We've reached the end of yet another year, and as is common for the season, we find ourselves reflecting back upon the past...and planning for the future. The odd thing about this particular year is that we find ourselves actually looking forward to the upcoming twelve-month span. What's even stranger is that we are looking forward to some of the changes that the new year will bring.
Now typically, we are downright petrified by change. We tend to acclimate to new things rather slowly and don't like our routines mucked with. We are also overly pessimistic and typically only see the negative aspects of the "new," glamorizing the "old" into something greater than it ever had been.
That being said, we look forward to this new year with warm thoughts...hope if you will. We believe that this upcoming year holds potential. That things will turn out to be greater than we expect. That new opportunities will turn into new pleasures and realms of enjoyment.
And why do we have this hope you might ask? One word: Venom.
This next year, Venom will be transported from the paneled pages of our much beloved sequential art and thrust upon the silver screen. We're talking the real Venom here. Not Mac Gargan (Venom II) - the tripe that we are currently being forced to injest in today's comics. We refer to Eddie Brock. Eddie F@cking Brock*...in celluloid.
'Bout damn time.
*Eddie Brock's middle name is, in fact, not "F@cking" but Allan. By replacing Mr. Brock's middle name with "F@cking" we meant no disrespect - we were merely using the term as an emphatic to express our jubilation.
...Come to think of it, "Allan" does mean "harmony" which could be used to describe f@cking...Okay, maybe not f@cking per se, but the intimate act of coitus. Yes, we ask our readers to replace the above line with Eddie Intimate Act of Coitus Brock. Then all parties should be satisfied...
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
Thursday, November 23, 2006
What I'm Thankful For
While there are many things for which I am thankful - family, friends, living in the United States of Freedom - I believe that I am most thankful that hippies are so incompetent. I could almost pity them if it weren't for the bile that rises in my throat every time I hear one of their THC-ladened voices.
A "Global Orgasm for Peace"? Really? That's what you've come up with? Man, that's really going to change things. (And by change things, I mean increase the stock value for the manufacturers of Kleenex and various brands of laundry detergents.)
I just pray that none of these orgasms result in conception...
A "Global Orgasm for Peace"? Really? That's what you've come up with? Man, that's really going to change things. (And by change things, I mean increase the stock value for the manufacturers of Kleenex and various brands of laundry detergents.)
I just pray that none of these orgasms result in conception...
A recent MySpace comment exchange
I've been particularly busy (and simultaneously lazy) this past month and really haven't posted anything. To make up for some of this vacuum, I feel the need to share with my readers a brief comment exchange I had via MySpace a couple of weeks back.
(Note: This is a reference to one of the opening scenes in Boondock Saints. In this scene one of the leading characters (St. Boon, I believe) is on the receiving end of a diatribe from a rather manly lesbian womyn (i.e. "bull dyke") about the misogynist origins of the phrase "rule of thumb" - those origins being that a man could beat his wife with a stick as long as he used one no thicker than his thumb. The leading character (on second thought, I believe it was St. Dock) comments that one really couldn't do much damage with a stick that thin and proposes that it should have been a "rule of wrist." The womyn does not weather this response well and all manner of violent hilarity ensues.)
(Second Note: This was a rather random comment to have posted on one's MySpace page - a communication style fairly typical of this particular female. Of course, as soon as I point out the randomness of said actions, I am told that I am both "mean" and/or a "jerk.")
Lily - do you think it should have been a rule of wrist?
(Note: This is a reference to one of the opening scenes in Boondock Saints. In this scene one of the leading characters (St. Boon, I believe) is on the receiving end of a diatribe from a rather manly lesbian womyn (i.e. "bull dyke") about the misogynist origins of the phrase "rule of thumb" - those origins being that a man could beat his wife with a stick as long as he used one no thicker than his thumb. The leading character (on second thought, I believe it was St. Dock) comments that one really couldn't do much damage with a stick that thin and proposes that it should have been a "rule of wrist." The womyn does not weather this response well and all manner of violent hilarity ensues.)
(Second Note: This was a rather random comment to have posted on one's MySpace page - a communication style fairly typical of this particular female. Of course, as soon as I point out the randomness of said actions, I am told that I am both "mean" and/or a "jerk.")
Josh - Unfortunately, I may not be the ideal person to ask this question for I do not advocate the beating of women – the shaking and choking of, most certainly. But beating? Heaven forbid!
That being said, I feel that a rule of wrist would be far too arbitrary and difficult to enforce. Are we talking about a beefy, rotund (fat) wrist such as mine, or are we talking about the waifish, track-marked wrist of Keith Richards.
I believe that I would reject any standard based on a measurement of human anatomy...unless, of course, we’re talking baby necks, which I have found by my experiments to be fairly uniform.
Yes, I believe I would support a “rule of baby necks.”
Sunday, November 05, 2006
A Vendetta, Held as a Votive, Not in Vain
As my previous post indicated, today is the fifth of November - Guy Fawkes night. For quite some time, this day had no importance to me; however, in the past handful of years, it has taken on special significance thanks to Alan Moore's work, V for Vendetta. As this day is tied to several key plot points, I feel the need to celebrate it in a fashion befitting the fictional work that has so captured my fascination.
After pondering how to accomplish this feat for some time, I remembered this VG Cats comic strip and inspiration struck. There is a scene in the film adaptation of the work that features a particular alliterative soliloquy that V uses "to suggest the character of [his] dramatis personae." Deciding to follow in these footsteps, I offer similar fair:
J’accuse!
Je suis, a jovial jack-of-no-trades, juxtaposed as both judge and jury by the jugglings of Fate. This jester, no mere jackass of jocularity, is a jetsam of the corpus juris, now jaded, jaundiced. However, this judicious junket of a by-gone jibe, stands at a junction, and has journeyed to jettison these jingoist and jackbooted jackals jockeying jobbery and joisting these jeering jezebels and the jiffy jailing of joy.
The only judgement is justice; a jihad, held as a jingle, not in jest, for the journeying and jonesing of such shall one day jubilate the jurisprudent and the just. Jiminy christmas, this juggernaut of jargon jaunts most jabbersome so let me simply add that I am jolly well pleased to meet you, and you may call me J.
(Author's note: If you hadn't picked up on this yet, my name is Josh)
Sweet jeebus, this was a lot more difficult than I thought it would be, starting out.
Now, I admit that this is nowhere near as eloquent as the original, but I worked with what I had. There aren't as many "j" words as you might think, and they all don't make the same "juh" sound. Also, my hands were a little tied since I was trying to keep to the same structure as the original. Had I been fomenting my own speech about what I stand for (assuming I ever decide to stand for something), then I probably would be able to pull off something a little more classy.
Anyway, here's the text from the original, so you can compare it if you feel so inclined:
After pondering how to accomplish this feat for some time, I remembered this VG Cats comic strip and inspiration struck. There is a scene in the film adaptation of the work that features a particular alliterative soliloquy that V uses "to suggest the character of [his] dramatis personae." Deciding to follow in these footsteps, I offer similar fair:
J’accuse!
Je suis, a jovial jack-of-no-trades, juxtaposed as both judge and jury by the jugglings of Fate. This jester, no mere jackass of jocularity, is a jetsam of the corpus juris, now jaded, jaundiced. However, this judicious junket of a by-gone jibe, stands at a junction, and has journeyed to jettison these jingoist and jackbooted jackals jockeying jobbery and joisting these jeering jezebels and the jiffy jailing of joy.
The only judgement is justice; a jihad, held as a jingle, not in jest, for the journeying and jonesing of such shall one day jubilate the jurisprudent and the just. Jiminy christmas, this juggernaut of jargon jaunts most jabbersome so let me simply add that I am jolly well pleased to meet you, and you may call me J.
(Author's note: If you hadn't picked up on this yet, my name is Josh)
Sweet jeebus, this was a lot more difficult than I thought it would be, starting out.
Now, I admit that this is nowhere near as eloquent as the original, but I worked with what I had. There aren't as many "j" words as you might think, and they all don't make the same "juh" sound. Also, my hands were a little tied since I was trying to keep to the same structure as the original. Had I been fomenting my own speech about what I stand for (assuming I ever decide to stand for something), then I probably would be able to pull off something a little more classy.
Anyway, here's the text from the original, so you can compare it if you feel so inclined:
Voilà!
In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is a vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition.
The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose so let me simply add that it’s my very good honor to meet you, and you may call me V.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
It's Midnight in London
Remember, remember the fifth of November,
The gunpowder, treason, and plot
I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot
Friday, September 29, 2006
Nerd-off 2006
Since I am chained to a computer (with Intraweb access) all day for my employment, I find myself rather frequently dallying about various and sundry Web sites, looking for a distraction from my meager existence. A scant number of weeks ago, I found such entertainment in the most recent musical video of one Weird Al Yankovich - a video entitled “White and Nerdy.”
As one who is both “white” and a “nerd” (though I envision myself as more of a “geek” - man I love me some raw chicken heads), I found this latest aural venture rather enjoyable. But after perusing said video a number of times now, I couldn’t help but notice a certain smugness on Mr. Yankovich’s metal enhanced maw. An “I’m better than you” attitude that began to stick in my craw.
After my craw had become infected (and I had to miss three days of work), I decided that it was now time for me to take action. Well, Mr. Yankovich, since no one else has decided to hoist you by your own petard, I will take up the charge. Let us have a nerd-off to see which of us is the whiter and nerdier.
Yankovich: “They see me mowing my front lawn”
Josh: I have a natural aversion to sunlight and avoid it at all costs
Yankovich: “First in my class here at MIT”
Josh: Umm…I went to CU Boulder, and wasn’t even in the honors program…but I did learn how inherently evil I am because of my white skin and my penis…though I can’t remember which is more evil anymore…I think it’s the penis
Yankovich: “Got skills, I’m a champion at D&D”
Josh: Haven’t really played too much D&D…that’s more my brother’s department. I cover the comic book front…
Yankovich: “MC Escher that’s my favorite MC”
Josh: I’d probably go with MC Frontalot - the lyrical mastermind that gestated the “Penny Arcade Theme” and “Rhyme of the Nibelung.” Of course, I’m more of a metal fan.
Yankovich: “All my action figures are cherry”
Josh: a) Action figures are referred to as “mint,” not "cherry"
b) If they are out of their boxes, they are no longer mint
c) I lack the snazzy shelf display of Mr. Yankovich because the vast number of G.I. Joe figures I have wouldn’t have fit onto the same shelf…not to mention my Star Wars figures…or X-Men figures…and don’t even get me started on vehicles…amateur
Yankovich: “Stephen Hawking’s in my library”
Josh: I think I’m pretty much pooched on this one. I mean, I still have my Physics texts, but none of them were written by Hawking. Has anyone heard of Raymond A. Serway? No?…nevermind then.
Yankovich: “My MySpace page is totally pimped out”
Josh: Pshaw! You call that pimped out? With a white background? Mine has a painting by Alex Ross of proposed X-Men costumes that he did for Wizard magazine. Beat that…I mean, if I had a MySpace page, that’s what I’d have…but I don’t.
Yankovich: “Know pi to a thousand places”
Josh: 3.14159265…that’s all I’ve got. I do have a copy of the “Pi” song by Kate Bush…I guess I should listen to that more.
Yankovich: “I’m a whiz at Minesweeper”
Josh: Minesweeper? Minesweeper? You’ve got to be kidding me. Okay, this should be an easy one. I’m currently splitting my time between Diablo II and Lego Star Wars II: The Original Trilogy. Sweep this. (Author’s note: I am holding my sac while writing this…never realized how hard it is to type with one hand before.)
Yankovich: “Do vector calculus just for fun”
Josh: My electives in college included three semesters of Calculus along with individual courses in Differential Equations, Euclidean/Hyperbolic Geometry, Linear Algebra, Probability Theory and Abstract Math. I took so many math classes “for fun” that I stumbled into a Minor in Mathematics without even trying.
Yankovich: “Ain’t got a gat, but I’ve got a soldering gun”
Josh: I’ve got neither, though I’d probably get a gun first. But before I do that, I probably should get these random suicidal urges under control.
Yankovich: “Happy Days is my favorite theme song”
Josh: I think that indicates that you are a homosexual, not a nerd. I guess I’d go with the theme song to Firefly.
Yankovich: “Sure kick your butt at a game of ping pong”
Josh: I proudly claim that I lack the hand-eye coordination to beat a drunk five-year-old at a game of ping pong…on a similar note, I apparently can’t beat a five year old kid at drinking games either…damn that little girl could slam the Goldschlager.
Yankovich: “Ace any trivia quiz you bring on”
Josh: Hrumph. I see that you were playing the Genus Edition of Trivial Pursuit. I guess you could play that…of course, the last version of Trivial Pursuit I played was the DVD Star Wars Saga edition. And I won.
Yankovich: “Fluent in JavaScript as well as Klingon”
Josh: Jegh…I know a couple of words, but I am by no means fluent in Klingon.
Yankovich: Oooh. Look at me. I’m so nerdy, I’m dancing in front of the Schrodinger equation.
Josh: I frickin’ derivated the crap out of that abomination to find its probability density function so that I could use it to determine the location of a single particle in a two-dimensional box. Sweep this. (Author’s note: still holding the sac)
Yankovich: “I’ve been browsing, inspecting X-Men comics, you know I collect them”
Josh: The hell you do! Mother F*cker, that is not the proper way to hold a comic. Bending them? If you’re going to bend a comic after it’s been bagged and boarded, you might as well drop trough and floss your sphincter with it.
For all of you novices (I’m looking in your direction Yankovich), if you bend a comic that has been bagged and boarded, the board bends. And anyone that knows anything knows that if a board bends, it stays bent, which will cause your comic to bend and be permanently disfigured a la Mel Gibson’s face in The Man Without A Face…or his career after dropping a few racial epithets.
Yankovich: “I edit Wikipedia”
Josh: Can’t say I’ve ever done that. I did waste an afternoon reading the flame war over the article on Freemasonry, though.
Yankovich: “I memorized Holy Grail really well”
Josh: While I enjoy the film, I can’t say that I’ve memorized it “really well.” I could paraphrase it to the annoyance of everyone around me though.
Yankovich: “I got a business doing Web sites”
Josh: Yeah, and my job is professional sex slave for Natalie Portman…and Keira Knightley…and Jeri Ryan.....................sorry, got a little distracted there. What was I talking about?…Oh yeah. Come on Yankovich, we all know that you are a multi-Grammy-award-winning musician. Me? I’m a copywriter, and I spend all day writing boring marketing material about servers and tape libraries and service oriented architectures.
Yankovich: “I got myself a fanny pack”
Josh: Your point. I’m not even going near that.
Yankovich: “They were having a sale at The Gap”
Josh: Slow down, cowboy. You shop at The Gap? What kind of a nerd are you? I buy my staples - pants, underwear, socks - at Wal-Mart. Everything that covers my upper half (re: T-Shirt) is purchased where real nerds buy their clothes, online or at a SciFi convention.
Yankovich: Spend my nights with a roll of bubble wrap
Pop! Pop!
Hope no one sees me, getting freaky
Josh: Um, what?
Yankovich: “I was in AV Club and Glee Club and even the Chess Team”
Josh: Drama, Basketball, Soccer…yeah, I lost this one. In my defense though, I went to a small, private school (grand total of 12 in my senior class), so they pretty much had to accept anyone that tried out for a sports team…beggars can’t be choosers.
Yankovich: “Only question I ever thought was hard was whether I liked Kirk or did I like Picard”
Josh: If you’re a real nerd, you already know the answer to this question “balls to bones.” Of the two, I pick Kirk. (But between you and me, I’d take Capt. Benjamin Sisko for the win every time.)
Yankovich: “Spend every weekend at the Renaissance Fair”
Josh: I went once this last summer.
Yankovich: Oooh. Look at me. I’m purchasing the Star Wars Holiday Special.
Josh: Okay, I don’t have a bootleg copy of the Star Wars Holiday Special, but I can tell you that it contains the first public appearance of Boba Fett, the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy.
And the winner is…
Damn straight. Respect my authority. Don’t want none, won’t be none…I suddenly feel like crying…
As one who is both “white” and a “nerd” (though I envision myself as more of a “geek” - man I love me some raw chicken heads), I found this latest aural venture rather enjoyable. But after perusing said video a number of times now, I couldn’t help but notice a certain smugness on Mr. Yankovich’s metal enhanced maw. An “I’m better than you” attitude that began to stick in my craw.
After my craw had become infected (and I had to miss three days of work), I decided that it was now time for me to take action. Well, Mr. Yankovich, since no one else has decided to hoist you by your own petard, I will take up the charge. Let us have a nerd-off to see which of us is the whiter and nerdier.
Begin:
Yankovich: “They see me mowing my front lawn”
Josh: I have a natural aversion to sunlight and avoid it at all costs
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “First in my class here at MIT”
Josh: Umm…I went to CU Boulder, and wasn’t even in the honors program…but I did learn how inherently evil I am because of my white skin and my penis…though I can’t remember which is more evil anymore…I think it’s the penis
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: “Got skills, I’m a champion at D&D”
Josh: Haven’t really played too much D&D…that’s more my brother’s department. I cover the comic book front…
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: “MC Escher that’s my favorite MC”
Josh: I’d probably go with MC Frontalot - the lyrical mastermind that gestated the “Penny Arcade Theme” and “Rhyme of the Nibelung.” Of course, I’m more of a metal fan.
Advantage: Tie
Yankovich: “All my action figures are cherry”
Josh: a) Action figures are referred to as “mint,” not "cherry"
b) If they are out of their boxes, they are no longer mint
c) I lack the snazzy shelf display of Mr. Yankovich because the vast number of G.I. Joe figures I have wouldn’t have fit onto the same shelf…not to mention my Star Wars figures…or X-Men figures…and don’t even get me started on vehicles…amateur
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “Stephen Hawking’s in my library”
Josh: I think I’m pretty much pooched on this one. I mean, I still have my Physics texts, but none of them were written by Hawking. Has anyone heard of Raymond A. Serway? No?…nevermind then.
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: “My MySpace page is totally pimped out”
Josh: Pshaw! You call that pimped out? With a white background? Mine has a painting by Alex Ross of proposed X-Men costumes that he did for Wizard magazine. Beat that…I mean, if I had a MySpace page, that’s what I’d have…but I don’t.
Advantage: Josh?
Yankovich: “Know pi to a thousand places”
Josh: 3.14159265…that’s all I’ve got. I do have a copy of the “Pi” song by Kate Bush…I guess I should listen to that more.
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: “I’m a whiz at Minesweeper”
Josh: Minesweeper? Minesweeper? You’ve got to be kidding me. Okay, this should be an easy one. I’m currently splitting my time between Diablo II and Lego Star Wars II: The Original Trilogy. Sweep this. (Author’s note: I am holding my sac while writing this…never realized how hard it is to type with one hand before.)
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “Do vector calculus just for fun”
Josh: My electives in college included three semesters of Calculus along with individual courses in Differential Equations, Euclidean/Hyperbolic Geometry, Linear Algebra, Probability Theory and Abstract Math. I took so many math classes “for fun” that I stumbled into a Minor in Mathematics without even trying.
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “Ain’t got a gat, but I’ve got a soldering gun”
Josh: I’ve got neither, though I’d probably get a gun first. But before I do that, I probably should get these random suicidal urges under control.
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: “Happy Days is my favorite theme song”
Josh: I think that indicates that you are a homosexual, not a nerd. I guess I’d go with the theme song to Firefly.
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “Sure kick your butt at a game of ping pong”
Josh: I proudly claim that I lack the hand-eye coordination to beat a drunk five-year-old at a game of ping pong…on a similar note, I apparently can’t beat a five year old kid at drinking games either…damn that little girl could slam the Goldschlager.
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “Ace any trivia quiz you bring on”
Josh: Hrumph. I see that you were playing the Genus Edition of Trivial Pursuit. I guess you could play that…of course, the last version of Trivial Pursuit I played was the DVD Star Wars Saga edition. And I won.
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “Fluent in JavaScript as well as Klingon”
Josh: Jegh…I know a couple of words, but I am by no means fluent in Klingon.
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: Oooh. Look at me. I’m so nerdy, I’m dancing in front of the Schrodinger equation.
Josh: I frickin’ derivated the crap out of that abomination to find its probability density function so that I could use it to determine the location of a single particle in a two-dimensional box. Sweep this. (Author’s note: still holding the sac)
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “I’ve been browsing, inspecting X-Men comics, you know I collect them”
Josh: The hell you do! Mother F*cker, that is not the proper way to hold a comic. Bending them? If you’re going to bend a comic after it’s been bagged and boarded, you might as well drop trough and floss your sphincter with it.
For all of you novices (I’m looking in your direction Yankovich), if you bend a comic that has been bagged and boarded, the board bends. And anyone that knows anything knows that if a board bends, it stays bent, which will cause your comic to bend and be permanently disfigured a la Mel Gibson’s face in The Man Without A Face…or his career after dropping a few racial epithets.
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “I edit Wikipedia”
Josh: Can’t say I’ve ever done that. I did waste an afternoon reading the flame war over the article on Freemasonry, though.
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: “I memorized Holy Grail really well”
Josh: While I enjoy the film, I can’t say that I’ve memorized it “really well.” I could paraphrase it to the annoyance of everyone around me though.
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: “I got a business doing Web sites”
Josh: Yeah, and my job is professional sex slave for Natalie Portman…and Keira Knightley…and Jeri Ryan.....................sorry, got a little distracted there. What was I talking about?…Oh yeah. Come on Yankovich, we all know that you are a multi-Grammy-award-winning musician. Me? I’m a copywriter, and I spend all day writing boring marketing material about servers and tape libraries and service oriented architectures.
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “I got myself a fanny pack”
Josh: Your point. I’m not even going near that.
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: “They were having a sale at The Gap”
Josh: Slow down, cowboy. You shop at The Gap? What kind of a nerd are you? I buy my staples - pants, underwear, socks - at Wal-Mart. Everything that covers my upper half (re: T-Shirt) is purchased where real nerds buy their clothes, online or at a SciFi convention.
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: Spend my nights with a roll of bubble wrap
Pop! Pop!
Hope no one sees me, getting freaky
Josh: Um, what?
Advantage: ???
Yankovich: “I was in AV Club and Glee Club and even the Chess Team”
Josh: Drama, Basketball, Soccer…yeah, I lost this one. In my defense though, I went to a small, private school (grand total of 12 in my senior class), so they pretty much had to accept anyone that tried out for a sports team…beggars can’t be choosers.
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: “Only question I ever thought was hard was whether I liked Kirk or did I like Picard”
Josh: If you’re a real nerd, you already know the answer to this question “balls to bones.” Of the two, I pick Kirk. (But between you and me, I’d take Capt. Benjamin Sisko for the win every time.)
Advantage: Josh
Yankovich: “Spend every weekend at the Renaissance Fair”
Josh: I went once this last summer.
Advantage: Yankovich
Yankovich: Oooh. Look at me. I’m purchasing the Star Wars Holiday Special.
Josh: Okay, I don’t have a bootleg copy of the Star Wars Holiday Special, but I can tell you that it contains the first public appearance of Boba Fett, the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy.
Advantage: Yankovich
And the winner is…
ME.
Damn straight. Respect my authority. Don’t want none, won’t be none…I suddenly feel like crying…
Friday, September 08, 2006
Non-Story
“So, what’s it about?”
Thomas cocked his head slightly, “What’s what about?” He had not been paying attention to the conversation for a couple of minutes now. Instead, he had been focusing all of his attention on the new red-haired waitress. She had her hair in pigtails and wore a tight t-shirt that didn’t quite reached down to her waist, exposing a well-defined midriff along with an eye-catching belly-button ring.
Thomas and his friend Matt, the one that had asked the question, had been coming to the Walnut St. Café for two years now, and every waitress (never a waiter) had come with a short shirt and a pierced belly button. This fact alone was why both Matt and Thomas continued to come to the café long after graduation, when caffeine was no longer required to fill the gap between last night’s party and today’s classes.
Matt sighed, shaking his head in frustration. “Your story.” He paused for a moment, waiting for Thomas’s eyes to shift from the waitress back to him. “The one that you’ve been wasting all of your time on. The one that you were worked on instead of going to Jeff’s party.”
Thomas finished pouring the second creamer into his coffee before replying. “Oh, right. It’s, uh…well, it’s...” Thomas cooled his drink by blowing on it while he tried to find the words.
Glancing one last time at the redhead, he answered, “Well, it’s not exactly what you would call a story. I mean, it is a story – characters, fiction, dialogue – all that. What I mean to say is that it’s not what you’d call a story.” He placed the emphasis on the word “you,” dragging out the word to drive his point home.
The Walnut St. Café was one of those cozy, hole-in-the-wall establishments that were better known for ambience than flavor. From the halogen lamps to the used books lining the walls to the ceramic kittens arranged on the mantel over the faux fireplace – every detail was meticulously planned to make the patrons feel like they were in someone’s home.
The walls were a faded beige, artificially scuffed and marred to exaggerate their age. Old, worn couches were littered about, carefully placed to maximize conversation. It was, in fact, on one of these couches – a blue and green striped one – that Thomas and Matt held their conversation.
Finding the words, Thomas finally answered, “Not a lot happens in it really, it’s just about two guys sitting around talking. Kind of like we’re doing now.”
Matt let this sink in for a moment. “So it’s about a couple of guys sitting around a coffee shop? That sounds boring.”
Thomas shook his head. “No. They’re not at a coffee shop. They’re at a bus stop.”
“Still sounds pretty stupid.” It was now Matt’s turn to blow on his coffee. After taking a sip, he added, “I thought you wrote sci-fi stuff, anyway.”
“Well, it’s at a bus stop in the future.” Ignoring the scowl this answer brought to his friend, Thomas continued, “They’re talking about bus schedules.”
Matt set his coffee down. “You’re kidding, right?” Thomas’s sheepish grin was a clear enough answer. “You’re not kidding…Holy crap, dude. That just sounds god-awful. Why would you think that anyone wants to read that? Nobody wants to read about two guys talking about bus schedules in the future.”
“Well,” Thomas answered defensively, “they’re actually talking about literature.”
“What?”
“Yeah, the bus schedules are a metaphor for literary conventions.” Thomas took another sip, letting the fact sink in. “It’s really self-reflective about the nature of writing and the role the speaker plays in the voice and tone of –“
Matt cut him off before he could finish. “You’ve already lost me. I’m not even reading it, and you’ve already lost me. Nobody in human history has ever wanted to sit down and waste their time, reading about two guys sitting around a coffee shop—”
“Bus station.”
“—bus station, talking about literature.”
“Hey guys. Can I get either of you anything?” It was the red-haired waitress that Thomas had been ogling earlier.
“N-no. We’re good.” As always, Thomas’s stutter acted up when speaking to women. Matt let himself smile at his friend’s discomfort.
“Okay, then. Well, let me know if you change your mind.”
She began to walk off when Matt stopped her. “Actually, there is something you could help us with.”
“Yes?”
“Well, my friend and I were having a discussion, and we were hoping an outside opinion would prove useful.”
The waitress wore a coy smile. Even though she was new, she was already used to being hit on by customers. “Sure. What do you want to know?”
Cocking his head slightly and in the most serious tone he could muster, Matt asked, “Do you find bus schedules interesting?”
“That’s your question?”
“Yeah.”
She allowed herself a slight laugh before responding. “No. I don’t find bus schedules interesting.”
Matt nodded his head briefly in agreement. “Fair enough.” He continued with the serious tone he had used earlier. “Now, what if I told you that the bus schedules are a metaphor for literature? Would you have the same answer?”
The waitress’s confusion was obvious on her face. “Um. I’d still say that they weren’t interesting.”
Matt smiled “Thanks.” He turned back to face Thomas.
“That’s it?” the waitress asked.
“Yeah. Thanks again.” As she walked away he smiled at Thomas. “ See, I told you.”
Thomas had been much less entertained by the exchange. Staring Matt straight in the eye he said, “You’re a dick.”
“What?”
“You didn’t have to embarrass me in front of her.” Thomas’s face was a slightly flushed, showing how upset he was.
“Dude, she didn’t even notice you. If anything, she thinks I’m the weird one.”
“Whatever.” Thomas shifted his focus to stirring his coffee.
Matt allowed his friend a couple of minutes to calm down. When he was sure that the storm was over, he continued, “Is the bus at least cool?”
“Huh?” Thomas pried his gaze back from another waitress, a brunette this time.
“The future-bus, does it come flying in? Or is it driven by a robot or something?”
Thomas’s sheepish grin returned, “Well, it’s not that kind of future. It takes place three months in the future.”
“What?”
Thomas nodded to make it clear that he was serious. “Yeah, that’s one of the things I was playing with. See, the story is about you in the future.” He pointed at Matt when he said “you.”
“The story is about me?”
Thomas corrected him. “Not you, you. The reader, you. Every reader. It’s about everybody. Anyway, I wrote the story in the future, but at a defined point in the future so everything is in the future imperfect tense. In other words, every time I use a verb I –”
Matt raised his hands, stopping him. “Dude. Stop. No. You’re done. You’re done. I am not going to hear anything more about your stupid future but not future story of two guys sitting at a bus station.”
Before Thomas could respond, Matt continued. “It’s a story. In the future. If you do a story in the future, you either have robots, lasers, or space travel,” he said, counting off the options on his fingers. “I don’t even like this crap, and I know that. You write a future story about technology going crazy or the perfect society going down the toilet or something like that. Sci-fi is all about picking a trend that’s going on today and then running that concept into the ground. You don’t write a story about bus schedules.”
Thomas’s annoyance was starting to show, his words biting as he answered. “I told you when we started this conversation that it wasn’t what you would consider a story.” Again he dragged out the word “you.” Crossing his arms, he continued “I didn’t write it for you, anyway. I wrote it to make money.”
Matt’s voice raised in pitch as he asked “How are you going to make money off of a stupid-ass story like the one you just described?”
“Well, I was going to try to sell it to one of those literary journals. They eat this crap up,” he explained. “They’re all about self-reflective writing, and if you sprinkle in a few college lit words – intertextual, juxtapose, interlocutor – they’ll be throwing money at you.”
Matt’s tone showed that he was quickly losing interest in the conversation. “Whatever, man. It’s still a crappy story.”
After sitting in silence for a few seconds, he added. “You know what you should do? You should apologize to your readers at the end. You should make a new character that represents the reader.” He pointed to a man sitting at a table nearby. “Like that guy.” Matt’s finger ticked slightly to the right as he added “or her.”
The man was rather ordinary in appearance. He was of average height and average weight, wearing common clothes that one would find anywhere. His skin was a light tan that made it difficult to tell his race. His hair was in a popular style, and the color seemed to shift depending on how the light hit it. The woman that Matt had indicated was seated next to him, and oddly enough, matched the same description.
“You should have one of your cyborg bus passengers from three weeks in the future, turn to the reader character,” Matt turned his body away from Thomas to the couple now collectively designated as “the reader”, making it difficult to tell which of the two he was addressing, “and your character should say something to the reader, like, ‘I’m sorry. I have no business writing. I am not the least bit entertaining. I lack both talent and skill, and I sincerely apologize for the verbal suckage that I have just forced upon you.’”
Matt turned back to face Thomas. “Or something like that.”
Thomas sat still for a moment, his eyes focusing on the almost empty cup of coffee in front of him. With a sigh that conceded defeat he murmured, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out some change, and dropped it on the table. Standing up from his chair, he paused, his eyes again resting on the last few sips of coffee in his cup.
“On second thought,” he said as he scooped up the change, dumped it back into his pocket, and downed the last of his coffee, “screw ‘em. Screw ‘em all.”
Thomas then walked out of the café with his middle finger extended, passing by Matt, the red-haired waitress, and the average couple – the readers.
Thomas cocked his head slightly, “What’s what about?” He had not been paying attention to the conversation for a couple of minutes now. Instead, he had been focusing all of his attention on the new red-haired waitress. She had her hair in pigtails and wore a tight t-shirt that didn’t quite reached down to her waist, exposing a well-defined midriff along with an eye-catching belly-button ring.
Thomas and his friend Matt, the one that had asked the question, had been coming to the Walnut St. Café for two years now, and every waitress (never a waiter) had come with a short shirt and a pierced belly button. This fact alone was why both Matt and Thomas continued to come to the café long after graduation, when caffeine was no longer required to fill the gap between last night’s party and today’s classes.
Matt sighed, shaking his head in frustration. “Your story.” He paused for a moment, waiting for Thomas’s eyes to shift from the waitress back to him. “The one that you’ve been wasting all of your time on. The one that you were worked on instead of going to Jeff’s party.”
Thomas finished pouring the second creamer into his coffee before replying. “Oh, right. It’s, uh…well, it’s...” Thomas cooled his drink by blowing on it while he tried to find the words.
Glancing one last time at the redhead, he answered, “Well, it’s not exactly what you would call a story. I mean, it is a story – characters, fiction, dialogue – all that. What I mean to say is that it’s not what you’d call a story.” He placed the emphasis on the word “you,” dragging out the word to drive his point home.
The Walnut St. Café was one of those cozy, hole-in-the-wall establishments that were better known for ambience than flavor. From the halogen lamps to the used books lining the walls to the ceramic kittens arranged on the mantel over the faux fireplace – every detail was meticulously planned to make the patrons feel like they were in someone’s home.
The walls were a faded beige, artificially scuffed and marred to exaggerate their age. Old, worn couches were littered about, carefully placed to maximize conversation. It was, in fact, on one of these couches – a blue and green striped one – that Thomas and Matt held their conversation.
Finding the words, Thomas finally answered, “Not a lot happens in it really, it’s just about two guys sitting around talking. Kind of like we’re doing now.”
Matt let this sink in for a moment. “So it’s about a couple of guys sitting around a coffee shop? That sounds boring.”
Thomas shook his head. “No. They’re not at a coffee shop. They’re at a bus stop.”
“Still sounds pretty stupid.” It was now Matt’s turn to blow on his coffee. After taking a sip, he added, “I thought you wrote sci-fi stuff, anyway.”
“Well, it’s at a bus stop in the future.” Ignoring the scowl this answer brought to his friend, Thomas continued, “They’re talking about bus schedules.”
Matt set his coffee down. “You’re kidding, right?” Thomas’s sheepish grin was a clear enough answer. “You’re not kidding…Holy crap, dude. That just sounds god-awful. Why would you think that anyone wants to read that? Nobody wants to read about two guys talking about bus schedules in the future.”
“Well,” Thomas answered defensively, “they’re actually talking about literature.”
“What?”
“Yeah, the bus schedules are a metaphor for literary conventions.” Thomas took another sip, letting the fact sink in. “It’s really self-reflective about the nature of writing and the role the speaker plays in the voice and tone of –“
Matt cut him off before he could finish. “You’ve already lost me. I’m not even reading it, and you’ve already lost me. Nobody in human history has ever wanted to sit down and waste their time, reading about two guys sitting around a coffee shop—”
“Bus station.”
“—bus station, talking about literature.”
“Hey guys. Can I get either of you anything?” It was the red-haired waitress that Thomas had been ogling earlier.
“N-no. We’re good.” As always, Thomas’s stutter acted up when speaking to women. Matt let himself smile at his friend’s discomfort.
“Okay, then. Well, let me know if you change your mind.”
She began to walk off when Matt stopped her. “Actually, there is something you could help us with.”
“Yes?”
“Well, my friend and I were having a discussion, and we were hoping an outside opinion would prove useful.”
The waitress wore a coy smile. Even though she was new, she was already used to being hit on by customers. “Sure. What do you want to know?”
Cocking his head slightly and in the most serious tone he could muster, Matt asked, “Do you find bus schedules interesting?”
“That’s your question?”
“Yeah.”
She allowed herself a slight laugh before responding. “No. I don’t find bus schedules interesting.”
Matt nodded his head briefly in agreement. “Fair enough.” He continued with the serious tone he had used earlier. “Now, what if I told you that the bus schedules are a metaphor for literature? Would you have the same answer?”
The waitress’s confusion was obvious on her face. “Um. I’d still say that they weren’t interesting.”
Matt smiled “Thanks.” He turned back to face Thomas.
“That’s it?” the waitress asked.
“Yeah. Thanks again.” As she walked away he smiled at Thomas. “ See, I told you.”
Thomas had been much less entertained by the exchange. Staring Matt straight in the eye he said, “You’re a dick.”
“What?”
“You didn’t have to embarrass me in front of her.” Thomas’s face was a slightly flushed, showing how upset he was.
“Dude, she didn’t even notice you. If anything, she thinks I’m the weird one.”
“Whatever.” Thomas shifted his focus to stirring his coffee.
Matt allowed his friend a couple of minutes to calm down. When he was sure that the storm was over, he continued, “Is the bus at least cool?”
“Huh?” Thomas pried his gaze back from another waitress, a brunette this time.
“The future-bus, does it come flying in? Or is it driven by a robot or something?”
Thomas’s sheepish grin returned, “Well, it’s not that kind of future. It takes place three months in the future.”
“What?”
Thomas nodded to make it clear that he was serious. “Yeah, that’s one of the things I was playing with. See, the story is about you in the future.” He pointed at Matt when he said “you.”
“The story is about me?”
Thomas corrected him. “Not you, you. The reader, you. Every reader. It’s about everybody. Anyway, I wrote the story in the future, but at a defined point in the future so everything is in the future imperfect tense. In other words, every time I use a verb I –”
Matt raised his hands, stopping him. “Dude. Stop. No. You’re done. You’re done. I am not going to hear anything more about your stupid future but not future story of two guys sitting at a bus station.”
Before Thomas could respond, Matt continued. “It’s a story. In the future. If you do a story in the future, you either have robots, lasers, or space travel,” he said, counting off the options on his fingers. “I don’t even like this crap, and I know that. You write a future story about technology going crazy or the perfect society going down the toilet or something like that. Sci-fi is all about picking a trend that’s going on today and then running that concept into the ground. You don’t write a story about bus schedules.”
Thomas’s annoyance was starting to show, his words biting as he answered. “I told you when we started this conversation that it wasn’t what you would consider a story.” Again he dragged out the word “you.” Crossing his arms, he continued “I didn’t write it for you, anyway. I wrote it to make money.”
Matt’s voice raised in pitch as he asked “How are you going to make money off of a stupid-ass story like the one you just described?”
“Well, I was going to try to sell it to one of those literary journals. They eat this crap up,” he explained. “They’re all about self-reflective writing, and if you sprinkle in a few college lit words – intertextual, juxtapose, interlocutor – they’ll be throwing money at you.”
Matt’s tone showed that he was quickly losing interest in the conversation. “Whatever, man. It’s still a crappy story.”
After sitting in silence for a few seconds, he added. “You know what you should do? You should apologize to your readers at the end. You should make a new character that represents the reader.” He pointed to a man sitting at a table nearby. “Like that guy.” Matt’s finger ticked slightly to the right as he added “or her.”
The man was rather ordinary in appearance. He was of average height and average weight, wearing common clothes that one would find anywhere. His skin was a light tan that made it difficult to tell his race. His hair was in a popular style, and the color seemed to shift depending on how the light hit it. The woman that Matt had indicated was seated next to him, and oddly enough, matched the same description.
“You should have one of your cyborg bus passengers from three weeks in the future, turn to the reader character,” Matt turned his body away from Thomas to the couple now collectively designated as “the reader”, making it difficult to tell which of the two he was addressing, “and your character should say something to the reader, like, ‘I’m sorry. I have no business writing. I am not the least bit entertaining. I lack both talent and skill, and I sincerely apologize for the verbal suckage that I have just forced upon you.’”
Matt turned back to face Thomas. “Or something like that.”
Thomas sat still for a moment, his eyes focusing on the almost empty cup of coffee in front of him. With a sigh that conceded defeat he murmured, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out some change, and dropped it on the table. Standing up from his chair, he paused, his eyes again resting on the last few sips of coffee in his cup.
“On second thought,” he said as he scooped up the change, dumped it back into his pocket, and downed the last of his coffee, “screw ‘em. Screw ‘em all.”
Thomas then walked out of the café with his middle finger extended, passing by Matt, the red-haired waitress, and the average couple – the readers.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Jesus???...really???
A few weeks ago my church held a faith conference to…to…OK, I’m not entirely sure what the goal was, but it did involve several well-known speakers, and they talked about, oddly enough, faith. Now, to anyone that has ever attended one of these charismatic love-fests, they would note that emotionalism is a key element to the success of these outings. Also, to anyone that has ever interacted with me, they would note that emotionalism is not something that I am prone to and, in fact, heavily dislike.
That being said, throughout the conference, I was open to the messages shared and listened for a “special” word from God, one that was just for me. However, as is common, I was not affected on the same emotional level as everyone else and found myself expecting more.
With the conference over, the guest “men of God” gone and my hopes crushed, I resigned myself to tarry on, plugging away at my dead-end life and my dead-end job. One day while toiling away at my desk, writing copy and leading the crap out of some technical content, I was (as C.S. Lewis might put it) surprised by joy. As I scanned through my inbox I was greeted with this image:
From: Jesus
Subject: really
Subject: really
Imagine my excitement at receiving an e-mail from the Word Become Flesh. With baited breath, I opened the message to be greeted with the following text:
Dwight just told me that you no doubt became aware about the knowledge on feeling like you did in college,
Just though you might want to know plan, that has been consulting me feel better about myself.
Armando and me have been on this new program
http://www.icpe.cognizancelosed.com/ly/
that has been guiding me with that.
salon end of the sandstone cliffs
roll background were countless flaming eyes.
Thailand yet bunk beds I may
First, I would like to thank you, Dwight, whomever you are, for speaking to Jesus about me. I don’t remember you from college, but I was so hopped on queludes for those four years that I really don’t remember much of it…except that one night with the pony and the trebuchet, but my lawyer says that the statute of limitations hasn’t expired yet, so I probably shouldn’t say anything more about it…Anyway, as the Lord’s message indicates, I have been feeling much like I did in college – burned out, hapless, lonely, depressed and wanting more out of life.
Now, I’m not entirely sure who Armando is (perhaps some unknown saint, maybe an archangel), but if the Son of God says that he’s hooked on a new program from some random Web site, sign me up.
After visiting the site, I was admittedly confused why the Savior of Mankind is so interested in HGH treatments from the Total Health & Rejuvenation Center. However, as an Xian (it’s like a Christian, but more hard core) my stated goal is to be a follower of X. So if X is interested in the activities of the Total Health & Rejuvenation Center, that means that I too am “interested” in the activities of said organization…and by “interested” I mean “I’ll be dropping HGH like my pants at the proctologist.” (NOTE: The previous statement was meant as an analogy. The author of this blog has never allowed anyone to place their finger in or anywhere near his exit clause…except for that night with the pony and the trebuchet…damn queludes.)
…With regards to the last three lines of our Lord’s message, I figured that Jesus was just throwing those in there to get past my spam filters, which are fairly aggressive…and come to think of it, run by a daemon...and if twelve years at a religious indoctrination center (private school) have taught me anything, it's that anything remotely resembling the word "demon" has to be inherently evil.
Of course! How could I have been so blind? All of this time wasted, waiting for a divine connection when the answer has been staring me in the face all along. The Lord has been trying to communicate with me, but the foul network administrators that have surrounded me are doing everything possible to stop that from happening. Obviously this foul class of ne’er-do-wells are in league with the prince of lies and seek to undermine my faith. Well have no doubt that this travesty will not go unanswered.
IT support staff be warned – I’m coming for you. Pray to your fallen lord now, for my wrath shall be swift and unending. (And by “swift” and “unending,” I mean that I am going to taser you in your junk…and by “junk” I mean “testacles.”)
Friday, June 23, 2006
The Mind-Blast for +4 Damage
Among my many responsibilities at work, I would strongly argue that my weekly educational/messaging training session - the Mind-Blast for +4 Damage - is not only my favorite but that of my coworkers as well.
Why?...Let's just say that I bring a unique approach to training...and pretty much anything else work related...including meetings. I am well known for showing Strongbad Emails and AskaNinja videos at the beginning of Mind-Blasts to make up for the boring suckage of exposition that I am about to bludgeon my coworkers with. Today, however, I decided that merely watching a video would not be enough. Nay! We would create one. (Technically, my thought processes didn't really follow that route, but I'm afraid that the human language lacks the complexity to express anything approaching my mental patterns outside of the phrase "No impulse control.")
I share with you now the majesty that is the Mind-Blast for +4 Damage. Today, we learn about some of the common branding mistakes that the team has made. We learn a little about ourselves. We learn a little about the world around us. And we learn the answer to the question that has plagued mankind for millennia - namely, what is the result of this equation:
3 Liters of Diet Coke
+ 5 Rolls of Mentos
+ 3 Sheets of Printer Paper
+ 3 Business Cards
???
Now don't you wish you worked with me?
Video courtesy of Erik (Ulric) Taylor.
Why?...Let's just say that I bring a unique approach to training...and pretty much anything else work related...including meetings. I am well known for showing Strongbad Emails and AskaNinja videos at the beginning of Mind-Blasts to make up for the boring suckage of exposition that I am about to bludgeon my coworkers with. Today, however, I decided that merely watching a video would not be enough. Nay! We would create one. (Technically, my thought processes didn't really follow that route, but I'm afraid that the human language lacks the complexity to express anything approaching my mental patterns outside of the phrase "No impulse control.")
I share with you now the majesty that is the Mind-Blast for +4 Damage. Today, we learn about some of the common branding mistakes that the team has made. We learn a little about ourselves. We learn a little about the world around us. And we learn the answer to the question that has plagued mankind for millennia - namely, what is the result of this equation:
3 Liters of Diet Coke
+ 5 Rolls of Mentos
+ 3 Sheets of Printer Paper
+ 3 Business Cards
???
Now don't you wish you worked with me?
Video courtesy of Erik (Ulric) Taylor.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Life Imitating Art - Mark II
It's an odd thing when the absurdity of life strikes you square in the nuts...a second time.
Today at work, I was greeted with this alarming news. Apparently, there is a group known as the Rainbow Family (some 20,000 strong) that is planning an unarmed invasion of Colorado for some Hippie love-fest. Immediately upon hearing this news, I began flashing back to the Die Hippie, Die episode of South Park.
To summarize this episode for my readers - South Park is targeted for a Hippie Music Festival that threatens to overwhelm the tiny mountain town, drowning the citizens in a sea of drum circles, body odor and patchouli. The survival of South Park, and the human race itself depends on the efforts one lone hero - Eric Cartman. Answering (and accepting the charges for) the call of heroism, young Master Cartman forges a Hippie Drill capable of burrowing to the center of the unwashed horde where he harnesses the awesome power of Death Metal to drive back the hippie onslaught that assaults his home.
Now in addition to being "pleasantly plump," I have found that I have several things in common with Master Cartman. I am frequently placed in situations where I need to demand that others "Respect my authority!" I too hate Kyle. And I once made a kid eat his parents...probably shouldn't say any more about that until the statute of limitations runs out...Of course, I believe the tie that binds young Eric and I tightest is our mutual hatred of hippies. Indeed, one of my most prized t-shirts is one boasting the image of Cartman, proclaiming "Screw You, Hippie!"
...Perhaps our greatest variance, however, is my lack of anti-Semitism, my a-anti-Semitism, if you will. I am pretty much the opposite of an anti-Semite. My favorite author (and personal hero), Peter David, is a Jew. The last girl I asked out (bringing the grand total to four) was part Jewish (a demi-Jew if you will). Heck, my boss is a Jewish Carpenter. (Note: This is a metaphor. My boss is actually a Caucasian Program Director.) But I Digress...
I guess you could kind of describe me as an older, bespectacled, pro-Semite Eric Cartman.
That fact having been established, I now find that the honor and responsibility to save the great state of Colorado of these most blessed United States of America from the cancerous growth that...grows within...now falls upon my shoulders. Borrowing from the fictional world that seems to be currently dominating our reality, I have chosen to follow the same path as brave Master Cartman...Behold...
Plan A:
The much beloved Hippie Drill. Guzzling down at least two gallons of gas for every mile, this is, perhaps, the least economically feasible of my plans.
Of course, I realize that things don't always work out as well in real life as on TV, so I have also devised a...
Plan B:
The Idaho Integrated Breaching Shotgun. Imagine a crack squad of patriots, lockstep in a "Flying V" formation (like in the Might Ducks) barreling down on the Hippie hordes with these babies. We'd make it to the center in no time.
While scientists have yet to prove that Hippies are, in fact, still human (I personally contend that they are golems, having lost their souls and merely existing as empty, instinct-driven husks), I realize that some may be squeamish with the previous two options. Therefore, I offer my ultimate solution...
Plan C:
You've heard the old adage, "Fight fire with fire"? Well I'm keeping the "with fire" part and exchanging the first "fire" for "Hippies"...and I'm adding "Panda" in there somewhere.
You wanted something to keep the blood off your hands? I'm giving it to you.
Today at work, I was greeted with this alarming news. Apparently, there is a group known as the Rainbow Family (some 20,000 strong) that is planning an unarmed invasion of Colorado for some Hippie love-fest. Immediately upon hearing this news, I began flashing back to the Die Hippie, Die episode of South Park.
To summarize this episode for my readers - South Park is targeted for a Hippie Music Festival that threatens to overwhelm the tiny mountain town, drowning the citizens in a sea of drum circles, body odor and patchouli. The survival of South Park, and the human race itself depends on the efforts one lone hero - Eric Cartman. Answering (and accepting the charges for) the call of heroism, young Master Cartman forges a Hippie Drill capable of burrowing to the center of the unwashed horde where he harnesses the awesome power of Death Metal to drive back the hippie onslaught that assaults his home.
Now in addition to being "pleasantly plump," I have found that I have several things in common with Master Cartman. I am frequently placed in situations where I need to demand that others "Respect my authority!" I too hate Kyle. And I once made a kid eat his parents...probably shouldn't say any more about that until the statute of limitations runs out...Of course, I believe the tie that binds young Eric and I tightest is our mutual hatred of hippies. Indeed, one of my most prized t-shirts is one boasting the image of Cartman, proclaiming "Screw You, Hippie!"
...Perhaps our greatest variance, however, is my lack of anti-Semitism, my a-anti-Semitism, if you will. I am pretty much the opposite of an anti-Semite. My favorite author (and personal hero), Peter David, is a Jew. The last girl I asked out (bringing the grand total to four) was part Jewish (a demi-Jew if you will). Heck, my boss is a Jewish Carpenter. (Note: This is a metaphor. My boss is actually a Caucasian Program Director.) But I Digress...
I guess you could kind of describe me as an older, bespectacled, pro-Semite Eric Cartman.
That fact having been established, I now find that the honor and responsibility to save the great state of Colorado of these most blessed United States of America from the cancerous growth that...grows within...now falls upon my shoulders. Borrowing from the fictional world that seems to be currently dominating our reality, I have chosen to follow the same path as brave Master Cartman...Behold...
Plan A:
The much beloved Hippie Drill. Guzzling down at least two gallons of gas for every mile, this is, perhaps, the least economically feasible of my plans.
Of course, I realize that things don't always work out as well in real life as on TV, so I have also devised a...
Plan B:
The Idaho Integrated Breaching Shotgun. Imagine a crack squad of patriots, lockstep in a "Flying V" formation (like in the Might Ducks) barreling down on the Hippie hordes with these babies. We'd make it to the center in no time.
While scientists have yet to prove that Hippies are, in fact, still human (I personally contend that they are golems, having lost their souls and merely existing as empty, instinct-driven husks), I realize that some may be squeamish with the previous two options. Therefore, I offer my ultimate solution...
Plan C:
You've heard the old adage, "Fight fire with fire"? Well I'm keeping the "with fire" part and exchanging the first "fire" for "Hippies"...and I'm adding "Panda" in there somewhere.
You wanted something to keep the blood off your hands? I'm giving it to you.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
The Snowman: A Haiku
As part of the communication training I received today, we were also instructed to write a description of a snowman. The intent was to demonstrate the variance between the communication styles of the different personality profiles - one the feeling group wrote a creative story about the snowman hitting on a snowwoman; one of the sensing group wrote a piece lamenting the loss of summer to the freezing onslaught of winter; one of the analytical group wrote a description of a snowman, including size, shape, component structure; etc.
However, after I had read my piece to the group, the instructor told me that my particular description was unclassifiable.
With no further ado, I give you...
However, after I had read my piece to the group, the instructor told me that my particular description was unclassifiable.
With no further ado, I give you...
The Snowman: A Haiku
Run and hide, children
Evil Snowman can't be stopped
Get a flamethrower!
Run and hide, children
Evil Snowman can't be stopped
Get a flamethrower!
Do not taunt the Josh
I have been fairly busy at work for quite some time now and unable to tap away at the old keyboard (professionally or recreationally) as much as I would like. That being said, this week I was luckily able (forced) to attend a company-wide communication workshop that was intended to aid me in not being offensive and being more tolerant of the communication styles of others. As preparation for the event, I (as well as everyone else) was given one of those self-evaluation (pick the one that most describes you) tests.
Over the years, I've taken a number of these tests and have learned to be disappointed with the results. Typically, these things end up classifying you in one of four categories (or if you're lucky, one of eight) that, at least for me, feel that they may describe part of my personality but fail to capture the full glory that is I. In direct contradiction of the immortal words of Tyler Durden, I do believe that I am a unique snowflake and therefore difficult to define.
Imagine my surprise this morning when I was greeted with a 20-page personality analysis that actually did a decent job of portraying the complexities and conflicting impulses that define me. Apparently the Jungian psychological voodoo that they performed on my responses actually worked.
Of course, as I mentioned earlier, the intent of this test was to aid me in my communication efforts, and, in turn, aid others as they communicate with me. Rather than engaging in any type of self-reflection that may lead to increased enlightenment, I prefer to take my more comfortable position of belligerent jackass and instead offer you all some of the more useful tips to employ when you communicate with me.
Okay, maybe I wrote in that last one, but it seemed to be keeping with the theme. And actually, I couldn't pass up this little tidbit either. It's listed under my "blind spots," meaning that it is an aspect of my psyche that I may not be aware of...
Over the years, I've taken a number of these tests and have learned to be disappointed with the results. Typically, these things end up classifying you in one of four categories (or if you're lucky, one of eight) that, at least for me, feel that they may describe part of my personality but fail to capture the full glory that is I. In direct contradiction of the immortal words of Tyler Durden, I do believe that I am a unique snowflake and therefore difficult to define.
Imagine my surprise this morning when I was greeted with a 20-page personality analysis that actually did a decent job of portraying the complexities and conflicting impulses that define me. Apparently the Jungian psychological voodoo that they performed on my responses actually worked.
Of course, as I mentioned earlier, the intent of this test was to aid me in my communication efforts, and, in turn, aid others as they communicate with me. Rather than engaging in any type of self-reflection that may lead to increased enlightenment, I prefer to take my more comfortable position of belligerent jackass and instead offer you all some of the more useful tips to employ when you communicate with me.
Strategies for communicating with Joshua:Of course, the tips of what to do pale in comparison to the tips of what not to do...
- Be consistent.
- Gently remind him of the human dimension.
- Respect his knowledge (of the job).
- Allow time for him to think of the consequences.
- Remember to thank him for his time.
When communicating with Joshua, DO NOT:
- Interrupt him when he is in control.
- Stand or sit too close to him.
- Touch his body or belongings.
- Make direct eye contact or any sudden movements.
Okay, maybe I wrote in that last one, but it seemed to be keeping with the theme. And actually, I couldn't pass up this little tidbit either. It's listed under my "blind spots," meaning that it is an aspect of my psyche that I may not be aware of...
He may rely on personal forcefulness and, if necessary, intimidation to achieve his aims. He tends to be seen by others as dictatorial and can be aggressive in arguing his position.After a sound beating about the head and shoulders with a coffee carafe, the workshop leader agreed to take back that last part...but perhaps I've said too much.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Dreaming a new reality
I always find myself amused and entertained by the complex, cinematic nature of my dreams. Being a full-fledged media junky, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that my dreams frequently feature high-speed chases, over-the-top fight scenes and a lot of gunplay.
Last night I dreamed that I was battling a zombie horde in the deserted streets of the inner city. While this is in no way an original storyline, it is odd that I dreamed about that last night, since I haven't read/played/watched anything with zombies for quite some time now.
After becoming quite adept at holding back the unrelenting army of the breathing-challenged, I was pulled through a dimensional portal into an alternate universe. I quickly learned that I had been pulled through this rift to help this new world stand against their own zombie problem.
My immediate thought (both in the dream and in waking when recalling the dream) was - If you possess the technology capable of bridging the gap between dimensions, why the hell do you need my help for a simple zombie problem?
Last night I dreamed that I was battling a zombie horde in the deserted streets of the inner city. While this is in no way an original storyline, it is odd that I dreamed about that last night, since I haven't read/played/watched anything with zombies for quite some time now.
After becoming quite adept at holding back the unrelenting army of the breathing-challenged, I was pulled through a dimensional portal into an alternate universe. I quickly learned that I had been pulled through this rift to help this new world stand against their own zombie problem.
My immediate thought (both in the dream and in waking when recalling the dream) was - If you possess the technology capable of bridging the gap between dimensions, why the hell do you need my help for a simple zombie problem?
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Wii are not amused
Admittedly, I have never been on the cutting edge of the gaming industry - traditionally waiting a couple of years to purchase the newest system when prices have dropped. However, in the past few years, I have attained a level of financial comfortable that allows me to splurge on occasion. With the newest iteration of "next-gen" consoles, I had intended to do just that. While the Playstation 3 had been the focus of my lustful desires, I had also planned on acquiring an Xbox 360 and quite possibly the innovative gaming platform that Nintendo had been working on. A platform with the codename: Revolution. A placeholder name that they repeatedly indicated was not permanent.
I can understand that Nintendo was a bit reluctant to cling this particular name, since it was lagging behind the other new consoles in terms of performance levels and graphical capabilities. Perhaps it didn't feel that it was really doing anything "revolutionary." Then again, when considering their unique controller-design and virtual console (through which users could purchase and play a variety of legacy gaming platforms from the original NES to the Sega Genesis and even the TurboGrafx 16) one could argue that the "Revolution" moniker was well-deserved.
Whatever their reason for desiring a name change, I find it hard to justify their newest decision. The Wii (pronounced "wee"). My first thought was that this was some kind of April Fool's stunt, even though it was 26 days to late. An actual visit to the official website, though, proved my darkest fears.
Now, I'm no advertising guru. I don't even have a marketing degree (it's actually a Literature degree with minor in Mathematics). But I have worked in the marketing industry for almost four years now, and one thing I've learned - keep it simple. This is a lesson that my own company could learn. Case in point, our company logo.
After working at my employer for almost a year, I was at a dinner party where a client asked me what our company logo was supposed to be. I had to tell her that I had no idea. Neither did anyone on my team. It was only after this client had stumbled around the party (I should probably mention she was pretty hammered) for twenty or so minutes that she came back up to me to tell me what it was. Even then, a simple description still didn't bring it in to clarity; she had to physically point out to me (as someone had done for her) the exact nature of the logo before my brain could translate it from a mess of dots and squiggles into a recognizable image. In the intervening years, I have done the same for coworkers and clients - none of whom have ever been able to figure out what our logo is independently.
I'm certain that back when our firm was founded, someone said, "Hey this is trendy. We should do this. It's full of subtext and meaning." I have no doubt that someone at Nintendo said the same thing about Wii. In fact, that's exactly what they said.
In marketing/advertising though, you've got one, brief moment to interest your potential customer. You need something that's short, sweet and to the point. If you have to explain what the hell your product name/brand/logo means, you're already fighting a losing battle.
Essentially, Nintendo has chosen to use a textual abstract painting to name its new gaming platform - the same stroke of genius that led Prince to change his name to a symbol. I mean "The Artist Formerly Known as Prince."
Really? He's going by Prince again, huh?
...Go figure.
I can understand that Nintendo was a bit reluctant to cling this particular name, since it was lagging behind the other new consoles in terms of performance levels and graphical capabilities. Perhaps it didn't feel that it was really doing anything "revolutionary." Then again, when considering their unique controller-design and virtual console (through which users could purchase and play a variety of legacy gaming platforms from the original NES to the Sega Genesis and even the TurboGrafx 16) one could argue that the "Revolution" moniker was well-deserved.
Whatever their reason for desiring a name change, I find it hard to justify their newest decision. The Wii (pronounced "wee"). My first thought was that this was some kind of April Fool's stunt, even though it was 26 days to late. An actual visit to the official website, though, proved my darkest fears.
Now, I'm no advertising guru. I don't even have a marketing degree (it's actually a Literature degree with minor in Mathematics). But I have worked in the marketing industry for almost four years now, and one thing I've learned - keep it simple. This is a lesson that my own company could learn. Case in point, our company logo.
After working at my employer for almost a year, I was at a dinner party where a client asked me what our company logo was supposed to be. I had to tell her that I had no idea. Neither did anyone on my team. It was only after this client had stumbled around the party (I should probably mention she was pretty hammered) for twenty or so minutes that she came back up to me to tell me what it was. Even then, a simple description still didn't bring it in to clarity; she had to physically point out to me (as someone had done for her) the exact nature of the logo before my brain could translate it from a mess of dots and squiggles into a recognizable image. In the intervening years, I have done the same for coworkers and clients - none of whom have ever been able to figure out what our logo is independently.
I'm certain that back when our firm was founded, someone said, "Hey this is trendy. We should do this. It's full of subtext and meaning." I have no doubt that someone at Nintendo said the same thing about Wii. In fact, that's exactly what they said.
When a metaphor is simple (pen= sword, dove = peace, snake = guile) it works. When a metaphor is more complex (white dress = 19th century abolitionist movement in Greyhaven, Massachusetts just east of Westchester) it has to struggle to be effective. If you're reading a novel, watching a movie/play or even listening to a song on the radio, the author has a greater opportunity to help you understand and perceive the message they are communicating - assuming they are trying to send a message."Introducing ... Wii. As in "we." While the code-name "Revolution" expressed our direction, Wii represents the answer. Wii will break down that wall that separates video game players from everybody else. Wii will put people more in touch with their games ... and each other. But you're probably asking: What does the name mean?"
"Wii sounds like 'we,' which emphasizes this console is for everyone. Wii can easily be remembered by people around the world, no matter what language they speak. No confusion. No need to abbreviate. Just Wii."
"Wii has a distinctive "ii" spelling that symbolizes both the unique controllers and the image of people gathering to play. And Wii, as a name and a console, brings something revolutionary to the world of video games that sets it apart from the crowd."
"So that's Wii. But now Nintendo needs you. Because, it's really not about you or me. It's about Wii. And together, Wii will change everything."
In marketing/advertising though, you've got one, brief moment to interest your potential customer. You need something that's short, sweet and to the point. If you have to explain what the hell your product name/brand/logo means, you're already fighting a losing battle.
Essentially, Nintendo has chosen to use a textual abstract painting to name its new gaming platform - the same stroke of genius that led Prince to change his name to a symbol. I mean "The Artist Formerly Known as Prince."
Really? He's going by Prince again, huh?
...Go figure.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Josh = Jerk
Josh Is a Jerk
(A play in two parts)
Cast of Characters
Josh: Me
Rob: Sports-obsessed Irishman
Amie: Short, spite-filled...that's about it
Kyle: Tree-hugging, crunchy-granola-eating hippie
Male Desk Attendant
Female Desk Attendant #1
Female Desk Attendant #2
Scene I
Setting - Night time, almost midnight. A hotel lobby, boasting a checkin counter and a television with women's college basketball.
Josh: Hey Rob, what room is Kyle in?
(Rob continues to stare at the television)
Rob! What room is Kyle in?
Rob: Um...I think it's 212.
Josh: Cool.
Amie: Why do you need to know what room Kyle is in?
Josh: Just watch. (Walks over to the checkin counter)
Hi, I'm Kyle Perkins - in Room 212. I was wondering if I could get a wakeup call for 3:45?
Male Desk Attendant: Oh, I don't think I can do that.
Josh: You don't think you can do that?
Male Desk Attendant: No. That's a bit much. I don't think I could do that to somebody.
Female Desk Attendant #1:You could always set your alarm clock.
Josh: Um...Is there a way I can get the alarm clock to go off at two different times?
Male Desk Attendant: Oh, uh, I don't think so.
Female Desk Attendant #1: You could set it, and then we could call you after 15 minutes to make sure that you got up.
Josh: Okay. I think that would work. So there's no way to get the alarm clock to go off twice? 'Cause that would honestly work best.
Male Desk Attendant: I just don't know. Uhhh...
Female Desk Attendant #1: Hold on. (Pulls out a sheet of paper)
So what time do you want us to call you?
Josh: Could you call at 3:45?
Female Desk Attendant #2: Why don't we call at 3:00, then you wouldn't get any sleep.
Josh: Hah! Tell me about it.
Female Desk Attendant #1: Okay...3:45. What other time do you need us to call?
Josh: Oh, I can just set my alarm for the other one. The one call should be fine. Thanks.
Female Desk Attendant #1: Have a good night sir.
Josh: I will.
(Fadeout)
Scene II
Rob: So, do you think Kyle enjoyed his wake up call?
Josh: I don't know. I thought that he was going to call me...or show up at my room and take a swing at me.
Rob: I'm surprised that we all didn't get calls... (Kyle walks up behind him)
...at 3:46, 3:47 and 3:48... (Sees Kyle)
...Uh, ccompletely forget what I was just saying.
Josh: Hey, Kyle, you're looking a little rough
Kyle: (Grunts)
Josh: So you got a pretty good night's sleep?
Kyle: No. These idiots screwed up my wakeup call.
Josh: Really?
Kyle: Yeah, I told them to call me at 6:45 and they called me at 3:45.
Josh: Snap!
Kyle: My phone was ringing, and when I answered it, they said - "This is your 3:45 wakeup call." And I was like, "Um, I asked for a 6:45 wakeup call, not 3:45."
"Oh, sorry, sir."
Josh: Man, that sucks. I can't believe that they screwed it up that badly. You should have words with somebody about that.
Friday, March 31, 2006
2006 Annual Objectives
As Q1/2006 draws to a close, it is time at my employer to draft new objectives for the coming year. It is by these goals that my occupational efforts will be measured, my worth determined. Bearing in mind that I consider my job to be a minimal portion of my life (while absorbing a bulk of my time), I decided that I would also draft a list of objectives for the oncoming year that relate to my personal development. And so I give you now, my personal objectives for 2006:
- Don't die
- Stop being such a jerk
- Buy a house (and by "house" I mean "townhome"...and by "buy," I mean "burn to the ground")
- Resume my diet
- Stop listening to my teeth...especially when they make sense
- Grow another mohawk
- Do a better job of staying in touch with out-of-state family and friends
- Stop threatening coworkers with physical violence...non-physical violence still ok
- Write something substantive...or at least come up with a really good excuse why I haven't
- Memorize some Shakespeare
- Trick beautiful woman into falling in love with me by quoting aforementioned Shakespearen passages
- Save up money to buy a mail-order bride if Operation Bard Maiden fails (and by "buy," I mean "burn to the ground"...probably crossed a line with that one)
- Undo the mistakes of the previous year.
- Don't die
- Stop being such a jerk
- Buy a house (and by "house" I mean "townhome"...and by "buy," I mean "burn to the ground")
- Resume my diet
- Stop listening to my teeth...especially when they make sense
- Grow another mohawk
- Do a better job of staying in touch with out-of-state family and friends
- Stop threatening coworkers with physical violence...non-physical violence still ok
- Write something substantive...or at least come up with a really good excuse why I haven't
- Memorize some Shakespeare
- Trick beautiful woman into falling in love with me by quoting aforementioned Shakespearen passages
- Save up money to buy a mail-order bride if Operation Bard Maiden fails (and by "buy," I mean "burn to the ground"...probably crossed a line with that one)
- Undo the mistakes of the previous year.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Saturday - March 18, 2006
Sullivans
8:00-9:30PM
Feasting like kings at Sullivans steak house. There was steak. There were mushrooms. There were onion rings you could fit a man's hand through. There was creamed corn and au gratin potatoes and grog and targ.
Morning Wood
9:40PM
We only caught the tail-end of this show, but to say that it was suggestive would be an understatement. It was very suggestive...and those suggestions were mostly about procreative activities (e.g. sex).
The Stills
10:00PM
These guys were pretty good, and once again, Buzz took advantage of his press pass to get behind the crowd barrier and get some close up shots. My friends were all gaga about these guys, but standing in that front row, all I could think was that they really needed a hot chick beating on a drum and a crazy Ukrainian singer.
The Longcut
11:00PM
We only caught a part of this show because the previous venue we were at was nowhere near this one. That being said, these guys were good. Unfortunately, after a very long week, I was pretty worn out and rather than watching the show I snagged a table on the top level of the venue and only listened to them. Again, I liked what I heard, but I just couldn't get that into them.
Nine Black Alps
12:00AM
The only band that I heard their entire set and yet never physically saw the band (I was still on that top level sitting under an air conditioning duct watching my friends Ian and DeLynn play table football). Since these guys really sucked, I didn't feel like I missed anything.
The Charlatans
1:00AM
Finally, the reason we walked all of the way over here in the first place - the Charlatans. The lead singer had done something to his voice between the Fader party and that night because you could tell he was struggling, but he was a trooper and did a really good show. Unfortunately, a gangly British man kept hitting me with his murse as he jostled about next to me...any reports you heard about a man strangled to death by a handbag in the Austin area were purely coincidental, and the above statement in no way reflects a motive or admission of guilt in any way...under the advice of my counsel, I will now invoke my fifth amendment right.
8:00-9:30PM
Feasting like kings at Sullivans steak house. There was steak. There were mushrooms. There were onion rings you could fit a man's hand through. There was creamed corn and au gratin potatoes and grog and targ.
Morning Wood
9:40PM
We only caught the tail-end of this show, but to say that it was suggestive would be an understatement. It was very suggestive...and those suggestions were mostly about procreative activities (e.g. sex).
The Stills
10:00PM
These guys were pretty good, and once again, Buzz took advantage of his press pass to get behind the crowd barrier and get some close up shots. My friends were all gaga about these guys, but standing in that front row, all I could think was that they really needed a hot chick beating on a drum and a crazy Ukrainian singer.
The Longcut
11:00PM
We only caught a part of this show because the previous venue we were at was nowhere near this one. That being said, these guys were good. Unfortunately, after a very long week, I was pretty worn out and rather than watching the show I snagged a table on the top level of the venue and only listened to them. Again, I liked what I heard, but I just couldn't get that into them.
Nine Black Alps
12:00AM
The only band that I heard their entire set and yet never physically saw the band (I was still on that top level sitting under an air conditioning duct watching my friends Ian and DeLynn play table football). Since these guys really sucked, I didn't feel like I missed anything.
The Charlatans
1:00AM
Finally, the reason we walked all of the way over here in the first place - the Charlatans. The lead singer had done something to his voice between the Fader party and that night because you could tell he was struggling, but he was a trooper and did a really good show. Unfortunately, a gangly British man kept hitting me with his murse as he jostled about next to me...any reports you heard about a man strangled to death by a handbag in the Austin area were purely coincidental, and the above statement in no way reflects a motive or admission of guilt in any way...under the advice of my counsel, I will now invoke my fifth amendment right.
Friday - March 17, 2006
I foolishly thought that I would be allowed to sleep in late after my big night...I was wrong. I was bundled up, dragged to lunch and then dragged downtown for some unofficial non-SXSW sanctioned entertainment. I believe the venue was somewhere in the third circle of Hell.
Spank Rock
3:00PM
Based on their name, I thought that these guys would possibly rock, or at least make an attempt to do so. It was only after their set began that I realized this dynamic crap duo's name was meant to imply a punishment for Rock and anyone who enjoys it. Admittedly, I am not a big crap fan, but there are some crap artists that I like. However, regarding these men, I would aid, abet, and accesorize after the fact any who sought to do them harm.
The Shrieking Harpy Needs to Shut Her Pie Hole and Get Off of the Stage
3:45PM
I'm not entirely sure that this was what that band was called. But if it wasn't, it should have been.
Art Brut
4:15PM
When will the hurting stop?
RJD2
4:45PM
Another DJ and the reason I had been dragged to this hellish sideshow. I had hoped that he would be cool since his name was so close to R2-D2. Maybe this DJ would incorporate some Star Wars sound effects into his turntablism. He did not. However, he did not cause intense jolts of pain and waves of nausea, so he had that going for him.
The Boiling Pot (The Fader Party)
6:30PM - 8:30PM
At this point in the day, my friends began plotting and scheming regarding how they were going to get into another unofficial non-SXSW sanctioned event - the Fader Party. This was a private show, boasting the Charlatans, Twilight Singers and Dirty Pretty Things that was invitation only. Since we did not have an invitation, we attempted to build a trebauche that would launch us into the venue. This plan did not work. We then a tried a rooftop to rooftop pole vaulting method. This too met with failure. Finally, we struck upon genius (technically, I struck upon genius, but later in the evening everyone else claimed that they were the one to have the genius idea, but it was I. Not them). Across a large, poorly-lit drainage ditch / creek (which I affectionately referred to as the "Raping/Killing Place") from the venue was a restaurant called the Boiling Pot. But this was not just any restaurant. This was a restaurant with a balcony - from which one could hear (and to a limited extent) watch the Fader party. I was distracted throughout most of the show by the dead aquatic lifeforms that were spread all over our table, so I really can't comment too much on the performances, but since I was sitting down and stuffing my face throughout the performance, this was one of the more enjoyable shows.
Scissors for Lefty
9:00PM
These guys were pretty good, but given as I am to fixate on various external stimuli, I was only able to pay partial attention to them. I had stationed myself against the wall at the top of the first set of stairs of this tri-leveled venue. I was not blocking the stairs, but instead was a couple paces back so that people could easily get past me. After a couple of songs, a freakishly tall obliviot decided that he was going to go stand right in front of the stairs, blocking both my view and anyone attempting to go up or down the stairs. After having several people run into him, he realized his mistake and moved away...for all of three minutes. He was then back with a vengeance, white-boy shuffling like a madman. He was soon joined by a rather tall woman who seemed to think that the blocking the stairs (and my view) thing was the best thing since the fall of Communism and took up a flanking position next to her man. Of course, anyone who subsequently tried to go up or down the stairs would instead hug the wall to get around these two and run into me. I have to admit, I was never more tempted to knock anyone down a flight of stairs in my life.
Standing in line to get into the Blender Bar for the Editors show at 11:00PM
9:40PM
Since it was St. Patrick's day and everything was crazy, we thought it might be a good idea to get into the venue early.
Standing in line to get into the Blender Bar for the Editors show at 11:00PM
9:50PM
Yep. There sure are a lot of people here.
Standing in line to get into the Blender Bar for the Editors show at 11:00PM
10:05PM
I sure am glad that we're finally moving. It looks like we've made it about halfway in the time we've been standing here. We'll probably get in just in time. But maybe we should send someone over to Stubb's to see if there's a line there. It wouldn't hurt to have a backup show.
Standing in line to get into the Blender Bar for the Editors show at 11:00PM
10:20PM
So the Stubb's line is all the way around the block? Crap. Well it looks like we're making some progress. I think we'll just make it.
Standing in line to get into the Blender Bar for the Editors show at 11:00PM
10:35PM
I sure do love standing in line.
Standing in line to get into the Blender Bar for the Editors show at 11:00PM
10:45PM
"Folks. The Blender Bar is now badges only. If you've got a wristband, you're not getting in." ...We had wristbands.
Frustrated, tired and with more than one member of our troupe nursing an illness, we decide to throw in the towel and call it a night.
Spank Rock
3:00PM
Based on their name, I thought that these guys would possibly rock, or at least make an attempt to do so. It was only after their set began that I realized this dynamic crap duo's name was meant to imply a punishment for Rock and anyone who enjoys it. Admittedly, I am not a big crap fan, but there are some crap artists that I like. However, regarding these men, I would aid, abet, and accesorize after the fact any who sought to do them harm.
The Shrieking Harpy Needs to Shut Her Pie Hole and Get Off of the Stage
3:45PM
I'm not entirely sure that this was what that band was called. But if it wasn't, it should have been.
Art Brut
4:15PM
When will the hurting stop?
RJD2
4:45PM
Another DJ and the reason I had been dragged to this hellish sideshow. I had hoped that he would be cool since his name was so close to R2-D2. Maybe this DJ would incorporate some Star Wars sound effects into his turntablism. He did not. However, he did not cause intense jolts of pain and waves of nausea, so he had that going for him.
The Boiling Pot (The Fader Party)
6:30PM - 8:30PM
At this point in the day, my friends began plotting and scheming regarding how they were going to get into another unofficial non-SXSW sanctioned event - the Fader Party. This was a private show, boasting the Charlatans, Twilight Singers and Dirty Pretty Things that was invitation only. Since we did not have an invitation, we attempted to build a trebauche that would launch us into the venue. This plan did not work. We then a tried a rooftop to rooftop pole vaulting method. This too met with failure. Finally, we struck upon genius (technically, I struck upon genius, but later in the evening everyone else claimed that they were the one to have the genius idea, but it was I. Not them). Across a large, poorly-lit drainage ditch / creek (which I affectionately referred to as the "Raping/Killing Place") from the venue was a restaurant called the Boiling Pot. But this was not just any restaurant. This was a restaurant with a balcony - from which one could hear (and to a limited extent) watch the Fader party. I was distracted throughout most of the show by the dead aquatic lifeforms that were spread all over our table, so I really can't comment too much on the performances, but since I was sitting down and stuffing my face throughout the performance, this was one of the more enjoyable shows.
Scissors for Lefty
9:00PM
These guys were pretty good, but given as I am to fixate on various external stimuli, I was only able to pay partial attention to them. I had stationed myself against the wall at the top of the first set of stairs of this tri-leveled venue. I was not blocking the stairs, but instead was a couple paces back so that people could easily get past me. After a couple of songs, a freakishly tall obliviot decided that he was going to go stand right in front of the stairs, blocking both my view and anyone attempting to go up or down the stairs. After having several people run into him, he realized his mistake and moved away...for all of three minutes. He was then back with a vengeance, white-boy shuffling like a madman. He was soon joined by a rather tall woman who seemed to think that the blocking the stairs (and my view) thing was the best thing since the fall of Communism and took up a flanking position next to her man. Of course, anyone who subsequently tried to go up or down the stairs would instead hug the wall to get around these two and run into me. I have to admit, I was never more tempted to knock anyone down a flight of stairs in my life.
Standing in line to get into the Blender Bar for the Editors show at 11:00PM
9:40PM
Since it was St. Patrick's day and everything was crazy, we thought it might be a good idea to get into the venue early.
Standing in line to get into the Blender Bar for the Editors show at 11:00PM
9:50PM
Yep. There sure are a lot of people here.
Standing in line to get into the Blender Bar for the Editors show at 11:00PM
10:05PM
I sure am glad that we're finally moving. It looks like we've made it about halfway in the time we've been standing here. We'll probably get in just in time. But maybe we should send someone over to Stubb's to see if there's a line there. It wouldn't hurt to have a backup show.
Standing in line to get into the Blender Bar for the Editors show at 11:00PM
10:20PM
So the Stubb's line is all the way around the block? Crap. Well it looks like we're making some progress. I think we'll just make it.
Standing in line to get into the Blender Bar for the Editors show at 11:00PM
10:35PM
I sure do love standing in line.
Standing in line to get into the Blender Bar for the Editors show at 11:00PM
10:45PM
"Folks. The Blender Bar is now badges only. If you've got a wristband, you're not getting in." ...We had wristbands.
Frustrated, tired and with more than one member of our troupe nursing an illness, we decide to throw in the towel and call it a night.
Thursday - March 16, 2006
Unfortunately, this was the best day of the trip, which is kind of a bad thing when you're on day two of a four day music festival...
Mike Relm
8:00 PM
This was a turntablist (DJ) from San Francisco. (I released a derisive guffaw when I first heard the "turntablist" term, but apparently that kind of response is looked down upon in certain circles. Mainly in circles that use the term "turntablist.") Now, typically, I could care less about DJ's, but as I watched this guy's show, I realized that if you incorporate movie or TV footage into something, I'll find it entertaining. This guy had a DVD scratcher that let him manipulate the on-screen video along with the audio. For his mixing purposes, he incorporated scenes from two of my favorite movies - Fight Club and Office Space - along with various other films. Buzz took this picture (http://www.flickr.com/photos/ldandersen/113670438/in/photostream/) when good ol' Mike was mixing a Bjork video. Notice how much nicer Buzz's pictures are.
Point of interest: This show was at the Blender bar, which apparently caters to an extremely tall clientele. While using the bathroom, I was barely able to get the corresponding bit of my anatomy to a level that would allow me to use the facility in an appropriate manner. If I were a few inches shorter (like Buzz...he may be able to take nicer pictures, but I'm taller), I would have had to have been on my tiptoes.
Magnet
9:00 PM
This was a one man show, and this guy had talent. He just sat in a chair surrounded by an electric guitar, banjo (also electric), a sitar (also, also electric) and a bunch of pedals and made it sound like he had an entire band accompanying him. It was impressive. He'd pick up an instrument, play it for a song, put it down, pick up the next instrument and start playing it.
Flogging Molly
10:15 PM
A few of my friends had recommended these guys, and I was not disappointed. They were kind of like a Celtic Gogol Bordello (if you don't know who that is, just keep reading), at least, that's what I thought when I saw them. So, if Gogol Bordello = gypsy punk, then Flogging Molly = potato eating, alcoholic (Irish) punk.
The Living End
11:30 PM
I had never heard of these guys, but by a little ingenuity and hard work, I made it right up to the front stage for their show. While Flogging Molly had seen fit to incorporate a fiddle into their act, these guys went for a full-blown cello - a cello, I should point out, that the cellist saw fit to mount several times during the show (see image below).
(Note: The actual instrument may not have been a cello, but I am not an expert in classical instruments.)
I think I should also point out that these guys started out in full suits and jackets. After the first couple of songs, they had peeled off the jackets. By the end of their set, they had sweated through their white shirts so thoroughly that it looked like we were watching a wet-tshirt contest...with very ugly women...very ugly.
Gogol Bordello
12:45 AM
These people are the Platonic ideal of live music. I may not have been to as many live shows as some people, but I defy you to find a band that can put on a show like these guys. As a brief recap, I was first exposed to Gogol Bordello last year at SXSW, and I have been in awe ever since. The band is a mixture of old-world gypsy music (a la accordion and fiddle) and new world punk. They are expert showmen, and every time I have seen them, they have had the crowd simultaneously whipped into a frenzy and eating out of their hand. (I may point out that having a frenzied anything, crowd or otherwise, eat out of your hand is a rather dangerous task and should not be tried without the proper adult supervision.)
In addition to those on instruments, there are two attractive female percussionists that perform acrobatics, dance, provide backup singing and beat the crap out of various and assundry items, ranging from a red fire pail to cymbals to the big drum that you see below.
As you can tell from the closeness of this picture, I was still right up on the stage for this band. In fact, I was so close I could taste their sweat...because they kept leaning out over the crowd and various body fluids fell upon us. (The less said about that, the better.) Unwanted fluid exchanges aside, I was well pleased with my location for the show. You see, I had precisely and specifically calculated my locale to make the most out of this show. As you all may know, during their finale, the above percussionist will throw said drum out onto the crowd, climb up on it and drum surf while continuing to beat the living crap out of the drum.
Now witness my moment of glory!!! - The image below, while rough, reveals (from bottom to top) my arm, leading up to the bottom of the huge drum, leading up to the well-toned posterior of the hot female percussionist who was riding the drum.
That's right. This year, I was under the drum. I snapped several pictures during this period; unfortunately, you are looking at the clearest one...Anyway, after the band had been going for a little while, the lead singer also dove out into the crowd and then climbed up on the drum to join the percussionist. Now, I couldn't exactly see everything that was going on up there, but I can tell you that one of them was jumping up and down, and eventually, the lead singer ended up swinging from the rafters of the venue. All in all, this was an amazing show, and I doubt I will ever have a live music experience that could top it. By the end of the night I was soaked with sweat, hopped up on adrenaline and sore as a linebacker.
Mike Relm
8:00 PM
This was a turntablist (DJ) from San Francisco. (I released a derisive guffaw when I first heard the "turntablist" term, but apparently that kind of response is looked down upon in certain circles. Mainly in circles that use the term "turntablist.") Now, typically, I could care less about DJ's, but as I watched this guy's show, I realized that if you incorporate movie or TV footage into something, I'll find it entertaining. This guy had a DVD scratcher that let him manipulate the on-screen video along with the audio. For his mixing purposes, he incorporated scenes from two of my favorite movies - Fight Club and Office Space - along with various other films. Buzz took this picture (http://www.flickr.com/photos/ldandersen/113670438/in/photostream/) when good ol' Mike was mixing a Bjork video. Notice how much nicer Buzz's pictures are.
Point of interest: This show was at the Blender bar, which apparently caters to an extremely tall clientele. While using the bathroom, I was barely able to get the corresponding bit of my anatomy to a level that would allow me to use the facility in an appropriate manner. If I were a few inches shorter (like Buzz...he may be able to take nicer pictures, but I'm taller), I would have had to have been on my tiptoes.
Magnet
9:00 PM
This was a one man show, and this guy had talent. He just sat in a chair surrounded by an electric guitar, banjo (also electric), a sitar (also, also electric) and a bunch of pedals and made it sound like he had an entire band accompanying him. It was impressive. He'd pick up an instrument, play it for a song, put it down, pick up the next instrument and start playing it.
Flogging Molly
10:15 PM
A few of my friends had recommended these guys, and I was not disappointed. They were kind of like a Celtic Gogol Bordello (if you don't know who that is, just keep reading), at least, that's what I thought when I saw them. So, if Gogol Bordello = gypsy punk, then Flogging Molly = potato eating, alcoholic (Irish) punk.
The Living End
11:30 PM
I had never heard of these guys, but by a little ingenuity and hard work, I made it right up to the front stage for their show. While Flogging Molly had seen fit to incorporate a fiddle into their act, these guys went for a full-blown cello - a cello, I should point out, that the cellist saw fit to mount several times during the show (see image below).
(Note: The actual instrument may not have been a cello, but I am not an expert in classical instruments.)
I think I should also point out that these guys started out in full suits and jackets. After the first couple of songs, they had peeled off the jackets. By the end of their set, they had sweated through their white shirts so thoroughly that it looked like we were watching a wet-tshirt contest...with very ugly women...very ugly.
Gogol Bordello
12:45 AM
These people are the Platonic ideal of live music. I may not have been to as many live shows as some people, but I defy you to find a band that can put on a show like these guys. As a brief recap, I was first exposed to Gogol Bordello last year at SXSW, and I have been in awe ever since. The band is a mixture of old-world gypsy music (a la accordion and fiddle) and new world punk. They are expert showmen, and every time I have seen them, they have had the crowd simultaneously whipped into a frenzy and eating out of their hand. (I may point out that having a frenzied anything, crowd or otherwise, eat out of your hand is a rather dangerous task and should not be tried without the proper adult supervision.)
In addition to those on instruments, there are two attractive female percussionists that perform acrobatics, dance, provide backup singing and beat the crap out of various and assundry items, ranging from a red fire pail to cymbals to the big drum that you see below.
As you can tell from the closeness of this picture, I was still right up on the stage for this band. In fact, I was so close I could taste their sweat...because they kept leaning out over the crowd and various body fluids fell upon us. (The less said about that, the better.) Unwanted fluid exchanges aside, I was well pleased with my location for the show. You see, I had precisely and specifically calculated my locale to make the most out of this show. As you all may know, during their finale, the above percussionist will throw said drum out onto the crowd, climb up on it and drum surf while continuing to beat the living crap out of the drum.
Now witness my moment of glory!!! - The image below, while rough, reveals (from bottom to top) my arm, leading up to the bottom of the huge drum, leading up to the well-toned posterior of the hot female percussionist who was riding the drum.
That's right. This year, I was under the drum. I snapped several pictures during this period; unfortunately, you are looking at the clearest one...Anyway, after the band had been going for a little while, the lead singer also dove out into the crowd and then climbed up on the drum to join the percussionist. Now, I couldn't exactly see everything that was going on up there, but I can tell you that one of them was jumping up and down, and eventually, the lead singer ended up swinging from the rafters of the venue. All in all, this was an amazing show, and I doubt I will ever have a live music experience that could top it. By the end of the night I was soaked with sweat, hopped up on adrenaline and sore as a linebacker.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
A Brief Photo-Essay Interlude
+
=
(The first image was taken by Buzz Andersen, photographer extraordinaire. The second image was stolen from www.tylersaustin.com. The final image is the only one that I actually have any rights to...because I took it.)
Wednesday - March 15, 2006
We now magically jump ahead to the Austin phase of the trip since I doubt anyone wants to hear the boring details of family barbecues and the like. If you want to see some quality photos of the SXSW music festival, I would recommend going to my friend Buzz's Flickr page here - http://www.flickr.com/photos/ldandersen/sets/72057594087071768/
If you would like to see complete and utter crap photos, just keep reading this weblog...
5:00 PM
Arrived in Austin (after a being delayed in the Phoenix Sky Harbor airport for an hour and a half because of a snow storm in Salt Lake City...) and was immediately off to listen to the muzak.
Envelopes
8:00 PM
This band was, perhaps, the wisest choice to begin the grand music festival - the consistent level of suckage that these guys maintained ensured that it all had to be uphill from there. Simply put, the noises that were being emitted from their instruments could barely be called music. I mean, I don't know if guitars can actually vomit, but if they can, that's the sound that they'd make.
We Start Fires
8:30 PM
Technically, I had heard a couple of this band's songs during a sound check before seeing the Envelopes. The group was composed of a trio of pyromaniacal British hotties (and some drummer guy). What more can you ask for out of a band? Well, that and being able to rock out, which they did. In fact, this was the only new band I heard that I found myself singing one of their songs on and off throughout the trip.
As a side note, while watching this band, a young lady from the Miller Lite alcoholic beverage street marketing team asked me to wear a bottle cap pin that had a little red flashing light on it. Loathe as I am to turn down a request from a pretty lady, particularly one in the marketing industry, I consented. Apparently, in addition to having the potential of causing an epileptic fit in certain people, the bottle cap pin also emits a high pitched squeal that causes every balding male over 6ft that happens to have a camera on them to stand immediately in front of it. Literally moments after the pin was on me, five tall, folically-challenged photographers were standing within five feet of me, taking pictures of the band. I am presently determining how to use this little gem for maximum entertainment - I'm thinking that it will either involve the light rail or a high school archery practice.
The Czars
10:00 PM
If the actual Russian czars were as terrible as this Denver band, I can kind of understand why the Russian people were so quick to embrace Communism.
The Flaming Lips
11:00 PM
This was a "Special Guest" that wasn't officially on the SXSW band list, but if you knew someone in the "know," then you had heard about it. Luckily, my friend Buzz was one of those in the "know." As their set began, I thought that I would merely be summarizing this entry with three simple words - Bohemian Rhapsody cover.
However, I quickly realized that such a brief commentary would do short shrift to the event. You see, these gentlemen are the Carrot Tops of the music scene. (By using the term "Carrot Top," I don't mean that they had bright red hair and suck beyond human comprehension. I mean that they have an obsession with props, an obsession to the point of excess beyond the Romans before the fall of Pompey.) Amidst singing about little "silhouettos" and pulling "triggers," the band released a flurry of ginormous (sic) balloons that were freakish in size...you know, like Abe Lincoln or Andre the Giant. Add to this a green-fog emitting megaphone, spray-painted Hulk hands and a barnyard animal sound board that was wired...for sound. It was a good show; however, they chose to end it with a horrible Black Sabbath cover that could have only been more awful if they had brought in the real Carrot Top to sing it.
Oh yeah, and a guy somehow talked the band into letting him on stage so that he could propose to his girlfriend.
Also, the aforementioned Buzz (he's getting mentioned a lot here) used the press pass he had scored to get up onto the actual stage and take pictures - http://www.flickr.com/photos/ldandersen/113247285/in/photostream/
Of Montreal
12:00 AM
The only reason we saw these guys was because we were waiting to see the Trail of Dead. All I really have to say is that they are a band called "Of Montreal," and they are from Atlanta, GA. Brain surgeons, they are not.
They do love their bass though. During their set, I could feel various portions of my anatomy resonating with the driving tones of their music. My pants would also routinely vibrate when the band really got going. Apparently their music operates at the appropriate frequency to excite the outermost electrons of denimium particles (the primary element used in the smelting of jeans) to the next shell level.
Standing around waiting for - And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead
1:00 AM
The house music is excruciating...am considering hanging myself with my Boba Fett hoodie to stop the pain.
Still standing around waiting for - And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead
1:15 AM
They've started the sound check. It's bound to start soon.
Still, still standing around waiting for - And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead
1:25 AM
Man. With such an extended sound check, these guys must really be concerned about making sure that everything sounds great.
And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead
1:35 AM
Or not...Now perhaps I was expecting a little too much out of these guys. Over the past several years, I have heard several people comment on how entertaining they had been live and about their tendency to break equipment on stage. And, admittedly, they were down a keyboardist for the show, but man did they really work hard at sucking. Not only were they playing off time and key, but the lead singer was flat for almost every song.
The one highlight was the drummer. I have seen some people go to town on drums before, but you don't hit a drum as hard as this guy unless you have an agenda. I don't know if one touched him inappropriately at camp one summer or if one killed his family, but you really have to have something against drums to beat one like this guy did.
If you would like to see complete and utter crap photos, just keep reading this weblog...
5:00 PM
Arrived in Austin (after a being delayed in the Phoenix Sky Harbor airport for an hour and a half because of a snow storm in Salt Lake City...) and was immediately off to listen to the muzak.
Envelopes
8:00 PM
This band was, perhaps, the wisest choice to begin the grand music festival - the consistent level of suckage that these guys maintained ensured that it all had to be uphill from there. Simply put, the noises that were being emitted from their instruments could barely be called music. I mean, I don't know if guitars can actually vomit, but if they can, that's the sound that they'd make.
We Start Fires
8:30 PM
Technically, I had heard a couple of this band's songs during a sound check before seeing the Envelopes. The group was composed of a trio of pyromaniacal British hotties (and some drummer guy). What more can you ask for out of a band? Well, that and being able to rock out, which they did. In fact, this was the only new band I heard that I found myself singing one of their songs on and off throughout the trip.
As a side note, while watching this band, a young lady from the Miller Lite alcoholic beverage street marketing team asked me to wear a bottle cap pin that had a little red flashing light on it. Loathe as I am to turn down a request from a pretty lady, particularly one in the marketing industry, I consented. Apparently, in addition to having the potential of causing an epileptic fit in certain people, the bottle cap pin also emits a high pitched squeal that causes every balding male over 6ft that happens to have a camera on them to stand immediately in front of it. Literally moments after the pin was on me, five tall, folically-challenged photographers were standing within five feet of me, taking pictures of the band. I am presently determining how to use this little gem for maximum entertainment - I'm thinking that it will either involve the light rail or a high school archery practice.
The Czars
10:00 PM
If the actual Russian czars were as terrible as this Denver band, I can kind of understand why the Russian people were so quick to embrace Communism.
The Flaming Lips
11:00 PM
This was a "Special Guest" that wasn't officially on the SXSW band list, but if you knew someone in the "know," then you had heard about it. Luckily, my friend Buzz was one of those in the "know." As their set began, I thought that I would merely be summarizing this entry with three simple words - Bohemian Rhapsody cover.
However, I quickly realized that such a brief commentary would do short shrift to the event. You see, these gentlemen are the Carrot Tops of the music scene. (By using the term "Carrot Top," I don't mean that they had bright red hair and suck beyond human comprehension. I mean that they have an obsession with props, an obsession to the point of excess beyond the Romans before the fall of Pompey.) Amidst singing about little "silhouettos" and pulling "triggers," the band released a flurry of ginormous (sic) balloons that were freakish in size...you know, like Abe Lincoln or Andre the Giant. Add to this a green-fog emitting megaphone, spray-painted Hulk hands and a barnyard animal sound board that was wired...for sound. It was a good show; however, they chose to end it with a horrible Black Sabbath cover that could have only been more awful if they had brought in the real Carrot Top to sing it.
Oh yeah, and a guy somehow talked the band into letting him on stage so that he could propose to his girlfriend.
Also, the aforementioned Buzz (he's getting mentioned a lot here) used the press pass he had scored to get up onto the actual stage and take pictures - http://www.flickr.com/photos/ldandersen/113247285/in/photostream/
Of Montreal
12:00 AM
The only reason we saw these guys was because we were waiting to see the Trail of Dead. All I really have to say is that they are a band called "Of Montreal," and they are from Atlanta, GA. Brain surgeons, they are not.
They do love their bass though. During their set, I could feel various portions of my anatomy resonating with the driving tones of their music. My pants would also routinely vibrate when the band really got going. Apparently their music operates at the appropriate frequency to excite the outermost electrons of denimium particles (the primary element used in the smelting of jeans) to the next shell level.
Standing around waiting for - And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead
1:00 AM
The house music is excruciating...am considering hanging myself with my Boba Fett hoodie to stop the pain.
Still standing around waiting for - And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead
1:15 AM
They've started the sound check. It's bound to start soon.
Still, still standing around waiting for - And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead
1:25 AM
Man. With such an extended sound check, these guys must really be concerned about making sure that everything sounds great.
And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead
1:35 AM
Or not...Now perhaps I was expecting a little too much out of these guys. Over the past several years, I have heard several people comment on how entertaining they had been live and about their tendency to break equipment on stage. And, admittedly, they were down a keyboardist for the show, but man did they really work hard at sucking. Not only were they playing off time and key, but the lead singer was flat for almost every song.
The one highlight was the drummer. I have seen some people go to town on drums before, but you don't hit a drum as hard as this guy unless you have an agenda. I don't know if one touched him inappropriately at camp one summer or if one killed his family, but you really have to have something against drums to beat one like this guy did.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Friday - March 10, 2006
After a two hour plane trip and subsequent three hour car ride (technically it was a car drive, since I did all of the driving), I found myself on exotic Lake Havasu - the location of many an MTV Spring Break broadcast and local college hotspot. At a balmy 55 degrees, there wasn't a whole lot of action down on the beach, but I didn't let that stop me. I had fun anyway...
In the far distance, you can barely make out the volleyball net. With no one else on the beach, I was forced to play with myself...wait a minute...that didn't come out right...
Moving on...
After a fun-filled day of not wakeboarding, not swimming and not looking at hot lifeguards running in slow motion, I turned my attention to the local night life. After a brief search I soon found that one of the local watering holes was featuring a krump-dancing competition.
Unfortunately, I do not think the locals know what a krump is or what it looks like when dancing. And since I do not either, I was unable to explain it to them. Needless to say, I still think they were doing it wrong.
Of course, no trip to Arizona would be complete without participating in the official state pastime - Indian Casino Gambling. I managed to lose over US$30 dollars in a Star Wars themed video slot machine. Now, as a master of The Force (TM) , the only way I could lose at such a game was if it had been rigged.
After the infernal device had stolen all of my money, I attempted to use my Jedi powers to retrieve the unfairly lost currency. When that didn't work, I tried reaching my arm up in to the coin release, but the man in the black uniform informed me that I was not allowed to do this. Recognizing this vile fiend as a Sith Lord apprentice, if not the Sith Lord himself, I decided discretion was the better part of valor and followed his advice to "back away from the machine, you freaking whack-job." I then tried to use the subtle, yet powerful Jedi mind trick on the people in the cash room to try to get my money back, but all I got was tasered in the process.
George Lucas will be receiving a scathing e-mail from me in the near future.
In the far distance, you can barely make out the volleyball net. With no one else on the beach, I was forced to play with myself...wait a minute...that didn't come out right...
Moving on...
After a fun-filled day of not wakeboarding, not swimming and not looking at hot lifeguards running in slow motion, I turned my attention to the local night life. After a brief search I soon found that one of the local watering holes was featuring a krump-dancing competition.
Unfortunately, I do not think the locals know what a krump is or what it looks like when dancing. And since I do not either, I was unable to explain it to them. Needless to say, I still think they were doing it wrong.
Of course, no trip to Arizona would be complete without participating in the official state pastime - Indian Casino Gambling. I managed to lose over US$30 dollars in a Star Wars themed video slot machine. Now, as a master of The Force (TM) , the only way I could lose at such a game was if it had been rigged.
After the infernal device had stolen all of my money, I attempted to use my Jedi powers to retrieve the unfairly lost currency. When that didn't work, I tried reaching my arm up in to the coin release, but the man in the black uniform informed me that I was not allowed to do this. Recognizing this vile fiend as a Sith Lord apprentice, if not the Sith Lord himself, I decided discretion was the better part of valor and followed his advice to "back away from the machine, you freaking whack-job." I then tried to use the subtle, yet powerful Jedi mind trick on the people in the cash room to try to get my money back, but all I got was tasered in the process.
George Lucas will be receiving a scathing e-mail from me in the near future.
Spring Break 2006
Ladies and Gentlemen,
It is now time to share in the mad-cap antics that were my spring break adventure. The first half of my adventure was spent in Phoenix visiting my Dad, and the second half was spent in Austin with my friends for the South by Southwest (SXSW) music festival. The trip lasted from March 10 - 20, 2006.
I hope you enjoy the following musings...
It is now time to share in the mad-cap antics that were my spring break adventure. The first half of my adventure was spent in Phoenix visiting my Dad, and the second half was spent in Austin with my friends for the South by Southwest (SXSW) music festival. The trip lasted from March 10 - 20, 2006.
I hope you enjoy the following musings...
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Spider-Man Menace!!!
Ridiculous. Insane. Inconceivable. These were the words that leapt into my mind when I learned of that piece of red-and-blue-adorned filth entering the ranks of our nation's foremost champions - the Avengers. As the news came over the wire, I found myself running my fingers through the remainder of my hair, in shock over the ridiculousness of the situation.
For years, the Avengers had represented not only what was best of the American people but of humanity as well. They had been the beacon of hope in our darkest hour. They had been our saviors in times of need. They had championed right and truth when we had forgotten what those words meant.
They had done all this without demand, merely acting out of the goodness of their hearts. But, to their credit and to their detriment, these hearts were only human. While we eternally strive for perfection, as humans we always fall short of that goal. And when the great fall, it is a terrible, terrible thing.
By now, I'm sure that you have all heard about the recent events in California. Once again that wall-crawling menace has shown his true colors. For years, I have decried the villain that is Spider-Man for his crimes against this city and against this nation. He has mocked the decency of mankind, undermining the efforts of true heroes. He has been connected with more crimes (many of them murders) than any known felon. And now, even the common man is not safe from his unique brand of evil.
There are many that would claim this man to be a hero - to be worthy of the mantle of Avenger. They say that the good he has accomplished far outweighs any legal improprieties on his part. They mention various occasions where he has appeared to fight on the side of the angels. And if he looks like an angel, he must be one. If the Fantastic Four are willing to battle alongside him, if the Avengers welcome him with open arms, he really couldn't be that bad.
These people are wrong.
The naivete of these men and women is almost as great a threat as this webbed vigilante. By burying our head in the sand, hiding ourselves from the truth, we only invite our own end. This act of thievery, while petty in nature, only demonstrates the pathology that I have pointed to for many years. As I have said on numerous occasions, Spider-Man is a menace. This most recent event is only further proof. A final nail in an already welded-shut coffin.
Willing to give them the benefit of the doubt for past indiscretions, I have to believe that the Avengers originally invited this criminal into their midst in an attempt to rehabilitate him. It is obvious by today's news that these efforts have failed.
As of press time today, the Avengers have yet to formally respond. They have taken no visible action against a known criminal that hides from justice within their very midst. As I stated earlier, the Avengers had been the ideal of humanity. The question I ask today is - What are they now? How far have they fallen? Do they no longer stand for justice? Do they no longer stand for truth?
They say that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and today that road leads by Avengers Tower. God help us all if they fail in their next decision.
For years, the Avengers had represented not only what was best of the American people but of humanity as well. They had been the beacon of hope in our darkest hour. They had been our saviors in times of need. They had championed right and truth when we had forgotten what those words meant.
They had done all this without demand, merely acting out of the goodness of their hearts. But, to their credit and to their detriment, these hearts were only human. While we eternally strive for perfection, as humans we always fall short of that goal. And when the great fall, it is a terrible, terrible thing.
By now, I'm sure that you have all heard about the recent events in California. Once again that wall-crawling menace has shown his true colors. For years, I have decried the villain that is Spider-Man for his crimes against this city and against this nation. He has mocked the decency of mankind, undermining the efforts of true heroes. He has been connected with more crimes (many of them murders) than any known felon. And now, even the common man is not safe from his unique brand of evil.
There are many that would claim this man to be a hero - to be worthy of the mantle of Avenger. They say that the good he has accomplished far outweighs any legal improprieties on his part. They mention various occasions where he has appeared to fight on the side of the angels. And if he looks like an angel, he must be one. If the Fantastic Four are willing to battle alongside him, if the Avengers welcome him with open arms, he really couldn't be that bad.
These people are wrong.
The naivete of these men and women is almost as great a threat as this webbed vigilante. By burying our head in the sand, hiding ourselves from the truth, we only invite our own end. This act of thievery, while petty in nature, only demonstrates the pathology that I have pointed to for many years. As I have said on numerous occasions, Spider-Man is a menace. This most recent event is only further proof. A final nail in an already welded-shut coffin.
Willing to give them the benefit of the doubt for past indiscretions, I have to believe that the Avengers originally invited this criminal into their midst in an attempt to rehabilitate him. It is obvious by today's news that these efforts have failed.
As of press time today, the Avengers have yet to formally respond. They have taken no visible action against a known criminal that hides from justice within their very midst. As I stated earlier, the Avengers had been the ideal of humanity. The question I ask today is - What are they now? How far have they fallen? Do they no longer stand for justice? Do they no longer stand for truth?
They say that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and today that road leads by Avengers Tower. God help us all if they fail in their next decision.
Monday, January 30, 2006
An open letter to Gogol Bordello, the Gypsy-punk band with a heart of gold
Mr. Bordello:
Dearest sir, I fully understand if this correspondence finds itself promptly shuffled off to the refuse bin as soon as you read the post-script; however, I ask for your patience and but a moment of your time. I realize that you are a man of action and that you have little time for pompous blowhards such as myself, so I shall endeavor to be as brief as possible for your particular benefit. In so doing, I hope that you will, in turn, display some of the magnanimosity...er...magnanimousness for which you are so well known.
I will take the vague stare and tapping foot that you are presently displaying as an assent to continue. Yes?
Gogol -- may I call you Gogol?...Of course not, how presumptuous of me -- Mr. Bordello, while I lack any official capacity or legal office myself, I would, as an ersatz, self-appointed ambassador of good-will for the burgeoning metropolis of Denver (excluding the People's Republic of Boulder, of course), like to extend my deepest apologies to you regarding your most recent visit to our fair city. Your performance was, as always, exemplary and a tribute to your craft. (As a bit of an aside, I even found myself "white-boy shuffling" a tad during your bit. Oh it's true! I even did the little clap thing over the head that you were encouraging from the stage.) As I was saying, your show was superb, and I wish to apologize regarding the abominable treatment that you received throughout the evening after offering our dear town such a sweet, melodic gift.
First, it was quite dreadful that you were, as they say in the business, the "opening act." When considering the level of talent shown by your successors on stage, I'm surprised there wasn't a riot of some sort. (God only knows that if this were a more civilized town like L.A., that would have been the appropriate response.) Instead, we merely stood there and swallowed the melodic tripe dished out by those under-aged, identically-genomed, Canadians. (Bah. The mere mention of the word floods bile to my mouth...Canada. Ptui.) These talentless hacks should never have been placed on the stage after your performance, mayhaps at all (although, their bon mot about jacuzzis and crack was rather delightful).
As if that weren't bad enough, the representative from the local radio station 93.3 referred to your masterful note-smything as some "f"ed up "s." (I won't use the exact words that he did, just in case you missed the full venom of his verbal barrage.) I believe that we would all agree that that particular description should be reserved for more appropriate occasions such as Bjork videos and David Lynch films. To apply that phrase to your work is an insult that should not have been permitted, but alas, it was.
Of course, the conduct of the crowd was no better. As anyone with any education beyond that of third grade will tell you, proper concert etiquette dictates that when one throws one's panties on the stage, one should a) not throw them in the middle of a line and b) not throw them directly into the face of the singer. Unfortunately, the afore-mentioned Canadian jailbait seemed to draw a particularly callow and witless crowd, composed predominately by even more jailbait, who knew no better. That would also explain the crowd's inability to support the weight of anyone attempting to crowd surf...well, that and the candy-ass hippie insurgents from Boulder. Everyone knows hippies lack upper-body strength.
Be that as it may, kind sir, you received shabby treatment from this city, and I cannot allow that to go unnoticed. I would once again like to extend my hardiest apologies and ask that you not hold that against us when planning your future tour dates. It would be a shame if these few misunderstandings resulted in a loss that would be tragic for both parties. Know this. When next you return, we will treat you better, or heads will roll.
With Warmest Affection,
J. Young
Dearest sir, I fully understand if this correspondence finds itself promptly shuffled off to the refuse bin as soon as you read the post-script; however, I ask for your patience and but a moment of your time. I realize that you are a man of action and that you have little time for pompous blowhards such as myself, so I shall endeavor to be as brief as possible for your particular benefit. In so doing, I hope that you will, in turn, display some of the magnanimosity...er...magnanimousness for which you are so well known.
I will take the vague stare and tapping foot that you are presently displaying as an assent to continue. Yes?
Gogol -- may I call you Gogol?...Of course not, how presumptuous of me -- Mr. Bordello, while I lack any official capacity or legal office myself, I would, as an ersatz, self-appointed ambassador of good-will for the burgeoning metropolis of Denver (excluding the People's Republic of Boulder, of course), like to extend my deepest apologies to you regarding your most recent visit to our fair city. Your performance was, as always, exemplary and a tribute to your craft. (As a bit of an aside, I even found myself "white-boy shuffling" a tad during your bit. Oh it's true! I even did the little clap thing over the head that you were encouraging from the stage.) As I was saying, your show was superb, and I wish to apologize regarding the abominable treatment that you received throughout the evening after offering our dear town such a sweet, melodic gift.
First, it was quite dreadful that you were, as they say in the business, the "opening act." When considering the level of talent shown by your successors on stage, I'm surprised there wasn't a riot of some sort. (God only knows that if this were a more civilized town like L.A., that would have been the appropriate response.) Instead, we merely stood there and swallowed the melodic tripe dished out by those under-aged, identically-genomed, Canadians. (Bah. The mere mention of the word floods bile to my mouth...Canada. Ptui.) These talentless hacks should never have been placed on the stage after your performance, mayhaps at all (although, their bon mot about jacuzzis and crack was rather delightful).
As if that weren't bad enough, the representative from the local radio station 93.3 referred to your masterful note-smything as some "f"ed up "s." (I won't use the exact words that he did, just in case you missed the full venom of his verbal barrage.) I believe that we would all agree that that particular description should be reserved for more appropriate occasions such as Bjork videos and David Lynch films. To apply that phrase to your work is an insult that should not have been permitted, but alas, it was.
Of course, the conduct of the crowd was no better. As anyone with any education beyond that of third grade will tell you, proper concert etiquette dictates that when one throws one's panties on the stage, one should a) not throw them in the middle of a line and b) not throw them directly into the face of the singer. Unfortunately, the afore-mentioned Canadian jailbait seemed to draw a particularly callow and witless crowd, composed predominately by even more jailbait, who knew no better. That would also explain the crowd's inability to support the weight of anyone attempting to crowd surf...well, that and the candy-ass hippie insurgents from Boulder. Everyone knows hippies lack upper-body strength.
Be that as it may, kind sir, you received shabby treatment from this city, and I cannot allow that to go unnoticed. I would once again like to extend my hardiest apologies and ask that you not hold that against us when planning your future tour dates. It would be a shame if these few misunderstandings resulted in a loss that would be tragic for both parties. Know this. When next you return, we will treat you better, or heads will roll.
With Warmest Affection,
J. Young
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