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Archives for December 2005

Happy Birthday, You Filthy Pornography-Ridden Cesspool.


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HTTP Protocol was introduced in 1990, making the internet as we know it officially 15 years old. A recent article on CNN lists their personal top ten internet moments – including WiFi, Google, Live8, Skype, Napster and others. There are some glaring omissions, however. Namely, the black sheep of the internet. That of which major media will not speak the name. You know, the good stuff. Like Catster.

In the interests of not making my subversive surfing habits public record, I invite you, the reader, to share some of your more disturbing WWW discoveries in the comments below. I just think that if we’re going to mark such an important anniversary, some light should be shone on where the real money is made, and where the real traffic ebbs and flows. Sure, NeoPets is a lot of fun, and has become an enormous success, but it does me absolutely no good when I’m drinking by myself on a Saturday night with a greasy container of coconut oil.

I’ll get the ball rolling with a few of my guilty favorites:

– Ogrish.com: People who work in law enforcement in China, Pakistan, Iraq and Brazil send in ridiculous crime scene photographs. Not for the faint of heart.

– RatherGood.com: I hope someone eventually gets this guy the mental help that he so desperately needs. But his Flash movies are absolutely hilarious.

– YouAintNoPicasso.com: Courtesy of Nate, this site is an amazing resource for getting obscure MP3s of ‘alternative’ bands. The webmaster will be locked away in a dank prison cell at any moment, so enjoy this copyright treachery while you can.

I will add some more later. Have to get going. Please contribute your own, and happy thwapping.

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Not Only Do I Hate Mondays, I’m Having Them Killed.


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Not even the Park Street Jesus freaks could cheer me up this morning. After a weekend full of horrible movies, a Saturday afternoon at the office, a Christmas Party at which I got intimately acquainted with Mrs. Claus and a bout of insomnia that would have made Rip Van Winkle perky – it was Monday yet again. And I felt like I’d been drinking absinthe and snorting No-Doz for 72 hours. And you know full well you can’t get absinthe in this country. Dance with the green fairy, indeed.

I have to break this vicious cycle. It stems from staying up too late and then sleeping in the next day. My homeostasis gets thrown out of whack to the point where I’m as effictive and original on Monday morning as Jayson Blair on sodium pentathol. I’m not sure where I’m going with this. Maybe I do. Bed. For 12 hours.

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Friday’s Quizzlet: Tales From The Boiler Room.


in Monday's Quotelet

Appetizer: Name something you’ll miss about 2005.
I’ll really miss the way the number 5 looks like a little testicle at the end of the two zeros. I look forward to 2007, when I’ll get emails and letters sent to me with dates at the top and I’ll wonder – is this really a bill from Keyspan, or is James Bond sending me a secret code? Is my gas about to be shut off, or has Blofeld escaped from the underground MI6 volcano prison. It will be exciting to try and figure that out every day.

Salad: What is one thought that went through your mind today?
Sweet Charity am I ever late for work! I got all the way to the Haymarket T stop and had waited for the train a good 10 minutes before I realized I left my laptop in my living room. I had to go all the way back to get it and bounded into the office 10 minutes before a conference call. So I was wicked prepared, covered in snow and still nailed it.

Soup: On a scale of 1-10 how compassionate would you say you are?
If I can quote Duran Duran for a second – City living, heavy trouble. City living rough. We are given angry hearts, but angers’ not enough. I think what Simon leBon is saying here is along the lines of living in the city for an extended period of time can make you apathetic, please get me another young cock.

Main Course: If you could invent something, what would it be?
I’m not telling you, you sneaky patent-collecting quizzlet. My supersonic peanut machine gun vibrator will be ready when it’s ready. And I’ve already invented whatever the lifeform is that inhabits the boilers in my building and keeps blowing out the pilots. Not to be confused with criteria for joining the Mile-High Club.

Dessert: Do you prefer salty snacks or sweet treats?
Salty snacks I’d have to say. My friend Mike once pointed out the error in calling someone a saltoholic. And alcoholic is called that because they are addicted to alcohol. So by the same logic, someone addicted to salt should be called a saltlic. So you’ll frequently find me hanging out in meadows being tongued by dairy cows. You haven’t lived…

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It’s All Greek To Me. And My Ass Hurts.


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Many thanks to everyone who attended my last minute birthday dinner last night, and to Janet for pulling it all together. The Greek food was great, and the retsina was definitely flowing. I knew a few folks were coming, but I had no idea we’d have a big table of about 10 or so. Well done, everyone. I was allowed to tell inappropriate jokes and speak too loudly with the people I love. And what the hell do those sexually deviant Greeks care anyway? Malakas.

Also, what is it about fried cheese that has me so very fascinated? Take a hunk of sharp aged fromage, soak it in brandy, light it for a few seconds, put the whole thing out with a big hunk of lemon and watch Dave’s pants get a little tighter. And not due to a weight gain, if you get my drift. I long for the day when scientists deem Saganaki good for your health. I won’t hold my breath. But then – I won’t need to as I’ll be long since dead from blocked arteries. Opa!

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Thirty Two Problems And A Bitch Ain’t One.


in Reminiscent

Last year on my birthday I made many hilarious references to Pearl Harbor. This year I’ll simply reflect on birthdays past, and there’s been a lot of them. Last year we all had dinner in the South End. The year before that was the big 3-0, and I organized a huge party for myself (as you do) at Tiernans which was thwarted by the largest snow storm Boston had seen in years. The year before that, Janet organized a party at Harvard Gardens which was a lot of fun – I sang all the way home in the cab, and then made everyone wait until the song was over until we got out.

Prior to that it starts to get fuzzy. I think 28 might have been at Silvertone. 26 or 27 was a surprise party at Janet’s old place in Inman square. Before that I was in England, and that year they midread the birthdate on my work papers at the pub (they reverse the month and date when reading it metrically) and shocked me with a cake on the 12th of July. Yesterday, my workmates took me out for lunch, also mistaking the numeral 7 for the square root of “DERRR”.

But it’s the thought that counts, and I always have fun with good friends around. This year it’s subdued – some Greek food in Watertown and then early to bed before an important meeting tomorrow. Thank you all for putting up with me for so long, and here’s to another longevitus 32 for all of us.

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Wednesday Wadio: Belle And Sebastian’s ‘Funny Little Frog’.


in Wednesday Wadio

“The frisky bassline and chunky horn blasts are rewarding enough, but it all sounds too easy, too patronizing for a band in the adulthood of their career.” – Pitchfork

Go to jail. Go directly to jail. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Belle and Sebastian’s new album, The Life Pursuit, isn’t released for over 2 months yet, but I accidentally found it online. Funny Little Frog has been available from their Peel session for almost a year now, but this is the full studio version and I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I’ll surely enjoy being buggered in the shower at MCI Concord during my 18 months for piracy.

This is your archetypical ‘new’ B&S song – piano, horns and mindless optimism. I especially love the sound of the snare drum, and the way Stuart Murdoch pronnounces thro-at so that it rhymes with poet. Cute, Stu. I think Pitchfork was a little hard on this single, and the album in general. I don’t honestly think the new album is on par with their best work, but I can’t fault them for evolving and changing – “…at least they aren’t pulling a Robert Smith and staying “miserable” ad infinitum“. I’m always glad to see them, and we’ll always have If You’re Feeling Sinister.

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Ring A Dong Kong.


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I haven’t been excited about a movie in a long time. As I wrote to a friend yesterday, who asked me to comment on the movies of 2005 for an article he is writing: “There are so many CGI-powered films these days that special effects hardly seem challenging any more. The real magic of Star Wars back in the 70s was the innovation behind the visuals. No one had ever seen anything like it before. Now, it seems like Sith was sandwiched in somewhere between Chronicles of Riddick and Serenity, and the magic has become mundane.” I just quoted myself. About Star Wars. If there’s still any uncertainty about whether or not I will die alone, this should put that right to bed.

A King Kong remake seemed like a decent idea to me. Mighty Joe Young didn’t quite cut it, and the 1976 version is a snoozer, in spite of Charles Grodin. Add Peter Jackon to the mix, and I might actually go see it in the theatre instead of downloading it whilst counting booty, sharpening a cutlass and feeding a parrott. Walking around on a peg leg whilst making a Frenchman walk the plank and leering at the computer screen with my one good eye. Dammit I’m a pirate!

The preliminary reviews have started to come in, and they are beyond good. I haven’t seen the movie, so I can only share some of the snippets I have heard thus far:

– “Grown men around me were crying,” says one Hollywood insider.
– “…a wonderful blend – probably the most perfect blend – of escapism and adventure, mystery and romance”.
– “could legitimately be described as the most thrilling B-grade movie of all time”.
– “Jackson evokes such a sense of empathy for his beast that Kleenex should be sold along with the popcorn.”

So we have the action of Jurassic Park (the flick is apparently chock full o dinos once they get to Skull Island,) and the weepiness of Titanic. Something for everyone. A bit chicky, and a lot dudey. An enormously diverse target audience. Time will tell, but I can say that I’d love to see Jack Black, and not Leonardo DiCaprio, as the star of the highest grossing movie of all time. I mean I’d just sleep better.

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Friday’s Quizzlet: Seascapes Of Violence.


in Monday's Quotelet

Appetizer: When was the last time you did something courteous?
I’ve been giving my seat up on the train a lot more frequently. It hurts at first, and it’s hard to sit down for a few days afterwards, but it’s a good way to make some extra pocket money and there are always generous elderly gentleman cruising public transportation.

Salad: If you were to have a painting done of you, what would background be?
The background would be that I’m enough of a narcissistic twat to comission a painting of himself. So, in other words, a seascape.

Soup: Describe your voice.
It’s smooth and deep. I can do a great Dean Martin impersonation. But if we’re talking inner-voice, it’s a selection of three murderous circus clown brothers bent on violent necrophelia.

Main Course: What is something you would like to do, but are afraid of the risks?
I’d like to move fairly soon. I don’t see myself living in Boston forever. But dropping everything is a very scary prospect. Like when you’re babysitting an infant. I’m thinking Toronto or Vancouver, but I’d likely have to change my profession a little due to the marketplace. I recently got a book on juggling.

Dessert: What was the last television show you watched?
Last night I watched an old episode of Family Guy – the one where Meg skips Stewie’s birthday party to unsuspectingly attend a cult meeting. I was a late adopter of this show, but it’s absolutely hilarious and I am so glad I eventually got around to wasting copious amounts of my time with it. Homer who?

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That Thing About The Iron And The Candle Wax.


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My new roomate Tom moves in this weekend. Yes, another new roomate. I swear to Christ I’m not going all John Wayne Gacy on them and stuffing them under the water heater. Rest assured, all my former roomates are alive and well attending outpatient therapy somewhere.

The former tenant was nice enough to leave three big gobs of candle wax and chewing gum (I’m not sure which is which) on the carpet, and although I steam cleaned Tuesday night, they are still front and center. Someone at work told me about a neat trick – cover the wax or gum with a paper bag and hit it with a hot iron. The smeg will stick to the bag and come right out of the carpet.

You know what? It works. Amazing. If you don’t have similar spots on the rugs in your home, make a mess just so you can try this out. Have a Satanic ritual, seal an envelope, find a pack of Big League Chew and get things started. Best of luck.

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My Fickle Friend, December.


in Reminiscent

Gone are the days when I’d long look forward to December. Driving 8 hours to spend 3 rushed days in Toronto before driving back again isn’t quite as much fun as driving 3 hours to Grandma’s to spend a whole week there over the holidays used to be. Turning 13 is much more exciting than turning 31. Staying up all night praying for dawn and anticipating the unwrapping of dress shirts, socks and toenail clippers isn’t quite as mesmerizing as it was when the packages contained Legos, GI Joes and Star Wars figures. I still instinctively get excited about December – but these days it’s more hassle and tension than holly and tinsel.

The dual nature of December couldn’t have been reflected any better than on this, the very first day of the month. Joe Thornton got traded to San Jose – but my coworker Alon’s wife gave birth to little Maya at 7:31 this morning. I’ve also, while typing this, been invited to my first Holiday party at a posh location in Marblehead. So I suppose it could be much, much worse. And for the record – it’s called Christmas, you over-sensitive frigtards. Donnie Hatt is my hero.

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