Saturday, September 30, 2006

The DCeiver Top 20, September 2006

  1. Jarvis Cocker, "Cunts Are Still Running the World"
  2. Middle Distance Runner, "Naturally"
  3. Middle Distance Runner, "Out of Here"
  4. Razorlight, "Pop Song 2006"
  5. The Hold Steady, "Chips Ahoy"
  6. The Roots, "Don't Feel Right"
  7. Tilly and the Wall, "Bad Education"
  8. 120 Days, "Come Out (Come Down, Fade Out, Be Gone)"
  9. Car Stereo (Wars), "Ghostface Observatory"
  10. Electric 6, "Infected Girls"
  11. The Grates, "Lies Are Much More Fun"
  12. The Long Winters, "Teaspoon"
  13. The Mountain Goats, "No Children"
  14. Muse, "Starlight (Remix)"
  15. Veruca Salt, "So Weird"
  16. The Chalets, "Sexy Mistake"
  17. The Loud Family, "Total Mass Destruction"
  18. The Oohlas, "Small Parts"
  19. Dirty On Purpose, "Light Pollution"
  20. Emily Haines and the Soft Skeleton, "Our Hell"

...and if the photo is proven to be a fake by an illegal immigrant, her head will explode.

We don't profess to know whether the photo Alex and Ken ran on Wonkette that seemed to depict a bikini-clad Michelle Malkin indulging in what is, frankly, her God-given right to cavort in a bikini, is a fake or not. You see, we're not one of those bloggers who goes around studying pixels and fonts and kerns. We're one of those bloggers that, you know, has a life. And, subsequently, we're one of those bloggers that happily spends that life mixing vodka and Vicodin, because--FIVE DAY WEEKENDS Y'ALL! Staten Island! This shit is updated by witches! Et fuckin' alia!

Seriously, though. We don't know. And we've read through her entire take on the matter on her site. It goes on FOREVER, and you have to forgive the fact that she's too obtuse to know that when Gawker says things like, "Of course, it's a fake!" they are being SARCASTIC. And after reading it, we aren't totally sure she's compiled the evidence that proves the picture is a fake, though she very well may have. (She may have, indeed, we just don't care to have that much of an investment in her well-being. She's always made it clear that she wished People Like Us ill, so, whatevs.)

Still, we would remind you that people make frolicsome poses in bikinis every day. It's not noteworthy or bad. It's only noteworthy in this case because Malkin's a shrill jihadist for probity and prudery who cannot stand the sight of glorious sluttery in action. Indeed, she's angry because this picture implies that she is what she most despises.

But we note two things, with irony. First, if this IS a picture of her, then at long last she has done something to substantively strike back at Islamic extremists. SLUTS MAKE OSAMA FEEL BAD, Michelle! It HURTSES their tiny little BRAINS! And your country needs you!

And, second, if the evidence she has compiled proves this is a fake, then that evidence, as you can see as you scroll through her obsessive litany of complaint, is chiefly propped up by a bunch of pictures from Webshots, shots like this:
Michelle, you better remember that if the skanks pictured above hadn't bravely gotten "drunk at 9 PM" and heroically documented this, you would never have been exonerated! I expect that, going forward, you'll have the decency to treat the freedom-loving sluts of Western Civilization with respect!

Friday, September 29, 2006

Foley a deux

Well, Mark Foley's resigned in pedophile disgrace today, the only surprise being that it took this long to root him out. If you haven't read the emails, feel free to partake, but they made me want to Windex my monitor immediately afterwards. Foley insisted that the emails were part of a smear campaign, but it's pretty clear to me that the only smear campaign was Foley's desire to smear his gentleman's relish all over his young employees.

Still up on his website, is this:

It could just be, you know, the massive swelling of disgust rising up in my gullet talking, but I think that maybe the Congress might want to take another look-see at that law, because I'm guessing there might be some great big, gaping, yawning--uhm...let's call them "loopholes"--in that piece of legislation.

DCeptette: Night shift at the thrill factory version.

  1. Your weekend pick, should you be so bold to accept it, is this: Take your momma OUT tonight, to My Bakery and Cafe at 2233 Wisconsin Avenue, NW, to see the pure rock stylings of The Charm Offensive, the only DC band to feature the guitar stylings of Congressional Quarterly's resident Graham Greene aficianado and spouse to the Original Wonkette, Chris Lehmann. They will rock your balls. They will be using the Pick of Destiny. And it's for two good causes, the first being the St. Lukes Shelter, the second being YOUR INSATIABLE FUCKING NEED FOR ENTERTAINMENT! [The Charm Offensive]
  2. Hmmm. Now who's being "too sexy for Reston?" [Craigslist]
  3. Just as from time to time the tree of freedom must be watered with the blood of tyrants, so too must our city be watered with the misdirected tears of those who mistake its citizenry for the tri-corner hat-wearing clowns of Colonial Williamsburg. [DCist]
  4. We, of course, concur, with the added stipulation that if you happen to drop your wedding band into a vat of chum and human excrement, the one you toss in to fish it out is Kendra. [Pygmalion in a Blanket]
  5. You know, we don't subscribe to the notion that blogging=journalism. Not on any level. Blogging is basically the "demented and sad, but SOCIAL!" wing of the interweb party. Still, we've seen some bloggers flourish in rarefied air--think the New Orleans Metroblog team manning their post during and after Katrina or some of the indelible writing and images that Londonist managed the day of their subway bombing. That's brave stuff, rare stuff, not easily repeatable stuff. And then, you have the other end of the spectrum... [Metroblogs]

An Entry From the DCeiver Dictionary

mid-term e-lec-tion [mid-turm i-lek-shuhn]

Coming every four years, midway between the Presidential term, an electoral event in which thousands of Americans go to the polls in order to redemonstrate the buoyancy of shit.

Don't fret, I haven't bothered to read White Noise yet, either.

I got myself all tagged up by Sommer Mathis, blog-meme wise, concerning the world of literature. Yeah, I remember books. Back in the dark daze of government contracting/taxpayer fleecing, I used to have to troop out to Silver Spring to work. That's forty minutes out, forty minutes back. Plenty of time to tear through whatever shit I had on my nightstand, and I read at a copious pace. That was before--what NOW is, is this: a shorter commute, way more regularly busy in the evenings, much more actual writing, and, of course, the deep and untamable morass that is my blogroll. On vacation, I was stoked to have the time and space to tear through eight back issues of BELIEVER. Now, I just need some time to read the remaining eight, and I'm caught up. You see my point.

Lucky for me, I got rehearsal out the yin-yang, and that always presents some downtime. So, maybe I get caught up. The last book I read was a hilarious little rock-and-roll memoir called Killing Bono. I highly recommend it. Wife of DCeiver laments the fact that I've been on a long, long non-fiction/memoir jag lately, and she wonders if I ever might read a novel again. We'll see. On with the questions.

1. One book that has changed your life.
Such a hard question to answer. There are a number of candidates. There must have been some book that catalyzed something for me, put me on a path to where I'm at today. But it was probably something really silly. As a kid, I used to love reading Edith Hamilton's Mythology. Catch-22 and the play Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead expanded my mind in a big way. Nick Hornby's Fever Pitch brought me the most timely and massive dose of piece of mind as any book in the past ten years. But, forced to choose one, I'll go with Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita. Quite frankly, if the book hadn't been written, my life would be radically different. It's like the George Bailey of books, where my life is concerned.

2. One book you have read more than once.
I probably read Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman at least once a year. It's my favorite sort of story--an apocalyptic comedy with mordant British wit. Also, I read three very important theatre books over and over again--The End of Acting and Mad About Theatre by Peter Hornby (the first, a great common-sense approach to the craft; the second, a compendium of his theatre review columns from the Atlantic Monthly that are miles better than Peter Marks on his best day) and, An Actor Behaves by Tom Markus, which will quite literally increase your chances of working in the theatre a hundred-fold.

3. One book you would want on a desert island.
Well, if I'm stuck with the one book, it better have a teeming imagination, huge and restorative payoffs, be expansive in scope, and, of course, end happily. So, I'll take The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay.

4. One book that made you cry.
Tough question. Some books sadden me to the point of outrage, like Philip Gourevitch's We Wish To Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families. Other books are so transportingly sad in the way they fill one with remorse--the searing book War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning by Chris Hedges is like that. But if I had to pick a book that is just, eyes-welling, straight-up pathos producing, I'll go with Craig Thompson's graphic novel Blankets. Holy shit, is that book sad sad sad. And yet it's a complete pleasure to read--it makes you want to bear the weight of all that sadness. Crazy highly recommended.

5. One book that made you laugh.
I read a goodly number of "funny" books every year. From whatever new thing Sedaris has out, to books by comedians (Jon Stewart's two books and Laura Kightlinger's one among the most notable) to shit like The Onion and effete humorists like Hodgman and Klosterman. We likes the laffs, okay? But, for my money, the funniest book on my shelf is Cintra Wilson's A Massive Swelling: Celebrity Re-Examined as a Grotesque, Crippling Disease. It is shot through with gorgeous profanity and the most vivid metaphors for all things bad that you can rightly imagine. And, it has the added bonus of being totally fucking true.

6. One book you wish had been written.
I really, really, really wish that we could have the ending of Dead Souls, if only because it's hard to believe Gogol could have brought that book in for a landing. Don't get me wrong--what we've got is WONDERFUL, but the patches of what we're left with as far as a conclusion goes makes you wonder if he handled his shit when the time drew nigh or just found a cop-out exit. We will likely never know.

7. One book you wish had never been written.
Well, presuming that the spirit of the exercise is such that I should avoid easy yet grave answers like, say, Mein Kampf, I will have to state, unequivocally, that I desperately wish George Eliot had never written Middlemarch. Good sweet God, what an ungainly, cliche-ridden, deadly fucking bore THAT book is. I had to read that for my Survey of English Literature class and it galls me to this day that I will never, ever get that time back. Pure drivelous shit on every festering page that fails to improve on the literary merit of a bowl-bound clump of Charmin. Come to think of it, I bet it can be proven that the writing of Middlemarch set off a subtle, invisible chain of events that inevitably led to the writing of Mein Kampf, itself. And even if it can't be proven, as of this moment, I'm simply going to accept the inexorable truth of this and if I meet someone who says they love that book I'm simply going to look at them and say, "Well, then! I guess it follows that you LOVE six-million dead Jews, too!"

8. One book you are reading currently.
The next book I plan to read will be Confessions of an Economic Hitman by John Perkins.

9. One book I have been meaning to read.
Like hundreds of other, Ulysses occupies valuable nightstand real estate. And even as we speak, it waits faithfully for me to summon up the intestinal fortitude it will take to read. Also, I now intend to read The Crying of Lot 49 again, because I learned today that Pynchon's niece is a pornstar that specializes in gonzo anal penetration. I'm guessing that knowing this fact is going to be quite illuminating.

10. Pass it on.
All right: take it away, Pygs, Leaf, Karl and Callie.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Updated by WITCHES!

Holy shit. You know, on one level, Ryan Adams is sort of a dicktastic f-wad who stole my friend Colleen's best bottle of bourbon. But you never know when he's going to bust out some lo-fi Tennessee mountain CRUNK like "Look Who Got A Website." Stereogum has the track that's destined to tear up the Bluestate floor like you aint seen since that Zach Galifianakis jawn. 2003! Staten Island, fools! Now excuse me while I bust my own nut tonight.

Monday, September 25, 2006

Friday, September 22, 2006

DCeptette: Y'all Gonna Make Me Lose My Mind, Up In Here Version

  1. Sigh. I am usually an indomitable wall of factchecking, but I suppose I was due for an Alessandra Stanley moment. See if you can find it, kids! [DCist]
  2. Either Rees feels I've impugned the Scissor Sisters, or he thinks the word "vertiginous" is a slur. Anyway, the truth is I feel that Rees' very existence proves heterosexuality has a lot to answer for. [Crack City]
  3. But enough about me. Could there be a more vile imagining than picturing a half-naked Nancy Grace in your hotel room, hungry for a mouthful of defense attorney wang? [Wonkette]
  4. Maybe it's attempting to imagine the circumstances that would lead to DMX getting raped. This is going to set the DC hip-hop scene back decades. I ask you: Where was his dogz at when he needed you most? Where was you at, dogz? [Cicrumlocutor]
  5. You know, maybe all that super-dupe development--the retail, the restaurants, the bars--around the baseball season that Mayor Williams promised would come and fill our coffers with gold isn't going to materialize, but if I know Washingtonians, they are going to find a way to enjoy themselves no matter how much the Nationals suck. And, hey, speaking of DC sports teams, sodomy, questionable hookups and mouthfuls of wang...[Deadspin]

The Wes Pruden Memo Translated

Today, Wes Pruden wrote a memo to his staff regarding all the hullabaloo that has arisen from the recent article in the Nation. We've filtered out Pruden's Timesian quasi-reality to let you know what he truly means.

Keep in mind, though, that this memo was addressed to his STAFF! And that he like, tells them that he's going to outlive them and shit. God, what a dickhead he must be to work for.

You may be interested to know that my annual contract has been "rolled over" for the 12th consecutive year. I am not going anywhere, nor is Fran Coombs.

"Anyone who thinks the Reverend Moon can't drag this out forever has obviously never attended one of his weddings."

Some of you may be surprised to learn that I am mortal, and one day I, too, will go the the great newsroom in the sky where there are no deadlines, no unreturned phone calls, and no editors to breathe down the necks of reporters on deadline.

You mean Hell is actually a cushier journalism job than the Times? Shit! I'd better start sodomizing something.

So, yes, one day I, too, will retire. But not yet.

Seems like some scare-quotes are warranted here. Maybe that guy had the day off.

I have been asked to serve on a search committee for my successor, at a date in the future when such a search will become necessary.
"So, yeah...expect those four resumes to get a GOOD picking over."

This will assure an orderly transition.
"As opposed to the weekly editorial bloodbaths some of you are used to."

I will tell you when this day comes (which may or may not be in your lifetimes).

"Fran lives on an exclusive diet of infant blood, and her breast milk has given me the power to live forever. CTHULHU BE PRAISED!"

The Internet makes fantasizing easy and tempting...

Cthulhu be praised.

...but you need not be concerned about church politics, the speculations of addled idle minds that would be more usefully employed at Alcoholics Anonymous...

Well, they can't all work for the Times.

...or whether Martin Walker, Howell Raines or even Max Blumenthal will suceed me. (Put your money on None of the Above.)
Uhm, I think the fact that Walker, Raines and Blumenthal can each successfully spell "succeed" automatically keeps them out of the running.

The owners of The Times are pleased with what we have built here on New York Avenue, a newspaper of worldwide consequence that the founders could never have imagined.
"To those who said not being able to complete a sentence and becoming a journalistic laughingstock, I say to you: Peanut Butter. Lipstick. Honeycunt."

They have told me so.
"Everynight before I go to sleep. I am the fairest of them all. Deal with it."

People who spread rumors and talk to rumormongers just have too much time on their hands, and should, in their retirement, get another hobby.
"And if you are interested in any of our open positions, you may fax a cover letter and resume to 202-526-6820, call us at 202-636-3327, or come to 3400 New York Ave. NE to fill out an application."

Macrame' is said to soothe.

"Read all about it in this weekend's Sunday Source!"

Thursday, September 21, 2006

Shout at the Devil!

This has been the most awesome opening to a United Nations session ever! Mahmoud Ahmadinejad goes Page Six on America! President Bush still somehow thinks that we defeated the Taliban! Hugo Chavez wants Kofi Annan to hire an exorcist! What a trio! Is there any doubt that those three have already reserved a suite in the afterlife together, Jean-Paul Sartre-steez? The only thing left to determine is which one gets to be the lesbian.

Everyone is still just a bit vertiginous at the dramatic way the Venezuelan President cashiered his nation's chances at joining the Security Council yesterday, pretending to smell sulphur and referring to Bush as "the Devil" in one of the most hilarious feints at statesmanship we'll likely ever see again. Bush is the Devil? Talk about over the top. Bush doesn't even know how to read!

Speaking of, the other part of Chavez's speech that the media made careful note of yesterday was the care he took to mention that he's been reading Noam Chomsky's Hegemony or Survival. (Next week, he'll be on the The View discussing Chelsea Handler's My Horizontal Life.) Apparently, Chavez's namecheck has already given Chomsky's book a boost on Amazon's sales, which can only be a good thing, as it may one day inspire someone to ask Chavez exactly what it is about his vision of governance that is about something other then hegemony.

However, it's a pity that media consumers were not treated to a full translation of Chavez's remarks, because he didn't simply recommend the Chomsky book and move on. He actually settled into an extended harangue about literary and popular culture, doling out recommendations and heaping scornful criticism. For your benefit, here are some of the translated highlights of Chavez's speech.

  • "Like all of us in the community of non-aligned nations, I, too, was shocked and saddened by John Spencer's untimely death..."
  • "When will imperial America wake up and face the fact that J.D. Salinger was vastly overrated? Franny and Zooey my ass! And have you ever met anyone under thirty who claimed to identify with Holden Caulfield who wasn't just a raging dick?"
  • "Sure, the new Scissor Sisters jawn tends to go in a more pop direction. Still, it is impeccable. And I spit on those who say otherwise."
  • "Seriously, would it kill Tom Hanks to just make a funny movie?"
  • "America, your ignorant unwillingness to fully appreciate the comic talents of Fred Armisen both confuses and enrages me."
  • "Why on Earth can't you Hollywood devils get your act together long enough to greenlight A Confederacy of Dunces? This is only one of the finest novels of the last century! I thought Will Ferrell was attached? Let's make a movie, people!"
  • "And don't EVEN get me STARTED about The Women!"
  • "Surely this speech has clearly demonstrated that I am having the Best Week Ever. I demand that VH1 acknowledge this"
and, of course:

"Death to Kasabian!"

In light of recent events, there are questions we can ask George Allen that will, in fact, make his head explode like the movie Scanners.

For example:

"Senator Allen, how can the residents of the great state of Virginia take your tough-on-crime stance seriously when we know you're totally going, free Barabbas, and stuff?"

If you have suggestions, feel free to leave them.

We're buying: Studio 60.

Okay. As far as we're concerned, Studio 60 is a total keeper. Granted, we're confirmed SICK for Sorkin. It dates back to the first day we showed up at UVa to find that a little drama called A Few Good Men was doing its pre-Broadway workshop down in leafy Charlottesville. We've been on the hook ever since. And yes, we still maintain that of ABC's many crimes, The Path to 9-11 ranks second behind cancelling Sports Night.

While the show is almost certain to have its detractors, because beautiful things always do, there's something about the Sorkinverse that feels like home to us: the dialogue snaps with verbal flourish, grown men and women still wear their ideals on their sleeves, the sets are darkly lit, Felicity Huffman is hanging out somewhere, and there's pedeconferencing,
pedeconferencing, pedeconferencing galore!

Of course, what little interaction they had on The West Wing nevertheless suggested that Matt Perry and Brad Whitford could kick it all night long. We are digging the suggestion that these two are basically written as TV-ready stand-ins for Sorkin and Thomas Schlamme. We're loving that Amanda Peet's character basically walked out of the executive suite at Quo Vadimus, and that they've stocked up on at least one Corrdry. Good stuff all around.

But, we issue the following warnings:

  1. Please, don't Sarah Paulson's character become this show's Mandy Hampton
  2. Stop with the faux-blogging, it just diminishes us all.
  3. Don't let John Wells ANYWHERE NEAR THIS SHOW.
  4. And lay of the 'shrooms, for Pete's sake.

Some stupid questions really do matter to George Felix Allen!

I'll be the first to admit surprise when George Felix Allen, backtracking from his previous position that being acknowledged as a Jew constituted an "aspersion," decided he'd be better off not entirely going Gentile into that good night (and, presumably, join the rest of the Tribe in raging, RAGING against the dying of the light--the one that miraculously burned for EIGHT CRAZY NIGHTS that is!). This was a man who badgered The Daily Progress into running a retraction when they uncovered his heritage some years ago, and, let's face it, it likely doesn't sit well with his traditional base.

But, as he said in the debate, there are questions that serious men should never have to answer in a serious debate on serious matters. Commanded he: "...ask questions about issues that really matter to people here in Virginia."

Or, at the very least, if they have to ask a stupid question, at least let it come with an opportunity to grotesquely pander to people here in Virginia, right George? Because this ostensibly serious debate took a turn for the retarded, and the astute blogger at Thrown for a Loop was there to pick up on it:

MR. RUSSERT: The one thing you both have in common is you both chew tobacco. Is that the right image for young people? It's a serious question.*

SEN. ALLEN: I don't--I, I don't advise young people. That's another one of the...

MR. RUSSERT: What about you? What about you?

SEN. ALLEN: By the way--by the way, I picked that up from the Chicago Bears training camp.

Whew! Allen just got that one in there, didn't he? "By the way!" he insisted with a panic rising in his voice, shrewdly adding, "By the waaaaay!!" When all else fails, Allen knows to remind voters that he was tangentially associated with activities related to football! Whereas, in contrast, Webb presumably learned to chew tobacco while he was, you know, at a Saab dealership or something.

Don't be surprised. When Allen addresses the Log Cabin Republicans, he probably tells them that his ass-cherry was taken by the '72 Dolphins.

*Tim Russert, of course, wouldn't know a serious question if it bit him on the ass.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Paging the Governess...

Wow. I think you are fully qualified to make sense of this.

Also--the whole Gotti-kids up-gelled Crown-of-Thorns hair scenario: that hasn't gone away yet? Really?

DCeptette: Fussy hauteur of power version.

  1. File under: I'm just sayin' is all:Check it, I've got no reason to believe the Shiny Headed Mullah will be any better at runnin' this shit than the average box of rocks. Still, when you say that you'll find a way to put Dan "The Man" Tangherlini, the most awesome municipal administrator in TEH WORLD to work for you if the idiot board of WMATA decide, like a bunch of idiots, to idiotically NOT keep the best thing to ever happen to Metro in years, that should be getting your attention. It's crazy to me that WMATA hasn't swiped that "interim" label from Tangherlini's title by now. Sure, make all the excuses you want--that there's a process, that it's complicated...whatevs. It just shows that they aren't very serious people. But Dan is not someone we should lose to some other municipality. Kudos to Fenty for backing him up.
  2. I don't know what the high point of this article from The Hill--profiling Congresswoman Linda Sanchez--is, but I've narrowed it down. It's perhaps the moment where the author compares her to a salad, or it could be the point at which he compares her to a plate of nachos. Or, like most Hill articles, it could be the simple fact that the article is legible and has plenty of third-grade writing style. What would have happened if they had served any more food? Makes you wish the writer had the opportunity to compare her to mole sauce or something. I'm also loving the fact that the editor just got out and ran with the food imagery in the subhed--I mean, WHO CARES if the article just REPEATS the exact same phrases? In other news, officials are mystified after several metaphorical horses were found beaten to death outside The Hill's office. [The Hill]
  3. David Banh banks, like, a kabillion credits from TJHSST, graduates from UVa. in ONE YEAR. Crazy, you say? Not as crazy as going there for four years and ending up all crazily invested in our frequently mediocre basketball team, that's for sure. [Washington Post]
  4. No Art-o-Matic this year. Leaving us with just one question: Has your thirst for destroying amateur art at last been sated, Blake Gopnik?! [DCist]
  5. Tragicomic and ironic: Christians are arrested in Indonesia and convicted of planning a terrorist act. Indonesian authorities follow the Bush example of anti-terror jurisprudence. Right-wing bloggers whine that they would have sworn that there were these, uhm, CONVENTIONS...written up somewhere in...what's that place...with the clocks and the chocolate and the Nazi gold OH YEAH, SWITZERLAND...and shouldn't the full weight and moral authority be brought to bear on behalf of these Christians, who may, in fact, BE terrorists? Indeed, this shit just writes itself. [Unclaimed Territory]

Crazy Chinese Panda Attack!

Who knew that a person could learn so much from one Chinese dude's willingness to mix it up with a Panda bear? First lesson: Sorry, China, but you are so not getting Butterstick back. We'll have a fence of human shields around Woodley Park to keep him in town, so, unless you plan to bring in Airwolf and yank him out of the zoo, Stringfellow Hawke-steez, it ain't happenin'. And who can blame us? You let motherfuckers BITE pandas in China. So not cool. Feel free to take that fake Butterstick from San Diego. She's got the surly disposition your glorious nation needs to keep your people in line.

Check out the story. So many things I didn't know or never considered, like:

  • They serve beer in JUGS! And this guy drank, like, FOUR of them! Jesus. After four jugs of beer, I'm ready to take on a squadron of cybernetic panda vampires.
  • Chinese beer makes you WANT TO TOUCH PANDAS! ("He felt a sudden urge to touch the panda with his hand...")
  • You have to admire the fact that the guy bit the panda in retaliation. We take so much shit from the animal kingdom, you know? It's fitting, especially after Steve Irwin died, to let them know that we're not going to be pushed around. The next time raccoons trash up our building's dumpster, I'm going to follow them back to their lair and litter it with a generous helping of my stool. "How does it feel, fucking raccoons?" I'll ask, rhetorically.
  • The panda was subdued by spraying it with water! What a pussy!
  • China is not going to charge the guy with anything! Unbelievable! We're talking about a country where EVERYTHING is illegal, especially the stuff that seems TOTALLY legal. This is the first I've ever heard of China passing up the opportunity to mete out a little punitive shizz!

And, what's this? Am I detecting rudimentary free markets? Interesting.

But, still: no Butterstick. Back off, China.

Monday, September 18, 2006

Candidate Rees Compounds Past Stupidities With Brand-New Ones

Last week, DCist relayed news that Jonathan Rees, Ward Three Council Candidate, known replicant, and conductor of his one-man crazy train, had decided, after going down to one of the most humiliating feats of electoral ineptitude ever seen in Washington, DC--indeed, perhaps the country, to get right back on the horse and announce his intention to run for the Ward 3 2010.

Oy. The man only managed to get 29 votes the first time. 29! Over a year's campaign, he managed to pull in a vote every two weeks or so. His repugnance propelled voters in the direction of Anyone But Rees at a rate of what? Thirty to one? He's done his best to manage the damage, creating one of his alter-egos to go public with the news had he had additional support that he threw to Paul Strauss and Bob Gordon--but no one in the world believes this, since no record of any formal announcement was made and if Rees had the power of telepathy, I'd have probably heard from him by now.

Anyhoo, in the days after the election, Rees sent out an announcement of his future intentions available on DC Messageboards:

I want the residents of Ward 3 to have a Council Member who represents them which Mary Cheh has already shown she will not do by whom she aligned herself with.

I am "that" person who will do for you what Mary Cheh will fail to do as I will not do what Mary Cheh has; namely, I will not stab the businesses and voters in the back and cave in to special interest groups as she did late in her 2006, campaign.

When I ran in the 2006, primary, I did so more as a test run by only spending $500.00, use of the internet and friends but for the 2010 primary, I will be heavily financed, heavily backed on the streets of ward 3 and build alliances of people who did not vote for Mary Cheh.

If you are one of the 24,000 Democrats in ward 3 who did not vote for or want to see Mary Cheh as our next Council Member and think we can do better, then contact me now so together we can build a strong opposition to her and in 2010 make her a one term council member.

Given the typical rhetorical flourishes from Rees, which more or less run along debased and inflammatory lines when they aren't downright libelous, this missive constitutes a comparative charm offensive from Rees, who makes a hat-in-hand appeal to a sizable portion of Ward 3 to work with him going forward in the hopes that he might make himself over as a less-addled and confrontational alternative to Mary Cheh.

I wonder what those 24,000 Ward 3 voters might think if they knew what Rees ACTUALLY thought of them?

Well, last week, the fantastic Circumlocutor stumbled upon a blog that Rees began in the hours after his ignominious defeat. Rees has gone back and removed many of the posts Circumlocutor cited, including one in which he referred to DC as "The Homo Depot"--which sounds awesome to a train station that's regularly swept and has a great brunch--and generally hating on probably Mayor Adrian Fenty.

Lucky for us, Google's cache managed to catch the post that Ward Three voters might want to remember:

Awesome. I'm guessing that most of you Ward Three residents would love nothing more than to be represented by someone who holds you in THAT kind of regard.

If only we could raise his post "Goodbye Home Rule" from the dead...oh, I promise you, it captured the candidate at his most petulant and resentful. He really though he was going to win this election! In that post, he talked with such alarm about the coming Fenty administration that he vowed to "liquidate his assets" in the area. Of course, the fastest means Rees has available to liquidate his assets would be to contract dysentery.

Rees has, perhaps in keeping with his new, friendly approach, made over his Crack City Blog into something that's a little less defamatory of the people he's hoping to reach. But what disturbs us the most are all the friendly overtures to my usual DC stomping grounds, Ward One. This, of course, fills me with worry. Hopefully, Mount Pleasant will redouble its sanitation efforts, lest Rees make the Evens' song a truism.

Friday, September 15, 2006

Panic! at the Visual Metaphor Factory

This week in DCist

1. "Adrian Fenty? Boo! He will lead the city back to the fiscal apocalypse of the past!"

2. "Adrian Fenty? Hurray! He will lead the city onward toward the glorious apocalypse of the future!"

3. "Fuck off, Moby. You can get stomped by Obie. You're just jealous that Teaism kicks Teany's ass six ways from Sunday."

4. "Hi. I am an emotional cripple who has assembled a random assortment of words that purport to have something to do with Unbuckled, concert venues, sweatshops, indentured servitude, the fact that I am so self-centered that if I'm not having fun then no one else is by definition, my superior contribution to the music scene because I take unsolicited photos of bands and bake the most amazing cookies for bands and darn the dopest socks for bands, plus I'll name drop George Lakoff for reasons that even I couldn't explain if I had a million billion years and everyone around me was tranked up on Rohypnol and suffering from dysphasia. Anyway, I was just wondering, is there someplace I need to go to pick up the trophy for Stupidest Comment Ever, or should I just root through my stool as usual?"

Wayback Machine!

Some of the following lines are from Joe Eszterhas' screenplay of the movie Showgirls.

Some of the following lines are from Supplemental Materials to the Referral to the United States House of Representatives Pursuant to Title 28, United States Code, Section 595 (c) Submited by the Office of the Independent Counsel, September 9, 1998, by Kenneth Starr.

Can you guess which are which?

"He and those shitheads were standing there..."

"What are you looking at bitch?"

"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on..."

"She misses us like that lump on my twat I had taken off last week."

"My temptation would be to blast her a new asshole"

"I'd have to piss on you to give you a clue."

"Oh, my feet itch!"

"I have a problem with pussy."

"Is there any toilet paper in here?"

"I was having my don't want me to get blood all over the floor, do you?"

"'s hard to fake beard burn..."

"You got something wrong with your nipples?"

"A bad job still sucks after twenty years..."

"If you want to last more than a week, you give me a blowjob. First I make you used to the money, then I make you swallow."

"I don't know. The idea of a leaf blower, it's like you blow--don't they just move somewhere else?"

"I've had dog food. Long time ago. Doggie Chow. I used to love Doggie Chow."

"I love you, butthead."

"I liked it when you came."

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Please to enjoy: Idolator

Suck it, Zune! You aren't the only thing launching today! After many weeks of speculatin', Gawker finally unveiled Idolator, their new music-industry blog. Now, you'll be able to use it as s shibboleth to see who's REALLY DOWN at the Velvet Lounge and who's not:

"eye-DOLL-uh-ter"= indie yuppie homeboy
"EYE-dull-ay-ter" = collar poppin' douchetoast

Il est chaud, n'est-ce pas? Anyway, we very much look forward to reading the darn thing, and can very much appreciate it's manifesto, especially with it's example of Beirut playing McCarren and the attendant hypesnake devouring it's own tail. In fact, after reading Rock Creek Rambler's post on last night's Band Of Horses show, we're guessing he'd be in accordance as well.

Actually, our favorite part of their first day is their description of Lockhart's travails in seeking out the right editors:

For months, Gawker Media O.G. Lockhart Steele trolled through New York's dingiest clubs and concert halls, hoping to find the rock n' roll animals wild enough to become the frontman (and/or frontwoman) for the company's new music blog.

Imagining this, we like to think that it all happened in a manner similar to the video for "Hungry Like The Wolf."

Anyway, we, for one, welcome our new musicblog overlords. At long last, SOMEONE finally had the GUTS to snark about music!

George Felix Allen Disparages Opponent for Taking a Position in 1979 that I Bet You Five Dollars Allen Nevertheless Agrees With Today.

In today's Washington Post, George Allen, who's recently learned that racism is wrong keeps racists from getting elected, sometimes, has dredged up a 1979 essay from that serious political journal Washingtonian Magazine in which Jim Webb that takes the position that women aren't allowed in combat:

In the Washingtonian magazine article, "Women Can't Fight," the ex-Marine Webb wrote of the brutal conditions during the Vietnam War and argued against letting women into combat. Allen's campaign zeroed in on passages in which Webb described one of the academy's coed dorms as "a horny woman's dream" and said that he had never met a woman he "would trust to provide . . . combat leadership."

We've not read the article, because our microfiche reader is in the shop, and thus can't determine the merits of the argument. I mean, maybe Webb based his determination of female combat readiness on George Allen's sister, and, if so, who could blame him?

Still, if we were advising Webb, we'd tell him to simply say, "I was wrong." Because you know if Allen himself was ever called on the carpet for his opinion on how well women fight, within a week he'd be hosting some sort Rally for Foxy Boxing.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

...and I still believe a healthy Majestic Mapp would have made all the difference.

It might interest an infintesimal portion of my readership to know that whenever I try to picture Virginia Senatorial Candidate Jim Webb...

You know who I always think of?

Pete Gillen!

And whenever I think of George Allen, I think about how he'd probably welcome Dave Leitao to the "real world of Virginia."

The DCeiver achieves blogosphere first by penetrating the subconcious.

Amanda from Blogs t r e t c h, sends us an email today:

I dreamt about reading your blog last night. I know that must be the case, because when I came to your site this morning, there weren't the six or new posts I "read" last night. I need a life.
Wow. I thought my legs felt tired this morning! The next time that happens, Amanda, could you maybe wake up and jot down a summary of the content you read. Whatever I'm blogging about in your dreams is bound to be more interesting than what I usually put up here.

Fenty Wins the Right to Battle the Awesome Force that is David Kranich.

Well, kids, the shiny-headed mullah, Adrian Fenty, has basically wrapped up the Mayorship, trouncing his competition in a primary race that ended up not being close at all. Hide your forties, DC, because if there's one thing Adrian Fenty knows, deep in his bones--it's what's best for you. And he's not afraid to tell you what he thinks, of that, be sure.

What's inescapably interesting about the political life of Adrian Fenty, it's the fact that at the exact moment you became aware of his very existence, you were made exactingly and simultaneously aware that the man wanted to be Mayor of DC very badly. The rap on Fenty--and it's not ill-founded--is that there has to be a morning after. Fenty has demonstrated tremendous acumen as a candidate, but almost nothing in his portfolio directly translates into anything that indicates he'd be effective at actually governing. Plus, he's not going to get any free rides from the DC Council--the man has burned so many bridges that he probably gave the dude who blew up the Wilson span some pointers, and that's compounded by the fact that the DC Council traditionally attracts an array of preening, small-minded nimrods to fill its seats.

Still, Fenty is a guy who arrived on the scene declaring his mayoral ambitions boldly. He's had a target painted on his back from jump, and yet no one, in all this time (except perhaps Anthony Williams, who kept Fenty out of the race the last time by running again--though if he'd known in advance that Williams would cock-up his nomination petitions and have to run as a write in, who knows what might have transpired), was really able to lay a glove on him. That's pretty impressive. would be, if anyone of any appreciable merit had chosen to run against him. The closest thing Fenty had to an actual opponent was Linda Cropp, and boy, if you take her twenty-five year career and add four dollars, you maybe can get yourself some eggrolls somewhere. Cropp is one of those last vestiges of the Council that was in place when I moved back to the area from Richmond, and she always bore a real resemblance to those two grinning jackasses, Harold Brazil and Kevin Chavous, except she got by a little bit longer and a little bit better with a similar record of non-accomplishment than those two dweebs did.

Cropp's campaign basically boiled down to this: "I was, at times, tangentially involved, or at the very least alive, when a certain number of good things happened to DC." You know, like, the sun managing to rise every day and stuff. She couldn't have been surprised when the newspapers that had her whole career on record examined her political career and found sod all worth endorsing. And too late did she receive the endorsement from Anthony Williams. If you saw the commercial they made together, you couldn't help but notice that Williams sat next to Cropp in visible discomfort, as if she were covered with seagull droppings or something. Cropp, of course, was too stupid to realize that her desperate, eleventh-hour need to obtain Williams blessing more or less undercut the entire premise of her campaign.

After Cropp, of course, the pickings got appreciably weaker. Marie Johns captivated the minds of some for a time--we knew several people who were happy to give Johns a full and attentive hearing--but let's face it: the woman worked for Verizon--after Comcast, the second worst corporation on the face of the Earth--so, in the end, most voters realized that a Johns win would inevitably lead to the Rise of the Machines or some such disaster. And the less said about Vincent Orange, the better. Orange is like DC's version of Wesley Willis--addled in that adorable way that might make you want to give the guy a bright shiny half-dollar to wash your car or something, but there's no way in hell you'd ever let him DRIVE the thing.

So, barring some sort of localized electoral apocalypse, it's going to be the Lamprey from Lamont Street as DC Mayor. Let the purification rituals begin.


  • In the end, the A. Scott Bolden campaign wins the award for the most misplaced overconfidence. He got trounced by Phil Mendelson--I mean just beaten up and down the street. Thank God. After Jonathan Rees and his many alter-egos, the Bolden crowd were easily the most detestable people you'd encounter on the message boards, the viscous ichor of their smugness sticking to your existence like foul ooze. Saints be praised that DC chose not to inflict this K Street zombie upon itself.
  • There was a Tony Williams running as a Republican in Ward 6! Damn! Where was this guy when Mayor Williams was running his write-in campaign years ago? I would have totally advised him to stand up after that primary and lay claim to the win, asserting that he was the Tony Williams that DC had written in.
  • Michael Browns went one for two in this years primary, with Michael D. Brown coasting to victory in the Shadow Senator race. The other Michael Brown--the one whose head looks like it's trying to gradually swallow his face, dropped out of the Mayoral election at the last minute, finishing with one percent of the votes.
  • If we're going to have elections for people who get to have this cool name, "Shadow" attached to their office, shouldn't they have to become, like, CRIMEFIGHTERS or something? They could don costumes, beat up muggers and leave calling cards that read: "You just got lobbied by the SHADOW SENATOR, motherfucker! Excelsior!"
  • In Maryland, Ben Cardin looks to be the winner of the Democratic Primary for Paul Sarbanes seat. In the Republican Primary, some guy named "The Wig Man" got four thousand votes. Imagine how well he would have done centuries ago, though, back when there was an actual Whig party!
  • Futurama fans take note: "Puny human Jack Johnson" looks poised to return as the PG County Executive.
  • In Maryland, they have this office called "Judge of the Orphans' Court", which we imagine metes out punishments to unwanted children for not finishing their oatmeal and stuff. Kinda scary.
  • In the Maryland Comptroller race, it looks like someone new will be trolling that comp come next year, as William Donald Schaeffer--who trashed his long and storied political career in recent years by metamorphosizing into some sort of addled, social graces-spurning SuperCoot--is trailing not one but BOTH of his primary opponents.
  • In DC's Ward 3, unabashed and vitriol spewing psychopath Jonathan Rees garnered, at last count, all of 28 votes. We're frankly ass-over-teakettle ASTONISHED that he even received that many votes, given that his campaign strategy boiled down to slandering critics, frightening voters, and spreading outright LITTER disguised as campaign literature throughout the ward. It's pretty funny, though, that Rees had more fictional online aliases than he did votes, and we're guessing that the fact that his ersatz nemesis, politically tone-dead dickwad Sam Brooks, got a cool 999 votes than him, burns him greatly. At least we hope he does.
  • And, just to remind you, in Virginia, it's all about Macaca.

DCeptette: Zombie eat brains...but zombie cannot swallow this injustice version.

  1. Talk about a seven-layer dip of blog-based sadness! [Unrequited Narcissism]
  2. Great work, Metropolitan Police Department! It's heroes like you that give the Iraqi Security Forces that badly needed veneer of comparative competence. [Washington Post]
  3. Take away that chain link fence, and I would stayed at Adams Morgan Day ALL DAY LONG. But not being able to wang Wemple in the mug really diminishes the enjoyment. Sommer, you didn't miss out on anything. [FishbowlDC]
  4. How does a guy just throw himself an "Ethnic Rally?" Isn't that like giving yourself the Award for Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Excellence? [Wonkette]
  5. Stay classy, Blue Line! [Craigslist]

Characters Welcome.

I've been greatly enjoying Metroblogging's ongoing feature on the Top 25 Fictional Characters from Washington, which reached the only conclusion it possibly could have today with results that are more than satisfying. DC's had lots of people who've had constituents, clients, staffers and mandates, but only two who have Estrogen or Testosterone Brigades. Good call.

Also we have got to give big ups (and forgive the inclusion of Jack Mannion) for remembering Cigarette Smoking Man, Regan MacNeil, the DC Cab love, and, most critically, David Motherfucking Kovic. He was best. But before I go on, I gotta toss out some o' dat For Your Consideration Sauce for the next time they do this.

  • Desmond Pfeiffer: Pfeiffer, and his Secret Diaries, were a bold and beautiful thing, born a decade too soon into a world that both hated and feared it. But we shall always drink to its glory.
  • Betsy Jobs and Arlene Lorenzo: With geeky-hotness, these two dog-walking Zeligs brought down the Nixon White House with crazy cool aplomb.
  • Assistant FBI Director Walter Skinner: Let's face it, as good as Mulder and Scully were, they came to rely on the steely authority and glabrous sex appeal of the man they called The Skin Man.
  • Dr. Temperance Brennan: When you are played by a Deschanel, you are so best. Don't even debate that shit with me.
  • Bennett Holiday, Sr.: What up, Bennett Holiday, Jr? You're such a badass, wheeler-dealing, walking the edges between big business and the corridors of power. You're an African-American gentrifier, dude! You're livin' the dream! But who's that dude hanging on your stoop? Uh-oh! It's your drunk ass dad, standing in as an anthropomorphic metaphor for the hole in your rancid soul! Take that, Clooney-killer!
  • United States Secretary of the Treasury William Cleary: "Yeah...that's took adequately PORTRAY...that which SPRUNG from my...seed. More cowbell!"
  • Ainsley Hayes: Because the great Republicans are always fictional.
  • President Thomas J. Whitmore: Now, there's a motherfuckin' PRESIDENT, yo. He didn't wage war on the cheap. When he asked his generals how many men it was gonna take to fight, and they said, "Uhm, ALL OF THEM," he didn't fire them. He let Jeff Goldblum's character serve in the military, despite him being OBVIOUSLY gay. He got in his OWN DAMN PLANE to fight aliens. And he achieved a lasting peace in the Middle East to boot, because who gives a shit about who gets to occupy Jerusalem when MOTHERFUCKING ALIENS WITH LASER GUNS ARE BLOWING YOUR SHIT UP??
  • Senator Jefferson Smith: The girlfriend of disgraced plagiarist Ben Domenech famously compared her man to Senator Smith. That's like Charles Manson stealing "Helter Skelter" from the Beatles. Well, now, DCeiver's STEALING IT BACK! Suck it, Domenech!
  • The Space Above Maggie Moos in Adams Morgan: In tribute for the decade of service it's provided portraying the fictional living quarters of the never-realized Real World: DC.


Worthy choices all, for the next time those dudes crank that list up again. But, let's agree that there should be characters who NEVER get to make the list. Let's identify them then as the TEN WORSTEST EVER FICTIONAL CHARACTERS FROM DC.

  1. Jenny Lerner: Jennifer, oh, Jenny. You came on with such pluck and can-do-itiveness. We hardly doubted that you were the very model of the intrepid, fearless reporter. We looked past the fact that your worked for MSNBC. What a betrayal it was, then, to see you just give up and kill yourself. Spurgeon Tanner was going to save the world! How could you not have faith in Spurgeon Tanner?
  2. Zoey Bartlett: Ugh is the only word to describe the way we felt watching Zoey cast aside a solid American like Charlie Young so that she could flounce around with a dull-witted, Ecstacy-eating French douchebag. How very Georgetown of you, Zoey.
  3. Paul Krendler: Hey, you massive, misogynistic, jackass! How you doing? Hannibal Lecter supping on your brain tissue while you're still alive, is he? Oh, man. That sounds ROUGH! Don't worry though, once dinner is over, you're only going to fit in BETTER with the crowd at Local 16!
  4. Jack Hall: His son, Sam: "Dad, I'm really glad you finally got our dire situation through the Vice President's thick skull, but don't think that just because you walked all the way to New York from Washington that that's going to overcome a lifetime of emotional distance and paternal alienation that I've always felt toward you. If I didn't have these Jake Gyllenhaalesque good looks, I don't know how I'd get through the day. Thank God I'm pretty."
  5. Elle Woods: OMG, Reese Witherspoon! Could you please WALK THAT LINE in any direction away from me? Just shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!
  6. Chazz Reinhold: This guy lives at home with his mom, has no job, acts like a jerk and goes to funerals to pick up women? How can a man be THAT emotionally crippled and NOT have a blog?
  7. Special Agent Monica Reyes: Was supposed to be the "Believer" character in the FBI's post-Mulder era, but where Mulder's flights of belief often aided investigations in a practical way, Reyes believed heavily in shit that was all fluffy, new-age crapola. There had to be, like a million times when her FBI colleagues were like, "Dammit, Monica! If you so much as TRY to fucking EMPATHIZE with me again, I am so going to beat the shit out of you with a tire iron!"
  8. John Wilkes Booth: Yeah, I realize that this is more like worst ACTOR instead of worst character, but he was a notably bad performer from one of early America's great acting families. Plus, he's widely reputed to have never taken his vocal warmups seriously. We're inclined to believe that every character he ever played on the stage was among the city's worst. And, oh yeah: he MURDERED the Great Emanicipator! Had he not done so, you could only IMAGINE how awesome Desmond Pfeiffer's secret diaries could have been.
  9. Mandy Hampton: From the moment she appeared on the first season of The West Wing, played by the execrable Moira Kelly, Mandy Hampton was wrong, wrong, wrong. The character was simultaneously unlikeable, unbelievable, and served only to grate on the nerves of the viewer like a million cheese graters scraping down a million chalkboards for ALL ETERNITY. Finally, Aaron Sorkin disappeared her ass like she was a Chilean dissident under the Pinochet regime.
  10. Everyone who ever appeared on K Street: Stocked stem-to-stern with actual politicians and political operatives playing themselves, it truly was a marvel the way the most important men and women in Washington, DC managed to portray their insipid fictional selves precisely as the stupid and useless assholes they all are in real life.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Now, 5.

I don't have a particularly noteworthy story to tell about what happened five years ago. I was at home, TV off, internet off, checking and responding to emails when everything happened. Missed the whole thing. I even wrote off all the sirens I heard streaming by my apartment on the way to the Pentagon because if you lived where I live, you'd know sirens are always going by.

Wife of DCeiver has a bit more of a story to tell, though she hates telling it. She was among the first people in Washington to hear that a plane had struck the Pentagon because her boss was driving right alongside when it hit, and immediately called the office to tell everyone what had happened. She immediately ran to her car and got out of Georgetown as quickly as she could. As she crossed the Key Bridge, staring at a gout of black smoke in the sky, she absolutely believed that she was fleeing for her life. I didn't find out what was going on until she made it home.

I had three friends who worked at the World Trade Center, all of whom wisely take after me on the matter of coming to work on time. Because of the premium they placed on irresponsibility, none were in the vicinity when it happened.

Kyle Leafblower was, and here's what's strange, vis a vis the Life and Times of me. 9-11 played a major role in his decision to leave NYC and move here. His moving here played an appreciable role in me joining DCist. Joining DCist played a major role in me hooking up with the folks at Gawker. The folks at Gawker provided a boost to my employment acumen that helped me start considering a badly needed change in the line of work I was pursuing. And Leafblower was there in the right place at the right time to help me land the right job. Not to be crass about it, but in the post-9/11 sense of things, I made out like a bandit. But I would trade it all--go right back to where I was that day and start the future over again in a heartbeat if it meant that none of the death and destruction ever had to happen in the first place.

So much waste. And the biggest thing that was wasted was today, September 12th. The day we SHOULD be immortalizing. That was the day that Americans by the thousands volunteered, went to blood clinics, stood side-by-side on the streets of Lower Manhattan to cheer on rescue crews from all over the country. The act of giving blood seems so commonplace, but it is absolutely seminal: it is a precious need that almost everyone can give, and the giver will only make more. What would thus seem to be the least one can do on paper is actually the best one can do.

That was a powerful day for America. Why aren't we marking it? Every child learns the same lesson from Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas: the only response to total loss is to stand up, go where everyone can see you, and sing your song with every ounce of steely conviction that you had the day before. So what happened on September 12 was a response that came straight from our cultural subconscious. And it was sufficient proof that, despite the efforts of enemies foreign and domestic, our way of life was not going to perish from this earth.

Why aren't we commemorating that day, instead of the day before? Why are we memorializing the sodden, formless pathos and ache of the day before instead of our peoples' visceral triumph over adversity? That president I singularly despise, alond with his cohorts, have waged a singular campaign to keep that calendar page from ever turning. In that manner of speaking to us like we are but children, often cited by Jon Stewart, he immediately ordered us to go shopping. To take vacations. To stay out from underfoot. And instead of Americans giving blood, we have only been given the opportunity to spill blood.

And that has transformed what could have and should have been a defining, storied triumph for an America that learned to stand as one into the morass of vanity and ineptitude that we find ourselves in now, too weakened to even assist people in need within our own borders. And the deviation from the vision set down on September 12 has amounted to the following: zero deaths have been avenged, zero enemies have been defeated.

Think about that. To date: no deaths avenged, no enemies defeated. In lieu of that, we've conquered a nation that lacked the military capacity to bring soup to a boil and have managed to even cock that whole operation up, to the point where it is now likely it will be the official problem of children of the children born today. We have traded their future to follow the inept whims of what amounts to a September 11th Death Cult.

You have the right to not live every day as if the clock never started moving forward again. You have the absolute right to a future. You have the right to demand that our leaders present some sort of inspired idea as to what the future might hold. If you gave blood, if you cheered on a firefighter, if you enlisted in the army, if you called a friend to check on them...even if you baked a cake because you couldn't think of anything else to do--you did that out of an instinctual need to fight for your future, a future filled with health and safety and friends and cakes.

Take a moment today, even if it is for the first time, and remember where you were the Day After. It's important that you know it came and that you lived, and if you think about it, you will likely remember something you heard or saw that gave you the strength to imagine going forward in time. Your story of the day after is bound to be a lot more worth the telling than your story of the day before.

Turning that calendar page may be the heaviest thing you will ever lift in your life. But I remember how to do it. You bend at the knee. You lift from your legs. And then you stand.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Laura Ingraham to Join George Allen on Campaign Trail. Ingraham vows to teach, "those Macacas how to shut up and sing!"

WTF?! George Allen has been hosting this for ELEVEN FREAKING YEARS?? Who knew the real world of Virginia held such RICHES?

[Wonkette, "George Allen Still Losing."

Annals of Brand Strategy

Juggz marks the occasion by passing off another round of link-slash-attention whoring as a stinging rebuke of frivolity. But it was done, like, TOTALLY somberly. I know I'll never forget where I was when I read this.

Mediabistro Readers Kvell Over Mediocrity

A Mediabistro reader wrote in:

It pains me to read that people are suggesting that Moira Bagley beat the Post to the story on H Street NE. Indeed Fritz Hahn's Weekend section article appeared after Bagley's, but he's written a bunch of other pieces on H Street NE before this over the past year. He's had his ear to the ground on this well before Moira knew that there was an H Street NE.

Yeah, well, it pains me to hear that people are actually fussin' a feudin' over which non-entity got to this non-story first, which by my count, would actually answer the question: "Which media nobody penned the 34,362nd and 34,363rd article on the H Street revitalization." But, you know, it IS September 11. I guess there's not much else going on today.

Shepilov! A DCeiver Endorsement.

Arma virumque cano! How awesome is Marion Barry's timing? On the eve of the mayoral election, Hizzoner got busted, AGAIN, by the cops! Talk about fortuitous. DCist recaps it thusly:

Sigh. We'll let you guys do the work on this one. Former mayor Marion Barry was arrested early Sunday morning for _______ (crime or infraction) near the White House, reports the Post. Barry, who has had his share of run-ins with police this year and is on a three-year probation stint stemming from a tax payment problem, accused _______ (authority figure) for being out to get him.

At some point, I'll check the link to see what it was that Barry did. For now, as I read the description and ponder the blanks, I'm just going to assume that Barry went to the White House to finish whatever job Lonnie Baxter started.

When I talk about timing, it's because after much pondering, I've reached one inescapable conclusion as to who should be DC's Mayor. Folks, you need to WRITE IN MARION BARRY. I'm not kidding. That is what is best for the city. Now, I know many of you will object to that premise, on the admittedly well-founded grounds that Barry humiliated himself and fucked up the city through decades of cronytastic mismanagement. But, people, all the attention given to Barry's failings have only served to cloud all of the positives aspects, indeed, the very LIBERATING aspects, of Barry's mayoral vision. I believe you should write in Barry for five important reasons.

I. The man hasn't got long to live.
In the first place, Barry has obviously seen better days, and health concerns have enshrouded his return to the Council. He's frail and feeble, and is definitely in his waning years. He's just not got the time to screw everything up THAT badly. Besides, it seems appropriate for him to return to the position of Mayor. It's like that time the Redskins re-signed Art Monk for a day just so he could retire a Redskin. We owe it to ourselves, just for the sake of closure, to reinstall Barry to power.

II. Ask not for whom the bitch has set up, she sets up for thee.
Marion Barry, in citing the crimes of the "bitch", specifically in the case of "setting him up", has done more than just about any fin de siecle thinker in explaining the modern human condition. For can it not be said that Fate is, in fact, a "bitch", that has "set" all of us--you, me, and everyone we love--up? Clearly we can, and clearly we must. It is an inescapable reality of modern life, and the sooner you accept it, the sooner you can begin living with some degree of serenity.

III. Gasification
Seriously. What the FUCK is gasification? I want to know!

IV. The Barry shall set us free.
Think about it. Right now, the cardinal reason given to DC's lack of statehood is that no one wants to see a Senator Marion Barry. That, of course, factors negatively in DC's short-term chances to receive democratic representation. However, think about how liberating that is for all other DC residents! As long as Barry lives and threatens the polis with potential misrule, DC's lack of statehood shall never be the fault of another. Right now, if you are a DC resident, you can conceive of the most awesomely fucked-up nonsense that comes into your head, go out into the street and do it, and YOU WILL NEVER BE THE REASON THAT DC's DEMOCRATIC STANDING IS UNFAIR! The potential thus exists for Washington, DC to become the most weird and beautiful and unhinged place on the face of the earth if you only seize the day!

V: No one else in the race can rock a daishiki like Barry.

I believe that this is a pretty clear and convincing case for writing in Barry, assuming he can afford the bail for whatever he's done now. Let me add only this: have you SEEN who's running for Mayor? You have? Then we're agreed.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

The Next Big Thing

We're celebrating DCist's second anniversary by throwing the city another great night of music and mayhem at DC9. On the docket for this very special version of Unbuckled, we bring you the Vita Ruins, who I've not yet heard but have been game to ever since we reviewed them, and Middle Distance Runner.

Middle Distance Runner was good enough to furnish Kyle Leafblower with a handful of copies of their new CD, Plane In Flames, and Kyle was nice enough to wander over to my desk to give me one of them. MDR has been gathering fans all year and after hearing their LP, its easy to see why folks are so excited by them.

The band describes their music as rock with "bwoop sounds," but the record is catchy beyond belief--with a sound that's not just tres fresh for DC (and that continues to chip away at the granite of Dischordiana), but also fluid enough to offer the listener a wonderful range of songs on one record. What's common to each effort is rooted so deeply, that you can have the jaunty fun of "Naturally" and the tilting melodrama of "Out Of Here" in one place and never feel like they aren't part of the same idea. So, shit y'all, don't miss this gig. I'm at least as excited about MDR as I was about Georgie James, and no doubt you remember how jizzed for them.

So come to out big second anniversary party, September 14, at DC9. $8

And check out the bands.

Middle Distance Runner
Download: "Naturally
", "Man of the People"::Website::MySpace

Vita Ruins

Download: "Alien"::Website::MySpace

And Then Airwolf Turned Itself Inside Out.

Maybe it's just me, but it seems to me that travelling to a Yo La Tengo show by HELICOPTER is just a little too comically bangin' way to go. I mean, when you are talking about going to see the masters of indie drone, blinging out the Shalom Express with some spinners and pair of fluffy dice seems appropriately extravagant. Besides, the gig's in Jersey City--the Yo La fans are gonna earn the resentment of the locals based on their post-graduate degrees alone. Why you wanna just rub shit in by flying in on a whirlybird?

Well. Shit. It's your choice. If you can feel the Blackhawks going down as one, head over to Stereogum and enter the contest.

Friday, September 08, 2006

Get Your Photoshop On!

People are having mixed reactions to the latest iteration of the WTC Memorial Foundation's fundraising campaign.

I kind of feel where Copyranter is coming from on this issue. Though maybe not quite as strongly.

One thing's for sure, though. We're really uncomfortable with the posters the people from Last Night's Party designed.

But, hey. Everybody's gotta do their part.

Get Your War On!

This is Amy Miley, super-hot, Mary Louise Parkeresque wifey of our good friend Travis Mills, caught on camera mouthing what's no doubt a hilariously scabrous string of profanity. Amy is part of Austin's Rude Mechanicals--not to be confused with our own, equally cheeky, Laurel-based, Snakes on a Plane synergizing, Antony and Cleopatritizing theatre company of the same name (though someone should definitely plan a mixer)--and they will be coming to the city to perform their much-loved adaptation of David Rees' TOTES AWESOME comic Get Your War On!

If you are not by now familiar with the comic, get your sweet ass out to the website to see it right this very very instant, because quite frankly, you are, will, and should be thought of as an absolute, no-account plebe and a kneebiting crybaby jerkoff until you bask in its sweet sweet wisdom. Seriously.

Amy and her ATex cohorts will be bringing their show to Woolly Mammoth from October 5-14. Details can be had here. The show basically boils down to long, profanity-laced scenes in which the War Against Whatever is given precisely the accounting it deserves. I love that Woolly has it as a show appropriate for 14 and up. I think kids should get in free.

We'll probably remind you closer to the event itself. And all my peeps in Philly should be getting prepared to get THEIR war on right now because the show will be touring there September 13-16 at Arden Theatre Company's Arcadia Stage as a part of the Live Arts Festival. Go see it, because it will help you motherfucking endure your motherfucking freedom.

Rise up, with harpoons!

Castor Oil: OK, I refuse to believe that this peice from CNN is real

Castor Oil: "Still, some Southern women remain stalwart supporters of the president and the Republican Party. At a watermelon festival in Chickamauga, in the mountains of northwest Georgia, substitute teacher Clydeen Tomanio said she remains committed to the party she's called home for 43 years."There are some people, and I'm one of them, that believe George Bush was placed where he is by the Lord," Tomanio said. "I don't care how he governs, I will support him. I'm a Republican through and through."

Castor Oil: Clydeen at a watermelon festival in Chickamauga Georgia

Castor Oil: no way

DCeiver: Well, when you have to run down a quote from the craziest Bush supporter in the world, where would you go?

Castor Oil: true

Castor Oil: you got me there

DCeiver: That woman introduced herself as "Clydeen" and the reporter probably thought, "Thank Christ! This is my 'get.' I can get out of here!"

Castor Oil: hahaha

Castor Oil: "I have landed the white whale"

DCeiver: Yeah, I'd bet that ol' Clydeen is definitely one of the whitest and whaliest members of the species.