Phucket

Andy Williams sure could belt out a tune, but Audrey Hepburn was FABULOUS.



Who doesn't like the shit that Henry Mancini (and his orchestra) put together over the years? What buttfucking snot nosed band kid didn't play some mediocre rendition of "Theme from the Pink Panther"? (This one sure as hell did)

Today, when explaining Princeton, New Jersey to a classroom of fifth graders, the first question to get the ball rolling was, "Do you worry often about shark attacks?" Incredible.

The big plan to get "free condoms" distributed by tomorrow has fallen flat on its fat face. So, bear with me while I figure out if anything I've been working on will ever in fact be released.



What a moron fuck drunk weekend it was, thanks for being my friend y'alls.

the end of an op-ed era discusses the dawning of a political one

This is William Kristol's last column.

Foreshadowing to more Doug Glanville perhaps...

Album Of The Year

Tim Kasher and co. circa 2005 on what appears to be a German morning talk show. A decidedly different take on the vocals and rhythm guitar from the LP version, this song just continues to speak straight to the heart. Somehow, despite some lines teetering on groaner status "She said she'd never seen someone so lost/I said I never felt so found" it all just feels so fucking honest; drunk men do think like this ladies, so pay attention and enjoy!

RIP Kay Yow

If you were to ask me which sport I gave the least of a fuck about that gets significant funding to prosper and grow, I'd probably say women's basketball; it just feels like such an exercise in futility to me. Yes I said it, but that said, when someone gives a damn about their job and what they do does more good than harm, and when the harm is essentially harmless because it manifests from skewed perspectives like my own, they deserve recognition.

In the curious case of Kay Yow, a long, impressive career came to a close as she was taken by a notably long-winded battle with breast cancer. My heart goes out to all those personally affected by this. ESPN pays people to do this so, you might want to officially read about her accomplishments before I start ranting about my own grandmother.

Bea Borenstein was a caring and loving woman who I only really know through black and white pictures inside dusty frames. I can remember the texture, but not the taste of the matzoh ball soup that she so kindly stewed for me at the age of 4. I remember her sympathetic hands and face. Her personal struggle with breast cancer was not the stuff of myth; she was just a human being living, dying, day by day with a disease that hadn't the mind to consider that there were to sides to the battle.



Mom and Dad used to tell me how much time and effort both my mother's parents had put in to help raising us. How much they must have given before I was old enough to realize what was what. I kind of feel the same way about Otis Redding; we're constantly left thinking what could have come if that flight had made it through Wisconsin.



My father told me a story once, that at his grandmother's funeral (or in the case of the Japanese a cremation) his family showed him the ashes and bones that were left and told him, "when you die, this is it, nothing more,"; besides probably scaring the bejesus out of him at the time, it served an interesting lesson. I've never met a man who had more love to give to his family and friends in such a faithful manner than the man whose balls I once resided in.



So, I've got time today to reflect on how lucky I am, even if superficial things like being broke and having no friends around are trying to drag me down. Free Condoms!

Charles Blow!

Much like the actually quite excellent Colbert Report interview with NAACP chairman Julian Bond, Charles Blow gets down to the nitty-gritty; we don't live in a post-racist society, even for all the legwork and sacrifice that has already been put forth, and the racial divisions in our society are still real. Also, Blow might be the first man to make the graph sexy.

LBJ

Corey Maggette has been making this face since he bounced from the comfy confines of the Cameron Crazies.

Goofballs

Hello Malaysian Mogwai fans!

I'm up at 9:30 in the morning here on a Saturday, thanks in large part to a 2 am bedtime coupled with a freezing apartment that does not allow me to sleep for long.

We're almost 2 months in to the no shave game on my face and the results are somewhat horrifying.


That makes two Michael J. Fox references in one month!

I hope everyone is getting as excited as I am about "Pro-Fi-Lactix Gratuite".


Bad Credit? No Credit? Come on down to Big Al Sugiero's used car lot!

The cryptic link titles on the blog should not stop any of you from clicking through! So, check this, this andthis man.

I've been reading up on the band Faith No More and their two different lead singers, Chuck Moseley/Mike Patton so you don't have to. Kind of interesting stuff for a kid who bought Limp Bizkit CD's from Sam Goody with a gift certificate at the brilliant decision making age of 13; I would literally go straight to the best seller aisle and grab what was in the top ten that didn't totally suck (haha! I got jokes too...).


Ok, everybody have a great day!

Bunk

Yo-Yo Ma referred to the inauguration as "Wicked Cold". What a wonderful world.

Pendulum Swings

Super Clásico of 2006: River Plate upsets first place Boca Juniors on a myriad of unimpressive goals 3-2.

Cantankerous old men jostle for position in the limited accommodations of the local watering hole. Younger, more virile, locals know that their place is in the street; that as long as there is a view, they can drink, standing, in peace. Then there's the table with the beaming bright faces of four drunk Americans ordering pasta that may or may not have been microwaved minutes before it was brought to them with their liter bottle beers.

Malouva was a stones throw from the dormitory's door, so I knew it wouldn't matter when I rose from my chambers. The clamoring was feverish; almost every passing torso was painted in white with a red strpe or a blueish yellow, quickly it began blurring together and coalesced in to a tornado of Camel blue cigarette smoke and incessant chanting. No, I don't recall the songs they sang, there was no clear way to be prepared for this event.

Each time the ball crossed the goal-line, an eruption on each adjacent corner flowed up to the sky. When one looks at the flags of Uruguay and Argentina, you get to know sky blue; same goes for city living in Buenos Aires, when the dull, greyness of the July wintertime fades, the sky somehow feels closer to the ground. With that blue comes so many other beautiful colors; the jacaranda flowers in Plaza de Mayo, the brilliant ebullience of rose bushes, the savory insides of a fresh empanada, even the projectile vomit of an oversized half-Asian American student has a certain freshness to it.

Like all great man-made inventions, the first division of Argentine professional football was ingrained in to the Sunday of seemingly every citizen. While standing and staring at the screen through the window, I found myself losing ground to the booze hounds who were sniffing around for a better view. Frankly, my disinterest grew as it became revealed to me that there couldn't be less at stake for me other than the overdue work that I had neglected like a tamagochi pet in the corner of the den of filth that I farted and fucked around in a little too much.

There was no time for dialogue amongst these men, women and children; songs were sang, glasses were chimed, but minds eyes' were fixed on one thing alone. Maybe that's why I was happy to walk away with plenty of time for some late game heroics and contemplate how to best enjoy the weather, knowing damn well that Ohio was not going to change it's ways come January's wintry term. As the throng of fanatics again crescendoed their discontentment, a failed opportunity in football is a passing thing it seems, the now growing distance brought a certain warmth back.

I can't get to you, from your garden gate, 'cause it's always locked by the magistrate

Everyone is either in Granada or Portugal. My poor friend in London got a stomach virus and had to bail on our plans to frolic through the streets of Sevilla this fair weekend. I've got nothing but my thoughts, 1 functioning maraca, my midi controller, a tortilla de patata (con cebolla), a loaf of bread, some fizzy-bubbly, and this macbook pro for the next 72 hours; let's see what happens...


Personally, I'm not a big advocate of the ballyhoo we fans create around NBA all-star weekend. The dunk contest, despite never really losing relevance, gets declared dead every couple of years or so until someone with transcendent athleticism and control comes along to cheer us up. Jason Richardson's explosiveness during his two-year reign as dunk contest champ was so ridiculous, but nobody really cared because nothing he did came close to VC in 2000. There is so much history with the dunk; it's social importance starting at the earliest possible age (teenage boys, and the occasional teenage girl, get a boner just from grabbing the rim without any help from props) coupled with the crushing shame from being tall and unable to perform this task, usually manifesting in the form of, "Man, if I had your length I would be playing D-1 ball."

Other items on the itinerary in Phoenix this February:
-Skills Competition: I don't see why they can't incorporate more absurd elements in to this to, bare minimum add a little zest to this event. It is so unfair that anyone has to compete against Chris Paul in an on court challenge of speed and coordination (dude is on another fucking level altogether).
-Rookie vs. Sophomore Game: I've been seeing some people pointing and waving their finger at this event as a silly way of making the youngin's feel some sense of entitlement. They, like all sentient beings it seems, take their cue from the older heads running the big show on Sunday and throw concepts like defense completely out the window. Here's my question; if we're gonna get incensed over this, why not the eight bajillion showcase events for high school athletes that are blatantly sponsored by the biggest companies in the country? Why did I know about O.J. Mayo when he was in 8th grade? Why do I know that Mouth-of-Wilson, Virginia is a real place?(Former stomping grounds of Carmelo Anthony, Josh Smith, Michael Beasley, Ron Mercer, Desagna Diop, among many others) Also, when is Ibrahim Jabber gonna get his shine in the NBA? I'm starting the campaign to have the Nets drop Keyon Dooling in favor of the greatest Ivy League guard I've ever had the pleasure of playing against.
-Celebrity Game: Ok, now I will openly admit that my greatest desire in life is to become famous only so I can milk that fame to get to play in celebrity basketball games. This is the only thing that keeps me going everyday when I think about how little I have going for myself.
-There are other events, like that one where they have an NBA player, a WNBA player and a retired great from a team shoot from a bunch of spots on the floor...zzzzzzzz...what huh? oh man what a fucking stupid weekend...

Creepy as FUCK

Peep this picture of the Papa in the article.

Blarg

After much discussion with my older brother, I've finally settled on a title for a new release that should be dropping next week; Pro-Fil-Lactix Gratuite. Basically the idea is that I will be fucking you 6 (or more) ways to Sunday but there's a roughly 83% chance you won't get pregnant (all at no cost to you, the listener, other than sparing a few passing moments of your computer time). So please, stay tuned and entertain yourselves with the following videos:






Fuck Joe Budden's lazy production team on "Pump it Up"











Goonie Goo Goo

Oh shit there's a bear!

"Worms like Conficker not only ricochet around the Internet at lightning speed, they harness infected computers into unified systems called botnets, which can then accept programming instructions from their clandestine masters. “If you’re looking for a digital Pearl Harbor, we now have the Japanese ships steaming toward us on the horizon,” said Rick Wesson, chief executive of Support Intelligence, a computer security consulting firm based in San Francisco."

Article; here.

This doesn't even make any fucking sense. The world is crazy, go read a book you beautiful babies. If not, at least read this.

Calvin, where art thou?

One of the true gems of the Last Waltz; even if Rick Danko is too coked out to remember the words to this, or any other song; if you have a copy of the deluxe 4 disc rerelease, check out the version "This Wheel's On Fire", Danko totally butchers the 3rd verse and it just doesn't matter.



This video is terrible in the same way Hagar is Horrible (also known as not quite as much as you thought as a child). That said, George Mcrae has got something to say, in a bad way.

That's Some Shit

Pretty much everyone who writes on the interweb has commented on the absurdity of Rick Reilly's ridiculously fat paycheck from the Worldwide Leader; $17 million to do sportswriting over any period of time is pretty unfucking believable. His output since signing the deal hasn't exactly justified the price tag; I read somewhere that his per word average salary is even higher than how much Jerome James earns per minute played this season (FYI, JJ, who is playing out the final year of a $21 million dollar deal, played 10 minutes before shutting it down with season ending surgeery). I usually abhorr puff pieces or special interest stories, but this piece about the super bowl really tugged at my heart strings, read ithere, maybe, because i have a soft spot for Larry Fitzgerald in general (favorite non-Eagle/Pitt alum fittingly had to be the guy who absolutely torched the iggles in the NFC championship), maybe we can forgive the "beer pong" exposé that is only about 7 years too late; what fucking parent hasn't heard of that shit by now? Deadspin.com had a beer pong table sponsor years ago, and they've only been around since Reilly was only making $1 millie a year!

So, in summary, the entire Fitzgerald family has my utmost respect for their true professionalism and their loyalty to themselves.

Also, does anyone who read this notice how many grammatical errors I make? It's somewhat horrifying...

What's the Lesson?

In this article on Tim Geithner claims, “If our policy response is tentative and incrementalist, if we do not demonstrate by our actions a clear and consistent commitment to do what is necessary to solve the problem,” he said, “then we risk greater damage to living standards, to the economy’s productive potential, and to the fabric of our financial system.”

Hunting like a fox!

Chuck Klosterman did a podcast with Bill Simmons recently; of course I listened to it in its entirety. I got turned on to Klosterman somewhat recently, thanks to my good friend John Bennum; at first I thought CK’s style of prose was a tad too personal, he didn’t seem to be speaking to me as the reader as much as he was enjoying how the light bulb was going off above his head. As I’ve read more and more and more of his stuff, I’ve somewhat fallen for the same things that at first had me wincing.
As someone whose personal cultural memory is one of my few sources of entertainment, I really love it when CK sounds off on the world of sports; he had Rodney Rogers near and dear to his heart long before the recent tragedy befell my favorite former Net besides Aaron Williams.
Simmons, at the 31 minute mark (roughly), asks about a movie called Bigger, Stronger, Faster, which is not about Daft Punk/Kanye/Edwin Birdsong. He also refers to Sean Merriman as ‘Sean Marion’, that, or his Beantown accent has thrown me off, or worse, my perception of the English language is getting swallowed up as I become slightly more acclimated to the Spanish language.
They don’t discuss music very much, despite references to Nirvana’s “Nevermind”, Peter Frampton’s “Frampton…Comes Alive” and Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run”.
They DO talk about Carmelo Anthony dropping serious buckets on the Minnesota Timberwolves and how it is a Herculean feat. Then they start talking about Kobe’s 81, CK says 80 cause he’s allowed to make silly slip-ups. Simmons says, “Nobody liked Kareem:” begins reminiscing about how Wilt “The Stilt”, fan favorite if there ever was one (groupie love!), was not so thrilled that Kareem took his scoring title away from him. I don’t agree that 33 points in a quarter is the equivalent of a perfect game, but I am not sold; think about the time it takes to accomplish the perfect game, and consider the hot streak that people can go on in 12 minutes (obviously it’s still impressive and on par with some of the best basketball that has ever been played).
Then they start rambling about Obama and College Football Playoff system; borefest 2009. I can’t listen to Simmons talk about Obama, I say that, but I am listening; Obama is a great politician. CK says, “he’s in a good position, because it seems like his most rapid follower will believe anything he does,” but same went for Dubya, so try again their Chuckie, any successful politician must secure a base. Then Simmons makes an NBA analogy to the Elton Brand offseason signing; I don’t buy that, Brand completely through the Clips for a loop, and was unable to get acclimated to his new teammates successfully in the first run pre-injury. If we’re gonna do some kind of NBA analogue, I gotta give it up for Bill Bradley, perhaps too obvious a choice, but I am now happy to say that cross-racial comparisons are kosher.
The mood then shifts to great sports bust, with Webber’s love for Obama serving as a segue in to Webber’s ‘failed’ career. They talk about Kenny Anderson and say he is a serious bust; they don’t start talking about a certain other Georgia Tech alum. Then CK hits up the Ron Dayne reference; more yards than anyone, Heisman winner, but a huge NFL bust with those unreal expectations. Simmons starts to shred C Webb, then CK comes along and kind of shits all over Simmons. Then, while backtracking, he maintains his disgust of the distance between C Webb’s announcer persona and his style of play. CK makes a great point; not all analysis has to be based on personal experience, in fact some level of objectivity is required. That said, C Webb is the all time worst rapping finesse forwards ever. If anyone can unearth the Kurupt/C Webb track “Gangsta Gangsta” you will have free tapas for life.
Finally the music reference comes out; Motley Crue’s “Dr. Feelgood” vis-à-vis GnR’s “Appetite for Destruction” compared with Patrick Ewing vs. Hakeem Olajuwon. Simmons, who is a basketball genius and hopefully will release his NBA book soon, makes a great point about Pitino’s full-court press affecting the career arc of a guy with knees as sensitive as Ewing’s. Then they start talking about Jordan and Drexler; basically, a well-worn point, that Jordan being the ultimate competitor to a fault, is always revered. Simmons refers to him as “Almost homicidal” and “Pathologically competitive”; then he says he doesn’t know if, “Lebron has that gene”. I don’t think it’s genetic; I think Jordan was the right guy at the right time. Also, consider how ridiculous the supposedly self-imposed retirement for 2 years led to him coming back and absolutely destroying the league for three more titles. CK thinks Lebron can be better than Jordan because he’s bigger and a better passer; I think Adande put this shit to bed when he wrote his Lebron vs. Kobe piece and said there is a lot more Magic/Bird going on than heir to his airness. They have a quick caveat about the “incestuous” nature of the NBA fraternity and the lack of “hate” among professional athletes, as in there will never be another Bill Laimbeer beating the fuck out of anyone else on the other team. They say that hate can only manifest in this day and age from unpaid debts and adulterous actions; they must not watch the way Matt Barnes carries himself, or Darko Milicic who could start a metal band and I would officially be a fan.
CK asks all the tough questions to Simmons and I fucking love it; how much do you bet on. Gambling on sports is always going to be controversial; Klosterman says that, according to “The Last Boyscout”, that the purpose of injury reports is for the purposes of gambling.
Some self-deprecating humor, and a quick plug for Klosterman’s most recent book “Downtown Owl”. Then Klosterman plugs a new book of essays coming out next year; pure pop culture writing, and it’s all new. Also, CK is getting married, and Simmons almost sounds condescending in his congratulations. Klosterman and Simmons talk about solitary confinement, writing and the nature of people who spend their time writing; they both claim to enjoy being alone for extended periods of time. Then, right at the end, Klosterman talks about how he has some kind of amnesia about his novel; something that he obsessed over for such a long period of time, he now has moved past it in a way that somewhat disturbs him.
I guess you didn’t need me to write a synopsis, but I don’t know how many of you have the time like I do to listen to a 79 minute podcast featuring two extremely regional accents that slowly turn to nails on a chalkboard played backwards on a feedback loop. So, sorry if reading this was a huge waste of your time, but I know only those who actually cared would have read this all the way through.

Booya!

BH OVERDRIVE!

Roger Cohen is "semi-hard" and he doesn't live in Spain!

Bebop (DA smokes pop)

(Photo Courtesy of Google Image Search/Realityrant.blogspot.com)

I can't pinpoint the exact moment top 40 radio's spell faded for me. Maybe it was when Martin started giving me mix cd's, maybe it was freshman year before basketball practice when Phil would enlighten me with Elephant 6 recordings, perhaps Sophomore year of college when one couldn't help but be knee deep in WOBC's at first overwhelming vaults (I wasn't an official member till way late in the game anyways). In contrast, I can't seem to pinpoint what makes top 40 stuff so popular these days; when your musical preferences are the social equivalent of living in a van down by the river, it should come as no surprise.
As far as casting music in to genres there are several other categories that confuse me to no end:

-Jazz: I've always been taught, whether from a musical or historical standpoint, that the essential element of Jazz is improvisation. What springs forth from "standards" is the virtuosic capacity to approach the same sheet music in an idiosyncratic manner that allows the listener to say, "Oh, this is a Wes Montgomery take on Green Dolphin Street," without sounding as clownish as I JUST DID! As an occasional bass player whose minimal musical literacy/Jew rhythmic skills has faded faster than David Arquette as a leading man, who was cast to utter perfection in Hamlet II, I have never felt a particular inclination towards playing Jazz, mainly because those who do tend to be rather passionate about it. There is an essence to Jazz that once obeyed the old color line of American race relations; there's a reason the old white lady, who plays Happy Gilmore's grandma, says in the O'Dweeds commerical, "I used to smoke this while listening to the Negro Jazz Music." That said, Benny Goodman was making the big band swing just as hard as any of his contemporaries; the clarinet is such a Jewish instrument it ought to come with a coupon for a free bottle of Gefilte fish.


-Folk: Most kids I know, who grew up in the US of A, learned to sing songs like "Oh Susannah" and "She'll be Coming 'round the Mountain" in school as youngin's. I am not exactly sure what the point was, other than being simple melodies and progressions by which to slowly develop the voices of disinterested, snot-nose brats who generally yelp them out with no regard for technique or form. I suppose that's exactly the point of folk music; it's all about the simplicity in delivering the message. That said, the Acoustic guitar does not connote folk music, yet time and time again I am seeing people call themselves some derivative of the folk genre; folk-rocker, indie-folk (huh?), etc. It's not like it really matters, but you can't be an American in the age of access and legitimately claim to play folk music (unless you're Bob Dylan, and no you are not Bob Dylan, yes I'm talking to you Cate Blanchett!).


-Tribute: The ABSOLUTE worst thing that happened to Darfur is the reckless carnage that has ensued, somewhat uninterrupted, for what feels like an eternity. In a close second place is that compilation of John Lennon covers that they tried to hawk to "raise money for Darfur"; first of all, what the fuck does that even mean? No apologies to anyone here, fuck Green Day, fuck U2, fuck everybody who claims to care, but doesn't do anything. Also, band-specific cover bands are such a travesty that I have to stop typing in fear that I will destroy my lovely computer.


It's really too bad they couldn't get the clearance to blatantly rip-off stairway, but as the old saying on Wayne's World went:

Why is Tia Carrere going gaga over three single coil pickups and a whammy bar; she's the frontwoman/bassist for an up and coming joan jett/asia carrera throwback band and she's excited about features that come standard on basically every strat ever? At least Mike makes a nice showing with the Pre-CBS banter...

Oh Damn!

Wikipedia has this brilliant new concept where it tells you as many of the samples used in famous hip-hop tracks as the users can figure out. Here's a great track that got used for 2Pac's "I Ain't Mad Atcha" and maybe also the track "American Dream" which I posted earlier this month when I, as Kate Mooney said (somewhat auto-referentially somehow), in "parody" of myself.

Well, I'm tickled pink that someone took the time to remix Johnny Cash songs, and the asshole's name isn't even Rick Rubin!

Best January of the aughts so far, by far.

Ranting, Raving Histrionics!

The pretentiousness in this article is spellbinding; for one, if you're gonna shit on Jack Johnson for even attempting to catapult himself in to the same league of musicianship as the late, great Nick Drake, then you gotta do it with some substance! Heath Ledger's agent is laughing all the way to the grave; same goes for the assholes who profited of Drake's untimely demise. That said, it's equally disappointing that Dave Grohl will be making an appearance, as he has yet to provide me with an inkling of justification for writing/performing quiet, introspective music. Eddie Vedder is toeing a thin line here...

Rudy Fernandez was somehow voted in by fans ahead of Russel Westbrook and Joe Alexander to the 2009 dunk contest; Bullshit!



After watching this video, and doing some serious soul searching, I'm proud of Rudy for speaking English in such a remedial manner. Until I found this clip:


Embarrassing in new and original ways; Chris Andersen redux?



Well, I suppose he's got a long way to go til he does this:



The NBA where Reggie Miller dawns a wig and calls himself Cheryl...

Soccer Update...Psych!

Illest fashion news to come out of Milan since Beckham's transfer went through officially.

Today, a short essay on hazing with intermittent Tenacious D songs.

I never played on a girl's varsity sport team, so there was never any utilization of the pysch on game day; sure sometimes we used to wear ties and nice shirts, but that was mainly so we could look slightly respectable. I can recall every level of interscholastic sports, from the earliest middle school soccer clubs to Oberlin College Women's Lacrosse, finding some sort of inspiration through like-minded gift giving/banner making. In reality, I find this act of kindness from teammate to teammate rather endearing and, in general, good form.


Men's sports teams often engage in what is known as "hazing"; though generally harmless in nature, these rites of passage foment a culture of shame. Websites such as bad jocks, have been a source of entertainment and occasional outrage for many web denizens. To put it plainly, men of approximately the same age molest and harass each other to create a hierarchy and, often times, to amuse those with that inkling of power. There is an glint of cultural transmission, the recent unveiling of some particularly bad hazing incidents is not all that shocking in its historical context, that leads me to believe that Obama being in the white house doesn't do shit for youth sports; even if everyone with an outlet is writing lists and essays as to just what BH "Overdrive" Obama will do about how fucking fat a nation we are. Let me also say, that women's sports teams are often culpable of ridiculous initiation rituals; this isn't a gender issue per se.



In Fyodor Dostoevesky's last great novel, The Brothers Karamazov, the, perhaps, bastard child of noted buffoon Fyodor Pavlovich, Smyerdakov enumerates reasons why god as his opposers see it, cannot exist. Smyerdakov is the product of both a society and, concordantly, a family that has no use for him; his awareness of his seemingly expendable nature seeps over in to his ideas on theology, among other things. He is weak and powerless, but he is given a context by which to express great power; the power to hurt others, something that all human beings have. I believe many athletes have a certain "Smyerdakov" take on the nature of hazing; that it is an outlet for frustrations, both personal and professional(in the case of the student-athlete, often times their profession is more the latter than the former).



If we take a Hobbesian standpoint towards the act of hazing, that it is our nature to be horrible, selfish beasts, then perhaps it's better for us horrified moralist observers to let it be. Is it natural to coerce another human being in to drinking till he/she vomits while a group of individuals exercise some bizarre bukkake variant? I'm gonna say, unless you're Japanese, or had to put up with a Freshmen class as annoying as the Oberlin College Men's Baseball team of 2004-2005, the answer is most definitely no. I don't know where the pictures went of a much fatter me d-boing a tiki torch, but let me just say that our hazing was actually hilarious and so well deserved that I am a better man for it. So tell Thomas Hobbes we got another failed attempt, and remember that if you're gonna abuse somebody for no apparent reason, you might as well get paid to do it (Hello US Marine Corps!).



Now, time to casually masturbate to this.

i'm writing a paper

And not even for school, just for me motherfuckers...

The pillow situation in Spain has reached it's boiling point for yours truly. I'm not quite sure why Spanish beds are categorized only by width (ridiculous) or why pillows are designed to spread across that entire width (as opposed to offering a pillow half that size that would serve an individual's head as proper cushioning and support only can), but I cannot take it anymore! My drunk-misanthropic landlord can also go fuck himself for never fixing half the fuckups in the apartment; our shutters don't work, there's several broken tables and chairs, the water pressure is abysmal, but fuckin eh' this experience is too fun to let someone who "prospered under Franco"(his words) to fuck shit up.

Tortilla de Patata (Tortilla Española) is cheaper than flour tortillas; this runs so counterintuitive in logic that I have been deprived of a true burrito for 4 straight months. I suppose the mistake is mine for having visited Ana's Taquería in Brookline, Massachusetes during an August road trip; pressed cheese, my god pressed cheese in the tortilla...Speaking of which, Dave Sokoll created an elaborate high stakes bet to eat 7 super burritos in one day, he ate one and I forgive him; although 7 super burritos would make for superb drug mule training, something that i might consider to save up some money (hello DEA/Guardia Civil!)

Arroyo=Brook (Vocabulary lessons)

David Brooks says of Obama on inauguration day, "To an almost eerie extent, he exemplifies discipline, equipoise and self-control. Under his leadership, as Peter Beinart noted in Time, Democrats came to seem like the party of order while Republicans were associated with disorder."
What the fuck is eerie about being organized, other than a writer projecting his own insecurities about an accomplished, dedicated example of the American dream that has the courage to solicit the aid of the other party's top man? I can't shrug off the notion that these conservative op-edders are viewed the same way right now by their identifying constituency as I read Bob Herbert, who seems pretty centrist and level-headed, at least, in his opinions, or any other number of people who attacked Bush's policies based on some form of rational thinking; the problem is, David, that the Republican Party is STILL the party of "values", they project an image of some kind of moral superiority. Basically, it's gonna be a long 4 years for people who are still banging Bush's drum; Karl Rove will awake in the middle of the night doing some half assed "who's line is it anyway" rap and realize he's sleeping next to Ryan Stiles, Diedrich Bader, Drew Carey and Mimi, and that he lives in Cleveland.

Sophomore

Sophomore year of college was a great time for sophomoric humor. Thanks to two completely different people I learned two complimentary terms that occupy the better part of my mental space:
1)The booty-do (courtesy of Elyria high's 3rd most popular alumni in the history of the world, Joe Reisz), when a woman's gut sticks out further than her booty do.
2)The booby-do (courtesy of Highland Park beauty queen and identifier of psycho hose beasts 'round the world, Emma Kessler), when a woman's gut sticks out further than her boobies do.

I never thought I'd reach an age when I saw a combination of the two; like some kind of antithetical Apollonian perfection, it was a mere dream in the twitter feed of my twisted mind. Then, I went to Moe's bar here in Huelva. The bar maiden smiled as she handed me the 5 beers I ordered (1 euro beers, you gotta go big, plus pictures of homer everywhere make you want to drink); I could not reciprocate the pleasant exchange for long. Out of the corner of my eye were two beautiful Spanish lesbians showing their affection for each other; as I commented at a party on Friday, the phenomenon of hot women everywhere leaves men in a perpetual "semi-hard" state, and therefore nullifies much of the flesh arrow sporting that ought to arise from such sultry seductresses (and they say men are pigs...). So, I got way off topic, point is that Nico and I skipped out so he could roll a ciggie, but frigid temperatures were not so inviting. We sought shelter at the Super 8 bar next door. With somewhat mod lighting fixtures and the remains of cheap guitar jutting out of the wall, I figured this wouldn't be a bad place to do it. As Bloc Party's "Banquet" played on tinny speakers Nico and I airdrummed to our little hearts' content; we also made note of how influential the Cure's drummer is on bands like Bloc Party (if you don't know the song plastic passion then you can't understand why bands would say they cite the cure as such a big influence). I look up at the random denizens there at the bar and what do I see? Rotund perfection; a carpenter's acid trip; the head liaison of the itty-bitty titty committee had swallowed a balloon; the holy grail of the body-do. I was transfixed, mainly out of disgust, but luckily the music quickly went back to Spanish pop and I was able to snap out of it long enough to get outside and get a breath of biting fresh air.

Then I find out drunk bitch x is the girl of my dreams, but only through sleep.

MLK Jr. Day

Martin Luther King, rest in peace, they're appropriating your image for many of the wrong reasons, and for that I am sorry.

I did NOT get the day off from work here in Spain. As many of you damn well know, the last person who'd probably ever get recognized for his important contributions to civil rights is Martin Luther King Jr. I had the great fortune of attending an assembly as a youngin' in my elementary school where Jackie Robinson's widow came and talked about the man, his teammates and the game of baseball. I was so proud to be American back then, nowadays, even with Obama partying like it's 1999 (we all wish it was) and Roger Cohen rewriting Billy Joel "classics" (which I'm personally all for), it's a lot harder to maintain the wonder that I held for a hero like Jackie Robinson. For all those not in the know, he put up with a WHOLE lot of shit from the US Army, and became a commissioned officer only after the great heavyweight Joe Louis pulled some strings (with his beautiful hands...), he had his own mini-Rosa Parks like episode in which he was charged with a litany of crimes that he clearly had not committed. His baseball career started at 28, which is not all that late when you consider Ryan Howard's rookie campaign was at 27 (thanks Jim Thome...).

So, yes the President plays basketball; I like his form on the jumper. He also is an avid reader and, get this, writer. So we have mad shit to be proud of, but none if means anything if the most diabolical bank in the world is still fucking us over (Citibank has its hands in Target, Verizon, Yum Foods [KFC, Taco Bell, Pizza Hut] and a plethora of other highly visible institutions)

I don't know if it means much of anything, but check out this website.

Forgive me father for I have sinned

Some shit that I have never owned up to and ought to if I'm going to ever move on:
-Andrew Cossard, I spilled beer on your precious rug the night I carved my face open with the steak knife while trying to open that fucking Carlsberg.
-PDS men's basketball team of 2003-2004 after our heartbreaking buzzer-beater loss to WWP-South, I spilled the chocolate chip cookies on the floor of the bus, picked them up and grinned with great satisfaction as you all commented on their deliciousness.
-Jeff Pence, I didn't read the shipping news and will hold steady in that regard.
-Sophia Yang, damn that was rough stuff...
-John Butts, I yelled a single racial slur at you after several full seasons of you being a total dick and saying incredibly hurtful things.
-Hot Indian hipster girl at Oberlin, I black out drunkenly screamed at you because I was scared. Or because Truan Savage brings out the worst in me, I'm not entirely sure which one.
-Sylvia Morse, I do a convincing jewish woman accent.
-Everyone from the 4 years of intramural bball; I never played well in the championship games, sorry.
-Rod Blagojevich, spelling your name wrong.
-Stuart Abram, you got that inbounds play wrong and Mosley pulled me from the game (I was finally getting rotation minutes), you fucking asshole. Just kidding!
-Drunk bitches, 2 years younger than I, that went to The Hun School, sorry for taking that case of Corona and 40 dollars in cash from the table, if it makes you feel better I was too hungover to run in to the endzone the next day when I had noone even remotely close to me for 20 yards.
-Pretty much every girl I ever fucked (over), sorry bout that but it's a two way street, ya know?
-And finally, the Junta de Andalucía, you keep writing checks and I'll keep doing my thing.

Three Hundo

All right, three hundred posts.

Before I get to rambling, read this interesting article about the inauguration; here.

I did not know William Kristol, NYT op-ed conservative (as he calls himself), was such a Jew. Not that these things matter, but how can you write that Bush's greatest triumph in 8 years was "winning" the Iraq war; this is reminiscent of the coddling given to the lone American trying to keep up with Europeans in a friendly game of Urban football (i can only speak from experience). How many synagogues say a prayer for the US and for Israel? (Answer: I don't do that shit, so I personally haven't a clue.) So Bush, despite the expendable aspects of his allegiance, gave so very much to Israel in times of crisis (there's that buttfucking word again). I think Tom Friedman wrote a little piece last week about how Israel's strategy is not surprising; he made it seem almost as if there was a pedagogical element to the strikes on the Gaza strip, that there was no longer room to be doveish with the political climate as such. The politicization of other people's facebook "status" in conjunction with the lack of organized dissent amongst the "Joshua" generation leads me to believe that we could have the first true armchair mormon quarterback win the BCS for BYU in 2014.

Number one concern for the immediate future? Making the most delicious lunch that 5 euro can make.

How i feel everyday

This is the seaside town that they forgot to bomb.

Taka, you are a genius for finding this back in the day

We are the time that we keep

Hello,

Sometimes, when the howling Huelva winds bow their blustery heads long enough to grant me a moment of acrid peace, I think I'm a lucky boy. The molasses like nature of the day to day here used to drive me wild; the first three months were a slow, painful deluge of bullshit bureaucracy and annoying Andalucían accents (lo que había pasado, tío, ya está) that, come Christmas time, had me seriously doubting my worth in the world at large. Having put those doubts to rest slightly by easing up, Spain has reciprocated the kind gesture; the trickle down effects of my workplace becoming somewhat less boring than before, coupled with a newfound appreciation for being able to play soccer in a t-shirt outdoors in January has me thinking twice about bitching like a little boy-o who didn't get EXACTLY what he wanted.

Number one comment I used to get from people in Oberlin when I explained that I was headed to Spain was, "Oh, you MUST be fluent by now to be doing that." The truth is that the vast majority of the people who hold the same title as me, myself included, do not speak, write nor listen at a wholly advanced level. That's really the nature of things in most jobs I realize; by being somewhat qualified, or in my case knowing a professor who took a shining to my new-school brand of braggadocio/idiocy, you are brought in to, over time, acquire and utilize the skills that you were supposed to have had with you all along. Like what the fuck is a resume? Computer skills? If you can't use a fucking computer and you graduated college in 2008, then you are wholly, unequivocally fucked. There are always people who don't seem to be working as hard as others, but yield a seemingly greater success within the same limits; it isn't easy for anyone, but being mired in the drudgery of doing something you don't actually enjoy, or having no true outlet for your passions, will lead even the most level-headed of people to find themselves jealous of those who are blissfully ignorant or mysteriously knowledgeable.



The Philadelphia Eagles have been eliminated from the playoffs this year; hold up those heads iggles fans, it's been one hell of a storybook Mcnabb-phone calling, Andy Reid Bearded, Asante Samuel picking plum dicking run for the ages.

This reminds of the Nina Simone interview I posted a little while back

Those chickenheads are fucking yap happy in this clip.

Jesse Chappelle you're on notice

Didn't realize how much Chappelle links together the stand up material, but he does it in such a brilliant way that I had never considered (contrary to popular belief continuity is a sign of a real talent); using both the hey what makes you think I'm chinese, I am korean! AND the we don't get bent out of shape we just call those people police from For What it's Worth:

Drunk Bitch X

Looking for some awesome backup vocals recorded in the early aughts? Look no further than Slick Rick's verse off of "The Sun" on Bulletproof Wallets (oh my my my).



Don't get caught with your pants down singing that Ghostface verse in front of people, they will think you're singing some hymnal bullshit (especially when you have whiteboy ritmo, but, then again, take it away Frank Rich!) So it's Sunday morning coming down, and last night I smoked my brains. The weather outside is once again tremendous; football with the euros is a dangerous prospect for your man in the field.

Here's a question, how hard would it be to learn Welsh this late in the game? I just cannot get enough of the Super Furry Animals "Radiator"; I'm starting to think a Best of list should just include whatever the fuck you've been listening to and not require recentness of the releases.

Chris Duhon leads the league in minutes played (via gchat w/ Avis), this leads me to believe that he is officially the most likable Duke alumni playing starter minutes in the NBA; so, in summary Shane Battier, Elton Brand, Corey Maggette, and co. are losing some of their initial luster. I bet at least one of these athletic, abnormally tall gentlemen read this today and thought, "fuck."

The Knickerbockers also have two DePaul alumni on their roster in Quentin "Q" Richardson and Wilson "Wil" Chandler; apparently if you go to school in Chicago you can still play basketball in the Big East, although in Q's case he played in Conference USA. DePaul exists in my mind only because I once met a dope female coworker who was finishing up her philosophy degree undergrad; subsequent mentioning of her has resulted in regaling of the likability of many of the co-eds in attendance at said University for their love of "fashion" among other things.



So, I've never been to Australia, but the more women I meet from lovely Oceania, the more I think that I've just got to get down there (in every sense o' the word). When I saw Ben Folds and Rufus Wainwright (with special guest Ben Lee) at the Borgata in Atlantic City with Mike Blumenthal, I was intrigued when the diminutive Lee ambled over to the lead guitar player and gave him a fat kiss on the lips; The Red Hot Chili Peppers have been in the onstage kissing game for mad long, and don't even get me started on Mitch and Mickey, but I digress. During an Australian tour featuring Folds, Lee and Ben Kweller, the three got together to record a quick 4 song EP; it got MTV attention, I can't quite recall if it was Kurt Loder or Sway who informed me of its existence. So, without further ado, a quick foray in to three of power pops finest songwriters of the last 15 years or so. All my farts smell like kebab sauce.

TB-TBEP

Dodo Bird flaps its wings aimlessly

What happens when you remember something that you used to like because your older brother would play it in his car during high school? You put up not one, but two clips; Thinking where I'm gonna be in 2007, either a house in the Hamptons or a house in heaven...I can still remember when that line seemed mad far off...



Enough reminiscing about distant veal-parm clouded memories, it's time to get real. Domenico thinks 2008 was a rough year for music in general; most people's best of lists were more painful to read than Jane Eyre in zero gravity. That most recent Adam Sandler movie, "You Don't Mess with the Zohan", is actually really funny; hummus related humor has had a real breakthrough as of late...but not as much as NBA players making music:




Lionel Richie on heavy rotation...

Dave Chappelle on Def Poetry Jam

Chappelle is a genius of all time! Also note the player hater line he drops; I don't know him and I hate his guts, brilliant.

Should I do drugs Dave?

Osanna

Sexy Sadie

Great Chord Progressions don't come out of thin air:

Strike up the band

Taka is cooking up something of great interest no doubt. If you haven't taken advantage of the 5 O'clock free crack giveaway, then get on it!

Status Quo from beyond the grave!

What you know can only mean one thing

Goddamn! It is so beautiful outside. I just woke up, and perhaps chugging tinto de verano was a foolish exercise at Miha's bday party last night. That said, I kind of forgot how much I love so many people here; last night was as good a reminder as any.

Two of my best friends here that are Spaniards work at the local music shop "El Ramblado"; these guys are fucking awesome, not only do they love real Spanish music, they have very open ears. Also they let me shred on the Brian May model through an Orange 50 watt Head from time to time; as well as providing me with clues as to how I might meet local musicians, they are also really really nice and occasionally jam on some pretty greasy blues that make me think that Tim Meadows is my favorite actor that ever was.



It's not habit forming!



Oberlin (my frame of reference for a much larger question), you are so far from Bolivia, but you do your part to help the meridian flow of narcotics, so kudos.



It's too nice outside to keep writing in my bathroom, but if you treat your blog post like you treat a daily poop (you got to maintain), then it becomes a comfortable, albeit smelly trick of second-nature.

Misfits Youtube track of the Day:
Teenagers From Mars

The insemination of little girls...oh Glen Danzig, don't you ever stop punching fans.

Shannon

What a name; whether it elicits skinemax wet dreamz, 90210 related anxiety or, for no apparent reason, make you think of the song "Crimson and Clover", Shannon is a name that feels destined for the public eye.

Prince is pretty good; Super Bowl performance still confounds me to this day.

My god it's early in the morning; great time to be alive.

This ish used to come on VH1 at the ridiculously early hours of the morning that I always found myself up at when I was a young teen. Really makes you wonder why they don't put on cheerier shit for the insomniacs.

Here's a fun game to try with your friends; a conversation of total honesty.

Skeleton of the life plan is in place; now to fill in the flesh, like decay in reverse.

ok, admittedly, that was a tad indulgent to put this song on, but it was the only way I could comment on the problem I have with racist high school crowds at basketball games. If people are gonna heckle me and scream "Hey Yao Ming," then what can you expect them to pull out for someone who might actually be effected by these things. So is this song subtly racist or is that just the lens by which I view his release from the internal torture of his perceived neglect? Can you ever really overintellectualize when you don't know anything?

Corrections

I recently claimed the Sergio Ramos was captain of the Portugese National selection, false! It's clearly Nuno Gomes...

What's up with Handsome Furs? I don't know anything about the other recording projects the dudes involved in Wolf Parade have released. With hope, with a little help from my friends, I'll learn more.

This has been the best weekend in January since Puerto Rico last year. In case anyone is wondering, Rafa Capo isn't playing fantasy sports this year to my knowledge.



I wrote of a first draft of a letter to a friend who I'm desperately worried about, mainly because I have childish separation anxiety from those I love, in which I hoped to enumerate a list of favorite albums of 2008. Looking back on it, there wasn't much worth regaling, let alone celebrate new musical releases that I didn't have enough time to properly explore as I desperately clung to the last empirical vestiges of state-sponsored youthful laziness.



I have always had a soft spot for this song; admittedly it used to be my entire upper-half!

Have you ever read the Big Book of Jewish Humor? Mom and Dad never kept any scripture handy, but clay statues of naked asses? You betcha. Needless to say, this book is the basis of every joke I've ever told at friend's Bar Mitzfah's; no this neither an ironic nor profound look in to 13 year old me, rather, the only way to explain just how Jewish and Big this book is.



Bee Movie? Come on guy, Tom Hanks is calling you a pussy.

So, yeah At Mount Zoomer refuses to be denied. It gets better with every listen.

Slovak dudes like breakdancing, finally met a second Hungarian named Laszlo, all is right, tonight, in this world (my head).

Ir de Compras

What's good with this Israeli-Palestinian conflict? Like, how are you gonna try and shock me with numbers from the most recent bloodshed? Of course we all want a two-state solution; I've got people I consider friends on both sides of this debate. Yet, something just seems like politics as usual; oh yeah, it's been same shit, different day for 2,000 plus years. Before you dismiss my last comments and paint me in the likeness of another verbose American fool (I am), bear in mind that this incredibly complicated, divisive struggle over little more than titular respect (oh, and clean water) will continue, because it isn't a truly national issue.

I guess now is a bad time to unveil my new signature dance called the gaza strip.In light of the new Al Franken era in Minnesota (I'm good enough, I'm smart enough and doggoneit people like me...), we should let Sasha Baron Cohen run shit in the middle east. He knows what the fook he's talking about.



How does Q Rich feel about international diplomacy?

The message is clear: the 'reverse' dunk on Nowitzki is a subtle jab at PM Andrea Merkel's rigid economic policies, her drug policies?

'nuff said.


Remember the short lived Deshawn Stevenson-Lebron James feud?

Yeah, uhh, borefest 2008.

On the other side, Darius Miles is set to "screw" over the cocky Portland Trailblazer front office; if he can do even a tiny derivative of this, then I say it's for the best. In reality it's the pass that makes this clip so fucking filthy;

Old Habits Die Hard

For anyone that has yet to make it out to Amsterdam, be warned that you will be very disappointed if you're expecting to bang out one of these prostitutes raw; it's against the law.

There is so much cool shit going on in this world. When that band Vampire Weekend blew up, I was just another face in the crowd. Then I got to thinking about how silly white people are/have been/will always be and thought maybe I hated them for appropriating afropop sensibilities in to a decidedly milquetoast package. This ire was further stimulated by a chance encounter in Newton, Massachusetts with some dude named Julian who REALLY didn't like them; we played a fun word game where we tried to name as many animal bands as we could, turns out there's a lot.

Julian Chin's senior recital at Oberlin College was a real triumph, in my opinion. One of the real highlights was his rendition of the Animal Collective, and personal favorite of mine, "Who Could Win a Rabbit", unaccompanied on the piano.

Hey, remember that movie Pi? The same dude who did everyone's favorite movie about drugs, also directed the rather respected new vehicle "The Wrestler". I wonder when we will next see a movie that makes me think of Jorge Luis Borges without seeming to completely rip off the characters and plots that made his foray in to pondering the universe so unique. Oh my god, there's video of the man speaking; I think it fitting that his eyesight failed him as he advanced in age, it allowed him to gain a sort of Homeric quality to his works as he would have them memorized and then dictated to, at first, his mother then later others, I suspect.

NBA rant contd:
-Where is DeAndre Jordan when you need him Clipper fans?
-How many random surgeries/injuries must DJ White suffer before he can become the next in a burgeoning line of "undersized" big men who get the job done in style?
-Nenad Krstic is back from Russia, with love.
-Chicago native and Bull diehard Nick Monroe was hyping up Derrick Rose about 5 years ago, now THAT's saying something.
-Casual Warriors fan Saul Flores is infinitely more qualified than Robert Rowell to be running the show, and he lives in LA!
-The Hornets have James Posey, this guarantees them a spot in the conference finals.
-Hilton Armstrong is a chinky eyed black man, this is good for the NBA.
-Desmond Mason is still one of the 5 best dunkers in the NBA.
-I would not want to be standing under the basket if Russell Westbrook was driving down the lane.
-Ditto for David Lee.
-Kevin Love? Shave those sideburns Mattingly!

Who, but Matt Groening could have foreseen so many modern tragedies unfolding so prematurely?

Through The Fire

It's been a remarkable NBA season so far; so many storylines among the league's best and worst that blogging has become necessary! JA Adande wrote a piece on MJ's legacy that could easily be called cheesy by youth like yours truly (his depiction of the changing of the media guard was a tad skewed), but he spoke so candidly about the nature of the business that he has once again made espn the most relevant third party source for all things NBA related. There has been very little noise coming out of the pacific northwest, in large part because people really do have a bajillion (blagojevillion?) things to worry about these days without stopping to think, "fuck, Clay Bennet and that commie, jew banker David Stern took away one of the few outlets I had left..."; uhhh, let's go Mariners in '09...Do you think NBA twelfth men google their own names? If they're anything like most bloggers, the answer is yes. The fluctuation of status and visibility in the NBA hegemony is not so fluid as to allow young guns to rise up through the rankings, unless through undeniable merits, so it surprised me greatly when Sebastian Telfair was regailed with a trumpet fanfare as a "True" point guard at a time when the league was seemingly devoid of young talent who knew how to pass the ball; I got the chance to see him play as a (fellow) high school senior, and on a bum ankle he led Lincoln in basically every category; he definitely looked like he was ready to go to college for a year, but his swag was "phenomenal" as they (Gilbert Arenas and his various acolytes) say. He got drafted awfully high and had the expectations that come with that, but with that in mind, his first stop in Boston was a failed experiment; to be fair, there could not have been a worse roster than the pre-kg/jesus shuttleworth glory year(s?). So he gets shipped off to Minnesota in part of the blockbuster that allowed The C's to, in the words of Newhouse, "buy that large black fellow" (for all those that didn't find that last line hilarious, it's a joke with a hint of truth to it! If you don't believe me check out this book)SO now he's in Minny making little noise as backcourt mate Randy Foye is starting to play up to his potential a little bit by moving back to the slashing/scoring mold that made him so dangerous as a member of that vanillanova cerebrus (Allen Ray and Mike Nardi, of St. Patrick's fame, being the other bestial heads). One point that, this year in particular, is so chock full of historical irony that it warrants mentioning is how important Telfair's nba potential was based on his blood relation to the great Stephon Marbury; this was his golden ticket to the chocolate factory (uh-oh, got to start making better metaphors, but since I'm ranting you can all forgive me, I AM writing this from Spain after all...) So, when I was reading the scores and recaps from last night's contests, I felt compelled to post this AP photo.

Look's like the dude's having a lot of fun, fuckin eh' i would be too if I was getting NBA money to be playing CBA minutes...
There is not a single NJ Net that should be in the All-Star game, I blame Yi Jianlin for all my problems, in fact, it's quite therapeutic, and I recommend you all try putting your frustrations and dissapointments all on a single person of, somewhat, high profile that you never have and probably might never meet in your life; or, since you are Uhmerikan after all, go buy a gun and shoot your TV.