If You Will It, It Is No Dream

As an English major I read ocassionally (yet I still don't know how to spell, I'm sure that's spelled wrong). Poetry isn't my thing at all, but I do like really like some of it, and Robert Creeley was a good poet. He wrote a lot of stuff in the beat era (like late 40's through the 50's) but isn't really a beat poet. Last I knew he was still a professor at UB, so I'd see him around occasionally. The guy was pretty easy to find because he only had one eye. I would give you a link but I can't find a single article written about him yet -- maybe we at UB have the inside scoop or something -- but his shit is worth glancing at on the net or something. It's the kind of stuff that you don't have to be a poetry buff to enjoy.

For those of you who don't know, Trent is occasionally known between Vassallo and me as "Rope-a-Dope." Trent knows about this joke (God, it took him long enough to figure out we were even talking about him). We developed this nomenclature on our way out to California for reasons which I will not disclose to you. Seriously. I'm just going to leave you hanging.

Thinking about our Cali travels got me thinking. I know many of us have been places that the rest of the peons, slaves of capitalism, slaves of fear, etc. etc. and general untermuench have only dreamed of. Even though we've traveled with people (usually) I've always found that each trip is highly personal and subjective. Therefore, if you will it, I'm going to start writing about chunks of various journi that I've taken as they pop into my head. Because it is no dream! It's real, and I think two things: writing about it helps you remember intricacies, and reading about other people's shit is fun. So I'm going to start posting under the title "Visions of X" where I fill in X with a place that I've been (mainly so if these vision bore you, you'll know to skip them) and I hope other people do the same, but I won't feel bad if you don't, and if you think my idea sucks, and if you think I suck.

OK, I'm not going to do that to you -- I'm gonna tell you about "Rope-a-Dope." I think we probably listened to Paul's Boutique like 5 times on the way out to Cali. You know "Sounds of Science:" before it gets pretty cool and crazy, it goes "Rope A Dope!!! The Newest in NEW!!! Went up to your face and dissed you. (Bamp!)" We were like obsessed with this, and I still am probably, but we would say it all the time. Then at one point, we were in the parking lot of a motel somewhere so we could rest for the night. It was somewhere in the midwest, probably our stop after St. Louis (which is a story in itself). Trent was doing something, either trying to check in, or fucking around when we were about to leave, and me and Stevy are chillin by the car. One of us made a comment about how Trent brought so much shit that he had to tie a fucking rope around his duffel bag to keep it all in. At that point, one of us, I'm not sure who and it doesn't matter, yells out ROPE-A-DOPE!!!!!!!! From that point forward, Trent was called "rope-a-dope," and the phrase was uttered each and every time A) the trunk was opened and there's Trent's bag, B) whenever he was re-roping the bag, C) whenever we felt like it (and we felt like it a lot). It took Trent probably two months into our stay in San Diego before it occured to him that he was Rope-a-Dope.

So there's a little slice of Cali for you dudes. There was also a "palate-boy" scenario, something about a titanic air mattress, a stale roll traveling at a high velocity (from an unknown source I might add), firecrackers, midnight ping pong, gay gentlemen getting verbally assualted because of midnight ping pong, lizards, snakes, jakes, tunas, and much more. I can't go into it all.

"Huh? No! What the fuck are you talking--I'm not--we're talking about unchecked aggression here--"

So today I was at work taking a test(yes, i have to take tests at work for the gayest of things) and my supervisor informs me of a breakin over the weekend. Aparently, some kids broke into best buy on Easter. These kids were only 10,11, and 13 and managed to get into a "highly secure" store. NOw you may be asking how 3 children were able to get through the gates. Well, you see, the gates were never locked. They simply pulled it up and walked in. This by no means is the crime of the century but when i asked who was closing manager that night, my sup told me that he and a previously mentioned, much hated, higher level manager were the ones closing along with a store security person. My sup asked for a few more minutes to finish up what he was doing while the manager talked on the phone expressing rather vehomently that he wanted to get home and he will be there shortly. They left the store late Saturday and the break-in occurred Sunday afternoon. When i heard this story and what manager forgot to make sure the gates were locked i literally yelled, "Yes! His ass is gettin fuckin fired!" But, alas, my dreams were cut short when my sup told me that he didnt even know if disciplinary charges would be brought forth. This got me and a fellow co-worker who was also listening pissed. I mean this manager tries to get me fired for being 3 minutes late and supposed insubordination. I called the company line to report misconduct and filed a report (hopefully the other employee did the same). Im not a tattle-tale type, but this hipocritical fuck deserves to be ratted on the way he treats his employees. With any luck this jerk-off will get whats coming to him and be unemployed next week.

Remember when we used to park at the insurance agency and then walk back to the grounds for some good times LHS style? Well, Trent and I parked there today to hike back to our old territory and shoot a roll of film for a project I'm working on. It's no longer an insurance agency, but a law office by the way. After all my film stock is spent, we're walking out of the woods and I notice this car out by my car. I'm carrying a bag full of props and shit in one hand and the Bolex case in the other. Trent's wearing this white shirt, red tie, blue sport coat (which is way to small for him), greyish slacks, and brown boots. Also he's covered in mud. The lady gets out of the SUV with her husband and they walk up to us. (She's the one that wears the pants, by the way, if I may use that phrase. I know this because she does all the talking while her husband stands by looking both meek and embarassed). "Were you guys fishing?" she asks. Yeah sure. Here's my pole biotch. I told her we were making a film because she failed to add up all the parts. Or maybe when her family goes fishing they dress up in salvation army-type dress shit and roll around in the mud. She then lectures Trent and me about how I'm parked on private property, how the cops are going to call my parrents, and how I should tell my friends not to park back there. I'm astounded. You guys fill in the blanks.

So I was doing a little CD perusing today, and I came across a pretty sweet compilation coming out in a few day...reminds me of something I would make...

1. Decent Days And Nights - The Futureheads
2. Goodnight And Go - Imogen Heap
3. Fortress - Pinback
4. On The Table - A.C. Newman
5. To Be Alone With You - Sufjan Stevens
6. Play - Flunk
7. Scarecrow - Beck
8. The View - Modest Mouse
9. Hardcore Days & Softcore Nights - Aqueduct
10. Cartwheels - The Reindeer Section
11. Eve, The Apple Of My Eye - Bell X1
12. Champagne Supernova - Matt Pond PA


And who is putting out this compilation you ask? Well friends, I will tell you. Its The O.C. Mix Vol. 4. Whoever puts together the music on that show has some damn fine musical taste, no joke. Vol. 3 was a indie rock christmas mix that was a hit around the Yerdon household during the holidays, and their taste just seems to be getting better and better. Dont hate....

P.S. If youve never heard Imogen Heap then give her a listen...one of my new favs

- Mike Y

So I'm sitting around thinking about whether starting a post or some other writing with the word "so" technically counts as en media res or if it's just a good friendly talky way to start something. I'm high on coffee, of course, and this is the type of shit I think of when I'm high on coffee. That and also how bad I have to shit, except that we have no tiolet paper, and I'm really just too lazy to go out and buy some.

For those of you who have TiVo, or some digital recorder from your cable provider, I'd like to recomend recording films off TCM, which are comercial free of course, and watching them at your liesure (how do you spell this word?). I've been crunching some numbers and come up with a formula: TiVo + TCM = free film school.

I've gone to the TCM website and wrote down infinite films that I'll record onto video tape because they aren't just stupid shit that your grandma watches, but actually staples of film history. My calandar looks like I have a lot to do, but really it's just all jammed up with titles/showtimes. Here are a few:

Tonight: (4:15 AM-8AM)
Notorious (Hitchcock)
My Man Godfrey (Both have Criterion dvd releases if that means anything to you)

Friday night (2-4 AM)
La Strada (Fellini) also criterion
also a Fritz Lang movie, which I didn't write down the specifics for becuase I have it already.

Sunday (Midnight)
The Passion of Joan of Arc (Dreyer (silent)) also criterion

Tuesday:
2PM Sullivan's Travels (Sturges) also criterion
2:15 AM Key Largo (killer noir film. check it out.)

There are a few more, and my month of april is also completely booked up. I'm really excited about this invention. And guess who did it baby. Me! (A little D in there). Man, coffee fucks you up. By the way, banning steriods from baseball is like banning coffee from academia. I'm in a mood tonight!

"Well, yeah I did, but I spent most of my time occupying various, um, administration buildings--"

Considering the overwhelming majority of males in this group/forum, whatever the fuck it's called, I decided that this entry would be appropriate. Let me start by saying that this is not so much an amusing anecdote as it is a call for action. My faith in the male species has taken a terrible beating. I call on you men to restore that faith...if not for my sake, for the sake of your brothers. Now I will reveal the source of my disappointment.
It all started on a Saturday night at Binghamton University. My desire to go downtown and get drunk with all the fraternity and sorority bitches being long gone, I accepted an invitation from some friends with an offer to smoke pot and perhaps play beer pong at their place. I had my hesitations, considering that I had never hung out with these boys except for our random meetings downtown or our daytime procrastinating when we lived in the same building freshman year. However, I decided to broaden my horizons and do something other than my common nighttime activities, which consist of getting high and watching Family Guy.
After getting about a million phone calls wondering when I was coming over and asking me to bring some pot smoking appliances, I finally showed up around midnight. Upon arrival, I noticed the abscence of a beer pong table (disappointment #1) and the feeling anxiety that filled the room. "Maria, should we open the windows, we don't want the smell to be overwhelming? Maybe we should get water or something? You brought a bong?? I dont know how to use those!" (disappointment #2). Needless to say, these boys were avid gym-goers and though some claimed to be ex-pot smokers, I was beginning to have my doubts.
I thought that every single one of them was going to die after each hit they took, despite the fact that half the time I was clearing the majority of the smoke for them (disappointment #3). After that fiasco, one of them proceeds to whip out a karaoke machine...mind you, nobody was drunk...and starts singing cheesy 90s love songs (I don't think I need to label my disappointments anymore, they're getting to be too frequent, and I'm sure you all get it by now).
At this point I took out my cell phone, and as I'm typing "HELP ME!!" to a friend, I got called out. "Ooooh, look at Maria. She's tryin to be all slick in the corner with her phone...she's probably text messaging Sandra like 'Damn, these boys are pussy's, they can't handle weed'" I tried to get out of it with some bullshit but let's face it...I was high, I'm a terrible liar, and they were exactly right. Of course I felt guilty after and couldn't leave right away so I was forced to stay longer than I wanted to...and I didn't even get to send my text message.
As the time passed and the ridiculous behaviour ensued, I realized that...even though I had the only vagina in the room, I also had the largest ballsack. One might think that, being the feminist that I am, a realization like this would've made my night. Instead, it made me extremely sad. You know that metaphorical light of hope that's inside everybody? Well my friends, it dimmed that night...and it has yet to shine as bright as it used to.

I will be back in the 'cuse from Friday-Monday for Easter, looking forward to seeing you fuckers! I figured a blog was a good way of informing people as opposed to making phone calls.

"Your wheel! At fifteen em-pee-aitch I roll out! I double back, grab one of 'em and beat it out of him! The uzi!"

Since others posted their spring break adventures I figure I'll jump on the bandwagon. Most of it was spent working, sleeping, and almost geting fired(again), but one day sticks out as the simultaneous peak and low point. I will start the story toward the end of the lunar day while I am still working. Nearing the end of my shift (Im a customer service rep @ Best Buy for those not in the know) I apparently said something wrong to one of my "superiors". I say apparently because i still dont know what i said to make him get so....stung, for lack of a better word. He tells me to pull my drawer and get in the office. I dryly told him that I cant do that which further serves to get him angry. Sitting in the office with my supervisor counting my drawer and this nazi glaring at me, he asks me if I know what condescention is. I say yes, and look blankly at him for a second until i realize he wants a definition. I give it trying to sound as much like Websters as possible. Clearly dissapointed that i could give a better definition than he ever could, he tries to tell me that i have a bad attitude and that it needs to shape up. Then he goes off in typical Napoleon (Bonapart, not Dynamite) fashion saying that he could be getting me fired for such insubordination. At this point i ask what hes talking about but he ignores this and goes on a whole speil about how hes going to be the best whatever at whatever he does. Typical managerial verbal oatmeal spewed from his mouth. Inside im laughing at this guy because somehow he thinks we just became friends. Anyway i get sent home early as "punishment". Home, i learn of some oil wrestling going on at a local club/bar. Upon entering we find that it only has a few dozen people in it. Its still early so we grab a booth close to the stage and get some pitchers. As time draws nearer and nearer to wrestling the club doesnt get any more crowded, but something catches my eye. The back side of a hot ass girl dancing perks my spirits some until she turns her head and i see who she is. Shes the girlfriend of another friend. I get up to go say hello but stop when i see the guy shes near start rubbin on her and touching her innappropriately. Instaed of pushing him away like any girl with a bf should do she laughs and giggles like stupid high school girls do in that situation. Her entourage is near our table so i sit down and decide to see what the deal is. She walked by my table several times and made the eye contact of someone who doesnt want to be noticed. You know what im talking about, you look at someone but as soon as they look up you loook away. But i had her beat for I was allready watching her and when our eyes met i shot her daggers. I start thinking of ways to call up my friend and explain to him that his girl is cheating on him. Then, the unimaginable happens. Her boyfriend walks in. Again i get up to go talk to him but immediately sit back down when he sees her and drags her into a corner. It probably wasnt the best corner to be in seeing as it was brightly lit and the club was close to empty. They were behind me so i kept giving shifty glances over my shoulder. From these i gathered he was fuming mad (which is very bad seeing as the kid has anger management issues), and the girl was crying. He left without incident and left this slut behind. The rest of the time there passed without noteworthy events (the oil wrestling turned out to be beer wrestling with 6 of the un-hottest girls they could find. Im just glad they werent fat) except that there was one patron i must mention. This guy had the face of grisly adams and the body of tall tobey maguire. Dressed in light brown coruroys and a dark green shirt buttoned to the collar he proceeded to traverse the emptying club from one end to the other, pausing momentarily at each end. This went on for the duration of our time there. After much persuasion by me, we departed back to lpool for some pizza. FYI- Twin Trees pizza seconds fresh from the oven is the best ever. We killed the pizza then went to some persons house in phoenix. whatever. what else am i gonna do at 2am? being the only sober one i just wanted to sit down and finally get some intoxicating substances in me. We arrive in 15 mins and are flagged down by this hot ass chick running in the street. finally-i thought- some action! we park and learn that one kid in the back has passed out. we said fuck'em and the three of us and the girl enter. The time is close to 3 now. It was only planned to go inside and get some shit and be out in 15 so the one in the car would be ok. what we were getting was cocaine. let me take this time to say that i do not advocate the use of coke but if thats your thing, whatever. Inside i grab a beer, sit down and gratefully chug it. The apartment is modestly sized and while not dirty it wasnt entirely clean either. The girl that flagged us in was almost my height (6ft) carzy dark hair and a killer, yet very thin, body. the other two in the apt were a meaty looking girl dressed in sweats and a guy who looked like....i dont know...a guy, who cares what he looked like. On the small glass coffee table was a few lines laid out. The guys i came with each took a line and sat in some chairs. they talked about how long the connection was gonna take to get there with more coke for them. At 3:10 it was stated he should arrive in 20 mins. The hot one comes over to the couch and sits next to me. she starts talking about god knows what and then it comes out. see this-she picks up a picture on the end table- this is my daughter, shes six. huwhaaat? Now i started noticing the toys and shit lying ina box next to my feet. I guess this chick was 26 or some shit. by the looks of her body youd never know she passed a child. At 4 people were inquiring where the guy was with more blow. Some how the kid who was passed out in the car makes it in the place, by himself or with the guidance of someone i dont know. The guy who was there when we arrived had a few grams of him own they were sparingly doing but the supplier was going to bring more, better shit i guess. They end up doing all the rest of his and still want more. its roughly 445 now and he goes to meet the kid somewhere for an 8ball. 520 rolls around and we notice he still hasnt returned. he is called and we learn both him and the dealer are stuck in the snow somewhere way down the road. We saddle up and leave the one kid who once again passed out on the couch. after pushing a lowered truck and integra out of a snowed in driveway and a snowbank respectively we return to the hotties apt for more line blowing goodness. for them anyway. all the while i remain on the couch enjoying the abundance of conversation that any stimulant brings. All of this girls curtains were so heavy they could block out a nuclear blast so it was impossible to tell whe the sun came up. The time was only brought to my attention when the person passed out next to me regained consiousness and said "What the FUCK! its eight-FUCKING-am! What the FUCK are we still doing here!?" We tried to get the other 2 to leave but they wanted to stay and finish the few lines left. and with all the blow in their bloodstreams theres no way they were sleeping anyway. Reluctantly i took one of their cars and went home, personally i was content with staying. I like learning about other people and hearing their crazy coked out stories. I also dont like abandoning friends in starnge places but what the hell, this kid really wanted to leave. So we get home and i sleep for a few hours and begin a new day. {holy shit, this was really long (i didnt mean it to but i got in the zone)and thanks for reading my random-ass story. so post some feedback on it damnit. i want to know if these type of stories are good blog material. "you suck"' is as welcomed as "your a genius"}

"Does this place look like I'm fucking married? The toilet seats up man!"

Ive been listening to a ton of new stuff lately....here is some shit you probably havent heard of but may very well enjoy...fire up Soulseek and enjoy the goodness. PS...Im too lazy to post mp3s anymore...too much work to wade through the assloads of crap that is out there


K-Os - Joyful Rebellion - How this guy isnt blowing up every radio station here to San Diego is beyond me. Real good alternative style rap, with the single "Crabbuckit" easily the best song I've heard all year...kinda reminds me what "Hey Ya" would sound like if you replaced the 60s sound with a New Orleans jazz band

The Kills - No Wow - Can't get enough of this cd...stripped down, angular and punky, and when i say stripped down, I mean skin and bones; vocals, guitar and drum machine only...and I mean that in a good way. Check out "The Good Ones"

Amon Tobin - Bricolage - Latlely Ive been attempting to listen to alot of techno, mainly cause Im getting kinda bored with indie rock. Finding good techno is more difficult that it seems Ive found, mainly cause most techno either causes a seizure or is elevator music. Amon Tobin is different though...real laid back beats, mixed in with some sick jazz samples...if i had a girlfriend, i would bang her out listning to this....check out Supermodified if you like Bricolage

M.I.A - Arular - I dont know If Im actually allowed to like this type of music, but I do anyways. Shes kinda the indie Seal Paul, except shes from Sri Lanka and grew up in England listning to reggae and house. Really catchy if you give it a chance, and she just got signed by Jay Z, so get on the band wagon now before she blows up

So I've returned from my adventure and before I blog to the maximus, I want to first list my travel schedule from March 8th until the 10th:

Tuesday, March 8th
4:30 a.m. : Wake up
6:20 a.m: Board plane and sit there for 2 hours because of bad weather.
10:00 a.m: Arrive in New York
12:00 p.m: Flight to Paris cancelled. Re-book to London. Also had to re-book flight from Brussels to Pisa to London to Pisa via cell phone with roommate Frank. Sidenote: When traveling, one must have the mentality of Mr. Wolf
6:00 p.m: Board flight to London
Wednesday, March 9th
7:00 a.m: Arrive in London after short flight delay
7:45 a.m: Take tube to central London. Walk around and enjoy the nostalgic/bizzaro feelings erupting inside of me.
1:00 p.m: Take a the National Express bus to Stansted airport in London.
2:30 p.m.: Sit in Stansted and look at all the rotten teeth of Europeans.
6:30 p.m: Board flight to Pisa.
10:00 p.m.: Arrive in Pisa
10:30 p.m.: Take bus to Florence
11:30 p.m.: Take cab to Laney's house
11:45 pm.: Arrive at Laney's house
Thursday, March 10th
12:00 a.m. - 3:30 a.m: re-aquaintance with Laney (i.e. sex)
3:30- a.m. - 5:00 a.m: Sleep
5:00 a.m: Awake (kind of) and take taxi to Florence train station with backpack and wheelchair in hand (Laney had a broken ankle).
6:40 a.m: Board Eurostar train to Naples
10:40 a.m: Arrive in Naples
11:00 a.m: Take cab to port of Naples
1:00 p.m: Board boat to Sorrento
1:40 p.m: Arrive in Sorrento
2:00 p.m: Take bus to central Sorrento
3:00 p.m: Walk to Hotel

This is mastery level traveling that tests the mind, body and breath (it's get pretty damn nasty although I did take a wonderfully fufilling Puerto Rican shower at Heathrow airport ala McDonald's on the U.S.A. trek). Now you all may be asking yourselves why I wouldn't check any baggage. Let me tell you friends, checked baggage is just another way to fuck your traveling up. When my flight from Paris got cancelled, I needed to be nimble since I wasn't sure what flight I was going to end up on. Had I checked a suitcase, I may not have been able to get it onto the new flight. Another important travel technique is to create a suitable sleeping environment. For instance, it is really hard to sleep on a plane sometimes so you must find other ways. I slept in the back of my bus on the way to Stansted airport. I also slept at Stansted. When I refer to "slept", I am actually referring to "the greyhound haze", a term I coined way back Freshman year when I traveled 72 hours on a greyhound.


When we finally arrived at our hotel in Sorrento, I went onto our seaview terrace that overlooked the Mediterranean and the atrocious schedule I just went through was more than worth it. Actually...getting laid for the first time in 8 weeks was worth it as well but I don't want to sound too masagonistic. Anyways, I shall post Pisa asap. Hope y'all had a good spring break/another meaningless week.

Jackie Treehorn treats objects like women, man!

"And a good day to you sir!"
"Is this your homework Larry?"
"You see what happens Larry? You see what happens when you fuck a stranger in the ass!?"

have a nice day

Hey y'all, just got back from the dirty south. Actually Florida, but close enough. By far, the word of the trip to Daytona beach was sketchy, replacing debauchery. Although much of what I did and saw was pretty clearly debaucherous, the city itself had just an overall sketchy feel about it. Where Mike Y was correct in his assessment that debauchery is an experiance or something like a know-it-in-your-gut feeling, so too is sketchyness. For instance, Florida's water is sketchy rather than debaucherous of course. The motel with the sign hanging in various pieces from the crumbling facade which read "The Beautiful Beachside Ocean Inn" is quite sketchy. I met one person named Sketchy Lisa and another named Sketchy Ben. I'm not joking. And they weren't together either. I'm basically a walking zombie right now - with a considerable tan of course - so I'm gonna pass out for like a day and get back to you guys (feels good to say that again) on this one tomorrow.

This is a brief synopsis of a conversation I had with someone this weekend:

Me: "So what kind of music are you into?"

Him: "Uhh..... I don't know, different stuff."

Me: "Like what for example?"

Him: "I like a lot of 80's music I guess."

Me: "So like what bands are you listening to?"

Him: "Uhh... I don't know, I like a bunch of older punk music."

By this point I realize that this guy is a total herb and probably rarely listens to music, choosing rather to spend his time programming, which in fact is what he does for a living. However I continue to probe in order to reach some conclusion about his musical taste.

Me: "Like the Clash, Sex Pistols, that kind of thing?"

Him: (aside to his girlfriend) "What bands do I like listen to?"

Her: "Rancid, NOFX, the Sex Pistols......" (she mentions a couple other that I don't remember)

Now I am really perplexed. Is this guy retarded to the point that he doesn't even know what he listens to, or does he just listen to his girlfriends' music, never having aquired his own affection for music? The latter is quite disturbing to me, the thought that there are people out there that are not into music! I am also astonished that this squirrelly fellow has a girlfriend. Now I am fed up and decide to pound the rest of my beer just to give myself an excuse to leave the conversation, but before I can exit he adds one further detail.

Him: "Oh, you know what are great?"

Me: "No, what?"

Him: "They have these compilation discs called Punk-o-rama, they have about fifteen to twenty songs from various artists, and they only cost like 10 bucks. They've made twelve of them now, I got em all, they're awesome!"

Me: "Wow, thats cool, I need another beer, excuse me."

So with that said I left to replenish my beverage, now being able to say that I've met one of those imbeciles that buy those stupid fucking compilations they sell on televsion. Whenever I talk with someone like that I swear I can feel myself getting stupidider.

As of 3/14/05

Hot

1 - Chilling the fuck out - Replacing 2004 staple of Settling the fuck down as preferred method of mood control
2 - The Kills - What is it about 2 piece faux blues bands that really get me going (I'm looking at you, The Black Keys and The White Stripes)
3 - Summer for The OC - Both witty and attainably hot, edging out Marissa with her scandalous lesbian relationship with Alex fading fast
4 - Terrance Roberts - Insertion into starting lineup has added much needed hustle and offensive rebounding
5 - New Orleans Thieves - Stevy was right, although I hate to admit it. My initial loss is turning into a massive gain, as I have recently purchased a sweetass camera, with laptop and Ipod purchases looming in the near future


Cold

1 - NCAA Selection committee - Syracuse a 4 Seed? Possible Vermont-Michigan St-Duke-UNC-Illinois road to the National Championship? I would like to see the supply of drugs they had when determining that an acceptable seeding for the Big East Champions
2 - Waterbeds - Lack of back support and disorienting water flowage makes for an uncomfortable sleep
3 - Ryan from The OC - The nice guy from the wrong side of the tracks needs to add a third face to his repertoire; expanding on both the sad face and the hurt face
4 - JJ Redick - Is there any player in the country easier to hate? Nope, didn't think so
5 - Nubuk Leather- I have managed to ruin two pairs of Pumas already this winter because of the fragility of this specific type of suede leather

Top 5
1. atheism
2. nihilism
3. existentialism
4. utilitariamism
5. anarchism

Bottom 5
1. naziism
2. sadism
3.masochism
4.creationism
5.alcoholism (depending on how you look at it)

Many of you are now entering that annual celebration known as spring break and heading off to exotic lands to ingest your fair share of unalduterated fun, which so many of you have suddenly found it entertaining to call debauchery! I wish you all a grand time and may all your debaucherous dreams come true. I on the other hand happen to attend the only college in the fucking country that has their spring break at the end of April, I guess I'll be missing the party. No! Fuck that! I am not going to let that stop me! I have decided to book myself a trip to the epitome of spring extravaganzas, Cancun! Once there I will drown myself in tequila, chasing it with Corona cerveza, and take to the beach, where I will consummate the debauchery by masturbating to my hearts content in front of the bewildered locals!

HOT

1) Having personal access to state of the art recording equipment and software
2) Being single in NYC (estimated female population= 4 million)
3) Not having a job!


COLD

1) Lack of L-Train service to Brooklyn
2) Being called obsessively by your ex
3) Knowing inevitably that you will have to get a job

This past weekend marked the end of my short-lived relationship with a foriegner. Keeping with the theme, she was the one terminated, not me, so do not feel bad or express pity over the situation. Although I enjoyed the time spent with her, I ultimately came to the reckoning that she is a bitch, obsessively pessimistic, and perhaps a pathological liar. Enough about my reasoning, that is not the true topic of this blog. I would rather discuss the etiquette one should adhere to during a break-up when they are fulfilling the role of the terminator.


MY GUIDE TO THE WORLD OF "BREAKING-UP"**

The Terminator:

1) Do not be overly-sensitive to the others feelings, unless you want, and think, you can be friends. If you do not want to be friends this will only make the process harder. It will install an impression upon the victim that there is still a chance of working things out.

2) A subsidiary of rule#1: Have a few drinks before the execution: this will make it easier to say what you really think, and doing so will prove beyond a reasonable doubt to the victim that the relationship is over.

3) Have the execution at their place or, if you have not been seeing them that long, over the phone. This will prevent making a scene in public and allow you to leave the situation anytime you feel necessary. Also, if you have possesions at their place that you intend to keep, this is the perfect time to take them back in order to avoid an awkard meeting later on.

4) DO NOT FEEL GUILTY, it is your life. It is your right to see whomever you want. If breaking-up is what you want to do then that is all there is to it. Do not patronize yourself for doing something that was in your best interest. Do not feel that it is your mission to turn this person into a better human being, you do not owe anyone that responsibility except your children.

5) There is no need to justify your reasoning to the victim. You know why your terminating them and thats enough.... besides they will never be able see themselves as you do, and if perchance they can, well better luck to them next time.

6) Do not believe them when they tell you they will change, most likely they will not, and isn't it the point to find someone you love for who they actually are?

7) DO NOT HAVE SEX WITH THEM or show them any affection. This will make it harder for them to get over you and is simply selfish and cruel.

8) If you have truly made up your mind: Do not let them talk you out of it, do not be a pussy.


** I am in no way the most insightful or experienced individual concerning the topic. These are merely some basic guidlines that I feel can be helpful to others. These guidelines are not numbered in order of importance, and they do not necessarily pertain to every situation and circumstance. Feel free to interpret them as you may.

This stuff isn't necessarily new, but here's what I'm listening to and really enjoying.

Stuff I can't get enough of:
Six Organs of Admittance - School of the Flower
Iron & Wine - Woman King EP
RJD2 - Deadringer
Jolie Holland - Encondida


Stuff I like, but in smaller bursts:
M83 - Before the Dawn Heals Us
LCD Soundsystem
Leonard Cohen - Dear Heather This album is really wierd and I like it, although not as much as Songs from a Room, which is one of my favs.

I'm thinking about getting an iPod but the thought makes me a little ill. Maybe I'll get the small one and just hawk it on ebay after a little while...

It's been about a month since we made our pilgrimage to the land of debauchery, otherwise known as New Orleans, and at this point I think sufficient time has passed to reflect on the trip. Of course these memories will be brief and scattered because that's what happens when one submits oneself to hardcore debauchery and hardcore ingestion of alcohol. But here goes:

I now know the exact mixology of a Hurricane, and have drank so many to know that Hurricane mix is able to tint urine a sundownish color of red. I know that when you eat crawfish, you should call them mudbugs, and that if you don't suck the head you'll be looked down upon by the natives. I know they call em mud bugs because they live in the mud, which is everywhere in New Orleans because I also know that the average altitude is ten ft. below sea level. I know that the city of New Orleans judges the economic impact of Mardi Gras by gather all the garbage which and weighing it over a period of about three weeks. I know that taxi drivers can teach you all sorts of useful informations. I know that every night the average height of garbage in the streets in 4.2 inches -- high enough to make a drunken walk home at 5am seem like a trek through quicksand. I know that the ensignia on the Saints helmet, which symbol is found everywhere down there, is known as the Flor de Lis (or something French) and was adopted from a royal family. I know what gumbo and jumalaya is and what it tastes like, and that it isn't really that good even if it sounds exotic and enticing to Northerners. I know that a Po' Boy is just another name for a sub, particularly one that comes on French bread, and that the name was adopted because some guy used to make sandwitched for poor workers, and that again, even though the name sounds cool, I haven't eaten one that tastes one tenth as good as a Wegman's sub. I know what 6 pounds of beads feel like around your neck. I know how it feels to be hit with a caroming necklace of beads in the back of the head and neck (thanks Y), and also know how good it feels to whip a set of beads as hard as one can at an unsuspecting balcony patron and hit said patron in the face. I've seen people hawking copious quantities of beer and mixed drinks out of recepticles that you might think twice about booting in if it came down to it. I've seen port-o-potties overflowing with human excriment as you pee in them, and have thought it rather assinign that you can't just piss in the street because of this. I've had infinite brain freezes because everything tastes better in the form of cold slush. I know that "trim" is slang for pussy, as I was told I'd see a shitload of trim. I know that the dude who informed me of this was not exactly a liar. I know his wife was pretty hot too. I know that six straight days of the heaviest drinking you can imagine really takes it out of you. I know that after six of these days, you don't really mind crashes for a few hours, six people in a room big enough for 1 and a half. I know that Y has a pair of white bower briefs that will be forever red. I know you shouldn't bring valuables to the land of debauchery. I know you should carry your wallet in your front pocket, stick together, stay away from alleys, and never piss in the street. I know that prolonged exposure to debauchery makes you snap out of sleep every five minutes, which becomes really annoying and also makes you think you might be dying. I know I knew a lot more before my brain cells up and left, and I know I'll think of a lot more stuff like in the form of acid-flashback-like memories. But if I know anything, I know you should visit.

If I'm not mistaken, a member of this blog, one Stevy V, will be traveling to Europe in a day or two. It is my understanding that the level of dificulty of this particular trip will require abilities as a traveler which borderline on superhuman. On this adventure Stevy V, in order to be successful, must swing across vines, walk over the heads of aligators, and avoid hidden traps and of course the natives. Er...that's Pitfall I think. Anyway, the journey will be suspenseful and epic, and would probably make for great reality TV. Let's just say Wilder wouldn't be able to make it, but, with Stevy's sharp analytical skills, years of traveling experiance, and overall expertise in the field, he is no Wilder. I have every confidence that he'll make it in one piece: he'll walk up to Laney's door with only one backpack cause he's a light traveler, a copy of the US Taxmaster's guide under his arm (reading material), and say "No big deal. It's only an ocean, right?"

As for me, I'll be going to Florida Thursday morning. Really early. You know what the sun's all about when it hasn't even risen yet. I'll be thinking about the sun as I embark on my journey, which does not exist on the same scale as V's by the way, and when I get off the plane I'll have a whole week of warmth. I just know it. I'll be tanning on the beach with some fresh squeezed Heinekens. Man I like Heineken. Don't you guys like Heineken?

So have a good break if it applies to you, and I'll see most of you when I get back to the Cuse next Thursday.

"Whereas without batting an eye a man will refer to his 'dick' or his 'rod' or his 'Johnson'."

What up! Feast your eyes on the newest fuckin blogger to hit the bloggin scene. I haven't heard much about this till just recently and it is some cool-ass shit. So I may be postin frequently. But until then...Rock the Fuck on!

"And what do they got, Dude? My dirty undies. My fucking whites--Say, where is the car?"

No line on Saturday.....Shomer Shabbas.

Yellow Tail Shiraz....makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside

Cuse. Are you in da fucking house or not. Make up your minds. There are 16 minutes left in the game and if you're not going to be in the house, I don't think I can watch you lose another one to UConn. I just can't. Cuse, you are making my stomach hurt. I'm hovering over the toilet but nothing comes out. I'm pacing back and Forth, wringing my sweaty hands, pulling my greasy hair. If only you would make a three point basket, Cuse. If only you could convert, just once. I yell "One Time!" but to no avail. Why, Cuse, year after year, do you treat me this way? What have I done to you? I open up to you and you shut me out, Cuse! Why!? Why can't you just be straight with me, just once! At least tell me what's going on. That's the least you can do. Leaving a person hanging by a thin rope, a rope not even thick enough to hang himself by the neck, it worse than anything. Death is better than this living hell. Oh, Cuse. Please! Are you in or out? In da house or out of the fucking house. Please, Cuse, come back into the house. For my sake. For our sake...

Well, well...my very first bloggage! And what not better blog to join than one that quotes the state of israel!! rock on mike y!

I don't have anything incredibly cool to say yet....but don't worry.

I'm leaving for London in 5 days!

peace out boozebags

New tunes today...well, these songs arent exactly new, but I enjoy them so you should too..

Ambulance Ltd - Primitive

Ambulance Ltd has had the shit hyped out of them so far this year, and this track shows why. Good little bit of indie rock that isnt going to set the world on fire with originality but its so well done that I dont care. I think the disc came out at the start of Ferbruary, but I could be wrong

Mirah - Cold Cold Water

Mirah put this song out I think in 2001 on her Advisory Commitee disc, which is solid, but not as good as her new one Cmon Miracle. Mirah is famous for, among other things, her bisexuality, her stance against Israel and looking surpringly like Trents girlfriend. She also writes some sick tunes, and Cold Cold Water is probably her best. I would describe it either as epic of cinematic, depending on my mood. And in a good way, cause usually I hate those types of songs. Enjoy

Mike Y

Best:
1. Listen to "Sunday Morning" by the VU.
2. Take a huge smash.
3. Take a 45 minute shower.
4. Go back to sleep.
5. Drink a pot of coffee, eat a huge breakfast, then masturbate to broadband porn.

Worst:
1. Boot.
2. Clean your apartment.
3. Homework.
4. Wake up next to someone of the oposite sex who is, to put it nicely, revolting.
5. Find out that said revolting (put nicely) person burned you. I can't imagine how bad that would be.

So my head looks like a peach and I went to the library last night to explore the role of behavioral finance in market crashes and upon my exit at 11:30 get interrogated by a librarian. There I was fumbling with my massive MP3 player when the smurking old bat comes up to me and asks how I left the library.

"Through the exit" I replied caustically.
"Really? You know what, come with me." said the bat.
"What?!? I'm not going anywhere. What's this about?"
"I saw you go through the entrance when you left instead of the exit. Let me see your SU id!"
"I left through the exit! That guy over there checked me and my books out!"
I then proceeded to take out my Id and shove it in her mug.
"This is because of my shaved head isn't it?!?!"
"No...a person that looked like you exited through the entrance. I'm sorry"
"I'm a senior you know. I swear, I'm an academic."
"Sorry again." she replied obviously put out by my hostile attitude.
"Yeah. Take it easy and have a good night."

As I walked out, I thought to myself "Out the entrance? I never go in through the 'exit only' holes nor do I exit the 'enter only's." But then I thought, "damn I'm a prick. Why did I just get so pissed at this lady? I'm not a fucking academic. I'm just a punk college student like everyone else." I thought about going to apologize and I realized that I have a shaved head, all black on and Nietzsche's seminal work "Beyond Good and Evil" in my bag and I said fugit....Friedrich would be proud.

"Hot damn, I'm throwin' rocks tonight. Mark it, Dude."

I've seen a lot of movies. I've seen good stuff, bad stuff, and stuff that is a disgrace to the medium. I've seen mainstream and I've seen the cream of the esoteric crop. I've spet countless hours watching movies on my own and studying them in school. I also like to write. The films which usually move me to an emotional response worth writing about are either those which are magnificently good or those which are toxically bad. I figure I'll probably share some of my thoughts about movies whenever I feeled compelled to do so since it's good practice for me. Such reviews will fluctuate, I'm sure, between mainstream and films that are impossible to get ahold of, or see in a theater in da cuse. Sorry. This first review is longer and geared more toward the semi-pro forum because I actually just did it for a class. I guess it's a good starting point because I think this film is the worst of the worst while I'm sure some of you love it. Plus it uses a made up form of the word "debauchery," which is currently on Mike Y's hot list, in the first sentence. So here's my Napoleon Dynamite review:

I’ve never had sex with a prostitute. The whole business, besides being debaucherous to the max, runs on the erroneous notion that the service offered makes one feel better about oneself. I’ve been told, though, that in reality, when time’s up and the pants are zipped, the person just feels that much more frustrated, lonely, and empty. Plus you could get a disease. In many ways the cinema provides a similar service, albeit a far less sensual one. I’m pretty sure I didn’t catch anything besides wafts of buttery breath between stifled yawns from the popcorn-munchers seated around me, but Jared Hess’ first feature film, Napoleon Dynamite, certainly did make me feel a little empty and used.
Movies are an emotional ride, probably more so than any other medium. Somewhere between the exciting voyeuristic experience of the dark theater and the unconscious swapping of one’s own personal emotional state for that which is projected on screen lies a complex system of which we can say, if nothing more, that it keeps people coming back despite jacked up ticket prices. Of course not only does this idea of cinematic pleasure break down if the subject matter is stale in theme or presentation, but especially in the case of Napoleon Dynomite, when the film is completely devoid of emotion in the first place
The film’s title character (calling him the “hero” would be a gross misapplication of the word) is a high school-age kid who lives on a farm in Idaho with his quad-riding, llama-owning, swinger of a grandmother, and his older brother, a sickly-looking dweebish fellow who spends two to four hours daily in online chat rooms “chatting with babes.” And Napoleon, vaguely reminiscent of a two-toed sloth, is that guy from your high school who you and your friends used to make fun of in secret and then scold each other for doing so, because these jokes would send you screaming into Hell about as fast as tripping a disabled “sprinter” mid-race in the Special Olympics. Except in this film, not only do Napoleon’s peers berate him unapologetically, but also slam his skull against the unforgiving metal of locker doors, and smush his stash of lunchroom tater-tots on reserve in the cargo pocket of his sweatpants. Napoleon’s uncle Rico, perhaps the funniest main character (and maybe the only well-developed character in the film) soon swaps maternal roles with the grandmother after she beefs it performing a Knievel-like stunt in the sand dunes. Rico is reliving his 1982 high school football championship loss, which would have been achieved, he’s sure, if coach had put him in fourth quarter. He sells Tupperware, herbal breast enhancers, and constantly examines his biceps when his elbows rest on the table. The film follows Napoleon and his friend Pedro, an almost insultingly Latino stereotype, through a few sunny high school days.
In and of itself, this selection of characters could make for a powerhouse of a comedy, or a tragedy – most likely a black comedy. But something went wrong. The dream team got on stage, but instead of performing like a synchronous, well-directed squad, they looked unsure and lazy, like my grandmother on Valium. Except for snippets sidesplitting dialogue and outrageous performances by minor sub-characters, like the cool guy in high school whose only purpose seems to be to makes the exaggerated faces cool people make. In other words, about eight of the films eighty two minutes are hard-hitting fun, while the rest is literally retarded. Why?
Let’s go back to character development for a minute. It is completely impossible to know what to make of any scene – should I laugh? cry? – because the viewer is never given any clue to what’s going on in any character’s head, especially Napoleon’s. Many critics have compared this film to Todd Solondz’s Welcome to the Dollhouse (1995), a brilliant black comedy that works because we know protagonist Dawn Wiener’s feelings. For instance, she hates her family because they shit unduly on her, and we sympathize with her, but we also laugh at the specific ways the shit is dealt out, and the ways she takes the shit. However, since Hess bars us from knowing what percentage of a brain Napoleon actually has, and how he actually feels about everything around him, and whether or not his futile attempts at retaliation are admirable like a wounded hero, or pitiful like a wounded fish, it is impossible to feel anything but indifference – the worst of all cinematic emotions. Hess never once makes it clear what he’s trying to do, which is fine if you’re Kubrick filming a philosophic meditation like 2001, but not fine if you’re a first-time filmmaker doing a comedy. First you think maybe Napoleon actually has a little something upstairs and that his rebellion against the grain of cliquey high school society and politics is some sort of over-arching statement against how irrelevant that part of life is. But then it seems like this slice of Idaho is like an exploited freak-show. Obviously, then, we are supposed to feel sympathy for these characters, except there isn’t the slightest hint of sympathy for the perpetual sadness of their plights. I was so confused and frustrated that, other than these emotions, I didn’t feel much of anything at all.
So what we have is a hit-or-miss attempt to be as funny as possible without anything to back it up. Fact: the pale white brother gets turned into a gangster by his African-American internet love interest from Detroit. Fact: Uncle Rico, who we love to hate, gets turned into a punching bag trying to sell herbal breast enlargement to the wife of an ultimate fighting champion (Diedrich Bader, whose earlier cameo is hilarious, by the way). Fact: You can’t find a weirder character than Napoleon, and I’d like to meet the guy in real life. Unfortunate Fact: I am relying as heavily on the word “fact” as Napoleon does on the exclamation “Gosh!” which gets old quick. I imagine all this was the brainstorm of Hess and his friends as they sat around nostalgically saying “remember when we used to do this!” Granted, there memories were a little stranger than mine, and the tilt they gave them was nice and extreme. The substance, however, was simply lacking, and I found myself wishing this was a Saturday Night Live skit rather than a feature film.

Fat, white, wanna be puerto rican sluts suck. So last night around 1am I'm surfing the net about to go to bed. I get an IM from a friend who has two girls coming over and needs someone to entertain the friend. This late at night I had conceded the fact that I wasn’t getting any today and this perked me right up. OK, to be fair the prospect of getting laid that day was never in the cards. Anyway, I throw some clothes on and head over. I figured that if the girl was at least interesting to talk to, I would be willing to occupy her for a time. And depending on looks make a move at it. I arrived and met the two girls my friend brought home/picked up off the street/or however else you get 2 random girls into your house. Right away I smirked and introduced myself to them. Immediately noticed was the large girl in the red windbreaker with her back to me. No matter how interesting she may be there's no way I'm hooking up with her, I thought to myself. She looked like she wanted to be Puerto Rican. Her skin was the color of a bad tan and she wore semi-large round gold earrings the size and shape of a Cadillac’s hood ornament, only with a cursive word scrawled across it. The charm on one of her many gold necklaces was written in the same script that remains ever elusive to my eyes. It was probably some Spanish gibberish, or her name or something gay like that. Oh god, was she not only not attractive she was ghetto too. I prayed not to be left alone with her.

The other girl was a very pretty girl with a tight body. Her hair was light to dark brown and wavy. She stood less that 5 ft high. She was well dressed in jeans and a knit shirt. She had a cute smile too so the night wouldn’t be a total loss. But something was wrong with her. I looked at her a while before I realized what was putting me off about her. She stood up and all of a sudden I hit a time warp. She looked just like an ex-girlfriend. And not just a little bit. I'm talking height, weight, face, body, eyes. Everything except the hair was darker. It freaked me out. I immediately hated/loved/wanted to fuck the shit out of this girl.

During the night several interesting facts came to light. The most shocking was that the “Puerto Rican” had sex with fifteen guys! First this statement set off my bullshit detector, but I thought that since she's fat she probably needs to be slutty. Then she mentions how she was involved in a threesome. I can barely wrap my head around the idea of her having normal fat-sex, but now she had multiple partners simultaneously. When pressed further it was revealed that was she not only in one threesome but she's had two! By now I'm falling out of my chair. Apparently the adventures were with an extra guy for one and girl for the other. There are so many thing inherently wrong about this I can't even begin to articulate them. While on the same topic of threesomes the doppelganger chimes in that she too has had threesomes. ThreesomeS. Plural. Hers too were with same and opposite sex partners. She explained that they happened in the moment, but really how many random threesome opportunities are out there for one person? When I asked if she's ever had anal sex she told me with a straight face she loves it. not all the time, but she loves it. At this point in the evening I'm having aneurisms and flopping around on the floor.

At around 3 someone says we should smoke a blunt. (OK, it was me). So we end up leaving Pinegate N around at 3am. Me and my friend are in the back seat smoking since the two girls, who were previously gung-ho about smoking, decided not to. Good, I didn’t want to share with Fatzilla anyway. After the bowl is all gone I look up to see where we are and the road sign says, Midler 1 Mile. What the fuck you stupid slut, why are we way the fuck out at the blvd? We turned the car around and the driver (who happened to be the ghetto slut) takes a tape (yea, those things before cd’s even though the car is a 2001) and puts it in the deck. What blares forth should have been considered a crime. Spanish rap that repeated phrases like “I want some gasoline”, “I need some gasoline”, and “I have some gasoline”. One song even featured Li’l Jon. There are crimes against humanity every day that go by unnoticed. By now, I was trying to calculate how long it would take me to walk to my car if I bailed out. After heading in the other direction for what seemed like forever I noticed that we were now at the auburn exit of 690. You stupid whore you said you knew where you were going. By now I really gotta piss and am seriously contemplating using the bottle by my feet and leaving the cap fashioned un-securely. You may be thinking why I didn’t speak up when our exits went by. Well, I was too busy grilling the cute one about more sexual endeavors and contemplating what type of life I lead where on a Wednesday night at 330 I'm driving around listening to Spanish rap with a fat ugly girl and my ex’s twin. Sometimes I wonder if the life I lead is even real.
I guess the moral or lesson or whatever is that pretty girls should only have pretty friends. They dont need to be stellar, just not horrendously ugly. If the "Puerto Rican" was replaced by somebody of moderate beauty and intelligence the entire night would have been much better. And theres no doubt that at least my friend would have been laid.

P.S. Did I mention these girls were 18?

Hot
1. Hand Moisturizer - Nothing feels better on winter scarred hands than Gold Bond Ultimate Healing Skin Therapy Lotion. 7 intesive moisturizers!
2. Putting your shoes over a heat vent for a night - Damn it feels good to put your feet in warm shoes.
3. Skipping a week of class - Want an excuse? Because you can.

Cold
1. Shaving your head with a 0 - What?1?!? I said a 1 not a 0! My head looks like a fucking cue ball!
2. Spring - Where the shit are you?
3. Calling Mike Y. Dyke - All traditions must come to an end. I shall now refer to him simply as Y.

I don't know how often I'll be posting good tunes, so far so good but who knows. Unless I can find some space to upload songs to, then we have some pretty slim pickins as to what I can find out there that isnt total shit. Anyways, now to the good stuff

Iron and Wine - Woman King

This song is sick...fresh of his new EP he really released last week or something. Its been awhile since he did all his lo fi stuff, and when he decided to actually record in a studio, he made a smart move by picking Brian Deck to produce, the man behind, among others, Califone. The drums fit in well, really driving the song. He must have done some crazy micing on the drums cause they sound really spacious, if that is the right word. Tie it up with a typical Iron and Wine guitar riff and his amazing voice, and you have some new hotness...

Lemon Jelly - The Staunton Lick

Moving on...Ive been getting into more of the electronic stuff latley...and its hard to wade through all the half cooked trash that is lying around out there, but here is a good track. Lemon Jelly do alot of downtempo type stuff, but what I really like about them is the they dont forget that melody is an important element for good songs, which alot of other people seem to forget. The track starts off with a little instructional intro, then pops in with uptempo bass line and some nicely layed guitar strumming and some horn. Reminds me a little of mid 90s britpop a la the Stone Roses or maybe Blur... good stuff

"Also, Dude, 'Chinaman' is not the preferred nomenclature. 'Asian-American', please."

Hot:
1. 750 ml bottles of red wine - tasty!
2. Wegman's at 2a.m. - Nothing helps me meditate on the singularity of the universe and my place in it like an empty grocery store. Check it out some time.
3. Anything Celluloid - Seriously, how good is film?

Cold:
1. Hangovers - self explanitory
2. Hilary Swank - This woman is about as talanted as cottage cheese yet somehow has two Oscars sitting on her mantle. Go figure. To me she'll always be Steve's girlfriend Carly from 90210. I never really liked Carly.
3. (Tie) Buffalo, NY and STDs. - This is a tough one....

Current Hotness
- Debauchery
- Liquied Lunches and or Dinners (if applicable)
- Parkers Mom

Current Coldness
- Marlboro Seventy-Twos (Midget Cigs)
- 8:30 classes
- Syracuse

For music today, I decided to put out a little Four Tet. I've been talking about them for awhile, and latley I've become completley obssessed. The track is called No More Mosquitos. This song isnt really the best showcase for Four Tet, mainly cause cause it has words (3!), but its a real bitch trying to find a spot to upload songs too. The track has got a real thick, elastic bass groove, which isnt really typical of their stuff, but it does have a few subtle fingerpicky type swells that add a lot of depth. Basically it rocks my face. Enjoy

PS - I somehow schemed a Teach For America interview, which makes me smile on both the outside and the inside

Mike

So I'm in Best Buy today for no other reason than to kill some time. Apparently Wal-Mart's two-day photo processing is more like 3 and a half days (drop off Sunday morning, get back Wednesday after 5). If you're wondering, I usually avoid Wal-Mart like the plague, but their photo processing is so goddamn cheap, plus the place is like on my way to class. So Best Buy - quite possibly my favorite place ever - is around the corner from the devil's store. I'm fondling a copy of this one video game I really want, but alas, cannot afford while trying to figure out whether or not I truly want to waste a whole hour before my pics are done. So I'm admiring this one game where you move around in the first person and blow people's heads off with massive guns that may or may not even exist. Only later did it occur to me that the violent nature of this video game could have possibly been the main reason why dude sidled up to me and said "hey man!" I was so captivated by the aura of the game that I didn't recognize dude was addressing me, but he greeted me again and this time I heard it. I look over and there's this spiffy-looking Marine asking me "Do you go to ECC (Erie Community College)?" "Uh, no" I said honestly about a quarter offended. "I go to UB." "Oh really" he persisted, "what do you study there?" "English!" I claimed in the most decidedly liberal voice I could muster. "Oh" he said a little disheartened. "Well good luck with that." Thanks" I said, and scurried to the other side of the rack.
Why did this Marine choose to solicit me? I don't look intimidating, mean, strong -- really, I look nothing like I'd have any interest in killing innocent people at all. I don't take orders very well either. Did he profile me by the stealth-ops killing game a was drooling over? Maybe, but was this why I was so pissed off? Because one facet of my quiet geekiness makes me a target? I don't think so. I left the store in a hurry - fuck the film, I said - and the whole drive home I thought about why I was so mad that I was mildly solicited to join Uncle Sam's club. I almost got into three accidents (don't think and drive!) but I might have figured out why. 1) This guy was gunning for me because some one told him to go out and look for virile young men buying violent video games. It’s like prostitutes going for losers because they’re the easiest prey. 2) That such an order, to me, feels like it comes straight from Bush, and is therefore almost like Bush asking me directly. I don't want Bush to ask me anything. 3) After I walked away I wanted badly to have gotten in some sort of conversation that went something like "No thanks, I don't want to A) die B) kill other people, and C) perform actions A and B for no good reason at all," then he would say "It's for their freedom and ours" and I would say "Yeah! Keep Dreaming Bozo!" and just go super-liberal on him even though I am not actually that liberal, and can’t really complain about living in America. 4) And I know going after community college students yields more positive results than pursuing a conversation with a UB English major, but it also makes me feel like the subtext is that CC students are more expendable, which is sick. 5) My visit to Best Buy was now completely fucked. I couldn't even bring myself to peruse the DVD section, which I swear has never happened to me before. 5.1) Best Buy has lost my nod as “Best Store Ever” because in the back of my mind I will always feel like they were in on it, even though I highly doubt they endorse autonomous solicitation on their premises.
On the upside, if he wasn't stalking the video game section it means the gym has been working for me and I probably have a good war-face if I ever need to use it.
On the downside, I have to think about going back to Wal-Mart for another full day.

HI everyone. This is weird.
xoxo- Katie

"Obviously, you're not a golfer."

I usually read this site for the witty film crit. of Mike D'Angelo (et al), but some of the articles are fucking hilarious. There is a monthly column called "I did it for science" and this month's issue is worth checking out: http://www.nerve.com/regulars/ididitforscience/revjen/002/
It's about a blowjob class. I'm not all that keen on most of this online mag's writing because reading about other people's sexual endevours isn't really my thing, but the AV lounge has some cool interviews, film/book reviews, and there is some sweet photography also, however, in order to see most of the photos you have to pay a monthly charge. Monthly charges are not cool.

So we have entered the age of blogging and all is good in the world. I think it is only right that we as a new formed blogging republic pay homage to the duck, stuckwith that is. For those of you that have yet to be enlightened, type stuckwiththeduck.com into your address bar and reap the benefits of gen x sarcasm in its finest form. I want to make it clear however that we are not an impersonation of the duck. We are not as I have been trying for years to prove merely offshoots of an older generation. No my friends, when they were playing Atari, we were still throwing tantrums over that last piece of chocolate. When they watched 90210, we watched Punky Brewster (although some of us would later become enthralled with 90' i.e. me). When they were pounding beast, we were smoking pot. The duckees cannot possibly understand the joy of befriending on facebook or the intricasies of a well placed IM. Don't get me wrong, we love our brethren at the Duck but........basically.....If you will it, it is no dream. Cheers to a long and glorious age of blogging and may our reign be long and prosperous! Let it flow everyone...let it flow.

Well, friends, it's finally come down to blogging. Now we have another sinkhole for our valuable time besides Facebook. Just kidding: Facebook sucks and blogging rules! At least writing is constructive, and let it be known that I for one am exciting to start blogging the absolute shit out of all of you, and hope to take a few severe bloggings in return. I'll post some relevant and not-so-relevant stuff a little later, but for now I just wanted to extend salutations to everyone. Who the hell is in this group anyway?

Im just randomly posting now cause I want to see what it looks like....here is a good article I found by Hunter S. written in 1965, entitled Motorcycle Gangs: Losers and Outsiders

Good Shit. RIP

See, look how easy that was....now, check out this dude's voice... one of those amazing, multi octave voices that come around every 3 million people or so. Antony and the Johnson's is the band, the name of the track is Hope There's Someone. Apparently this guy is a Lou Reed protege as well. Solid stuff, my mom even likes it...

Yes I do realize this soung is a touch, well, pussy. It could very well be destined for background music duing the OC, especially when Summer and Cohen get it on hot and sweet next episode, but dammit, his voice is the shit, alot like Jeff Buckley... plus, the piano crecendo at the end saves it from being too sappy I feel

-Mike