September 30, 2007

Let's Play 163

So with the losses to the Brewers yesterday and today, San Diego will have to go to Denver for a one-game playoff to determine which team will win the baseball NL wildcard. As a Padre fan, I am not hopeful, because the Rockies are the hottest team in baseball right now, and have beaten the Padres more this year than lost.

Starting Tomko and not Peavy was somewhat controversial today, but maybe Jake can do it. I think the Rockies will start Josh Fogg. Can the Pads still beat Colorado? Have Khalil Greene hit some humidor-powered homers in the rarified Denver air? We shall see. Either team will fly in to Philly tired, but San Diego will be on a flight out of Milwaukee to Denver tonight, and if they miraculously beat the Rockies, will jump right on another plane for Pennsylvania. Congrats to the Phils, Cubs, and Arizona. Screw the American League.

For more, see the comments at Gaslamp Ball.

UPDATE 10/1: ...and after a helluva game, Trevor Hoffman blows ANOTHER save and the Pads lose 9-8 in extra innings. Colorado just wanted it more.

See you next year.

September 24, 2007

New Mexico Democrats Beware!

The man above is your party's new Communications Director. As you can see, he clearly rocks. Be warned. Oh, and Jon, I accept bribes for keeping quiet about anything that you may or may not have been responsible for while we ran wild and crazy throughout Isla Vista. Well, mostly while you ran wild and crazy and the rest of us tried to keep up. Congratulations, my man, and buena suerte, cause you'll need it.

September 19, 2007

Shrill Dispatches From The Bent And Rusty Tubes

I think I'm going Puritan. Everywhere I look I see Degradation and Degeneracy, and a foul slippage into the primordial sludge of Apathy. Oh sure, you say, give us another laugher, Dubious One. Ah, but I insist- I haven't been only looking in the mirror this time, gang. I have been gazing out across the narrow fissure of All These Bent Tubes, and verily I say to thee it is a Waste Land, with no shining sword of justice to smite the raging masses.

Why? Hell, I don't know why. Maybe it's the extra cheese on the pizza tonight, that's all. Maybe it's the bad mood from an idyllic workday gone suddenly and irrevocably Sideways, but I doubt it. No, I think it's the whiff of Playing, of Making it, of Becoming Somebody among hordes of nameless, faceless losers who are doomed to life in pitiful anonymity. And no, of course I'm not immune. What do you think this is, anyway? A stylistic exercise? A noble experiment? A meaningful analysis of the Way Things Are?

No. It's a half-baked gonzo ripoff, and pointless to boot, but you all knew that right away anyway. I just felt like shitting on anyone with an impulse to become a Mover and Shaker in this nasty, spiteful universe of ours. Yes, wherein to become somebody, you stomp on a road of bones of nobodies, for the sake of another notch in the belt, feather in the cap, or forelock-tugging nod of approval from People Who Matter. Well fuck them, and fuck anyone who wants to impress them, for giving in to the craven and weak impulse of Belonging, of yearning for Acceptance among gangs of life-adulterating whorehoppers. They don't want You, they only want to use you, baby, and then toss you out on your ass for six months before slumming their way back again for one last screw.

It's learned behavior, I've seen and heard it a thousand times. Thought I'd be immune to its awful effects by now- thought I'd be able to turn the other cheek and immerse my face in a mask of cynical cool, but Noooooooo, my conscience still pecks at my heart like a vulture, clawing away each last grain of immunity until all I have left is a Festering Sore of Wretched Shame, pulsating with the endless beat of Guilt. Oh yes, Guilt. That nagging affliction of the coddled and pretty around the world, that embarassing rash on the body politic of Meaningful Action. Repulsive, of course, but simultaneously contagious, and near-fatal when taken with severity, or imposed by the Pious.

What? What the fuck does that even mean, Mister? Here you are jabbering about Immoral Impulses when you should be fast asleep, preparing your mind and body to get up at Oh-Shit-Thirty along with the rest of the newly-yuppified Masses. That's right, pal, no eschatological extemporization for you. You got off that bus years ago, and there won't be another one coming your way until the end- you better believe it.

I know, I know, but I can't stop. The bubbling hatred I periodically feel for the importunate few has overflown the porcelain yet again, but this time to a disturbingly toxic degree. It's everywhere, man, and the smell's starting to get to me. I don't know what else to do- my colleagues can't help me, my family just shakes their heads in sorrowful shame, and my friends have long since given up trying to deal with my intemperate impulses. What gives?

Well, yeah, I'd thought of projection, too, but really, I kicked that bastard away a long time ago, and I know his symptoms when he comes around. No, it's gotta be something worse. I've gone through the twelve steps, but I think there must be a few more corollaries in there, or maybe some footnotes that I missed, because Something is Still Wrong and I can't shake it, for the life of me. I'll have to come back to it- I have comments to respond to diaries to post and approval to seek and-

OH MY GOD. It IS me. I have been looking in the mirror this time, and there is no fucking blue pill or red pill or any kinda pill that will save me now!!! Ah, Jesus God, how long? How long will my being get sucked away by these vile Tubes, how long until they are forcibly Yanked out and life begins to gush back to me again? Who can say? Not me, and not anyone else either, for that matter. Something is still rotten in Denmark, gang, but the Danes haven't got long to figure out what it is. If Mr. Jones couldn't grok it, then flip the switch and hit the big red button, man, cause it's a mystery to all now.

Cross-posted: dkos, dd, pff.

September 17, 2007

Come On Feel The PopMart

U2's highest low point comes out on DVD tomorrow. It was the first stadium show I went to, and it was fucking glorious. All the haters can go home to Hell- PopMart walked tall and kicked ass in 1997, like nothing else except "OK Computer." Suck on that, soul-less kitsch-o-phobes. Everyone else, you are free to Shake It.



Last Night On Earth

Until The End of The World

Sunday Bloody Sunday (Edge solo)



Where the Streets Have No Name
(Adam fucks up)

Death to the No Fun Club.

"Dead Meat" + "Brick" = "Dead Brick"

Somebody mashed up Sean Lennon and one of my favorite recent movies to make this excellent little video:

September 11, 2007

Screw Bin Laden, I'm Going Shopping!

The only thing we have to fear is fear itself, and lemme tellya, I'm scared shitless that the economy will be tanking, um, soon. Sometime soon. I'm also a bit concerned that we'll be Bombing Beautiful Persia within two months. Or tomorrow. Who can say? I'm mildly worried that White Male Christian Dominionists will, in short order, be transforming our country's military into their own personal paintball game, and in the process taking over everything else with ridiculous ease. Some people tell me that I'm overrreacting, but I don't think so, dude.

I am afraid because I am told to be afraid, on this day especially above all others, the Day Of Yet Again Pissing Ourselves In Fear, but lo, I have been given the cure, and it is sweet, glorious, groovy Capitalism. As we all know, Satan gave us Capitalism so we could all dream of being as wealthy and glamorous as him, and so here we all are, forking it over, extending our credit lines and buying, buying, buying ourselves into blisssful oblivion, gleeful participants in the great game of gaining. Shopping! We're Shopping!! Well, some of us are- but surely those who are unable to participate in this most glorious of distractions secretly yearn to join the fortunate few. Surely.

Don't be scared, little American. Interest rates are...doing something, the stock market is gettin' six kinds of jiggy with it, and Britney has a saggy butt! OMG!!! And, like, even Bin Laden's gone all Just For Men on us, so really, what's to worry about? Get thee to the Mall, my little bitches, and lemme see that plastic get scanned! There are some simply unbelieveable sales going on, you know? This weekend only! Everything Must Go! Liquidation! Hurry, hurry or someone else will be Getting Your Shit, and we don't want that, we never want that, do we?

I mean, really. What's that? Hmmm? You can't go to the mall because there's no gas in the car? Are you fucking kidding me, babes? Old Navy has got some positively killer discounts going on, and you're not there yet? Listen, I don't think you're understanding the Seriousness of what we're up against. This is, like, War, you know? What better way to ward off Teh Fear than by wrapping oneself in the Finest of Fine Sweatshop Items? We can even, like skip Old Navy and go straight to the Gap if you're pressed for time, man. No worries. This is how all those Tropical Brown People recover after things like typhoons, remember? Bill Clinton said so, man, and you trust him, don't you? That's right, buddy.

Hang on, hang on. I get it now. You're too pararlyzed with fright to even step outside your door? Got you covered there, too. See, six months ago, Ted Stevens invented the Internets, and blessedly provided server space for the great bastions of capitalism to thrive and multiply in this new thing called Cyberspace. So go ahead, indulge yourself. Buy some stuff on Amazon, or, if you're into the whole rush of suspense we all love to vicariously live for, Get Thee To eBay, and cross your fingers and toes for that special auction that Only You Can Win. And hey, you don't even have to leave the house to show off all the shit you bought to your friends, either- you can, like, "blog" about it, right there on MySpace! I know, it's just goddam miraculous, isn't it? Click them links, dude. Generate that ad revenue.

Now see, that wasn't so bad, was it? I guess if you really need to, you can stay in touch with what's going on in the world. I mean, the TV and radio still work, don't they? How quaint! Yes, I know, it feels comforting and nostalgic to be bombarded with the sweet punch of Marketing. I get all goose-bumpy just thinking about the new Ephedra campaigns rolling out. They know you, they really know you, and trust me, bub, They Like You too.

And hell, so do I, because when you live in this world, you gotta know the score, and we can all still Keep Score with the best of 'em, as long as the benjamins is flowin' and the credit line is long. Yep, even with Bill Gates and Bono and Brangelina and Posh&Becks and Fiddy and Bonds, especially when they're finally all together in one place, dancing with the stars, all of this can be yours, cause I've Clued You In, babes. I've given you the Secret Of The Universe. Everything else is epilogue.

Just never forget. Never ever forget that if you fail to keep up with the rest of us, if you fail to do what God put you on this yellow-brown earth to do, if you fail to Acquire, then the terrorists have won.

Cross-posted: dkos, mlw, dd, pff.

September 06, 2007

Look at Little Sister!

Bryn and I were good elder brothers this weekend and took off (with Karla and Em) for Santa Cruz and our sister Lis' (above) wedding. She married the handsome and talented Nick Kurns, the bad-assingest mandolin player in Santa Clara County. We were invited not only as best big brothers ever, but also to help with the soundtrack, and so we got to play some acoustified, instrumentalized Honey White songs and cover tunes as the happy couple walked to and from the ceremony. Lots of people took tons of pictures of the whole shebang, but here's a few (by quickdraw Bill MacAllister) that I can offer up quick-like. Enjoy.
The Dubious Duo rehearses.
Keir tunes up.
Em tells us what to do...
...and we do it.
Karla, Bryn, Em, & Keir play "red carpet."
Nick & Lis take five for champagne...
...and then go back to being giddy.

All in all a spectacular time in a beautiful place for two of my favorite people. Who are now in Maui. While I'm not.

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