Thursday, December 30, 2004

The DCeiver returns.

I have no idea what day it is yet. We are returned from a week of floating around the Atlantic and the Caribbean on the ms Zuiderdam, The DCeiver's favorite ship in the Holland America fleet. We visited the Bahamas and Saint Thomas and Saint Maarten, read through the assigned NaNoWriMo submission, which in turn gave us graceful little storyboards floating in our head and Echo and the Bunnymen on the soundtrack, and very nearly finished plowing through five months of The Believer back issues.

Of course, the big news this week is the horrific tragedy in the Indian Ocean (and it is a tragedy in the classic sense because it was inevitable, presumably). Of course, President Bush has only ponied up a cocknocking $15 mil to help out, mainly because he's all sad that 9-11 isn't the cool tragedy (though it wasn't a tragedy in the classic sense because it tweren't inevitable, bitches) anymore. A quarter of the crew of the ms Zuiderdam were Indonesian, and I really have no idea how they continued to do their jobs without breaking down and freaking out.

But you should help out, and the best place to start is with the International Red Cross. Mail a yuppie food stamp (see D. Coupland for etymology of that term) to them today, and keep your ears open for additional aid opportunities.

Now, what fucking day is it today?

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

OPEN ENTRY: Good riddance to the past year's rubbish.

Of course, there's a lot to be said for the end of a year bringing the end to the shit that makes us TESTY! Like these balls. They are making me testy. And people who quote Futurama. Testy, they make me.

Let The DCeiver know what things or people or circumstances you'd like the DC area to shed in the new year, and use the comment-cakes to leave your mark of resentment upon the blogosphere.


Hey kids, wanna contribute to The Diner Media Empire? Well, we're working on putting together our end of year posting, and we're gonna try to accentuate the positive. Talk about only the good things.

So, take some time and relax and think of the best stuff you saw or did or ate or sniffed or injected or hung on your wall this year. I don't care what it was, a ringtone, an act of protest or coitus, a bookmark, a mosquito bite. If it was good, let us know. Don't worry about having ten or five or two or twenty things, either. Go ahead and leave it as a comment. Try to have fun with it, don't do it if it's not any fun. And have a good holiday season, whether you're looking forward to celebrating Jesus crawling out of Mary's womb or a bunch of awesomely long-lasting oil or the Ramadan sales at CVS or the Continuing Adventures of Kwanzaa Man. See you soon, people.

OPEN ENTRY: The Local Dish

Did you see how the people who burned that housing development were tryign to bring fame and glory to their street racing club??? What the good googly fuck is that about? Street racing club, huh? Sounds like Dungeons and Dragons for dorks who have the pathological need to try to hard to impress people.

We're only putting a passing glance on local news during our break, so why not provide your own cogent analysis? Or better yet, pound some Maker's and analyse in that style. The comments are yours for the taking. Feel free to keep us all informed.

OPEN ENTRY: Call Your Own Enthusiasts

While some like getting together with family over the holidays, other people are like: "Fuck familial togetherness! Let's go out!" The city still loves you. Why not spend Xmas and Xmas Eve with the City?

Hit up the comments and spread the word about Christmas gigs, big and small, where the lonely kids will be drinking, and what other prankish nonsense you'd like an accomplice for.

Happy Holidays from The DCeiver

Geez, did you see the Sports page of the Washington Post? The most dangerous place in DC is the space between Harold Brazil and a camera. Ten days and that asshat is gone.

We're fixing to take a hiatus around here in the Diner Media Family, in order to best prepare for Christmas visits and the like. We'll be catching up on sleep, visiting family, working on a big revision, planning End-Of-Year shit across the board, and listening to our favorite tunes. You people have already made December 2004 The DCeiver's best month since we began, and while some credit, I suppose must go to the Wonketteers who stopped by on their way to some bar, The DCeiver says unto all, Merry Christmas Blah Blah Cakes.

We'll be taking a break starting tonight and we will return on the 30th. But in the meantime, we might as well put the blog to some use. I'll be opening up some open entries and I hope you people will make use of the comments to thread some discussions of your own.

Enjoy. Talk to you again in a week, unless I say screw it and talk to you sooner.

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

Hey, DC! If you just had the strange feeling...

...that Tony "Bohica"* Williams rammed a baseball bat up thine, that's because the latest stadium finance deal has passed.

The deal that has been struck is that Williams will occasionally pretend to look for private financing for the stadium to alleviate the burden on DC's taxpayers, and the DC Council has basically promised to not hold him to accounts or say anything untoward about the bow-tied genius when he puts forth nary a scintilla of effort to do so.

Actually, we're inclined to put some money down on Williams and the city not even occasionally pretending to look for private financing.

Throughout the whole debate, the snake oil we've been asked to bathe in is this notion, straight out of Candyland, that paying for a new stadium will somehow "revitalize" some "neighborhood." This sort of economic development canard is the sort of thing you can reliably expect from the economic center-right leaners. To be sure, we're not going to offer a blanket "that never works" because it can, in fact, work. But when the two most reliably center-right people on the DC Council vote AGAINST it, as Schwartz and Catania did today, that should tell you something.

And, of course, this whole showdown was designed to occur before the new Council steps in--the rejected Council members, Sandy Allen, Harold Brazil, and Kevin Chavous, showed up to vote for a measure their former constituents didn't want. Those three have a distinguished Council career of gaming the system and fucking their constituents, so at least they're consistent. It's too bad that it's illegal to strip the three of them naked, shave their bodies and force them to run down the street as the citizens jeered like the French whores who used to sell their services to the occupying Germans, because it would be a satisfying way for Washington to enjoy the end of their service to the city.

Oh, well. I look forward to many blog entries titled, "Told you so." People say Mayor Williams is some sort of sane, responsible alternative to Barry-style cronyism? Ahh, the mordant laughter--Williams is but the Barry turd polished. Some things never change. Like DC taxpayers getting fucked on yet another white elephant, pants-down reaming. Just when I thought I could maybe close the book on BOHICA, we instead begin a whole new chapter.

Tough titties, Washington. Enjoy the shitty baseball team.

*BOHICA=Bend over, here it comes again.

50% Private Financing is the Sane Choice

Let's face it. If we were in a room together, each of us concerned only with doing right by the taxpayers, mindful of the civic enjoyment sports provides but not frantic and desperate to land a team, and without fatuous, legacy obsessed politicians, we'd have a name for the people in the room who would oppose the effort to procure private financing: Crazy People.

That's because finding folks to risk venture in an investment is called, duh, capitalism. And, shit, I like making a buck as fast as the next guy. A good faith effort to find private financing would likely succeed. However, the deal we have made with the owners is basically one where we agree to fatten the calf as much as possible without becoming beholden to outside investors to muddy up the balance sheet. When the owners finally have this stadium and team in place, they'll get to sell the whole kit and caboodle and keep the proceeds for themselves. The taxpayers are stuck holding all of the risk of the venture, in addition to a debt they'll pass on to their children, with only the barest, flimsiest mirage of a half-hearted hope that maybe some sort of benefit might trickle out in return.

Socializing the entire risk while privatizing the entire profit--well, that's just about the worst kind of socialism there is.

Now, all's fair if that's what the community wants. But it isn't what DC wants. Not according to any measure of the public will that's been taken thus far. This deal is in place precisely because we have a legacy-obsessed mayor, three people on the Council who will vote for it without paying any political price, and a small but vocal group of pro-baseball lobbyists so fuckign desperate to make any deal with MLB that they'd sell their own daughters into slavery to make it happen.

And that's the problem with this deal. The crazy people, the desperate people, the irresponsible people, the legacy obsessed people, and the immune-from-political-harm people have made it. They've handed over a blank checkbook. Sold away any leverage the taxpayers have. And knowing they didn't have the standing to act on behalf of taxpayers--indeed, knowing that they wanted to avoid speaking to the people who'd be providing the money at all costs, they've rammed this through, with only Linda Cropp to pretend to do due diligence of any kind.

If the measurement of the taxpayers will on this regard was coming up in favor of the sell-out arrangement--it would still be a bad deal, but at least the taxpayers would have feathered their own uncomfortable bed. Even if the people didn't want it, but the council voted so that the measure passes with Allen, Brazil and Chavous--who represent nobody--abstaining, it'd be jake with me because then the taxpayers could at least punish somebody. Where's the check? Where's the balance? Where's the oversight? And that's why DC is screwed.

Your Baseball Boondoggle is Back On!

Well, it appears that a deal has been reached between Mayor Williams and Linda Cropp that will facilitate the packing up of taxpayers hard currency and delivering it into the hands of the poor little matchgirls of Major League Baseball. The new deal includes a measure that allows private financing to be sought after, which is designed to sound good in theory, but prepare to be disappointed, people: no one's going to try that hard to find any! In addition, the measure calls for insurance to be bought to protect the city from cost overruns--the payments to be split with MLB.

Split? Um, how about, MLB picks up the whole tab on that? How about, private financing is what has to pay for cost overruns. I mean, can DC save its residents ANY money?

Because, let's face it, there are going to be cost overruns. That's by design here in Washington. We may never know how many dollar dollar bills y'all showed up underneath Cropp's welcome mat to make her opposition go away, but if you've lived in the DC area for more than fifteen minutes, you know how this will work: Cropp and company will farm out contracts on a crony-by-crony basis, the budget inflation will start overnight, the overruns will pile up, and then the Council's homies will have got to get paid, bitch. And pay them DC's taxpayers will, with a little somethin'-somethin' coming back to Miss Linda and her Council girlfriends in the form of hot cash for the campaign coffers. Oh, yes, DC, your ass just got served.

I guess that's what bugs me about the fatuousness. A person like Ms. Drop Cropp can rend her garments and shriek, "Linda Cropp lied! She's a liar! This shall not stand!" But if they are being honest, they should amend their statement to say: "We've never been much concerned with the prevarications of anyone on DC Council before, but in this instance, Linda Cropp has failed to prevaricate on our behalf, and so we are thus incensed."

The people like that--disgusting gladhanders and grandstanders all--don't need to announce that after they get their baseball they'll return to their regularly scheduled program of never giving a fuck. Having stepped in to ensure that wealthy MLB gets more booty, they'll tone down their volume and will never be heard again raising their voices or expending one-half calorie of concern for anything or anyone in Washington, DC. Wherever there is assistance to be offered, they won't be there! And they'll be damned proud of it.

The majority of DCers polled were in favor of Cropp's measure. Polls are hardly scientific, but you wouldn't want to wager against me if we bet that a supermajority of DC taxpayers, if they were specifically asked to contribute money to support baseball, would decline their support. On the 2005 DC tax form, there should be a checkbox: "Do you support baseball in DC?" Everyone who says yes gets dinged in 2006.

And now, some David Pattersonny breed of clueless git is moving air past his larynx in an effort to get his voice past his sweaty lips in protest: "Fine, then only those people who check the box can share in the windfall!" Ha. That's okay by me. I'm entering a macro right now: "Major League Baseball has not delivered on the benefits it promised." I wonder how soon before I get to headline a blog entry with that title! Three years? Four years? Won't be too long, I imagine. Certainly sooner than "Washington Nationals posts winning season!" (Yeah, did I mention: this is the sorriest team in the League we're getting?) In the meantime, I'll cherish the fantasy of baseball supporters dividing into zero.

Look, my problem is not with baseball. I have, in the past, liked baseball. But my problem is with getting reamed. And DC is getting reamed. Big time. There are so few people in DC government that can be counted on to behave responsibly. Cropp's never been one of them. Three of the people who will vote on the measure: Allen, Brazil and Chavous--they've never been among them. Tony Williams is a party to the reaming, he's specifically engineered the vote so that due diligence never happens--evidence of this is as clear as day: he put the measure to the lame-duck council and even fled the fucking country for an important period of time! I mean, when a man behaves like a thief, it's usually safe to assume he's thieving!

Right now, the DC Government, they aren't mature enough to contemplate a baseball team. They aren't smart enough to manage this legislation. They haven't earned enough points yet. They lack the stomach to negotiate firmly on behalf of their constituents. It reminds me of what might happen if you put a six-year old child in charge of a howitzer.

Hey, look. I hope I'm wrong about how fucked we're going to be. It would be such a novelty, for one thing. I'd be glad to write, and I mean this, OVERJOYED to write: "Anacostia Enjoys Renaissance, CItizens of Once Blighted Neighborhood Rejoice! And It's All Thanks to Our Crappy Baseball Team." But I would not bet one thin dime on that outcome coming to pass. Methinks the sinkhole instead. Either way it works out, I'm content as hell to not stand up and support the ass reaming.

Friday, December 17, 2004

Calling More Enthusiasts!

Feeling a bit flu-ey today, which might explain why I almost forgot to mention that this weekend at IOTA is the Christmas Homestand Weekend for those rootsy darlings of Arlington, Last Train Home. Join Jim, Alan, Eric, Bill, Martin, Scott, Kevin, along with Dave Van Allen, maybe Doug Derryberry, Jared Bartlett, Chris Watling, that dude who cooks at Cafe Saint-Ex, that other guy who sort of looks like my friend Mad Dog from Grad School that kind of annoys me (that other guy annoys me, not Mad Dog--he's a prince), probably Phoebus'll stop by and get a turn, Stoner and Boner the Santa Claus Twins and God knows who the fuck else on Iota's Noel-bedecked stage and officially welcome the holiday season into your heart. Steve McWilliams opens on Friday, Yell County opens Saturday, and don't forget to bring your kids to the Sunday matinee for a smoke-free show with the Kevin Cordt Quartet opening (we think, IOTA's site says something different.) ($12/$8 Sunday)

Calling all Enthusiasts!

The DCeiver had one fantastic time last night at the DCist happy hour at Big Hunt. It was awesome to meet the rest of DCist, whose authors also write fantastic sites like "Hong Kong Danger Goodspeed", "La Narcissisme Sans Requite", "Settled? Ha! Never, you Fool! Never!", "Leaves of Information Aloft, Dancing Like a Plastic Bag in that Movie with the Girl from Ghost World", "Get Your Eat On", "Crouching Grayson, Hidden Yakusha", and, no doubt, soon, many, many more that I don't even have half-assed pet-names for. DCist is awesome, people, and remember, the more you read DCist, the better the odds that one day, Jen Chung will let DCist expense our happy hours.

Also, it should be pointed out, last night...the chill in the air...the lovely smattering of Xmas lights up around Dupont and spokes...folks bringing trees home...what a lovely time of the year this is for the DC area. So, come out from behind whatever barricade or bivouac the season's got you stuck behind, and enjoy the coming week!

Check it: you have a "Festival of Lights" on 9900 Stoneybrook Drive in Kensington, a "Garden of Lights" at the Brookside Gardens in Wheaton, a "Miracle of Lights" at Bull Run Regional Park in Centreville, and a "Symphony of Lights" on Broken Land Parkway in Columbia. Without doubt, there is probably somewhere an "Orgy of Lights", a "Cavalcade of Lights", a "Grand Festooning of Lights", a "Series of Unfortunate Lights", a "Rose Garden Funeral of Lights", and a "Holy Fucking Shit! Look at those Lights" you could be attending this weekend. So don't get stuck staring at the spotlights outside the Ellington!

Art-O-Matic's releasing a CD? Can Art-O-Matic tell us what's on the CD? No. Do we know how the CD came about? No. Are the bands that will be in attendence, like Villarosie and Pure Light Seed going to be on this CD? Seriously, it's anybody's guess. But can you, if nothing else, take the CD and wing it at Blake Gopnik's head? Why yes. Yes you can. Sunday at DC9, with Pure Light Seed and Shahid Mustafa, Renee Heartfelt, Villarosie, Wes Tucker, and Koshari--$6.

DC Welcomes the King and Queen of Baltimore
It's a John Waters Christmas at the Nightclub called 9:30. This coming Tuesday, join Mister Mondo Trasho for some stand-up, some Q&A, and some relief from all the desperate living you've been doing. Should be tres fun, and my oh my, it wouldn't be XXXmas without saying your Ave Maria Prankster a few times for luck, would it? Mary will be on hand to kick the whole thing off with her immaculate DCeptions.

DCeptette: Neighborhood #3 (Power Out) Version

  1. So it turns out that Maryland undergraduate Michael Sumner's iPod giveaway/exchange is actually part of an elaborate dissertation on internet fraud. Dude. Wow. I tip my hat. Balls the size of churchbells! And here's why this is legit--he didn't just defraud students who feel oddly compelled to get pyromaniacal when ESPN flashes Gary Williams' stern visage. He snowed folks at all levels. This reminds me of the old "Last Chance! Send $1" classified ads. Moreover, kudos to anyone who makes their dissertation that fun. (The Upstate Life)
  2. Aaron Speed, security guard at the Hunters Brooke subdivision, is arrested and charged with arson. Somewhere the serial arsonist is stroking his hairless cat and thinking, "Feh. Amateur." (Post)
  3. Ye Olde Convention Center is going the way of the Kingdome tomorrow. Implosion fans should have booked their room at the Renaissance Washington a long time ago. (Post)
  4. It may look like a hateful screed from one happy drunk to a "sucker-punching bitch", but I ask you, doesn't it really feel like love at first sight? (Craigslist)
  5. Psychotic duellist Zell Miller will personally salute the shiteaters of Swift Boat Scumbags for Slander at the American Conservative Union's Banquet in February. It will take place at the Ronald Reagan Building, where coincidentally, I'll be toasting the Building Engineers for Large Piles of Dynamite. So, if you miss out on tomorrow's implosion... (ABC News)

Today's Yadda-Yadda Baseball-Cakes Update

Whose side am I on? Wow. That's a tough question: Linda Cropp, Tony Thrilliams, Peter Angelos, the DC Council, Major League Baseball--that's a murderer's row any way you slice it! How about I'm on the side of the Earth's tectonic plates, as they wait for all parties to find themselves above a suddenly yawning chasm?

Now we have these new ninnies from DropCropp-dot-Whateverandeveramen? Say what you want about Cropp's own double-dealing and disingenuousness (it helps her fit in with all the parties listed above in their race-to-the-bottom character self-annihilation quest), but offending the delicate honor of Major League Baseball has to be the most asinine reason given for recalling a public official in the history of public officials. The tide of public opinion in DC is so clearly running against the plan Williams has concocted, that the only thing I find strange about Cropp's action is that it actually aligns with her constituent's wishes! Cropp's been jacking the people and jacking the people and jacking the people and jacking the people for YEARS now, and the DropCropp types wre only too content to issue nary a peep--never was heard a discouraging word! But, the minute Cropp jacks the corporate loons at Major League Baseball, suddenly the claws come out!

There's a word for that, and it's PHONY. Phony, phony, phony. Fake, counterfeit, not genuine, false, spurious, dubious, fraudulent. Gonna get my ass to Eastern Market this weekend to buy me some snake oil while the market's flooded with product!

But beyond all this, why doesn't anyone recognize that this whole deal with baseball is disingenuous by design and has been disingenuous from jump street? Isn't it O.B.V.S. that Tony and the MLB concocted a timetable specifically designed to finalize this deal while three of his reliable yes votes (Allen, Brazil and Chavous) were still lame-ducking? That there was never any real plan to put forth the best possible, good-faith argument in favor of housing a baseball team; that, in fact, careful plans were undertook to ensure that the need for the best possible, good-faith argument in favor of housing a baseball team would never come to pass? Ahh, DC. Baseball is a fine pastime, but DC clearly only was offered the Expos because the owners knew they could give DC the bummest of all bum steers.

Lay no wreath of triumph on the brow of Linda Cropp, but thank good fortune that at least one phony found a phony way to sell out all the other phonies and accidentally forestall a larger and more destructive city-wide shafting. Bug Selig and his goons have been holding municipalities hostage and making demands of taxpayers for years. Going forward, maybe other cities and municipalities will learn from this and say, "You know what? We don't have to bend over for these gangsters!" DC residents may be forced to admit Linda Cropp was the instrument of their will, but I think it's fair for DC residents to take credit for themselves for drawing the line, and not being snowed by a heap of phony sentimental bullroar--and I encourage DCers to take specific pride in it. It's Washington's first Major League win in a long time.

Thursday, December 16, 2004

Confederate Flag : South Carolina :: Baseball : Washington, DC

Seriously. As people all over the country and in and out of every community sit by and wait for the people they've called to serve to actually start serving, those servants are off putting their bodies and minds to work on the most nonsensical activities. How many wasted hours? How much wasted energy and sweat. One wonders if at the end of a life or career, any of them realize: "By God, when I could have been doing something important, I was off restitching a flag or trying to bring a crappy sports team to town."

Water naturally flows into the deepest and lowest places from the heights. You can build pipes and aqueducts that get that water where it's needed, or you can stomp around in puddles like pre-schoolers.

Drop Cropp drops by.

Soon after we read the news that "AKA Wonkette" has posted, we got an email from DropCropp's/ own Jessica Cox, urging us to sign a petition to recall Linda Cropp.

We replied:

Dearest Jessica:

When I think about all the massive effort and frenzied passion that you and yours are putting into trying to procure a baseball team, saddens me. It makes me wonder..."Is it, say, crippling conjunctivitis that has caused this terrible lack of

I dare you to walk into Bread For The City and shout: "Never fear citizens! Jessica Cox will get you your baseball team!" Don't be surprised when no one thanks you.

Really, couldn't you maybe, stop this Linda Cropp nonsense, and get in a room with your coworkers and say, "I know, guys! Let's see if maybe we can contribute in some way to catching the serial arsonist!"

Seriously. Do just that. Right now! You will feel better about yourself. You can do it! You can, in fact, today, decide to give some people in the actual world outside your little pea-brain some help!

And, lo, the people of DC will say, that Jessica's brain GREW THREE SIZES that day!

Because that guy, he's actually setting stuff on fire. Baseball in DC is a "pretend concern." How about working on what might be called an "actual" concern.

And next time you solicit me, you should really stop and read The DCeiver first.

Drop this,

The DCeiver

Remember: when the issue is insignificant, the outcome inconsequential, the stakes low and the reward is non-existent, Jessica Cox will be there, ignoring the needs of actual people.

DCeptette: Fletch Dies Version

  1. Oh, no! Looks like Major League Baseball might huff off to (tee hee) New Jersey, in the wake of Linda Cropp's vote yesterday. Damn. Cropp is straight gangster, leaving a horse's head in Bud Selig's bed like that. Trust me, I'm no glossy eyed lover of Linda Cropp--she only did what she did because she didn't get bought off to the point that basking in the glow of the people started to look unattractive. Trust me, if she had been, she would have joined the "let them eat crackerjack" chorale fast as lightning. Like I said yesterday, though, it's HARD to know who to root for in this. So you have to do what I do, everyday--count a new blessing when you wake up. Today, I am amused and delighted at what cockmastering jerks the MLB owners look like. DC's been begging them for a team for years--"Shine a light on MEEEE Bud Selig!" So finally, the stars align, and all those greedhead owners line up to wrap themselves in the mantle of Doing The Right Thing, Correcting a Great Wrong--"Look, at us! We have magnamimously returned baseball to DC!" Yeah, as if they weren't really the problem in the first place. Now that the Council vote isn't too their liking, they show themselves to be the pinheaded shitwranglers they truly are. So much for doing the right thing and correcting a great wrong! At the end of the day, DC was right to toss those criminals out of town, if, in fact, that's where they're headed. Majopr League Baseball has become such a pimpledicked joke over the last twenty years--think about how now, the steroid scandal has sullied the last Temple of Purity for baseball enthusiasts, the Recorded Historical Statistics and Records! These owners brought it all on themselves: every poor decision, every instance of letting someone off the hook, the alienation of fans, the miserable joke of small market teams, the bloated salaries--who's to blame for all that? Here's a hint: not Linda Cropp! Here's hoping that other cities strong arm these bastards. May the Montreal Expos become a ship without a harbor, on one eternal Tour of Shame from city to city. Good riddance. (Post)
  2. Just to show that good people can disagree on this matter... (Blue in the Face)
  3. Peter Marks: ask yourself do you really want to be on the business end of my ball peen hammer? (Post)
  4. Craigslister "Confused in New York" doesn't recognize a glass house when he sees one, complains that "most of the nation's capital looks like a Third World city." Umm, most of the Nation's Capital looks like Rock Creek Park, dipshit. Anyway, Confused, have you ever been to Times Square on a Saturday night? (Craigslist)
  5. This article needs an interpreter! Okay, the best we can make out, some Maryland doctor decided he would attempt to be clever in a deposition. This violates one of the Diner Media Empire's Rules (#32 to be precise), "Never try to be clever in a deposition, wait for the trial." Now the Times is running a story on the weird-ass things he said as if they should be taken at face value--proving once again that abiogenesis exists only in the minds of your press corps. Still, this article can best be summed up as: "The Inexplicable, as reported by the Unintelligible, read to Baboons." (Moonie Comes Alive)
  6. Speaking of the spectrum between inexplicable and unintelligible: Chevy Chase embarasses the People for the American Way Awards by launching into one of his patented unfunny tirades. Yeah, we at The DCeiver are inclined to agree with his assessment of Bush, but go and shit all over Bush's house, not PFAW's. Now PFAW finds themselves in a puddle of Newsmax menstruation and Drudge-goo, and the Chevy Chase comeback tour comes to a screeching halt. Also, when Chase said: "I started Saturday Night Live," would it have killed Tom Shales to just throw a remaindered copy of Live From New York at his head? (DCist)

The Five Question WEST WING Study Guide--Chinese Democracy

  1. If NASA is filled with people who are jittery alarmists in the midst of a debilitating panic attack, what kind of drugs do they give astronauts so that they'll climb into metal deathtraps filled with jet fuel and fly around in space?
  2. In the final scene of the show, various people are shown rushing into Bartlet's cabin on Air Force One. What is going on? A) Bartlet's totally dying, and CJ is frantically building a cross to nail him to before it's too late, B) Bartlet's massively pooped his pants out of exhaustion, C) celebratory orgy up in there, sorry, Toby, you're not invited, D) all of the above.
  3. Given what we knowof Josh Malina's character--and, really, cast your mind back to when we first met him in the O.C.--isn't it totally implausible he could have hitched his wagon to Russell. Last week, he said: "God willing, Russell becomes President." Does Wells understand character development at all?
  4. Donna has so totally gone to work for Vinnick, hasn't she? Does this mean we'll have Josh and Donna on different sides of a election battle--a sort of Carville/Matalin pairing that reimagines Carville and Matalin as spongy, emotionally distant wusses instead of the horrifying, unlikeable pair of clown-masked freaks that they are in real life?
  5. One of the more powerful scenes took place in Bartlet's Chinese powder room, as he beat his useless legs and declaimed, "I can't do the job! Look at me! Look at me!" Why didn't Abigail reply: "Oh, no you di'int! Who just HAD to run again? Who just HAD to be President one more time?"

Wednesday, December 15, 2004

DCeptette: I'm Not Okay (I Promise) Version

Posted by Hello

  1. Take a look at Mr. Harold Brazil. Kissy-ass ass kissing douche, as always. Well, the vote sure didn't go the way anyone thought! Linda Cropp had me thinking that she was gonna saddle her fat ass on the Nationals pony and ride, ride, ride! Well, it looks like those under the table payoffs from the MLB didn't come. I think I understand why: those baseball owners are total effing gangsters when you break it down, but our own city government wrote the book on gangster. The MLB'll have to resolve this matter like the end of the movie State and Main, or else it's not getting resolved. At least as far as baseball in DC goes, which is beginning to look a lot like not Christmas for the four or five Nationals diehards out there. This team could be heading out to Vegas--which is surely going to give Pete Rose a new platoon of hemmorhoids to deal with. Anyway, we've got Major League Baseball, Peter Angelos, Tony Williams, the DC Council--who are we supposed to be rooting for again? And don't say Adam Eidinger or I will have to open up a can of slappy. Maybe we'd all be better served if we built this stadium and designed it so it could collapse on all these people. I've got a crisp five dollar bill to go to that cause. (Post)
  2. In other sports related news, the Arlington County Board has approved a plan to build a $40 million dollar training facility for the Washington Capitals that will sit atop the Ballston Commons. Sounds pretty cool, but could someone refresh my memory...what are the "Washington Capitals" again? (Post)
  3. Jenna Bush is going to teach the kids at Elsie Whitlow Stokes Community Freedom Public Charter School. Are charter schools exempt from the No Child Left Behind requirements? If not, then what a crappy father Jenna has. If he loved his daughter he'd tell her, "Darling, NCLB is specifically designed to make school teachers' lives a Kafkaesque nightmare of provisions and requirements that cannot be achieved." (Reliable Source)
  4. Also, if you had the feeling that Washington DC got a little hackneyed and overstuffed with visual piffery and whomping jump cuts, there's a reason: Joel Schumacher was here yesterday. (Reliable Source)
  5. Representative Jim Marshall (D-GA) has built a moveable soundproof wall for his office in the Cannon Building. The Hill reports that he has done so because he sleeps in his office and was having trouble dozing with all the noise in Cannon's cavernous halls, but the benefits cut both ways, as now late-night workers and the maintenance crew at Cannon will no longer have to be freaked out by Representative Marshall's night terrors. His terrifying screams, I have heard, can turn your blood to ice water. (The Hill)

The DCeiver was once the Charlottesvillain

I have the urge to wander off-topic for a brief moment, because I have got some stuff rumbling around my head with regards to my old hometown of Charlottesville, Virginia that I want to just get out there. Since there seem to be a weird subsection of the area blogosphere that spent time down there, I feel like it's okay to bring this in. But, yeah, this is wandering far afield, so bear with me.

In the first place, a running item for all former UVA folk: No, Bodo's is still not open. We're taking all bets as to whether any of you think 2005 is going to be the year.

Second, yesterday in Gregg Easterbrook's excellent NFL column, he posted the following:

Last week, yours truly noted that Florida State now plays at Bobby Bowden Field at Doak Campbell Stadium. Doug Keegan of Austin, Texas, notes that UT's main football location is now Joe Jamail Field at Darrell K. Royal-Texas Memorial Stadium. Matt Meyers of Charlottesville, Va., notes that UVA plays at The Carl Smith Center, Home of David A. Harrison III Field at Scott Stadium. This unspeakable name, in the literal sense, is "no longer just a vision," the school's web site reassures.

Yeah, that is an indecipherable mess of names. Sadly, this sort of weird naming is likely to continue for major universities around the country as alumni donors pile on to make upgrades and renovations at previously named edifices. The DCeiver never lived at Monroe Hill College, for example (he resided off campus after first year, first in the Ivy Road ghetto known as University Heights, near Tokyo Rose--where you can see bad indie rock and eat worse sushi--and finally moved to 1718 JPA on the corner of JPA and Maywood (and that used to be a sweet hang, though passersby should take note, our former domicile used to have a big front porch and large front yard, both have been removed and another huge house now sits on the corner, defacing this once lovely house in a total travesty--as God as my witness, when I am independently wealthy I shall put this back the way it was)), but part of me died inside when Monroe Hill College became the Brown Residence College at Monroe Hill.

The only thing I can say is that we should all be thankful that most colleges' buildings are at least named somewhat tastefully. We want to keep encouraging rock stars and celebrities to blow their money on drugs and plastic surgery, because no one wants the Nicole Richie Science Wing or the Hoobastank Center for Women's Studies. UVA, by the way, has two buildings, delightfully named Cocke and Balz. That is, as they say, awesome.

Closer to home, I received the most recent email from my friends at the UVA Club of Washington. At the aesthetic wonder known as the Crystal Gateway Marriott next Thursday, the UVA Club is having a special event with UVA President John Casteen (whose son was in an 300 English class with me, and is a total pretentious douchebag). John Casteen is described by the UVA Club as "a great speaker", which could only mean that he has been hooked up to cables so music can be broadcast through his body.

In addition, the UVA Club of Washington's letter contained a note entitled "Hoo Lives in Arlington?" which describes a gathering at the Central Library on Quincy Street. Attendees are told to expect to learn about "how to participate in social and community activities that don't require commuting to DC!"

Dude, I didn't realize that commuting to DC is so onerous for people in Arlington! Who knew that the four-mile trip was such a soul-crushing ordeal? Arlington used to BE PART of DC. "Commuting" is what you do when you have to come from Reston to Tysons Corner or go from Arlington to Silver Spring. Arlington to DC doesn't seem that much harder than, say, checking your mail. But, to be fair, maybe the UVA Club of Washington is filled with amputees. If that's the case, then Wahoowa, Stubbies!

Tuesday, December 14, 2004

Juniper Lane is Alive and Well and Playing IOTA

Thanks to a heads-up poster on Here's a Hint, we have been alerted to news of Juniper Lane, a band we love to death.

You can see the news for yourself on their website, but if your mouse is broken or you just can't be bothered to click over, we'll break it down for you:

1. Juniper Lane has not broken up.
2. Vivion is still alive and mending.
3. They will be playing IOTA on January 15.


And while I'm kicking some gig news around, come see the show that apparently has the the AMS board buzzing in apoplectic anger for reasons passing understanding: February 17th at IOTA, come see The Pharmacy Prophets, The Hard Tomorrows and Exit Clov on one bill.

And I may as well pass along the link that clued me in to the Juniper Lane goodness to an unrelated story that is nevertheless HILARISTERICALICIOUS! If you are interested in participating in an area tribute album to DImebag Darrell*--a project that's is sure to be a big whopping, dripping, explosive sucktasm such as the world has not seen (lately), then go go go go go!

*Earlier this week, someone used the search terms "Dimebag Darrell and Magnetic Ribbons" to find my site. If this means every banger and hesher minivan's going to soon get a commemorative ribbon on their tailgate, color us annoyed.**

**Why have I been using all these footnotes? Do I think I'm David Fucking Foster Fucking Wallace or something?

DCeptette: I play with balls version

  1. As I type this, the DC Council is meeting, so a decision on baseball will be coming soon. Yes. We know. What was the first vote for? I guess it was a vote to have this vote. Council chair Linda Cropp abstained after attempting to secure some shady private financing. She told the Post, "We have things in writing from Major League Baseball" that "sweeten" the deal. Uh-huh. Let me tell you how the Council works--it's the deal sweeteners that AREN'T in writing that you have to worry about. The crony buy-ins and pay-outs, the shady ass contractors like Booz Allen, jackholes like your Arrington Dixons--crooks, really. And don't forget, we got Marion Barry returning. You think today's vote's gonna get in the way of HIM getting paid? Ha. Forget it. These are the devils that swoop in every time the District gets it into its head it's gonna build something, and the devil always gets paid. So good luck with this baseball vote, look out for the crooked smiles on the puffy faces of your government, watch Tony and Linda and Bud Selig as they lick their sticky lips and drum their ink-stained fingers and plan their little plans, and remember--you are going to get a craptastically god-awful baseball team in return. (Post)
  2. Craiglist: RAPT Management. They are looking for some "Hot Trackz", yo! In the hizzy. "All mashed up!" With zazz! What? Have they not heard Los Pimpos? (Craigslist)
  3. Bush attends Christmas in Washington at the National Building Museum, and enjoys the pop-stylings of pre-teen whore JoJo. However, Phil "Dr. Phil" McGraw emcees the festivities, which means Bush is only the second most pussy-ass Texan in attendance. (The Reliable Source)
  4. Oh, the people you'll murder! Thomas J. Boykin is acquitted of manslaughter, so I guess we'll never know how James Richardson died! Also, in PG County, a judge declared a mistrial in the case of Emmanuel McClain, who attacked a kid and left him to be run over because the guy offered to buy some girl a Slurpee. Hey, Castor Oil! Here's another one! Holy fucking nuts in a vice, dude. (Post/Post)
  5. Headline help. Okay. Your headline should read "Hospitals fight spread of flu with masks, advice." Your headline, "Hospitals fight flu spread with masks, advice" makes the reader wonder: "How the fuck do you spread the flu with a mask? How do you spread the flu through advice?" you stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, ASS newspaper. (The Stupidest Stupidest Stupidest Stupidest ASS Newspaper in Town)

DCist Happy Hour

Get happy! Posted by Hello

People. Come to the DCist Happy Hour this Thursday from 6-9pm at The Big Hunt, and enjoy the company of their blogadocious editors and contributors and hallucinatory naked winged muses. Unless of course you are the serial arsonist. In which case, do not come. Because you burn people, and man, that is seriously not cool. Actually, serial arsonist, if you want to come for the purpose of turning yourself in to the DCist staff, that's okay, because that would be an awesome story for DCist to break. It'd be awesome to see Rob Goodspeed be all: "Suck it, Doreen Gentzler! You didn't get the story because you are a LOSER! And crimony, woman, what are you wearing?*"

DCist: We live to tell Doreen Gentzler to suck it.**

*I've never actually heard Rob Goodspeed use the word "crimony."
**These expressed views are most likely not the views held by DCist, and are really only part of the author's sick fantasia of one-upsmanship.

What's going on in December for The Diner Media Family

This will be posted on the site soon, but The Diner will be closing for a few weeks in order to perform computer maintenance, site maintenance, overall "repositioning" and some general R&R for the peeps, especially Travis and me. We should have just announced this at the beginning of the month--we have historically had post-election hangover, and December has otherwise been kicking our ass like ass-kicking machine. You see? Precious little wit left. The Diner will return on 1/3/05 after everything that's broken is fixed, and all batteries are recharged.

Here at The DCeiver, you should expect content outages during the week of December 23-December 30. It will return New Years Eve.

A similar fate may befall Blue In The Face, but there are only 13 of you who read that, probably because it needs more porn. We'll get back to you on that.

Look for synergy to return in the new year. Unless you don't give a toss.

Monday, December 13, 2004

Blogging about blogs blogging about newpapers writing about blogs blogging and the girls who love them.

DCist alerted us today to an article in the Washington Post that purported to offer advice on how to start a blog. We have our own advice. Good sweet Lord, don't. But if you must, please don't suck. Really, that's all the advice you need. It's like the skiing advice in Better Off Dead ("Go that way...really fast. If something gets in your way, turn.") What the fuck else is blogging all about?

You'd think the Washington Post would know better. And here's the thing--the POST probably does. But the article in question was found in the Post's "Sunday Source", and their operating mission statement is: "Heck no, we sure don't know any better!" You have to love the Sunday Source--they may be all jaded and shit over at the news desk and at the Metro section, but at the Sunday Source, they look at the world with the clear-eyed innocence of a three-day-old idiot puppy who's been force fed a pint of saccharine. When you show the Sunday Source how you can take two aluminum pie plates and tape them together with sunflower seeds to make maracas, be warned--you have just BLOWN THE SUNDAY SOURCES MIND, dude. So, it's probably taken them a few months now to work up the courage to tell people how they, too, can blog.

And, in true Sunday Source fashion, they have really nailed the story. And by that I mean, "nailed the story" into a coffin and pushed it out to sea. Let's examine:

When "Web" and "log" were combined to form the word "blog" in 1999, few foresaw the power these online journals would wield.

Indeed. Most words are combined to form other words through a complicated process, by which two silhouetted faces face one another on a TV screen, whispering the component parts together until the words gently bump into one another, forming another word. But, in the case of "blog", this was done in a haphazard way that clearly didn't adhere to Children's Television Workshop industry standards--had it been so, the word would be "weblog" to this day.

And, indeed, very few "foresaw the power" of blogs. Even today, this goes unseen. Mainly because the power of blogs is so minute that it cannot be seen with the naked eye!

But, in order to seize a fraction of that limitlessly limited power, there is a protocol that the Sunday Source recommends to those who want to "hop on the bandwidth bandwagon*" and start blogging.

The Source gets a quote from Rebecca Blood, who authored a book called The Weblog Handbook. She says: write what "you are really passionate about." This is groundbreaking theory that totally blows the doors off of the previously accepted ideas about how to write. You can only imagine what sort of author Joseph Heller, or William Faulkner could have written if only they had stopped to write about the things they were passionate about, rather than say, World War Two or the social mores of the American South, respectively--subjects that clearly bored these authors to tears. You should know: it was by pure happenstance that I decided to focus The DCeiver on Washington, DC--originally, it was to be a blog about fishing lures--a topic I believed I'd be a great blogger for, seeing as I have no interest or knowledge about fishing in any way, shape or form.

Remember: this absolutely trenchant advice is yours for $14 if you just buy Ms. Blood's book!

FUN FACT: "When a blogger adds new material, it's called a post."


The Source is relentless in finding the most state-of-the-art advice for bloggers. Biz Stone, described as the "Blogger senior specialist at Google" and who also owns the distinction of the only 30 year old named "Biz" recommends, "Post at least as much as you eat." I could take issue with this. I should take issue with this. But most of us could afford to lose a little weight anyway. At any rate, what's odd about this advice is that it would seem that by rule, the blogs of hypoglycemics should be among the best blogs, because they have to eat constantly. However, my research shows that blogs written by hypoglycemics are virtually always among the suckiest things written by anybody. I mean--those blogs are god awful.

Most of all, the Source builds a case for being smart about the way your blog is named. And trust me, you couldn't be any dumber at name choosing than me. The point, though, that the Sunday Source leaves you with is this: people should "associate your name with the name of your web blog." Good advice. But I have to feel a little badly for the guy who wrote up this piece for the Washington Post. His name is "Mike Peed."

Hey, wow. At least it's a name that's also a sentence!

*Writing phrases like that cause me actual, physical pain.

DCeptette: Keep watching the skies version

  1. Holy shit. Uhhh, Merry Christmas, everyone. Now calm the fuck down. Violence breaks out at a pom-pom meet. A pom-pom meet! The Post isn't specific, but it looks like a 41 year old woman hit a 14 year old girl over the head with a trophy. A trophy! Wow. To all a goodnight, I guess. (Post)
  2. Someone told Sarah Lewitinn, prior to her coming to DC that the Black Cat "is the only cool bar to go to in DC." Um, Sarah? You know je vous adorez and all, but whoever told you that is what The DCeiver refers to as "a motherfucking idiot." And why on earth were your friends waiting for you at Coyote Ugly? Now that place is a monument to lame. Next time, call ahead, and we'll get those cats in Bluestate to help. (Note to Bluestate: You guys should totally commandeer one of those spotlights outside Alero on U and make your own Bluestate signal.) (Ultragrrrl)
  3. Lonely Craigslist musician, I wonder: How would "All By Myself" sound if you played it to yourself. (Craigslist)
  4. Speaking of music--Here's a Hint and other dis-enthusiasts of jam-band music will appreciate how the Washington Post categorized their article on Umphrey's McGee. (Peep the pic, below; Post)

    Posted by Hello
  5. Having slagged home-school mecca Patrick Henry College before, I was prepared to have to suck it up when they beat Oxford University in an academic competition, but now that I've seen the context of the competition, a moot court face-off in which the case concerned "a fictitious breach-of-contract case involving millionaire Foghorn Leghorn who sued sculptor Melvin Muttley over a disputed purple boll weevil statue", I can only say that this has bolstered my many previous points. Patrick Henry College: Preparing Crazy Pseudo-Christian Social Misfits for Some Sort of Post-Graduate FantasyLand. (GOP Suckpump)

Friday, December 10, 2004

Calling all Enthusiasts!!

Many years ago, in New Orleans, there was a band called Ezra. At about the same time, there was another band...let's call them, say, Rotoscope. And they hated Ezra. So they rechristened themselves "Better Than Ezra" and rode to limited fame and fortune on the back of the song "Good." Now, Better Than Ezra is coming to the 9:30 club. Why not start a band today, name yourself "Ezra" and roll out to the nine-three-o tonight and tell those tossers in Better Than Ezra, "You really think you're better than us? Well, then...let's DANCE!" For effect, wear a beer bottle on all your fingers and plink them together, like in that movie, The Warriors. Seriously. Go do this.

I would still very much like to sell Christopher Henley on my idea for his next one-person show--titled "An Evening with Christopher Henley--Live! Nude! Onstage!"--but he hasn't returned The DCeiver's phone calls. Still, we can't not, indeed we must, recommend Chris, directed by Robert McNamara (a DCeiver fave), in Wallace Shawn's The Fever. It's on through January 9, Wednesdays-Saturdays at The Warehouse Theatre on 7th Street, NW. Brought to you by the good folks at Scena. (Seriously Chris, I'll get McNamara to direct Live, Nude! Call me!)

Are you one of those people who's just got to be different at Christmastime? Or have you simply been fantastizing about enshrouding your gifts to loved ones in an inpenetrable fortress of origami this yuletide. Guess what, bitches? It is ON! Get your rump to the Torpedo Factory this Sunday at 3pm and learn the art of Japanese Gift Wrapping! It'll be sashimitastic! And why not stick around and browse the Torpedo Factory's own artists' wares, which truly aren't any better or worse than the stuff Blake Gopnik slagged at Art-O-Matic? At 105 North Union Street in Alexandria. Totally free.

The Five Question WEST WING Study Guide: Ou sont les Bartlets d'antan?

  1. Air Force One is wheels up at 3:05pm, travelling to China. Assuming normal headwinds and a constant velocity of a plane like Air Force One, and knowing the plane was going to make one stop in Alaska before continuing on its way, from how many miles away did you see Bartlet's MS paralysis coming?
  2. After the tease, WIfe of DCeiver turned to me and said, "Holy shit. They aren't really going to make this about Penn and fucking Teller, are they?" Tell me you didn't have the same reaction.
  3. Most of us grew up under the reigns of Surgeon Generals that weren't nearly so attractive. How did the weird sartorial choices of people like C. Everett Koop inspire you to put gallons of bad chemicals in your body.
  4. When Hollywood casts it's version of a Fantasy Republican, they hire Alan Alda. Who would your Fantasy Democrat be? It would be Don Cheadle wouldn't it? Just say it would be Don Cheadle because you know I'm totally right.
  5. Contemplating how this episode left the future campaigns of the various Presidential contenders, what do you predict has been set up? A) Josh is totally going to run for office himself. B) Josh brings back Sam Seaborn to run. C) Alan Alda runs and wins. D.) Bartlet gets even more FDR happy, runs again E) asteroid from next week mercifully wipes out the planet F) NBC cancels the show before any of these questions have to get answered.

Thursday, December 09, 2004

"Wanna grow...up to a DCeiver!!"

Under normal circumstances, I doubt you could have kept me away from DC9 last night, which played host to Los Pimpos and Walken in a bill that could only be described as a potential train wreck. Seriously. This is the kind of shit I live for. This may have been the single worst live rock show of the fucking year. If you were there, please fucking tell me about it. Check out the picture of Los Pimpos on their website, and consider this: someone shot and killed Dimebag Darrell Abbott last night, yet these assclowns were allowed to perform unmolested. No justice, no peace, bitches.

What kept me from this pinnacle of the suck? I had something better to do, yo.

Posted by Hello

And that something better was Pixies tickets. DAR Constitution Hall. Row N, bitches (not the best seats at DARCH I ever had--those were Row B for Rufus and Tori, but these seats were nonetheless, awesome. I had only seen the Pixies one other time, at Trax in Charlottesville, and I spent the entire night at the back of the place, so I was probably closer to the stage last night.

So much has changed since I last saw the Pixies. For starters, Trax is now a parking lot. Musically, we've lived through all sorts of bands who've forgotten the lessons of the Pixies. Creed and the torrent of mid-tempo baritonica that followed. Rap-rock's descent into utter Durstian crapulence. Now everyone who didn't get to take the head cheerleader to prom has got their own emo band. But the Pixies remain one of rock's most awesomest creations. They truly drank deeply of the rock gods' most vintage sauces. The first time I ever heard the Pixies, I turned off the tape because I worried that I wouldn't be allowed to like them, because I did so very very much, and it was clear that these guys had kicked the ass of every rock rule that had been written. Seeing this reunion tour, I was worried that I had finally become some old piece of crap like the bitches who let Mick Jagger and company tour every five years on a new album of shitpot runoff for tickets that sell starting at $1200. But after the show last night, I say if the Pixies wanna sell out, then I'm buying.

After chowing down on some tasty bird from El Pollo Rico, Wife of DCeiver, Bic Dickford, Ticket Obtaining Hottie Elissa and myself headed downtown to the DAR--the Pixies being the greatest living accomplishment of Constitutional democracy that I or anyone could name. The first band was called The Bennies. With any luck, our paths shall never cross again. They were a loud, tuneless, heap of hesher cheekflapping bilge. Honestly, Bic and I could only take a few minutes of them before fleeing for the lobby. Sorry Bennies--while it's nice to see that spina bifida or whatever did not stop you from rocking, I'd now recommend you go out and get some physical condition that will actually help you START rocking. That's from my overflowing Carafe of Vaguely Hostile Recommendations (we like The Upstate Life's "carafe metaphor").

Brooklyn's TV On The Radio, however, was the second band on the bill, and let me just add an amen to the blogchorale that's praising their luck of seeing the second show instead of Tuesday night's show, where the Datsuns opened. I think the Datsuns are a fine band--better than Los Pimpos--but TV On The Radio? Total. Value. Add. These guys brought it like the Shortlist Winning Motherfuckers that they were--shimmering, quaking walls of guitar rotating throughout the place, rhythm freaks moving in lockstep, and Tunde Adebimpe calling down ghosts from the rafters. This word gets overused a lot, but: awesome. You must trample the weak and hurdle the dead to get to their next headlining gig in town. I officially forgive David Andrew Sitek for participating on the Liars' shitty, shitty, shitty new album.

As for the Pixies--dude. Kim Deal's voice is a fucking time machine, and she was ripping off meaty slices of thick bass--each note seemed to have veins and capillaries and shit. Black Francis and I have, until recently, been on the same diet, apparently, but he's still got the most shivering howl in rock and can bust off the wicky-wicky strum like he's lighting Molotovs. David Lovering is a gangly ball of furious pummel, and Joey there a band he couldn't play for? Oh it was sweet. The aural equivalent of rolling, roiling detonations. Dig the set list (courtesy
The Upstate Life):

Ed is Dead

Gouge Away
Bone Machine
River Euphrates
I Bleed
Mr. Grieves
#13 Baby
In Heaven
Wave of Mutilation (UK Surf)
Here Comes Your Man
Nimrod's Son
Holiday Song
Where Is My Mind

Isla De Encanta
Something Against You
Crackity Jones
Broken Face

Actually, though, they played "UMass" as well. But it's not The Upstate Life's fault, he got it from the 9:30 Club Forums, who are about as reliable as the Bush administration--and by that, I mean, they are a bunch of grinning, dickfaced incompetents.

Actually, that's not very fair to the 9:30 Club Forums, is it? I take most of that back.

Back to the show, very heavy on the good stuff, and I guess peace has been made with "Here Comes Your Man", which was honestly fun to hear. Personally, I thought that "Monkey" through "Gigantic" produced the most orgasms. I ordered the CD of the show just so I can relive those eight songs in succession--it was heavyweight title rock right there, folks (let's just admit it now: "Monkey" really is top ten for rock songwriting--no, top five, all time--let's just come to terms with that, okay?). They didn't play the song we're naming our theatrical company for, but I didn't care. We all have a handful of bands that shape our thinking about rock music, and the Pixies were definitely one of mine. Last night, their reconvened efforts were glorious, and they really made me feel like I wasn't crazy for feeling the way I have about them all this time.

Oh, kiss my ass, oh let it rock!

[the massivest of shout-outs to Elissa, for making the whole night possible.]

Disturbing, crazy-ass Washington Wizards Dolls.

Truly horrifying... Posted by Hello

Are you a Washington area stalker who wants to get that special someone a gift designed to put the fear of the estranged and unholy into them, or are you just a fan of human likenesses that have been inflated and distended so as to look as if the subject was the victim of some sort of massive cranial gout? Well, head to and buy some tickets in their latest promotion and you'll receive a set of Washington Wizards Nesting Dolls along with your tickets, to do with what you please.

I don't know what to make of these distressing things myself. Fucking Kwame Brown looks like Lavar Arrington, if you ask me. These are some frightening visages, if you ask me. Except of course, for the Steve Blake doll--Blake in person looks like he's been slapped and rammed by the White-Trash Stick O' Fugly about seven or eight hundred times. His doll, on the other hand, makes him look as if the bone structure of his face was the result of healthy DNA instead of the overchlorinated chromosomal crisps he passes on through his ejaculate. However healthy his doll-version, however, it's hard to justify owning a Steve Blake-anything, even a Steve Blake that pops out of Gilbert Arenas intestinal tract.

Now, if they had made an Etan Thomas doll, I'd have bought one myself. That dude is like butter.

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

This blog is a proud member of the Ball Peen Hammer Wielding Community

Posted by Hello
A commenter, WhiskeyPoet, says: "There is seldom enough mention of ball peen hammers as useful instruments to facilitate 'getting the point across.'"

A wry and wise observation, and one that should be heeded. We at The DCeiver are huge proponents of ball peen hammers as a force for social change. We believe in our ball peen hammers, yea, even more than we do in our soldering irons and our chalk lines--though we like those as well.

We at The DCeiver encourage our blog mates to join us in the Ball Peen Hammer Wielding Community. For it has been said by wiser folks than me:

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens wielding ball peen hammers can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has."

Tuesday, December 07, 2004

An Open Letter To Peter Marks



What the fuck are you doing?

You know, dude, I should have written this a few weeks ago, after you used valuable space in the Washington Post reviewing Brooklyn: The Musical. What a waste that was.

But now, in the space of a week, you've reviewed Pacific Overtures, Gem of the Ocean, and Billy Crystal's one-person-show, 700 Sundays. One might ask: at which DC theatre are these shows playing? Only to be answered: none of them. Said shows are running in a place called Manhattan, which is thought to have its own newspapers; its own theatre critics.

So what the fuck is Peter Marks, theatre critic of the Washington Post doing there? Writing about shows his paper's constituents are not going to see--indeed, not talking about--in fact, not even caring one bare scintilla of breath over?

You got me, jackass. You got me. What the fuck are you doing there, Peter? Do you want to write criticism on New York's shows? Fucking get a job there, douchebag. In the meantime, you work for the WASHINGTON Post. You need to concentrate your tiny little brain on reviewing WASHINGTON'S shows.

Now I know what all the excuses are. Yes, Lisa De Moraes gets to write about television shows that are broadcast the nation over. Well, Washingtonians wanna know what time Scrubs is on, same as everyone. Besides, she actually does a good job framing her column locally. I know some people still say that New York is the center of the theatre world, and that plenty of Washingtonians want to travel there to see theatre there, or keep informed what's going on. Those Washingtonians are reading the New York Times. Those Washingtonians are reading American Theatre magazine. Those of us who are interested in theatre in NYC do not need you. And I have yet to join a conversation, let alone meet anyone in the District, who's got a yen to see Pacific Overtures or Brooklyn: The Musical. I think, though, if those people exist, they did not and do not need your services either.

Now you'll probably say, "This guy's just got a beef because he's jealous of the attention NYC is getting." Well, I'm sorry, but what on Earth does any fan of DC theatre have to be jealous of? If I wanted to see corporate chorus boys lip-synch their way through a mass-market piece of shit musical that is just going to close in two weeks and tour the red state boonies, or freeze to death in some Lower East Side dive watching yet another emaciated one-act that basically regurgitates the playwright's last ten therapy sessions into an unrecognizable tumor of soon-to-be-forgotten theatrical trends, well, I'd either shoot myself in the head, or, grudgingly, move to New York, and, once again, avail myself of someone who doesn't write for the Washington Post. Here in Washington, I get to see plays by actual masters, with world-class directors and actors who aren't aging themselves into an early retirement and who probably won't light out for fucking Weehauken the minute Van Helsing on Broadway! closes.

Peter, it's not my fault that you can't get a gig in New York. (Did you try the Staten Island Pennysaver?) So stop making me pay the price for you getting hired at the Post. We have what, 80 theatrical companies in the area? All of whom could benefit and grow from a little ink? So fucking write about them or don't write at all.

Are you still a little resistant to what I'm saying? Then fucking read this again in its entirety, pillhead. Read it until it fucking sinks in. If you need to tenderize your brainpan with a ball peen to make it SINK in, than do so. Because I want it to SINK in.


DCeptette: In the words of Amy Poehler version

  1. Do you dare doubt the usefulness of DC Craigslist now?! (Craigslist)
  2. Wow, yesterday in the DC area was arson-fucking-tastic! Merry Christmas everyone! The serial arsonist is back in the news, striking Prince George's County for the 17th time. Apparently, there's a Serial Arsonist Task Force that now investigates these things--it sounds to me like one of those business consulting scams: "Yeah," they say, "We'll come in and tell you how to catch the serial arsonist." Then a month goes by and they're all: "Our recommendation is that you hire us full time to catch the serial arsonist." So you do that and then it's all golf shirts and pinatas until the arsonist hits, and then they're all: "Okay, look nice and grave for the cameras." You just know Chief Moose's new book is going to be called: I Could Have Caught that Arsonist Dude, But You Had To Go and Piss Me Off. Also, we got "independent" fires at a DC Charter School--for a minute there I thought the Serial Arsonist got signed to a major label. Hell yeah! Gimme indie arson, bitches! Then I read and saw that it's the classic definition of "independent." Also, environmentalists burn a housing development down to protect the environment--apparently, they've been reading a lot of O. Henry during the holiday season. (DCist)
  3. Richard Leiby takes a minute to remind us of the show Ally McBeal. Ohhhhh, my eyes!! It burrrrrnns! It BURRRRRRNNNNS!! (Reliable Source)
  4. Fairfax planners have envisioned a mini-city at the Vienna Metro Stop, complete with it's own terrible music scene. So, to all you Arlingtonians riding the inbound Orange line during rush hour: take a picture, because pretty soon you'll never ride that train again. (Post)
  5. Yeah, I farted! Jealous?! (GOP Poophole)

Monday, December 06, 2004

See what happens when you dis the Terrapins?

Clearly, lowering the boom like that in Maryland upset the karmic balance of the college basketball universe so that it was set slightly against me, because UVA lost to Iowa State tonight.

New Rule: No more yelling at Terps on a game day.

And, yes. I'm one of those types of sports fans. I thought Fever Pitch was written about me, not Nick Hornby.

Gotta admit, though, the Cyclones were straight ballin'. They haven't looked that good since that fatter version of David Duchovny was their coach--remember him? Before he started going to frat parties and ripping on his own players while trying to fondle Big 12 Sorority cooze? What was his name? Who cares. That three pointer Stinson shot at the end was hellacious. Singletary drove the lane thinking that he'd get a foul called on him. Sean, man, remember, you're a rook.

All right, Upstate Life. You've won this round...

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

Maryland Terrapins lose. Ha ha. Ha ha ha! BWAHAHHHAAA!

I dialed up a nice, relaxing, get-yer-laundry-done weekend and I just about missed the best news of the days off--that the GWU Colonials had beaten the Maryland Terrapins in the BB&T Classic! I guess it's too early in the season for Terrapin fans to set their hometown on fire after a loss.

You see, The DCeiver despises the University of Maryland. I look on Maryland the same way you might look on a pile of dung left on your best tablecloth by the dirtiest dog in your neighborhood. You just can't imagine touching it, going near it, you know you are going to gag when you come within three feet of it, and yet, you have to get it out of your nice, clean home because it doesn't belong there.

Having gone to Virginia, I am frequently told that I am supposed to support all the members of the ACC--that I am supposed to cheer on my conference when they play teams from other parts of the NCAA. However, I say "fuck that." I didn't go to UVa so I could support a bunch of teams from fucking Florida or South Carolina, and I'll be damned if ever was heard an encouraging word about Maryland from out of my mouth. (To all you Wahoos who read this, a cute story: I was cuddling with Wife of Deceiver the other day when she asked me: "Is Maryland on the same level academically as Virginia?" Oh, my. Let's just say I nearly hyperventilated on the spot from the loud peals of uncontrollable laughter that surged forth! What a cute question! Is that not an adorable fucking question!)

When The DCeiver was at The University (of Virginia), people gawked at him, because...well--for many reasons, I'll allow--but for the purposes of this narrative, people gawked at him because while many students invested deeply in UVa's traditional rivalry with the University of North Carolina, or Virginia Polytechnic Institute (or , "Tech", for the plebes), or, in some cases Duke (which was sort of stupid because 1) they were much better than us in hoops and we were much better at them in football--except for the first year I was there, and 2) it's not like Duke gave a shit about us, and for my money, it's best that both sides be somewhat invested--this is why I was always confused when JMU students talked about a "rivalry" with UVA...what rivalry? We liked JMU students, and could never figure out why they were always so pissed off at us!)--I was always, ALWAYS, most rabid and ravenous and cobra-spitty whenever we played Maryland.

Check it. It's a DC thing. You wouldn't understand. I grew up watching the Washington Post sportswriters dust off a patch of ground, stoop down, balance themselves on their knees, cradle the University of Maryland's dangling testicles in their left hand and drink deeply from the University of Maryland's cock. (They sort of two-timed Georgetown, on this regard, but hell, at least Georgetown is in Washington, DC.)

Now, to be fair, Maryland, was, in those days, and for a large part now, better than UVA (though not at football anymore--Maryland sucks hellaciously at football). But the Washington Post's bias still pisses most area Wahoos off. When Maryland beats us, the headline is "Triumphant Maryland Performs God's Work, Walks With Angels in Defeat of Virginia." When UVA beats the Twerps, the headline leads: "Millions Weep Worldwide as Beloved Family Favorite Maryland Cheated of Victory by Group of Marauding Bastards." Even in today's MIke Wise column, the editorial thrust is "We should really thank big schools like Maryland for putting their ranking at risk and deigning to play the lowly locals, and we sure hope that the fact they lost this time doesn't make them so unhappy that they won't feel like they aren't the Hometown Superstar Awesomes and not play in the BB&T next year!" when it should be all--not partly--about, "GWU is freaking awesome! Did you see the huuuuuUUUUURT! they put on MSU and the Terps!"

At any rate, we at The DCeiver think it's fucking awesome that Dad of Deceiver's alma mater G-Dub beat Maryland. The DCeiver always buys a bottle of something nice in January for the uncorking whenever the Terps are finally eliminated from National Championship contention. I especially love it if Duke eliminates them, because while I am enjoying some good scotch or a nice Shiraz, the Maryland students are razing their own campus. That's particularly sweet to think about. This Maryland team certainly doesn't look destined for much after this past week's play, so maybe I'll pick up a bottle of rum from St. Maarten this holiday for this purpose.

Do I fear the turtle? Sure, like, NEVER. I make soup from turtles. They even come with their own bowl.

Thursday, December 02, 2004

The DCeiver is so restrained!

You have to give me credit, yo. I ain't even piling on as far who is pimping the bogus Coachella line-up today, of all days. Heck, regardless of the fact that Defamer debunked the rumor 24 hours ago, I fully expect the debunked lineup to have some similarity to the eventual lineup. So, glass houses.

And besides, I want to snake me some of their beer tomorrow night!