No More Modern Re-Inventions

Normally Wednesdays are reserved for the required "Hump Day Helper", but since it's the holidays this week, you either 1) don't need the Helper or 2) are so far beyond the help that a Helper could provide, that it would be counterproductive to even suggest anything could help. Really, it just depends on your family, though I imagine many people are reading and saying "a little from column a, a little from column b..." Nevertheless, I'm here to provide you with news that's should put a turd in your stocking.


There are few things that are common to everyone's childhood, but one item that certainly is enjoyed all over is the Little Red Wagon. Chances are, you all had a little Radio Flyer that you enjoyed the shit out of, even though you didn't quite understand its use. I mean, it can barely carry anything since it's so shallow, and it isn't particularly maneuverable since it has no real steering to speak of. But, as I said before, you still enjoyed the shit out of it. You loved that little red wagon, and then when you read Calvin and Hobbes years later, you wished that you could go back to the days that you pushed your trusty Radio Flyer around that you could re-enact Calvin's various terribly dangerous adventures. In other words, it's your childhood in a nice little red package.

But that's about to change.

That's because some marketing assholes have decided that being a treasured part of everyone's childhood isn't enough. No, we must make little red wagons a fucking growth industry. Which means this: a reinvention of the Radio Flyer.


The specs on this thing are ridiculous--safety harnesses, actual goddamn seats, CUP HOLDERS!, and A FREAKING MP3 PLAYER DOCK!!!??! Why is this ridiculous? Well, for one, this has more technology than my old Volkswagen. But safety equipment? I mean, the fun of the Radio Flyer was that YOU COULD DIE AT ANY MOMENT. This is just more proof that we're raising a generation of sissies. And what 5 year old has a goddamn mp3 player? Maybe this is why we're in a financial crisis--we're spending money on giving our kids fucking mp3 players.

Please stop this product from advancing beyond the development stage. And please stop shitting on my childhood.

Joe Reefer Fears for His Life

ATTENTION ALL WDR READERS, the life of a very near and dear friend may be in serious peril. At 10:40AM (a serious time, for serious business) your very own Joe Reefer received the following notice of his imminent doom. I hope that your thoughts will be with me as I fight for my very life in a battle which, in all likelihood, I cannot win.

FROM: AGENT
TO: (my e-mail address)
SUBJECT: GOOD DAY FIRSTNAME LASTNAME (note: it actually said 'firstname lastname', that isn't an edit)

How are you.
Am very sorry for you my friend, is a pity that this is how your life is going to end as soon as you don't comply.As you can see there is no need of introducing myself to you because I don't have any business with you, my duty as I am mailing you now is just to KILL/ASSASSINATE you and I have to do it as I have already been paid for that.
Someone you call a friend wants you Dead by all means, and the person have spent a lot of money on this, the person also came to us and told me that he want you dead and he provided us with your name ,picture and other necessary information's we needed about you. So I sent my boys to track you down and they have carried out the necessary investigation needed for the operation on you, and they have done that but I told them not to kill you that I will like to contact you and see if your life is Important to you or not since their findings shows that you are innocent.
I called my client back and ask him of you email address which I didn't tell him what I wanted to do with it and he gave it to me and I am using it to contact you now. As I am writing to you now my men are monitoring you and they are telling me everything about you.
Now do you want to LIVE OR DIE? As someone has paid us to kill you. Get back to me now if you are ready to pay some fees to spare your life, If you are not ready for my help, then I will carry on with my job straight-up.
WARNING: DO NOT THINK OF CONTACTING THE POLICE OR EVEN TELL ANYONE BECAUSE I WILL KNOW. REMEMBER, SOMEONE WHO KNOWS YOU VERY WELL WANT YOU DEAD! I WILL EXTEND IT TO YOUR FAMILY, IN CASE I NOTICE SOMETHING FUNNY.
DO NOT COME OUT ONCE IT IS 7:30PM UNTIL I MAKE OUT TIME TO SEE YOU AND GIVE YOU THE TAPE OF MY DISCUSSION WITH THE PERSON WHO WANT YOU DEAD AFTER YOU HAVE COMPLIED WITH MY DEMANDS, THEN YOU CAN USE IT TO TAKE ANY LEGAL ACTION.
GOOD LUCK AS I AWAIT YOUR REPLY

Hump Day Helper -- Unnecessary Edition

You saw the news from yesterday. There's no need to pick up your spirits for the rest of your week.

This Picture Says It All.

Election 2008: It's finally here

Hello and welcome to WDR's 2008 Election coverage. I'm Mr. Zhuang and here's the news:

First polls in (4:10PM, Pacific) : Obama 3, McCain, 8. This is only the beginning, mind you, so this is all bound to change as the night goes on. These guys need 270 votes to win, as I'm sure you're all aware. So, I'm going to guess that this means Obama has Vermont and McCain has South Carolina.

As coverage continues tonight, I will be adding comments, stats, etc. to this blog. As I do so, I will probably get more and more drunk, which may lead to some odd tangents in the blog updates. Also, there may be a long gap around 6-8PM Pacific where I'll be eating dinner. So, keep that in mind.

Update 1 (5:10PM) : Obama 77, McCain 34. Now that's what I'm talking about. Sure, there's a lot more to come, but it's good to see progress like this as the night goes on. Also, as obvious Obama supporters, this is what we want to see happening.

In addition to my coverage, I've decided to add a game aspect to make this more fun: For every state that goes to Obama after he reaches 270, I'll have a shot of whiskey. On the flipside, for every state that goes to McCain after 270, I'll run naked through the neighborhood. Really, everyone wins with this, trust me. My ol' buddy Johnny Walker will be waiting for his call to action.

Update 2 (9:29PM) : Obama 338, McCain 156. Well, things really got going, didn't they? Sorry for making this late; I was thinking of celebrations and scotch and whatnot. I was too busy to make the pilgimage to the computr and write all this shit down. Geez. Well, it's official: Barack Obama is the next President of the United States. It's totally tripping me out. Not to say that the scotch or "herbal supplements" being tossed around weren't a factor. But what of it - this is a time for celebration, no? I'vw=e had about 5 shots of scotch and several trips down the green river, so i thnk iv;e got this down. [Ed: Even though I added the boldface earlier, I'm keeping in the crazy typos at the end to commemorate Mr. Zhuang's celebratory state--Nic Ouzo]

People are already talking about how this presidency is going to change America. The time is here and none too soon. It's gonna be awesome. Just like this picture:

WDR: Live Election Craziness! (Tomorrow)

Unless you've been living in a cave for the last...your entire life, you know that it's election season again here in the ol' U.S. of A. If you're like me, you're pumped for tomorrow not just because we'll know who our new president will be, but also because you're sick of all of the lame election commercials that have been on all the time. This is even worse in Oregon (with vote by mail) because the politicians (even local) keep paying for spots even though most people have already voted. I guess it's still open for the rest of the states.

Oh, well. So, I'm going to be writing a blog tomorrow that will cover the election-gasm tomorrow night. It would probably be more appropriate for Nic to do this, as he will actually be aiding in the election process, but, well, he'll be busy with that. Me? I'll be getting drunk and watching TV. Watch as my ability to write goes from bad to completely unintelligible. I hope you'll all be watching along with me.

Beck Live! (Sans Three-Hour Washboard Solo)

As I've mentioned before, I began the year with an unofficial list of bands that I pretty much needed to make sure I saw live in case I was cut down in my prime due to an unfortunate gardening accident. It amounted to essentially three artists that I loved and also had the reputation for being stellar live acts. You've read (or, if I was to be truthful, probably didn't) the previous entries on My Morning Jacket and Sigur Rós, which knocked out two spots on that list. And a couple of weeks ago I got the opportunity to complete the list, when Beck swung into New York for a three-day stand.

Beck was one of the first "alternative" or "college rock" artists I got into as a kid. I remember hearing "Devil's Haircut" and "Where It's At" when I was about eleven years old, and just being fascinated by the sound. And then I saw clips of his cracked-out videos, which is when I realized that it was probably worth following this crazy rat bastard. So I bought a copy of Odelay and begun listening to it on a semi-consistent basis. I waited a bit before picking up Mutations, since the press for that record was that it wasn't really a "proper" follow-up to Odelay, but when I finally got around to it I was amazed. To this day, Mutations is my favorite Beck record, front-to-back. From then on I was a solid fan.

I had heard for years about the great show that Beck put on, ranging from his electric dance moves during the Odelay to Midnite Vultures eras to the tour with the Flaming Lips as his backing band to the puppet show during the Guero tour, so I was crushed when I found out that Beck was playing in Oregon the day after I left for New York. Fortunately, I looked up a concert schedule once I moved out here and found that Beck hadn't done the East Coast leg yet, and I could catch him at some point. Once again I was too late for tickets, but I was able to find a street-corner businessman who was willing to let me procure said ticket, with a slight commission.


Unfortunately, Beck was not on his game that night. This was apparently the case for the other New York shows, which followed a similar script, and according to an interview in SPIN, has been a problem this year--Beck's just not into touring any more. Beck spent half an hour before he felt any sort of real energy, and by then the concert was almost half over. That's right, a man with seven major studio albums and loads of b-sides decided to run a ninety-minute set (on all three nights). During the early part of the show, I could tell if Beck was drunk or depressed, or if the drugs had not kicked in yet--it was that noticeable.

The show began with a dissonant and rambling version of "Devil's Haircut", which while not tight at all at least held the hope that it would be a high-energy rocking show. Soon afterwards Beck busted out "Novocane", which got this guy excited, but apparently the rest of the Theater was a "singles-only" kind of crowd and didn't really appreciate that cut. In general, Beck stuck to the material from his latest, Modern Guilt, which is actually a very solid album, and those songs were probably the best of the night, surprisingly enough. Besides a shambling version of "Loser" and a couple of other mid-period songs, it was a post-Guero show for the most part, with few surprises for the most part.


Things didn't really kick in until after "Girl", which for some reason brought Beck up to speed and him getting actually engaged in the show. Then it was a whole new ballgame, and for once I wasn't checking my watch to try to calculate when I was getting out of there, or how low this show would rank on my all-time list (to be fair, I've seen very few duds, but this was going to be one of them). The problem is, I have no problem if Beck was not feeling the energy--he's got Sea Change and Mutations material to fall back on if he's feeling like the sad-sack loser persona that night, and the two great performances of "The Golden Age" and "Lost Cause" confirmed that if he went in that direction, the night would have been special.

Was I glad to see Beck? Sure, I had to see the man for myself, and not rely on other people's reviews of the tour. Was it worth the money I paid? In one sense, perhaps not, but it was worth the risk. However, if you want to judge for yourself, you'll get the chance when the DVD they were filming those three nights eventually hits stores.

Hump Day Helper -- Death By Sunshine 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.

When it comes to music, I'm very much a sad-bastard kind of guy. While my tastes don't just center around Mopeville, it's usually kind of, I don't know, "serious". Probably because there seems to be more to say when there's conflict in the music, or maybe perhaps I like minor key melodies and modulations better. Whatever it is, it makes many people (mostly of the female persuasion) think, gawd, what a bore.

As a result, in the past couple of years I've tried to branch out into, well, happier music. And this song here has what can be best determined to be ten gallons of sunshine in a 5 gallon hat. In fact, you might turn off the video within the first twenty seconds, but that would be a mistake. No, my friends, by the end of the video you'll have the song stuck in your head, and you'll actually want to listen to the rest of what Los Campesinos! have to offer, unnecessary punctuation mark or not. Especially after you see the end of the video.

Of course, all this talk about happiness completely ignores the lyrics, which as I read them now, reveal themselves to be kind of insane, to put it mildly.

I will stop fighting once your circuit board's igniting
singing, "I'M NOT FINISHED, I'M NOT FINISHED! No!...

Everybody Loves To Play The Blame Game

You might have vaguely heard something about the economy in the past couple of weeks. Like the whole thing is in the shitter, basically. At least, that's what you might think after watching the news and seeing images of these guys all the time. On the one hand, banks are still up and running, on the other your retirement fund might have the same value as wampum. We haven't begun cracking open each others' skulls and feasting on the goo inside, but we might be three days away from doing exactly that.



So we of course have to figure out who exactly got us into this mess. And if you're a Republican, the targets might not be so appealing. I mean, it only happened on your watch, when you were controlling the three branches of government for 6 of the past 8 years, so chances are you're going to have metaphorically plead the 5th on this. Unless of course you can go to your old standby and live up to every single awful stereotype of the Right and blame the current economic crisis, on that's right, poor people and minorities.

It's fucking genius I tell you--I mean, let's find a thirty year old piece of
legislation that apparently only became effective two years ago, and pin the blame on that. Let's not look at the fact that no one was compelling the banks to offer ridiculous "no income/no job" loans, or that somebody thought it was a great idea to roll all of these bad mortgages into securities commit fraud in rating them as safe investments. I mean, that's not at all EXACTLY what happened. I mean, logic would dictate if it was just an issue of poor people and minorities being the nogoodniks that they inherently are, then this crisis would have ended up just affecting the housing market. That sounds like what happened.

But we here at WDR are willing to recognize the heroes that walk among us. These heroes are the people that cut through the malarkey and go straight to the source of the problem and attempt a market correction of their own. Like this guy, who punched the CEO of Lehman Bros. in the face. Sir, we do not know your name, but the whole crew would like to buy you a beverage made of barley and hops if we ever meet you.

Politics, Movies and more!

Or: A random bunch of stuff that I should have posted earlier but didn't

It's been a while since I've published a blog here on account of my being kidnapped and forced to work on a Korean freight ship. But now that I've managed to make Shawshank-esque escape, I'm back to write for you once again. But I probably won't ever smell right again...

Here's a few items.

The Saddest Guy Ever

This could be an exaggeration, but let's look at it this way. Guy kills a couple on their yacht. OK. Now, this guy is a former child star. Ouch. But wait, there's more:

"Deleon, 29, is a former child actor who allegedly boasted that he was a star on the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers but apparently had only a small part in one episode."



Wow. This guy sucks so much that he bragged about being on Mighty Morphin Power Rangers. To me, this really negates the headline of "Former Child Star found guilty in yacht killings" (Headline on front page of CNN). I mean, this guy was NOT a child star. It's like me saying that I was a movie star for a small part I played in a student film. This guy is as much a child star as Karl Rove is human. I was expecting it to be somebody like one of the Savage brothers ("The Murder Years" or "Boy Meets Homicide" would be likely headlines).

Sarah Palin

I know that everyone has been talking about this woman and all of the strange shit that comes along with her, (The "If Canada and Wisconsin Had a Bastard Child" accent, an obvious lack of knowledge of important policies and documents, questionable firings and attempted book bans to name a few.) but I just want to say a little bit. First off, the VP debate was amazing. I took full advantage of whatever substances I could find before I watched this thing and it was well worth it. I'm fine with having her in the debate. I'm fine with her making brownies. Hell, I'm fine with her being the governor of Alaska. But I am not comfortable with someone like that being VP. We did it with Dan Quayle years ago and we don't need a female version of that. In a statement inspired by one of my favorite musicians, "All the drugs in this world won't save us from her."

Also, check this shit out. Too much fun...

G-Dub in da Whitehouse!

Like a good friend of mine, (who had me as a guest for the VP debate get together) I just saw the new Oliver Stone film W. There isn't a whole lot else to say that isn't covered in his blog, but let me just state that this is a great film that, most likely, is honest about the president. It's really the story of a guy who tries to do right but fucks up all along the way. I'm not saying that defends what he's done as president. But what I am saying is that a film like this can make you look at a guy like Bush and go "Holy shit; now I know how this guy became president." In many ways it's a scary film because it shows how so many terrible things happened. And most of the time they happen because the guy in charge is way too trusting of his advisers (like Dick "Vice" Cheney, played amazingly by Richard Dreyfus) and generally prone to making bad decisions.

It's a great film. Go see it if you haven't already.

I Bit Off a Bit More Than I Could Swallow

Also in movies, I recently saw Choke, the newest film adaptation of a Chuck Palahniuk book. Initially I was a bit skeptical about whether or not this film would be good because of the amount of sex in the book. I mean, the book is about a sex addict that isn't holding anything back. Still, I was pleasantly surprised to find that film was pretty faithful to the book and didn't leave a whole lot out. There were a few parts that were cut for the film version, but the parts that were cut weren't too important to the overall story.

The look of the film, I thought, was a bit too light for a Palahniuk story. I guess I was still thinking more along the lines of a David Fincher sort of dark, dank and saturated sort of look. I guess the clean and bright look of Choke was more appropriate for a comedy.

This is another one to go see. Also, look for Chuck in the film; he makes an appearance. Also, I loved that the film ended with Radiohead's "The Reckoner."

The Nintendo Wii is Way Too Much Fun

I've been playing a lot of Wii lately and I must say that this thing is amazing. It's a dangerously fun system and one that I might have to get my hands on when I have enough money to. This probably won't happen until I can get, I dunno, a job of sorts. But really, I never thought that playing a golf video game would be fun, but the Wii managed to make it so. TWICE! Also, Paper Mario is some trippy shit.

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

I mentioned this in another blog, but it's worth bring back up because now the new season is on TV. I've only been able to catch a couple of episodes because I don't have cable, but I like what I've seen. Great stuff. And, I mean, I've got to give props to a famous UO alum when I can. Oh, and the third season is on DVD now, so that's also awesome.

Paul Newman

I don't know how this managed not to get mentioned a long time ago, but we lost Paul Newman. This guy wasn't just an awesome actor, but he also gave a shit load of money to charity and made some awesome popcorn (I mention the last part because it relates to the first). I think we should all celebrate the man by watching his films. I'm going to do my part and watch Cool Hand Luke again. Brilliant, man.

Obama, Bitches!

Yeah, we all know that the WDR crew is a bunch of Obama supporters, but now it looks like he'll actually win. By a lot. This makes me very happy. Initially I wasn't too thrilled about Biden for the VP, but he's grown on me a bit. Also, it's not like having Biden for VP was going to change my vote. But I'm happy with the direction things seem to be going.

The Economy

I don't claim to understand how the economy works. I didn't really pay attention in my economics classes. But I do remember my professors talking about how the market was controlled, in part, by methods to limit extreme growth/decline. This was some measure taken after the 1929 crash to ensure that such a thing wouldn't happen again. So, I kind of assumed (foolishly) that the people who keep track of the market were doing the right things. Then one day I find out that my bank was bought up. Then I hear that we're (by that I mean the government that we pay taxes to) setting up a bail-out for the ailing banks. I wish I got billions of dollars when I was out of money. Instead I get a $27 fee for not having enough money. Funny how this shit happens.

Anyway, let's hope that things improve. Like I said earlier, I need to find a job of some sort in the near future.

The End?

It seems we've made it here. I can't believe you've actually read this far. For this you are rewarded.



Enjoy.

Attention Radio Programmers

There is nothing "Awesome" about the 80's.

Absolutely nothing.

At least from anything that you would actually play in your "Awesome 80's" weekend. You're not playing The Replacements, or Jesus and Mary Chain, or early Pixies or late Joy Division.

So, never use those two concepts in the same sentence ever again.

I mean, do you fucking remember the 80's? And no, cocaine nightmares don't count.



Signed,

Concerned Listeners of America

Hump Day Helper -- Hungry Caterpillar 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.

Not much of an introduction for this week's selection--I randomly picked up a copy of Ra Ra Riot's debut album, The Rhumb Line, and thought it was a pretty solid release. I know I'm not on the forefront with these guys (the album came out a whole two months ago), but you know what, who gives a shit. Just enjoy the goofy little video, and shove off, you tosser.

Death oh baby
You know that dying is fine but maybe
I wouldn't like death if death were good
Not even if death were good...

The Best Site You'll See Today: Schadenfreude At Its Finest

I just wanted to pass along a link to a great picture site for you guys. And when I say guys, I include girls in the equation as well; that's just how I talk, I mean no offense, trust me. As someone who probably has something like 90% of his classmates wasting a perfectly good education in the world of high finance, the last few weeks have been quite enjoyable.

See, all this wouldn't have happened if you just took Mortimer's advice and sold the pork bellies at 72 and a 1/4.

Hump Day Helper -- Rock Your Socks Off (Literally) 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.

Patton Oswalt had a great bit about the genius of 80s music videos, in which bands would rock so hard that they could alter the physical course of events. He said that he missed that in today's videos, and he wished that someone like System of a Down or Queens of the Stone Age would try to do that once again.

Well, it looks like someone was listening. Joshua Homme from Queens of the Stone Age is the drummer for another awesome band, the hilariously titled "Eagles of Death Metal". And they took on the concept of rockin' you so hard to hilarious new levels in this great video. I'm pretty sure if I was put in the same situation as Jesse "The Devili" Hughes, I would utilize my guitar in much the same fashion. They have a new album coming out soon, so you should probably check them out.

Plus, have fun spotting the random cameos.

I want you so hard, I want you so good...

It's Good To See Other People Recognize Genius

We here at WDR have expressed our love for the brilliant cartoon "The Critic" before, but it often feels like we're alone on this one. I'm not sure if it's out of ignorance or just bad taste, but it seems as if most people don't have the same affinity that we do for this awesome show. So I was glad to see that "The Critic" in this AV Club feature of brilliant-but-cancelled shows. Of course Nathan Rabin was the one that suggested it--any man behind such a great series as "My Year of Flops" has to have his head on straight (seriously, if you're not familiar with it, check it out). And to make this blog not totally worthless, here's a random clip from the show. It's even topical!

Nic & Jack's Infinite Playlist

This past Friday saw the opening of a new movie called Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist, which is apparently about two young folks who experience one of those magical nights in New York City where the hijinks are caa-raazy!!! and there's the smell of love in the air, which seems to overpower the general stench that randomly pervades the city. By the Law Of Arrested Development, I'm pretty much forced to watch anything that has a member of that show's cast, because the rule goes that "anyone that has a connection to the show = genius". Then again, Michael Cera has had a pretty good track record so far (Superbad was great, and Juno was better than not-bad), so I'm not dreading this requirement so much.

On the other hand, as a new resident of New Yawk,I feel I need to settle this bullshit about the supposedly magical nature of this city that's been a crutch for storytellers for far too long. And what better way to show this than by telling the story of my own infinite playlist from this past Friday.

The day began promisingly enough. By general rule, any day in which you play a game of flag football is a good day (it's in the lost verse of Ice Cube's "Today Was A Good Day", if you want to check). We won by a huge margin, and it was the second week in a row that I accidentally leveled a girl half my size (this is what happens when I stop, and you don't). That, my friends, is a recipe for success. Top it off with a celebratory stop at a bar WITH SKEEBALL, and you've got yourself a good time.


Things fell apart once the sun went down, however. I've always found that the night time is the right time, so this was especially disappointing. As everybody on the team split off to follow their own evening plans, I had to reassess my options. It was then that I decided to do something I never thought I would do, and that was attempt to meet up at a college mini-reunion party. So I cleaned myself up to look somewhat presentable (well, I did what I could), and headed out for this "reunion". That's where the trouble begins.

I will forever assert that New York has one of the worst goddamn subway systems I've ever encountered. It's crowded and smelly, has a really inconsistent schedule, has no maps on the train, and has stations that have multiple names that make it ultra-confusing for the uninformed. And those are the problems that I came up with in about .2 seconds. My problem that night was that I could only find the entrance for the Downtown line and not the Uptown one. Because we absolutely have to have these things separate for some goddamn reason (to give New York credit for one thing, at least "Downtown" and "Uptown" are consistent--unlike Boston's T that has an "inbound" and "outbound" switch). The directions on the sign itself led me to ANOTHER downtown bound train, and so I was forced to look in an 8 block radius for the companion station. It was only after about half an hour of searching that I finally located the station...across the street ducked into a side street. You have to love the fact that newspaper dispensers were able to perfectly block my view.



Alright, so all this work left me with about half an hour left at this mini-reunion. That's not so bad, because I was only planning on a quick visit then stepping out later. The directions I had merely stated that the event was being held "across the street from Grand Central Station", on 50 Vanderbilt Ave. So I head out of the station (which is a mini-journey itself), and started looking for the address. I was at the 400s, so I started heading east to get to the lower numbers. After about 5 blocks, I take a look at the sign, and realize I'm not on Vanderbilt Ave., I'm on goddamn Lexington Ave. I have no idea why New York has this inexplicable hard-on for SEC locations, especially since no one around here loves college football, so don't ask. I then high-tail it back and find the correct address.

Before I go further, I should mention that the event was being held at the Yale Club. Yes, that means that a Dartmouth reunion was being held at the Yale Club, which is approximately 3267 different kinds of wrong (oh, and sorry to throw the snob-card down by mentioning my alma mater, but it's needed to make this story work). Not the least of which is that we end up looking like the lesser school, having to beg the almighty Yale for space. I thought we had our own club...and then I do the actual research now and find out that we do have our own club, and it's located in the Yale Club. Fucking perfect. So at this point in the story, I've arrived at the club with about 10 minutes left before the party is supposed to end. I inquire with the doorman as to where the party was taking place, when I heard a scoff. "Sir, you are required to wear long pants. It is the rule of the club".

Fuck you in the ear, doorman.


So in just a few seconds, Yale affirms every single stereotype ever asserted about them. You kind of have to admire that level of jackassery. And I'm sorry I was wearing shorts--I mean, it was only a Happy Hour, and it's still good weather outside. Then again, I seem to be the only not-wimp in the city since I can maintain shortsleeves and shorts in 60+ degree weather. Whatever. (For the record, they were quite nice khaki shorts, and I was wearing a freshly-laundered polo shirt, so I wasn't living up to the stereotype of the Dartmouth Hobo at all).

So what did I do? Well, I went back home at 9:30, drank enough Jack Daniel's to stun a horse, and then masturbated. I couldn't remember if I finished or passed out first, but it doesn't matter, because I end up a winner either way.



Oh yeah, the whole "playlist" motif. The soundtrack to the evening was...Spoon's Gimme Fiction. It doesn't get much more fitting than that.

Sigur Rós Live -- Their Eyes Were Watching God

At the beginning of the year, there were three favorite bands of mine that I was desperate to see live; by the end of this month, I should be able to strike all three from my must-watch list, and simultaneously making my co-authors eternally envious. You've already read the first of my journals, as I made the long-distance commute to the Land of Chowdah to witness the testament of My Morning Jacket. I now present to you the results of my trek uptown to see Iceland's greatest export, beyond some kind of fish.


I took the world-famous A-Train up past Harlem into Washington Heights, in the process exploring a part of Manhattan that I hadn't gotten to see yet. My report: um, there are hills and a lot of Dominicans in this area. Due to my lack of a ticket, I headed out early, arriving at the United Palace Theater an hour before the doors opened. (It's at this moment that I want to make a broad point of saying Fuck Ticketmaster and Fuck Capitalism, for selling out the tickets to people who wanted to charge 4 times face value on various ticket exchanges. It's a ridiculous bastardization of a simple principle: I want to see a group, I pay for the privilege of seeing that group. I don't want to pay 8 kinds of convenience charges, and then pay some asshole who swooped in and bought tickets to an event he has no connection to and just wants to make a quick buck). Despite this potential obstacle, I instantly found someone eager to get rid of his tickets, and I was prepared to haggle, but was surprised when he only wanted face value, mirroring my luck with Wolf Parade. No bullshit, and I got myself floor seats. Score.

The only drawback to my great fortune was that I had an hour to kill. I spent some time looking at the amazing theater, but mainly I spent a lot of time sending random texts to Joe Reefer and Von Bookman. It's a good thing I have the stereotypical-teenage-girl texting plan on my phone.


Now I've been a big fan of Sigur Rós for some time now, dating back to when Ágætis byrjun first came out, when I first became enraptured by their ethereally beautiful music, but I had been told that it did not compare to their live show. I had some familiarity with this, having watched the live DVD Heima a few times when I was in the need for some uplifting. If it wasn't for that disc, I would still be convinced that the band was composed of some formless aliens, because there was no way actual humans could produce such gorgeous noise. But sure enough, they are indeed people, and it was a trip to see the band somewhat costumed for the show.

The room echoed with the pinging of a sonar, which meant "Svefn-G-Englar" was going to be the opener. Once the bow first struck the guitar string, and it wound it's way through the various delay pedals and feedback and that first tone hit, the crowd erupted in applause. To give you a sense of the moment, it's the manifestation of the maxim "finding beauty in the dissonance"--it's a sound that's not a note, but it's still musical. The band really let the room help out their sound, letting the natural echo and space give their heaviily-reverbed guitars and tinkling keyboards space to breathe.


It was a lean Sigur Rós playing tonight, with just the four core members. While the addition of strings and horns often are essential ingredients to some of their work, it was an intriguing experiment to hear the group work as a quartet, and I felt their work suffered none for the effort. While that may have meant no "Starálfur" or "Olsen Olsen", the night would still be memorable. The band mainly focused on tunes from the new album and Takk..., but throwing in classics like "Viðrar Vel Til Loftárása (Good Weather for an Airstrike)" that soared to the heavens. I think this was a good decision, because the newer material has such a joyous feel to it that you can't help but feel uplifted when listening to the likes of "Glósóli" and "Hoppípolla". The second song there also provided a memorable moment, as the band launched into the coda "Með Blóðnasir", they had the audience sing the backing vocals that gave a hauntingly poetic edge to the song. The band would end the set with the crowd clapping along furiously to the deliriously fun "Gobbledigook", and the crowd ate it up.



Throughout the set we saw a band that was comfortable playing together, able to work their way through minor slipups and various technical problems. Too often the members' individual talents get ignored in favor of the group's overall sound, but if you listened closely you could pick out wonderfully melodic basslines and complex drum patterns that nonetheless provided perfect structure for the songs. The interplay between the guitars and keyboards were so elaborate that one could easily get lost in them, and of course there are the wonderfully angelic vocals that truly act as another instrument. All of this came to a head with the stunning closer "Popplagið", with the lights and smoke syncing up beautifully (as they had all night) as the band pushed and pushed toward the edge, and dare we say, rocking out, as the song reached an unimpeachable climax. Now that's the way to spend an evening.

Hump Day Helper -- There's No Fighting In The War Room 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.

Let's face it, this year has been kind of a mediocre year for music. I know we say that every year, but there's just been so many somewhat-solid-but-not-great releases that it's beginning to wear on me. Initially I felt that Tokyo Police Club's followup to their debut EP was one of these disappointing albums, but lately I've been popping it in to take a listen pretty often. While Elephant Shell still doesn't have the same energy and spirit as A Lesson In Crime, it's still a pleasant enough distraction from my day.

While "Your English Is Good" might get your blood pumping, this is the better video. I think the gimmick is brilliant, and it's good to see a band make some effort in a video these days. And for once we can thank MTV2 for showing this at least a couple of times on "Subterranean", or else I never would have been aware of its existence.

Dead lovers salivate
Broken hearts tessellate tonight...

The Real Reason I Want To Be A Lawyer: Part II

Is so I could judicially beat the crap out of people like this guy.



In my contracts class, we discussed the case of Leonard v. Pepsico. Some asshat saw the above ad and decided "I'm going to get myself a Harrier Jet". Of course, this would have been my same attitude when I saw this ad at age 10. But it took some 21 year-old douchebag to try and actually claim the prize seen in the ad.

He of course failed, for a variety of reasons (one, an ad is not an offer and two, it was so ridiculous that no reasonable person could construe it as an offer, for example), but let us not forget Leonard. He saw that there were 7 million Pepsi points needed, and deciding he didn't want to drink the necessary Pepsi products to gain the points, but that he would buy the points as Pepsi allowed, at 10 cents a point. We must also remember the 5 other investors that he got to tag along to get him to raise the $700k necessary to complete the transaction (once he had the minimum 15 Pepsi points, so he did have to endure the Unclean Cola to some extent). Those fuckheads need to be remembered as well.

The only thing I could think when reading the hilarious decision (complete with dissection of the nature of humor (no, seriously)) was 1) I really need to smack this kid and 2) I hope he gets tooth decay. And I think if I was a judge, I'd make this happen.

See, law school isn't totally lame.

MISSING! The Best Damn College Mascot

Deadspin announced yesterday that the beloved official unofficial mascot of my alma mater was kidnapped. Immediate suspicion was cast on a motley crew of three nerds and a large oaf, but that lead in the end turned up nothing. You may ask, why should I care? And I will answer, that you sir, are a callow ass--of course you should, we're talking about the greatest mascot in history, Keggy the Keg!

I initially was skeptical of the news, considering that a similar occurrence had happened years earlier. It didn't help that the page that the story linked to was from 2003. But sure enough, the college paper reported the terrible news, making sure that the disappearance of our faithful Keg was heard by all, before we can read about new data storage centers and a killing spree in Finland.

We here at WDR shall not rest until we hear word that Keggy is returned safe and sound--if there's a scratch on him, you're not getting your deposit back!

Weed, weed and Hennessy (Well, at least the Hennessy...)

Ed McMahon raps

You heard me right: Ed McMahon is now rapping. He's wearing gold chains. He's got hoes. He's back on top ... sort of.

The sad part of this is that Ed McMahon is doing this for FreeCreditReport.com. This, of course, stemmed from his recent financial woes. But I was hoping for full on videos with Ed and, I dunno, DMX? That would be quite the show, don't you think?

And this got me: "I knew I could sing the blues, but I didn't know I could rap." Where is this Ed McMahon blues album? I would like to hear this. I think the WHOLE WORLD would like to hear this.

If you're reading this, Ed, get in contact with me. There are a lot of unanswered questions.

Hump Day Helper -- Goofy Southern-Type Rock 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.

Kings of Leon are a band that I've kind of enjoyed, but never felt any great love for. That being said, I have all their albums, including the new one that came out yesterday, and will pop them in from time to time. In other words, they're not like Led Zeppelin, which I actively avoid when they come up on my iTunes.

You've heard this song before. You just may not have realized it's dirty. Or that it rocks more than you thought. Enjoy the bad hair and the rollicking good time even more so.

And when she gets into your head
You know she's there to stay...

As a followup to Mr. Zhuang's Post

I too am saddened to see the demise of Mr. Zhuang's auto-mobile. We hardly knew ye, random Grandma car.

However, unlike Mr. Zhuang, I have a picture of the deceased here so you can all witness its glory. If I knew how to post a picture in the comments, then I wouldn't have to artificially inflate our post count this way.



And it's good to see Zhuang driving a minivan. He knows the value of the soccer-mom acceleration. My vote for a name? I'm going with Betsy.

I will no longer be able times-travel

And other things of note

There comes a time in a man's life, and I guess that time for me is now, when he must say "goodbye" to an old friend. An old friend who, as Joe put it, could "go back in times."

Today, I said "goodbye" to Grandma.

Not my real grandma, mind you; this was the name of my car. I don't really have a good picture of this majestic vehicle, but I can definitely find something similar on Google images. Look here!



Anyway, the old girl is gone. We had to send her off to the big car pasture in the sky because the brakes stopped working properly (in addition to a series of lesser issues including: Windows that don't roll down, overheating/self destructive engine, general cosmetic decay, broken tape deck and broken air conditioning). I ended her reign appropriately with a trip to Muchas Gracias for fast Mexican food. So now I'm set for a now vehicle that will change my life forever. Behold!



OK, so I had to get Google Images to help me again. But this is my new car. It does smell like a million cigarettes and a "Vanillaroma" scented tree, but it's my new ride and EVERYTHING WORKS.* I'll be taking this new vehicle for a run tomorrow. Not sure what to name it (Suggestions?) but I'm sure that something will present itself. Oh, and "Whitey" will not be one of those names. Not at all.

In other news, the UO Ducks had an embarrassing play today against Boise State. Granted, they are now on their FIFTH QB of the season after four weeks playing, but still. Luckily this guy Thomas seems to know his shit enough to be reasonably competent. But this loss did end the chance for a perfect season and places the Ducks as #2 to USC in the PAC 10. (Why were we #1 in the PAC 10 over the #1 team in the nation? Well, it has to do with the technicality of having played more games this season. Sidenote over.)

Also, Nic isn't the only one to go to a great concert recently. While my isn't as epic as Nic's, nor is the band as well known, but it still kicked ass. You see, I saw Menomena play at the Eugene celebration. Yeah. And for some reason they were categorized as "punk." The show was short, but great. As the set started, the perfection of the percussion side of the band became apparent. In addition to the fact that these guys can really play any instrument they happen to pick up and alternate vocal duties throughout the concert, they actually managed to get some people dancing. Much of the set consisted of songs off the new album, which I am not as familiar with as I am with their first release. Still, the show was good and ended with the great "Evil Bee" and some nice saxophone action. Then it was off to the bars to celebrate with booze and random women. Yes, it was a good night in Eugene.

Is there anything else to add? Oh yeah - I've been working on this magazine for the last few weeks and have had virtually no social life outside of this immense project. But it's almost done and people will, once again, see me roaming the streets drunk.



Oh, and Joe needs to post something up here soon. We miss ya, buddy!

Hump Day Helper -- Live from above World Famous Ray's

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.

I had embed-issues with the video I originally was going to put up for the feature (from one of the many cool bands that have albums coming out next week, making 9/23 a sort of Indie Rock Christmas), but I had to scrap that. So we have the song that's been getting me pumped just about every morning before I head off to class, and for about 10 minutes afterward I'm not thinking about sleep.

I think "Me and Mia" gets catchier every time I hear it, so I welcome you to do the same. As an added bonus, here's Ted doing one of his kickass covers.

Do you believe in something beautiful?
Then get up and be it!...

Remembering David Foster Wallace: A Poor Yorick Production

I heard the news late Saturday night, and I could not believe it. David Foster Wallace, dead, by his own hand at the age of 46. A giant in his field, a man with infinite talent, and a tragic loss.

You may be wondering who this David Foster Wallace character is, and why he feels the need to include his middle name. I can't help out on the second question, but the answer to the first is that he was probably the pre-eminent writer of this generation, and it's a damn shame more people didn't realize that. The man was so good that Joe and Zhuangy were both familiar with his style and wit from the random anecdotes that I'd mention from his writing. In fact, when I passed along the news to Joe, he became exasperated and said goddammit, why is everybody good dying this year. And I had no answer for him, though God did--Rick Wright of Pink Floyd would die two days later.


Why do I care so much about the death of this writer? I mean, I had only read one book of his, and bits and pieces of his various essays. But when that book is Infinite Jest, it shouldn't really count as one book--it's drama, comedy, tragedy, drug trip, catharsis, and spiritual awakening that is all crammed together in a post-modern near-future dystopian mess that perfectly captures the spirit of this past decade, all in a tidy 1079 pages. It's incisive and cutting, and introspective and touching, anything and everything. At this point, I'm pretty sure the meaning of life is hidden within those pages. It is the kind of book that doesn't give you any idea as to the context of the story or why anything would take place in the Year of the Depend Adult Undergarment until you're 350 pages into it, and that's just fine.

Actually, when I said I only read one book, it was a half-truth. I was about a hundred pages away from the finish when I heard the news. The only appropriate response I could think to make was to dive in and close it out. So I stayed up late last night, hours later than a guy who needs to catch up on sleep before law classes hit him in the ass for the rest of the week should, and completed the work. And upon completion, I realized I wasn't done, and I was slightly angry. I then went back and started the book again, as I realized that the book really did live up to its title, and upon reaching the scene where Hal and Don G. recreate the digging up of Yorick did I achieve a small sense of resolution.

I then spent the rest of today pondering the various lessons of DFW. With the benefit of hindsight, one can see how large a role suicide and depression played in a generally comic novel and how awful the foreshadowing proved to be. I remembered the passages that dealt with the intense psychic pain of depression, and realized that this wasn't the word of a clinician, this was the confession of a survivor. I tried to piece together the themes of alienation, of politics, of entertainment to the world at large. I remembered the dissection that DFW made of the inherent potential psychological ramifications of the introduction of videophones, and how over ten pages he savagely painted a picture of our vanities and worst qualities, but in an absolutely hilarious light. And that was the true essence of DFW.

It's hard to capture the craftsmanship on display in his work. I believe it's more subtle than not. I found myself going on for pages and then pausing to regroup and realize good god, that was a brilliant passage. It was a genius that didn't often shove itself in your face, but revealed itself over time. And it's a damn shame he isn't around to share it any more--and why the fact that it took CNN until late today to put up a story about him all the more infuriating.

If you're not ready to tackle Infinite Jest, there are plenty of examples of DFW's essays all over the net, and I'll be posting links to them soon. I just hope that as a result of this unfortunate event that at least he'll gain some new fans.

"I'm pretty sure I can now die happy." -- An Evening With My Morning Jacket

It's funny how things turn out sometimes. When I was preparing for law school, I knew I'd miss out on certain things due to time commitments and so on. On the other hand, I wasn't going to miss out on seeing My Morning Jacket live once again. If you don't understand the grave nature of this matter, I recommend you click the My Morning Jacket tag on this post, or let this link here do all that work for you.

I originally cursed the scheduling mastermind behind MMJ's recent tour, who once again put the Oregon date during a time that I would be in school. At least this time they had the courtesy to schedule a show in the middle of the semester, instead of the day after I fly back east. Makes the pain a little easier to swallow. So, knowing that I was going to miss out on that date, I put thoughts of seeing MMJ live on the backburner. Well that was the case until I got a case of "No beer and no TV make Nic Ouzo go something something" during my first week in school, and that prompted me to consult the schedule once again. Damn, no New York dates, except one for New Year's Eve. But...I see a date in Boston. That should be manageable, I've done that trip before. And it's on a Saturday? Fuck, the second I realized this I was on the Ticketmaster website purchasing a ticket at 3 in the morning, details of my travel to be determined at a later date. Hell, I was only semi-coherently angry in seeing my 31 dollar ticket run me over 50 dollars in service fees--I was set to see My Morning Jacket!



A five hour bus ride (thanks NYC weekend getaway traffic!), one night without air-conditioning, and two subway rides later, I hit the Bank of America Pavilion and prepared myself for the evening. MMJ fans had swarmed the Silver Line earlier, packing the bus to the gills (which I guess is what you can call that expandable-rubber joint that extra-long buses have), and the excitement was palpable. We all knew the reputation and all probably watched Okonokos dozens of times, so we realized we were in for something special. The setting looked like it would help--an outdoor amphitheater with the benefit of a giant tent to keep out the elements, a kind of modern circus that befits a band that writes a tune like "Into the Woods".

I was wondering who the opening band was going to be, but with the instruments set up with the trademark Bear in place, I quickly realized that we were not going to mess with a middleman opening act, which was great news--we need all the My Morning Jacket we can get. It also made me glad that I decided to get to the show early, and not gamble on missing the opening act. We didn't have to wait long as the band climbed up on stage and then launched into "Mahgeetah". It's not often that bands have a song that works equally as well as a closer (as it was on Okonokos) as it does an opener (like on It Still Moves), and it didn't take long for the audience to begin to feel the magic as the song evolved and wrapped its warmness around us. How can you not love a song about a man's devotion to his six string (say the song title slowly)...?


The band then kicked into gear with the raucous "Anytime", the happiest goddamn song you'll ever hear about a breakup, with a good helping of the crowd singing along, especially to the part "But what Madonna said really helped--she said, 'Boy, you better learn to express yourself!'", hilariously enough. You follow that up with the slinky "Off the Record" featuring a ripping solo courtesy of Jim James, and you're well on your way to a fantastic show.

After that, we began to hear the new material, beginning with "Evil Urges", and give the audience an idea of how this strange album would play out live. I have mixed emotions about the album, which will probably be hashed out in more detail at a later date, but hearing them live both calmed me and made me realize my worst fears. You get the feeling of fun that is definitely present, but, like a lot of MMJ's work, they straddle the line of good and cheesy a little too much on a lot of the new material. You get the feeling with a song like "I'm Amazed" that the Brosephs identify with it a little too much, and sure enough, you look in the crowd and see your fair share of Broseph (Boston variety, to top it off) looking like idiots dancing along to it. But you know what, I was going to wrestle with that dilemma another night. I had too much great music to listen to.


New material dominated the night, with nearly the entirety of Evil Urges being showcased (though Joe will be disappointed that unlike most shows on this tour, "Librarian" did not make an appearance (and on a sidenote, how come in all the talk about Skinemax-librarian-type Sarah Palin did I not see one comment quoting that song? I'm disappointed in you, internet commentators for that egregious oversight)). Z rightfully got its due, but most of the earlier stuff was ignored. I had gotten a little obsessed with "Lowdown" lately, and sadly it hadn't come up much on this tour--neither had "At Dawn", "Xmas Curtain", "I Think I'm Going To Hell", "Bermuda Highway", or "The Bear". Then again, what I thought at the time were a couple of covers turned out to be songs from the first two albums. With the small applause reserved for those songs (and for "The Way That He Sings", which is inexcusable), you can see how a band that got its big break about 4 albums in wouldn't necessarily feel like delving into the back catalog.

The band was in top form that night, and it felt like they were really feeling the energy of the crowd. Of course, MMJ is a true group of professionals, and who knows if it was merely a routine effort from extraordinary musicians, but they seemed especially keyed in that night, remarking how riled up we were even with the shitty weather rolling in (Hurricane Hanna's outer edges were hitting New England, and leaving the show we felt the brunt of that). Jim was flying across the stage doing his solos, Carl played some blistering leads, and Two-Tone Tommy was holding down the fort at the low-end. It was tough to see Bo, but the underrated member of the quintet had his moments to shine, and the crowd recognized it, while Patrick was his usual goofy self, with his theatrics during "Run Thru" greatly appreciated by the audience. Jim's passion was running especially high that night, and to see him doing his theatrical act with his cloak, or shaking himself to the floor as he sang those unearthly high notes in "Wordless Chorus" was truly a spectacle.

Unquestionably though, there was one true highlight, and both Joe and Mr. Zhuang know what I'm talking about. I've been able to make dozens of people converts (at a 100% success rate) to the religion that is My Morning Jacket by playing just a few of their songs--I start off with "Off the Record", and they think that's pretty cool, then show "One Big Holiday", and they start to feel it, then it's "Dondante", where they get some chills. But there is one song that tops them all, and that's "Lay Low". It's six minutes that make you believe in the full weight of Vonnegut's quote that "The only proof he ever needed of the existence of God was the existence of music", and as my colleagues will affirm, that is no hyperbole. Sure, the first three minutes of it is pretty groovy riff-rock, and you know it might just play well with the ladies--lay low, if the feel is right, I got all that I want in you tonight, and we'll pass out on the bedroom floor after going full-tilt so long--but once the outro kicks in, all bets are off. You have guitars cycling in and out playing various melodies, lining up with the full band after a few bars in moments that are absolutely transcendent.



And that's how we get the title quote--once "Lay Low" was played, I sent a text message cross country to Joe and Zhuangy saying exactly that. All Joe could say was "Shit", with Mr. Zhuang responding with "I think you are right. Lucky Bastard." Of course, for My Morning Jacket, it's no big thing. Lay Low never ends the show, they just roll right into the next song. That's just how they roll.

Hump Day Helper -- Arthropoda 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.

There really shouldn't be a specific reason that I post an awesome song like this. And there really isn't. My iTunes put on White Pony in its infinite ShuffleWisdom, and I was reminded once again how brilliant an album that really was. It's what metal should have been post-'95, but unfortunately it wasn't. And "Change" was the magnum opus of that album, topping even other great highlights ("Digital Bath", "Passenger").

Too bad that the video is a shortened version of the song--I don't think you get the fantastic drumfill that Abe throws in near the end that shows his ridiculous skills, for example. But you do get a nicely shot video with plenty of lasting images that strike the right chord between familiarity and unease.

I've watched you change
it's like you never had...

It's the End of the World As We Know It...Possibly.

But I'd still want some time alone

Patton Oswalt had it right: Scientists are all about "coulda", not "shoulda". And we're going to put that to the ultimate test today as some egghead physicists perform their voodoo black magic and try to recreate the big bang (well, the first few milliseconds or whatever afterwards--I know Joe (if he's still alive) would split hairs over this). While this could be a boon to exploratory physics (how cute, they think they're like Columbus!), there is a potential downside:

The collapse of the universe.


Of course the scientists are trying to downplay the potential risk of all of existence being blinked out. They say things like, hey, if there's a black hole, it's going to be so small, you won't even notice! But like that ugly mole on that dude on the subway's neck, we will notice...when we're all dead. All I know is that you don't fuck with a black hole...and if you do, Sam Neill will try to kill you. But if you're reading this, you're probably safe from Sam Neill. For now.

Then again, if we don't die in a fiery blaze of glory tomorrow, at least we can count on the US being safe in Iraq. People like John McCain would like you to believe it's because of the "surge" (even if he doesn't understand what exactly this means), or if you have a brain, you mention a variety of factors, including Sadr instituting a cease-fire on his militia and the US bringing the Sunni militia onto its payroll. But Bob Woodward has news that you can use--we have a secret weapon in Iraq that's helped us turn one of those corners in the conflict. It's so secret that it's mentioned in the same breath as the Manhattan Project.

So of course we want to guess what the hell is the secret.



My guess is that we're using Iron Man in Iraq. I mean, I saw the movie--he's totally pissed at being kidnapped by random extremists. Plus, Batman's been kind of busy.

Apparently black people and women are stupid

More political crap

So the conventions are almost over and it's almost time for the debates. It's almost finalized (minus some formalities) that John McCain and Barack Obama will duke it out for the presidency with the help of Sarah Palin and Joe Biden, respectively.

But the questions coming from the news coverage is something like this: "Are women ready to support Palin?" and "Obama gives black republicans heartburn."

I think the real issue is that these blanket assumptions are being made. There seems to be this idea that democrat women will throw all of their values out the window to support Sarah Palin because Sarah Palin has a vagina. Furthermore, it makes the assumption that black republicans will throw their values out the window and vote for Barack Obama because he's black. And I guess that black women are just REALLY confused...

Do we seriously think that people are that stupid? I mean, yes, some people ARE that stupid, but I would like to think that a majority of Americans are not that stupid and/or shallow. I would like to think that people take REAL ISSUES into account when they decide who to vote for. I'd like to think that maybe, just maybe, people will make the right decisions based on what really matters to them, not just gender and race.

Then again, maybe I'm wrong...

Either way, the end of this election will be something new: We'll either have our first black president or our first woman vice president.

Hump Day Helper -- In Retrograde 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.

So last week Bloc Party decided to do the whole "drop an album as soon as we finish it" gambit that has proven popular for many artists (see: Radiohead, Nine Inch Nails for great success, Raconteurs, Beck for perhaps not as great success). Sure, it gets them some attention for the maneuver, but without the run-up in promotion, will it kill the eventual sales tally? I'll guess yes, considering that Bloc Party doesn't have the same built-in fanbase that Radiohead or NIN have. Then again, Bloc Party might need all the good news they can get; plus first releasing the album on iTunes, followed by a physical release (with extra tracks!) a month later might have the same effect of promotion. We'll see if it pays off.

People were pretty split on A Weekend In The City, mainly in that it wasn't Silent Alarm Part II. I enjoyed it however, maybe because I realized it was a concept album--the anticipation yet realization of futility of partying in the beginning of the weekend, followed by throwing yourself into the scene, and capped by the eventual regret. If you didn't get that, the fact that a track called "Sunday" is the penultimate track should have given you a clue. While other people may not have enjoyed it, I'll take my heart-pumping "Song for Clay" AND my redemptive "SRXT" any day of the week.

As for the new material...well, it's different. "Mercury" is not really an indication of the entirety of the new album, though once heard with the rest of it, you can make sense of it. But it's a fast-paced electrodance kind of thing, so it definitely fits the bill of the HDH. Plus, the video is goofy. Always a plus.

This is not the time, the time to start a new love
This is not the time, the time to sign a lease
Try not to worry about what's forgotten
Try not to worry about what's been missed...

One man...In a race against time...Lost

Good night sweet prince...

If you're like me, you've been spending most of your day watching the Republican National Convention and waiting for someone to fuck up. (This happened pretty early, actually.) You might also be paying attention to the happenings further south with the hurricanes. Or maybe you've been sitting around looking for banana bread porn. I won't judge you for that.*

But in this massive clusterfuck of news, you might have missed something very important. The great movie preview voice guy has died. He will be missed.

But now the question remains: Who will fill the void? Who has the ability to use a voice like that for our previews? We can't just have words pop up on the screen for us to read. Sure, that works sometimes. But other times we need someone to say those ridiculous lines about "A future where the universe is terrified by Space Vikings..." and other such things. Who could possibly do this?

Only time will tell. I'm pretty sure the eight-headed beast that is the bulk of our entertainment industry, will probably take this and turn it into a reality TV show. I mean, why wouldn't they?

Look for it this fall.



"In a world where TV sucks balls, one man will change the world..."

* Not actually true. Pervert.

WDR Cares: A Labor Day Reminder

We hope you have all been enjoying your Labor Day Weekend, filled with barbecues of roast beast and various other sacrifices to Pan, the Goat God. We just wanted to remind you that whatever activities in which you choose to partake should be done sans-pants, because as we informed you last year, Labor Day is "No Pants Day". And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger if I hear a damn word about you doing anything today while in your pants.

I would also like to point out that if you follow the link, it shows you the problem of what happens when you don't save the picture yourself and instead rely on the kindness of strangers to maintain bandwith. Who knows what the joke was that Joe Reefer was trying to bestow upon us? Where was his demented genius leading us? Instead, we're just left bewildered with talks of the assholiness of Chester A. Arthur.



This post instead shows what happens when you just type random subjects into Google Image Search. You get a page full of sparkly Labor Day .gif's, including this one that might help in the no-pants activities. Perhaps.

Gustav is once again screwing up everything

Damn it, Gustav!

I'm probably not the one who should be writing this blog entry as one that has never been to Louisiana or lived there. But I feel it's about the time to bring this up.

As WDR has reported before, Gustav is, in fact, an enemy of the blog. But that Gustav is a radio personality in Portland who puts on his random 80s techno bullshit when we just want to hear some rock. Damn you, Gustav!

But now, Gustav is a hurricane that looks to fuck up Louisiana again. Totally not fair, Gustav. Leave Louisiana alone. For fuck sake.

Also, this is having an effect on the Republican's convention, as they don't want to have a party when a huge natural disaster threatens the lives of millions. Not that I really gave a shit about the convention for the republicans anyway - but it seems like they're at least making a decent decision. And, the mention of the republicans and disaster gives me a chance to post this picture (from three years ago) that has been making me laugh much of the day.



Despite this, neither Gustav deserves any sympathy. Sure, one is a destructive hurricane and the other plays annoying techno shit when I'm listening to the radio, but they are still both evil!

(But in all seriousness, and I'm speaking for the whole WDR crew, I hope that this hurricane will not be as bad as the last one and that it will be handled better.)