Sunday, May 28, 2006

Click clack

I cannot even begin to deal with the tour de force that is Ong-bak god Tony Jaa rapping. When you're Tony Jaa, performing in front of an audience populated entirely by in-uniform schoolgirls is pretty much shooting (Asian) fish in a (Asian) barrel, but I still appreciate his enthusiasm. I wish I knew what he was Thai rappin' bout.

In this one, Tony-Tone gets stabbed in the beginning, which really,
really pisses him off. He expresses his anger by completely manhandling about 50 hapless thugs in a row. Highlights: about 40 seconds in, he picks up some poor SOB and tosses him across the room like a fucking alarm clock. At/around 1:35, he snaps two dude's arms at once, then does some crazy shit that I can't even really explain. You are the champion, my friend.

City Paper's Sam Adams on
The Da Vinci Code ("Ian McKellen gives the movie's only genuine performance as a crippled Grail scholar, and when he's finally driven off raving in the backseat of a car, I found myself wishing I could go with him.")

If I see you in the streets wearing
these beauties, I might just pitifully attempt to jack you for them ask you where you got them, and then tell you to have a great day. (Inspired by Dallas Penn's recent homage to the re-released Air Stab)

Go read some of
my man Pete's eloquent thoughts, then encourage him to update.

UPDATE: Fixed Pete's link.

Friday, May 26, 2006

When I see a ghost, I cut the motherf*cka

The face Duncan makes when he thinks he's been fouled really, really pisses me off. The whiny eye contortion and incredulous gesticulation remind me of what lame people do when someone cuts them off in traffic. That, or how the young Tim reacted when the bigger Virgin Islanders beat him up and took his soursop.

I saw The Da Vinci Code the other night. I found it generally enjoyable, if you don't count Audrey Tatou's complete inability to thrive in a film that doesn't have a sexy soundtrack/requires a nominal understanding of common English phrase inflection (8.6? Good flick, but...). Really though, DVC wasn't as bad as everyone made it out to be. And I didn't really have a problem with Tom's hair in it, either.

CP deluge:

Great Escape (I'm organizing a carpool to the Devon Horse Show, inquire inside)
Before Bruno, and How He Became Boss (I now have a "local mob historian" card in my Rolodex)
Sailors' Valentines (yes, sailors made Valentines)
Watering Hole: Sal's on 12th (or, "How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Spend Upwards of $60 In Less Than Three Hours")

I like this dude's beats.

O-Dub's "Top 10 Stereotypes I Learned From Desperate Housewives." (via Adam Riff™)

Aw shit, the
Teen Blog Watch is on like grilled prawns. If some 15-year-old drama club kids are dumb enough to post MySpace pics of them getting shellacked on wine coolers in the green room, then I fully support their discplinary exclusion from the chorus of Brigadoon. Serves you right, you damn lushes. Really though, if you're underage, just don't post (highly) incriminating photos of yourself online. I'm over 21, so it's okay for me, right? RIGHT?

Dear 12-year-old Hawaiian kid who raps like this: stop trying to add me as your Myspace friend/rapping. I can't even listen to two seconds of your bullshit without punching a hole in my wall. Stick to wearing puka shells or doing the "hang loose" or whatever else you kids do down there.

This movie sounds twisted. The short list of Dylan portrayers: Blanchett, Ledger, M. Williams (no/yes), Bale, Moore (no/yes) and Gere.

Beans gets shot, painfully marginalized by Inky journalists: "His three albums... each hit the top five on the Billboard album chart. Many of his songs depict guns, drugs and violence. He also starred in the film State Property and its sequel." Boy, am I glad I didn't star in State Property and its sequel. Getting shot would suck.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006



Earlier, I got a last-minute assignment for the
City Paper. I decided to try and compile a top five list of "signature sandwiches" served around the city. You know, really unique stuff that you can only get around here, only from specific places. Off the top of my head, I can think of two: McNally's Tavern's "The Schmitter," the amazingly delicious artery clogger pictured above, and the pork sandwich from Tony Luke's. If anyone has any suggestions or ideas, please don't hesitate to let me know. Hope you'll holler. I'm trying to avoid all things cheesesteak--pretty tired and cliche (even though the Schmitter is kind of a cheesesteak), so just keep that in mind. Thanks!

I really, really want a Schmitter right now.

Monday, May 22, 2006

It's like a parallel hell, where Satan freezes

I've had this picture bookmarked for a long time, and have always intended to use it to head a post. Finally, that day has come. Resume reading whenever you're done clawing your eyes out in anger. Braille Trapper Juan version available for the vision impaired.

I'm taking care of my buddy Gerard's dog while he's in Europe for two weeks. Last year, I had the pleasure of watching her when she was just a wee puppy. Now, she's a motherfucking tank (for the slightly pornographic dog pose, I apologize). Also, please take note of the duct tape holding together the legs of my computer chair in the second image.

This dog (named Nike, after the
greek goddess and some company) is a muscular, electrified bundle of unbridled energy, and the craziest part is she's still under a year old. This means she thinks and acts like she's still a pint-size pooch. When she jumps on my lap and tries to sit with me on the couch, I feel like I'm in the middle of this (note: this came up when I did a Google image search for M. Bison). She nearly chokes herself to death every time I try to walk her because she insists on sprinting the whole time. She also tries to eat my cat, which is often always hilarious. Come visit if you want. Come on, I've got a puppy! And an engaging personality?

Don't fuck with this guy--he'll send you unsolicited call girls.

For some reason, instead of doing all my work, I've gotten into the habit of using YouTube to find ghost movies. Most of the shit that comes up is either
funny or unbelievably infuriating, but I did manage to find some Japanese ghost mixes with really disturbing music. [1] [2] (There are like five more from the same user, too). Some of the apparitions are obviously just weird lighting anomalies, but there is some truly, truly strange shit throughout. I don't know if it's just because I used to play Fatal Frame a lot, or I've seen too many of those Ju-On flicks (the inspiration for The Grudge stateside), but I get the impression that Japan is a really, really haunted place.

The genius-but-overhyped "Lazy Sunday" (and all the fucking terrible DIY parodies that came after it) gets most of the shine, but this
SNL digital short is the balls. The bandanna bit is also the balls.

Furthermore, this post proves that Dallas Penn is the balls.
"Kenyan broads have that exotic Africa thing going for them without the HIV or the missing hands due to civil war. Mulatto chicks with a Jew mom are simply the gold standard by which I judge all my summertime jumpoffs by. The mom is never going to let you marry the girl, but hey, you didn’t want to anyhoo."

Free Darko's Dr. Lawyer IndianChief hates Anderson Varejao. I've always hated that guy too, but not based on his game or his Bunsen-Honeydew-in-Sao-Paulo hair. His persona, or at least the persona I created for him, just pisses me off. I'll admit that I didn't see dude play once throughout the entire season--my only exposure to this Brazilian Brian Krakow was through TNT promo after-ungodly-LeBron-dunk footage, where AV would hug his teammate as if he actually contributed sizably to the amazing play that had just unfolded.

DLIC slays it here: "Varejao is what hoops experts commonly refer to as an "energy guy," a player whose job is to grab key offensive rebounds, track down loose balls, and take charges (often, in Varejao's case, by "flopping"). Praising this style of play, whose inhibition so contrasts with the fluidity and improvisation of star players like Varejao's teammate LeBron James, makes the Bill Walton do-gooders feel that they are teaching America's youth a more ethically sensible version of how to play basketball." Fuck that guy (AV).

Cronenberg is
working with Viggo again; Naomi Watts to pull a Mario Bello and get violently screwed on stairs this time around. Here's hoping Dave will return to form and have more typewriters turning into vaginas or what have you.

Read "Trapped In A Bookshop," a great piece by a Chestnut Hill business owner named Hugh Gilmore,

In case you need a reminder: if
Baltimore was a dude, he'd stab you (and me, just for opening my mouth).

Every morning, around this time (5:41am), pigeons sit on the sill outside my window and coo like crazy. If it was socially acceptable to punch pigeons, I would.

Friday, May 19, 2006

Some people stand in the darkness

[Philly Skyline: G-Ho]

I'm such a slacker. But, I have an excuse--I've been moving. Yup, moving, the universally dreaded activity that a poll ranked as the second most stressful/traumatic life experience, right behind the death of a loved one. I call personal bullshit on this one, because I think moving is way more stressful. I didn't even cry when Antonio Fargas died, which is generally impressive considering that he's not even dead yet.

Anyway, it's been quite a change of scenery for me. For the last four years, I've lived in Olney, which is I believe is Lenape Indian for "land of inconveniently planned city blocks." I had a great time and all, but I just got sick of having to get in the car and drive somewhere when I got a hankering for a Whatchamacallit at three in the morning.

The area where I lived was overwhelming residental, despite it being just a few blocks off Broad Street. There were corner stores and takeout places and all that good stuff, but they weren't immediately accessible and most closed early. And yes, I did drive to the Sunoco A-Plus at three in the morning on a quasi-daily basis to purchase Whatchamacallits/other preservative-laden snacks.

For nostalgia's sake, I'd like to share five things I'll miss about the old hood, and five things that I'm definitely grateful to be rid of forever.



1. It only took me two minutes to walk to work. Now, it doesn't take me any time, but that's just because I don't have a job.

2. The resourceful, streetsmart cat who chilled outside my house every day. I'd give her Friskies sometimes, but it really wasn't necessary, as she swindled every person on my block to feed her daily. I named her Fran; I'd like to say I named her after Fran Dunphy, but it's really just after this bully character I remembered from
Pete and Pete.

3. The super-sweet Asian lady who ran the lunch truck across the street from my house. Runner-up: The super-sweet Asian lady at the Cold Beer.

4. The Goldburns, my elderly neighbors who served as non-stop sources of entertainment. Mrs. Goldburn was extremely active, and worked a part-time job at the Willow Grove Mall. Mr. Goldburn's daily regimen, however, included sitting on his porch, informing me that he was "hanging tough," asking Michelle/various female friends if he could photograph them in a garden, and addressing Fran as "Pretty Kitty" in his vaguely Carribean accent.

5. Having a driveway. Shit was on a 45-degree angle, but at least it was off-street.


1. Extremely well-dressed, well-coiffed young dudes acting as though I'm required to give them a dollar at the gas station just because I'm not black. You've got Dunks, some nice watch and you're driving a luxury sedan, and I'm supposed to give
you a dollar? Fuckouttahere!

2. At least four times a week, I'd hear this random guy yelling up to the window of his female acquaintance, who was either named
Thea or Sophia. Dude would seriously scream her name for at least five to ten minutes straight. There was no set time for the name-yelling, either; sometimes it'd be seven in the morning, and other times it'd be midnight. I always wondered why this guy didn't just knock on Thea/Sophia's door, or just invest in a motherfucking cellphone.

3. Ms. Anderson (aka Ramona), my
other next-door neighbor who was a complete fucking headcase. Not only was she a packrat, a shut-in and a paranoid schizo, I also saw her in her bra one time when she walked outside in broad daylight without a shirt on. I ain't been right since. While most conventional bras have one clasp on the back, hers had four. That was the day I swore off women forever. Also, one time she knocked on my door at 2:30 in the morning, asking if I could open a can of Wolfgang Puck brand soup for her.

4. Being the Goldburn's indentured servant. Somehow, they roped me into this elaborate, unpaid yardwork schedule, which featured such tasks as raking his two million leaves and cutting the grass on his 2x2 lawn with an
electric push mower. This shit plugged in.

5. Brian, the
drunk/gardener drunk gardener on my block. One time, he was "weeding" out in front of my house for five bucks, and he started pulling up plants and flowers. I told him to stop, to which he responded, "I was only testing you." Oh, of course. Two summers ago, dude used to come by my house bearing bootleg DVDs, offering to lend them to me if I could spot him money to "buy his niece a hot dog." In one particularly memorable incident, he tried to force a beat-up VHS copy of
Glory on me. I was all like, "Brian, Glory came out in 1989," to which he replied, "Yeah, y'all seen Glory?" I was the only person there at the time.


Now, I live in a neighborhood that I'm not even sure what to call. The generally accepted moniker is "Graduate Hospital," but near neighbors and outsiders alike don't seem to feel this too much. I've seen it referred to as Southwest Center City, South of South Street (or "So-So"), the 30th Ward, and Northwest South Philly, which is the absolute worst of 'em all.

This area always seems to come up in snooze-worthy gentrification arguments (the g-word is so hot right now), but I don't let it get to me. Honestly, I've observed how different people from different backgrounds interact, and it's great. No one's bitching at each other about cultural square-peg-round-hole bullshit, and no one is moaning about the potential of rising rents (they're definitely not rising anytime soon, anyway, as the "expensive" properties are still in the fledgling stages of development). I really just see it for what it is--a nice place with nice people. Regardless of what the new hood's called, it's fucking great and I love it. This G-Ho Photo Essay sums all that up well.

I've been randomly catching a bunch of crossover sitcoms lately. You know, like when Urkel came on Full House? The hook was that he was DJ's black friend's cousin; of course, after the episode, said black friend was never seen again. Uncle Jesse was ethnic enough for the Tanner household, I guess. Drew also caught the Boy Meets World/Singled Out crossover where Eric (who seems to have pulled a Mark Hamill and become a prolific voice actor) lies and says he's an Ivy Leaguer. Anyone else have any memorable crossovers to point out? I've been racking my brain trying to think of more, but they're just not coming.

Somehow, Michelle and I ended up talking about David Charvet the other day (hence the inspiration for this post's title). She admitted that she found him extremely sexy when she was 10. Hussy. Anyway, I was extremely surprised to read that Dave is a wildly successful pop icon in his native France, and is currently collaborating with Seal on a duet. Go Charvet.

The People's Champ (and Ice-T!) is getting his own VH1 show. Here's hoping they go the Flavor of Love route and avoid ruthlessly exploiting his celebrity for cheapened laughs. Wait, did I say Flavor of Love? I meant...yeah, I meant Flavor of Love.

OKP ish: Blitz and The Slackers. My downstairs neighbor told me that ?uesto lives behind us, and that he drives a burgundy Honda Element. I'm officially sounding the 'fro alarm in a few.

This is apparently Lohan's foreal MySpace. I find it hard to believe just on general principle, but she's got some pretty incriminating photos. Almost too incriminating...

The cousin Ainna quit her swank IT job to pursue a career as a sushi chef. That's cool as hell. She's keeping track of it here (note to self: blogroll).

Lastly, thanks to Josh for linking up the singlemost depressing blog of all time. It's a cool idea--people reveal their innermost secrets by sending in anonymous visual art pieces. I guess I underestimated just how heartbreaking people's innermost secrets can be. See for reference these Mother's Day submissions: [1] [2] [3] [4] Now, go put on some Elliott Smith, fill up the tub, and place the toaster on the ledge. Yes, you. Needle in the haaaayyyyyy...

Saturday, May 06, 2006

Back like Revenge of the Nerds

Long-term Tatooine recon mission a success;
Boba Fett's identity revealed

College is officially in the books. I hope I did well on my finals and all, but to be real, I'm much more focused on moving on. People always get wistful and sentimentally rhapsodic (sometimes to an irritating extreme) when it comes time to turn the tassel, but I'd be lying if I said I picture myself wishing I still had bookmarked on my computer a year from today. It's all over (cue rhythmic ACC clapping), and I'm currently staring down the barrel of what guidance counselors and casual acquaintances refer to as "reality." But for me, this reality has been, uh, realistic for a few years. During my tenure, I made it a point to get as much outside-the-classroom experience as possible, knowing that in the long run, it was much more valuable than how many academic clubs I belonged to or how many GPA-crushing midterms I successfully toppled. In short, I'm ready. Let's get it.

Okay, enough ivy-laden wallowing. It's now time to turn my attention back to something far more important--
boring entertaining the girlfriend the masses via this bullshit receptable blog. First, fun with the print screen key:

So I slack on updating this shit for nearly a month, and I get 328 visitors in one day? Three hundred twenty eight?! For me, this is the Statcounter equivalent of Kobe's 81. Quick question: who are you people? Feel free to drop a comment and say hello. I'd love to figure just who was unlucky enough to stumble upon this shitshow.

Completely necessary, in my opinion.

I'm still not quite sure how
this became this, but it's certainly exciting. Shoutout to Jon Caroulis.

I've been doing a bunch for the
City Paper recently. I decided to throw some links up here, not because I think I'm cool, but because I'm OCD with my browser bookmarks and really want to delete all this shit outta there. This way, I still have easy access, and my OCD abides. Problem solving/reinforcing at its best.

For Those About to Rock (rock-paper-scissors tourney)
Gay To Play (Equality Forum)
Watering Hole: T. Hogan's (drunk white people)
Food For Thought (animals and morals and blabla)
To The Attack Pod! (heart failure simulator)
Watering Hole: A Bar Named Sue (drunk white people again, except this time it's just Michelle and I)

Deadspin has become a check-it-multiple-times-a-day kinda blog for me. I know that I'm really behind the times with this, but that's just because I'm perpetually six to seven steps behind the entire Internet this kinda stuff. Anyway, it's excellent, but you already knew that. With gems like this and this, you'd be hard-pressed to argue that it's not the best sports blog out there. Game over.

Thanks to Duane for throwing up some links to my stories over at Secret Dead Blog. Dude, I'll give you $20-$30 if you pen me into your next crime novel. I'm more than willing to die in an extremely scatological, nothing-to-do-with-the-plot-but-still-cool-cuz-it's-bloodyasfuck kinda way. Quick suggestion: make my character less like lame me and more like Matthew Modine in either Full Metal Jacket or Cutthroat Island. Gracias.

Also want to say thanks to my dude Jesse for sending me the crazy Firefox graphic seen to your right (that is, if you're using FF; if you're in IE, it's probably somewhere towards the bottom of the page/banished somewhere deep within the bowels of my little sister's Flickr account). If anyone knows who created this image, please let me know so I can give links/credit.

Now, notes on some new Champions of Literacy:

- I get the impression that
Empires Fall has something to do with politics.

Drew, Lou, McG, P-Ho and a slew of other characters are the stats-obsessed masterminds behind Insurance Runs. I'm on the roster (ughhh), but I don't think I'll be posting all that much--I don't know Bo Jackson about baseball, despite the fact that I occasionally cover high school games for the Local. I did, however, come up with the name--I was originally lobbying for something Sabo-related, but it didn't pan out.

Sara is a nice girl, so I can forgive her for being a total theater nerd entitling one of her posts "My Tractor's Sexy." Just don't do it again, or I'll cut you. With a knife.

MoMac (can I call you that?) is another nice girl. She knows what she's doing, so don't try to put one past her. Jerks.

- The dude Heath moved his shit from the sordid depths of Blogger to some
brand-new shit. Look for to take off real soon.

Finally, what better way to wrap up this non-narrative mess than
this? I'll see y'all soon. Don't forget to write.