Monday, January 30, 2006

Ruby drops the Funky Robot. I retreat.

Ruby and I went on a little shopping excursion this past weekend. On the ride over, I threatened her repeatedly with The Claw, a technique by which I tickle her by forming the digits of one hand into a claw-like rictus, then poking her in the stomach with it. It doesn’t work all that well. Mostly it just annoys her. Which is fine for me. I’ll take what I can get.

“Blah, blah, blah…The Claw…blah, blah, blah.”

“Dad…DAD! DAAAAD!!!!!”


“You aren’t… cool.”

“What d’yer mean I’m not cool? I’m the coolest! I READ COMIC BOOKS.” (Pathetic and Dad-like, I know.)

“No, you aren’t cool. You don’t listen to cool music. And you act all crazy. NOT. COOL.”

“How can you say I’m cool…??”

“You’ve got to act more like a boy, you know. You got to hang out and dance and stuff.”

“But I dance. I can dance like monkey!”

“No, no. You got to do The Funky Robot. Watch.”

By this time we were parked. I watched in stunned silence as my five year old daughter does a torso-centric version of the goddamn Funky Robot strapped into her car seat. Two hours previous we had a lengthy chat about the relative merits of dinosaurs versus dragons, now she was busting it like she was a member of Cameo.

Holy fucking shit. She dropped the Bomb on me, from the motherfucking CAR SEAT.

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Wednesday, January 18, 2006

I hope you've enjoyed my little pun.


My droll wit has made me cock of the walk in the department. I kill.

Do you see it? Do you see how I appropriated a banal everyday conversational conceit to title my completely mind fucking article on the nature of time and space and dimension and how we are all fucking holograms projected from the empty eye socket of the skull of our dead God?

How scrumpticiosly naughty of me. Pardon me my smug moue, but in this case, I do think I have earned it.

Let's catch up at the Theory of Interstellar Mind Fuck conference in Bruge this summer. Good luck with the post-doc. I'm going to go fuck a tesseract right now. Ta.


Monday, January 16, 2006

No Blog is essential

Some however, are more essential than others. Here are three that will fill a few moments of mild amusement in the long, pointless churn that ends in you donating a hundred pounds or so of organic sundries to the tired earth before it is absorbed in five billion years by our swelling sun.

Have fun!

Jim Hanas is a media obsessive who writes all fancy pants. His Encyclopedia Hanasiana is filled with fancy pants writing and interesting contexts and what not.

Jack P Toerson is English. So it should be none surprising that his blog, For he was a man and he was alone is written in that strange and insidious tongue.

Mr. Baldo is eager to sell you Baldo's Shiny Wax™ for Balds. (Now with Phlogiston®‼) over at Mr. Baldo has a Blog Now. I wonder if he’s met the Nude Fat Man Eating Cookie Dough?

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Friday, January 13, 2006

How Fascinating: Me Talking About Magazines

Mostly dull, but sometimes mind blowing. I suspect they know this, as they provide a four point summary at the lead of every article to let you know if you want to read it. Downfall: Weird, overwrought graphics with a lot of browns and a sub-Dave Barry humor column.

Mongo super Dork-wad music magazine, thus is awesome. Financially dangerous review section, which recently hypnotized me and forced me to buy a DION CD. Too frequent Beatles worship, however, and too longish articles about hippies. And check this out: free GOOD cd with every issue.

An brave attempt at a breezy lifestyle science magazine. Intermitantly interesting and, well, breezy. Plenty of dishy articles about presentable, cute young scientists and cranky superstar contrarian old fart scientists who are willing to say mean things about dumb people. Oddly shitty binding.

The official magazine of non-creepy libertarians. They welcome writers come from all over the political spectrum, as long as they’re down with calling the government evil and/or incompetent. Which it sort of is. Peter Bragge, author of the late beloved comix book HATE is a semi-regular contributor. They are enthusiastic users of shitty clip art.

Not as Dork-waddy as it once was, or still thinks it is. Good read for the entire half an hour it takes to read it. Sometimes rip-yer-hair out fucking awesome. Ads in the back of the book are eyeball exploding Photoshop abortions of a very dire nature.

Weird one this. Some issues are monuments to sitting-with-old-people type boredom, yet others go all antipodeal on you and induce fever dreams with their perfection. And it’s always all suck or all awesome. Winsome NPR folkishness sometimes creeps in. PJ O’Rourke contributes and is rarely funny anymore. Not like I am.

Either pointless or the most vital expression of culture on the goddamn planet. I can’t decide. Asian American culture with a nice side business on pointless pop trash, vinyl figures, exploitation cinema and pretty art. Fucking awesome, though only quarterly.

Thuggish DADA humor. I’m not sure how working on this idiosyncratic magazine translates into success in the greater world, but it does somehow, as lots of famous douchebags wrote for it.

Experimental weirdo music magazine from the UK. I used to read it monthly, but the all-too-often outraged vegan undergraduate tone got to me. (David Toop is an exception.) A train-wreck-fascinating monthly column called the Invisible Jukebox can be good for a laugh (or a wince), A hapless weirdo music superstar, like say Steve Reich, gets ambushed by a creepy journalist and forced to listen to mystery songs. A full 80% of the column is then given to the writer putting words of portent and depth in the poor slob musician's mouth. Design is pretty good in a UK kind of way.

This is a magazine about action figures. However you feel about the previous statement pretty much sums up how you’ll feel about this bitch.

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Friday, January 06, 2006

Non-creepy Video Blog

It's Jerry Time! is a deadpan frolic through the bone-dry narratives of Jerry, a shiftless sad sack living quietly in the Northeast. The animations are stellar. The Bastard sez check it out.

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Thursday, January 05, 2006

My good friends at Willkie Farr & Gallagher

Weird thing. Many, many moons ago I posted a short fiction piece about Robert Plant's fictional large animal vet daughter. She lives in Ceres, California! Read it

So today I check my visitor stats and somebody from a New York law firm called Willkie Farr & Gallagher has visited that entry like FIFTEEN TIMES in the past two days.

Then somebody named "Sunny" posted this:

sunny said...

do you have any pictures to substantiate this post?

Creepy lawyers.

(ADDENDUM: I have added legal boilerplate to explain that this story is, as any reasonable person might conclude, is a work of fiction. Lawyers rule!)

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