Double Flee A
Saturday
Farewell to Thee, epson
From Tom tomorrow, to atrios, to me, to you, the mother of all google searches, or, a trip down memory lane: here.
Friday
Dear Dale
I've got a problem. It burns when I pee. Just kidding. There's a table where I work which someone keeps placing pro-life flyers on. It's a table that they use as a security desk at night, but in the daytime it just gets pushed aside, so it's not really "for" anything, but it's very visible and therefore useful for putting flyers on. I'm not talking pro-life like "don't abort because a baby is cute and this and that", but pro-life like "euthanasia is wrong".If, as a right-to-die proponent, I vehemently disagree with that flyer's opinion, is it ethical for me to remove it from the table? I ask because I think the ethical thing to do is to ignore it and let it be, and beyond that the most I should do if I disagree with it is to make a "right-to-die" flyer and set it next to it. But come on, I can't spend all day making and distributing flyers. I've got other things to do.
An easy way of deciding would be to determine if it is unethical in the first place for that flyer to be placed there. Unfortunately, that table is "for" whatever it's used as, not a publicly owned space where it's illegal to post signage.
Can I get rid of that stupid flyer? I think I should, because if my arbitrary opinions were set out there, the other guy would probably get rid of that, right?
Thanks, Dale. You're the cherry on top.
---- Somebody
Somebody, that's a great question, and you've thought it out pretty well. You spent too long worrying about the table though, and in the time it took you to write that letter to me, you could have whipped up a rockin' brochure. Get a decent image editing program and learn to use it. Make and email the finished product to yourself and do what I do, use your office printer and copier to make a zillion of them, half of which you then throw away because you hate your lousy job. Instead of making tit-for-tat crap, though, make flyers promoting my blog for its unique and valuable perspective on our modern world, because nobody looks at it. Because it's total crap. Better that you spend our time doing that than worrying about that dumb-ass flyer. You've got as much right to get rid of it as anybody does to put it there.
Later,
Dale.
today at the hospital
There's a guy at my workplace who used to be a girl. Then the surgery and the hormone therapy happened. This in itself is unremarkable. If I think he's hot does that make me gay? I don't, by the way. I'm really just pissed off that he has more facial hair than me, and that I haven't been invited to friendsterdotcom.I was showing three nursing students how to operate a machine today. As I was facing it and doing things to it I explained what this and that does, and when I turned around, there were seven of them. They had multiplied into a gang, and it really shocked the hell out of me. Usually people fall asleep when I'm telling them about this junker, but my lovely girlfriend, also a nursing student, subsequently and rightly pointed out that no one is more eager to learn than nursing students. It was freaky. They're all looking at me like "Really? That's so interesting, tell me more!" without a hint of irony. (I had an english professor at a prep school I attended who similarly, without any irony, told the class his favorite movie was Dead Poets Society. It frightens young teenage boys when their teacher enjoys something as strange and as teetering on the edge of homoerotic-ness, as watching boys in pajamas running through the woods, chanting "running through the jungle, running with an axe, running through the jungle with a gol-den axe!") The forthrightness of the nurses and the brash young english professor are (thank bob) tied together by language alone. These are the sort people the medical field needs like Donald Trump needs a new haircut.
Behind a certain panel of glass in the bus stop is a blue schedule, so a reflection bears out better in it than other sections, which are splattered with salt and road-grit, and are mostly transparent. An asian girl was looking into it adjusting her scarf and her hat. I could see her eyes pretty well from where I was standing, but was pretty sure that I was so bundled and askance that she couldn't see me watching her do this. She kept adjusting the hat and the scarf just so, and at the end of each turn, she smiled right into the mirror. Only her eyes were visible, but I could tell. The hat and scarf were moving by so little I don't think it mattered, but she was going for a certain effect that I assume she finally achieved. It was like watching a bird. At some point in the history of the world someone must have been somewhere other than their homeland and been affectionately called a nickname they used to go by, but in another language, and they never knew.
There was nothing today like the violinist in the cancer ward. If I knew how to capture that moment with words, I'm pretty sure I'd be the greatest storyteller who ever lived. On the surface, it makes it seem silly to even try, but we've all got our white whales, and moments like that one are what remind me why it's worth chipping away.
Insult people! Medically!
"Hey genius, why don't you go inject some acetylcysteine into your bile duct!?""You're getting on my last nerve, and I DON'T mean my tenth cranial nerve, "vagus", which controls my smooth muscle tissue, even though I could use that last nerve to punch you in the face with, sort of, you fucking ASSHOLE!!"
"I'd rather have a reticulated episioplasty than listen to your crap for another minute!"
surf-n-turf-n-fbi
Fugitive caught after his date Googles him. A dinner at Appleby's turns out to be more complicated than usual. Sad.Dr. Dean losing ground to vietnam Kerry?
The last frame explains why.
On the other hand, Kerry did actually show up when he was supposed to... ACH-HOOBUSHDRAFTDODGER!! Mmscuse me. Those sneezes really sneak up on you.
even colder
-22 FwithOUT the windchill.
That's almost as cold as our national healthcare policy.
No it's not.
Thursday
today at the hospital
-a stupid joke about a guy who was so drunk he danced at the intersection because he thought he was in the red light district-roman management; "if we can't do it well, we'll just do more of it"
-an astonishlingly virtuosic violinist in the cancer ward, who played, among obcure classical music, "yesterday" by the beatles
-a story of a guy who got stabbed and then froze to death
-a hideous screw-up of really amazing narcotics
-nurses who pretended to ignore me, and then when I quietly asked a question of someone else, obviously weren't ignoring me at all
I fell asleep on the bus on the way home to the sound of NPR. I was awoken briefly by theme music, which I turned down, but not off.
I have always hated that theme music. They must have two hundred different performances by various groups of this five or six-second song, the very worst of which I hear about once a year. That one's a "jazz" one, the song out of tune on purpose, ostensibly done wrong rightly. Shmooth and purple-y, it never fails to play for a nausea-inducing length of time directly proportional to your distance to the radio's power switch. So that if one got up to shut it off, one knows it would be over by the time they got there. But that's just the beginning of your misery, because it's actually two or three seconds longer than you thought it would be. So you actually could have made it! But it tricked you! And once a year is too often for a disappointment as reliable as this one. I used to say that if I could make it so that certain musicians never lived so that I wouldn't have to hear their music, I'd pick Bob Seger, John Denver, and Don Henley, but I'd like to add the composer of this musical tumor.
sixteen below
windchill: thirty-two below.And as if anyone would look upward in these conditions, partly cloudy.
Even the ice is shivering.
Wednesday
Chewbacca never dies
This seemed to me like it came from another planet, or at least a dystopian novel, but my attorney has verified that it's the case, right now, in the United States.If you're called to jury duty, you're going to be asked questions that will help the legal-types decide whether to have you sit on the jury for a particular case. If it's a death penalty case, you're going to be asked whether or not you believe the death penalty is ever an appropriate punishment. Unless you might criminally implicate yourself by answering (which in this case is hard to imagine), you are required to bleat yes or no, and in the current legal setup, the prosecution says whether or not you're allowed to sit on the jury based on your answer.
Implications of this include:
1. that the prosecution has, holy of holies, determined reality’s level of subjectivity
2. that your beliefs at any given time quantifiably exist to a degree sufficient to kill someone over and
3. that your beliefs are apparently the rightful property of the state. Hmm.
For a person such as myself, this presents a paradox. I think it's wrong to kill anybody, period. I think it's so totally wrong that I'd lie about my beliefs in the above scenario in order to make sure it didn't happen. Conveniently, some might say, I also happen to think that beliefs themselves are so subjective that anybody could say they changed theirs any time they felt like it, as often occurs during regime changes, or in America, sporting events.
Implicit in the nature of the questioning itself is that some legal repercussion could be headed my way if I lie about my own beliefs! Which I only believe in enough to lie about because no one including the state should kill anybody in the first place!
Rather than run around like my ass is on fire (which does sound like fun, actually) because of this insanity, I’d lie, and say “Sure, I believe in the death penalty. Rush Limbaugh? He’s like a father to me.” That would do the trick, I’m pretty sure.
Another way of saying it is this: Asking what I believe under these circumstances is like asking whether “lord of the rings” is the movie in which Chewbacca dies. It’s triply absurd.* Here’s why.
One: By asking a juror whether he endorses the death penalty, the prosecution assumes that a non-death-penalty bias is going to taint his decision whether or not the defendant is guilty. It would be hilarious if somebody’s life didn’t depend on it. We can deduce from this standpoint that the trial plays second fiddle to its results from the outset. So much for fairness.
Two: By asking a juror whether he endorses the death penalty, the prosecution assumes the juror (for all his supposed wisdom, yeah, that’ll be the day) didn’t consider that his beliefs can’t effectively operate independent of the framework of the law, which is maybe the most fundamentally fucked up and insulting point of all. Now truth itself orbits the law? It isn’t surprising that the law assumes, of course, moral absolutism. But it’s not possible to legislate that, much less enforce it, hence the tumult of headlines about America’s great victories in the war on drugs and the war on terrorism.
Three: The law doesn’t own juries. They own it, and I, for one, am not showing any servile deference to a system which I regard it as my duty to question, especially when it attempts to require me to do so.
From laws that protect no one and that by and large the poor alone are eligible to be prosecuted under, all the way to a jury of revoltingly catatonic, accusatory ideologues, and stopping for a little ass-kicking by the police along the way, our “justice system” could have been named as much by George Orwell in one of his wryer moods.
Hark! An idea that solves the problem of the prosecution’s idiotic, logically unsound death penalty question!
Don’t kill anybody.
Otherwise, there’s this. I’d lie about a lie or I’d lie about the truth, but I’d never tell the truth about how I feel about the death penalty to prosecutors hoping to get it from me. Since I’m anonymous writing this, I might be anybody. Therefore, anyone you ask whether or not they believe in the death penalty might be lying, either because they’re me or somebody else with an ounce of neural tissue. Therefore it’s useless to ask, but cheers for us, it always was anyway.
* LOTR is a series, not a movie, Chewbacca’s not in any of them, and Chewbacca never dies, even in the movies in which he’s a character.
The Hucklebuck
Lyrics by: Roy Alfred
Music by: Andy Gibson
Featuring Herbie Baymer on saxophone
Arranged By: Axel Stordahl
Label: Columbia Records
Recorded: April 10, 1949
--------------------------------
It's the dance you should know, when the lights are down low,
Grab your baby, then go, do the hucklebuck, do the hucklebuck,
If you don't know how to do it, boy, you're out of luck,
Push your partner out, then you hunch your back,
Have a little movement in your sacroiliac,
Wiggle like a snake, wobble like a duck,
That's the way you do it when you do the hucklebuck.
Lyrics by: Roy Alfred
Music by: Andy Gibson
Featuring Herbie Baymer on saxophone
Arranged By: Axel Stordahl
Label: Columbia Records
Recorded: April 10, 1949
--------------------------------
It's the dance you should know, when the lights are down low,
Grab your baby, then go, do the hucklebuck, do the hucklebuck,
If you don't know how to do it, boy, you're out of luck,
Push your partner out, then you hunch your back,
Have a little movement in your sacroiliac,
Wiggle like a snake, wobble like a duck,
That's the way you do it when you do the hucklebuck.
About this ring:
I got this for my girlfriend for Valentine's day after having recieved an e-hint she sent me throuh the jeweler's website. UPS deliverstheir packages during the time I'm at work, so I had to go to their massive complex and pick it up there. I had considered having them mail it to me, but concluded they would probably have thought I was a prank caller and told me to piss off. My car is a hunk, so my girlfriend had to drive me to go pick it up, so I just gave it to her early. She likes it and I like that she likes it. And I like it.
I can think of only one way to put this so that doesn't sound irritatingly delicatized, but I'll cast my lot with bluntness every time: no, we're not engaged.
She gave me the greatest book I ever once owned a copy of which a blowing curtain snatched from my nightstand and hurled out the window before a drenching thunderstorm and thereby was ruined, the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy, which I love.
Owning things I love makes me nervous. I keep thinking that it'll all burn up in a fire, so that owning it will actually make me unhappier in the long run. Anthony Robbins, hyper-pituitary self-help guru, would say that that's a negative neural association that I need to work to repair, but I wonder if he would have said that same thing to Old Benjamin on "Animal Farm". My instincts say yes, since he's working to affect positivity and productivity, which is why companies send their employees to his seminars. I would like for George Orwell to have lived to comment on Anthony Robbins.
the local weather
-7°FPartly Cloudy Feels Like
-30°F
God DAMN it's cold. The above statistic is from our friends at the weather channel. If you ask me it's colder. The colloquial expression "colder than a witch's titty in a brass bra" fails to capture the un-ness of heat appropriately. (Also, a friend who dated a girl who thought she was a witch for a short while let me know that witches' titties aren't all that cold anyway. Heh.)
Tuesday
NYPress - Feature - Jim Goad - Vol. 15, Iss. 52 Jim tells why he left the porn industry, leaving me to wonder what the rest of "hard justice" by officer partridge looks like. I asked him about that and he said he might post it someday, but it didn't look good.
"We're different people but we pretty much live the same life." Chuck Palahniuk
Boing boing --"A controversial short story, "Guts," by Chuck Palahniuk is set for release in the March issue of Playboy. Rumor has it that when the author reads it in public, audience members flee, faint, and -- vomit. We don't know if this is true, but it sounds cool enough."
The reading.
I can't believe people sat through this. Imagine the grossest thing you can, and this is worse. They laugh along like it's David Sedaris. But it's not.
Boing boing --"A controversial short story, "Guts," by Chuck Palahniuk is set for release in the March issue of Playboy. Rumor has it that when the author reads it in public, audience members flee, faint, and -- vomit. We don't know if this is true, but it sounds cool enough."
The reading.
I can't believe people sat through this. Imagine the grossest thing you can, and this is worse. They laugh along like it's David Sedaris. But it's not.
High bandwidth, Ben Cohen spells out america's budget craziness in terms of oreos. It's at the other end of lefty expressionism from Abby Hoffman, and I think the "nice old guy who wants to make people happy with delicious desserts" thing is a little too feeble, like "old muff" from an old Tom Sawyer adaptation you've probably never heard of, or Orville Redenbacher, or that creepy guy from the Werther's Original commercials. But instead of the brazen marketing ploys which in the latter two examples amounted to "Please don't take food out my old mouth! It's hard for me to chew and my depends are full!", we're left with a guy who life has treated pretty well and who's exercising his street credit with the greenies. But wait a minute. Didn't Ben and Jerry sell out to Unilever, an evil corporation, long ago? So this is what the twilight of activism looks like. Thanks, Ben. Thanks for really representing your values. It makes the rest of us so optimistic when you who have sold out preach policy. Is this the best "True Majority" can do? Have you no options but the quasi-creepy former lactose vendor? Spokesmen are more effective on the attack. The cult of personality follows them around and people believe what they say. The personality of Ben Cohen says: "Don't be mean to me, please. I'm old and can't fight back. And I'm just a darn sell-out anyway. Shucks."
Time for a new spokesman. Don't worry, Ben can still find work public speaking at Macintosh conventions, or maybe doing P.R. for segway or hybrid cars. That's the demographic he's already got in his pocket, and there ain't nobody clamorin' to get in there these days.
Good cartoon, though. Good message. Yeah, I noticed.
Time for a new spokesman. Don't worry, Ben can still find work public speaking at Macintosh conventions, or maybe doing P.R. for segway or hybrid cars. That's the demographic he's already got in his pocket, and there ain't nobody clamorin' to get in there these days.
Good cartoon, though. Good message. Yeah, I noticed.
Tijuana Bibles
Tijuana Bibles were pornographic tracts popular in America before the advent of mass-market full-color glossy mags such as Playboy. A typical bible consisted of eight stapled comic-strip frames portraying characters and celebrities (eg. John Dillinger, Popeye, Disney characters) in wildly sodomistic situations. Many could be considered grossly racist, sexist, and otherwise wholly "politically incorrect." Browser discretion is advised.
Tijuana Bibles were pornographic tracts popular in America before the advent of mass-market full-color glossy mags such as Playboy. A typical bible consisted of eight stapled comic-strip frames portraying characters and celebrities (eg. John Dillinger, Popeye, Disney characters) in wildly sodomistic situations. Many could be considered grossly racist, sexist, and otherwise wholly "politically incorrect." Browser discretion is advised.
I'm cleaning out a back room that my roomate's making into a music studio and came across some boxes that my mom brought with her when she visited a while back. It's all stuff from my childhood, and what I notice about it is that all the objects are rich in sensory value; I unconsciously separated it into piles, one for clunky metal things, one for round things, one for leather things, one for things that smell good, one for glass. There was a card in there that I got for my eighth birthday from aunt, a cup from silver dollar city (a southern theme park since made into dollywood), and a game token only useful at showbiz pizza, a place where children went for birthday parties. It says "come for the pizza, stay for the fun." I have a railroad spike, the largest key in the world (like a jail key from Chtaeiu D'If), various wallets I made, shotgun shells, all the stuff a boy has. I have the baseball men from the tops of my trophies, a maze I started drawing and then got bored with, BBs, padi open water diver patch, and a metal superman belt buckle. That buckle is one of those that goes with some kind of belt I have never seen, or at least recognized.
What a nice way to spend an afternoon.
All in all, the things I collect now are pretty boring compared with the stuff I collected then.
What a nice way to spend an afternoon.
All in all, the things I collect now are pretty boring compared with the stuff I collected then.
I'm not going to work tomorrow because my stomach is a cauldron of bile and chef boyardee, it's late, and work is really early. Chef boyardee is barely food. Like pop tarts. Did you know that the icing for cinnamon rolls that comes in the little can is pretty much just lard?
It's late, work is too early. I never ever do this, but I'm doing it tomorrow. Oh, and my damn car wouldn't start so some drunk neighbors came and pushed it to safety. With a big van. The ativan I took is doing wonders for my mood, though, which due to my bad dietary choices and a day at a soul-sucking company orientation was at a near-record low in recent memory.
Chef boyardee. Acrid sinful hate! I had a tum and burped. The burp didn't touch any part of my throat on the way up, it was a straight line out. You could actually hear the inside of my stomach, uncensored, which led to my naming it, the porn of burps. Like a wild animal stalking its prey, the burp is a shadow in the undergrowth, waiting for just the right moment to strike. And then, oh yeah, it's Isaac Hayes singing a song about your burp, which has come and gone, and passed into legend. That burp that some will say was the cause of the assassination of the archduke ferdinand, the burp that threw the sword to arthur, and the burp that led to so many petty grievances against the cheatham county school board by the pta.
The damn car is out of gas, that's why. I mean, who runs out of gas?
It's late, work is too early. I never ever do this, but I'm doing it tomorrow. Oh, and my damn car wouldn't start so some drunk neighbors came and pushed it to safety. With a big van. The ativan I took is doing wonders for my mood, though, which due to my bad dietary choices and a day at a soul-sucking company orientation was at a near-record low in recent memory.
Chef boyardee. Acrid sinful hate! I had a tum and burped. The burp didn't touch any part of my throat on the way up, it was a straight line out. You could actually hear the inside of my stomach, uncensored, which led to my naming it, the porn of burps. Like a wild animal stalking its prey, the burp is a shadow in the undergrowth, waiting for just the right moment to strike. And then, oh yeah, it's Isaac Hayes singing a song about your burp, which has come and gone, and passed into legend. That burp that some will say was the cause of the assassination of the archduke ferdinand, the burp that threw the sword to arthur, and the burp that led to so many petty grievances against the cheatham county school board by the pta.
The damn car is out of gas, that's why. I mean, who runs out of gas?
Monday
NYPress - Cage Match - Matt Taibbi - Vol. 17, Iss. 3, in which George Will gets blasted.
"Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I wake up in a panic. My t-shirt is drenched in sweat, my hands trembling. And somewhere I hear a voice whispering:
George Will is using the word "hectoring" again!"
"Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I wake up in a panic. My t-shirt is drenched in sweat, my hands trembling. And somewhere I hear a voice whispering:
George Will is using the word "hectoring" again!"
A (Sad) New Chapter in Blog History. Listen to the mp3 and read along. It's too funny.
So yeah. I went to a meeting today. It lasted all day long. The organizational learning department, in an effort to legitimize its existence, had paperwork piled in mountains for us to pretend to read, and our host asked a general question, which was meant to be a pertinent preface for his subsequent presentation of the core values of the company. I knew we were off to a great start when a black lady stunned the room by responding with this gem: "What about diversity? Diversity is very important to me." I hasten to point out that I need a new punctuation mark for the end of some sentences, one that falls in pronunciation between a period and an exclamation point, which actually has the effect, when spoken by a certain subspecies of black woman, of an interrogative, as in, "Cause I ain't hear nobody talking about that, bunch of white-ass muthafuckas try and tell me bout some shit? Hell naw!", because that is the appropriate punctuation for the end of her statement.
Attach rant here. It wouldn't be anything you havent't read or thought yourself, and I mean, I really don't have time. It will have to suffice to say that my company is populated by persons of extraordinary backgrounds, education levels, and ethnicities, and this woman was in all these ways more or less an exact failure to be interesting. There are code words in this world, and diversity is one.
Predictably, the room, for the first of what would be many times, fell silent.
Attach rant here. It wouldn't be anything you havent't read or thought yourself, and I mean, I really don't have time. It will have to suffice to say that my company is populated by persons of extraordinary backgrounds, education levels, and ethnicities, and this woman was in all these ways more or less an exact failure to be interesting. There are code words in this world, and diversity is one.
Predictably, the room, for the first of what would be many times, fell silent.
Sunday
a video. Bush vs. Dean
Lesbian Video & Film. No, man. REAL lesbians.
Trachtenburg family slideshow players have an actual video now for mtn. trip to japan. If you want to see it go find it yourself.
100 things for teens to do, instead of IT.
Welcome to gp4teens.com! - Sex & DatingI love this sooo much. Teens can engage in playing "hide-and-seek in a cornfield" instead of IT.
Dale's glaringly obvious corollary: Playing hide and seek in a cornfield is pretty much a one-way ticket to hot teen sex. Is there any one activity MORE likely to get you laid?
Remembering Laci
Remembering Laci, a song even worse than the michael jackson song. Holy shit is this funny.great idea of the day
Celebrity oven mitts with polythene pockets for easier celebrity-changing! Celebrity oven mitt cozies!
retrocrush's lovely, lovely, ann margret page. I never tire of redheads.
Boston.com / News / Local / Mass. / Clerk charged in lottery dispute Check out what this mean-ass clerk did.
Saturday
United fans for Michael page. They made a song for him. It's awful.
From the guestbook at this page:"If MJ ends up in prison, the united togetherness that is exemplified in this song will blow the bars right off of his cell and he will moonwalk into our arms to be with us forever. Bring it on Sneddon!! There is nothing you can do to stop the force of united togetherness that will be charging at you with the rage of 10 mildly wounded cats! "Invincible" is MJ's greatest album. California courts, this mess has to stop!! I'm crying."
From the guestbook at this page:"If MJ ends up in prison, the united togetherness that is exemplified in this song will blow the bars right off of his cell and he will moonwalk into our arms to be with us forever. Bring it on Sneddon!! There is nothing you can do to stop the force of united togetherness that will be charging at you with the rage of 10 mildly wounded cats! "Invincible" is MJ's greatest album. California courts, this mess has to stop!! I'm crying."
SOUND-BYTES, a place to get all that obscure audio you've been quoting for years.
Air-hanger.
Lisa said, “What's that?” to no one.It was a car. It hung in the air, directly above the White House.
The rose garden was a flurry of screaming as the press corps got their bearings. The president disappeared behind his shifting Praetorian Guard.
Lisa, Associated Press affiliate, grabbed her grip’s camera and thrust it upward; she was the first person to identify the car to the world. “It appears that a white, 1968 AMC Javelin is hovering over the white house”, she said with such quick authority it surprised her. Lisa then remembered the time she had had sex in a car like that, and for a long moment of silence, she performed bad journalism.
For a while, the secret service was busy evacuating the building. Then the S.W.A.T. teams arrived, to point their rifles at it. When it was clear that rifles were no match for the harmless floating car, they went away, but not too far away. They might be needed in case the car was harboring a dangerous terrorist.
The papers were full of stories about the car. The television news networks let the world know that they had nothing meaningful to say on the subject, using as many words as possible.
At first it was assumed that it was a sophisticated hologram, but x-ray imaging revealed it to be actual, and so the standoff continued, with the president speaking remotely from an undisclosed location on national television, promising to bring the perpetrators of this crime to justice with the full might of the men and women of the armed forces of this great nation.
The Javelin stayed one hundred fifty feet above the white house until the next day, when the cranes arrived to remove it. They tied it up tightly with chains, unsure how it would fall, and tugged at it, smashing it up a bit. The morning sun caught the polished chrome of the driver’s side mirror as it spun to rest on the roof, and then the rest of the car relented its hold on the air, swinging in the humid breeze. After it came down, the people of the United States were told it was in another undisclosed location, for reasons of national security.
Now, of course, America is a safer, and better, and healthier place, because that rogue car, however it got there, will never physically be there again; although I suspect on some days, when the morning air seeps into the dark hangar where it lies disassembled, that the cream-colored 1968 AMC Javelin can tell it is nice outside, it can smile a broken car’s smile, and the memory of its last day in the sun remains a pleasant one. And I suspect with a memory like that, no car is ever sad.
a learning experience
I walked into the restaurant expecting my group to be there, which it was not. This was surprising, because no one called me to tell me they weren't going. So I learned that the cab there costs $10.40 and the cab back costs $10.00. I learned that the girl who set this up sucks at social organization.On the way back I finally settled on a good toast for my friend's bachelor party, which I'm supposed to throw. Just to give you the background, he's marrying the mother (Crystal) of his daughter. It goes like this:
may your death be quick and painless
may your days be good till then
may your travels take you far
and may you make it home again
may the things that you do make you happy
may you be a good dad to your kid
and if ever you cheat on Crystal
may she never find out that you did
I think it'll do. He doesn't "internet", so he won't see that.
Joe Cartoon : The Saddam Capture Video It looks like the guy who brought us the once-famous microwave-the-gerbil stunt is a drooling pusbag who is altogether incapable of contact with today's complex political realities. I actually hope "our" troops see this, and that a good percentage of them are good and insulted that Joe Cartoon thinks they're dumb enough to slap their knees at this tedious folderol. Joe Cartoon is clearly a fawning parasite, a witless, whooping tailgater, who thinks he can ride the tattered coattails of the troops' love for america to notoriety.
Guess what, Joe?
War isn't like your stupid cartoon.
For an example of what war is, try watching this video of a guy getting his head cut off with a knife. Did you notice anything? The guys doing the killing didn't care, and the guy dying is dead, and that's all there is to it. That's all there ever is.
War should be avoided.
I wish Joe Cartoon would just fuck off. Every neo-con that's been brainwashed into thinking that pro-war rhetoric is anything but a lie of the most revolting kind makes me wish there was a hell for them to go to. Senseless people don't come here to read my page, but if there's a war hawk around you right now, show them this, and as their face twists into a mask of disgust, punch them in the mouth and tell them it's from me.
More of the glory of war can be seen here. And in case the video didn't work when (and if) you clicked it, it's on this page, as well.
Oh, and thanks, Joe Cartoon! Do you think the feces humor was prominent enough? I thought I was gonna have to watch an Eddie Murphy movie to get my doo-doo joke today! Excrement always makes me roll in the floor! And then I shit myself! And then I laugh even more because there's shit all over me!! Is your imagination broken? That cartoon sucks! Is this a joke?!? Fuck you!
Guess what, Joe?
War isn't like your stupid cartoon.
For an example of what war is, try watching this video of a guy getting his head cut off with a knife. Did you notice anything? The guys doing the killing didn't care, and the guy dying is dead, and that's all there is to it. That's all there ever is.
War should be avoided.
I wish Joe Cartoon would just fuck off. Every neo-con that's been brainwashed into thinking that pro-war rhetoric is anything but a lie of the most revolting kind makes me wish there was a hell for them to go to. Senseless people don't come here to read my page, but if there's a war hawk around you right now, show them this, and as their face twists into a mask of disgust, punch them in the mouth and tell them it's from me.
More of the glory of war can be seen here. And in case the video didn't work when (and if) you clicked it, it's on this page, as well.
Oh, and thanks, Joe Cartoon! Do you think the feces humor was prominent enough? I thought I was gonna have to watch an Eddie Murphy movie to get my doo-doo joke today! Excrement always makes me roll in the floor! And then I shit myself! And then I laugh even more because there's shit all over me!! Is your imagination broken? That cartoon sucks! Is this a joke?!? Fuck you!
SparkNotes: Today's Most Popular Study Guides Some books may be pretty good, or be considered to be good, but who has time?
repost
A Cotton Candy Autopsy, for brotha Joe, who got beat up with me by our entire sunday school class one day, and no one ever knew why.
A few days ago I posted a picture of a sow bunger in action. That was from boing boing's link-fu competition. The rest of the entrants had links that I had on this blog long ago. So although I don't have the "shaolin webmonkey beatdown" title, you can know that if it's strange and intriguing, I tend to see and link it first. Except that sow bunger. Dropped the ball on that one. Sorry.
Friday
New York Post Online Edition: entertainment Morgan Spurlock decided to become a gastronomical guinea pig.
His mission: To eat three meals a day for 30 days at McDonald's and document the impact on his health.
His mission: To eat three meals a day for 30 days at McDonald's and document the impact on his health.
Mouse odometer. Get ready to cry.
Jim goad, the rise and fall of a subculture badass.
Old Jim's been MIA since he got together with some chick, and the baton's been wrested by a less zine-y internet guy boiling over like Goad used to be. Jim's shtick was getting as weak as a teabag in the Rhine. On the positive side, no one can be expected to keep that up for a lifetime. So long, Jim, and thanks. Your job is done here. Jim was like the Ramones in that people who read him said "hey, I can do this." He was like Bruce Campbell because since he did his work outside the mainstream, we all felt like he was our personal movie star. And he was like Jim Goad, a guy who would take you apart, and it was actually going to hurt when he did.
Check Jim's greatest hits at his website to the right ---->
Otherwise, take it home, Maddox.
Old Jim's been MIA since he got together with some chick, and the baton's been wrested by a less zine-y internet guy boiling over like Goad used to be. Jim's shtick was getting as weak as a teabag in the Rhine. On the positive side, no one can be expected to keep that up for a lifetime. So long, Jim, and thanks. Your job is done here. Jim was like the Ramones in that people who read him said "hey, I can do this." He was like Bruce Campbell because since he did his work outside the mainstream, we all felt like he was our personal movie star. And he was like Jim Goad, a guy who would take you apart, and it was actually going to hurt when he did.
Check Jim's greatest hits at his website to the right ---->
Otherwise, take it home, Maddox.
a relatively significant event
22 Shopping days till valentine's day. Don't be caught with your pants (down). Boy am I teh funny.
CNN.com - Scientists: Water found at Martian pole - Jan. 23, 2004 Big deal. We've got water here! I bet they feel pretty dumb now, huh guys? Guys? You there?
Itchy Robot | Found Typography The font-crazy shall inherit the earth
CNN.com - Students disciplined for award campaign - Jan. 22, 2004, What is "African American"? Apparently, white people from Africa, aren't.
Thursday
I think I saw a girl get kidnapped tonight, and so did some other people. I called the cops, they drove by twice with their flashers on, and that was it. I'll never see that in the paper, and none of my conspiracy theories adequately explain why that is. Right in front of my house, too. The lovely Joyce is not walking unaccompaniued to her car after dark any more. And it's 6 degrees, not of Kevin Bacon. Fahrenheit. If crime is much worse when it's hot out than cold, come summer we're pretty much fucked.
Great page of google hacks.
Click here to try one that takes advantage, in an applet, of the I'm feeling lucky feature. You'll automatically go to the most popular search result for the keyword(s). My friend Chris can't get a google toolbar for his mac, so this'll help a little. It'll look kind of funny, but he can paste together most of the good things about it out of java.
Click here to try one that takes advantage, in an applet, of the I'm feeling lucky feature. You'll automatically go to the most popular search result for the keyword(s). My friend Chris can't get a google toolbar for his mac, so this'll help a little. It'll look kind of funny, but he can paste together most of the good things about it out of java.
traysliding video, in which our hero, a sixteen year old boy, comes within inches of his car's life.
Herald Sun: Man rapes dead body [21jan04]
Yeah, it's gross and wrong and everything, but is it necessary or even accurate to call it rape if it's a dead body? You don't have to force a dead person to have sex. In fact, you can't even really call it sex. I think it's past my bedtime when I start worrying about this.
Yeah, it's gross and wrong and everything, but is it necessary or even accurate to call it rape if it's a dead body? You don't have to force a dead person to have sex. In fact, you can't even really call it sex. I think it's past my bedtime when I start worrying about this.
Study confirms sleep essential for creativity - Jan. 21, 2004 Your boss is reconsidering the "zero-tolerance for overtime" budgetary policy.
Wednesday
Do plants act like computers?: Leaves appear to regulate their 'breathing' by conducting simple calculations. Plants got your emergent computation covered. Didn't see THAT coming. Yes I did. Props to Minsky for shooting me down on "emergent". Mot du jour? Copout? Perhaps, but at least it's quasi-comprehensible, which is what sells the research grants, so it'll do, right, Marv? Let's hear it for enthusiasm! I bet you it's crossed Minsky's mind that he might should have informed the late Mrs. Joan Kroc about the fun new field of science.
A note from dinner with the penny gourmet: put some tobasco in your sour cream, and as Brak put it, you're full of joy.
A note from dinner with the penny gourmet: put some tobasco in your sour cream, and as Brak put it, you're full of joy.
blackmask, an online library. My awesome brother with an un-awesome lack of web presence pointed me to this. I've been a Douglas Adams cheerleader since I started reading, and my bro said I should check out P.G. Wodehouse, who Douglas is an apparent student of stylistically. I did, here. I'll be damned if you can't read lots of stuff here, or if you don't want to stare at your CRT, print books out at work. It's nice carrying around a book you just ran off the office HP, to read once and then throw in the shred bin. It also looks like you're doing work.
Copyright, the Web, and Innovation
An act is legal until it is illegal, instead of around the other way. So we have that for which to be thankful.
An act is legal until it is illegal, instead of around the other way. So we have that for which to be thankful.
Neuroscience Art Gallery: Art by Psychotics. Louis Wain The guy loved painting cats. I think he was on the road to disaster from the beginning. Preposition, anyone? It's got to stop.
from the deeper meaning of liff, which arrived via royal mail yesterday:
Hadweeznic (adj.) resistant to tweezers
from the deeper meaning of liff, which arrived via royal mail yesterday:
Hadweeznic (adj.) resistant to tweezers
Tuesday
Herve SINGS! Why do people have to fight? Hysterical video.
the electric-hydraulic powered hogs' head dropper and the
sow bung system.
A good operator can bung 1200 sows an hour.
My day wasn't so bad after all.
cool blog analysis tool
fun internet format mixing tool
demotivators, as in:
sow bung system.
A good operator can bung 1200 sows an hour.
My day wasn't so bad after all.
cool blog analysis tool
fun internet format mixing tool
demotivators, as in:
Lost in translation. The English-Bush Lexicon
America's snowball of the moment is captured. "Unauthorized" pictures are taken. The internet makes sure they are flung far and wide.
It might be a hundred years before we understand the implications of this military action, but what I see here is a former leader (Dictators are leaders, too, I wish the unpresident would acknowledge that in one of his many speeches. Leadership ain't always such a good thing. There is a primitive motive at work that hasn't been fleshed out, and that I'm not prepared to, either, in the followers of leaders.) being pawed by peasants. Their roles are reversed somewhat from a few years before, and it will be something the troops always remember. But someday on the history channel this dumbass proudly posing with a beaten-down, bloody old man is going to look pretty bad compared with my grandfather and WWII troops who liberated Europe from a fascist. Where's the six million dead Jews on this trip? I'll take oil fires any day over the smell of burning flesh. America aggressed and as usual, America thinks it's normal.
It might be a hundred years before we understand the implications of this military action, but what I see here is a former leader (Dictators are leaders, too, I wish the unpresident would acknowledge that in one of his many speeches. Leadership ain't always such a good thing. There is a primitive motive at work that hasn't been fleshed out, and that I'm not prepared to, either, in the followers of leaders.) being pawed by peasants. Their roles are reversed somewhat from a few years before, and it will be something the troops always remember. But someday on the history channel this dumbass proudly posing with a beaten-down, bloody old man is going to look pretty bad compared with my grandfather and WWII troops who liberated Europe from a fascist. Where's the six million dead Jews on this trip? I'll take oil fires any day over the smell of burning flesh. America aggressed and as usual, America thinks it's normal.
This was the banner above my email.
Dr. Phil has commanded me to shape up "!".
Is there anything worse?
I'd like to fight Doctor Phil in this, his sixteenth minute of fame. I don't mean boxing, either. I mean street fight; broken bottles, chain, and a pipe. It's hard enough knowing that a fairly large cross-section of America dumbly follows trend after trend till they die without Doctor Phil barking orders at me when I want to read my email.
I got a couple words for you, too, Doctor Phil:
Kill yourself!
And to elevate the invective, a haiku:
get real and shape up
the fat hypocrite hollers
doctor phil must die
Monday
Radio hosts can ruin lives. But it does make for a funny show. Funny.
The Bush-Hitler Ads Removed by MoveOn, from your friends at memory hole.
nbc4columbus.com - News - Police Add Twist To Bait Cars To Catch 'Bad Boys' Cruel and unusual punishment meted out by the boys in blue. They play the theme somg from the cops tv show to people before arresting them.
Play along with the unpresident with...
The 2004 state of the union address drinking game!!
9/8 central. And make it a light beer, or you're calling in sick wednesday.
The 2004 state of the union address drinking game!!
9/8 central. And make it a light beer, or you're calling in sick wednesday.
Why I love Douglas Adams:
Ford: "What would you say if I told you that [something else]"
Arthur: "Why? Do you think it's the sort of thing you're likely to say?"
I've got a book of his on order from the U.K., "The deeper meaning of liff". Hurry up and get here. Hurry. Let's go. Come on. Yeah, you. Hey, giddyup now. Show yourself. Get a move on. Shake a leg there.
Today I got the unnerving feeling that something was about to change. Turns out it was just the daily paranoia that comes when I drink coffee and don't eat before I come to work in the morning. I was going to, but thought I didn't have time, so tomorrow I'll wake up earlier.
Johnny Cash had a song that went "...and I never picked cotton." Well, Johnny Cash DID pick cotton when he was a kid. Johnny Cash may have meant that he didn't pick metaphorical cotton, meaning what he picked was something besides cotton, like apples, or that he did pick it, but it really represented something else he was picking. Like the lord. Maybe it meant that he didn't metaphorically pick cotton, meaning the cotton picked him to pick it, or that he would have preferred not to pick cotton, but he had no real input in the final decision. Maybe the metaphor is in reference to never, though. Like he did pick cotton, and that's the way he likes it. He's damn proud to have picked the cotton and given the chance, he'd do it just the same.
Let's take a look.
[Chorus] I never picked cotton But my mother did And my brother did And my sister did And my daddy died young Workin' in the coal mine
When I was just a baby Too little for a cotton sack I played in the dirt While the others worked 'Til they couldn't straighten up their backs I made myself a promise When I was big enough to run That I'd never stay a single day In that Oklahoma sun
[Chorus] Folks said I grew up early And that the farm couldn't hold me then so I stole ten bucks and a pickup truck And I never went back again Then it was fast cars and whiskey Long haired girls and fun I had everything that money could bring And I took it all with a gun
[Chorus] It was Saturday night in Memphis When a redneck grabbed my shirt When he said go back to your cotton sack I left him dying in the dirt They'll take me in the morning To the gallos just outside And in the time I got There ain't a hell of alot That I can look back on with pride
[Chorus]
Oh well. He was just trying to sell a record, after all.
Ford: "What would you say if I told you that [something else]"
Arthur: "Why? Do you think it's the sort of thing you're likely to say?"
I've got a book of his on order from the U.K., "The deeper meaning of liff". Hurry up and get here. Hurry. Let's go. Come on. Yeah, you. Hey, giddyup now. Show yourself. Get a move on. Shake a leg there.
Today I got the unnerving feeling that something was about to change. Turns out it was just the daily paranoia that comes when I drink coffee and don't eat before I come to work in the morning. I was going to, but thought I didn't have time, so tomorrow I'll wake up earlier.
Johnny Cash had a song that went "...and I never picked cotton." Well, Johnny Cash DID pick cotton when he was a kid. Johnny Cash may have meant that he didn't pick metaphorical cotton, meaning what he picked was something besides cotton, like apples, or that he did pick it, but it really represented something else he was picking. Like the lord. Maybe it meant that he didn't metaphorically pick cotton, meaning the cotton picked him to pick it, or that he would have preferred not to pick cotton, but he had no real input in the final decision. Maybe the metaphor is in reference to never, though. Like he did pick cotton, and that's the way he likes it. He's damn proud to have picked the cotton and given the chance, he'd do it just the same.
Let's take a look.
[Chorus] I never picked cotton But my mother did And my brother did And my sister did And my daddy died young Workin' in the coal mine
When I was just a baby Too little for a cotton sack I played in the dirt While the others worked 'Til they couldn't straighten up their backs I made myself a promise When I was big enough to run That I'd never stay a single day In that Oklahoma sun
[Chorus] Folks said I grew up early And that the farm couldn't hold me then so I stole ten bucks and a pickup truck And I never went back again Then it was fast cars and whiskey Long haired girls and fun I had everything that money could bring And I took it all with a gun
[Chorus] It was Saturday night in Memphis When a redneck grabbed my shirt When he said go back to your cotton sack I left him dying in the dirt They'll take me in the morning To the gallos just outside And in the time I got There ain't a hell of alot That I can look back on with pride
[Chorus]
Oh well. He was just trying to sell a record, after all.
Sunday
Beyond The Fall, photojournalism at its best, slow-loading pictures of what came after communism in eastern europe and points east-er.
Splashy headline
[location]Catchy lead. Story presumably meant to inform, written in quasi-entertaining language, intended to subtly persuade with tongue-in-cheek jibes and shaded language. Last sentence almost completely irrelevant to subject matter, ostensibly a result of the journalistic inverted pyramid, actually implying you've got all the information required to make an informed decision about the topic of the article.
And that's the news, and why I don't read a lot of it.
Dutch convection tub I want one.
There's a funny video on this page called boob slip. Yeah, a woman's breast slips out on a television game show. Ha ha.
But.
With the video on repeat, with the audio at high but not too loud volume, the boob slipping out ceased to be what I really noticed. Repeating the audio over and over, it starts to eat away your life. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but the I think the song is sort of monstrous. Maybe you'll see what I mean, maybe not.
But.
With the video on repeat, with the audio at high but not too loud volume, the boob slipping out ceased to be what I really noticed. Repeating the audio over and over, it starts to eat away your life. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but the I think the song is sort of monstrous. Maybe you'll see what I mean, maybe not.
Nothing exceeds like excess. I have a hangover. I think "hung over" is the official feeling of adulthood. That was fun, but ouch.
I had the pleasure of accompanying the lovely Joyce for her last night out before another semester of slaving to the grind at nursing school. (Incidentally, I recommend dating nurses.) We went to Elsie's psychedelic bowl-o-rama.
A guy was making balloon hats and pretty soon everybody was wearing one. They danced in wonky paths through the black-lit bowling alley and created an unexpected dork-safety that had everybody talkative and relaxed. Far away through the bluish haze pins fell and the robots obediently set them up again, for us to plow through carelessly again and again. I bowled a 146 the last game, which for me is good. Vodka and red bull, a fashionable drink these days, showed up brightly owing to its chemistry, and the sweet-tart smell came in body-waves as people moved past with heavy grace. Girls in three-inch heels bowling, carnie-like attendants scratched at touch-screens, waitresses, however shiny with vim, were dwarfed and mostly ignored, we noticed how drunk we were getting and didn't mind. I had the vodka-red bull of yesteryear, a bourbon sidecar, and then pitchers (how conveniently they disguise volume!) of beer. Was Gene Siskel buried with his thumb up, you think?
I had the pleasure of accompanying the lovely Joyce for her last night out before another semester of slaving to the grind at nursing school. (Incidentally, I recommend dating nurses.) We went to Elsie's psychedelic bowl-o-rama.
A guy was making balloon hats and pretty soon everybody was wearing one. They danced in wonky paths through the black-lit bowling alley and created an unexpected dork-safety that had everybody talkative and relaxed. Far away through the bluish haze pins fell and the robots obediently set them up again, for us to plow through carelessly again and again. I bowled a 146 the last game, which for me is good. Vodka and red bull, a fashionable drink these days, showed up brightly owing to its chemistry, and the sweet-tart smell came in body-waves as people moved past with heavy grace. Girls in three-inch heels bowling, carnie-like attendants scratched at touch-screens, waitresses, however shiny with vim, were dwarfed and mostly ignored, we noticed how drunk we were getting and didn't mind. I had the vodka-red bull of yesteryear, a bourbon sidecar, and then pitchers (how conveniently they disguise volume!) of beer. Was Gene Siskel buried with his thumb up, you think?
"Actually, I think it was more obscene than before. When you put fig leaves on Adam and Eve, it becomes much more titillating." - Bernardo Bertolucci, on cutting his film "The Dreamers" for American audiences
Death Star Sizes
"We are told the following in the prologue of the Return of the Jedi novelization:
"The Death Star was the Empire's armored battle station, nearly twice as big as its predecessor, which Rebel forces had destroyed so many years before—nearly twice as big, but more than twice as powerful. Yet it was only half complete."
In and of itself, this tells us little. For instance, I could say that the Galaxy Class Enterprise-D, with a length of 642 meters, was over twice as big as the Constitution Class Enterprise-A, with a length of 305 meters. Alternately, I could say that the Enterprise-D, with a volume of over 5.8 million cubic meters, is almost 25 times bigger than the Enterprise-A, which only has a volume of less than a quarter-million cubic meters.
Fortunately, we can perform the requisite scaling work to determine just how large the two Death Stars may be, and even more fortunately, some of this work has been done already. "
"We are told the following in the prologue of the Return of the Jedi novelization:
"The Death Star was the Empire's armored battle station, nearly twice as big as its predecessor, which Rebel forces had destroyed so many years before—nearly twice as big, but more than twice as powerful. Yet it was only half complete."
In and of itself, this tells us little. For instance, I could say that the Galaxy Class Enterprise-D, with a length of 642 meters, was over twice as big as the Constitution Class Enterprise-A, with a length of 305 meters. Alternately, I could say that the Enterprise-D, with a volume of over 5.8 million cubic meters, is almost 25 times bigger than the Enterprise-A, which only has a volume of less than a quarter-million cubic meters.
Fortunately, we can perform the requisite scaling work to determine just how large the two Death Stars may be, and even more fortunately, some of this work has been done already. "
Saturday
my latest fortune from a local restaurant:
"you have an unusual understanding of the problems of others"
Thanks, I think.
"you have an unusual understanding of the problems of others"
Thanks, I think.
Tampabay: Snippy flight attendant felt prodded to poke. Flight attendant psycho.
CNN.com - Bremer: U.N. has 'vital role' to play in Iraq - Jan. 16, 2004
I don't believe you, Paul Bremer. You are a whore.
I don't believe you, Paul Bremer. You are a whore.
A moment of self-indulgence
A song only I know the melody to:The day the world ended, everybody cheered.
There was lots of tea and coffee, and cigarettes and beer.
They packed them into church but the priest, he didn't know what to say,
but we laughed and drank and said we'll never meet again someday.
And no one got arrested, and everyone was there,
And the smell of someone's charcoal grill went drifting through the air.
The shopping malls were empty, the streets weren't full of cars.
No one bought the paper, and nothing looked bizarre.
While we were at it lifting glasses, never to toast again,
we said we might as well get credit for the things we might have been.
We might have seen that everyone got something to eat
when they were feeling hungry.
And we might have turned the rich out into the street
and buried them under their money.
It sounds great in here [Dale points to head].
Friday
some crap next to my hotmail message:
Still waiting for what?
A) somebody to finish take your picture so you can talk to your sister on the phone for an hour about nothing at all
B) a piano to drop out of the sky and end your shallow, meaningless life
C) your prozac to kick in
You plastic bimbo. Go away. I just want free email and not to look at you.
I had a dream the other night which I felt deserved commemoration. My brother Joe and I were at a party in the desert and I got the feeling like a wave was going to come and crash over everything, drowning everybody. I told Joe and he said Oh well, what are we going to do about it, or something to that effect. At that moment I turned around and hundreds of feet high, a wall of water came over the sky. With my back to him, my brother started screaming the universal drunken holler "WOO!", and so did I and everyone else. We were all just celebrating. And then the wave hit, and the dream ended. A good dream and one I think he'd appreciate hearing about if he hasn't stopped reading his because of something I probably should never have posted here a while back. Sorry dude!! Anyway, it all does have to end someday, and when it does I hope we'll have a good attitude about it. I'm doing my part by being faithful to what I like so as not to fall out of the habit of enthusiasm.
Still waiting for what?
A) somebody to finish take your picture so you can talk to your sister on the phone for an hour about nothing at all
B) a piano to drop out of the sky and end your shallow, meaningless life
C) your prozac to kick in
You plastic bimbo. Go away. I just want free email and not to look at you.
I had a dream the other night which I felt deserved commemoration. My brother Joe and I were at a party in the desert and I got the feeling like a wave was going to come and crash over everything, drowning everybody. I told Joe and he said Oh well, what are we going to do about it, or something to that effect. At that moment I turned around and hundreds of feet high, a wall of water came over the sky. With my back to him, my brother started screaming the universal drunken holler "WOO!", and so did I and everyone else. We were all just celebrating. And then the wave hit, and the dream ended. A good dream and one I think he'd appreciate hearing about if he hasn't stopped reading his because of something I probably should never have posted here a while back. Sorry dude!! Anyway, it all does have to end someday, and when it does I hope we'll have a good attitude about it. I'm doing my part by being faithful to what I like so as not to fall out of the habit of enthusiasm.
Yesterday outside the hospital I saw a rusty hunk of metal. I picked it up and it struck me that I was holding something I couldn't immediately compare to anything, because I'm used to comparing other things to a rusty hunk of metal. Holding the real thing, I was happy to have nothing to say about it.
Someone has taken an interest in the appearance of vulvas and has catalogued them. Not safe for work. Here.
I Love sport, and other funny videos. Try "dream job" as well.
Thursday
other people's stories
here. Really good; what stuff is before it catches on and turns into crap.I want to listen to playgirl by ladytron as an antidote to the pharmacy.
beatbox harmonica guy, I especially like the guy waving his hands in the air. Go shorty. It's your birthday.
Wednesday
Fresh Air: Wednesday - January 14, 2004, in cae you missed the show with Paul O'Neill
Fresh Air: Wednesday - January 14, 2004
The news about America, from Canada
Killers-Online First Amendment protects stuff you don't like. Nootch.All right, genuises, figure this out and email them the solution.
local6.com - News - Giant Ghost Net Traps Marine Life In Fla.Tuesday
Supreme court enjoying the interior of Bush's pocket. Who's next? Armed forces, anyone? That's how it works with every other empire. Oh yeah, they did that already.: "The Supreme Court Monday refused to hear an appeal by civil liberties groups seeking access to basic data about hundreds of individuals detained by the federal government after the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks."
Oh say can you see
I'm all for the American dream. I define that as upward mobility, a house in a good neighborhood, family, friends, and turkey on thanksgiving. There are things about America that I have identified as bad and then gone back on, thouJust a minute. The whole ninjas thing on the internet is crap and everybody knows it, but why do they have to say that samurais are "less than"? You want to dress up in a black outfit and hide, fine. But don't mess around with samurais.
Ok, there are things I thought were American that I didn't like, that left a bad taste in my mouth. The one thing that sticks out from the others is the expectation that I stand up whenever somebody plays the national anthem. I go to a Twins game, it comes on. I watch aTimberwolves game, they play it. Vikings, Gophers, Wild game, they trot out the national anthem. How much is enough? Enough in this case is damn close to too much. Who decides how much is enough? Oh yeah, we do. But dollars are the new votes, so we're voting for corporatization, which encourages ideological apathy. Wait, wrong article.
So there's patriotism, and there's nationalism, and they're different.
Too much symbology is a fairly reliable indicator that somebody's trying to sell you something. So many people know this that it's crossed my mind that the best thing that could happen to the left wing in this country would be to ramp up the anger to a pitch the right wing calls background noise. The brothers-in-law Procter and Gamble made an ad for Ivory that asked people not to buy it because they couldn't keep up with demand. Their soap then flew off the shelves and hit a guy named Joe in the head, causing an incurable speech impediment. (Which reminds me, there should be a word meaning "[drum fill]", that we can use after our rotten jokes. Boycott had a word named after him when he pissed off too many Irish farmers, so why not mine for this?) Shipley. (I like the sound of it.) Anyway, we can accomplish this in a number of ways. One that I like is to make a neo-conservative radio or television host that, more thinly than O'Reilly or Limbaugh, covers the fact that his show is, factually speaking, an obvious pantload, meant only to entertain. Maybe I don't pay enough mind to the two real-life hosts to know that that's what's happening, in case it is. Another thing they could do (a more straightforward thing) is something I wanted to do on the internet with flash, a cartoon making fun of people who believe all the pro-America stuff that anybody can think of to throw at them, and the hilarious misadventures that result. In my version their names are "Honky" and "Tonky". They could act like America acts in daily life, blowing up the convenience store owned by an arab, building a fire in their yard that stinks up the whole town, making fun of the customs of other people living nearby and then saying out loud the things they believe, not stopping for a moment to think about how goofy they are, you name it. Hell, the thing writes itself.
I was on the way back from an Indian reservation (I didn't start with this in mind, but this is another purely American tradition, paying Indians for being Indians. You should see this guy's house. Big.) when a friend and I stopped at a fast-food restaurant (And it now occurs to me I can't credibly maintain that these parenthetical statements are in fact incidental and expect you to believe it but it's true nonetheless, but isn't fast food an American invention, too?) when I saw the car lot next door. Was somebody afraid that I'd forget what country I lived in? The place was decked out in more American flags than the whole country should own. If the typical reaction to the flag is one of fondness and pride, what does this many flags do to you? Does your heart jump to the front of your chest, demanding to have a hand placed over it?
Why yes, it does. It's Pavlov's heart, and the flag is how you bait it. It sees only the love, love, love of its country. Love, by the way, means a lot of things, which I would not have accidentally internalized had I not read the semi-ancient Don Quixote. Love is not only the one-dimensional means to an end that consumer culture begs it to be. The product called "love" has historically sold without peer, dating from the world's oldest profession to the selling of singular "love" for your country (death in the armed forces) today. Well, what did you expect? The love we know about today, the swamp of love on daytime tv, the love we get by living in our country, is modeled on monotheism. There is one kind of love and that's the only one there is and that's the end of it. In Tennessee there are bumper stickers that say "God said it, I believe it, that settles it." Well put, honky tonky!
Out of all the ways love is packaged, isn't it strange how narrow the definition becomes when you aren't loving something the way someone else is?
You're either with love or you're not. The fact that that bears a resemblance to the non-president's most famous quote is no accident. Not being with the single-minded "love" of the country (hallelujah and hell be damned and look out), is being a counterculturalist.
There is one thing that keeps pace with the product called love, which is of course, love's productness. Money. Try building something without it. Money dug in and ruined love. And money liked the with or without strategy. Those that understand the power of the imagination sold the world to itself and here we are with the products called what they used to be. I promised to tone down the religious stuff, but the question begs to be asked, isn't it easier to collect money by way of a god that you alone communicate with, Roman Catholic church, than you can with a polytheistic, folk-generated religion that the people control to begin with? Protestantism missed the point. They took the most profitable god in the world and gave him away for free. Really guys, what were you thinking? Either show me some imaginative curses like Cicyphus or knock it off with the incomparably dry morality.
What's my main point here? [scrolling up to the top]
Oh, yeah. Don't sell me any ideas because it's all a bunch of shit I can make better myself. Keep your shitty version of love, and keep your shitty version of patriotism to yourself. And don't even get me started on your shitty version of spirituality.
The first time the national anthem is known to have been played before a baseball game was in 1918 in Fenway park in Boston. The start of the game was delayed because the players thought they weren't getting paid enough. They wouldn't take the field because they wanted a bigger share of the take. Somehow the players decided to go ahead and play anyway for all the wounded veterans in the audience, and the owner of the Boston Red Sox, about to celebrate his team's last world series victory to date, told the band to play the national anthem. If you think the players just went out there because they hadn't thought about how entertaining (supporting?) the troops was a good idea, whew. The New York Times ran a headline the next day saying "NATIONAL ANTHEM OPENS THE AFFRAY", so out of the ordinary was the playing of the song.
An old expression but a useful one here is, "bought it for a song". It means something was cheap, maybe even free, and the background of that expression, now that I think about it, might go back throughout folklore, to or even before the Pied Piper of Hamelin, based on a guy who took thousands of German children away from their families and starved them to death crossing the Alps in the name of the children's crusade. It's only in folklore that I ever heard (thanks mom), really, about the dangers of the cult of personality, but maybe I can get to that another time.
So was patriotism co-opted by big bucks? You bet your ass it was. And I'm not standing every time they play that song, because I'm a patriot who supports his country by paying his taxes. Who loves his country by asking if its policies are good for its future. Oliver Cromwell said "Do not trust the cheering, for those persons would shout as much if you or I were going to be hanged." You won't hear any rah-rahing out of me. Hand over your heart for the national anthem, class. No, I only pound my chest as a joke, when I'm good and drunk.
Do a buddy a favor and petition for a google toolbar for mac os x.
Monday
Back to work
Monday morning. The week lies ahead. Lots of coffee is required. I've given myself the shakes and cold sweats, medicating for the first day of work, which I like to get halfway through without noticing. Neeeeeaaaaarrghh!Sunday
channel 8 put a wiener on tv You might not notice this at first but look closely in the background.
what's popular in the weblogospere?
BlogPulse [BETA]: Automated Trend Discovery for Weblogs. This is one of those very useful information tracking tools that I'll probably forget about and rediscover much later and wish I hadn't forgotten about in the first place.Today's indecision to shit or go blind
Peak OilWhile we're at it, let's throw in a little Timecube.
But seriously, for more credible peak oil, try clicking here! Right here!!
Bowie tickets
Somebody I know has tickets to Bowie. If his girlfriend can't go, I'm supposedly first in line.Third row center.
Mmm.
A few stray facts and some negro wisdom... let's see... sounds too good to be true... is...
GlobeXplorer Maps good, proprietary overlay baa-aad.
Kvsc is a great station, you can listen to it on the web by clicking here for broadband and here for dial-up.
Oh, and I recommend that (since you're all on windows-boxes) that you right click and select open in new window rather than just clicking, because of the annoying habit of windows to default to its inferior media player all the time.
Oh, and I recommend that (since you're all on windows-boxes) that you right click and select open in new window rather than just clicking, because of the annoying habit of windows to default to its inferior media player all the time.
Gossip...What people were overheard saying on the London Underground
"Despite all your tears and histrionics, you don't feel any more than the rest of us. Grow up."
We don't hear that kind of talk here in America, anywhere. Bummer.
"Despite all your tears and histrionics, you don't feel any more than the rest of us. Grow up."
We don't hear that kind of talk here in America, anywhere. Bummer.
Saturday
I love movies!
This is consistently the funniest movie review site.
"GOTHIKA - The plot twists fly at you faster than you can say, "Where is the exit? Under that green sign that says ‘EXIT’? Great!""
There's a style involved here that I have come to love. Alternating questions and exclamations make for great copy in the right hands. Especially when they are the hands of funnyness!
This is consistently the funniest movie review site.
"GOTHIKA - The plot twists fly at you faster than you can say, "Where is the exit? Under that green sign that says ‘EXIT’? Great!""
There's a style involved here that I have come to love. Alternating questions and exclamations make for great copy in the right hands. Especially when they are the hands of funnyness!
A poem I saw in the Atlantic Monthly:
Their cottage sat on a grassy bluff
weathered by salt spray, fogs, and rain
blowing off dunes and bleached logpiles
past tidal creeks seeping out to sea.
Cattails bobbed with red-winged blackbirds.
Sparrows clamored through wild-rose thickets.
Two dogs, spattered with sandy muck,
snoozed on the sunny porch steps.
Dinner simmered on the stove.
Pulling weeds in the garden, she smiled,
hearing his tires pop gravel and clamshells
as their rutted lane's long winding end.
The dogs leapt up, loped out to greet him.
This is how it should have been.
-John Balaban
This is like the beginning to a season in hell. You can explain a lot with the images that are absent, I guess it creates a sense of space within the writing.
Their cottage sat on a grassy bluff
weathered by salt spray, fogs, and rain
blowing off dunes and bleached logpiles
past tidal creeks seeping out to sea.
Cattails bobbed with red-winged blackbirds.
Sparrows clamored through wild-rose thickets.
Two dogs, spattered with sandy muck,
snoozed on the sunny porch steps.
Dinner simmered on the stove.
Pulling weeds in the garden, she smiled,
hearing his tires pop gravel and clamshells
as their rutted lane's long winding end.
The dogs leapt up, loped out to greet him.
This is how it should have been.
-John Balaban
This is like the beginning to a season in hell. You can explain a lot with the images that are absent, I guess it creates a sense of space within the writing.
click on the Money Grabbers image for video, they glued money to the sidewalk and videotaped people trying to pick it up
What the Internet Is and
How to Stop Mistaking It
for Something Else., from
The Best Articles Posted on LibertyForum 2002-2003 , from
awoken, which also links to a story from Underreported, which says
"The night of the televised wedding of reality show contestants Trista and Ryan was the top pizza ordering night of the year in Washington, according to the survey [of Domino's Pizza drivers in Washington, D.C.]. The announcement of the war in Iraq was No. 2, the Super Bowl No. 3"
How to Stop Mistaking It
for Something Else., from
The Best Articles Posted on LibertyForum 2002-2003 , from
awoken, which also links to a story from Underreported, which says
"The night of the televised wedding of reality show contestants Trista and Ryan was the top pizza ordering night of the year in Washington, according to the survey [of Domino's Pizza drivers in Washington, D.C.]. The announcement of the war in Iraq was No. 2, the Super Bowl No. 3"
Philip K. Dick's Black Iron Subdermal Prison: "The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed (and hence clamorous to be led to safety) by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary."
The Year Wrap-up. Funny.
Same Difference, a comic
Friday
Downloading may be illegal. But 60 million people used Napster and only 50 million voted for Bush or Gore. We live in a democracy. If the people want to share files then the law should be changed to let them.
Salon.com Technology | The phones don't stop A spot from the yet-to-be-made "worker".
Mack White links to this story.
Excerpt:
"It's not merely that some people are insufficiently intelligent to grasp the nuances of foreign policy, of constitutional law, of macroeconomics or of the variegated interplay of humans and the environment. These aren't the people I'm referring to. The people I'm referring to cannot understand the phenomenon of cause and effect. They're perplexed by issues comprising more than two sides. They don't have the wherewithal to expand the sources of their information. And above all -- far above all -- they don't think."
Excerpt:
"It's not merely that some people are insufficiently intelligent to grasp the nuances of foreign policy, of constitutional law, of macroeconomics or of the variegated interplay of humans and the environment. These aren't the people I'm referring to. The people I'm referring to cannot understand the phenomenon of cause and effect. They're perplexed by issues comprising more than two sides. They don't have the wherewithal to expand the sources of their information. And above all -- far above all -- they don't think."
the Beagle scientists are unhappy about "spirit"'s success
NEWS.com.au | Mars pictures 'kick in the teeth' (January 9, 2004)Bactrim causes woman's skin to come off. All of it.
TheSanDiegoChannel.com - Health - Woman's Skin Falls Off, Miraculously Survivesvegas. baby. vegas.
So. Tired.
First of all, I completely suck at gambling. Or Vegas is just really good at it. Other things Vegas is really good at: feeding a zillion people at once, decorating, hospitality, drinks mixing. At first I thought I had been completely lied to about Vegas when I saw the kinds of people that were there. Expecting the beautiful people, it looked like these ham and eggers were just really happy they didn't have to do the dishes that day. Or comb their hair. Then I left the hotel and realized that we were staying at the Vegas equivalent of Lyle's liquor bar, the Circus circus, memorialized in Terry Gilliam's adaptation of Fear and Loathing. We hit Bellagio and Bally's and almost every other place.
The scale of the strip is way off. You can see something right there, and so you walk toward it. And walk, and walk, but it grows no closer. It just stays the same size, far, far away. I spent the whole time trying to figure it out, but all I learned was that confusion obeys simple addition. Many layers of it sealed tightly together and teaming up, they obfuscated and then totally eclipsed reality. If the "dude" of "the big lebowski" was the perfect person for L.A. at his time, then Hunter Thompson was the guy for Vegas at his. The essential energy of that's all gone now, the shapes are rounded and the colors are washed out and tauped pottery-barn style for the most part. The neon cowboy on Fremont street's bulbs are conspicuously half burnt-out and going ignored, and the overall feel is that the grit has been marginalized, the audacity that is taking place has been converted from a flamboyant, individual style-driven one to a homogeneous, size-driven, and less interesting-looking though equally impressive study in maximizing the numbers. That or I subscribed too enthusiatically to begin with to the myth of Vegas as recounted by the doctor of gonzo. Preposition, anyone? Sorry about that.
It may have always been this way for a someone of my disposition, a stupefying extravagance intoxicating enough in its own right. My greenbacked soldiers went dumbly and bravely into battle with the one-armed bandits, and against blackjack dealers, and one by one, and in larger groups (ouch), they all fell to the mighty and insurmountable enemy of statistics. You win some, you lose some, but over time, you always lose. An employee of the Krispy kreme doughnut shop unfamiliar with the nomenclature of standard deviation was nevertheless light-years from my conceptualization: "Never. I never gamble." As long as it's fun to trade money for pipe dreams, Vegas will prosper, and the world ain't too busy getting smarter.
I have to get some sleep, and there will be moe to come, but the first thought I had looking over the thousands and thousands of gamblers was: You know why gambling is a hit? Because work sucks. That thought had a brother: Work sucks. Where do I get chips?
And in closing, if my girlfriend and I break up (not an immediate likelihood, had to get that out of the way), I recommend you date her and are nice to her and appreciate her, and for god's sake just give her your money and make haste to the nearest blackjack table, because she is good, good, good.
Monday
dumb idea of the day
Vanity publishing gone periodical. A very expensive subscription to "I love you so and so magazine", every month a magazine shows up, personalized and including birthday and anniversary issues, just because I had a couple thousand bucks for a slick magazine that says I love you.Kid Logic
I was a kid, watching television, when I saw some cheerleaders at a basketball game. They were doing some pom-pomming and kicking and whatnot, but then one of them did something I'd never seen before. I don't know any more now than I did then if it's called a handspring or a roundoff, though I do know those are cheerleader's moves. The one cheerleader did a move where she looked like she did a cartwheel, but the fingers on both her hands stayed outstretched. It looked like she'd done a cartwheel on her fingertips. I'd never tried to do any cartwheeling, because it was too easy looking. This move, though, looked cooler. I went to the middle of the living room and was getting ready to try out the move, when I thought of the stairs. While on the one hand, the chances of a girl being able to do something I couldn't were zero, I was willing to concede that I was a beginner. It might be difficult to keep up momentum though the whole thing. I went over to the top of the stairs and aimed. So with the plan being to throw myself as hard as I could and catch myself on my fingertips, I jumped. It must have looked pretty funny. The next thing I remember I was on the landing, without any scratches. That's what's nice about being a kid.Sunday
vacation
I'll try to update while I'm away.
In case of emergency, I'm staying at the circus circus.
If I win a bunch o' money I'll get a real website.
Oh, and freakin' email me already. It takes two seconds. Just click on the button to the right, the one that says "email" on it. I'm in the process of phasing out an old address and I want to reply to you from this one.
Saturday
S.F. man is homeless -- by choice / He has a trust fund but prefers life on the street, off the wagon
Division of Community Corrections check out the rap sheet
Revision Thing (Harpers.org) A history of the Iraq war, told entirely in lies
dumb idea of the day
We get rock and roll legends to perform covers of really shitty hit singles of yesteryear, like "I saw the sign" by Ace of Base performed by Bob Dylan, "Blue" by Eiffel 65 performed by Paul Mccartney, "How do you talk to an angel" by the Heights performed by the Clash, "Mambo number five" by Lou Bega performed by David Bowie, "In the house of stone and light" by Martin Page performed by the Kinks.That would be hilarious.
Free money for me. Oh boy.
From: fred_wall1@fsmail.netSubject : ATTENTION
Hello,
I am a Private Investigator based in Europe. A group
of coporate officials from an Asian Country
contacted me with a Proposal. I am to Make contact with
you and state their offer, if your Interest is Genuine, you
will be Contacted for your Account details to which will be transferred the
sum of $7,600,000.00 USD. (25% of which is yours).
Let me state clearly here that the account that you
would be providing does not need to have funds in it;
it is only needed to be active and be able to receive
funds.
So, if I don't hear from you within three days I will
assume you are not interested and will solicit for a
new partner, but if you know you are interested let me
know. List your phone & fax Numbers so we may
communicate with you. This is important as we would
Have to talk about the modalities of the transaction.
Waiting to hear from you.
yours faithfully
FRED WALLACE
UPDATE!!
I sent Fred Wallace an email in which I ordered him to have sex with his mother. I used the F-word! Don't tell!!
X-RATED - Adult movie posters of the 60s and 70s
The site tiself is safe for viewing. My favorite is "hot lunch".
The site tiself is safe for viewing. My favorite is "hot lunch".
JEAN NOUVEL - ATELIERS one slick website
An idea for a talk show
The host is Jim Gladstone. The assistant is Gurgle. Gurgle is a butler, who is overweight and wears a ridiculously tight-fitting tuxedo. He carries a feather duster with him at all times, and his job is to unsettle and terrify the guest. Gurgle wears a toupee, and a silly moustache that doesn’t match it. He doesn’t usually speak at all. Sometimes he shouts ‘LIAR!’. No one really knows what the deal is with Gurgle, and the guests try to deal with him a number of ways while Jim conducts the interview as if he is not there.Dale's drinking game
One of the reasons I like this game so much, is that I’m making it up as I go along. Now the first thing you do is, give me a dollar, will you? Thanks. The first thing is, everybody’s got a dollar. Then somebody loans a dollar to somebody, who loans it to someone else, and an additional dollar if they like. Then after this has gone on for a while, the guy who loaned the first dollar eventually winds up borrowing a dollar from somebody else. Every time a loan is made, the person loaning the dollar has to remember and recite all the previous transactions, and the game goes on indefinitely. Ideally, the person who forgets the transactions drinks, but if they’re too caught up in the details to remember to do so, the game continues. What makes it a drinking game is that the borrower has to drink at a rate predetermined by the loaner, and this is negotiable during play. In addition, one can drink at any time he or she desires, or thinks the game is moving either too quickly, or, more likely, too slowly. What eventually happens to the money, who winds up with it, we’ll have to see, and I assure you, I have never played before, and neither have any of you, since I just made it up, so don’t try to pin me if you lose your dollar, because I had nothing to do with it.Friday
The Gimli Glider / Air Canada: "If a Boeing 767 runs out of fuel at 41,000 feet what do you have? Answer: A 132 ton glider with a sink rate of over 2000 feet-per-minute and marginally enough hydraulic pressure to control the ailerons, elevator, and rudder. Put veteran pilots Bob Pearson and cool-as-a-cucumber Maurice Quintal in the cockpit and you've got the unbelievable but true story of Air Canada Flight 143, known ever since as the Gimli Glider."
Times Square at New Year's Eve - New Year Celebration in New York - Full Screen QTVR photos from panoramas.dk
Ray Kalona was a guy I knew. He walked funny because he didn't learn how to walk until he was pretty old because he got carried around on a pillow. His father was the premier of Indonesia. He was rich beyond my wildest dreams but he walked like a duck.
Dear Dale
Tell me have you ever really,really really ever loved a woman.
Nootch,
Bryan Adams
Bryan,
Can I have your autograph?
Dale
Why the Burden of Proof is on the Atheist
I think the reason I like the atheism thing is that I'm right about it, and I like being right. That's a potentially critical personality flaw.
It does make me laugh that there is so much energy and money devoted to organized worship with no basis in reality, but reading articles like the above are starting to make me really sad. There is really no end in sight to this madness. If the religious are a lost cause and they keep making more of themselves, it will never stop, and the world is doomed to an endless, unwinnable argument, and for what? So people can feel special. So that their needs for the world around them can be met.
So now, my final announcement on the subject. There's no such thing as god and I'm tired of going on about it. Just stop using god already for everything like thanking and blaming and war and morality and law. God doesn't matter because only man's interpretation of god is real, and the world, under the influence of religious fanaticism, is in a fine mess. Unchanged, it's all over. The good guys lost. I started this thinking maybe there was a way out of it. I was wrong. I give up.
I think the reason I like the atheism thing is that I'm right about it, and I like being right. That's a potentially critical personality flaw.
It does make me laugh that there is so much energy and money devoted to organized worship with no basis in reality, but reading articles like the above are starting to make me really sad. There is really no end in sight to this madness. If the religious are a lost cause and they keep making more of themselves, it will never stop, and the world is doomed to an endless, unwinnable argument, and for what? So people can feel special. So that their needs for the world around them can be met.
So now, my final announcement on the subject. There's no such thing as god and I'm tired of going on about it. Just stop using god already for everything like thanking and blaming and war and morality and law. God doesn't matter because only man's interpretation of god is real, and the world, under the influence of religious fanaticism, is in a fine mess. Unchanged, it's all over. The good guys lost. I started this thinking maybe there was a way out of it. I was wrong. I give up.
Thursday
If you feel lucky, you're more likely to be lucky
BBC NEWS | Magazine | The loser's guide to getting luckyThere's a word that, said over and over, really starts to sound dumb.
Lucky lucky lucky lucky lucky lucky.
bowling green sewing machine
retina barbecue
- learn something
- popurls
- 0tv.com
- betty butterfield
- new betty
- concrete tv
- dale's mails
- exile
- fairlane
- fishki
- games section
- get your war on
- jim goad
- jonestown
- kfai
- landover baptist church
- listen to a movie
- mack white
- mcsweeney's
- memepool
- memeorandum
- memory hole
- memphilter
- metafilter
- mimi smartypants
- newsmap
- pamela gay, astronomer
- planet krulik
- pleix
- pretty pictures videos
- something awful
- spoonbender
- sutton impact studio
- technorati top 100
- tinypic
- today's front pages
- upenn online library
- watch links
- wolcott
- wood s lot
- wulad
- air america
- sleepbot
- kcrw simulcast
- ween
- the current
- wfmu
- watchmaker podcast
- boot liquor
eustachian justice league
many moons
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