Friday, February 13, 2004
Friday the 13th comes on a Friday this month
Friday 5:
1. Greg Ashley, Medicine Fuck Dream. The promo materials for this former Houston, now locally based singer includes a letter his parents wrote him, requesting that he removed the word "fuck" from his album. "We know that you knew you would embarrass us with your choice. There is no question as to the definition of the word fuck. Plug it into an internet search engine and see for yourself. It is what it is." They go on to threaten him with cutting off his cell phone and insurance bill unless he removes the word from the internet and every copy of his album. Yow. Getting it off the Internet would take years!
What does his album sound like, you ask? Jesus, it's a thing of beauty. Imagine if the Reid brothers from the Jesus & Mary Chain were kidnapped as babies and raised on a ranch in Texas, far from anything, save for steers. Then, when they reached teenage years, they were shipped off to a private school, where they did a lot of drugs and had just a taste of sex and learned to play guitar in a spooky, late night sort of way. Maybe they lived in a shack. Yes.
2. Retard films. You're going to hate me. Or at least think bad things about me. But I can't stand retard films. Even the presence of a retard ruins most films for me. I've always said that if I wanted to write an Oscar-winning script, all I would need was a retard trapped in a costume epic. Gold!
That said, the best thing about last night's Indie Fest film, Moving Malcolm, was the developmentally disabled sister, who seemed to realize that the best films are the ones in which no one learns anything. Oh yeah, and Elizabeth Berkeley should never be allowed to act again. Unless she's the retard.
3. Realizing that "poop" upside down is "boob."
4. The confused look of the woman at Good Vibes when I said the latex gloves were for cutting chili peppers. I hate when I take out my contact lenses after chopping peppers; man, that stings. No, really.
5. DJing at the quirkyalone party on Saturday. Everyone seems to have an opinion or had a bad experience or a weird run-in with the QAs, but I think it'll be fascinating. Will it be a bunch of nerds? Will QA stalkers descend like wolves to sheep? Will the attendees knock booties to Lil Kim and the Kinks? Why does the QA quiz not tell you what your numeric tally indicates? Are quirkytogethers really happy? Is it harder to stay single or stay together? Will Elka sneer at my beat-matching abilities?
-1. The death of Ajax's blog.
+1. The beginning of Ajax's novel. Hint, hint.
1. Greg Ashley, Medicine Fuck Dream. The promo materials for this former Houston, now locally based singer includes a letter his parents wrote him, requesting that he removed the word "fuck" from his album. "We know that you knew you would embarrass us with your choice. There is no question as to the definition of the word fuck. Plug it into an internet search engine and see for yourself. It is what it is." They go on to threaten him with cutting off his cell phone and insurance bill unless he removes the word from the internet and every copy of his album. Yow. Getting it off the Internet would take years!
What does his album sound like, you ask? Jesus, it's a thing of beauty. Imagine if the Reid brothers from the Jesus & Mary Chain were kidnapped as babies and raised on a ranch in Texas, far from anything, save for steers. Then, when they reached teenage years, they were shipped off to a private school, where they did a lot of drugs and had just a taste of sex and learned to play guitar in a spooky, late night sort of way. Maybe they lived in a shack. Yes.
2. Retard films. You're going to hate me. Or at least think bad things about me. But I can't stand retard films. Even the presence of a retard ruins most films for me. I've always said that if I wanted to write an Oscar-winning script, all I would need was a retard trapped in a costume epic. Gold!
That said, the best thing about last night's Indie Fest film, Moving Malcolm, was the developmentally disabled sister, who seemed to realize that the best films are the ones in which no one learns anything. Oh yeah, and Elizabeth Berkeley should never be allowed to act again. Unless she's the retard.
3. Realizing that "poop" upside down is "boob."
4. The confused look of the woman at Good Vibes when I said the latex gloves were for cutting chili peppers. I hate when I take out my contact lenses after chopping peppers; man, that stings. No, really.
5. DJing at the quirkyalone party on Saturday. Everyone seems to have an opinion or had a bad experience or a weird run-in with the QAs, but I think it'll be fascinating. Will it be a bunch of nerds? Will QA stalkers descend like wolves to sheep? Will the attendees knock booties to Lil Kim and the Kinks? Why does the QA quiz not tell you what your numeric tally indicates? Are quirkytogethers really happy? Is it harder to stay single or stay together? Will Elka sneer at my beat-matching abilities?
-1. The death of Ajax's blog.
+1. The beginning of Ajax's novel. Hint, hint.
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
Can we go over there?
"Let's not go there! Let's not go there! Let's not go there!"
This is not what Janet Jackson whispered to Justin during the Superbowl halftime show. Or what Dubya said to his pet blanket, Binkie, when he was due back at his National Guard post. No.
It's Colin Friggin Powell, shouting down Ohio Representative Sherrod Brown (who the hell names their kid Sherrod?) during questioning before the International Relations Committee today.
Who knew Powell was so hip? Using such vernacular, and with such panache! (Too bad he didn't get it really wrong, like my friend Bruce, who offered up "Don't go down there!" after I'd informed him of the phrase back in, oh, 1993.) He sure knows how to stop an investigation in its tracks. Look for other tough rejoinders like "You suck!" and "Your mama wears army boots!" and "Okay, Miss Thing!"
And have you seen the photo of John Kerry sitting behind Jane Fonda at an anti-war rally in the 70s? Can you say hottie? How about serious hippie? Here's a man who knows how to wear a choker!
And I can just see the presidential debates forthcoming:
John Kerry: Mr. Bush, I believe the reason you can't recall whether you served active duty was that you were coked up to the gills at the time.
Bush: Don't go down there, ya hippie.
(Laughter ensues, the "liberal" media declares Bush the winner, we're all screwed.)
This is not what Janet Jackson whispered to Justin during the Superbowl halftime show. Or what Dubya said to his pet blanket, Binkie, when he was due back at his National Guard post. No.
It's Colin Friggin Powell, shouting down Ohio Representative Sherrod Brown (who the hell names their kid Sherrod?) during questioning before the International Relations Committee today.
Who knew Powell was so hip? Using such vernacular, and with such panache! (Too bad he didn't get it really wrong, like my friend Bruce, who offered up "Don't go down there!" after I'd informed him of the phrase back in, oh, 1993.) He sure knows how to stop an investigation in its tracks. Look for other tough rejoinders like "You suck!" and "Your mama wears army boots!" and "Okay, Miss Thing!"
And have you seen the photo of John Kerry sitting behind Jane Fonda at an anti-war rally in the 70s? Can you say hottie? How about serious hippie? Here's a man who knows how to wear a choker!
And I can just see the presidential debates forthcoming:
John Kerry: Mr. Bush, I believe the reason you can't recall whether you served active duty was that you were coked up to the gills at the time.
Bush: Don't go down there, ya hippie.
(Laughter ensues, the "liberal" media declares Bush the winner, we're all screwed.)
Silence is golden
You know what's great? Silence. Man, it's the best.
I didn't use to think so. But at the end of last year, I decided that listening constantly to music wasn't healthy, and that I should dedicate a little time each day to just sitting in a chair and staring at the ceiling, without any background sound.
Turns out this feels pretty cool. Like stepping off the edge of the world, or at least lying on a beach in Baja. For a moment nothing exists -- no worries, no deadlines, no bills, no middle-30s crisises, nothing.
And now you can have this same feeling for only 99 cents. According to Cnet News, Apple's iTunes network is selling nine different silent songs, each for just under a dollar. (Several are explicit, so better keep those away from your kids.) As the article points out, Apple doesn't have John Cage's "4'33" for sale -- lord knows we'd hate to have to put Slum Village's minute-long "Silent" on repeat.
Okay, I'll shut up now.
I didn't use to think so. But at the end of last year, I decided that listening constantly to music wasn't healthy, and that I should dedicate a little time each day to just sitting in a chair and staring at the ceiling, without any background sound.
Turns out this feels pretty cool. Like stepping off the edge of the world, or at least lying on a beach in Baja. For a moment nothing exists -- no worries, no deadlines, no bills, no middle-30s crisises, nothing.
And now you can have this same feeling for only 99 cents. According to Cnet News, Apple's iTunes network is selling nine different silent songs, each for just under a dollar. (Several are explicit, so better keep those away from your kids.) As the article points out, Apple doesn't have John Cage's "4'33" for sale -- lord knows we'd hate to have to put Slum Village's minute-long "Silent" on repeat.
Okay, I'll shut up now.
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
When is Ben & Jerry's coming out with Cookies & Cardboard flavor?
What's worse than going to see the dentist? Going to the see the brand-new dental technician. What's worse than going to see the brand-new dental technician? Seeing a brand-new dental technician from Eastern Europe. They have no concept of pain or torture. Ow.
And the weekend round up:
Friday I went to see a "conscious" rap group from Colorado called the Procussions. (Someone please invent a new term for this, like "nice guys who still want to get laid" rappers.) And I decided that I really, truly don't like live hip-hop. It's just plain boring after a while. Even if the white rapper hops around like an animatronic monkey on speed.
Also, Brent wants to know why there's such a high concentration of Asian people at Bay Area hip-hop shows. Maybe it's because there are so many Asian rap role models. Um, well, there's that Jin guy who did "Learn Chinese," and, er, all those turntablists like Qbert. And that's about it. Huh. Dunno, Brent.
Anyhoo, onto Saturday. I started my first Yahoo group, all devoted to my DJ alias, Brother Grimm. If you thought blogging made you the ruler of your universe, try being a listserv moderator! You can ban people and delete posts and put up funny pictures! If only the rest of life were like this.
And if being the ruler of my own universe weren't cool enough, later on I beat Elka at Scrabble -- for the second time in a row! You have to know this is like Tiny Tim dunking over Wilt Chamberlain. I'm undefeated in her new W. Oaktown house, so I've decided she can never move from there. Who knows what my luck will be like elsewhere? (Just in case, I've started fucking with her blood sugar levels.)
At night, I manned the bar at the Kitchen Sink benefit in Cokeland. There were tons of underage kids, some of whom wanted to buy beer. Like this one kid:
"Can I get a Pabst?"
"Sure, but I need to see your ID."
"Oh. I don't have mine with me."
"Sorry, but then I can't give you a Pabst."
"Oh." Pause. "How about a Bud?"
Got to give him credit for trying.
Triangle was bitching, like the Church meets Romeo Void at the Rain Parade's bar mitzvah. And the Coachwhips, finally, I've seen the Coachwhips. They actually lived up to the hype, even while sounding like two vacuum cleaners caught in a death struggle with a horny baboon. I can't believe I have to admit stupidhat is onto something.
Here's how I knew the show was good. "I've got beer in my hair," Elka said later. "Me too. Nothing says rock'n'roll like beer in your hair." Picking up toothpaste. "Nothing says rock'n'roll like Tom's of Maine." Yeah.
On Sunday, I went to Urban Ore for the first time. The first time! Can you believe it? It was just like Burning Man, when the gatekeepers find out it's your first time and they drag you from the car and spank you. Only there was no spanking. Frowny!
Later, we played Settlers of Cataan and ate some pizza and suffered through quite possibly the worst pint of ice cream in the history of man. Do not ever buy Berkeley Farms Cookie Crunch, especially when it's been thawed and refrozen several dozen times. It is better to chew on cold cardboard.
And somewhere during the course of the weekend, I brought up my theory of analogous dating/cd listening habits. It goes like this: There's two kinds of music listeners, the ones who obsessively play one new cd at a time until they're tired of it, and the ones who flip between many cds in the hopes that they won't get sick of any one. People's dating habits follow suit: either they go whole hog and want to spend every second with someone or they want to spread the love over time so that nothing gets stale.
Was this theory met with adulation and praise? Was a small Eastern European city named after its author? No. In fact, some people had the gall to suggest I think about pop music too much.
And the weekend round up:
Friday I went to see a "conscious" rap group from Colorado called the Procussions. (Someone please invent a new term for this, like "nice guys who still want to get laid" rappers.) And I decided that I really, truly don't like live hip-hop. It's just plain boring after a while. Even if the white rapper hops around like an animatronic monkey on speed.
Also, Brent wants to know why there's such a high concentration of Asian people at Bay Area hip-hop shows. Maybe it's because there are so many Asian rap role models. Um, well, there's that Jin guy who did "Learn Chinese," and, er, all those turntablists like Qbert. And that's about it. Huh. Dunno, Brent.
Anyhoo, onto Saturday. I started my first Yahoo group, all devoted to my DJ alias, Brother Grimm. If you thought blogging made you the ruler of your universe, try being a listserv moderator! You can ban people and delete posts and put up funny pictures! If only the rest of life were like this.
And if being the ruler of my own universe weren't cool enough, later on I beat Elka at Scrabble -- for the second time in a row! You have to know this is like Tiny Tim dunking over Wilt Chamberlain. I'm undefeated in her new W. Oaktown house, so I've decided she can never move from there. Who knows what my luck will be like elsewhere? (Just in case, I've started fucking with her blood sugar levels.)
At night, I manned the bar at the Kitchen Sink benefit in Cokeland. There were tons of underage kids, some of whom wanted to buy beer. Like this one kid:
"Can I get a Pabst?"
"Sure, but I need to see your ID."
"Oh. I don't have mine with me."
"Sorry, but then I can't give you a Pabst."
"Oh." Pause. "How about a Bud?"
Got to give him credit for trying.
Triangle was bitching, like the Church meets Romeo Void at the Rain Parade's bar mitzvah. And the Coachwhips, finally, I've seen the Coachwhips. They actually lived up to the hype, even while sounding like two vacuum cleaners caught in a death struggle with a horny baboon. I can't believe I have to admit stupidhat is onto something.
Here's how I knew the show was good. "I've got beer in my hair," Elka said later. "Me too. Nothing says rock'n'roll like beer in your hair." Picking up toothpaste. "Nothing says rock'n'roll like Tom's of Maine." Yeah.
On Sunday, I went to Urban Ore for the first time. The first time! Can you believe it? It was just like Burning Man, when the gatekeepers find out it's your first time and they drag you from the car and spank you. Only there was no spanking. Frowny!
Later, we played Settlers of Cataan and ate some pizza and suffered through quite possibly the worst pint of ice cream in the history of man. Do not ever buy Berkeley Farms Cookie Crunch, especially when it's been thawed and refrozen several dozen times. It is better to chew on cold cardboard.
And somewhere during the course of the weekend, I brought up my theory of analogous dating/cd listening habits. It goes like this: There's two kinds of music listeners, the ones who obsessively play one new cd at a time until they're tired of it, and the ones who flip between many cds in the hopes that they won't get sick of any one. People's dating habits follow suit: either they go whole hog and want to spend every second with someone or they want to spread the love over time so that nothing gets stale.
Was this theory met with adulation and praise? Was a small Eastern European city named after its author? No. In fact, some people had the gall to suggest I think about pop music too much.
Monday, February 09, 2004
You can't spell "can't" without Cataan
I'm no longer a Settlers of Cataan virgin. In order to mark this momentous occasion, I thought I'd compare it with my other deflowering:
Length of time:
Settlers: Very very long, maybe 1.5 hours.
Sex: Um, 10 minutes, max.
Difficulties:
Settlers: Can't seem to ever get enough sheep.
Sex: Sheep-skin condom comes off.
Interruptions:
Settlers: Oz-dog nearly knocks apart the board with her tail.
Sex: Girl's brother comes home, necessitating me hiding under the bed, for some reason.
Best moment:
Settlers: Trading of funny hats with friends.
Sex: Thinking about trading stories with friends.
What I thought when it was over:
Sex: I hope it gets better.
Settlers: I hope I get a better game for my birthday.
Length of time:
Settlers: Very very long, maybe 1.5 hours.
Sex: Um, 10 minutes, max.
Difficulties:
Settlers: Can't seem to ever get enough sheep.
Sex: Sheep-skin condom comes off.
Interruptions:
Settlers: Oz-dog nearly knocks apart the board with her tail.
Sex: Girl's brother comes home, necessitating me hiding under the bed, for some reason.
Best moment:
Settlers: Trading of funny hats with friends.
Sex: Thinking about trading stories with friends.
What I thought when it was over:
Sex: I hope it gets better.
Settlers: I hope I get a better game for my birthday.
