Happy New Years from WDR!

And a special alert to our readers

I just made a trip to the WDR mailroom to see if my copy of Rack Attack magazine was in (it wasn't) and I was surprised to find several letters from our readers among the ExtenZe free samples. The biggest question of all was, "Hey, where the fuck are your end of the year lists?"

Well keep your shirts on (unless you're from Rack Attack, in which case feel free to dress as you please). We have our lists of best and worst shit of 2007, and we're going to put them up soon. In fact, we might not even get them up until 2008. I seriously doubt that anything worthwhile will happen between now and then, but we shouldn't just assume it. I mean, how many people made asshats of themselves in 2000 when they thought crazy shit was going to happen? Well a lot of people, including these guys.

I can only assure you that the lists this year will be great. We won't have another mishap on Joe's part. You know what I'm talking about...

So enjoy the posts that follow and what's left of this wretched year of our Lord, 2007.

Hump Day Helper -- The Most Depressing Time Of The Year

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

It's the Holidays, and often this is the time of year where we're searching for the gardenhose and connecting it to our respective tailpipes. Most people find themselves dealing with obnoxious relatives, annoying-to-the-nth-degree Christmas carols, and the hell that is shopping. And let's face it, most of the time, Christmas itself was a disappointment--you never got that awesome Transformer robot that you wanted, or that sick new Mortal Kombat. No, you were stuck with some goofy Hot Wheel and freaking Mario's Time Machine.

And even if your Christmas was great, you still have to deal with the fact that the next day, it's all over. No more good times. So no matter how you cut it, you're in for a down time this holiday season. Which seems as good a time as any to include the most somber of all the "Best of 2007" selections, in which the Editors tell us that the saddest thing that I've ever seen was indeed "Smokers Outside The Hospital Doors". And yes, we do realize they sound like a way-British version of Interpol. Shut it, because it's still good.

So the hell with lifting up your spirits on this Hump Day; for once we will allow you to wallow in the misery.

Someone turn me around
Can I start this again?...

Season's Greetings from Joe Reefer

Fiesta Friday: We're Lazy

Hey, it's the holidays, so we're taking a short vacation this weekend. Which means it's time for everyone's favorite: reruns! So while the WDR crew gets drunk on Nyquil Egg Nog, just remember these three simple words:

Panama! Fuck, yeah!

Everything's Coming Up Milhouse!

As we eagerly anticipate Joe Reefer's delicious and scandalous contribution for the month, allow me to indulge in a bit of personal news. You may recall my continual detailing of my attempts to avoid becoming a total loser, which somehow involved the use of Logic Games. My ability to do things such as determining the correct order of scheduling 7 flights while paying attention to arbitrary rules was going to be my ticket out of this dump (for the record, I made the sentence structure of that previous statement as unclear as possible to give one an idea about the type of language they actually use on the test). Ah, yes, the glorious LSAT. Today, I found out if my efforts were in vain.

They were not. To say the least.


I remember being very uncertain about my potential score while I was taking the test, as my mind was continually plagued with self-doubt. "Oh god, no, not another guess! Holy crap, I'm not going to have time to finish this game! What the hell is Germanium?!?" In fact, there were several moments where I was ready to throw in the towel and tell the kindly old folks at the LSAC to please burn my test and salt the earth where they buried it so nothing would ever grow there again. But I didn't. And as the day, went along, I gradually thought better of my efforts, and eventually decided that I should say "what the hell" and hope for the best. What convinced me to adopt this strategy? Well, this was the reason. That's right, college fuckin' football convinced me otherwise. If LSU could pull off such an incredibly lucky run to the championship game, wasn't this a good omen for me?

Apparently it was. Because when I opened the email that would tell me of my fate (i.e., my score), I was absolutely stunned. I nearly had the happiest heart attack on record. Actually, I've had a lot of those near-heart attacks this year...you would think this would bother me. Anyways, I was convinced that I had been a victim of a cruel joke, but hey, the story checked out. I did actually make that score. Redemption, thy name is Nic Ouzo!

All in all, it made my top 3 moments of the year. What were the other two? Well, they're too retarded to mention here in this space. And yes, I say this with the full realization that we have multiple posts that utilize the "bongtarded" tag. Your arguments do not persuade me! Why do you continue looking at me? I don't have to answer to you!



Now it's time go out and celebrate, WDR-style. It's the only way to celebrate the 174-99 combo.

Hump Day Helper -- Even the Rock Kids Wanna Dance Edition

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

You will usually find rock kids to be the most sullen, non-party types imaginable. Sure, they'll drink your face off, and probably do stupid shit like jump into a table. They usually leave the dancing to the hip-hop crowd. But in 2007 we saw more and more rock bands decide "fuck that, let's fucking dance!". Bands like LCD Soundsystem, The Rapture, and !!! all put out great dance-rock records, and the people responded in kind by actually picking up their albums for once.

So let's show our appreciation, by throwing down some of our best moves on whatever dancefloor is closest to you. Don't worry, we'll only judge you silently. Dammit America, just have fun! And so, we continue our Best of 2007 feature with "North American Scum"!

Let's rock, North America!

Bonus Video!


She said "you just got me hot, I finished off while you were snoring"...

WDR Reunites!

This week will mark the reunion of the entirety of the WDR team for the first time since our epic Road Trip in August. Much has changed since then. Mr. Zhuang has taken up the sport of Jai Alai, using his skills to earn a living as he explores the epic territory that is Upper-Northwest Nebraska. Joe Reefer has become a vital member of the group Puppetry Of The Penis, showing that he can make productive use of his organ beyond leaving a litter of kids everywhere he lands.

As for myself, I have taken up and quit several jobs as I've attempted to find myself, but I have to admit it's taken me to some pretty weird places. As it stands, I'm now interning for a law firm that is taking depositions for a potential class-action lawsuit by Santa's elves. At least I was told they were Santa's elves...they could have been Malaysian sweatshop workers. I'm not really paying attention. I'm more concerned about catching the next repeat of "120 Minutes" on VH1 Classic, to tell you the truth.

But enough with the past. Here's to the future, as we will commence with the festivities on Wednesday night as we make an appearance at the Dandy Warhols annual Hometown Christmas Concert Spectacular. We are prepared to hear the best version of "Little Drummer Boy" we'll hear all year, and then go out drinking.

Because that's what we do. We're totally original like that.

Vanity: The Most Beautiful of the Deadly Sins

As an ugly ugly, fat fat fat man, there are few aspects of my appearance in which I can take a modicum of pride. Sure, my calves are sicktight, but I think it's retarded that one could look upon such a body part with any degree of pride, (plus, it's cold outside and I can't show them off). Though I do get enjoyment when I hear of other morons' vain attempts to improve their physique in this area ("if I only get calf implants, I'll totally be neck-deep in pussy!"). No, the only thing that I can be proud of is my stupid hair.

Actually, I mainly find my hair to be annoying. It really only works in one style, and there's a whole metric fuckton of it. It's not like I have a giant afro--no, it's just that there's more hair packed per-square-inch than you can imagine. The greatest part about this is that I have the same conversation with every barber:

Barber Fellow: That's a lot of hair!
Me: Sure is, hehehe (thinks of way to knife someone nearby)

But in general, I'm happy with whatever haircut I get. It's pretty hard to fuck up "just trim it". The only problem is the maintenance, because without proper care, drastic shit happens.

I end up looking like a dyke.


I have multiple factors working against me, which lead to that unfortunate possibility. One is my approximately C-cup breasts, which while potentially fantastic on a woman, are just wrong on my body. Two, my Eastern European heritage works against me, because of the stereotype in American culture that E. European women are more manly-looking than their male counterparts. All of this adds to the general confusion that could result.

Sure, I could easily rectify this problem with some careful adjustments on my part. But due to my strict pro-lazy, anti-metro policy, I do as little as possible when it comes to hair care. No blow-dry, because frying my head does not sound appealing. No mousse, because that shit is icky and gets all over your hands, with none of the fun of 'batin. And no gel, because my douche quotient is not high enough. If you use hairgel, you're a douche. And if you dare offer yourself as a counterexample, I'm sorry--next time you check the mirror you'll have a douche staring right back at you. No, all I do is run a brush through the hair a couple of times, and half-expect it to stay relatively in place for the next 20 hours.

When it all comes together, you have the one man that can rock the near-pompadour this side of Daniel Kessler from Interpol. Sure, it sounds bongtarded in theory, but it's the only thing that ever comes to working. This then leads to the compliments from the ladies, who once have gotten over their initial disgust, come to marvel at my amazing follicles. And it stays looking good, no matter what the length--from 80s I-Banker style to late 70s porn producer style, the potential is there. But then again, there's the good chance I end up looking like a man-hating lesbian.



And now, if you excuse me, it's Friday night. Time for this dyke to hit the town.

Here I am...

...Rock you like a hurricane!

Now I know a lot of people have already commented on it, but I have to say something. This new game "Rock Band" does not make any sense to me at all. People can get together and "start a band" with the help of fake instruments and a game console. They can pretend to play a real concert in the comfort of their own home without actually learning how to play an instrument and waste more time in their parents' basement after they've gotten stoned.

I'm not the kind of person that complains about said wasting time or getting stoned. But what bothers me is this game. Why can't people just get together and play crappy rock in their basements? Hasn't this been done for years? It's not that hard to make shitty music in your parents' basement. Shit, I was doing it earlier today. And I was on MySpace. Seriously, it's not that hard to do.

OK, so musical instruments are "expensive" and "take up a lot of space" and "piss of the neighbors." So what? I'm in college, completely broke and I have AT LEAST 4 musical instruments in my room. I have a working knowledge of AT LEAST 2 of them. I play through an amp made by Marlboro. I shit you not. I got this amp for free. Trust me.

But perhaps I'm looking at this the wrong way. I mean, most good bands started playing in some body's garage/basement (save bands like Cream or A Perfect Circle), but so did a lot of horrible bands. Perhaps there wouldn't be nearly as many Linkin Parks or Nickelbacks or Plain White T's if these kids spent their time getting high and playing video games instead of trying to be "musical." But I'd also hate to see someone with real potential fall through the cracks just because of a video game. I mean, what if Trent Reznor was obsessed with video games so much that it drove him AWAY from music?

Oh wait, Trent Reznor did do that playing Doom. (And you thought he was battling his "personal" demons between The Downward Spiral and The Fragile. How wrong you were...) And come to think of it, those kids that aren't serious about playing music probably should play this game, because they probably aren't going to contribute anything worthwhile to the world of music anyway. Perhaps "Rock Band" is doing us a service.

No, fuck that. They're out there to make money. So drop you dirty dollar on it if you like. I'm going to rock on with my little buddy from Marlboro country...

Hump Day Helper--Completely Unoriginal Edition

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

Continuing our Best of 2007 theme, we present to you a choice that's sure to be on everyone's top 10 list--at least the ones that you might pay attention to. But just because people seem to agree, especially snot-nosed critics, doesn't mean that you shouldn't turn away in disgust automatically. Such is the case with Spoon.

Initially I was a bit lukewarm about Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga for reasons beyond the ridiculous title--sure it's a great album, but it felt too much like a compromise between Gimme Fiction and Kill The Moonlight, two albums that get considerable rotation attention around here. But sure enough, I've been grabbing for this one more and more, as I can't get tired of listening to the twitchy-soul that marks the Spoon sound. Plus, this song's got a nifty horn section!

Oh you cut out the middleman,
get free from the middleman!...

ASEVoIS: Iran (So Far Away)

News is coming in at a fast and furious speed these days, from the ongoing events of the campaign trail to continuing developments as Russia undergoes a power "transition". But the story that had the attention of most people was the revelation in the most recent NIE that Iran had put a stop to their covert weapons program. Surely this would stop the ever-loudening drumbeat for war. I mean, if you eliminate the reason for it, you can't follow through, right? Right?!?!?



Apparently not, according to some politicos. The popular editorial cartoon take on this news is to ask "What to Believe?", and present some comparison scenario between this recent turn of events and that of 2003, when we were told that Iraq had WMDs. Note the added emphasis of mine to contrast the supposed comparison. That difference is paramount to understanding the two situations. The standard line is that since the intelligence was wrong before, what can we trust? Well, for one, to chalk up the failures of the Iraq War to mere "bad intelligence" is simply foolhardy. The problem was not necessarily getting bad information (which did indeed occur), but that information was cherry-picked to try to support a predetermined conclusion (which itself was based on poor assumptions). Since the push by this administration has been for war with Iran, publishing an intelligence report which refutes that conclusion presents an entirely different situation. Making the comparison is then just lazy.

But this willful ignorance is as great a sin as the outright spin-and-deny from the Hawks on this issue. You can find editorials from the likes of people like John Bolton which attempt to put the kibosh on the entire finding, arguing such things that there was no diplomacy involved with Iran (only the war with Iraq has put any pressure) and that should conflate civilian and military technology, without considering that it's probably pretty easy to monitor civilian uses of the technology. But there was error that was particularly egregious, and that was his contention that "the NIE suffers from a common problem in government: the overvaluation of the most recent piece of data." This just makes me laugh, because the exact opposite problem was what led to the mistaken invasion of Iraq--because of "anchoring", we refused to reconsider our assumptions as new information was gathered that challenged our assumption that Iraq had a functioning weapons program. If anything, what Bolton states usually does NOT occur, and shows that a better decision-making skills are taking place.



The funniest part of the backlash by the hawks to this report is their attempt to explain the reasoning behind this sudden change in outlook. There was one feature Op-Ed in The Oregonian which asserted that Bush was trying to wash his hands of the Iran "problem", and was passing the buck to the next administration. This is of course totally in line with the thinking of this administration, which has pushed for war at every opportunity, and warned of a potential WWIII just last week would suddenly change course. We have seven years of evidence that definitively prove otherwise.

Now I'm not saying that everything is totally safe with Iran. As always, it's best to proceed with caution, and to always keep an eye on the situation. That's why we continue to try to obtain intelligence. But we can't repeat the same mistakes that we committed in the past. We can't assume that a regime is "just crazy", and fail to consider the simple cost/benefit analysis that other regimes go through. Iran is in some ways calling plays from the same playbook as Iraq, what with their resistance to international efforts in their powerplay to assert themselves as the regional hegemon. We have to remember that these people still understand cost/benefit analysis and balance-of-power reasoning, and that their decisions are not irrational.



Just don't expect to start a war with even less evidence than you had before.

Oregon scares the piss out of Kansas

There are times when ya just have to take a piss. Too much beer, a long car ride, someone scares you really bad, whatever - we've all been there. But the idea of pissing into a pile of towels is not one I had ever heard of until Kansas State's Bill Walker.

Now I know that the Ducks are a force to be reckoned with on the court, but that seems a bit much of a reaction. Pissing in a pile of towels? Well, I guess Walker can really think on his feet. Or something. I would have expected a cup or something like that would be the way to get it done, but Walker really went the creative route here. I'm sure that Gatorade found this amusing. "Is it in you?" Not anymore!

Crazy stuff. Remind to bring my own towels with me if I ever make a trip to Kansas...

Fiesta Friday! The One Week Late Edition

Last week, I instructed one of my colleagues to write a quick post for the Friday edition, so that we wouldn't have a day off. I would have written one, but as was mentioned several times previously, I was studying for the goddamn LSAT. All I suggested was that we post a video of one of the greatest human beings of all time.

Well, that post didn't happen. The colleague responsible will remain nameless, but I'm sure you kids who have been brought up on Slylock Fox will figure it out. So, I said to myself, "Feliz Navidad, bitches." And I present to you now the video of this Great American Hero.

I am talking of course about Wilford Brimley. The man is a national treasure, from his homespun sayings to his incredible ability to endure pain. And he also warned us about the potential horrors of, what he likes to call, "The Diabeetis". Today, we're playing this video in honor of his service.

I Mean An Award That's Worth Winning!

I want to apologize for the lack of a post on Tuesday. I had come up with a great topic at the last minute, but was informed by my colleague that my services were not needed that day. Mr. Zhuang was all set to deliver a hilarious take on local commercials, exposing to the world some of the brilliant entrepreneurs we have up in the Pacific Northwest. But Zhuang is all concerned about his edumacation, and decided that he had enough writing for the night and needed to study instead. I mean, what kind of loser studies for finals?

Anyways, since Zhuang quit writing, and I had forgotten whatever the hell it was I was going to talk about, nothing got put up. Therefore there was a gap in your daily Wayne Diego intake that we can't blame on a random holiday, we apologize. Wait a second, Hanukkah began yesterday! We were just observing the day before! Quiet, we must rest. Shh..shhh...

Lo and behold, we had a topic come about today that very much falls in line with what we discuss here at WDR. Grammy nominations were announced today, which gives us the opportunity to both discuss music AND make fun of clueless old people. Because if there's one thing that you can count on each year, it's a terrible batch of Grammy nominations.



Before we get started, we'll just mention that we realize that the Grammys aren't a real award, so it is kind of pointless to debate their merits. Whatev.

There are only a few awards that we pay attention to: anything rock-related, and stuff like "best short form music video". The rock categories are an abomination this year, as out of 40 possible slots about 4 of them are in any way halfway decent, namely nominations for "The Pretender" and "The Pot". (Note: "Icky Thump" was specifically NOT mentioned, since it's the worst song that The White Stripes have recorded. By a longshot.) I mean, Wilco's "Sky Blue Sky" being nominated for Rock Album of the year? There's very little that's actually rocking on that album, besides Nels Cline's insane solo on "Impossible Germany" (even though it's a solid album through and through). And the less said of nominations for Daughtry, the better.



The most surprising nomination, however, was the one given to the Foo Fighters' Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace for ALBUM OF THE YEAR. I know you just heard me offer some praise for "The Pretender", but the album as a whole is quite mediocre--it barely cracks the top-5 of Foo Fighters albums. Clearly it's an example of a half-assed attempt to reach the mainstream rock community by belatedly honoring a slightly over-the-hill rock group whose best days are probably behind them (Exhibit A: the nominations racked up by the Red Hot Chili Peppers last year).

That's all we have to say about the Grammys. Except that Eddie Vedder gets an award, and that this is the video of the year.

Hump Day Helper--Morphing Is Cool Edition

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

Today we begin a look back at the year in music. All December we're going to be using the Hump Day Helper to highlight some of the best albums from 2007, especially the ones that may have been overlooked or misjudged.

And today's selection is from a band whose album I believe was really misjudged. Bloc Party burst onto the scene with their stellar debut, Silent Alarm which brought an edge to the New Wave Revival movement. They followed up with A Weekend In The City, which though showed a more polished side to the group, didn't get the same rave reviews as their previous album. But those people are asshats. It's a bitchin' album. "The Prayer" has a great stompin' beat and an excellent noise-guitar solo, as it tells a story that we're all familiar with--praying to our drugs to make this one bitchin' party.

Is it so wrong to crave recognition...

Well That Was Unexpected

The Difference A Week Makes


Just a few days ago, this humble author was walking around in a mood that Downward Spiral-era Trent Reznor would have been wary of. "Yeah, I created the most depressing album ever, but I wouldn't want to be that low" would be a good approximation of his probable reaction. I mean, I was so down that I was using Elliott Smith to try and cheer up. But here we are, seven days later, and I'm so goddamn giddy that I'm making nonsensical musical analogies in a flailing attempt at humor. In other words, we're pretty much back to normal around here.

I had the one-two stomach-punch combo of LSU losing in heart-breaking fashion to Ar-Kansas and the dread of the upcoming LSAT examination to deal with. When my mind wasn't busy trying to find the fallacy of (purposefully) shittily written arguments about the potential economic feasibility of niobium/germanium superconductors or figuring out which goddamn fruit went into which basket*, it was off pondering what could have been for my beloved Tigers. During a period in which I was struggling to find a job, attempting once again to face my failure and attempt to get into law school again, and being devoid of nearly all human contact, at least I had my Tigers to look forward to each weekend. More so than any other year, I had become attached to this team (it certainly helped that I didn't have "commitments" occupying my precious time, like the (apparently) worthless pursuit of an education).


So I was preparing to write a short essay on all the various things that made this loss harder to take than any other that I could remember--the timing of it, which would deny us the opportunity to play for the championship, or the way we snatched defeat from the jaws of victory (4th and 10!!! We had them!). But then Saturday happened. I was up early, taking the aforementioned LSAT and doing a generally decent job--the verdict will come in a few weeks, but I wasn't in the most confident of moods afterwards (a week of several difficult practice tests will do a lot to put doubt in one's mind). After dealing with several delays at the testing center, I got home around the start of the second quarter, and settled in for the game. It was up-and-down for the Tigers, but in the end they pulled it out when it truly mattered.

I was ready to just settle in for the rest of the day and relax--without the LSAT weighing on my mind, I was free to just chill and watch football all day. I was just happy that LSU didn't blow it and was going to be in the Sugar Bowl, not thinking about anything beyond that. But then the unthinkable began happening. Pitt got a lead against West Virginia, and despite several attempts by the refs to screw them over, they held on despite having been 28 point underdogs. Then number 1 Missouri got their asses handed to them by Oklahoma, and all the pieces had fallen into place for LSU to pull off what was unthinkable, even just a week ago.



I had to wait until Sunday to find out LSU's fate. However, it seemed like I was going to get screwed once again. The power went out at my house early in the afternoon, so it looked like I was going to be shit out of luck in finding out where LSU ended up. I had to figure out a way to find out, and resolved to drive to a sports bar. However, I was foiled by an un-openable garage door, since I could not find a handle to pull it up manually (I was later informed much later that, hey, dingus, use the damn rope in the middle to pull it up). I was then about to text Joe Reefer to overcome his intense hatred of all things college football to do me the favor of watching the selection show for me, but lo and behold, the power came back on a mere ten minutes before the show began.

My good luck didn't stop there, as everyone knows--LSU found a back-asswards way to get into the National Championship game. And you know what, I'M SO GODDAMN HAPPY RIGHT NOW. I guess this kind of sums up my mood:



Hell, instead of considering canceling my LSAT score, with the way my luck has been going, I'm pretty goddamn sure I got a near-perfect score. I'm downright giddy.

*once again, actual LSAT problems dealt with this

The Return of Led Zeppelin

We are gonna dance and sing in celebration; we are in the promised land.

As the resident Led Zeppelin superfan here at WDR, it's only appropriate that I report on how Led Zeppelin is getting back together (and possibly touring).

Sure, it's not the original Led Zeppelin, but it's about as close as we're gonna get (John Bonham is still dead, and it doesn't look like his situation is improving). In fact, it looks like Bonham's son might be the drummer for this new line-up.

But more importantly*, the band looks really goofy. I mean look at the cover of Rolling Stone: Robert Plant looks goofy with a beard. Period. Jimmy Page doesn't even look like Jimmy Page (but has obviously come to some sort of grip about his age and stopped dying his hair). Ands something about John Paul Jones' grin in this picture makes me uneasy.

But the fact remains: Led Zeppelin is back! And there's really only one thing to say: In the immortal words of Harry Rosenbaum: "Don't fuck it up."

*not actually important at all.

Hump Day Helper--Talk Box, Lock Box? Edition

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

And we finish our random month-long salute to the participants of the Colbert Report's Guitar-Off, we have the random inclusion of Peter Frampton to our Hump Day Helper lineup. Why do we have such an old fart in a slot that we use to unofficially promote the cause of new, slightly-under-the-radar groups that we love? One word: vocoder. Plus, we have to give props to the guy since he lent his hand to the latest funny round of GEICO ads.

Normally we include a random good line from the song, but who the hell knows any lines to a Frampton song? Just go "wha wha whoa" like the talkbox, and you'll be fine.

Fun With The LSAT!

Testmakers have a sense of humour too!


In an attempt to improve my living conditions, this humble author is taking a test this weekend that will be used to determine whether or not he'd make a decent lawyer. Hopefully this will lead to the acquisition of a job in the future, but at the very least it should help improve the living situation somewhat. Romantic improvements are totally absent from the proceedings, and will be for the foreseeable future.

What kind of test is this? Well, it's a test that looks at how well you read, how well you can parse arguments, and how well you can figure out the ordering of different computer programs that you update in some specific order, with different priority levels that are assigned without consideration for the order in which you update said programs*, and hope your brain doesn't explode in the process. That last section is appropriately titled "Logic Games", because that's exactly the kind of thing that any normal young kid would sign up for in an instant, and is also of course perfectly relevant because of the little-known fact that lawyers regularly engage in a 90-minute session of Logic Games every Thursday Afternoon, before the Hobo Riots occur that night. I would offer you the location of the store where you could purchase the home version of these games, but that's only disclosed to those who have earned a fancy law-talking degree.


The test will be the reason that you shouldn't be seeing any post from me on either Thursday or Friday, since I will be continuing my preparation for a test in which there's really no good preparation (stupid, non-knowledge-based test!). But I thought I'd let you in on the fun of the preparation by reprinting an anecdote that serves as a helpful hint in analyzing different arguments.

It is reprinted below:

What is an assumption? An assumption, both in life and on the LSAT, is a leap of logic that we make to get from one piece of information to another. For instance, if you see a friend of yours wearing a yellow shirt and you conclude that your friend likes yellow, you would be making the following assumptions:

1. Your friend is not color-blind and does not actually think he's wearing purple.
2. Your friend was not threatened by a madman who said that, unless he wore a yellow shirt for one month straight, his house would be burned to the ground.
3. Your friend was not down to his last clean shirt, the one that he wears when everything else needs to be washed.
4. Your friend...

I'm especially looking forward to using the "Yellow Shirt Madman" defense in a trial in my future. That's going to be a helluva case.



*actual problem

Monday Melancholia

The reason why Nic Ouzo has been on SuicideWatch since Friday afternoon.

Anyway, I never would have had the chance to post this video, so I'm taking advantage of it.


Enjoy.

WDR May Cause Obesity, but We Didn't Cause Thanksgiving

You can blame the Indians for that.


It's that time of the year again, folks. Halloween's over, and sloooooow down there Wal-Mart, it's not Christmas yet. No, seriously. Knock it the fuck off. If Santa isn't squeezing his fat ass down my chimney for over a month then you need to get that shit out of the stores. Look at me when I'm talking to you. MY FACE IS UP HERE, WAL-MART. UP HERE.

Well, now that we have that unpleasantness out of the way, on to the festivities! I'm sure you all noticed that today was Thanksgiving. If you didn't, well then you're either a god damned communist and you need to get the hell out of my country, or you're a Native American and again, I am so.. so sorry. But regardless of any of these scenarios, chances are that you got to stuff your face today. Hell, I'm over 7 hours from even friends, and roughly twice that from family, and I still managed to force twice my daily intake down my throat (and digest most of it).

This year, I did something a little different with my Thanksgiving fare though. Usually I'm a traditionalist here: Turkey, gravy, cranberries, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie. Delicious. There's nothing more American than that combination of food, even though Americans eat it at most twice a year. There was just something different about this year. I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it's not having anyone I associate with close enough for actual human interaction, maybe it's my roommate having left without driving me to the grocery store, maybe it's that my apartment building vaguely reminds me of a mental hospital, or maybe it's just that I'm one lazy son of a bitch. The point here is... wait, what was I talking about? Oh right, Thanksgiving feasts.

My fine feast this year was a bit unorthodox, but I recommend it to anyone who's just not feeling up to holiday pressure... or has decided to commit suicide the hard way. The meal came in four courses:

1. Macaroni Salad

I don't really know how I ended up with this stuff. Some combination of only being able to buy what I could carry and my hatred of shopping alone led to me walking out of the store with this classic. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Macaroni Salad is twice as delicious as the putrid vomit it looks like.



2. Canned Soup

My roommate's strange obsession with buying canned soup (and I say "buying" because he picks up at least three cans every time we shop, but I have never seen him eat a single one). Either way, it was lying around so I tossed one in the microwave and gave it a shot.

My opinions on the mediocrity of soup remain unchanged. I'm sorry, I'll accept Tea for the flavored water is it, but at least it doesn't try to claim that it is a food.

3. Hot Pockets

There isn't really anything I have to add to this. Hot Pockets should be included in any Thanksgiving festastrophe.









4. Klondike Bars

Much like that damn owl from those old Tootsie Pop commercials who makes a mockery of the age-old "how many licks does it take question", I simply walked two blocks to buy a box of Klondike Bars, but suffice it to say I would have performed rituals far more cruel and unusual for this delicious High Fructose sweet.




If I were a reasonable man, this would be the end of this post. All that Thanksgiving really was for me this year was eating this disturbing concoction of shit and watching the Hitchcock marathon on AMC. However, in the interest of nostalgia for "years gone by" I will entertain you with a story of a far better Thanksgiving. A Thanksgiving Of Legend, by which all other Thanksgivings shall be compared, and none shall live up to.

The year was 2003, and the place was Worcester, MA, a town truly as beautiful as its name--a factory town left behind by time, only there were never really any glory days for this hellhole. The occasion? ... Thanksgiving. I thought we already covered this. You should pay more attention.

The esteemed Mr. Ouzo had descended from his Ivy-ry tower and had decided to spend the holiday with me in what can only be described as "the filthiest room in the history of mankind." I had to scoop trash out of the way for him to have a place to sleep the first night before my roommate left. No joke. (Nic Ouzo: To tell you the truth, I didn't mind. But I can only imagine the carnage that was there before I arrived. This was a room that included an overturned bookshelf that was used as a convenient computer desk.)

The next few days were a blur, possibly due to the entertaining times, and possibly due to our diet consisting primarily of chips and soda procured from the local Price Choppa'. Also, if anyone is wondering, Goya brand Tamarind soda tastes like Nothing. Not water, but Nothing. Liquid Nothing. If you wanted to taste something that distilled the essence of pure neutrality, saddle up with a Tamarind-flavored Goya soda.

However, the real magic of the vacation came on Thanksgiving Day (not that aimlessly wandering around a campus tossing bottles for no memorable reason doesn't qualify as "real magic" but... well... it just doesn't). On Thanksgiving, the demand to have a meal that didn't consist primarily of ground corn took over, and Nic Ouzo and I embarked on an epic quest. Where did we go on this fine Thanksgiving in Worcester? Well, we tried many an establishment, but the only place that was open was a Denny's.

Now, the map we had in hand when we embarked on this journey is a bit misleading, because what I have neglected to mention thus far is that neither Ouzo nor I had a car (the van without a floor in the back that had been used to bring Nic to campus had gone on vacation). This lead to some difficulties with the - not one, but TWO - times in which these directions required us to cross the freeway. Let me tell you, there is nothing more fun than running across a freeway in the dark, on your way to a Denny's. Also, the map fails to properly represent just how damn hilly that whole area is, as more than half the journey was very steeply uphill. By the time we had made it to the Denny's - and it should be noted that we saw it just as we were giving up, the sign loomed over a hillside like a beacon to the promised land... or maybe just a moon over my hammy. We were just starving enough for that meal to be everything we had hoped it would be: Better than stale chips.

The strange thing was we didn't appreciate the absurdity of our journey until after we finished our halfway-delicious meal. The waitress came by with our check and asked us if this was a post-dinner meal of some sort, and only when we responded with a "well, this really was our Thanksgiving meal" did the nature of our situation dawn upon us. We slowly realized that yes indeed we did just spend the previous three days living on a diet that consisted solely of Dorito's and Dr. Pepper, in which time had no meaning since there was no light in the room and we slept at random hours. And that this had been our first human contact since Monday night.

So many kudos to you, Denny's. You will always be our go-to eating establishment when nothing better is open... and there aren't any Shari's nearby. ... so basically you're one step ahead of Arby's.


Happy Thanksgiving everyone, and I would like you to all remember what brought us where we are: Yams and Smallpox.

Hump Day Helper--Happy Fun Time Edition

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

Continuing with the theme that we had last week, we're showcasing another group associated with The Colbert Report's classic "Guitar-Off" episode. Robert Schneider sang the goofy ode to Colbert on the show, and this is a song from his nifty band The Apples In Stereo.

Robert Schneider gets endless props for being the producer behind Neutral Milk Hotel's In The Aeroplane Over The Sea, and for his work in building up the Elephant 6 collective. He's also getting props because this song is so damn happy, that if you don't feel the bliss after listening, your holidays are sure going to blow it out the ass. And we don't want that.

As for whether the world is really made of energy, we'll leave that question to our resident practitioner of the Black Magic Of Physics, Joe Reefer.

And there's a light inside of you, and there's a light inside of me...

Lunacy!

Another addition to the Vendettas section

McDonald's seems like the sort of corporation that we wouldn't put on our vendettas list. They make the world fat by selling extremely cheap fast food and also manage to make insane profits. As fans of fast food, the WDR crew has no quibble with them on this front. Actually McDonald's, in the realm of fast food, really isn't very good. It's just cheap as hell.

No, the reason for this vendetta has to do with the fact that Grimace has been removed from the McDonald's ad campaigns. Yes, the fat purple thing that has a disturbing obsession with McDonald's shakes is no longer part of "McDonaldland" (insert Orwell reference here).

Why Grimace? McDonald's, due to pressure and bad press, is trying to reshape their image and promote healthier lifestyles (or so they claim). Apparently a purple monster that loves shakes is not part of this equation. But yet the clown (and as we all know, clowns are evil) is still there. Heck, even the Hamburgler (whose vocabulary consists primarily of "robble robble robble") is still around. Why? Because promoting good health is just as important as promoting creepy adults and kleptomania. Fat, mildly retarded purple creatures need not apply.

But isn't it the fat and/or mildly retarded that made McDonald's what it is today? Are the forsaking those who have brought them to the top of the fast food pyramid?



Well, yeah. But this also isn't the first time Grimace has been attacked. In fact even since his inception, he was known as the "Evil Grimace," probably because he just didn't fit in with anyone else.

This prompted a bit of discussion here at WDR headquarters:

Nic Ouzo: IS THAT THE SHIT MONSTER FROM DOGMA?!

Mr. Zhuang: Heh heh...I do love that he’s the “evil” Grimace…

NO: Who knew he was a villain?!

MZ: Not me.

NO: Where was this in my history class?

MZ: Seriously. Someone should investigate this.

NO: I've been told I should write a dissertation on this.

MZ: You should.

NO: I'll have it done by Tuesday.

MZ: Good. I'll expect it on my desk by then.

Well, it should come as no surprise that Nic didn't do the dissertation about Grimace, mostly because he's lazy. I also didn't do any research on this because, well, I am also lazy. Still, the fact remains: Grimace got the shaft. Is there not justice in this world?

And so it has come to pass that Grimace has joined the other reject characters of McDonaldland, like Mayor McCheese, Big Mac, Uncle O'Grimacey (Grimace's Irish stereotype uncle) and this creepy fucker.


Grimace, you will be missed.

Take A Bottle, Drink It Down...Pass It Around

No Christmas While I'm Talking...


The Walkmen must have felt right at home on Thursday night, as the Doug Fir’s basement lounge could have easily been mistaken for a New York City club, from the lighting to the patrons sipping their PBRs (probably ironically). The band responded with a blistering live set that showed the full range of the group, from somber reflection to pure energy. Those who came here for a good time were suitably impressed, and fans were left wanting even more.

The Subjects provided a good appetizer for what was to come, with their trebly rock showing the influence of the headliners—the similarities were uncanny, from the sound of the guitars to the head-bobbing drummer, who gets his entire body involved into the process of keeping time. The Builders and the Butchers provided a change of pace, as their quirky indie folk-stomp had more than a few admirers in the crowd, despite their blatant violations of the unwritten rules of rock (“Thou shalt not haveth a mandolin player nor multiple 'hand percussionists'"). However, their repetitive set went long, delaying the arrival of the main event.



The crowd responded enthusiastically as The Walkmen ripped through their setlist, focusing on more recent material, including a few new songs (with the easy distinction being Peter Bauer manning the organ/piano and Walter Martin playing bass, as the two switched roles during their latest album, A Hundred Miles Off). The band was able to fully recreate their unique style, from the vintage guitars overloaded with reverb to Hamilton Leithauser’s compelling voice, which often approached its breaking point (but not quite) with his emotional howls. It is music that fits the black-and-white, antique-style aesthetic that you'll find in their videos, but suitably modern that it would still irritate the older folk. To the uninitiated, it may be noise, but those in the know have found the beauty in the dissonance.

One of the highlights was a stirring rendition of “Louisiana”, which overcame the lack of a horns section with the stirring playing of Bauer on piano (and the help of a few singing fans). Overall, the group was no-nonsense, eschewing banter for the most part as they played their set, with the notable exception being the multiple trips backstage Leithauser took to gather a beer as the band played on.



Perhaps the finest moment of the show was the one-two punch of “Thinking of a Dream I Had” and “138th Street” from the album Bows & Arrows, which effectively showed the two sides of the band. The careful ballad “138th Street”, whose peak was the quiet strumming of a twinkling guitar and a mournful melody from Hamilton, presented a nice contrast to the fire of “Thinking”. The galloping drums combined with Hamilton’s anguished wailing, as the cacophony gradually built until the organ broke through the din with its beautiful melody. It all nearly made up for the lack of "We've Been Had" or the intense "The Rat", my only quibbles with the set. Because I'm an ass like that.

But I'm sure as shit going to see them again. Hopefully someone will finally return their gourd by then.

The Most Splendiferous, Moumental Event in the History of the World

Two Words: Open Bar

I don't have many "near death" experiences. That is, I don't recognize most events as being such. But last weekend, I had one. And unlike other brushes with death, this one was fun.

So here's what happened: A friend of mine was turning 25, and as a celebration, he was renting out a bar for the night. That mean free drinks, food and limo service. Yes, I'd like caviar with that.

Without a doubt, this could only be an epic journey. OPEN BAR? Dios mio, man. So on the day of the party, I meet at my buddy's apartment and wait for the limo to pick us up. When it gets there, we have bottles of champagne and glasses in the thing along with our own sound system. It may have only taken us about 15 minutes to get to the bar, but in that time we killed 3 bottles of champagne and a bottle of Seagrams (I did not partake in the Seagrams). When we got to the bar, the driver rolled out the red carpet (THE red carpet) and we proceeded to the door.

The party was well underway when we came in, and the booze was flowing. I ordered myself a Johnny Walker on the rocks, and much to my dismay the bartender said they were out of it. Already? How could this be? He assured me that there were several other top shelf single malt scotches at my disposal. While I cannot remember what he brought me, I do recall that it was smooth and delicious.

I moved on to the food of the night. There were more things available than I could eat, but I satisfied myself with quesadillas and BBQ chicken wings. Soon enough, I realized that my scotch was gone and I needed something else to drink. This, and I was also covered in BBQ sauce from those wings. When I returned from the washroom, I went to the bar and ordered what any man in my position should order:

"Get me 4 Irish Carbombs."

I wasn't going to drink all of these. No man can just go in and drink 4 Irish Carbombs by himself. This isn't a question of whether or not this is possible (it is) but rather that Carbombs are a group activity. So I took my Carbomb (delicious) and ordered a specialty of the house: The Shanghai.

The name should have stopped me, but it didn't. The drink is a mix of hazelnut rum, orange juice and, I think, something else. It sounds a bit odd and, well, it is, but it also tastes pretty good.

But the Shanghai was a small drink, and it didn't last long. Something else was needed. The bar was crowded as hell now, like a grocery store in some apocalyptic scenario. It was every man for himself. Or woman.

"Who do I have to blow to get a drink around here?" I heard one girl say. In a mostly joking manner I said, "You know, if you flash the bartender it will probably get his attention." She looked at me. "Do you think that would really work?" "Well, it can't hurt." Sadly, this didn't actually come to be. Everyone agreed that this girl was the best candidate to make this plan work, but we eventually got served despite this. "Get me 3 berry mojitos."

Berry Mojitos? I was intrigued. Sure, it sounds like a sissy drink, but as a guy who is comfortable with who he is, I ordered the fucker. And I can tell you that it was delicious. It didn't even taste alcoholic, but the kick it gave after drinking it said otherwise. When I was done, I finished with a glass of Maker's Mark on the rocks.

It was around this time that things start to get blurry. I remember ordering 7 Jager bombs and getting a shot of Jager to go, but that's as far as pure recollection goes for this night. I do remember that following the Jager bomb I had the following: 2 shots Jager, 1 Maker's Mark on the rocks, 2 Hennesey on the rocks, 1 hazelnut rum and coke, 1 cucumber vodka tonic (I don't know how I ended up with this, but I drank it anyway) and 1 Jack on the rocks. Everything I consumed was between 8PM and 11:30PM.

So it's no wonder the world was blurry. I remember leaving that bar to go to another one. Then I remember my roommate walking me back home (and I was slapping a tree for some reason). Then I remember sitting in my kitchen as my roommate was eating some tomato soup, and I felt sick. Then I remember being helped to bed. Then I woke up, confused.

When I awoke the next morning, I went to the bathroom to find that I had vomit on my arm. This confused me, because I had not vomited in bed, nor did any vomit from my arm get on my bed. The day, from then on, was based on figuring out what I had done since I left the bar. As it is, I'll put it simply: I spent more money on drinks and puked outside a nightclub. Then I went home and made tomato soup and puked some more. Then I passed out, woke up, and puked again.



So...is there a lesson here? Yes; watch yourself, especially if it's open bar. It may be a good time, but you don't want to end up polishing your shoes (If you've ever seen/read "Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas," you should know what I mean).

ASEVoIS--The Riveting World of Governmental Processes

Yesterday I was reading this commentary on the nature of the primary system here in the US, and it got me to thinking. And thinking leads to bad things, like not-studying for LSATS and to ridiculous blog posts. No thinking for me--as my parents told me, "Lord loves a working man, and don't trust whitey".

Now that I assume that you've actually clicked the above link to see what the article proposed, I can make my point without going through a pointless introduction. The idea of a national primary seems like a good idea on its face (for the LatinFolk out there, that's prima facie), but is in practice not a very good idea. It's actually a retarded idea, and gives electoral reform a bad name. Seriously, electoral reform is embarrassed to be mentioned in the same paragraph as this concept.


The idea of the national primary seems to solve the idea of allowing everyone a voice to participate in the nominating process. However, the opposite effect would in fact occur, as the focus of the campaigns would then revolve solely around the delegate-rich states (NY and Cali for the Dems, Texas for the Reps), and leaving smaller states with no attention. Minorities would also get the shaft--there's a reason why South Carolina and Nevada have primaries at the beginning of the schedule, and that's so their issues would get heard.

Which leads to my point that the current process serves as a good representative of the overlooked states. Iowa represents the Midwest (derisively referred to as "flyover country), while New Hampshire covers small-town America. As veterans of the political process, these states are also filled with savvy voters, who are used to poring over candidates and studying the issues instead of just regurgitating force-fed infocrap from the national networks.


The other benefit of having these small states early in the process is that it allows more non-mainstream candidates to have a viable campaign. These are small media markets, so it doesn't take a massive warchest to be able to just stay afloat in the polls in these states. Instead of relying solely on name-recognition and media pimping, campaigns have to be more candid with their answers and more engaged in the actual process. This is why you can have Hildog leading polls nationally, but not doing as well in the early states--the voters in these early states have gotten a more in-depth look at each of these candidates instead of relying on broad assumptions. This may especially work in favor of Democrats, because Hillary would be the absolute worst candidate for the party to nominate (based on the potential of the Republican Attack Machine and her ability to rally the base to support the GOP).

Small states also benefit from personal attention. What is especially true in New Hampshire is that candidates have the opportunity to visit with virtually every eligible voter, and listen to his/her concerns and open themselves up to their questions. This is in direct contrast to the large stump speeches that one would find in the large metropolitan cities that you would otherwise have. As a result, you have an overall more connective democratic experience.

Sorry to bore you with this stuff--when you take a few Comparative Politics classes, the nature of how different forms of government works gets in your head ( "I've said it before and I'll say it again: Democracy simply doesn't work"). But feel free to call me an asshat in the comments.

Hump Day Helper--Patriotic Edition

Because it's Wednesday, and we all need a pick-me-up to make it through the rest of the week in our respective hells, WDR is providing some fun.

Since Veterans Day was this week, we felt it was appropriate to have a video that at least had some connection to the holiday, however tenuous that connection may be. And if it has to be a band that was called-out for their brand of "hyper-literate prog-rock", so be it. It never hurt anyone that I know.

So this week we have a group of Portlanders helping out, with this tale of sacrifice and a pretty funny video. Of course, any band that was associated with The Colbert Report's classic "Guitar-Off" gets our respect. Sanctions abound!

And the anchorperson on TV goes la-di-da-di-da...

So You Find Yourself Living in Eugene II

The Return of Jafar!

This is a special report from the library because Comcast, in a completely different change of pace, did something in a timely fashion. That is, they cut off my internet because I forgot to pay the bill. Now they're going to take their sweet time reconnecting it...

Anyway, back to the REAL part of the post. A fun little trivia fact: Did you know that the University of Oregon has at least one of every species of tree that grows in Oregon on the campus? It's true! You want to know what else? One of these trees has a berry on it that smells like someone vomited out their ass! It's true! it just so happens that this tree is right next to my apartment and now whenever I go outside/open a window, it smells like somebody vomited out their ass!

I first discovered this tree while in Salem. They have some of these bastards at Salem Center, and every fall the area smells foul. I mean, especially foul. I found that the smell only came around during the fall (that and after Joe Reefer's annual "How old is this hotdog?" hotdog eating contest), so we can rule out blaming vagrants. For now...

One would think that I should spend time figuring out what this tree is, as to warn you to stay away from it (unless, of course, you ENJOY the smell of vomit with more than a hint of ass), but I'm not the kind of person that does that. if you want to do the research yourself, go ahead. I'm too busy designing spreads about Underwater Hockey.

I also discovered that if you go to an invitational college basketball game, you're pretty much guaranteed to get on television. I know I did, and I wasn't even trying. Oh, that and you get to see Donald kick some ass (see previous post). The game was against Western Michigan, and they pretty much sucked. Especially David Kool. If you're reading this David, you're NOTHING!*



I've got another post in the works, hut you'll have to wait. let's just say it's epic and involves two important words: Open bar.

*(Actually, we just picked a name at random of someone to make fun of. Kool was probably one of the better players, as it turns out, but that didn't stop him from sucking. And David, if you're reading this, thanks for stopping by.)

Judicious Use Of The "Crotchslap" Tag

I found this article via Deadspin, so props to them first of all. Be sure to watch this video of a soccer player scoring a goal with the sensitive part of the male anatomy (and I'm not talking about the shoulder). Also be sure to look at the related articles--that video is not the funniest thing on the page by a long shot.

Also, this story gives us an excuse to run another one of our favorite videos.

I tell you people all the time: Fear The Duck.

Support Your Local Record Store

If there's one thing that unites the WDR crew besides our love of hard-core, barely legal pornography*, it's our shared musical taste (as for the pornography, let's just say it's that weird stuff that you have to get through the mail in brown paper bags). Much time has been spent discussing the relative merits of latter-period Pearl Jam, the mind-expandingly awesome nature of The Flaming Lips, or just how freakin' awesome that one(International) Noise Conspiracy concert was. So I'm sure they will be with me in spirit as I write this.


I spent the last weekend searching for a copy of the brand new Sigur Rós album, because I need a small rectangular box that conveniently shows just how pretentious I can be (and at the same time, how much of a pussy I am). I mean, we're talking about a fake album (it's two EPs put together), from a band that sings in a fake language a lot of the time. However, the big-box retailers all failed to have this album in stock. But you know, I totally could've gotten a sweet deal on a karaoke mic. Though strangely enough, Best Buy all of a sudden had 3 copies of the Airbag: How Am I Driving EP, after being totally absent from the shelves for years. But since they're too late, fuck 'em.


Eventually I rectified the situation and hit up the local record store establishment and found myself a copy (though at a price that more than a few would balk at paying). I then got into a discussion with the clerk about other post-rock bands and other bands on the Icelandic music scene. On top of that, I got my hands on a Guided By Voices album that is currently burning up my iTunes. It's this kind of personal touch that you have to love--the entire WDR crew is friends with the owners of Harvest Music, and as such not only have become good friends, but also get some pretty sweet deals for being regular customers.

Thank God Oregon has a passion for independent businesses, so we have more than our share. So make sure you stop by tomorrow, and do something like pick up the latest Hives record. Good times.

*Not true at all.