Fiesta Friday! Leap Day Edition

Because Fridays were made for parties!

Yes, it's that time again. And what better way to get ready for the weekend than listen to some fun music?

I thought so.

This band is one that WDR has been a fan of since before we even knew what their name was. Nic and I were at a Modest Mouse show at the Crystal Ballroom, and we were amazed at what we saw: A three-piece band with one guy on bass, one guy on drums, and another guy on keyboards, vocals AND baritone saxophone. We only caught the end of their set, but we were amazed. We wanted them to come back and play more, but instead some really mediocre band played what sounded like the same song about eight times. Then Modest Mouse came on and were awesome (and piss drunk), but I probably didn't need to tell you that part.

Some time later, we discovered the band was called Menomena (not to be confused with this "menomena"). Once we heard some of their album work, we were not disappointed. These guys get the job done and get it done right.

There are a few videos by these guys that are a lot of fun. I'm going to post the goofiest one for you to watch (above), but I'll link up another awesome one here. What better way to celebrate the year's extra day than screwing around on YouTube?

Joe Reefer's Review and Opinions on Irrelevant Products - Rockstar "Roasted" Mocha

Upon the soft hiss and crack of the can as the Rockstar "Roasted" Mocha is opened, I find myself in a world of confusion, fear, and desire. Rockstar never tasted good, and then the franchise took it upon itself to ruin the taste of juice, and "punch" (ie cornsyrup) just for the thrill of the hunt. This time, they have set their sights on coffee. An unlikely target, as coffee tastes terrible already. However, the aroma is not unenticing, and the color does appear to be that of coffee, so this intrepid soul will take that taste.

The smooth, milky fluid splashes over my tongue, a sweet near-chocolate flavor dances between my lips, and a smooth subdued flavor of coffee with just a subtle zest of disgusting fills my mouth. Though the typical Rockstar aftertaste of shame, sweat, and crushed dreams of a thousand factory workers does grow steadly, it can be quickly quenched with another sip of this intriguing brew.

Rockstar's impressively thin Mocha drink passes the test. Now I need to brush my teeth.

Initial Taste: A-
Aftertaste: C
Ease of Consumption: A
Overall Grade: B

Hump Day Helper -- Apropos February Edition

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

You didn't think I'd make it through the month without something fitting, like this week's choice, did you?

This week's video is from a band that I count as one of my favorites; unfortunately, Death From Above 1979 only made one official album, but what a hell of an album it was. You're A Woman, I'm A Machine is not only a brilliant title, but one of the most inventive and most fun records that has come out this decade. So I hope you enjoy this track, which while doesn't show the balls-out energy that's in a lot of their work, gives some clue to the uniqueness of their sound in their tale of white flight.

Oh yeah, your quizzes on Black History should have arrived in your mailbox last week; Von Bookman will be expecting your answers by Friday.

Hold on, hold on children
Your best friend's parents are leaving...

Stuff That You Should Be Aware Of: Taste Test Edition

If you know any of the men behind WDR, you would be quite familiar with our various attempts at food experimentation, in all its various forms. In fact, we co-authored a study on the various permutations of "Skittlebräu", where we discovered that Sprite Remix provided the most consistent results, and that if you dropped the Skittles in certain SoBe flavors, you would create the hardest substance this side of a diamond. Not only do we seek interesting combinations, but we are always looking out for the bizarre. If we see something strange, we pick it up--that's how we know of the awesomeness of Ol' Glory Energy Drink (a key ingredient of the "Flag Burner"), or all the 27 varieties of Kit-Kat bars that they've come up with in the past 18 months.

While we pride ourselves in our abilities, we have to tip our hat when others do a better job. The A.V. Club has an excellent running series of "Taste Tests" that provide hilarious reactions to various oddball items that hit the storeshelves. But this week's entry takes the cake: Cheeseburger In A Can. I shit you not. And the consensus was what you'd expect--absolutely delicious.

While you should read the whole entry yourself, I'd also like to point to a link that somebody posted to in the comments: Steve, Don't Eat It! Steve has apparently tried the most terrifying food products imaginable, the kind of things that you gloss over without a second look, or just feed to your dog. Plus, you learn things, like how to make your very own Prison Wine! See, WDR is also about the children--we educate!

WDR Goes Out To The Movies!

Unfortunately, without the help of Frank DeCaro...


As we mentioned previously, yesterday was the Oscars. There has been volumes and volumes written about Oscar's imperfections in determining quality cinema (I mean, look at this list of directors without Oscars: Kubrick, Kurosawa, Lumet, Altman, Hitchcock, Bergman...and that's just off the top of my head), so we're not going to rehash old mistakes, like fucking Titanic and it's half-assed love story with sorry-looking effects over the greatest crime thriller since Chinatown in L.A. Confidential. I'm sure the other members of WDR have their own past grievances to file, and they can make their voices heard in the comments section.

As for the ceremony, kudos to John Stewart for a ripping monologue and keeping the show humming along, despite the presence of numerous momentum-killing montages. Of course, that wasn't his fault, and neither was the feeling that they seriously rushed the last 15 minutes of the show. In this post, though, we just wanted to mention a few of the oversights of not only this year's committee, but also some mentions that have been absent in critical discussion as well.

Best Animated Film You're talking to a guy here who absolutely loves penguins. Enough with the goddamn penguins already! Seriously, the fact that a movie as well received as The Simpsons Movie losing out on a nomination to a surfing penguins picture, well, it angers up the blood. ANGER...RISING...

Best Visual Effects I think any movie in which you can see the goddamn frame rates refreshing should automatically disqualify a film from this category--and the fact that Transformers could be charitably described as a cinematic war crime doesn't help its case either. Instead, I think that this category should go with the films that do "more with less". A perfect example of this was The Fountain last year, which managed to show some of the most beautiful images ever captured on film, without the aid of computers at all. This year, I think the honor should have gone to Sunshine, an otherwise better-than-average sci-fi/philosophy flick that greatly benefited from spectacular visuals that will stay with you for weeks afterwards.

Best Cinematography I believe Oscar chose wisely here, but I have to say I was disappointed with the lack of a nomination for The Darjeeling Limited. The scenic vistas were utilized so well that the Indian countryside was almost another character in the film, to borrow a cliché. When one of the characters remarks that he'll never forget the smell of the country, you can totally identify with that sentiment.



Best Song AND Best Score First of all, three songs from one movie? The Academy must really have it in for Eddie Vedder, who after all did win the Golden Globe for "Guaranteed", though you probably could have picked any track from his soundtrack to Into The Wild. It was one thing to overlook the sublime "Man of the Hour" from Big Fish, but this just smacks of assholism. And of course, you have to give it to the Academy for disqualifying at the last minute the one score that everyone was talking about, the one Jonny Greenwood did for There Will Be Blood. The best part of the disqualification reasoning was that Greenwood had already used some of the music before, a piece THAT HE WROTE and was performed once. But here we'll give credit to a score that kept things interesting and kept the viewer on guard throughout a magnificent film.

The Overlooked in General Zodiac was totally shut out, but David Fincher proves that you'll have to watch everything he does. The performances were stellar, and for a thriller in which we (should) know the ending, he kept it remarkably dramatic. Another film that was only given token appreciation was Eastern Promises. If you want to talk about tight filmmaking, you'll need to show this film in that intro class.

And finally...


We all love the Coens around here. In fact, we probably could do a feature in which we rated the 10 best Coen Brother pictures, and we'd piss each other off with our votes for 8-10--they're that great. But the best picture of last year was the absolutely epic and stunning There Will Be Blood. Whereas No Country For Old Men had its charms, such as its tight plotting, great suspense, and wonderful little funny moments, its theme of chance being the ultimate arbiter of everything falls flat. In contrast, in TWBB we see the epic rise of man, but at the ultimate cost of his soul. Plainview's drive to compete was his sole obsession in life, and a a result, he loses his humanity in the process. Trust me, fifteen years from now, that's going to be the film everyone remembers.

Besides, I liked No Country For Old Men better when it was called Fargo. At least that movie was willing to laugh at the absurdity of life.

Cine-rama Playlist!

Today is of course the Oscars, and most everyone's eyes are turned towards, if you want to be crass, The Gay Super Bowl. While your woman or life partner chats on and on with their insufferable friends about dress choices and how I Can't Believe George Clooney Is With That Whorelady I Know Why Doesn't He Settle Down, you might as well switch on the iPod and hook yourself up to this special Movie Edition playlist. Then sit back, enjoy the tunes, and mourn the Academy's dreadful oversight of "Who's Your Caddy"".

Radiohead - "Exit Music (For A Film)"
the Cinematics - "Asleep At the Wheel"
Aphex Twin - "Film"
The Olivia Tremor Control - "Jumping Fences" (off of The Unrealized Film Script, Dusk at Cubist Castle)
New Pornographers - "Sing Me Spanish Techno" (off of Twin Cinema)
Pearl Jam - "State of Love and Trust" (from the soundtrack to Singles, the greatest soundtrack of the '90s)
Cracker - "Movie Star"
Alien Ant Farm - "Movies"
The Apex Theory - "Add Mission" (with the lyric "Cameras capture numerous nights of romance--Behold the movie of the year!)
Built to Spill - "Car" (featuring the lyric "I want to see movies of my dreams")
Spoon - "The Book is a Movie", followed by "The Book I Write" from the Stranger than Fiction soundtrack
Eddie Vedder - "Guaranteed" (what SHOULD HAVE BEEN the winner of "Best Song" this year)
Beck - "Movie Theme"
Radiohead - "Motion Picture Soundtrack"

My encounter with a hockey great

AKA: Why do people want to fight me?

So I was at a place called the Jackalope Lounge tonight, and things were going well. The beer was flowing like wine, the music was good and everyone was having a good time. It came time for me to buy a round of drinks, and as I approached the bar there was some sort of commotion. There was a man getting very angry about something related to his bill, and his being drunk didn't help matters. It was during this argument that I observed something very interesting. This man look a heck of a lot like Wayne Gretzky circa 1992. He was also wearing a shark tooth necklace, which I can only assume was there to make him look stupid. I was in the midst of a legend. A stupid, drunken legend.

And after several moments of unpleasant noise, Gretzky yells at the bartender, "Well, I'm never coming to this place AGAIN!"

At first I was pleased to be able to order my next round of drinks, but then things changed. Without regard for anyone else, Wayne Gretzky ran into me, and the following exchange occured:

Me: What the fuck dude?
Gretzky: What's your problem?
Me: You ran into me!
Gretsky's girlfriend: But we just got ripped off (by the bar)!
Me: Well, guess what: I didn't rip you off. You should watch where you're going.
Gretzky: What the fuck is your problem?!
Me: You shouldn't run into people without at least some sort of half hearted apology.
Gretzky's girlfriend: You just poked a bear. You don't want to mess with HIM.
Me: Wouldn't be the first time.
Gretzky: You wanna start something?
Me: No, I just rather you didn't run into me. Just settle down, dude.
Gretzky: The fucking bar ripped me off!
Me: Well, I've been ripped off before too. It fucking sucks, but I don't go taking it out on other people. Just calm the fuck down.
Gretzky's girlfriend: You're poking a BEAR!
Me: You know what, if you want to fight over something like this, go ahead. I don't want to fight. Just settle down. You don't need to be a dick to other people like that. I don't mean to be a dick to you, but you shouldn't take out your frustrations on bystanders.

And it was after that that drunken asshole Wayne Gretzky circa 1992 apologized. I shook his hand, told him to stop being a dick, and bought some booze. Then we shook hands and parted ways.

He and his friends said a few other things, but they're not really worth mentioning because it was all regular drunk talk. I'm not really sure what the "bear" reference meant, especially considering that the guy wouldn't fight ME. He couldn't be that tough. I mean, come on: I don't exactly look like Ronnie Coleman. I guess I can only assume that this was some reference to this guy's place in the gay community. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Joe Reefer Watches 8 Minutes of "Air Bud: Golden Receiver"

Though it will be my name that appears as the author of this post, all credit for this goes to our demented genius Joe Reefer. Believe me, we've been trying to get him to write more often, but we simply don't have enough women to bribe Joe (which is totally due to the fact that we couldn't pick up anyone to save our lives (and I guess frankly, we're kind of scared of them (the horror, the shame!))).

This is a reprint of a conversation that I had with Joe over AIM this past Sunday. Yes, we use such olden technology as the Instant Messenger, and not just communicate in Series of Texts. It's being reprinted without permission (not even implied oral consent, much less expressed written consent), and is edited for length and clarity*, and some random annotated "director's commentary" from me.

*we didn't need a discussion of the Thomas The Tank Engine version of "There Will Be Blood", really

Joe Reefer: I am actually watching an airbud movie
Joe Reefer: the director's choices are... immaculate
Nic Ouzo: i'm telling you, it's a brilliant series on par with The Godfather and Star Wars
Joe Reefer: you missed the amazing "OH NO MY DOG IS ON THE COURT *camera spins on its axis and image distorts in a zig-zag*" shot
Nic Ouzo: so they did that thing where they attach the camera to your waist, so you get that weird drunken feeling, but to a dog?
Nic Ouzo: because that would be awesome
Joe Reefer: haha, no it was a close-up of the kid's face in shock... and then his head spun so it was upside-down for a minute
Nic Ouzo: hehehe
Joe Reefer: then the image distorted like a bad dream-sequence edit, except it never faded to anything new
Nic Ouzo: i can see scorsese using that in his next picture
Joe Reefer: I hope he does


Joe Reefer: all it was missing was the Home Alone hands-on-cheeks moment
Nic Ouzo: we need to mail him a copy of Airbud with a note saying precisely this!*
Joe Reefer: actually, I think this is the one about football
Joe Reefer: I was just confused at the beginning because it had a whole sequence of people finding out he could play basketball, and I had assume that this had been dealt with in the original AirBud, but....
Nic Ouzo: haha
Nic Ouzo: it's like a "in case you were wondering, here are the origins of our hero"
Joe Reefer: except it wasn't a flashback... as far as I could tell
Nic Ouzo: well then they were just picking up where they left off, i guess
Joe Reefer: I don't know, I was very confused


Nic Ouzo: well, that's the thing about Airbud movies
Nic Ouzo: true mindbenders
Joe Reefer: it's pretty heady stuff
Joe Reefer: you also missed the great subplot where the kid decides to play football to protest his mom dating some guy he doesn't like
Nic Ouzo: that's how I ended up in theater camp
Joe Reefer: hehehe
Nic Ouzo: *not a true story†
Joe Reefer: why must you turn my im window into a house of lies
Nic Ouzo: because that's how i roll
Nic Ouzo: Boom, bitch.




***********************

One Hour Later…

Joe Reefer: OH NO
Joe Reefer: AIRBUD GOT SACKED
Joe Reefer: AIRBUD IS DOWN
Joe Reefer: CAN THE TEAM GO ON WITHOUT A DOG AS ITS QUARTERBACK???
Nic Ouzo: no


Joe Reefer: yeah they lose the series
Nic Ouzo: i think they're totally fucked
Joe Reefer: they are
Joe Reefer: there is no way that the main kid-character will somehow win the game at the last second
Joe Reefer: OH SHIT
Joe Reefer: they're going with a B-52 crossing pattern
Joe Reefer: THEY ARE IN THEIR OWN PRIVATE IDAHO, MOTHERFUCKERS
Nic Ouzo: HA
Nic Ouzo: they went totally gay on this?‡


Joe Reefer: if you have never seen a dog in a football jersey barking in support of his football team, then AirBud: Golden Receiver is the movie for you


Nic Ouzo: hahahahaha
Joe Reefer: YYYEEEEESSSSSS
Joe Reefer: GGGGGOOOOOOOOAAAAALLLLLL
Nic Ouzo: i expect a full write-up of this on the blog
Joe Reefer: HE THREW THE BALL
Joe Reefer: HE THREW THE BALL
Joe Reefer: THE ANGELS WIN THE PENDENT
Joe Reefer: SOMEONE CAUGHT THE BALL
Joe Reefer: WOOHOOOO
Nic Ouzo: (pennant, not pendent"
Nic Ouzo: hehe
Joe Reefer: oh whatever
Nic Ouzo: hehehe
Nic Ouzo: i just tried to sneak it in
Joe Reefer: I don't think I can ever write about this movie again, it was so far beyond retarded....
Nic Ouzo: noooooo!
Nic Ouzo: seriously, that quote about "this is the movie for you" was brilliant
Joe Reefer: also I think I watched a sum-total of maybe 8 minutes of this movie
Nic Ouzo: like that matters
Joe Reefer: alright, I'll put it in the "Maybe" pile
Nic Ouzo: the YES pile
Joe Reefer: by which I mean that if ... whatever station this is... re-runs it again today I will do it
Nic Ouzo: hehehe


Joe Reefer: wait, I thought he joined the football team so his mom wouldn't date this guy
Joe Reefer: ... for some reason...
Joe Reefer: but now he is hugging the guy♠
Nic Ouzo: well, he learned about family and all that bullshit
Nic Ouzo: that revenge isn't always the best motivation
Joe Reefer: I see this as being the biggest plot-hole of the film
Nic Ouzo: hehe
Nic Ouzo: "Joe Reefer Watches 8 minutes of Air Bud: Golden Receiver"
Joe Reefer: hehehe
Joe Reefer: okay, the best part of this movie is officially this - Immediately after the movie, whatever sitcom it is that came on after started off with an exchange about Santa not being real
Joe Reefer: I'm willing to bet that some childrens' lives were just ruined right here♪

*This was very similar to our original plan to remake Audioslave: send them old Soundgarden and Rage Against the Machine records, with a note saying "Hey, you should check these guys out!"

†It was actually ice dancing camp

‡From what I remember of a plot summary of the movie, I think it had something to do with gay hookers. Sorry Mr. Port Land, Gus Van Sant, I haven't seen your movie.

♠I like how Joe, who pretty much hates sports, knew all the sports movie clichés, but not the generic "family coming together" cliché

♪I've run out of things to use for footnotes

Notes on Travel #4: Bumblefuck, Northwest

This week I took a trip out into the middle of Eastern Washington to visit The Sister in her collegiate setting. Like me, she chose to go to school right plum fucking in the middle of nowhere, except she made the unfortunate decision to go to one in the middle of the desert. So in addition to schoolwork and social pressures, she has to face the possibilities of attacks from coyotes, rattlesnakes, and mountain lions. All I had to deal with was the remote possibility of a wandering J.D. Salinger.

And now, the random observations from the trip.

1. Your personalized vanity plate may reveal more than you would like I don't make a habit of paying attention to license plates, but somehow I noticed the vehicle with the "2IN LUV" plates. My initial reaction was "Hey man, if you're comfortable with revealing the length of your love like that, all the more power to you." Then I realized that this was probably not the intention.

2. I want an electric harmonica I don't know how this would work, or what the point of it would be. But it just sounds cool. Joe: Make it happen.



3. Wesley Snipes is a goddamn liar (and not just with his taxes) On the way back, we had some time to kill, so we hit The Wild Horse Casino out in Pendleton. Let me tell you, there is nothing more existentially depressing than the scene you'll find at the podunk casino on a Wednesday afternoon. The extent of my gambling was a turn at the roulette wheel, betting 20 dollars on black (mind you, I could have made my bet based on 25 cent increments). This went just as well as the time I tried to buy shrooms from that crackhead.


4. Trucker Gas Stations are amazing Not only could I stock up on beef jerky and Super Caffeine Happy Fun Time Wish Drink, but they have your weapons needs covered. Some of you might opt for the flash and thrill of a 3 foot samurai sword, but I was much more intrigued by the opportunity to purchase a switchblade. I know where I'm shopping for Christmas next year!

5. Who Shiv's A Git! Actual phrase found on a bumper sticker at Trucker Gas Station. Now I'm fluent in Southern, Hobo, and Retard, and never had I encountered words randomly put together like this (though my Jive is a bit rusty). Ignoring the Grammatical Genocide committed here (What the hell is the "shiv" possessing? Why is this implied question marked with an exclamation point?), I just have no clue what the hell is being asked here, or if it's even a rhetorical question. My response?



I don't know?

Hump Day Helper -- Back to the Garage Edition

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

This week, we're exploring the lighter side of life, courtesy of The Hives. They're one of the most fun live acts that you'll find, and I'm lucky enough that I'm going to see them tomorrow night. Well, it's not as if I had something else planned, or that tickets were running dangerously low, so I guess luck didn't really play a part in this decision at all. Less than 20 bucks to see a kick-ass show? Count me in.

Anyways, if any of you were wondering why we continue to spell "Portland" as "Port Land" here on the site, it's because of the Hives. During a breakdown in one of their songs at the last show we were at, Howlin' Pelle Almqvist implored the crowd to clap along, to pump up Dr. Matt Destruction during his bass solo. Except...the crowd was falling behind the beat. Howlin' Pelle was stunned, and had to ask the crowd in his Swedish-tinted English, "Port Land...Where's Your Rhythm?!?"

Well, I'll be bringing my rhythm tomorrow. In the meantime, enjoy my favorite song from these guys, "Main Offender".

This is my main offender
This is what I've got and it's got me saying - why me?!

A Series of Texts: On the MacBook Air

The media just loves everything that Apple (Inc.) does these days, as evidenced by the breathless hype that surrounds every product lunch (holy shit, it's a phone you can touch! Fuck me sideways with a lunchbox, Carolyn, because I gotta dish out 600 bucks for a slow-ass phone!). Not that I have a grudge against the company--they have quite the flair for aesthetic values, and are generally good about making things easy-to-use. I mean, who am I to begrudge a company whose most popular product is prone to random massive failings that require sending it back every 8 months for repairs, and has no media attention to problems like these? That's just being petty.



So it's no surprise that there was the usual hoopla surrounding the announcement of the latest Apple innovation, the ultra-light laptop anointed MacBook Air. Joe Reefer and I were such fans of this absolutely necessary step in technology, that while watching a commercial for the product, we engaged in A Series of Texts. Haha, it's the return of a beloved WDR staple!

Much in the spirit of a game I used to play with Dr. Von Bookman, we came up with some alternate taglines for this FABULOUS NEW PRODUCT. Hopefully, these will prove to be as memorable as "Curious George Engages In A Knife Fight" or "Harry Potter and the Hands-y Gym Teacher" (Note: These are a poor approximation of what was once brilliant humor. Hopefully this will give you at least a partial idea of the genius that was the original joke.)

Nic Ouzo: The MacBook Air: Because I need a laptop that I can fling across the room like a frisbee.
Joe Reefer: Because i want to give myself a papercut while i look up porn at the airport.
Nic Ouzo: Because I want more fragile electronics in my life.
Joe Reefer: Because i can fold it up and put it in my pocket and tell girls 'it's not that i'm happy to see you, it's that i have an expensive new macbook air in my pocket'
Nic Ouzo: Because I need a computer that I can use to slit my throat after it informs me that my stocks have crashed.
Nic Ouzo: Why is the laptop in your pocket?
Joe Reefer: Because I am compensating for my small penis with this enormous laptop.
Nic Ouzo: I thought the laptop's selling point was that it was small.
Joe Reefer: Let me explain jokes to you. You see......
Nic Ouzo: The MacBook Air: Because I need a computer I can easily lose between the seats in my car.
Nic Ouzo: I like jokes.

Well, I'm sure that Apple's ad company is sure to mine this short brainstorm session for some ideas. But then again, after all, who needs advertising when you're selling a computer without a disk drive? I mean, everything is downloaded these days! I cannot see this failing.

He never struck me as a quitter...

More time to smoke those cigars, I guess.

Yes, it seems to be official: Castro is no longer El Presidente. Yes, you might have heard it here first.

I would think that if I were "President for Life," I'd at least ride it out to the logical conclusion. Then again, he's been in pretty rough shape the last few years, so maybe this is for the best.

So what does this mean for U.S.-Cuban relations? How the heck should I know. I think our resident political expert Nic Ouzo will weigh in on this when it seems the right time to do so. As it is, I'm not going to say much of anything because I don't really know.

Let's just hope that now we can get our capitalist hand on some of those primo cigars we've been denied for so long. Sure, I could just get some in Canada, but that's beside the point.

What does Kenny G have to do with basketball?

And other obeservations

So last night I'm sitting at a bar enjoying a local brew and I see a basketball game on (Pepperdine v. Santa Clara). I'm not really paying a whole lot of attention to the game because, well, there really wasn't any reason to. But at the end, after the win, they do a montage of highlights from the game. It started off normal enough, but then...

"Is that Kenny G?"

And it was.

Why was Kenny G performing at this college basketball game? When did said performance actually occur? Why Kenny G?

These questions could go on for ... minutes.

Thankfully I had beer to put my mind to ease, however temporarily. I never could figure it out, but from the picture included here, Kenny G has some major hops!

OK, on to other things...

NEW LAYOUT!

That's right, WDR has a new layout and I couldn't be happier. Well, I guess I could be happier but not within reason. The new look is pretty sweet. Thanks to Nic for taking the initiative there!

There was something else I was going to mention, but what was it? I can't recall now, but I'm sure it involved alcohol and Groundhog Day. It'll come back to me.

You may now return from the edge of you seat.

Pinch The Tail And Suck The Head

Nic Ouzo's look at The Mardi Gras That Was has now reached it's merciful conclusion. We appreciate you sticking around for this lame attempt at upping the PostCount.

The amateur Mardi Gras party-er assumes that everything leads up to The Big Muffuletta on Tuesday. This is why the amateur has not yet achieved professional status, because they are dead wrong. Sure, you would assume that since the whole thing is called "Fat Tuesday", and it's all about blowing your load before the tyranny of Ash Wednesday arrives, that Tuesday would be Where It's At (bottles and cans people, clap your hands).

The truth of the matter is that everything shuts down at midnight on Tuesday, because every one has to go back to work on Wednesday (the 8-day weekend is enough, and besides, ). Plus, we are of the philosophy that if you can't go all night, you shouldn't go at all. So Tuesday is all about nursing the World's Biggest Hangover, which amounts to chilling out on the couch, and in this year's case, watching the Super Tuesday coverage (and then waking up the next morning and cursing the idiocy of Massholes and Surfer Dudes).

And crawfish. Eating lots and lots of crawfish.



Because that's what I missed most about Life on the Bayou. I mean, in general, the food is excellent, because people down South aren't afraid of embracing things like "taste" and "flavor". So eating a couple of pounds of boiled crawfish seasoned to perfection was quite a fitting end to a wild weekend.

And because I'm terrible at planning things, here are a few leftover observations:

FEMA shirts are hilarious My favorites included "FEMA: Find Every Mexican Available" and "FEMA Evacuation Plan: Run, Bitch, Run!". It was a nice change of pace from the general tacky/obnoxious tourist shirts, though I did enjoy the one written upside down which implored those that if they could read said shirt, to please tip the patron back onto his/her barstool.

I'm not comfortable with taking pictures of the Naked Cowboy But mentioning him now gives me the opportunity to mention his fantastic lawsuit. No matter how hilarious an awkward picture of the Naked Cowboy with old Asian ladies may be, I still didn't feel like getting my own personal copy. And as many people will attest, I am totally comfortable with my sexuality, so that wasn't it. But it does lead to the fact that

I am a terrible photographer Yeah, sorry about that. If only I could have had Rasheed, our intern, come in and do lighting for me. Or if I attempted to figure out how to use the camera at some point before I started shooting.

It's always fun to talk to crazy fundamentalist Doom Prophets and it takes a shitload of alcohol to get me drunk. If ICE 101 is not involved.



So that officially wraps it up for my giant travelogue. I hope you enjoyed reading along, and I hope I didn't incriminate myself at any point in the process. For those of you interested in exploring the entirety of my shitty photography, here is where you can see pretty much all the photographs I took (but be warned, this set is PG-13. If you want more graphic, file a formal request through an e-mail, you sick pervert). Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to make plans to head back next year.

Where We Learn How Close To Death Our Intrepid Hero Was

Continuing a feature that's rapidly losing popularity, Nic continues his travelogue of his time spent living it up during Mardi Gras

I'm going to be upfront about this: the zaniest shenanigans of my trip have already been told. So if you're reading this hoping for more tales of cunning plans and crazy capers, I'm sorry to inform you that you will be highly disappointed. But if you just have a morbid curiosity as to what it's like hanging out in the Big City, well, you'll probably be disappointed too. That's just the kind of guy that I am.


We took the morning off to recover in Baton Rouge from the antics of the night before, and believe me, we needed it. Fruits were consumed, Tylenol was taken, and sleep...occurred. But Cajuns are hearty folk, and that afternoon we were ready for another day of living the high life. After all, I'm pretty sure the state motto is "We'll drink you under the table--then drive your ass home". It's either that, or something about "Sportsman's Paradise" or "Shoot a Nutria From the Back of a Pickup Truck", I can't remember. So we headed down to Metairie for a good ol' fashioned family parade.

Now, the thing about the family parade is that there is far less flashing than on your standard parade route (but that doesn't mean it's totally absent). The upshot is that there is no barrier from the floats, so you can wander up to them and assault the people in parade. It's really a fantastic situation. So, after a stop at the Rally's (you have to love a fast food joint that features a burger called "The Big Buford"), we were ready to get some more beads. Well, after we got ourselves a 64 oz. Hurricane and hit the convenience store for a couple of fifths of vodka (God bless you Louisiana, and your hard alcohol-selling Circle K's).



In the buildup to the parade, I talked to a couple of Boys in Blue, most of whom had been shipped in from around the state just for the weekend. We get to talking about various strategies to handling the unruly (the one rule of Mardi Gras is basically "Don't be a jackass"; beyond that, they're not going to hassle you), and dish about the various celebrities that had shown up (like how Hulk Hogan was seen with a very young blonde lady who was not his daughter). We also get the scoop that it wasn't a particularly violent holiday--except for the shooting at the Endymion parade. Our more observant readers will realize that this was the exact parade that we went to; not only that, the shooting occurred right where we were hanging out (Canal and St. Charles). We apparently avoided catastrophe by about 15 minutes; then again, considering the overall volume of the entire festival, chances are we wouldn't have realized that a shooting had occurred unless we were ourselves hurt.



Eventually the Zeus parade rolled around, and we had ourselves a merry look at The Capitals of the World. Mainly this involved people dressing up in various feather/sequin combinations that in no way evoked any notion of national dress, but no one was looking for a history lesson on that day. Though I was pleasantly surprised that the Death Star sent out some representatives this year. But you can only take so much culture, so we hit the road once again for the French Quarter.


Now, there isn't much more to relate about hanging out on Bourbon Street. We sampled a variety of beverages, ranging from the Keystone Light of my college days to some kickass German imports that this Specialty Beer Hall had on tap, to daiquiris and Jaegerbombs. But I did get a chance to talk to some of our Spiritual Protest friends, mainly trying to convince them that it was kind of stupid that they followed a denomination of Christianity that was about 8 splits away from the original, and how retarded it was that they were attempting literal interpretations of the Bible when they weren't looking at the original Greek of the New Testament. But nothing was as awesome as the guy that had a sign that listed the 20 things in the area that were leading us straight to hell, ranging from the usual "homos" and "whores", but including the temptation of "Loud Women". I cannot begin to do justice to the rambling idiocy that was the reasoning behind it, so I'm just going to leave that to your imagination.

The only other story I can really tell is my attempt to follow Rule No. 1 of Bourbon Street. That involved trying to find a bar that would not force us to pay for a drink, or at least had open bathrooms. I had never needed to use a bathroom so much in my life, but was saved when we found an out of the way dive, only to be confronted by An Unholy Terror. Anyone who has seen the movie Trainspotting remembers "The Dirtiest Toilet In All of Scotland"; well, I found its counterpart in New Orleans. Except that it was only a urinal, and people had conveniently ignored that fact. But I was able to satisfy the ordeal with great relief, with the price being I had to hold my breath for about five minutes.



It's really hard to convey the go-go nature of the Street. Think of the best fucking frat party you've been to, except there's a thirty percent less likely chance of date rape. It's a whole lot of fun, but there's still a whole element of fear--you're goddamn right I had a hand on my wallet the entire time. On the other hand, my mind was often more concerned with taking in the sights and sounds. And enjoying smoking cigars while walking the streets with a beer in my hand. And really, isn't that what life is all about?

Valentine's Day Playlist-a-Palooza (not affiliated with Mitch-a-Palooza)

Ah yes, Valentine's Day. Your existence baffles many of us, especially those who know nothing about martyrs and Roman priests and their relation to Rolaids-Hearts (which are labeled "candy" by an irresponsible jackass). And frankly I'm also tired of everyone complaining how crappy a holiday it is, and WOE IS ME I HAVE NO DATE ON THIS ARBITRARY DAY ON THE CALENDAR. It's just enough for someone to attempt to look at a comic featuring naked angels for wisdom.



At this point, I'm ready to say that Valentine's Day has worn out its welcome. That's because not only does it make every dateless wonder feel like a schmuck (and really, don't we need more opportunities to remind these people of their pathetic existence?), but they're an unfair burden among those who are (un)luckily in love. They have to do things like remember that today is Valentine's Day, and then on top of that, they have to do stuff! Like go out to fancy restaurants that make unreasonable demands and require things like "pants", or buy organic chocolate (because it helps the environment? I'm not really sure about this one). In the end, it's a fucking lose-lose situation, and as a "winner", I don't fucking appreciate this (Ed. Note: the original draft did not include the quotation marks, but we can only assume that the statement was made sarcastically, and we have noted it as such).

Well, I'm here to help all of you out. For the past four years, I had a radio shift on Valentine's Day, even though my shifts were in constant flux. It's not like I could complain either, because hey, I sure as hell wasn't busy those nights. So I'll cheer you up with a fantastic playlist to help you through the night. On the other hand, I was also known to host the most depressing show on the station, because I tended to not pay attention to things like "mood" or "content" when I selected a playlist. So who knows if you'll end up in an even worse mood. But I'm saying right now that if you kill yourself after listening to this list, I and WDR are in no way responsible.

Here you go:

Stars of Track and Field - "Movies of Antarctica"
Radiohead - "Fake Plastic Trees"
The Rolling Stones - "Let's Spend the Night Together"
Soundgarden - "Burden In My Hand"
The Black Keys - "Your Touch"
Interpol - "Leif Erikson"
My Bloody Valentine - "When You Sleep"
Pearl Jam - "Hail Hail"
Pearl Jam - "Black"

Commercial Break!

My Morning Jacket - "I Will Sing You Songs"
The Flaming Lips - "Do You Realize??"
A Perfect Circle - "3 Libras"
Weezer - "Undone (The Sweater Song)"
Smashing Pumpkins - "Thirty-three"
The Jesus and Mary Chain - "Just Like Honey"
Death From Above 1979 - "Romantic Rights"
Blur - "Beetlebum"
Yeah Yeah Yeahs - "Modern Romance"


And depending on how the night is going...
Air - "Sexy Boy"

OR

Dead Kennedys - "Too Drunk To Fuck"


So, enjoy February 14. It's Thursday. That means "Lost" is on. I need to see what's the deal with these freight people...

Hump Day Helper -- Sentimental 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.

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, so I thought it would be best if we had something at least related to the holiday. So I rooted through my music collection, trying to find something appropriate. Those that know me best know that I can be a sentimental bastard, so it's no surprise that there was a lot from which I could choose. I had to choose the right balance between romantic and not sappy, which eliminated a good deal of my collection, however.

My first thought was to include some Coldplay, and hopefully bring in the female contingent to our blog. Plus, it would give me an opportunity to present my Coldplay theory, which basically boils down to the fact that they once made solid music, but will never be able to do so again. But then I thought, why waste an idea that would make a perfectly suitable stand-alone post? So you guys won't get my suggestion of Coldplay romance.

I then thought perhaps to do fake Coldplay, but felt that would have been kind of pointless. We don't want to be too weepy around here, folks. Then I thought, we could go with something really upbeat, but then realized we've already featured Wilco before. Finally, I decided against posting an asshole video. So that's how we got today's choice.

Then again, it's a damn fine choice if I do say so. I have been on a Secret Machines kick for some time now, and had been meaning to post this video for some time, but was always distracted by something else. The album that it comes from, Ten Silver Drops, has been unfairly overlooked, though some of it is due to the fact that their debut, Now Here Is Nowhere (one of my all-time favorite titles), was so awesome. Maybe a listen to this song will get you to reconsider the album. As it is, the video is pretty sweet (notice the audio changes as the camera shifts), and I'm really pumped for the new album that's coming out this year.

Oh, and I guess Happy Valentine's Day.

'Cause in her dreams she's seen it all
Through a window so far off
Remember watching while her
Lightning blue eyes reflected sunrise...

Of Functional Health Units and Holy Hand Grenades

Or: I've Made A Huge Mistake...

Continuing my look back at the weekend that was...Mardi Gras 2008


I left you guys with a quick look at Bourbon Street, which is essentially the soul of Mardi Gras in New Orleans. As a sleazy 70s porn producer would say, "it's where the magic happens." If you've heard any fantastic tales about the debauchery of the holiday, chances are these stories took place on a select few blocks of La Rue Bourbon. And sure enough, that's where we spent the entirety of our Sunday. Before I continue, I should teach you the Rules of Bourbon St.:

1. Don't Pee On The Street The cops allow just about anything, so it's a good idea to at least let them have this one ("laissez les bon temps rouler" officially replaces "To Protect and To Serve" for that weekend).

2. Don't Sit On The Street Because people tend to violate Rule No. 1. Assholes.

With those rules in hand, you're pretty much set for a quality weekend of partying On The Holiest of Streets.


So I woke up on Sunday morning, in the same clothes from the previous day's festivities. And because it's New Orleans, we decided "fuck it", and went out without changing. I mean, who's going to complain about our potential smelliness? The bums? Unlikely. So we decided that we needed to ease into the day, and that meant a quick stop for some alcohol. Everyone talks about New Orleans and their famous Hurricanes, but the official drink of Bourbon Street is the Hand Grenade. It looks like a bong that the Ninja Turtles would use, tastes like the Slimer version of Hi-C, and features a grenade shot on top of the ridiculously copious amounts of alcohol already present in the drink. It would be the strongest drink on the strip, except for a couple of places that feature a Knockout 191 (yes, that's 191 proof), and since I wasn't in the mood to get date raped, I felt satisfied with my choice of Hand Grenade.



While we sipped on our beers and Hand Grenades, we encountered a truck that had a couple of dudes tossing what looked like to be free Gatorades. In fact, it turned out to be some sort of Detox drink, one of those hangover cures you're likely to find at your local 7-Eleven. We grabbed a few, then hit up a local restaurant for some of that down-home Cajun cooking that I had missed so much over these years, which meant one fucking sweet Shrimp Po' Boy for lunch (and there you were, thinking that a Po' Boy was just a random Creedence album reference). Not only were we provided with very necessary fuel for future alcohol consumption, but we got the chance to analyze the scientific benefits of our Urban Detox. There was a fantastic bar graph, pictured here, that showed that it helped alleviate hangovers and nausea and potentially cancer, because it contained so many "functional health units".



Since it was still early in the day, we decided to go to a fantastic shithole bar for some cheap alcohol and that famed New Orleans ambiance. That's The Abbey for you, which has a nice Dixieland funereal vibe going for it. In between meetings with an angry Polish/Greek and an old man with a nose covered in c-c-c-c-cocaine, we talked to the band, which featured a singer from Portland. I'm telling you, Portland musicians are fucking everywhere! Though the finest musical performance went to a local guitar/violin/tuba sidewalk trio, who played the most kickass version of "Stairway to Heaven" you'll hear.


After a quick stop at a cafe serving some authentic absinthe, it was time to partake in the more standard Mardi Gras fare. Which, in one word, can be described as "overindulgence". For this fellow right here, that involved a rack of test tube shots and the body parts of various hostesses at a Bourbon Street club. Frankly, there were a few scandalous photos taken that might prove compromising if I were currently running for office, but you weren't hearing any complaints from me at the time (though my mouth was otherwise occupied). But tough shit for you folks, because those photos aren't currently in my possession. So you'll just have to let your imaginations wander as to what it was exactly that I was doing.


It was at this point (about 54 shots later) that our female companion decided that it was a good time to get bodypainted. Not being one to complain, we ended up at a little place that was able to provide such a service. While waiting for the services to be rendered, we struck up a conversation with a retired Army colonel who's now a private security contractor in Afghanistan, and ended up spending the day with him and his newly-bodypainted ladyfriend. As you can imagine, walking down the street with these two lovely ladies provided quite the commotion. No joke, this was the top attraction on Bourbon Street, and I spent the afternoon providing my services as a bodyguard (even if I wasn't exactly sober). I had my head on a swivel, but you couldn't really ask for a better job. Actually, I'm more concerned about the photos from these events--if you see a fat Greek guy in a goofy pink foam Captain Morgan's hat next to some beautiful ladies, well that was me. I fear my eventual appearance in a Girls Gone Wild video.

As for the rest of the night, it involved a lot of drinks, and a lot of bars. In between various stops and shots, we managed to watch the majority of the Super Bowl, but had to make the trip back to Baton Rouge once the Giants gained the lead in the fourth quarter. Of course, we missed the best part of the game, but considering everything that happened before it, I'd say we made a fair tradeoff. Plus, we got to enjoy the replay of the game, so it really worked out well in the end.



While this certainly was the craziest day, that's not all the tales I have, so keep tuning in for more this week. For those of you who just hung around hoping for the pictures of the bodypaint, for shame! We are a blog of standards! If you want them, you're at least going to have to e-mail us. Come one, we have standard practices to follow.

Welcome To Louisiana: Home Of The Drive-Thru Daiquiri!

I have promised for some time to detail my exploits from the Mardi Gras weekend, but I am faced with the problem of my own pure incompetence, at least when it comes to writing (and as you will soon see, my photography can also be charitably described as "utter shite"). Sure, I could give brilliant random anecdotes that the other co-authors of this blog are sure to appreciate (and would certainly go into far greater detail than I would otherwise here), but to turn it into an actual narrative for other people to follow seems like too great of a challenge. But I never back down from my promises, so here we go folks.



Baton Rouge is a fine city, if you don't care for aesthetics or things to do (which makes it like 99% of the other cities in America). It even has a couple of decent family-friendly parades, and I had seen my fair share of those growing up. No, this trip was about venturing into the belly of the beast, to bear witness to the Mardi Gras of Legend, and that meant hurtling along like a silver bullet across the bayou into the madness that is New Orleans. With me on this journey I had two guides, my friend Garrett and his girlfriend Michelle, and without them I would have been lost, and probably mugged. Word to the wise: Find yourself a native before embarking on such a trip of your own.



We began the festivities in a way that all such journeys should began, and that's in a dive bar. This was right next door to the titular Drive-Thru Daiquiri establishment--we would have partaken in such spirits, but to tell you the truth, the line was too long for us (the fact that it was 11:30 in the morning on a Saturday apparently meant nothing to those in a quest for lubrication). We slowly got into the spirit of the occasion, drinking cheap beer and shooting pool to a soundtrack of Zeppelin and Floyd, which starting the previous night when we saw their respective tribute bands, would provide much of the music for the weekend. Eventually we made our way into the downtown area onto St. Charles, where we stuck around waiting a parade to start, getting our drink on at The Avenue Pub and WhiskeyDix. I sampled the world-famous Hurricane beverage and also a shot of the local favorite, Grand Marnier, promptly getting toasted. We then spent the rest of the daylight hours playing on the pornographic video game machines, choosing to focus our energies on the "Spot the Difference between the Naked Ladies" game (and for full discretion, this was more heavily driven by the female contingent of our crew).



We grew restless, and with a call of "fuck it", we hit the road to try to hit the French Quarter before the parade rolled through. To do this, we walked directly through the parade route, because we have no use for your silly things like "rules"! We played football with little kids, did some line-dancing in the street, had shit thrown at us from balconies, and generally had ourselves a good time as we attempted to find a bathroom/find Bourbon Street. We met up with some local firemen en route, and that's where we got the word as to the real reason the parade we had been waiting for had been delayed--Kevin Costner was stinkin' drunk. So drunk, in fact, that he had gotten injured mounting his float, and that's no good when you're the GRAND MARSHALL. So Tin Cup was holding everything up, as they attempted to sober up his sorry ass.



Eventually we made it to the famed Canal Street, and we settled in and watched the parade. There are floats, and then there are Endymion Floats. I had seen my fair share of parades as a Baton Rouge native, but nothing as elaborate as the standard New Orleans affair. We settled in, caught our fair share of beads, enjoyed a few [ahem] smokes, and generally engaged in some standard-fair debauchery. By the time we decided to call it quits, I was decked out in enough beads to look like the Greek Mr. T. Which is fantastic, because in New Orleans, beads are legal tender. I was wading in Hard Currency, folks. Beers are on me!



We then made a push to get to the heart of Mardi Gras, La Rue Bourbon. To say that the street was a sea of people would be an understatement--if you could see actual street, you were lucky. It was just a wash of moving heads, beer cubs, and neon signs. Oh, and the occasional chorus of "Show us your tits!!!" and the response that was appropriate for whatever decision was made. We also were met by Concerned Souls, who wanted to ensure the safety of our everlasting souls. And I'll give them the last word for this journal, and will show you exactly what they were up against tomorrow.



You have to love the self-righteous, folks.

Fiesta Friday!

Because Fridays were made for parties!

Every so often, I go through my music collection and find something that I haven't listened to is a very long time. It's usually something that I listened to a lot when I was in high school and just never feel like listening to anymore.

So it was yesterday that for whatever reason I decided to listen to some Third Eye Blind when I got home from a day of midterms.

Now, I remember Third Eye Blind's first album because it was one of the first albums I ever bought that wasn't Weird Al. I was 12 years old, and this shit was the hottest rock and I listened to it constantly (I think it's also fair to point out that I also lived in a tiny town with no record stores or real good radio reception). Since that time, I always looked at it as a general pop rock album that I listened to when I was trying to find my self musically. It reminds me of a time long ago when I was just beginning to get angry with the world and do stupid things. Not quite Kevin Hart stupid, but still regrettable. But hey; I was 12.

So now, about 10 years later, I pick it up once again and find out something crucial: It's still pretty damn good. I realized that there were parts of these songs that I didn't understand before, and now I have a new appreciation for it. It was funny to know all the words to a song and hear it almost for the first time.

So today's Fiesta Friday is a retro edition. I decided to pick this track because it was one of my favorites when I was 12, and even 10 years later, I still like it. Also, the crazy blonde in this video scares me a bit. She looks a bit like Courtney Love, but if Courtney Love was hot. Stephan Jenkins also looks a bit like Paul Rudd. Am I the only one who sees this resemblance?

I hope y'all enjoy it.

And if you don't, go fuck yourself.

Apparently, George Will Didn't Learn Math at Princeton

In an effort to be continually informed, I spend many-a-morning (well, early afternoon) reading the paper as I eat my Old Man Cereal. I like to start things off by reading the Op-Ed page, and do so for a variety of reasons: as a Government junkie, I'm obsessed with learning how people respond to the news, and I always want to see what arguments are currently being used by the various pundits. This is especially true of those who are to the right on the political spectrum, with the logic being that it is always a good idea to see what it is your opponents are up to. So, at the risk of killing my blood pressure, I always take time to read the likes of, among others, Charles Krauthammer, Debra Saunders, and George Will.

Now George Will is a columnist I generally respect, even if it is very rare that I agree with him (at all). He has a very consistent philosophy to which he adheres, and his arguments are what I like to term, "not-retarded". However, in his latest editorial, Will failed to live up to that standard.



Overall, the editorial is rather scattershot in its aims--trying at different times to show that despite Obama's attempts to the contrary, that it's still politics at usual, that the Democrats are shooting themselves in the foot by selecting Hillary, and that early-voting is an abomination. It's this last part that had my eyes rolling. Check out this description of the problem as Will sees it:

In many states, voting extends over weeks, beginning before campaigns reach their informative crescendos. This plague has been encouraged by people, often Democrats, who insist, without much supporting evidence, that it increases voter turnout, especially among minorities and workers for whom the challenge of getting to polling places on a particular day is supposedly too burdensome. (emphasis added)

I like the fact that George Will, after 8 years of hearing about the great fuckup that is voting in a great portion of the country, has decided that no such problems exist. He has never heard of ridiculously large lines at the polling stations, or ballots running out, and so on. He also cannot possibly imagine that it may be inconvenient for someone, with say, A JOB, might not be able to make it to the voting booth that day. Not everyone can take that "one-hour lunch break" to make that trip to cast a vote, but that's an America with which George Will apparently has not had contact.

But the most galling aspect of the editorial is the conclusion that Will makes that because of "early voting", the Dems have doomed themselves to choosing Hillary over Obama. He notes how in California, there were thousands of votes that went to the also-ran John Edwards. If we follow his argument, we assume that if Obama received every one of those Edwards votes (highly unlikely, but still, keep following), that he would have won.



Um, George? Check the math. Hillary won 52% of the vote. That's called a majority. If we added the total Edwards votes to Obama's total, he still would have lost. In fact, if this addition were somehow able to combine to a GREATER number than 52%, I'd get the hell out of Dodge, because the laws of the Universe were clearly being messed with, and we could expect its imminent collapse any minute now.


This argument also assumes of course that the people who cast their votes early in the process were NOT the ones that had already made a firm decision months ago, and would probably change their mind as Election Day neared. While it is easy to make this assumption, I still like my theory that George Will needs to go back to school and get a textbook that covers basic arithmetic.