Killer Town, Dude

I think it's more than fair to say that this is the first and only time you'll ever see this headline:

Sightseers jam Park City

My favorite part of the article:

Tonya Voorhees said she felt like a hostage in her home, which she left just once this weekend to pick up cigarettes. She said she sold many of them for $1 apiece to sightseers who had gathered outside her home.

For those of you who've never had the pleasure, Park City is a suburb north of Wichita.

It's...

uh...

hmm...

There's a Wendy's there? And lots of...

uh...

Trashy people? I'd apologize for such a blanket, stereotypic statement, but I'm pretty sure that none of the trailers in Park City are equipped with modems. I know the library there has internet access, but the residents using said computers are not spending their free time looking at weblogs, they're busting their ass, studying as hard as they can, trying to gain the body of knowledge necessary to get a good job and move the hell out of town.

Park City also has a grocery store - I've (thankfully) spent very limited time there. My friend is less fortunate, having worked at the grocery store for years, preparing produce for BTK to peruse and purchase. He remembers seeing the accused BTK at the store - it's kind of hard to miss a guy in full dog catcher gear walking through the isles - but I'm sad to say does not have any awesome stories regarding the man accused of killing 10 people. There's a lesson here: even serial killers can buy oranges
without making a big fuss.

(Sorry, now I'm distracted, just dreaming up possible scenarios that could have taken place in the produce section. "Fuck you, this lettuce is wilted! These apples are bruised! There's too much silk remaining on this ear of corn! I'll kill you! I'll kill you like I killed those people from 1974 to 1991!")

While I'm prattling about BTK, let me take this opportunity to capture hits from curious individuals looking for information about WICHITA MAYOR CARLOS MAYANS. In fact, let me stack the deck a bit here: mayans carlos mayans mayor of wichita wichita mayor mayans representative mayans mayor city of wichita dennis rader BTK rader wichita

Wichita mayor Carlos Mayans is a good guy; however, I'm not sold on his politics, and he cheats at basketball. Refereeing aside, he's a mess on the boards, has a terrible first step, and his jumper is severly lacking. At least he avoids flagrant fouls, which is more than can be said for his relatives.

Apple of my Ear

New Fiona Apple tracks leaked. (Found via Jeff Johnson.)

Modest Mouse, Uptown Theater, Kansas City, Feb 22 2005

My thoughts on the show (and on shows in general):

There were 2 opening bands. I know I should be excited at getting more music for my money, but I am not. I'd prefer a 6 or 7 song set by an opener, a 20 minute break, and the featured performance. Especially when the concert is on a work night. I know it's a lame opinion, but really - how many opening bands have you been blown away with in your day? Better: how many opening opening bands have you fell in love with? My point is: the opener gets the recognition it needs just by showing up. Just play 6 or 7 songs, mention the name of your band 2 or 3 times, say, "We've got some CDs in the back if you want to check it out - (headlining band) is coming up next!", and walk off to thunderous applause.

I have no opinion on Cass McCombs, the opening opener.

The other opener was Mason Jennings. I knew of Mason - and even 2 of his songs - due to my stint in the Twin Cities. I am not a fan. If you are, or if you want to be like Mason Jennings, I suggest you write some lyrics, put a question mark after every line, and sing according to your punctuation. The guy's got some serious-ass, latter day Bob Dylan-esque issues with the way he sings his stuff. When he wants to emphasize a word, or when he's ending a line, his voice drops several octaves (I'm guessing - I have no octave-measuring device or even any knowledge of what an octave is). It's like he wants to clear his throat but can't be bothered to stop singing before doing so. Can you tell I hate him? I do.

Then, after a PROLONGED break, Modest Mouse arrived on stage. The break apparently needed to be longer - the bass guitar was absent for the first song and there was unwelcome feedback at various points of the show. Assuming the break was so long because of all of the instruments MM has in the band, and the techincal difficulties this poses, I have one question:

WHAT THE FUCK IS THE SOUND CHECK FOR??!

I was under the impression that the roadies set all that shit up in advance, tune everything, check the sound levels from each instrument, etc. well before the opening band leaves the stage and says "We've got some CDs in the back if you want to check it out - (headlining band) is coming up next!" Maybe I'm misinformed - maybe the fact that someone plops down a drumset in front of the featured band's set distorts all of the progress that had been made.

Modest Mouse was very good, despite all the details. In addtion to the traditional rock instruments, they incorporated cowbell, other bells, electric cello and violin, banjo, and an organ. They played the majority of their new album, surprising for a band with such a large backlog to choose from. I was just about ready to go home disappointed when they played "Paper Thin Walls" and "Tiny Cities Made of Ashes" as the encore. (The 2 song encore, by the way, is the shortest encore I've ever attended.)

Every band should have a frontman like MM's Issac Brock. I'd watch that guy read the phone book. Entertaining, emotional without being emo, the modern day David Byrne.

My favorite part of the show was definitely when I was trying to impress my crush, former lesbian and current bartender, by drinking copious amounts of alcohol, only to embarrass myself as "The View" played and my old girlfriend Summer looked on. Thank God my friend Ryan was there to take care of me in the most homoerotic of ways.

Note the verbose title of this post - I spent the better part of my post-Modest Mouse week trying to find out what other people thought about the show, and I didn't have as much success as I anticipated. You'd think it would have been easier to find people's reviews of the Modest Mouse show - I mean, were it a Ben Folds show, there would have been 30 posts on the .org messageboard post haste. Anyway, the best of the handful of posts I found were:

Photo and review.

Thorough - maybe too thorough - review. This guy also provided a setlist, which he admits is not 100% accurate:

1. Black Cadillacs
2. Interstate 8
3. Doin' the Cockroach
4. Trailer Trash
5. Bukowski
6. Satin in a Coffin
7. Float On
8. The World At Large
9. Blame it on the Tetons
10. The View
11. Ocean Breathes Salty
12. Neverending Math Equation
13. The Good Times are Killing Me

----------encore----------
14. Paper Thin Walls
15. Tiny Cities Made of Ashes

Hathaweirds Me Out

Have you ever before seen someone whose eyes and mouth take up a full one half of her face? Makes me shudder. The high-res photo can be found at Use My Computer.

(found via Thighs Wide Shut)

Black-Eyed Pees

The new receptionist's cubicle is right by the door to the suite. She's taken a liking to The Black-Eyed Peas, playing it on her tiny CD player, projecting it from its tiny speakers. My own cubicle is not near hers, and she keeps the volume at a reasonable level, so I don't have to hear it for most of the day. Should nature call, however, I am in a dreadful predicament, my brain and bladder diametrically opposed.

Black-Eyed Peas: we all liked "Hey Mama". "Let's Get it Started / Let's Get Retarded" will be featured in even more commercials than Smash Mouth's "All Star". Your fortune is secure - now please go away.

More Horrible than Riblets

I've posted previously about Harmon Leon. Below is an excerpt from his latest article (found via Wonkette) in SF Weekly, wherein he recaps his evening at Applebee's with white supremacists:

"Yeah, I don't think we'll be talking too much about the tsunami," he says with a sarcastic smirk.

"Oh yeah, what's your opinion on that?" I ask. After all, 170,000 human beings did die.

"Tsunami?" he repeats.

The dumpy blond girl immediately jumps in with her position: "It's natural population control."

"What's that?" I reply, hoping I'm not hearing correctly.

"It's natural population control," she says once again without hesitation as the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

White supremacist Kevin voices concern over her statement, noting, "Well, there were a lot of Europeans who died in there, too."

This knocks some sense into her dumpy racist head.

"Yeah, you're right. There were a lot of Swedish people who died."

"I just think it's kind of sad," adds the racist soccer mom while playing with her baby. "All those kids are going to be homeless, and we're going to have to pay for them all!"

You Shall Know My Stupidity

Dave Eggers is my favorite author - that's why I read his books, website, journal, and occasionally his magazine. His latest book, How We Are Hungry, is a collection of short stories. When I read it, each sentence displaced the last as The Most Profound Thing Ever:

They talk very little. She knows he is a telephone-systems programmer of some kind, connects "groups of users" somehow. She knows he comes from Montana, and knows his voice is like an older man's, weaker than it should be, wheezy and prone to cracking. He is not handsome; his nose is almost piggish and his teeth are chipped in front, leaving a triangular gap, as if he'd tried to bite a tiny pyramid. He's not attractive in any way she would call sexual, but she still wants to be with him and not others.

* * *

GOD: I own you like I own the caves.
THE OCEAN: Not a chance. No comparison.
GOD: I made you. I could tame you.
THE OCEAN: At one time, maybe. But not now.
GOD: I will come to you, freeze you, break you.
THE OCEAN: I will spread myself like wings. I am a billion tiny feathers. You have no idea what's happened to me.

* * *

The hotel in Portree had been awarded too many stars - it was well-made and charmless. Twelve different newspapers fanned out on a heavily lacquered table in the drawing room, a robust fire chewing its cereal in the corner, the ceilings were vaulted and the beds were canopied, but there was a sickly tint to the lighting, the smell of rain and frustration coming from the walls. The only softening touch was a cat, sleeping atop the bar. It yawned at me, showing its plasticine teeth.

My man crush is the featured interview of this week's Onion AV Club:

O: Your new anthology How We Are Hungry mostly seems to center on isolated, lonely people who are struggling with desire. Is there any particular reason you kept returning to that theme?

DE: I would disagree about "isolated" or "lonely." Those are two things that I don't know very well, so I can't write about them. I think that most of the characters are people who aren't settled in what they're doing, and maybe have been uprooted in one way or another, by an event in the world or their own restlessness. Most of them are abroad and looking for something. This is what the hunger is about: whether they're hungry for some kind of affection, or something else.

O: "Isolated and lonely" doesn't just mean that they're by themselves. It seems like these characters don't communicate well, and that the theme of desire comes from the theme of being unable to share something important, being unable to externalize something key and internal.

DE: Well yeah, that's well-said. I can't improve on that very much. There are certain things that I know run throughout the book, certain things in the way that I chose the order, so it would make sense and develop in a way. Then again, you really don't always see all of the themes yourself. The idea of them having these things inside themselves that they can't share was not necessarily intended, but I like that.

Right. So, as I said, I read the collection, paid close attention to it, and didn't come close to understanding the theme, the connectivity.

Please halt all insistence that I should be a writer until I can grasp these kinds of things.

Clemency

Clementines slip out of their peel easily, the exhibitionists of fruit, a refreshing change from the stuffy, schoolmarmish oranges that I've been wasting my time with. I could unwrap a gaggle of clementines in the time I spend on one prudish orange. See you later, you damn oranges! If you need me, I'll be in the back room, romping with your attractive, petite cousin, the clementine.

Too Much Cock

A story like this pops up in Yahoo's Most Popular once a month. Enough. It's been done. Bobbit was the first major player, the gold standard, and that's fine. I think we spent an appropriate amount of time on him. It's not funny anymore, it's not unique anymore - it's over. Sorry to all those fools who unwisely decided to expose your member to enraged women; your story is surely harrowing, but I have lost interest. I have zero sympathy for these people anymore because of the oversaturation. I declare these stories finished.

Shit Ass Bitch Fuck Motherfucking Cock Bastard

HEY, YOU ASSHATS AT FOX, FUCK OFF:

...But he and the rest of the "Arrested Development" clan might be in need of comfort: Fox is halting production after 18 episodes, shy of the usual 22, bringing the season -- and maybe the series -- to a premature end April 17.

Floyd and I on the Aisle - Spiderman 2

Floyd and I saw Spiderman 2 over the summer. I my continuing effort to exclusively post old news, here are the best comments made by me, to Floyd, during the film:

"Scotchy scotch scotch" (when Harry Osborne is drinking at his mansion - the guys sitting next to us also laughed at that one)

"I always keep some tritium in this safe" (when he exchanges the tritium for Spiderman)

"You don't understand -- I'm getting tired of saving your life - I've done it, like, 5 times already" (ridiculous scene at the end where MJ thinks it should be her choice to endanger herself with a Spidey relationship)

Best comments by Floyd:

"Nah, I think I'll just take the tritium" (Floyd rightly thought Harry had no bargaining leverage - why would Doc Oc say OK to that deal? Why wouldn't he just beat the **** out of Harry until he gave him some tritium?)

"Why did he just try to kill Peter Parker? That really bothers me." (when the car was thrown at Peter and MJ in the cafe...why would Doc Oc do that? What if he'd killed them? Killing Peter, his only known friend, is not the best way to track down Spidey.)

I liked the movie overall, but like Floyd I was disturbed about some things, things I know I should just let go because it's science fiction. But seriously - why did Doc Oc's robotic arms include a long, retractable, deadly blade? How would that blade help to control a fusion reaction? When you're designing robotic arms to control a fusion reaction, you think, "OK, I need something that is resistant to heat and pressure, noncorrosive, responsive to my brainwaves, has tiny little cameras everywhere, makes animals sounds, and includes a long, shiny dagger."

The Other Archives - Hamburgler

Strangely enough, I referenced this summer night twice this weekend. This is from an e-mail sent June 28, 2004:

This weekend I, in chronological order:

Got run-ruled in both of my softball games.
Finally saw this girl that everyone always talks about. Wow.
Mailed those CDs.
Bought groceries.
Got gas.
Helped Gavin move his bed upstairs.
Watched the World Dart Championships on cable.
Watched this Jack Nicholson lookalike try to shoot darts at a bar, even though there were people standing in front of the dart board.
Coined the term "Hamburgler" for the girls in the bar (3 total) that night that wore white and black, horizontal striped shirts.
Told this tall girl that she should meet Chris, who is also tall, but her Hamburgler friend gave me the stink eye.
Saw Super Size Me, which was good, plus featured footage of the real Hamburgler, causing me to laugh.

Object of Jeff's Affection - Lisa Hannigan

Jeff was listening to Damien Rice's "Volcano", and inquired about the female vocalist. Turns out her name is Lisa Hannigan. I really have nothing to add - I haven't even heard "Volcano" yet.

I think you can see how this weblog is slowly, surely eroding my ability to send direct messages to my friends via phone or e-mail.

Object of Jeff's Affection - Jem

Jeff e-mailed the other day about Jem, a female artist he heard on Boston radio. Jeff has serious Girl in a Rock Band Syndrome issues - Fiona was first, then Shannon McNally, and now he's left wondering what to make of the latest voice, Jem. Well, this is what Jem looks like, pal. I have no idea how old she is, and couldn't find that in my research. But you can also look at these photos.

By the way, her music is nice. I own one of her live tracks, and you can download some more here.

The Other Archives - 9/11/01

Yes, I did know. Thanks for asking:

September 11, 2001
2:54 pm

I don't know where to start.

I have never lived in a city with a major newspaper, but even if I had I don't know if there have been many Extras printed recently. Yet, as I rode the 16A through downtown, I witnessed several vendors offering papers with the largest banner headline I have ever seen: "TERROR!"

Businesses downtown were closed for the most part. Those that weren't yet closed consisted of simple coffee shops or other novelty shops. The IDS tower was closed; I walked right by it on the Nicollet Mall. As I walked east at the southern end of the Mall a man nearly my age startled me (was looking the other way) and remarked, "I think it's international 'Fuck You America' day!" in a too smug tone of voice. He was wearing black and had a walking stick. I should have planted that walking stick up his smug ass.

When several of us entered the student lounge after class around 9:30 and heard the news - partly from other students in the lounge and partly over the phone by a student's husband. The internet news sites were jammed; we decided to head to bars nearby and watch their televisions.

The second after I saw the footage of the World Trade Center towers falling, I felt like I could never watch it again. I continued to be played, however, and I saw it a handful of times on CNN, NBC, CBS - all on Sally's televisions that usually feature football or baseball, in a bar that opened its doors for people like us, people that felt compelled to get information, although if they were anything like me the only reason they stayed glued to the sets was because they didn't know what else to do. After about an hour we headed back to the student lounge. Classes after noon were cancelled.

This was a day of long stares. I have never seen people huddled around TVs on street corners. I have never seen anything like this. I am coming to terms with the fact that this day will be a bookmark in history. This stupid fucking Tuesday, the 11th of fucking September; its only significance was supposed to be the release of Ben Folds new album. This stupid fucking Tuesday that I'll be dealing with for too long.

Fantastically Awful

Chris J. has a world-class post on the upcoming Royals season and its fantasy baseball implications.

Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

These are piling up again, so it's time for another fascinating edition of search engine queries that have led people to the Tornado Slide. I've highlighted my favorites:

ashlee simpson's roommate Stephanie (Google)
meth mites under skin (Yahoo)
winston, churchill, timepiece (Google)
dan braff (Google)
reader's digest issue of contents where men are stranded and they eat their dogs live (Google)
ashlee simpson's "butt crack" (Google)
gyllenhaal shaved head 2005 (Google Brazil)
Pregnant Charizard Pictures (Google)
McSweeney's "Issue 15" (Google)
candle wax crystal meth (Yahoo)
netherlands "left side" lyrics mama (Google Brazil)
bono's speeches (Yahoo)
"male stereotypes" "se (Google)
"saved by the bell" + "screech" + "new generation" + "photos" (Google)
ashlee simpson's parent's divorce (Google)
ashlee simpson's buttcrack (Google)
"peed in her" (Google France)
hardee's commercial bullriding (Yahoo Video)
DJ Tanner And Kimmy Lesbian Stories (Google)
"john mayer" and "jew" and "songwriter" (Yahoo)
phospho-soda suit (Google)
"chad pennington" fan site random photos hot pictures sexy (Google)
nirvana i was the black sheep of the family (Yahoo)
diabetes test machine "BB King" (Google)
"mechanical bull" "when the ladies" (Google UK)
carl's jr bullriding girl (Google)
carl's jr tv commercials bull rider (Yahoo)
Carl's Jr. Bullriding Ad (Google)
carl's jr girl bullriding commercial (Yahoo)
carl's jr bullriding commercial (Google)
photo phospho prep nausea (Google)

Of note: all but one of the Carl's Jr.-related searches occurred on the same day. Odd. And even if you were stranded with other men and some dogs, wouldn't you go ahead and kill the dogs before you eat them? Have you ever tried eating a dog alive? I mean, it's tough enough to simply bathe them - imagine trying to skin them! Or don't - it's probably better you don't. I'd like to give the anonymous internet reasearcher the benefit of the doubt - maybe he meant they ate their dogs to live, but I doubt it. He put other extraneous words in his search (i.e. "of", "are", "and"), you'd think he would have added "to" as well.

Coffee and Tea-V

[EDITOR'S NOTE: This was written Thursday morning and would have been posted that night, were it not for a disagreement between myself and my laptop. I wanted it to load Windows, it was (and still is) not feeling up to the task. Posts may be infrequent, in direct opposition to my footer, until we can work this out.]

I've had two cups of tea this morning. Not exactly a grande latte, but it's enough caffeine to make me feel funny. The fact that I describe it as "feel funny" probably distinguishes me from more normal, more caffeine-dependent segments of the population.

When I drink hot tea, tiny little men assemble at battle-stations inside my skull. Each is armed with a jack, and each jack is used to gradually stretch my brain outward; in the end, my body hangs from my head.

When I drink coffee, all of the same characters are involved plus one: a
power-hungry overlord, name like a male American Gladiator. The tiny little men work harder, faster, obediently moving to the rhythym of the overlord's Ben Hur-esque drumming. "That's enough," the overlord says when he is satisfied, "Now head down to the legs and fidget!" My knee bounces for an hour.

Portman's Pants

You can bid on this outfit, was worn by Natalie Portman in Garden State. Knowing nothing of Hollywood collectibles, I'm still a little uneasy about the fact that the bidding is currently over $1000. Even if it is for tsunami relief, uh... well, just try not to think about who might be buying this. If you value your inner peace, you should also try not to think about what they'll be doing with it.

Would a bid that high for one of her Closer outfits (if you've seen the movie, you should know the outfit I'm referring to) be as creepy or less creepy?

(You can also buy the gas pump handle featured in the movie, frame it, hang it on the wall of your bedroom, and pretend you're sleeping in a Planet Hollywood!)

Grammy Reading

First, check out author Neal Pollack's running blog. An excerpt:

I'm sorry, call me an indie snob if you want, but Tim McGraw is just a country version of "Tuesdays With Morrie." The song, "Live Like You Were Dying," is about a man who gets bad news from his doctor, but doesn't let that stop him from going out and doing adventure sports.

Tim McGraw, how many of your fans can afford to go sky-diving or Rocky Mountain climbing? How many of them even have health insurance? If I found out I were dying, I'd fall into a sobbing heap for about two days, which is what most people would do, and then I'd start figuring out a way to use my sympathetic status so I could sit on the Phoenix Suns bench during the playoffs. Skiing wouldn't be high on my priority list.

Then read his response(s) to the many Salon readers that were offended by his disrespect (I'm trying never, ever to say "dis" again) toward Led:

Green Day found their initial success through the classic punk-rock DYI model, playing fun songs for relatively comfortable kids. It's not their fault they were born into a post-shock, post-rebellion world, or that they found a formula for commercial success. "American Idiot" may not be deep like, say, "Misty Mountain Hop," but what's so wrong with making an anti-establishment statement that's also palatable to the mainstream?

Next, you're off to Jeff Johnson's Fitted Sweats:

lastly, who is the tall guy in the Black Eyed Peas with the long hair who looks like someone stuck some scalding tacks in his undies? Man that fucker is annoying.

Finally, The Rattler has a post regarding the nonsense that is posthumous Grammy awards. Enough. I propose we start a new Grammy category, "Best Whatever by Someone that Died this Past Year". We can get started on this right after we start the new Oscar category, "Best Impersonation of a Nonfictional Character". Seriously. Howard Hughes, Jackson Pollack, Ray Charles, Virginia Woolf, Beautiful Mind dude... and that's off the top of my head. Enough. New categories.

The Other Archives - It's a Pretty Good Robot

I found this e-mail from Paul - he was responding to my picture from Halloween '03, wherein I'm dressed as a 1950s era robot and "T-1000" is taped across my front:

i saw the picture of your halloween costume, and i have to say it was pretty funny. i realize how hard it is to simulate liquid metal. actually, i thought you looked more like the pill-eating robot from the saturday night live insurance skit... well, i'll let you get back to work. later.

by the way, me and a few of my friends are thinking of writing a movie script for a cheap action film starring swayze, bacon, and matt dillon. any ideas on the plot?

paul

Five O'Four Favorites

I spent most of 2004 catching up on the music I hadn't heard in 2003. Now that I've had a chance to review everyone's "Best of" lists, I'm somewhat comfortable with my top five albums:

1. Polyphonic Spree - "Together We're Heavy"
2. Secret Machines - "Now Here is Nowhere"
3. Arcade Fire - "Funeral"
4. Modest Mouse - "Good News for People Who Love Bad News"
5. Elliott Smith - "From a Basement on a Hill"

Best titled album of the year:
Secret Machines - "Now Here is Nowhere"

Album that receives honorable mention rather than a top 5 rank simply because of the Ipod commercials:
U2 - "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb"

Record of the year:
Modest Mouse - "Float On"

I realize that no one cares. I'm somewhat comfortable with that, too.

Your Song

If someone were to describe you as a song - paying no attention to the song's lyrics, title, or overall meaning - what song do you WISH they would choose?

Nirvana - "Milk It". This was the song that was playing in my car when I thought of this question. I guess I'm going stuck with "Milk It" for my answer, although in truth I'd prefer the same album's "Radio Friendly Unit Shifter" over "Milk It". And if you would further forgive what initially triggered my answer, I might switch gears altogether and go with a song with more complexity, like Radiohead's "Let Down", or more life-giving energy, like Weezer's "My Name is Jonas". I can live without being known as the human equivalent of something as emotional as S&G's "Bridge Over Troubled Water" or Rufus Wainwright's cover of "Hallelujah".

If someone were to describe you as a song - paying no attention to the song's lyrics, title, or overall meaning - what song do you THINK they would choose?

I think I'd be described as a simple song without many tempo shifts - the first thing that comes to mind is the bass line from U2's "With or Without You". That song might work, actually, seeing as how I am usually considered quiet but am prone to short bouts of yelling:

my hands are tied
my body bruised
she got me with
nothing to win
and
NOTHIIIIIING
LEFT TO LOOOOOOOOOSE

But I could be wrong. Feel free to comment about songs that would describe me or yourself...but please, for the love, take it easy on the "Sex Bomb" references.

That's Methed Up

Last Thursday night I had a dream that Sarah, an upstanding law student, tore off her own ear while high on methamphetamine. It's a little hazy, but later on in the dream I think she was applying for a job at a bar, and she was upset about how she was being treated - you know, on account of the missing ear. Then someone, maybe her, gave a "who among us hasn't made a mistake" speech. There may have been a resolution or I may have awoken first.

The dream was inspired by some City Pages articles on meth abuse I read a few years ago. One article stated:

Heavy meth users go on binges that sometimes last up to two weeks. More typically, binges are between one and three days. During this period, users often engage in compulsive or repetitive acts, such as housecleaning or disassembling appliances. Meth also produces an array of strange physical sensations. One of the most common is called formication--the delusion of insects crawling under the skin. The cause of formication is not entirely understood. Some research has suggested that toxic adulterants in meth (perhaps from the solvents used in the manufacturing process) accumulate in the skin cells, which then begin dying. In response, sufferers begin to pick or scratch until they form open sores. The phenomenon is referred to as "crank bugs" or "meth mites."

And there was also another article, which underscores the horrors of meth:

"I remember being at this house one time after I had run away," Tina remembers. "There was this kid who had been up for like two or three weeks straight and he was picking at his nose because he thought there were bugs crawling around in there. He's picked these big, bloody holes in his nostrils, and he finally took a scissors and cut into his nostrils on both sides."

I understand how people would be tempted to try cigarettes, alcohol, pot, and even cocaine. What I don't understand is the moment someone thinks, "Maybe I'll go ahead and try some crystal meth - I mean, it's made from Sudafed and some other awful shit, but I hear you get high from it!" or "LSD, huh? So there's about a 50/50 chance that this will be an awful experience? I'm in!" or "Heroin? Sure, I loved Trainspotting and Requiem for a Dream! Jared Leto is hott!"

Morning After

Killer Valentine's Day party last night. Thanks to everyone for coming. Again, apologies regarding the CD player. I put it on all disc shuffle, and we were about halfway through the 5 discs when it inexplicably stopped. When I think about all the Elastica that we missed out on...

Please e-mail me (click on the link at right) or post a comment if you have digital pictures to share.

Found: 1 pair gray socks with snowflakes on them, 1 pair 33x30 J Crew jeans.

I know why the darts were on the floor - I know they were shot from the loft downstairs at the balloons - and I know why all the place smells like beer.

But if someone could explain why there is candle wax on the lighting fixture above the dining area table, I'd be in your debt.

New York City Crime Drama (in New York)

This MUST SEE video is pretty self-explanatory. Obviously, I had a big hand in it. Thanks to bag for hosting the clip, Phil for directing and producing it, and Floyd / Serpentine for their creative input and acting.

(I will lead some director's commentary later - right now I've got to get some shut-eye because I've got stupid work in the morning.)

Rock to the Heart

I don't have the credentials or the equipment to prove it, but I'm pretty sure that there's a jagged tear in the fabric of space. And if I'm right, and if you woke up this morning to Katie and Matt begging NASA officials for answers, know that I saw it happen. The Secret Machines took Metaphysics, sat it down on a worn but sturdy wooden chair, and unleashed a sonic wall of magnificance.

They also caused the ringing I currently hear.

C'mon Hide Your Lovers / Underneath The Covers

As previously discussed within Tornado Slide, there is a horrific cover of "In the Air Tonight" by a band called Nonpoint. You can download the mp3 at Stereogum. Every terrible shot should have a chaser - in this case, the chaser is the new Beck video.

Wither Tornado Slide

A red flag meant basketball, 3 on 2, in the gym. A yellow flag meant outside, in the elliptical parking lot - it meant skinned knees. If a green flag was hanging outside of the office, recess was outside, on the playground.

The playground was small; in retrospect, I can't believe how easily we entertained ourselves with so few options.

There was a merry-go-round. I spent one spring on my stomach, spinning around, searching for and finding small, smooth, black rocks among the sand. I took them home and put them in small boxes.

There was a teeter-totter. No one ever called it a seesaw. I called it painful. Recess was over and it was time to assemble. I ran past the teeter-totter, toward the school's entrance, as one of a pair of teeter-totterers exited the contraption. The resulting upward force to my chin knocked me on my back.

There was a small set of swings that held up to four students. I remember Chris telling me about an episode of Quantum Leap while on the small swings - something about the days of slavery and a song that went "Boot to the head / na na / boot to the head / na na". Clayton showed me the new DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince tape on the small swings.

There was a cube of monkeybars. There was open space for kicking rubber balls and miscellaneous frolicking. There was a basketball goal with a dirt court. There was no slide.

As I advance through the grades, the playground expanded. First, more swings. Next, more monkeybars - these were dome-shaped, and no one ever used them to crawl under, monkey-like (or commando-like). Instead, the boys stood beneath the dome and looked up girl's skirts, or sat atop the dome and looked south, toward the new swings. The girls were there, swinging toward the north, skirts flapping.

Then, finally, mercifully, came the tornado slide. The boys abandoned their natural urges to focus on childish horseplay - the slide itself was kind of fun, but its simplicity bored us. We created a game that might have been called "Clog It", in which Keith and Matt, the two biggest kids in my class, eased themselves halfway down the slide and held their position. One by one, the other males would launch themselves down the slide in an attempt to dislodge them. Clog It was awesome but short-lived - the adults put a stop to it, and soon we were back to the same old crap.

(Also, the domain name was available.)

Published!

I have been published exactly twice.

The first time was all science, and quite expected.

The second time was less expected. A few months back I got an e-mail (which I must have deleted since, so I'm just going from memory here) from McSweeney's that said something like "We're about ready to print the next issue and we have some space to fill. Please send us a very brief description of yourself and it may be included in the next issue. Keep it simple - do not be creative."

As my place of work prevents me from viewing webmail, I had to wait until I got home to reply to the message. I never heard back from them, so I figured I took too long to reply.

In fact, I was so certain that nothing would come of it that I received the new issue, McSweeney's Issue 15, last week and didn't even give it a good browsing until this evening's carpool. Near the back I found "Notes on Contributors", and following that, on the very last two pages, "Notes on Subscribers". There I am, described in one uncreative sentence. Name. Job. Place of work.

It's nice to appear in McSweeney's, if only as a subscriber. Normally, all I get from them (aside from the top-notch prose) are polite rejections of my own work:

I thank you for letting us have a look, but I'm afraid that we're going to pass on this one.

Turns out they aren't interested in the adolescent superhunks.

I have loved McSweeney's for many years now, and I'm very pleased to be a part of this publication, which you can buy online or in person.

2005 is absolutely kicking ass (so far).

The Searchers

I thought that it would never be topped. Someone looked up "Ashley Simpson peed in her pants" via Yahoo, my site came up in the search results, and they clicked on me. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new champion:

i felt a nice penis slide into me

I will pay $20 American to know why this individual entered these words into Yahoo. Is it a movie quote? A lyric? The catch phrase of an acquaintance? I've tried repeating the search (with quotes) on several search engines to no avail. I'm beginning to lose sleep over this. Please, Mister or Miss I Felt A Nice Penis Slide Into Me, comment on this post or send me an e-mail.

Other searches that led to Tornado Slide since the last post on this topic:

+"ian black" +tornado (Yahoo)
jake gyllenhaal shaved head pictures (Yahoo)
sebacious testicle (Yahoo)
"jucy lucy" burger (Google)
Crichton global warming (Technorati)
lieber and stoeller (Google)
sever tornado photos (Yahoo)
"bull ride" video clip (Yahoo)
"Caryn Ganz" gay (Yahoo)
bruce willis on wigs photos (Yahoo)
Kim Catrall's birthday (msn)
women "lifts car to save" (Google)
Colin Ferrell brand smokes (Yahoo)
Tittyfuckin video (Yahoo)
Nirvana seasons in the sun (msn)
Poker pint glasses (Google)
"the state" mtv episodes zach wain showalter (Google)

(NOTE: Searches for a copy of Nirvana's cover of "Seasons in the Sun" is easily the most popular way to find Tornado Slide. If I only had an mp3, it wouldn't also be the most disappointing way to find Tornado Slide.)

January '05 Statistics

Spider solitaire
During work hours
Difficulty = 4 suits

Week Ending 1/7
1 W
11 L

Week Ending 1/14
1 W
9 L

Week Ending 1/21
0 W
10 L

Week Ending 1/28
1 W
10 L

January totals:
3 W
40 L
6.9%

Too Cute to Call

This was the image found in today's online issue of the Topeka Capital-Journal. I'd say it's a bit cryptic. Are we supposed to watch them instead of watch the Super Bowl? Play with them? Eat them?

But the real question it raises is this - which is more cute: Tom Brady or adorable puppies?

Piss, Blood

Shawn used to work at a greyhound park. Among other responsibilities, his job was to take the ugly yet swift dogs out to relieve themselves before a race. "The dogs that poop the most always win," Shawn would tell us, "but we're not allowed to bet on the races. If we could, I'd make a ton of money. But then I'd have to spend it all fixing my stupid goddamn car because my car is a big pile of dung, much like the piles the greyhounds make so near my Adidas."

Well, maybe he didn't say that last part, but the beginning of the quote is fact. Kim, a med student, does her best Bill Nye impersonation:

for all your horse racing enthusiasts

when a race horse runs, they run really fast (no … I did NOT need medical school to tell me that part).

to supply the increased need for oxygen in the muscles the cardiac output increases (ie the heart pumps a heck of a lot more blood out) – and this increases blood pressure. When you increase the blood pressure too much – especially in the capillaries (which are thin and small and weak because they are supposed to leak) – blood will leak out. So sometimes when a horse runs really fast – bp increases – capillaries blow blood - and the horse will leak blood out it’s nose at the end of a race – aka “a bleeder”.

To stop “a bleeder” from bleeding – you want to decrease the blood pressure without losing any of the oxygen carrying red blood cells – but all the rest of the fluid in the blood system is fair game for removal. To remove the fluid you give the horse a strong diuretic like Lasix – and the horse will pee a ton – and with less fluid in the blood system the pressure isn’t as high and they don’t bleed – and apparently they run faster. Hence the phrase “piss like a race horse”.

Note to those of you gamblers – the first time a horse gets a diuretic they are reputed to run their fastest race – and it will be quite a bit faster than what is expected for that horse. The horse will be listed with a subscript “L” (for Lasix) next to their name.

The charisma of Bill Nye in the body of a ballerina - that's our Kim!

I Like to Watch

What did you do today? Were you the person that spent 44 minutes looking through various parts of this weblog? Well, I hope you had an enjoyable time, but other people had to work. For example, my friend Phil had to go to work today - he works for a company that makes many different things, but is most famous for manufacturing wristwatches. In fact, a short distance from his assigned workspace, a small group of dorks try to think of new watch ideas. Phil can hear their conversations, and it sounds like grade A idiocy. (Hey, I can relate - the other day at my place of work a guy actually used the phrase, "She didn't fire a person, but she laid someone off." Eh?) The watch thinktank's ridiculous antics inspired this thread of e-mail:

ME (BEING ONE OF THE WATCH GUYS): How can we capitalize on this Little Richard trend? Make a watch that looks like Little Richard!

PHIL: I believe as we speak they are working on a Little Richard watch. It's called the Tootie Fruity Timepiece or the Good Golly [I'll never be late again] Miss Molly Watch.

ME:Here's an idea - name a celebrity or an idea, and the other person will be responsible for naming the watch(es) associated with that celebrity or idea. Since you already did Little Richard, I'll do Winston Churchill:

Our Greatest Hour watch

Wow. That was easy. And I really, honestly thought of the person before the watch name. Your turn, your choice: surfing and/or Dave Matthews

PHIL: I'm going for a more off the top of my head stream than anything...

The Before These Crowded Dials Watch

Hang 10 [o'clock] watch

I'm guessing that you enjoyed my Little Richard watches. I dig that Churchill timepiece. Next topic: Star Trek and/or obscure 19th century US President [i.e Millard Fillmore]

ME: Stardate watch

Tricorder-to-the-hour watch

2 Nonconsecutive Ticks watch (Grover Cleveland - ps this watch would keep terrible time due to overly literal, dedicated-to-the-concept engineering)

Miller's Minutes watch (Fillmore)

next topic: ABC's "The View" watch and Eli Whitney

PHIL: The wait a cotton pickin' minute watch

I'm still thinking about The View...there's got to be something that involves Star jones right? No new topic until their is a The View watch.

ME: The Daytime Talk(ing) watch?

PHIL: It'll do. New topic(s): U2 watch or Elvis watch

ME: Taking Care of Minutes (in a Flash!) watch

Suspicious Times

Is it Now or Never? This Elvis watch will tell you! (ok that's more of a tag line...)

So if you ever wondered what I do to make it through the workday, there it is.

A Jew Hasn't Been This Hot Since 5/23/02

I've been hearing about how Zach Braff is hot. I'm stunned. That guy is hot? Am I missing something? I mean, part of the reason Garden State didn't engross me was his character's relationship with Natalie Portman's - Nat snogging Jude Law, I can believe, but Zach Braff?

Is it the fame? It might be the fame. Paul and I are weary of Girl In A Rock Band syndrome - the poster child is Meg White, a woman we would not think twice of if we saw her on the sidewalk, but since we only see her in the context of one of the world's greatest rock bands, rocking us with harsh cymbal crashes...well, we get kind of turned on. Conflicted, but turned on. The same rules do not apply for the ladies. Sure, they say that they would give it to John Mayer, the epitome of Boy Songwriter syndrome, but they wouldn't. Ladies, you all knew John Mayer in high school, and you thought he was goofy. If he asked you to homecoming you would have just DIED.

Other people I've been stunned to learn are hot:
Orlando Bloom
Mark Ruffalo
(can't think of more right now)

Two Jerks

Jerk #1 - Michael Crichton

"Nobody knows how much of the present warming trend might be a natural
phenomenon. Nobody knows how much of the present warming trend might be man-made. Nobody knows how much warming will occur in the next century", he writes.

Hey! Thanks for dropping that knowledge on me, Mr. C! Thanks for the hours of enjoyment you brought us via the Jurassic Park movies - well, via the first one anyway. And kudos for creating ER! Man, that show has really soldiered on respectably, despite an ever-changing cast. Oh, and Mr. C, could I show you something? You know, payback for all the years of decent entertainment you've given me? Super! Here goes:


That ever increasing line that started around the time of the industrial revolution is called "data". I'm sure you looked at a lot of that sort of thing when researching your new (and awesome!) book, but maybe you missed this one chart. Anyway, I found it pretty compelling back when I was getting my degrees. Of course, I was taught by liberal activists that were skewing the data - not surprising the conclusions they draw, am I right Mr. C? Yeah, you know what I'm talking about! When they're kids they decide they're going to skew scientific data when they grow up so they can mess with those mean republicans, they go off to school, pick up a few degrees, become experts in their fields, do scientific experiments, and then they have the nerve to tell me that I'm causing global warming?! While they're being paid with my taxes? Crazy hippy scientists!

Oh, I forgot to mention - Congo? Good stuff!

Jerk #2 - Liz Tuccillo

The WB Network has ordered an untitled one-hour pilot, to be executive produced by "Friends" co-creator Marta Kauffman. The comedy-drama revolves around four adult sisters who navigate career, romance and relationships in New York. It was written by Liz Tuccillo (HBO's "Sex and the City").

Hey Liz! Can't wait to see the pilot! Sounds like it's got all the key ingredients for a hit series! I know this because it's already been a hit series! It was called Sex and the City, and you wrote some of its episodes! I like how you're mixing it up by making the main characters sisters - very Clark Kent of you. Anyway, I've gotta run - keep squeezing that rock!