Greatest impulse buy ever?

Since Tito and I are going to see Superman Returns tomorrow, and Superman Returns supposedly picks up where Superman II leaves off, I thought it would be appropriate to watch part 2 tonight to make sure we had our bearings. Because we didn't head out until after 9, Best Buy was closed, and so Target was our only hope at making the purchase.

Target didn't have it.

All was not lost, however. I got something just a tad better, instead.





I accidentally bought a stupid wired controller as an extra instead of another wireless one, but oh well. It's still pretty fucking sweet.

Hipster Erotica

I stole this right from Stereogum, but they stole it too. It is just genius.



Corporate-Casual's crafted some lovely hipster erotica:

The other day I made my daily pilgrimage to Cup of Life, the local Free Trade coffee shop that bravely struggles to show these sheep that there are alternatives to the exploitative monster that is Starfucks. I ordered my cup of "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go Blend" Honduran Green Mountain, when I heard a familiar voice behind me. "Let me get this." A man in a baseball cap stepped forward and said, "Make that two." Oh. My. God. Sufjan Stevens just bought my coffee. I didn't know what to do. He turned and smiled at me. "Want to get a table?" he asked. "Better yet, want to go back to your place?" I was shaking as Janice, who does a pretty amazing burlesque act that totally reappropriates homonoramtive ideas about sexuality and femininty, handed me my cup of coffee and shrugged.
Sufjan Stevens and I sat on the edge of my bed and talked for hours about everything. It sounds dumb to say it, but he actually gets me. He said that I was one of the most genuine people he'd ever met, and that I was actually cool, not like one of those people who obviously wants to be cool, but who just is, like a coolness that comes from deep within and is as much a refutation of cool as an embrace of it. We held hands and talked about the future, and about how Teddy Geiger is a corporate construct, and about animatronic puppets at Disneyworld taking over the planet. Sufjan Stevens has the most amazing eyes. Then Sufjan Stevens pulled out his guitar and played a song that he'd written just for me. It was called "Amanda Knows What No One Else Knows She Has the Most Beautiful Nose! Eureeka!" When he'd finished the song he wiped a tear from the corner of my eye, and told me that my outfit was amazing. "I would never have thought to put that top with those trousers," (he used the word trousers! so cute!), "but it totally works. And I see a lot of outfits when I'm out on tour. Speaking of, would you like to go on tour with me?"

Then, slowly, Sufjan Stevens pulled down my sweat shop-free American Apparel boys' shorts and slid one, two, then three fingers into my vagina.

As you can see, it's been a busy day at the office

I can hear it now...

"Goooooooooooooooooooooooooool!! Gizmetogizmetogizmeto!!!"

The Simpsons Unplugged

This guys's guitar is fooking hideous, but holy shit, look at him go!



Sean Gordon

Get the tab! (Richard, consider this a formal challenge.)

I need this

Like, for real.

New cell phone to prevent drunk dialing

Oh, to think of the grief that this baby would've saved me during, well, just about my entire adult life.

It's sad, really

Anyone with a personal interest in small 'c' catholicism or small 'o' orthodoxy must certainly feel dismayed by the election of Katharine Jefferts Schori as Presiding Bishop-elect of the ECUSA. Not only was she "arguably the least experienced and possibly the most liberal" candidate in the pool, she is also unabashedly forthright in her heterodoxy.

Still, as the Archbishop of Canterbury has said in response to the General Convention that elected her, what is most at issue here is not women's ordination, the ordination of practicing homosexuals, the consecration of same sex unions, or any other number of fault lines that have fractured the unity of the Episcopal Church in America. Regarding the Anglican Communion as a whole,

...whatever the presenting issue, no member Church can make significant decisions unilaterally and still expect this to make no difference to how it is regarded in the fellowship; this would be uncomfortably like saying that every member could redefine the terms of belonging as and when it suited them. Some actions – and sacramental actions in particular - just do have the effect of putting a Church outside or even across the central stream of the life they have shared with other Churches...

In acting unilaterally, the leadership of ECUSA has demonstrated that it is prepared to formally institutionalize schism with the rest of its Communion. This to say nothing of the fact that a number of Asian and African provinces had already declared that they were no longer in communion with their American counterpart. I can only imagine the intense fear and heartwrenching that orthodox Episcopalians must be experiencing now, as their Church is now merely another isolated American denomination.

Archbishop Williams, again,

It is true that witness to what is passionately believed to be the truth sometimes appears a higher value than unity, and there are moving and inspiring examples in the twentieth century. If someone genuinely thinks that a move like the ordination of a practising gay bishop is that sort of thing, it is understandable that they are prepared to risk the breakage of a unity they can only see as false or corrupt. But the risk is a real one; and it is never easy to recognise when the moment of inevitable separation has arrived - to recognise that this is the issue on which you stand or fall and that this is the great issue of faithfulness to the gospel. The nature of prophetic action is that you do not have a cast-iron guarantee that you’re right.

Boy does he hit the nail on the head here.

For capital 'C' Catholics (like myself) and those of the capital 'O' Orthodox tradition, these recent happenings are especially disconcerting. The Catholic Church is ever committed to greater Christian unity, and there have long been hopes that Anglicanism would someday re-enter the greater fold of the Catholic Communion. Given the present circumstances, the prospects of that happening now appear to be slim to none.

Neuhaus, as always, says it best:

As of this week’s General Convention, however, one thing seems certain beyond doubt: The Episcopal Church in the U.S. has declared itself to be just another liberal Protestant denomination, in deliberate defiance of the Anglican Communion and in scornful indifference to a long history of hope for reconciliation with Catholicism. Yes, many, going back to John Henry Newman in the early nineteenth century, said that this would be the inevitable outcome of Anglicanism’s claim to be a “middle way” between liberalism and Catholicism, but it is nonetheless very sad to see it come to pass, and to see the self-congratulatory rejoicing of Episcopalians in celebratory assembly at the death of an honorable, if finally untenable, hope for greater Christian unity.

The gravity of the situation cannot be downplayed.

unintended self-reflexitivty in a political movie =? the ultimate irony

At some point in Syriana, it is mentioned that a preferred method of torture implemented by the Chinese against the Falun Gong is the "twisting arm and putting face in feces" technique.

After watching the movie and reading all the gushing "blood for oil" reviews, I am convinced that this is the preferred method of the schizophrenic left against the general populace as well.

!!!! Best part of the movie !!!!

Dumb

Rod Dreher and the Crunchy Cons excepted, why are the granola types always so eager to make themselves look like total retards?

Whole Foods bans sale of live lobsters.

Because a species that is less than an evolutionary hop, skip, and a jump away from its Cambrian ancestors deserves the same loving affection as, say, a newborn.

Requiem

Brian, purveyor of many a keg and sixer of Icehouse tallboys, recently struck me dumb with the news that Bongo Bar-b-q, which has always existed in my memory and on the tongues of those answering the phone there as Bongo's Bar-B-Q, would be soon closing. His explanation left much unclear in my grief-stricken mind, but the general idea was an inability to renew their lease (How could such a successful business not own?) was going to take Bongo's away from me, and I guess other people, in a matter of days. So, I humbly request a moment of silence during the death knell of an institution that supplied all I really grew to love or need in college:





As Gizmo once told me, this fine establishment was at the forefront of, if not solely responsible for, the Bill Food trend that would characterize my freshman and sophomore years. Unfortunately, the place later fell out of favor with the distinguished alumnus and almost all trips there were later done out of pocket, but as a brotherhood we continued our patronage, cursing only their decision to close on Sundays and ruin the chance for post-chapter gluttony. Though the barn half will remain open until its stores are exhausted, the restaurant will be closing within a fortnight, I believe.

If you have any, I will take requests for menu items you would have me consume in proxy during my daily, death-bed visitations. So far I have consumed two burgers (one with grilled onions) and two order of fries. If requests overwhelm me, I'll enlist Donut.

EDIT: Closing date is actually June 30th. Deluxe Brisket burrito covered. My God, was it good.

The G-Funk Era

G-Funk is pretty much my favorite genre of hip hop. Let's go over a few classics.

The Chronic (1992) - Seminal G-Funk. Sure, Dre had given us hints of what was to come while he was still in N.W.A., but the tracks on this record codified the genre. It had all the essential elements: synths, whining portamento, P-funk samples, and hedonistic-as-hell lyrics, delivered in the infamous lazy drawl.



While Dre's rap style was still a bit awkward at this point in his career ("Well I'm peepin', and I'm creepin', and I'm creep-in"?!?), his genius as a producer was nearly unparallelled. Besides, every other rapper on this album - and on the entire West Coast, for that matter - was an immediate afterthought after Snoop busted out his first "Bow wow wow, yippy yo yippy yay" on "Fuck Wit Dre Day".

The world would never be the same, as the scene was now set for...

Doggystyle (1993) - Definitive G-Funk. Snoop has become such an overblown, farcical character these days, that it really is difficult to imagine what he must have been like as a 22 year old kid recording this stuff. Never the hard-ass G of Death Row, it's as if he knew he had to put up a tough front, but still managed to play it off almost as a joke.



It's obvious to tell when Snoop is keepin' it real - classics like "Lodi Dodi" and "Ain't No Fun" flow smooth as silk and are just that: fun. And lest we forget, Dre's beats provide what can only be described as the perfect accompaniment to Snoop's laid back style. The synths are even more heavily layered, and the beats are smoothed out to perfection. Both these cats were at the very top of their games here.

Regulate... G Funk Era (1994) - Family friendly G-Funk. Dre's step-brother and Snoop's former groupmate Warren G was the heart of West Coast G-Funk, even before this album came out. He didn't care much for pimpin' bitches or cappin' niggaz; he and his buddy Nate Dogg were always happy just cruisin' in the California sunshine, passing blunts. The video for "This DJ" is telling of his sensitivity:



G benefits greatly from the contributions of Nate Dogg. Those tracks in which Nate offers backup are true standouts. Though they would ultimately go their separate ways, their collaboration on this record is great, great stuff for a non-Death Row release. (Bonus points if you know which movie the intro of "Regulate" is ripped from.)

And "Regulate", of course, was featured on the soundtrack of "Above the Rim", which starred....

All Eyez on Me (1996) - Real gangsta ass G-Funk. One of the greatest rap albums ever released, from the most compelling character in hip hop history. Obviously, the real story of this record is not G-Funk, but Pac himself.

It is the stuff of legends. In a little more than a year before the album hit shelves, he had been shot five times, was convicted of sexual assault, and spent 11 months in prison. Suge Knight bailed him out, posting a million dollar bond, under the agreement that Pac would release three records on the Death Row label. Just days after he was released from prison, he began recording. He was 24.

This is him while shooting the video for the title track.



R.I.P. Pac.

With Tupac's death and Suge Knight's legal meltdown in 1996, the G-Funk Era effectively came to a close. If we take a step back and look at it, I think it's pretty obvious that it had run a course that was only fitting for the lifestyle it glorified.

Sure, Dre really was straight out of Compton, and he had some street cred, but he was also under control. Given the subject matter, he and his immediate succesors had managed to keep the genre as light-hearted as possible. Tupac, however, was one angry G out of prison, and by the time he had permeated G-Funk with the self-destructive "thug life" philosophy, it was only a matter of time before both he and the music style were ended by the sound of gunfire.

To live and die in L.A...

I should rule the world

I've got a master plan I've been working on. It involves my course of action for revitalizing whatever company hires me as its CEO.

First, I would fire every woman over the age of 32 that is not a MILF. They are worthless, and their stupid obsession with wearing socks and tennis shoes over their hose when they have further than 100 yards to walk drives me insane. INSANE. Plus, they're annoying, and talk about lame-ass stuff like their kids and office gossip. Seriously, women are the unskilled laborers of the corporate world. Worthless.

Then who do I replace them with? Hot, young chicks fresh out of school. Preferably without boyfriends. Sure, they are probably equally worthless, but at least they might have sex with me.

That's the plan.

Also, I fell in love with a stripper.

We Are All Winners at life

Just Amazing.

Holy floodwaters, Batman

So no work today, as the access roads along the Gulf Freeway have been flooded out since the wee hours of the morn. I'm definitely not complaining.

Whilst I wait it out to see if the floodwaters are ever going to recede, I have been watching the original Batman The Movie. This movie was one of the staples of my childhood media consumption regiment, and it's really no small wonder that I hadn't bought it sooner. I've probably seen it at least 78 times.

As it is, I just got the "Holy Special Edition, Batman" version last week, and it is quite possible that it is now one of my newest prized possessions. West and Ward have a fanTASTIC commentary, tongues planted firmly in cheek throughout. For years, West has been at a Shatneresque level on my can-do-no-wrong list, and Burt Ward is a total riot.

Anyway, this is more just an update on the state of my existence than anything else.

Next up is T2. Or maybe Predator. I'm feeling some Governator.

"Richard's our leader."

Holy shit I'm still allowed to post in this thing. I had imagined my self-imposed exile would some day be made official by the Big Toony, but a tickling at my blood-brain barrier reminded me that this fucker still exists, and I should definately post in it as a show of solidarity with the resurgence in posting.

Anyways, the title refers to a quote by a freshman football player (of no note or great intellect) in my communications group and not the brothers of Nu Chapter. I'm not their leader anymore, and I like it. I'll throw out an "up top" for Giz and all former alphas. We'll see if my legacy will destroy the chapter.

So....events of note....anecdotes leading into educational linking. Ahhh-ha....the tenacity of capsaicin.

You'd think with that hydroxyl group and a carbonyl the sucker would be soluble in water, but that's just not the case. Now, I didn't even pick too potent of a pepper (a serrano) to roast and subsequently use in marinating some chicken breasts. I took my contacts out about four hours later without event so I thought myself in the clear. Morning was a real red-eyed eye-closer.

The moral of the story, for the burgeoning pepper chefs reading (I'm sure any non-pepper chefs stopped giving a shit as soon as "capsaicin" dropped into the post), is to wear gloves (best idea) or rub your hands down with some type of oil (since capsaicin is lipid soluble), wipe them with paper towel, and THEN wash your hands (maybe even repeat the oil rubdowns) to ensure pain-free corneal contact. I found other options, such as rubbing your hands down with bleach (which as a nascent doctor I can't really recommend), lemon juice, or peanut butter. Include as preliminary steps to the skeezy oily hands if you want, but the skeezy oily hands are obligatory. Count yourself enlightened.



Apologies for the rambling and uninteresting post. I'll be back with better, but until then, keep on reading the signs of my body.

You will pick up the pennies in alphabetical order!

I could watch this clip over and over, to no end. I've already seen it about 870 times, just this morning.



Then,

Pick, strum, pick, strum, pick, strum, pick, strum...

Ain't nothin' in the world that I like better than bacon and lettuce and home grown tomatoes...

Happiness

OK, this past weekend, I wept. I wept over meat. I wept over sauce. I wept over Saltlick.

I have not made it back to Austin since the big move up here, and I have missed a number of things in that time. I miss friends, I miss being barefoot. I miss football, and I miss Saltlick. So I was browsing the interweb, as I am apt to doing at work, and came accross this, mentioned on Gawker.

Once I saw that this was going on, I had to see if they would be here, the Saltlick that is. And low and behold they were. I had a little taste of home in the middle of Manhattan. It was true greatness, even though a little overpriced. Let me tell you boys, it was just like being out their in Driftwood. Throw in a keg of shiner and this guy playing guitar, and we are looking at 2003 all over again.

I promise a trip to Austin sometime, maybe not soon, but this year. I did not miss Texas until I ate this shit again.








































(this one continues a "foot in picture" motif that seems to be all the rage in blogging right now. )

Flag Day

Before Flag Day is officially over, I better hurry and post the national colors, and some of my other favorites.

The Stars and Stripes. Old Glory. [more]

The flag of Texas, the Lone Star Flag, symbolizing loyalty, strength, and bravery and serving as a constant reminder of this state's eternal greatness. [more]

The Gonzales flag, which flew over the cannon that fired the first shot of the Texas Revolution. [more]

The Standard of the Virgin of Guadalupe is lovingly considered by many to be the first Mexican flag. It was flown by Padre Hidalgo during the Grito de Dolores. V.V.M.! [more]

The Saltire, or the St. Andrew's Cross. I'm a Blackwood, for God's sake! [more]

Hooray, flags!

This post wrote itself

Rip-off

I've always been skeptical of Monster's pricing schedule for digital cables. How they justify charging $100+ more for an HDMI cable than the lowest priced Brand X counterpart has always been beyond me. So I took interest in this blurb from Gizmodo, and even more in this story from PC World that someone linked to in the comments section. Turns out that the ol' gut feeling was actually right this time: a digital cable is a digital cable is a digital cable.

Once you get a good HDMI connection, our tests indicate, you can expect flawless performance from any 4-meter cable, regardless of price... For its part, digital carries just ones and zeros. In HDMI, if the signal voltage is high, it encodes a one; if low, a zero. The voltage encoded as a one can drop a fair amount and still be distinguishable from voltage encoded as a zero. After a certain point, however, the signal voltage drops so low that ones and zeros look alike, and the TV's receiver chip attempts to guess their value. So rather than gradually diminishing in accuracy, the way an analog signal does, a digital signal may remain perfect up to a critical level and then fail catastrophically.

In other words, the only relevant metric in comparing two cables is their low-end voltage threshold (and who the hell runs 0.3 volt sources, anyway?)

I've got 2 HDMI cables right now; one came with the up-convert DVD player I bought and I ordered the other one from Newegg for 20 bucks. These guys are selling them for under $7. I'm glad I didn't fall for the lure of the Monster brand name.

Happy days

Since it's been a good while, I feel I should update you on the saga. Well, it's complete.

There's no need to detail the entire ordeal, but the plasma display is finally in my house and rocking my world. A couple shots for you....

The side view. If I remember the specs correctly, it measures about 3.5" at its widest.

And this is what I see. 50 diagonal inches of gooey gooey goo. Bonus points if you recognize the movie. Actually, if you don't recognize it, you deserve to be sodomized in an Afghani prison for the rest of your life.

Speaking of terrorists, I was about to vomit until about the 75th minute of the Mexico game. If Iran would've beaten us... I shudder to think about it. Usually I watch El Tri play on Univision, but since this year ABC/ESPN are broadcasting all the games in HD... yeah.

Today I've got a major meeting to attend at 1. The U.S. kicks off at 11. I think if I only go as far as the Hyatt to watch it during a long lunch (a block up the street), I should be able to make it back across the street, up 21 floors, and into the conference room in less than 5 minutes.

I've got this down to a science.

Back on the Wagon

Well, we show signs of life again. Play the new video of the week, for sure, I plan on making sweet love to the 18 year old lead singer this saturday when I work their show. But that is another post on another day.

THE WORLD CUP IS HERE!!!



This is so fantastic. I remember the days, watching the cup when it was played in Japan, staying up until 7 in the morning to watch the US. Greatness. I can't wait to see us play Italy, should be good times. Speaking of Italy, check out this video, supposedly a secret video of their practice. I have nothing against good "flopping" as they call it, and I am sure all teams do this drill that they are doing in the video, but it is just HILARIOUS to watch.



I plan on watching at a local Italian Bar, just so I have the chance to see some chenannigans. GQ just listed the best soccer bars in the country, so go to one of these if you are near.

Nevada Smiths - NYC
Opia - NYC
Kinvara Pub - Allston, Mass
Lucky Bar - DC
Summers Restaurant - Arlington, VA
Gingers Ale House - Chicago
Buffalo Wild Wings Grill and Bar - Ridgeland, Mississippi
Fox and Hounds Pub - Studio City, Cali
Old Kings Road - Santa Barbara, Cali
The George & Dragon Pub - Seattle

Otherwise, just go to Vince's house and watch on the new biggie. My jealousy will never cease.

Like shooting fish in a barrel...

I think I might be making another comeback. Don't hold your breath, though.

-------------------

During the transition between sweeps and summertime, the networks heavily play their programming schedules by ear, trying to figure out which filler shows attract any semblence of a viewership. I guess NBC's recurring Dateline special, "To Catch a Predator" has been doing pretty well for them, since they've been showing it every Wednesday for, what, maybe six weeks now? I think I've seen just about all of the new ones, and I've got a few thoughts.

First, in case you haven't seen it, here's the rundown. It's basically a sting operation jointly run by a group called Perverted Justice, the sheriff's department of whatever county they are in, and Chris Hansen of Dateline. Perverted Justice is a volunteer watchdog group that fishes for online sex predators. They pose as young teens in chat rooms, then see which adult takes the bait. For this operation, their ultimate goal is to get the predator to meet them at a special house where both the Dateline crew and the deputies are waiting for them. As soon as they enter the house Hansen administers a pretty standard questionnaire/lecture to the guys, and then when they walk out to leave, they are arrested and taken to away to be further interrogated.

From the highest vantage point, I question the morality of the entire operation. The ethics involved in baiting men who are obviously sick (or at the bare minimum, extremely susceptible to this sort of temptation), and luring them into situations where they eventually end up lusting after young girls is questionable at best. And I don't buy the argument that says that if it not for the decoys, these men would've found real girl to prey on. Of course there is a certain chance that something MAY have happened in the future, but come on, is that the game we want to play? Perverted justice, indeed.

What we must not forget is that this type of predation is a two way street. I think that is ultimately the message that Hanson espouses at the end of every show, but it really can't be stressed enough. Something has gone horribly wrong in the parental vigilence department when/if your 13 year old daughter is inviting guys over to your house for sloppy sex, probably on your own bed. I wish he would say it that explicitly, but instead he usually just ends up giving a heavy handed warning about the dangers of children offering too much information about themselves on the myspace.

So in the end, while these men are absolutely culpable, their indictments are unfortunate and, dare I say it, unnecessary. The buck stops at the feet of the parents, who are ultimately responsible for not only their child's welfare, but for the development of their common sense and reasoning faculties.

Time for lunch.