A Crazed Trouble in Paradise

Reporting from the front lines in the Democratic Republic of Congo, our buddy Les Neuhaus gives a glimpse of life among the government troops: smoking pot, drinking booze, wearing women's clothing, and occasionally hacking the genitals off of rebel troops. The battle between Laurent Nkunda's Rebel for Christ led National Congress for the Defence of the People and the Government's Armed Forces of the Democratic Republic of Congo is essentially a reprisal of the Tall Ones vs the Short Ones War that decimated Rwanda. Talk about grim confusion in the boondocks. And that's before you add to an already surreal battlefield pentecostal christians and their pet dinosaurs. Tall guys vs short guys is an age old quarel but only in the remote regions of the Dark Continent is this trouble the King of Paradise.

ID Skeleton Key
Watutsi = Tall
Hutu = Short

You can read Les's On the Front Lines in DR Congo at AJE

Texas Sized Marathon Sex Challenge

Of course, there's a hitch. Before you get too geeked about strap on love or packing your cocktail shaker with a preferred ratio of ecstasy, cocaine, viagra or ketamine remember this seven day Texas Sex-a-thon is designated for procreational sex rather than recreational. Since God created the world in seven days, Rev. Ed Young's flock is no doubt anticipating a payoff for their week long efforts. The Fellowship could probably use some pointers from the pro-orgy crowd but GLBT'ers this is a breeders only event. You guys and gals and tweeners will have to cowboy up some other time for the good of the world.

UPDATE: The New York Times reports that Ed Young is telling his flock a week later to "Keep It Up!"

Biting the Hand That Blings

The last person you want to click into an internet
war of wits with is Gavin McInnes. Trust me on this.
So why would an obscure Austin, Texas blogger
known as daz76 muck aboot with the wildcats of
Street Carnage? No clue. But it seems to me only a
pro lion tamer would dare throw a stick in such a cage.
Or perhaps a poet.



Dear Street Carnage Why Am I Banned?

FLASHBACK to an archived profile of Big Pinky,
the loveable ebony to Mr McInnes' ivory.

Back In Black

Like a phoenix, extreme leftist groups are risen in France. A black flag from the ashes of Action Directe's 1987 destruction is on the prowl. Black, or the negation of color, is most often associated with NYC fashion and anarchist groups. Like-minders that stand in opposition to the oppressive structures of plain jane clothing and stupid ass government respectively. The latest on on this seasons anti-govt blackies comes from French terrorism expert Roland Jacquard:

The economic and financial crisis the world is now experiencing is a dream come true to the extreme-left, especially with mainstream leftist political parties unable to mount any real opposition to ruling conservatives. That brings the possibility of social unrest radical leftists may seek to exploit — or even provoke through violence of their own.

With apologies to Oliver Hardy, here's another fine mess unforeseen by the Project for the New American Century.


.

The Land of the Setting Sun

The miserable sods in the UK House of Commons want to abolish Pub Happy Hours in England and Wales. Reckless drinking is apparently stretching the police force thin. But if pub spawned disorder is suddenly a negative character trait, we're talking not only about the ruin of an Empire but the negation of the British birthright. Brits need their pints to overcome personalities obliged by society stereotyping to be polite. For me the quintessential Victorian pubmate, Harry Paget Flashman has always been the role model for British behavior.

Flashman is an antihero who runs from danger or hides cowering in fear, betrays or abandons acquaintances at at the slightest incentive, bullies and beats servants with gusto, beds every available woman, carries off any loot he can grab, gambles and boozes enthusiastically, and yet, through a combination of luck and cunning, ends acclaimed as a hero.

And despite all Flashman's inherent advantages, I fear he'd be a merely a pedestrian James Bond without the enthusiastic (bargain) boozing of Happy Hour. Drinking is clearly heroic in both cases however. So please MP's, reconsider for the good of the national character. On the other hand, I'm happy to relay that Italy is considering sanctioning the use of vigilantes. A move more holding to the course of tradition than the shortsightedness of the UK's damnable Home Affairs select committee.

The Holyland ~ God's Monkey House

Monks brawl at Golgotha. Again!

Jerusalem's Old City is a place lost in time and people have been throwing rocks and fists at each other there since the beginning of competitive belief. Christians have only been partaking since say the 3rd century BCE and though late to the game these monks at the Church Of The Holy Sepulcher are so bugged out about Jesus they make British soccer hooligans look like American Idol fans.

Art Bell Finally Gets His Just Deserts

Our old buddy Art Bell will be inducted into the National Radio Hall of Fame tonight at a ceremony in Chicago. All the crazy stuff we've been through together: John Titor's time travel claims, the secret craft purportedly lurking in the Hale-Bopp comet's tail, Art's Parts, Mel's Waters' mysterious hole, the caller who reckless flew into Area 51 while speaking with Art, Richard Hoagland's contention that Old Navy was running the world and Art's endearing crush on Crystal Gayle make Mr Bell one of the most deserving radio men to ever be so honored.

Coast to Coast is still a fantastic radio program but no one will every replace Art Bell's ability to lull us to sleep with such a silky delivery, scare us to death with his demonic cackle and even interrupt our tormented dreams (due to the show's subject matter) with his hacking smokers cough. Art, we miss you.

Give Art a listen as some Texan flies into Area 51. Haha. It is awesome.

The Squandering of the Conservative Opportunity

Of all the conservative thinkers, I've always prized PJ O'Rourke above all. For starters, he worked for National Lampoon, where he deftly and repeatedly inserted nuggets of conservative thinking tinged with vice into his humor and because he's stuck to those irascibly loveable guns ever since:


"Conservatives generally tend to be funnier in their private lives because of the hypocrisy factor. I am of course a big fan of hypocrisy, because hypocrites at least know the difference between right and wrong--at any rate, know enough to lie about what they're doing. Liberals are not nearly as hypocritical as conservatives, because they don't know the difference between right and wrong. In public policy liberals are always much more hilarious. Liberals are always proposing perfectly insane ideas, laws that will make everybody happy, laws that will make everything right, make us live forever, and all be rich. Conservatives are never that stupid."

In a Weekly Standard piece titled We Blew It, O'Rourke begins "Let us bend over and kiss our ass goodbye. Our 28-year conservative opportunity to fix the moral and practical boundaries of government is gone--gone with the bear market and the Bear Stearns and the bear that's headed off to do you-know-what in the woods on our philosophy."

PJ O'Rourke is still the master so sit down, shut up and read him before its too late.

Lost and Found and Lost Again Weekends

The must attend event of the weekend if you have kids and a drinking problem is the Miss Pussycat Art Opening at Live With Animals in Williamsburg. Miss P, aka Panacea Theriac, is a New Orleans based puppeteer and the sexier half of the wild musical duo Quintron and Miss Pussycat. In addition to the display of her vast collection, there will be a live puppet performance of "The Mystery at Squirrel Ranch." Adult beverages are a must.


NOTE: Her puppet shows are revelatory so I suggest you get there early, as in 7pm on Saturday the 8th.

Trixie and the Tree Trunks produced by Gabe Soria



BONUS: Quintron and Miss Pussycat are playing the record release party for the their new album Too Thirsty 4 Love out on Goner Records at Santos Party House on Monday the 10th. Another rocking freak-out money-back guarantee presented by the Empresario.

Oh Shit!

Has Kim Jong Il Left the Building?

Rumors are ever swirling that North Korea's crackpot tinpot tyrant Kim Jong Il is dead. Famous for releasing crudely tweaked photos of food stores and functioning lights in order to prove the crumbling Pyongyang is a functioning Shangri-La, the North Koreans are at it again. The PR chicanery is now focused on showing the mysterious 'Dear Leader' woodenly taking in the sights like the roaming gnome of Travelocity as proof he's alive and kicking. The latest baited switch, to be released by (?), is a shot of Mr. Kim standing before an assembled group of military men. The Times of London niftily analyzes shadow angles and the background with the zeal of a moon landing debunker. Something is obviously rotten in more than just Denmark and the photo is a piss poor attempt at subterfuge to be sure. Though like that stolen gnome kind of funny.

You may wonder in a place so lost in time where does one find digital tricksters. As Guy Delisle showed, in his great graphic novel Pyongyang: A Journey in North Korea, these guys are an animation superpower. So maybe a crafty Simpsons cartoonist snuck a pirated Photoshop 2.0 into "The Land of the Morning Calm." All said, the machinations of North Korea are wildly obtuse. Just where in the hell is KIm Kim Jong Il is anybody's guess. And if he's dead or incapacitated who's the ruling force striding the darkened hallways of the Grand People's Cultural Palace? Could it be the other mysteriously missing world leader, Scottish musician Gerry Rafferty is lending a hand?

Clowns to the left of me,
Jokers to the right, here I am,
Stuck in the middle with you

All I Want For Christmas

Political Life Imitating Art

All the post-election elation reminds me of a classic coming of age movie from an earlier decade. The innocence of Another State of Mind's aspirations was infectious to a generation of musicians in the 80's and served for the rise of alternative music as mainstream. Small bands of like minded kids giving completely of themselves, whether artistically or politically, has some resonance in Obama's hopeful hoards of young people working for change in the stagnant American political landscape.



Another State of Mind is a rollicking DIY trip down memory lane and an intriguing snapshot of the early years before punk scenes were choked with poseurs drowning in tattoos. Fashion, then as now, was always job one however. Message negated by messengers. So I'm praying we don't start seeing tattoos and mohawks on Obama's cabinet members, for if that's the case, I fear all hope will be lost once again. Change is for the inside and clearly TBD for the USA.

Part 2 A great slam dancing lesson at the 17 minute mark
Part 3 Youth Brigade, Social Distortion and New York City
Part 4 Ian MacKaye explains Straight Edge and Minor Threat plays

Flash Back Bonus: NYC Hardcore on the Donahue Show 4 years later

Wild In The Streets: Here, There & Everywhere

There & Everywhere else: Fort Greene-Brooklyn, Seattle, Austin, San Francisco, Boulder, New Brunswick, Oakland, Philadelphia, Gainesville, Los Angeles, Boston, Manhattan, Portland, Atlanta, Cambridge, Madison, Richmond, Baltimore, Santa Cruz, and Washington DC.

From the New York Times:
So Hip and So Loud, and Stirring Up Williamsburg
-OR-
How Gavin McInnes Remade Williamsburg in His Own Image

One Giant Leap For Mankind

the eloquent guy wins! halle-motherfuckin-lujah

Wild in the Streets

Serge Becker of La Esquina and Café Select is throwing an election results street party in Kenmare Square with large screen projectors, hot cocoa, and all the crazed fun of collective celebration. The energy in New York City streets tonight will undoubtedly match the best Carnival or SXSW or Ibiza has to offer. The Obamatons will be raging one way or another and if you're a McCain/Pallin supporter a night spent kicking up your heels "elitist style" might just be your savior. A good long drink and some cross party uncommitted sex on a fire escape sounds like a great way to beat back the post-election blues. Worked for Mary Matalin and James Carville.



Plus, New York Night Train Empresario, Jonathan Toubin will be hosting his own debaucherous election night fandango in Williamsburg at one of our favorite bars, Daddy's. But bring your fiddle in case the whole place catches fire. If it's good enough for Nero, its good enough for the Rogers Sisters.

~ an hour by hour
guide to election returns

Goodnight Opus

The final panel of the Sunday comic strip Opus was revealed yesterday and somehow with the pervasive nuttiness of politics and life, I missed it. I've been a fan of the penguin Opus since spotting Bloom County back on a 1980's University of Texas campus filled with Steve Dallas look-alikes.

Berkeley Breathed told Salon he's ducking out of cartooning because he fears the nastiness of politics seeping into the strip. So little Opus has been put to bed for the last time, albeit in a picture perfect finale, leaving me and all the other Steve Dallas look-alikes not quite believing we missed Opus' goodbye and sadly certain we'll miss the Sunday morning get togethers from here on out. Click the picture for the final revel.

Sleep tight Opus.

God's Gift To Politics

This is what the Republican Party has done to us this year: It has placed within reach of the Oval Office a woman [Sarah Palin] who is a religious fanatic and a proud, boastful ignoramus. Those who despise science and learning are not anti-elitist. They are morally and intellectually slothful people who are secretly envious of the educated and the cultured. And those who prate of spiritual warfare and demons are not just "people of faith" but theocratic bullies. On Nov. 4, anyone who cares for the Constitution has a clear duty to repudiate this wickedness and stupidity.
~ Christopher Hitchens

What is the gift of the gods to which the subject refers? The return of Chris Hitchen's sanity perhaps or if you like Sarah Palin's emerging political prominence. It's your choice. Regardless, the first Tuesday of November is nearly upon us, so pray to the god of your covenience and keep your fingers crossed. After all tomorrow is another day.

Gaze of the Dead

The nice part about dying is that people finally think fondly of you. Even if you're a total fuck up while you're alive [link to Stockbauer on you tube hahaha], once you're dead the slate is wiped clean. As usual the Mexicans got it right (remember – they're MexiCANs, not MexiCAN'Ts). When it comes to honoring the dead, it's best to throw a big party. On Saturday, I was at the Oakland Museum of California where they spent some of their fancy museum money to throw a community celebration for Days of the Dead. The morning started auspiciously with a dead cat in the koi pond. Alters were erected upon which visitors placed their remembrances of loved ones. Of course being Mexicans these included sticky glasses of foamy pulque and cheap cigarettes. Some people went all out and typed up essays about the deceased, but I liked the more basic efforts. The best one was the stick figure of the dead cat, which was apparently more beloved than the koi pond cat, since no one made an offering for it before we pitched it into the dumpster. Some say that lilies are the flower for funerals, but the Mexicans go with marigolds for their gaudy color and rank smell that are said to attract the dead. They also burn lots of incense just in case you can't smell the flowers when you're dead. It's a colorful, stinking affair, just like most good parties. Add Aztec dancers with feather headdress; senoritas in white blouses, ribbioned braids, and traditional skirts; kids with their squishy little faces painted like skeletons; ladies making tortillas; hand painted sugar skulls; taco stands; a guy in a devil costume, an alter to dead gay lesbian and transgenders (it is the Bay Area after all), and a mariachi band selling peyote buttons, and you've got a party thrilling enough to raise the dead.

Posted by
A. Brown

Skateboarding Is A Crime

Add another to the laundry list of unAmerican activities taking place in New York City. Only here would they incorporate street urchin criminal hi-jinx into the high school curriculum. How's this possibe in the US of A you ask? Well, Manhattan is technically an island off the coast of America and it's ruling cabal of leftists have rejected Joe Six-Pack morality for the promise of wealth and fame. Damn Socialists! The proud proclamation in City Halls up and down main street America recognizing skateboarding as crime is as forgotten in the Big Apple as the Commandment about coveting your neighbors ass. Hopefully, when the NeoCon Regime retains power on Tuesday (fingers crossed for the sake of this blog) they will take on Manhattan and the redistributive ways of its heathen Elites.

Bye Bye Chucky

On October 30th, Chucky Taylor was found guilty in US Federal Court of conspiracy to commit assassination and torture in the West African nation of Liberia. Taylor will be sentenced in January and faces life behind bars. Guilty here of torture in foreign lands? Read American Warlord, Johnny Dwyer's Rolling Stone piece about how the son of Africa's most prominent warlord improbably morphed from an ordinary suburban teenager into the first U.S. citizen on trial for torture committed abroad. It's a classic "Like Father, Like Son" tale that should put a nice All Saint's Day fright into you.

Once Again the Incorrigible Nick Diamonds

We post the video of "Do They Know It's Halloween" every year for the good people who believe Samhain has a future. On the flip, our buddies at Street Carnage scooped the previously untold and celebrity-tinged tale of Nick's efforts to bring Halloween to the world's unfortunates. He may be no Bob Geldoff but he is Islands.

Samhain I Am

Still trying to think of a Halloween costume? How about a pirate—not the old Johnny Depp kind but the newer, edgier Somali variety. Offshore banditry is all the rage these days and the Somali Pirate look is easily to mimic, just chain smoke some Marlboros, turban up and demand ransom. The Horn of Africa is today a gansta land of greed and vice replete with hookers, gin joints and khat pedlars. All the trappings of a Warren Zevon song with ocean front property to boot! From the New York Times:

"Flush with cash, the pirates drive the biggest cars, run many of the town's businesses—like hotels—and throw the best parties, residents say. Fatuma Abdul Kadir said she went to a pirate wedding in July that lasted two days, with nonstop dancing and goat meat, and a band flown in from neighboring Djibouti. 'It was wonderful,' said Ms. Fatuma, 21. 'I'm now dating a pirate.'

Sounds like a blast plus the khat (qat) is fresh everyday.

video courtesy of mondeas media

Another Reason To Hate The Taliban

The verb "to bogart" was born of hippies dangling joints from their mouths like half-baked Humphery Bogarts. More specifically "bogarting" or "hogging" refers to the forgetfulness/selfishness of being slow to pass the joint along to others. Pot smoking, you see, is collectivist by nature.


Now I hear the Taliban have adopted this stoner affliction and are bogarting opium for chrissakes. Despite the pre-historic garb and theological handicapping these crafty bastards are working the markets of capitalism like Wharton School grads. By gathering all the poppies and hording the opium they are manipulating supply and demand while simultaneously attacking us at our core values. A hatred of our fun-loving, devil may care lifestyle is the root of the Taliban's distinctly and ironically anti-American, American behavior. In turning our own economic weapons against us vis-à-vis market manipulation they're infringing upon our god given right to illegal drugs at a fair price. So yet another reason to hate the Taliban - they're free market capitalists!

Heroin is a nightmare but opium makes for a nice rainy day lounge about, so if you're a generation DIYer head down to the Chelsea Flower Market and buy some poppies before the price blows through the roof. Hint

Related Posts~
UPDATE: And Another Reason To Hate The Taliban
Jacked To The Gills: Mumbai Terrorists on LSD & Coke
A Drug For Every Age
Don't Go There
Iraq: Life & Death in Hell
How To Beat The Khalid Sheikh Mohammed Blues
Opiate is the Religion of the Bastards

Share The Wealth: the Best Political Blogging

The linked compendium of election year hi-jinx brilliantly crafted by BlogMaster Jon Swift is a gold mine in a sea of crackpipes and shit crocks. Conspiracy scavenger hunts and artless subterfuge are gifts of the internet gods and while the event horizon points to a temporary cessation of this magical journalism, I wouldn't worry yourself. Regardless of election results my fellow mischief makers and I will spin the outcome to our advantage and next Tuesday we'll find an America either preparing for a coronation or in the throes of martial law. So stay tuned.

Kentucky Fried Hero Worship

Just in time for Christmas, the Guitar Hero Fully Loaded Box Meal is upon us. Dietary constraints and a preference for Rock Band aside, this all-american marketing ploy was tugging at my heart valves until Michael McWhertor took one for the cardiovascular team. The Guitar Hero World Tour is a themed box of crap with 59 grams of fat and 1210 calories and that's before the quart of non-alcoholic corn syrup. While alcohol's blood thinning properties would surely help balance serum cholesterol levels, drinking in dingy KFC's might have a net negative influence on customer life expectancy.

A more practical suggestion to the marketing mavens at Guitar Hero: Please consider backmasking some "pro-kentucky fried" messages in the game to advance your obvious satanic purpose. It's a dovetailing win-win situation combining the danger of the rock & roll lifestyle with the threat of KFC to our health. "The Devil Made Me Do It" might prove an apropos slogan. Lordy, if Elvis were still kicking we'd be talking about a cross promotional match made in fat ass heaven. Rock hard, arteries!

Black Metal Commercial

Video Endlessly Kills Radio Stars

It was MTV with their fake moon landing who ruined music. Opening up their collection to the world was long overdue and yet the only video of the whole crap heap that still reminds of the promise of the future is this classic from the young Flaming Lips.
Christmas on Mars indeed.

Gun Business Blazing

In addition to looking to fortune cookies and Madame Blavatsky's Baboon for advice, terrified Americans are increasingly adding guns to their arsenal in a stand against the financial meltdown. While sales of consumer items across the board plummet, firearms sales are on the rise. Like the law & order mayhem of the Wild West, Americans apparently see the "peacemaker" as a weapon in stemming the tide of crime and civil unrest attending our worsening economy. Gun manufacturing shill the NRA points to the likelihood of an Obama presidency as the best inadvertent marketing campaign for gun sales since the Kennedy election. Here's to hoping the economy rebounds quickly.

Related Posts ~
Guns Don't Kill People, People With Guns Kill People

Watch Willie Nelson, Jesse Ventura & Alex Jones Live 10PM EST

In Austin, The Backyard is closing today and that's a sad reminder that as predicted the former Hill Country gem has turned into just another fucking city. To celebrate the shuttering, Willie Nelson is playing a show there this evening you can watch live on the interweb. While Willie strumming is alway a good time, special guests from beyond the fringe, Jesse Ventura and Alex Jones should make this one of the few times you'll feel safer watching from a distance, online from an unspecified location.

At 10PM EST grab a beer and Click. The gentle sounds of "high as a kite" country twang laced with bold faced conspiracy talk will lull you off to never-never-land like a handful of ryphnol in your favorite desert topping. Set two alarms.

And if you miss the live stream click yourself over into Alex Jones' world anyway. Though logging-in from a Kinko's or Public Library might be advisable.

When Truth is Stranger than Fiction with Apologies to James Ellroy

The Los Angeles Times series on "Noir Los Angeles" profiles the Gangster Squad, an extralegal group of LAPD officers formed in 1946 to fight organized crime off the record. These real life crime fighters are obviously the prototype for James Ellroy's characters, in particular those populating the nefarious L.A. Quartet of The Black Dahlia, The Big Nowhere, L.A. Confidential and White Jazz. Delving into this 1st of 7 parts, by Paul Lieberman, one espies the attitude that would spawn Ellroy's first pangs of unrequited policeman love.

Closer to home, The LA Gangster Squad was created to fight against "Hoodlum types from Rhode Island" something we in NYC know is a problem beyond even the bounds of the Demon Dog's crazed LA fiction.

My Principle of Uncertainty

The Many-Worlds Theory makes the simple conclusion that one probabilistic outcome is as real as any other and therefore predicting an immense surplus of many-worlds branching away from each moment of now. In other words there exists an infinite number of copies of our identical present, but in the next moment, in each copy there is one single particle that is in a slightly different position than all the others.

Imagine one hipster party in Williamsburg, Brooklyn sprouting another almost completely identical party and then another one and another and so on and so on. Charming, eh?

Take these two worlds, so similar yet not, but obviously both existing. Right?
The shit's heavy. In a unforeseen twist, Parallel Worlds, Parallel Lives follows E, the weird leader of the band EELS, across the country as he confronts the Many-Worlds Theory while unraveling the story of his possibly weirder father—iconoclastic quantum physicist Hugh Everett III. It's trip out right on your computer.

When Times Get Tough, The Weak Turn Weird

When life gets chaotic, its natural to crave order. But as the global financial system spins out of control people should be aware that the craving for order can distract you. It was during the last Great Depression that tarot cards and newspaper horoscopes exploded into the mainstream. Hard times suppress common sense and people often turn to conspiracy theory and superstition for explanation, searching for patterns where none exist, and finding rosetta stones in every Alex Jones or George Noory broadcast.

The sound advice here is probably to stick with financial planners as opposed to crystal ball gazers or info-radio beacons. However, I have noticed, when comparing the forecasts of my weatherman to those of my astrologer, that 9 times out 10 the horoscope is a better predictor of things to come. Could just be me though, I was born under an auspicious sign.

A Dummy for Sushi

A funny article in the Wall Street Journal about Sushi Bullies reminded me of my own hard learned lessons. In short, sushi chefs are motherfuckers. Japanese food culture is hyper-rigid and these guys (sorry ladies) don't appreciate any wavering or derivation from the protocol. So if you're sitting at a sushi bar, and you should always sit at the bar, here are some tips to keep the Chef from going kamakaze. Do as I say, not as I did.

1. Only order sushi or sashimi. Rolls are the Big Mac of the sushi world. And while the Japanese adore McDonald's a California Roll will in no way endear you to the Chef. And you're at bar to suck up to the Chef.
2. Wasabi is only for sashimi! Because sashimi is fish unadorned, it's ok to stir wasabi into a little soy sauce for dipping. Sushi, however, will already have the "exact right amount' of wasabi between the rice and the fish. These guys are armed with eons of prejudice and very sharp knives so please don't be foolish.
3. In the same vein, when eating sushi, only dip the fish in soy sauce never the rice. I'm sorry but their sushi rice recipes are as revered as the mysteries of the Japanese Imperial Family's lineage and they don't like round eyes messing with either.
4. Always offer to buy the Chef a drink. This action will help to alleviate a multitude of sins and he'll be honored.
5. And finally, saké is ok with sashimi, and it's also ok before your sushi, but not with the sushi. Only beer or tea. Saké is made from rice and for whatever reason the Japanese are NOT down with eating rice and drinking rice at the same time.

These mistakes are the equivalent of salting your food before tasting in a French restaurant. But while the French are usually half in the bag or feeling up a skirt somewhere, the Japanese are watching for the slightest breach of etiquette and they never forget, in part probably, cuz fish is brain food. Just know the militarism of a tried and true Sushi Chef makes the frothing psychosis of a French Cook seem downright fun loving.

Good luck, dont' be foolish and next time we'll talk noodles. Your assignment is to watch the terrific Tampopo and get to slurping.

Watch the 30 Rock Season Premiere Here!

The Collapsing Log Cabin Fever of Matt Drudge

I really have no idea if Matt Drudge is a torch or not. I just continue to be amazed that this whole Bush admin generated national nightmare was caused by Drudge's loose lips on a measly consensual blow job. Who rats out blow jobs? Today, according to Eric Boehlert, The Drudge Report just might be loosing some of its shit stirring magic. And because what real red blooded American, ninny or otherwise, doesn't love Doris Day, I want to tell Matt, "Don't fret honey, Que Sera Sera"

Oct 31 - UPDATE: Does Drudge Matter Anymore?

Bloomsday in NYC?

Today the 51 members of the New York City Council will finally have to publicly pick sides over whether they, and Mayor Bloomberg, should be able to run for another four years in office. It's going to be tight and Bloomberg's squeezing of members and supporters into rushing this vote has been rubbing a lot of people the wrong way.

Our friends are divided on this, young Rachel Trachtenburg thinks Bloomberg is the worst Mayor ever while sexy New England surfer dude John James thinks Bloomy hung the moon. It's all perspective folks you should look into getting one.




Others hope to introduce an amendment for a public referendum on whether Moneyberg should be allowed to lord ad infinitum. A vote by the citizenry to counter a blatant insider power grab seems fair(er) since term limits are a product of the people. See for instance venerable New York media dude Kurt Andersen's 2 Cents on the Term Limits Debate

...this is a developer story, err I mean... a developing story

Fatten Up Already

America is obsessed with miracle diets. The latest, a morning banana craze is sweeping across Japan and moving with tsunamic certainty towards the gullible food fadests of the Lower 48. Alaska has blubber and Hawaii has Wo Fat, so they get a pass on this plea to defeat dietary hucksterism at home. The rest of us seem to have no idea why fat is important. And after all, you really are what you eat. Jennifer McLagan and Michael Pollan both have written interestingly about food as history and how "diet book culture" has fogged over our memories and taste buds.

In the Beginning, people hunted animals, ate the fat of those animals and lo and behold their brains got bigger. That's the story. Our story. So don't monkey with the system people. Your body needs fat. It doesn't need tofu pups or food that has been "optimized for your health." Over processed foods are bullshit and imitation food is nonsense. Eat simple fresh things.

Now don't go overboard with bacon smoothies or bone marrow tacos, simply eat loads of fresh veggies as a counter balance. Meals with lard or butter or schmaltz are more satisfying and keep you from gorging on crap like Rice-A-Roni, the San Franciso Treat. A change in eating habits will have a greater health and economic impact on the nation than the cumulative impact of the next 20 wonder drugs.

And because the pharmaceutical giants are only in business to make money they will screw you. Better served to eat like a caveman: grab the pork butter to fry your turnip greens, braise some ox-tails and lather fresh butter on whole bread. Your life will be changed and your heart will be none the wiser because a barbecued brisket is assuredly less dangerous than a stray banana peel.

The Barack Hussein Obama Bin Laden Blues

Political Campaigns are about as exciting as crossword puzzles. For about 4 intense minutes you poke yourself in the head with a sharp pencil trying to decipher the game before realizing these people aren't using real words in the first place. So as the Campaigns are finally winding down we thought we'd take you back to our Unconventionally Yours versions of the Democrats and the Republicans clamoring for attention in 2008.

This, by the way is our good friend, Ralph Gean. He wrote The Barack Hussein Obama Bin Laden Blues with Hillary Clinton in mind but once she got shoved aside by Obama he changed the protagonist in the ditty to McCain. Lucky you John.

America's Funniest Team: The Dallas Cowboys

The gold plated turnip truck that brought Jerry Jones to Dallas seems to be suffering during this gasoline crunch. Besides the injury to Romo, TO's flakery and PacMan's boozy breakdown somebody is syphoning off the corn squeezins that traditionally fuel the Cowboy bandwagon. Unfortunately, this current spiral seems driven by a lack of old-school Irving, Texas mayhem. Can someone please put the funniest back in America's Team?

This humorless situation necessitates a reminder of the glory days when Dallas was synonmous with super shootingstars like Rafael Septien and Lance Rentzel. Or the manical Charles Haley constantly stroking himself. Of course, our all time favorite Cowboy move remains Thomas Henderson snorting cocaine during Super Bowl XIII. Digging your dope out of your sock on the sideline of a televised football game just nudges Michael Irvin showing up for court in a full length mink coat on charges with possession of coke in the company of hookers. We can all sympathize with escapism but what we won't tolerate is boring.

Today both the high flying good times and the proficient footballing are gone. Where have you gone Dandy Don? Or even Barry Switzer? PacMan Jones is just a poor excuse for a delinquent. And that's got to be somebody's fault. The best the Cowboys have today is a narcissitic health nut in TO, a quarterback so sweet he dates the dumbest girl in the room and an owner too crazy to actually be believed. Chutzpah? Anyone? Actually, Jerry Jones is a pretty entertaining freak show but for chrissakes, does anybody have Pete Gents number ?

Gossip as God

Something to consider next time you’re churning the rumor mill: Gossip is the 21st century, human equivalent of picking fleas off your friends. According to an article in this month’s Scientific American Mind, gossip is a mechanism for social bonding, functioning much like grooming among other primate species. Gossip encourages egalitarian behavior by punishing group members who don’t pull their weight or play by the rules. "Many social critics have bemoaned this explosion of popular culture as if it reflects some kind of collective character flaw," writes Frank McAndrew. But, “in a highly mobile, industrial society celebrities may be the only ‘friends’ we have in common with our neighbors and co-workers."

Who started all this idle talk and newsmongering about the affairs of others? Rona Barrett did, that's who.

Every Day is Like Sunday

We've made it clear our feeling that sport is soap opera for men, so when I caught an NFL commercial trying to tap into the sensitive/indie market this past Sunday, I burst with laughter. Tarnishing Morrissey by having the same ad guys who re-cut vocals for Dodge Truck commercials sing "Every Day is Like Sunday" as a way to sell us mainstreamers football has to be one of the worst advertising pairings in history. N'Sync for Chili's baby back ribs makes sense but Morrissey for American Football? It seems unlikely the publishing company was pitching this song as a cheap option, rather someone must've typed into the database: give me any song with 'Sunday' in the title. No other explanation could allow for this mismatched Ole Miss Frat Boys meet Mexican Angelenos conjoiner. It just doesn't jive with American Football, except of course, in a world where Sundays are laced with emotion and unlikely dramatic twists in an open ended romantic serial. Seriously, give that guy a raise, Morrissey.

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