pressure fluctuations worth listening to

If you haven't heard yet, Mp3 blogs are the surest way to hear the best in up and coming music that will one day become so big that you will be given license to turn a 180 and curse the band for cheating on you with multiple other fans. Millions maybe.

Yes, kids just like us (living pay check to pay check, and spending more money on cover charges and PBR's than food), except they live somewhere where shit actually happens. Shit that matters. Shit that one day could show up staring you in the face on the cover of PEOPLE magazine, while you count change for that six pack of PBR in the grocery store checkout line. These kids lace up their social representatives to fight their way through the sea of pretentiousness and deprecating image. They wage through all of this to get their hands on the latest demo tapes and 7", and share them with the rest of the world. Or, some just make you feel dumb for not being in the "know".

My thesaurus fell apart, I'm done.

So, by now there are a lot more blogs than two years ago, and even some of the old ones seem to be dropping in quality. This lack of Quality Control seems to be fueled more my numbers game, than a rise in blogs. Everyone has to get out the next big song, has to get the most page hits, has to be the first to mention Kanye sampled a Daft Punk song (and how great that song was 8 years ago, and how you were still listening to N'Sync 8 years ago).

Said the Gramophone, sorry, but I haven't visited you in months. We've just grown apart. It's not you, it's me.

No, I'm not going to just date Scissor Kick! We're just hanging out, and besides it wouldn't be none of your business, nohow. Fine, fine! You want the truth? I've been seeing Scissor Kick behind your back this whole time!

Why? Well Scissor Kick knows how to find real music worth my time, and only posts every week or two. You, you post every day! It's mostly boring dribble, and if you haven't noticed, I don't even pay attention to it anymore. That's right, it's bullshit!

When you get done packing my stuff, you can drop it off at Scissor Kick's house.

I know shit about music, and will only say "music is my life" when it alone is paying all my bills.

The Science of Sleep... and passive aggressive douche bags

I'm late.

Yes I was sleeping in, and decided to watch cartoons the day Science of Sleep made it's mark on the Indie film puddle. Full of clever music and people speaking French, they're just missing their bandannas (berets are not cool... for now). I'm not going to travel further down that route.

I must admit the director's interpretation of the dream world, and it's sometimes minor, sometime quixotic take on life's daily events was fantastic. The stop-motion FX using real materials, rather than CGI, gave the sequences even more authentic weight on the mind. The acting was great, all around. The leads were very convincingly awkward. That Gael Garcia fella plays one fine art geek, Stephane.

But Stephane himself, I cannot stand!

He shot himself in the foot so many times, right up till the end, that he shouldn't have been able to walk up those damn apartment stairs. First acting all cute and shy, then saying something stupid (like penis), then crying in the corner, then blaming the girl for not loving him for being a douche bag, and then that he wouldn't be a douche bag if only she loved him.

Then being so present in the current argument, that he falls asleep!

The movie was pretty much full of fuck ups, who I both loathe and scorn. The ManPig who really does believe "pussy is pussy", which he's obdurately been telling himself after being burned by too many real women in his 20's. The "hotter" of the two female friends, whose personality is so artificial the FDA will soon be demanding her type be removed from your daily diet. She is so unsure of herself, that she will lie about her job, and spray foot powder on your broken hand instead of just saying, "dude, I'm so sorry, we're outta broken hand cream!". Then there's the Mother who lies to her son about a shitty production artist job in order to bring her baby back home. Then again, mom knows best, and this kid still isn't ready to make it in the big world.

The only sane rational person in the film is the girl herself. About the only thing she did wrong was not bring the hammer down when she caught the dude breaking into her house. "But he was bringing her horsie to life. It's cute!" Bullshit. It wasn't really cute earlier when the dude was sniffing through your panty drawer, and pissing in your apple juice.

Creep FLAG. It only takes one.

One could say that the acting was so good, that the characters were played so well, that they hit the nail on the head.

That just takes the fun outta this rant. And either way, I won't sit through it again.

I'm gonna make a paper boat outta my ass.

What if...

What if the planet stopped rotating?

Somehow, say the core of the planet just froze in place, but the rest of the matter on this planet were still full of it's original kinetic energy. What would happen?

Would everything on the surface of the earth fly east? Would I be flung into my cubical wall? Would my office building pull up from the foundation? Would cars, buses, people, cats, dogs, trash cans, squirrels, and loose change go flying across the land? Would the oceans wash over half, or the entire continent?

Would the earth rip itself apart?

Sometimes...

I flush the toilet before I'm completely done peeing. Then I race the flush cycle.

Sometimes I win.
Sometimes...

Check your blind spot!

Now I'm not going to claim that driving a motorcycle makes you a better driver.
I still drive my truck like a mad-man in the city, and like grandma on the highway, but when you are on two wheels, you're only option is defensive driving. Period (in case you missed that dot after driving)

It seems that almost every trip with my bike involves avoiding some sort of hazard. Cell phone drivers, placid pedestrians, dumb dogs, tar snakes. But the other day I was coming home from work, cruising down Campus Dr, when all of a sudden the woman driving parallel to me starts veering into MY FUCKING LANE!

The only offense I had was my horn, and I wailed on that sucker like my life, no, my life DID depend on it! I hugged the shoulder of the road and let off the throttle to let her pass. She raised her hand near the rear-view mirror as if to say "whoops, my bad!" and kept on her path into my lane. Never did she swerve back to her side, or give any indication of a quick correcting reaction to my horn. I had no side arm, but boy did I shoot her the bird, and I was doing it as hard as I can!

It just happened that she was taking damn near the same path home as I. All the way to Willy. Maybe she had this thought: "Maybe that graphic designer, weighing 140 lbs. and wearing glasses, is just the one 140 lbs. glasses wearing graphic designer who isn't going to stand for my careless driving any longer? He's still fallowing me. OH GOD, he's still there, right behind me! What is he going to do? WHAT?"

I'll Ctrl+Z yo' ass

Socks like buttah'

A sock is a sock, right? Well sure they come in different colors and lengths, but they're still just a piece of textile that covers one's feet while stuffed in a shoe... right? I used to feel this way. I pretty much had a bunch of white and black socks of varying lenghts for different shoe/pants situations, and a few dress socks. After a few would get holes in them, they were cast aside and replaced with a new "bag" of Hanes premium socks, "Now a 7th pair absolutley free!".

I must now say that I've changed my simple foot cap dogma. One day I found myself before a wall of designer socks, and I'm now a total convert. I asked why anyone would pay more for 3 pairs of socks than they could get for 6 (7th pair free, while supplies last)? Then, the socks touched me. Well I touched them, but it was still a moving experience. I discovered "microfiber", or at least that is what Calvin Klien calls it. It's like a silky smooth layer of butter, without all the grease stains and saturated fat, for your feet. I'm sick of having to take my shoes off at work because my poor dogs get all stuffy. My feet want to breath, they want to feel free, they have rights too ya know.

My little toes were debating the purchase, arguing over monetary cost vs. daily comfort. Then the Big Toe silenced them all, for he was the biggest and sweat the most. It was settled, I decided it was an investment in quality product and superior comfort. My Big Toe agreed.

As we speak my feet are cool and comfortable in a pair of full leather Born shoes (I know, I know, if I can shell out for Born shoes, I shouldn't be wearing cheap Hanes socks in them) and they are breathing fine. How do they do it? I don't know. They still make them in Korea, or some other Asian country where other cheap crap is made. Maybe they are just made by only the finest Koreans... who still can't afford even Hanes socks.

Girls, be creamy.

Just when the internet seems to have run out of possibilities to waste your day, something like Engrish.com comes your way.

If you have a problem with wasting your life on a social networking site, then let this be your time wasting savior.

Not feel well. Get drunk.

TURBONEGRO must be destroyed!

Mark your calendars:

Turbonegro
High Noon Saloon
September 17th

I never really thought I would see the day. This might end up bumping someone off my top 5 concerts of all time.

Look at that High-brid go!

In celebration of Independence day, and the freedoms our forefathers fought for, Al Gore's son, Al Gore III, decided to take a cruise on the San Diego Freeway at 2am... at 100mph!

The Orange County Sheriff's department decided to pull him over to have a word with him, only to smell marijuana pouring out of the windows. A quick search revealed some weed, along with Valium, Vicadin, Xanax, and Adderall. What he didn't seem to have was a prescription for any of these drugs.

Now I really don't care too much about him being arrested for the second time in four years for possession. That doesn't impress me. What really impressed me, was the fact that the car he was speeding over 100mph in, was a Toyota Prius!! Now that's impressive.

What kind of MPG do you have at that speed?

Seriously?

On riding bikes and misguided authority.

It was a sunny and calm day in North Park. We gathered at the favorite of the local watering holes. We came together at the one bar with the Outside, the big windows, great tap selection, and Billiards. The drinks glistened in our glasses as the felt of the pool tables beckoned a grassy, tempting, fading blue-green. We played leisurely as a friend of my friend regaled me with his tale.

He is tall, this friend-of-a-friend, at least six-foot-four. He has bright eyes, an enthusiastic manner, and a scarecrow frame. He wears his straight corn-silk hair to his chin. His bearing screams Nordic, and his demeanor confirms it. He is also very good at telling stories.

He was riding his bicycle home one evening before dusk, when, in the middle of a large Avenue, he was “pulled over” by a policeman in a motor vehicle: a police car to be exact. He asked the officer, just to be sure, that he really was being pulled over. He: on a bicycle, the officer: in a car. It was true. And so this friend of my friend acquiesced and slowed to a stop, setting his left foot down onto the ground to balance himself. He didn’t get off of the bicycle.

The officer got out of the car (side note: is it illegal to get off one’s bike in this situation, I have to wonder?) and approached this tall jovial man riding his bicycle home to his family: laden with fresh produce and a crisp baguette. The officer cited a lack of lights; the man countered, “it is not yet dark, sir.” It didn’t seem to matter. The officer threatened to write him a ticket for having no additional light on the front of his bike. All he had was the stock reflectors. This friend of my friend was having trouble understanding how this was really that big of a deal and trying to reason his way out of this ridiculous and expensive situation. His cell phone rang in his pocket. He grabbed it and saw that it was his wife. He turned it on and held it to his ear.

“Put your hands in the air right now!” he heard the officer shout at the same time that he heard the loud click of a hammer sliding into place and saw the policeman shift a small heavy handgun into his sights and set it on him.

“it’s just my cell phone!” the friend of my friend shouted, “my wife!” as he dropped the phone on the pavement; his wife on the other side, listening. He raised his hands straight into the air and left them there. Cars and pedestrians milled about. The officer looked mighty stupid.

The officer offered no apology; said nothing and did not move for a full minute after he slowly lowered his gun. The friend of my friend, who, I was starting to realize, almost just got shot by one jackass, trigger-happy, half-wit numb-nuts with a government issued weapon, just stood there terrified and dumbfounded. He turned to the officer and told him that he had made a huge mistake; that he would no longer – ever – trust a police officer again. He took his badge number and name and complained to the department, vehemently. I don’t know what’s happening to the officer. This is just a hearsay retell, but I hope his dangerous most-likely hopped-up self got fired but quick.

That’s some crazy sh*t, man.

So. . .A few days back (a few days after I heard this story), I bought two lights for my bike because of what happened to him. I knew that with the weather getting warmer and my favorite hang-out still being in north park, that I would be riding my bike a lot and most likely at night. I didn’t want to get pulled over by some poop-for-brains because I wasn’t fully compliant. So I went to the store (not my favorite; unfortunately they were closed because the husband half of the couple that owns the place got in a motorcycle accident and broke his scapula. He’s a motorcycle policeman, but he wasn’t on duty at the time. I just at this very second realized how ironic it is, within the confines of these stories, that he is a cop. I hadn’t even thought about it. Weird).

I bought two lights: the front light is white and the back one is red. I keep the front one on solid and blinkity-blink the back one, alerting all would-be death machines to take note and avoid running into me. I rode home tonight at night for the first time in a long, long time. It’s my favorite time to be on a bicycle. I really like riding over the canyon. The big slow dip to the middle and then the gradual climb that makes me work a little bit. It’s better when there are no cars. I feel safer and I can ride with the wind in my face and my thoughts running astray. With my thin zip-up hoodie, tonight my temperature was golden. Sometimes riding a bike; like swinging on a swing or swimming in rivers and oceans; makes me feel like a little kid again. When I rejoice in the pure feeling of wind in my face or the gentle resistance of water against my palm. Maybe this is what I’m truly seeking. . .(we’ll save that tangent for later. . .)

I was riding up a gradual incline towards the last leg to home; loving the feeling of nighttime riding like I haven’t felt it in a long time. (Madison this is a shout-out to you!), my head was tilted back and mouth opened wide to take in the sky flowering trees tinted amber from the streetlights.

I pedaled hard and heard the plane long before I saw it. I heard it come up on me like the huge metal beast it was, slow and steady and single-minded. I looked up as it apexed above me, flying in the exact direction I was pedaling. I couldn’t tell what airline it was from but I knew I wanted to race it.

I could see the jet streams leaving the engines as the orange and blue plane screamed overhead. I lost it far before I had gone half a block, but I had fun romanticizing the plane all the same, pedaling hard as my legs would suffer, feeling the wind in my hair and the noise of the roaring engine fill my soul; I wanted to be flying. I raced and chased that plane and then looked straight ahead at the T- intersection stop sign super-fast approaching and the police car waiting patiently to my left, its driver looking straight at me. I skidded to a stop right at the stop sign and waited a full three seconds there as I let him go first. My heart was pounding. He looked me over carefully, surveying the scene.

To this minute I thank my little white light for saving me from the terrible fate of my friend’s friend. That police officer looked at me and kept on driving. He knew I wasn’t into any trouble. I am in compliance with the bicycle laws of the road! I rode all the way home, carried my bicycle upstairs, and all is well in the neighborhood.

[Moral of this story: Who is policing the police?]

Crustacean Records Showcase at the Inferno

Last Friday night at the Inferno was the first of two Crustacean Records showcase shows. The Gusto lit the floor on fire with some very tight Punk Rock which had me itching to start shoving those few who were around me. Screamin' Cyn Cyn as always brought the party and plenty of wonderful costumes to gawk at. Drunk Drivers lived up the their name by drinking, a lot! They played an extremely long set, which I really enjoyed for the first half. Then either I was tired from a week of staying out late, they were too drunk, or they were playing old material, but I was starting to loose interest. I took a gamble and bought their latest CD the next day at B-side and it really was worth the risk. I recommend you check them out online.

Here are some vids that I shot with my moderately aging digital camera.

The Gusto




Screamin' Cyn Cyn and the Pons - Jimmy & Darlene




Drunk Drivers - Get Ahead

Cause beer just makes laundry that much easier!

So last Monday I was starting to run drastically low on socks and underwear. We’re talking on the verge of wardrobe recycling. I am a guy, but I still have a hard time putting on socks that still hold the shape of my foot a week ago.

I don’t want to do laundry. I never want to do laundry. I’d rather shit pennies and make change for $5, than sit in the hot Laundromat folding clothes that are just going to be unfolded and hung up when I get home. I really don’t know why, but it’s like pulling teeth for me. Good thing it’s trumped by my disdain for “man-stink” on my person.

Maybe Sconnie can help me. Yes, yes! $1.50 PBR’s at The Plaza!

I sweet-talked my roommate with the words “$1.50 PBR” and she was convinced instantly.

The plan was simple: I load the truck with our laundry and my bike. She rides her bike to Laundry 101 where we meet up. We start our laundry and then bike to The Plaza.

The Plaza was sort of dead, but it was 8pm on a Monday. The PBR’s were cold, refreshing, and plentiful. We downed two each before heading back to dry our clothes.

We found some dryers that still worked. *Seriously, why is Laundry 101 going ghetto? I still go there because there is a lot of young beautiful people who do their laundry and no homeless people trying to steal your underwear, but why do half the machines not work? I pay a premium price for a premium laundry facility, why can’t they repair their shit? So, rant aside, we got the threads spinning and hit the bikes back to the bar.

They had switched the TV to Futurama when we returned and commenced to drink again. It was after my third PDR that I realized the sign for the special read:

PBR 1 for $1.50 or 3 for $5

It even took me a second to do the math, or maybe the PBR was trying to do the calculation. “WAIT A MINUTE!” I thought, you sneaky bastards.

We ordered a large fries, which cost $1.25. It wasn’t heaping, but still a fair amount for the price. They were pretty tasty, and much better than the wavy fries I used to live on at the Paradise.

Beer number 5 down, and our laundry sitting still getting wrinkly, we hit the bikes back to 101. Folding, the most cursed part of laundry was not so bad after 5 beers. I can’t say the same for the quality of my folds.

Google Maps just ignores the Mexicans

Is it just me, or did Mexico disappear?

Lately I've been fascinated by my friend's road trip through Mexico to Guatemala. Day dreaming the day away, I decided to cruise the world vicariously through Google Maps and trace the path down to Guatemala.

I'm scrolling down the west coast, imagining the warm air rushing past me and my Honda, as I cruise through San Diego and approach the Mexican border. Then, suddenly the road is gone and I'm driving on dirt into a baren land, devoid of any cities, villages, or infrastructure of any kind. I feel like I'm Mad Max, and I have no idea where to find more gas.

My phone rings, and I'm back at my bland desk, surrounded by bland cubical walls, under bland fluorescent light.

"Where the hell is Mexico?", I ask myself as my phone keeps pleading for my attention. There is the placeholder for Mexico, but nothing is in it. No roads, no towns, not even Mexico City. I scroll farther past the baron digital land mass, only to find more placeholders for Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Panama. It's not until I'm deep in the jungles of South America before I discover that Brazil has a highway system, and towns and cities. But it seems that only Brazil has any cities in South America!

Did I miss something here, or was Brazil the only one who slept with Google in order to appear on the maps?

Maybe it's different on Google Earth, which I cannot use at work. I've done some searching, but I can't find any articles about this apparent "lack" of information. Drop a comment if anyone knows what's behind this stink.

Extreme "LOADED" Makeover!

Oh Ty Pennington. It sure must be hard walking in your shoes. You help so many people. You take those families who are down on their luck and you wave your magical hammer, POOF a brand new house! Entire neighborhoods cheer you on as the family cries and everyone gets hugs, even the three legged dog "Hobbles". They cheer you on, that is, until they get their new property tax evaluation.

You don't want to raise the neighborhoods taxes, you just want to help out those in need. Maybe, if you help real hard, someone might try and help you.

What about Ty?
What about his feelings?
Whose gonna worry about him?

Ole' mister liquor worries about you.
He can help you out, just look for the answers in the bottom of the bottle.

Those lousy cops who booked you don't care.
They only care about the community that you were drunk driving in.

Not you.
You're just a case number and a finger print to them.

It's okay Ty.
I know you can build a bigger house next episode.

Leather & Lace 05/05/07

Saturday night everyone let their freak out. Art students, sales reps, baristas, accountants, and janitors. They all reveled in their wild side and fed on the crowds energy while dancing with reckless abandon.

Here are some shots from the night and some old and new friends.

Inhibitions left at home, along with our 9-5 clothes. No popped collars, no VIP lines, no dress code, no pretension.

Just fun.

Jesus has returned, so you claim

Dr. Jose Luis De Jesus Miranda, 61, filled an amphitheater in Orlando, FL on Saturday claiming to be Jesus reincarnated.

Apparently "Jesus" was born in Puerto Rico and is a recovering heroin addict who has spent time in prison for drug and theft charges.

Well, I guess the old Jesus had a thing against fig trees.

Matthew 11:13 And seeing a fig tree afar off having leaves, he came, if haply he might find any thing thereon: and when he came to it, he found nothing but leaves; for the time of figs was not yet. 11:14 And Jesus answered and said unto it, No man eat fruit of thee hereafter for ever. And his disciples heard it. ---------- 11:20 And in the morning, as they passed by, they saw the fig tree dried up from the roots.

The strange part is that all of "Jesus'" followers have 666 tattooed on their hands! Call me ignorant, but Hollywood has spent many a years teaching me that 666 was the number of the Beast. And a bad way to fill a plot hole.

Pale Young Gentlemen

If you have not seen them yet, then you must soon.

It was a warm Tuesday night at Cafe Montmartre and my first taste of Pale Young Gentlemen. I must say I'm hooked. I'm not sure how to describe them, but just watch the video below for a taste.

Then go here to their MySpace page.
Add them as a friend.
Send them a comment about their awesomeness, and that Craig sent you.

They wont know who Craig is.

Neither will you.

Kid Rock! I thought he was dead?

Wasn't this over-hyped rock star buried with all the other things wrong with the 90's?

Maybe this is just proof that he is.

For all you Yahoo Mail users, you may recognize this picture from when you sign into your mail account. They use all these different stock photos of people having fun and living their life, while you sit at work, or home, hoping somebody sent you something, anything, that could brighten your day.

Yahoo mail will bring eternal happiness, and your friends to the beach. (I guess WiFi puts a hole in my cynicism)

As these pictures change throughout the day, every once in a while I come across this one. This has to be Kid Rock. Is it not?

Guess a cowboy's gotta make his pay somehow.

Wet Pants

Last night I checked out the MATC portfolio show, after splitting a pitcher of margarita with my roommate at Frida's.

Yes, Monday happy hour = 1/2 price margaritas and appetizers! (and you don't have to deal with Pedro's cliental)

Storm clouds were looming outside and lighting was flashing from across the lake. I decided it would be best to get home now, before having to ride my motorcycle in the rain.

Too late.

It's pretty exciting, and not always in the good way, to ride in the rain. It was a cold April shower, and my balls felt as if they were on ice. Everything was slick, and I tried my best to take things slow, but that didn't stop a fishtail on the downshift. That is when your adrenal gland reminds you that you're still alive, but not for long if you're not careful. I held my shit and pulled out of it okay. The rest of the drive was an extra 5mph slower.

Both balls made it home safe.

FINALLY a way to use and share camera phone pics

www.Radar.net

So I have a camera phone, you have a camera phone, we almost all have camera phones. I've never felt that I've fully gotten my moneys worth on this fancy phone gadget. I have a nice point & shoot, I have a nice SLR, why would I need a camera phone?

Other than taking a picture of a friend to add to their phone number so I can see their obnoxious face while they call me, I've used the lens for little else. Even when I see something cool, and I don't have my real camera on me, I still forget I have one on my camera. I've done the research, and it's a nice little 1.3 mega pixel that shoots surprisingly well. Why don't I use it?

Well the pics are stuck on my phone, that's why! I have no fancy cord to upload them to my computer, and if I did, it would seem a hassle to me anyways.

So here comes Radar.net

Go to their page, sign up for free, and they give you a unique email address that you add to your phone. Take pictures with your phone, send them to the provided address, and BAM! They post within seconds.

Now harass your friends and invite them to join another online site whose password they will forget as well. All of your friends from Radar.net can see and share pictures with you. Only your friends can see them, so the rest of the world will have no idea you just had you Steamboat Willy tattooed to the helm of your...

Well you know, check it out, sign up, add me as a friend, and start sharing the luv via 1's & 0's

The Chaos of Contraceptives

A community college was closed after officials found a mysterious package in the building.

Pandemonium ensued as classes were closed, students fled, cats chased dogs, the tap water turned red, and the Dairy Queen ran out of M&M's!

The bomb squad came in and gingerly opened the box, trying to remember if it was the red wire, or the blue wire that should be cut. What if they used green wire?!?

The box opened, and they slowly looked inside. There were no wires, no biochemicals, no swarm of locust. Just 500 condoms.

500 condoms. All that commotion for 500 condoms.

Maybe some people really should just stick to abstinence.

Half-Baked

Cruising up Highway 14 on my way back from Chicago, I began to feel my flesh boil. My left arm, slung carelessly out the window for the past two hours, was now sending a signal to my brain. NO MORE!

I found myself in a tough spot. No sunscreen. A tank-top. An hour left to drive.

I tried every twisted, contorted position, short of driving with my ass. Nothing worked. I reached my right arm across my chest to try and even the burn, no luck. I must have looked severely crippled. I had to settle for wearing just the one sleeve of my hoodie. I feel like a lobster who was only dipped halfway in the pot.

Now I sit here at work. One shoulder red. One shoulder white.

I'm still pink in the middle.

Woman uses Cancer for Cash!

Police report a woman who raked in $20,000 dollars by claiming she had liver cancer. She is now facing charges of fraud. Faking cancer makes Baby Jesus cry... and spit up a little.

When I had the C-bomb, I think I brought in about $5,000 through donations and feel sorry for me dinners. I was 15, so I could only dream of spending it on comic books and tittly-winks. Thank you mother for making me start a line of credit instead. Now I can borrow the money for $5,000 worth of comics :-)

Seriously though, we should just give this woman a Strontium-90 bagel and leave her to learn her lesson.

Ted Leo & the Pharmacists

The night I've been waiting for ever since I stumbled upon "Shake the Sheets" finally came last night. Ted Leo & the Pharamcists came back to Madison. Now I never saw them at the Rathskeller, or anywhere live for that matter. My anticipation rivaled only that of a Japanese school girl waiting for Justin Timberlake.

Love of Diagrams, who were supposed to open, pulled out at the last minute due to a band member suffering from a migrane. Ted and the gand just decided to play an extended set.

I ran into a few familiar faces, and met a couple new ones. I met a Quaker. I must say, she was the dancinest' Quaker I've ever seen. I inquired briefly about the Quarkers and her association with them. She joined them recently on her own accord, and explained that they have little hierarchical structure with no "pastor" leading them. Instead they all sit in a circle and discuss with eachother.

My old point & shoot was giving me poor results, due in part from my floor posistion and the bland stage lighting. The Quaker (I never asked permission to share her name) and I writhed as two trees on fire in a forest that refused to burn. They seemed more enthusiastic at the end of each song, rather than losing themselves to the melodies.

They played a great helping from all of their albums, including old classics such as Biomusicology (see video below) and Timorous Me. I was surprised at some of the tracks that were missing from the set list. Most notably; Hearts of Oak (one of my favorites); Tell Balgeary, Balgury Is Dead. And from his newest album; Who do you love?; and C.I.A.

I'm not one with a professional ear, but I think they could have used a better room for sound.

I also couldn't resist being the ass in the crowd to request Kelly Clarkson. I really do love his acoustic cover of "since you've been gone". He pointed me out in the crowd and retorted with a big "NO".

I then filled my little girl fantasy and requestered their John Hancocks on one of Billy's amazing posters. Ted thanked me for being the jack ass in the crowd, otherwise it would be only him.

He's the kind of guy I wanna grow up to be :-)

WOOT OFF!

There is a Woot-Off today.

Head over and refresh regularly. Right now there is a Left handed putter up for sale :-/ a real "Woot-killer".

God bless crap that is so cheap you wouldn't normally buy it.

Losing the BUZZ

We're losing the buzz in this country, and even though it has been in the back of the papers, I don't think most Americans know/care about it.

Bees. The bees have gone AWOL.

Reports all across the nation show that our bee colonies are disappearing. The bees fly out to the fields, and just never come back.

Maybe the workers finally realized that the Queen is really their "slave" and the revolution has been televised. No more working for the Man, I mean Woman, and now it's time for them to go out and live their own lives. I can see them now, hopping trains, hitching rides on the interstate with their little bee back-packs, seeing all this country has to offer.

The sober reality is they all just starve to death without the colony. When the bees die, the crops don't get pollinated and our food supply decreases. According to this NY-Times article, the damn Agriculture Department has no real grasp on the problem due to horrible record keeping of bee colonies.

More articles:
Here, and Here.

Start filling the bomb shelter with honey. It will be the new liquid gold.

(art by Frank Stockton)

Health Care hardships

I went to the immediate care center today because my doctor has been playing telephone tag with me and her schedule doesn't work towards my convenience. It should.

At the registration desk I was informed my co-pay was $50.

$50!

It used to be $30 last year, and now it's $50. WTF as the kids would say. I declared they would rue the day they raised my premium. Mark my words. I stormed out.

I then went to Target and spent $100 on new clothes.

God Bless America

Buy stuff/crap you don't need for cheap!

Woot: One Day, One Deal

Woot is one of those site that you only have to look at once a day. Everyday they have something for sale, for cheap. It can be anything from a laptop to a bluetooth headset to a Roomba vacuum.

Then about once a month they have a "Woot-off", in which they sell an item till it sells out, then they post a new item, and so on.

The best part is their creative writing staff who write a clever little story/description for each item.

Another useful time waster

THE BRILLIANCE
(all caps please)

Is a great site run by three guys out of Chicago. They write short little entries about whatever they feel like; fashion, tech, food, interviews, art, Triscuits.

I've met Chuck Anderson, one of the creators, and this kid (21) is a digital art prodigy. He's been freelancing since he was 18 with no college education whatsoever. He makes me green with envy :-)

No, really he is a very down to earth guy with a lot of determination.

Check it

Miss America fights crime... by pretending to be a 14 year old hussy

Miss America, Lauren Nelson, joined forces with "America's Most Wanted" to help trap online predators.

Meanwhile Tara Conner, Miss USA, is in rehab for being... a stupid hussy. I gave this girl the benefit of the doubt when Trump defended her mischievous antics. Then I saw the pictures.

No doubt about it, she's a hussy!

"America" should teach "USA" a lesson on how to wield the powers of slut-itude for the use of good... and help lock up more of our dirty old men.

Toyota tops GM in sales!

So it was announced today that Toyota has finally topped GM in first quarter sales.

It's about time.

I commend Toyota for taking their time, making dependable products, and remaining efficient. They are opening new plants in the US, while GM is closing theirs. I'm a proud Tacoma owner, which was assembled in California thank you very much.

Now excuse me while I sniff my own farts.

Testing, testing, is this thing on?

So, in order to waste more of your time online, I've decided to start a blog.

For what purpose, reason, or goal? That I do not know yet.

I plan to write about nothing... or maybe everything. I only know my goal is to keep it short and sweet. I tend to tell a long winded story, so I'll try and refrain from that here. I just want to share my 2 cents on news/movies/books/squirrels/drinking/taxes/pop-culture/gadgets/milk/weather/pirates.

Take it for what you will, but after 50 post you should have about a dollar of useless knowlege :-)