That Shit Is Stranger Than Fiction, Esé

So you know how there are some mean old men down in Texas who are building a wall so no more Mexicans can get into the United States?

Well, in an irony to end all ironies, one company has just been accused of hiring illegal Mexican workers to build that very wall.

Unbelievable! Read about it HERE.

That's like cutting off your nose to spite your face. And then asking your face to help re-attach your nose to your face. I think. No?

That's like... that's like... I don't know what it's like! A... very... ironic thing?

Only in America.

Pay To The Order Of: Awesome!

This is one of the coolest things that's happened to me in ages.

A while back, I bought a copy of Unknown Passage, the Dead Moon documentary. If you haven't heard of this film or of Dead Moon, you are really missing out! There was a great compilation of theirs that came out on Sub Pop not too long ago, and you can buy their other records and gear HERE. They're incredibly nice and unbelievably dedicated people. Oh, and their music totally fucking rocks! I almost forgot.

Anyway, I placed an order for the DVD. Well, I must have sent too much shipping, because tonight I came home to see the package had arrived, and inside was the DVD and a check for $5 from Tombstone Music, their record label.

Best of all: in the memo on the check, it says:

"THANX KEV, BUT TOO MUCH POSTAGE PAID!"
and it's signed by Kathleen Alice "Toody" Cole!!!!!


Maybe I'm a huge dork (yeah, maybe), but I think this is the coolest thing ever!

I think I'm going to let them hold on to that $5 and put this baby in a frame! It's a real beauty.

D for Disaster,
*D'Artagnan

Patton Oswalt, I Adore You (Part Deux)

Okay, so I lied. I will post something else this week. In fact, I will probably post something again after this.

But hell, when you read this, you'll thank me.

My favorite chuckle factory, Patton Oswalt, wrote a hysterical column for The New York Times this week. It's so entertaining, my funny bone just about shit his pants.


True-Life Tales:
Guns and Yoga
By PATTON OSWALT
Published: March 25, 2007

Not long ago, I decided to learn how to shoot guns. It was a Saturday morning, and I was curious. So after a breakfast of spelt flakes, soy milk and green tea, I went out shooting.

I believe in sustainable agriculture. I support gay marriage. I think war is a failure of diplomacy, logic and leadership. I’m embarrassed by the fact that it’s 2007 and my country is debating evolution. Pot should be legal. I dream of a world where punches are made of flowers.

And, it turns out, I love guns.

At the gun class, I learned gun safety, legal obligations, targeting and trigger pulling. And there were coffee and doughnuts, so you could pretend you were a maverick cop who didn’t play by the rules and, damn it, Chief, unless you let me do this my way, we’re never gonna catch this killer. Here, take my badge!

While shooting, I loved how the guns were small but also really heavy. I’m small and heavy, too, but not solid like a gun. I’m more like a duffel bag full of ball bearings and mayonnaise.

Here is how a gun works. You put these small metal cylinders full of explosives inside, and when the cylinders explode the gun doesn’t. It’s tight and strong and sends the cylinders flying out at whatever you’re pointing at — a paper target or, I hope, someday, zombies. While most things these days — movies, government employees, fast-food sandwiches and me — are slapped together with cardboard and frosting, a gun is a precision instrument.

Because I know how ridiculous I look holding a gun, I did pretty well. If your focus isn’t on being cool while you do something, you focus on results. I was free. I cut dead center (or close to it) on my silhouette target’s 8-ring almost every time. I imagined huge chunks of stew getting blown out of the backs of my attackers.


Later that day, I took a restorative yoga class. Shooting guns and taking yoga on the same day was the biggest “You got chocolate in my peanut butter!” moment I’ve had so far in my life. Guns and yoga are French fries dipped in a milkshake. Scotch and ginger ale. Elvis Costello’s “This Year’s Model” after a bad breakup. Reruns of “Law and Order” and having no life: they’re good together.

You shoot better when you realize that your soul is a leaf falling through time, and that work shouldn’t equal struggle. And yoga never aligns you with the universe better than when your forearm is still tingling from the buck and recoil of a .357 bullpup.

Someone needs to open a combination shooting range and yoga studio. I’m serious. Maybe I should do it. Hose off a few clips of Glaser safety slugs, then see how deep you can go into Warrior II. The murder rate would go down. No, wait — it would stay the same, but people would realize it’s all part of a bigger plan. Or, no, it would go up, because people would realize the transitory nature of existence, and that everything that has happened or is going to happen is always happening someplace forever, so why not put a slug in that dude’s head who won’t stop talking during “300”?

The people I took the introductory gun course with were an interesting bunch: two guys hoping to become armed security guards, an indie-music-store-looking black guy, a dad and his two teenage sons and a guy who claimed to be an actor researching a role. Did they know a neophyte yogi sat among them, counting his inhalations and trying to make his exhalations take twice as long?

Meanwhile, I was the only guy in the yoga class. In fact, I was the only non-soccer mom in the yoga class. Did they know they had a rifle-eyed street panther in their midst?

Probably not. In yoga, you’re supposed to go at your own pace and focus on your breathing. So no one saw me flopping my doughnut belly and Internet butt around like a wino when I was trying to do Bridge Pose, or Happy Baby or Slightly Superior Suburbanite. Like the legless, armless silhouette I shot at earlier that day, I had holes of self-loathing blasted out of me. My Corpse Pose must’ve looked eerily authentic.

All these thoughts whizzed through my head like tracer bullets as I lay there, in the evening gloom of the studio, with a dozen moms breathing mom-breaths around me. I floated out of my body. I hovered over Burbank. I was one with my target, and my target was bliss.

Namaste. Lock and load.

Patton Oswalt is a writer and comedian. He performs the voice of Remy, the lead rat, in “Ratatouille,” an animated film scheduled for release this summer.

Two Cats In the Yard, Life Used to Be So Hard

Dear friends,

Quick note to say that I’m gonna be crazy busy this week, so nothing new will probably be coming from me any time soon. I’ve got a full work week, plus doctors appointments, my weekly class and homework assignment, finishing up my taxes (yeah, yeah, I know).

AND...

In very exciting news, I am moving into my new apartment this week. It’s been a long time coming, but it’s finally going to happen. I’m pretty stoked, as the kids on the snowboards like to say.

AND…

Saturday is my birthday. So, you know, hooray for that.

I’ll post more when I can – for now, I’ve got a crazy week ahead of me. And it just started this morning at the dentist’s office, where I got drilled for cavities with no Novocaine. No, I’m not kidding. I’m on some James Frey Million Little Pieces type shit.

Please bear with me, and please tip your waiters. You’re a beautiful crowd.

Sincerely,
The Management

PS – Now here it is, your moment of Zen. I mean, Penn. (Click) AKA “Mr. Spicoli goes to Washington.”

Like Sunday Morning

Sometimes, it's just a little too easy. You know?

[Insert Bright Eyes Lyrics Here]

Good grief, my drooges.

As old Uncle Lou once said:
I am tired, I am weary.
I could sleep for a thousand years.

Unfortunately, no pocky for kitty on that front. Snoop jobby job's got one more day in store for me.

As I type this, on the verge of passing out, a thought occurs to me: when I started this blog, I promised I'd share salsa recipes and love letters to Ann Coulter with the world. Well, truth be told, I have no recipes, and Ann, she walks in beauty like the night, but she defies all words, to say the very least.

But here is one recipe I do know, for certain.

Recipe for a Shitty Day
- 1 writing assignment that you've worked on all week but can't seem to get the hang of
- 3 hours of sleep (use organic insomnia if you have it in the house)
- 1 looooong work day
- no dinner
- 3 hours of class (directly following the aforementioned work day)
- a group reading of the aforementioned writing assignment in the aforementioned class
- the realization that you have grossly misunderstood the assignment
- your teacher euthanizing your writing assignment before its group reading is completed
- having to take notes from your class on your incorrect assignment that was not fully read aloud
- 1 rainy, humid night
- 1 piece of pizza
- 1 long train ride and walk home

The recipe above feeds one person.

Wowee. It all looks so beautiful when you lay it out together like that. I am beyond ready to cash in for the night.

Methinks I shall listen to my newly acquired Ted Leo album, wherein Sir Leo performs a rollicking cover of the Chumbawamba anthem "Rappoport's Testament: I Never Gave In."

I think for every minute you listen to that song, you won't live any longer for it, but you'll at least enjoy that minute. Sounds good enough to me.

Stay gold,
Ponyboy

Update - I knew I'd turn that frown upside down: I just looked at the title of this entry and remembered with a smile that my blog pages are searchable on the Internets. Which means that this site will soon be flooded with teenage girls and emo boys who look like teenage girls in search of Bright Eyes lyrics. And instead, they'll find this stupid site. Oh, the humanity. It's glorious.

And you know what the good book says: "Every time a Bright Eyes fan clicks the wrong URL, an angel gets its wings."

Now I'm ready to turn in for the evening. :)

Well, That Makes (N)One of Us

Georgie boy was quoted in the Washington Times this morning, talking about how he's blazing a path for the Republican party to reclaim the house, senate, intergalactic star fleet and rebuild the Death Star.

My favorite part:
"I'm optimistic about this country. You've got to know something about your president: I am some kind of optimistic about where we're headed."

Some kind of optimistic. Shitty grammar aside (and one must always cast that aside with our Decider), wasn't that the name of a John Hughes film from the 80's?

Who am I kidding. Our whole country has turned into one big John Hughes film.

But if that's the case, where is John Bender? Where is the (anti) hero of our film? We need a beguiling, mischievous hooligan to kick us in the ass and hold the mirror up to expose our country's vanity, elitism, insecurity, neurosis and hypocrisy.


Or at least so we can bum some doobage.

And yes, I did just imply that the characters in the Breakfast club are some kind of microcosm for the stereotypes of American society. But I ain't the first to do it, and I sure as shit ain't gonna be the last.

Does Anyone Remember Laughter?

Soon... I will be one of them.

The Upright Citizens Brigade, that is. You know... these guys:


Yes, yes, yes my minions. Tomorrow is my first class at the Upright Citizens Brigade theater. I'm extremely excited!!!!

It's a sketch writing class (click HERE to learn more about it), so I'll be learning how to write a scene like you'd see on Saturday Night Live (except funnier, I hope) or Mr. Show (except no way that funny) or maybe like the Kids in the Hall (but less Canadian). Maybe like the State (but without all that "I wanna dip my balls in it" nonsense).

Who knows.

Maybe it'll be something different altogether. Maybe I'll get there and it will really just be an elaborate trick to get me to teach an ESL class to Mexican immigrants. Hell, that could be pretty funny actually! I hope it's as least as funny as that.

I wonder if I'll start having that dream where you go to class and suddenly you're naked and everyone's staring at you?

Hmm. That would be a funny way to start the class...

But probably just for me.

And actually, not really even that. I haven't been to the gym in a while.

The Axis of Evil Just Got A Little Bigger...

Ladies and germs, it happened.

I still can't believe it.

I'm still kind of reeling, to be very honest...

I think I may have found... oh god, this is hard...

I think I may have found a blog that is EVEN MORE USELESS than this one.

There, I said it. Oh, it hurts.

Despite my best efforts to bring you the most microscopic modicum of entertainment, "information" or opinion... somebody went and did something even more amazing.

I present to you, without further delay: Stop Peter, Bjorn and John

Wait, what's that? You don't know who Peter, Bjorn and John are? Well, that puts you on par with about 99% of the rest of the world. Please allow me to explain a bit.

Peter, Bjorn and John (or PB&J, for short) are a Swedish rock band that was recently "discovered" on the internets and has been gaining some recent notoriety in the "indie scene." What I mean by that is, somehow, they've been endorsed by that upper echelon of indie trendsetters as the next coming of the messiah (I'm looking at you, Arcade Fire). It's that moment where, for a few minutes, a band gets overwhelmingly and astonishingly adored beyond anyone's possible imagination, and certainly beyond the boundaries of reality. What this equates to is guaranteed sellout concerts when the band plays in New York City and a prominent position at the Austin, Texas festival South By Southwest.

And that's about it.

I'm sure the band, like so many others before it, will be mostly forgotten soon enough and then will have to rejoin the ranks of the proletariat bands again.

BUT WAIT.

Suddenly, a voice cries out in the darkness. This, it howls, this I WILL NOT ABIDE.

And so, a blog is born.

Yes, the above mentioned blog's sole purpose is to diffuse any and all publicity generated for PB&J, because... well, I don't quite know why. But this dude is intent on making sure they do not become popular for some reason. He really, really means it.

I guess I'll have to find some new way to be useless, because this dude takes the cake. He takes the cake, opens a newspaper to an article about the Iraq war and says, "I have to stop a Swedish indie band from becoming popular today!"

Or what? What is going to happen, exactly? I'm all ears.

(By the way, PB&J is a decently talented band, who sound somewhat like a cross between Superchunk and the Strokes.)

THESE MEN MUST BE STOPPED (Look how dangerous looking they are!)

You Might Be a Douchebag If...

So, dilemma:

You want to look cool, but the trouble is, how?

Tattoos are great, and although still associated with masculinity, even girls and emo kids can get them nowadays. You'd love to get a whole gaggle of tattoos, but who has the time? And what if you want to get a real job some day? Or what if you already have one? Man, if only there was some other way...

Well look out world! Here is the solution, available to you in one easy $80 credit card transaction!

Introducing SLEEVES, Inc.!

It's a t-shirt company that makes shirts for the aspiring badass, that allow you to have full sleeve tattoos on your arms, without all those needles, the bleeding or the ever-present threat of hepotitis! Check out the goods, bro-hymn! (Notice that peculiar line where the tattoos stop? Interesting.)

I mean, wow. Why not just grow a pair and get some real ink? This is the lamest thing I have ever heard of, and I used to listen to Shelter.

Dudes, if you get this shirt, even your mom is going to make fun of you. And she'd be doing you a favor if she did.

Oh, and ladies, you didn't think it was just for the fellas, did you? Helllllllls no. Check this shit out:

Soooooo attractive.

I Call My Brother "Sun" Cuz He Shine Like One

Hey!

What are you doing on a computer? It's beautiful outside.

Why not go out and take a walk?
Ride a bike?
Soak up some rays?

The sun is shining, get off the internet!

One Of These Things Is Not Like The Other

Today, I was sitting in a 2 hour meeting and I thought to myself:

"I wonder if anyone else here listened to Black Flag on the way to work today?"

Hmm. Probably not.

In fact, I'd be surprised if any of my coworkers have even heard of Black Flag. Pleasantly surprised, I might add. They're all much too nice though.

I really like the people I work with.

Hehe. I didn't think I'd ever say that again in my life.

Rise above,
D'Artagnan

Hey Baby, What's Your Sign?

Wow, "Zodiac" is an amazing film. Check it out ASAP.

A quick head's up: You might want to wear an adult diaper. There are some downright creepy scenes in this flick. I know this site reaches people of all demographics, so maybe you already wear one anyway. In that case, just keep it real.

Time Out New York called it the first film since "Silence of the Lambs" that actually feels like it was written by a serial killer.

Good times!

Patton Oswalt, I Adore You

Yes, my minions, I've been away for a while again. Sue me, I got a new job and although it's great, it's making me very tired. And when I'm tired, more typing is the last thing on my mind.

At any rate, let it never be said that I don't love you.

To prove it, I'm going to introduce you to one of my favorite things in the whole galaxy: the comic mind of Patton Oswalt. This man is wonderful. He can make me laugh at so many different things, in so many ways, I'm continually astounded at his talent. Whether he's ranting about the various ineptitudes of the Bush administration, or about how pouring water on a midget turns them into Sleepy-Time tea, he really is a delight. So, I've borrowed the below post from his own blog, just to help spread the gospel.

You can check out more about Patton HERE (if he ever gets his site up and running again).

Or HERE, you can be his Myspace friend.

Without any further ado, Enjoy!


UN-EDITED GIANT MAGAZINE RANT

I wrote this for -- what issue was it? Well, I wrote it for GIANT Magazine last year. Or maybe late in 2005. Now I can't remember.They made me re-write it and, in the processm, de-fanged it.

Here's what I originally turned in:

Nothing Like That First Cup of Coffee at 2:17 p.m.
or
Why the Republicans Are Winning

I know it's cultural suicide for me to admit I can't stand the noise anymore. I have friends within kissing distance of their mid-40's who've decided, out of personal desperation and a childish fear of death, that they're 22 years old FOREVER. They want the music loud. They want the conversation shouted. And they want the silent moments, when they're alone with their thoughts, kept at bay.

Idiots. I can't wait to be an old man. I am an old man. Forty years ahead of my time. I'm in revolt against my own youth, because I don't want to hear it.

I don't want to hear the inane half-conversations on people's cell phones. I don't want to hear the inane full conversations when the dimwits get together. Strung-together catch phrases and punchlines from TV shows and movies. God bless the iPod. It'd be fine if people knew how to talk on cell phones at a conversational level. Or if people knew how to have conversations anymore. People scream when they talk. They bray and whine and bark as if there's a boom mike recording their every word, and a hidden camera capturing the amazing Indie Film That Is Their Lives.

And no, you smug dumbass, I'm not anti-cell phone, or anti-Starbucks or anti-anything you're "anti" about 'cuz you heard Cameron Diaz bitching about it on MTV. I like technology, progress and convenience. And so do you. Please get over the Myth of Yourselves, hipsters, 'cause no one's writing your biography.

I can't tell you how many friends I have who "apologize" for having a cell phone or "over-explain" all of the internet time they log in. Guess what? No one cares. You're not that interesting or unique. You're not the cultural touchstone for anything. Stop over-thinking every vintage concert T-shirt you wear, or wondering what kind of "statement" you make if you wear Nike ACG's or Chuck Taylors. We're a generation of narcissists, and no one's paying any attention to you." I know what you're thinking. Yeah. Heh. Me – with a cell phone!" Yeah, dude, we're really through the looking glass now.

Or how about this gem: "Oh yeah, I mean, I only saw it to remind me how crappy Hollywood movies are. I mean, I went with a bunch of friends, and we were all on e." Thank God! I thought the sun my universe orbited around had sold out, maaaaaaaaaan. "Well, I watch the O.C. 'cause it's…" Everyone, all together now: "…so bad it's good!' William S. Burroughs on a biscuit, you're blowing my mind with the paradoxes!

Stop defending your integrity. You didn't have it to begin with. Selling out is the new street cred, anyway.

How did the Republicans pull it off? Oh wait, they didn't. We fumbled it.

In the early 90's, the non-chain coffeeshop was a den of revolutionaries. Or, at least, people with revolution on their mind. People would sit, fueling themselves on paint thinner java – writing, reading, getting informed, getting active, getting focused to get rid of George I.

Okay, maybe I'm looking back through rose-colored glasses. Come to think of it, I literally am, since I'm writing this in my Dame Edna costume.

I had the misfortune, last month, to kill a Sunday in the Abbott's Habit coffeeshop in Venice, California. Never again. The counterculture's in permanent red shift. Double-chinned ex-heroin addicts, balding hipsters and saggy-armed ex-rave chicks ("flappers", now that I think of it) sitting around, scowling at the "Calendar" section of the L.A. Times. Sneering at how bad TV and movies and music and President Hilton are. Checking their e-mail and seeing if anything's been updated on salon.com. Doing the Big Disdain.

Know what the Enemy's been doing? They've been awake since 8am, pumping away on the treadmill and taking Krav Maga classes and not being hungover and getting ready to carve up the world for themselves.

The Republicans stole rock 'n' roll and outsider status. Now they've seized the entire goddamn day right out from under us, The Too Cool to Care. We're doomed.

Here's a scene from a screenplay I'm finishing up right before I blow my brains out:

INT.
– HI-TECH PENTHOUSE - IRVINE, CA
– MORNING A sweaty, toned REPUBLICAN DOUCHE-NOZZLE is on his cell phone.

We split screen, and he's talking to a BLOND CONSERVATIVE TWAT.

REPUBLICAN DOUCHE-NOZZLE: Hey Cindy, it's 6:30 a.m. Just hopped off the elliptical trainer. Let's get some egg white omelets and buckwheat pancakes before we continue ruining everything for everyone!

CONSERVATIVE TWAT: I hate fags!

CUT TO:
INT. – SHITHOLE APARTMENT
– SILVERLAKE, CA
– DUSK

A 41 year-old pretending he's still a 23 year-old skateboarder is sprawled on a second-hand couch, talking on a cell phone which he almost never uses 'cuz people who own cell phones are assholes. Old copies of the L.A. Weekly are piled on a T.V., which he watches constantly to remind himself what a lame-o wasteland TV is, especially shows like Jerry Springer, The O'Reilly Factor, According to Jim and The Simple Life, which he and his friends can't believe get such huge ratings.

PATHETIC 41 YEAR-OLD: Hey man, you up?

SPLIT SCREEN with an EVEN MORE PATHETIC 39 YEAR-OLD, in his equally crappy Los Feliz apartment. The 39 Year-Old is currently finishing up a lengthy myspace.com blog entry (his 11th) about how lame Paris Hilton is. He wears, in a really cool ironic way, a faded Journey concert T-shirt which cost $85.

39 YEAR-OLD: Uh, yeah.

41 YEAR-OLD: Same shit, different day, huh?

39 YEAR-OLD: (with brilliant, self-mocking cynicism) That's hot.

41 YEAR-OLD: Gotta make this quick before my piece-of-crap cell phone gives me brain cancer.

39 YEAR-OLD: Did you read that thing in The Baffler about how Cheney and Halliburton own a huge stake in the MRI industry, which gives them a direct incentive to keep cell phones on the market and give people brain cancer?

41 YEAR-OLD: A friend of my brother read it and told him about it and he told me.

39 YEAR-OLD: Fuckin' idiots out there.

41 YEAR-OLD: Fuckin' sheeple.

39 YEAR-OLD: You know what we should do? Let's do the mall, check out some of the sheeple, and then go see Monster-in-Law, to reinforce how lame and hollow Hollywood is.

41 YEAR-OLD: Sounds like a plan. Did you Tivo that re-run of Saturday Night Lame last night?

39 YEAR-OLD: Ashlee Simpson's a moron.

CUT TO:

Mel Gibson being elected Pope.



UPDATE: Here is an amazing picture of Patton and Ms. Florence Henderson, aka Mrs. Brady. This picture is pretty sunny, as in sexy and funny. Look at Patton in his cardy!? Look at Mrs. B in her silver pants!? This is outstanding work on behalf of both artists.

Luca Brazzi Sleeps With the Fishes

I may not have mentioned this before, but my bedroom does not receive any sunlight (there's a joke there somewhere, but I'm too tired). I have a window, so I can get fresh air in the room when I want to, but the window faces and interior sort of courtyard (but imagine the least fancy courtyard possible). I'm on the ground floor, so there is hardly ever any light visible through that window.

As a result, I tend to sleep very late, unless I set my alarm, because at all times, it feels like the middle of the night, unless I have a light on or I open my bedroom door. Otherwise, it's eternal midnight.

Case in point, today, I slept until 2:00pm. 2:00pm!!!! I wasn't even up that late last night. I wasn't drunk. I wasn't suffering from insomnia (for a change). Nothing. But, every time I woke up this morning - and I did wake up a few times, by the way - it was so dark in my room, I just passed out again.

And now, half of my day is gone. Awesome.

I guess I gotta start setting my alarm on the weekends. Otherwise, I could miss half my life!

Huff Po: Truly Truly Truly Outrageous Since 2005

Oh, Huffington Post, you make me laugh!

So Congress grew a pair finally (finally!) and voted against the proposed troop hike that Georgie boy has been clamouring for these many months. Good one on ya, Congress!

But I mean, look at that front page! It reminds me of a fantastic Metallica album.

Eschewing bias, transcending mere opinion, HuffPo bravely forges ahead and just presents one hilarious headline after another, journalistic integrity be damned!

Oh, I kid the Huffington Post. I love them. They know I kid. But wowee zowee, are they ever heavy handed from time to time.

By the way, this is wonderfully astounding news, no doubt about it. But that's also one astounding start page!

Ricky, Don't Lose That Number

Oh, this is rich. Nay, this is wonderful!

Apparently, Ricky "La Vida Loca" Martin flipped the bird in reference to George W. Bush during a recent concert. I guess there's a lyric in on of his songs that refers to having "a photo with the president." When singing this lyric, the Rick-dog apparently let it fly and the crowd went wild.

Things have really gotten bad, ladies and germs, if Ricky fucking Martin is getting political. Read about it HERE.

But, let's not lose sight of one important, fantastically ironic piece of information: Ricky Martin performed at W's inauguration! How do you like them apples?

The best part of all of this, however, is undoubtedly the comments left on the news site linked above - from fans and foes alike. It's a real meeting of the minds. Here are a few tidbits that float my proverbial boat. I've added comments and underlined certain phrases for emphasis. Wow!

Ashamed (gotta love that name!) wrote:
Ricky, regardless of your opinions concerning Bush, that was a tasteless gesture on your part. I thought you had more class than that. It disappointed me to read this about you.

S. Bryan Gonzales wrote:
Ricky, why did you do it? What’s gotten your goat so badly that you’d resort to that behavior?

ihatenazis (again, phenomenal name) wrote:
Ricky shows that a real man is not afraid to stand up to fascism. It is a shame that after the Dixie Chicks this gesture is actually considered daring. Please! What happened to all of the rebel musicians? Stop being sheeple and stand up on your hind legs already! (Remember, we're talking about Ricky Martin here.)

Tolo wrote:
Let’s all sides calm down and agree that probably no one cares what a one hit wonder from the late 90’s thinks of anything. (Oh, I beg to differ, Tolo!)

Anthony wrote:
All commentators that are shocked, dismayed, befuddled, disgusted, angered or feels superior in disagreeing with “the finger”. You are in the minority, most Americans, and even more foreigners find a bond with Mr. Martin in his gesture. Whine all you want, it represents the tail end of an enivitable change coming. (Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Tony.)

jfalo wrote:
Ricky speaks the truth. Bush is bankrupting the country with this bogus war.

dave wrote:
Bush got what he deserved!!! (Did he? I'm of the opinion he deserves just a smidge more than this.)

Emily wrote:
Go ricky go! So hot. (Emily, no one can say you're ignoring the real
issues.)

Cid wrote:
He should have done it sooner. Like when he performed at Bush’s inauguration, that would have been good. Pick a side Ricky… (Yes, Ricky, there's a lot hinging on
your decision! Please, take a stand.)

And last, but certainly not least (in terms of idiocy anyway):

Bill wrote:
bush
xxx
xx xx xx x
x xx xx x xxxx
x x xx x x xxx xx x x
x x x xx x x x
x x x x xx
x xx x

And this concludes our latest session of "Meet the Morons."

Good night, and good luck.

When Rad Things Happen To Good People

I'm ecstatic, ladies and germs.

Remember when I told you there was going to be a new Elliott Smith collection released this spring?

Well, it's been officially announced! Check it out HERE on the P-Fork. Best story they've posted in months, in my opinion.

It's called "New Moon" and it's going to be a double cd of songs from Elliott's self-titled and Either/Or sessions (circa 1995-1997). It will also have a vinyl release.

Super geeks like me already have most of these tracks on bootleg, but I can't tell you how stoked I am to have these in official release with full stereo sound! Plus, for my fellow nerd completists, there's one never before released track on there called "All Cleaned Out." That's reason enough alone for me to buy it.

And on a day like today, when New York is blanketed in white, I think it's quite appropriate that the first track on the collection is the lovely song "Angel in the Snow."

Goodbye Blue Monday

I start a new job tomorrow, my droogs.

And you know what? I actually have a good feeling about it, which is a pretty new concept for me.


Thanks to everyone I know for putting up with my crappola the past year or so. With any luck, I'll be shutting up about all that soon.

I'm excited to see what the rest of this year has to offer. So far, things are off to a solid start.

Some Kind of Wonderful

Remember this moment: I'm at a loss for words.

Amigos, did you ever have an evening where all your friends completely blew your mind with how cool, funny and god damn beautiful they are/is/were?

Well, holy shit and stop the press - I just had such a night.

Thanks friends. And friends of friends. You're more important to me than you probably know. Far more than I'm capable of expressing, that's for damn sure. Keep fighting the good fight. And thanks for making me feel like my existence actually means something in this fucked up world.

Sincerely,
That one guy that you know

Uncle Fester Is Licensed to Drive

Wow.

I just got back from the DMV and I'm completely aghast. I was getting my driver's license renewed.

I mean, everyone has a picture taken of them once in a while that they don't like. But this... somebody take away my shoelaces and any sharp objects. Know what I'm sayin?

To say that I despise my new photo is tantamount to saying that the war in Iraq may have benefited from better planning.

I feel horrible. I'm going to put the song "It's Okay" by Dead Moon on repeat and cry myself to sleep. And it's only 4:30 in the afternoon on a Friday.

Batman Needs A Cat Nap

So, it's 3:15 AM. I can't sleep.

So, I flip through the channels and what do I find? The Machinist. A movie about an anorexic insomniac that slowly loses the last shreds of his sanity.

3:15 AM - Thanks HBO, the irony was not lost on me.

Just replace hair loss for weight loss and we're practically telling the same story.

Just A Minor Threat (Or a Threat to Minors?)

Ian Mackaye (from Fugazi, The Evens, Minor Threat, Embrace and a million other awesome independent music-related projects, including Dischord Records) recently spoke out about a proposed ban on All-Ages access to events in the Washington, DC area.

I'm not sure what the original issue was that prompted this to occur, but I'll update this story with a link if and when I find out.

I wanted to post this, however, because from my perspective, it's just refreshing to see someone sticking to their guns and standing up for what they believe in, even 25+ years on. And all causes should be so lucky as to have a spokesperson as eloquent and thoughtful as Ian Mackaye.

Check it out, you can watch it HERE.

A Lot of Rumors on the Internets

Not to borrow too many catch phrases from Georgie boy (heaven knows he's got enough, but people will begin to think we're buddies), but I would like to add , for the record: Mission Accomplished.

I am now officially back on the Internets. Great success!

Watch this space. It's sure to be filled with even more useless crap in the coming days.

Ross The Boss! (Or Maybe, Ross the Employee?)

My friend Ross, one of the funniest lads I've ever met, is going big time, baby. He just appeared in a series of ads for Careerbuilders.com (I should have looked into their services months ago), and the damn things aired during the Superbowl! I mean, wowee, that's like the Olympics of advertising!


Anyway, you can view Ross in all his commercial glory HERE.

If you don't know who Ross is, you can go HERE (www.myspace.com/brokeandjewish) and learn some more. But you'll only scratch the surface, I'm afraid. The guy has more personality than all five boroughs of New York. In fact, he even has alter egos, but I'll leave that for you to discover on your own.

I hope the guy gets his own TV show, pronto. Every time I've ever seen him, people are paying attention. Can anyone out there get him in a room with David Geffen or some shit???

Congrats, Ross!!! Keep the hits coming. Don't stop till they put your face on a box of Lucky Charms.

Santori Time

Well, this weekend marks the beginning of my week of rest and recuperation. I can’t wait.

The last 9 months have been nothing short of exhausting. Exhausting and almost totally oppressive. Put upon - you ever feel that way? I guess I had before, but never like this. It was an uphill battle in a spiritual war, and this lil' Injun done ran outta arrows.

As my good friend Robert Zimmerman once said, “When something’s not right, it’s wrong.” And this shit was seriously wrong. Almost from day one.

So, I am glad to have washed my hands of it. Things have been on an upswing for me lately, so I’m just going to roll with it, brothers and sisters. Shine on. Why the fuck not.

I have a good feeling about this new gig. Time will tell, of course, but all the signs point to a good outcome. So, I will start that next leg of the trip next Monday.

For now, I’m going to focus on getting my head clear and getting some R&R. It’s about damn time. I’m gonna try to look at some apartments this week too. That’s another piece of the puzzle, to be solved at a later date. Maybe I’ll get a gym membership squared away too.

For now, I’m watching a movie and my usual Monday morning alarm is as good as dead. Let’s hear it for small miracles.

You'll Shoot Your Eye Out, Kid!

I want an official Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle!

Unbelievable. These guys have some balls.

Why don't they ask for a pony too?

IMPEACH.

You Literally Can't Make This Shit Up (Part Three)

I would just like to inform everyone on the planet that today, Pitchfork reviewed a Frank Sinatra box set.

Man, my grandpa was cool, but I didn't know he was into indie rock!

I wonder what he would have thought about that Clipse album that everyone was spraying their shorts about on their end-of-year lists last year.

I do remember that time Sinatra met Sinead O'Connor though:

"Next issue: the bald chick. What's with her hair? How about it, cueball? I'm lookin' at you and thinkin' "fourteen in the side pocket."

And The Lord Said Unto Me “Let There Be HBO On Demand”

Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls… the time has come. I’ve been fasting these past months. I have “gone without.”

Without what, you say?

Among other things… Cable. Cable TV.

I was living in the lap of luxury, not three months ago. I had digital cable, high speed internet, a DVR recorder… life was good. Well, that part of life was good. The rest… not so much.

Then I moved. Every other aspect of this move has been for the best. I am happier (alert the press!) and I get to see my friends all the time.

But I don’t get to see Al Swearengen. I don’t get to see Jon Stewart. Cash Cab. Or even my network friends… Meredith, Rosie, Conan, Dave. Heck, I even miss Mr. Rogers.

But all that changes on Monday, February 5, 2007.

I’m installing the Comcast Triple PlayÒ . Landline phone (that’s another thing, my god damn cell phone doesn’t even work in my own apartment), high speed internet (This wireless shit is for the birds. It’s bird shit.) and… digital cable. With HBO (The Wire!), Showtime (Weeds!) and Stars (I don’t know!). Oh my!

Things are going to be different around here.

The State of the Onion

Wow, I bet nobody ever made that joke before! Gimme a break. I'm hung over.

Ahem.

We've all had more than our fill the past days/weeks/months/years/presidential terms of political mysticism. But how about a little political witticism?

David Rees (author of the highly likeable “Get Your War On” cartoons) watched the State of the Union speech the other night and sends it up in high style.

Get your laugh on, America!

Dylan Goes Electric

So yes, I left this blog woefully unattended for some time. I do apologize, my Ledgers. (That’s how I refer to you when I close my eyes and dream a little dream, by the way. Thousands of long lost relatives of Heath Ledger from around the world [Gomen nasai, Japan!]. Oh, and I guess it has something to do with the name of this site too.) This was not done out of spite, negligence or any other fancy college words like that. No, I hit the job circuit again recently and needed to go under the radar for a bit, just until things blew over. You know how it is. Not that I’m engaged in any high crimes or anything around here, but this site doesn’t exactly scream “hire me.” Come to think of it, I don't scream that either.

Life, these past few months, has been nothing short of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. I’ve been miserable at work, I moved to a great town, grew more miserable at work, went to California, went back to work, and then I just landed a new job, joined a book club, a writing class AND bought a laptop. As Ghostface would say, “The game got real.”

But let’s live in the now, brothers and sisters: I’m back. And soon, I’ll have the internets available to me at the homestead, which will make a tremendous difference and I expect my posts will regain their formerly fierce comic alacrity in no time at all. For now, I know I probably sound like a deadbeat dad, but bear (or bare? your choice) with me just a short while longer.

Hope all’s well on your end of the cord. If you want to leave me a note and tell me what you did for the holidays or what you’re going to do for summer vacation, I’d love to hear about it. You’re as special to me as Crystal Pepsi. And I mean that.

For now, I will part ways, but I leave you with my favorite quote from the highly quotable film Big Trouble in Little China, as delivered by the inimitable Kurt Russell in his role as Jack Burton:

“Ok, you people! Sit tight, hold the fort and keep the home fires burning. And if we're not back by dawn... call the president.”

Except, don’t call the president, please. He’s got his hands full at the moment ruining our collective futures.

ZING!

Big Brother Has Got To Be Kidding Me

Comrades,

Thanks for joining this latest installment of the George Orwell Appalling Truth Hour. On this week’s show, we’ve got a real doozy. As a matter of fact, it’s downright disturbing!

Once again, George W. Bush does not cease to amaze. In a feat that truly defies belief, our beloved Decider in Chief has “decidered” to pass legislation that allows him to… wait for it… OPEN PEOPLE’S MAIL without a warrant. Yes, I’m afraid it’s true. As The Daily News puts it, “The President asserted his new authority when he signed a postal reform bill into law on Dec. 20. Bush then issued a "signing statement" that declared his right to open people's mail under emergency conditions.”

Emergency conditions, eh? Wow, what a strange coincidence that we’ve been at a minimum of an “elevated” threat level since September the 11th (as he likes to call it). Isn’t that just the most convenient thing you ever heard, boys and girls? And you thought having your phones tapped was invasive! He was just getting warmed up.



When is this shit going to end? And don’t tell me November 2008, because that’s so depressing I can’t even bear the thought of it. Dear God and Baby Jesus, what is it going to take to get this fascist impeached? He’s the president of the United States, true, but that doesn’t give him the Divine Right of Kings.

“Hey 'Mrrica, here’s what I think of you and yer civil liberties!”




Remember when all this guy was famous for was getting busted for cocaine and executing mentally disabled people? Ah, those were the good old days.

Good Night, and Good Grief...

Every so often, friends, a piece of news comes along that shakes the fine art of journalism to its very core.

This is just such an article. From its headline to the period at the end, this is perfect.

It can honestly be said: Edward R. Murrow, you are no Richard Johnson.

Wow.

2006: My Favorite Albums A.K.A. Listen, Rinse, Repeat

Friends,

As 2006 draws to its inevitable close, I can't help but look back on it and reflect. I think my thoughts on 2006 can best be expressed with the phrase "Smell ya later!" Yes, I'm not opposed to closing the books on this one, truth be told. It was pretty effed for the most part.

Which isn't to say there weren't some massive nights, great road trips, parties, weekend getaways, vacations, new friends and albums along the way. And while I'd love to post about them all, there just isn't enough time or electrons on the internets to do that.

But I'll tell you what, I can tell you about some of my favorite albums. In fact, I already did! My good friend Kutmaster Krist 5000 posted them up on his own site for all the world to enjoy. So please feel free to click HERE and peruse to your heart's content. This collection will not impact your life significantly, but it will kill a good 5 minutes of your time. Imagine how much time I killed writing it! Wowee!

I'm going to try and kill more time in 2007 this way. I'm sure I'll post/pontificate plenty more before the year is over, but this list just went up today and I wanted to let folks know.

Have a happy Wednesday and a merry weekend, children!

xo
*D'Artagnan

PS - Speaking of "massive nights," I must admit to an egregious error on my part. My top 15 of 2006 does not include The Hold Steady's transplendent album "Boys and Girls in America." I'm not sure how I let that one slip, but really, who ever heard of a Top 16 Records of the year list? Or Top 15, for that matter. Hmm. Anyway, it's a good album, I hope you own it soon or already.

You Literally Can't Make This Shit Up (Part Deux)

Wow, another great piece of news today. This one takes the cake. Then it tells you why you shouldn't eat cake.

In his column "The Big Picture," Jim Rutz, a right-wing conservative columnist issued a real pearl of wisdom, entitled "A devil food is turning our kids into homosexuals." Mr. Rutz asserts that soy products, while certainly an occasional source of nutritional benefit, are slowly lightening the loafers of America's youth.

You heard me: soy makes you gay. Well color me chartreuse and hand me a flower for my lapel. I'm glad we've identified the cause after all these years. I suppose it's the soy that allows them to grow those superhuman mustaches...

But I digest. I mean, digress.

The article has multiple pillars of insight, but I found the following paragraph to be the cornerstone in his Tower of Babble.

Soy is feminizing, and commonly leads to a decrease in the size of the penis, sexual confusion and homosexuality. That's why most of the medical (not socio-spiritual) blame for today's rise in homosexuality must fall upon the rise in soy formula and other soy products. (Most babies are bottle-fed during some part of their infancy, and one-fourth of them are getting soy milk!) Homosexuals often argue that their homosexuality is inborn because "I can't remember a time when I wasn't homosexual." No, homosexuality is always deviant. But now many of them can truthfully say that they can't remember a time when excess estrogen wasn't influencing them.

He also claims that feeding a baby with soy milk has the equivalent effect on them of giving them five birth control pills. Which is an interesting claim, albeit a completely insane one.

So there you have it, folks. Those delicious Chik patties you've been scarfing up for the past few years will literally turn your flag-wielding, church-going, no premarital sex-having sons and daughters into a nation of Ru Pauls during fleet week. Vegetarians? More like Future Sodomites of America.

I hope you're all so very proud of yourselves. Does it make you feel more like a real (wo)man to make your kids feel like less of a (wo)man and maybe even eventually possibly want to have sexual relations with a (wo)man of the same sex? Whoah, man.

Although, now that I'm thinking about it, there was always something "fruity" about the name "Tofutti." Wocka, wocka, wocka.

I sure hope the terrorists don't find out about this. They'll have a field day with it.

Bad Parenting in the 21st Century

My god, it has come to this. Blackberries are replacing drinking problems.

You know, I remember the days when a bad parent was just a bad parent, either because of a lack of responsibility, sound parenting skills or just a few too many banana daiquiris after work. But I guess I’m just thinking back to more idyllic times. Nowadays, parents are turning to Blackberries for escape from their brats.

And that’s even scarier.

Worse, some people give them pet names, like "Crackberries" - isn't that just so fucking adorable? No. No, it's not.

I used to have one at my old job. Thankfully, when I left that abysmal place behind, I left that wretched device as well. Which isn’t to say it wasn’t a way to make free long distance phone calls or as a tool for checking my Gmail account while riding on a train, but it really seems as though some people actually love the little pieces of crap. To the point of ignoring their own children. Amazing.

This story is more disturbing than Michael “KKKramer” Richard’s comedy routine. I mean, when I have kids, I hope (nay, expect!) there will be better reasons to ignore them than a stupid handheld device.

Here’s holding out hope for the future, right?

Speaking of the future, when the hell are they going to get around to making hoverboards and flying cars, by the way???

xo
*D’Artagnan

"Mission Accomplished"

Someone sent this to me today. I thought it was an interesting perspective on the sinkhole that has become the Iraq war, as well as our foreign policy.

Happy Monday!
*D'Artagnan


University of Michigan history professor Juan Cole has provided a unique perspective on the war in Iraq.

Imagine that China has invaded America.

Reflecting the larger U.S. population, Cole imagines that 3,300 Americans are dying in car bombings, rocket attacks, and aerial bombardments, per week.

Meanwhile, most reporters are trapped in Washington, DC hotels, dependent on Chinese troops to protect them.

Nearly 300,000 rebels, armed with machine guns, assault rifles, rocket-propelled grenades, and mortar launchers, control Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, Salt Lake City, Las Vegas, Denver and Omaha.

In the past year, the Secretary of State, the President, the Attorney General, and various Governors have been assassinated.

There is almost no commercial air traffic, and many roads are dangerous. To travel on I-95, for example, you risk being carjacked, kidnapped, or killed.

Electricity goes off throughout the day, if you are lucky enough to have it.

Meanwhile, the unemployment rate is 40%.

Despite all this, Chinese leaders assure you that you are better off now, and that they are bringing democracy and freedom to your country.

www.juancole.com

A Very Bebop Christmas

I know it's only December 7, but I know I could sure as hell use a kick in the ass to get myself in the holiday spirit.

And so I present to you: Bebop, the holiday pup. He's a dog. He's my friend. He's my friend's dog. And he's here to help. Although he lives in Jersey City, he'll be making the rounds this season making sure everyone has as much ice cold Budweiser as they can drink. He's also pretty handy with a tennis ball. In fact, it's a little-known secret, but he's one of the main reasons why Jersey City is so cool.


If this picture doesn't put you in the spirit immediately, consult your physician. You have some problems my friend, and your heart just might be a lump of black coal. I mean, look at that little guy. All he wants is for everyone to enjoy the cool refreshing taste of the King of Beers.

On behalf of everyone here at the Ledge, have a wonderful holiday. And this season, please remember to keep the "Bebop" in Christmas. I know I will.

I'll also be keeping the Budweiser in my tummy.

I Knew I Should Never Have Clicked On That "Myspace Jobs" Advertisement

"The price one pays for pursuing any profession or calling is an intimate knowledge of its ugly side."
- James Baldwin

Just today, I was thinking to myself, “Hey Self, it’s been a rather crappy week, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, Self, it certainly has. And it’s only Tuesday.”

“That’s true, Self. But last week kind of blurred into this one, did it not?”

“Yes, it most certainly did. And did I mention it’s only Tuesday?”

“Yes, I’m afraid you did, you handsome bastard.”

“Oh, Self… What are we going to do with ourSelves?”

Can you tell that I’m tired and losing my mind?














Without further crappola... the past week or so, in emails counts (Let me specify - WORK emails. Personal emails are a different and far more enjoyable species altogether.):

Monday – 121
Tuesday – 119
Wednesday – 183
Thursday – 148
Friday – 151
Saturday – 14*
Sunday – 10*
Monday – 204
Tuesday – 224

(* Yes, small numbers, I know, but they were on the weekend, so I’m counting them as ten weekday emails for every one weekend email. Totaling 140 and 100, respectively.)

As you can see, things are getting progressively worse. The bad days are the ones when I have to do other work, other than just answering all these damn emails. Which is... every day.

I’m wondering how this stacks up with other people out there. Am I crazy or is that a lot of mail to go through? Or am I just peeing my pants over nothing? (It’s been known to happen.)

Today is Tuesday. I posit that it is no coincidence the subject of the email I received today from Netflix said “For Wednesday: Repulsion.” So what if it was talking about this kind of Repulsion and not this kind.

Semantics.

If You Can Read This, You’re Too Cool

Wowee, boys and girls. So far, life back on the Jersey side of things has been a real cool time. I’m saving a bundle on rent and expenses, I see my peoples on a regular basis (that is, when I’m not working till 10:30 PM), I’ve enjoyed some fine art and some fine rock n’ roll (see previous post). All I need now is to find me a Jersey girl, take that little brat of hers and drop her off at her mom's and… oh, you know the rest of the words.

What I’m trying to say is: so far, so good.

And life was further validated for me this morning when I stumbled upon the following article in New York Magazine, which cites Jersey City as the official rebirth of the cool. That’s right, you heard me: it’s not just for Jay Z and Carlos D (What’s with the one letter last names? Coincidence? I think not.) anymore. Jersey City, like Wu Tang, is for the children. The cool children.

As I look around the streets of Manhattan and see million dollar apartments in neighborhoods that were once punk rock mecca, one bedroom apartments renting for thousands of dollars and an increasingly horrifying population of HUM-V driving uber-guidos and Paris Hilton STD hair weave factories, I really feel like I moved just in time.

Don’t believe me? You better axe somebody. Click HERE to read all about it.

Sincerely,
Arthur Fonzarelli

My new neighborhood, as seen from my old neighborhood:

Ch-Ch-Ch-Chuck Out My Melody

Hello friend,

Say, do you like beers? And if someone were to ask you how you feel about stoner rock, what would you say? How about dudes named Chuck?

Well, if you like all three of those things, have I got a deal for you!

This weekend, I’d like to welcome you to Chuckapalooza, which is a name I just made up for a couple of events taking place in the pastoral village of Jersey City, NJ. The first part of Chuckapalooza is a silent auction art show, featuring some of my favorite bromigos: BJ Ervick, Brett S. Wilson, James O’Keeffe and – you guessed it – Chuck Daly.

These are some mighty creative dudes and they’ll all be showing some work at the Residue Art Gallery. There’s gonna be all these awesome things there like beer – I really think you’d like it. Details below. Look for the picture with the sleepy kitten.

Here he is!













Day two of Chucktoberfest (I just changed the name again, did you notice?) is a bit more rockin’, because you know what? We’re living in the free world. This is a show at a place called the Iron Monkey. It’s got more of that beer stuff going on, plus live stoner rock from the glorious notorious Thunder Lizard, featuring bass guitar stylings from – you guessed it – Chuck Daly. Another band called Old Ghost is playing and, last but not least, there will be some DJ sessions from my friends Jamil and Brett, aka DJ Shazam! and DJ Cupcakes. I don’t know what they’re going to play exactly, but I’d imagine it will probably not be from the last two decades. And it might occasionally be Japanese. But it’s cool, dude, you’ll like it.

You should go to that too. It starts at 9:30ish. Here’s the address for Iron Monkey and another flyer image follows below (look for the giant banana):

Iron Monkey
No. 97, Greene Street
Jersey City, NJ 07302



















Maybe I’ll see you there? Unless you don’t go. Which would be a bummer. There’s this dude Chuck that’s gonna be there. You probably heard about him.

Sleepy kittens,
*D’Artagnan

Sometimes, My Arms Bend Back

Okay.

Seriously, I keep listening to that theme song over and over again. It's really relaxing. But I'm also afraid I'm going to lose my mind.

If it's not already lost.

Up next in the Netflix: Season one discs 3 & 4, as well as "Fire Walk With Me."

I think I might have a problem. But I don't want to fix it.







The little man told me my favorite gum was coming back into style,
*D'Artagnan

No Gnus Is Good Gnus

Or something like that.

Hey kids. Sorry, no updates for a while, I know. Still no internets and work has been 10 - 13 hour days lately (fun!). We did get a plasma screen TV though, which is certainly worth noting. Next we get HD cable for it and then comes the internets. When that happens, watch your ass, blogosphere. Wow, I really hate that fucking word.

So much I'd love to write about too - people I've seen, turkeys I've eaten, shows I've been to, movies I've watched, etc. - but it will have to wait. Hopefully around December 8 or so, I'll be able to start acting like a normal person again. Till then... snowball's chance in hell.

If you're feeling down or depressed, watch a Twin Peaks episode on DVD with your new plasma screen TV. That's really been working for me lately. I've been listening to the theme song on repeat for the last hour and it really relaxes me. You can listen to it HERE.























I leave you with this quote, from Arthur Schopenhauer:

"If we were not all so interested in ourselves, life would be so
uninteresting that none of us would be able to endure it. "

Yeah, that's the kind of stuff I like to put on this site.

xo
D'Artagnan

Best Election Ever, Man!

Wow. Wowee-wow-wow. Color me surprised. Scratch that. Color me red, white and blue!!!

What a fantastic selection of news to choose from today!

Democrats reclaim the House.

Democrats probably reclaim the Senate.

And Rummy is AUDI 5,000.

Stem cells, gay marriage and abortion - oh my!

Man, X-mas came early this year!

It's a truly depressing thought (lemme just squeeze one in here), but this is probably the best news day I've seen in 6 years, since Captain Craptastic first stole the presidency.

Oh, the relief. Now only 2 more years of this ass clown and we can get a real president in the office. And I don't even mean that sarcastically. I have this strange feeling inside of me that I have not felt in a long time. I think it's.... hope! We can do it people - we can do it!

America,
D'Artagnan

A Ledge of One's Own

Oh my brothers and only friends,

Bear with me for a short time. I have recently relocated my ledge and the current abode does not yet have the internets on it. (I didn't even know there were still places like that left in the world.)

So for the time being, I'm only going to be able to post stuff while I'm at work and that's tough to pull off.

But know that I am thinking of you often and missing you very much.

Hell, I need you. I'm a mess without you. I miss you so damn much. I miss being with you, I miss being near you. I miss your laugh. I miss your scent; I miss your musk. In fact, when this all gets sorted out, I think you and me should get an apartment together. Even though I just got a new one this week.

Okay, thanks for stopping by. I'll be back soon enough hopefully and maybe I'll even have some new content that I didn't swipe from Champ Kind.

Whammy,
D'Artagnan