A friend of mine recently introduced me to The Krampus. I'd never heard of this creature before. Until recently, neither had he. I see from Wikipedia that it was mentioned on Stephen Colbert the other week, but who really watches that show?
Krampus, you horrible troll, where have you been all my life?
As the aforementioned friend is the father of daughters, he has up until now been working at a disadvantage to Austrians and other Teutons everywhere. Apparently the Krampus has a thing for terrorizing little girls in particular (I am unable to find any reference to "birching" of little boys, no matter what degree of little shits they are). And, being the father of a daughter myself, I am now fortunately armed with the ability to stem any and all further bad behaviour. The Krampus!
Let me just show you a little from Wikipedia:
St Nikolaus (window, left) is a jolly old soul. The Krampus, aka Darth Maul, not so much. Bad for you, you bad fucking Fraulein. (Also, Austria / whoever painted this picture has to sue George Lucas for a zillion dollars. Has to.)
This one is even better: Everyone runs in terror except for Dad, who's just chillin' and smokin' some dope shit. And once again, St Nikolaus is an impotent bastard for not intervening on the evil troll from Led Zeppelin 4 who's abso-fucking-lutely going to make that little boy love the Battle of Evermore.
Ah, I can actually feel my Christmas spirits being lifted. Suddenly I understand that old line, "It's the most wonderful time of the year."
I love yahoo, it's so awesome. It's the best web-based email server. How can it be considered better than gmail, you ask? 'Cause every day features at least one awesome life-coach-type of magazine article on the front page where you sign in. And I don't know how they do it, but they offer their always-incredible advice for free!
Let's check today's feature, shall we?
Oh goody!
Best-paying jobs in America:
1. Chris Rock 2. actor from Grey's Anatomy 3. being a white male
Football is an amazingly brutal sport, both physically and mentally. A guy like Vince Young rides into the league with only the highest of expectations, and is now and has been for two years relegated to side-car status, being driven around by a pretty marginal QB in Kerry Collins.
Anyway, I digress. What impresses me and restores my faith in humanity - and professional athletes - is that for all the horrible stories of murders and DUIs and general stupidity, once in a while there emerges a pretty heartwarming counter-story.
Steve McNair, the man was obviously not a saint, but he was a man who contributed to his community. So it's good to see that Vince Young is contributing back to the McNair household. This story actually almost, almost brought a tear to my eye. Weird.
Question: How does John Mayer pull like he does? I mean seriously people, have you seen or heard John Mayer? I never knew he was the inspiration for Seth Rogen's character in the 40 Year Old Virgin. And yet look at his resume - now I'm not sure what the deal is with Jessica Simpson, but the others, the others. And now Kristin Cavallari, whoever that is.
So ladies, please be honest, is it because fame + plain looks + mediocre musical talent = crazy Spanish Fly? Because hey, if so, I got two out of three already, so apparently I just needs me a bit more fame.
So I got an iPhone, mostly because I wanted to not carry a phone and an iPod around anymore. I also don't want to have to carry a murse. You know what, guys really have it hard these days.
Anyway, the iPhone - it's like I got an escort. It's achingly pretty, it really boosts my ego to be seen with it... but the costs for all the extra good stuff! Kay-rist!
Which reminds me, I will need a new condom. Voice-memo to self: stop by London Drugs at lunch to search the bargain bins. Slightly used okay.
Not to get too emotional or anything, because hey, I'm still a dude - but is the Jaycee Dugard saga the most horrific and heartbreaking and hopeful thing you've ever heard? That is some damned crazy shit right there.
My blind hatred for a human I've never met peaks with the mention of Philip Garrido; it's physically sickening to even think about losing a child like that. It's beyond the fact that you don't want to think about such a thing, you really just can't. You can't make yourself think about it. To ask is to ask the impossible.
And yet, when I read this story, it's so inspiring: the resilience of humans, and the sense of peace that must be washing over this family these days like a tide. The world is such a messed up place, and yet we persevere.
Kissing Suzy Kolber is, for the most part, genius. Want a list of reasons? Okay.
a. The name itself is just awesome. My old roommate Dan and I were watching that interview, and we could not believe what we were seeing. Excessive drinking on live TV rules.
b. It's a bunch of wiseass second (or third) career writers slagging shit about the NFL and sports in general. ie. my dream job.
c. Well, I guess that's it. Other than the content.
Anyway. I'm a 49ers fan, have been since Superbowl XXIII when Joe Montana beat the Bengals with a stunning 2-minute drill. (Okay okay, 3-minute drill. Whatever. Why don't you F-off and go practice your 3-minute drill?) Now I'm fan enough to know that compared to the Montana and Young eras, we suck. We're not the Tampa Bay of the '80s, but we sure were/are close and time will only tell if we can save the good name of Eddie Debartolo Jr.
Anyway. I digress. This KSK post about the NFC west is hilarious, and possibly pretty accurate. I dunno, the division is a crap shoot - operative word crap, ha ha - same as last year. Still. Damn I love the NFL.
PS: I gotta try that popcorn bucket thing sometime. Inspired!
When you ask, What is wrong with this guy? - just look to commenter no.6 who nails it. "Two decades of everyone hanging from your nuts changes a man." No shit.
Anyone caught wearing a Jets 4 jersey should be institutionalized, and anyone with the purple #4 should be pitied.
Hey, is anyone else now ignoring the fact that Dr Pepper tastes like something that was recently expelled from the kidneys of an 80 year old woman who ate a jar of maraschino cherries yesterday, and drinking it because of Dr Dre? Or is it just me. Hm.
Incredibly minorly tangentially related, but I've often wondered, in times of great relaxation, if it would ever make any difference if we perceived colours any differently from each other. Like what if what I call blue and what you call blue are two different things?
Yeah, not nearly as mind-blowing I know. Click the above link again to restore mental overload.
"You think of the drum part that John Bonham did on Led Zeppelin's first track on the first album, Good Times Bad Times," he said. "How many drummers in the world can play that part, let alone on Christmas morning?" Thanks for letting me share your birthday!
Okay, this has been bugging me for weeks. And I know, geeks who point out techological plot holes are in danger of inching away from the "cool" side of Mom's basement, but.
So in Terminator: Salvation, John Connor uses his radio jammer device to corrupt the minds of the motorcycle terminators, and as a byproduct of this, steals one to ride to Skynet.com Stadium. Now, these "mototerminators" are basically killer robots with two wheels. They're not motorbikes, in the pre-apocolyptic sense, because they're not designed for say another robot much less a human to ride them. It's not like Skynet built supercharged Segways and a bunch of killer GOB lookalikes to hunt down humanity. (Which actually may have been more effective, because hey, pretty scary image, right?)
So the question is, if it's just a robot with two wheels that is not designed to actually be ridden much less controlled by some outside driver robot, much less a human... then John Connor, how did you ride that robot? How did you change gears, how did you throttle and brake? The world needs to know!
PS: spoilers above. But who cares, 'cause y'all have already seen this movie anyway.
I know, regurgitation blogging, it's all I got time for these days. Yet these nuggets are too beautiful, too delicious not to go unshared*. With you. Yes, you in the back.
Cross-blogging may be lazy, but there are some things that must be read, and there are many many things that I am lazy about. So, what better combination of these two elements than this, a list of all of Tracy Jordan's lines from Season 3 of 30 Rock, aka the funniest show on TV.
You don't even have to have seen the episodes (I shamefully missed two myself this year, though in my defense, we were in the UK at the time), just click, read, and collapse into hysterical laughter.
And, by the by, a sincere, heartfelt, and tragically belated happy birthday wish to the wonderful Ms Tina Chan - I mean Fey! Where did that come from?
That's totally the thing about zombies - once the outbreak happens, it's an exponential decay. See, as a zombie, you go out and eat someone. And after a (reportedly) horrific few moments or minutes, dude dies. And then awakens to find himself a zombie brethern. Who is hungry. Who wants to eat him some live brains. So in your own state of insatiable hunger, you've not only exhausted a food source, but you've also created competition for other food sources, sources that are finite in number. And then what? What about when we're All zombies? Then just aimless wandering, clutching our stomachs (if they're still there, right? Like if Beth from next door didn't eat it before turning you into a zombie, or if you're not someone who unfortunately died about 2 months ago and had to dig yourself out of the ground, only to find your stomach had decayed. Anyway), complaining about the lack of brains - FOR EVER? (Above: Sarah Polley says, "No!")That would suck.
And that's why we should try to keep an eye out for any signs of zombification before they really get out of control, you know?
The debate over animal rights and carivorism has in recent years been distilled down to one issue: foie gras. It's stupid, because the production of foie gras is insignificant compared to factory farming of chicken, say. But by the same token, it's become the lightning rod because it's perceived as a product aimed at a small segment, the "elite", of society.
Well, I know which side I stand on, you probably know which side I stand on, and if you don't like it, that's fine - just don't try to bully me into thinking that I'm wrong. And definitely don't try to take away my freedom to choose a side.
But there is nothing more that I could say, nor express as well, as what is written here. It's a good read, take a look.
There are many things about the US of A that are great: its collective inventiveness, its acceptance of being the "asshole" who thanklessly polices the rest of the world, Trader Joes.
TV such as 30 Rock or Lost aside, though, the entertainment industry is, in general, not a good side of America. The idea of fame trumping dignity, exemplified by such things as The Bachelor or Kim Kardashian, is truly tragic.
It's unfortunate, but there it is. Because people have an appetite for it.
On a semi-related note, I suppose very very loosely related, read this story about Miley Cyrus and Kanye West and Radiohead. It's so bizarre, I don't think I even really understand it.
From what I read, Thom Yorke decides that he doesn't want to meet Miley Cyrus, and Miley Cyrus' response is that she'll "ruin" Radiohead. 1. F off Miley Cyrus. 2. F off Miley Cyrus.
Kanye, well, I dunno. That one's a little different I suppose, only because despite his reputation and perhaps my personal opinion of his music (just plain disinterest, that's all), he is a fairly well respected musician. In other words, he would be a "peer".
Well, whatever. Thom may be an asshole himself, who knows. And Thom and Kanye are free to make influential music while being assholes to each other, that's their right.
This is the best news I've read all year. And honestly, unless Selma Hayek decides to feed starving babies near my office during a lunch break in the near future, this may yet stand up as the greatest news story of 2009.
Recently, someone got me stuck on the idea of creating a soundtrack for zombie life.
He thought Sigur Ros. My reaction: Sigur Ros? I dunno. Maybe, maybe if they were from the old-school George Romero zombie mold, beautifully tragic, moving slowly through un-death with only a single, simple desire to eat brains.
I hear Bloc Party - specifically the latest album, Intimacy, for the more modern Danny Boyle / Alex Garland zombie a la 28 Days (or Weeks) later. The frantic zombie, the zombie that can run and remember and is just fucking crazy with the rage.
Or Massive Attack, maybe, for the hybrid - the Resident Evil zombie. Modern, cultured, but still prone to bouts of ultra-violence.
Well, more thought needs to go into this very important subject. Clearly.
Okay, so I signed up for Twitter. Why, God, why? It's so horrible, I want to kill myself. (Now imagine me doing a step-down motion with my hands.) Facebook > Blog > Twitter. How can I stoop any lower? There is no lower stoop! Unless I get two fish and start live-blogging their interactions. Or install a webcam on my belt buckle.(1)
Anyway, the one single bright spot of Twitter, I really have to say, the one thing that keeps me from throwing myself into a passing jet engine above the Hudson River, is now I can "follow" Tina Fey.
Yep. Legal stalking. Hello!
She's super duper. A lot of her Twitter updates are potty humour, which in one sense surprises me, but in another, tickles me where the sun don't shine.
Please, set aside a few hours, close the door, seat yourself, and clear your mind. Ready?
A thought occurred to me while driving this morning. And not a particularly new or original thought, I'm sure. But something that seemed profound in the bright warm winter morning sun, crossing the Ironworkers Memorial Bridge at 9 am. So John Irving, please feel free to take this idea, set it in New England, thrown in some high school wrestling and perhaps a bear, and fully explore it.
Life should not be measured in years or days or hours, but in moments and experiences. Right?
Now you can stay warm while you get up to move that doomsday clock one minute closer to midnight! High five!
Folk(s), since we're on complete disclosure terms, I confess that every time I see this commercial come on, I cannot help but watch. It's uncomfortably, bordering on painfully, funny. Like watching Ricky Gervais, or walking around in moist underwear.
So today was a good music day. I got a little time to play around with Cubase summore, and while nothing earth-shattering was recorded, I did have a little fun with a semi-obscure Radiohead song. And that song would be True Love Waits.
And again, here is the real thing - featuring the much much better singing of ole Thom Yorke. It's a very sincere song, stripped down to Thom and guitar. A little dose of heartbreak.
I've tried to sing it in the higher octave, and dude it just ain't happening. I'll keep trying, but unless it miraculously comes together one day, I'll not be subjecting the world (ie you, my single solitary reader) to it.
(And PS: that grainy cell phone photo would be of tonight's moon. Which I thought looked kind of cool.)
So, we've made it all the way to 2009. Can you believe that the '00s (the "oughts") are drawing to a close? I know we still have a year to go, but you know, almost there. And time is now passing faster than ever.
Hey, remember that Y2K thing? What was that about? First it was a disastrous world-wide meltdown thing, but then magically by Jan 1, 2000, it was completely innocuous. The worst it could do was to attach itself to several sports video game titles.
Anyway, so here we are, in a brand new year, and although I usually don't attach too much significance to occasions or dates or arbitrary marks on the calendar, I have to admit to feeling slightly melancholy this Jan 1. Why, I don't know; new years should mark a time for hope and optimism, right? 2008 ended with economic chaos, violence in several areas of the world such as the middle east and Afghanistan... oh, and crazy local weather. God I am so sick of snow and ice!
But that's all over with right? New leaf and all? We can, we should, only hope that things are going to get better now. In a week, the US of A will swear in a visible minority president, someone who has already inspired millions and, hopefully, will expand this inspiration even further.
We can and we should. Someone help me out, c'mon, positive thoughts for the new year.
St Nikolaus (window, left) is a jolly old soul. The Krampus, aka Darth Maul, not so much. Bad for you, you bad fucking Fraulein.
