eyebrows

wow

baby preacher

so young and already speaking in tongues.

claus

One reason I'm glad christmas is over is that I don't have to see this creepy as fuck ad anymore. Santa went from a Jolly fat man to a skinny albino eater of souls.

Razor's Edge

The other day, when work was cut short by a middling New York snowstorm, I capitalized by sharing some super happy hour brews with a friend. When a fortyish, silver-haired man my dad's age lumbered over to our stools, I figured he was a lonely accountant gone AWOL from the office party taking place in the far corner, or at most, a Murray Hill closet dweller with Chelsea dreams. Instead, he pulled out a generic plastic shopping bag from which he produced a single package of Gillette Sensor III. "Best deal you'll get." I examined the razor, admiring its virtues. "I'll sell you 4 for 20," he slurred. I thanked him, noting that with such a surplus, I'd have nothing to do but go out and slash people. The bartender, an ingénue, winced perceptibly. The stumblebum leaned in closer, whispering gently into my ear, "You can even take it into the bathtub." A fine point.

John Madden

John Madden has got to be the most annoying Cowboys homer. As a color commentator he offers nothing. I really wish someone would throw shoes at him. I had to turn off the sound and put on WFAN for the radio broadcast.

Here's another on the hate list.

Dion Sanders - A walking camel faced jackass. I actually change the channel when he's speaking on the NFL network post game show.

Riddles

When I was little, my dad would spend quality time with me in the following manner: Plopping down on the couch and asking my younger self if I'd like to play riddles (in Russian, of course). I'd get super-excited and climb on my dad's belly. His eyelids heavy and slowly shutting like medieval city gates, he'd drawl something along the lines of, "What doesn't burn in a fire, doesn't drown in water, doesn't rot in the earth?" While I scratched my head and searched my tiny little literal brain for an answer, Dad was giving in to the Slumber God and, by the time I looked at him to deliver a half-baked answer, he'd was well on his way to bucolic Snooze Village.

P0wned

In the Wake of Da Prophet

Why We Rage: Confessions of a Twixter

The word “rage” first entered our Lexicon in the early aughts, when a friend’s friend band was then encamped in LA and, from what I understand, living out of a van down by the river. During a transcontinental phone call he’d inquired if we’d be “raging” on a certain night. We’d been raging for years and didn’t even know it.

What’s a rage? The word often inspires radical interpretations: young lads swinging from chandeliers, scandalized women with rouge lips and hiked skirts piled unto pickup trucks, and empty bottles of liquor lining powdered glass tables like pines in an Alpine forest. In reality, a rage is something two or more decently educated post-collegiate dorks engage in on weekend nights after psyching each other up and pre-gaming on undergrad nostalgia. “We came, we raged, we conquered” is merely a group euphemism for innocent debauchery involving no more than a half-dozen extreme beers, silly inside comedy bits, and minor property damage.

Two weeks ago, I was at Bar None, an NYU haunt where, thanks to fake IDs, the average age probably falls short of 21. We strode in with a coupon (sign of the times) offering 2-for-1 beers handed to us outside by a bespectacled girl. After some ritual sideline mockservations, we were drawn into a friendly beer pong exhibition resulting in a fairly dominating win for us (it’s common knowledge that beer pong always comes down to the last cup, so it’s all about the start).

So what separates me from the hordes of age-denying post-collegiate frat rats packing bars from the UWS to the LES? Am I any better than the button-downed Lehman Brother carpet-bombing his friends with Jagerbombs and Stellas? Is it merely my preference for extreme beers and ironic perspective? Nope, any old hipster doofus can provide these dubious alternatives. As for me, I have another theory.

In the decade of doubt between school and responsibility, raging is not just a celebration of youth: it’s a small redoubt from the rapidly invading future, a raft in a fast-flowing stream with a certain terminus—the only question is how long until the plunge? Raging is a boycott against the inevitability of life-by-script and our invisible queuing to meet vicissitudes large and small. It’s a constant in an uncertain time dominated by certain variables. Rage is an anchor in the stormy sea of family, career, mortgage, disease, divorce, and death. Rage is way of life—at least for today…

Bah, Rack

I really did want to vote for McCain this year but, alas, the old man did everything he could to lose my vote. In his pursuit of power, JM has ceded a carefully cultivated image of independent, maverick legislation to appease the base. Worse still, he chose a supremely unqualified (though nice) lady as his second in command in a cynically calculated move of desperation, poisoning the race with irrelevant identity politics and inspiring careless vitriol. Further, with each debate and public appearance, it's become clearer that JM i a crotchety old man whose attitude could do more harm than good in a time when we need fresh ideas to compete in a global marketplace.

JM, I love you, you're a hero, but goodbye, and thanks for all the fish!

Palling Around with Criminals

nba

"I would trade Eddie Curry for chicken Curry."

an Observation

Harrison Ford + pig people from twilightzone episode "beauty is in the eye of the beholder"
= Bill Maher

TErrible awful movie.

This weekend IFC had on "IFC shorts".
I tuned in as they were showing, http://theclimacticdeathofdarkninja.com/ The Climactic Death of Dark Ninja.

This movie is by far the WORST student film/short I had ever seen in my life. I wish I had the 13 minutes back. After the first minute I kept on telling myself, it's on TV, surely this has to go somewhere! Now keep in mind, I went to art school and have seen some of the most horrible films (some of which I helped produce), none could match this.
It wasn't quirky, cute or ironic or funny. It was stupid. Watching it you can tell there was definitely some money spent on the production. The audio didn't match the kids lips most of the time. The dialogue was pitiful. The direction was making me dizzy.

So I was actually pissed off afterwards. I went online and found that this short had actually won some awards, one of them for BEST AUDIO. Maybe this can be the next Michael Bay, or Brett Ratner or

I wish my Dad never took me to a Met game 22 years ago

Fuck this team

How can you slap?

Crtics Gone Wild

LoL. Poor Ebert.

Ailing

Welcome to Israeli airport security, Alvin Ailey. Now the world knows. Why was it important for the AP to point out that Israeli security detained an "African American"? Are they trying to say that the guy was stopped on account of his skin color, rather than his first name, "Abdur-Rahim?" In any case, the most interesting development in this story is that Jackson is engaged to a Jewish woman. A straight dancer? Yeah, and pigs with lipsticks fly.

Hello, Dollface

Misogyny rears its ugly head again the form of the Sarah Palin doll. I wonder if anyone is mass-producing an Obama doll wearing a turban or a McCain doll complete with meat hook and water board in a Hanoi Hilton environment.

New Sabia

http://news.yahoo.com/story//ap/20080908/ap_on_el_pr/college_republicans_obama