Friday, September 28, 2007

But I Used My Whole Ass!


You know, there's no better way to end a week of mediocre and uninspired musings than with a post that accomplishes both with ease. We had a lazy concert review, a self-indulgent diatribe against a schmuck DJ, and a half-assed ode to television. Clearly, we accomplished a lot.

So what to do in this space? Perhaps I'll bitch about the fact that I can't find a copy of Dead Ringers anywhere in this stupid one-horse hamlet (as opposed to Makeout City, which we all know is a two-horse town). With the closing of American Family Video, we have virtually no independent video-rental places--just Hollywood Video and Blockbuster, both of which lack a centralized system which could tell me of any location that had a copy. Instead, I'm relegated to perhaps taking a trip over to Sid's Video and Furnishings, the shadiest place in town. It literally looks like a sponsor of The Merv Griffin Show. It's going to take a lot of liquid courage to make that journey.

Oh, and I got a haircut. No more 70's porn-producer hairstyle for this fellow. I'm looking spiff...ladies. This makes me totally look professional, and should be quite helpful in my job search. Especially as I send away resumes and the like. Nothing can stop me now!


Whatever. I'm heading up to Port Land tonight to watch Clap Your Hands Say Yeah perform. I would bitch about the fact that it increasingly looks like I'm some sort of mutated hipster (mutated, since I'm fat), but since the recent hipster backlash against CYHSY (i.e. the second album), I'm in the clear. So I'll see for myself if Alec Ounsworth actually does look like Ryan from the Office.

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Don't Bother Me, I'm Watching TV

I'm sure most of you are wondering what I do with my time besides write for this blog, watch movies in a drunken stupor, and "researching". Since I am of minimal social skills but practice good hygiene, I spend a lot of that time watching TV (instead of, say, playing video games (hence the point about hygiene)). And tonight marks the night where I celebrate this fact rather than mourn it.


That's because for once TV is worth watching. It's Thursday night, and that means the comedy lineup on NBC. There's the amiable My Name Is Earl, which while the weak link of the night, is a nice appetizer for what's to come. Then there's the brilliantly zany 30 Rock, which quickly became a favorite last season. Between Alec Baldwin's deliciously insane portrayal of a corporate head to the endless parade of quotable lines ("Live every week like it's 'Shark Week'"; "TELEVISION: ON! PORNOGRAPHY!"), it's comic sunshine in my dull dull life. There's the now-familiar standby, The Office, which still has a kick in it, even when you think it's heading downhill. And then there's Scrubs; though it may have lost its fastball, it's still worth keeping up as it winds down its run.


Adding to this great lineup this season, there is the added bonus of It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia on FX. 10 o'clock rolls around, I'm watching this one. As Zhuang put it, it's kind of like Friends, if all of them were evil. I've totally caught up on the first two seasons (not much of an accomplishment, in any sense of the word, since there were only a handful of episodes in total), and now I'm prepared for doubleshots of new episodes each week. Follow this with the standard Daily Show/Colbert Report power hour, I've got my entire Thursday night booked. And that means I want no distractions.

Fuck you if you ruin my Thursday night. Of course, NBC kind of ruins it with one-hour premieres and FX does the same with slightly long episodes that bleed into my power hour, but I can take it. I'm strong like that.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Hump Day Helper -- Everyone Who Pretended To Like Me Is Gone 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.

This week's video isn't necessarily a pick-me-up in the true sense of the word. It's a great song, yes, and it puts a smile on my face, but I'm not sure that if you're sitting at your cubicle watching/listening to this that you'll feel the necessary joie de vivre to continue making it through your day. Hopefully it'll make you feel wistful, or some other shit like that.

The reason for today's selection? It's because it comes from the most hilariously depressing (or depressingly hilarious) album title that I own, The Walkmen's Everyone Who Pretended To Like Me Is Gone. Everyone I know is off at school or working by now, so I figured it fit very well. If you actually want a song that makes you happy, try Louisiana, or if you want to get amped up, take a listen to The Rat. Everyone else, be content to listen to the full version of a song that you heard on a Saturn commercial from long ago. See me age 19 with some dumb haircut from 1960...

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Explaining Our Vendettas: Jed The Fish

Some of you may have noticed a strange item in the layout of our humble blog, a unique feature that you won't see anywhere else (therefore, making it by definition "unique". I am the king of redundancy.). That feature is the list of "Vendettas". Thus begins our series on explaining why exactly we have such righteous fury against these targets.


As a former radio station employee, I am keenly familiar with the various inner-workings of the radio industry. I also am highly sensitive to crappy crappy crappy DJs. Hence, the appearance of many DJs on the Vendettas list. However, none inspire my indignation quite as much as one fellow from KROQ.


Why the hell would I care about a KROQ DJ? Well, since they are the most famous rock radio station in the US, they have a lot of their DJs host syndicated programs that get played around the country, shows like Loveline. The reason for syndication is usually one of two reasons--either the show is really popular (think Howard Stern or Loveline), or stations just want to fill up time slots, usually on the weekend. In exchange for playing these time-filler slots, radio stations get free CDs in return filled with various crap that we can use to do our own production. It's not a bad deal.


However, some of these shows are unbearably awful. One such show that fits under this category is "Out Of Order with Jed the Fish", a countdown show that uses it's inability to count correctly as a gimmick. That is actually the smartest thing about the show, if you can believe it. The host is a smug, retarded jackass that goes by the spectacularly mediocre handle of Jed the Fish, whose idea of hosting a show means him making a terrible pun or speaking in a weird voice for 15 seconds before introducing a song. That is, if he's speaking at all. Often he'll just introduce an interview segment, splice in someone else's interview, and call it a day. This all wouldn't be so bad, but his nationwide show nets him a deal that makes him a millionaire, all for a few minutes worth of quarter-assed work--producers do the rest.

And for this, he earns a deserved spot on the Vendettas list.

Monday, September 24, 2007

Are You A Hypnotist?? And Other People Shootin' Heroin

The Flaming Lips LIVE!!!

I promised a full review of this concert last week, but you people have to realize that sometimes the laziness, it overtakes me. But fuck it, I'll bang out a quick recap of this amazing experience despite the obvious handicap of having only 11 hours of sleep.


I drove up to Port Land Wednesday night on little more than a wing and a prayer--the wing being an aging Dodge Grand Caravan (which totally looks badass when the bumper is missing), and the prayer being, well, a prayer of getting a ticket to the sold-out show. (Note: Jokes about praying to a specific deity, whether it be Allah, Jebus, or L. Ron Hubbard are not funny any more. We understand irony, folks. And a moratorium on Scientology jokes. It's retarded. WE GET IT. Moving on...) Arriving at the Roseland two hours in advance, I was hoping the scalpers would bless me with the fruits of their labor. Alas, it seemed we had the half-assed scalpers working the beat that night, buying extra tickets off of people in line instead of the pros who buy their tickets in advance. After an hour of walking around and realizing that the bar across the street was in fact a gay bar (it took a while to notice the softly purple lit upside down triangle/martini glass logo), I was finally able to procure a ticket for myself, at great expense. But fuckit, it's the Flaming Lips. I'll eat next week.


I'll mention a few things about the pre-main event happenings. One, people enjoy looking at a screen that displays messages that they themselves send. A liquid crystal mirror of our stupidity indeed. Along those same lines, I would like to mention one audience member's complaint about the musical selection of Prince in the between-set lull, crying "Sellout! He sold music to Pepsi!". Apparently she didn't realize that since this occurrence that Prince continues to make music however he damn well pleases, so in fact didn't really "sell out", and that the band that she presumably paid to see had licensed their songs to be used by VH1 and most recently Dell Computers. Whatev. Two, I could not get into the opening act, Black Moth Super Rainbow, because I decided that 45 minutes of keyboard arpeggios, vocoder nonsense, and trip-hop beats was not particularly interesting--think Salem's Nodding Tree Remedies meets We Are Wolves, but worse. And three, the Flaming Lips only employ roadies backstage--when it comes to their instruments, they tune everything up for themselves, which is really kind of cool--it really keeps the energy of the crowd up as we wait around for the show to start.


The Flaming Lips entered to a stage sent for crazy 70s Technicolor spacetravel, greeted with blasts of confetti given by dancing Santas and Martian ladies, with Wayne Coyne greeting the audience with giant foam rubber hands. The crowd was whipped into a delirious frenzy, as the band opened with "Race For the Prize". The enthusiasm level would rarely dip below this fevered pace, as the band ripped through standards and random jams alike. The crowd was especially loud tonight, with Wayne comparing it to an arena-sized audience, and made its presence felt on numerous singalongs. We needed little prodding to participate in "Free Radicals", shouting with vigor "Fanatical Fuck!" with each chorus. They also proved surprisingly mature, as they refrained from playing with the beach balls as Wayne requested as they played the rarity "Riding To Work In The Year 2025" from Zaireeka.


The band made sure to play all the recent favorites, from a moving "Waiting For A Superman" to a vibrant "Fight Test". "Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots Part 1" was morphed into a piano ballad, with the audience singing along through its entirety. We also enjoyed Wayne's rambling commentary, from his explanation of the Zaireeka album to his assurances that the band held no vendetta for Portland--in fact, it was a favorite destination of their's including a trip to the Satyricon way back in the day where they found some one there shooting up heroin in their dressing room, and none of the bandmates were involved. Steven Drozd also would chime in, even taking the lead vocals for his song "Pompeii am Götterdämmerung", while Michael Ivins sat there calmly plucking his bass in his Entwistle-inspired skeleton outfit. Our love for the Lips did not discriminate. The main set ended with a euphoric version of "Do You Realize??", the happiest song about death you've ever heard, and would be the ultimate peak of the show. The band would quickly return for two encores, one the standard rendition of "She Don't Use Jelly", and the other, an intriguing cover of the Stones' "Moonlight Mile", but neither could match the emotion of the main set closer.

Normally I would be disappointed with the absence of the giant plastic ball that Wayne uses to walk over the crowd, but I understand the logistics of the Roseland prevented this. Hopefully, when the Flaming Lips soon return (as they promised at the show), we'll be able to see it in person. And I'll make sure to get tickets in advance this time. And maybe the overflowing euphoria from the show will bleed into these next few crappy weeks.

Saturday, September 22, 2007

Sábado Celebration!

A Special Edition Post

OK, so I was going to include this on the "Fiesta Friday" section (my or may not appear every Friday), but I was too lazy. Instead, I've found myself with some time today to make a new (and perhaps only) Sábado Celebration!


It was probably two weeks ago or so that Nic and I were watching music videos when this song came on. It was followed by laughter and some confusion on the part of Nic and I, which should become apparent when viewed.

Apparently, Will.I.Am has no idea how people, in fact, reproduce. Had he, he would know that it takes two parties, one with two X chromosomes and one with an X and a Y chromosome, to create a child. Instead he makes the flawed assumption that this said child's body came only from her "mama." I can only assume that this is one of several things "Will.I.Am" doesn't understand.

Or perhaps it is that he simply cannot stand the idea that part of that hot woman was actually the product of a dude. This, of course, is absurd, but so is the video.

Also, as and added bonus to Mr. Reefer, this video contains large amounts of T and A. You're welcome.

Friday, September 21, 2007

100th Post!

I know Nic Ouzo already claimed this, but his attempts to steal my glory are without substance.
I AM THE 100th POSTER!!!!!!!!!!!!

And there's only one way to celebrate that, here at WDR...

PANAMA! - FUCK YEAH!!

So You Find Yourself Living In L.A. (Part 4)

aka Hawaiian Punch is Liquid Shit
aka So Your Roommate is a Raging Coke-Fiend

I know it's been a while since I posted. There is a long-awaited post still coming that was originally to bear the subtitle "Hawaiian Punch is Liquid Shit." However, there has been a long quest to find a camera I can borrow to take some necessary pictures for that one, and as such it hasn't happened yet. Then, this little gem came along, and obviously takes precedence. So, here we are. The post originally intended to be So You Find yourself Living In L.A. (Part 4): Hawaiian Punch is Liquid Shit will still appear, of course now it will be wildly out of order and pale in comparison to this one... but that's how life goes. For now, just take a gander over to the Vendettas list and know it's there for a reason.

Now that all the pleasantries have been taken care of, on to the meat of the post!

So, one of my roommate's friends came down from northern California on Tuesday. He was giving my roommate an air conditioner. Not just any air conditioner, but an insanely expensive air conditioner. Clearly this made me wonder about this friend. What kind of friend drives across a state to give a friend a $700 air conditioner? What exactly is the monetary status of this friend, and what exactly is the relationship with my roommate?

Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, I ignored it and went about my business. That evening they went out for drinks, as is usual, and then I went to bed as I had a 9am class. This is where it gets interesting...

About half an hour later, my roommate's friend burst through the front door. He woke me up, and proceeded to babble incoherently and pace around the apartment as if he were looking for something. The friend was very clearly drunk/high/something out of his mind, and kept going on about how my roommate was in some kind of huge trouble. Eventually I get out of him that something happened, and that he needs to find the police station... which eventually I narrowed down to the campus police (luckily, since I have no idea where the real police station is, or how to get there.)

As he is in no condition to do anything unassisted, I walk him to the campus police, where I sit for the next... many hours... watching this bizarre play unfold before my eyes. This was sort of like watching one of those time-disjointed movies where you can't know what's going on until the very end because all the pieces come together out of place. Very wanky for the viewer, yet simultaneously entertaining because you get to try to put the pieces together yourself. All I really gathered, was that some unhealthy amount of cocaine may or may not have been used by my roommate and his friend...
There was also something about a car; my roommate's or his friend's, I have no idea. Those are really the only details I got, because the rest of the time involved the friend babbling frantically and trying to get the police officers to do something... but nobody seemed to know what he wanted... I was fairly certain that he just didn't know what to do, so he got himself arrested. Meanwhile, I was just sitting on the couch in the campus police station until one of the officer s finally came over to ask me why I was there. He says "And where were you while all this was going on?", and I (having just sat through some of the stranger hours of my life) just crack a smile and quietly laugh as I say "... I was asleep in my apartment... I have absolutely no idea what is going on."

So the officer says "Well, I'd suggest you just go back to doing that" and I respond "So I'm good to go?" and he goes "Yeah, get out of here." There was talk of taking my roommate to the hospital... which realistically they probably should have done (or in fact did), I don't actually know.

After all that, I get home and go back to sleep. About an hour later, the friend comes back to the room. This is of course rather surprising to me, as I imagined he would surely have been arrested since he wandered into the police station incoherently rambling on about his friend who had just been arrested for the same things that he was clearly on, and then proceeded to try to give a police officer his credit card. But no, here he was in my room again. I couldn't get any coherent information about him as to what happened, where he was going, etc... but he packed up his stuff and left. As it was, I had no way of contacting either the roommate or his friend since I don't have the friend's number, and my roommate's cellphone has been broken for weeks. There was some ringing on our apartment's phone... which only the roommate uses... but it was about an hour before my class, and fuck that; I was not dealing with anything but going to classes.

At this point, I should also mention a hilarious sub-plot of this whole adventure:

When the friend and I left my apartment building to go to the campus police, we were confronted by a dude on a skateboard asking if there was a water fountain in the block my apartment is on. I replied "I think there's one in the building over there," and he says "No, not a drinking fountain... a water fountain."

Confused by this exchange, and in the middle of doing something much more important, I just go "Uh... no, there's not... but there's one over there" and point to a building with a fountain. (This was so random and confusing that it also stopped the boozed/coked-out-of-his-mind friend dead in his tracks.) So, we take about two more steps before realizing there is a HORDE of people marching toward us in the street. All of them simultaneously start drunkenly yelling about fountains, and if there is a fountain, and whatnot... and dude-on-skateboard, who appeared to be their leader, yells "there's one over there!" and points in the direction I gave him.

They all start stumbling that way, like a mass of inebriated zombies. As we pass by, one of the guys at the back of the group grabs my shoulder and leans in toward my ear yelling:

"DUDE!!!... HOW MUCH PUSSY DO YOU GET... LIKE... BY THE HOUR???"

...To which I responded, "Yahknow... It's hard to say. There are a lot of hours in a day," and I just kept walking.


As it stands now, the roommate did eventually come back to the apartment with his friend. It turns out that the police didn't do anything to the friend, for
some reason they let him go totally free... which just makes me wonder how fucked up my roommate really must have been... because my roommate received a felony charge. Apparently, the LAPD officers I saw entering the station as I left had come to take my roommate to jail. The next day, the friend bailed him out.

Neither of them seem to really know what happened. The friend didn't even remember most of the journey that I was there for when I relayed it back to them. They don't actually remember what was happening when they got stopped, but apparently the campus police claim my roommate was snorting coke
directly in front of their station... off one of the metal window frames... Now, while I am fairly sure that this is just complete police bullshit, exploiting my roommate not knowing what was going on to cover up a potential illegal search and seizure... There is no way for me to know, and given my roommate's possible mental handicap, I'm inclined to believe it's true just because it's hilarious.
So, here I am living with a possible felon. You gotta love L.A., baby!

Thursday, September 20, 2007

We Can't Stop Here! This Is Bat Country!

I would have imagined yesterday that the highlight of my day would've been seeing the Flaming Lips live (a full review is forthcoming, but in a word: freakin' awesome), but somehow something much crazier than dancing Santas and Martians throwing confetti at me happened. What I will now describe is the absolute truth, and has not been embellished in any shape or form. Because that would be lying, and lying is wrong.


I was in the den, preparing to watch the rest of "The Colbert Report" before I went to bed. I was just settling into the couch, when out of the corner of my eye I saw something fluttering in the kitchen. At first I thought it was a dragonfly or something similar, but I realized it was much too large. I got up slowly to take a more careful look, when I was shocked to see that I had a goddamn bat in my kitchen, going absolutely apeshit. I slammed the door to the den, and paused to collect myself. After a few moments' consideration, I decided that my first best action was to text message a presumably-sleeping Joe Reefer as to my predicament. After all, what the hell kind of sane person is still awake at 2 am?
There's a bat in the house. It has scared the shit out of me.

I then decided at some point I had to confront the threat head-on, mainly because I didn't feel like sleeping in the den. So I came up with a plan to try and guide the bat outside through the door in the kitchen. At my disposal was the only thing at hand, a pillow. This was not really a helpful thing, but I felt better covering up my face with it as I prepared to combat the flying verminrodent. I then slowly made my way into the kitchen, inching along the wall and attempting to exeunt the bat through the door to the garage. That did not work, as the bat didn't fly into that direction. So I switched strategies on the fly, moving along to the door to the deck on the other side of the kitchen, pausing several times as the bat divebombed its way towards me on several occasions.

After multiple unsuccessful attempts to prop the safetybar up, I finally was able to open the door. I yelled at the bat, Get OUT, thinking that English was of course the bat's natural language. Meanwhile, my cat Rambo decided that now was the perfect time to come into the house, and he ducks on in. After the bat does another couple of loops through the room, Rambo JUMPS UP and knocks the bat down. I paused, concerned for my cat's well-being, and slowly make my way over to check on him. I then see my cat happily finishing up eating the bat. And you know what? All he wanted in return was a bellyrub and to sleep on my bed. I complied.

I relayed the information to Joe Reefer, and he responds the next morning with a brilliant summation of the entire episode:
Holy crap! Rambo is a badass




Yes, indeed he is.

A Moving Adventure!


So you find yourself in a new apartment. It is a bit of a strange apartment; there isn't a living room. There's a kitchen, two bedrooms and a bathroom. Your bedroom looks like a cave with a small window in it, located at foot level of the rest of the world. The refrigerator door has no bars to keep condiments from falling out every time you open it, so the fridge looks full. A refrigerator full of condiments and no real food.

But wait - you haven't found yourself in this place, I have. What a strange apartment I now live in.

Also, our neighbor puts signs on her door every day telling people not to knock on her door. I don't know what the deal is or why she changes the signs every day. Very strange.

So that's all there really is to it. I live in a really ghetto apartment (by Eugene standards).

100 Posts (?!) and a Three Month Anniversary

We here at WDR like to sit back and reflect often. This may be due to our innate love of procrastination in all its forms, or because of the massive amounts of NyQuil we consume on a bi-weekly basis. It's a mystery, but one not at all worth solving.


The reason for this introduction is that today marks the 3 month anniversary of our crappy little blog, and so we're celebrating. Well, at least I'm celebrating. I have to get rid of all this alcohol somehow, and damned if I'm going to share it. And by a remarkable coincidence, this post was to be our 100th, marking another milestone. Unfortunately, I went back and deleted a couple of drafts, and we're now a couple shy of 100, but we'll be there soon enough. And why are we celebrating 3 months after not celebrating the 2 month anniversary? Because only women would do something like that, according to my old Algebra II teacher Mr. Phillips.

To mark the occasion, I'm taking it upon myself to do a bit of explainin'. Some of you may have noticed our little subheader up near the top of the page. None of you probably notice that we change it every month, much like Stephen Colbert in his opening montage. For the benefit of those of you who weren't paying attention, here's a rundown of what you've missed.
1. An Inside Joke That Went Too Far
2. It Involves A Banana
3. And Sometimes The Banana Breaks Off...

And now it's time to reveal Month 4's slogan, which is really just Month 3's slogan lengthened:
And Sometimes The Banana Breaks Off...And When I Say 'Sometimes', I Mean Every Time.

All of which goes to prove the lengths that we will go to just to continue a retarded inside joke between the three of us and to continue to mystify the masses. Mainly, we will sacrifice aesthetics and brevity. Yes, we have rich fulfilling lives here at WDR. Except for Zhuang, whose post will now have come up before this thing actually gets posted (asshole).



Everybody Get Drunk!

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Hump Day Helper -- I'm Attempting to See These Guys Live 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.

The Flaming Lips are one of those bands that I've been dying to see perform, but have always been unable to do so--whether it is the fact that I'm on the wrong coast or that I just wasn't paying attention to their touring schedule, I have always missed out. Why the concern? Well, not only am I a big fan of the music, but their show is highly-regarded universally--how can you not love confetti-spouting mascots and a singer that walks across the audience in a giant plastic bubble? You can't; it's impossible.

And in the true spirit of the "Hump Day Helper", I'm putting up the video of the most amazingly positive song ever recorded. If this doesn't bring a smile to your face, then I'm sorry, I can never help you.

Do you realize that you have the most beautiful face??

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

The Real Reason I Wanted To Become A Lawyer


Sure, I'm a big fan of things like social justice and looking out for the little guy, along with all that malarkey about doing "what's right". But any idiot can do something positive to help the world. It takes a true magnificent bastard to just use the law to waste people's time. Like State Sen. Ernie Chambers. He's suing God. For something or another--I would guess it would have to be the whole "suffering of the innocent" or "bad things happening to good people" or for the existence of Glenn Beck, but Chambers actually went with "God Is A Terrorist".

Now I don't know what's worse--the fact that this story is practically the same as a storyline from Ally McBeal, or that I actually remember a commercial for that damn show from about 10 years ago instead of important things like how interest rates affect the economy or how to throw a knuckleball. At this point, I'm leaning more towards "Column B".


However, this story DOES give me the opportunity to pass along the greatest legal maneuver ever pulled. You can read all about it here, but here's the highlight:
Pursuant to that lawsuit, Washington filed a “Motion to Kiss My Ass” in which he moved “all Americans at large and one corrupt Judge Smith to kiss my got damn ass sorry mother fucker you.”

I'm so damn proud to be an American right now.

Monday, September 17, 2007

Things That Need To End Immediately

Though I am not an old man, I am a crotchety bastard. In other words, things piss me off. What follows is a short list of things that are currently irritating the fuck out of me.

1. Furniture Stores using Funk Songs with new lyrics This is currently the bane of my existence. The worst offender is a commercial for Wicke's Furniture Warehouse that uses a remade version of The Commodores' "Brick House". You can imagine what the lyrical substitution is (hint: it's not using 'brick', but instead the name of the furniture establishment!). Another commercial that is nearly as annoying is one with a version of "Superfreak". It's so awful that I don't even feel like dispensing with the usual Rick James joke. Yes, we saw Little Miss Sunshine, we get it! Moving on...


2. 5 am If you're awake at 3 am, that just means it's a good party. If it's 4 am, at least you're probably going home, and you still have some time for some decent sleep. If it's 5 am and you're awake, you're actually waking up because you have some shit you can't afford to avoid. I found myself in this position last Saturday (taking the folks to the airport). From now on, I move to banish 5 am.


3. Things labeled "Bakery Fresh" that are not either fresh or come from a bakery Allow me to channel my inner-Linda Richman for just a moment. I enjoy Wheat Thins quite a bit. Yes, I understand the irony of the fat guy enjoying a product with "Thins" in the title; yes I realize that eating more of these will not in fact solve my weight problem. I recently purchased a box, and there was a seal across the top that read "BAKERY FRESH!". Now I asked myself, what was the last time you went to the bakery and ordered a fresh set of Wheated Thins? And that doesn't even get into the "freshness" part of the deal.

That being said, tomorrow night is Tuesday night, which means on thing for my dinner meal: Wheat Thins and Scotch. This week's selection: Chivas Regal, aged 18 years. I'm feeling fancy!


4. Justin Timberlake's attempts to make me like him First, from his appearances on SNL, he seems like a generally funny guy. But this past weekend, he did something that is very much appreciated in these quarters. When accepting various tin Moonmen at the VMA's, he pleaded for MTV to "play more videos!" Not just once, but twice. This was the greatest bitchslap that MTV had received since Jack Black said something similar at the last VMA's.

But then again, the motherfucker was in 'NSync. It's going to take years of service to work off THAT debt to society.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

The Clash of Two Genres

I am not a fan of rap. Generally, it just doesn't do it for me. Perhaps it's because I can't relate to a lot of it. Perhaps it's because a lot of it isn't about music and is instead about making money. I don't know, it just doesn't work.

I also dislike self-proclaimed "emo" music. Some of the things I like to listen to could be classified as emo, but that would be making a very broad generalization from people who are stupid. Yes, everybody has emotionally fragile times and has liked someone in high school they could never have. This is fine, but if you're in your late 20s or early 30s, you need to knock that shit off. Seriously. Try making something musically interesting and different instead of droning about some chick who friended you on Myspace but won't talk to you. I may not be the best one to say it, but GROW UP.

So you may be asking, "Why are you talking about two very different musical genres that you don't like?" I bring this up because it appears that the two have merged together into one stupendous crapfest. I refer, of course, to the new 50 Cent record "Curtis." I don't know about anyone else, but this certainly looks like 50 Cent is going for some kind of emo crap. And "Curtis"? Yes, that is his real name. So...50 Cent is going to have some introspective raps about himself? That sounds pretty emo to me. Or maybe there's someone else named Curtis? I don't know, and chances are I'm not going to listen to it, so it doesn't really matter.

Maybe I'm taking this a bit too far. BUT WAIT - there's more! 50 Cent has another album coming out in 2008 called "Before I Self Destruct." I don't think there's any doubt now: 50 Cent is officially the father of the bastard child "Emo Gangsta Rap." God help us all.

Saturday, September 15, 2007

Hot ... or Frightening?

It seems that there comes a time when a person is confronted with a question that may or may not have an answer. Sometimes this question challenges ones own beliefs. Sometimes this question really is of no consequence whatsoever.

I asked myself this question last week, and it encompassed all of those attributes. The question: Is Sheryl Crow hot or frightening?

Why did I ask myself this question? It happened as many things do at WDR, and it involved watching music videos at Nic's place. We came upon the video for "If It Makes You Happy," and I was confronted with the question (I was also confronted with the question of "Why does the Christmas tree turn into a stuffed bear and then back into a tree?"). She is in turns hot and really scary in this video, and from the prespective of someone who was pretty drunk and had spent much of the night watching repeats of "Next," this was a logical progression.

Is Sheryl Crow hot? I can't say I really know for sure. Lance Armstrong gave his left nut to be with her, so I guess that she must be (Or did he lose it to cancer before that? I never can remember these things...). Nic claims that she is hot, but certainly not AIDS hot. But one thing is for sure: I thought about the cover of "Our Love to Admire" throughout the whole video. I don't know if that was intentional or not.

You'll Have To Speak Up, I'm Wearing A Towel.

Dinosaur Jr. doesn't fuck around

Except when they do. Especially for the encore.


Wednesday night was my first time at an over-21 show; before I had always been on the wrong side of that limit, which was unfortunate, especially in the case of one specific Tenacious D show. The differences were small, and barely noticeable--beer was no longer regulated to the beergarden, so the alcohol flowed like wine; and there was the welcome exclusion of "punk" kids (not in the musical genre sense, but in the "I'm a goddamn grampa and get off my lawn" sense). Not that I would have expected the under-18 crowd would have been clamoring to see the Dinosaur Jr. It seems that these guys have been somewhat passed over as kids rediscover alternative roots--the Pixies and to an extent Sonic Youth earn much of the glory these days, but the genius of J. Mascis, Lou Barlow, and Murph have sadly gone unappreciated by the next generation.

But that didn't really matter to the crowd there that night at the Crystal Ballroom. They had come to hear some fucking rawk, and that's what they got. Mascis and crew were all business, launching immediately into "Been There All the Time" with full force. Once J. launched into one of his trademark solos, the crowd let loose with hollers and head-bobbing all around. We all enjoy the contributions of Lou and Murph holding down the low end, but the show is J.'s guitar heroics, and he rarely disappointed as he tossed off effortless brilliant solos that provided a nice dichotomy to the slacker whine and ethos of the (rarely heard) lyrics.


The band didn't waste time, eschewing dialogue with the crowd and instead doodling on their instruments as tuning adjustments were made between songs. The mood was that of relief, since Lou remarked on several occasions that this was "the last show after 5 months of touring". Besides random exasperations, there was the curse of "Fucking Electronics!" after the amps were not performing as well as they had hoped. Of course, they had been pumped to 11 from the first song and then increased with each song, but fuck it, this was a rock show. The band raced through their catalog, dipping back to the golden years of Bug and You're Living All Over Me, including ripping versions of "Sludgefeast" and "Freak Scene", which tore the roof off the place. "Feel the Pain" also elicited its fair share of cheers, probably because it is one of the most distinctive songs in the catalog--"hey, I actually remember the title of that one!".

It was a quick set, but the fans were satisfied. Contrasting to the seriousness of the main set, the encore had its share of goofy moments, from the crazy metal song they ended things with to the change in guitar by J. to the limited-edition reverse-flying V, which sure elicited its fair share of "what the holy fuck" reactions. At the end, Elliott Smith's "Speed Trials" drifted over the loudspeakers as the crowd exited, providing a strangely fitting conclusion to the show. After that experience, some sweet pretty music would be quite the rehabilitation for my damaged (but pleased) ears.



Strangely enough, my choice before I headed up to Portland for the show was Elliott Smith's From A Basement On The Hill for the ride back. I just felt this was worth mentioning.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Watch Out For the Oregon Duck--He'll Crotchslap You

Yeah, I'm late with this. I'm sure this disappoints all of you who expect up-to-the-second news from WDR, and for this we apologize. Blame Zhuang for holding up this post due to politics. but with him out of the picture (for now...for now.), we're free to run this hilarious footage.

Warning: It really kind of gets graphic at the end. You stay classy, U of O.

No University of Oregon Ducks approved this post

And more mascot fun here. Because I'm generous like that.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Hump Day Helper - I'm Seeing These Guys Live 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.

One of the benefits of working for a radio station is access to thousands of CDs that you wouldn't otherwise have. In one of my searches through our library, I came across this band that I had heard of, called Dinosaur Jr. I vaguely remember being told that it was alternative and involved a lot of guitar, and yeah, that pretty much sums it up. After listening to this song, I took all their albums and ripped them, and then purchased them.

And I'm seeing these guys tonight. Though J. Mascis may look like an old fat wizard these days, they still rock--in fact, their latest album Beyond might probably be one of the ten best you'll hear this year.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Steven Spielberg Either Reads Our Blog...

Or Has Lost His Goddamned Mind


Those are the only two possible conclusions. Why do we make such outrageous claims as these? (At least we have no ownership claim of inventing the question mark.) Well, see the facts and we'll let you be the judge.

Yesterday we made a post that somehow tied the LSU-Virginia Tech game to the incredible cinema masterwork House II: The Second Story. Don't ask me how we did it--that's just lazytalk, you can read the post right below and see just how it happened. The important thing is this--it DID happen. Y'all cant deny it, I'm a fuckin' rider, you don't wanna bang with me (yeah), or something to that effect.


What the hell does this have to do with Steven Spielberg? A fair question, though I'm disappointed your parents didn't teach you any fucking manners. Don't use that tone with me young man. Anyways, just a few minutes after I post the previous blog, it appears that the news is that Spielberg has decided on a name for the new Indiana Jones film, and it's completely bongtarded: "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull". Of course, my first reaction to this was the same as yours--good Christ, that's incredibly lame. Then my mind started spinning, started doing the old thinking.


There was a goddamn crystal skull in House II. I have no idea what the hell it did, but it seemed like it was pretty damned important to the plot, considering the various demons and Cryptkeepers that kept trying to steal it. It had something to do with something, I'll tell you that much. Whatever, it was a stupid plot device and Zhuang and I had endless fun making fun of its worthlessness. And yet, this is going to now be the goal of the new Indiana Jones flick.

I therefore conclude that Steven either reads our blog, or has the same awful Saturday night habits that Zhuang and I have--which is apparently watching crappy movies on basic cable. The second conclusion is more likely, but I think the first one is the truth. In that case...

Enjoy the blog, Mr. Spielberg! Please buzz Joe Reefer if you need anything!

Monday, September 10, 2007

Sorry America, Please Don't Hate Us


As a fan of the LSU Tigers, I feel we must apologize to America for our performance on Saturday. We were all touched by the Virginia Tech tragedy, and so I understand how everyone who was not a Louisiana resident/LSU alumnus would have been united in rooting for the Hokies. Instead, the Tigers thoroughly destroyed the Virginia Tech team in all facets of the game, and did it without mercy*. This may rub people the wrong way, so I just want to take this opportunity to ask the rest of America to please not hate us.


Why shouldn't you hate LSU? Well, for one, it is the alma mater of former Playmate Devin DeVasquez, who played The Virgin in House II: The Second Story. Do I mention this because I just saw this movie this weekend on AMC, and features the greatest non sequitor in cinema history? (There it is. Looks like you've got some kind of alternate universe in there or something.) Yes. And I'm sure this makes up for also being the alma mater of Mr. Crawfish-Alien. And for the guy that brought you Ocean's Twelve (though Traffic still remains totally badass). And everyone loves Better Than Ezra!

You also can't hate a school that makes tailgating a way of life. As noted in the ESPN coverage, many fans park the RVs in the parking lot outside the stadium, with no intention whatsoever of actually venturing into the stadium, and instead drink copious amounts of alcoholic fluids and eat tasty Cajun cuisine from the comfort of a lawn chair (though it was not mentioned that the process begins Wednesday night/Thursday afternoon, when the campers first start staking their parking claims). Yes, we're just that redneck/don't have important jobs. You can't hate that!

Instead, why don't we hate someone more worthwhile. Like Fred Thompson, who thinks that the massacre would have been prevented if students were able to carry weapons into the classroom. Yeah, I really feel safe taking that 10 am Econ class with the guy I just saw do a kegstand last night packing heat right next to me, carrying that 9mm in his backpack between his Human Sexuality and Biology texts. That's freaking brilliant.


I guess I shouldn't be worried about this, however. I mean, I don't remember a massive movement against the University of Tennessee after they ruined LSU's return to Tiger Stadium post-Katrina. Nonetheless, I must reiterate, don't hate on LSU, America. Because what you really want is someone to take down those USC Trojans and their smug bastard of a head coach. And with the Sugar Bowl being the designated championship bowl, there's no chance LSU would lose--that crowd would not only be 60,000 drunk Cajuns, but 60,000 drunk Cajuns that are still pissed off that everybody remembers USC from 2003 instead of the BCS champion LSU Tigers. That's one hostile crowd. And admit it, you hate USC.

*Side Note: Apparently this wasn't enough for 40 AP "journalists", who instead decided to vote USC again as the number one team. These people either did not watch the game, or are so wrapped in themselves being fucking Carnac the Magnificent and will stick to their prediction that USC will come out on top. Because if they were going instead by actual performance to date, it would be clear that LSU is the team to beat.

Friday, September 7, 2007

Fiesta Friday

Well alright...


OK, Hump Day helper makes more sense than this one, but what the hell. Fridays are about fun, and what could be more fun than watching Deion Sanders being extremely goofy in "Must Be the Money"?


Nothing. I rest my case.

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So, it's official. Net Neutrality has been defeated in the house.

Some of you may be saying "Huh? The what?", while others are probably thinking "Who cares?". I'm sure there's a third group right now going "HEY! THIS ISN'T THE HARRY POTTER TENTACLE RAPE HENTAI SARAH SILVERMAN GO-BOTS PORN THAT GOOGLE LED ME TO BELIEVE!!" Well, I'm sorry, but this matters. I'm not going to go into too many of the details of this, because frankly it's too upsetting to me, and you can look them up yourselves from a more knowledgeable and reliable source.

Here's the deal with the internet. It's not simply a series of tubes as you may have been led to believe. Ironically, an older buzz-term may be more applicable. The internet is like a highway (an information super-highway, if you will). Granted, there are significantly more than 3, or 4 lanes. There are actually even more than 10. Now one of the things that has made the internet the great equalizer over the last decade or two, is that no matter who you are, as long as you can get on the internet you get to drive the same road as anyone else. Sure, you may be surfing the internet in a 1974 Pinto, and it's not a great idea to try to get over into the left lanes, but at least they are there for you.

What the defeat of the Net Neutrality bill means, is that it is now possible to for Internet Service Providers to prioritize what data flows to their customers. This leaves ISPs with no restrictions from prioritizing their sponsors' data, and for lack of a better term, shitting on the rest of us. This may seem like a small complaint, but let's face the facts people. The c
ompanies pouring their money into these enterprises already have teams of web designers, server maintenance professionals, and an army of tech personnel to make sure that their websites work fluidly and flawlessly already. They don't actually need a boost here. However, what's being done is a blatant "OK" for as many lanes of this little highway of ours to be designated as Corporate Carpool lanes. In fact, that's exactly what they're trying to sell it as. Net Neutrality has been destroyed by the idea that implementing these rules would be analogous to outlawing carpool lanes. Everybody loves carpool lanes, right? Considerate people that thought ahead and offered a ride to their friends instead of wasting space and emission on the freeway get a little boost ahead on their commute. HOWEVER, while this may seem a fitting analogy, the end result is not the same. You see, while carpool lanes allow the conscientious every-man a little boost for being considerate and trying to do his part for society, what these "internet carpool lanes" amount to is censorship. Now I'm sure you're thinking that I'm going too far here, and being reactionary, but hear me out...

Let's bring in a new analogy here. Let's talk about TV for a while. You love TV right? Of course you do. You're a lazy little shit on your computer with a TV on in the background just like I am. I bet you don't even know what's on, but there it is. Now, TV is a brilliant thing. It started off as a simple idea, you broadcast a audio/video signal through via a modulated electromagnetic traveling wave and people can buy a box that receives, translates, and reproduces those audio/video signals in their very own home. Not unlike the internet, where someone thought to themselves "Hey, what if we set up a network where I could allow people to take a look at something that I have on my computer by sending a request to my computer, which will then send a signal back carrying the information that was requested"


Now, television sold out a long time ago. First, corporations took over the range of broadcast frequencies. This left the content on television to be moderated by the sponsors of each individual station. (I'm not going to even get into the
FCC) Then, in a brilliant move, television companies sold everyone on cable (and later, satellite) by saying "well now you can pay us for your signal and we won't fill it with commercials", which of course later became "well now you can pay us for your signal... for some reason..." While comparisons could be drawn here between licensing of broadcast frequencies and the fall of Net Neutrality, it gets hazy and confusing, so I'm not going to do it.

Here's comparison I'm actually trying to make... Cable companies, having strayed so far from the original frontier of human communication that berthed their medium, eventually were forced to settle the score by allowing some margin of their broadcast to public access. That's right, we generic citizen folk were allowed the right to broadcast a little A/V signal on at least one of the... 117, I think... channels available. We all know how often public access gets watched.
I believe the most popular public access show involved an inflatable sheep. What does this have to do with the internet? Prioritizing data flow on the internet is similar to only allowing 1 out of ever 117 broadcast channels for public access. Sure, you're required to let those cheapskates use one of your channels for free, but you can stick them in the sea of home shopping networks so nobody will ever notice them, and they're non-profit so it's not like they're have equipment that could compete with you anyway.

On the internet, sure, those cheapskate sites run by people that aren't paying the ISP will be available... but when someone sends a request to see their site, that request will have to sit in the right lane while all the corporate 18-wheelers have the rest of the lanes of the highway reserved. Then, when your request gets to that computer, the information sent back will have to go through the same ordeal on the way back. This may seem blown out of proportion, but while cable companies have to make at least 1 out of 117 channels public access, the internet is more nebulous, and there isn't a minimum amount of bandwidth required to be reserved for
non-sponsored data. So essentially, if there is a traffic jam in that right lane your data has to travel through, the cops aren't allowed to divert flow through any of the other lanes... and actually, that lane may be more of a bike lane, or maybe a dirt path that goes on a little detour through the woods.

So, while ISPs haven't been given the ability to literally censor content in the traditional FCC way, they have been given the ability to say "Sure, you can look at this... but we can make you wait
allllllllll day if we want to."