Monday Wednesday Friday

Deep Thought

2009-07-08T12:58:00.000-07:00

How many teams can Chris Bosh start for next year?

Landslide

2009-06-08T20:46:00.000-07:00

As long as we're on the subject, here's a link to a New York Times piece criticizing the new design for the Barclay Center, the New Jersey Nets franchise's future home in Brooklyn. New York City has scrapped the original Frank Gehry design in favor of a proposal by corporate firm Ellerbe Becket.

H.L.

2009-06-08T18:17:00.000-07:00

On the brink of their fifteenth title, the Los Angeles Lakers have finally realized their platonic form. During a playoffs in which Kobe Bryant has shot like an automaton from the perimeter, Pau Gasol proven he's more than a European softy and Lamar Odom overcome his (candy-driven?) inconsistency off the bench, the Lakers are playing like the deep, fluid team their roster says they are. By winning the first two at home, first with an epic 25-point smackdown, and then by surviving a volley of Rashard Lewis volley of threes, barring a collapse of epic proportions, the Lakers are poised to finish this season with an exclamation point.

And could it have been any other way? Sometimes, this is what playoff sports is about: watching the best team, often hated, dominate. Not every year gives us an upset, a feel-good story about unpretentious, underachieving coaches, emerging stars, teams that utilize a unique style-of-play. Instead, we have the best coach, the love-him-or-hate-him legend, the conventionally great squad, and guess what? They are probably going to walk from here to the championship.

This Laker team never reeked of invincibility, but at the same time I can't say I ever really thought they would lose a series. For every moment their toughness was questioned, they bounced back and played winning basketball. No player ever appeared a deadly deficiency on either end of the court, and when it came to close they had the man to do it. As a Laker hater it's never been fun to watch, but at this point I've come to terms with the meaning of their championship: the best team in basketball is about to win a title.

ONE DAY LOVER

2009-04-18T15:24:00.000-07:00

New mix available for download. The mixing is real shoddy, especially as it goes on, but I think the flow is decent. I was going for a goofy yacht rock vibe but ended up with some interesting disco bits, and, of course, Animal Collective, which I probably only did to entice my friends to download it.

Playlist:

STEELY DAN - DO IT AGAIN
FLASH & THE PAN - MIDNIGHT MAN
BONEY M. - GOTTA GO HOME
MIDNIGHT STAR - MIDAS TOUCH
DOLLE JOLLE - BALEARIC INCARNATION (TODD TERJE'S EXTRA DOLL MIX)
THE PARADISE - IN LOVE WITH YOU
SUPERMAX - LOVEMACHINE
ANIMAL COLLECTIVE - SUMMERTIME CLOTHES
BEACH BOYS - KOKOMO

WHOA, HE SORTA DOES

2009-03-24T22:25:00.000-07:00

I've been griping lately.

Gripe of the week: NCAA brackets. "Oh, poor me, my bracket is busted." Shut the fuck up. I don't care how poorly your Midwestern reg picks did in the first round, there are so few dudes who actually follow this stuff all season long, and you're just like everyone else who read a few websites you trust re: mid-major squads, has a gut-feeling about so-and-so, filled out your sheet/Yahoo and dropped a bill into your friend's hand hoping to rake like 10x that. The NCAA Tournament is great, don't get me wrong; I love college hoops way more than I do pro hoops -- squads gunning it all game, more composite adrenaline than any other sporting event, guys three years younger than me who like ten years older. It's an awesome spectacle. But talking to dudes you get the sense that the thing is like a two-week long Kentucky Derby, nobody gives a shit about good plotlines, conference affiliation, whatever, just their lame-ass bracket that, chances are, they "barely missed winning," because, duh, everyone barely misses winning, the teams all have numbers next to them so you know that, well, better at least put Louisville in the Elite 8. If you've bitched about your bracket to me, lemme take a page from Minor Threat and say that I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT.

MORE GRIPES TO COME.

MARINARA SAUCE

2009-02-24T20:20:00.001-08:00

First of all, Twitter is lame. Blogger fer life. Actually, Twitter is kind of cool, just not my thing with . Second of all, there are some songs that summon this kind of sublime sad-happiness inside of me. It's a difficult feeling to describe; it kind of feels like spring, but saying goodbye to someone for a long time. Does that make any sense? One of these song's is De La Soul's "Eye Know."

BRAINTICKETS

2009-02-16T10:14:00.000-08:00

Dudes... I want those Topsiders.

THE WHOLE WORLD IS A MASQUERADE

2009-02-09T16:49:00.000-08:00

Doug Glanville, one of the most educated men to ever hit over .300 in a season, is a guest blogger for the New York Times whose musings I occasionally read during the season. Today, he offered a refreshingly empathetic take on the A-Rod steroid scandal. Glanville played with A-Rod for a season, actually shared the locker next to him, and he portrays A-Rod as a fundamentally solid dude who is also -- as any player in his magnitude of spotlight has the right to be -- monumentally self-conscious, constantly flummoxed by his inability to define the A-Rod narrative in the mind of the media and fans. A-Rod's a hard worker, but somewhere along the line he lost control of his image. Protests rage from the borderline homophobic -- lip gloss, really? -- to the frustrated boos Yankee fans shower down on him every time A-Rod strikes out with a runner in scoring position.

But we know this. We know everyone loves Jeter despite never being the stats machine that A-Rod has been. And the Grand Canyon-sized disconnect between A-Rod's numbers and his public image has always been his saving grace. But the baseball kingdom is a fantasyland where media and fans have surprisingly little room for nuance. The pressure to succeed in America encourages cheating in nearly every facet of society -- look at how many students take performance-enhancing drugs to succeed in school, or how many financial institutions we now know have cut corners in the name of success. Both of these things hurt people on all sizes of scales. But in athletic pursuits, we like our records as clean as possible, no asterisks allowed, despite the fact that they exist in a complete vacuum.

I have sympathy for A-Rod. Dude was not that much older than me when he began making hundreds of millions of dollars and was declared the greatest player in baseball. And he took drugs for two years of what will likely be something approaching a 20-year career. Forget his work ethic, and above all his natural talent: the toxicity of people's hatreds towards A-Rod lacked any real focus before this incident, and now it will conveniently and singularly center upon it.

JUNGLE ROCK

2009-01-20T18:39:00.000-08:00

One thing about going to a liberal arts school with a reputation like mine is that people often showcase these eccentricities that they--correctly--assume nobody will really question. I do some goofy stuff myself, sure, but something happened yesterday that was so counfounding it just completely breached my tolerance barrier for weird campus behavior. I was on my way to a fencing class, just listening to music and minding my business. A tall-ish dude is walks out of his dorm and begins in my direction. Just as we reach the moment where we would otherwise pass by each other, he literally jumps up into the air right in front of me and sticks out his tongue. He lands, shoots this weird look into no particular direction and keeps on walking.

I was baffled by the act, and even kind of angry that someone would think it was OK to do that to someone they didn't know, so I took off my headphones and asked him what he was doing. He replied that he was trying to catch a snowflake on his tongue but missed. I didn't quite know what to say to that. He wasn't trying to weird me out, he just wanted a stupid snowflake, and didn't understand why I thought it was odd to do something like that to a stranger. All I could I do was get off a half-assed sarcastic response to the effect of, "Oh, I guess I had my headphones on so I didn't hear you warn me."

GO DUMB

2008-10-13T14:59:00.001-07:00

Hey, look. It's me and my bro for life/DJ buddy Gabe shakin' our faces.

Labs

2008-09-28T23:54:00.000-07:00

Good news. Carleton's bi-weekly paper of campus culture, the arts and beyond, The Carl, is now online. Unlike last year's failed experiment, we decided on using a WordPress blog rather than the free College Publisher software. Although College Publisher was a potentially powerful piece of software for us, I think the collective editorial decision was that we are first and foremost a print publication. So the blog gives us the opportunity to stay in touch with our readers in between publishing dates, but most importantly as as a convenient way to host PDFs of all our issues. Maybe not as convinent as being able to click on articles on the old website, but you do get to see the layouts, which is kind of nice. So, yeah: http://www.carlmagazine.com. Check it out, even though we're still using the ugly, default template.

Holy shit, this girl has been talking to herself in the CMC for the past hour. It's just me and her here, and she's been talking to herself the entire time. She sounds very scared.

Not Everyone Was Selected

2008-09-25T20:34:00.000-07:00

I played baseball for a long time when I was kid, about 10 years. For better or worse, I was never quite good enough to have any expectations on my shoulders. I had a consistent mitt, but once the bottom of the pitching barrel had left Little League for more fruitful endeavors, odds were against me getting a solid hit. I got a lot of "take" signals from coaches; I was not the guy you wanted up with the bases loaded.

But my play on any given day had little to do with my mental state. I lacked confidence at the plate because I was a bad hitter, not the other way around. I didn't have streaks. So I can't pretend to get in the head of a player like Carlos Delgado, whose prowess at the plate the past few months has been nothing short of legendary. And it's all confidence. David Wright and José Reyes have been the same players all season--good players. But for Delgado, his brain switched gears sometime this summer and he suddenly became a player he hadn't been in half a decade. What else could explain this transformation but confidence, a sudden belief that, "Hey, I can knock the shit out this ball," and then doing it again and again.

Now consider the Mets bullpen. On any given day, when Jerry Manual pulls his starter, these guys are expected to blow the game. There were a few weeks this second half where they performed brilliantly, but it wasn't long enough to overcome the narrative that they collectively suck as a bullpen. They singlehandedly undermine the work of a team that has played their heart out for three months, but is again at the precipice of sitting on the sidelines for another post-season.

This has to be in their heads. Maybe it wasn't inititally, but now it is. And worse than being in the their heads, it's in the heads of the opposing teams that innings six through nine are a different game, practically batting practice. And if I'm honest with myself, that's why I don't see the Mets, if they make the playoffs, going very far. When the relief pitchers get in the game, do they have any confidence whatsoever that they are going to bring the team out of it a W? Can they shut down a Cubs or Phillies team in the seventh inning who is confident, by way of having done it before, that they can erase deficits greater than a grand slam? They haven't proven it, and well, there's no more time to prove it. We can reasonably expect them to blow it again.

The Mets have a playoff caliber team. They deserve to be there. But there is nothing, nothing more excruciating than watching your team play winning baseball only to be undercut by a bullpen that has all the confidence of a bewildered 10-year-old right fielder pulled in to pitch because a Little League coach is obliged to rest all of his best pitchers. Regardless of the Mets' fortunes this season, get a new fucking bullpen, please.

CONFIRMATION

2008-09-06T19:38:00.000-07:00

I don't want to turn this into a political blog, but check out this comment on a CNN.com article about the Sarah Palin trooper-gate scandal. I'm fascinated by some of Tammy's phrases here.

"Reverse racism?" Is this a common phrase to describe racism against whites? Also a major fan of "liberal left media tank." Like they are fucking running over shit and shooting shells at the American public.

BLUEBERRY

2008-09-04T19:09:00.001-07:00

As much as I enjoy following the day-to-day horserace aspect of politics, I want to pull out my hair every time I stop just digesting the information and start thinking about what it means. Because then I realize that the Republican candidates for office, whose views and policies aren't that much different than the current dudes in office, have adopted this strategic tack of running as heroic reformers of their own party, the outsiders coming in to save the day. They're basically saying, "Those guys fucked it up, we believe the same things as those guys, but we won't fuck it up... because we're mavericks."

Unbelievable. These guys should be laughed off the stage. And yet, the race is essentially tied.

EVERYTHING I EVER LISTENED TO, PT. 1

2008-08-28T22:29:00.001-07:00

Here, in a roughly chronological order, is every cassette tape/CD I purchased between grades four and eight. Why not? In high school I could probably tell you exactly how each CD purchase led to another, weave a thread to explain how Limp Bizkit led to Catch-22 led to Joanna Newsom. Now I acquire so much stuff at such a rapid clip that the only common acqusitional denominator is late-night musical A.D.D. and the quest for a constantly fresh radio hour. Better for the overall listening experience, but it lacks the kind of High Fidelity music-as-narrative-placeholder-for-life-events power.

So here we go. Part 1 begins at the tail-end of elementary school, the walkman purchase, and ends with my first CD in sixth grade... Because after I posted about the Grammy tape I decided that my time would be better spent listening to Paula Cole on the YouTube.

1. ACE OF BASS - THE SIGN

I don't remember where I first heard Ace of Bass -- I guess it had to be the radio, right? Either way, I do distinctly remember my mom driving me to the mall so I could buy this on cassette at a store called The Wall, which had this awesome guarantee where you could return any purchase at any time if it ever went to shit if you had a little proof-of-purchase sticker. Cool. All my first albums were from there. Anyway, I spent so much time listening this on my walkman, and, to my younger self's credit, I still think "The Sign," "All That She Wants," "Don't Turn Around" and "Happy Nation" are damn catchy singles. In fact, '90s Euro-dance-pop is probably my favorite arbitrary genre ever. (I'd link to a definitive genre mix I posted on the KRLX MP3 blog a couple years ago but the site's down right now.) At any rate, the fact that this album was my first-ever purchase is as good a testament as any to the kid I was. Forget my collection of sports jerseys that I always rocked to school; I was getting down to totally gay pop music in my spare time. Whoo!

2. JOCK JAMS VOL. 1

Forget what you know about the Jock Jams mega-mix or whatever the Jock Jams series has become, this pristine original volume was pure rock & roll. Obviously I was into it because it was all familiar sports anthems that I'd heretofore only known a line or two of, but this tape was my first exposure to: Queen, the Ramones, Sly & the Family Stone, the Romantics, James Brown. Real good shit. My buddy Matt and I used to use tracing paper to make bad copies of some of the cool drawings of his wallpaper and I played him "Blitzkrieg Bop," which I loved but couldn't understand a fucking word of. Here is what I thought some of the lyrics were:

The fun is in the back set/ the den-a-ray stee-bies / I'm taped to the back beat/ The blitzkrieg bop.

Matt in turn showed me Guns 'N' Roses or something, but I never got into it. We did play a lot of the original Doom though on PC. That game was rad as hell.

3. MATCHBOX 20 - YOURSELF OR SOMEBODY LIKE YOU

I haven't listened to this album in about 10 years, but I would put money on the fact that I could sing along to every single song on this album practically word-for-word. Maybe I'd need one listen to reacquaint myself with it, but after that... aces, dude. Even the songs that never became singles. This was my first actual CD, again purchased at The Wall. I played the shit out of this, first obsessing over the hits, and then, like I said, coming to love the whole thing. Is this album good? No. But for the late nights I spent on the top bunk listening to Rob Thomas and just digging it in a way that only a naive 12-year-old can, it's a memorable one.

4. GREEN DAY - NIMROD

Man, this album just sucked. Even at the time I thought so. Obviously purchased on the strength of the single.

5. 1998 GRAMMY NOMINEES COMPILATION

I think my memory is fuzzy, because I'm sure I had this on tape, but this also came out after Matchbox 20 and Green Day, both of which I had on CD. Some great angsty girl pop-rock that could only have come out of the late '90s, Paul Cole's "Where Have All the Cowboys Gone" and Shawn Colvin's "Sunny Came Home" being particular favorites. Man, actually, the entire thing was sweet. Look at this.

MUCH MORE SWIMMING STILL TO COME

2008-08-13T19:15:00.000-07:00

Karin Tanabe asks, "When did Speedos on the beach and briefs in the bedroom become banished by the young straight American male?"

I walk around downtown and I see guys wearing short shorts all the time. It seems like they've been back in style for a few summers now.

MCCAIN SUCKS

2008-08-04T12:01:00.000-07:00

The biggest political story that hasn't gotten much coverage this year is that John McCain is a fucking hack of a candidate. Dude has no serious policy proposals -- in fact, he kind of disdains talking about any policy not Iraq-related -- has done a complete 180 since his Champion of Reform campaign of 2000 and has gone negative faster than any presidential candidate in recent memory to boot, the definitive sign of having no vision and nothing to asy. For most politicians this kind of hackery gets you branded as backwards thinking, flip-flopper and dishonorable, respectively, but John McCain gets a free pass on all this for cozying up to the media for a few years and cultivating his own brand. And that's his job as a politician, especially one with presidential aspirations, so good for him. But I can't figure why the media is so complicit in perpetuating the McCain myth even as his campaign continues to embarass itself with its total ineptitude and lack of standing for anything besides Obama-hating. And so even though I know it won't happen, I hope that this story slowly makes its way into the mainstream media and all we hear about for a few days is how after John McCain flip-flopped his position on offshore drilling -- and I want to hear that word, flip-flopped -- and just days later Republican coffers were more than 250k fuller thanks to big oil execs. At the very least, it should shed some light on what the offshore drilling debate is really about and who truly stands to benefit from it.

PANGEA PART II: PANGEA RETURNS

2008-08-03T18:22:00.000-07:00

One of the highlights this summer has been a killer power pop mix CD that I have in constant rotation in my car. Truth: power pop was made for summer days when just a foot out the door is an instant mood boost. Even better, listening to it when the windows are down and you're wearing the goofy sunglasses your little brother has most likely acquired as a novelty item at some party or other. Driving time has been limited lately by the fact that I spent most of my week in NY, so I'm forgoing the unpredictability of classic rock and rap radio and going with the meticulously-crafted playlist. Listening to the Cars loud as fuck while leaving the Foodtown parking lot? No regrets. The playlist was mostly compiled by scanning through power pop threads on ILM, but here it is, from me to you, the soundtrack the rest of yr Indian summer. Please, please, let the first time you hear this be in the car if possible, and make sure to TURN IT UP. Few pleasures greater than pulling out of the driveway to the opening drum of "Ballroom Blitz."

01. SWEET - "BALLROOM BLITZ"

02. THE PLIMSOULS - "A MILLION MILES AWAY"

03. FLAMIN' GROOVES - "SHAKE SOME ACTION"

04. TED LEO & THE PHARMACISTS - "WHERE HAVE ALL THE RUDE BOYS GONE?"

05. LEMONHEADS - "CONFETTI"

06. TEENAGE FANCLUB - "WHAT YOU DO TO ME"

07. THE RECORDS - "STARRY EYES"

08. JONATHAN RICHMAN & THE MODERN LOVERS - "THE NEW TELLER"

09. THE CARS - "LET'S GO"

10. THE UNDERTONES - "YOU'VE GOT MY NUMBER (WHY DON'T YOU USE IT)

11. THE EXPLODING HEARTS - "I'M A PRETENDER"

12. THE RAMONES - "SHEENA IS A PUNK ROCKER"

13. THE POSIES - "FLAVOUR OF THE MONTH"

14. THE SPONGETONES - "SHE GOES OUT WITH EVERYBODY"

15. FOUNTAINS OF WAYNE - "RADIATION VIBE"

16. BIG STAR - "THE BALLAD OF EL GOODO"

Do you know how hard it was to do that for you? You owe it to me to make good on that work.

Also, if you wanna hear me playing the Battery Maritime Building as part of that David Byrne sound installation, head over here...

Slutty Amelia Earhart

2008-07-28T17:42:00.000-07:00

So I took my little brother to Great Adventure theme park this weekend. (He is going to sleepaway camp for the first time this weekend; so wild!) I have a few hazy memories of Great Adventure from my teens that all blend together into one or two visits. One is finding out that the record for the log flume in one day according to my friends (who had, I guess, heard from the operator) was something like 20 times. That can't be true, but anyone who pays $40 to do the log flume 20 times is an idiot! I mean, it's a theme park staple, and a decent ride to boot, but 20 times--why? It's much better to stand on the bridge and get rocked by a charged wave anyway.

Another memory that stands out is waiting on line behind this Mexican dude puffing the worst smelling thing I'd ever smelled. The odor was burned into my senses for days, and I was not a sensitive-to-smoke kid, really. A few years later I would find out that this was the burn of a Black and Mild--although, I swear, that one time the odor was for whatever reason majorly amplified--and spent many a summer night before college with my co-counselors passing one around the staff porch like a blunt. Anyway, Great Adventure has now banned cigs inside the park, which as a surrogate parent for the afternoon is a major relief. Although funnily enough I did smell some ganj while waiting in line for one ride. At one point in my life I thought it would be fun to get really baked in the car on the ride over and ride the Great American Scream Machine, but that dream has yet to be realized.

Another thing: there is a serious paucity of hot twenty-something to ogle at walking around Great Adventure. Lots of girls dressed all skimpy, for sure, but most of them are just ugly in an indistinct way. It really made waiting on line that much harder.

Finally, starting V. over for the fourth time in about as many years. Will I finish? Forecast is not optimistic, but I am holding out hope. I haven't read a book yet this summer, it's getting quite pathetic, but I am up on the political news and celebrity gossip like never before. It's not that my interest in that stuff is on the rise, but I am imbibing that stuff on the regular via extended Gawker breaks at work.

SEE PAGE 2 FOR DETAILS

2008-07-08T18:58:00.000-07:00

I think it's funny when little kids cry on the subway, trying to cope with the claustrophobia and the heat. Everyone around them is struggling with the same discomfort, but kids just experience the feeling completely raw, and all they can do is bawl. They are the realest.

Subway tensions are riding high these days. I was thrown some mean eyes this morning on the way to the office. My car was kind of crowded and I was pressed against the door with my headphones on, half-awake and somewhat oblivious to the world around (specifically, behind) me, and I guess I really pissed this woman a few years older than me off. First I accidentally put my hand where her hand was on the support. No biggie. Then when she was trying to get off the train I guess I was right in her way. Maybe she said something, I don't know -- I was tuned into the Morrissey -- but it lead to a tap on the shoulder and an exasperated glare that spoke volumes. Never feel good about stuff like that, but no need to frrreak out at me as long as you get off the train on time. Luckily it was not as bad of an omen as I thought and the workday was more or less uneventful.

Curtis and I are seeing the Mets tomorrow. Was supposed to be Lincecum-Santana but the Gints shortened their rotation for the All Star break so Lincecum pitched tonight. Am I not a good Met fan if I didn't completely enjoy it when Carlos Beltran rocked Lincecum for a three-run shot in the first inning? Unless the BoSox are the club in question, I always like pulling for young aces. And Pelfrey? Go Big Pelf. Dude's looking more and more like he'll be the good two pitcher he was supposed to be. Wouldn't have guessed that last September. And the Mets are now, what, 1 1/2 games behind? You have to love the NL East. And if the Mets start sucking again, I am pulling for a Rays-Marlins Series.

DO YOU FEEL THE ATOMS SLOWLY SCRAPING YR SKULL?

2008-06-30T21:50:00.000-07:00

I've been wondering lately: what is this the summer of? All good summers should have personal themes attached to them, and even those that start without a certain theme -- camp years, trips, whatever -- eventually fall into a groove that thematically define them. Last year it was Working My Ass Off to Scrape up the Money That I Eventually Blew in Just Over a Month in Europe. Year before that it was Goofing Off in New York While Rocking a Good-paying, Relatively Low Commitment Internship. (Yeah, I guess those look more like one-sentence summations of what I did than strict themes, but whatever -- quasi-themes, dude. We're flexible over here.) In a way this summer's looking like a mix of the two, working five days a week but not hating it, and giving myself ample time to have fun around the city, but if it's taken on any overriding theme it's Summer of Reflection.

As the cliché goes, there's all these unexpected twists and turns about coming into the last year of college. Stuff I honestly didn't think about until I was lying in my own bed in New Jersey. It's impossible not to be excited about graduation and all the rad things it will certainly entail, but it's also fucking terrifying. Bitching about endless distribution requirements aside, I've been fortunate to basically screw around for three years, spending a year dallying in English, taking a bunch of history courses for a couple years, and even taking an awesome four-months in Spain where I contributed in no clear way to my major/career goals.

So, to be a kid about it for a moment, this idea that I have to pick something that I want to do, and do for potentially a very long time, kind of sucks. I could see myself being happy doing a lot of things, but figuring out which of these options is the right one for me to pursue gives me knots on the inside. It's a complex formula I must deal with here. All of the vague ideas that I've constantly thought about with regard to a career -- happiness, money, location, social impact, etc. -- are finally becoming tangible, as I think about where I rank them and how to reconcile wanting to do something that I love with the practicalities of standard of living. It's something the liberal arts education really puts on the backburner, when all you need to think about is which courses sound most interesting to you and whether or not the beer fridge is stocked.

So I guess this is in a way the final summer of a particular brand of fun. The kind of fun that comes with having a designated college break, when even though I have real obligations I'm still essentially free to goof off and not think too hard about much of anything. You know, staying up late reading about useless shit on the web and coming to work hungover whenever I want. Wait, are those really the first things that come to my mind when I think about uninhibited freedom? FUCK.

The Undertones - "Here Comes the Summer"

P.S. I'm at my grandparents' apartment at the moment, and without my laptop. Hence the lack of MP3 updates. But if someone is really clamoring for Black Sabbath's Black Sabbath or the Coachwhips' Bangers vs. Fuckers, I could theoretically put something up, since I guess I ripped those albums to their computer two summers ago. Somehow I will rectify this barren MP3 situation in the coming few days. Maybe I'll also just post pictures of good-looking girls from Flickr to make up for this meandering drivel.

WHO THE FUCK IS CHUCK NORRIS? I KEEP READING ABOUT HIM

2008-06-23T12:49:00.000-07:00

I am a huge fan of bathroom stall graffiti of all sorts. I love how it invariably maintains all the same dumb rhymes, penis/boobs/vagina memes, etc. no matter where you are. Even in Iraq, apparently.

Over at Street Carnage they have a semi-regular column called "The Iraq Report," which is basically a sardonic, fuck-all take on Iraq written by a soldier currently stationed there. It's funny as hell, and the most recent column is a rundown on the graffiti in the bathrooms in the Green Zone, with plenty of pictures. So good.

THIS IS HOW THE POGO STARTED

2008-06-19T21:52:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I came home to find some friends watching TV Party, a documentary about the TV show of the same name. TV Party was a kind of weird, freeform talk show on Manhattan public access television hosted by Glenn O'Brien, a former High Times and Interview magazine columnist who is now GQ's very own Style Guy, and featuring a bunch of other members of the Lower East Side art scene, like Chris Stein and Debbie Harry from Blondie, Jean-Michel Basquiat (the SAMO graffiti artist), Amos Poe... For a reference point, think of a hipper, more stoned Letterman if he also had a penchant for politics. In the doc, dude is the embodiment New York punk/New Wave cool, but time's certainly been kind to Glenn, and he's still holding himself together quite nicely.

Proof that getting old doesn't have to mean going square.

Since I only caught the second half of the documentary the first time I saw it, I ordered it through Netflix last weekend. I thought it was really well-made; you got a definite feel for what the show was like without having to sit through an entire episode, which can apparently be like sailing rough waters at times. It certainly told a familiar story about Manhattan, and it writes a loving epitaph just like all the others, but TV Party's a cool and mostly unknown proxy to tell the story through. And at the very least, you get to see some cool footage of a bunch of semi-famous to famous people going dumb and making even dumber TV. And, of course, there's Blondie.

Anyway, I've had the song that plays during the credits stuck in my head since I first saw it, and even after watching the trailer for the doc on YouTube, a Google search for the lyrics yielded no results. When I watched it a second time I found out it was by Walter Steding, a frequent guest on the show. Steding actually has it and a few other songs posted for free on his website.

Here it is. Enjoy. I don't know the name of it; let's say "Waterfront," or something.

DNA on TV Party...

Some footage from the film. Blondie playing "The Tide Is High," Klaus Nomi, Debbie Harry pogo-ing...

SLEEPING ON A DIFFERENT SONG

2008-06-14T19:07:00.000-07:00

I was walking my dog tonight at the beginning of a thunderstorm, that moment when there's streaks of lightning and ample thunder-rolls but no rain. Cody (said dog) can't take loud noises, so I was having a tough time dragging him down the block trying to get him to do his doggie-business. No such luck, but my neighbor Alexandria's dog ran out the front door as we were passing by her house and started charging towards Cody. And what did Cody do? Pawed it in the face. YOWCH. It's name was Guido. Am I the only one that thinks that's a mean name to call a dog?

Here's a picture of Cody from two summers ago, the summer after we got him. I know he looks harmless, but he's a killer. That's what terriers are meant to do.

Just Brothers - Sliced Tomatoes

This song just oozes summer fun, even if THE MAN has put sliced tomatoes on hold this week.

Debbie Harry -- so hot, right?

Lil Wayne - Mr. Carter

Red Cross - I Hate My School

Conga Fury - Hysteria Japan

Ithaca - Times (Seven Seasons - The Path - Given Time)

PEOPLE YOU ARE IN LOVE WITH ON THE INTERNET

2008-06-01T19:06:00.000-07:00

Vivian Girls - Tell the World

Eat Skull - Cartoon Beginning

THE BEATLES ON COKE

2008-05-27T19:44:00.000-07:00

My Bloody Valentine - Cupid Come

My Bloody Valentine - Honey Power

THERE'S A GHOST IN MY HOUSE

2008-05-26T15:54:00.000-07:00

I'm in the living room playing Mario Kart 64, while Tom Fry is in the bathroom drinking a bottle of Robitussin he's had lying around for a while in the medicine cabinet. In a little while Tom will be into cavernous head space, and I'm ready to see it, but in the meantime I'm occupied by the three red shells I just picked up. Where am going to shoot them?

Tom Fry and I are driving around Northfield suburbs without purpose or direction. Tom tells me where to turn moments before I turn and I listen.

"I am possessed by cool driven magic," Tom tells me, and I believe him.

We are back at the house now, but the lights don't work. "Where is your fucking magic, you asshole?" I plead, but the magic only works in automobiles.

"There's spirits here," says Tom. "This is a ghost town and we're in a ghost house. Who knows the most about ghosts here?"

I shrug my shoulders. Nobody I know has any clue about ghosts.

"Then we're in trouble. The only safe zone is the roof."

Albert Ayler - Billie's Bounce

I MISS YOU DARLING

2008-05-25T18:46:00.000-07:00

A rough week of paper-writing and presentation-giving deserves a lazy Friday afternoon as a reward, and I was up to the task and then some. Nobody was home when I got back, so I spent my time on the back porch enjoying the beautiful weather and getting my drink on. 70 degrees + breeze, a bit of sun peeking out of the clouds, dandelion overgrowth where last week there was next-to-nothing, sixer of Miller High Life, a black and mild for old time's sake, an ADD mix of guitar-playing and reading, some nostalgia with an old pal. And, of course, some tunage.

The Beach Boys - Can't Wait Too Long

The Attack - Anymore Than I Do

Jay Reatard - Screaming Hand

The Fleshtones - The World Has Changed

Black Uhuru - Utterance

FLOORED

2008-05-22T20:17:00.000-07:00

If you are in the library and you have the book I need and I'm presenting, give that shit up bitch.

KNUCK IF U BUCK

2008-05-21T21:46:00.001-07:00

OCDJ - Woopash

Also, addendum to yesterday's post: I know nothing about black metal!

TUESDAY

2008-05-20T11:37:00.000-07:00

While I have no idea what I want this blog to become, I know that if I keep sitting on it without making a first post about something--anything--then its odds of survival are but SLIM TO NONE!

So, how 'bout some Bone Awl MP3s to kick things off? The good folks who write the Aquarius Records newsletter love this Bay Area black metal duo to death, who, by the way, go by the awesome monikers He Who Gnashes Teeth and He Who Crushes Teeth. Really good stuff; in its speed, raw intensity and lo-fi aesthetic (they release most of their material on cassettes, I believe) Bone Awl's music has a definite affinity for a certain strain of punk, and the vocals are a mean animal growl that you're definitely going to dig.

These three tracks are from the Not for Our Feet LP, which I found a rip of on Soulseek a while back. Enjoy!

Bone Awl - Ataud to Riviere

Bone Awl - Frightening Clouds

Bone Awl - Without Hate We Have Nothing