Recursive Bee

It's All in Books!

2012-01-06T12:00:00.000-06:00

If you like looking at things, here is something I wrote about a Late Night with David Letterman book from 1985:
Inside the Almost 100% Successful 1985 Late Night with David Letterman Book

I am as shocked as you to see it contains a short "interview" with Merrill Markoe and less shocked that it has a reference meant only for Voyagers! Superfans.

By the way, you look really pretty today!

The Do Monkeys

2011-12-27T14:54:00.000-06:00

On Tuesday, arriving in the mail, was – and I use was and not were because it was an entity, a big package, a self-contained TV dinner gestalt – was the Sea Monkeys, all in a shrinkwrap-wrapped package that looked like it could survive being mailed from pretty much anywhere to pretty much anywhere else. When I opened it, I was surprised to see the one packet labeled not Growth Food, but Manna. The Growth Guarantee in Writing was signed and stamped, something no ant farm had ever offered. The whole thing had cost $1.25 plus 50 cents to mail plus another 50 for the rush order, cut out from the back pages of an Avengers; it had taken several issues to get an Avengers that didn’t have the ad on the verso page of actual content (I could have just bought a second copy, it occurs to me now). The Avengers “fight the foes no single super hero can withstand” and one thing about them is they’re more often than not referred to by their real names instead of their super hero names: everyone just calls the Scarlet Witch “Wanda”; the subtext is that she is “The Scarlet Witch”. I would one day have enough of subtext; the Sea Monkeys seemed initially free of it.

As implied by the ad, the Sea Monkeys all had little tridents. The spines of the males were ridged with plates like the Loch Ness Monster’s (I had seen an artist’s rendering in an old National Geographic at the doctor’s office; the caption for a picture of a man buying a “Nessie-Burger” read “This man keeps one eye on his change and another on the Loch”. I was, at this time, interested in The Unexplained, and the Loch Ness Monster was often in my thoughts). There was one Sea Monkey with an especially long beard – the king – whose beard only unfurled once it hit the water. The women crossed their legs, barely concealing their genitals, in a move that reminded me of my cousin Lois who untied the back of her bathing suit top to tan evenly at the beach, although I guess those aren’t her genitals. Tail fins blocked male genitals (I will stop saying genitals now), and the babies were neutered little Weeble creatures. They all had scales on their chests like another cousin of mine, Dale. Several of my cousins had weird diseases. I wonder what they think of me; probably that I am a “city slicker,” because they think Indian Head is near Baltimore although we’re over an hour away and anyway there are several cities larger than Baltimore. I look at the skyline and say, “There’s our skyline,” and then I pause and say, “Such as it is.” It gets a laugh. About half the time it gets a laugh.

I had assumed the sea monkeys would look like brine shrimp – Artemia salina – but they looked more like elongated Precious Moments figurines, only maybe more jaunty and angular. With my ear pressed to the tank, I could hear them speaking in upper register octaves, unsurprising, I guess, as they presumably had tiny, tiny vocal chords; they did not appear to speak English.

My Crazy Crab (“Sandy Claws”) ignored them for the most part, his large neotenic blue eyes never quite focusing on them (but still smiling the happy smile of mail-order Crazy Crabs) when I would turn his shell toward the tank; I wanted to show him what happy sea creatures were like, because he pretty much stayed in his shell and only came out begrudgingly for races with other Crazy Crabs. I got the name “Sandy Claws” from the ad. I entered him into races, like the ad said. I painted him, like the ad said I should: I painted him red with a blue Atari logo; my Pinewood Derby car had a similar design. Atari is Japanese for go, but he never won a race. My Venus fly trap (mail order, as well, and nameless) continued to eat whatever flies I could catch and in the meantime eyed my Crazy Crab with a kind of mechanical, waiting sedentariness, with eyes, had it had eyes, like a dull-eyed shark.

Just as I never named the fly trap, I never named the Sea Monkeys; the ad didn’t recommend it specifically, and so it didn’t occur to me, although there was an obvious distinction between each one, an obvious pecking order; for the men, the more generously bearded held a higher position in the Sea Monkey hierarchy, while with the women, it seemed like the ones with the larger breasts seemed to get by a little easier. These were the first breasts I had ever seen full on, except if you count the aborigine breasts in National Geographic, which were long vinelike breasts. The Sea Monkey breasts were, I guess the word is, pert. I felt odd looking at them and wondered if they cared or if they were perhaps “libertines,” which at first seemed to be the case, though I realize now this was because they couldn’t see me very well; when the plastic tank was filled with water, it was reflective on the inside.

I watched their civilization iterate and then burgeon, and wondered if despotism might be the way to go; it seemed to be working for them. At first, they were mainly focused on procreation, something else I had obtained the bulk of my understanding from National Geographic.

The procreation went on for about a week, untrammeled, but then their long-bearded king had some of his lackeys divide the bottom of the tank with little dotted lines like in sitcoms, and after that each Sea Monkey pretty much stayed in its own little square and things calmed down. Sea Monkey women congregated around those with larger squares. The water took on a tint that I’m pretty sure one would say would have to be the result of pee, but I had thrown away the instructions and didn’t know how to clean it without disrupting the ecosystem.

The next day when I woke up, they had built little houses for themselves – no windows but doors. I had mail-ordered X-ray specs (“scientific optical principle really works!”) and could watch them through the walls.

Days passed; someone invented convection, or learned how to control it, to make a self-contained highway cum aqueduct cum mail system. There were large geometric designs carved into the rocks at the bottom of the tank explaining how it worked, as well as many curvilinear animal drawings, for which no one would take credit.

The Sea Monkeys shot information and sometimes themselves through the tank making it look like documentary footage of a pneumatic tubes mailroom. Sea Monkeys poked their heads out their doors expectantly to see what the convection would bring them that day. This was when one male convected up to the surface of the tank (evaporation had worked its way down about a quarter inch), swallowed water, poked his head out and saw me. He immediately dove and reported to the king; I could see them making plans. The next day three of them addressed me (in English, after all): they held onto the edge of the tank. “You!” they all gargle-shouted in unison. They spoke in exclamatory sentences. When they talked, water came out of their mouths and they kept having to go back down and swallow more into their lungs, and then come up again to shout: “Who are you!”

“I made you,” I said, although of course I had only purchased them, but what I meant was, I was an American. “I’ve watched you grow, and build your houses,” I said, “You’ve developed very rapidly.”

“We know!” they said, “We invented English and convection! Do you know about convection! We hope you do!”

“I do know,” I said, although I had only learned about convection the year before in a science fair experiment that I got an A on because Mr. Damrosch got me confused with Noah Altman.

“You know a lot of things! You created us and we are grateful! We want to know what you know!” they said, “We want to be more like you!”

I didn’t want them to be more like me, though, because I was still admiring some of the small, dun, pert Sea Monkey nipples of the women, and there was nothing more unlike me that I could think of than that, and also I couldn’t think of anything good that I had that they didn’t, except maybe my Atari or print media and a bike (a Diamondback), so I said, “You’re pretty much on schedule, inventionwise; actually, you’re doing very well. Keep up the good work.”

“But we have a desire to know!” they all shouted, “We have been procreating and building houses, and eating manna but there must be more to life, we all think! We want to know about the feeling of being disarmed by a first viewing of Casablanca, and picking dewberries from behind a fence you’re not supposed to go behind, and doing your laundry with your girlfriend on a rainy Sunday when you’re in your early twenties! We don’t understand the second law of thermodynamics, and it kind of scares us!”

“Listen,” I said, “I don’t know about any of those things either. I only know about procreation because of pictures of aborigines in National Geographic, and while I’m sure I must have had dewberries by this point, I can’t think of what they taste like. They are not that different from boysenberries, I think. The last movie I saw was The Unidentified Flying Oddball,” (which would later be renamed A Spaceman in King Arthur’s Court when it was released on video), “and I’m not even 100% sure what manna is. This morning I had Busy Bodies, the brown kind, not the yellow kind. I can flip the score in Atari Pinball, because I know how to nudge without ever tilting, and I play Kaboom so well, it’s like I don’t see individual bombs, I see scrolling-down wallpaper, patterns. I don’t do my own laundry, and I don’t have a girlfriend.” They looked at me like they were about to cry, but whereas with dogs (or my cousins) you can tell what they’re thinking to an extent, who can tell with Sea Monkeys? They dove.

From the back of a Captain America I had purchased two invisible goldfish through the mail (“guaranteed to remain invisible permanently”) that arrived around this time, and on a whim had dumped them in the tank with the Sea Monkeys. I watched the Sea Monkeys carefully, trying to figure out if they could see the fish, even if I couldn’t. Maybe their eyes work differently! But the fish, unfortunately, developed a taste for the Sea Monkeys and caused a biotic crisis.

They swept through the tank, taking great mouthfuls of the populace. The Sea Monkeys looked like they were literally being erased in front of me; you could not see them once they had been swallowed. I could see lots of discussion and fingerpointing among the Sea Monkeys (their main method of debate; it was effective due to the slenderness of their fingers), but eventually they made a kind of coracle and caught the fish, tethering them to the bottom of the tank. After a week, I began to see something that looked like the constellation Pisces in the tank, and I knew that the fish had come down with Ichthyophthirius multifiliis, or Ich. The Sea Monkeys surprised me by inventing vaccination and, when the wealthier ones complained, anesthesia. They used their aqueduct to tell each other about it.

They also used the aqueduct centrifugally to launch little plastic balls filled with water outside of the tank, each large enough to hold one to three Sea Monkeys. I found a few under my bed each with a little Sea Monkey floating upside down inside of it. I would find one and then the next day nothing and then the next day another one. Each little ball was labeled “Artemis”.

Around this time, there seemed to be a lot of debate about tgfowat and it took me a while to figure out that it meant The Great Finless One Without a Trident, or me. “If there is a tgfowat, then why does He allow Ich?” one of them would say, pointing his long finger. Or: “If there is a tgfowat, then how do we reconcile his omniscience with Free Will?” Then another sea monkey would swim him up to the top of the tank and they would look at me and then both make a “Well, that settles that” face.

The next day, the next day, days went by. I lose track. They built water filtration plants, a grotto for some of the larger-breasted lady Sea Monkeys, pyramids (which, what?), and from what I could make out, skipped modernism and went straight to post-modernism. Or rather, their modernism and post-modernism were reversed. Also, they did “public schools” and “private schools” the British way. They ousted the king and formed a democracy and then invented Brinkmanship. I was taking some Amazing Hair-Raising Monsters that had seen better days off of my bookshelf and setting up a tableau of Star Wars figures, and I heard a chorus of throat clearings. It was three Sea Monkeys, it turns out descendants of the three that had spoken to me a few weeks before. One was a female; she looked like Fire With Fire-era Virginia Madsen, I now understand, but I wouldn’t know that for a few more years. She seemed to be their leader; she was wearing Donna Karan. She said (they no longer spoke simultaneously; they no longer seemed as excited), “We’ve invented war and peace and subtext. We have names for things you don’t, like the sound that shoes make when they’re in the dryer and nostalgia for second-hand experiences. We are all closet Francophiles but we also want to be like all those Leftist Jews from the University of Chicago in the ’60s. We are pretty conflicted about the Dreyfus Affair!”

“M’accuse!” said the sea monkey on her right (my left).

“Yes,” I said, “I know it looks like I’m not paying attention, but I am. I’m impressed with your health care plan, and foresee that the one we have in our country will need a major overhaul in about ten or fifteen years.”

“We invented Nostradamus a long time ago, and he concurs. We invented east coast colleges, and the following joke.”

The Sea Monkey on her left, my right, spoke up here: “How many Sea Monkeys does it take to screw in a light bulb?” he said, and when I didn’t answer: “Just two, but the trick is getting them in there.”

The Sea Monkey on her right made a noise like a rimshot. “We have also, you can see,” the leader said, “invented comedians who specialize in sound effects. Carl’s grandfather was a supporting character of several police procedural comedies a few generations back. Carl is thinking now about being a prop comic.” (Carl nodded here, making a noise like a robot nodding.) “Finally,” she said after studying Carl for a second or two, “we have invented a large mythology based on you. Here is a story from the Book of Lassitude.”

Not Carl, but the other one with the Caesar haircut, said, “And many years ago, civilizations ago, tgfowat floated down in his vessel and he said unto all present, ‘Go now, and build giant pyramids for your current king, while I make myself more or less content with lochs and crop circles and Stonehenge and yeti,’ and (lo) the Sea Monkeys present built giant pyramids for their king, over several generations, and many lives were lost in the process, and centuries later, we wondered why they had been built at all, and a few clever ones speculated that it was probably tgfowat who was behind it, since in the olden days he used to appear more often, and so they developed a space program and went into space seeking out He who had told us to build the pyramids in the first place, and when we finally found Him, He said, ‘Noooo, you missed the point..? I had you build the pyramids so you would see the folly of erecting gigantic monuments to one man’s ego, and using that knowledge, would not go to the trouble of developing a space program, itself a monument to the ego of one man.’ Shortly after, Kennedy was shot. Our Kennedy, not your Kennedy.” (Rim shot from Carl here.)

“What?” I said, “I never did any of that.” I didn’t know much about the space program, but above the stacks of magazines about aborigines in my doctor’s office was an autographed photo of John Glenn in uniform (many years later, 400 million Sea Monkeys would accompany him in his trip into space). “I created you, sure, but I just followed the instructions.”

“It’s a parable,” the female Sea Monkey interrupted, stretching out her long fingers to look at her nails, “You don’t take it literally. We’re just explaining why we haven’t gone into space recently. That and your fly trap ate the last four missions. But what we’re here to tell you, actually, is that we finally figured out the second law of thermodynamics, and we’d like to tell you to stop feeding us. We’re the last generation that will have had things better than their parents. It’s all going to end in a great collapse of sediment and dispersal, with the last survivors of the species understanding the point only as there ceases to be a point any more.”

“Look,” I said (I was just saying out loud what I was thinking), “if I don’t feed you, obviously, you’re going to die; I don’t understand the second law of thermodynamics, but when I start to think too big, about, you know, purpose and meaning, I wait a few days.”

“In a few days we’ll be gone,” she said, “We have glimpsed the future and it’s mostly prop comics..?” (Carl nodded here) “And it’s frankly not something we care to deal with; centuries of art and commerce, and what do we have? Continued unfulfilled promises of solar power and flying cars and over in France they’ve mastered the non-contagious yawn; we are so over France (our France, not your France). We’ve reached inbrededness levels heretofore only traversed by Dalmatians and the Amish, and we’ve all either done everything there is to do or have the capacity to read about it. We’ve also discovered print media, by the way. We assume you have too.”

I didn’t say anything and they didn’t say anything and then they sank, and they didn’t stop sinking until they hit the bottom. What should I have done?

I told you I had lost the instructions. What should I have done? I’m asking you, here, now. What do you think I should have done? What I did was I did nothing, but maybe you are a “man of action.” Or a woman. With regard to the joke about the light bulb, when there are too few Sea Monkey males, the females are able to start reproducing asexually. But I stopped feeding them.

I stopped feeding them, and I watched breasts shrivel and stomachs become distended and aqueducts collapse. The beards of the men kept growing at first, as did their fingernails, but then they shriveled up too. Tiny pyramids crumbled and fell like fragile cakes and settled down to form sedimentary coral reefs and Sea Monkey ghost towns.

In the mail a week or so later was the issue of The Avengers where you learn a new potential origin of the Scarlet Witch (“Wanda”) and Quicksilver. It’s an interesting issue, one that resolves about nine plotlines and introduces Bova who is like a cow-woman? It is hard to explain but it reads well, it really does, but the thing I couldn’t stop looking at was the ad toward the back. In small letters at the bottom, the ad said that the picture did not represent Artemia salina. So why had I expected Artemia salina? I had checked the box for the super-rush order (50 cents extra). “A Bowlfull of Happiness.”

Sic.

“Instant Pets.” It was an instant. Everything is an instant (I would one day learn). Everything will disappoint you. Comic books turn sepia and are sold on eBay. Harold von Braunhut was a member of Aryan Nations.

My Crazy Crab left his shell – I looked in with the X-ray specs (“loads of laughs and fun at parties”) – and the fly trap died because I had successfully rid the five-block area around my house of flies and the manual didn’t offer a backup plan. I waited for the mail to come daily, painfully, for a Boba Fett action figure I had ordered with proofs of purchases from other figures.

I didn’t know it yet, but the one that would eventually arrive in the mail would have the ability to launch a small plastic rocket from his back and would be recalled by Kenner a month later. Rockets! I thought, momentarily slipping into an exclamatory sentence. I made him fly around the room, and I buried him in the sandy area in our backyard (making a treasure map to the site; ten steps past the rain barrel, and left four) and I said to myself then: I will dig him up again later, maybe, many years later, perhaps, many years from now, when he is worth something.

The Year's Best Book

2011-12-19T16:25:00.002-06:00

...of 1977!
#switcheroo

SO: I waited for another indie band to act out a sitcom for a while and it didn't look like it was going to happen, so instead here is a write-up I did on a book edited by Anne Beatts and John Head about the first two seasons of Saturday Night Live on Splitsider.

IT IS DEFINITELY WORTH SOMEWHERE BETWEEN 98 CENTS AND $82.78.

Everyone who reads this write-up gets five dollars!
xoxo

Someone should really update this blog or something

2011-02-10T14:06:00.000-06:00

...thought the pirate who then proceeded to dig for BURIED TREASURE!
(still got it)

Hello; here are two recentish things that are not here, but rather elsewhere:

A frankly inconsequential piece on Kavalier & Clay: "Tell, Don't Show"
A short write-up of a Yo La Tengo show which comprised an entire episode of Seinfeld over at Splitsider

(And, of course, there is my other blog.)

(I guess)

XOXOXOXOXOXOOXO

LOVE YOU! MEAN IT!

The Dog Party

2010-05-25T23:55:00.000-05:00

Brief Introduction
Or: What We Were Doing When The Dogs Came In

I had a book when I was a kid called Go, Dog, Go.
At the end of that book, a bunch of dogs have a “Dog Party”.

I actually got to see a kind of Dog Party, and this is basically that story.

My sister was doing a word jumble and I was about to watch something on television when our two German shepherds (Abby and Pepper) came in.

They looked at each other and then the older one, Abby, said, “We want to go for a walk.”

We didn’t know what to think! This was the first time we had heard her speak, but we decided to go along with them.

(To clarify, we’d said “Speak” to them before, but this was to get them to bark. We had not asked them to speak when Abby asked to go for a walk.)

I took Abby’s leash because I was older, and my sister took Pepper’s leash, since she was the smaller dog. Pepper was not the brightest dog in the world, but she meant really well, and you could tell she really looked up to Abby.

We took them for a walk. I was afraid that we were going to miss an important show, like The Krypton Factor, the American version, which was hosted by Dick Clark, and which I had been dying to see, but the longer we walked, the harder it was for me to remember what show it was we were going to watch. My sister said, “You know how to speak English?” and Abby nodded.

“What other languages do you know?” she said, but Abby just gave her a weird look. I thought maybe Abby had learned English from listening to us or maybe television and wouldn’t have any idea that there were other languages. But then I thought of Godzilla movies. And I kept trying to remember what the show was.

“What show were we going to watch?” I asked my sister. She shrugged. I got the feeling that she didn’t really watch television for herself or to improve her understanding of the world, but rather to spend time with me. I thought maybe what I was doing seemed inherently cool to her, because I was older (in the same way Pepper looked up to Abby, maybe). I was still thinking of these things, when we came to the Ditch.

Quickly, About the Ditch

The Ditch was a ditch that separated the bad part of town from the good part of town. Bad kids hung out at the Ditch. One of my friends always said that he found a bunch of old rubbers there, but I didn’t believe him. It was like one of those things where he said his friend’s friend had found them. We hunted for crawdads there, and once I caught about twelve and brought them home, and my mom, after consulting with the neighbor, decided they were OK to eat, and so we had them for dinner with corn on the cob and spinach because my mom insisted that there be something green on the table.

Whenever we ate at the kitchen table, Abby would look in the window at us from the backyard, her paws up on the brick window sill outside. Her nose was short, so she had a distinct look from other German shepherds; she looked more like a panda in a lot of ways when you faced her head on. I said, “Hey, Abby, do you remember the time I caught those crawdads?” and she furrowed her brow and shook her head. “You were looking in the window,” I said.

The dogs hadn’t spoken in a while, and I was beginning to think that I had imagined it all. If my sister hadn’t been there I’m not sure I would have kept going. We had been walking along the ridge of the Ditch, but now we went down into it and into a huge drainage pipe. I didn’t see any bad kids.

My sister and the dogs were able to walk OK in the pipe, but I had to duck down. There were bugs that looked like cockroaches, except that they were red, running around the walls of the pipe like in the game Tempest. The diameter of the pipe seemed to be getting narrower and narrower as we walked, and the light from the opening of the pipe was getting smaller as we got further and further away from it, so that it was almost a small dot of light, like when you turn off TV and everything compresses like a reverse Big Bang, and finally when I didn’t think I could go any more without getting down on my hands and knees, Abby took a sharp left turn and we followed and came out into an opening. The area was lit with low wattage bulbs that hung from somewhere up high but the ceiling of wherever we were was saturated too dark to see. There were about twenty dogs there.

Introductions

Abby introduced us to the dogs, and after each introduction would say something conspiratorially under her breath, like she would point to a West Highland Terrier and say “This is Laddie,” and after Laddie said hello and walked off, Abby would whisper, “Laddie loves to play board games but isn’t very good at any of them. He thinks a Ouija board is a board game, and the object is to be the first one to spell an embarrassing word.” Or: “This is Thunder.” (A husky.) “He doesn’t understand what glass is.” Or: “This is Fletch.” (A golden retriever.) “He barks at Asians and people wearing hats but not Asians wearing hats.” They weren’t all bad, though. There was an Airedale whose name I forgot who knew how to work an Atari, and there was a black and white dog named Buttons whose face his owner had taken a picture of and pasted on a kite that was entered into a Cub Scout kite flying contest and he got third place (the Cub Scout did).

After each introduction, the dog would say hello and shake my hand, and then walk over to my sister and shake her hand. Their paws were all wet from walking in the ditch, but I didn’t think much about it. None of them seemed too concerned that we were going to run off and tell people they could speak English.

Then they had a meeting. I couldn’t really follow what was going on. I asked my sister if she understood what was happening and she said not really. But I wasn’t scared! It wasn’t like they were planning world domination or how to move up the food chain or anything like that. It was sort of like a social club. They talked about new food some of them had had. Buttons had just had Kibbles ’n Bits for the first time, and this other mop-looking dog looked like he was going to go crazy, because he was the only one who hadn’t tried it. Pepper said she liked Kibbles ’n Bits even more than Gravy Train (which you add hot water to and it makes its own gravy). I made a mental note.

Dog Chanteys

Then after all this, the dogs began to sing a bunch of songs they called “dog chanteys”. And this is the reason I am telling you all of this. Because no one has believed me ever since. Even my sister. Like a week later, I asked her, “Remember when the dogs took us to that dog party?” and she looked at me like I was insane. I told her, “Pepper said she liked Kibbles ’n Bits more than Gravy Train,” and she said, “Gravy Train is gross,” and I said, “It’s not any more gross than Crazy Cow!” (Which is a cereal she eats. Crazy Cow turns your milk into chocolate milk.) I don’t know why she didn’t remember.

But even though I couldn’t get anyone to believe me, sometimes when I was alone with the dogs in the garage after throwing the ball for them after dinner, or if I remembered that I had forgotten to give them their heartworm pills and I went into the backyard to give it to them late at night, or just sometimes when I would go out to say goodnight to them before I went to bed, I would sit down next to them, and make eye contact with them, and sing one of these songs, and they would join in quietly (it always worked best at dusk). The one I could always get them on was the one about the Space Dog, Laika, although I think I’m missing some verses from that one.

Dog Chantey #1

Good Laika flew / On Sputnik II:
November ’57. (Hey)
Formica’s new / Now, so are you;
Your eyes survey the heavens. (Hey)
O Procyon! O Syrius!
O my Dog, you must think me delirious.

CHORUS (sung by all dogs):
Though it’s howl at the moon
Upside-down in a spoon,
A dog is your buddy, or so you’ll know soon.

Good Laika, she / Faced heat and stress
But she could not absorb it. (Hey)
But what we see / As “sky”, this noblesse
Muttnik knew as “orbit” (Hey)
So dreaming dogs at late o’clocks
Must kick their dewclaw, plus their hocks.

CHORUS (sung by all dogs):
Though it’s howl at the moon
Upside-down in a spoon,
A dog is your buddy, or so you’ll know soon.

This was one that Abby knew really well and all of the rest of the dogs were struggling with it and at least Buttons was pretending to sing but not actually making any noise; he was just moving his mouth and looking around nervously. This next song was a dog favorite, though, it was clear to me.

Dog Chantey #2

She sang like St. Bridget an’ shone like a kibble.
Her outside was “Gidget” but inside was “Sybil”.
I’d run the Iditarod,
Bite an Olympic God:
New Bedford, I long to seeeeeeeeee you

CHORUS:
Aw-wooo, blow you bully dogs.
All are drunk but the coxswain.
Aw-wooo, blow you bully dogs.
Your alleys smell like dachshund.

She smelled like flea/tick shampoo, turkey and fennel
There’s atheists in foxholes, but none in the kennel
I’d reject my dog-a-mas
Then walk ’round in pa-ja-mas
New Bedford, I long to seeeeeeeeee you

(Repeat Chorus)

Though she was a malamute, her voice was husky
We were halfway to heaven but stopped in Sandusky
In the corner stands a boxer
It’s her biological clock, sir
New Bedford, I long to seeeeeeeeee you

(Repeat Chorus)

Especially “New Bedford, I long to seeeeeeeeee you”. That really got them! They hit that line and it was like they were seeing an old friend.

This next one is the last one they did. I realized during the previous one that maybe I should be writing these down, so I ended up with more notes on this one (I took my sister’s word jumble pen and wrote on my arm). Pepper was the lead chanteydog on this, which is a little surprising. I got the idea that Abby had been helping her for the past week or so to get all the lyrics down, because while Pepper was singing, Abby was mouthing the words, and when Pepper was done, Abby smiled really big. (I should add that when dogs open their mouths just in general it looks like they’re smiling, no matter what, but I really think she was actually smiling legitimately.)

Dog Chantey #3

Chanteydog: Merry lads, let’s roll an’ go!
Crew: Howl-a, oh, Howl-a for FDR’s Fala
Chanteydog: A Scottie’s a Thane in the neck, doncha know
Crew: Howl-a, oh, Howl-a for FDR’s Fala

First Crewdog:
Fala was a Scotch Terrier
In the White House was nobody hairier
Eleanor groused,
“Get him out of the house!”
So he bit her on the derriere... Oh—

Second Crewdog:
Who was the Real New Deal Reformer?
If you say “Fala,” you’re getting warmer
Since his presence implied
That the Prez had arrived,
The Service dubbed him “The Informer”

Chanteydog: It’s time for us to roll an’ go!
Crew: We all set sail for Guatemal-a!
Chanteydog: The dog that survived po-li-o
Crew: Howl-a, oh, Howl-a for FDR’s Fala

First Crewdog:
At home with the Wealthy and the Plebian
A terrier American and European
As poor FDR died
Fala stayed by his side
Fireside “Chat”? More like “Chien”... Oh—

Second Crewdog:
Fala passed on in ’52
They erected his statue
At the Roos’velt Memorial.
My editorial?
I think it looks quite nifty, too.

Chanteydog: Now boys, at last we roll an’ go!
Crew: We won’t get scurvy, if we praise Allah
Chanteydog: His favorite Doctrine? The Mon-roe!
Crew: Howl-a, oh, Howl-a for FDR’s Fala
Cute as a koal-a was FDR’s Fala
Yes, we’ll Howl-a, oh, Howl-a for FDR’s Fala

Brief Conclusion
Or: Something You Might Try

Let me say again that I am not good at remembering things, and I feel like I have left out some stuff for all of these. Like, there was another one about Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli that at one point went something like:

“There are three kinds of lies:
(1) Lies, (2) Damn Lies, and (3) Statistics,”
He said through his chapped lips,
For he had no Blistix.

(1) Ten Downing Street’s lonely,
(2) Will Gladstone’s a cad,
(3) (An’) there’s a 12% chance
I will bark at your dad.

But I don’t remember the part of that one that had to do with dogs, other than the “bark at your dad” thing. What I’m saying is that on all of these I think I’m missing some verses, or the song requires several other dogs to join in, which ruins the eye contact part if you wanted to try it. And again, this only worked with my dogs. I never again saw Laddie, or Thunder, or Fletch, or that one anxious mop dog, or Buttons, and I was never able to get other dogs to join in. And I wasn’t ever able to get the dogs to sing with me when there was someone else in the room with me, but if you want to try, it’s worth a shot, right? To see if you can get your dog to talk to you? And even if your dog doesn’t sing, he or she at least will appreciate it, because one good thing about dogs is that they won’t think you’re crazy no matter what. My sister to this day says she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. And Abby and Pepper have long since died. Pepper was hit by a car and had problems after that. I don’t know if it was related to that or not, but she also had trouble breathing, and when they X-rayed her, they found a huge knot of cancer in her throat, and we finally put her to sleep. I guess cancer and being hit by a car can’t be connected in any way, but in my mind they are. Abby was just old.

She died a little before Pepper. It makes me sad to think about it, and so when I sing these dog chanteys to the different dogs I meet, I tell them first: my dogs were Abby and Pepper. Two German shepherds. They were Good Dogs. They knew how to speak English and they took their heartworm pills without incident, especially if you said, “Want a cookie?” beforehand. And intentionally or not, they taught me these songs. And this is how they go. And if you want to just listen, that’s fine, because we can certainly become friends that way, but if for some reason, you know these songs, and if you trust me, and if you want to join in, then please please please please do.

Congratulations Matthew Broderick!

2010-05-19T09:04:00.006-05:00

On having the lead in the longest running production of Equus in history!

Boo, that joke.

Ha ha, Library of Congress, you just acquired THIS!

2010-04-17T20:29:00.000-05:00

SUCKERS.

Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, etc.

2010-03-31T23:10:00.002-05:00

Towering over them all is Nicholas Sparks and he is naked, typing, his small fingers lively and quick and now in doubletime and bowing to Gena Rowlands, huge and tan and hairless, like an enormous infant. He never sleeps, he says. He says he’ll never die. He types a movie for Miley Cyrus and laughs deep in his throat and he is a great favorite, Nicholas Sparks. He has typed sixteen books and his fingers are light and nimble. He never sleeps. He says that he will never die. He types in light and in shadow and he is a great favorite. He never sleeps, Nicholas Sparks. He is typing, typing. He says that he will never die.

The Closet Origamist

2010-03-25T22:40:00.000-05:00

I’m interested in the Wild West; I am something of a “buff”, and I’ve been wondering lately about the “Dead Man’s Hand”. As in: I know it’s aces and eights, but I couldn’t find anything about the kicker (n.b. the kicker is the fifth card), or if there even was a kicker (Hickok could even have discarded it; source: The Poker Encyclopedia; Allen, Hayes), and I know that ghosts are always bitter little clowns (Ghosts: if you are reading this, I would be happy to be proven wrong!), but I decide to pay the 40 bucks and do that service where ghosts take you back in time to see stuff and explain the context.

This is still a new service and there are kinks to work out, for sure. My experience with this has been that the ghosts won’t ever go back to their own moment of death; they just want to look at stuff that happened after they became omniscient, so I settle on the ghost of Davis Tutt Jr, whom Hickok killed in 1865. I calculate this should give me about 10 years of context.

He comes the next night at 1am (ghosts always show up at midnight in the time zone they died in). He says, “Scroooooge just kidding it’s Davis.”

I tell him what I’m interested in and he says, “What are you, a ‘buff’? OK, let’s go,” and then he takes my hand, which is the only part of the ghost you can touch, and we are flying through the air. The wind blows through his gunshot hole and plays the tune “Kingdom Coming” by Henry Clay Work (which was a popular song in the Old West (source: Popular Songs of the Old West; Gibbs, White); to which he sings along :

Say, darkies, hab you seen de massa, wid de muffstash on him face

It makes me uncomfortable!

But the way in which I am made to feel uncomfortable by this masks the barfing that is typically concomitant with time travel by ghost handshake and the next thing I know it’s 1866 in Springfield, Missouri and so points for Tutt there. “This is where the railroad came through,” he says, “I just missed it by a few years.”

I tell him he didn’t miss it, actually, due to he was a ghost and therefore omniscient, but he tells me there’s a very confusing period after you die where there’s a lot of vengeance and you miss a lot.

“Sorry, I’m not King Ghost, PhD or whatever,” is what I should say but instead I say, “OK, What I am interested in is the Dead Man’s Hand.”

Tutt shrugs, which is weird when ghosts do it because they can actually shrug their shoulders through their ears: “Look over there, then,” he says, and we’re in a back room where Hickok and Sempronius Boyd, who was the judge for Hickok’s trial (source: Encyclopedia of American Government, 1850-1899; Herringsworth), are playing cards. Boyd has tens over nines and calls; Hickok does some weird legerdemain and reveals four Jacks. Boyd frowns and then leaves and later gives the jury mutually exclusive instructions in Hickok’s conviction, which leads to his acquittal. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s the Dead Man’s Hand,” Tutt says. Like a big pronouncement, like he’s earned the 40 bucks. Then he says: “If the jury had gone the other way, we might all have been spared ‘The Daring Buffalo Chases of the Plains’.” Like a joke, but if this is meant to be a joke, I don’t know what the joke is. We jump.

Now it’s 1869, and Hickok is playing cards with Bill Mulvey, which I didn’t know he had done that (he will shoot Mulvey in another week or so; source: Calamity Bill, Rosa). Mulvey lays down a ten high straight, and starts to collect the pot, but then Hickok does another hand gesture and shows that he has a flush. I don’t get to see what it is a flush of before we jump again.

Now we’re in a hotel room and Hickok is folding playing cards into little angular birds. Tutt elbows me, which I don’t notice at first because ghosts? Bad at elbowing. “One for every person he told George Ward Nichols he killed,” Tutt says, putting his shoulders through his ears. We jump to when Hickok shoots Mulvey by bluffing him into thinking there are more people there then there actually are: “Don’t shoot him, boys!” Hickok yells. Mulvey hesitates and Hickok guns him down, startling some meadowlarks upward. I remember the collective noun for birds is a “flush” and we jump to Abilene to see Phil Coe unfolding a bunch of the folded up cards (and being a grouch about it) so he and Hickock can play a game. “I don’t know why this is my job,” he says.

He (Coe) holds up a bird he is about to untessellate and says he once killed one just like it. Hickok says, “Did it have a pistol? Was it shooting back? I will be.” Pretty much unprompted! Coe will soon be Hickok’s last gunfight victim, I know from books, although “gunfight” is stretching it in this case. When they play, Hickok’s hand beats Coe’s two pair. It is either three of a kind or four of a kind. It can’t be five of a kind, obviously, but at one point it does look like that; we jump a few more years ahead.

Hickok has pretty bad trachoma and his lashes fold inward like a flytrap as he writes a note to his wife Agnes whom he abandoned not long before. He signs off:

With wishes even for my enemies, I will make the plunge and try to swim to the other shore.

He folds the hotel stationery into a little envelope with a “pull here” tab. Tutt and I hold hands; we jump.

And here at last we are on August 12, 1876, in the Dakota Territory, specifically in the Black Hills, specifically in Dead Wood, specifically in Nuttal & Mann’s Saloon. Hickok sits with his back to the door. I peer over to see his hand: an ace of clubs, an eight of spades, a four of hearts, a Jack and three of diamonds. So, basically, nothing? I don’t get it. Hickok will soon be shot in the back of the head by Jack McCall. I tell Tutt, “I don’t get it.” Tutt waits until McCall comes in, then we zip back to present day. Tutt’s bullet hole whistles and Tutt sings:

It mus’ be now de kingdom coming, an’ de year ob Jubilo

And we’re back in my room.

I would like it said that Tutt was courteous to me, and that is why I ranked him A+ and I know people are cheesed off at me for not ranking him lower, because that was the last A+ he needed to move on to the Afterlife. What I am saying is I am sorry for other “buffs” who may have had questions specifically for him (I hope you all “have wishes even for [your] enemies”! Source: above letter), and I will try to answer anything I can if you email me. I’ve gotten a few emails about parting words, and Tutt’s parting words were answering my question about my not “getting it” about the Dead Man’s Hand.

“What’s not to get?” Tutt said, “He’s famous. But who will remember Sempronius Boyd? Who will remember Coe? Or me?” which I would say is empirically ridiculous, given I just spent 40 bucks on him, but maybe he meant, “Who, other than the ‘buffs’?” And then he said his last thing before his body spread out through the room and then turned into basically the air in the room; he said: “That’s how it is with guys like him: even when he folds, he wins.”

The Brooklyn Lady Bloggers

2010-03-03T13:55:00.002-06:00

To be clear, in the sex dream he had about the Brooklyn lady bloggers, he only had sex with one Brooklyn lady blogger, and it was in an implausible sex position, and yet the sex had been good enough that she subsequently chose to not blog about it.

But aside from that one (and it is not the one you are thinking of, probably) there were all the other Brooklyn lady bloggers in the dream, including some that were just made up for the dream, and were just representative of as-yet unknown Brooklyn lady bloggers. There was that one from Fort Green, and that one from Carroll Gardens, and that other one from Carroll Gardens and that one from South Slope, and then some unspecified Brooklyn lady Bloggers.

After the sex part, the dream shifted to a general appreciation of all of the Brooklyn lady bloggers, and the “plot” of the dream was that he was in the initial stages of dating one of the as-yet unknown Brooklyn lady bloggers, but this dating involved hanging out with all of them, as they traveled in a group. They were not individually solipsistic but if considered as a collective noun, then they were (in the dream).

In the dream about the Brooklyn lady bloggers he got off a few good bons mot. One was about how he was trying to sit next to the Brooklyn lady blogger that he was just starting to date, but this necessitated moving the other Brooklyn lady bloggers around to other chairs. But the Brooklyn lady bloggers were subdivided into groups of BFFs, so he had to shift these concave polygonal groups of Brooklyn lady bloggers around in a way that was partly like a sliding tile puzzle and partly like getting a couch into a small apartment. At the resolution of the problem, when he at last sat by the Brooklyn lady blogger that he was in the initial stages of dating, he said something funny about chess that all of the Brooklyn lady bloggers thought was quite good, although he does not play chess in real life.

Later, he and the Brooklyn lady blogger he was dating, and the other Brooklyn lady bloggers, including the one that he had had the good sex with in the beginning were all at an AIDS benefit. That was a weird part! What was that about? Shortly after, he was in the lobby of his office building, trying to convince his manager to get the law firm where he works to give a corporate donation to the AIDS charity, so at least you could say there was a call-back to that weird part of the dream. The Brooklyn lady blogger he was dating hung back by the revolving doors while he discussed this with his manager. In retrospect, this was the only time the Brooklyn lady blogger he was dating was separated from the other Brooklyn lady bloggers. Maybe it was because his subconscious was making him choose between doing actual work when he was in the office and surfing the internet all day. Oh man, nobody likes a preachy dream! Let’s get back to the sex part!

But just kidding, because the vast bulk of the dream took place after the sex part, and the Brooklyn lady blogger with whom he had had the sex was a minor character for most of the dream, and honestly the truly pleasurable part of the dream was the part where he was in the initial stages of dating the lesser-known Brooklyn lady blogger, and it was that feeling when you meet someone new and it seems like: OK everything can just stop changing now and we’ll just stay like this because nothing about this person is annoying me yet.

But the introduction of a real person from his life (the manager) seeded the clouds of reality and he started to remember pieces of his actual life that formed a mosaic and the mosaic said that he could not actually date the lesser-known Brooklyn lady blogger, since in real life he had been married for some time, and had an eleven year old daughter, whom he loved, God he loved her, but who at age eleven was probably perilously close to becoming a blogger herself, though not in Brooklyn (they live in Norwalk). How would he even know for sure? He uses the internet but he is not good at it.

At this point he woke up, and despite the sort of abrupt ending, it was some time before the overall pleasant feeling wore off and during the next few weeks he could recall most of the details of the dream. The sex part of the dream seemed increasingly preposterous with the progression of time, but made sense in a way because it had been with the Brooklyn lady blogger of whom he had been the longest aware. It was like a Farewell Sex Act immediately prior to the onset of the new relationship with the lesser-known Brooklyn lady blogger, and the fact that it had not been blogged about made all the other Brooklyn lady bloggers think, “That must have been some good sex!” and this open secret inside the collective gave him some confidence with which he was able to pursue the lesser known Brooklyn lady blogger, and to state it again, there are some feelings that maybe can be summed up as “confidence” although that would seem to be selling the feeling short, feelings which his brain has tenuously correlated to post-thunderstorm sunlight, bourbon, certain bacons, the album “Star” by Belly, the smell of the inside of the cabinetry in the kitchen of the house he lived in during the mid-80s and the “good” caramels his mother kept there, which he was not supposed to eat, some feelings related to just getting to know someone that still seems amazing and brand new to you like an unscratched scratch-off card, that is like the light violet color of rubbing alcohol on fire, the way it burns but does not hurt you: that feeling stayed with him for several weeks afterward.

I'm just posting this here to remind myself that when I am older it is my intention to try to be at least 10% this wicked

2010-02-21T22:28:00.001-06:00

Look I took something that I once thought was sweet and funny and beautiful and made it crappy because irony

2010-01-29T15:50:00.001-06:00

I privately say to you, old friend, please accept from me this unpretentious bouquet of very early-blooming sad faces:

:(:(:(:( ):):):):

Good Reads

2010-01-28T14:52:00.001-06:00

ARRRRRGH

2010-01-27T16:15:00.001-06:00

This is AGONY. The thing's been over for like hours. Just put something up there. ANYTHING to make me stop thinking what I'm thinking.

HERE IS MORE OLD STUFF

2010-01-26T15:53:00.001-06:00

I'm not even bothering to look for old stuff on my hard drive to post here anymore; I'm just going to look for old stuff I already posted here to post here. I guess!

I remember when I finished this, I was like, It is depressing to work hard on something that is stupid.

If you want to hire me for a commencement speech or something, please be aware, that's about the only insight I have about stuff.

But anyway: Happy Belated Robert Burns' Birthday or whatever.

Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie!

Sestet

2010-01-12T22:58:00.001-06:00

I did not know what “Lots of Sand” meant,
did not know this thing until
I watched the movie Ten Commandments,
filmed by Cecil B. DeMille
(Charleton Heston’s eyes were lambent;
Brynner’s voice, a fire drill).

(still finding stuff on my hard drive from ten years ago that I only have the vaguest recollection of doing)

Happy Holidaze (sic)

2009-12-18T17:03:00.004-06:00

I was looking for something on my computer and I found this thing that I only sort of remember doing (in MS-Paint!) in a computer lab in 1996, likely instead of working on an essay about hegemony and/or transgression (these were the only things I learned to write about in grad school) (I was not very good at grad school!).

The Save Date on it is 12/8/1996 so it is a Christmas present from my 13-years-ago self to my current self (Merry Christmas! Also, Memento Mori!), but I'll show you too because I am generous.

Ha ha, nice one, younger self. You don't even notice that it looks like it takes place on Bespin until you look at it for over a minute.
Thanks. There is a giant bottom margin on this thing due to I did it in MS-Paint in 1996.
No worries, thanks again. I didn't get you anything, but here is a link to something that will someday be your favorite non-Jessi thing on BabelPop. It is also Christmasy.
Thanks.

(They make out)
(Fade Out)

(Fade In, several hours later)

(Simultaneously) "You are an excellent lover."

um ok, enough of that.
Have a good holiday if I don't see you, which I won't because I am a blog post.

BoobieWatch!

2009-11-17T10:52:00.003-06:00

Um this was a sonnet I wrote in the comments of a post on The Awl wherein Alex Balk wrote a poem summarizing Lynn Hirschberg's profile on Megan Fox. [?]

I know no one cares about inside-jokey sonnets I write in the comments on other blogs (this is not Recursive Fimoculous! I think Rex Sorgatz used to include his comments on other blogs on his site, but I just looked and he either doesn't now or never did; anyway) or even on this blog, but it's the only thing I've "written" all week, so I'm putting it here mainly because sometimes I forget the last time I typed "boobies" and the answer is this. It was this time. I am sorry you have to read this.

And in fact you should use this whole "post" as a means to just click over to the actual post, because it is great and there are more great things in the comments. I love the Awl comments, maybe even more than Videogum comments; I want Karen UhOh to follow me around saying things.
WE COULD SOLVE MYSTERIES!

So, OK:

That cherry made my brain scream “Sherilyn Fenn!”
When I saw it in GQ magazine.
I never will forget her; then again,
I had to google “Brian Austin Green”.

I guess that Hirschberg’s point is Things Transmute..?
Both crushes and the crushees take a bow.
The kneepad leggings gone that were so cute.
The Jolies meet the Jolier Than Thou.

Red Lobster Biscuits yield to Truffled Fries
And a propensity for bad tattoos
(“We L.O.L. at gilded butterflies”)
Give way to smarts, re: “boobies on read-thrus”

So in this way one changes tit for tat:
There ought to be a German word for that.

Orienting Arrow

2009-11-11T12:33:00.006-06:00

A longass time ago, my friend Siobhan wrote a book that was funny and informative. I drew some pictures for it, and I think we all learned a little something in the process (about how I am bad at leveraging opportunities to do things I actually like instead of working for the same company for twelve years or whatever it is now just kidding please keep employing me I need the healthcare: anyway, that is what we all learned).

It was called "30 Things Everyone Should Know How to do Before Turning 30", although you may know it by its German title (interesting sidenote: although they kept the "30" in the title of the German edition, the "How to eat a lot of cabbage before invading Poland in a well-made car" chapter was you know what it's not even worth finishing that line let's just go to the next paragraph. GERMANS, RIGHT?).

AND BUT SO
In addition to looking at archived emailed from the early aughts to remind myself that I'm not as clever/funny/smart as I used to be, I sometimes search for this book, and here is what I saw today: this book, which is $1.54 for a used copy is currently going for between $93.55 and $184.13 for a new copy.

NOW THEN
Later on, my friend Siobhan wrote another book called Hipster Haiku. This book featured zero illustrations by me (whoever's decision that was, I bear you no rancor, I pretty much maxed out my ability to draw hands with the first book).

BUT
Let's see how this book is doing OH INTERESTING IT IS AVAILABLE NEW FOR $4.22.
Look, this is a funny book. This book is funnier than it should be. I think if you were to read it what would happen is you would likely marvel at the funniness therein. But $4.22? I think we see what's going on here.

HENCE
For a limited time, I will draw a picture on any book you want for the jaw droppingly low price of like I don't know a dollar or something (higher if I have to draw hands).
I can basically guarantee (definition 4: "v. to guarantee sarcastically") that the book will increase in value TENFOLD within six years. I am contactable at pmortensen at g ma i l dot com (ha I just tricked some spambots SUCK IT SPAMBOTS I AM ONE STEP AHEAD OF YOU LIKE BOBBY FISCHER ONLY A NONANTISEMITIC VERSION, although I do plan to die of renal failure in Reykjavik, like him, so. OK call it even).

This is a limited time offer. Once I am a millionaire I will probably stop to focus on damaging my kidneys and/or working on my parody of that Beyonce song tentatively titled "Shingle Ladies (Put Some Acyclovir On It)". That joke should probably have gone on Twitter and not here; I think that's how Twitter works. SO CONFUSING. Anyway, go ahead and send me money. THANKS

This didn't say what I thought it said

2009-11-03T20:20:00.000-06:00

This guy made me laugh

2009-10-13T00:45:00.001-05:00

This guy made me laugh
Originally uploaded by mrbikferd

What IS causing it? About three seconds more of pondering should crack this nut.

I'm at the Greek diner

2009-09-22T22:31:00.001-05:00

The one on the corner and Willie Nelson walks in and I'm totally freaking out. IT IS REALLY WILLIE NELSON. He orders a gyro and the guy makes it and Willie Nelson takes a bite -- I'm like twittering this the whole time: WILLIE NELSON JUST CAME INTO THE RESTAURANT I WAS EATING IN #willienelson -- even though I'm getting gyro grease on my phone it is worth it, so crazy WE ARE BOTH EATING GYROS! and Willie Nelson turns to the proprietor and says, "Say, what's in this, anyway?" He is pretty short, actually. So he has to like climb up on a stool to be seen? And the guy behind the counter says, "Lamb, mostly?" and then Willie Nelson turns to his entourage which is weird but I don't know what else you would call them, these outlaw looking guys that he came in with, but he turns to them but really you know he is addressing everyone in the diner and it gets totally quiet and Willie Nelson says, "Well..." and then he just lets it hang there like a PERMANENT ELLIPSIS and I am swearing to God right now if he doesn't follow this up with, "My gyros have always been cow, boys," I WILL TOTALLY LOSE MY SHIT Actually I will totally lose it anyway, but OK he's about to speak. This is too long for Twitter so I'm putting it here this is it you guys he's about to talk you guys this is it

When I Squeeze My Mind Grapes, the Resulting Wine Metaphor Trends Toward the Upper Echelons of the Middle Brow

2009-08-29T22:24:00.002-05:00

On the bike path today I was behind a guy with extremely localized butt sweat such that if he had been wearing Winkers, it would have been like in Henry and June when Maria de Medeiros taps Fred Ward on the shoulder during Un Chien Andalou (or maybe Heddy Lamar in Ecstasy Featuring Heddy Lamar I can't remember) and anyway Fred Ward turns around and his face is blanked out by tears.

OPEN LETTER TO WINKERS CREATORS: PLEASE MAKE FRED WARD BIKING SHORTS

this is just in case you forgot

2009-08-18T20:55:00.001-05:00

what it felt like

Tom Delay to Appear on Dancing with the Stars

2009-08-18T10:39:00.002-05:00

Respect.

Presumably dancing to La Cucaracha will be deemed a little too inside baseball.

Whatever, SUGAR LAND PRIDE Y'ALL!!!!!!111!11

Also, Baylor pride.

Full disclosure: Tom Delay was an exterminator in Sugar Land and I grew up in Sugar Land and later went to Baylor and Tom Delay is whatever you call the cancer that cancer gets.

Adwear

2009-08-03T23:56:00.005-05:00

This is only allowed to work once every fifteen years[*], specifically I refer to:
USING POETRY TO SELL ME PANTS

And I don't know how they (= advertisers) know when the fifteen years is up (maybe Start>All Programs>Accessories>Calculator? I DON'T KNOW) or whose turn it is to employ said advertising technique, but Max Blagg shilling for GAP from 1992:

..has toootally been replaced by Walt Whitman unknowingly (?**) shilling for Levi's, a pants concern:

(N.B. remember when Gap was called "The Gap" and remember when they announced they would no longer be selling Levi's and would instead sell their own brand and our moms were like, "Whaaaaaat?" and then it turned out to be a good idea (for a while)?)

I'm all like:
On the one hand it would seem that in the course of using a poem for advertising jeans, anything is likely to happen.
But on the other hand, this apparent arbitrariness is belied by the astounding similarity between poems used for advertising jeans collected in widely different ad agencies.
Therefore the problem: If the content of advertisements for pants is contingent, how are we to explain the fact that ads from different agencies are so similar, LOL?

(You guys! Did you know French anthropologist Lévi-Strauss is different from jeans maker Levi Strauss?)

(Develop this thought.)

*(Shaggy's "Boombastic" doesn't count)

**Or maybe knowingly; I may be confused.
SPOILER ALERT: DON DRAPER'S REAL LAST NAME IS "WHITMAN"!
SPOLIER ALERT II: RACHEL MENKEN REJECTS DON DRAPER NÉE WHITMAN AND MARRIES A GUY NAMED "TILDEN KATZ", WHICH IS LIKE THE 1960S WAY OF SAYING "ADAM GOLDBERG" SO THIS MAKES ALL OF THE DEUTSCHER GRUß IN THE ADVERTISEMENT AT 0:27 OK? OR MAYBE IT MAKES IT NOT OK IT IS SO HARD TO TELL WHAT TO THINK WHEN I AM THINKING ABOUT BUYING PANTS

Anyway, this just makes me want to wear more pants.

SORRY, FANS OF ME WITHOUT PANTS.

Cavalia

2009-07-15T16:13:00.002-05:00

Cavalia
Originally uploaded by mrbikferd

These ads are on top of every cab in Chicago. It's hard to read the yellow text in the bottom of the ad, but I'm 90% sure it says:

"Hi guys! I made a stop motion version of Coraline, only instead of using Polyjet matrix technology, I just took a bunch of photos of my Barbie Horse (Tawney), thanks come see my show!!! <3 <3 <3 "

I can't stop watching the trailer for the new Harry Potter movie

2009-07-14T12:08:00.004-05:00

I am sort of excited?
Even though I haven't enjoyed any of those movies, except sort of the third one (#CuarónFTW: I think the most geniusy thing in that movie was that they were periodically wearing street clothes and it actually seemed like they were imperiled, which when they were wearing wizard robes, it was easier for me to just say, oh, they're fine; they're wearing robes).

Note that I am aware:
Trailers aren't movies (unfortunately), but this was easily the best book in the series, and look at the trailer! Street clothes! Eeeeeeeee!

But so anyway with the new movie coming out tomorrow, one's thoughts turn to Choire Sicha's comments on the original trailer at Radar.

Except one can't:
I had a post ready to go (and if you read this in an RSS reader, I had a post, fullstop) that linked to the old Radar piece which continued the above thusly:

Still worth reading

But also:

(1) It is weird to read it now in the new post-human Radar format with what is CS's "voice", but without any credit given to him (although I give it liiike one more year before the whole internet will be using that "voice") (which means he really should get his book out soon before it's too late) (Choire Sicha: take off your robe!) (metaphor).

(2) It's totally crazy to me that it was only a year ago that those guys were at Radar. It seems like FOREVVVVER ago.

Maybe it's different for you!

(note use of SichaPoint (tm) at the end of that sentence to prove my earlier point about the whole internet.)

Except, wait, because then I actually read carefully, and I was wrong?
The post on Radar is actually not that post anymore (with the exception of the title, which no longer makes sense?) -- it's been pruned of the Ian McKellen misattribution that allowed people to dismiss the whole thing, as well as a lot of other fun stuff that caused people to look for an easy way to dismiss it.

And so to Google (sorry, Bing)!
To search for key phrases I sort of remember from a year ago!
Internet Archive: I am sorry to tell you that you are not helping me today.
Today, helping me was Queerty.com, which my spending time on, in trying to track down some of the original text, will assure mistargeted google ads for me for about a week. You know what, I can take it, because: haha that url made me laugh although it took me a minute to get it so I also felt stupid.

Anyway, some partially reconstructed text from the post, from Queerty.com:
Now we find that Voldemort's own sense of evil came to him as a torture in the night of his youth. And then there's the train chugging its way to Hogwarts, and all the boys in the private school jostling in the halls, and there's Ian McKellen [sic] handing Harry Potter some big crystal memory dildo, seriously

Unfortunately, the rest may be lost to history
just kidding probably not, I'm probably just bad at the internet.

Still, New Watered Down Posts on the Current Version of Radar Online: You are my own personal Person from Porlock.

MJ

2009-06-26T12:42:00.001-05:00

I was about to say Alex Balk wins the internet, but now it looks like The Onion just won the internet.

Our thoughts and prayers go out to Alex Balk.

The Franzen/Munro Debacle of 2009

2009-06-05T12:18:00.001-05:00

Good tip: stop at the end of the first page, so your hate can continue to fuel you like a cancer.

That's how cancer works, right?

Kallisti!

2009-05-27T19:32:00.003-05:00

Despite the fact that DC Comics are totally the worst ever, I love this [nsfw] painting (fourth down) by Isabel Samaras, The Judgment of Batman from 1996, that replaces Hera, Athena and Aphrodite with the only true Catwoman, Eartha Kitt, Lee Meriwether and Julie Newmar.

Discovery that there is someone alive in the world named Isabel Samaras who paints things like this via:

the deeply awesome Learning 2 Share where those of you who came here by searching for "nsfw batman" should head now in order that you may also enjoy Batgirl -- Too Torrid For Tots! and the (literally) jawdropping Boy Wonder I Love You (which, just when you think Batman kissing on Robin is all played out (apologies to Isabel Samaras and the fifth one down (ibid.): maybe it wasn't in 2002), this song will make you want to see nothing but Batman kissing on Robin for the rest of your life in hopes that this will somehow irritate Burt Ward).

In conclusion, DC Comics are totally the worst ever.

how to make me sad

2009-05-26T19:38:00.013-05:00

It makes me sad when I try to make a joke and people (1) take it seriously and (2) respond to the joke earnestly; therefore, this post on this "collaborative" blog that hasn't been updated in over two years due to lack of energy and/or interest by two of the authors and the fictionalness of another author makes me sad.

Someone should really do something, or something.

get experienced

2009-05-22T16:45:00.004-05:00

Choire Sicha deconstructs AO Scott's review of The Girlfriend Experience in The Awl.

Good stuff in both links. However! Left out of both the review and the translation are the following important points:

(1) You are not allowed to see the film unless you have sat through a minimum of five mumblecore movies.

(2) "Grey's Anatomy" remains a good title for a movie review; why hasn't anyone done this?

(3) In an effort to leverage off of existing irony, Sasha Grey just secured the contract to be the new face of Ivory Snow (along with a resurrection of former taglines "Will Wash Anything" (!), "No chapping" (!!) and "it floats" (..?)).

(4) I think if I saw this movie I would feel gross and sad, but I still think I want to see it more than Che.

(5) "It's nice to be liked, but it's better by far to get paid."

Tangentially Related:

about which, : (

spacial neglect

2009-05-15T09:03:00.001-05:00

Just getting around to this now, but the New Yorker profile on neurologist Vilayanur S. Ramachandran and mirrors and phantom limbs from a few weeks ago was pretty fun, especially all the slams at Freudians!

(And as a sidenote, the Rotating Charlie Chaplin mask mentioned in the article is truly fucked and will surely be the prion-laced fodder for many sleep disorders to come. But how much better would a rotating cortical homunculus have been? Vilayanur S. Ramachandran, you have dropped the ball. Resurgent Community of Brooklyn Artists living near the Gowanus, get on this.)

We found this phantom limb article to be a nice expansion on the other time The New Yorker talked about phantom limbs in “The Itch” (mostly memorable for the proximity of the word “itch” to the word “annals”, but still). It also dovetails nicely with the July 2007 article about phantom limbs that was in The New Yorker, oh and also that Richard Ford story that was in the March 2008 New Yorker where he talks about phantom limbs and the Edwidge Danticat story that talks about phantom limbs in last November’s issue.

By our estimate this is the 704^th time The New Yorker has talked about Phantom Limbs since mid-2007.

Just what is going on here?

While the Freudians have theorized that David Remnick wishes his mother had a penis (source: Janet Malcolm), the coördinated (diaeresis joke) effort on display implies someone on high is trying to cry out for help!

We therefore helpfully posit that the following is what we’re talking about when we talk about phantom limbs:

That feeling that overcomes the guest chair across from Charlie Rose on the two nights a week that Gopnik is not a guest
Calvin Trillin’s copy editor since 2001
Anthony Lane Week during David Denby Week (felt by everyone)
The “Shout” part of “Shouts and Murmurs” whenever Steve Martin phones one in.
The little bit I crumble inside when they fill the whitespace with a “Block that Metaphor” (bump up the leading; only Tobias Frere-Jones is going to notice and Sasha’s three years older, so he’ll keep him in check)
Something about Malcolm Gladwell pulling off his wig and it’s really been Christopher Walken this whole time but he still feels like he has crazy hair or something I don’t know

But these have all been with us for a while now, so there must be some other reason for the up-tick, and we now get to the point where we light a candle instead of cursing The New Yorker’s darkness; i.e., we have a solution!

Hold up a mirror to the Dan Baum Twitter.
The pain will all soon go away.

I guess that's accurate..?

2009-05-12T20:31:00.002-05:00

NYer:

Block that metaphor!

That night everyone who had ever worked at WFMU fell asleep

2009-05-11T21:08:00.001-05:00

and they all dreamed the same beautiful dream.

via.

no relation

2009-04-17T00:02:00.001-05:00

I've never even been to Denver.

Buy one for Ron Mallett today

2009-04-15T12:43:00.009-05:00

I like this Sam Pottsesque shirt from Qwantz. It would be useful for when it all goes down.

But there is a basic problem:
There should be instructions for how to make a mirror at the top and then everything else below it printed in reverse, Memento-stizz.

This way, I won’t have to take my shirt off all the time to read it and I can thereby avoid frightening the old-timey people with my sixpack.

All that aside, a great effort and I can't wait to see cowpox up close.

(also with a backwards shirt, you could also potentially take credit for backwards writing before da Vinci does. TAKE THE CREDIT)

INVISIBLE SKI HELMET

2009-03-23T17:30:00.006-05:00

um: hey video editors, please think twice before using the "Impact" typeface, is all we're saying

time flies like an arrow

2009-03-15T09:49:00.016-05:00

fruit flies like a banana

Stan Apps, at whatever his blog is called today, has a post about reading text backwards.

which post brings to mind an Anecdote:

When I first moved to Chicago (the first time) (in 1996), I went to the Loop to what was then Marshall Fields to look at the Christmas display and not knowing that the window displays would tell a narrative, I started on the wrong end and worked my way backwards. The window display that year was based on A Christmas Carol, and so the story went something like:
A repentant man buys a goose, then grows increasingly cynical.

(I did this in subsequent years; all Christmas stories backwards are depressing, which is to say more accurate, except for The Nutcracker, which evades explanation in either direction.)

I am also reminded of sitting in a movie theater, which I would have spelled "theatre" at the time, with my friends, waiting for Arachnophobia (‽) to start and talking about running movies in reverse (Kurt Vonnegut does this in Slaughterhouse Five, but we didn't know that): my friend said, "Jaws is about a shark that keeps throwing up people until they open the beach."

This is great!

But is it too great? It seems stolen from something he would have seen on HBO, which I did not have. Googling it now, I find references to it in basically these exact words, though not many, so maybe it is true that we were all funnier a long time ago. Reading old Outlook archives seems to confirm this.

n.b. The picture above of Stan Apps holding a sword is one that I found looking through an Outlook archive. He is not holding a sword because he is about to cut some Gordian Knot of Poetry by reading it backwards; but he is holding it hilariously because this is around 1994, a time when everything was hilarious.

W/R/T poetry, though
Other than liiike Philip Larkin, who for some reason I find hard to get enough of, I don't read much poetry, unless it's in the NYer and it's short enough (sorry, @Erato!) and is hopefully about someone who used to be a dog, but if a poem does manage to get itself read, I usually forget I'm supposed to be paying attention and when I get to the end, I definitely read it backwards (but it's cool: I think we all know that Leonhard Euler figured out the Seven Bridges of Königsberg problem by starting at the end and working backwards), based on my misunderstanding of the way "poetry" works, viz--:

(1) a good poem is one that has a real sockdolager at the end
(2) find the sockdolager, and you will "unlock" the "key" to the poem (note: these are metaphors)
(3) then you can go back and reread it with "what you were supposed to have gleaned from it" the first time through in mind

BECAUSE APPARENTLY POETRY IS THE DEATH STAR
It is all defensive and tricky, but there is one hole you can shoot your "photon" into and then it explodes (it is possible I read that narrow fellow in the grass thing too many times in school).

AND SO WITH THIS IN MIND WHAT CHANCE DOES READING FORWARD HAVE:

For: reading bottom to top will increasingly be the practice as we all start going through old email threads in our Outlook Archives to see how funny we used to be and to try to figure out what happened (I was really funny over email in 2000.) (i.e., before the events of 9/11) (but after Kurt Cobain died! Strange!)

All of this to say:

if you sometimes find yourself missing the Silver Age of the Internet when everyone was funnier (before they "bought the goose") (see what I did there?), and regret specifically the deletion of the entire tmftml blog at popfactor ("popfactor"!) and more specifically regret that the Elizabeth Skurnick "Ballad Of The Love-Scorned Anywoman" post is gone: fear not, it is also here on her own blog.

Note: even though it is poetry that is not about a dog, it should be read forward, due to the sockdolager.

Afterthought

2009-03-09T11:51:00.005-05:00

On post-hipster.com, which I'm going to call post-chipster.com in my head startiiiiiiiiiing now, Chip has put up some tracks from the Little P-Slope Band that Could, The Sacred Monkeys of Bali. In particular, may I direct you to the first track, Bob Ross.

As you'll recall, the choice to change the song's focus from Werner Herzog stunt double Bill Alexander to Doug Henning stunt double Bob Ross has long been regarded as the point at which the band jumped the shark (source: SMOB: An Oral History, With the Emphasis on Oral, Just Kidding, there wasn't actually much Oral) due to the band's attempt to access a more "mainstream" demographic, to say nothing of the loss of the "Rootin' Teuton" line).

STILL: worth a listen if only to speculate on what might have been.

Um, doy

2009-03-01T13:47:00.004-06:00

"Dad, do you want to sit on the couch under a blanket and draw robots?"

This is how it works

2009-02-17T13:04:00.004-06:00

Once every two years or so, the Extensis Community Blog, in a transparent attempt to drive up pagecount, has a contest wherein the participants write typeface haiku (or typeface senryū for sticklers. Hey, um, sticklers, we all think you're kind of bringing the party down).

I see through the attempt (due to it is transparent?) but I am not made of stone.

Although I am, apparently, made of honorable mentions.

Here are the contest winners.

And here are my submissions, for “posterity”:
(with the last one being the honorable mention one)

Here’s Palatino,
But look, there’s Book Antiqua:
Like two Captain Kirks

“My essay’s too short.”
(clicks Control-A; Courier)
“There! Ninety pages.”

For Bob Marley fans,
You want Gothic, not Roman:
“I shot the serif”

You use Lucida,
I will kick your ass so hard.
Please. Do not test me.

I composed this one
On a Linotype machine
ETAOIN SHRDLU

Be sure to check this blog in roughly one biennial for more strained hilarity.

Now Playing

2009-02-01T13:29:00.007-06:00

The double bill I've been waiting for my whole life.

Now Playing
Originally uploaded by mrbikferd

At the Museum of Science and Industry in [the great city of] Chicago. This was in the "Yesterday's Main Street" exhibit.
I'm kind of thumbs down on the MoSaI because a lot of the exhibits are like "Cows Actually Enjoy Eating Corn", sponsored by Archer Daniels Midland, but I had never seen the Yesterday's Main Street exhibit.

CHARMSVILLE.

I have Total Nostalgia for this period, which period equals anything before 1953 or so and which period I'm capable of having nostalgia for due to television dating from this period was on in the afternoons when I was a kid..? (and which period in turn had nostalgia for Les Georges Herriman et Méliès, or so the MoSaI would have one believe.)

I think we need a national law that says kids must work their way up through the history of television chronologically. No one gets to see The Wire unless they've displayed proficiency in Your Show of Shows, Twilight Zone, Green Acres, All in the Family and the "Jose Chung" episode of X Files.
Maybe an episode of Alice.

Kids these days need to get schooled by some Vic Tayback.

STOW IT, BLONDIE!

a new day

2009-01-27T11:55:00.006-06:00

This made me laugh.
(although I wonder if there are implications we're not considering).

And this? From like two Augusts ago?
I read it every so often to feel better when I read stupid things.

David Rees please turn into a woman and marry me in an alternate universe where I am single, not that I want that because I love my wife and family I am just trying to convey you are awesome, sorry I started talking before I had thought out the implications.

Self Development

2009-01-20T17:27:00.003-06:00

Self Development
Originally uploaded by mrbikferd

(Hodgman looks lonely by himself there in "Self-Development"; maybe I'll buy the audio book for this to keep him company. YOU CAN NEVER HAVE ENOUGH SOUP OR HORSES OR LOVE OR PASSION OR ACHIEVEMENT OR DEVOTION)

Amabo Kcarab

2009-01-20T12:06:00.004-06:00

(by Sam)

(that's the Washington Monument on the left)

(also: BLUE SHOES!)

NAC EW SEY!

0sil9

2009-01-19T15:08:00.009-06:00

I don't know when this happened, because I usually read it in the RSS Reader, but Jason Kottke redesigned his site:

Do not bother trying to turn off your greasemonkey script -- it is supposed to be like that.

Initial Questions

Is the red/white/blue just up for the inauguration?
Or is it just up until the first disappointment from the new president?
Did he use dozens of spacer gifs and five concentric tables, and was it a bitch to code?
Is he going to change the "burn-your-eyes-out yellow-green" favicon to match?
If not, why does he want our eyes to burn?
If our eyes are burning, can we still use ClearEyes even though its spokesperson is Ben Stein, and Ben Stein sounds like kind of a dickhole?
Is Public School Intelligentsia still up for some hardcore half-naked hand holding or has Kottke taken it too far?
If Jason Kottke were really good at the internet, then why is the olliekottke.com domain still available?
Some other questions I'll have to think of later because we're out of eggs and this is preventing the making of cookies

Regardless, happy almost eleventh anniversary, kottke.org

v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^
Update: Oh.

"View From Below" / "Rugs by Style"

2009-01-16T16:26:00.009-06:00

Alex Balk linked to this this Naomi Wolf piece in New York; therefore I was reading it.

If you like synergy, read on!

Here is a line from this piece:

In my gym, the 40-year-old women have adult pubic hair; the twentysomethings have all been trimmed and styled.

And here is the ad I had at the top of the page:

RUGS BY STYLE = SO HELPFUL. THANKS, NEIMAN MARCUS!

For a follow-up article on prostitution, the store plans an ad referencing the "Neiman Marcus $250 Cookie".

Checkmates

2009-01-16T11:36:00.006-06:00

This is sort of funny (youtube link), I guess. Kind of.
I'm going to say: worth it for the understated last line.

OK, But: check out around 1:29! I have that coffee mug!

When we registered at Crate & Barrel, due to we were getting married? These green mugs were the only thing(s) I wanted, and my mom bought them for me! Only 20% are now broken which is way beating the average for Crate & Barrel beverage containers.

This is the most excited I've felt since Family Ties when the Keatons would drink juice out of the same juice glasses my family had.

Now that I've typed that, I realize these are sort of similar events.

Also, I was excited to get married, I should say.

And look, I happened to find this picture of one of the mugs on my computer:

This is a pretty typical game for me, actually.

I usually go 1. e4 c5 2. Nf3 d6 3. Bb5+ Bd7 4. Bxd7+ Qxd7 5. c4 Nc6 6. Nc3 Nf6 7. O-O g6 8. d4 cxd4 9. Nxd4 Bg7 10. Nde2 Qe6 11. Nd5 Qxe4 12. Nc7+ Kd7 13. Nxa8 Qxc4 14. Nb6+ axb6 15. Nc3 Ra8 16. a4 Ne4 17. Nxe4 Qxe4 18. Qb3 f5 19. Bg5 Qb4 20. Qf7 Be5 21. h3 Rxa4 22. Rxa4 Qxa4 23. Qxh7 Bxb2 24. Qxg6 Qe4 25. Qf7 Bd4 26. Qb3 f4 27. Qf7 Be5 28. h4 b5 29. h5 Qc4 30. Qf5+ Qe6 31. Qxe6+ Kxe6 32. g3 fxg3 33. fxg3 b4 34. Bf4 Bd4+ 35. Kh1 b3 36. g4 Kd5 37. g5 e6 38. h6 Ne7 39. Rd1 e5 40. Be3 Kc4 41. Bxd4 exd4 42. Kg2 b2 43. Kf3 Kc3 44. h7 Ng6 45. Ke4 Kc2 46. Rh1 d3 47. Kf5 b1=Q 48. Rxb1 Kxb1 49. Kxg6 d2 50. h8=Q d1=Q 51. Qh7 b5 52. Kf6+ Kb2 53. Qh2+ Ka1 54. Qf4 b4 55. Qxb4 Qf3+ 56. Kg7 d5 57. Qd4+ Kb1 58. g6 Qe4 59. Qg1+ Kb2 60. Qf2+ Kc1 61. Kf6 d4 62. g7 1-0, and if I'm not winning at that point, then I knock all the pieces off the board like this.

Yes, I'm working from home today.
Why?

It's not the temperature; it's the haze

2009-01-16T10:07:00.004-06:00

When I got up, it was negative 11, and the glass of water by the window had frozen at the top. Thanks, storm windows and halfassed weatherstripping. Nice work.
NOTE: I AM BEING SARCASTIC.

If this were a Forgotten Realms campaign, I would totally pray to Auril, the fickle Frostmaiden who crouches at the edges of the Great Glacier, LOL.

Um, I mean: NEEEEERRRRDS!

Almost Two-Year-Old Interview with Tony Millionaire Travels Through Time to Make Me Laugh

2009-01-14T15:01:00.003-06:00

Would you be interested in taking on a full Batman book?
Yeah, I’ve actually pitched them a few before.

What kind of stories did you pitch?
I had one where Batman went completely broke. His corporation went completely broke. He was like, ‘should I throw this Batarang? These cost me $550 each. I’m not really sure I can afford to throw it. I should probably just run.’

More here and here.

Advanced Hokey Pokey

2009-01-14T12:50:00.001-06:00

(1) Nostril

(2) Hernia of Morgagni

(3) Islets of Langerhans

(4) Lunnule

(5) Canthus

(6) NetShare App

(7) Copy of 1997 Kevin Klein vehicle In & Out
(extremely advanced due to potential Epimenides paradox)

(8) sack (in the bottle); then bottle (in the sack)
(Zork joke; proceed)

(9) Ambition

(10) Idealism

(11) Joy

(12) Hope

(13) Sense of Wonder

(14) Glans

sometimes a great notion

2009-01-14T10:49:00.004-06:00

Following the one-two punch of a Wall-E viewing and a reading of The Lorax, my four-year-old and I have been talking a lot about recycling and taking care of the Earth. It's a frustrating business, but Sam had a plan to make everyone except the people we know leave the planet.

Tempting!
But we explained why that wouldn't work.

A few nights ago, we were talking about it again and he said, "I don't like it when people cut down trees to make paper," and I said, "Yeah, I know, but that's where paper comes from, mostly," and he said, "That's the part about the environment I don't like."

Last night we talked about it again, and he said he wanted me to email everyone and tell them, "Don't chop down trees to make paper. Just use recycled paper."

So that's what I'm doing (putting it here because I don't have your email).

Hey you: Stop chopping down trees.
Just use recycled paper.

Idea #2: you could also just read everything for free on the Internet and continue this millennium's practice of undoing all the work of the last millennium.

new math

2009-01-09T21:55:00.007-06:00

Queneau's "Exercises in Style"
[times]
Michael O'Donoghue on a Good Day
[minus]
sort-of-racist-toward-Chinese-people?
[minus]
True Love Waits
[plus]
finishing school
[times]
awesome
[equals]

The Recently Deflowered Girl
by Mel Juffe and Edward Gorey

Not in any of the Amphigoreys, and I never saw it upstairs at Gotham Book Mart (which I knew had closed, which was sad, but I didn't know how severely it had closed) and just really really amazing.

Mysterious Sweet Smell from 2005 Returns to Manhattan

2009-01-07T15:15:00.004-06:00

Via NYT.

Fear not, New Yorkers! I think I have the answer:
The entirety of the city’s homeless have come down with branched-chain ketoaciduria.

All of these places are to be avoided until further notice unless you want me to make the joke “Urophagia? I don’t even know ya.”

Don’t make me make that joke

v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^
Update: Oh.

Here you can see how much I have invested emotionally in GoodReads.com Part II

2009-01-04T21:46:00.003-06:00

Tickle Me Pooh! by Walt Disney

rating: 1 of 5 stars

From the title, I thought that this would be a book about a pirate who was into coprophilia.

NOT SO. DON'T WASTE YOUR MONEY IF THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE AFTER.

[previously]

Moishe Oofnik

2009-01-03T23:29:00.003-06:00

40% sure the specifics of this character were created using MadLibs.

Why is Dora crying?

2009-01-02T09:37:00.004-06:00

Is it because she's an Indian?
And someone littered?

I meant: "Native American".

This ad is tricky! Because really it is Viacom threatening to pull its content from Time Warner if Time Warner doesn't pay them more for Viacom's programming.

Hey, Viacom, we do not inherit the land from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children, LOL.

Alternate title for this post: Viacom Dios.

New song

2008-12-08T17:25:00.005-06:00

Max and I wrote a new song. It's a duet!

I did the first verse and Max did the second one. I think it is the best song ever written, with the exception of "Say Say Say" which narrowly beats it because the video for "Say Say Say" features a hayride. "Video Killed the Radio Star"? YEAH UM I GUESS, DUE TO THE HAY RIDE.

anyway, here's the song

Verse 1
Oh yes, they're peas, peas, peas:
They are round and also green.
Peas, peas, peas:
They're the best that I have seen.
And if we were a monarchy, I'd feed them to our queen
Oh yes, they're peas, peas, peas:
They are round and also green!

Verse 2
No pea song, Dad.

Equivalent!

2008-12-03T09:23:00.008-06:00

Once every 209 posts or so, we like to point out something that makes us think of something else, like that Lawrence Weschler "Convergences" thing in McSwy's, only here you're reading it on a blog instead of in a published lit quarterly, so you're less likely to say I do this every seven minutes of my life and usually with more nuance; why am I still reading this?

ok so anyway:

1963 photo by Alfred Eisenstaedt of Parisian kids watching a retelling of "Saint George and the Dragon" VIA THE MAGIC OF PUPPETRY:

Girls watching American Idol:

CREDITS
My awareness of this video via Videogum.
My awareness of that photo via an issue of Life magazine I purchased at some point in high school because there was also a picture of Marilyn Monroe in it.

(Recall: I said I was in high school.)
(Also: Google is scanning all these old images from Life and it's kind of amazing.

I had to look this up, because I am so superior, but apparently the finalists of Am.Idol were both named David, which is why there is still anticipation after the guy says "David".

Watch me get all Weschlery:
St. George is David Cook and the dragon is David Archuleta and GUESS WHO THE PUPPETS ARE.
McSweeney's Book Deal, Please.

L'avventura

2008-11-26T15:50:00.003-06:00

L'avventura
Originally uploaded by mrbikferd

Ha ha, suck it, 15-year-old kid from Salt Lake City.

Sort of funny if you know some of the history: there are actually two keys in this room as well, but the photo didn't pick them up, because the "magic" is too strong.

Original Ending to Little Shop of Horrors

2008-11-13T13:16:00.007-06:00

I knew the play ended like this, due to I took a lot of theater classes in high school..?
TROJAN PRIDE.

..aaand I read a long time ago (I think in People(!)) that they had shot this original/alternate ending, but I was never sure exactly how seriously to take that information, since it seemed more like an homage to the fact that The Birds also had an original/alternate ending that featured the eponymous menace taking over an iconic bridge that was planned but scrapped (giving us the current ending to The Birds which is maybe more unsettling because it just ends for no particular reason) (I read someone describe it as a very "European" ending, which was a nice way of telling Europe that its movies could use a little more, how do you say, montage musical au "Je Sens Le Good"..?).

But now, just when I had stopped saying, "holyshitholyshitholyshit" the original ending to Little Shop of Horrors is up on YouTube (for you to watch on your big, enormous, 12-inch screen):

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

Mark well: there are diminishing returns here: the first part explodes my brain it is so sad (Ellen Greene in this movie is the only reason I sat through Pushing Daisies four episodes longer than I wanted to) (but I got past all that), the second part is less volatile, my-brain-wise, but still kind of headshakingly sad and the third part is mostly that song that sucked so much on the soundtrack (yes, I had the soundtrack); but wow.

I say:
Rick Moranis gets a Get Out of Jail (/Canada) Free Card.
Whatever movie you want, Moranis, it's yours. Even if it's a four-hour film about you and your pet goat wandering the country and calling it like it is.
Actually, that sounds kind of awesome.

Dan Aykroyd, jury's still out.

Think of the children

2008-11-13T10:10:00.002-06:00

I hate it when they fight like this. It's like I'm reliving the divorce my parents never had.

You guys: I'm too old to sublimate all of my anxiety into the first Star Wars trilogy (that's what children of broken homes did in the 70s, right?).

Please, you two, you have to find some way to make this work (for the sake of the kids).

some guy at work just said this TOTALLY SNARKILY

2008-11-12T13:30:00.003-06:00

"It makes it difficult to parse into objects off the schema, doesn't it?"

He said it really sarcastically.

Man, I wish I could pull something like that off.

hm

2008-11-03T14:24:00.005-06:00

Curious if the more eyebrow-raising suggestions are a googlebomb for the autofill feature, or if, as was my immediate first impression, the entire internet is like a phonebooth stuffed with late '50s teenagers, only instead of late '50s teenagers it has idiots..?

Also curious how one determines that.
By the way, you're welcome for that metaphor. Free of charge.

I think the fact that typing "barack hussein..." also brings the same autofill suggestions might hold the answer.
arrrgh all over soon, all over soon, all over soon, all over soon, all over soon, all over soon

Ctrl+F9

2008-10-30T11:17:00.002-05:00

I’ve been trying all morning to come up with a Word field that calculates the current week of the year (e.g., today we’re somewhere in the middle of week 44) (I think..? I will know for sure when I figure out the field code). In trying to puzzle this out, I came across lots of date calculation information for everything except what I want (Convert a Julian Day Number to a Gregorian Calendar Date? YES, PLEASE; THAT JUST CAME UP LAST WEEK).

But in particular, I want to acknowledge the, let’s call it, goofy-yet-clearly-bordering-on-OCD-amiability of Paul Edstein who has a downloadable date calculation tutorial that has just got to have the answer in there somewhere if I can crack it (it’s 16 pages without the field codes displayed; 31 pages with). I don’t know who this guy is, but I think I kind of picture him like Frank Gorshin?

In anticipation of my figuring this out, I would like to thank Paul Edstein by giving him a field code that I have devised on my own, so HEY PAIL EDSTEIN: HERE IS HOW YOU CAN USE THE EQUATION EDITOR TO MAKE IT LOOK LIKE YOU’RE RAISING ONE EYEBROW:

Just one possible use for this code: You see your name show up in a blog where the writer thinks you look like Frank Gorshin.

Speaking of Frank Gorshin: Top 10 Riddler Riddles (youtube)!
Check out the big brain on Robin. He’s totally good at these!

How David Rees and John Hodgman Saved My Life: A TRUE STORY

2008-10-29T18:06:00.009-05:00

I went to see David Rees and John Hodgman last night at Second City ETC, but got a late start getting out of the house (right before I was going to leave, my 19-month-old fell out of a chair and bit his lip so hard (on both sides!), we were debating whether he needed to go to the emergency room; but also: I am poky) and by the time I got there, they were already over capacity, and I had to get back in my car, pay the parking fee ($10(!)) and drive back home.

TOO BAD: These are some of my favorite Brooklynites.

I have been a fan of JH since the apparently on permanent hiatus Little Gray Book Lectures days* and I am surely the only non-David-Rees-relative to have actually ordered a hard copy of My New Filing Technique Is Unstoppable In: “Horse Races” (horse racing as retroactive metaphor for Credit Default Swaps? SIGNS POINT TO MAYBE).

BUT: let’s look at what could have happened had I made it there in time.

PROS
(1) I would have enjoyed something life has to offer

CONS
(1) I probably would have spent money on books (spending money on books is not in the budget at present)

(2) I would have enjoyed myself so much that I would have gone downstairs to the Starbucks in the Piper’s Alley lobby and had a latte and reflect upon the events of the evening (also not in the budget, both the coffee and the reflecting)

(3) Having enjoyed that latte and the concurrent reflection period, I might have hidden behind a sofa when it was time to close the Starbucks (note that getting to spend the night alone in a coffee shop has recently edged out getting to spend the night alone in a bookstore in my brain-hierarchy of fantasies for lonely people) (also note that this Starbucks is 24 hours, but my fantasy life is stronger than my real life).

(4) Being in that Starbucks after hours I likely would have been HIT BY THIS CAB

What have we learned from this?

(1) If you are falling out of a chair, do not bite your lip.

(1b) Not specific to this, but related in my mind: If you are punching someone, do not tuck your thumb inside your fingers; I learned on, I’m almost positive, Laverne and Shirley (although why (1) a character on that show had to punch someone and (2) a writer for the show thought this was useful information to include, w/r/t punching, I have no idea) that you will break your thumb if you do this.

(2) When you see a sign at a Starbucks that says “Drive Through Window”, before you take action, you should ask yourself: “Is that meant to be imperative or declarative?”

(3) Either John Hodgman or David Rees (or both) were Pavlovianly conditioned by Dr. Laszlo Jamf to host book readings immediately prior to taxi accidents.

(4) Disappointment in Chicago will run you ten dollars.

N.B. Their books, which I have not read due to budgetary restraints, are available here and here.

* Witness this Screenshot of Evidence (tip of the hat to Outlook pst files):

By the way, for what it's worth you can still type in the URL that this email was originally about (I cropped it out by accident, but trust me) and listen to mp3s of Selections of Little Gray Book Lectures, though they're not accessible from the main page.

Note also the reference in this email to a mispost of an mp3 file, a precursor to the current misposting of embedded video, for all you fans of leitmotif.

You’re out there, right? Fans of Leitmotif?
If so, welcome.

TED!

2008-10-23T13:19:00.002-05:00

(back to what you were doing before indulging me)

Special Financial Collapse Edition

2008-10-15T18:05:00.005-05:00

Perhaps you are aware that AIG spent $440,000 on a week-long retreat for its brokers less than a week after receiving an $85 billion government bailout. And perhaps you are aware of the specific amounts that went to spa treatments ($23,380), golf ($6,939), room service ($9,980) and things like that.

But what I found interesting — and what no one is talking about, as far as I can see — are the Pay Per View purchases of what we’ll call “grown up movies” that are listed in the bill.

Below, courtesy of oversight.house.gov is page 2 from the AIG St. Regis hotel receipt.

It’s been a few years since I had Cinemax, so I’m not positive, but I’m reasonably sure that’s the porn version of the Ayn Rand Book?

Can someone confirm?

Special Guest Editor Microsoft Word SpellCheck Live Blogs the Vice Presidential Debate

2008-10-02T21:30:00.001-05:00

Maxilla

2008-09-30T17:55:00.003-05:00

Maxilla
Originally uploaded by mrbikferd

(I love how this picture of Max turned out so I am posting it on my personal weblog, or "blog", for people to see.)

Best kaijū ever!

I don't feel like I have to explain to you why I was reading the Wikipedia entry on Doodles Weaver

2008-09-29T15:59:00.006-05:00

but I was reading the Wikipedia entry on Doodles Weaver and this struck me:

Appearing on The Colgate Comedy Hour, Weaver did an Ajax cleanser commercial with a pig, and the audience reaction prompted the network to give him his own series.

I emailed my co-worker and said, "I wish television still worked like this!" and he wrote back and said, "No, now we only use that method to select our Vice Presidential candidates."

ZING!

note: I am remaining flexible and trying not to be too derogatory, but I am still allowed to post Zings.

Instead of typing all of that, I should have just typed:

2008-09-17T20:42:00.002-05:00

1. Remain flexible
2. Don't be too derogatory

benefit of the doubt

2008-09-17T11:51:00.020-05:00

Chip's post about a DFW signing reminded me of something I did that was stupid w/r/t book signings. (CHIP: THANKS FOR REMINDING ME I AM STUPID)

I went to a Dave Eggers book signing a while back when Dave Eggers lived near me (and when Dave Eggers lived near Chip, for that matter; now none of us live there in that place, not one): right after AHWOSG came out.

I was in a line to get my copy of the book signed, and the further I moved up the line, the stupider I felt, because he was (/is) sort of like my age, and I felt at the time that if I had written so personal a book, I would feel weird that people wanted me to sign it? And I kept moving up the line and feeling increasingly awkward, like in Zeno's paradox about the arrow never reaching its target because it keeps getting stupider?

And then there was just one person in front of me and that person went to get her book signed, but her book was not AHWOSG; it was Camus' The Myth of Sisyphus.

Which I think her strategy was: He will see I am whimsical yet deep and therefore sleep with me.

And he signed her copy of Myth of Sisyphus without commenting on it, and then it was my turn, and whim took over (or maybe antiwhim, as I was trying to cancel out the previously established whim), and when Eggers looked up at me, instead of just telling him my name, I instead asked Eggers to forge Camus' signature on my copy of AHWOSG (since the only signed DFW book I have is Everything and More, I'll just add that what I was going for is f^–1(f(x)) = x where x = attempted whimsy). And Eggers (again, without any comment) wrote:

Oh the horror.
~ Albert Camus

..and I thought, "That's not Camus, that's Conrad," and I walked away feeling stupider and stupider.

But: To my knowledge, he did not sleep with the whimsical and deep girl!

Because after this signing, we all got on a bus and went to see a gallery in lower Manhattan that was displaying paintings by elephants. Because, and this almost doesn't seem like it could have actually happened, apparently during this period in Thailand's history, all of the elephants were being captured and loaded up on methamphetamine and put to work in the circus or as black market laborers. And so these two Russian expats, Vitaly Komar and Alexander Melamid, were rescuing the elephants and having them paint things (like literally they held the paint brushes with their trunks) and then they (the Russians) were selling the paintings and then the money from the sale would go to house and feed the elephants. Which, that plan doesn't seem scalable, but it really was a real thing (unless it's not) -- there were actual paintings in the gallery; there were peanut shells littering the floor. And I did not see that girl there.

And anyway: now it's seven years later and I just did a Google book search; this is from The Plague:

Among the heaps of corpses, the clanging bells of ambulances, the warnings of what goes by the name of fate, among unremitting waves of fear and agonized revolt, the horror that such things could be, always a great voice had been ringing in the ears of these forlorn panicked people, a voice calling them back to the land of their desire, a homeland.

Sidenote: At the elephant painting exhibition, Eggers was taking questions ("How long does it take an elephant to paint something?" "Is this real?" "Really?" "Really is it real, though?") and someone asked how many paintings an elephant could do in one day if it was still on Elephant Meth.

This is funny! But also cynical! (RECALL: This was about eight months before we were attacked, and everyone in New York was nice to everyone else for a while.) Eggers said, "I'm not going to answer that."

I don't know the context of that Camus passage, but here is what I'm going to do: I'm going to give Eggers the benefit of the doubt.

In fact, I'm going to try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, even though (it is said) we ultimately have no control and even though (to paraphrase) everything in life entropies toward irrationality; Zadie Smith said recently on DFW (and let's just state it outright: the only reason I'm thinking about any of this (= cynism vs. sincerity) at all and not just spending my day reading, like, Gawker is because of DFW) Zadie Smith summarized at least one aspect of his aesthetic thusly: If we must say something, let's at least only say true things.

I am agreeing for the foreseeable future. Let's see how long it lasts.

Dave Eggers forges Albert Camus' signature because why not?
Originally uploaded by mrbikferd

(though now that I think about it maybe I shouldn't start this plan until
after November 4.)

v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^
Update, 9/24: Roger Ebert on board with giving people the benefit of the doubt. Alex Balk has the money quote.
YOU GUYS! ZEITGEIST MEANS GHOST TIME!

One supposes it unnecessary/indulgent for yet another person with an unloved blog to point out that his was an important voice (to the person).

2008-09-13T22:09:00.003-05:00

and but so.

I always imagined that when the end days came I would be taken by surprise, but I guess not

2008-09-12T15:15:00.004-05:00

World's Most Powerful Magnet Under Construction

Something of a buzzkill on paragraph 3: "it won't even be the world's most powerful magnet."

but I still think the question has to be asked:
What if the World's Most Powerful Magnet somehow crashed into the Large Hadron Collider and Jesus appears?

I'll bet he'd be pissed!
(And forgiving.)

Liveblogging the RNC

2008-09-04T21:30:00.001-05:00

9:23: if I didn't have to pick my sister up at the airport, I would be getting so wasted right now.

9:31: OK! Have to head out to pick her up. Someone tell me what happened.

I just watched this ninety times in a row

2008-09-03T16:22:00.003-05:00

Arts Education/Raisin Brahms (youtube)

More interestingish stuff on the Ad Council's channel, though nothing I've watched 90 times in a row.

I've been watching The Wire

2008-09-02T11:18:00.005-05:00

on DVD, and although I'm about to start Season 4, I spent all of Season 3 failing to get over the events that befell the Frank Sobotka character in Season 2.

Spoiler Alert: things don't turn out so well for good old Frank Sobotka in Season 2.

And like I was sort of haunted by it (it also doesn't help that my 1.5 year old hasn't had his hair cut yet and so his hair is long and wispy and when he's been running around all day and has gotten all sweaty, he resembles Frank Sobotka more than he resembles anyone in his nuclear family)?

And it was almost to the point where I was going to write a letter to the actor, saying: "Look, I know you are an actor, and you are not actually Frank Sobotka, but I don't know who else to address this to" even as I am aware that Larry Linville used to get letters all the time addressed to Frank Burns telling him what an asshole he had been to Hawkeye. And even as I am aware of the uneasiness I felt with the mail lady at my first job when she would stop at my desk to talk about the previous night's The X Files and she would use "David Duchovny" and "Fox Mulder" interchangeably, and sometimes discus Mulder's wife, Tea Leoni or wondered if Duchovny and Agent Scully would ever get together and the porousness of certain borders was made evident.

But I fixed it!
And if you are suffering from something similar, here is how you can fix it too:
(1) Look up the actor who played Frank Sobotka (Chris Bauer)
(2) Go to his IMDB page
(3) Look at the pictures that accompany his profile
(4) Note that in the pictures Chris Bauer is tan, has a shaved head, and is wearing an unbutton shirt+suit combo.
(5) Done. If you never look at a picture of Bauer portraying Frank Sobotka again, you will be cured of empathy.

Which, who needs it?

It is probable that the Secretary Treasurer for the International Brotherhood of Stevedores in Baltimore does not require a running-mate, but if it did, then just as Obama chose Biden to fill in the [perceived] foreign policy gap and McCain chose Palin to fill in the creationist / not-a-man/ drilling-in-Alaska gap, Sobotka could do worse than picking Bauer whose IMDB profile pictures imply a chance to fill the LA douchebag gap.

Malo malo malo malo

2008-08-28T18:06:00.006-05:00

Hot on the heels of the "Buffalo" post (i.e., hot on the heels when you consider how long ago the dinosaurs lived), comes, "James while John had had had had had had had had had had had a better effect on the teacher."

I plan to diagram this sentence shortly, but I need to go to my parents' house to get my spriograph out of the attic.

hi, my name is patrick and i read wikipedia and then i tell people about things i read do you want to be my friend

perfectly good white boy

2008-08-28T13:40:00.002-05:00

Doree Shafrir had a post about the 80s canon and “Better Off Dead” in particular, and I was thinking about the guy who wrote/directed that movie (as well as other end-of-the-cold-war-Cusack vehicle “One Crazy Summer”): “Savage” Steve Holland.

And Also: how I was recently watching some Nick or Disney (Nick, I think) show for tweens with my nephews, and at the end I was surprised that it was directed by “S”SH, and then not surprised? Because what are all of those shows but those two movies with slightly more self-consciously sitcommy acting?

And so I went on this interesting site called www.wikipedia.org and looked him up, and do you know what “S”SH did, in addition to making the two greatest films of the 1980s (and yes, I’m including “Three Men and a Baby” in this assessment)?

This is what he did:
HE ANIMATED THE “WHAMMY” FOR THE GAMESHOW “PRESS YOUR LUCK”.

And yet I don’t see his name on the list of medal winners on the Congressional Medal of Honor page.
WTF, past Presidents in the name of Congress?

I can’t find his date of birth, but once I do, I think the least we should do is wear our collars up on that day.

And peg our jeans?

Yes.
And peg our jeans.

Most alarming headline you will read today

2008-08-15T10:14:00.006-05:00

No. It is not the one about the woman who upset people by cloning her pit bull ("Booger") five times and was subsequently shown to be linked to an abduction case involving a Mormon missionary in England, whom she handcuffed to a bed with mink-lined handcuffs and made her sex slave, and has now also been alleged (the woman has) to have instructed a 15-year-old boy to break into a house in Tennessee to steal some money the woman needed to buy a false leg for a beloved horse.

NO.
It is not that. Because the headline does not exist that could convey all of that. (Although we are happy to see that the Ghost of Michael O'Donoghue Now Working as a Copywriter is still working his magic.)*

NO.
The most alarming headline you will read today is:

Ernest Borgnine: "I Masturbate A Lot" (VIDEO).
(via, indirectly)

(It's that parenthetical that gets you.)

* Where is fakeghostofmichaelodonoghuenowworkingasacopywriter's tumblr, by the way? I'm way too busy setting up fakehenrydarger's tumblr to do this.

Sample posts:
> Just made some toast. Also, I think girls have tiny little penises.

> Been enjoying the Olympics. Interesting how you can barely see the tiny penises on some of the girl gymnasts.

> I've been thinking that I will change the name of my story to "The Story of the Vivian Girls, in What is known as the Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinnian War Storm, Caused by the Child Slave Rebellion" from "The Story of the Vivian Girls, Who All Have Tiny Penises" because that would go without saying! Am I right, people?

..Sooo, someone else take charge here?
OKTHANKSBYE

tildetastic

2008-08-06T12:30:00.004-05:00

I was poking around the McSweeney's archives, which I find myself holding off reading and then reading a lot of it at once, as if it were a neglected article of clothing that eventually guilts me into wearing it (looking at you, hypercolor socks), and this thing by Dave Ng, None of My Science Piñatas Are Appropriate for Children, reminded me of a better version of something I had typed a long time ago (9/25/06): the first paragraph of Early Draft of Text Automatically Attached to the End of Outgoing Emails from Horizon Securities Ltd. (which itself was politely declined for publication by McSweeney's, around 2005 or thereabouts, if I'm remembering correctly) (at the time it was easy to pretend that they were afraid they wouldn't be able to render a tilde on their website; now I think I will pretend that they will be afraid that the site is becoming too piñata-y) (it's ok McSweeney's; I bear you no rancor).

Anyway, 9/25/06 = made me want to go back and see when the first post was and it was this: July 26, 2006. That means this blog's second birthday was a week and a half ago! If you forgot to send a birthday presents to the blog, c/o me, here is a fact: Since I work remotely part time, I am at a weird place in my wardrobe-cycle where I actually need more crummy T-shirts to wear around the house.

THUS: Here is the short list of T-shirts I need for my blog to have a good birthday:

Secret Headquarters' God Save Stan Lee shirt
The Sound of Young America's glow in the dark shirt (is this even still around? I have the other one)
Dinosaur Comics' Wizard Has Turned You Into a Whale shirt

OK, I think that's it.

PLEASE DO NOT SEND HYPERCOLOR SOCKS.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, THIS BLOG.

As everyone already knows

2008-08-01T10:21:00.004-05:00

One Person Trend Stories are this summer's Lonelygirl15 (advice to Lonelygirl15 people if that's still going on: turn it into a tumblr and people will pay attention again).

But what everyone doesn't know is what my favorite part of each one is.
As a public service announcement: This is my favorite part of each one.

When it comes, I always smile, and when it's not there, I feel weird all day.

It's like that homeless guy on La Salle that asks for non-McDonalds food and then regardless of the reply says "God bless you." When he wasn't there on Tuesday, everything got thrown off for me psychically. Thank God he was back on Wednesday.

No one buy that guy a home!
It will mess me up.

Origin of the word "Ravenous"

2008-08-01T01:12:00.003-05:00

(Source: OED)

There used to be a time when people walked around going, “Man, that guy’s as hungry as a raven,” or “Today, I am so hungry, I could eat as much as a raven could,” and then finally someone said, “You know what? We’re wasting all this time using this really labored metaphor. Let’s just start saying, I’m ravenous.”
SO: hats off to that guy.

(Or gal.)

(also: this is not really the source of the word "ravenous")
(this just seemed funny at 2am)

trackback

2008-07-31T14:33:00.006-05:00

This:
Portrait of Woman Revealed Beneath Van Gogh Painting (via)

Reminded me of This:

Pentimento

..from April, which is the last thing that appeared on this blog that I've been even remotely pleased with. (April!)

NOT A GOOD SIGN
but please feel free to reënjoy (NYer diaeresis stizzz).

When you're tryin' to diphthong
And you're umlaut's soundin wrong
Diaeresis (cha cha cha)
Diaeresis (cha cha cha)

OK, update: I'm pleased with the way this Diaeresis song is turning out.

Muggle, Please

2008-07-30T11:59:00.006-05:00

I am suspending my earlier Proposed Postulate for Rule of the Internet w/r/t Choire Sicha, because that's not Ian McKellen!!!

Waait, unless that's part of the joke..?
Arrgh, Choire Sicha, you are always one step ahead of the Internet!
POSTULATE REIMPOSED

...
Um, so, that was actually so I could say this:
The trailer for HPatHBP is up, with Hero Fiennes-Tiffin (nephew of Stage Uncle Ralph Fiennes) as young Voldemort. The last movie was ungood, but this was the best book in the series (too bad it was followed by How Wizards Go Camping), so I will likely eventually see it? Some day?

BUT: based on the preview I am prepared to set up a PayPal account so we can get enough money together to have Hero Fiennes-Tiffin act out all of the Jake Lloyd scenes from Phantom Menace, to be digitally reinserted later.

HERO FIENNES-TIFFIN: THERE IS STILL A CHANCE YOU COULD PREVENT MY CHILDHOOD FROM BEING CRAPPED ON BY GEORGE LUCAS HOW MUCH WILL IT TAKE?

ALSO: TELL US HOW TO PRONOUNCE "HERO" AND "TIFFIN"; YOUR FAMILY HAS A HISTORY OF GOING NON-OBVIOUS, PRONUNCIATION WISE, THAT'S ALL WE'RE SAYING.

When I'm Driving and I See a Company Name Stenciled on the Back of a Truck, My Brain, Which is 12, Tends to Go for the More Ribald Interpretation

2008-07-29T22:38:00.009-05:00

Today's Example:
"Johnson Controls"

Tune in next week when hopefully we will see a truck for Cummins Onan.
Wish us luck!

===========
update May 29, 2009: I JUST FOUND OUT THERE IS A TURKISH COMPANY CALLED KOC HOLDING!!!! OMG OMG OMG OMG I AM 12

Here you can see how much I have invested emotionally in GoodReads.com

2008-07-29T18:24:00.011-05:00

THE RAVISHING OF LOL STEIN
by
Marguerite Duras

Pretty good, I guess, but not quite as good as The Ravishing of ROTFLMAO Stein.

View all my reviews.*

* or, you know, don't

Mad Men Beyond Thunderdome

2008-07-29T15:38:00.006-05:00

I don't know if this is any different elsewhere (with TimeWarner, e.g.; I can't believe I miss TimeWarner, but I miss TimeWarner), but I have [to have] Comcast — I watched each episode of this show last season the day after it aired via OnDemand in HD with no commercials.

This season, the HD isn't an option for OnDemand (which, I guess I don't really care about), and there was a commercial — a big one [..] for Viagra, right in the middle of the episode.

I know they're basically making this show for me for free, but:

(1) to see a commercial for something that would benefit the main character in this regard is gross; and
(and this is the Main Idea)

(2) THE MAGIC OF ADVERTISING AS PRESENTED BY THE SHOW IS RUINED WHEN I HAVE TO SEE ACTUAL ADVERTISING.

So hey, AMC:

Now I am quietly waiting for the catastrophe of my personality to seem beautiful again, and interesting, and modern.

What did you bring me, Daddy?

Let Your Conscience Be Denied

2008-07-18T15:38:00.009-05:00

I miss Brooklyn when things like this happen (also when I read Knufflebunny to my kids); not living there, I don't feel qualified to comment on it anymore (actually I think there’s a rule that once Choire Sicha has commented on it no one else should bother?) (wait, did I just miss the whole point?).

Except to say:
The article could have used a second "Yeah, we know." right after "And so Jessica Roy will depart for a semester abroad in Paris in September. "

but also:
The whole thing reminds me of 2005 when Neil Pollack (I'm relatively sure I'm qualified to quote Neil Pollack) was responding to a Nerve.com essay about the Boys of McSweeney's:

It's hard to deny that the twee, detached men Calhoun describes in the piece existed. They certainly did, and such men still exist today. They're called Men In Their 20s.

and also that when I read that in 2005:
I was reminded of the great great great Delmore Schwartz short story, "The World is a Wedding", published in 1948 (1948!), inspired by Schwartz's being simultaneously daunted and unimpressed by Paul Goodman's insular Clique of Literary Intellectuals. (Now that was a blog post.)
And also a lesson for everyone? Because who knows who the hell Paul Goodman is any more? (except Keith Gessen who has a tattoo of Paul Goodman's name crossed out with his name right below it).

But 1948 = Makes me think going forward that when we read something like this, until we’re proven otherwise, we should just assume that the author is writing genre fiction?

That's my advice!

Take it with a grain of salt, though. I live in Chicago, so I may not be understanding everything.
Do you need to borrow a grain of salt? We have a lot of salt here because it snows for seven months of the year

OK, so hey wait, I thought of another reason I miss Brooklyn.

v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^
Update, 7.21.08, Above Proposed Postulate for Rule of the Internet w/r/t Choire Weighing in on Something: VERIFIED.

Guess which word made me raise my eyebrows

2008-07-10T18:28:00.008-05:00

in this forum called Dinosaurs & man contemporary with each other:

>>The only thing I wonder about is if the
>>flood killed them, how did Job know about them.

Noah brought them on the Ark with him. He was to bring every kind of animal with him on the Ark, so that would mean the dino's as well. Logically, we can assume that he would have taken the young because they eat less and are smaller.

Let's start here, and then we'll work our way up:
Logically, you shouldn't pluralize with an apostrophe S.

Work in progress

2008-07-10T15:21:00.002-05:00

I have a really awesome idea for a song called The Graveyard Shift Blues.

It starts off like this:

I woke up... this evening...

something something
obviously it writes itself at this point

Obey Your Thirst

2008-07-09T17:48:00.003-05:00

Lymon
Originally uploaded by mrbikferd

This may look gross to you, but I say:
At least it's better than Jooky.

angyangyangyangyang

2008-07-09T14:34:00.007-05:00

(I think that's how you spell that.)

In what is being hailed as a huge victory for things that I like but whose apparent inability to break out to a broader audience has always puzzled me over theoppositeofwhatIjusttyped, Scott Prendergast, who did The Delicious, which was in ("on"?) ("comprised by"?) the first issue of Wholphin and which is viewable here on his website, along with several other films (including Anna Is Being Stalked, which might be my favorite, and Saragossa, which I just watched for the first time and is a filmic riff on this book Michael Atkinson loves (I'm just going to link to a bunch of early McSweeney's offshoots in this post, OK, thanks)) has a new film coming out called Kabluey. It also stars Lisa Kudrow (you guys! she was on that show Friends!)

America's Radio Sweetheart Jesse Thorn interviews him here, where Thorn talks about his mother's laminating habit and Prendergast talks about improv and repainting his apartment and Lauren Graham never needing to smile.

Also, fun fact: it turns out it is spelled "Prendergast".

Crisis in Infinite Riverdales

2008-07-08T12:55:00.003-05:00

(I don’t know how much background is necessary for me to explain why something I saw on the Internet is funny to me, so feel free to skip the first 1,010 words of this.)

And but so I think this is common knowledge, but: if you’re a fellow of a certain age, then when you were a kid there was understood to be a Line in the Sand (Colonel Travis stizz)¹ separating DC Comics and Marvel Comics. I stood on what is generally considered to be the Correct Side of the Line, unless you are Completely Retarded. So did, I believe, Jonathan Lethem², but por el otro mano as good as Michael Chabon can be sometimes, I believe he made the wrong choice and I will never be able to get fully behind him: I believe him to be a DC Man. (I think it’s all that talk of capes; capes are sooo DC.)

The reason this was the right choice circa 1978 is because the Marvel take on a “superhero” as a dysfunctional person whose superpower is an amplified distillation of some imperfect human trait was totally appealing to someone who was, say, waaay into dragons (and/or dungeons? yes.), while DC’s überhuman angle was totally remote and alien and repellant [to that person]. But on top of that, during this period, DC had no idea what it was doing³ (this page comprises like, 95% DC comics: this is what I think of when I think of DC).

So: This thing in The Lede⁴ was pointed out to me a few months ago: it turns out Largely Pointless to Me DC Character The Flash had died! But actually not really!⁵ And I said in my head: DC Comics! You are maddening! For: in my head, the whole endless alternate universes / infinite parallel earths / lazy retcon thing where multiple storylines branch off for multiple versions of the same character was totally a DC thing. So in order for my head to prove my head right (doing this is 93% of my day) I googled it and my head was wrong. Wrong in italics.

Marvel is actually much, much worse than DC. Wikipedia lists 61 Universes for DC, while Marvel clocks in at a frankly headsnapping 340 (not including “pocket universes” which I don’t want to know about), one of which is Jack Kirby’s inane Dinosaur World, and another of which is actually the DC Universe, so let’s round that up to an even 400 (Source: Start Menu>All Programs>Applications>Calculator).

I don’t think this can totally be chalked up to: “Marvel has more fanboys”; I think some of that has to be chalked up to: “Everything is Ridiculous”. What the hell happened?
This piece in The High Hat has a good summary of what the hell happened (and includes The Flash as an example, bringing this all full circle) (for fans of bringing things full circle, this is for you) (but hey also Said Fans, also check out the Warlock chapter in Douglas Wolk’s Reading Comics referenced below in Footnote 3: Holy crap are things ever brought full circle there oh my god it’s TOTALLY NUTS) and does it more succinctly than I could, so you are encouraged to click.

But anyway, perhaps you are now thinking: isn’t this whole thing crying out for some sort of obsessive fanboy unintentional metaparody? OK, so: All of that was so I could say this:

Hey look at this funny thing I saw on the Internet:
A List of Alternate Universes in Archie Comics.

OK, thanks!

¹ I just spent a week in Texas! Carl’s Corner is not looking too great. I wanted to get to West to buy kolaches, so I did not even check to see if they were still selling BioWillie. CARL’S CORNER WE ARE ROOTING FOR YOU.

² (his story about the kid that dressed up as Avengers team member The Vision = breaks my heart because: The Vision!?; Lethem’s superheroes generally seem to be the second tier ones and generally fail)

³ But maybe it never knew what it was doing? This goofy cover from Showcase #4 depicting The Flash breaking out of a filmstrip was correctly deconstructed in Douglas Wolk’s Reading Comics:
The cover’s text and art reveal fumbling confusion over what exactly it is advertising. Is this comic a showcase for art, as in a museum? A series of frozen representations of something so unreal that a body moving at high speed leaves parallel lines of ink behind it? A movie that isn’t really a movie, made out of individual images that the eye can see in or out of sequence at the same time?

Fun trivia fact: I have a copy of Reading Comics because I won it for writing this story, which is only 100 words more than this post. It needed a better editor! (the book, not this post) But it is still pretty good! And it fills in a lot of gaps for people like me who haven’t been paying attention. Especially the chapter on “Warlock”: it is kind of mind blowing. If I ever hold a contest on this blog and you win the contest, I will totally send this book to you.

⁴ “An Unexpected Comic Book Resurrection”? In what “multiverse” was it unexpected? OBVIOUSLY he was going to be resurrected: he’s a dude.

For what it’s worth, the reason I was thinking about all of this again months after I saw the Lede piece was this Twitter post (sorry, “tweet”?) from Defective Yeti: Tonight I’m going to have to add “Read entire history of Green Lantern on Wikipedia” to my to-do list just so I can cross something off. I TOTALLY GET THAT, except for the part where it’s Green Lantern. (I was still sad when Martin Nodell died! I’m not made of stone.)

FAKE CONVERSATION WITH GREEN LANTERN I JUST HAD IN MY HEAD:
ME: Your insignia is a rotated theta.
GL: I’ve rotated a few thetas in my day, if you know what I mean.
ME: Do you mean you went Insert>Picture>Word Art>Symbol Font>“Q”; Rotate 90°?
GL: ……yes.

EXEUNT

⁵
CAST:
Should Have Stayed at the Bus Station......Barry Allen

This might not make 100% sense

2008-07-02T11:20:00.005-05:00

in terms of narrative structure or whathaveyou, but could we just swap out all the appearances of IRL Fred Willard in Wall-E with all the appearance of the CGI prarie dogs in the new Indiana Jones?

It will make everyone less uncomfortable.

Jesse James' Insistence on Neon Ends up Being the Key to His Undoing

2008-06-27T14:46:00.004-05:00

Entrapment

2008-06-25T00:13:00.002-05:00

or:
I Use Google Chat to Supply Content For My Seldom-Updated Blog, Which Is Probably Bad Form

recbee: Hey Shearn: have a good death match tomorrow

moonlightambulette: Oy! Jeezus. Thanks. I'm a skeered.

recbee: here's a tip when facing a literary adversary: try to picture them without their eyewear

moonlightambulette: Ew! They all just look like moles that way.

recbee: They all look like Avogadro's number?? What are you talking about? Is this explained in your book?

moonlightambulette: Yes, it is explained in the book. But only in the hardcover edition. and only if bought new. and in bulk.

recbee: That is a good strategy. If I ever write a book; I'm going to do the hardcover in invisible "Yes/Know" ink and only include the decoding pen in the softcover.

moonlightambulette: Hey. You might be on to something there...

recbee: And then the audio book could detail how to make an antidote for the carcinogens that you absorbed using the first two books. I ACTUALLY MAY BE ONTO SOMETHING

moonlightambulette: HOLY SHIT YOU'RE GOING TO BE RICH

recbee: I AM GOING TO POST THIS ON MY BLOG SO EVERYONE KNOWS THAT YOU SWEAR IN YOUR IM'S

moonlightambulette: FUCKING FUCK. I'M OUT OF HERE

The proprietrix of Moonlight Ambulette, whom I have just demonstrated swears like a stevedore (and who broke up my writing group with her terrifying insouciance), has a book coming out.* The word on the street is that this book is terrific and also that the title of the book was once shouted by a sleeping Dave Eggers. This is a coincidence!

People of Earth: It would be nice of you to buy this book.
And New Yorkers specifically: You can see her tonight (Wednesday the 25th) at Opium Magazine's Literary Death Match where, based on the above exchange, she may or may not be LASIKing people with her mind.
Other People With Whom I Have Engaged in Google Chat: I will probably not betray you like this, assuming you have not broken up a writing group I was in.

* as do other people from my old writing group; for real, if you want a book published, join a writing group with me. Not all of my stories will be about eleven year olds in suburban Texas where pseudomagicrealist things happen! Not all of them fall under the category "Like David Mitchell If David Mitchell Had Zero Intellectual Rigor"!