NBA Player Hater Saturday: Jordan "Make a Wish" Farmar

Mr. MHHS nominated the hated rookie player of the year... the award goes to Jordan Farmer. In part because the Lakers blew it last night in their triple overtime game against the Charlotte Bobcats, but mostly because he is physical-defect fugly. Perhaps the picture to the left, where Farmar is apparently pointing off in the distance to nothing while pretending to extrude a basketball out of his ass and tasting the air with outstretched tongue clears up any questions.

Happy New Year Jordan! Remember: try not to drink too much, as alcohol can have irrevocable effects on people's lives (as Mr. MHHS was quick to point out with me in the case of Farmar).

I No Longer Care That I Am Sick...

Update: Currently playing Animal Crossing: Wildworld
Anticipating: April 2007 Release of The Settlers

merry christmas

This year for Christmas I got the stomach flu - it's a wonderful present that arrived early and when it seemed like it was going away, playfully returned when I tried to eat solid food to remind me that I do, in fact, love projectile narfing at four in the morning and then sobbing as I wipe up what didn't make it into the toilet. Who knew that what I needed most on Christmas would be disinfectant? And I'm not bitter in the least that, as my entire family feasted like locusts on a turkey dinner with all the trimmings, I got to eat a delightfully jiggly bowl of Jello. Jello looks really cool, you know? I mean, have you ever really looked at Jello? It's like taking a trip into a crystal palace, but one that moves.

What I've really come to realize though, the neatest thing about stomach flu is that for at least the next week or so, I'm going to be so paranoid about anything that I eat because who knows what's going to happen to it when it hits my intestinal track. That really makes you appreciate the mystery of life, you know what I mean? And I think that's what Christmas is really all about.

NBA Player Hater Saturday: A.I.

I've been watching a lot of basketball in the last 24 hours or so: I caught most of the Lakers/Nets game last night, saw UCLA massacre Michigan this morning (I'm biased of course, but the Bruins are looking really tight this year), and the Clippers beat Houston tonight (although most likely because Yao got injured early in the game - he broke a bone in his knee and will be out for at least six weeks). I've watched with especial disgust over the past couple of weeks about the whole Allen Iverson trade talk. I think what grosses me out the most is the way everyone goes on about him and the way Iverson goes on about himself. Where did the nickname "The Answer" come from anyway? The last couple years he just got worse and worse in terms of hubris (his rap album under the name of Jewels anyone? urinating in public? acting out on the 76ers with Chris Webber? sigh...).

Maybe I should go easier on him - we actually grew up in the same town in Virginia. OH wait, but I actually turned out to be a nice person. Anyway, if anyone has any legitimate, basketball related reasons to hate on Iverson, you can certainly help my specious argument out...

It Fucking Got Me

I evaded it in Urbana, but when my uncle couldn't pick me up at the airport because he had the stomach flu and I knew we were to share the same bathroom and kitchen that my luck had run out. I feel like dying right now.

Having trouble sitting up. I fucking hate this.

I Would So Eat This...

December 19, 2006 / December 19, 1994

So I arrived to my grandparents house in Sherman Oaks (in the San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles) today and will be here for the next three weeks or so. Every time I come back, I usually go through the stuff I have stored here over the years : there are a lot of pictures, letters, schoolwork, and writing I saved over time. This includes several diaries I kept - I thought it would be neat to match up a day from the past with the current date - while not always the most riveting reading (at least not this entry - but I can really emote in other ones!), it is fun to crack up about the doofy stuff I use to think about. On December 19, 1994 I had just arrived to my grandparents house in Sherman Oaks too (at the time I was living in Sonoma with my other grandparents but my brother had already lived down here for two years). I was a freshman in high school and basically a dork who loved eating junk food and watching 3-2-1 Contact - including one of my favorite segments, Mathnet!
December 19, 1994:
I arrived in LaLaLand today and at the moment puking up Gummy Worms... well not really puking. Woke up at 7 (I got about 6.25 hours of sleep), airport, etc. We came to the house and lounged around, then Frank and I went to the supermarket to get snacks for throughout the week - he can drive now!!! When we were at the market, I saw a celebrity... the guy from Mathnet. Not exactly my favorite person in the world, but pretty cool. I think I'll get hair dye and dye my hair black like Mia Wallace, or maybe red. I don't know... I'll ask Frank to help me with it. So things are pretty good. We had Chinese food for dinner.

I Just Broke Up With My Cable Box

I kicked it out at 12:21 PM (CST) - it only took two cables and one mere power cord to bring a year and a half of procrastinatory joy to its end. What can I say? It just didn't work out - at first it seemed like we had so many of the same interests that reinforced the conception I held of myself before the box moved in. We would giggle at the Daily Show every midnight and watch CNN Headline News as I furrowed my brow and crunched on cereal, but then the box tried to change me...One day I'm watching Chappelle Show reruns and the next day, all of a sudden it's 7pm, I haven't gotten dressed and I'm watching a Real World marathon on MTV and recounting to my friends that I can't believe that Jen slept with Alex after he and Colie made out the night before. Pretty soon, I know what time the hour block of Golden Girls comes on Lifetime television for women and I start planning my work around it. Did I mention the countless meals I consumed on the floor of my apartment as I stared raptly up at my television screen? The cable box turned me into this sick person that I didn't even recognize.

I gave the box a great last day - we watched the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy on TNT (now that's a commitment, okay?). And finally, a really awesomely bad horror movie with quite possibly one of the funniest demonic possession/cunnilingus/chainsaw scenes I have ever seen (okay, the only one, but still, it was pretty funny).

The World Waits With Baited Breath Wondering... What Will Happen to Melo?

Okay, maybe I'm just wondering what is going to happen to Carmelo Anthony after the brawl between the Nuggets and the Knicks last night (thanks to Mr. MHHS for texting me with the news). Marty Burns (sportsillustrated online blogger) suspects a 5 to 10 game suspension, but also insists in his column today:

"In the end, Anthony will be the one hurt the most by Saturday's bad scene. The fourth-year forward was just starting to repair an image that had been somewhat tarnished by an earlier pot bust in his NBA career (he claimed it belonged to a friend) as well as an appearance he had made in a drug dealer's video. He not only was leading the league in scoring this season, but he had earned praise from Karl and Team USA coach Mike Krzyzewski for his leadership and overall play."

NBA Player-Hater Saturday: Chris Kaman, King of the Fuglies

With two weeks left of 2006, it's that time to start thinking about the top moments of the year... you know the moments that you carry with you beyond a mere year and remember for a lifetime. Where were you on April 29, 2006?

That's right, Kaman got grabbed in the roundies by Reggie Evans.

His interview in the clip is absolutely incoherent. That may be because, according to the wikipedia article on Kaman, he suffers from ADHD and "as a child he used to tear shingles off of neighbors' rooftops." Ummm, that's not frightening behavior that portends he may end up serially killing human beings later in life or anything. Did I mention the real reason I am hating on him? Because he is cornea-searing fugly. Pretty shallow - and I admit has nothing to do with his basketball-playing skills at all - but how would you feel running into this guy in a dark alley?





Nba.com's bio on Kaman reports his favorite TV show is Friends and that his hobbies include working on cars and singing. Wow, someone please restrain me from wanting to rub my entire body over his pasty white skin and suspiciously ginger hair just to get him to sing for me. I am DYING to know what songs are his favorite at karaoke (bonus points for hilarious guesses in the comments section). He also "takes time each holiday season to go shopping for toys with children from Camp Ronald McDonald." I suspect each year several of the children mistake Kaman to be Ronald's older, drug-addicted, deadbeat brother Fugald.

I Would Totally Wear This T-Shirt Because Pwnage is a Hunger...

Chicken Maniaco... I Am Coming to Get You

So I am crazy about living in Urbana, but as I realize I will be leaving in a few days, I have to admit I really start thinking about what it is I miss the most about LA.

I'm talking about you Dino's Burger, and your El Maniaco chicken plate. When I first met you, your fiery red half-chicken served atop a bed of french fries doused with a Greek marinade I can only describe as liquid crack, accompanied with a thimble of chilly cole slaw was only $3.50. Times change and I hear you cost $4.50 now. You are so worth it. I will see you at the corner of Pico and Berendo next week.

My other favorite reasons for returning?
- Zankou Chicken (Armenians doing Lebanese)
- Papa Christo's (Greek)
- Pho 79 (Vietnamese)
- In-n-Out Burger (American)
- oh yeah, and my family! (Armenian Mongrel)

Paperman

More from the Japanese fashion world: this is the Paperman hat. Since I can't read Japanese, I'm not exactly sure why this hat exists or who would actually buy it. Some guesses:

- Fecal Freaks
- Significant Others or Partners of Fecal Freaks (known as "Fecal Friends")
- People who suffer from the phobia of running out of toilet paper but not the phobia of looking ridiculous.
- Sociopaths, who may also be fecal freaks, who have so much money they would actually hire someone to be a human toiletpaper dispenser.
Any guesses?

Eco-Trashy Fashion: A Rant About Plastic Bags

Triumph International Japan has done it again - over the past ten years they have created several eco-themed bras made from recycled polyester fiber (the fibers come from plastic bottles). The latest is by far my favorite - a padded bra that transforms into a shopping bag:

Step 1: don a slutty look on your face
Step 2: remove your bra
Step 3: remove the padding (it becomes the body of the shopping bag)
Step 4: assemble bag
Step 5: replace slutty look on face with the self-satisfied smug of someone who is helping the environment.

Although Triumph has decided not to sell the bras, they are advertising them to raise awareness for the Containers and Packaging Recycling Law that was revised this June in Japan. In a nutshell, plastic shopping bags suck and unnecessarily so. 15 billion bags take one tanker of oil to produce and at least 30% of those are thrown away without reuse. Unless suffocating babies with them and feeding them to the hundreds of thousands of sea turtles, whales, and other marine animals who die each year from ingesting them counts as reuse. The EPA estimates about 500 billion to 1 trillion bags are used each year - the U.S. uses about 380 billion so we suck the most. U.S.A! U.S.A!

Imagined FanFiction...

So I am sooo into Top Chef that usually by Monday I start getting antsy for the next episode. Especially now that I found out the host for the show is none other than Salmon Rushdie's wife - strange world huh? I know that fanfiction is usually reserved for programs or movies that are far more embedded in our ummm "cultural imaginary" and far less ephemeral than Top Chef, but I present to you my fan fiction between contestant Marcel and head judge, Chef Tom Calickio (look, I know I am not spelling it right, okay?):

Chef Tom Calickio: Marcel, you've crafted this foam of giraffe confit with grated rhubarb and a whisper of saffron into a shape that resembles your hair.

Marcel: Yes, I have. I call it "Wolverine Junior."

Chef Calickio: But to what end Marcel? To what end? And this refresher on the plate that makes up the duo... can you tell me about it and the thought behind it?

Marcel: I call the duo "If the X-Men Were Translated into a Pretentious Food Dish" and the refresher is made from swiss chard, prickly pear, and the menstrual fluid of a small doe, hereafer referred to as "Juice-alee." You know... like Jubilee but ummm not a girl superhero, rather a refresher.

Chef Calickio: And the virtue in that Marcel, the virtue?!?

Marcel: Sigh... the X-Men were all about virtue Chef.

Imagined Websites...

So today on one of my procrastinatory web journeys, I visited the site deadoralive.com - a site solely devoted to helping you determine if the famous or semi-famous person you are thinking of is living or not. It got me thinking about a website I would love to see:

deadinsideoralive.com
At the website for Dead Inside or Alive, you enter a name to determine if that person is dead inside or not. Let's give it a try:


Dick Cheney:
Is there any doubt? DEAD INSIDE

Bob Dylan: Once ALIVE, but DIED INSIDE sometime in the 1990s, or right around when this picture was taken.

Carrot Top:
Not actually human, so not eligible to be considered
alive or dead inside.

Mar:
Hmmm, this is a tough one, but I'm going to have
to say ALIVE (the jazz hands are a sure indication, yes?)

If you're interested in purchasing the domain name for my imaginary site or if you have suggestions for additional entries, please send a self-addressed, stamped envelope to "Comments" at modal14.blogspot.com.

It's one of those days...

NBA Player Hater Saturday: Tim Duncan

I think this picture pretty much sums it up. Am I supposed to think Tim Duncan is a badass because he is sitting on a weird throne made of simulated ice? He still looks about as tough as my fourth grade teacher Mrs. Miller. So, why do I hate Tim Duncan?

1) He plays for the San Antonio Spurs and they irritate the hell out of me. They're just not fun to watch even though they win a lot. It's like watching someone milk a pig's prostate gland - sure, the job gets done, but it's just so... efficient and technical.

2) He has this reputation of being an all-around nice guy that just rings a little false to me. Sure, I'm jaded because I remember when Kobe Bryant was just this sweet, amazing basketball player and then he turned into a raging, inflated ego, but I suspect Tim Duncan isn't all that goody gumdrops perfect either. How do I know? That leads me to number three..

3) The reason I know he isn't perfect is because about a year ago when the NBA changed its dress code, Duncan told the media: "I think it's a load of crap. I understand what they're trying to do with the hats and do-rags and jerseys and stuff. That's fine. But I don't understand why they would take it to this level. I think it's basically retarded."

He didn't oppose the dress code categorically or talk about how it was implicating objects of dress that have been racialized and therefore denigrated in our culture - no, he was mad because he had to put on a sport coat and decided to liken the code to mental disability. As most of my friends know... you just don't use that word without thinking about it and who it affects.

4) His bio on nba.com says his favorite movie is The Crow. That is just... so lame. How much do you want to bet he has dressed up as the crow for halloween on at least one occasion and thought he really looked like a badass.

Extra credit for anyone who can suggest who Duncan was separated at birth from in the comments section. Come hate with me.

Oh Movies, you're SO stupid! What code doesn't do in real life.

So I'm currently in paper-writing hell, which means I am borderline brain dead and have limited abilities to think of anything funny on my own. I was however, incredibly amused by drivl.com's article on "What code DOESN'T do in real life (that it does in the movies)" - in it, Matthew Inman takes issue with how movies have tended to exaggerate what code is, looks like, and what it does. In his words, "they've morphed a little stuffed teddy bear into a cybernetic polar bear covered in Christmas lights and phosphorescent hieroglyphics with a fog machine pumping rainbow smoke out of his ass."

Make sure to link to the article for all ten hilarious observations, but my favorites include:

4. Code is not three dimensional
Remember in "hackers" when the gibson is depicted as a three dimensional city that the hackers must navigate through? Bullshit! We may use a dash of color in our shell to make things a bit clearer, but last I checked my terminal app doesn't require OpenGL. I'm working here, bitches - I'm not playing quake.

9. People who write code use mice
According to Hollywood most programmers haven't discovered how to use a mouse. Sure, we type fast, but a mouse is a very useful tool and there's no reason we'd abandon it. While we're dispelling stereotypes, I'd also like to say that not all programmers are hot-pocket eating virgins who play WoW. Some of us exercise and have active social lives. Some have even had SEX! Holy Crap!

10. Most code is not inherently cross platform
Remember in Independence Day when whatshisface-math-guy writes a virus that works on both his apple laptop AND an alien mothership? Bullshit!
If real life were like film I'd be able to port wordpress to my toaster using a cat5 cable and a bag of glitter.

Imagined Presents...

It's that time of year again when - already running low on mental abilities - I have to think of gifts for about seventeen or so family members that I get gifts for every year. The problem is, I tend to get stuck in a rut (I think my father got something Beatles-related from me about six years in a row). It would be way more fun to buy gifts for fictional characters than actual real people who have expectations and longlasting relationships with me that warrant a physical instantiation of those expectations in the form of a gift. Today I want to imagine what I would get for our very own American psycho, Patrick Bateman.




1) A hamster with a machine gun.
We all know of his love for both weapons and rodents petite enough to fit into bodily cavities, so why not combine these two interests into one adorable package? Owning a pet will also teach him about responsibility and may help him develop empathy towards other living things. And if the hamster suffocates inside of a prostitute's decomposing body? No big deal - Bateman will just join the ranks of so many other five year-olds who will "accidentally" kill their pets this year. The whimsical machine gun will communicate to Bateman that we all - including small animals - may get a little homicidal sometimes, but let's not take ourselves so seriously about it.



2) Chicken Soup for the Soul
Okay, I know what you're thinking: it's not cool to give gifts to people that try to change them (for instance - never give anyone a Richard Simmon's Deal-A-Meal if they didn't ask for it - that's just messed up). But I suspect that under Bateman's cold veneer there really is someone there! Sure he's the one most likely to mutter the line, "I'm dead and empty inside," but not after he gets a huge helping of inspirational stories that will open his heart (figuratively speaking - not talking about dissection here) and rekindle his spirit. These stories will hit Bateman's sickly amorality like a hot dose of restorative broth. After this book, he may:
- stop killing homeless people and instead spend weekends volunteering at the soup kitchen
- stop feeding cats to ATMs and rescue a few stranded felines from trees for tiny tots
- stop dissolving women in tubs of lime and take them out for a coffee and polite conversation instead

Stocking stuffers for Bateman: spa certificates and skincare items, including a toner that contains little or no alcohol. After all, alcohol dries out the skin and makes you look older. Merry Christmas Patrick!

From the Annals of Bad Science...

We all know the 19th century was fraught with examples of bad and specious scientific practice, but let's not forget the dark period of scientific discovery during the heyday of LSD. Apparently anyone who proposed an experiment of "x" on acid (where "x" was usually a small animal, young child, or counterculture visionary) received the funding and film equipment to document their research. Extra credit for anyone who can do a Latourian analysis of this video in the comments section.

Thanks Mom!

Thanks for my
birthday package!

NBA Player-Hater Saturday: Hedo Turkoglu

I'm thinking of making it a regular part of my Saturdays to talk about one NBA player that I hate... usually for no particular reason except that he is supremely fugly or plays for a team that was mean to a team that I like. To inaugurate "player-hater Saturday" I'd like to introduce all of you to Hedo Turkoglu and Sloth, beloved character from The Goonies:

Separated at birth, I ask? Note the following similarities: asymmetrical, downturned right eye; gaping mouthed smile; and nuggetty, prominent ears.

Besides being... ummm misshapen, Turkoglu also upsets me for at least two other reasons. The first: he is Turkish and I have an irrational, entirely prejudiced fear of Turkish people - especially those who are on public record of possessing Turkish nationalist pride. Believe me, I know it's pretty messed up for me to think that way (I'm a little embarassed to be typing this), but nationalist pride usually scares me period. I grew up with my Armenian grandmother who was raised under the shadow of the loss of so much of her family between 1915-17.

The second reason I'm not crazy about Turkoglu was because he played for the Kings during the 2001-2 Western Conference finals against the Lakers. This seven-game series was unbelievable - the Lakers had beat the Kings in every one of their four games during the regular season and then it looked like we were going to lose to the likes of Chris "the bitch" Webber and Vlade "the foul-flopper" Divac. This was a big year for the Lakers - we were going for a threepeat - and it was before the following year of shame when Malone and Payton joined the team in an attempt to stack the team (the year all innocent faith I had in the Lakers quickly dissipated). In retrospect, I have to say it was one of the most exciting series I have ever seen (hello? Horry's three for the win at the end of game 4?), but at the time I hated the Kings (and Turkoglu) with a vengeance.

Missed Connections

When we were in school together, Lisa, Gaby and I would always look forward to Thursday when the new edition of LA Weekly would come out so we could read "Missed Connections" together. You know, that section in the personals ads in newspapers or on craigslist where people post about a moment they thought they had with someone (anywhere from a single exchanged glance to a drunken conversation at a bar) and are hoping beyond chance that the person might happen to read the same post and reply to the psychotic ramblings of a stranger.

Gaby was a hardcore romantic so I suppose she would disagree with my "psychotic ramblings" characterization - she wanted photobooth pictures, glittery hearts, and endless Valentine's Days - stuff I didn't really think much about. It was 1999 - I was 19 and incredibly... skeptical and viciously sarcastic. Lisa was sanely somewhere between the two of us. But something about "Missed Connections" brought us all together. That and the roach coach parked outside of the fashion building near Grand and Washington where we would have lunch four days a week (except for that time Lisa and I split a 20 piece chicken mcnugget bin when McDonald's had that special and we both felt really sick and thirsty afterwards).

So I have to admit I check out the Missed Connections every once in awhile on craigslist just to see what the strange folk are still posting. This one was posted on November 15 in Champaign-Urbana:

You stopped me on the street tonight and made me feel pretty - w4m

---

Reply to: pers-235087192@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-11-15, 1:48AM CST

I was walking down the street and you told me I was gorgeous. I was wearing glasses and green sweater. I had to rush off and meet someone...but I wish I had stayed to talk with you. I promised to look you up on facebook, but I can't remember your name.

You said you loved the size of my body, but I don't even know if you visit this site. I wish I could get to know you better.
----------

Okay - how sweetly sad is this post? I can't even make fun of it, it just hurts me too much to read. I can just picture her, frantically searching through facebook profile after facebook profile hoping to find the guy who told her he "loved the size" of her body.

This one, on the other hand, I can make fun of:

---

Reply to: pers-235871125@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-11-16, 4:54PM CST

i was chainsmoking rollies and talking to my so-called friend (j/k, no, really) about the everyday benefits of space suits. (she was looking ernest and unimpressed.) later, the guy next to me struck up a conversation about pigs as a centuries-old religious motif/metaphor. you looked nervous as hell.
-------

Okay hipster. Is it just me, or is he not painfully aware that every female in his life is either unimpressed or "nervous as hell" to be near his chainsmoking, hipster existence? Okay, wait. Now I'm feeling all sad about this one too. Is there just something about the genre that is so painfully awkward because these people are completely (okay okay, I guess they're anonymous, but still) ripping themselves open over someone they saw for a few seconds? Maybe I should call Gaby and ask her what she thinks. She'll tell me all about love at first sight and then tell me to watch Love Story or something... sigh. I can't wait to see her and Lisa later this month :)

What is it about Rush?

This has to be one of the funniest things I have seen on The Family Guy ever. Who knew Cheetos could get you high? But seriously, this clip made me wonder... what is it about the band Rush and guys (humor me in counting Chester the Cheetah as a guy)? I have never been able to get into the band - I can understand theoretically or technically that they made complex music, but they have always left me cold (I call it the "Steely Dan Syndrome"). Not to essentialize, but the only people I have ever met who have been huge Rush fans are men. Moreover they are RABID fans - never ride in a car with one of them while they're driving - if "Tom Sawyer" plays, they will seriously take their hands off the wheel to break out with a horribly embarassing, gratuitous drum solo. I think there are at least .003 accidents a year because of this phenomenon (the rate was much larger when Moving Pictures was released in '81 I'm sure).

the Urban Dictionary

I've become obsessed with the Urban Dictionary - so much to the point that I've joined the leagues of volunteer editors who approve or reject attempted new entries. Wikipedia characterizes the site as possessing a low signal-to-noise ratio because of its broad acceptance policy and willingness to accept duplicate word entries, and suggests it is more entertaining than an authoritative guide to contemporary slang. Blah blah blah, why equate "authoritative" with particular, temporally and geographic specific lexical acceptance practices? Anyway, the dictionary has accepted my entry for "sympathy narf" - its very first entry! Of course, its root, "narf" was present in many iterations.

As editor, my favorite entries I recently approved include:

Dr. Fripper:
a meal consisting of fritos and dr.pepper yum yum!

I was sitting at home on the couch being lazy eating Dr. Fripper as my lunch.

shit skillet:
a) One who lacks severely in intellectual prowess or social grace. Unwanted or undesirable by even the lowest societal groups.
b) one who offers nothing of worth to anyone.

We don't want that shit skillet tagging along with us.

Glaph:
Mixture of seamen and urine.

Sadly, there was no sample sentence provided for "glaph" so that I could discern if "seamen" was in fact a homonym mistake or really did refer to sailors. If it was a mistake, then it's not nearly as interesting.

Too young to hold on...

Humor me, okay? It is my birthday (well at least in some time zones) and I am allowed to think I'm being reflective by wallowing in song lyrics and constructing foolish pop identifications. I always think of Jeff Buckley right around my birthday because his birthday was just three days after my own (November 17) - a pretty weak case for identifying with someone else's work but his songs make it pretty easy for me to want to identify.

What can I say? Not much when I can't be sarcastic, invective, or biting. His music is just... amazing. When I first moved to Urbana two and a half years ago and torturing myself with wrenchingly beautiful music was my favorite hobby (you know, before I found the local roller skating rink and could actually talk to people), I would listen to "Love, You Should've Come Over" more times in a day than is probably legally allowable. (Mostly the Live at Sin-e version for you music snobs out there, and no, I shall entertain no debates today on whether the artistry of the father - Tim Buckley - surpasses that of the son.)

Lover, You Should've Come Over

Looking out the door i see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners
Parading in a wake of sad relations as their shoes fill up with water
And maybe i'm too young to keep good love from going wrong
But tonight you're on my mind so you never know

When i'm broken down and hungry for your love with no way to feed it
Where are you tonight, child you know how much i need it
Too young to hold on and too old to just break free and run

Sometimes a man gets carried away, when he feels like he should be having his fun
And much too blind to see the damage he's done
Sometimes a man must awake to find that really, he has no-one

So i'll wait for you... and i'll burn
Will I ever see your sweet return
Oh will I ever learn

Oh lover, you should've come over
'Cause it's not too late

Lonely is the room, the bed is made, the open window lets the rain in
Burning in the corner is the only one who dreams he had you with him
My body turns and yearns for a sleep that will never come

It's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
It's never over, all my riches for her smiles when i slept so soft against her
It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter
It's never over, she's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever

Well maybe i'm just too young
To keep good love from going wrong

Oh... lover, you should've come over
'Cause it's not too late

Well I feel too young to hold on
And i'm much too old to break free and run
Too deaf, dumb, and blind to see the damage i've done
Sweet lover, you should've come over
Oh, love well i'm waiting for you

Lover, you should've come over
'Cause it's not too late

California...

Why?

Dark Anxieties About Globalization at the Movies

This past Friday night I went to see the third installment in the Saw franchise - what can I say? I really like watching gross-out horror films in theatres (it seems like no other types of movies instill such affective or physical responses in me), but horror films also fascinate me because they tend to function as relatively conservative critiques of morality and - to varying degrees of complexity - highlight cultural anxieties in really crude ways. Each Saw movie, though ostensibly presenting the same kind of gore, has focused on three different themes: the first focused on how one values life and exhibits that value through everyday actions and consideration for others; the second explored our dependence on others for life and how trust functions in group dynamics; finally, the latest installment explores power relationships between heterosexual couples and whether there is such a thing as a "life-altering event" where one's character can radically change in response to trauma. The unfortunate assumption in all three films, and one that our federal government also takes for granted with the recent passage of the "torture bill" - is that physical pain and torture seems to trump mental pain and torture in terms of taking its effects seriously and efforts to monitor it. To overcome or withstand physical torture indicates good character and commitment in Saw while mental pain is simply an indulgent, controllable failing of the individual.

The previews before Saw III advertised the upcoming release of Turistas and the second installment of Hostel - the basic message of these films seems to be that when stupid Americans treat "developing" countries as their playground for random sexual encounters and drug and alcohol abuse, then they are so going to get it. The first Hostel even suggests that the value of an American body (even if it's a value placed on it by thrill-kill executioners) is dramatically higher than the value of Other bodies in the world. I can't help but wonder if this recent slew of movies isn't creating representations of our anxieties about the perception of the U.S. and reactionary fears about the effects of globalization.

The Nation "Pics" UIUC Graduate Employee Rally

The Nation online picked a photo taken of us earlier this summer during a UIUC Graduate Employees' Organization rally for its photo of the week on the student page. We are in the third floor of the Grainger Engineering library outside of the bargaining room right before that bargaining session was scheduled to start.

Alas, the caption on The Nation's site reads "Graduate students rally for fair pay at the U. of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign." Sigh... it would have been nice if it had referred to us as graduate employees and mentioned the GEO. If you look on the right side of the picture, I'm the headless body wearing green shorts and a black and white t-shirt.

Pete Burns = Genius

"The Body Baker"

These are images of the bread creations by artist Kittiwat Unarom. An associated press article about his work said he created the work to make people think about their relationship with food - whether they are consuming food or if it is consuming them. It seems that many of the creations evoke the torture and objectification of the human body as well (like the bloodied and bruised face and the bruised body parts on meat hooks). Thanks to Shira Segal on the body blog for sharing this story with me.

Worst Halloween Costume... Ever

Not sure why my blog has turned so animal-themed lately, but this has to be one of the worst things a person could do to their pet (okay, having sex with your pet, as my last blog covered, is decidedly worse). It's one thing to be one of "those" people who like to dress up your pets, but to dress it up like the leader of the Third Reich?!?

Of all animals to have sex with... a pit bull?!?

News of the weird from Washington... can you imagine? How do you explain to someone that bestiality broke up your first marriage? Jinkies.

Spanaway man first arrest under state's new bestiality law
By The Associated Press

TACOMA, Wash. — A Spanaway man believed to be the first person in the state charged under Washington's new bestiality law bailed out of the Pierce County Jail this morning.

Pierce County prosecutors say 26-year-old Michael Patrick McPhail was caught by his wife on Wednesday night having intercourse on the back porch with their four-year-old female pit bull terrier.

The wife took photos with a cell phone and called police.

Pierce County sheriff's spokesman Ed Troyer says "There's pretty clear proof what happened to this dog."

McPhail was arrested that night.

Charged with animal cruelty, he could be sentenced to a year in jail if convicted.

The bestiality law took effect in June. It was prompted by an incident in Enumclaw where a man died after having sex with a horse.

I Had a One Night Stand With a Cat

So it has been a month now since I met her when I was out walking late at night. She followed me - I didn't make the first move. What can I say? I fed her tuna and took her home with me. I decided to call her Cheeto. She crawled into bed with me, rested her head in the crook of my arm and purred next to me all night. The next day she goes back to her owner and what am I left with? A couple of stray hairs, like cheeto dust on a white couch. Does she call? No. Will I ever hear from her again? Probably not.

Coding Body Parts as Patriotic

So my professor for my Politics of Fashion class clued me into the following link - I admit it is pretty crass (rhymes with brass!).

The site American Brass Balls sells, well, brass replicas of testicles. But it is how they signify these metal testicles that interests me: "Having American Brass Balls means 'We've Got What It Takes' to: Defeat Terrorism and those who promote it; Defend our Homeland; Show Courage and Determination in the face of adversity."

The sentiment of having "balls" is cliche, but here it has been recoded (and commodified into a disturbingly realistic product) to address the fear of terrorism present in our culture over the past five years. While the site insists that brass balls are for both men and women, it seems to me the site and its shiny products are somehow unable to avoid masculinist associations.

It Takes All Kinds of Critters to Make Farmer Vincent's Fritters

So I'm watching Motel Hell right now - one of the only reasons I have actually loved owning a television with cable for the past year is the happy fortuity that is finding crappy movies you haven't seen for over a decade. It's no 1970s or early 80s, gorgeously taught DePalma flick P (as split screens from Sisters, Blow Out, and Dressed to Kill dance through my head)- this I will admit.

Made in 1980, the film cornily constructs a nexus of late 20th century anxieties about food production and consumption, police authority, and the decline of morals in our culture. Like most mainstream horror flicks, the film reinforces - in not so subtle ways - expectations of middle-class propriety. In other words, the aged swingers, the skanks that contract social diseases from ski instructors, and the nomadic, drugged-out rockers (including "Cliff Claven" - John Ratzenberger - as the drummer) are the ones who get chewed up (literally and figuratively) by the masses for straying too far from the herd. Soylent green is the people you say? Actually, they're just beef jerky. Makes you look twice at a Slim Jim, eh?

Scary Spam Proves Inextricability Between Sex and Death

Now I know that most spam is generated by non-human actors these days, but the message I received this morning was especially frightening, so I thought I would share. Most unsettling juxtaposition of lines? Recognizing when to pull the trigger because some kind of excellence is within reach. Was this spam generated by some sort of Mark David Chapman bot? Sheesh.

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

Brunette Teen Fucked Anal Hardcore18yo Blue Eyed Beauty With Piercing Poses In Thong
Happiness is not a horse, you cannot harness it.She poured a little social sewage into his ears.

http://--------------------------

Next in importance to having a good aim is to recognize when to pull the trigger.Whoever I am, or whatever I am doing, some kind of excellence is within my reach.
We fail far more often by timidity than by over-daring.There are two perfectly good men, one dead, and the other unborn.Read the best books first, or you may not have a chance to read them at all.

I Can Be Serious Too... Sometimes? Okay, at least this once?

I suppose my entries up until now haven't revealed that I can actually take some things seriously. On August 31, the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign campus newspaper, The Daily Illini (DI) published an editorial by John Bambenek, who argued (often illogically and mostly inflammatorily) labor unions are a relic of the past. He constructed an idealized, paternalistic relationship between the university and its employees to suggest the university knows what its employees need in terms of compensation and benefits. I wrote a reply and the DI actually published my response (in print and online):

In John Bambenek's column "Unions: A Relics of the past, taxpayer frustration" Bambenek makes several value judgments about what is "not a bad wage" for teaching assistants and how "difficult" or "hard" living should be expected while one is a graduate employee, since it is not "impossible" to live.

Acting much like large employers, Bambenek forgets a fundamental purpose for the existence of labor unions: it is not for one person - like John - or one side of labor - like the University - to determine the value of labor or what conditions and benefits employees can live on, either comfortably or difficultly. Labor unions like the Graduate Employee's Organization argue instead that employers and employees should be able to negotiate in a productive dialogue, with mutual respect on both sides of the table, what the conditions and benefits of employment should be. An employment contract that has been agreed upon by both sides ensures fairness and transparency of process to all those involved and it guarantees enforceability of the conditions laid out in the contract as well. Without such a contract, employers like the University will continue to make often uninformed and arbitrary one-sided value judgments about what its graduate employees need to be able to support themselves and their families.

Bloody Backs: A Festival Favorite, A Hygenic Nightmare

Now that the summer has officially passed, I suppose it's time to start recalling those moments whose saliency and sheer amount of exposure to biohazardous fluids suggest they deserve memoralization. Or at least for me to blog about them so that you, my one or two sporadic and disinterested readers, can note their passing.

While waiting to hear Spoon play at a music festival earlier this summer, the red-bandannaed, fleshy blob you see in the center of the picture pushed its way through the crowd and towered over me and my fellow short friends. Its back glistened with sweat - a glisten that was dimmed slightly by a fine sheen of dirt that seemed to highlight every pore on its skin that was about seven inches from our faces. In the near center of its back - at my eye level - rested a bleeding cut that slowly trickled blood as it bobbed frenetically and unrhythmically to the music. It threatened to careen into us on several occasions - my initial state of speechless terror at the prospect of this unhygenic impact soon blossomed into a whisper that grew ever louder and louder in my head: photo op.. photo op... PHOTO OP!

What better way to face your fears than to snap a pic of them? They say in some cultures that to take a picture of something steals a part of its soul (seriously, they said it in Zoolander so it must be true). If we captured even a trace of bloody essence in the above photograph, then we have confronted the powerful essence of concert douchebags everywhere who push their way to the front of crowds, stand directly in front of people who are CLEARLY shorter than them, and reek to high heavens because they decided today was the day they were going to try using that rock deodorant, and we have put them on notice (as Stephen Colbert would say).

Why aren't you at Popeyes?

I saw this dog outside of a Dunkin' Donuts in Chicago late one night at the end of a hot, July day. Maybe he didn't know there was a Popeyes just a few blocks down the street.

You crazy dog. Here in Champaign-Urbana, we don't have any Popeyes. Yet Bloomington - 46 miles away - has an embarassment of Popeyes riches (two of them! in the same city! just think of it - twice the biscuits!). I went back to the same Dunkin' Donuts the next night but he was gone. Maybe he finally figured it out.

I like to think of that sweet dog sometimes, feasting upon an overturned dumpster that overflows subtly spicy red beans and rice; deliciously peppery gravy wedded to white, creamy mashed potatatoes; and that signature spicy fried chicken. Watch out for the bones ol' boy... you lucky, lucky dog.

Academia Saves Lives

There are moments in graduate study when I doubt the importance of research in the humanities - both in terms of its scope and reach. But running across a call for papers like the one below comfortingly reminds me that we're up to good things:

REEL WIZARDS: REPRESENTATIONS OF MAGIC AND MAGIC USERS IN FILM
Deadline for Proposals: September 15, 2006

In J. R. R. Tolkien's THE LORD OF THE RINGS, the Hobbits are warned, "Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards"; yet, few readers today, in a time when the wizard features so prominently in both popular culture and scholarship,
would choose to follow this admonition. Accepting this as a given, proposals are now being accepted for an essay collection investigating the representation of magic-wielding figures in electronic multimedia.

This volume is intended to serve as a casebook for further academic research on magic-using characters in film, television, and video and computer games. We hope to include a number of essays that offer surveys/overviews of specific images or media as well as a limited number of spaces for investigations of specific films.

As an aid to potential contributors (and those interested in pursuing further research on the wizard figure), a listing of potential topics and a working bibliography devoted to studies on wizards can be found online at < http://mtorregrossa.home.att.net/cfp/wizards.htm>.

Hipsters Across World Continue to Mourn Loss of Barrett and say "Haifa Wha??? Who cares Barrett's dead dude."

Happy Birthday Terra, Observed

I got to see my great friend Terra on her actual birthday this past Monday but tonight we officially observed her birthday by going out and telling the worst jokes imaginable to horrify her. Not pictured but pros at telling the worst of the worst grossout jokes include Melissa, Christopher, and Bart. I may have thrown one or two in there myself...

"YouTube - Broadcast Yourself"

I uploaded my first video on YouTube today - I uploaded it as an mp4 (oooh now you can watch it on a video iPod) so the quality of the video leaves something to be desired. I know the sites I have been frequenting heavily this summer - blogger, myspace, and youtube - still raise a lot of questions for me in terms of the affordances they seemingly provide for the people who use them, the modes of expression they seem to promote, and the sticky business of who or what entities own these sites (particularly with the purchase of myspace by Rupert Murdoch and the subsequent EVIL changes in its user agreement), and in turn, how they set up the relationship between the formal structure of the site and the content that individuals provide for it. Somehow all these questions can't seen to quash my compulsion to keep adding crappy, self-centered content to all three sites...

I bought a fanny pack, or the top five signs I might be losing it this summer

So a few of my friends this summer have suggested that I have been acting out of sorts - I can't say that I noticed feeling any more bitterness/anger oscillating with extreme despair than I usually do (I mean we all make jokes about huddling into the fetal position in the shower while sobbing out strings of incomprehensible words, but it's not like I really do it that often). Not to make light of my friends' observations, I decided to take note of any activities I have engaged in lately that might suggest I'm losing my shit. You know, besides blogging.

5. I've started sewing non-functional buttons onto everything. It began with a shirt or two but it has moved on to paper products... but this doesn't really mean anything except I've got a bitchin' penchant for the decorative arts. Maybe I'll start worrying if I wake up one morning after a blackout with several buttons sewn onto my body.


4. I've been reading weight/strength training books. It's not like I've actually bought any books yet (cough cough Kim Perky), I just check them out from the library. Also, I think it's a positive sign that I don't aspire to look like any of the people on the cover, right?


3. I'm slightly obsessed with the birds that live outside of my apartment. It started earlier this year when a tiny, sweet bird roosted on my porch over the winter (see red circle) only to disappear with the arrival of spring. Perhaps the obsession started when I began to read the presence/absence of the bird as a metaphor for my life and began muttering "nothing gold can stay Ponyboy" to myself as I wistfully gazed at the abandoned perch. So I bought a bird feeder and have filled it with seed, hoping to entice my bird friends to come visit me.









2. Okay, so I moved on from Western books on weight training and borrowed a book from the library on how to be a ninja. Maybe I've even imagined myself on the cover of the book... It's not like I want to start cybering people under the m.o. of the bloodninja. I mean, that would be messed up.









1. I bought a fanny pack. Not only did I buy a fanny pack but I read reviews of them online and made my purchase after several days of research. I claimed it was to use just for when I went out on bike rides but I find myself using it even when I'm not on a bike ride. Jinkies!