8.5.08

god hates cheaters, pt. whatever

Ex-Pats employee sends the NFL six tapes of five games where the Patriots recorded the opposing teams play-calling signals.

Of course, two of the tapes are from the 2002 AFC Championship game against (wait for it) The Pittsburgh Steelers. Loyal 'burghers will recall the absolute awfulness of the that game, wherein the Steelers were ranked first in defense and third in offense in the NFL and managed to look no better than the Hempfield Area High School Spartans, high on heads full of acid. A recap:

In the AFC Championship Game at Pittsburgh, the Patriots were nine-point underdogs, and Tom Brady was knocked out with an injured leg in the first half. However, Drew Bledsoe came in and led the Pats to a 24-17 win, thanks to a Troy Brown 55-yard TD punt return and a 60-yard return of a blocked FG for a TD. The Patriots intercepted Steelers QB Kordell Stewart three times, and Pittsburgh running backs were held to just 19 yards. Starting with that win, the Patriots are 5-1 against the Steelers, including a 30-14 win in the 2002 season opener.

You will recall the "Slash" lost his starting job after that season (not to blame the Pats, because he was sucking in general, BUT performed excellently in the 2001 season), and the Stillers lost several subsequent playoff matches to the almighty New England Patriots.

Not to mention Steelers fans have had to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous righteousness from uppity Pats fans for years.

Karma's a bitch, and God hates cheaters. And Massachusetts.

6.4.08

another short and revealing list

well, it's been a weekend of epic proportions friends. a short checklist:

-seeing the penis of a total stranger on the crowded dance floor of a bar with friends from freshman year
-injuries: a hand punctured with a barbeque skewer and a foot sliced open on an as yet unidentified object. this bled like a motherfuck, and i didn't realize it until i was walking to 7-11 for cigs and my sandal was soaked with blood
- the return of the sun, as well as bare feet, hopscotch, beer pong on the front lawn, bubbles and hoola hoops
- a "riot" in town, complete with inappropriate police action and tear gas (probably a whole separate post on this as shit goes down this week)
-oh, and i have a million things to do before graduation, but i'm probably just going to keep procrastinating with good company and alcohol. if you know what's good for you, you'll probably want to join.

30.3.08

a brief and revealing list of things i currently love

aural: Ironhorse's A Bluegrass Tribute to Modest Mouse Honestly, my favorite band covered by a bunch of Scots with banjos and moustaches. And far better diction than Issac Brock, God love his marble-mouthed soul. More Bob Dylan, Blonde on Blonde in particular, The Pixies, and OMG The Roots. Spring is coming and I want to dance.

mental: Just finished Time's Arrow by Martin Amiss, reading The Fabric of the Cosmos: Space, Time and the Texture of Reality by Brian Greene, working on a paper about Hindu, gender, goddess worship and Kali. So, a lot of destruction and junk about the universe. Right now, I'm watching Wordplay and its awesome.

gastronomical: yerba tea. It's amazing.

sartorial: still tights, plus thrift store sweaters, and wearing my hair shaggy like Nico. I also gave myself some blunt-cut bangs. They're all the rage right now.

extracurricular: live music, good friends and conversation. I've been sick all week, which has limited my enjoyment of the pleasures of life, but I'm getting better.

29.3.08

damn dirty hippies

Hey dudes. Turn off your lights from 8-9 p.m. tonight, for Earth Hour.

Mostly, you should be turning shit off every day, but do it today especially.

Even Google blacked out — which is pretty cool.

25.3.08

september '75, i was 47 inches high

nostalgia videos presents!

one angry dwarf and 100 solemn faces
-ben folds




it's funny how even when it's long dead, you can't stop being reminded of how it was or how it felt.

19.3.08

what a mess

Proving once again that it's one of the best sources for innovative political and social thought, Slate asked several of its best hawks the same question which plagues anyone who bothers to give the land of Ur more than a passing thought: How did I get Iraq wrong?

Consider in particular, Christopher Hitchens's strident declaration that he, in fact, did not get Iraq wrong. He is not claiming some holier-than-thou stance of being always opposed to the Iraq War [one which the author of this blog takes, with some pride, having endured being called "un-American" and "a Communist" for three months in high school], but rather considers the relevancy of this "anniversary" marking aggression in a region that has not been without outside influence, puppetry and gross cruelty for most of the past 20 years.

And that is what I call the Bishop Berkeley theory of Iraq, whereby if a country collapses and succumbs to trauma, and it's not our immediate fault or direct responsibility, then it doesn't count, and we are not involved. Nonetheless, the very thing that most repels people when they contemplate Iraq, which is the chaos and misery and fragmentation (and the deliberate intensification and augmentation of all this by the jihadists), invites the inescapable question: What would post-Saddam Iraq have looked like without a coalition presence?


The dearth of critical, stridently self-analytical, rational thought like this is what got us into this mess in the first place. Hitchens asks the questions, and cleverly provides no answers. At this juncture, perhaps this is the best tactic, as I or anyone else has been hard-pressed to produce a solution for Iraq that is both politically viable and resembles anything close fairness and justice.

[Another nail in the coffin for the idea of the military industrial complex and warfare in general, but I digress. My recently developed opinions of the structure of war and nuclear weapons merits a post of its own.]

For more traditionally journalistic content, The New York Times does a fair job, with excellent photography as usual. Bear in mind that most of the reporting coming out of Iraq is done by undercover Iraqis in constant fear, however.

17.3.08

the fabric of the cosmos





bwahahahaha. this may be the nerdiest thing I've ever laughed at [at which I have ever laughed? God that sucks]. By the way, Fenyman is the man, and Mythbusters is extra cool. But as neat as it is, I have a lot of problems with string theory.

Namely that no one can tell me why it's a good idea. That, and I don't like the concept that someday, theoretical physicists will derive an equation to explain all of what we currently hold unexplainable. I like the mystery of unanswerable questions.

Because it allows me to posit my own outrageous explanations of things. If you [whoever gets to be the authority about the nature of the universe] don't know what the real answer is, you can't discard my personal hypothesis that the Theory of Everything is based on Pure Poetry and Icelandic Rocks.

14.3.08

a brief and revealing list of things i currently love

What I'm feeding my brain:

aural: Vampire Weekend, [you know I'd love any band with a song about the Oxford Comma] rediscovering Okkervil River, Sufjan's Illinois in preparation for the big chi-town move. The Clash's first two albums, selected Bob Dylan tracks

mental: finishing up The Best American Non-Required Reading of 2007, considering giving Dave Eggers A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius a second go. Starting Time's Arrow by Martin Amiss this week. Post modern, temporal displacing goodness. Still haven't finished A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man I will consider myself a vast failure if I don't conquer Joyce.

gastronomical: miracle foods — black beans, polenta, granny smith apples, spinach. don't have the cash to be eating out, but when i do, i'll let you know if i experience anything wonderful.

sartorial: all tights, all the time. thick, knit, warm tights with skirts and dresses, and boots. headbands. jackets. I love spring.

extracurricular: running, oddly enough. my ankle is a bitch, but i am enjoying pounding the pavement. St. Patty's this weekend, and generally spending time with friends who are challenging my mind.

This week's words to live by: "Employing as much distortion as possible" from an English class discussion about post-modernism as it relates to quantum mechanics. God bless a liberal arts degree.

13.3.08

c'mon feel the illinoise!

sup fools.

Since we last talked, I was rejected from NYU (what I deserve for arrogantly stating I've never been denied admission to a university), making Northwestern my default choice for graduate school. It's still the city, it's still an amazing program, and it has the benefit of being chock full of familiar faces, and close to this stupid little college campus I've grown to love.

but it's not new york, and every year I don't move there feels more like a failure. The goal is 25 though, so let's just keep aiming for that. it's not going anywhere.

In other news, I am 100% confident that for the rest of my life, I will fall into deep, hopeless, irreconcilable lust with incredibly tall, extremely mysterious men. It's a blessing and a curse. Unfortunately, being in the throes of wild, lustful interest just leaves me with incredibly vivid dreams that I wish were true when I wake up. Because I am nothing if not a little girl about things like this (and the majority of other matters, to be honest.)

I just realized that I am moving around the country in the same order as Sufjan Stevens albums. Let's hope life doesn't take me to Minnesota after grad school. (unless I'm working for the Utne Reader, in which case, yes please.)

Tomorrow: a list of things i'm onto lately, then no more updates for the rest of the weekend, unless St. Patty's prove to be epically interesting in some way that doesn't involve me drinking to excess.

7.3.08

here be anthropomorphic dragons




what's funny about this is it's only a year old, and already lacking. No cat macros and I'm pretty sure something awful and 4chan never even made the map in the first place. still high-larious.

More awesome at xkcd.com

1.3.08

like, no big, or anything



Dear Sarah:

Congratulations! The Admissions Committee has approved your application to Medill’s Master of Science in Journalism program. Your program of studies will begin in the Summer 2008 quarter.Orienation is tentatively scheduled for Monday, June 23, 2008. We will be holding our Open House for Admitted Students on Thursday and Friday, April 10 and 11, and you should be receiving an invitation to this event via email and postal mail soon.


So, you know, there's that. Their sports teams suck, and their colors are stupid, but it's a definite upgrade. Also, I have yet to be rejected from an institution of higher learning to which I've applied.

I fucking rule.

this is what blogs are for right?

chowder/soulja boy



i love the internet.

29.2.08

my muse is a precocious little girl

I feel like I always jabber about being a writer, and writing, and blah blah blah so I should just stop being a pansy and post some writing. Don't worry — you'll never come here and find full drafts of short stories. Just some snippets I've written here and there.

So, in that spirit, today while writing with some friends, I was challenging myself to be brief. Here are two short-short stories, in less than 100 words.

Eloise sat in the basement room and began to unravel the rug again. She had woven and unraveled the same red, black and white fibers more times than there are spines on a cactus. If she had woven the same pattern twice, she didn't know. Diamonds, mandalas, chevrons, paisley swirls all emerged from the same beaten, fuzzy threads. The futility of her task may be cause for concern — but probably not.


I have never been any good at spelling. Inappropriate and unwelcome letters crop up in the middle of words where they are uninvited, like the static shock of a doorknob early in the morning. But I can spell onomatopoeia perfectly; strange vowel clusters snared by the siren song of the flypaper in my synapses. That pesky third "n" in begining, or the extravagent "e" in withe, however, manage to escape.


###

28.2.08

for those playing along at home

Now you too, can be a pundit, with Slate's delegate counter! You may not have a fancy touch-screen to monkey around with primary results, but you can figure out exactly how much trickery and subterfuge HRC would need to win the nomination.


(PS. If only real newspapers and magazines could do this)

The Voice of an entire city



Sadly, Myron Cope, the man who coined a thousand catchphrases, passed away yesterday at the age of 79. He is survived by the Terrible Towel, "Yoi" "Double Yoi" "Okel Dokel" and a million nicknames and utterly batshit insane game-time utterances. The Voice was responsible for a lot of what any native Pittsburgher considers their identity, even after we all peace out of Western PA.

All I can hope is you continue to mock the Brownies and the Bungles from whatever Afterlife there may be.

26.2.08

it ain't me babe



Penn State's Thon promo video. I don't know, I find it kind of terrifying, with the dramatic strings, and coordinated movement, and the screaming and crying.

24.2.08

make art! make art!



mazeltov glen and marketa.And good move John Stewart for letting poor little Marketa back on stage to give a speech. She's nineteen and she barely speaks English. "Fair play to those who dare to dream."

Everything about this was amazing and inspiring.

20.2.08

These are Dark, Evil Times



I woke up this morning with whiskey on my tongue, tired, confused, angry, restless. The way you always were. In the middle of the eternal shortest month, in the midst of my own body's mental and physical breakdown, you decided you'd had enough. Your brains were all over the typewriter, counselor. The snow was thick on the ground, and for you, the winter would never end. I got the call, I heard a recorded voice tell me you were gone. Three years later, I no longer speak to that person's recorded voice and you are still not with us.

No one could tell me if it was true or not. Some people said they didn't believe for days, thought you were pulling another fast one. Another decompression chamber. I knew from the first second that you'd finally given up the ghost. It was the only way. Your best prank. Six months later, you were shot into the sky, like the beautiful, weird, twisted mutant you were.

We need you now more than ever, but chances are a time will never come when that won't be true. I lust after the words you will never write, about Mike Huckabee's speed freak for Jesus bug-eyed, bass-playing antics, about the sheer ridiculousness of the slow crumble of the Bush administration. If we'd had a different president, would things have seemed less bleak, Raoul? If the Patriots we're the opposite of competition, pure sport and surprise, would you have felt more satisfied?

Football Season is Over, but who do I turn to now, for inspiration, for courage, for irreverence, for everything?

You, Doctor. Too weird to live, too rare to die.

Mahalo.

14.2.08

i need a lawyer




Listen, if I had my way, I would just go through this day pretending it's like every other Thursday where I go to work, waste some time, go to yoga, talk about postmodernism, then go get drunk.

Unfortunately, even the cartoons on Nickelodeon this morning won't let that happen. And I am in a particularly black and foul mood today, so you can all take your candy hearts, and shove them.

Or maybe this is all pure gibberish — a product of the demented imagination of a lazy drunken hillbilly with a heart full of hate who has found a way to live out where the real winds blow — to sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whisky, and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested...
Res ipsa loquitur. Let the good times roll.


6.2.08

goodnight, sweet prince

Oh, baby. The results of Heath Ledger's autopsy show that he died from an "accidental drug overdose," if you consider swallowing Viocdin, Oxy, Xanax, Valium and two different kinds of sleeping pills an accident.

At least we know you weren't trying to off yourself, but something was hurting you awful bad.

Now, off to drink myself silly and watch you woo Julia Stiles with Frankie Valli songs.

correlation is not causation

Last night, Alabama and most of the rest of the American South picked Mike Huckabee as their candidate of choice in the 2008 presidential election.

Today, a mass of tornadoes devastated the same area.

A scientist would say that correlation is not causation...but evangelicals don't believe that science proves anything. So I guess the only other available option is that they're being punished for designating a wild-eyed, bible-humping fear monger out of his head on Speed and Scripture as a rational human being, let alone a person capable of running this country.

5.2.08

YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWW


photo NY Times

Remind me why we beat Howard Dean off the political scene with a baseball bat studded with railroad spikes for his post-Iowa crazy again?

Super Tuesday is one of the darkest days of the year for the myth of unbiased jounalism.

Get it girl.

Super Tuesday MLK redux



Consider this my official disenrollment from "the chorus of cynics."

I want to be inspired. Strike all my defense of Hillary as the better politician. Just because the system exists, doesn't mean I have to support the person who plays it best.

Fuck the system.

Yes we can.

Football Season Is Over



Just in case you were wondering, this year on February 20, the anniversary of the Good Doctor's death, (mahalo, sir) there will be a total lunar eclipse. Celebrate with whatever combination of chemicals, debauchery and pagan reverence you see fit.

4.2.08

And thus, the football gods did smile...



...and they did decree The Underdog the most blessed of all their creations.

Seeing the Pats lose the only one that counted was one of the most satisfying non-Pittsburgh related sports moments of my life. Also, this lends more support to my theory that it is impossible to win a Super Bowl without some sort of adversity in your path. Swagger doesn't win championships;beating a pretty-boy quarterback into the ground for 60 minutes does. First-round playoff byes and running up the score all season do not instill a team with the kind of grit it takes to clutch the Lombardi in a fit of orgiastic glee.

And now, to continue dealing with this unholy mess that has taken up residence in my sinuses. These are evil, evil times. Mahalo.

27.1.08

oh hell, while i'm at it

toothpaste for dinner
Drew, you silly man. And while I'm not going to turn up my nose at my share of the "economic stimulus package" I am firm in my belief that anyone who thinks an extra couple hundo is going to solve what's wrong with our economy is incredibly foolish.

Less tanks, more educated people with access. Silly ideas, what with the feeling that people have the right to education and health care just on the merits of being people. And that these commodities for everyone would benefit the entire country. How do you propose we pay for all the this? Simple. I find it difficult to stomach that we live in a world where Pepsi, Anheiser Busch, etc. can pay $2.7 mill for a SuperBowl ad but people can't afford prescription medication, or where kids drop out at 15 to work a minimum wage job.

Not to mention that the government shelled out for an anti-drug add this year — just a thought, but maybe they should have been putting that money to better, more concrete use?

Fighting wars on abstract nouns is the American curse. There's something to be said there about semantics and modernity, but I fail to articulate.

one for the kids



Whilst frantically searching for Schoolhouse Rock videos on YouTube last night, the roommate and I came across this. Whoever had the time and energy to make a liberal, political Schoolhouse Rock video is my hero.

25.1.08

too weird to die.


Dennis baby, you were too much man for this ice bitch of a country to handle. Your particular brand of politico whack-a-doo, what with the seeing UFOs and being a vegan, and a pacifist and having an mind-bogglingly hot wife just didn't sit right with us.
Again.
I mean, who wants to vote for someone who want to institute radical change, and impeach the President who's gotten us into such a goddamn mess in the first place?

"But I believe it's a lot easier to change the Constitution than it would be to change the word of the living god. And that's what we need to do -- to amend the Constitution so it's in God's standards rather than try to change God's standards so it lines up with some contemporary view." -MH

BUT people are still casting votes for Mike Huckabee's crazy ass. There was a point I wanted to make here about this country's ability to stomach one specific kind of crazy and not another, but I am honestly just too tired.

23.1.08

who needs affection when i have blind hatred?

Heath Ledger. My 13-year-old soul weeps for you. Nothing beats you in 10 Things I Hate About You which may have marked the exact moment I learned to love tall, slightly physically awkward boys who made inappropriate choices about their hair and were full of sass. And who chain smoked. And who maybe were secret assholes, but maybe really sweet. That turned out really well.

I recall a Teen People photo spread where your golden Aussie curls were all softly lit and your lips were pouty and I totally wanted to bang you, even though I barely knew what banging was.

Not to mention you're probably awesome ask The Joker and a really good actor, and you seemed so over all the Hollywood bullshit, and you have the cutest daughter.

Brit's still kicking around Malibu though. And now this.

norrinator (Autoreply): i wonder if could get an extension on my paper because i am mourning heath ledger's death.
MoNkee(Autoreply): Heaaaaaaaaaaaaaathhhh
norrinator: HOW CAN I MOVE ON WHEN YOU WON'T LET ME
norrinator: WHY CAN'T I QUIT YOU
MoNkEe: BECAUSE.
MoNkEe: I MUST REMIND YOU OF YOUR PAIN. YOU CANNOT FORGET HIM. YOU CANNOT.
norrinator: hahahahaha.
norrinator: clearly quoting brokeback mountatin is called for at this juncture
norrinator: i wonder how jake g. feels
MoNkEe: well, if what the news is telling me is indeed correct, then since jake g. is a gay cowboy, he is currently mourning the loss of his lovah.
norrinator: basically
MoNkEe: probably on top of a mountain or something
norrinator: with a horse
norrinator: and a tent.
MoNkEe: SEX.
MoNkEe: BUTT SEX.
norrinator: so INAPPROPRIATE
norrinator: YOU ARE NOT HONORING HIS MEMORY
MoNkEe: YES I AM.
MoNkEe: THE BUTT SEX SCENE WAS THE FIRST OF ITS KIND THAT I'VE EVER SEEN.
MoNkEe: MAGICAL.
norrinator: first...and BEST

(screen name edited to protect my roommate)

to catch a goddamn predator

Hey. Jan 30 is "International Delete Your MySpace Day"

Okay, after a bout with hating the internet a few years ago, I haven't really had a MySpace. I have an account, but I only have a picture up, and some basic info. And I have no friends (not for lack of requests). It was mostly just so I could log in to view people's MySpace photos. But I don't really even do that any more.

So I guess you can just take everything I wrote about my MySpace up there and put it in the past tense. Because it's gone, suckas. The best part about this is they ask you for the reason you're deleting...I simply wrote "fuck you tom." Short sweet and to the point. However, in case you decide to join me, here's a pretty decent list of reasons you could enter into field.

  1. I'm tired of blink-y, shiny, glittery, hot pink, animated, thousand picture profiles blaring Natasha Bedingfield crashing my browser.
  2. I'm tired of gothy, black, morbid, animated, thousand band picture profiles blaring death metal crashing my profile.
  3. You have no standardized layout, which allows any monkey to customize however they want — and I am aesthetically offended by the clashing fonts/colors/general inanity.
  4. I will no longer enable sexual predators.
  5. You have enough money.
  6. I'm sick of your awful banner ads and site glitches.
  7. Deleting spam requests from creepy old men and crappy bands is taking up a huge chunk of my day which I could be using for the betterment of humanity.
  8. Pedophiles. Kidnappers. General creeper-y.
  9. I mean, have you been on MySpace lately?
Delete your MySpace. Because Facebook is better anyway, and you don't need any more marriage proposals from Amir in Qatar.

21.1.08

a word about gender and politics

Allow me to preface what is about to come by saying that I have no idea who I will vote for in the 2008 election. At this point, I might cast my vote as a write-in for Dennis Kucinich, because Holy Hay-seuss, am I tired of election coverage.

That being said, if we are allegedly a nation that more respects, reveres and "equally" treats its women, why can we not have one run for president without calling out her every display of emotion as evidence that she is unfit to lead?

Hillary is viewed a soulless, ball-busting man eater. Her campaign starts to go south, and she tears up on camera (probably a publicity move, but not any more than stumping, or going to church regularly, or the Republicans putting all ten minorities at their convention directly in line with cameras...but I digress.) and SUDDENLY she to too weak-willed and womanly to be a serious contender for the office of commander in chief.

An article from Slate shows the other part of Hil's gender that negatively influences her image, and her campaign — the fact that she has a powerful, famous, widely-recognized Democrat for a husband. I love Bill, will all of my heart, but this article has a point. If he keeps standing up for Hillary, people are going to think she can't stand up for herself.

Which brings me back around — America doesn't put its women in hijab, like them dayum Ay-rab terrorists who are supposedly our enemy, but we've also never had a woman leader, or even a female second in command. For all of our country's high-flying talk about respect and equality and democracy, there's still a huge portion of people (men and women) who would not vote for a woman president (ANY woman president) because Lord knows that when she gets her period, she's going to nuke the first thing she sees.

And that's not even saying anything about the disproportionate amount of coverage devoted to how Hilary looks, what Hilary wears, and whether or not she is in general "too manly."

Ireland, New Zealand, India, Mozambique, Germany, Finland, The Philippines, Switzerland, Chile and Liberia — ten countries— currently have elected or appointed female leaders. Another five have female monarchs.

Roughly half of Europe has had women in power at one point, and a large portion of the countries we consider Uhmarika superior to in Asia, South America and Africa have had them too. But in this country, we think powerful women are unnatural, against the order and out of their place — unless they're doing something for "women's issues" like healthcare, the (laughable) war on drugs, or education.

All men are created equal. And you bitches had better not forget it.

14.1.08

why won't they just go away

Deliciously nubile and recently Wentzed Ashlee Simpson is apparently making music that's younger than her new face again. And (quelle suprise) it's awful. See for yourself:
video

Mostly, she's just trying to do this:
video
By way of this:
video

I made a Vox post about this last year, after the release of Gwen Stefani's last disaster of an album, but I feel that it bears repeating. Gwen, you've really got to take the brunt of the blame for this one, since Love.Angel.Music.Baby was such a hit monster.

BUT that does not mean I needed to hear it four or five more times, in a series of grimey, watered-down, pseudo M.I.A. permutations. I did not need Fergie's album, or your second, or apparently this new monstrosity by Ashlee (nothing more annoying than the way she spells her name, by the way) "I didn't get a nose job" Simpson. [Enough asides for ya?]

That being said, PLEASE watch that Ashlee Simpson video. No amount of eye makeup, straight jackets or creative costuming make her able to replicate the sort of robotic, herky-jerky movements that Gwen pulls off in "What You Waiting For?" That is because, at some level, Gwen Stefani is an artist and performer. I can even semi-tolerate Fergie's ghetto-fab, skanky take on the whole thing, because at least she commits.

Fucking Ashlee Simpson is just going through the motions. She, and the majority of all "pop starlets" need to be stopped.

Quelle suprise.