The Stellar Log

Blame Canada/Pimpin' Ain't Easy

2009-01-16T11:51:00.000-08:00

I didn't hear about the Airbus A320 emergency landing until I got home after work yesterday afternoon (about 6:00ish); as an aside, it wasn't a crash, it wasn't a crash landing - the word "crash" is constantly being used to sensationalize what actually happened. I'm not an aeronautical engineer, I'm a mechanical engineer, but I did study flight mechanics and aerodynamics with some enthusiasm and I can attest the quality of the pilot - he's a pimp.

I don't know how to fly a plane, but I know how planes fly. The wings generate lift via a pressure differential that occurs when air flows over the wing at a specific speed. Speed must be kept above a certain number, called the stall speed, or you drop in an ungraceful manner. The stall speed is an equation:

The velocity you have to be traveling above in order to fly depends on (a) the weight of the plane, (b) the density of the air (changes with altitude), (c) the area of the wing(s), and the shape of the wing. The pilot can add thrust by throttling the engines and change the shape of the wing (thereby changing CL (coefficient of lift) to keep the plane above this speed. Remember, planes don’t stall – wings stall.

Now here’s why the pilot is a pimp. He had no way to add thrust, because terrorist Canadian geese attacked the plane’s engines. In order to land (on water or land) the nose of the plane has to be kept up and the only way to do that is generate lift, and the only way to generate lift is to keep the plane above the stall speed of the wings. And this dude had no engines. How did he do it? He controlled the speed at which the plane dropped out of the sky by changing the shape of the wings (while minimizing the drag on the wings, because the more lift the wing generates, the more drag you induce and the faster you have to go). The wings shape can be changed by moving the flaps up and down; if a goose happened to damage the hydraulics that control the flaps, everybody would just be tits up today and the pilot would be blamed for 150 deaths because he couldn’t avoid a goddamned flock of geese. But the hydraulics held and this guy’s pimptasticness is now well established. Him having a mustache could have only helped the situation.

Oh, yeah… He also had to keep the speed high enough to generate lift, yet low enough not to rip the plane apart on landing. That part was mostly skill with a little luck mixed in.

I Drink Your Milkshake

2008-07-09T07:32:00.000-07:00

Quote of the blog update: “She's got a great ass." David Milch referring to Rebecca De Mornay's ass in the commentary track for John From Cincinatti, Episode 1.

Song of the blog update: Last Flowers by Radiohead

How to jump start a blog? I could detail my life for the last year (and some change), but that would just depress the shit out of all of us. A few of the more priveleged among my readers can figure most of it out from my myspace page anyway.

I'll try to be a better blogger. A more consistant poster, like trinam... oh wait. I'll make more of an effort to be a sardonic observer like g_s (without the overt racism). I'll delve into a little inter-species erotica, ala LL.

But I'll probably just find Celine Dion songs that I can fit the word "balls" into. Let's not kid ourselves.

Enjoy yourself.

Green tip of the blog update: One gallon of improperly disposed motor oil can contaminate one million gallons of fresh water. So next time you need to dispose of motor oil, dump it in the ocean. That's made of salt water. Your move, Dolphins.

Merry Thanksgivoween, Everybody!

2006-11-28T12:25:00.000-08:00

Yeah, yeah, yeah... I've missed a few months, I freely admit that. Let me fill you in on what you've been missing.

June - Summer oficially starts. My daughter begins daycare.

July - I take a new job in town. I like the people and the work's not boring. I can live with that.

August - I get my Master's Degree in Mechanical Engineering and Impregnate my wife.

September - My daughter turns 2, I turn 31.

October - My health insurance kicks in.

November - I find out it's a boy. My wife balks at D'Argo for a name.

December - Stay tuned.

Gotta run, I hope you had an eventful hiatus too. :p

Assasinate PharmaMaster

2006-05-08T07:40:00.000-07:00

Spam is the putrid funk of the universe; it's the sulfur in your nostrils on a springtime picnic in the countryside. We all know what it is and we all know the people who send this junk out are penis-less aborations in the otherwise decent track record of Human civilization. I setup an E-mail address for my daughter as a placeholder when she actually has use for it. She's never E-mailed anyone yet gets 10 Spam messages a day offering longer lasting erections and low cost pharmaceuticals. A 2 year old girl has use for neither.

I tried a half-dozen methods to stem the mongoloid tide, but all came up short. I thought I'd try Blue Frog, an anti-spam service that works like the no-call list. You forward spam to them and they ask the spammers to remove you. If they don't, then blue frog uses your computer to send opt-outs to the websites the spammers are pushing, multiply this by a couple hundred thousand (or millions) of computers and the people who pay the spammers start getting the message.

It actually worked.

Then some pinko spammer that goes by the self-gratifying moniker PharmaMaster, hacked the no-spam list and threatened to double or quadripule the spam he sends out if you don't cancel your blue frog service.

Well that Russian spammer can lick my harry bean bag. I endorse the Blue Frog anti-spam ware. It works. There may be a settling in period while the commie makes good on his word, but fuck him and his moon-faced whore of a mother.

I therefore am taking a bounty out on him. I know that after the end of Cold War, there's bound to be a couple of down-on-his-luck ex-KGB "special talent" people roaming around the former Soviet Union. I am offering a brand new (with tag) pair of American blue jeans for the first man to "take care of" PharmaMaster. I'm not saying kill... read the last sentence... "take care of". It's fairly open-ended and I believe this absolves me of all responsibility.

After "it" is done, just comment to this blog update with proof, and your American blue jean size in inches (waist/inseam). I was thinking Levis-Straus or Gap, but I'm pretty flexible on the brand and styling (regular, stone-washed, etc.) I don't think they make white jeans or acid-washed, but am more than willing to look around, or surf eBay.

Good night and good luck.

Deal or No Deal?

2006-05-02T09:27:00.000-07:00

Quote of the blog update: “He can compress the most words into the smallest ideas of any man I ever met.” Abraham Lincoln

Song of the blog update: "Crazy" by Gnarles Barkley

I went to have my car inspected this morning (I should have done it last month while the inspection sticker was valid, but WTF). I hit the ATM machine for cash (it costs $18 for an inspection sticker here) and headed off to my favorite state inspection location (yes, I have a favorite). I hand over the required ID, registration and proof of insurance and the attendant hands it back and says the registration is expired. I shuffle through my glovebox and find the up-to-date registration and hand it over (I don't know why I keep expired documentation and I don't know why you do it either). So I'm ready now. Nope, I have my wife's proof of insurance and she has mine. I put the new cards into the cars last month, but didn't pay attention to what car was getting which card. I had like 5 expired proof of insurance cards for my car, but that swayed nobody. I'll try again tomorrow.

So I made a detour on the way back to the office... to Best Buy. NYPinTA, compulsive blog updater and Tool fanatic, was hyping the new Tool album, "10,000 Days," in her last post. She seems to like the Tool... in fact she told me, in confidence, that her personalized NY license plate says "T00LLVR" and her AOL login is ToolLover69. OK... maybe I imagined that last part, but she's a legitimate Tool fan.

So I bought "10,000 Days," which incidentaly comes with a pair of reading glasses built into the case. I'm listening now. I've been listening for 20 minutes and I'm only on track 3 (and I'm not kidding)... the album is 1 hour, 15 minutes, 50 seconds long.

I also bought "Aenima" and "Lateralus" - both by Tool. I bought "Pablo Honey" - Radiohead and I bought "Exit Music" - a Radiohead tribute album by various artists. Five albums for $49.01, including tax; not bad.

OK, here's my moral dilema of the day. After I got in my car, I popped in the tribute album... not bad, I need more listens to make a final judgement. But, that's beside the point... I checked the Best Buy receipt and the checkout drone at Best Buy didn't scan "Pablo Honey". So I basically stole it. Now I am a huge Radiohead fan. My first ever blog update was dedicated to a thesis on Radiohead and black sitcoms. As much of a Tool I imagine NYPinTa is, that's how much of a Radiohead I am. "Pablo Honey" is the only album I hadn't yet purchased. It was their first major release and I didn't catch on until "The Bends" in 1995. I have "The Bends," "OK Computer," "Kid A," "Amnesiac," and "Hail To The Thief" - and their in the studio now, I'll buy that too. So maybe the freebee was a reward from God for being so loyal. That's how I'm leaning at the moment.

I'd like to know your opinion on the matter. Pretend you're Heathcliff Huxtable and I'm Theo. And I just walked out of Best Buy with a, technically stolen, cd, but am regarding it as a reward from God for band loyalty. What are your thoughts, Dr. Huxtable... I mean Dad?

Hottie of the blog update: Katherine McPhee from American Idol

Joy Behar can blow me

2006-03-10T11:25:00.000-08:00

Quote of the blog update: “Logic is the beginning of wisdom, not the end.” Leonard Nimoy.

Song of the blog update: "Born Secular" by Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins.

I came upon (no pun intended) this story today and I thought I'd rant about it for today's blog update. Chloe Sevigny and the rest of the cast of HBO's upcoming series Big Love (http://www.hbo.com/biglove/) went on The View (a mid-morning talk show geared toward housewives and detainees at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba).

Everything was going as well as can be expected when perennial Keith Richards look-a-like contest favorite Joy Behar asks Chloe about her oral sex scene in Vincent Gallo's application film to the Looney Bin - The Brown Bunny.

For those who don't know, The Brown Bunny was a 2003 indie film which featured a scene where Chloe Sevigny gives an actual blowjob to Vincent Gallo. It goes without saying that Gallo wrote, directed and produced this movie... sly bastard. Look it up on Wikipedia, at the bottom there's a link to the video. It's not safe for work.

The resulting scandal caused a world of shit for Sevigny - her talent agent dropped her and this HBO series is her comeback (no pun intended).

So now she goes on The View with the rest of her cast mates (including Chet from Weird Science) to talk about the series and Joy Behar asks her about the blowjob scene from The Brown Bunny (a 3 year old story). Luckily Chet defended Chloe's honor and said that it was out-of-bounds. I knew there was a reason I liked Chet.

What a huge douche bag Joy Behar is. I wanted to post a humiliatingly ugly picture of Joy Behar, but I did a Google image search and got 435 ties. I'm guessing in the hundred or so years she's haunted this Earth, there's a couple of dozen awkward felatio sessions she'd rather not have broadcast on what passes for TV these days. A cursory search on The Internet Movie Database (http://www.imdb.com) reveals a smorgasbord of off-putting candidates (because no way does she get work via talent):

Gary Shandling
Peter Falk
Woody Allen
Lucifer, etc.

In closing, Chloe Sevigny is young, beautiful and talented and Joy Behar is a vapid and empty void of hate and a woeful degenerate with a black book of questionable sexual favors that would induce vomiting in all but the most desperate of street walkers.

Hottie of the blog update: Chloe Sevigny

I don't love you anymore

2006-02-22T11:51:00.000-08:00

Quote of the blog update: “I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me.” Hunter S. Thompson.

Song of the blog update: “Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole” by Martha Wainwright

Barney the dinosaur is to my daughter what crack cocaine is to Whitney Houston and "keeping the black man down" is to g_s - they just can't get enough of it.

I bought her a bunch of DVDs months ago to get her mildly interested before my wife an I took her to a Barnely Live show. I always wondered why all of those DVDs had a "play continuosly" feature. I figured it was for negligent parents, but no... as soon as the credits roll she walks up to the TV and points and says "B!". It wouldn't be so bad, I guess, if she weren't watching this on my 60" widescreen high-definition Sony Grand Wega. I mean come on!

Oh, yeah... I stole the quote and song of the day from NYP. She's probably organizing a bank robbery or something so I don't think she'll have time to notice. She does quote/song of the day... but who are we kidding here?

I might as well steal:

Hottie of the blog update: Jewel Staite

Michele Meme'd me.

2006-01-30T10:12:00.000-08:00

Three Things I Do That No One Else Knows About:

(1) In Junior High, I was in the school band. I was second-chair clarinet. I quit my third year to take Home Economics. Apparently, the band wasn't gay enough.

(2) I'm in the continual process of downloading porn and then feeling guilty about it, deleting it and having to download the same porn again. It's a vicious cycle.

(3) I own five calculators. Three scientific calculators and two graphing calculators. I named the graphing calculators; Horatio and Bernadette. I also have a pocket Slide Rule. He hasn't told me his name yet.

Everybody appears to have been tagged. I won't re-tag. I hope you can appreciate that.

Super Sounds of the 70s

2006-01-30T08:18:00.000-08:00

The 70s; not that wonderfuly pre-AIDS decade full of snappy dressers and general decadence, but the average temperature range on any given day in South Louisiana - in January!

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy our temperate climate as much as the next guy, but don't completely rob me of winter. I'm not asking for snow, or even a light freeze; I just want to wear a fucking sweater vest.

A side effect of the heat is that I have to run the air conditioner while natural gas prices are spiked and Entergy is trying to recoup it's losses from the hurricanes. My house is on the larger side (2400 sq. ft with 12-foot ceilings) and it takes a lot of juice to cool it off; this month I owe $365.56 to the electric company and God knows how much to 3-2-1 Contact. But, don't worry about me - I cheat on my taxes.

So I was watching Kill Bill yesterday afternoon and snacking on some trail mix. I only mention this because a lot of people are under the impression that trail mix is good for you when in fact it contains glass. I would've thought they'd mention glass in the ingredient list, but apparently that's too much to expect. Anyway, I reached into the bag and pulled out a collection of nuts, dried fruits and seeds, and threw it in my mouth and bit down. At first I thought I broke a tooth or something, which is the only reason I decided to do an inventory of what was in my mouth at the time. I spit out the mix and sifted through it like some kind of witless prospector and found a piece of glass. Hard and green-tinted like Coke bottle glass, but thicker. I wasn't cut and my teeth are undamaged, but I think I'll hold off on trail mix until they come out with a new glassless formula.

Okay. I'd like to post a hottie of the week like my hero NYP, but who are we kidding? No way am I going to update every week. So here's my hottie of the interval of time between blog updated - Evangeline Lilly.

It's not TV, it's H-B-Rome

2005-11-14T07:29:00.000-08:00

My first exposure to HBO original programming was in 1984; the program, Fraggle Rock. I was nine years old, so programming for my demographic at that time was Transformers, He-Man, The Smurfs, etc. - basically anything to market everything plastic. Fraggle Rock was an island of quality in a sea of patronizing Hasbro-ejaculate. I didn't realize the historical importance of HBO at the time, but simply enjoyed the quality puppetry and occasional late-night tit. Only now, at thirty, do I get it - HBO doesn't create shows you want to watch, they create shows you want to pay to watch.

Such is Rome, epitomized by last night's episode, "The Spoils". Rome is unique. It has a major arc and a minor arc. The major arc (this season) is Caesar's rise to Roman dictator and assassination, the minor arc is the travails of Lucius Vorenus and Titus Pullo. All other ancillary arcs are to reinforce the major and minor arcs, or, more often, provide a tie between them. Now here's what's unique: everybody knows what happens in the major arc, everybody knows what this season will end with. The major arc is, in fact, a backdrop for the minor. The real drama, the suspense isn't with Caesar, but Pullo and Vorenus. The minor arc came to a head last night in the Gladiator scene. I've never witnessed the tragic and heroic more personified in all of cinema than the ten minute Gladiator scene in last night's Rome.

If you don't watch this show, watch last night's episode. If you don't have HBO, Torrent the episode. I have it saved on my digital video recorder and will watch it again tonight in 60-inch high-definition widescreen goodness. Tony soprano-who? Yeah.

Throw Pedestrian Crossing a bone now and then (http://www.pedestriancrossing.blogspot.com). I've actually updated that one in the last month. Heathenish.

Juicy fruit

2005-10-17T11:19:00.000-07:00

What's in a name?

2005-10-12T10:14:00.000-07:00

I was looking through Google News during lunch and one of the headlines jumped off the page: "The NYT Pinata". The story (http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/10/12/AR2005101200350.html) has something to do with the New York Times; I'm a skimmer - I don't really like to read. The long overdue point is that I immediately thought of NYPinTA, Scaper and Blogger extraordinaire. What the hell does that name mean? I get that she lives in New York, but the rest is a newspaper word jumble that only exists in order to make me feel retarded. I get Trinamick... her name's Katrina and she's possibly Irish. I get John... he pays for sex. And I think we all get Lord Loser. This is something that's going to bother me for the rest of the week and now I give the pain to all of you to share.

P.S., I bet you can't find a baby cuter thant mine.

Generation Meme?

2005-09-22T12:13:00.000-07:00

Seven Answers to Seven Questions:

Seven things I plan on doing before I die:

1)I'll tell you what I'd do, man, two chicks at the same time, man.
2)Read Don Quixote.
3)Update my blog.
4)Eat a 72 ounce porterhouse, win a meal.
5)Visit Constantinople.
6)Eat whale meat.
7)Save the world.

Seven things I can do:

1) Lift a car (front end of a VW bug and backend of a small pickup truck).
2) The perfect Roger Rabbit impersonation... "Pllleeaaase, Eddie!".
3) Digest any food.
4) Cook.
5) Stay awake for days.
6) Whistle.
7) Accurately hit moving targets with a blowgun.

Seven things I cannot do:

1) Cook rice.
2) Hold the phone to my right ear (even though I can hear perfectly well out of it).
3) Dance.
4) Long division.
5) Keep cash on me.
6) Hold a conversation with a stripper.
7) Pickup a lizard, or frog, or other seemingly harmless small creature.

Seven things that attract me to another person:

1) Kindness.
2) Lips.
3) Patience.
4) Sexual appetite.
5) Confidence.
6) Sense of humor.
7) Ability to watch good TV for 10 hours straight.

Seven things I say most often:

1) Hey.
2) Motherfucker.
3) Okay.
4) Nice. (Sarcasticly)
5) Come on?
6) How 'bout we don't and say we did?
7) Uh huh.

Seven celebrity crushes: (In no particular order)

Valeria Golino

Michelle Pfeiffer

Maura Tierney

Jeanine Garofalo

Linda Fiorentino

Claudia Black

Jennifer Beals

Stand not amaz'd

2005-08-16T07:27:00.000-07:00

I awake in a bundle; the pain of last night's fajitas acutely present in my distended belly. I drink my coffee, dull and acidic. On the drive to work everything looks yellow and swirling; I sip some water. I make it to work and muster enough consciencesness to open my car door and emerge - I've got zombie eyes and I can't recall if I brushed my hair this morning.

I put my things in my office and walk out. I stand looking across the hall at the public restroom. It's as if I'm looking through binoculars backwards - the door to the restroom telescopes out like in the movies. I dread what's inside - a three-stalled multi-urinal petre dish of hideousness. But to me, at this moment, it's goddamned Shangri La.

I open the door and the record of some horrific event undulates on the stale air. I take inventory to evaluate cleanliness before I make my selection and in the third stall, the oversized for special needs penthouse of a WC, that I witness man's inhumanity to man left there for me to find like some unholy Easter egg found by chance three months into summer. I flush, but time had cemented what this bastard had lamented. Didn't really matter since there was no postage stamp-sized area left unmolested by this damnation.

I want to leave. Take my business elsewhere, but those are the choices a blessed man gets to make, and I am cursed.

I choose the stall farthest from the filthy holocaust. I lay a foundation of paper over the seat until I am satisfied that I won't come into physical contact with the plastic urine absorber - seriously, nobody ever lifts these things. I settle in and count the soft shades of white on the fake gray marble door as I pull up the collar of my shirt to mask the monstrous environment like the unsuspecting soul who opens a door and uncovers a mass suicide a fortnight past.

While I was contemplating what would be a fair jail sentence for whoever violated the handicapped stall and thinking what a good idea it would be to have a shelf with a jar of that white stuff Jodi Foster used before examining the corpse in Silence of the Lambs at the bathroom door, I heard footsteps.

I can only imagine the poor guy's reaction at the killing fields in stall #3. Of course, the man chose the stall next to mine and I found myself in the uncomfortable position of being one of two human beings separated by a half-inch particle board divider at our most shameful. He had brown loafers on.

I tidied up and washed vigorously, dried my hands and left. I checked my mailbox and stopped at the drinking fountain. When I was walking back to my office I noticed a familiar face. A custodian and her yellow rolling menagerie of cleaning tools knocking on the bathroom door. She gave me a good morning smile and I returned, knowing full well the Hell that awaited her. I mumbled something in Latin and unlocked my office door. A simple prayer, may God protect you in the dark places you must go for I cannot.

Adieu.

The Triple Lindy

2005-07-26T10:07:00.000-07:00

Bring me the head of Jerry Bruckheimer

2005-07-13T11:46:00.000-07:00

I watched King Arthur last night, the "historically accurate" one that came out recently. I Tivo'd it, except I don't have Tivo - I have a Motorola DVR, but Moto'd it hasn't really caught on yet; fingers crossed. Anyway, if you're thinking of watching this movie, you'd be better served to shove a bamboo shishkabob skewer in your eyeball.

If you're going to do a "historical" take on a legend and then you Hollywoodize it to make for better entertainment then what you're really doing is fabricating a less endearing legend from an already better one. By the end of the movie I was rooting for the Black Pearl to make an appearance and kill the lot of them. I like Clive Owen, but he's earned about 4 years in purgatory for staring in this abortion.

On a lighter note, I just bought a $126.94 universal remote control on Amazon.com. It's a Logitech Harmony H-688S. You plug it into your computer and fill out a webform saying what equiptment you've got. Then you can junk your other remotes. It should be bad ass.

As you can imagine, unless I can update my blog from my new remote control, I'll see you in August.

Relativity

2005-06-23T07:00:00.000-07:00

It took 19minutes and 23seconds exactly from the moment I put my car into reverse in my driveway to the instant I pulled into my parking spot at the office. I know this because 19:23 is how long the epic John Bonham drum solo Moby Dick is on Led Zeppelin's How The West Was Won.

Now mind you, it was close. There was some oaf lugging around a cherrypicker with the name of the electric company stencilled over the industrial yellow dull paint in front of me when I got off the Interstate. And while I was on the Interstate there was a motorcyclist in front of me doing 50... 50!!! I repeated "you're going to ruin this for me" rhymically to the 12-armed sasquachian thump of live Zeppelin wonderment. Had I not made it in time, well I don't know what I would've done. But one things for sure, it would've been profoundly stupid in retrospect.

Get this word out of your head

2005-06-16T09:19:00.000-07:00

Rectum.

What if David Milch (of Deadwood fame) wrote Shakespeare?

2005-04-05T12:45:00.000-07:00

Titus Andronicus (Al Swearengen)

Act 5, Scene 2

Before Titus’ house

Enter TAMORA (Calamity Jane), DEMETRIUS (Dan Dority), and CHIRON (Johnny Burns), disguised

TAMORA
Thus, in this strange and sad fucking habiliment,
I will encounter with Andronicus,
And say I am Revenge, cocksucker, sent from below
To join with him and right his heinous fucking wrongs.
Knock at his study, where, they say, he keeps,
To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge;
Tell him Revenge is come to fucking join with him,
And work confusion on his fucking enemies.

They knock

Enter TITUS, above

TITUS ANDRONICUS
What cocksucker doth molest my contemplation?
Is it your trick to make me open the door,
That so my sad decrees may fucking fly away,
And all my study be to no effect?
You are deceived: for what I mean to do
See here in bloody lines I have set down;
And what is written shall be fucking executed.

TAMORA
Titus, I am come to talk with thee.

TITUS ANDRONICUS
No, not a fucking word; how can I grace my talk, cunt,
Wanting a hand to give it action?
Thou hast the fucking odds of me; therefore no more.

TAMORA
If thou didst know me, thou wouldest fucking talk with me.

TITUS ANDRONICUS
I am not mad; I know thee well enough:
Witness this wretched fucking stump, witness these crimson lines;
Witness these trenches made by grief and care,
Witness the tiring day and heavy fucking night;
Witness all sorrow, that I know thee well
For our proud empress, mighty fucking Tamora, cocksucker that she is:
Is not thy coming for my other fucking hand?

TAMORA
Know, thou cocksucker, I am not Tamora;
She is thy enemy, and I thy motherfucking friend:
I am Revenge: sent from the infernal kingdom,
To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind,
By working wreakful vengeance on the dirt-worshipers.
Come down, and welcome me to this world's light;
Confer with me of murder and of fucking death:
There's not a hollow cave or lurking-place,
No vast obscurity or misty vale,
Where bloody motherfucking murder or detested rape
Can couch for fear, but I will find them out;
And in their ears tell them my dreadful fucking name,
Revenge, which makes the foul cocksucker quake.

TITUS ANDRONICUS
Art thou Revenge? and art thou sent to me,
To be a torment to mine fucking enemies?

TAMORA
I am; therefore come down, and welcome me, cocksucker.

TITUS ANDRONICUS
Do me some service, ere I fucking come to thee.
Lo, by thy side where Rape and motherfucking Murder stands;
Now give me some fucking surance that thou art fucking Revenge,
Stab the cocksuckers, or tear them on thy chariot-wheels;
And then I'll come and be thy fucking waggoner,
And whirl along with thee about the globe like a heathen.
Provide thee two proper palfreys, black as fucking jet,
To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away,
And find out murderers in their guilty cocksucking caves:
And when thy car is loaden with their fucking heads,
I will dismount, and by the waggon-wheel
Trot, like a fucking servile footman, all fucking day long,
Even from Hyperion's rising in the east Until his very downfall in the sea:
And day by fucking day I'll do this heavy task,
So thou fucking destroy Rapine and Murder there.

TAMORA
These cocksuckers are my ministers, and come with me.

TITUS ANDRONICUS
Are these thy ministers? what are they call'd?

TAMORA
Rapine and Murder; therefore called so,
Cause they take vengeance of such kind of cocksuckers.

TITUS ANDRONICUS
Good Lord, how like that cunt the empress' sons they are!
And you, the fucking cunt empress! but we worldly men
Have miserable, mad, mistaking fucking eyes.
O sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee;
And, if one arm's embracement will content thee, cocksucker,
I will embrace thee in it by and fucking by.

"My Heart Will Go On," the love song from Titanic, with the words "balls" and "pants" strategicaly placed

2005-03-18T16:26:00.000-08:00

Editor's note
This was not as great a stretch as one would imagine.

Every night in my dreams, I see you, I feel you
That is how I know you go on.
Far across the distance, and spaces between us
You have come to show you go on.

Near, far, wherever you are
I believe that my balls do go on
Once more, you opened the door
And you're here in my pants,
And my balls will go on and on.

Balls can touch us one time, and last for a lifetime
And never let go till we're gone.
Love was when I loved you, balls, one true time to hold on to
In my pants we'll always go on.

Near, far, wherever you are
I believe that my balls do go on
Once more, you opened the door
And you're here in my pants,
And my balls will go on and on.

You're here, there's nothing I fear
And I know that my balls will go on.
We'll stay, forever this way
You are safe in my pants
And my balls will go on and on.

Analogizing the evolution of the Radiohead discography using black situation comedies

2005-03-11T10:56:00.000-08:00

Many of the Radiohead loyal, including yours truly, mythologize their discography by ascribing to it an evolution of musical form and technique - the descent of man from the trees of Grunge. Radiohead are to many of us what the jabbering heads on MTV insist that Nirvana was destined for had Kurt Cobain not turned his head into a canoe; thereby ridding himself of Courtney Love at a time when America was under the illusion that she was a tolerable human being. But I digress. There are many tools of analogy available to the Radiohead fan when making the case for a unique evolving anthology. I humbly submit to you that I can effectively illustrate that evolution with the help of a sampling of my favorite black sitcoms from the 70s, 80s and 90s.

Pablo Honey (1993) – The Cosby Show (1984-1992)

Whitey never had it so good.

Pablo Honey came on to a scene that had already been established. It was a solid offering that, at times, rivaled Nirvana and Dinosaur Jr., but was, flower in a field of flowers. New Musical Express called it “flawed but satisfying”.

Flawed but satisfying. Enter The Cosby Show. The Cosby Show dominated during its time on TV, but the audience was left wanting something more visceral than the humdrum goings on of a family without much of a care in the world. It was a pleasant fiction – a Doctor, a Lawyer and kids who respected them. And not once did Theo have to go to the free clinic because he thought he might have VD. It was light and fluffy (relatively) and the masses ate it up like so many bacon-burger-dogs.

The Bends (1995) – The Jeffersons (1975 – 1985)

You better recognize!!!

In April 1994, Kurt Cobain injected himself with an enormous amount of heroine and shot himself with a shotgun. In his suicide note he quoted a Neil Young song, “It’s better to burn out than to fade away”. In 1995 Radiohead released The Bends. Cobain, the man in plaid and the H-fiend was billed as the Lennon who could’ve been because he took himself out while Smells like Teen Spirit was still popular. In the wake of the talking head orgy that followed many in the music know failed to pay attention to what Thom Yorke and crew had done – they made a hit album (PH) and then made a better one – The Bends.

The Jeffersons, like The Bends, was made for the masses, but transcended the colloquial premise of “moving on up the East Side”. The Jeffersons borrowed a taste of All in The Family; just enough to infuse the universal appeal with genuine quality.

OK Computer (1997) – Good Times (1974 – 1979)

Jesus! Is that velour?

OK Computer is widely considered to be the finest Radiohead album. Radiohead put out an album that can hardly be called a follow-up to The Bends (as The Bends was a follow-up to PH). OKC is a total package, complete with the sacrificial radio song (Karma Police) and artsy-fartsy Fitter Happier. It was a total departure from The Bends, which was a good album. OKC was a great album. Radiohead had evolved and invented a new sound. That sound lulled the listener with complex rhythms and attacked with unadulterated beauty.

Good Times was a comedy in which the characters had to struggle through life, through poverty and death. Every season we were entertained by the truly funny episodes and heartened by the close-knit family. And every once in a while we were rewarded with emotionally deep context that drew us into the story and fundamentally affected us. What Good Times did was to make realistic tragedies a constant backdrop for true joy thereby making the contrast more invigorating.

Kid A (2000) – Sanford and Son (1972 – 1977)

Come and get some, motherfucker.

After touring on OKC, Radiohead put out two albums in rapid succession, Kid A and Amnesiac. Kid A in particular was viewed as the most likely to topple OKC on everybody’s awesome list, but although unique and powerful it just didn’t have what it took. It wasn’t subtle enough to be that great, but belying its forwardness is an underlying something. No matter how pissed off you are at something or frustrated or down, popping Kid A in will make you better although you and I will never understand why. Kid A is the brown note for the soul.

I double-dog-dare you to watch Sanford and Son and not laugh. Now can you tell me why you laugh? Was it Fred faking a heart attack or insulting the ugly, infirmed and Puerto Ricans? It doesn’t matter what’s going on because Redd Roxx could deliver the news and you’d laugh your ass off. It was how he looked, how he talked and moved. It was an inexplicable joy to watch that show.

Amnesiac (2001) – What’s Happening!! (1976 – 1979)

Rodge, I'm you mother. My weed should be half price.

Thom Yorke said that Kid A is the sound of watching a fire and Amnesiac is the sound of being in the fire (or something to that effect). Amnesiac is a cacophony of sound. That’s what it is and how it should be approached. There’s nothing to think about. Just relax and enjoy.

What’s Happening!! Actually had two explanation points in the title that ran during opening credits. Its as if the producers were putting a warning up that said just sit down a watch… it’s going to be stupid and you’re going to love it. And there is always room for that!!

Hail to the Thief (2003) – Roc (1991 – 1994)

Fuck you, cracker!!!

Everybody thinks HTTT is about George W. Bush. Thom keeps insisting it is not. Maybe HTTT is so Orwellian themed that King George (the incarnation of the Orwellian nightmare) just fits the part so well. One thing is for certain, HTTT is not a passive album. Its aggressive and stirring and proactive and its got machismo – big sweaty machismo. Myxomatosis actually hurts to listen to. Why put a track on an album that actually induces slight nausea? Because HTTT refuses complacent listeners. It’s all about the mind control baby!!!

Charles S. Dutton exudes the best part we all revere about our fathers. An intrinsic strength… a swagger. If a man like that speaks, you listen, not because you are terribly interested in what he has to say, but because his swagger demands it of you. Roc was the Charles S. Dutton show and it capitalized on his on screen nature. The live season wasn’t good for the show because it put Dutton of kilter and that screwed up the dynamic. You can’t swagger if you’re trying desperately to remember a line. You just look stupid.