10.31.2006
Balls of Insanity (by Scratchy)
I have to give the Republicans credit for this much.
They fucking roll the dice.
None of this pussy-footing, one-eye-on-the-polls-middle-of-the-road-triangulation bullshit. None of this offend-no-one-mild-mannerism.
Democratic campaign theme: Together we can do better.
Republican campaign theme: Democrats want to surrender to the terrorists immediately.
WTF? Does that make ANY sense?
Democrats: Together we can do better.
Republicans: Harold Ford fucks white prostitutes up the bung with his nasty black cock in the grotto of the Playboy Mansion.
Democrats: Together we can do better.
Republicans: Bob Casey owns a timeshare in Dubai with Osama bin Laden, said he wants to pipe bomb all Christian churches, AND we have photos to prove that he gave Kim Jong Il a rim job.
Democrats: Together we can do better.
Republicans: Nancy Pelosi will force you to have sex with your children.
It might be nearing the end of its run, but you have to admit, it takes balls of insanity.
They fucking roll the dice.
None of this pussy-footing, one-eye-on-the-polls-middle-of-the-road-triangulation bullshit. None of this offend-no-one-mild-mannerism.
Democratic campaign theme: Together we can do better.
Republican campaign theme: Democrats want to surrender to the terrorists immediately.
WTF? Does that make ANY sense?
Democrats: Together we can do better.
Republicans: Harold Ford fucks white prostitutes up the bung with his nasty black cock in the grotto of the Playboy Mansion.
Democrats: Together we can do better.
Republicans: Bob Casey owns a timeshare in Dubai with Osama bin Laden, said he wants to pipe bomb all Christian churches, AND we have photos to prove that he gave Kim Jong Il a rim job.
Democrats: Together we can do better.
Republicans: Nancy Pelosi will force you to have sex with your children.
It might be nearing the end of its run, but you have to admit, it takes balls of insanity.
Ask Ty...October 31
Q: Is there anything more retarded than the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?
- L'il Illin' Richie, Compton, California
Ty: Richie, good question and an even better observation. In fact, no. There is nothing more retarded than the Rock Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, Ohio.
Here's why: Rock and Roll or Rock 'n Roll has a massive popularity and worldwide scope with an unprecedented level of social impact. Far beyond simply a musical style, rock and roll influenced lifestyles, fashion, attitudes, and language. Blah-blah-blah.
I've read criticism based on the induction process. Who the fuck cares? It's Rock and fucking Roll! No one should care. Rock and Roll is about NOT caring. Having a Hall of Fame is weaker than the Hollywood walk of stars or whatever it's called.
Rock and roll, people. From rockabilly to psychedelics to funk rock to metal to punk to hard core to new wave to glam to tripgrass (not caring does not include shameless self-promotion), rock and roll is/was about not caring. I don't care! It's not my father's music. All that nonsense. Keith Richards? Should he care? Sid Vicious? Should he care?
It's dumb, people. Dumber than sports halls of fame. No one cares. It's like collecting autographs. Nobody cares. Nostalgia is dead. We have wikipedia.
So, for perspective, getting a nomination to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is fine. Swell. Hey, people like us. But, by no means attend. And, if anyone asks, say, in fine rock and roll fashion, "fuck off, bugger!"
Just a guess. - Ty
- L'il Illin' Richie, Compton, California
Ty: Richie, good question and an even better observation. In fact, no. There is nothing more retarded than the Rock Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, Ohio.
Here's why: Rock and Roll or Rock 'n Roll has a massive popularity and worldwide scope with an unprecedented level of social impact. Far beyond simply a musical style, rock and roll influenced lifestyles, fashion, attitudes, and language. Blah-blah-blah.
I've read criticism based on the induction process. Who the fuck cares? It's Rock and fucking Roll! No one should care. Rock and Roll is about NOT caring. Having a Hall of Fame is weaker than the Hollywood walk of stars or whatever it's called.
Rock and roll, people. From rockabilly to psychedelics to funk rock to metal to punk to hard core to new wave to glam to tripgrass (not caring does not include shameless self-promotion), rock and roll is/was about not caring. I don't care! It's not my father's music. All that nonsense. Keith Richards? Should he care? Sid Vicious? Should he care?
It's dumb, people. Dumber than sports halls of fame. No one cares. It's like collecting autographs. Nobody cares. Nostalgia is dead. We have wikipedia.
So, for perspective, getting a nomination to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is fine. Swell. Hey, people like us. But, by no means attend. And, if anyone asks, say, in fine rock and roll fashion, "fuck off, bugger!"
Just a guess. - Ty
Mission Accomplished
"I'm a uniter, not a divider."
"I will change the tone of Washington to one of civility and respect."
"I'm a uniter, not a divider."
"I will change the tone of Washington to one of civility and respect."
"I'm a uniter, not a divider."
"I will change the tone of Washington to one of civility and respect."
"I'm a uniter, not a divider."
"I will change the tone of Washington to one of civility and respect."
"I'm a uniter, not a divider."
"I will change the tone of Washington to one of civility and respect."
"I'm a uniter, not a divider."
"I will change the tone of Washington to one of civility and respect."
George W. Bush August 2000
"I will change the tone of Washington to one of civility and respect."
"I'm a uniter, not a divider."
"I will change the tone of Washington to one of civility and respect."
"I'm a uniter, not a divider."
"I will change the tone of Washington to one of civility and respect."
"I'm a uniter, not a divider."
"I will change the tone of Washington to one of civility and respect."
"I'm a uniter, not a divider."
"I will change the tone of Washington to one of civility and respect."
"I'm a uniter, not a divider."
"I will change the tone of Washington to one of civility and respect."
George W. Bush August 2000
10.30.2006
10.29.2006
Corporate Rap Battle
Yes. A corporate rap battle. Three rounds and I'm the winner. October 26-27 2006.
Stop hating your miserable jobs and scoop a posse.
Here's my rhymes, bitches!
Qualifying Round
You call me up
All on my phone
Like you know me
Up in my home
Don’t fool yourself
‘Cuz you can rhyme
But can you flow?
Do your rhythms shine?
Oce can you see
By the dawn of the light
Abt’s in the crib
No bark only bite
You formed your posse
So I just scooped two
I see you’re nervous
All boo hoo-hoo-hoo
The score is tied
It’s “on” so you say
The score’s “Ty”
And the winner is, dare I say, it’s me, Hy Tardaway
Semi-Finals
The door? The door?
I don’t need the door
I got the key to the suite
And I’m known in seven more
It’s not a war, with you?
You say you dropped some heavies
But you haven’t dropped me
Because I rhyme so…sweet
Now Pat, I love you…and
What you do you do the best
But with your gang, I mean your “posse”
You haven’t passed the dopest test
You comin’ hard…and so you say
You checked some jokers?
How you gonna check me when you
Chokin’ with those smokers?
My posse’s down…with
Statistics and the science
I swagger like I’ve owned this
My whole life with mad defiance
Yeah, I called a battle
Of the beats and the rhymin’ and the disses
But for you…all I have
Is respect and kisses missus
I wear my cred like my heart
On the sleeve of my shirt
-and-
When you’re ready I will help you
Dig your words out the dirt
The door? The door?
I don’t need your door
I got the key to the suite
And I always win rap wars
Finals
Twenty-four hours and that’s all you got?
Shoulda stayed in bed ‘cuz I’m not
Impressed with your brand of hip-hop
Look around you ‘cuz I’m still the tops
Gonna win the rap battle
[beat box]
Gonna win the Abt battle
[beat box]
You are the queen
You’re mean, and
I really dig your scene
You are so fine
Sublime
But I have to drop a dime
California never backs down
Call me whack, insane, or a clown
In the ocean you just might drown
And my lyrics make the competition frown
Gonna win the rap battle
[beat box]
Gonna win the Abt battle
[beat box]
You are my friend
Until the end
But I really got to send
This note to you
Woman who
Really never knew
I had my say now I am peace. Out.
My fuckin’ rep still carries mad clout
You step to me and there is no doubt
I take no prisoners ‘cuz that is what this is all about
Word! No. Paragraph, bitches!
Stop hating your miserable jobs and scoop a posse.
Here's my rhymes, bitches!
Qualifying Round
You call me up
All on my phone
Like you know me
Up in my home
Don’t fool yourself
‘Cuz you can rhyme
But can you flow?
Do your rhythms shine?
Oce can you see
By the dawn of the light
Abt’s in the crib
No bark only bite
You formed your posse
So I just scooped two
I see you’re nervous
All boo hoo-hoo-hoo
The score is tied
It’s “on” so you say
The score’s “Ty”
And the winner is, dare I say, it’s me, Hy Tardaway
Semi-Finals
The door? The door?
I don’t need the door
I got the key to the suite
And I’m known in seven more
It’s not a war, with you?
You say you dropped some heavies
But you haven’t dropped me
Because I rhyme so…sweet
Now Pat, I love you…and
What you do you do the best
But with your gang, I mean your “posse”
You haven’t passed the dopest test
You comin’ hard…and so you say
You checked some jokers?
How you gonna check me when you
Chokin’ with those smokers?
My posse’s down…with
Statistics and the science
I swagger like I’ve owned this
My whole life with mad defiance
Yeah, I called a battle
Of the beats and the rhymin’ and the disses
But for you…all I have
Is respect and kisses missus
I wear my cred like my heart
On the sleeve of my shirt
-and-
When you’re ready I will help you
Dig your words out the dirt
The door? The door?
I don’t need your door
I got the key to the suite
And I always win rap wars
Finals
Twenty-four hours and that’s all you got?
Shoulda stayed in bed ‘cuz I’m not
Impressed with your brand of hip-hop
Look around you ‘cuz I’m still the tops
Gonna win the rap battle
[beat box]
Gonna win the Abt battle
[beat box]
You are the queen
You’re mean, and
I really dig your scene
You are so fine
Sublime
But I have to drop a dime
California never backs down
Call me whack, insane, or a clown
In the ocean you just might drown
And my lyrics make the competition frown
Gonna win the rap battle
[beat box]
Gonna win the Abt battle
[beat box]
You are my friend
Until the end
But I really got to send
This note to you
Woman who
Really never knew
I had my say now I am peace. Out.
My fuckin’ rep still carries mad clout
You step to me and there is no doubt
I take no prisoners ‘cuz that is what this is all about
Word! No. Paragraph, bitches!
10.28.2006
Prius
With all respect and admiration to the Toyota motor company, I do have an issue: The Prius.
The Prius. Where to start? Gutless piece of shit. Smug owners. Ugly as sin. Or, the simple fact that it’s actually not really helping anything. Greenhouse effect? Not helping. Pollution? Not helping.
Manufacturing the electric components, aluminum parts, and the NiMH battery pack requires a significant amount of energy; more energy is required to manufacture a Prius than that of a similar gasoline powered vehicle. There is some real debate as to whether the energy savings during its operational life pays back its initial energy overhead. Ain’t that a bitch? In equal units the fucking smug, slow, ugly, poor handling piece of shit may use more energy than it saves. Ha!
Independent studies show that the fuel economy is exaggerated – even more than most cars (never mind the EPA estimates).
A more relevant observation may be its comparison against smaller (but less comfortable) compact cars, which can be considerably cheaper to purchase (in some cases around half of the initial cost) while delivering perhaps 2/3 of the mileage performance in non-city driving. Real world mileage is similar to comparable sized diesel cars (but diesel sucks).
A real hippie environmentalist without a car would choose a used Honda Civic over a new Prius 100% of the time.
Smug, liberal suckers. What are you saving? The earth or your money? Clearly it’s your personal wealth. Hybrids aren’t the answer to saving your neighbors. You don’t care about saving oil – why would you want to even save oil? Prolonging a problem doesn’t make it go away. Prius sales increase when gas prices increase, not when demand wanes. I understand that after around 6 years or 8 years the batteries need to be replaced. Uh, what then earth saver? How are you going to dispose of 900 pounds of poison? Or, do you care?
Rescue personnel hate battery-powered cars. Post-crash, they are an electrocution hazard. And, since they suck for performance, they are a traffic hazard. Blam!
Prius – a car for selfish people. I’m perfectly happy buying premium gasoline and not calculating my mileage. I drive fast, careful, and enjoy the shit out of my car. It’s a car. I go from here to there to here and have a lot of fun doing it. I don’t see Prius drivers having fun (or maybe people who don’t like fun drive Prius).
I advocate using every drop of petroleum as soon as we can. The US government won’t attack countries on the other side of the planet for their wind farms. I’ve even stopped flipping off those poor dickless suckers in Hummers. They are part of the solution.
The Prius. Where to start? Gutless piece of shit. Smug owners. Ugly as sin. Or, the simple fact that it’s actually not really helping anything. Greenhouse effect? Not helping. Pollution? Not helping.
Manufacturing the electric components, aluminum parts, and the NiMH battery pack requires a significant amount of energy; more energy is required to manufacture a Prius than that of a similar gasoline powered vehicle. There is some real debate as to whether the energy savings during its operational life pays back its initial energy overhead. Ain’t that a bitch? In equal units the fucking smug, slow, ugly, poor handling piece of shit may use more energy than it saves. Ha!
Independent studies show that the fuel economy is exaggerated – even more than most cars (never mind the EPA estimates).
A more relevant observation may be its comparison against smaller (but less comfortable) compact cars, which can be considerably cheaper to purchase (in some cases around half of the initial cost) while delivering perhaps 2/3 of the mileage performance in non-city driving. Real world mileage is similar to comparable sized diesel cars (but diesel sucks).
A real hippie environmentalist without a car would choose a used Honda Civic over a new Prius 100% of the time.
Smug, liberal suckers. What are you saving? The earth or your money? Clearly it’s your personal wealth. Hybrids aren’t the answer to saving your neighbors. You don’t care about saving oil – why would you want to even save oil? Prolonging a problem doesn’t make it go away. Prius sales increase when gas prices increase, not when demand wanes. I understand that after around 6 years or 8 years the batteries need to be replaced. Uh, what then earth saver? How are you going to dispose of 900 pounds of poison? Or, do you care?
Rescue personnel hate battery-powered cars. Post-crash, they are an electrocution hazard. And, since they suck for performance, they are a traffic hazard. Blam!
Prius – a car for selfish people. I’m perfectly happy buying premium gasoline and not calculating my mileage. I drive fast, careful, and enjoy the shit out of my car. It’s a car. I go from here to there to here and have a lot of fun doing it. I don’t see Prius drivers having fun (or maybe people who don’t like fun drive Prius).
I advocate using every drop of petroleum as soon as we can. The US government won’t attack countries on the other side of the planet for their wind farms. I’ve even stopped flipping off those poor dickless suckers in Hummers. They are part of the solution.
Mexican Magical Realism Camera
The camera has it and it's photographs show you how you feel about yourself. It leads to the discovery that Pat is gay. These two believe themselves to be white people. Mexican magical realism, indeed.
10.26.2006
Things You Should Know
Now that I’m over 40 and I’ve moved past my youthful indiscretions, I can stop taking from the world like a greedy republican pig and start giving. Not giving like working at a homeless shelter, or feeding the starving kids, but real giving. You know, advice and opinions. My goddamn advice.
Actually, BDW gave me the idea (and the first three entries are his). Here goes, things you should know:
1. The business suit is really a modified military uniform.
2. If you really find you have to say it (but please don't), it's not "Peace out" like "freak out" or "spaced out" but "Peace. Out."
3. Shaving does not make your hair grow back thicker. Two things are happening to make people think it does.
As you get older, you naturally get thicker hair.
When you shave a hair and it grows back out, it then has a flat thick end where it was cut instead of the naturally occurring tapered wispy end. An area that has been shaved may, for a time, have the appearance of thicker hair because of all these thick flat ends, but eventually the hairs will naturally fall out and be replaced with hairs with tapered wispy ends.
-------------------
4. When you’re watching the NFL and you see the pre-game crap like, giant inflatable helmets and fireworks. Don’t think that that shit’s for you at home on your couch. It’s hardly for the crowd – it’s barely choreographed for live audiences. I’ll tell you what that’s about. It’s about future gifting. It’s about B-roll. When you see that shit played back via NFL, network promo, or ads, it’s all icing and gloss. Nothing beats two-second shots of fireworks, teams running in slow motion and giant flags on TeeVee. Mix that with the vicious hits. It’s all about the edit.
5. If you work at a job where everybody dresses alike like it was the set of Reservoir Dogs or something, you can be mad popular by consistently dressing kooky. You’ll be the guy who doesn’t care about the rules (whether there are rules or not. Or, you’ll just be the freak.
6. Stop talking yourself out of being stupid and impulsive. I mean don’t always be stupid and impulsive, but shit, be stupid and impulsive some of the time. We’re all dying.
7. If someone challenges you to a rap battle, especially at work, you have to accept.
8. If you plan to have kids, the term Terrible Twos is simply a clever convention. Two is bliss compared to the whining and wanderings of three.
9. Once you have a real job – in an office or something – avoid meetings at all cost. Always come up with something that overlaps. Lie if you don’t (or go to the gym or the dentist or something). But never attend meetings. They will kill you.
10. Do not affiliate with a profession (or college) sporting team. Not football (especially), not basketball, not hockey. You’ll be perceived as a loser because you are a loser. If you like or follow a sport, pretend you have no idea what people are talking about. Trust me.
Actually, BDW gave me the idea (and the first three entries are his). Here goes, things you should know:
1. The business suit is really a modified military uniform.
2. If you really find you have to say it (but please don't), it's not "Peace out" like "freak out" or "spaced out" but "Peace. Out."
3. Shaving does not make your hair grow back thicker. Two things are happening to make people think it does.
As you get older, you naturally get thicker hair.
When you shave a hair and it grows back out, it then has a flat thick end where it was cut instead of the naturally occurring tapered wispy end. An area that has been shaved may, for a time, have the appearance of thicker hair because of all these thick flat ends, but eventually the hairs will naturally fall out and be replaced with hairs with tapered wispy ends.
-------------------
4. When you’re watching the NFL and you see the pre-game crap like, giant inflatable helmets and fireworks. Don’t think that that shit’s for you at home on your couch. It’s hardly for the crowd – it’s barely choreographed for live audiences. I’ll tell you what that’s about. It’s about future gifting. It’s about B-roll. When you see that shit played back via NFL, network promo, or ads, it’s all icing and gloss. Nothing beats two-second shots of fireworks, teams running in slow motion and giant flags on TeeVee. Mix that with the vicious hits. It’s all about the edit.
5. If you work at a job where everybody dresses alike like it was the set of Reservoir Dogs or something, you can be mad popular by consistently dressing kooky. You’ll be the guy who doesn’t care about the rules (whether there are rules or not. Or, you’ll just be the freak.
6. Stop talking yourself out of being stupid and impulsive. I mean don’t always be stupid and impulsive, but shit, be stupid and impulsive some of the time. We’re all dying.
7. If someone challenges you to a rap battle, especially at work, you have to accept.
8. If you plan to have kids, the term Terrible Twos is simply a clever convention. Two is bliss compared to the whining and wanderings of three.
9. Once you have a real job – in an office or something – avoid meetings at all cost. Always come up with something that overlaps. Lie if you don’t (or go to the gym or the dentist or something). But never attend meetings. They will kill you.
10. Do not affiliate with a profession (or college) sporting team. Not football (especially), not basketball, not hockey. You’ll be perceived as a loser because you are a loser. If you like or follow a sport, pretend you have no idea what people are talking about. Trust me.
Today's Who Fucking Cares? List (by Otter Prince)
Too classic to not post:
1) Should we be playing the World Series in late October?
Who fucking cares? It's baseball. You play it outdoors. If you held it in July you'd still risk rain outs. So it's cold. Boo hoo. Tell that to the Green Bay Packers. Sack up and play it in the snow. Unless your built an All-Eskimo team, cold weather doesn't give an advantage to one franchise over the other.
2) Should the BCS be replaced by a college football playoff?
Who fucking cares? It's college football. It's about getting drunk at 11AM, screaming obscenities at uniforms and helmets, going back to your dormroom, fucking with half your clothes on, passing out, and getting up for macaroni and green beans at the dining hall before getting drunk again. What college football is NOT about is this fat, lazy alumni RV culture that makes Cornhusker Stadium the third largest city in Nebraska 6 times a year.
Why do we need a fully bonded and certified national college football champion? If we have a 4-team playoff, people are going to bitch about who gets slots 3 and 4 and who got shut out at 5 and 6. If we have an 8-team playoff, people are going to bitch about slots 7 and 8 and who got shut out at 9 and 10. And so on. Eventually, people are going to be asking should we be playing college football in February? Who fucking cares?
3) Should we be cloning people?
Who fucking cares? The miracle of life is so mind-fuckingly awesome and unknowable that it's not going to make a fuck of a difference if it begins in a petri dish or with identical genetic matter. I've known enough identical twins to know that they perceive the world differently from each other, contribute to the world differently from each other, and live differently from each other. Despite sharing 100% genetic code. The point is, when people think of cloning, they think of bald, eggheaded people emerging fully formed from teleporters in some Star Trek/Isaac Asimov fantasy. People think cloning means slavery, like you get to own the clones. Or that all clones get inserted with The Sinister Gene and some guy in a volcano controls them with a giant TeeVee set. I'm against slavery. (There, I said it.) And I'm opposed to dudes in volcanoes controlling shit with their giant TeeVee set. But that's not what were talking about when we talk about cloning. Taken to it's logical extreme, cloning could lead to some fucked up shit. But guess what? Taken to it's logical extreme, drinking orange juice can lead to some fucked up shit too. People all lying around drinking OJ all day, not working, pissing neon until their pancreas fails, neglected babies suckling on discarded orange rinds, and our citrus overlords planting every available scrap of land with orange trees. I don't want that, but I don't live in fear of it either. For the most part, you're not going to know if someone's a clone and you're not going to care. A warm body is a warm body. Hey, your mom's like 58 and she's still hot? So I got that coming to me? Suh-weet.
Who fucking cares?
1) Should we be playing the World Series in late October?
Who fucking cares? It's baseball. You play it outdoors. If you held it in July you'd still risk rain outs. So it's cold. Boo hoo. Tell that to the Green Bay Packers. Sack up and play it in the snow. Unless your built an All-Eskimo team, cold weather doesn't give an advantage to one franchise over the other.
2) Should the BCS be replaced by a college football playoff?
Who fucking cares? It's college football. It's about getting drunk at 11AM, screaming obscenities at uniforms and helmets, going back to your dormroom, fucking with half your clothes on, passing out, and getting up for macaroni and green beans at the dining hall before getting drunk again. What college football is NOT about is this fat, lazy alumni RV culture that makes Cornhusker Stadium the third largest city in Nebraska 6 times a year.
Why do we need a fully bonded and certified national college football champion? If we have a 4-team playoff, people are going to bitch about who gets slots 3 and 4 and who got shut out at 5 and 6. If we have an 8-team playoff, people are going to bitch about slots 7 and 8 and who got shut out at 9 and 10. And so on. Eventually, people are going to be asking should we be playing college football in February? Who fucking cares?
3) Should we be cloning people?
Who fucking cares? The miracle of life is so mind-fuckingly awesome and unknowable that it's not going to make a fuck of a difference if it begins in a petri dish or with identical genetic matter. I've known enough identical twins to know that they perceive the world differently from each other, contribute to the world differently from each other, and live differently from each other. Despite sharing 100% genetic code. The point is, when people think of cloning, they think of bald, eggheaded people emerging fully formed from teleporters in some Star Trek/Isaac Asimov fantasy. People think cloning means slavery, like you get to own the clones. Or that all clones get inserted with The Sinister Gene and some guy in a volcano controls them with a giant TeeVee set. I'm against slavery. (There, I said it.) And I'm opposed to dudes in volcanoes controlling shit with their giant TeeVee set. But that's not what were talking about when we talk about cloning. Taken to it's logical extreme, cloning could lead to some fucked up shit. But guess what? Taken to it's logical extreme, drinking orange juice can lead to some fucked up shit too. People all lying around drinking OJ all day, not working, pissing neon until their pancreas fails, neglected babies suckling on discarded orange rinds, and our citrus overlords planting every available scrap of land with orange trees. I don't want that, but I don't live in fear of it either. For the most part, you're not going to know if someone's a clone and you're not going to care. A warm body is a warm body. Hey, your mom's like 58 and she's still hot? So I got that coming to me? Suh-weet.
Who fucking cares?
10.24.2006
Quotations
Two best quotations I read today on the World of Wide Interwebs:
1)
Alex: What are some basic reasons to stomp a guy around here?
Pravat: I hate when a guy’s hair is too spiked up. I’ll fuck him up if I see that. Or stupid shoes. I hate that too. Annoying pants. I can’t stand any of that. It really bothers me in the worst way. It’s a bother to the soles of my feet, like I just can’t deal with it. Cross-eyed motherfuckers too. Hate them.
2)
"After living in DC for almost five years, I would contend that they're all douchebags, every one of them - Harold's no more douchebaggy or less douchebaggy than any of the others. I make an exception for Barack Obama, whom I worship slightly (how original, I know)."
1)
Alex: What are some basic reasons to stomp a guy around here?
Pravat: I hate when a guy’s hair is too spiked up. I’ll fuck him up if I see that. Or stupid shoes. I hate that too. Annoying pants. I can’t stand any of that. It really bothers me in the worst way. It’s a bother to the soles of my feet, like I just can’t deal with it. Cross-eyed motherfuckers too. Hate them.
2)
"After living in DC for almost five years, I would contend that they're all douchebags, every one of them - Harold's no more douchebaggy or less douchebaggy than any of the others. I make an exception for Barack Obama, whom I worship slightly (how original, I know)."
Two Things
I. Bush Spotting, con't: So with all this Bush-spotting (and there was another spotting on Sunday during the Houston Texans game - HW & Babs, again!), I can't help but believe that some of the stars are aligning. What the hell else could it be?
Today, I believe I've figured it out. HW was U.S. president # 41. Today, I turn 41 (specifically at 3:08 this afternoon, Pacific time). Am I a kook? Or, are the molecules trying to tell me something? I'm going with molecules because that's much more fun than coincidence.
All this Bush-41-spotting means: I need to concentrate on what happens this year, this 41st year. It means that 1) I either become a sell-out republican and finish off what's left of this miserable planet for personal gain, or, 2) I defeat the evil republicans and save what's left of this miserable planet for the good of all. Tough choice!
I'll send my resume into Hillary and Obama's offices this week -- after some polishing. I have ideas.
II. File Under: Can't Agree More: "So when No. 25 smashes No. 756, the entire baseball world is going to melt down...But there is one place where there will be no debate, no doubts, no boos, no catcalls, nothing but love and adulation and awe and a huge celebration. That place will be in AT&T Park, Section 119, Row 26, Seat 8. That's where I'll be sitting."
- Gary Kamiya
On what happens when Barry Bonds breaks Henry Aaron's home run record next year.
Today, I believe I've figured it out. HW was U.S. president # 41. Today, I turn 41 (specifically at 3:08 this afternoon, Pacific time). Am I a kook? Or, are the molecules trying to tell me something? I'm going with molecules because that's much more fun than coincidence.
All this Bush-41-spotting means: I need to concentrate on what happens this year, this 41st year. It means that 1) I either become a sell-out republican and finish off what's left of this miserable planet for personal gain, or, 2) I defeat the evil republicans and save what's left of this miserable planet for the good of all. Tough choice!
I'll send my resume into Hillary and Obama's offices this week -- after some polishing. I have ideas.
II. File Under: Can't Agree More: "So when No. 25 smashes No. 756, the entire baseball world is going to melt down...But there is one place where there will be no debate, no doubts, no boos, no catcalls, nothing but love and adulation and awe and a huge celebration. That place will be in AT&T Park, Section 119, Row 26, Seat 8. That's where I'll be sitting."
- Gary Kamiya
On what happens when Barry Bonds breaks Henry Aaron's home run record next year.
10.22.2006
I'll Look For The Good News...
"What little wilderness remains has come under brutal assault by oil, gas, coal, timber, mining and agricultural interests, both in America and elsewhere. Our government claims an unassailable right to spy on anyone it chooses; habeas corpus is apparently moot. Our military is bogged down in a feckless, asinine war. The planet is in the midst of warming irreversibly, and none of our politicians have the guts to be honest about what this means for our future."
-Philip Connors in article about Ed Abbey on Salon
-Philip Connors in article about Ed Abbey on Salon
Bush's family profits from 'No Child' act
Not that I'm some sort of Bush-spotter (er...) but, wasn't I just talking about that crooked bastard Neil?
Bush's family profits from 'No Child' act
A company headed by President Bush's brother and partly owned by his parents is benefiting from Republican connections and federal dollars targeted for economically disadvantaged students under the No Child Left Behind Act.
With investments from his parents, George H.W. and Barbara Bush, and other backers, Neil Bush's company, Ignite! Learning, has placed its products in 40 U.S. school districts and now plans to market internationally.
At least 13 U.S. school districts have used federal funds available through the president's signature education reform, the No Child Left Behind Act of 2001, to buy Ignite's portable learning centers at $3,800 apiece.
The law provides federal funds to help school districts better serve disadvantaged students and improve their performance, especially in reading and math.
But Ignite does not offer reading instruction, and its math program will not be available until next year. <go to article>
Bush's family profits from 'No Child' act
A company headed by President Bush's brother and partly owned by his parents is benefiting from Republican connections and federal dollars targeted for economically disadvantaged students under the No Child Left Behind Act.
With investments from his parents, George H.W. and Barbara Bush, and other backers, Neil Bush's company, Ignite! Learning, has placed its products in 40 U.S. school districts and now plans to market internationally.
At least 13 U.S. school districts have used federal funds available through the president's signature education reform, the No Child Left Behind Act of 2001, to buy Ignite's portable learning centers at $3,800 apiece.
The law provides federal funds to help school districts better serve disadvantaged students and improve their performance, especially in reading and math.
But Ignite does not offer reading instruction, and its math program will not be available until next year. <go to article>
10.20.2006
N'SYNC w/Da Prez
II. Sometimes I ask the gods (Apollo and Zeus), "why me?"
What am I talking about (reference below first)? Well, on my way back from the Norwegian Embassy (sovereign territory) I'm on Wisconsin at Old Georgetown Road with the Bren and lo and behold, there are Babs (man on the oatmeal box) and HW (read my lips) coming out of the Hyatt. Did his appointment secretary sync schedules with mine? Some would call this good luck.
So, comforted by the insulation of my Honda CR-V and nestled closer to the action in the middle of the road, I roll down the window and squeak out the word, "MOPE!" I felt alive! Free! So American!
Bren says, "who are you calling mope?" I tell her, the president's parents. She pauses thoughtfully and says, "mope."
-----------------------------
I. So, after dropping off Bren and heading to work, I notice a WHOLE BUNCH of ugly, black SUVs making an illegal u-turn on Wisconsin. The trail vehicle had flashing lights. I've lived in the region long enough to "get it." Now, the game is the "who's that?" game. Is it Tony? Is it Dick? Can't be, no ambulance. Is it? Condi? Can't be W, no limo.
Humm.... Going to the Bethesda Hyatt.
Well I watch until I see men-in-bad-suits open the door. Lo and behold the president's parents. Babs and HW.
I'm already across the busy street else I would've yelled, "YOUR SON'S A MOPE!" or something juvenile. Probably not, but I thunk it, though.
HW's become a grinnin' old man. And, Babs.... I'll tell you in person.
-----------------------------
Addendum by A.C.: Do you think it's odd that Billy boy comes out swinging in defense of Democrats (and his administration) and is out on the campaign trail, but HW seems to be sitting this one out? I don't think he's ever come out in defense of his son, except for the time he responded to Larry King's claim that George W is an idiot by saying: I don't know why people think my son is stupid?
[Dear NSA: I'm really just funnin' here. Sure, I did see the Bushes (tee-hee) this morning, but I really love them and their offspring...especially Neil Bush. We don't hear enough about Neil.]
What am I talking about (reference below first)? Well, on my way back from the Norwegian Embassy (sovereign territory) I'm on Wisconsin at Old Georgetown Road with the Bren and lo and behold, there are Babs (man on the oatmeal box) and HW (read my lips) coming out of the Hyatt. Did his appointment secretary sync schedules with mine? Some would call this good luck.
So, comforted by the insulation of my Honda CR-V and nestled closer to the action in the middle of the road, I roll down the window and squeak out the word, "MOPE!" I felt alive! Free! So American!
Bren says, "who are you calling mope?" I tell her, the president's parents. She pauses thoughtfully and says, "mope."
-----------------------------
I. So, after dropping off Bren and heading to work, I notice a WHOLE BUNCH of ugly, black SUVs making an illegal u-turn on Wisconsin. The trail vehicle had flashing lights. I've lived in the region long enough to "get it." Now, the game is the "who's that?" game. Is it Tony? Is it Dick? Can't be, no ambulance. Is it? Condi? Can't be W, no limo.
Humm.... Going to the Bethesda Hyatt.
Well I watch until I see men-in-bad-suits open the door. Lo and behold the president's parents. Babs and HW.
I'm already across the busy street else I would've yelled, "YOUR SON'S A MOPE!" or something juvenile. Probably not, but I thunk it, though.
HW's become a grinnin' old man. And, Babs.... I'll tell you in person.
-----------------------------
Addendum by A.C.: Do you think it's odd that Billy boy comes out swinging in defense of Democrats (and his administration) and is out on the campaign trail, but HW seems to be sitting this one out? I don't think he's ever come out in defense of his son, except for the time he responded to Larry King's claim that George W is an idiot by saying: I don't know why people think my son is stupid?
[Dear NSA: I'm really just funnin' here. Sure, I did see the Bushes (tee-hee) this morning, but I really love them and their offspring...especially Neil Bush. We don't hear enough about Neil.]
10.18.2006
Dunno - 7 or 7.5 out of 10 - Maybe
See what happens when you give shit a chance?
Oh, yeah, we're still considering Beck's The Information. Just listened to "Strange Apparition" and "Cellphone's Dead" a few times. Good music. Non-apparent layering. Deeper than you thought. Derivative of Beatles. Hearty and heartfelt. Deliberate. Clean.
See? This is why I'm not a rock critic. Dumb as an empty bottle, I can be.
Good record.
Oh, yeah, we're still considering Beck's The Information. Just listened to "Strange Apparition" and "Cellphone's Dead" a few times. Good music. Non-apparent layering. Deeper than you thought. Derivative of Beatles. Hearty and heartfelt. Deliberate. Clean.
See? This is why I'm not a rock critic. Dumb as an empty bottle, I can be.
Good record.
Rights
I'll tell you what. You forfeit all rights to angry vehicular gesticulation when you're on the goddamn phone.
Seriously, no waving, or making the WTF hands, and definitely no bird flipping whilst connected via mobile.
On the other hand, please throw rocks, birds, bullets at drivers phoning, reading, or eating.
Seriously, no waving, or making the WTF hands, and definitely no bird flipping whilst connected via mobile.
On the other hand, please throw rocks, birds, bullets at drivers phoning, reading, or eating.
10.16.2006
Mike, Mikey, Mizike
Man of Steele,
Says on the Interwebs that you're "hip hoppin" your way to the United States senate. I'd believe it more if it said you were "grinnin' and shufflin'" your way there, but hey, I just don't like what you're about, my friend.
Step and fetch/Mike-Mikey-Mizike/On the mothafuking mic, a'ight/Don't stop - till youz rockin' the se-zenate/Not ever, not for a mothafuking mi-zinute
10 Questions
Watching Football with The Bren
Q: Are there any kids playing?
A: Well, professional football is for adults, not kids. It a game, but it’s also a job.
Q: Why aren’t there any women playing?
A: Well, these teams try to get the biggest people they can find to play for them. These men are the biggest people they could find for this job.
Q: Are they bigger than you?
A: Yes, they are generally huge.
Q: Are they up to the ceiling
A: Some really are, sweetie.
Q: [After the N.O. Saints scored on a pass play, the crowd goes nuts] Did he get a home run?
A: Ha! Good call, Bren. No. In baseball hitting a home run is a very exciting moment. In football, when they score, it’s called a touchdown and it’s worth six points!
Q: [TeeVee shot of the Philadelphia sideline] Why are those guys watching?
A: Well, that’s the half of the team called the offense. When you have the ball and are trying to score that’s called the offense. The half of the other team that’s trying to stop the other team’s offense from scoring is called the defense. So, each team has two parts, the offense and the defense. While one half plays, the other half waits…or watches.
Q: [TeeVee shot of Reggie Bush – after getting his bell rung – rinsing and spitting] Why did he spit and not drink his water?
A: Well, he’s just rinsing. Uh, he’s, uh, probably going to drink some in a minute.
Q: Did he just brush his teeth?
A: I don’t think so; sometimes it’s refreshing to just rinse your mouth.
Q: Why are two teams playing together?
A: Well, each team plays 16 games in a season. So, a team plays against another team each of those 16 times. When they practice, they play each other – the defense half can practice against the offense half.
Q: Why are the people cheering for the people who are playing?
A: It’s football! People like football. A lot of people kind of wish they could play so they enjoy it a lot.
We then turned off the games and had a dance party to Foghat’s “Slow Ride.”
10.12.2006
10.11.2006
Rethinking the NBA
I'm beginning to believe that I will give the NBA another shot. I've nearly abandoned the sport over the past decade. There has been some fundamental problems being a fan in recent years that everybody understands. It's more of a gut feeling than anything else. I mean, how cool can the world be when Kobe ditches number eight and dons my very own #24? That should mean something, right? But, there's something in the air.
Actually, it was something about Chuck Klosterman's piece in Esquire, An Argument for the NBA, that gave me...pause. The pieces calls for us to start caring about the game again. The reasons are ambiguous, but the heart shines through. Care? Like we did when Magic and Larry and Jamal (Wilkes) and Dennis (Johnson) played. Jamal won five NBA championships. Better yet - one with the Warriors. City. And, we cared.
Baseball is great. As much as I love catheads, it's stone boring. Yawn shiver. Football is great. Loves me some football. But, if there's anything I'm all about (other than freeways), it's basketball. Calling it hoops is just stupid, FYI. NCAA is fine and all, but it's the amateurs. N.B.A. The league.
Just something I'm considering. It's the truth.
Actually, it was something about Chuck Klosterman's piece in Esquire, An Argument for the NBA, that gave me...pause. The pieces calls for us to start caring about the game again. The reasons are ambiguous, but the heart shines through. Care? Like we did when Magic and Larry and Jamal (Wilkes) and Dennis (Johnson) played. Jamal won five NBA championships. Better yet - one with the Warriors. City. And, we cared.
Baseball is great. As much as I love catheads, it's stone boring. Yawn shiver. Football is great. Loves me some football. But, if there's anything I'm all about (other than freeways), it's basketball. Calling it hoops is just stupid, FYI. NCAA is fine and all, but it's the amateurs. N.B.A. The league.
Just something I'm considering. It's the truth.
10.10.2006
Boys and Cars - Plus 30 Years
Top Photo: Fast car drawing circa 1972; 3rd grade
Bottom Photo: Fast car owner circa 2006; well past 2nd grade
Funny thing, more than a quarter century later...Same damn car!
Bottom Photo: Fast car owner circa 2006; well past 2nd grade
Funny thing, more than a quarter century later...Same damn car!
10.08.2006
10.07.2006
Mark is Right - Culture on Skids
Mark is so right.
Flip-flops totally suck. Now that it's October, mid-50s, rainy, and windy it's especially true. We've become soft, weak, and lazy.
Flip-flops on men (with or without jeans <-- flip-flops and jeans, Jesus!): You're just lazy. You aren't at the beach. You are in Gaithersburg. You don't look cool. But, when you're wearing a rain poncho and jeans, you just look like a stupid wannabe frat rat but you aren't "moneyed" nor are you "preppy." You didn't go to boarding school. You cannot even name one Ivy League school. You don't surf. Your nasty, hairy ass toes staring at me in restaurants make me want to puke on you. If your age doesn't end in "teen," drop the flops unless you're at the pool or the beach. It's October. You're dumb.
Flip-flops on women: First and foremost, it's not hot. Period. [ . ] Not. Again, it's lazy. You're walking to work in a fucking suit and -- I pan down checking you out -- flip-flops! Totally not good. Makes me want to shove you down the elevator shaft. In fact, it might be as bad as seeing a nice looking woman light up a cigarette. JFG! <-- Just fucking gross! Again, if you're not in a bathing suit, then you are just wearing fat chick shoes (not nicely chubby, but morbidly obese to the point that you can't put on shoes). I do not have fantasies about taking you back to the crib for drinks because your cracked, blackened heels make me want to hurl. You're just lazy (and every time you put on flip-flops you are also a pig). At least I've seen hotties pull off Tevas. Thank god.
A Weakened Culture: It is no wonder the Bush=Lies team is so effective at scaring you into giving up your money and your rights to support their military-industrial-religious-petroleum agenda. You are weak, America! How do I know? I'm watching you and silently (and not so silently) judging you. It's October, right? It's cool and it's raining, right? This is what I call, uh, "normal." It's just rain.
Apparently, rain makes people 1) drive their minivans like absolute shit; 2) double park their SUVs at the Starbucks (tm); 3) complain vehemently that "it's raining!"; and, 4) look like they've run dry on the Zoloft (tm) and Prozac (tm). Cheer up, mates, it's only been raining for two days. Mopes! Hopefully no one crashes a plane into your office. What would you ever do (especially if it were raining - good thing it wasn't raining in NY on 9/11 (tm)).
The doctor has a new prescription for you: Go outside. Get wet. Smell the air. Listen to the birds. Take it all in then go back inside and dry off.
But, if you wear flip-flops you suck.
10.05.2006
Dunno - 6 out of 10 - Maybe
Maybe I'm just a sucker. A sucker for production. For engineering. Perhaps. I'm a knob junky, a sound purist. But....
I do feel I have a decent gut for music. I'm trained, I'm experienced, I'm well versed. I possess context across many genres. But, maybe I'm just a sucker. I know music.
"The Information" is gorgeous. Really. Beautifully created, much props. Perhaps too clean though. Dunno. Unlike the professional music critics (which I am not), I can't tell you much about a record after one or two listens. If it passes the first listen test, then it may get the headphone test. This isn't a formal procedure just how it works. I get the CD or download at work and listen to it on my tinny desktop speakers at a volume just a bit louder than is appropriate for an office setting (stopped caring about that about 13 years ago). Of course that listen tells me absolutely nothing. Never. Ever. I shuffle home thinking that even the most brilliant recordings positively suck.
But.
But, if I drag it home - for whatever reason - I usually listen on some "high-quality" headphones. The usual set-reset response is, "holy shit, this doesn't suck at all!" Here's the sucker: that's mostly because I can suddenly hear everything and only heard remnants previously. I usually LOVE everything. I'm a peacenik hippie on X.
[note: I had hoped to publish today's post with the words "poltergeist" and "doppleganger" - so there you have it]
So, "The Information" (Beck Hansen and Nigel Godrich) sounds beautiful but...eh, doesn't as Mark Foley would say, "give me wood." That's not a knock on Beck either. I've just moved on. Certainly, I appreciate the sound (as I am a sucker for production, right?), but there's a hollowness. Ouch! That sounds much worse than it's intended. "Hey, I like you and I had a really good date. The sex was even really good. But...eh...your mother's a fat pig and your father's a republican. It's probably not going to work out. Hey, that's my phone...gotta cruise. Call me!" There may even be some techniques I'll lift, but - and this is significant - not many, yo.
You see, the Roots just put out a fucking near masterpiece. Bobby Dylan just put out a sweet record. TV on the Radio just put out some serious shit (and I just listened to their first TV joint called "OK Calculator" - kind of Ween meets Big Dave Wave meets Applied Communications). Ghostface is still holding strong. Beck in 2006 just can't compete anymore, Nigel or not. Sorry, dude. But, I've dropped Ben Harper, probably Flaming Lips, and JSBX from the Ty Hardaway music label too.
So, I bought your record. I own the license for "The Information." I have the stickers. I have the DVD. You get my money, okay? We both win here. I get a "good" record and you get some (more) money. But, it's not enough to get me to buy your next joint (unless I hear that it gives serious wood).
I'll listen some more, but "The Information" will probably wind up as the occasional listen as the iPod shuffles through all the rest of my stuff (see Beck, it made the iPod. Don't cry, you're really pretty and smart).
Maybe 5 out of 10. Dunno.
I do feel I have a decent gut for music. I'm trained, I'm experienced, I'm well versed. I possess context across many genres. But, maybe I'm just a sucker. I know music.
"The Information" is gorgeous. Really. Beautifully created, much props. Perhaps too clean though. Dunno. Unlike the professional music critics (which I am not), I can't tell you much about a record after one or two listens. If it passes the first listen test, then it may get the headphone test. This isn't a formal procedure just how it works. I get the CD or download at work and listen to it on my tinny desktop speakers at a volume just a bit louder than is appropriate for an office setting (stopped caring about that about 13 years ago). Of course that listen tells me absolutely nothing. Never. Ever. I shuffle home thinking that even the most brilliant recordings positively suck.
But.
But, if I drag it home - for whatever reason - I usually listen on some "high-quality" headphones. The usual set-reset response is, "holy shit, this doesn't suck at all!" Here's the sucker: that's mostly because I can suddenly hear everything and only heard remnants previously. I usually LOVE everything. I'm a peacenik hippie on X.
[note: I had hoped to publish today's post with the words "poltergeist" and "doppleganger" - so there you have it]
So, "The Information" (Beck Hansen and Nigel Godrich) sounds beautiful but...eh, doesn't as Mark Foley would say, "give me wood." That's not a knock on Beck either. I've just moved on. Certainly, I appreciate the sound (as I am a sucker for production, right?), but there's a hollowness. Ouch! That sounds much worse than it's intended. "Hey, I like you and I had a really good date. The sex was even really good. But...eh...your mother's a fat pig and your father's a republican. It's probably not going to work out. Hey, that's my phone...gotta cruise. Call me!" There may even be some techniques I'll lift, but - and this is significant - not many, yo.
You see, the Roots just put out a fucking near masterpiece. Bobby Dylan just put out a sweet record. TV on the Radio just put out some serious shit (and I just listened to their first TV joint called "OK Calculator" - kind of Ween meets Big Dave Wave meets Applied Communications). Ghostface is still holding strong. Beck in 2006 just can't compete anymore, Nigel or not. Sorry, dude. But, I've dropped Ben Harper, probably Flaming Lips, and JSBX from the Ty Hardaway music label too.
So, I bought your record. I own the license for "The Information." I have the stickers. I have the DVD. You get my money, okay? We both win here. I get a "good" record and you get some (more) money. But, it's not enough to get me to buy your next joint (unless I hear that it gives serious wood).
I'll listen some more, but "The Information" will probably wind up as the occasional listen as the iPod shuffles through all the rest of my stuff (see Beck, it made the iPod. Don't cry, you're really pretty and smart).
Maybe 5 out of 10. Dunno.
O October (v.03 edit)
It happens every year
Here in the east
October - How I love thee
Cool. Crisp. The approaching rawness
Waning light - Waxing night
The crunching underfoot
Footballs and basketballs
Sliding, sliding toward
Winter's claustrophobia
Productivity of arts arise
O October
My October
Coolassic Quotation
"From the moment he arrived on the scene, many people in the press and politics knew that Foley was gay, among several gays in the Republican Party. As the Republicans demonized gays for partisan advantage, the party became the largest walk-in closet in Washington."
- Sidney Blumenthal, "It's a coverup, stupid"
- Sidney Blumenthal, "It's a coverup, stupid"
10.03.2006
King George - The Farting President
So you go away for a few days as September becomes October and the whole world’s all topsy-turvy.
Foley. Woodward. Beck. Baseball playoffs. Football. Bobby Brown. Elections.
WTF? It’s an October of surprises and it’s only the third of the month.
Like I said, I was in blackout for four days, played catch-up yesterday and am getting back on track with all opinion all the time.
I leave you, for now, with this:
Foley. Woodward. Beck. Baseball playoffs. Football. Bobby Brown. Elections.
WTF? It’s an October of surprises and it’s only the third of the month.
Like I said, I was in blackout for four days, played catch-up yesterday and am getting back on track with all opinion all the time.
I leave you, for now, with this:
Perhaps you are puzzled that the president of the United States would embrace so eagerly a genre of humor that the typical male Homo sapiens stops finding irresistible around the age of 12. But Woodward is not the first to report on Bush's fondness for fart jokes, and Bush is not the first member of his family to display this particular affliction.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)