Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Back From Hiatus

And we're back. Damn, people. That was much needed. We've been down South the past week, floating in the Atlantic, reading a backlog of The Believer on the porch, cooking great food, flying stunt kites with palpable passion, and otherwise lazing away a wonderful week. We barely touched the television (except to watch Jon Stewart and Project Funway) and managed to stay away from the internet almost completely. A sweet and breezy anti-media coccoon.

Of course, returning reminds us of a saying...was it Thucydides, or was it Jarvis Cocker who famously said, "Cunts are still running the world"?* Because they are, my darlings, they are. (Those that aren't are at the very least in charge of server maintenance for certain group blogging concerns--how many more months, Juggz? HOW MANY MORE FUCKING MONTHS, SMART GUY?) Twas this time last year that we learned that Presidential vacation=certain doom for Americans, and at work today, I was up to my editorial asscrack in stories about Katrina: A YEAR LATER. Ugh. Set blood to boil.

And what the fuck else has been going on since I've been gone?

  • Oh, wow, what a SURPRISE. The vaunted curfew didn't work!
  • The Redskins absolutely shit the damn bed against the Patriots.
  • Joe Biden. My God.
  • Kola Boof? What, exactly, the FUCK??
  • Adam Nagourney pens "36 Hours in DC", including a listless set of sights and activities that allow the ersatz reporter plenty of time to do what he loves most: WHACKIN' IT OFF!
  • Someone made a 9-11 comic book? Are you serious? Who the hell thought that would be a good--What? Oh, it was Slate you say. Okay. Well. I guess that's really not all that surprising then.

Some good news, then: Magnificent bastardry was in full flower as the hour of Bauer got showered with Emmy power! That's the hotness, and Salon can suck me. We're very happy because the lovely Mark Rabinowitz works on 24 and can now bask in the warm glow of Emmy. Way back in the day, Mark videotaped the DCeiver wedding (obtaining a more prominent credit than I did for the event** (background/location scout/transportation captain)). How many people can say that they had someone from Emmy Award-winning 24 attached to their wedding. Very few. So, props to Mark. Give the script supervisor some love from me. And thanks for making the end of my hiatus go like this: "Urge to kill fading...fading...fading...RISING!...fading...gone."

*It was Jarvis Cocker, obvs.

**I also was in charge of making sure the DJ didn't accidentally get himself killed, as per our conversation:

DCEIVER: So, do you understand what I am asking you to do.

DJ: Basically, I am not to play any of the sorts of songs that get played at 99% of weddings.

DCEIVER: That's correct. None of those velveeta one-hit douchebags, nothing that comes with it's very own dance, nothing that Casey Kasem ever used for a long-distance dedication.

DJ: Well, if I could just say, there are plenty of wedding goers who enjoy those songs.

DCEIVER: Well, this isn't going to be one of those weddings, pal. If my guests can't suck it up and enjoy the main attractions--that is, my wife and myself--then they can fucking screw.

DJ: I'm just saying, you're taking a lot of crowd-pleasing tunes off the menu.

DCEIVER: I can see I'm not quite getting through. Let me show you something. You see this here? This is what's known as a "cat-of-nine-tails." The British Royal Navy used to use this sucker to sort out insubordinates. I'd hate to buffet you across the face and torso with this thing, but, I assure you, if I need to, I can make the experience very crowd-pleasing.

DJ: Um. Erp. Okay.

DCEIVER: And one last thing. I better not here that "When You Were Young" song up in here either.

DJ: But, the Killers don't even exist yet!

DCEIVER: Fuck that. I'm not taking any chances with you OR the time-space continuum! If you just do what I say, you stand a good chance of making it out of here alive tonight.

That evening, the DJ did slip once and allow to playing of a single Diane Warren penned slab of outsized sentimental caca from a major motion picture about people attempting to blow up an asteroid, but that incident occurred whilst I was out of the room, posing for "tuxedo porn" shots with our photog. Lucky for him.

1 comment:

The Governess said...

see, we just made a racist, blanket request to our nuptial DJ: "no white artists from the 70s."

obviously that excludes one or two musicians that don't make me choke on raging bile, but it was worth it.