Friday, March 05, 2004
bring on the 'stache
Things I don't like:
1. Stepping in water when you only have socks on, whether it be a wet bath mat or a puddle on the bathroom floor.
2. Rick Santorum. (But this I like.)
3. Waiting for bread to toast. We can put somebody on the moon but we can't build a faster toaster?
4. Seaweed chips. Chris brought these back from Singapore. Elly tricked Elka into eating one by suggesting they were Guaca-chips.
Things I like:
1. The word "blogosphere." (But this guy thinks it's ruining civilization. Or at least his chances to get laid.)
2. Soft Pink Truth's remix of Bjork's "It's In Our Hands." This is the most ballsy she's sounded in years. That's ironic on so many levels.
3. Graham Annable's comics, especially Grickle. He makes misery funny, you know, like the Red Sox. And he lives in the Bay Area now! I think I may have to stalk him. Ha ha!
4. Ric Menck, The Ballad of Ric Menck (Action Musik). Pure sunshiney indie-pop from the Velvet Crush drummer, recorded between 1988 and 1990. A better singer than Don Henley any day.
5. My Favorite vs. Phofo - "Le Monster." What happened to all the cute indietronica? Even the guy from Looper got all serious (except for his moustache).
6. Speaking of which: Growing a mustache for my birthday party. There may not be enough time for this one, but one of these should be possible. You should start now!
1. Stepping in water when you only have socks on, whether it be a wet bath mat or a puddle on the bathroom floor.
2. Rick Santorum. (But this I like.)
3. Waiting for bread to toast. We can put somebody on the moon but we can't build a faster toaster?
4. Seaweed chips. Chris brought these back from Singapore. Elly tricked Elka into eating one by suggesting they were Guaca-chips.
Things I like:
1. The word "blogosphere." (But this guy thinks it's ruining civilization. Or at least his chances to get laid.)
2. Soft Pink Truth's remix of Bjork's "It's In Our Hands." This is the most ballsy she's sounded in years. That's ironic on so many levels.
3. Graham Annable's comics, especially Grickle. He makes misery funny, you know, like the Red Sox. And he lives in the Bay Area now! I think I may have to stalk him. Ha ha!
4. Ric Menck, The Ballad of Ric Menck (Action Musik). Pure sunshiney indie-pop from the Velvet Crush drummer, recorded between 1988 and 1990. A better singer than Don Henley any day.
5. My Favorite vs. Phofo - "Le Monster." What happened to all the cute indietronica? Even the guy from Looper got all serious (except for his moustache).
6. Speaking of which: Growing a mustache for my birthday party. There may not be enough time for this one, but one of these should be possible. You should start now!
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
ballots and boobs
Yesterday, I went to vote on Haight Street. When I safely tucked myself into my little booth, the guy next to me began to throw a fit. At first he was calm: "I think I'm missing a part of my ballot. The part for the Democratic Central Committee."
There was much confusion. I showed him where his choices should be, he pointed at the correct ballot, the man at the counter stared back. "Can I get another ballot?" The man, an elder Russian gentleman who always attended to this precinct, replied, "Nnnooo." He said it like that, drawing the word from the deepest part of the belly. Very authoritative.
The voter began to get agitated. "I am a Democratic, I need the right ballot."
"Nnnnoo."
"This is outrageous! I demand to speak to someone!"
He'd apparently signed off on his name and address, saying that he was "decline to state" party affiliation. It was a mistake that could've been easily corrected.
"Nnnnoo."
"Lawrence," his supervisor pleaded, "give the man a new ballot."
"Nnnoo."
It was amazing. The voting process had grinded to a halt. There was a line of 7 people behind him, waiting to get in, shuffling their feet and looking put out. But the man remained resolute. "Nnnoo."
As I left, the stalemate remained intact. I like to think they stayed that way until 8 p.m.
Perhaps the Bushes should hire this Russian guy to administer discipline to their daughter, Bar the Second. It seems she was recently seen dirty dancing with a wealthy, Ecuadorean rapscallion, hanging off him "like a dangling chad."
People seem to agree that Jenna is the hotter of the two (or, rather, guys agree; women seem immune to the, er, charms of the First Twins). But I have a feeling that Bar's a late bloomer. Someday she may grow up to be busted, I mean well-busted, like her cousin.
There's a great excerpt from an upcoming book called The Perfect Wife by the Washington Post's Ann Gerhart, in which she details the First Couple's relationship with their daughters. It seems Laura nearly lost them late in her pregancy, so she feels guilty about placing any limits on them. Cars? Got 'em! Yale educations? You betcha! Lenient dealings with the law? Why not!
(One of the funniest anecdotes recalls how Laura demanded, when George was Guv'ner, that he be home by 4 p.m. to help the girls with their homework. I have a feeling he wasn't breaking down calculus for them.)
Hey, I'm all for leniency. You can only hope one of them gets pregnant out of wedlock and needs an abortion. We'll see what that does for your Religious Right vote. Or maybe she can so drunk that she throws up on the prime minister of Saudi Arabia. Or poses for Playboy. Both good role model activities. Hey, look at their dad -- he was a cokehead and a drunk and now he's the grand poobah of the country. Or something.
There was much confusion. I showed him where his choices should be, he pointed at the correct ballot, the man at the counter stared back. "Can I get another ballot?" The man, an elder Russian gentleman who always attended to this precinct, replied, "Nnnooo." He said it like that, drawing the word from the deepest part of the belly. Very authoritative.
The voter began to get agitated. "I am a Democratic, I need the right ballot."
"Nnnnoo."
"This is outrageous! I demand to speak to someone!"
He'd apparently signed off on his name and address, saying that he was "decline to state" party affiliation. It was a mistake that could've been easily corrected.
"Nnnnoo."
"Lawrence," his supervisor pleaded, "give the man a new ballot."
"Nnnoo."
It was amazing. The voting process had grinded to a halt. There was a line of 7 people behind him, waiting to get in, shuffling their feet and looking put out. But the man remained resolute. "Nnnoo."
As I left, the stalemate remained intact. I like to think they stayed that way until 8 p.m.
Perhaps the Bushes should hire this Russian guy to administer discipline to their daughter, Bar the Second. It seems she was recently seen dirty dancing with a wealthy, Ecuadorean rapscallion, hanging off him "like a dangling chad."
People seem to agree that Jenna is the hotter of the two (or, rather, guys agree; women seem immune to the, er, charms of the First Twins). But I have a feeling that Bar's a late bloomer. Someday she may grow up to be busted, I mean well-busted, like her cousin.
There's a great excerpt from an upcoming book called The Perfect Wife by the Washington Post's Ann Gerhart, in which she details the First Couple's relationship with their daughters. It seems Laura nearly lost them late in her pregancy, so she feels guilty about placing any limits on them. Cars? Got 'em! Yale educations? You betcha! Lenient dealings with the law? Why not!
(One of the funniest anecdotes recalls how Laura demanded, when George was Guv'ner, that he be home by 4 p.m. to help the girls with their homework. I have a feeling he wasn't breaking down calculus for them.)
Hey, I'm all for leniency. You can only hope one of them gets pregnant out of wedlock and needs an abortion. We'll see what that does for your Religious Right vote. Or maybe she can so drunk that she throws up on the prime minister of Saudi Arabia. Or poses for Playboy. Both good role model activities. Hey, look at their dad -- he was a cokehead and a drunk and now he's the grand poobah of the country. Or something.
Tuesday, March 02, 2004
all apologies
Okay, so I went too far yesterday. Not by playing the Darkness back-to-back with "Matthews Comes Alive" on KALX, but by relating stories of a tender nature on this blog. I'm sorry. I'm new to this blogging game, and I see now that I crossed a boundary. (Although I have noticed that you get a lot more responses when you write something controversial, rather than yammering about politics or stupid bands.) I'm used to the zine world, where you publish five months after you write something and by that time the incident you're talking about isn't such a big deal.
But, man, this internet is amazing. So fast, so current, so now. Ha ha. Um, yeah. I guess this means I should add another item to the long list of faults that I shared with Elka last week. (Don't worry, I won't tell you any of hers, which were all very insignificant and rather charming anyway.) I couldn't believe how lengthy my list was -- it just went on and on and on. You don't believe me? Well, take a look.
An abbreviated list of my faults:
1. I think way too much, overanalyzing everything until it's worn like an old t-shirt.
2. I'm overly competitive.
3. I'm overly frugal, some would say miserly.
4. I'm too self-conscious and self-critical and self-absorbed.
5. I'm stubborn. Really stubborn.
6. I like to get my way, and can be mopey when I have to do something I don't want to.
7. I get nervous about trying new things.
8. I don't like doing stuff I'm not good at.
9. I'm a horrible gossip. (But I'm learning to keep my mouth shut. Man, have I got good stuff underwraps. Oops.)
10. I'm terrible at goodbyes.
11. I can be passive aggressive.
12. I can be jealous of people I shouldn't be.
13. I worry about how people perceive me.
14. I eat too many sugar-related items.
15. I judge people very quickly and harshly.
16. I go begging for compliments (like with this list!).
17. I never think about the future.
18. I freak out when people get too close to me, and then I freak out when people start to pull away.
19. I wear my underwear until it either tears or falls apart.
20. I'm horribly addicted to the goddamn internet.
21. I'm afraid of failure and success.
22. I live too small an existence.
23. I don't take enough chances.
24. I spend very little time with my family.
25. I have a hard time taking compliments and/or criticism.
26. I make jokes when I'm uncomfortable.
27. I shall forever root for the Boston Red Sox. (See?)
28. I'm a wimp when it comes to the cold.
29. I keep things that bother me inside, instead of expressing them.
30. I'm obsessed with sex, music, film, and politics, and little else.
31. I'm kinda lazy.
32. Jeez, isn't that enough? Okay, one more: I don't know the difference between a very personal conversation and a good blog item.
But, man, this internet is amazing. So fast, so current, so now. Ha ha. Um, yeah. I guess this means I should add another item to the long list of faults that I shared with Elka last week. (Don't worry, I won't tell you any of hers, which were all very insignificant and rather charming anyway.) I couldn't believe how lengthy my list was -- it just went on and on and on. You don't believe me? Well, take a look.
An abbreviated list of my faults:
1. I think way too much, overanalyzing everything until it's worn like an old t-shirt.
2. I'm overly competitive.
3. I'm overly frugal, some would say miserly.
4. I'm too self-conscious and self-critical and self-absorbed.
5. I'm stubborn. Really stubborn.
6. I like to get my way, and can be mopey when I have to do something I don't want to.
7. I get nervous about trying new things.
8. I don't like doing stuff I'm not good at.
9. I'm a horrible gossip. (But I'm learning to keep my mouth shut. Man, have I got good stuff underwraps. Oops.)
10. I'm terrible at goodbyes.
11. I can be passive aggressive.
12. I can be jealous of people I shouldn't be.
13. I worry about how people perceive me.
14. I eat too many sugar-related items.
15. I judge people very quickly and harshly.
16. I go begging for compliments (like with this list!).
17. I never think about the future.
18. I freak out when people get too close to me, and then I freak out when people start to pull away.
19. I wear my underwear until it either tears or falls apart.
20. I'm horribly addicted to the goddamn internet.
21. I'm afraid of failure and success.
22. I live too small an existence.
23. I don't take enough chances.
24. I spend very little time with my family.
25. I have a hard time taking compliments and/or criticism.
26. I make jokes when I'm uncomfortable.
27. I shall forever root for the Boston Red Sox. (See?)
28. I'm a wimp when it comes to the cold.
29. I keep things that bother me inside, instead of expressing them.
30. I'm obsessed with sex, music, film, and politics, and little else.
31. I'm kinda lazy.
32. Jeez, isn't that enough? Okay, one more: I don't know the difference between a very personal conversation and a good blog item.
Monday, March 01, 2004
older and not always grayer
Maybe I'm just getting old, but I didn't get to a single Noise Pop show this year. I'd planned to go to three, but oh well. I wish I'd seen the Low show just to watch the gutter punks yell at them. Ha ha.
Other signals I'm getting old:
1. The TKSF happy hour on Friday at the Rickshaw is quickly devolving into a "have a couple drinks and go out for food and then get very sleepy" activity. I may have to ask to be paid in Red Bull instead of beer from here on out. Or coke.
2. I wanted to kill everyone in the Voda bar on Saturday. Jesus, could you get more garish and horrific?It was like someone was trying to shoot a film about LA Yuppie drug culture, 20 years too late. Dull, pounding house music, blindingly white walls and hideous bevelled glass furniture, and the people! Oh, the cookie cutter drones! There seemed to have been a casting call for blonde bimbos in black tops and guys with hair gell and tan chinos.
3. It wasn't much better at the Tunnel Top, although it was darker and less ethnically cleansed. But those weren't the signs of oldness. No. The sign was that I coveted the white checkered coat and plumed hat that the pimp wore in the Pam Grier film being shown on the wall. Not an ironic covetting. A sincere covet.
4. Also, I found myself cheating at soccer on Sunday. Not adding goals onto our total, but grabbing Tim when he got past me or steering Jake away with a forearm. Bad, bad, bad. And then I got mad at Elka for not playing very hard, while the other woman playing was scoring a hat trick and running all over the place.
It's just that sometimes she seems like she's trying not to have fun on purpose, as if having fun would somehow mean an admittance of weakness or something. She, of course, when asked, says she's having a great time. She's either very much like me and not telling me the full truth, or not as much like me as we both think. Damn, these freaky pisces minds! (P.S. The rest of the weekend was grand, even the part where she said, "How does it feel to hear that I love you?" and I said, "Wait, when did you say that?")
5. My sideburns don't match my other hair, which is going gray. I'm two-tone!
6. Finally, I have been trying for almost 2 hours to get cheap tickets to Burning Man on the internet tonight. Since midnight. And I'm old enough to not care if you think I'm a hippie. Because tomorrow I'll be trying the same thing with the Pixies.
Other signals I'm getting old:
1. The TKSF happy hour on Friday at the Rickshaw is quickly devolving into a "have a couple drinks and go out for food and then get very sleepy" activity. I may have to ask to be paid in Red Bull instead of beer from here on out. Or coke.
2. I wanted to kill everyone in the Voda bar on Saturday. Jesus, could you get more garish and horrific?It was like someone was trying to shoot a film about LA Yuppie drug culture, 20 years too late. Dull, pounding house music, blindingly white walls and hideous bevelled glass furniture, and the people! Oh, the cookie cutter drones! There seemed to have been a casting call for blonde bimbos in black tops and guys with hair gell and tan chinos.
3. It wasn't much better at the Tunnel Top, although it was darker and less ethnically cleansed. But those weren't the signs of oldness. No. The sign was that I coveted the white checkered coat and plumed hat that the pimp wore in the Pam Grier film being shown on the wall. Not an ironic covetting. A sincere covet.
4. Also, I found myself cheating at soccer on Sunday. Not adding goals onto our total, but grabbing Tim when he got past me or steering Jake away with a forearm. Bad, bad, bad. And then I got mad at Elka for not playing very hard, while the other woman playing was scoring a hat trick and running all over the place.
It's just that sometimes she seems like she's trying not to have fun on purpose, as if having fun would somehow mean an admittance of weakness or something. She, of course, when asked, says she's having a great time. She's either very much like me and not telling me the full truth, or not as much like me as we both think. Damn, these freaky pisces minds! (P.S. The rest of the weekend was grand, even the part where she said, "How does it feel to hear that I love you?" and I said, "Wait, when did you say that?")
5. My sideburns don't match my other hair, which is going gray. I'm two-tone!
6. Finally, I have been trying for almost 2 hours to get cheap tickets to Burning Man on the internet tonight. Since midnight. And I'm old enough to not care if you think I'm a hippie. Because tomorrow I'll be trying the same thing with the Pixies.
