Monthly Archive for July, 2005

When I was born for the 7th time

So my main man Pinko Punko has succeeded in dragging me, kicking and screaming, back into tha blog hood, after a year-plus hiatus. I usedta be a big name, I coulda been a contender, yadda yadda yadda, but between my career and my deep, deep shame at having endorsed the war in Iraq (Atrios described my situation pretty well: “9/11 drove a lot of people a little bit crazy, understandably. And, sadly, a lot of those people felt it necessary to suspend their distrust of the Bush administration.”), I ended up letting things slide. And to think, I was once among the top 100 on NZ Bear’s Blog Ecosystem (what’s funny is that since then — say about three years ago — so many new, even less-read blogs have appeared that my relative ranking in the ecosystem has gone up while my absolute ranking has gone way down).

But enough talking smack about my formerly bad-ass self. Suffice it to say that I’m back, bitches, at least until I get bored or too busy again. In the meantime, while I sit back and wait for the world to piss me off, I’m taking on a project suggested by Pinko and Mrs. Booty, and taking a trip down memory lane into…the Black Hole of My Old Blogroll.

You see, prior to chiggity checking myself before wriggity-wrecking myself, I had a pretty serious flirtation with the Right, one that preceded my blog and even preceded 9/11. I’ve since reverted to the opinion I had back in college, what might be called the Mary McCarthy theory of the Right (“Every word a conservative says is a lie, including ‘and’ and ‘the'”), but in the late ’90s, for one reason or another, I fell under their sway.

(Actually, what happened was that, baffled by Clinton-hatred and perhaps a bit tired of the multi-culti pieties of the Northeast, I decided to investigate “why they hate us”, and actually began to visit right wing websites and reading the Weekly Standard and other organs of the faith. What happened next was something I should have seen coming from every serial killer movie: to catch a killer, you have to think like a killer, but where do you draw the line? In my case, I already had my basement freezer half-full of body parts before I realized that I’d gone too far. “We aren’t so different after all, are we, Special Agent Johnson?”)

So as part of my mission of atonement, I will be going over some of the more egregious members of my blogroll, and possibly try to explain what I was thinking at the time. I’ll go in ascending order of awfulness, crescendoing with the worst…blogger…ever… And the best thing is that he and most of the rest still have my old blog on their blogrolls, thus inflating my Ecosystem rating (I’m now a Marsupial, whereas in the long-ago era before every tragic high schooler had a totally-unread blog about Dashboard Confessional, I never rated higher than a Rodent). Thanks, suckas!

People Political!

–>Mind your manners, and stay off the carpet, the original Mrs. Punko is a real ball-buster. We offer praise to Cookie Jesus! Be sure to check out Monday Goldberg Theatre.

My favorite inside source, I kiss your open sores

I’m hardly gonna be the first person to proffer this link, but it is really worth your while to read Arianna Huffington’s far-from-idle speculations about Jailbird Judy:

Not everyone in the Times building is on the same page when it comes to Judy Miller. The official story the paper is sticking to is that Miller is a heroic martyr, sacrificing her freedom in the name of journalistic integrity.

But a very different scenario is being floated in the halls. Here it is: It’s July 6, 2003, and Joe Wilson’s now famous op-ed piece appears in the Times, raising the idea that the Bush administration has “manipulate[d]” and “twisted” intelligence “to exaggerate the Iraqi threat.” Miller, who has been pushing this manipulated, twisted, and exaggerated intel in the Times for months, goes ballistic. . . [S]he calls her friends in the intelligence community and asks, Who is this guy? She finds out he’s married to a CIA agent. She then passes on the info about Mrs. Wilson to Scooter Libby (Newsday has identified a meeting Miller had on July 8 in Washington with an “unnamed government official”). Maybe Miller tells Rove too — or Libby does. The White House hatchet men turn around and tell Novak and Cooper. The story gets out.

This is why Miller doesn’t want to reveal her “source” at the White House — because she was the source.

D’oh! Oh, how I hope this proves true. A good indicator that this shit is, in fact, about to hit the fan will be when the wingnuts start reminding us that Miller works for the Liberal Media flagship, therefore it was the Liberal Media (yeah, that’s the ticket!), not the Bush administration, that was responsible for the bullshit “intelligence” that bolstered the case for war. (The sad thing that is they will be half right — in my former life as a moderate liberal non-anony-blogger, I definitely took Miller’s reporting seriously in weighing the case for war, and ultimately coming down in favor of it.) Just you watch John Podhoretz’s mouth — sooner or later, this particular kernel of corn will gleam among the turds emerging thencefrom.

But I come not to insult JPod or snicker at Judith Miller, but to remind people of a half-joke that went around shortly after 9-11. Wasn’t it a little suspicious that Miller’s book on bioterrorism, Germs, came out just a few weeks after the anthrax attacks (still unsolved, as Ariana’s HuffPost colleague Harry Shearer reminds us). Perhaps Miller can stand to add five extra deaths to her existing bar tab?

Friday Musical Poop Shoot

–>Our dying web page edition. Shout out to Professor Stiff- get your ass in here MOFO.

1. Starting to Be It-Papas Fritas.
More slow one from Boston funsters. I like them more when it sounds like Big Bird is going to bust in, not the guitarist from Wings. Still OK. 7/10.

2. The Book of Right-On -Joanna Newsom.
Yes she sounds likes a little kid and the chick from Portishead singing “Coyboys” but instead there will be a transition when you realize she is amazing and your life was an empty nothing without her. The best way to come to this inevitable conclusion is via her popping up on your Party Shuffle. Too much too soon can be a prob. A google/10.

3. Live Wire-AC/DC.
The DC. As they were meant to be. Angus shits out chunky riffs of salaciousness, yet somehow you feel like its all in good fun. But that would be the patriarchy talking. I still feel like Bon was one of those kids that acted all pervy but was really just saying stuff to get you going. 8/10.

4. The Old Master Painter-The Beach Boys.
No one seems to notice on this track but on this bootleg snippet of Smile, they sing “You Are My Sunshine” in the past tense. Making it the most infinitely sad bit of anything ever. And then the perfect little burst of sax, which is just not equaled on the remake. 10/10.

5. Suddenly-Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.
From their uneven second album. 5/10. Just listen to “Heart +Soul” from this album a million times instead.

6. Accident-Clem Snide.
Some people don’t like Eef Barzelay of Clem Snide, because he isn’t who they want him to be. He is either too serious or too snarky. No, he is just right. Twisted country folk, with psychedelic leaning lyrics that suggest isolation more than relationships. 7/10.

7. Testure (12′ mix)-Skinny Puppy.
Extended from the Vivisect VI track, but I like the album track better. The perfect industrial club track that makes you want to shake your ass, and look all cool and where some black eyeliner and lose yourself while they sing about animal research and how terrible it is. Except you don’t care cuz you can’t really here what he is saying and you are trying to burn off those all you can eat fajitas, while pretending not to stare at the cage dancer. (7/10 for this mix probably cuz it is easier to here what he is saying, 10/10 for the album track).

8. In Dust We Trust-Chemical Brothers.
Good for shakin’ your booty at work when no one’s around. Whatever, it’s the kind of work I do. Use your imagination. 7/10.

9. You Say You Don’t Love Me-The Buzzcocks.
I love the Buzzcocks. But not this song so much. 4/10.

10. Miss Teen Wordpower-The New Pornographers.
NEW ALBUM SOON. NOBODY. KNOWS. THE. WRECK. OF THE SOUL. THE WAY YOU DO. *sigh*. Indefinable quatity. Infinity over zero.

The Difference Between Subway and Quizno’s

–>Subway: where your self-esteem and nerves are shot by them forcing you to watch them screw up your sandwich. You are given the illusion of control and it is just that, an illusion.

We illustrate:

1) The Cheese

“Would you like cheese on that?” “No”

“Uh, I said no cheese” as cheese is draped over your motherf***ing BMT. You gesticulate wildly, they remove the offending product, and put it back in the pile. Oh, and yeah, thanks for discontinuing the Cookie Jesus loving Spicy Italian, a-holes.

2) The Tomato

While g*d damn Jared shoves his sweet onion chicken teriyaki into his subhole, sub commander cobag is selecting the tomato slice that has the fricking stem still on it to add crunch to your motherf***ing BMT. Seriously, it is the tomato slice that has the apple core in it.

3) The Hot Pepper
You’re not a pussy, you like a little spice on your motherf***ing BMT. So you ask for some hot pepper. They have two kinds, but they don’t know the difference between the jalapenos and the banana peppers. So you say one, and then they go to put the other one on, and you point frantically at the one you really want, and your nerves are shot to hell by the assembly line of death that they run.

4) The Hot Pepper 2
Given that tiny snowflakes sometimes become babies, there is also a chance that your sub-subjugator will go for the right kind of hot pepper. He or she will do one of two things, they will put one or two on or 500. Literally a shitload pile of hot peppers on your motherf***ing BMT.

5) The Olive
There are two quantities of olive at Subway. Less and almost none. It does not count as an ingredient. Given the chance that your subtech actually picks up more than 2 olives, you will just be forced to watch those bad boys roll off onto the floor before your very eyes.

6) The Lettuce
I can’t print the lettuce on this family show. It is rude pundit-esque but true.

Quizno’s: where you think you cede control, yet you have no real idea what the hell is happening to your motherf***ing Spicy Monterrey Club. There is no standard protocol of abuse at Quizno’s. This makes it almost more dangerous than Subway’s game.

We illustrate:

1) The addition.

Um, can I get some olives on that? OK. And then your sandwich comes out with nothing but olives. You see, they thought you meant “I want olives on that in place of every single other vegetation that comes on the sandwich.”

2) No cheese, please.

And then your motherf**cking classic italian comes out with a molten slab of everloving cheese on it. Yeah, because you turn your back, you’re gonna get stabbed. And then you have to wait a million more minutes for your new sub to go through the tunnel of fricking love.

3) The whammy.

“One large Spicy Monterry Club, please.”

“That’ll be 8 dollars.”

Monday Goldberg Theatre III

EPISODE 3 CPL CMDR. W. JONAH GOLDRIKER: STRIKEFORCE UNLEASHED
Episode 1 HERE
Episode 2 HERE



PROGRAM ANNOUNCEMENT!

Monday Goldberg Theatre will be up today, just later. To our dear, loyal reader, thank you for your patience. Due to Adult oriented content.

–>

Friday Musical Poop Shoot-To Educate You, Not Prove How Uncool We Are

–>Mixed bag this week.

1. Mull Historical Society- This Is Not Who We Were.
One man English band, jaunty retro pop. Maybe sounds a little bit like The Beautiful South, except not as cynical or annoying? TBS had the one guy from The House Martins that was not Fat Boy Slim (for the modern rock conoisseurs). This song from his album Loss. I’d say it is the middle of the pack for this album. 6/10.

2. To The Sky-The Cure.
Good “Pictures of You”/”Lullaby” type Cure song, not as maudlin, or maybe more. Was a rare track off of a Fiction records sampler, but I think it has been released with a compilation. Good song, somehow better when it was super rare and you felt lucky to own it. 7/10.

3. You Shook Me-AC/DC.
My love for this song has been completely sapped by sorority girl sing-alongs and just overall malaise. I am having a torrid affair with Bon Scott AC/DC and this song does not fit that bill. .1/10.

4. Come Into Our Room-Clinic.
From their harmonium covered retro garage creepy-fest Walking With Thee. The atmosphere on this album is great, but perhaps a little too much. Perhaps a little repetitive. Not my favorite from this album. But still good. I love Clinic. As you may know, these guys are weirdos, but they have their own sound that is for sure. 7/10.

5. Nietzsche-The Dandy Warhols.
This song can stand alone, but works best as the last of the first three songs from Thirteen Tales of Urban Bohemia. The songs “Godless”, “Mohammed” and “Nietzsche” flow into one another. Whereas “Godless” has some stolen George Harrison guitar strumming in a musical pun and a retro blast of horns, and “Mohammed” is more psychedelic and opaque, “Nietzsche” is more of a typical Dandy Warhols wall of sound fest. There is the feeling that under their usual cheek, these songs are thematically linked as their musical linkage would suggest, while still being quite distinct from one another. Some like to blow these guys off as drug-fueled jackoffs, but they give a shit about the music that they make, and I’ve yet to seem them put on a shitty show. 7/10.

6. Just to See You-Papas Fritas.
Sesame Street sounding retro pop from Boston. One of their more serious outings. Guy and gal singers. Liable to put a smile on your face. From Helioself. 7/10.

7. Barnyard-Beach Boys.
A bit of Dixie Horns, the usual annoying wood block. This is the bootleg original without the extra lyrics from Smile. But the ooh ooh oooh oooh woos at the end just KILL, as they usually do. 9/10.

8. Fully Completely-Tragically Hip.
The live track from that one Woodstock (Saturday morning- before Limp Bizkit and the shit hitting the fan). Not my favorite version of this song. The best part of these Canadian heroes set was crazy front man Gord Downie’s insane stage patter. On one of the other songs he was talking about Canadians infiltrating the US by coming over the frozen river, and he had a tie on and his earpiece made him look like a Secret Service agent. He also had one other riff about having to sleep inside his burro that he sliced open a la Empire Strikes Back at the Grand Canyon. 5/10.

9. Misunderstood-Wilco.
From Being There. Just an awesome mopey piano and guitar wreck of a ballad, maybe it is his hang dog Americana voice. With requisite feebacky drummy heavier part in the middle before it gets quiet again as is directed in the Wilco handbook of songs. Feels like it should be from some Cameron Crowe movie that doesn’t exist instead of some other song that will inevitably be in it. I don’t even know Cameron Crowe movies. I can’t explain it. 9/10.

10. If It Feels Good Do It-Sloan.
Canadian power pop heroes. Probably the beginning of their downturn into less good, more straightforward rockin numbers. Still a great track, they did their best when being a little more angular and obscure with the occasional fun rock number like this thrown in the mix. From their poorly produced (guitars too thin, too tinny) yet underated Pretty Together. All albums from PT back are pretty good, especially their first and second. My personal fave is their 5th I think, Between the Bridges.

Cookie Jesus Demands Our Attention To Matters of Faith

–>A dear reader has made a confession to us: his reading of the Cookie Jesus Scripture says that “Vienna Fingers” are equivalent to one of our many sacraments, the Cameo Creme. Cookie Jesus states unequivocally that “Vienna Fingers” are cheap imposters, tastingeth of cardboard, if they tastingeth of anything at all. Cookie Jesus has sent our penitent reader to Cookie Guantanamo so that he may be cloistereth with his thoughts on this matter.

ACTION ALERT


–>The former Zlortonian She-Beast has metamophosed into the Solar Babe from Sextus Seven. Question: will the Uncanny One be naturalized in Americania or remain Uncanny?

Let us bow our heads to Cookie Jesus to ponder this matter. Let us also shun the Devil’s melon.