forward. As I mentioned the other day, I recently found this excellent website dedicated to making fun of the physical appearances of hipsters (and apparently their cats). The site has opened my eyes to the depths of terrible terrible style out there in hipsterland and makes me feel a lot better about myself -- all while demeaning others. After reading the site for a few weeks, I found it hard to believe that it really represented either mainstream or cutting-edge hipster style, so yesterday I took a look at a few fashion-type blogs and was shocked at some of the clothes being presented as blogworthy. Here are a few specimens:

(From Facehunter.) I first encountered the 80's style revival when Baby and I went to Paris seven years ago. I thought "thank God this will never catch on in America." When it did, years later, I thought "well thank God early 90's fashion will never come back." Looking at Blossom up there, though, I'm forced to acknowledge that the 90's are back. I think I'm just going to embrace it. From now on I'm taking all my style cues from this video. At least the boring-ass style of the late 90's will never come back.

Oh shit. Okay, this just pisses me off. Anybody who has shopped in thrift stores for a while knows that these clothes have been readily available in great lots for a long time. This is the stuff you're supposed to PASS BY because it looks STUPID. When I look at that girl I'm forced to recall listening my high school ladyfriends prattle on about Fresia body lotion, Friends, and Ross King. (Hell yeah I mentioned Ross King. If you don't know what I'm talking about, substitute Jackopierce or Caedmon's Call. If you still don't know what I'm talking about, consider yourself very lucky.)

No. No, no, no. Not allowed. This cannot come back. Stop it.

This is okay with me, actually. This can come back. I will get a kick out of seeing people wear this for a few years, even if that dude looks like he's about to walk down those stairs and get graped.

Thank you for being a friend

2009-04-27T14:26:00.003-05:00

First, the swine flu kills over a hundred people. Then horses turn into hipsters. Then Bea Arthur dies. What is the world coming to?

Why couldn't it have been Blanche?

Dorothy was always my favorite Golden Girl. There were essentially four jokes on the show: Rose is dumb, Blanche is horny, Sophia is old, and Dorothy is sarcastic. At least sarcasm is funny.

What I've been doing instead of blogging

2009-04-23T11:01:00.006-05:00

Reviewing a theology book. I only had to write 500 words, but I could have gone on for thousands about how much this book sucked. Baby can attest to that, as she was the one who had to listen to me bitch and moan about it as I was reading it. Since the review is running on an independent bookstore's site, I had to emphasize the few good aspects of the book -- i.e. why anybody would want to buy it. The next book I'm reviewing for them looks problematic, but at least it will probably be interesting. I couldn't read this last book on the bus because I'd fall asleep every time I cracked it open.

Pitching a class to my church with Arkay. I was really nervous about this -- I hate public speaking -- but it was actually a lot of fun. Let's hope the class doesn't suck and everybody ends up hating me and I lose all my friends. Now that we've planned part of the class I have a lot of reading to do, though.

(Picture unrelated)

Baiting hipster-haters on various websites. I don't know what it is about me, but sometimes I just can't resist getting in arguments online. It's probably a sickness. Maybe I just don't have enough real drama in my life, so I seek out pretend drama. My favorite part about the hipster-haters is that I don't really disagree with them generally, so it's easy to figure out how to piss them off. And these are some angry, angry dudes. I think New York hipsters must be a lot more obnoxious than the LA variety.

(Before somebody says something about cognative dissonance or hypocracy or whatever for loving theology and hater-baiting, know ye that I'm pretty tame compared to say, Paul of Tarsus. That dude knew how to troll.)

Working. Seriously, when am I going to get a competent co-worker? I spent four hours yesterday babysitting a file transfer because I couldn't trust Mustafa to do even that. Also recently I have had the treat of going to great lengths to make a purchase recommendation that was not only completely ignored by the prof I was working with, but that was actively contradicted. And now I am cleaning up the significant mess resulting. Bollocks!

The beginning of the end

2009-04-16T08:44:00.001-05:00

I stumbled upon a sign of the impending end of civilization yesterday morning, in the form of an empty "beer" can that looked something like this:

In case you can't read that, it says "Budweiser and Clamato."

The existence of Clamato has often been considered a sign of the beginning of the end: the unholy miscegination of tomato juice (a vile creation in itself) with FUCKING CLAM JUICE is interpreted by some as the "man of lawlessness" of 2 Thessalonians 2 whose revelation is being restrained by an unnamed entity. It is now clear that that restraining force has been removed, as Anheuser-Busch has revealed the identity of the anthropos tes anomias by combining it with their abominable brew. Soon it will "[exalt] itself above every so-called god or object of worship, so that [it] takes [its] seat in the temple of God, declaring [itself] to be God" and the Day of the Lord may arrive.

Personally I'm stoked. Although Paul says that "the Lord Jesus will destroy" the anthropos tes anomias "with the breath of his mouth," it's kind of hard to imagine breath more powerful than the combination of American lager, clam juice, and tomato juice.

Protecting my legacy, cutting down trees

2009-04-15T09:36:00.006-05:00

First things first: yes, Christie, I really did have minivan posters on my wall as a kid. My brother made me take them down, I guess because he couldn't handle that much awesomeness. I'm not sure if this led directly to our brief running competition to surreptitiously pin the trashiest pictures from the Victoria's Secret catalog on the other's wall, but whatever the case I really did love minivans, cargo vans, and station wagons. I was particularly fond of fake wood paneling.

Speaking of wood paneling, I've been really into milling lately. I have a strong desire to cut down a pine tree and mill it into 2x4's to build one of these. I think an Alaskan chainsaw mill would be best for my particular application -- anything less portable might require moving the felled timber with a skid loader or tractor, and I don't have one of those. This is one of those things I will not have time to do in the next couple decades or so, but if anybody else has a desire to play with dangerous gas-powered tools in the piney woods near Bastrop, Texas, give me a holler and maybe I can find the time.

White Power Bill hates White Power Bill

2009-04-13T09:36:00.000-05:00

On Saturday, an unnamed once-and-future Austinite visting for the weekend from Los Angeles gave me $5 to buy a plunger.

As you can see up there above, there is a URL for a prominent white supremacy website on it. Evidence of neo-Nazi activity in Dave's wallet or an extremely oblique Arrested Development reference? You decide. (Props to Baby for noticing.)

As a bonus, when I bought the plunger, I got this coupon in return:

Now that's effective cross-marketing!

Kids say the darndest shit, v. 1

2009-04-11T10:05:00.000-05:00

The other day, Older Daughter was refusing to eat the carrots out of her soup. She often picks one component of any given meal and declares that she won't be eating it. There's not much we can do about it, but I half-assedly tried to convince her to eat her carrots this time.

Me: You know, some people call carrots nature's candy.
OD: And SOME people call them nature's potty drunk!

It's pretty hard to argue with that kind of logic.

Carrots on a typical Friday night, fighting the loneliness with booze and casual sex

And yes, I am aware that nobody has ever called carrots "nature's candy." It's never too early to instill a child with an appreciation for inanity.

Just clarifying some things

2009-04-10T08:44:00.001-05:00

On Wednesday, I sent an email to Mustafa because he was grumpy that I didn't answer the phone when people called. (It's his job.) This is how the email began:

Mustafa--

Here is some written documentation about how faculty and staff should contact us, and what we should do once we’ve been contacted. For the purposes of this email, I’m going to call us the Office of Information Technology (OIT) in the ----- of ------. The purpose of defining our contact methods is to allow us to serve the ----- faculty and staff as well as possible while keeping the process of using OIT for support easy for faculty and staff.

This was the beginning of his response, Thursday morning:

Hey Lazlo,

What is OIT.

October 20-something 2009 is Mustafa's 65th birthday. Oh how I hope and pray he will retire immediately.

A day of reckoning

2009-04-09T08:43:00.003-05:00

Yesterday I bought a van. A minivan to be precise. In fact, a beige minivan.

For some men, getting a minivan is looked upon as a moment of defeat -- as the moment when a man finally admits (for a decade or two at least) that he's no badass* whose lifestyle is befitted best by a Toyota MR2 or a t-topped Trans Am -- but for me it's quite the opposite.

As a child, I didn't have posters of sports cars on my walls. Instead I had ads for Nissan Quests, Dodge Caravans, and Chryslers Town and Country cut out of Popular Science. After college, but before I started dating Baby, my career plan was to save up enough money to buy a solid diesel van (preferably a Sprinter) and outfit it to live in. I was going to live outside a library at UC Berkeley.** I have no clue what was supposed to happen after that, but during times of great stress I sometimes daydream*** about that life in the van.

So for me, this transition is not a defeat -- it's a victory. After years of waiting and dreaming, I have finally attained van status.

Since we bought it used, I didn't really have a choice of colors, but I really wanted beige from the beginning and that's what we got. Nothing says "I don't give a shit" like a beige minivan. You could almost say that having a beige minivan is punk rock -- that is, if describing things as "punk rock" wasn't the least possible "punk rock" thing that could ever be done. Baby and I thought about getting a diesel Suburban or Expedition and converting it to run on waste vegetable oil, but I decided that purchasing my fuel at a gas station was a compromise I am willing to make, when compared to hanging around behind Chinese restaurants with an industrial grease pump and particulate matter filter (read: crab wonton filter).

Now, in the complete opposite vein, I discovered that I have free access to an electronic vinyl decal cutter at work, so I'm kind of thinking about taking advantage of that little perk. Any decal suggestions? Somehow I feel that Boli may have something to offer here. Flames are kind of played out, but a screaming falcon could be nice.

* "Until a man is twenty-five, he still thinks, every so often, that under the right circumstances he could be the baddest motherfucker in the world. If I moved to a martial-arts monastery in China and studied real hard for ten years. If my family was wiped out by Colombian drug dealers and I swore myself to revenge. If I got a fatal disease, had one year to live, and devoted it to wiping out street crime. If I just dropped out and devoted my life to being bad." --Neal Stephenson in Snow Crash

** What do you mean "naive?"

*** And by this I mean I use Cylonic projection.

My sincerest apologies

2009-04-02T10:47:00.003-05:00

I feel I owe the world an apology for my botched April Fool's Day joke yesterday. I have removed the offending post and will never be attempting a gag like that again.

Please rest assured that all offended parties have been offered specific personal apologies: the State Department, the Monastery of Franciscan Poor Clare Nuns and their tiny charges (especially poor, sweet, innocent Buttercup), the estate of Johnny Carson, and the Nigerian Consulate in Houston.

Just to clear things up: I am not -- and never have been -- an official representative of the European Respiratory Society, and none of the ideas I promoted in my post should be attempted under any circumstances, especially at high altitudes or if you have history of seizure, stroke, or if you already have two felonies on record in California or Washington state.

If you read my post yesterday, please try to go on with your life as if you hadn't, if at all possible. Also, for Marcus: my high score in Brickbreaker is 10,440 -- not 10,490 as I had claimed.

This site regrets the error.

Our new lens

2009-03-31T18:29:00.006-05:00

Our new 35mm f/1.8 Nikon lens arrived today! For those of you wondering what that means, perhaps this highly inspirational quote from the Nikon press release will clear things up:

When mounted on a DX-format camera body, [this lens] enables photographers to document their world with a lens that produces a picture angle similar to the field of vision as seen through the human eye.

In other words, it's basically like looking at stuff, if you're a human. My spine tingles. This lens is actually really great for us, though, because we have been using a 50mm portrait lens for everything. Our old lens takes beautiful pictures, but you have to be pretty far from your subject unless you want a closeup. The new lens will allow us to take pictures that don't make our house look like a closet.

So far I've been able to document what I saw when I opened the fridge this morning:

Ah, the pleasures of living with small children. That Saurolophus really made my day.

Also, I am finally able to take a picture of the bike hutch I built for $5:

Previously I would have had to stand in my neighbor's yard to take that picture. Now you can see the whole hutch, plus a bunch of crap in my yard! Hooray! Oh and if the hutch looks rickety, that's just uh, barrel distortion from my new lens. Yeah, that.

You know what annoys me?

2009-03-30T10:15:00.003-05:00

I'll tell you what. It annoys me when people describe their music taste in one of the following ways: (a) eclectic or (b) "anything but rap."

The former (a) is only annoying because when somebody says his or her taste is eclectic, it's almost never true. It usually means they like Nickelback AND Bob Marley. It often also means that their tastes run towards the shitty, for some reason. (Which is to say that they don't have the refined tastes of this blog's humble author.)

The latter (b) makes me want to say: really? You're into Norwegian black metal, shoegaze, lounge music, contemporary Christian music, Shomyo Buddhist chants, Rogers and Hammerstein musicals, free jazz, Southern gospel, and Raffi*? Just as long as nobody attempts to rapidly speak rhyming phrases over a sampled beat. Huh. That's weird.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: if you somebody asks you what kind of music you like, you're best off just sneering and saying "you wouldn't have heard of anything I like." Or, you know, naming some specific bands or genres.

*(Well, not all Raffi, I guess.)

Let the sucky rumpus start

2009-03-28T09:03:00.000-05:00

As a kid I was no great fan of Maurice Sendak's "Where the Wild Things Are." To me, it glorified Max (the protagonist) and his bad behavior. Also, I thought it was silly because it was all about some jackass kid's imagination, and the last thing I wanted was to be seen as silly. I'm not sure what was wrong with me; although I had as active a fantasy life as any other kid, I thought the imagination was just dumb. I hated it when TV shows talked about how your imagination could take you to magical places and other such nonsense. I loved watching Reading Rainbow but Geordi LaForge sure did like to talk about my imagination and how awesome it was. Also, the theme song* and intro made me want to puke -- what kid wants to be Ben Franklin? I mean, I loved reading about Ben Franklin, but it was totally beneath me to pretend to be him. I wanted adults to treat me like an adult, but adults seemed to think the imagination was some wonderful thing only kids are posessed of.

Now that I'm over all that (Monty Python cured me of my hatred of the silly sometime around eighth grade) and have kids of my own, I really enjoy "Where the Wild Things Are." It's a perfectly told story that gives us just a slice of a fully-realized yet tantalizingly hidden universe that only Max has access to. Older Daughter loves the book. Alia probably will too, if she doesn't tear it in half and cram it down our dog's throat. (As of last night, she just roared through the whole book.)

Anyhoo, it turns out they've made "Where the Wild Things Are" into a movie. This is a bad thing. The preview is great and all -- I love the acoustic Arcade Fire song they used -- but WTWTA is like a 32-page book. The world doesn't need a feature length movie about Max. We don't need backstory. We don't need CGI Wild Things. We don't need to know more about the mysterious ocean voyage. The Wild Things certainly don't need to be anthropomorphized and tamed. We don't need subplots. Just leave a good thing alone for once, dammit.

* I now recognize that the RR theme song is actually totally awesome.

UPDATE OF SORTS: Since writing this post (but before posting it), I have run into approving commentary from numerous friends about the WTWTA trailer. There are a lot of impressive names behind the movie: Spike Jonze directing, Dave Eggers writing the screenplay (?!), and not the least, Maurice Sendak giving this blessing to the project. Regardless, I remain skeptical. Also, the Wild Things' movement looks cheesy and their faces are all wrong.

Gave dude a dog

2009-03-27T10:10:00.005-05:00

In an attempt to close the puppy gap between this blog and Craig's, Baby and I picked up a new dog last night. Actually, my dad realized his daschund Alvin (previously pictured here) was a bit more than he could handle, so we took Little A off Dad's hands. I had kind of anticipated this happening when we got Dad the dog (at his insistence), but I had hoped it would happen after Alvin was older and more housebroken. Oh well -- it looks like Baby's mom might take him home with her this weekend.

At the moment, though, things are a little rough; Ramona (our seven-year-old black Lab) wants Alvin to leave her alone and Alia is terrified of him. Older Daughter just wants to lock him in his kennel -- not because she doesn't like him, but because she feels like that's his "home" and so she puts him there like she would put a doll in its house. He's actually a very good dog and seems to be pretty clever, but he's quite a nipper and he pisses everywhere. But you know, that's kind of just what you get.

My daughter the gnostic

2009-03-20T18:10:00.002-05:00

Me: What's that you made?

Her: It's Shootplane, he shoots fire at night so kids aren't scared, but if they're scared, he sends ghosts to play with them! Pretend it has a mouth and eyes and talks to you.

Me: Okay. Hi Shootplane, what's going on?

Her (as Shootplane): Last night I shot fire and made the earth planet!

Me: That's great, but I thought you told me God made the earth. [Referring to an earlier conversation.]

Her (as Shootplane): Actually, God is my cousin. He didn't want to make the earth planet so he let me do it.

Begun the SXSW has

2009-03-18T08:38:00.009-05:00

So, I'm on spring break. I don't technically get this week off, but I could probably have not shown up to work for the last two days and gone unnoticed. Case in point: I had to take down the building's network for a little over an hour yesterday, and my administrator forgot to send out the email; I got one phone call about the outage. During this time nobody in the building could print, use their email, surf the web, etc. You would think this would be a great time for extracurricular activity, but in truth having nothing to do at work turns my mind to mush so that the only thing I can do is indulge in some newfound guilty musical pleasures* and watch Flight of the Conchords online.

Yesterday was not only St. Patrick's day but also an old friend's birthday, so I met him and several others at the Draught House pub for good times. By "several others" I mean that there was a line out the door snaking through the parking lot** and that people in the know brought camping chairs to avoid sitting on the pavement while drinking. It was good times, though -- I only had to wait in line for a few minutes since a friend was near the front and gave me cut-sies. Booyah! Take that, civility!

Spring break is an awesome time to be in Austin, mostly due to SXSW. For the first few days -- during the film and "interactive" portion of the festival -- the town is flooded with fat, ponytailed computer dudes and thin, ponytailed movie dudes. After that wave the ironically-ponytailed music dudes and sideponied scenester dudettes from all over the world take over the city with a million SXSW-sanctioned shows, free corporate-sponsored RSVP parties, non-sanctioned house parties, panel discussions, label showcases, etc. It's also apparently a really great time to release massive clouds of pollen if you are an oak tree.

I'm taking the next couple days off work to hang out with some out-of-town friends staying with us and try to catch some new music. The conversational go-to around Austin during this whole month is "so what are you going to see during SXSW?"*** I honestly have no idea what I'm going to see; other than a day party tomorrow and a showcase that night, I have nothing planned -- but the best times at SXSW are usually the ones that come up at the last minute.

* As far as guilty pleasures go, I could do a lot worse than Yelle, but I have also found some good stuff lately.

** For people in LA: in many parts of the world it is considered unusual to wait in line at a bar on a weeknight.

*** By the way, it's always pronounced "South by Southwest" and never spelled out.

Five karaoke anti-jams

2009-03-13T16:35:00.000-05:00

The key to karaoke, as I think I mentioned before, is commitment. It doesn't matter that your voice is bad if you know the words and you can sell your song. However, there are certain songs that should be avoided unless you really know what you're doing. These are they:

1. Bohemian Rhapsody (Queen); Other people would like to use the stage sometime tonight. Also, if you're picking this song, you probably think you're being original. You're not. Attempt this only if: you hate humankind and want to inflict pain others.

2. Virtually any rap song; Even the worst rappers have better flow than you. I promise. You just don't know it because you've never rapped in front of a crowd before. Also, you don't really know all the words to Gin and Juice, let alone City of Compton. And there's nothing less entertaining than watching you laugh and read the lyrics off a TV. Even your friends aren't laughing with you. Well, except the really drunk ones and the ones who have a secret crush on you. Actually, maybe that's a good relationship test -- if s/he laughs through your shitty rap karaoke, then s/he's still in the infatuation stage. Hold off on any major decisions until s/he is at the "politely feigns amusement" stage. Attempt this only if: you are a rapper.

3. Any song you don't know the words to; Arkay and I once did Whitney Houston's "I want to dance with somebody." Did you know that song has bunch of parts that aren't the part that says "I wanna dance with somebody, I wanna feel the heat with somebody?" Yeah, it does. And those parts suck. Attempt this song only if: you are drunk and you think you know all the words to REM's "It's the End of the World As We Know It."

4. Born to be Wild (Steppenwolf); Not just for the obvious reason -- namely that beer commercials and movie trailers have turned a halfway-decent rock song into a cliché so overused that it now represents exactly the opposite of what it was originally intended to -- but also for the fact that is has a two-minute guitar solo in the middle of the song, during which you have to figure out what you're going to do with your hands. And the thing about karaoke guitar solos is that they're not the original songs, so even a good solo sucks in the karaoke version. This rule applies to pretty much any Steppenwolf song. Attempt this only if: it's the only song available.

5. The Friday the 13th theme. Well, I mean, it doesn't have words. What's the point? I just had to say something about the fact that it's Friday the 13th. Attempt this song only if: you are a conductor, standing in front of an orchestra.

A winner is you!

2009-03-13T10:21:00.005-05:00

Yep, it was "Psycho Killer."

Bonus blog points to Christie and Tyler. Bonus laff points to Craig -- I hope he finds them helpful when he's stuck in summer school and all his friends are hanging ten or shredding the gnar-gnar or whatever the kids do these days.

Pictured, R to L: Tyler, Christie, Craig (who isn't quite sure what to do with his hands)

As for elcaballo's suggestion of "Under the Bridge" (via email, since comments weren't working at the moment) -- well, I'm not sure what to say about that. Perhaps, like Tyler's "cheeseless pizza" comment, it is best left alone.

UPDATE: Whoa!! I didn't actually know the name of "Tell it to my Heart" until Craig inadvertently made me look it up. I get that melody stuck in my head all the time, so I'm really glad to know specifically which "eurodance classic" torments me day and night.

Cleaning out the cameraphone

2009-03-12T11:03:00.011-05:00

A softer, gentler blog entry today; these are some of the pictures accumulated on my cameraphone.*

I don't know what happens if Alia "gets you" with her terrible black arm, but I have always assumed it's really really bad.

Which is better: Dog A above (Alvin Blacktail) or ...

Dog B (Ramona)? I don't want to make any judgements until BOTH of our rugs are fully dried out from the horrors Ramona's colon inflicted on them Tuesday night.

Speaking of abominations before the Lord, who is up for some Onan's Pizza? I'm not sure if there is a less appetizing Biblical character to associate your foodstuffs with.

From underneath the bridge next door to my house:

"Good luck going my shit."

"Bitch I'M all over Austin."

Just for the record, I didn't write either of those things.

A small sample of the amazing inventory of an optician's office also near my house. These frames are new old stock (meaning they're authentically from the 70's or 80's) and remarkably, they are being offered unironically as glasses people might really like to wear. The story is that the optician ordered way, way too many frames when his shop opened and has never been able to unload the old stock. He also sells modern frames.

And finally, check out this awesome viking logo I saw the other day. Kind of makes you want to go back in time.

* Bonus blog points if you can identify the song referred to in this video which seems to have become an inadvertent theme of comments on my blog and Craiger's.

Top five karaoke jams

2009-03-09T22:43:00.005-05:00

There was a time, not so long ago, when I would not have gotten on a stage in front of strangers and belted out soul classics. That time is no more. Now, when somebody suggests karaoke, I'm the first to agree, and also the one who makes sure we go to the kind of karaoke bar where all the patrons have to hear you sing, not just the people in your booth. I make no boasts about being talented -- anybody who knows Jessie already knows who the undisputed ruler of all karaoke is, she being possessed of a great voice and the ability not only to dance, but to make up choreography for songs apparently on the spot. (Either that or she spends a lot of time at home coming up with dances for Britney Spears songs. Dave?)

Anyway, here are my top five karaoke jams. I have not been karaokiing as much as I would like, so anybody who has been with me has heard at least one of these.

1. These Eyes (Guess Who); Although this song has the classic karaoke problem of being much longer and more repetitive than you probably remember it being, it brings tons of energy and possibly even creepy dudes pretending to play the trumpet to the dance floor.

2. I'll Be Around (The Spinners); It's all in the phrasing. Not that I'm good at it or anything, but you have to sell it. Sell it! If you delivery is shitty, own the shittiness! The singer in the linked video certainly is. What happened to him? It sounds like had to re-learn English after an extended coke bender.

3. Cat's in the Cradle (Harry Chapin); This is the song I've gotten the least positive reaction to, but it's really fun. If nobody else gets it, fuck 'em. Must be sung with maximum heartstring-pulling pathos. Plus, the song "scares [Harry Chapin] to death," which is always a bonus.

4. Treat Her Like a Lady (Cornelius Bros. and Sister Rose); "Strange as it seems / you know you can't treat a woman mean." Actually Mr . Cornelius, that doesn't strike as all that strange. This one makes me wish there was karaoke for background singers. If there was, though, "Midnight Train to Georgia" would be the best choice.

5. Twilight Time (The Platters); I've never actually done this song live, (not counting numerous family-only engagments) but it's definitely on the list for next time. This song has everything: long coherent sentences, shitloads of metaphors, rhymed iambic pentameter -- and it does it all with such aplomb. I look forward to slaughtering it.

UPDATE: My brother reminded me of an infinitely better link for "These Eyes," so that has been updated. Go ahead, click it. Also, have you heard the Celine Dion "version" of "Treat Her Like a Lady?" I have never liked Celine Dion even slightly, but I thought she at least had a modicum of taste and class. Either I was very wrong or there is a wider cultural gap between the U.S. and Canada than I could ever have imagined. This song is atrocious!

I got nothing

2009-03-09T21:48:00.006-05:00

So, let's see. My dad got a dachshund puppy named Alvin. He's cute. I think he got him 40% for companionship and 60% for giving his granddaughters a reason to hang out at his house. I'm cool with that. Also, it has worked so far -- my daughters have been over there at least three times since we picked up the dog on Saturday.

Today Baby called me a bureaucrat because I said "this deaf Taiwanese girl took up a ton of my time today -- reminded me why I should never make exceptions to the rules." In my defense, she really did take up two or three hours of my time. Individual undergraduates who don't work for me, as a rule, should take up no more than three minutes of my day. And even that much time is a bit taxing.

I built the top of this "bike hutch" or "bike cave" (as my older daughter calls it) thing this weekend. I made it almost entirely (with the exception of a few metal brackets and one 1x4) out of scrap lumber from a pergola. Do you know what a pergola is? I didn't until I carted off the remains of one to build a hutch. I have since discovered that most people actually do know what a pergola is. Cost of project: $5. Booya.

Also, losing an hour really sucks when you have kids. Benjamin Franklin should have shut his smart mouth. And this is funny.

UPDATE: Aw, shit. I have 11 subscribers now. Horseballs aren't going to cut it. I'm usually slightly better than this, I promise. Fucking time change, new puppy, mumble mumble mumble. The New Yorker did a whole piece on Beyoncé a few weeks ago and I missed it because I didn't want to pay $4.95, but from what I could read in the novelty/holiday/periodical section of HEB, they did talk up her song "Apple Pie à la Mode" as a sign of Beyoncé's genius songwriting or something. I'm listening now and I can't say I'm blown away; I'm not sure how this is any better than a TLC single.

Reader response, feat. face-rocking comments

2009-03-04T11:25:00.005-06:00

I have received several great comments and questions in the last few days. I'd like to take some time to respond.

1. Faithful reader and assprint maker Craiger would like to know the resolution of the wireless network problem I alluded to yesterday, and whether the wind is causing his own wifi network to go out. Although I don't think there was really any problem with my wireless network at the office, I am fairly confident that your problems are caused by the wind. Perhaps the satellites are being blown off course by large gusts. You may want to consider tethering them better, or switching to dialup. Or maybe reinstalling AOL. Hope this helps!

2. Keen observer of the human condition Marcus points out that I look like Joaquin Phoenix in that infamous Letterman interview. You are not the first person to note the alleged similarity; the night after that aired I was forced to put on Blu Blockers and chew gum for the amusement of my hosts at a dinner party. Well, not forced exactly. Actually, you could say I was kind of tipsy and I forced my hosts to watch my "hilarious" and "perfect" imitation of Mr. Phoenix. However, I think it's just the beard and hair, and I recently trimmed by beard for a wedding, which is a bummer because with a suit on I really could have pulled off the look.

3. Style guru xieferris suggests that my wife is both radical and insane due to the intensity of her hatred towards a certain 19th century poet! I can't help but agree, given the evidence at hand.

4. And finally, Marcus also brings up a crucial point about the nature of Jon Bon Jovi's face-rocking, suggesting several alternate readings to my own implicit interpretation of face-rocking as a musical/psychological act. Although Nick J. ably rebuts Marcus with regard to the relevance of his concerns to the study at hand, I believe there are legitimate questions to be asked about the nature of face-rocking in general, and perhaps a detailed study of the phenomenon (or even the phrase itself) could shed light on the plausibility of JBJ's audacious claims. However, if I am correct in reading a sexual interpretation of the phrase into Marcus' point (c) ... well, that's just a mental image I would rather not have to deal with.

Incompetence update

2009-03-03T09:17:00.001-06:00

For the third time in two business days, Mustafa has implied that atmospheric conditions may have an effect on my building's wifi network. Specifically, he wondered why the wireless was so slow "even though it's not cloudy out or anything." The first time, I just dismissed it as me possibly misunderstanding what he had said. The second time, I was too busy to correct him. The third time, I felt the aura of his incompetence encroaching and I was forced to flee, lest I be sucked into the swamps of incompetence like stupid, stupid Artex.

A student today complained to Mustafa* that nothing was coming out of one of the printers in the lab, although the other one continued to work. I'm not sure what Mustafa's troubleshooting procedure was exactly, but he ended up asking me to help diagnose the problem. Long story short, I printed a page to each printer, then walked into the lab to discover a long line of students waiting for their printing. Waiting in vain, of course, because there was no paper in the printer. What the fuck.

I'm not used to being the most conscientious and competent person in my office. Sometimes when I'm walking across campus I daydream about what it will be like to hire Mustafa's replacement.

* At least the student went to Mustafa first. Other than not having to listen to Mustafa chew, the greatest benefit of my tiny private office is that the students have stopped bothering me about every minute thing that happens in the lab next door. However, I am still treated to some of the most inane and inappropriate hallway conversations, courtesy of large groups of undergrads standing outside my door. Recent topics have included eyebrow dying, UGGs (!), cell phone bills, and how the undergraduettes (thanks for the word, Baby) outside my office were planning to make Valentine's day "really special" for their boyfriends by breaking out of the humdrum collegiate coitus they have become accustomed to. I'm sorry, but if you're an 18-year-old and you have to figure out ways to "spice up" your sex life, there might be something wrong with you.

Ur guide 2 English, pt. 1: literally

2009-03-02T12:10:00.006-06:00

I have noticed a number of my fellow "netizens" misusing common words and phrases, and as some kind of grammar authoritarian, I feel the need to put some of these common misapplications of English to pasture, like so many abused horses. I think a blog post or two should clear things up for you all, my dear fellow internet users.

We'll start what may be the most commonly misused word on all the internet.

Literally. Definition: "figuratively" or "very." If you want to say something is like, really intensely the way it is, then use the word "literally." For instance, if your head is hurting you very badly, don't simply say that; go for the $5 word and say "my head is literally exploding!" If your head has actually exploded, then you won't be able to express yourself anyway, so there should be no confusion about this one. Baby has pointed out that the British are particularly adept at using the word "literally" in the proper, emphatic sense. This makes sense, considering that the British invented English and are naturally experts in its proper use.

Some purists insist that the word only be used when one is trying to convey that something that is usually referred to metaphorically is actually happening in a non-metaphorical sense. For instance: if a person's flesh actually changes hue when he covets another's property, he could be said to be "literally green with envy." This kind of precision of language is BOORING and should be avoided if you are the kind of person who has an uninhibited, fun and unconventional attitude (e.g. a Pibb Xtra drinker).

When to avoid: 9-1-1 calls.

Happy birthday, Tad

2009-02-27T09:07:00.005-06:00

Today marks the birthday of a great friend. This blog knows him as Chet, Tad, or Barton Keyes. As usual, he has decided to celebrate in seclusion, but at least this year he gave me fair warning that he was going into hiding. I kind of wonder what he's afraid would happen if we were to actually celebrate his birth in person. Perhaps he turns into some sort of werewolf of golem once a year and goes into his secret lair to protect his friends. Or maybe it's just a massive coke bender. Who knows? Only the mysterious cadre he's going out of town with.

I kid, I kid! Happy birthday, man. Where would Baby and I be without you? Stuck with nobody to help us move, is where. Also, my addiction to trucker speed would have surely spiraled out of control by now, and there would be no fine whiskey in my liquor cabinet.

Don't break anything on the slopes.

UPDATE: Apparently Tad killed the bottle of Dickel's last time he was at my house. Damn! At least some people are easy to shop for.

Potpourri for $500

2009-02-26T21:10:00.004-06:00

1. Doppelgänger.

I've found my evil twin. His name is BJ Warshaw and apparently he is some kind of musician or something. It's kind of weird. My apologies to people who don't know what I look like, but I'm more or less like a fatter version of him. Also, I'd never grow my beard quite that long.

Photo credit: Some guy

2. White Winter Hymnal cover.

Check out this amusing Fleet Foxes cover. I found it on this promising-looking blog I stumbled upon this evening.

3. Nanerpus.

You can call me Nanerpus. This is another "song" I get stuck in my head on a near-daily basis now, owing largely to Alia's heroic intake of bananas. She only weighs 28 lbs. but eats two bananas for breakfast and a couple more throughout the day usually. That's the equivalent of me eating over 250 bananas. I mean, because I'm allergic to bananas. That's what makes the math come out so weird.

Three more songs I get stuck in my head

2009-02-25T21:35:00.003-06:00

Ash Wednesday edition.

These songs are all "situational" in the way they come into my head. A phrase or familiar pattern will make me think of them.

1. Girlfriend in a Coma. I get this one stuck in my head whenever anyone utters a phrase following the pattern "(two syllable word) in a (two syllable word)," at which point I immediately think "I know, I know, it's serious." (E.g.: "salsa on a taco, I know, I know, it's serious.") Also, anytime I see a Toyota Tacoma I think "girlfriend in Tacoma" and the song is in my head again. These days, the Smiths' song is also accompanied with Animal Collective's Lion in a Coma. Fortunately "Lion" isn't very catchy, so it doesn't persist. Is the intro to "Lion" a bit reminiscent of "Girlfriend?" I wonder if it's an homage or a coincidence. Or my overactive imagination.

2. As Tears Go By. Anytime it is the evening of the day and I'm sitting and watching my children play, this song is likely to get stuck in my head, for reasons that should be plain. Let me be straight: the song is mawkish shit, but I can't say it doesn't get stuck in my head. Linked here is the superior Marianne Faithfull Merseybeat version, instead of the Rolling Stones' original, with the nauseating strings and the guitar that sounds like it's being played with a dentist's tooth scraper.

3. Uncle Albert Admiral Halsey. This one gets in my head whenever I apologize for anything, which is pretty frequent. It's a good song, though, so I'm cool with that. Another song from this album -- Dear Boy -- was just covered by my friends Bodies of Water, and I think it's great. I tend to associate Band on the Run and other Wings songs with the dentist's office for some reason. Not in an unpleasant way, but more in a stoned-off-my-gourd-on-nitrous-as-a-six-year-old way. Listen to the guitar part (under the vocals) on "Band" at 1:53-2:05. That is seriously my favorite sound ever right there. If a certain Kabulo (soon to be Kabube or Kalobe?) still reads this blog, she'll know the other Wings song I think about most, particularly when I hear the word "sufragette."

There, now have a somber and safe Lent.

Skipping work Monday

2009-02-23T21:07:00.005-06:00

This weekend I performed a wedding for a very good friend of mine. It was small and elegant, and the groom said "I love you" to me during the vows. It was that kind of shindig.

Today Baby was studying all day, so I skipped work and went on a bike ride, pulling the kids in our bike trailer. It was good times. It was also the first time I've successfully (a) patched a bike tire and (b) used a tire spoon without pinching the tube. Baby refused to believe that "pinching a tube" wasn't a scatological reference, even when I explained that it's what happens when a "tube" gets stuck on the "rim." If I go any further with this, I could really up my Google keyword hits, but I don't want to take the easy way out.

Horseballs

Despite the imminent project deadline, Baby and I decided to make it a date night and called Baby's generous aunt Pam for some babysitting. We walked to Korea House for pork bulgogi, bibimbap, and "Sexy Girl" sushi rolls. The waiter thought less of me for ordering the "Sexy Girl" rolls -- for a second it seemed like he was going to tell me I wasn't allowed to order that or something -- but they were very good, once the trachea-swelling avocado was removed.

Overall, it was an A- day -- not too bad for a Monday -- and my older daughter asked me if "God has a wand." This is not the first theological question she's asked me, but it's definitely the first I feel my MA hadn't prepared me to answer.

A letter to my wife

2009-02-20T09:54:00.003-06:00

From the Time Travel Bureau:

Who knew she had such antipathy towards Percy Shelley? Although her hatred has been seething for quite some time, this comic seems to have acted as a lightning bolt to animate the monster of her rage, sewn together from various elements including the reading of Shelley's terrible poetry, Baby's belief in the superiority of Mary Shelley's writing, and P.B.'s misogyny.

What a nerd!

Mysteries of my crotch: coffee edition

2009-02-19T18:22:00.003-06:00

So I slept through my bus ride home today. This is not an unusual occurrence. What was unusual, however, was the fact that when I woke up my crotch and the lower part of my shirt were covered in coffee. I had a quarter-full travel coffee cup in my bag, but it showed no signs of leakage whatsoever. The bag was dry, the cup was dry, nothing in the bag even has coffee stains on it.

I have to imagine I would notice if my seatmate or another bus rider spilled coffee on me. I am forced to conclude it was either a case of spontaneous generation or some new kind of stigmata.

Wednesday, February 12, 2009

2009-02-18T11:13:00.005-06:00

Mark that date on your calendars. That's the day Mustafa said "Ohhhh, you put the slashes AFTER the H-T-T-P!" after trying to start web address "\\http:". This man's title is "Microcomputer Applications Specialist, Ph.D."

Also, it's the day I discovered that the most common Google searches leading to this blog are:

1. mcdonalds radio "ex-hipster"
2. dochvammey lodpu' 'oh li'be'
3. slippery when wet tour attendance
4. snakedercowboy.de

Dave says I need to write for my base, which is apparently line-dancing German Bon Jovi-fan hipsters who speak Klingon. I'll get back with you as soon as I figure out what I might say to that theoretical person.

UPDATE: I am stupid. The title of this post is supposed to be the current date. Whatever.

On the pulling of one's card

2009-02-17T09:32:00.006-06:00

Recently I was in a local sandwich shop inquiring about off-menu items* when the conversation turned to card catalogs. The sandwich shop employee pointed out that with the extinction of card catalogs, kids will have no idea what Eazy E means when he threatens to "pull ya card" in Boyz N Tha Hood** (do I really need to say NSFW?). That statement surprised me, because it never even occurred to me that Eazy could be making a reference to circulation management.

Eazy E asks a librarian for help locating the reference card for a certain trash talking motherfucker.

I thought it referred to something like drawing playing cards to determine who was going to die, or even to the death card of the Vietnam war, but I have to conclude that the sandwich-making man was right. Eazy is threatening to take trash-talkers out of circulation like a library book. It kind of makes the whole thing rather quaint, as if he had said he was going to degauss your VHS collection or scrape your palimpsest.

Tomorrow -- the eternal hardness of boys in the hood: macho swagger or priapistic disfunction?

* I was asking about a mythical sandwich with two veggie burger patties and salsa, which the employee had never heard of. He did inform me that "back in the day" at "certain locations" one could order the Veggie Delite with meat and recieve a side of marijuana. There was no report on what happened if you ordered "extra anchovies."

** Funny story: I actually saw Dynamite Hack (most famous for their singer-songwriter style cover of "Boyz N Tha Hood") open for the Polyphonic Spree. Weirdest double bill ever? They apparently have the same producer.

My week, feat. venison and beer

2009-02-13T09:18:00.007-06:00

I won't mention again how absurdly busy I am with work, because that's getting really old. But let's just say my job has been cutting way into my blogging and gym time. Stupid job. On top of that, my employer has announced a salary increase freeze. It's really supposed to be for upper-level folks -- presidents, vice presidents, deans, etc. -- but apparently when the president announces he's freezing his own salary, that means everybody else is supposed to follow his lead. This sucks somewhat because I was hired on with the expectation that my salary would be increased at the beginning of the next budget year (March). Oh well, we're not starving now, and as long as my children don't increase in size, caloric needs, or number within the next year or so, we should be okay.

Friday I went to the aforementioned surplus property Shangri-La. This picture sums up the experience well:

Pictured: server rack, bumper, boat anchor, four-wheeler (with SEATURTLE PATROL sign!), jumbotron, giant piece of a/c equipment. Also available but not pictured: EZ-Bake oven, pallets of shrinkwrapped CRT monitors, piles of oscilloscopes, card catalogs, film developing machines, innumerable chairs, bookshelves, and desks. Not available: anything I actually need. No venison or beer either.

Saturday I went to a great low-key bachelor party at a pseudo-private campsite near Wimberly. Some of the key features included a trunk full of beer, lots of whiskey, a partial drum kit, guitars, a mandolin, a banjo, a stand-up bass, and a bunch of people who know how to play old-timey music. Pretty great, really. Also, excellent venison burgers.

Ahhh, cheap beer. How do I love thee. It turns out Chet (not previously mentioned in this incarnation of my blog) really can hold his liquor pretty well. He did much better than the guy who showed up drunk, drank more, took off all his clothes, requested the Kinks and 2000 Man about 50 times, danced around, put his clothes back on, threatened the campsite administrator, then wandered into the woods and passed out on the ground. Good times.

Tuesday had me at Thunderbird drinking yet more Lone Star outside during an intense but brief thunderstorm. No venison.

Thursday (last night) was also great. Baby and the girls and I had dinner with friends. Venison was served, as well as some excellent homemade wine (not an oxymoron, it turns out) and some kind of Belgian ale. Let me tell you about this venison: it was awesome. Wrapped in bacon, injected with more bacon grease, unbelievable reduction sauce. Our friend Brad cooked it, and he is a true gourmet. We were actually not at Brad's house, so he was cooking with unfamiliar implements, and at one point I saw our host offer him a variety of gourmet salts to use. Brad proceeded to basically snort each salt to determine which ones he was using. It was intense, but whatever weird-ass rituals he chooses to use are fine by me if the results are always as good as last night's. Good times!

25 things about LAZLO HOLLYFELD

2009-02-10T18:10:00.000-06:00

Following the lead of numerous blogging friends (including noted campfire singalong lover Craigers and potential lurker Mosesface), here are 25 things about me, more or less.

(1) I very seriously wanted my younger daughter's middle name to be Comanche.

(2) If I have a son someday, Baby will have to fight me to keep his middle name from being Texas.

(3) I am jealous of ethnic and religious groups that get to wear distinctive outfits. Occupations, too.

(4) I would wear the same clothes every day if I thought nobody would notice.

(5) I look forward to thinking about things (aka daydreaming), and plan particular times and places to do so.

(6) I am very good at putting babies to bed.

(7) I have no piercings or tattoos.

(8) However, I did get my left nipple pierced when I was 18.

(9) It was mostly because I wanted to see people's reactions.

(10) I'm not the kind of person who does things just for reactions.

(11) The piercing emigrated.

(12) I have decided I might get a tattoo if I like the same idea for a year.

(13) I got an idea a couple weeks ago.

(13b) Have you seen kids these days with their tattoos?

(13c) It's like they show up to college as 18-year-olds with all kinds of shit already inked on their bodies.

(13d) Grow up a little before you start committing to that kind of thing!

(14) I enjoy flying in planes, and I love turbulence.

(15) I get all my nutrients and water from eucalyptus leaves.

(16) I have recurring daydreams about mass transit coordination and stoplight sequencing.

(17) I am allergic to many uncooked fruits: apples, bananas, peaches, pears, oranges, and avocados, as well as some nuts. I have also developed an allergy to uncooked soy -- tofu is okay, but soy milk makes my throat swell up, even in coffee.

(18) My blog pseudonym is a reference to the movie "Real Genius," and it is not misspelled.

(19) I have been to the steam tunnels under Caltech. The significance of this will be evident if you have seen Real Genius.

(20) I have a photo credit for an album cover.

(21) I work with somebody named Jay Kay and another named Kay Jay. They have never met.

(22) I met Baby during my senior year of high school. In our first conversation, she told me I looked like Bob Dylan; I asked a friend what Dylan looked like and he told me he was an old Jewish guy. A few months later, we ran into one another again, and she told me she was moving to Austin. She gave me her mom's phone number, but I didn't call her because I am generally afraid of other people's parents.

(23) When I was thinner and before I realized that washing my hair every day makes it highly voluminous, I looked vaguely like Bob Dylan from the cover of Nashville Skyline.

(24) I often imagine that it would be wonderful to shave my head.

(25) Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit.

Today is a good day to rob

2009-02-09T09:42:00.005-06:00

I just read this news story about a guy who robbed two 7-Elevens (or would that be 7's-Eleven?) with a miniature Klingon Bat'leth.* There are a number of wonderful facets to this gem of a story, but probably the best one is the fact that both clerks indepently identified the weapon as a Bat'leth. God bless trekkies, especially those working at convenience stores.

The second best thing about this story is the comments section underneath, containing prizes such as "This man shows no honor, and brings disgrace upon his family" and the comment I took this post's title from, as well as more esoteric ones like "Dochvammey loDpu' 'oH lI'be'" and "What would Data do?" But seriously, we already know what Data would do. He would jump the counter and break the thief's wrist before anybody knew what was happening, like in the episode Clues.**

* The bat'leth is "widely considered the most popular weapon among Klingon warriors," according to Memory Alpha, the Star Trek wiki. I would really like to hear the minority opinion on this issue. What evidence could one corral to argue the case that the d'k tahg is more popular? Or perhaps the kar'takin -- despite being a Jem'Hadar weapon -- has overtaken the traditional Klingon blade in popularity among Klingon warriors, but how might one determine that?

** UPDATE: It has been brought to my attention that it was actually Deanna Troi that broke Worf's wrist in "Clues," while posessed by some alien being. This blogger regrets the error and will work harder to fact-check his ST:TNG references in the future.

Things to remember when riding a bike

2009-02-06T09:36:00.000-06:00

The most important thing to remember when riding a bike is that you are not in a car. This applies not only to the obvious things like avoiding risky behavior, but it is also to remember that, unlike in a car, people can hear you talking or singing to yourself. If you, for instance, decide that you're going to use your commute home to mentally compose a rock opera based on the pro-pitbull bumper sticker slogans, please remember to do it quietly and not to wail out loud like a member of The Darkness, otherwise pedestrians and cyclists may cross the street to avoid you and drivers will laugh at you. Not that that's happened to me as recently as yesterday.

My new office

2009-02-05T16:40:00.003-06:00

I'm not in it quite yet -- the network and phone drops have to be done -- but I am really looking forward to it. No more undergrads asking about the stapler, printer paper, or the dreaded holepunch. No more listening to Mustafa chew! Today I found this awesome desk:

And now I'm prowling the building for unused chairs. That's the office up there, weird half-stained concrete floors and all. There's a place for my bike and not much else at the moment. Tomorrow, Baby and I are going to the university's near-mystical surplus warehouse -- the home of innumerable free items of furniture. (My boss has offered to buy furniture, but I'll take any excuse I can get to go to surplus.)

Today when I was moving that desk into the office, Mustafa said, "oh, are you moving your office?" This after two months of preparation for the move, including at least three discussions with Mustafa about what I was going to be doing with my space in our shared office after I moved out. Mustafa's desk faces the door to my new office, where contractors have been demolishing the shelving that used to be in the office, patching the walls, refinishing the floor, retiling the ceiling, etc. etc. etc. He helped me move all the old equipment out of the office, and apparently had no idea that I was moving?

What the fuck, dude. That's all I can say.

The most beautiful sight

2009-02-04T11:42:00.005-06:00

I just glanced over Mustafa's shoulder and saw him reading an article titled Soon-to-Be Retirees: 5 Things You Should Do.

Oh PLEASE LET IT BE SO! The long-awaited day! Could it be arriving? Just like that?

In the future, nothing will work

2009-02-04T09:35:00.001-06:00

When I was a kid and I wanted to know the temperature outside, I called a phone number. My brother and I still have that number memorized (973-3555). Unfortunately, Time and Temperature went dead around 2003, after probably close to a decade without an advertisement on their recording. Here's what I liked about that service: the temperature was always correct. Now, when I want to know the temperature, I use the internet.* The problem that I've discovered with this approach is that it's almost always wrong, and often ridiculously so. The other day weather.com said it was 28 degrees fahrenheit in my zip code. It was at least 70 degrees out. This morning it was "33 degrees" according to my OS X dashboard widget, which is apparently computer for "about 55." My point: everything is getting worse.

The other day, I bought a pizza to pick up from Domino's. The pizza was ready when I arrived at the shop. I walked in and gave them my debit card. TWENTY MINUTES LATER they had figured out how to exchange my money for their product. I don't blame the employees in the shop; I'm sure the register system is a nightmare, no doubt thrust upon them by the shop's owner, who bought it from the franchise, who uses it to track sales to make sure they're getting their cut. The software developer who designed it did so to the specs handed to him/her by the franchise, which probably didn't include a proviso that it should be impossible to add breadsticks to a customer's order when his kids are screeching for dinner in the car outside,** but that feature crept in there somewhere and it didn't get worked out because nobody at any stage of the development of the Domino's POS system either noticed or cared enough to fix it.

I guess what I'm getting at is this: when the robotic uprising happens, it's not going to be anybody in particular's fault, but we're going to have to serve our robotic overlords nonetheless.

* I'm not going to buy a thermometer, so don't even suggest it.

** I give my children pizza every once in a while to keep them from becoming stronger than me.

Last-name-only band names

2009-02-03T16:00:00.006-06:00

I have, since 1996 or so, collected last-name-only band names. Until now, the list has been in my head, but now I invite you, the internet, to add to the electronic version my list if you can. I don't expect a deluge of comments right away, but I am putting my faith in the long tail that we will have a definitive list here by sometime in the year 2112. Clarification: the name of the band has to be the last name of one (or more) of the members of the band.

Here is the list so far:

Bon Jovi
Van Halen
Argent
Nelson
Santana
Winger (Thanks to Nick J.)
Vallejo (Thanks to Mark Beebe)
Hanson (Thanks to Will)
Dio (Thanks to Will)
Bonham (Will again)
Dokken
Danzig
Labelle (Thanks Will, although I'm suspicious of your research methods)
Wilson Phillips (Thanks to R. McGillicuddy)

~~Man, this list is a real sausage fest. I don't think there's a lady in any of these bands,~~* although there are a lot of falsetto abusers. I would like to count Feist, but according to her Wikipedia page, "Feist" just refers to the singer herself, and not any backing band.

Bands that don't count, but almost do:

Fleetwood Mac
The Ramones, The Smiths, etc.

If you suggest one of these bands, you don't get it:

The Jimi Hendrix Experience
Dave Matthews Band

On a related note, thanks again to my colleague Nick J., for his substantive critique of my JBJ post. The phrase "valiant teller of rock-and-roll truths" has now been committed to the internet, and nothing can prevent it from being archived into infinitude. For that, I salute you. Thanks as well for the contributions to my ongoing list. I had no idea that Winger was (a) that dude's last name and (b) still playing.

* 2/20/09 Update: New commenter and venison acquirer McGillicuddy/Swamp (which could be a band name on this list if he found somebody named Swamp) has added the first legitimate two-name last-name-only band name, with his suggestion of Wilson Phillips! This is a triumphant find. He would also have added the first band with female members if Will hadn't already suggested Labelle last week.

Mention the hole punch again

2009-02-03T09:18:00.004-06:00

If another undergraduate or Mustafa asks me another question about the fucking three hole punch in the computer lab, I swear I'm going to lose it. I'm buying a new one today. I would consider this bad boy -- it looks heavy enough to beat an undergrad to death -- but I'm afraid it's "impractical" and perhaps "dangerous."

But seriously, what year is it? 1957? Who uses a hole punch? What is this, the battlestar Galactica? Are people in my lab printing out stat charts for their little league teams? I'm going to make this proclamation: if you are a college student in 2009 and you're still using three ring binders, you suck.* If you need to keep papers, use a folder. If you need more papers than that -- well, you just don't. Use a computer. Unless you get a job in the merchant marine or something, you will probably not use a three-ring binder once you've graduated.

In other news, work is still ridiculously busy and I haven't been to the gym in like a week. I will not be a "January person" though, as I paid in advance for my gym membership through May. That money will be avenged. I will become a Greek god of a man.

Also, I'm working on a unified theory of UGGs. Have you noticed that they come in many different heights? I believe there is a social heirarchy in effect among the undergrads, and one can determine their relative status by the height and woolyness of their UGGs. I hypothesize that Mukluks-wearers belong to a different tribe altogether, and that their status is primarily indicated by the presence and furriness of their Eskimo-style coats.**

* Having said that, I'm going to find out that somebody I know uses three-ring binders and has very good reasons, blah blah blah. Sorry in advance.

** Don't worry, I'm not really going to write on this.

UPDATE: Since posting this, a student has actually left an Eskimo-style coat in the lab! I may be able to infiltrate their group yet! Also, Nick J. speculates in the comments about which Greek god I might be referring to. Ideally, I would retain the gastronomic habits of Bacchus, but would somehow develop the body of, say, Poseidon.

Bon Jovi's faces seen vs. faces rocked, ca. 1986: two views

2009-01-31T10:10:00.002-06:00

Some time in 1986, Jon Bon Jovi sat down at his desk and penned these lyrics, which became part of the song "Wanted Dead or Alive": "I walk these streets, a loaded six string on my back / I play for keeps, cause I might not make it back / I been everywhere, still I'm standing tall / I've seen a million faces and I've rocked them all." The last line of that stanza is what concerns us here. It is clearly a bold claim no matter how one interprets it, but what exactly is Mr. Bon Jovi saying here?

The statement is bipartite, containing two claims: (a) I've seen a million faces and (b) I've rocked them all. I identify two basic hermeneutical possibilities.

(1) First is the "plain sense" reading: JBJ has literally seen one million faces, and of the one million faces he has seen, he has rocked all of them. This is probably the most audacious interpretation of the statement, as it posits a 1:1 faces seen to faces [seen and] rocked ratio. For this to be true, every face belonging to the set "faces seen by Jon Bon Jovi" also belongs to the set "faces rocked by Jon Bon Jovi." Such a reading could, however, account for a specific context in which the faces were seen, reducing the set size and making the statement somewhat more reasonable. Perhaps the 1,000,000 faces seen refers only to faces seen by Mr. Bon Jovi in concert audiences. Even so, this is an audacious claim.

(2) Second is a more nuanced, but less audacious interpretation of the statement: Jon Bon Jovi has (b) rocked 1,000,000 faces, and the previous claim (a) refers only to the faces rocked by Bon Jovi. In other words, Mr. Bon Jovi is claiming not a 1:1 seen:rocked ratio, but a total of 1,000,000 faces [seen and] rocked, with the actual number of faces seen being higher than 1,000,000 and the ratio thus being somewhat higher than 1:1.

In order to resolve this quesiton, we will have to rely on estimates to establish a realistic upper boundary of faces rocked by JBJ.

At the time this song was written, Bon Jovi had not gone on a national tour. Clearly the claim to have seen and rocked a million faces is not so bold post-Slippery When Wet, as the accompanying tour included 163 gigs. The band would only have to average an attendance of 6,135 rocked faces per show, at a time when the Slippery When Wet LP was selling millions and millions of copies. (Bon Jovi's 2/8/87 stop in Austin, for instance, was at the Erwin Center, capacity 16,755.)

However, in 1986, Bon Jovi had performed primarily in New Jersey. JBJ learned to play guitar in 1975, at age 13. That means Jon had 11 years of face-rocking under his belt when Wanted Dead or Alive was written. That means he would have to average 90,909 faces rocked per year, or 1,748 faces per week. How likely is this? Let's take a look at his pre-Bon Jovi bands and recordings to determine.

Raze: This is JBJ's first band, formed at age 13 while attending an all-boys Catholic school. I would generously estimate that his band rocked 100 faces during its maximum estimated three-year tenure.

Atlantic City Expressway: JBJ's second band, a "12-piece cover band named ... after the New Jersey highway," formed at age 16. We would need to know what style of covers they were performing for an accurate estimate, but Wikipedia says they played New Jersey clubs. Estimated faces rocked in the band's approximately two-year tenure: up to 2,080 (20 faces per gig x 1 gig per weekend x 2 years)

John Bongiovi and the Wild Ones: JBJ's third band, formed sometime in his late teens. Style not listed in Wikipedia. Opened for "known" New Jersey acts. Estimated faces rocked in three-year tenure: up to 7,800 (50 faces per gig x 1 gig per weekend x 3 years)

"R2-D2 We Wish You A Merry Christmas": JBJ's first professional recording, age 17. Estimated faces rocked: -15. (Ed.: Can this be a negative value?)

"Bon Jovi" (self-titled album) + "Runaway" single: 1984. These recordings can only account for a previously undocumented set, namely faces unseen by JBJ yet still rocked by him, but we can use them to establish an upper boundary of maximum faces rocked in this period. 500,000 copies of "Bon Jovi" sold before 2/4/86 [updated -- see below]. ~~It's not clear how many were sold in the 1984-1986 window, but for our purposes,~~ we will count all sales as potential faces to been seen AND rocked by JBJ.

"7800° Fahrenheit": 1985. Bon Jovi's poorly-received (outside of Japan) sophomore effort. I can't find any proper sales numbers, but all signs point to it selling badly. It seems likely that initial sales were far fewer than the 500,000 of the previous album, but in the interests of establishing an upper boundary of faces rocked, I'm going to assume that the fan base expanded by 500,000 or so during 1985, due to continued airplay, sales of the "Bon Jovi" LP, and even some sales of 7800°.

Totaled up, that gives us an upper boundary of 1,009,865 faces rocked. Subtracting a few for faces unseen by JBJ in concert due to obstructions, we arrive at a number startlingly close to 1,000,000 but not significantly larger. This evidence points to the likelihood that view (1), the "plain sense" reading of JBJ bipartite statment is the correct one. It seems that Mr. Bon Jovi is, in fact, claiming a 1:1 faces seen:faces rocked ratio.

Sources: Wikipedia

Thanks to my collegues Mark Beebe and Nick Johnson for their assistance with this monograph.

A note to the haters: I wrote this over a single lunch break, while you were probably watching an episode of The Gilmore Girls, so suck it.

UPDATE: Please see the comments section for a well-argued alternative view, presented by no less an authority than noted arenarockologist and frequent commenter elcaballo. While I'm highly impressed with his research, I still maintain that the numbers I have established here are an effective estimate for the upper boundary of faces rocked. I could be persuaded otherwise by the tour metrics for the Ratt tour if I had them, but an individual show -- even a large one -- shouldn't move the upper boundary of faces rocked AND seen by much, considering that I was already counting every person who bought the "Bon Jovi" album as a potential face in the crowd at a Bon Jovi show. In fact, my greatest insecurity about my estimates is that there weren't enough Bon Jovi shows for all album buyers to have seen JBJ and thus had their faces rocked AND seen by him, and the information provided by elcaballo allays these fears somewhat.

As to the hypothesis that JBJ was just being hyperbolic, my esteemed colleague undermines that notion by suggesting that JBJ has seen and rocked well in excess of 1,000,000 faces. If that were true, JBJ claim's would be an understatement -- the opposite of hyperbole.

Confessions of an ad writer

2009-01-30T16:47:00.002-06:00

Recently I heard a radio spot for McDonald's espresso drinks called "Confessions of an Ex-Hipster." (Apparently it's been on the airwaves for quite a while.) This is more or less what it says, for those who haven't heard it:

I like espresso coffee, so the other day I put on a scratchy turtleneck and went to a coffee shop. Pretty soon I was into French films, independent music, and not bathing.

But then I discovered McDonald's McCafe [or something] and I'm already back to watching football, wearing khakis, and even high-fiving my friends.

This ad is so confused that I don't even know what to say about it. I suppose, as advertising, its goal is not to be accurate, but to play on the consumer's perceptions in order to maintain the McDonald's brand identity. The target demographic is young white folks (our narrator sounds like one) who perceive football, khakis, and high-fives as normal and perhaps who have some animosity towards normal coffee shops, coupled with an insatiable urge to drink pressure-brewed coffee beverages despite their crippling self-doubt. The kind of people for whom Starbucks is apparently too edgy.

But seriously, how long has it been since turtlenecks were associated with hipsters? 40 years? Maybe the target demographic is people who are still mad about those damned beatnicks. Beatnicks wore khakis, though, so maybe not.

Apparently this confusion about hipsters is more common than I thought, though, as Baby recently sent me this quote from a blog she reads:

On our way home we saw a car stuck in a parking lot and JB stopped to talk with the driver. He offered to give him a tow, but dude was driving a lowered PT Cruiser (too low for tire chains) with a custom lowered bumper, so the tow chain couldn’t be hooked on. How you like your goofy too-low-for-speed-bumps ride NOW, hipster?

Hmm ... so hipsters are people who drive lowered PT Cruisers. Actually, that's incorrect. In case anybody out there needs to know, this is what a real hipster looks like:

See the difference? Yes, there are similarities, but this man is clearly wearing those hideous glasses and boring sweater ironically. Same with the cat, I think. Or wait, maybe that guy is just really socially awkward and the people up above are REALLY INTENSE hipsters. Shit, now I'm confused.

An warning

2009-01-29T08:33:00.007-06:00

When the sign pictured below first appeared on the corkboard near our condo, I thought little of it. The sign says that somebody is stealing clothes from washers. That's no problem for Baby and me, because although we don't have a dryer, we actually do have a washing machine in our home. Our clothes are safe.

Or so I thought.

Last night I was carrying a basket of wet clothes into the laundry room when I saw him -- the LAUNDRY THIEF! Dressed head to toe in sopping wet horizontal stripes, he was picking through a pile of damp jeans, looking for something his size. Normally I would have assumed the best and just mumbled a salutation to a fellow late-night launderer, but the words of the flyer were ringing in my subconcious mind, and I was indeed on "the watch out" for any suspicious behavior.

Suddenly, I heard a heart-rending screech: "FREEZE MOTHERFUCKER!" and was shocked to hear that the voice was my own! The THIEF, as startled as I was by the expletive, dropped a pair of Wranglers and made a run for it -- directly towards me, as I was blocking the exit. Thinking quickly, I heaved the basket of laundry towards him, hitting the perpetrator square in the chest. As he scrambled to regain his balance, I simultaneously grabbed my cell phone (to call 9-1-1, naturally, as one does in such situations) and threw open one of the lower dryers, the door gouging him in the shin. He fell forward, his feet taken out from under him. With the perp on the ground, I pounced knees-first, pinning him.

"Whyyyyyy?" he wheezed as I dialed.

"CRAM A SOCK IN IT, BITCH!" I screamed, involuntarily. I regained my composure when I heard the 9-1-1 operator on the line. "Yes, I'd like to report a robbery in progress."

The THIEF was moaning softly under my knees, as if he were trying to say something. I moved my head closer to his face.

"I ... was ... just ... doing ... my ... darksss," he hissed.

"Tell that to the jur-AAAAAAGHHHHHH!" I screamed, my quip interrupted as he threw a pile of dryer lint into my eyes. He shrugged me off his back and once again scrambled towards the door. Through the teary haze, I was just barely able to grab the edge of a steel folding table and pull it down, catching the exit door and slamming it shut. "Where the FUCK do you think you're going?"

"Not to jail, asshole! I'll die before I go back there!" he screamed as he frantically tried to push the table out of the way. I picked my phone off the ground. "Hello, dispatcher? Please send the SWAT team to the following address ..." Realizing he was trapped, the LAUNDRY THIEF turned on me.

"If I die, you're coming with me!" He reached behind a dryer and ripped out the gas line. "Hang up the phone or I light this match! Don't think I won't do it man, I've got two strikes already!" In one hand he held the hissing metal hose. In the other a matchhead, squeezed between his middle finger and thumb, pressed against the matchbook. If the THIEF literally snapped, the whole place would turn into a raging fireball. The room was filling with foul-smelling gas, and I knew I didn't have much to bargain with, so I put the phone down.

"You win, asshole. Now get the fuck out of here before you kill us both, you crazy bastard." The thief dropped the matches and smashed a window with his elbow. He slipped into the bitter cold night, running off to find another laundry room to burgle.

I turned the gas valve off, put my clothes in a dryer, and fished in my pockets for quarters. $1.25 a load? Now that's robbery.

The song Craig has stuck in his head

2009-01-28T13:26:00.003-06:00

You found it.* Another shocking admission from a man with no shame!

In other news, this week continues to be the busiest of my working life.

* (See here for an explanation.)

Five songs about other songs

2009-01-26T09:00:00.001-06:00

Baby and the girls and I (and the dog) went to Houston via Beaumont this weekend for a baby shower. As usual on road trips, I listened to shitty country radio on the way. I can't help it; I'm drawn to shit like a dog is drawn to cat shit. Except I don't eat country music and then lick people. Anyway, we heard a real jewel called "All Summer Long." It's about listening to "Sweet Home Alabama" whilst experimenting with drugs and casual sex. It is truly awful. When I got home and looked it up, I found out that my respect for Kid Rock could actually be decreased, as it turns out he is responsible for this radio turd. If it was by say, Kenny Chesney, I would have thought "hey, that sucked, but at least he was trying something," but Kid Rock, as a rapper of sorts, should have known better than to waste a Warren Zevon sample on a song about a Lynyrd Skynyrd song. And it's getting played on country radio. The only thing that could make me happy about this is if I could find a YouTube link of a German calling himself Snake der Cowboy teaching me to line dance to the song. What's that you say?

2. "Summer Rain" by Johnny Rivers. I love Johnny Rivers, sincerely. I think he's awesome. This song, however, is pretty bad. It mentions how "everybody kept on playing Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band," which could be referring to the song or the album, I guess. Since "Summer Rain" itself sucks, I guess the quality of the song might be improved if we knew which song, specifically, everybody kept on playing. If it was "With a Little Help from my Friends," that must have been a terrible summer and therefore "Summer Rain" is bad. If it was "A Day in the Life," on the other hand, that would have been cool. However, listening to it again, I think the song is referring to the title track of Sgt. Pepper's, due to the little guitar riff that accompanies Johnny's mention of the song in question. C+, solid drums though.

UPDATE: I just noticed that there's a reference to "A Day in the Life" around 2:56 -- the swelling string crescendo. Damn it, that's got to make it at least a B-.

3. "Hey Baby (They're Playing our Song)" by the Buckinghams. This one doesn't really count since it's not clearly about a specific song, but I wanted to mention it because how trippy would it be if you fell in love with your sweetheart while listening to this song? Your song would forever have to be "Hey Baby (They Playing our Song)," and that would be so weird, because your song would be, like, about having "a song," and whooaaa.

4. "Running Down a Dream" by Tom Petty. "I had the radio on, I was driving / The trees went by, me and Del were singing / Little Runaway, I was flying." When I was in high school somebody told me that every Tom Petty song had a drug reference in it. In this song, it was his mention of "flying." I have an alternate theory: every Tom Petty song has a Del Shannon reference in it. I'm pretty sure my theory is wrong.

5. "Tribute" by Tenacious D. As Jack Black and Kyle Gass make abundantly clear, this is not the greatest song in the world -- it is just a tribute to "Stairway to Heaven." The fact that they never mention Stairway by name makes this song the winner. Also, Pete from 30 Rock is in the video, playing a shiny demon.

Our Commander-in-freak / SXSW 2009 band names

2009-01-24T09:16:00.003-06:00

I don't normally like embedded YouTube links on my blog, but this one is irresistible:

I know Obama promised he was going to bring more transparency to the White House but I didn't think it would include such, ah, personal details.

I've been looking at the list of bands supposedly coming to SXSW this year. It's always a good chance to read hundreds of names that have no meaning to me because I have no idea who 99% of them are, and in most cases the name of the band tells you nothing about them. For instance, what does awesomely-named DANANANANAYKROYD sound like? And does giving your band the shittiest name possible -- The Devil Wears Prada -- reflect self-detached irony or just a lack of creativity?

Certain readers will be pleased to note a relative lack of woodland-themed names (Eagle Winged Palace and Hot Panda being among the exceptions), but at least I know exactly what to expect from those bands. Listen to their Myspace songs and you will not be surprised to find out that Hot Panda is somewhere between Fleet Foxes and Animal Collective. Midnight Peacocks, on the other hand, are somewhat different, as I was expecting a mix of Midnite Vultures-era Beck and Christian singer-songwriter Charlie Peacock. Sabbath Crow is also, surprisingly, not a metal band that does Sheryl Crow covers.

Speaking of bad animal names, TacocaT so far has the highest quality-of-music to quality-of-name ratio of the bands I've checked out from that list, and they definitely have the best song about a urinary tract infection.

The lamb is in the cage

2009-01-23T15:08:00.003-06:00

Today, as with the rest of this week, I have been working feverishly to keep up. Why is it then that it is in my few moments of rest -- and also when I happen to be watching something incredibly embarassing on YouTube -- that important people always walk into my office?

A coworker stopped in (while I was watching this again -- what the hell is wrong with me?*) to ask some questions and mentioned to Mustafa, who has a Ph.D. in anthropology, that she's going into a graduate anthropology program. He says (as he does to almost everything) "Ohhhhh wow. Oh wow, wow, wow" and goes on to tell her how exciting that is. I guess it's good that Mustafa doesn't regret spending years and years, studying late, missing his kids growing up, doing the research and fieldwork necessary to get his doctorate so that he could go on to become a profoundly incompetent IT guy, but I have to say that if I was that coworker I would be running -- RUNNING -- away from anthropology after that endorsement.

In unrelated news, my Older Daughter With No Pseudonym is in a phase where she makes up lots of songs and demands that Baby and I listen to them. The fact that Older Daughter's eyes well up with tears everytime she sings makes the experience even more charming. Here is a song she made up last night: "The lamb is in the cage, the lamb is in the cage / The farmer, the farmer, the farmer / The farmer is looking for her / Where is the lamb, where is the lamb, where is the lamb / The farmer, the farmer, the farmer" etc. These songs really don't ever end. She'll get distracted after a few minutes usually but then she'll pick it up again when she thinks of it, usually with revised lyrics.

* In my defense, I was pumped up after reading this story.

Thursday, please don't be a bastard

2009-01-22T09:06:00.005-06:00

Yesterday was awful. Well, work was at least. The rest of the day wasn't so bad. But at work I had the kind of day where I want to catalog everything that went wrong. Dear readers, be aware that it is out of respect for you that I refrain from this litany. Things I can usually depend on failed. I had Voltaic Crusher* stuck in my head, specifically the line "I am a flaw, I'm a mistake / I'm faulty, I always break." (Not self-applied. I blame Mustafa when computers break, not me.)

But today will be good to me, I just know it. The fact that I have misplaced the only known copy of a certain key again will be no hindrance to the goodness of today. I have already verified that I am not autistic, so that's a good start. Also, Mustafa is taking off early today and the cedar pollen count is down to a mere 205 grains/m^3 from the unfathomable 3,617 of sometime last week. Anyway, I have to go now and explain to a professor that I have locked her new computer in a closet that nobody has a key for. Toodles.

* of Montreal, of course. That ukelele version is the only one I could find online -- enjoy it

Overheard and observed in my office

2009-01-20T11:09:00.004-06:00

Today is the first day of classes for the spring semester, so the undergraduates are back. Back with their UGGs -- and there are a lot of UGGs out there. Puke.

Anyway, here are my choice quotes for today:

Undergraduate in UGGs: Is the computer lab open?
Me (imaginary, Ally McBeal style): Despite the fact that the door is open, the lights are on, there are 40 computers in there powered up and waiting for somebody
to use them, and the big sign that says the lab is open, no. No it's not.
Me (real life): Yes.

Mustafa (on the phone): I have eyeball hurting a lot. In both eyeballs.

Grad student who has seen me in white briefs: Can you make the classroom computer upstairs stream video for the inauguration five minutes from now?

I have also had the privelige to observe Mustafa looking up the word "fetish" on m-w.com. It's good to be back in the swing of things.

On hipsters

2009-01-19T19:34:00.004-06:00

Which could probably also be the title of this blog. Today I saw a 40ish overweight woman on my bus. Stringy hair, unflattering plastic-frame glasses, high-waisted jeans, a well-worn hoodie. In other words, she could have been a hipster, if she were younger and probably thinner.* It made me wonder how the line between hipster and homeless (or just fringe) is so clear despite the elements of the aesthetic being pretty damned similar at times. I also wonder if there will be a point when I stop looking like a shabbily-dressed hipsteroid and start looking like a member of the leisured indigent class. Only time will tell, although I probably won't know until I start getting handed change at bus stops. As if to make my point, there was a similarly-dresed woman on the bus who was young and thin. She, however, had dreadlocks, and thus was also excluded from any meaningful definition of hipster. Actually, that doesn't make my point at all. I guess I don't really have a point. I just want to see a hipster that really, really looks homeless.

There is this one homeless guy who goes to my church. He doesn't look like a hipster at all -- he's 61 years old and wears baggy sweatpants and sleeveless shirts all the time (he once made fun of Baby for going to the "yuppie" Goodwill) -- but at the Christmas bazaar, he put on a tight blazer with a hand-painted picture on the back and it was like he was magically transformed into a hip, jaded gallery owner or something. That made me really happy. Then he told me all about rosin-baked potatoes and a mystical Hobart-brand machine called the Rozzlebake, but that's a story for another time.

* I realize that there are lots of 40-year-old hipsters and overweight hipsters, but we're dealing with generalities here. Also, I realize that I'm far from being the first person to make this observation, so suck it.

UPDATE:

In the comments, Will asks why one can't homeless and a hipster. The causes of homelessness and hipsterism are manifold, but I think it comes down to this: most hipsters are middle-class, and there is a certain social safety net that comes with that. Homelessness can generally be prevented by such a network, except in some cases of mental instability or severe addiction.

Back from San Antonio

2009-01-18T23:01:00.003-06:00

With this rad owl:

See what you missed by not getting your souvenir requests in on time? And to answer elcaballo's question: yes, we would have also taken requests for party tricks or novelties.

The vacation was great. Amazing food, (wild mushrooms with polenta and goat cheese in a red wine reduction sauce from Boudro's) a great hotel, and very little responsibility. Strongly recommended. A++++ would buy from again. The Riverwalk itself is a mixture of real natural beauty, dubious history (the Alamo as a "SHRINE TO TEXAS FREEDOM"), and timeless and outdated design. Very fun trip though.

Vacation! of sorts

2009-01-16T15:49:00.005-06:00

First the first time ever, Baby and I are going to leave the kids with a sitter and skip town tomorrow. The babysitter is Baby's mom, and our destination is beautiful San Antonio, Texas. We're staying at fancy new hotel on the Riverwalk. We wanted to stay at a fancy old hotel, but they wouldn't do a single-night reservation. So it's not a long trip, but it will be great and hopefully I will no longer feel like the used-up husk of a man when we return. If anybody wants souvenirs, now's the time to ask.

So long, suckers!

On of Montreal

2009-01-15T08:49:00.005-06:00

As you can see from some of my recent links, I've gotten into* of Montreal lately. I've been exposed to their music quite a bit in the past but never liked them. Baby bought "Skeletal Lamping" (their newest album) shortly after it came out, and I thought it was good but not really memorable. But right now I'm listening to "Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer," and it's wonderful.** I expected of Montreal to be really pretentious for a variety of reasons (gratuitous mythological references, frontman wearing makeup, band name starting with a preposition), but I'm finding the lyrics charming and even sincere. Kudos to of Montreal for making music that doesn't suck. As C. Montgomery Burns says: "I don't know much about art, but I know what I hate -- and I don't hate this."

Enjoy this picture of of Montreal's setlist for their recent Austin show, courtesy of my acquaintances at austintownhall.com. Note the annotations, such as "centaur fruit orgy" and "voltron."

* Bonus prepositions for the fans: aboard, aside, atop, onto

** As usual, I'm two years behind, but at least I'm not in a sad '90s cul-de-sac with regards to indie rock.

Khan!

2009-01-14T19:17:00.004-06:00

Ricardo Gonzalo Pedro Montalbán Merino is dead at age 88.

Good night, sweet prince. I hope he will be resurrected into a new body like Spock was, and that God will not shoot him with lasers like he did Kirk.

An open letter

2009-01-14T15:40:00.003-06:00

Dear Guy In A Smartcar Singing Loudly Along to Kate Nash With The Windows Rolled Down,

You might not be as cool as you think you are.

Sincerely,

Lazlo Hollyfeld

My incompetent co-worker, pt. 2

2009-01-14T09:24:00.003-06:00

Part two in an infinite series. Lately, Mustafa has been getting pretty passive-aggressive (although he doesn't eat sweets of any kind, so I don't think he is the pudding thief or writer of the P.S. note). Last week I asked him to call in some warranty work on four computers with bad motherboards in the lab next to my office. (Dell's strong point is their business-level warranty support, not necessarily their quality control.*) A few days later, I asked him about it again. Then, this morning -- with one day left before the semester starts (he's taking Friday off) -- he informs me that he was waiting for me to tell him which computers need new motherboards. How about the ones that won't turn on, dipshit?

I'm going to one-up him, though. I'm going to do the most passive-aggressive thing ever and never say anything to him or anybody else about how retarded he is. I'm just going to blog about it. Take that, Mustafa!

In the midst of this nincompoopery, I am still reminded of the benefits of state employment: low expectations, great benefits, lots of vacation, ~~low pay,~~ and drinking on lunch break. Yes, that's right, I'm going to the Crown and Anchor pub with some fellow university friends for lunch. Glorious! They have a great veggie burger there.

Anyway, a clarification about my commute yesterday, since frequent antagonist and noted dickweed elcaballo had a question about it. What happened is this: I forgot my ID, which I need to ride the bus. So, I walked to the bus, got on, realized I didn't have my ID, got off at the next stop, walked home, drove my older daughter to school, waited for her school to open, drove to the bus stop (with Baby and Alia**, who took the car), and got on the bus again to go to work.

* And I'm pretty pissed off at Dell for this shit.

** That would be my younger daughter. Thanks for the suggestions, elcaballo.

Facile update

2009-01-13T19:00:00.009-06:00

My recent mention of Daft Punk (as vocoder users par excellence) has prompted no less an authority than frequent commenter and apparent dance music afficianado elcaballo to speculate that I am stuck in a "sad 90's cul-de-sac" with regards to "facile" dance music (notwithstanding my link to in that post to Black Moth Super Rainbow and my somewhat embarassing but well-established interest in the mashup genre). Well, sirs and madams, allow me to be very clear: my involvement with the IDM band Sad 90's Cul-de-Sac aside (not to be confused with emo side project Cul-de-Sad), I make no pretense of expertise in the area of dance music. I am a pupil, my commenters are the teachers.

Oh, and thanks for formally welcoming me to 2009, dickweed.

UPDATE to the UPDATE:

Elcaballo responds in the comments section but, as usual, is all over the place. He may need to lay off the Goldschlager for a while, as the flakes appear to be impairing his ability to construct a cogent argument. I would deconstruct his "arguments" (such as they are), but I am afraid that if I use the words "facile electronic dance music" one more time, I will start to get some unwanted Google traffic. I will have to be content simply noting that it is elcaballo's mom who is, in fact, facile.

Still not ready

2009-01-13T10:18:00.003-06:00

Good Lord, transportation this morning has been a cluster foxtrot (as my coworker Vince used to say). Let it suffice to say that I left the house the first time at around 7:30 and didn't get to work until 9:40. Also lots of ear-shattering happy/sad screaming from Younger Child With No Pseudonym As Of Yet. Actually, I'll say one more thing about it: walking (5 min) -> bus (1 min) -> walking (10 min) -> driving (15 min) -> bus (30 min) -> walking (5 min). But I am enjoying the book I'm reading right now. I'm thinking about teaching a class on it at my church.

Work is absurdly busy. I have two songs stuck in my head, fighting to be the top earworm of the day. "Heimdalsgate Like A Promethean Curse" (of Montreal -- great video) and "My Body is a Cage" (Arcade Fire). I think we can all relate to that of Montreal video.

Not ready

2009-01-12T09:08:00.005-06:00

Mustafa is currently speaking to me. SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP. He just won't stop talking. There is nothing I can do about it except keep typing and nodding.

I have never shared Garfield's hatred for Mondays, but today is exceptionally loathsome. I have a veritable shitload of work to do, no motivation, my arms feel like they're going to fall off, and it was too cold to ride my bike this morning. (I have to draw the line somewhere, and 32 degrees seemed like a good enough place.) My "to do" list only has six items on it, but each one is worse than all the rest of them. It's a riddle, wrapped in a paradox, wrapped in a shit sandwich. Or something.

Thankfully, Mustafa just now had to make one of his many daily trips to the post office, so I have a momentary reprieve from his droning. I guess I should get to work on this shit. Oh wait -- a phone call from a professor who cannot understand how to type a web address into her browser, nor does she understand what the words "address," "browser," or really even "web" mean in this context. I guess I should do that first. Shit.

UPDATE:

I've actually ended up spending my whole morning moving ancient computer equipment so that I can have some office space renovated. The good news, of course, is that I'm getting a new office very soon. But I also received this ALARMING EMAIL from a professor:

Hi
WARNING
I am reporting a suspected "FRAUD' on the [webmail].--Some entity is obviously trying to gain access to my [ID] and password. Today when I tried to log in to[webmail] I noticed the log in page looked differrent. A box appeared, that was entitled "HOARD". When it asked me for my [ID] and password I exited the site immediately and did not enter it. If you recall, a short time ago a message was sent to [faculty] warning them of FRAUD of this nature.

(Links added by me. Extraneous quotations marks -- sadly -- original.)

Wanted for questioning: Hordak

In case anybody is wondering, Horde is actually the name of my school's webmail program. Nothing malicious going on here.

Design tips from Kanye West

2009-01-10T12:00:00.000-06:00

I recently stumbled upon Kanye West's blog. He actually seems like a pretty normal person. The tone is that of a 16-year-old girl's livejournal. He mostly writes about how his albums are selling, posts remixes and songs from other musicians (including stuff like Hot Chip and Peter, Bjorn, and John),* and links to products he likes (and even The Onion sometimes).
One of this recurrent features, apparently, is posting pictures (he takes?) of hot women, often scantily clad, always with the caption "WHERE ARE YOU YEEZY???" You would think this was just a lark for him, but apparently he takes it very seriously (link is not safe for work):

I LOVE BLOGGING, DUH!!! BUT ONE OF THE THINGS I LOVE THE MOST IS DOING THE "WHERE ARE YOU YEEZY'S" (LITERALLY..... JUST KIDDING... SORT OF!! HAHAAAHAAA!!!) SERIOUSLY THOUGH! I ACTUALLY DON'T KNOW MOST OF THE GIRLS I POST.... BUT THERE IS A METHOD TO THE MADNESS, SOME PEACE TO THE PERVERSION. THIS POST GIVES ME THE OPPORTUNITY TO BE CREATIVE. I .. MEANING ME... MEANING (IN THIRD PERSON LIKE I'M CRAZY) KANYE WEST...I FIRST CHOOSE THE, WHAT I LIKE TO CALL COVER PHOTO.... I KNOW YOU MIGHT NOT BELIEVE THIS BUT I LOOK FOR SOMETHING NOT TO TRASHY AND ICONIC. EVERYTHING I DO IS ABOUT CREATING MEMORABLE ICONIC IMAGERY. OBVIOUSLY I DON'T THINK SHOT'S FROM THE BACK ARE TRASHY DEPENDING ON THE SPECIFIC POSE. I'M BASICALLY RETARDED WITH PHOTO SHOP SO I FEEL SO ACCOMPLISHED WHEN I ERASE A LOGO OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT OFF OF A PHOTO.... THEN I OBVIOUSLY USE COMIC LIFE TO PUT THE "WHERE ARE YOU YEEZY" NEXT TO THE GIRL... I TRY TO KEEP THE ARM ON THE SPEECH BUBBLE PRETTY STRAIGHT AND SMALL... IT FEELS MORE "DESIGN" TO ME. THE COMPOSITION IS MAD IMPORTANT AND SOME OF THESE HAVE A MAGIC TO THEM... THE COMBO OF, FIRST OF ALL, HOW BEAUTIFUL AND PHOTOGENIC THE GIRL IS THEN HER POSE THEN HOW SHE RELATES TO HER ENVIRONMENT.. IS SHE ON A BEACH? IS SHE ON A ROCK? IS SHE IN BED? IS IT AN ALL BLACK BACKGROUND? IS IT AN ALL WHITE ONE? HOW MUCH NEGATIVE SPACE IS THERE MEANING THE EMPTY SPACE IN A PHOTO.... WHICH IS DOPE SOMETIMES CAUSE THEY LOOK LIKE THEY'RE FLOATING LIKE MUSIC VIDEO'S WITH WHITE SIKES (BACKGROUNDS).

So, yeah. The composition is mad important. Remember that when placing speech bubbles on pictures of nearly-naked women.

* One of Kanye's readers comments: "I thought BJORN was a swan lady..."

On vocoder abuse

2009-01-09T10:00:00.003-06:00

The vocoder* is a powerful tool. But much like Spiderman's abilities, with the great power of the vocoder comes great responsibility. Use of the vocoder is not to be entered into lightly or unadvisedly, but reverently, deliberately, and in accordance with the purposes for which it was instituted by God. The vocoder is properly used to make the human voice sound beautiful, like the voice of a robotic angel. When it is abused or neglected, it is an affront to nature.

The human ear -- though the ability can become warped -- is tuned to hear the difference between the just and proper use of the vocoder and the egregious misuse to which it is so often subjected. Can you not hear that Zapp is good? Does not "I Wanna Be Your Man"** stir in one's heart feelings of the love between a man and his beloved? Does not "Computer Love" do the same, but replacing the word "beloved" with "Tandy?" Conversely, does not Lil Wayne's "Showtime" sound like a shitty, shitty trainwreck? Listen to your heart, Mr. Carter! The vocoder is not to be misused! You are walking a perilous path in the company of vocoder abusers like Cher, T-Pain, and even Bob Schnieder. Walk the narrow path, the path of Zapp, ELO, and Daft Punk.***

* I am using the term loosely to include any sort of modulated vocal effect, including talk boxes and Auto-Tune.

** Yes, I know I've linked to this song before. If you don't want to listen to it, try this instead.

*** And before anybody says anything about "facile electronic dance music," s/he should "STFU," as the kids say.

The joys of office life

2009-01-08T08:00:00.001-06:00

This post really belongs on passiveaggressivenotes.com, but since they won't publish it for some reason (Twice I've submitted it! Twice!) I'm forced to put it here instead.

Upon walking into a breakroom at work several months ago, I found the following display:

Nothing remarkable on first glance. There are six notes posted in the approximately 70 square feet of this room. Let's have a look at them, shall we? First, we'll start with the white one on the fridge.

Hmm ... pretty passive-aggressive, but nothing crazy. I do like the pedantic tone, though. Kudos for that. But what's that yellow note to the left?

Ah-ha! This is a jackpot! Here is the painstakingly transcribed text rejected by the assholes at passiveaggressivenotes.com:

Attention Pudding Thief:

It is wrong to steal. Maybe you thought, "Hey, it's just one pudding cup." Maybe you thought, "Hey, this has probably been here for a while." Maybe you thought, Hey, no one's watching."

Well, maybe if you thought for even one second about the questionable ethics of your action, you would have come to the realization that even stealing one pudding cup is wrong.

Also: maybe you would have thought, "Hey, someone put this pudding cup in the fridge because they plan on eating it later on today."

But hey, maybe you can't read. Not even this note. That would actually explain a lot and make me feel much better about my pudding situation. Because there is a clearly taped sign to the door of the fridge. It says don't steal other people's food.

Please comply in the future.

Oh, this is glorious! My favorite part -- and there are lots of contenders -- is the phrase "my pudding situation." I like to imagine that the note's writer thought a lot about his/her pudding situation. I can imagine some sleepless nights being caused by the P.S., as it would surely be known in the note writer's scrawled late-night journal entries.

And ... as if that note wasn't enough, there are two more pertaining to the P.S.! First, on the cabinet above and to the right of the microwave:

This. This! This is a masterstroke of passive aggression. I don't even know what to say. How can this possibly be bested? Well, what's in the donations box?

Help yourself to these goodies indeed! (That's a bag of Celestial Seasonings' "Madagascar Vanilla Red" whatever the hell that is.) I do have to admit that there was a candy cane in the box that I ate.

I am not the pudding thief.

"Furr" / Beyoncé updates / reader response

2009-01-07T21:02:00.006-06:00

I stumbled upon the video for "Furr" today, and I liked it. However, it does not clarify anything about the lyrics at all. Here is the link. My wife said the video looks like a review of the Williamsburg Craft Fair retail booths for the last few years, what with the trains, boats, and woodland themes. I suppose that last sentence will mean something to somebody who reads this blog. I liked the part with the bee.

And I would be neglecting my duties as the proprietor of this blog if I didn't link to this Beyoncé/Fleet Foxes mashup from The Hood Internet.

Furthermore, I am compelled to draw attention to reader/beat doctor elcaballo's comment regarding New Balance shoes in hip hop. In the relentless pursuit of truth and amusement, I occasionally make errors. My statement that Beck's "Little Drum Machine Boy" had "the only shout out to New Balance shoes I've ever heard on a record" should have read as follows: "[the song has] got a fresh beat and partakes in the long tradition of shouts out to New Balance shoes in hip-hop." Thank you, elcaballo, for pointing out my error. You are still a royal dickweed.

Obstacles overcome

2009-01-07T08:00:00.004-06:00

I did it. As of yesterday, I have succesfully (I think) used several pieces of gym equipment in front of God and everyone, including a bunch of jocks. Dave's inadvertent tip that there are pictures on the machines illustrating their use was particularly helpful. It was not as awkward as I thought, and I did not get any wedgies -- atomic or otherwise -- from any of my fellow gym patrons.

Wearing proper clothes was essential. I had to actually buy some white socks from the American Apparel next to my office; prior to yesterday morning, I had approximately 25 unique socks but not a single pair per se, by which I mean any two socks of the same approximate color, pattern, and length. This is normally not a problem since I always wear pants and rarely show both ankles at once so only the keenest of observers would notice that my socks don't match. But think about that: I had 25 unique socks, and only one of them was white. That's kind of amazing.

Anyway, I rode the bike thing again to make up for not riding this morning (it was raining). Then I did exercises I don't know the names of on three machines that I could not identify. I know that my arms and chest were exercised, though, since as I type this it feels like I couldn't lift a kitten over my head. I was using the lowest possible weight on all of them. This is the point that I wish certain aspects of my life could be like an 80's movie, because -- having overcome my fear of the gym and initial foibles -- there would definitely be a montage here, showing the retainer pin going in successively higher and higher weights until the end of the song, when I would be ready to ski the K2, beat the jocks in the talent contest, or do the Triple Lindy.

Okay, I'm going to shut up about it now.

Lil Wayne's "Mrs. Officer"

2009-01-06T10:00:00.000-06:00

America's most popular vocal effect, Lil Wayne, has released a truly awful song. I am, of course, compelled to comment.

First off, congratulations are in order for Mr. Carter, seeing as how he's the first person ever to be referred to as "rapper of the year" by no less an authority than the New Yorker. (Take that, Young Jeezy!) Second, what exactly is wrong with Lil Wayne's voice? I haven't seen him using an artificial larynx but I can't otherwise explain why he sounds like a science fair robot. I suspect him of vocoder abuse, but that's a topic for another day. (If it is just a production effect, though, how hellish must his natural speaking voice be?)

The lyrics are almost too stupid to even discuss. Some of them are probably freestyled, but still inexcusably bad ("Ha Ha... And after we got done / I said lady what's ya number she said 911 / Haaa... emergency only"). Basically, the song is about Lil Wayne getting pulled over by a female cop who apparently has a weak spot for mentally deficient misogynists, with whom he develops a sexual relationship. The subject of the song is really Lil Wayne, however, and how awesome he believes himself to be. Bobby Valentino adds a much-needed touch of class with lines like "When I get up all in ya / We can hear the angels calling us" and "breakfast in bed turns to breakfast and head."

Lil Wayne either amuses himself greatly, as he fills out the beats with laughter in almost every single line, or he has the worst flow ever. Among the many gut-busters Wayne delights himself with are references to tight pants and the 1991 Rodney King beating. He needs to watch this video to see how it's done. Or, he could try not freestyling and actually writing non-retarded lyrics.

Back to work

2009-01-05T20:45:00.003-06:00

Today was my first day back to work after two weeks of holiday vacation. The thing I was dreading most was talking to Mustafa, but he managed to make it 20 minutes without getting on my nerves. This was facilitated by the fact that the coffee place I go to when I wake up before Baby makes coffee is closed until classes start in two weeks. I have always hated coffee addiction humor (har har, Garfield needs his coffee), but seriously, what the fuck am I supposed to do?

My new year's resolution of sorts is to go to the gym. I said "every once in a while," but that's supposed to mean three or more times a week. So, today, for the first time since my freshman year of college, I went to the gym. First, I asked fitness expert Dave what kind of exercises somebody with the legs of a powerlifter and the upper body of a 10-year-old tuberculosis patient needs to do. (I've biked daily for about seven years, but never intentionally done any other kind of exercise.) Then, I replaced the Indian pop music on the iPod somebody left in my lab with own selections* and headed for the campus gym.

Walking into the gym, I already knew that I would be looked down upon for being a "January person" and because I was dressed vaguely like Judd Nelson in Breakfast Club instead of in proper workout attire. As soon as I entered the weightroom, however, I was totally cowed. I had no idea which machines I was supposed to use or how to use them anyway. I asked a staff member which machine makes the huge pectoral muscles, and even approached one of the devices she pointed at, but I knew there was no way I was going to screw with that thing for five minutes to figure out how it works in front of all these ... jocks. So I wussed out and rode on some kind of recumbent stationary bike for about 40 minutes. Not exactly the upper-body workout I was hoping for, but at least it made up for missing my bike ride this morning.

Tomorrow, I'm bringing clothes so I can "dress out" for "gym," as they say (in fact, I will be wearing my original Saint Andrew's gym shirt from junior high), and I will try to actually use one of the upper body machines. I will look highly retarded, and I will probably be laughed at and maybe even wedgied, but it will be the first real step on my road to beefcake.

* Arcade Fire's Funeral and Yo La Tengo's I am not Afraid of You and I will Beat Your Ass. Arcade Fire makes some great workout music -- I was kind of disappointed when I thought my exercise routine was going to end before the disco breakdown in "Wake Up."

On "Furr"

2009-01-03T20:50:00.003-06:00

I, like many people of my marketing demographic (hipsteroids), enjoy the song Furr by Blitzen Trapper. It is rather silly but enjoyable nonetheless.* The lyrics**, however, are inscrutable.*** If the song is supposed to be an allegory or fable, it utterly fails to convey any kind of coherent point.

The verses and bridge tell this story: a 17-year-old wanders into the woods and turns into a wolf, which he seems to really like. Then, five years later, he meets a (presumably human) girl and raises a family with her on a farm. At some point after that, he "quickly" turns back into a human, but he doesn't really seem to fit in. I am going to assume the story is supposed to be a fable or allegory, because it doesn't really make sense when taken at face value -- for instance, how does a wolf tend to a farm, and what kind of crops does a wolf grow anyway? So maybe the message is as simple as this: the speaker/wolfman doesn't fit in in society. We can all relate to that, I suppose.

But the chorus throws the whole thing into confusion by seeming to offer an interpretive key or moral lesson or something. Here it is: "You can wear your fur like a river on fire, but you better be sure if you're makin' God a liar. I'm a rattlesnake, babe, I'm like fuel on a fire. So if you're gonna get made, don't be afraid of what you've learned." What follows is my best honest attempt at understanding the message of this song.

A river on fire is essentially unaffected by the fire. The river itself is not changed. So whatever one's "fur" is, one can choose not to let it change their core being. BUT one must be careful not to "make God a liar" by denying one's essence. Is that suggesting that the fur/fire could be more central than the one's essence/the river? But our speaker/wolfman is now a rattlesnake (whatever), comparable to fuel on a fire. So ... he is capable of making one's fire stronger (but is destroyed in the process)? That means he personally can effect a change in "your" exterior expression, which "you" are to possibly consider as more important than your essence? And then I have no clue what "if you're gonna get made" etc. could possibly mean.

Anyway, the lyrics of this song are interesting, but I can't think of an interpretation that makes even a tiny bit of sense.

* I think the song's production will "age" terribly, with the artificially-thickened vocals and woodsy sound effects. If you're reading this blog from the year 2014 or later, please confirm in the comments section.

** By the way, have I mentioned how much I hate improperly transcribed lyrics? How fucking stupid do you have to be to think "droned into the words" makes more sense than "drove into the woods" in a song that is largely about living in the fucking woods?

*** People get really irrational when you insult music they like, especially if they know the musicians involved. So, if you are a huge Blitzen Trapper fan or friend of the band, please take no stock in my banal ramblings. I could never write a song as good as Furr.

14 Questions

2009-01-02T22:18:00.003-06:00

I got this from frequent commenter Christie's blog. (I really like her answer to #3, by the way.)

1. Character in a Wes Anderson film you most relate to: Max Fischer, you wee spotty fuck
2. What is/are your favourite plant(s)? None, but my least favorite pollen is live oak. I do like a good sweet potato, for eating.
3. What fills you with dread? Usually a dread syringe.
4. Most influential creative person in your life? Creativity is for sucks. Mockery is where it's at.
5. Do you like cats better than dogs or vice versa? Why? I didn't really like Vice Versa, so I'm going to have to go with Cats Better Than Dogs, by default. Sounds like something I'd like.
6. What was the first thing you ever wanted to be? Why? Real estate appraiser. Seriously. Because my dad was one. All I knew was that they drove around and took a lot of pictures, and when I went with them they gave me ice cream.

7. What’s the best ice cream-truck song you’ve ever heard? This question is the reason I filled out this questionnaire. I just found out the name of the song is Music Box Dancer and the truck drives around Highland Park. I made up my own words for the song before I knew the name: "Everyone knows that Juancho's in town / and the ice cream is free when Juancho's around" (repeat ad infinitum, or until your wife starts threatening you).
8. What is your favourite song by Simon & Garfunkel? I can really get into "Bridge Over Troubled Water" in a melodramatic way. I also really like the bass harmonica in "The Boxer."
9. What is your stripper/pornstar name? (Name of your first pet + name of the first street you lived on): Flash Bamford
10. Do you have collections (deliberate or inadvertent)? I had a box of junk cameras but I gave it away. I don't like having useless stuff, but it does often find its way to me. As lame as this is, I do have several coffee mugs stolen from work. My favorite says "Be All God Wants You to Be" and it has a butterfly on it.
11. Do you prefer rainy weather or sunny weather? Why? BOOOOORING.
12. Favourite TV show theme song that is over 10 years old? 60 Minutes.
13. Favourite breakfast meal? Either Malt-O or oat.
14. Best record you’ve bought recently: I bought a music box for my daughter that plays "My Old Kentucky Home," but no records lately.

Hooray 2009!

2009-01-01T00:00:00.003-06:00

You're going to be much better than that bastard 2008, I can already tell.

In 2009, I plan to attempt to amuse my friends with close readings of pop songs, mention Beyoncé conspicuously every once in a while -- or constantly, whatever -- and continue to celebrate inanity.

Also, I'm going to go to the gym every once in a while.

Happy new year, everybody! Remember: champagne is a hell of a hangover. Stick with hard liquor and you'll be golden.

Dear 2008, fuck you

2008-12-31T20:00:00.005-06:00

Don't let the door hit you on the way out.

Sure, we had some good times -- November 4 comes to mind -- but I think it's time we part ways, forever.

Six emergency room visits in my family, four or so hospital stays (two without insurance), four cancer diagnoses, two deaths -- these are the reasons we're not going to be spending any more time together. Not to mention the economy, that hellish three-day trip I had to take to the Houston shipping channel with my boss, or the emergency dental surgery.

But you're over, 2008. Fuck you and go to hell.

RIP Mom

2008-12-30T10:00:00.000-06:00

This post is highly inappropriate for this blog, but yesterday my mom died. She was diagnosed with cancer in August. Things didn't look good, but we had no idea how bad they really were; the cancer was in her lungs and brain. The first oncologist gave her six months to live. We switched to another doctor who said she could live indefinitely on a kind of chemotherapy. What he didn't know was that the cancer was also in her spinal column, which is an untreatable condition.

Mom and I had a complicated relationship. I loved her and she loved me, and we even shared many of our deepest-held values of family and faith, but the little things -- the history of frustrations and disappointment -- kept us from ever really being at ease with one another. Baby and my daughters were almost the perfect buffer between me and mom, to make our relationship real and even fun in the last few years, but I always felt like she either didn't know me or knew me and didn't approve. Or maybe she just thought I didn't like her, because of all the times I was a colossal asshole.

She was a fun-loving woman. She was spontaneous and free-sprited. She had a highly-developed sense of propriety which she almost always disregarded, either embarassing or entertaining me depending on the situation. She taught us to never talk about money but could be counted on to ask even complete strangers how much they made or how much their kid's school cost. She was, like me, stubbornly loyal. Unlike me, she never shied from a fight over values.

In the last few weeks, preparing for her to die, I have learned a lot about her. She secretly smoked for about 23 years after I was born. She took care of an Alzheimer's patient and began to set up a trust fund for neglected and abused children. Her natural hair color was dark brown.

Her last few days were probably not her best, since she was in enough pain to require morphine, but she did get to spend a lot of time with my brother, my father, me, Baby, and even our younger daughter. I suspect that holding my daughter was the highlight of her last week.

I miss her. My daughters love her as much as possible, but the older -- being three -- will be lucky to remember her at all, and the younger simply won't. What a fucking shame.

Rest in peace, Mom. I hope to see you again some day.

The truth about Elton John

2008-12-29T10:00:00.000-06:00

For all Elton John has been talked up as having intelligent lyrics (written or edited by Bernie Taupin, alleged songwriter extraordinaire), his lyrics sure are inane. Not just because they're talked up -- his songs' lyrics are inane compared to even, say, Britney Spears'. But we all know now how I feel about inanity. To wit, "Your Song."

I have always loved/hated "Your Song" for its sheer, awesome inanity, but when Ewen MacGregor sang it to Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge, its place in my irony-blooded hipster heart was forever secured. (Before you say anything about Moulin Rouge, I'm going to go ahead and just put this in there: fuck you. Don't talk bad about Moulin Rouge.)

Stanza one is a non sequitur: "It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside / I'm not one of those who can easily hide / I don't have much money, but boy if I did, / I'd buy a big house where we both could live." It gets some points for almost being a sentence (I love songs with grammatically correct sentences), but immediately loses them for making no fucking sense whatsoever.

Stanza two is a glorius shining temple to inanity: "If I was a sculptor -- but then again no --/ Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show ... / I know it's not much but it's the best I can do / My gift is my song and this one's for you." It is also an example of why you write lyrics down before you start recording the song. And here we really start to see the twofold problem with "Your Song." Problem one: Bernie obviously put some work into these lyrics -- they rhyme and they have an internal meter -- but they are just terrible. Problem two: the whole point of the song is that it's supposed to be a gift or a tribute to somebody ("you," presumably) but it's a terrible gift because it has no internal content whatsoever. It's like giving somebody an empty box for their birthday. But it's even worse than that, because the rest of the song is about how hard it was to come up with the lyrics -- so it's more like giving somebody an empty box and then prattling on for half an hour about what a great gift it was.

But it's still even worse than that, because the precious little rhetorical content the song actually has shows a complete lack of understanding about the person the song is supposed to be written for: the lines "I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue [... but] yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen" gives testimony to this, as well as his statement that the song is "for people like you that keep it turned on." I'm sure that had some meaning in 1970-something, but it just sounds like pandering to me.

After all this, Elton/Bernie has the chutzpah to say in the chorus "I hope you don't mind that I put down in words / How wonderful life is while you're in the world." It would have been great if you had actually done that. Don't forget, though, that "you can tell everybody this is your song," if you are willing to admit that Elton John wrote you such a pointless song.

In summary, "Your Song" is not really about you. It's about what an awful songwriter Elton John is.

Words I inexplicably love: clique

2008-12-26T10:00:00.000-06:00

Specifically, I love it when used to denote a gang-like group, like in Destiny's Child's "Say My Name" ("What's up with this? / Tell the truth, who you with / How would you like it if I came over with my clique?") or in The Chemical Brothers'* "Not Another Drugstore" ("rollin' with my clique, the One-Inch Punch"). Partially I love it because of its root in the word claque -- from claquers, who were professional applauders hired for opera performances -- since I imagine Beyoncé rolling up to some dude's house with a raucous group of 18th-century Italian peasants who react with feigned rapture to everything she does. Which is probably not terribly unlike her real life.

Anyway, there are many satisfying words to describe a group of like-minded people: set, coterie, cadre, junta, posse comitatus, entourage.** These are all great. But just consider using clique every once in a while. It's worth it.

* In about 1999, the Chemical Brothers briefly tricked me into thinking electronic dance music could be cool. Deal with it.

** I sent my wife (Baby) a preview of this post, and she offered a couple suggestions for clique synonyms, leading to this exchange:

lazlo1979: why are there so many french words for this?
babyhouseman2: guess
lazlo1979: courtiers
lazlo1979: fucking courtisans again
babyhouseman2: france was run for like 1000 years as a big popularity contest
babyhouseman2: and then all the cool kids got their heads cut off
lazlo1979: that's brilliant
lazlo1979: you're better than kate beaton

Merry Christmas!

2008-12-25T10:00:00.000-06:00

Whoomp! Christ is born!

The war on Christmas, won

2008-12-24T10:00:00.000-06:00

Hooray for Christmas!

Hooray because Christmas is safe from those who would destroy it! I'll get to how I know this in a second, but first an explanation for the neophytes. The war on Christmas is a battle raging in strip malls, big box stores, and government offices over the use of the word "Christmas." Some people would like the word annihilated in an attempt to destroy the meaning of Christmas by removing it from our very thoughts and malls. They will stop at nothing; the word is being replaced with "holidays" in catalogs and greetings intoned by underpaid employees. Good Christians are boycotting stores that don't use the word "Christmas" and flocking in droves to those that do. And apparently it's working: the Christian message is being heard. Soon the word Christmas will become a permanent part of American culture!

Here's how I know: one week ago, on KOOP 91.7's wonderful "Elk Mating Ritual Show," I heard a song called "All I want for Christmas is to Get it Crunk" by the Dirty Boyz. Hallelujah! The Christian message is getting out there every time someone hears lyrics such as "Mister mister Santa Claus, can I get a ho-ho-ho / With a body like Serena Williams under my mistletoe" or "my Christmas list ain't long, so listen up Santa Claus / Can I be Jay-Z for a day so I can get in Beyoncé's drawers? / Or just have Halle Berry call and I swear I'll do it all / I'll do it like Billy Bob Thornton did 'cause I'm working with a monster ball."

Despite the jarring admission of testicular abnormalities, this is a song any Christian can get behind, as it uses the word Christmas not just in the title, but repeatedly in the song!

But I think my point is made. In all seriousness, here is my real Christmas wish, expressed through the lyrics of another song, written some time in the 12th century, and translated (with greatly expanded meaning) in the 19th century:

Oh come, Desire of nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind;
Oh, bid our sad divisions cease,
And be yourself the King of Peace;
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, Oh Israel!

Quick inanity: "Boogie Oogie Oogie"

2008-12-23T11:00:00.002-06:00

A Taste of Honey's "Boogie Oogie Oogie" (lyrics) is a brilliant exercise in inanity. Unlike "Whoomp! (There It Is)" (previously covered here), this song is not incoherent or self-referential, but it is no less inane for its message.

The song, as a whole, makes up not a mere argument for boogying, but rather a statement of fact addressed directly to the listener: you are going to boogie, regardless of what you may think, until you are physically incapable of further boogying.

Stanza one forms a coherent sentence: "If you're thinking you're too cool to boogie, boy oh boy have I got news for you: everybody here tonight must boogie; let me tell you, you are no exception to the rule." Here we are presented with a sort of regula boogi, and the remainder of the song is primarily dedicated to an entreaty to follow the rule. "There's no time to waste" summarizes the urgency of the message.

However, "Boogie Oogie Oogie" goes beyond mere creedal statements and entreaty to offer the listener -- a catechumen in the church of boogying -- some small degree of instruction, making it somewhat analogous to the Didache of first-century Christianity. The listener is instructed to "listen to the music" and "let [his or her] body move" and/or "flow" -- and that's what takes this song from a mere disco hit into a true masterpiece of inanity.

Whoomp! update:

Semprini wonders about the Scrabble value of "Shackalackashackalackashackawhoomp." Unfortunately, the Scrabble board is only 15 tiles wide,
so you would either have to be playing with three boards placed next to each other, or you would have to wrap the word onto three rows. If the rules allowed this and you had the necessary ten A's, five C's, five K's, etc., you would be certain to win the game; if you played the word starting at the upper-left corner of the board, you would have 3,564 points after the three triple-word scores, three double-word scores, two double-letter scores, and two triple-letter scores. The 2007 Scrabble World Championship (held in Mumbai) was won by a series of games under 500 points each.

Elcaballo argues for an interpretation of Whoomp! as a "masterpiece of erotic literature," but his thesis rests on a sexual reading of the phrase "getting busy" which is, frankly, not supported by the text.

Happy Chanukah!

2008-12-22T10:00:00.005-06:00

Today is the beginning of Chanukah. To celebrate, here are four contemporary holiday songs I like:

- The Little Drum Machine Boy by Beck.

I believe this is supposed to be a Chanukah song, since it starts with a Hebrew prayer and ends with Beck screaming "Chanukah pimp!" over and over again. Don't put it on your holiday mix for your grandmother unless she's cool with lyrics like "my shit's so poignant I'm going to need some kind of ointment" and (inexplicably) "ejaculating on buffet tables." On the plus side, it's got a fresh beat and the only shout out to New Balance shoes I've ever heard on a record.

- Christmas Rapping by Curtis Blow.

Some will say this song is overplayed and way too long, but it's still pretty good for a novelty record. For me the highlight is when Curtis says "stereoo" to make a rhyme work. Now that's dedication to the craft.

- Please Come Home for Christmas by Zapp.

I have to be honest. This song is shit. But as part of a pact one of my ancestors must have made with Satan, I have to like every song with a vocoder in it. I like the song's repeated references to "I Wanna Be Your Man" (which you should listen to instead, because it's awesome and I had it performed live at my wedding) as if people needed to be reminded that this song was by Zapp -- because otherwise everybody might assume it was by the other band that uses a vocoder on every single song.

-Santa Rap by the Treacherous Three (from Beat Street).
I'm not sure if this is on any albums or not, but I remember it solely from Beat Street. Also not one for your grandmother's Christmas mix, but it does contain Doug E. Fresh's epic beatboxing and the use of the word "facsimile."

Bands I saw last night: Bob and Barbara

2008-12-21T08:27:00.004-06:00

Last night I went to see Bob and Barbara at the Hole in the Wall. I believe it was their first show ever. B&B are fronted by my friend Winston, who sang in a jarringly beautiful, Janis Joplinesque falsetto for almost all of the songs,* and who apparently taught the other three members of the band (all female, Charlie's Angels style -- speaking of Beyoncé) how to play their instruments. Other than a few charming missed starts and a bit of on-the-job coaching, the band played their pawn shop instruments well enough to fit Winston's inventive songs.

I bought a cassette that I have yet to listen to (my only deck is in my car and I didn't drive last night) for $2 and was pleased to find out one of my good friends from LA had designed the case.

Being at the Hole in the Wall was great. The crowd reminded me that there are still a lot of really cool people in Austin I haven't met, and a lot of people I peripherally know already were there, like that guy from my church with the crazy brown glasses.

I also saw part of a Cari Palazzolo side project band that I can't remember the name of, but they were quite entertaining. Listen to Cari's band Belaire's cover of Kanye West's Through the Wire. It is so good.

* I suggest he adopt the stage name "Manis Joplin."