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.

"Culture's worth huge, huge risks. Without culture we're all totalitarian beasts. "

Another great of the "New Journalism" movement has been lost.

Norman Mailer, writer of "The Executioner's Song" among many others, died yesterday in New York at the age of 84.

Perhaps more sad than Mailer's death is that in today's climate, it doesn't seems like there's anyone who could even start to replace him. Much like Hunter Thompson, it seems like great journalism (in the non-traditional sense) is gone. Perhaps it's because of the way communication has evolved, but it's sad to say that we'll never read anything new from Mailer again. But even more so, we may never read anything new LIKE Mailer again.

Also, because I'm a stickler for these things, the last line of the CNN article is just awful editorializing. Worst of all it's unnecessary; we know that Mailer did a lot with his life, you just said it in the rest of the story. See what I mean about how we've lost the great journalists?

What Are You Still Doing Here?!

Go on. Have fun on this holiday weekend.

If you need some suggestions as to what to do, we'll offer up a quick few. One, be sure to watch as many war movies as you can this weekend. Just make sure that they're not one of the crappy new ones that are filling up our theaters lately (I'm looking at you, "The Kingdom"). If you want to get more engaged this weekend, why don't you send a hate-letter to Barack Obama, because apparently that anti-American fascist does not salute the flag during the Pledge of Allegiance! He's probably a sodomite! Be sure to include as many namedrops of "Osama" and "Saddam Hussein" as you can, and you'll get bonus gravy at Thanksgiving.

Just remember to shout "America--Fuck Yeah!" as many times as you can this weekend.

The "I Need to Kill Some Time Before Class" Afternoon Blowout!

Kazaam!

So I'm sitting up in the Ballmer lab at UO printing off homework and whatnot because I don't feel like printing shit off at home (yes, I have become that cheap) and I come to realize something--Guess ads seem to feature guys with shirts that are either non-existent or only halfway on. I found this particularly disturbing, considering that this is supposed to be a site for people to buy CLOTHES from, and that they seem to have no idea how to actually dress themselves (what is perhaps more disturbing is the fact that I was on the Guess website to begin with). Also, with the one exception that makes the rule, there was one guy wearing a sweatervest with nothing underneath. It was quite possibly the most retarded thing I've seen today.

So where is this post going? I really don't know. But I have to get to class. I have to turn in some project about how Guess is an evil corporation and that they should be stopped, etc, etc. Actually, it should be about how Guess has an absolutely retarded website and that anyone who shops at it, Abercrombie & Fitch, or any of those other stores is a Chad or Chelsea (if you need an explanation, you'll never know).

This is worse than being alive. I hate this.

Hump Day Helper--Crazy In The Coconut 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.

We have been taking things a bit too literally lately here at WDR (see: the post about how John Goodman = Osama bin Laden), so this video fits perfectly with that them. That's because all the random samples found in the song are acted out, for all of our visual enjoyment.

Plus, there's never a bad time to watch this great video. We all need tropical guitar and mariachi horns in our lives. And every author of this blog should be committed. That too.

That boy needs therapy...

WDR Election Day Craptacular!

That's right kids, it's that one day a year that truly marks us as citizens of these glorious United States, Election Day. (Well, today and Tax Day, but who wants to remember a day in which you unwillingly give money away (unless you're me, who's getting a nice fat check from the government this year--perhaps it will even reach into the triple digits! That'll get me my fair share of penguin bongs)). To the more idealistically inclined, it's a day where we swear to uphold our duty to the principles of democracy, and for a brief moment put the destiny of our nation into our hands. Of course, to the cynical and opportunity-costed mind, it's nothing more than a waste of time. And to the conspiracy-minded (which, according to our latest research, makes up 92.4% of our blog's populace), it's just another confirmation that we've sold our souls for the illusion of control, when in essence we have none. And for the majority of the population, it's a Tuesday that has shitty weather.

Since it's one of those off-years, there's not much up for debate this year. Most people are the President-or-go-home crowd, and with not even a congressional seat to decide, we're left with ballot measures here in Oregon. Because we don't trust our legislators, we have a ridiculously easy system that puts various cock-eyed measures up for direct vote, and then when it comes time to vote for them, we bitch and moan that the legislators in Salem aren't doing their job and that we're doing their work for them. If you haven't figured it out already, Oregonians are good at two things: indie rock and fucking complaining.



At least Oregon has one thing going for them when it comes to the democratic process, and that is its vote-by-mail system. The number one complaint that people have about the national election process has to do with the inconvenience of voting, in terms of both times and location. There's no such problem in Oregon, where we have about two weeks to decide on how to vote, and can mail or drop off our ballots at our convenience. In fact, during the writing of this blog, I just dropped off my ballot. Plus, you keep a paper trail and avoid other problems associated with electronic voting, though I'll defer to others to argue the merits of this point (that means that Hal the Holiday Armadillo better make an appearance in the comments section). The only downside that I can find is that I never get the privilege of confining myself to a tiny voting booth, and re-enacting the scene from "Black Sheep" where Chris Farley single-handedly destroys a polling scene.

So what are we democatizing this year? Here are the issues:

Measure 49: A few years back, Oregon voted on a similar issue with Measure 37, whose defined purpose had something to do with restoring property rights, which involved compensation for when the government fucked over your property by enacting some sort of zoning restriction or another (honestly, my eyes roll back into my skull when people talk about zoning). That all seemed fine and dandy, because apparently we all saw commercials that showed Ida and Hank and their family farm, and how they had relied on being able to sell the property for developers to make a couple of houses but were now unable to do so. Apparently this loss of income resulted in them living in a Nicaraguan nursing home. Instead, we ended up with a measure in which people could file multi-multi-multi-million dollar claims of potential lost income because the government would not allow them to develop a turd mine on their property. So we have 49, which attempts to split the difference between Grandma Ida and Turd Miner Johann.

There's something to be said about property rights--I mean, after all, who is the expert on everything about my property, from the scientific to the aesthetic, than my uneducated ass? However, I don't want to get into my problems with full-blown libertarianism here (the fad political affiliation of the young and retarded), so I'm going to stop typing.


Measure 50: This measure is essentially a state-level version of the federal S-CHIP bill, where our President, Dummy McChimp, made one of his great principled stands and busted out the veto pen for the third time, because sick kids are nobody else's problems but their own. This particular measure puts a tax on cigarettes (and cigars), with the money then going to kids health programs, rural health programs, and anti-smoking campaigns. There is something to be said about the constant gang-raping of the rights of smokers in this country, especially when compared to those who engage in other "sins". There is also something to be said that this is the only resort we have when we need to raise taxes.

The argument against the bill states that it is unfair to burden one small segment of the population for the cost of providing a benefit to others. Unfortunately, that's exactly what we do when we do things like tax the rich. And the fact that treatment for lung cancer and other smoking-related illnesses put an undue burden on the health-care system are avoided by the opponents of this measure as well. Then again, obesity-related illnesses not only put a strain as well, but they are also a national security risk! Tax the Mars Bar!

But in the end, what got me was the ads. It's one thing to be pummeled by them at all hours--who wants to deal with politics when you're watching TMZ (not me, but then again, I don't subject myself to the War Crime that is TMZ)? But it's another thing to be subjected to such atrocious acting. Dammit, RJ Reynolds, couldn't you hire somebody with experience beyond community theater?



Yeah, so now you can see how this Election Day was depressing, even for government wonks like me. Let's just get drunk and play Hungry-Hungry-Hippos!

My Fat Ass Is Apparently Marked Al-Qaeda

Overlooked in all the talk about writers' strikes and college football madness, some news gets overlooked. No, we're not talking about Musharraf's declaration of martial law or Chavez's strong-arming his parliament into approving insane changes to Venezuela's constitution. Surprisingly, these stories have gotten some attention for once. No, I'm talking about our continued fight in The War On Terror®. Absent from all the joy of blasting away dirty foreigners, is a look into the terror that hides within our Great American Nation. And it's not even dirty foreigners hiding within our nation (Lou "Life With Louie" Dobbs certainly has that covered). No, I am talking about a far more insidious threat to our collective national security.

Your fat ass (and mine too).



We've known for years that there is apparently an obesity epidemic on hand, as our nation has caught FAT disease from handling too many dirty needles in the mid-80's (where were you, Clean Needle Programs, when we needed you most?!) We've even learned recently that obesity is contagious, liable to spread like wildfire (or at least a fire that tastes sticky and sweet, as if it were made of freshly made Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Commence drooling upon picturing said doughnuts in your mind...now). Hell, we even warned you about thinking of associating with this blog, yet you continue to defy logic and common sense and read. But that's only the tip of the iceberg.


That's because our collective fat asses constitutes a national security risk. That's according to former Surgeon General, Dr. Richard Carmona, who notes that it has become an impediment to armed services recruitment. We've become too fat to serve our country, apparently. And that's the only reason why the Army can't reach its recruitment goals, because who doesn't want to fight crazy wars? I mean, that's why I always bought G.I. Joe action figures. All this fatness then trickles down into diminishing our power in protecting our homeland, which essentially makes John Goodman Missouri's own Osama bin Laden.

Of course, we can turn this negative into a positive. We just have to be able to use our fat asses to our advantage. I was recently discussing this possibility with one of the friends-of-the-blog:

Von Bookman: and if we just start using fat people as weapons, this problem is solved
Nic Ouzo: fatbombs!
Nic Ouzo: I'm envisioning...
Nic Ouzo: catapults
Nic Ouzo: or, because we're all into neologisms
Nic Ouzo: fatapults
Von Bookman: excellent

Now, you may have to pardon me for taking this news with only a grain of salt. Let's consider the source for a second--Dr. Carmona is only known for being in essence a spineless political pawn for the Bush Administration, since his testimony to that effect was the only thing we ever heard from the guy. Let's face it, he's no C. Everett Koop (Dartmouth, Class of '37). Who is to say that he isn't continuing in this capacity? What, with youth participation in sports always at record highs, I simply think that this is just a ploy to breed a generation of super-soldiers by constantly worrying them about their physical appearance--well-balanced breakfast programs have given them super strength, while midnight basketball has taught them to function without sleep. And with this psychological trauma of reminding the kids of how fat they are, we can then meld them to kill on-command. It's brilliant.



Believe in your obesity conspiracy, folks. I'm just going to grab another piece of pie.

No Sympathy for the Devils

Rudy CAN fail...

Upset city just gained two new citizens: Arizona State and Boston College. The two previously undefeated football teams met the end of their streak last night. I had the privilege of being in attendance at the ASU v. Oregon game, and it was quite a thing to behold (and it was pretty damn cold, too!). As was predicted, Oregon won (so I'm not sure that it really counts as an upset if we were slated to lose, but then again, they were ranked higher than us...), and more of the BCS talk and Heisman.

In fact, it's funny to say that we're the only team in the nation to have TWO players on the Heisman watch (as of this writing). While Dixon is awesome, it was Stewart that really stole the show. Stewart probably won't get a Heisman this year, but I'm pretty sure that he can pull it off next year with Dixon out of the spotlight.

The only truly scary thing of the ASU game was seeing Dixon injured. We were reassured to see him walking around, jumping and giving Bellotti the "Let me back in, coach" gesturing. Bellotti made the smart move to keep Dixon out the rest of that game (why should they risk it against ASU?), and it looks like there was no serious harm.

I don't really remember what happened with the Boston College game because I had already gotten started on my drinking for the night (as some of the WDR crew was also doing). I kind of over did it (playing beer pong with whiskey), but this was a time for celebration, damn it! Even Joe Reefer had an excuse to party (USC's win against OSU), but he probably didn't because Joe doesn't care about/understand football.

But really, after all is said and done, I realized two things. ASU should have had "Rudie Can't Fail" as their theme for the season up to this point. I'm convinced that they failed horribly for this reason alone. Also, "No Sympathy for the Devils" would have been an awesome title for the game when ESPN/FSN/Yahoo/Etc. wrote their headlines for the night. Sadly they didn't do that. If you're listening ESPN/FSN/Yahoo/Etc., hire me to write your headlines! Geez...

Nic was pleased to see another win from his Tigers. They're still ahead of Oregon in the current polls (BCS isn't out yet) but so is Ohio State, and I am convinced that Ohio is going to get an upset soon. I'd bet money on it if I wasn't a broke college kid.

In other news, I was happy to see Notre Dame lose to Navy. That's right, I said NAVY. Dios mio, man. If Notre Dame didn't piss me off so much, I'd feel bad for them. Instead, I celebrated with scotch. Scotchity-scotch scotch scotch.



What does the future hold for the Ducks? Well, it looks like smooth sailing for a while, but anything could happen this season. But this week the Ducks will be taking a well deserved break.

WDR Backtalks--WDR on Strike??

We here at WDR receive a metric fuck-ton of fanmail on a regular basis. And 9 times out of 10 we burn it on contact (it's a fool-proof security system we have in place). But in some rare instances we actually read what you write to us.

Dear Mr. Wayne Diego,

All the various news outlets are talking about an impending writers' strike, and how it will affect our movie and TV-watching. It's really important, because America's number one priority is what is bombarding our eye-sockets (though we are still at the forefront in the fight against skull-fucking). So my question is, are you going to show solidarity with your brethren and strike as well, or are you a "filthy hippie pinko scab", as my dad calls me. I like turtles.

--Smapdi (age 8)

Joe Reefer responds:

Thank you young reader for your support. Have a WDR button, and remember to attach easily-removable magnets to your SUV to show your support for our troops fighting overseas, because that is an alarmingly prescient way of showing our commitment. Who says irony is dead?



/form letter B

Nic Ouzo responds:

Smapdi, I want to assure you that we here at The Wayne Diego Report are very much aware of the writers' strike, as we have been watching events very closely. We have agonized over the decision of whether or not we should follow suit as well, and let me tell you we drank a lot of Hard Henry's in making our decision.

We have come to the decision that we are going to continue publication of our blog without any foreseeable interruptions in the future. The strike is over the sharing of profits of DVD sales and "new media", like internet crap. Since our parent company, Generica Industries, has signed us to an enormously benevolent contract, we already receive over 80% of all WDR DVD sales, and since we already exist as a New Media entity, we have direct control over that revenue stream. Our WDR movie will continue as planned, with initial estimates of spring 2011 being the release date (which should still allow it to premiere before "Christmas On Mars"). I know some of you are interested in the launch of our WDR cable network, but those talks have stalled as we wrestle with some essential problems: my frightening physical presence, the fact that Joe is wanted in 6 states for failure to pay child support, and that Mr. Zhuang fears that the television cameras will steal his soul. As for the writers in our print division, they can go fuck themselves. Some of us don't appreciate it when you piss in the punchbowl at the Christmas party.



As for any other show of solidarity, well, we're not going to follow any of it up. In fact, if someone like The Daily Show decided that they would be better off with new, non-union writers, we'll gladly take the reins. We promise to be 9.7 times more satirically vicious, and 4.3 times more consistent (whether that means consistently "funny" or otherwise is yet to be determined--somebody fucked up in running the regression formula with that data, but we should get you an answer sometime next week). And we'll do it purely out of the love of comedy, which apparently wins out over our political sensibilities.

Why would we take that drastic step? Well, it's because we're not a part of their fancy-pants union. Oh, we tried to become members, we've tried to play by their rules, but apparently a couple of College Newspaper credits between the three of us aren't enough. And they released the hounds on us, the ones with the bees in their mouth so that when they bark they shoot bees (they have the technology). And frankly, we haven't gotten over the mental wounds of being treated so shoddily.



So fuck 'em.

Mr. Zhuang responds:

Television has writers?

Where Have All The (Good) Horror Movies Gone?

Well, now that Halloween is over, we can all go back to our normal routines. Actually, since our routines were totally not disrupted by the holiday except for picking up a couple of bags of candy for our Panhandlers-Of-The-Future, life will continue pretty much as normal. Except for the fact that there will be less horror movies in our lives.

See, that's one of the benefits of the Halloween season, the amazing selection of quality terror available on your cathode-ray tube/screen of little tiny mirrors. There's nothing like shitting your pants in fright on a lazy Tuesday night, or just sitting back with a nice glass of The Red Swede and exploring the surreal. We here at WDR have all become quite the fans of The Horror, gathering together to watch such classics as "Welcome to Prime Time, Bitch" and "Why the hell is Saddam protecting us from zombies?".



Sadly, this hasn't been the case this October. For some reason, the cable channels have been extremely lacking in the horror department. There hasn't been a single showing of "The Shining" to my knowledge. I mean, how am I supposed to get through my Halloween season without shots of men dressed in bear suits performing fellatio? It's damn hard, I'll tell you that much. And why only one showing of "Children of the Corn II"? It's only the movie with the most brilliant exchange ever.

Frank Redbear: It means life out of balance. My ancestors would have told you that man should be at one with the earth, the skies, and water. But the white man has never understood this. He only knows how to take. And after a while, there's nothing left to take. So, everything's out of balance. And we all fall down.
John Garrett: Wait a minute... so that's what happened here in Gatlin?
Frank Redbear: No... what happened in Gatlin was, those kids went apeshit and killed everyone.

So I'm writing here in mourning. The movies that fill the cineplex now are pale imitations of better movies from the past, or just veiled excuses for torture porn. And we are NOT cool with that. Seriously, "Saw" had the worst twist ending in recorded history, yet it spawned 3 sequels, with 3 more sure to be coming out (thanks America for going out to the theaters in droves for those!) And cable has filled its hours with Law & Order spinoffs for far too long, neglecting our need for horror movies in marathon form.

In order to rectify this, I rented David Cronenberg's "The Brood", looking for a good scare on Halloween night. I had spent the last two months going through the entirety of Cronenberg's oeuvre, in preparation for seeing "Eastern Promises" in the theater (and of course, I just found out yesterday that it left theaters last week), so I felt that I was prepared. Stomachs that doubled as Betamaxes, biological extensions that are video game systems, nightmarish gynecological instruments, and even exploding heads were all handled with ease. Surely I could handle this movie.

Not quite.


Jesus Christ, midgets/kids are terrifying.