Thursday, December 20, 2007
Great Halloween costume idea: Micheal Cera as Pauly Bleeker in Juno.
Actually, I really liked how those dudes were always running through the scene. Dressing up as such and running around town would be a pretty good activity. If I had any sort of lung capacity. Or non-lazy ass friends.
My current xmas list for people with little money and vast stores of music who care about my well-being:
music: old/new wu tang, new ghostface, nas (illmatic), new Common, basshunter, beck-- midnite vultures, Kleptones, Replacements
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
man there are these two dudes I always see in my dining hall, they are like a hilarious comedy duo but in real life
Samuel H. Invisible says: (12:52:35 AM)
there is one fast talking, skinny Indian guy, and his bro is this enormous lumbering white guy with a serious brow ridge.
Samuel H. Invisible says: (12:52:47 AM)
they are like the human equivalnet of "2 stupid dogs"
josh says: (12:53:57 AM)
josh says: (12:53:59 AM)
what are their names
josh says: (12:54:04 AM)
write a pilot for their sitcom
Samuel H. Invisible says: (12:54:36 AM)
I do not know there names
josh says: (12:54:46 AM)
amil and ted
Samuel H. Invisible says: (12:54:48 AM)
and actually I am surprised that I have not made some up
Samuel H. Invisible says: (12:55:31 AM)
amil (high pitched): hey ted hey ted hey ted!
Ted (sloooowly): What, amil?
amil: burritos today, ted! Istn' that fuckin great!
josh says: (12:55:45 AM)
josh says: (12:55:54 AM)
amil is always coming up with plans to get laid
Samuel H. Invisible says: (12:55:55 AM)
Ted: I dunno, amil. Sometiems burritos give me GAS! (FARTS)
Samuel H. Invisible says: (12:56:04 AM)
and ted's always fuckin em up
josh says: (12:56:04 AM)
teds like a mamas boy
josh says: (12:56:09 AM)
josh says: (12:56:13 AM)
teds mom is always busting them
josh says: (12:56:22 AM)
like drinking budweiser in the basement or something
josh says: (12:56:23 AM)
Samuel H. Invisible says: (12:56:28 AM)
ted's last name: farley
Samuel H. Invisible says: (12:56:34 AM)
P.S.: My astronomy class, in addition to inspiring a lot of prose, has proved to be a fruitful source for "Yo Momma" jokes thanks to the Universe's abundant supply of incredibly old and massive objects.
Yo momma's so fat if she eats one more cheeseburger she’ll exceed the Chandrasekhar limit and detonate in a type 1a supernova.
Yo momma's so old her Hertzsprung-Russel diagram’s main sequence turn off occurs at the K spectral type.
Friday, December 14, 2007
This is what I discovered:
We are pleased to inform you November, 2007 of the result of the winners ofthe UK NATIONAL LOTTERY ONLINE PROMO PROGRAMME, held on the 26th of November,2007.
You have therefore been approved to claim a Lump sum pay out of £1,000 000 (One Million Pounds Sterling) in cash credited to file XYL/26510460037/06.
Which means you are one of the winners of the Uk Online National Lottery.To file for your claim, please contact our claims agent;
Mr. Pinkett Griffin
Provide him with the information below:
8.Country Of Residence:
Congratulations once more from all members and staff of this program.
Sincerely, Mrs. Rose Wood
UK NATIONAL LOTTERY.
Honestly, Mrs. Rose Wood, they couldn't think of a better fake name than that. Were they starring at the hardwood floor when they came up with that beauty. The pricks couldn't even get the adress firstname.lastname@example.org they needed to add 30 to the end it. The really sad thing is some poor chap is probably gonna fall for this. But I wouldn't really feel sorry for him, if you're dumb enough to actually send your personal information to "Mrs. Rose Wood", you deserve to have your identity stolen. I wonder what Everett True would do to these bastards if he got one of these emails. My bet is he'd give them all a hearty whack in the gut with his umbrella in response to the email, and then throw them all off of a train for the way they spelled "programme".
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Man, I could spend a lot of money at Fleet Farm. It truly is, as its promotional socks proclaim, the "Man's Mall."
I wish I could somehow use the power of the hater to praise something instead of hating on it. Let's get some scientists working on this, immediately, chop chop, let's go! If this theoretical "anti-hate" is developed sometime in the foreseeable future, I would apply it to Fleet Farm first. Then to the meal of breakfast. Then to pugs. No, wait, pugs in silly hats. Then pugs.
P.S.: What is the funnier way for my dad to accidentally combine facebook and myspace?
My vote is for #2.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
The latest Historical Hater is a little bit of a departure from Messrs Douglass and Diogenes, but he's such a hardcore hatin' SOB that I'm willing to bend the rules slightly.
His name is Everett True, and while he's not historical in the sense of being an actual person, he is from HISTORY; more specifically, from around the turn of the century. Around 1906, a couple of dudes named A.D. Condo and J.W. Raper were apparently just so towering pissed off about all the irritating people in the world that they created Mr. True, a ludicrously fat asshole with a bowler, an umbrella, and a fucking temper, and gave him his own comic strip, The Outbursts of Everett True.
He's like the embodiment of this blog. This intro page could be a damn mission statement for the Hater's Ball.
The comic strip's structure is simplicity itself, 2 panels of pain which efficiently distribute the two requirements of any hate-on:
1. The hate-worthy action (Everett gets pissed)
2. The hating (Everett lays down the law)
Everett True does not take shit. He dishes it out, most often in the form of a savage beating, often involving his umbrella. He hates without prejudice or concern for authority, brutalizing (or at least threatening) cops and priests just as easily as perverts and inconsiderate assholes. Hardcore.
From time to time, especially when dealing with pests who happen to be of the feminine persuasion, Everett will exercise some restraint, merely humiliating his victims, or causing them extreme emotional pain, without actually beating them to a pulp.
We may not always be familiar with the specific problems Everett seeks to solve with his cartoonishly large fists (I hadn't even heard of Roosevelt's reformed spelling before this strip, or had problems with a sleeping car hog), but I think we all know what he's feeling, and we support his willingness to take action while we merely draw comics, or, say, write blog posts.
I thought it would be fun to look over past gripes we've had on this blog and ask, What Would Everett True Do?
My "Cool Side of the Pillow" problem: Throw the entire staff into a gutter, then destroy their printing press
Bundy's Amtrak problems: Administer a brutal beatdown to the entire Amtrak system, trains and all, with his umbrella
Tirth's arrogant UC Berkeley problem: Toss them out of a window, saying "Think you're the only university in California, eh? Well let's see if you can fly, hot-shots!"
The whole world's Tom Brady problem: Straight up mutilate him
Understand, I'm not advocating violence as a solution to all your problems. I'm just saying that if we were all a bit more assertive like Everett True, the world would be a better place
Friday, December 7, 2007
I've forgotten far more than I've remembered, but the largest section I remember took place in Minneapolis, in a dream version of 1708 Como. I showed up and Sam and Josh looked like they were up to something. I asked Josh what was up, and he told me that they were going to be interviewing some chicks to be Sam's new girlfriend (apparently dream-Sam was single).
Anyways, I laughed at that and asked them where they were going to conduct the interview. They conducted me into a room which does not exist in the real 1708 Como, an enormous unfinished space just off the living room, with filthy concrete floors and beams sticking out everywhere and carpet mats and shitty chairs all over the place. Kind of like my basement, except bigger and on the ground floor.
I cackled and cackled at the idea, and said "You'd better be interviewing them next to some huge hole in the floor!" Sam directed my attention to the far corner of the room, where a beat up table and some chairs were set up next to a gaping hole in the concrete. I laughed some more and helped them move some tables together.
At this point, Zack Norlin showed up with two girls in cocktail dresses and my cousins' Marble Maze set. Now for those who don't know, Zack Norlin is a gangly tool from Missy Ho, and Marble Maze is an awesome game where you build a race course for marbles out of these plastic tube things, then race marbles down it. I could only find this picture, so you'll have to imagine a much larger, more complex set.
As far as I could tell, the interview was going to consist of seeing which girl could build the best marble maze, which in dream-logic seemed like a pretty good criterion for being Sam's girlfriend. The girls didn't do much though. It was all Norlin, and he fucked it up pretty badly. You see, marble maze depends upon gravity, so it takes some planning to make a course that will function and a structure that will support your course, all with a limited number of pieces. Norlin just slapped it all together and it failed, spilling marbles all over the greasy mat of carpet.
Other tidbits of dream:
1. I was with my mother, examining some very strange looking dogs. They were about pug-sized and jet black, but they were clearly young puppies. We wondered what kind of dog would have such big puppies. An adult version then showed up, as if in reply to our question. It was a huge, black, rough-cut kind of dog, unlike any I've seen before. Kind of like Richard Walker's enormous German Shorthair that I met in like 5th grade, but bigger, thicker, and blacker.
2. At my cousins' house, Amelia was doing the dishes and Sam (Cohoes, my cousin) was working on something in the living room. He quoted some line and we all laughed. I walked into the kitchen and went for the cookie jar in the pantry. It was full of these things that looked like fig newtons, but instead of figs they had meat inside of them. They were yummy. I walked into the back porch and saw that my mother was walking the enormous black dog towards the house. Otto was sitting on top of the washing machine and wanted to get really excited, but I calmed him down.
1. I am excited to see my friends and family. And Zack Norlin.
2. Marble Maze is sweet.
3. I was kind of hungry when I went to bed.
4. The dog was a grim and I am in mortal peril.
5. Salami Newtons are going to be the next big thing in snackable food items this holiday season.
P.S.: I am working on a groundbreaking kind of hater post. Probably publish tomorrow, depending upon how, you know, "papers" for "classes" for "grades" progress today.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Just got the email from the goddamn literary magazine.
The winner of the naming contest is...The Cool Side Of The Pillow.
I shit you not. The Cool Side Of The Pillow.
The Cool Side Of The Motherfucking Pillow.
I don't know if I can, in good conscience, work for a publication with such a stupid fucking name. I don't think I can even write for them. I'd rather leave essays under rocks around town than have them published under that idiotic piece of shit name.
Salt in the wound: I was foolish enough to mention a passing willingness to work on advertising in my application, so I am now Advertising Manager for this shit-rag. I think I may have to resign that particular position because I cannot stand our fucking name, and I think our ads might have to include it. And I am not, I repeat, I am not going to tape a single goddamned flier to a single goddamn wall. I also do not plan to spend my time begging local businesses to by ads in a magazine with such a bad name.
ON THE OTHER HAND, I could abuse my position and sabotage the magazine like a straight gangster. Just have some very neat-looking ads that fail to mention who we are or what we do. Also, destroy our printing press.
Fucking A. I should just start my own fucking magazine. I'll call it Pug Fancy. Gonna be great.
My main problem now is that I don't have Revenge of the Sith here at school, so the full post cannot be completed until sometime after my winter break starts...which is in about 6 days. Yes, friends and readers, thanks to a combination of Northwestern's wacky quarters system and a lucky draw on my finals schedule, I will be taking the train back to the MPLS on Monday, December 10th.
I would like to spend a few days in the Cities, righting wrongs and spinning plates, but I worry that with all the U of M kids busy studying for finals they will not be ready to host a guest. Any thoughts on this, children of the Twin Towns? And Josh, "I won't be studying for my finals anyways" is not a valid response.
I have papers to write, so I will leave you with this little tidbit, found last night in the library:
I can't say for sure what was going on here. I can only hope that some poor senior was struggling to decide which school to go to for graduate work and decided to simply apply some formal logic to the situation.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
In my search for a sign for my door and a grip exerciser, I have come across that most excellent of Internet phenomena, the insane niche culture: groups of geographically disparate people who use the Internet to discuss and intensify their personal obsessions. These people used to collect the items of their choice and sit in the basement with them after work, counting and cataloging. Now they go on the online and chat for hours with fellow enthusiasts, create websites devoted to their common interests, and so on and so forth.
In my role as casual shopper I did not delve too deeply into these little subcultures, but what I did encounter was highly entertaining.
1. The sign
I am now thinking that a neon sign will be too expensive and clunky to be practical. I am now looking for a simple OCCUPIED-type sign, with the words printed onto some translucent plastic with a bulb mounted behind it. At first, however, I was thinking neon would be the way to go, so I asked Google for some information, and of course the Internet was happy to oblige. If I were to purchase a neon sign, it would be from this guy. He is just so devoted to neon signage. He believes in it with all his heart. Check the quote:
High impact, eye catching, real glass tube neon sign. This characteristic glow can attract customers like nothing else, virtually burning your identity into the minds of potential and future customers. Neon signs can be left on 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year...for decades. There is no light form in existence that has the visual impact of neon.
(I realize this is a company, not necessarily driven by one man. I just prefer to think of it as one man's dream.)
If his business has an actual physical location, I’ll bet he’s got an awesome neon sign for his neon sign store.
2. The grip exerciser
An Amazon search revealed there to be three basic categories of grip exercisers:
A: the crappy, overpriced little plastic toy/rubber squeeze ball you'd expect to find at Sharper Image, for yuppies who are tired of having their tennis rackets slip out of their hands after 2 martinis.
B: the New-Age feel-good weak-ass gripper with pleasing plastic contours and comfort-gel grips and inspirational messages printed on the side, designed for neo-hippies who had to get hand surgery after snapping a tendon in a disastrous bicycle collision (probably while high on illegal drugs) at a jam-band music festival, and who now need to do 10,000 reps at 3 pounds of resistance in order to get back their previous Wet Noodle grip strength.
C: The he-man woman-hater’s steak-and-potatoes gripper, made from cold-rolled steel and razor blades, for large men in trucker caps who want to be able to tear license plates in half.
Obviously I was most interested in group C. While there were several options, this line of products, from the subtly-named company Captains Of Crush, had the highest customer rating and by far the most reviews, many of which are hilarious (sample post titles: I will crush you, These babies are no joke!!, and The Ferrari of Hand Grips!!!).
This was clearly the gripper of choice for the real grip-happy subculture. I mean, check out the product description:
"Warning: Captains of Crush Grippers can be extremely addictive and the side effects of proper use include bigger forearms, a stronger grip and fewer aches and pains from the elbows to the fingertips. Captains of Crush Grippers from IronMind are known worldwide as the gold standard for building and testing grip strength. Available in ten strengths, there is a model perfect for everyone from rehab patients to World's Strongest Man winners. These are the grippers that changed the world, taking what had been a cheap, imported plaything and turning it into a serious training tool: Captains of Crush Grippers are known wherever strong men and women gather, and are used by champion athletes, elite military and public safety personnel, government leaders, CEOs, celebrities and extraordinary people of all ages, sizes and shapes. No. 1: Most people who lift weights can't close this gripper."
The company produces several models of the gripper, differentiated by difficulty, all the way up to the legendary No. 3 gripper. This particular contraption is so difficult to close even once that there is a special certification process for being able to do one rep on the No. 3. Dudes who do nothing but drive their trucks around and squeeze grip exercisers speak about the No. 3 in hushed tones. I have a feeling I could park a car on this thing and it wouldn’t budge.
Now, as much as I would love to have a “Captain of Crush” certificate to frame and hang on my wall, as I said earlier I think that I will need to physically test out my grip exerciser before I purchase it, to make sure it isn’t too difficult, or too easy, to use.
P.S.: "dialog" or "dialogue"? "catalog" or "catalogue"? I want to use the "ue" endings but firefox is telling me otherwise.