Well, Choire Sicha Month at Wonkette has ended. The lady who is a tramp returns to her scratching post tomorrow, rested, sober and missing whatever words were in her brain that are now in her book.
Now, apropos of this, you may have been wondering what my latest disjointed series of pictures that temporarily appeared on the site were supposed to mean. Well, I'll tell you.
Recently, the question was asked: If you could suggest a way for the Real Wonkette to make a return, and truly cum in like a lion this month of March, what would it be. What a great question. I should know. I asked it. And having asked it in the first place, I thought, "Well, smart guy, what would you suggest?" And the answer is: Well, I'm not entirely sure what Wonkette should do to make a big, splashy, hot-as-shit return. But I think that the ingredients (and hence the pictures...) would have to include:
1. Jeff Gannon. Natch. It's high time she got a piece o' that ass for herself.
2. And to best facilitate the taking of that ass, The DCeiver recommends the Bend Over Beginner Harness Kit. It comes with a silicone dong AND butt plug, and before you rush out to buy this for Wonkette, chances are she's got one of these in a closet somewhere.
3. Finally, when you're talking about a little bipartisan intercourse, there's nothing that sets the mood in this town quite like those four sweet words: "Moderated by Jim Lehrer". (Schieffer, also, could do in a pinch, but there's all sorts of extra shit on his rider, and that old pixie always wants to get in there and fuck some shit up himself.)
With welcome back wishes!
Monday, February 28, 2005
Well, Choire Sicha Month at Wonkette has ended. The lady who is a tramp returns to her scratching post tomorrow, rested, sober and missing whatever words were in her brain that are now in her book.
So, we learn from the article in WTOP that the now famous 300,000 ton granite slab with the Ten Commandments is coming to Maryland, who the fuck knows why or where. Talk about feet of clay--those Alabama mouth-breathers were hell-bent on keeping it at their courthouse, now they're schlepping it all over the country. Maybe Christ our Lord is picking up the U-Haul tab.
The article, if you read it, is chock-a-block with what seems to be the ever lessening wisdom and grasp on reality that seems to be afflicting these radical, crazy, pseudo-Christians--more with each passing day. The first paragraph talks about some woman who has designed a hybridized, Christianized, American flag that she "doesn't see why it shouldn't fly everywhere." Dude. Sometimes, I don't see why I can't just print out the DCeiver and staple it to the heads of people I meet. There is, I suppose, a line at which freedom of speech precludes your supposed right to tack up your homemade dishrag everywhere you see fit because it becomes VANDALISM. I'm sure BORF feels the same way about that fuckin' stencil of Jerry O'Connell--except not, because I'm quite sure BORF knows he's being a bad, bad, boy, whereas this Marcia Eldreth is just insane, like the people who believe aliens are stealing their souls through the phone lines.
But it's not Marcia Eldreth and her wonderful flag I'm most mystified by. It's these people who run around screaming about how Christians are being persecuted. See, this is why I was worried about Mel Gibson's stupid movie--I was worried that it would totally freak out all the quasi-Christians and make them totally desirous of experiencing suffering for themselves. Unable to cope with the fact that Christians all but rule the planet, thus disallowing them the opportunity to get beaten and abused and lashed and spat upon, these crazy--CRAZY!--morons now jump at shadows, freaking out at every tiny little scintilla of resistance to their worldview and demanding reparations and protection. Crazy Christians have reinvented themselves as the Ultimate Victim, forever held to be entitled to whatever crazy satisfaction they want whenever they want it.
These people honestly believe they are living in ancient Rome, secretly padding around the Tiber, dodging centurions, meeting surreptitiously, drawing their fish symbol in the sand, quietly praying for their fellows getting fed to the lions. Three words for you: YOU. WISH. ASSHOLES.
"The 5,200-pound granite slab, inscribed with the Ten Commandments and a variety of other religious sentiments, has been barnstorming the country since July, when Jim Cabaniss took the monument 'out of a dark room and brought it into the light of day and exposed it to all of America.'"
THAT is what these people believe! Not just that people needed to be reminded of the Ten Commandments. Not even that too many people don't appreciate, or even know what the Ten Commandments are. They believe that this was the story of a struggle to bring the previously unseen and unknown Ten Commandments to a land that had never known a moral compass. Ha. Let's forget for a moment that serial killer Mr. Bind Torture and Kill was apparently an avid churchgoer who has presumably heard of, say, God. Or the Bible. Or a little something about shalt and not and killing. No! To these weirdos, they have to sit down to a heaping plate of suffercakes every single day. But they never acknowledge that they are choosing to put on the mantle of suffering, and to make matters worse, they blame people like me. Hey, step off, freakshow, I'm just minding my own bizness, watching the Gilmore Girls, aiight?
But let me really get to the thing that makes me want to start defenestrating people. The flag lady, signing off this article, says: "If we don't bless God, he will have no reason to bless America."
With that one phrase, I could go in several different directions, explaining how this woman is standing in an empty station, the train containing The Fucking Point having left long ago. Does God need our blessing? I mean, I see where it's good to, you know, thank Him, praise Him. But bless Him? Wouldn't God be all: "Umm, folks, I kinda have the whole dispensing of blessing shizz on lockdown?" Also, the stupidity of Americans to assume that God basically agrees that, like, the rest of His Creation and all His other peoples are total ass because we threw some tea in Boston Harbor. I mean, freels.
See, one thing that everyone, and I mean everyone, says about God is that he's supposed to be both omniscient and wise to the point of absolute perfection. So I ask you? Does this weird system of tit for tat blessings seem like the idea some dude who knew EVERYTHING and was perfectly wise would come up with? Because to me, it shortchanges God in a big big way. These are the same people who say crazy things like God helped me score a touchdown. Like God says if you fuck a man in the ass you go to hell. Like if you blow up a building we'll set you up in heaven with a roomful of virgin ass for you to tap--can you even take your dick to heaven with you? I don't presume to know! I'd just assume the answer is nyet. Those things sound like something God would say if He were a petulant child, or a douchebag, or a lunatic. But none of that sounds like the systematic plan devised by an all-powerful being who knows everything there is to know and who is so wise that He cannot NOT make perfect sense everytime He opens his mouth.
But you see, to these crazy Christians, these weirdo systems of phony suffering and counting up the number of times you said "Praise Jesus" represent the only effort they are willing to make to save their own souls. I remember a couple of years ago, when Cherry Red did a play called Anger Box, Ian Allen did a monologue that really stuck with me. Basically, it wondered: if it's true that there is this all-powerful being who alone decides if you will live forever in heaven, why is it that no one acts like that is true? Think about it: if you REALLY believed in God and heaven and salvation, would you ever--EVER--take a chance with that shit? I mean: you'd never masturbate, ever! Too much at stake! You'd never tell a lie or shade the truth in any way! It could cost you! Would you eat a delicious bowl of ice cream? It could seem to gluttonous! George Bush says he's like the best Christian ever--well, riddle me this: with that whole "Thou shalt not kill" thing hanging over your mortal soul like the sword of Damocles, would you rush into a war? Let's even say that life is life, and we're sorry God, but sometimes we have gotta kill other people. Let's even say that ultimately, invading Iraq is straight-up the best idea ever conceived and that the sheer act of doing that makes everything perferct from now on. Would you still rush into it? Not stop? Think about it?
I used to work with a bunch of people from Israel. None of them were Orthodox Jews themselves, but they knew a LOT about that culture. My coworkers could spend hours, fascinating me with stories of living immersed in that culture, and me, being super ignorant but nonetheless fascinated, would ask all sorts of dumb questions they were gracious enough to humor. I remember once asking my boss if an Orthodox Jew could ride on an ocean liner that would be travelling on the Shabbat--benefitting from technology seems to be a no-no during that time, but it's not like you can just stop a boat and let it drift. He told me that, yes, it was okay, that Talmudic scholars spend a long time wrestling with questions just like that, and that it really wasn't stupid to ask about those kinds of things.
So, it should hit you. We have got at least one group of people who actually think about this shit. Who don't leave their immortal souls to chance. They have folks whose job it is to ponder these seemingly inane questions, because they aren't so inane once you factor in the thought: "Shit. If I get on this boat, I could burn forever!"
Why this seeming digression? I don't know. But it seems to me that if you're fucking soul hangs in the balance, and you wanted to hear the straight dope on God and heaven and how to get your ass safely ensconced in the Elysian Fields strumming a little Dave Matthews on your harp and relaxing on some cloud, there are a lot of people who you might turn to for advice. But you know who I'd strongly, in no uncertain terms, advise you to keep away from, lest you land in the lake of fire forevermore? I'd say keep the hell away from some people dragging a graven image all over the country and demanding that people look at it, because I seem to remember there being a frigging Commandment against that, and really--who wants to take that sort of a chance?
Posted by The Deceiver at 2/28/2005
- Egads. The snow. It's quite the apocalypse. And to think there might be some suburbanites without any toilet paper.
- Wow. I've read stuff written by Michael Smith, the president of the Home School Legal Defense Association, but nothing with these kinds of precipitous peaks of pure and unadulterated CRAZY in the CABEZA. Dig this priceless paragraph: "We've seen the newspaper stories about female teachers who have relationships with their students. An Alabama mother was charged with murder this month after her three children starved to death. The children had attended public school." I mean--he doesn't even ATTEMPT to make evidentiary connections! It's all hype and fright bluster! But, dude. This is why I am all in favor of giving the home-school movement exactly what they want. We need to crystallize, encapsulate the home-schooled, because once the blurry lines are solidified that separate the home-schooled from the actual-schooled-in-the-real world, it will be easy to deny their college applications and their resumes. (What Other Paper Would Possibly Print this Loonypoon Spewl?)
- Okay. DC has had ONE "Best of Craigslist" entry in the entire month of February? And reading that one, it sort of feels perfunctory, like Craigslist felt sorry for us. That's pitiful, people! (Craigslist)
- DCSOB is totally right about Angels of DC. Do I need to tell you how your fifty dollars an hour could be better spent? I do not. It's like the people who ran "It's Just Lunch" relaunched as "You're Just Pathetic." We're one step closer to simply institutionalizing the business of pity sex. (DCSOB)
- Why it is that when you read FishbowlDC, it's like the world gets totally silent? Because that's what having absolutely no buzz sounds like. (Zzzzzzzz...)
Posted by The Deceiver at 2/28/2005
Friday, February 25, 2005
Those TeenBeat bitches have sort of got the local rock scene on lockdown, but if you don't groove to the sounds of a thousand English Lit term papers put to twinkly pop music, there are other options open for you in the coming week before the Clem Snide/Archer Prewitt show next Friday.
SUSAN JANE GILMAN
Everyone's hyping--with just cause--the upcoming Curtis Sittenfeld appearance at Politics and Prose. But don't sleep on this Saturday's reading and signing from the delightful Susan Jane Gilman, who'll be reading from her hilarious memoir, Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress. You should make your own punch and pie and go and share. At 6PM.
INDEPENDENT FILM IN DC
After this weekend's Oscar celebration, you may need a nice sorbet of film to wash away the acrid taste of vulgar celebrity left behind in the cleft of your palate. Well, I don't know if indie film's going to do much more than make you feel like you've passed your hipster purity test, but why not check out the DC Independent Film Festival anyway? It all kicks off with the Opening Night Films and Reception at 7:30pm with John Daly's The Aryan Couple. Martin Landau, who once paced the streets of DC with David Duchovny in the X-Files movie, will be in attendance as well. So pay some respects. (At the Avalon, 5612 Connecticut Avenue, with Sam Yousefian's The Elephant Egg. $25 for movie and reception, $15 for reception only. Hot pre-party beginning at 5:30 at the Swiss Embassy.)
EAT SOME SOUL FOOD
Have you always wanted to chow down on some authentic American soul food but have never been able to get past the fact that you are, at your very core, a tragically pretentious honky cheeseball? Well, your worries are over. This Sunday, head on over to the Charles Houston Rec Center in Alexandria for a Soul Food Tasting, sponsored by the Alexandria branch of the NAACP. GMU's own Roger Wilkins will be giving a lecture, dude. It sure sounds safe enough for people who pronounce the word "chitterlings" as if it were a three syllable word. (905 Wythe Street in Alexandria, 2pm, Free--but make reservations by calling (703) 838-4356.)
- A few months ago, the Sunday Source section of the Washington Post published an article that I feel quite comfortable saying was easily the stupidest single article about blogs ever published. Yesterday, the Washington Post, through their new organ Slate, came within a hair's breadth of beating their original effort. While the Sunday Source still rules supreme, Slate's "Rappers and Bloggers" is nevertheless, breathtakingly inane. (Slate)
- You may wonder: is the news that coyotes are invading Washington DC in any way related to the DCeiver's Saturday night plans to strategically place piles of Swedish meatballs throughout Dick Cheney's lawn? Just a happy coincidence, actually. (DCist)
- Tales of Craigslist--Music edition. One: Months after Mike Holden scares the hell out of me by making me think Dave Grohl was terribly sick, now we get the news that a DC area Kanye West tribute is in the works. And they're looking for "emo kid, post hardcore rocker, electronic freak, [or] new waver[s]." That makes me think: you know what's going to be AWESOME about this? When those emo kids get around to covering "All Falls Down", and they sing the line: "Drug dealer buy Jordans, crackhead buy crack / And a white man get paid off of all of that." That's the part that's gonna be AWESOME. (Craigslist) Two: Here's a Hint, I must warn you, somewhere, out there in the DC-Metro area, they are building a band that you will despise so utterly that it will one day destroy you. (Craiglist)
- So, they say that violence travels in the wake of the Go-Go scene. I don't know if Club U should be shut down or reopened. If the stabbing happened in the hallway outside the club, how do we know that it's not the hallway that gets people all pissed off and stabby? We don't know. That's all I'm sayin'. Besides, I think it's a double standard. We all have that song that puts us in a violent mood. Personally, for me, it's Yo La Tengo. Damn. When I hear me some "From a Motel 6", I have GOT to be stabbin' me some motherfuckers. (WTOP)
- In case you were wondering just how damned entitled the typical Georgetown undergraduate inagines himself to be, consider the student who said: "I told one of the cops that I thought it was a little absurd to be arresting me for open container and he responded that he agreed but they were under a lot of pressure from the neighborhood to crack down." Um, we all know there's more pressing seeming crimes than open container, but whatever happened to showing a little respect for the law, jackass? They're not there to be your fucking bootblack. (The Hoya)
Today, the WaPo reports from the Cafe Saint Ex iPod DJ night of a few weeks ago, not only interviewing the blogtastic duo of Seeking Irony and Weird Curves (DC's own version of the Tarts of Pleasure), but my longtime friend and former neighbor P. Vo., who, it should be noted, is not just an "iPod impressario"--though he does stick up for the obtusely user-hating and retardulously expensive Apple product line--but also has been known to rock the decks in his own right. And to think: the P. Vo. moniker? Christened in my very own living room! Nice job, Paul. Holla.
As always, thanks to frequent tipster and future retainer Shayna, who worked a splendilly Caddyshack reference into her last email because she's priceless. Priceless, I tells ya.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Catherine, I am staking everything--EVERYTHING--on this. The years of credibility. The collection of obscure seven inches. My love of Godspeed You Black Emperor. The fact that every copy of the DVD version of I am Trying to Break Your Heart comes encoded with a direct marketing message revealed only on my personal DVD player that says: "Hello, DCeiver. Enjoy the movie we made especially for you."
We share the same deep, dark secret. That song is really kinda cherry. And I kinda thought so before Ted Leo gave me an out.
And I can't speak anymore! The shame is too powerful. Let the dull teeth of the Goglames rend my flesh!
The Galaxy Hut sleeps alone tonight even before the bars turn out their lights, because the kewl kids from the Mark Robinson Universe will be watching a reformed Unrest get their ffrr on. Mmmmmm...Bridget Cross...
Hey, don't forget! The DCeiver will have a crisp twenty dollar bill for the audience member who can request Air Miami's "World Cup Fever" the loudest, so bring your outside voices to the show tonight and lemme hear you!
Translating the Played Out Gurus, an Ongoing Chronicle of the Quixotic Gogblog: Neko was the case that they gave me.
I know full well that wading back in to the world of the Going Going Gurus could subject me to world of hurt at the hands of their vocal and dimwitted crybaby street team, I think there's a lot to say about the first week or so of the GogBlog's existence.
In the first place, so much for all the sweaty-palmed backpedalin'. After first insisting that it was stupid--STUPID--to suggest that they were wrongheaded and defensive for taking down their post on indie-rocker Neko Case, they left us with the promise that it would be archived. So far, it hasn't happened. Now, we know that the Goos just are just too, you know, superkeen, to have anything to do with any established blogger style sheets. These guys are all about breakin' roolz, dood! But, um, you guys did promise. So, if for no other reason than it entertains me, and adds to My Enjoyment, I request that the GogBlog monkeys dance for me, and archive that post.
Now, here's the good news. The good news is that one of the Going Out Gurus has distinguished herself by suggesting activities that are actually interesting, specific experiences that she talks about with great facility and enthusiasm, leading me to believe that she does a little bit more than read press releases and troll in DCist's mighty Jen Chung-sponsored wake. I am of course speaking of Maura McCarthy, who yesterday singled out the Max Hirshfeld/Elliot Elisofon exhibit at Hemphill Fine Arts. She's only posted one other time, but she seems to be uniquely aware of the "quality, not quantity" maxim. Maura...break away, dear. Start your own blog. You're a dose of poetry amid the woefully prosaic.
We also wouldn't have expected a Going Out Guru to suggest stopping by the Freer Gallery to see Sam Fuller movies...not when the last movie suggestion they made was "DUH! Constantine sucks. Me likey Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey because the late '80s were the best daze of my life." Also, points for accuracy, The Steel Helmet and Fixed Bayonets are not available on Netflix. (If you go to see Fixed Bayonets by the way, keep your eyes open for an uncredited performance by James Dean.)
So, that's the good news. Here's the rest:
- My belief: the very existence of DCist makes the GogBlog at best redundant, at worst irrelevant. Case in point: Gog, trolling in DCist's wake, reports on the opening of the Elephant and Castle a day after DCist. Umm, is there anyone out there that wasn't simply re-informed? Didn't think so.
- Breaking news: Apparently, there are indeed things called seasons! Wow. They really scooped the Sunday Source on this one!
- Sad news. Jazz performer extraordinare Pam Bricker commits suicide. Gog says: "It pains us greatly to inform our readership" of this news. Maybe it would have been less painful if you had saved yourself the time of writing a blog post and just sent an email to the five people that comprise your "readership."
- Hey, guys! Don't forget to take this post down!
- So it's Friday. The start of a whole, long, three-day weekend. And the only suggestion you have is that I go out and have one drink? Where do you "Go Out" from Fritz, a freakin' monastery. Sheesh.
- Now this is where rebelling against the blog style sheet just seems kind of stupid. On the first paragraph of this post, you'll have to remove the third sentence on May 1, and the fifth sentence requires you to redact three clauses on three different dates! Rebel against the blogosphere's totally passe "just leave the posts up there" all you want, but it just seems like you're creating more work for yourself in your whole "we take outdated stuff down" regime than you need to. And by the way: while you may think Fantasia should be sainted for keeping her concert tickets under $40, I'd be more inclined to recommend her canonization if one of you chuckleheads can tell me where I can find the $28-off-coupons.
- Okay, Alexa. Nice post on gelato. Now let's see where the exact moment your target demographic collectively shrugged and gave up on you: "Later that night, as I was sitting down to Larry King..." Yes! That was the clause, right there.
By the way: ironically enough, a Google Search for "DC blogs AND indie rock" currently yields the Goos as the number one choice. Ha ha! You become what you most abhor!
- It's funny. I'm actually a little surprised. But don't you get the feeling that the Bush administration has kind of jumped the shark? I mean, the election season was crazy exciting, and now? Sorta feh, isn't it? Social security reform? Bored. Never gonna happen. He's even trying to keep alive the "town-hall meeting" where everyone has to take a loyalty oath idea, except he's discovering that they don't do that in Germany. Well, not anymore, anyway. I never thought I'd say this, but John Kerry was the best thing that ever happened to him. Not in the sense that he was a great Presidential candidate, but in the sense that he made an awesome dramatic foil. Theirs was a cinematic pairing that hyped the nation! Now, it's like, "President Bush? Who cares." The latest proof of this? Well, think about it. A few days ago, a kid from a Muslim background was arrested and accused of being part of a plot to assassinate Bush. Six months ago, Drudge would have already have photoshopped the kid and Terry McAuliffe together in a picture of them dining at David Greggory. It would have been an election year hootenanny! Right now, though, people are like, President Bush? Assassination plot? Meh. Who do people care about? A fucking bunny, that's who. (Save Toby)
- So apparently, the in-flight version of Sideways on foreign carriers has substituted the word "Ashcroft" for "asshole" in one of the movie's scenes. Now that's fucking vulgar. (Reliable Sores)
- The quotable Dick Cheney: "We now have more people in the business of preparing tax returns than we have in the army." Were you going for pith, Dick? I'd take the soul-stunting boredom of prepping 1040s over the unbridled lunacy of signing up for the Deathwish Brigade. (Washington Whispers)
- "The city is evolving into one of those stereotypical towns of the South..." So begins this morning column by Tom Knott, now the 14,587th writer to offer up some variation of the "DC as sleepy Southern town" story. Ahhh, sweet, sweet complacency. (Fucktard)
- We'd love to offer you some pith about soon in Washington, only white hipsters will be able to pray to St. Ides and offer their dead homies curbside libations in tribute, but first, would the Examiner please fix their goddamned website? Ugh...idiots.(Examiner)
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
The City Paper ran a short blurb on the efforts of ANC 3F Treasurer Carl Kessler, whose quixotic quest to get DC's taxpayers to pay for the business cards he'd been paying for out-of-pocket finally ended, with the DC Office of the Attorney General finally siding with Kessler. You'll forgive me if it doesn't seem that business cards for people on the low ANC rung is totally necessary. Can't you ANC chair just have your moms crochet you a sweater with your name on it? Aren't those "Hello! My name is..." stickers cost-effective?
Kessler's reasoning is thus: ?When we walk into a meeting...we have no indicator that we actually are ANC commissioners." Really? Do ANC meetings typically attract crowds of people that no one knows? Do you yourself need a flash card to remind yourself: "On some small, obscure, out-of-the-way, barely recognized level, I actually COUNT for something!" Seems spurious to me. Fact is, I'd wager I recognize this sort of behavior--classic psychology of the small timer who wants to feel more important than he or she really is, figures that some scintilla of trapping will give him and his ego the boost they need.
Here's the funny thing: apparently, Federal law had previously forbidden the allocation or appropriation of city funds for business cards. According to the City Paper, such objets de identite, were categorized as "personal items akin to a pair of shoes or a parasol." Well, that got me thinking: instead of changing the law to allow ANCs to have taxpayer-bought business cards, how about enacting a law requiring ANCs to appear in public carrying taxpayer-bought parasols. I think it would be vastly preferable each time someone complained about a neighborhood, for that person to be directed: "Look, if you don't like it, take it up with the jackasses carrying the parasols."
I wish I could say right now that I can attend. It's a longshot with everything I have to do between now and tomorrow when SCARLET LETTER returns. Ye fuckin' gads. But we're talking about four fine people expanding your music world fourhundredfold in a mere four hours. I know DCSOB is gonna drop that "If the Metro Doesn't Go There Then it Don't Exist" joint. I can feel it.
But fuck me and my spine-shattering to-do lists. You owe it to yourself to get your ass to Cafe Saint Ex tonight. Even if you are one of those American aquarium drinkers who'll be assassining down the avenue tonight in the vicinty of the 930 club. You can go after Tweedy tries to break your heart.
- The Going Out Gurus and the people who compile the Examiner's "Too Tough For TV" section: A match made in heaven? (Examiner)
- Okay, fair is fair. You wouldn't think anyone walking into the cafeteria of a DC school would be able to discern the smell of several gallons of cat piss from the emanations that are typically found in such a room, but we suppose in hindsight, spaying a couple hundred cats by the taco bar wasn't among the best ideas ever hatched. It's called learning from mistakes, people! Still, I can't wait for one of those high school newspaper columnists with the writing skills of a tenth grader to pen their take on the Feline Frenzy Fiasco. Oh. Whoops! One already did! (Post)
- A "high school valedictorian" is in deep shit after allegedly planning to kill the President. Oy. And that High School? The Islamic Saudi Academy in Alexandria. Oy. That's really going to put a damper on their prom. Seriously, though, you'd have to love Bush in the sick way that 45-year old women love Justin Timberlake to want him dead. Most Bush critics would plunge themselves into a shoulder-deep funk at the thought of him being assassinated because then we'd never hear the end of how awesome he was and we'd all get lost going to our friend's hosues because every street in this city would be named after him. He'd be considered a saint. You'd think that the valedictorian of the Islamic Saudi Academy would know something about martyrdom! Sheesh. (DCist)
- The difference between Adrian Talbott and me is that while he wants to get young people interested in politics, I want to get those same young people interested in cleaning my apartment. Which one of us will be more successful? Don't count me out. I have a lot more to offer today's disaffected youth that Talbott. In fairness, though, most of what I have to offer is weed. (Reliable Sores)
- Do I want to buy a small indie label? Oh, boy, yes! How many food stamps are we talking here? (Craigslist)
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
In The Diner today:
- We unleash ourselves on the hypocrites and fools who painted their fingers blue during the last State of the Union address.
- To prepare yourselves for next week's hotly anticipated Oscar Recap, we have thoughtfully ressurected last year's splendid offering, Tolkien Academy Fight Song. If you didn't read it last year, go enjoy it now.
- We got our review on some hot singles action. No, not pathetic, desperate singles that you see in sweaty bars. Singles from Tori, and Brendan Benson, and...William Shatner?!
- Plus: The usual Six of One and a Half Dozen of the Other and a hilarious live chat between Dave and his friend Aaron on the occasion of seeing Arnold run.
And lately, in DCist:
Posted by The Deceiver at 2/22/2005
- The saga of the loud, stupid, right-wing loonypoons in the Virginia State Legislature continues, Part One. Good news! Delegate Charles Carrico, who wanted to improve upon Thomas Jefferson's Virginia Statute on Religious Freedom by destroying it, got a much deserved beat down in the Senate Courts of Justice Committee. While Carrico's "improvement", as noted in these pages previously, would have made it your right to pray in public as loudly, as spasmodically, and with as many burning objects and body fluids as you could dream of, we still say, why not do these things anyway, whereever the false prophets of crank conservative quasi-Christianity hold sway. Oh, and by the way: you're welcome! (Post)
- I thought emo girls used Friendster, not Craigslist! (Craigslist)
- Choire at Wonkette asks: "Are Coulter and Ron Silver dating, just dinning, or dreaming up television show? We're dying to know." Of more interest to DCeiver: is Anne still under the impression that when she gets the searing headaches, coupled with the nosebleeds and uncontrollable lactation, she's having an orgasm? (Wonkette)
- You know, it's been said that when you look at fathers and sons, usually, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. And then there are those occasions where the apple gets himself crazy high and hurls itself off a tree at a cop's face. (WJLA)
- The saga of the loud, stupid, right-wing loonypoons in the Virginia State Legislature continues, Part Two. Reverend Deborah Peevey walks into the Virginia General Assembly to open their Friday session and harshly calls out the state's biggest scumbags: "Holy One, convict those who are using their power not to lead or to guide but to harm the gay and lesbian citizens, a small minority in this commonwealth." Very Samuel L. in Pulp Fiction. Way to wield the ball peen hammer in the name of the Lord, Reverend Peevey! (DCist)
Posted by The Deceiver at 2/22/2005
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Still loving the Googahblog. What few readers it has are currently debating what would be a good name for the blog. My buddy at Here's a Hint, by the way, is taking a few at bats in this whole thing, as you can see.
Still, a good question. What to name the Going Out Gurus Blog? "Washington Area Entertainment Blog" does seem a little generic. What name could expertly capture the flavor.
How about: "Best Week Never."
Ha. It can play on VHDone.
Oh, it just writes itself.
Posted by The Deceiver at 2/19/2005
Friday, February 18, 2005
Is simply this: What site's being read? GogBlog? Nope. This one. Right here.
This is where I tap the GogBlog on the shoulder, point at the Jumbotron and say, "Scoreboard, bitch. Scoreboard."
Owned, stoned, and dethroned.
We were happy to trumpet Tricia WaPo's sterling review of The Scarlet Letter earlier this week. City Paper Trey Graham didn't care for the show as much, but you know what? Trey's a fair man and a smart man. I wouldn't take issue with him because he comes out, he applies his best critical thought to the task, and he writes with style. "Aura of woo-woo", from my earlier post? Total shout out.
However, I feel like it's okay for my to slag the critical efforts of Bob Anthony, self-described "freelance art critic" for some AOL board no one reads anyway. Now, I had never heard of Bob Anthony until yesterday, and who can blame me. He wasn't very well described to me by my colleagues, but certain terms kept coming up--"third grade education", "daft", "uuuuuuuuggghhhh"--I was told that his review would be hilarious.
And so it is.
A few points:
- The script fails to identify relationships? Umm, I'd be happy to enter the script into evidence. Characters in this play are CONSTANTLY stating their relationships overtly and repeatedly: "my brother can be a handful", "My sister needs a noose", "you were my husband", "you were my wife", "you baptised my sons", "I am your mother, Pearl"...again and again and again. The characters keep clarifying their relationships for a reason: the story features a HUGE unspoken relationship at its center. It's called COUNTERPOINT. And that's what having a literary degree will do for you.
- You say the script "extends the plot to incorporate a medicant woodsman who provides tonics and who tries to add spice by having his ex-wife (?) plead with him with sadomasochistic behavior." First off, yes. Hester is his ex-wife. We weren't trying to, you know, FOOL YOU when he said those forty or fifty times that she was his wife. More importantly, that character was no "plot extension." That "mendicant woodsman" was Roger Chillingworth, and he's right there in Nathaniel Hawthorne's book. That character was part of the story from day one.
- This raises an interesting point: you do know that THE SCARLET LETTER is a book by Nathaniel Hawthorne? Maybe I should start with something simpler...you do know what a book is, don't you?
- You're so hung up on Elizabeth Chomko's height! You make her seem like a giant! She's what? 5'6"? Are you having that nightmare where Liz carries you up the side of the Empire State Building again?
- After slagging us, you tell people: "This theater deserves support so this production is recommended." If only a blurb could capture the exquisite depths of your magnificent pity!
- You sign off by saying: "The acting can do nothing but improve over the run of the show." I would be careful before making such a bold pronouncement, dude. Speaking for myself, I can tell you that I am pretty fucking amazing right now!
I keed, of course. Everyone in the show is pretty fucking amazing right now! Oooh, snap!
- Virginia's got so many crazy-ass laws in the pipeline that there just isn't enough room to cover them all! Narrowly averted: a law that would have required schools to notify parents if their kids didn't say the pledge of allegiance dies in a tie. Look, I know that some people don't like saying the Pledge. I think it's fundmentally stupid, myself. But you know what? It doesn't like, COMMIT you to anything. Go ahead and add "Void where prohibited" or "While supplies last" to the end if it makes you feel better. But this law is stupid. Who's got the time to suss out who's saying the Pledge and then contact parents every single day? Do you know what Wife Of Deceiver's life would be like under this law? "Hello, is this Mister So and So? Hi. It's Wife of Deceiver calling from school. Your son didn't say the pledge today. I think that the reason why is because your son is AUTISTIC. I think that's the reason I've had to make this call for the past five hundren thousand days. Anyway, just keeping you informed...I'm feeling really good about tomorrow." (Daily Loonypoon)
- The Hill's Duncan Spenser calls the battle between the Examiner and the Express a "newspaper war with personality." The standards for qualifying for "personality" are apparently at a record low. (The Hill)
- Wow. If you would like to join this self-described "savage fuck" in his attempts to "work the wadger", prove that "breeding is bleeding" and bridge the musical gaps between Muddy Waters, Sublime and Danzig...well, good luck with that. Note to poster: once you've cited AC/DC as an influence, citing Jet is considered to be redundant. (Craigslist)
- Tryst is turning their WiFi off on weekend evenings. What? You mean we're going to have to talk to each other? (DCist)
- Demzilla. Doesn't exactly call Dr. Strangelove's doomsday device to mind, does it? (Wonkette)
I know what you're thinking. How can I possibly continue this feature since the dawning of the age of the Going Out Gurus? It seems implausible, I know. But I feel I must soldier on, and give you enthusiasts something to do. I'm sure the GogBlog's gonna recommend you all catch the Gallagher show at the State Theatre anyway, after a nice meal at the Cheesecake Mosque.
All suggestions made under the assumption that you didn't happen to obtain tickets for THE SCARLET LETTER. Or if you aren't off to see the Christo.
DEEP THINKING ON A FRIDAY NIGHT
What have you done for your brain lately? Sooner or later, dude, you're gonna run out of those 24 DVDs you've been buying it off with. And that bundle of neural synapses is your greatest asset. Treat it right by putting it in front of one of today's most engaging and provoking intellectuals, Malcolm Gladwell. He'll be at Politics and Prose Friday at 7pm kicking it new school about his book Blink, which posits that "we often make the best decisions with the least information." Only Rob Goodspeed has a brain this sexy. Go and bask, but for God's sake don't ask him if he was the inspiration for Malcolm in the Middle. You will totally embarrass me.
I've been cycling The Music's new release Welcome To The North, in and out of my various music playing implements this week, and while I'm too too convinced that as a band name, The Music is at least as stupid as Live, I'm just as sure that live, The Music, are going to make you fucking silly in the head with rock and roll abandon. It's skyscraping, octane, blow the doors off music that could very well make the 930 Club seem small. And Kasabian, also on the bill, are no slouches themselves. Of course, some would call this indie rock, so for all I know, it's all dreadfully boring. (This Friday, 930. With Morningwood)
I flat out adored Katie Melua's 2004 release, Call Off The Search. I also think that the Birchmere has one of the best sound mixes in the area--pure and uncluttered, every well-played note seems to glimmer. Sigh. Sounds like a dreamy combination. Melua's oft-compared to Norah, but the truth is Katie's almost a pure torch singer--sometimes she's satin, but sometimes she's leather. But she's never indie-rock, so you run the risk of running into some overexcited Goo there. Still, before you write off your Sunday evening, lean in for a listen. (with The Sketches, 7:30)
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Translating the Played Out Gurus, an Ongoing Chronicle of the Quixotic Gogblog: The Tigers Have Spoken
Need background? There. It's fun when people who evince a cultivated disdain for blogs try to do it themselves. At the Washington Post, the Going Out Gurus have already shown this town that they are about as cutting-edge as a turkey baster. But we winced when these smokers called out DCist and others in a live chat:
The one problem I have with many of the local music blogs I've read (I won't name names) is the obsession with indie rock...and only indie rock. Gets boring pretty quickly.
Okay. Sure. Never mind that nearly everyone who knows anything about music said that the last 12 months was a non-stop indie rock resurgence on all fronts--we're sorry that the predominant pop music trend in the world is already boring the Goos. Whatever.
Of course, the Goos were actually dining on three-layer envycakes a la mode, because within days, they had gotten into the blogging game. And of course, one of the items they led with straight from the gate was announcing a Neko Case gig in Ballmer. (Baltimore?! Is there gonna be a rumble with the Going Out Of Town Gurus over that?) Neko Case...pretty much one of the big, big, BIG names in indie rock, both for her own alt-country records and her work with the New Pornographers. Because the DC blogosphere rolls massive against the pretenders, the Goos were immediately taken to task for their teaspoon of hypocrisy, and just as immediately, in a violation of just about every blog style sheet, and in an overreaction that belies deep insecurity, they took the post down!
Their rationale? "But, wetook down the Neko Case post because the show was yesterday, so itdidn't make sense to leave it up. Also, I'd be hard pressed todescribe Neko Case as indie rock. She's alt-country - or straightahead country - or rock."
So, they seem to have WEBLOG confused with MARQUEE or CALENDAR. And, I espesh love the fact that they'd be "hard pressed" to describe Neko Case as indie rock. You can picture them, in the Going Out Gurus laboratory, pulling out their hair over that one! The best they can do--under all the PRESSURE, mind you--is suggest that Neko Case may or may not fall into one of three broad categories of music. It's Big Yawn disease: "We're experts! Just don't ask to see any expertise, or we'll take our blog entry and go home!"
Sad. By the way, to the best of knowledge, they haven't taken down any other postings. We'll have commentary on those later.
- Okay, I'm not saying that the women who were tricked into receiving poisoned Botox injections are necessarily stupid, but when I hear "Colombian doctor" and "botox", all kinds of alarms go off. Again, I'm not saying you are stupid, ladies. I'm just sure you'll have a lot to reflect on as you look at your face in the mirror and see Edward fucking James Olmos staring back at you. (The Moonie Suzuki)
- Delegate Charles Carrico doesn't seem to understand one of my family's favorite documents, the Virginia Statute on Religious Freedom--my father turned me on to its enduring charms and now, I, in turn, let you in on this piece of thoroughly brillsville Jeffersonia. Carrico and ubiquitous douchebag L. Scott Lingamfelter, who actually believes it when he says that there "is now a poisoned environment for religious expression" in the US, want to make prayer a right. A right. Heh heh. Okay, you guys. If that's the way you want it. Because I got to tell you, when I pray to Jesus, I do so at the top of my motherfuckin' lungs. I also have been known, in the throes of religious ecstacy, rip a couple of powersaw farts. Yeah, thoughts of ol' JC really brew up a simmering pot of ass coffee, all right. Plus, when I really get into the praying, I like to handle voles and set things, frequently the voles, on fire. Why? Because I loves me some Jesus. And, by the way, Jesus loves my ass right back. He sent me an IM this morning letting me know that while He aint sure whether Lingamfelter and Carrico are going to heaven, I am, for sure, going straight upstairs and that I'll be rolling with His bitches in the afterlife. Yeah. I got the hook up. And by the way, I have a message to all schoolchildren in Central and Southern Virginia--if you want to learn to pray like me, send me an email and I'll teach you for free. After all, it's your right. (Post)
- And now, the Craigslist posting that launched a thousand pre-emptive restraining orders. (Craigslist)
- You know, when Why I Hate DC beats you down, you really get beat down. Definite nominee for the 2005 Ball Peen Hammer Award. (Why I Hate DC)
- You know, we at The DCeiver haven't had a whole lot to say about the whole Jeff Gannon fiasco. It's called: Get out of the damn way and let Choire do his job. We'd like to point out, though, the reason Helen Thomas is different from Jeff Gannon is that Thomas doesn't have to rely on subterfuge, deception and obfuscation to gain entry to the bullpen. Also, as a message to Jeff: You know what, buddy? You may have been laughable, but you were never more pathetic than when you posted that weak ass "The voice is silenced" message and then went around whining your ass off. I mean, I thought your worldview MEANT something to you! Yet you caved in like sixty seconds! Pussy. What you should have done is started your own ferocious blog, because if you had, right now, you'd be bigger than all of them. Bigger than everyone. You'd be a star. You could have easily been Sicha's Washingtonienne. But you were more turned on by the access and the perceived legitimacy than you were for your own beliefs. Sad, sad, man. And now, some trickster who is slicker's done tricked you of your liquor. (Jeff Gannon Blog)
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
- This might be the oddest musical pairing we've seen in some time. Wonderjack, and Los Pimpos on the same bill! PK, you've got to update your site to note the fact that now you and Los Pimpos have opened for Wonderjack. This is truly bizarre: Wonderjack is a fluid, keys-fronted, jammy band with a classic-rock feel and Los Pimpos are...well, sort of a pulled-from-one's-own-ass novelty act of hip-hop craptasm. I want to hear these two bands collaborate on "Bring The Noise 2005", or, at the very least, a cover of "Cousin Dupree." Weird, weird, weird. (Craigslist)
- Oh, hells yeah. Most Saturday nights, after too many whiskey sours at Tonic, you know where to find me--Chinatown. Mass Court. I'll be chillin' with my friends the brothers Salazar in their penthouse and their downstairs neighbor, Barack. That's Mister Obama to you. The future of the Democratic Party in one building? Mmmmm, gotta getta guard at the door. (The Hill)
- We love hunters and freshly killed game at The DCeiver. We ain't gonna lie to you. But gun-rights activists, far and away the most easily riled dorks in the history of politics, are freaking out again at the news that the Virginia legislature, in a rare return to sensible debate, are considering making it illegal to drink and hunt. Of course, the typical loonypoon gun activist ain't having none of that noise. When the time comes to overthrow the government, they reserve the right to do so shitfaced as hell! Although, as one may surmise from yesterday's post, sobriety seems to be the key to mass destruction and the tearing down of outdated institutions...just ask the Terrapins, who get way hammered and then just cannot seem to finish the job they started. Virginia Citizens Defense League President Phillip Van Cleave complains that it's easy to "reach .02 [blood alcohol content] by taking some cough syrup." Point One: if you've got a nasty cough, what are you doing outside hunting? Point two: If cough syrup can only get you to .02, Phillip, then you aren't using it right. (DCist)
- The proposal to create special "traditional marriage" license plates in Virginia has been withdrawn. You're welcome, by the way. (WTOP)
- The DC Council has drawn the line at Mayor Williams retardedly expensive new "key to the city" citing that the $2000 cost was many times the expense that other cities spend on this ceremony (NYC, apparently, spends only $60). So, the Council couldn't be bothered to play the DC Baseball stadium fiasco any way other that craven, but I guess they'll all expect a nice big reward for saving it's constituents the two G's. Don't worry DC, I can make the necessary number of copies of the Key To My Ass for under $20. (Post)
Posted by The Deceiver at 2/16/2005
While Peter Marks continues his little lost matchgirl act on the streets of Manhattan, desperate for the affection from the NYT, who failed to love him in that specific Bridget Jonesy way he was hoping for, Post Critic Tricia Olszewski has been keeping it real, working the town that pays her to work. And guess what, she likes us. She really likes us.
That's one big wet kiss! And Trish, much gratitude. A lot of peeps might shy away from something they were supposed to read in the ninth grade. Many others might still be pumping spastic dry-heaves through their abdomen after seeing what Demi Moore did to the story. And props for noticing the scenes between Olshansky and Scotty. Those scenes are tight and maybe a little undersung.
No love for the Firewater song, though? Trish, Trish, Trish. I've been waiting my whole life to do a show with a Firewater song on the ST!
Anyhoo, you don't have to take my word for it, you can see what Tricia has to say and reach the same conclusion: we roll large. If you want to catch the show, here's the jump-off.
(By the way, that version of "Tainted Love" she speaks of is by Coil.)
Posted by The Deceiver at 2/16/2005
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
By now, you've got me figured out. Not a Maryland fan, am I. Am I being totally unreasonable? To a certain extent yes. And then, the University of Maryland Terrapins play Duke, leading to College Park apeshittery, and suddenly I don't look so stupid calling for Michelle Malkinesque death camps in College Park (and then suggesting that she be sent there herself--mind you, I've never had to pick her up by the seat of her pants and forcibly expel her from Saki in Adams Morgan, but that's just a happy coincidence. I would do so in a heartbeat. And regretcakes? I would swallow them not).
You know, as a UVA student, I know full well how it feels to beat the living shit out of the Duke Blue Devils. 1990, son. I shouted down Chris Laettner in person. Even Coach Gillen, who's not long for this world, has provided some memorable Blue Devil beatdowns--Adam Hall, beyotch, now get yer ass back to Durham. Sure it's been none in the past, what, ninety attempts. You see, I know what it feels like to lose to those cats, too. And I mean, the forty point whippings AND those merry occasions when Wojoshoeshevpoopski drives the length of the floor as the dude who is paid by the NC2A "forgets" to start the clock, allowing Wojofuckmyrawasski and his beloved Coach Frying Pan Face to claim one of those "mystique" victories.
So the pleasure, the pain--I know it well. Here's what I don't know. I don't know what makes a man set his campus on fire. Mind you, we were a refined lot who called our campus "The Grounds," but I don't think it was our high-toned Southern snobbery that made our neighborhood NOT become engulfed in flames, nor do I think it was the fact that our SAT scores, even being...what--QUADRUPLE what Maryland's students are?--were the deciding factor in our habitual ability to not find ourselves choking on pepper spray or bent up in a truss by the local constabulary.
The night of the game, even from my curbside perch in Columbia Heights, I could feel that little worm that resides in the poisoned omelet that exists inside the cranium of these certain Maryland student begin to turn, inexorably, to the thoughts of another pyrotechnic debacle. Oh that I could find within myself a reservoir of pity deep and wide and briny enough to drown all of you, you Maryland students! Because I surely would. I surely would. It's bad enough that the orgiastic riots of pure and unadulterated moronism stem from what seems to be a utterly Pavlovian response to the presence of Blue Devilla on their basketball schedule. It doesn't seem to matter whether the Terps win or lose--the thought of Duke makes the student body groan as one: "Fire pretty! Me want burn! BURN!" No, what makes it worse is that these regular riots are now seen by all to be simply something that Maryland students do. It's like, part of the student experience. A Hasty Pudding Club of mouthbreathing, adolescent doltery mixed with a lack of respect for public property. The University of Maryland's P.R. Department must have been out there with their digital cameras, scouting for good shot to insert into those University of Maryland brochures that they send to prospective students.
That begs a question, by the way. Those brochures...what language do they use to reach a typical Maryland prospect? Scratch and sniff? Fucking rebuses? Does someone lay down a piss trail to follow? Just wondering.
But, I'll be honest with you, the time is long past to get mad at the students. Clearly, these numblefucks are a lost cause. It's time to look deep into the eyes of the President of the University of Maryland, their Board of Visitors, their Deans and Provosts, their administrative staff, and simply ask: "What the fuck is you all's problem, anyway?" These students need to be expelled! They need to be expelled yesterday! Hell, I think they need to be forcibly marched to the Delaware bridge like Mayor Barry once tried to do with the whores and told that they can never return!
And don't give me this whole "We'll wait and see what the courts say..." reasoning that you're laying down in the press today. Don't make expulsion predicated on "if" these lesser minds are convicted in a court of law. That's the buy-out polticians take. That's the way it works at fucking Enron--"Well, it sure looks bad! But we'll wait and see what a judge says and see if that jumpstarts my fuckin' moral compass, and then maybe we'll take action." Take down some names yourselves and start the purge! Kick 'em out!
And going forward, oh, higher minds behind Terp U., you've got to consider what to do to keep this from happening. You are going to have to develop a student body that collectively realizes that burning their fucking school down is not perhaps conducive to amassing the knowledge and skills they need for future success. I say: you better raise your damn admission standards. Now, don't get me wrong. I've been to Bethesda. I've walked the streets of Rockville. I've read where Joe Queenan described Baltimore as "a slum with a nice aquarium" and sang allelujahs. I know what you are up against. Who in their right mind wants to stay? Well, raising admission standards might actually be the start of something beautiful. Even if say, the class of 2010 is only, like nine people. You have to start somewhere, and you have to eliminate this dimwitted organic waste that's masquerading as members of a student body.
Now I know that some of you folks who are students and alumni of Maryland are saying, "Oh, this is just sour grapes snobbery from a UVA alum." Or you're saying: "But even a minimal heightening of standards will preclude any of the current members of the Maryland Terrapins Men's Basketball team from continuing to play!" Or maybe you're saying: "I'm the dude who writes The Upstate Life and I thought we were tight, yo!" My answers to you are, respectively: "Yeah, well, maybe", "Heh-heh, I know!", and "Hell yes, brah! I love you, man! I stand ready to avenge your untimely demise, Kill Bill, style!" But if you guys really cared about your school's rep, you'd be beating these rioters about the chest and face!
Or at least, if you've just got to set shit on fire, Maryland students, you could show some real work ethic and finish the fucking job. Either way, it doesn't mean SHIT to me.
Posted by The Deceiver at 2/15/2005
Friday, February 11, 2005
We'll be pouring out our forties on the curbside this weekend in tribute to one of the titans of theatre, Arthur Miller. I shouldn't need to elaborate on his greatness. Crucible. A View From the Bridge. Death of a Salesman. My personal fave: Playing For Time. That shit just slays. He's from a period of playwrights where the cup just ran over with fantastic writers for the stage--folks that have stood the test of time precisely because their skills were that large and their vision was that universal. We're talking Odets, Inge, Saroyan, Williams, O'Neill. And Miller was larger than 'em all. Changed the way we thought about tragedy. Left a knee deep footprint in the culture. Forgot more than you and I will ever know. Left it all out there on the field. And he took shit from no one. The last of the gang to die. Respect.
It's too bad there aren't "internets", as President Mini-Me claims, because after this morning, I'd be looking to get off of the one I'm on and jumping to the other internet. Oy. Network Solutions seems to think I pointed our domain name at some hosting service I've never heard of back in October. There's just no convincing them that they are wrong about that, because their heads are wedged tightly in their Albert Pujols. Meanwhile, over at the hosting service, I have to ask..."Hotel California" is that really a good choice for hold music? Isn't that a little off-message? Oh, you're going to play that atonal, gag-reflex inducing Vanessa Carlton single from yesteryear. Eeek. Send me back to Henley's crotchety embrace.
Yeah, I've been on a dark desert highway all right. And my brain is burning and I need lunch and sleep. But I have to point out that stories about the local media are blowing up!
DIG! The City Paper's expose on the pro-Whitey Examiner! For those of you who can't remember what the Examiner is--who can blame you! It's that new daily from Philip Anschutz? The one that probably won't be around in a years time? Also, check out the City Paper's puzzlement with regard to the ass "Too Hot For TV" section of said Examiner. Let's just say that you can safely say that Uncle Grambo from Whatevs would have already referred to it as "Too Durst for TV", if the Examiner were something he even gave two shits about, and really, who could possibly blame him for not?
THRILL! to Why I Hate DC's taking things a step further and saying, "You think the Examiner is a lame-ass fishwrap put out by dodgy racists? Sheeyit, son! Step away and repeep the Moonie Delight for alla that served up old-school!
WONDER! At the continuing story of Jeff Gannon/JD Guckert and the Talon News fiasco. It's not just a DEbacle, it's like a CHEWbacle--like A Star Wars Xmas style nonsense. Umm, just go to Wonkette, where Choire Sicha has this story on such tight lockdown that they're already clearing out a table at Lauriol Plaza in the hopes that Choire might drop by in his official Gawker Media smoking jacket and regale us all, Dorothy Parker style, this weekend.
Or, of course, go be BORED at FishbowlDC.
THE SCARLET LETTER
Well, there are probably a few seats left for tomorrow's opening of The Scarlet Letter, this weekend's "Stalk the DCeiver" event. It's at 1459 Columbia Road at the Casa Del Pueblo in Columbia Heights. And the show has the Maggie Glauber Seal of Approval, so, really, what more can you ask for? You know Peter Marks won't be coming to see it, because he's a Royal Douchebag. Trust in Maggie, people.
Perhaps you've heard that the Wrens are coming to town? Surely you've read DCist's interview? If not, go here and check it out. The Wrens are one of those great underdog bands, toiling in semi-obscurity but making some great music, brimming with maturity and passion. Their record, The Meadowlands? Awesome. They are playing tonight at The Black Cat, though, so you should proceed with our post-Exit Clov sound debacle caveat: call up the Black Cat prior to going and ask if they intend to take their job as a rock venue seriously tonight or if it's just going to be another clownshoes misadventure at the board. Gauge their commitment level and proceed accordingly. (with Army of Me (!!) and The Upwelling, $10)
SOME SORT OF LAPTOP BATTLE
Umm. We were geeked up for this until I realized it wasn't going to be an opportunity to, say, tag someone across the face with a ThinkPad. A real pity. But if you are looking to get your glitch rock jones on in a big way, well, then head on out to DC9 to watch all the pointing and clicking and mousing and...um, hitting the enter key. It's sure to be a delight for the senses. A winner will be crowned, and we'll see how well the Laptop Champion does next week, when his laptop advances to face the winner of the Sledgehammer Battle the DCeiver is hosting this weekend. Bring it on, IDM geek.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
I really shouldn't complain. I'm on Blogspot because I'm lazy and I don't want to learn new things. I outsource my programming needs to Austin, Texas. It pains me to have to open up the HTML and get all codey.
So, you know what? If you go on out to Mangina Dentata and find it looks like a certain special blogger you've been keeping company with, well, it's because I've been slow to develop a brand identity for myself.
Mangina Dentata, by the by, purports to fill Andrew Sullivan's shoes in that the blogger is both a) one of those very confused paleocon gays and b) under the impression that Sullivan's really going to be able to keep himself from blogging. Luckily, MD's wit is similar to Sullivan's, in that it is badly lacking. So, no competition to Boi From Troy, fo' shizz.
And that name! "Mangina Dentata." That practically screams: "I couldn't get fifteen pages into Camille Paglia's Sexual Personae before being overcome with the giggles."
Of course, this is coming from the blogger who this week has used the word "vaginal" as often as he used to use the word "Big Yawn."
OK, we totally missed the whole "Leave it all out there on the field" episode. But thank Jehovah for the previouslies, otherwise we wouldn't have made note of Bartlet totally calling Leo out on it in this "next in a continuing series of very special MS episodes." If I was Bartlet, I'd probably add, "And, dude, didn't I fire you?" Actually The DCeiver used to work for a pathetically incompetent company called PSA where it actually happened that this sad and annoying dipshit named Vince (who was originally hired because as a consultant he told the higher ups at PSA that the answer to their business problems was--DUH!--to hire him, and the higher ups at PSA--DUH!!--bought this line) was fired and then--sadly, pathetically--continued to show up at work for months afterward, and because it was clear that no one ever loved him or hugged him and that he was probably from his "mother's womb, untimely ripp'd", no one had the heart to suggest that he maybe should find something else to do than hang out with us all day. Egads. By the way, PSA has apparently spun off a new company called Diplomatic Solutions that purports to run security and protocol services for folks in the government. Now, you all know I have a love-hate-hate-love-hate relationship with people in the government, but a word to the wise, as a friend: I used to work for these people, and you can trust me on this--if you submit your safety to their tender mercies, chances are you will be killed, good and dead. And you don't want that.
Now, while I get my future lawyer Shayna on the phone to ask me what the hell do I think I'm doing, mull over these study questions, why dontcha?
- Dude. It was pretty cool to see Christopher Lloyd in the episode playing a hired-gun democracy philosopher helping the Belarussians get their Constitution on! But wouldn't it be awesome if Lloyd's "Reverend Jim" character actually was helping some small Eastern European country to write their Constitution? He'd be all protecting the citizens from "cruel and unusual trips" and establishing a "Separation of Seeds and Stems Act". Admit it. That would be awesome!
- Here's an exercise for further study. While you are at work today, borrow the affectations, mannerisms, and mode of communication used by Lord John Marbury and deploy them to talk to your co-workers and clients. Keep a diary to observe their reactions, and answer the following questions: a) How fired are you? and b) Do you need help with your resume?
- Okay, come clean. You kinda got choked up listening to Lloyd's "How many guys do you think it takes?" monologue, didn't you? It was sorta so best.
- Let's think back an episode to one we missed--the Rashomon-esque Iowa episode. What the hell was the deeper meaning behind Will Bailey's ice-cream vending machine scene? Was it a) "Oh, God. The candidate I work for is a plastic dimwit. I have wasted my life." b) "Oh God. Watching this machine struggle to give me a fricking ice-cream is highly reminiscent of ethanol, in that it's an overcomplicated answer to a simple need. If only I had seen this machine earlier!" c) "Oh God. Iowa sucks. It sucks it sucks it sucks it sucks it sucks it sucks it sucks it sucks it sucks it sucks it sucks it sucks it sucks it sucks it sucks IT SUCKS!!!" d) "Oh God. I'm John Wells and I just wasted four precious minutes of broadcast time on this scene. Somebody must stop me!"
- This episode dealt with the ups and downs of diplomacy, the tricky nature of dealing with reform movements in rogue nations and the need to balance the interests of nations who desire retribution and protection from nations that mean them harm. Do you think Americans even deserved a nuanced approach to ANYTHING anymore? If I were President, wouldn't I be totally justified by saying to the American people: "You know, a few centuries ago it was our ancestors fighting what many seemed to be a hopeless battle for reform and freedom on these shores. We depended on the timely assistance of nations that saw the big picture and could help us, nations that could have gained considerably in the short term by simply staying out of the way of the status quo. You'd think we could all learn a lesson from that, but since all you dimwits want me to blow the shit out this country, that's what we're going to do. But you know what? It's YOUR CALL. You can take the heat for it. You can live with the doubt. I wash my hands of all of you. Now, go drop some bombs, I'm going back to the residence to freak on some bonez, bitches." On second thought, maybe it was just an episode about shrewish Abby Bartlet wanting to put her husband to bed.
- I sympathize with you, Bored in Fairfax. After all, you probably at one point had a couple of pairs of low-rider jeans and couldn't wait to get four on the floor. Life's changing for Virginia. But you'll need to find hobbies other than torturing your cats in order to get by. (Craigslist)
- FishbowlDC is apparently a little miffed that they weren't invited to the Examiner's launch party. Yeah. That's because you're BORING, Fishbowl. You're BORING. (An Even Bigger Yawn)
- The DC Cat Assistance Team will be spending this weekend spaying the hell out DC's cats for $5 a pop. Those feline uteri are ticking timebombs, people! Though, now that I think about it, couldn't Adams Morgan use a mobile army of hungry felines to clean up the alleys? And wouldn't it have behooved the DC Cat Assistance Team to have named their populist spay-a-thon something other than "Feline Frenzy?" I think the last "Feline Frenzy" I attended was a wickedly naughty party in SF's Tenderloin District...but, I've signed binding agreements that forbid me from speaking about the things that went on there. Feline Frenzy! That's hot. (DCist)
- Senator Mark Dayton (D-Minn) has apparently "shocked" his party by choosing not to seek reelection. You may remember Dayton from last year, when he seriously freaked me by ditching town and telling everyone that Capitol Hill was under a massive terrorist threat that no one but him was talking about. Dude probably just used up his annual leave is all. Actually, Dayton was last seen excoriating Condi Rice on the floor of the Senate--a kick ass display of splenetic righteousness that should have clued people in--most politicians lose their taste for running for office around the same time they develop some balls. (The Hill)
- Savino's Cafe and Lounge in Dupont Circle is set to be rechristened as "Cloud". White on white decor, beds in the VIP lounge, tiny-ass foods to enable bulimic patrons--damn, son! It's all so Manhattan circa 2004 and just dreadful sounding. Dig the ingredients of their "Star of India" cocktail, though..."rum, orange liqueur, passion fruit juice, Sambuca, a splash of Sprite and organic rose petals." A splash of Sprite? How adorably ghetto! See you when I'm pretty, Cloud! In the meantime, I"ll be at Stetson's. Oy. (DCist)
Wow. Virginia's state government has been on a real roll lately, straight downhill and headed for a swamp of total embarrassment. Last year, it seemed like Virginia was bucking national political trends--moderates in both parties were ascending, a tax plan reached through the elbow grease of compromise and a commitment to realism was going into effect, it just seemed like for the first time in a long time like the folks who run the state were deserving of some thanks.
But it's February 2005, now, and it just goes to show that if you take your eyes off the idiot chimpanzees in the Virginia legistlature--men like cro-magnon shit herder A. Scott Lingamfucknut or Algie "I'd be happy to sell my brain for a haypenny" Howell--you're going to end up looking back and wondering how your state Constitution came to be feces-bedecked.
Whether it's the rampant homophobia that I can state with authority has added no statistically measureable appeal to vaginas, far and wide, or it's the ludicrous--LOO-DEE-CRUSS!--use of the state house to compel people to wear certain types of pants, it's pretty clear that there are some Virginia lawmakers that could stand to spend an enlightening period of time getting their skulls slammed repeatedly in the door of my car. Now we have state Delegate Richard H. Black (and apparently his idiot child son-in-law) accusing some Loudoun teens of attempting to "indoctrinate" people into the homosexual lifestyle. Luckily, for their much-needed edification, everything that has ever needed to be said about the idiocy that supposes there is some sort of widespread homosexual recruitment conspiracy has been said, by me, and they can read it, right here. And I really suggest they do. I'm PRESCRIBING it, like a doctor. They need it to get well. And they need to get well in a hurry, because the last resort for dealing with people like this is to hunt them for sport.
As I remarked last night, it's gotten to the point that the state government would be more apt in eschewing writing the laws they come up with down on paper and instead just commission a cave drawing. YOU ARE DENIGRATING THE QUALITY OF MY DEGREES, SIRS. I earned them in the Virginia State School System and that school system clearly taught me a lot better than "y'all"--as we say in Charlottesville. Listen to your betters, o elected officials, and embarrass us not with your childish, piddling, bigoted, reactionary, horseshit.
And that goes double for the good men and women who are essentially standing by and doing nothing. It's up to you to stand up for your constituents, and condemn the abovementioned individuals and their imbecile peers as loudly and as constantly as possible until they wilt. Hop to it! You have been thus ordered, public servants!
At the rate it's going, how long before they try to pass a law that would ask Virginia residents to un-eat the apple from the Tree of Knowledge?
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
It began as a challenge from editors Goodspeed and Grass to weave a post out of a Boi from Troy post, Paris On the Potomac, Condi's trip to France and an old "Ward's Awards" clip from a thirty-plus year old Denver Post.
I think I rose to the MacGyver-like occasion.
Posted by The Deceiver at 2/09/2005
- Joseph Steffen, a longtime aide to Governor Poppa Slotz Ehrlich, has resigned amid admissions that he spread some tacky rumors about Ballmer Mayor Martin O'Malley on "popular conservative websites" and emails. Awwww! It's so cute the way they fight over who's going to be in charge of Maryland. It's like, "Hey, are you going to eat that last piece of carrion?" (Post)
- "Look. We have to stop talking about The Think! I'm tired of them getting all this free advertising! I mean, they are TOTALLY FUCKING AWESOME, yo. But enough is enough! No more talk about this incredible band!" Umm, pretty SNEAKY, sis. Had I been born retarded, I might have fallen for it too. (Craigslist)
- Howard Dean is poised to become DNC chair. Brilliant or foolhardy? We'll just have to see. I'm supposed to cry over donors who may leave the DNC? Umm, sure. Nice principles, assholes. Should I weep over the tone-deaf dimwits that ran the party into the ground? Pish! I'm only too glad Terry McAuliffe is heading to Goodbyesville, population him. He can take Bob Shrum with him. Losers. My only wish is that I could put my index and middle fingers in McAuliffe's nostrils and drag McAuliffe down K Street to Washington Circle, where I'd cleat his derriere repeatedly for the viewing pleasure of the GWU student body. Ahhh, a wish is a dream your heart makes! (DCist)
- Bigoted asshatters in the Virginia government continue their pile-on of stultifying asininity. Anyone want to participate in a reenactment of the burning of Richmond? These dishrag homophobes are gonna burn eventually, after all. (WTOP)
- "Any regular jams taking place at home?" So begins the most hilariously doofy Craigslist musician post EVER. Don't you want to invite this 40 year old noodlehead over to your house for a "regular jam"? Dude. He'll totally drive 100 miles out of his way for the chance! And while he just says no to drugs (making him a rebel in the drug-addled home-jam scene!), but he promises he "can and do[es] drink just a little bit." As he says: "Weeknights, weekends day or night, it don't matter." Sweet! Yeah! Let's totally have a regular jam! I'll bring my fuckin' autoharp! (Craigslist)
Posted by The Deceiver at 2/09/2005