Lonely Musings

So-called "political long shot of the year:" Democrats will back an amendment allowing Arnold to run for President if Republicans will back an amendment allowing Presidents to run for a third term (viz., - Bill Clinton, obviously). I like this one, boys and girls. I'm a staunch Governator supporter, not for any political reasons but simply because its fucking Arnold Schwarzenegger. And I'd be happy to see Bill in the Whitehouse - he does nothing good, he does nothing bad ... in short, he's the perfect President. It's about time we realize in this country that we've got things just fucking dandy and we don't need an old heart-attack-in-progress camping his ass in the oval office and fucking with shit. Bill, perhaps, understood this to some degree and we could use more like him. So I say, fuckinay! We win both ways. We get to see the protagonist of Total Recall make a bid, and we also get to see the return of ol' frosty top.

Is there any doubt that Michael Jackson died around 1990, 91ish and there's been this mutated, extra-terrestrial-looking imposter running around in his place for the past 15 years? I just don't buy the idea that it's the same guy, chums. I can't. How can you watch "Thriller" or "Billie Jean" or "The Way You Make Me Feel" and come to the conclusion that it's the same guy on CNN everyday today? IT ISN'T! IT CAN'T BE! I WON'T BE SWAYED!! You don't crash and burn that bad. You don't change colors. You don't lose talent just that easy. And you don't go from having this unmistakable aura about you at all times - this magic sort of essence that just, like, makes you the center of gravity with the entire of pop-humanity drawn inexaustably to your presence obsessively - to a fragile, mutated little creep that repulses, reviles, and induces vomitting and who is on trial for tickling eight-year-old taint a few too many times. Hence, the inescapable conclusion - TWO DIFFERENT PEOPLE!!


Thankyou again to the Venerable Schwegler for another detailed, articulated, and well-researched comment. Thankyou, also, to "Anonymous Bob" for his thoughts. Seems like Vick is the subject of this blog's "Sports Heavyweight Bout" and I'm happy to engage. It's a subject I have much interest in.

Round 1: (DING!) "Sherry comes out a little slow, seemingly interested in only responding to certain statistical data at this early juncture."

Say what you will, Vick did NOT have over 3,000 yards this season. His statistics - the ones that go with the position he plays - were 15gms, 2,313yds, 14TD's, 12INTs.

Round 2: (DING!) "Folks, we talked with some of the staff of Dominion of Cool during the break, and they informed us that in this round, Sherry will try to focus on the argument comparing Vick's career thus far to Bledsoe's early career."

Frankly, I just do not see the wisdom in comparing Vick's first few years to Bledsoe's, but then it wasn't me who brought it up. So - playing fair - I will now do a little number analysis here. Okay, let's see here - it was argued that this is "technically" only Vick's third season, and so if he only had 14 TD's and 12 INT's, we can compare that to Bledsoe who had 13TD's and 16INT's in his 3rd year. This was followed up by the statement that Bledsoe improved, so can Vick. Alright, let me rap at you for a bit.

First of all, this is not Vick's third season, it is his fourth. If he gets injured playing his "revolutionary" style, that is not an excuse to say "it doesn't count." So with that in mind, Bledsoe's fourth season saw him pass for 4,086 yds, 27 TD's and 15 INTs, which seems to surpass today's "Greatest Quarterback in the game" by some 1,773 yards and 13 TDs. But okay, lets say that "technically" this is only Vick's 3rd year. I'll bite. Wowee, so he threw for one more TD than Bledsoe did in his 3rd season. Keep in mind that Bledsoe also threw for 1,194 more yards than Vick did. And as for the "Bledsoe improved so can Vick" argument - well, it didn't exactly take Bledsoe til his 4rth season to come around as a top NFL QB. In fact, unless I'm completely insane (which I might be, but that has nothing to do with football), I seem to recall Bledsoe throwing for 4,555 yards and 25 TDs in his SECOND NFL season.

And, just for fun, some more number crunching:

Bledsoe's first 4 seasons: 17,397 yds, 80 TDs
Vick's first 4 seasons: 6,619 yds, 36 TDs
The difference: 10,778yds, and 44 TDs ..... WOW!!!

Bledsoe's first 3 seasons (the honest way - i.e. subtracting his actual 4rth year stats (4,086yds and 27TDs)): 13,311 yds, 53 TDs
Vick's first 3 seasons (the "sportsmanship way" - i.e. only subtracting the year's stats that would hurt his overall stats THE LEAST): 6,034 yds (minus 585 yds from 2003) and 34 TDs (minus 2 TDs from 2001).
The difference: 7,277 yds, and 19 TDs .... CHRIST!!!

Does that answer the issue?

Round 3: (DING) "Historically, folks, Sherry likes to take things up a notch in the third round, steering away from the more conservative defensive tactics, and trying to be a little more explosive offensively. In this case, he'll probably try to take on Vick directly. And of course when we say "historically" we mean based on the previous 0 "Sports Heavyweight Bouts" that have taken place in this blog. Do let's watch."

It was suggested that I may have a problem with Vick. Well, if you can't tell by now, the answer to that question is FUCKINAY YES!! The problem? Twofold: 1. He's wasting his potential, and 2. He's so pompously overblown and drooled over by an NFL that realizes Brett Favre won't be playing forever and Tom Brady isn't exactly going to fill in as "BIGSHOT QB" the way they had hoped. As for the first problem - yes, Vick is wasting his potential. He has one of the strongest (if not THE strongest) arm in the game. But he never bothered to develop that. Never thought this is a gift QB's everywhere, at every level, pray for, work at, kill themselves trying to achieve. No, Vick just said, "Hey, I can run really fast, so I'll just do that." NEWSFLASH: It's not going to last forever, Mike. They've already figured you out (i.e. assign a linebacker the sole responsibility of chasing down Vick, and he's inaffective (see: Shutout loss to the Bucs)). From now on it will only be a matter of continued application. Not to mention you will lose speed as you age, and wave after wave of crushing defensive tackles will deliver you a bevy of "minor injuries" that will add up and take their toll. CONSEQUENT ADVICE: Figure out how to use your fucking cannon of an arm, and YOU WILL BE ONE OF THE GREATS. A QB who can throw, but who can run when he has to, is the most dangerous of them all (See: Donavon McNabb, Phildelphia Eagles). Don't learn to use it? Well, then ask not for whom the bell tolls, Michael. It fucking tolls for you.

The second problem - being pompously overblown. Come on, chums. Let's be real. He is NOT revolutionizing shit. He's capitalizing on oppurtunity, but as I've already said, that oppurtunity will not be long for this game. As for counting running stats and saying - "see, he ran for almost 1000 yds, that makes him a great QB!" That's like saying Brian Moorman is a great punter because he has a good throwing arm in fake-punt situations, or Eric Moulds is a good receiver because he picks up a lot of yards on reverses. A quarterback is the player on the team who specializes in passing. If you cannot pass, then you are not a great quarterback, simply and bottom line. Revolution? For truly revolutionzing a position, watch old tapes of Dominik Hasek. He revolutionized the position with the "butterfly" style, something that had never been done before to the level he executed it. But guess what - they don't say he "revolutionized" the position because the butterfly style was different ... it was because it was something different that happened to be particularly effective in doing what a goaltender's job was (i.e. KEEPING THE PUCK OUT OF THE NET). What we have with Vick is akin to a goaltender that plays some radically new style, but only racks up a GAA of like 2.75 and a Save% of maybe .885. "But his style is different, its never been done before to this extent!!" Yes, but for the love of christ, he can't play his fucking position! He's not a great goaltender. In Vick's case, his paltry, piddling, laughable efforts at throwing the ball make him a disgrace to his position.

And let me re-clarify. It DOES NOT have to be that way. Vick has one of the strongest arms in this league. He just chooses not to develop it, and time is running out for that. But if he continues along this path, he'll place his name solidly with the many players that retire to a lot of head-shaking and throat-clearing while people mutter to themselves "He could have been one of the greats if not for ..." Vick is football's version of Eric Lindros (at least, he's shaping up that way). Lindros came in playing power forward at a level nobody had ever seen. Everyone's concept of a power-forward had previously been "that guy who compliments the speedy winger and puts in maybe thirty goals." But now, for the first time ever, it was the heavy-hitting, scrappy, drop-the-gloves bulldozer that was scoring all the goals, raking up all the assists, and proving to be without doubt the single most valuable player in the league (short of Hasek). No player broke games the way Lindros did. No player improved a team simply by his presence on the ice the way Lindros did. And what happened - washed up by his 27th birthday. It all crashed and burned in a couple of short seasons. And why? Because his body could not sustain the style he played. It wore him down. Shook him up. Beat on him, ragged on him, harped on him until he was left as merely a shell of his former self. A second-rate center at best with what should have been his best years ahead of him, and everyone shaking their heads over their tall, cool Labatt bottles going "Kid could have been one of the greats if not for ..."

Round 4: (DING!) "The staff at the Dominion of Cool told us between rounds that Sherry feels he's put up a good effort here today, and he doesn't really have much left to give in this final round. So basically, look for him just to come out with a few concluding remarks."

A few concluding remarks, chums. Just to recap: Vick has all the potential in the world. Unfortunately, he chooses not to develop it. And let's be honest, the NFL doesn't want him to. He plays so radically different (keeping in mind that DIFFERENT does not necessarily equate to SUPERIOR) that he naturally attracts a lot of attention - hence, merchandising sales are through the roof (his jersey sells second only to Favre's, and guess what! Favre's retiring soon!). They may be well aware that Vick won't be leading SuperBowl charges into his mid-thirties, but they've probably done a good cost-analysis and realized that the money they will make on him over the next few years is worth having his career cut ridiculously, needlessly short. He won't last. When Favre leaves, it won't be Vick who truly steps in for him, though that is what they will tell you. The truth, however, will be that Donavon McNabb will become the game's greatest current QB, and he deserves that. Do I have a problem with running QB's? Hell no. McNabb runs all over the field. The difference is that the guy also happens to be a great passer and he's smart enough to realize that (in the long run) more games will be won on his arm, not his legs. Running when the pocket breaks down, when pressure heats up, when receivers are covered - these are the marks of a resourceful QB (I don't deny Bledsoe is less resourceful than a six-year-old girl would be in the pocket, but then I've never once posited that argument). And nobody has to add up McNabb's running stats to divert attention away from the fact that he is mediocre at best (why? because he's not mediocre, he's fucking good). But the truth is - Vick is NOT. I watched part of an Atlanta game recently. I could only stand 14 plays before I had to turn it off in disgust. Of the 14 plays, 9 were passing plays. Of the 9, Vick put the ball in the air only twice, and both times the laughably pathetic pass landed untouched in the grass. The other 7 times he ran (without looking to actually pass), and one of those times he managed (somehow) to trip over his own fucking feet, fall flat on his face, and FUMBLE. Nobody touched the fucker. Ah, but this is our hero these days. This is our great athlete of the new millenium.

Kind of makes me long for the days of Flutie. At least he TRIED to pass. If his tired, deflating old arm warranted more sympathy than awe, he can at least be forgiven on account of age. But the point is, the ol' mullet tried! Vick can't even give you that. You can have him, as far as I'm concerned. Cause he ain't gonna last.


This is a fun debate, by the way. All are free to jump in, and indeed - please do!! This is great subject matter for a blog that is sadly lacking in that capacity.

- END SPORTS -


CONTROVERSIAL ARGUMENT OF THE WEEK:
Will somebody please organize a war between southern-state trailer-dwelling, trash-hording, tooth-losing, rodeo-cheering REDNECKS and coastal-state book-collecting, CNN-watching, sweater-vest wearing, Michael Moore-dicksucking college HIPPIES. My disgust and loathing for the sub-human former, coupled with my distrust and fear of the arrogant latter leads me to believe that such a violent clash might solve a lot of problems (i.e. many of them would be dead). Honestly, this is an idea worth considering. Ever hear those stories from Civil War times, where families would actually sit out on their porch, or pack a picnic lunch and head out to watch the battles? How great would it be to pack a cooler of beer, grill up some barbequed meats, toss the ol' pigskin around, and watch the "Intellectuals" square off in a mortal combat of sorts against the "white trash?" I think it would be very fucking great, if I am to answer my own question. And then, when its all said and done, we can round up the survivors in dump trucks and deposit them in the ocean, screaming like sissies and begging for mercy. And just like that - no more redneck mutants, and no more hippie poindexters. What say ye?

And now - inspired by the strange and terrible readings of my "Experimental Literature" class - my very own "Life from the perspective of a dildo":

I was at the house of some cougar I'd picked up in a single's bar. We had just finished twenty minutes worth of passionless, aggrevating drunk sex, and she had gone off to take a piss or some shit, I don't know. Anyway, the important thing is that she was out of the room. So I'm sitting there all by myself and I hear this muffled voice coming from a drawer. What the hell is that, I thought to myself. Well, what it was was a dildo. A giant, dull-gray colored mechanism, shaped disturbingly like a penis, but unrealistically huge - mythic proportions, one might say. But that was not the strange thing. The strange thing was that this dildo hopped out of the drawer onto the bed and began talking to me...
"Yes, I am a dildo. Mr. Dildo, in fact. Well, actually, my first name is Marcus-Aurelius, but you can just call me Mr. Dildo."
"Glad to meet you," I said, not really meaning it, but not wishing to be impolite to a talking dildo named Marcus-Aurelius Dildo.
"Listen, fella," it said, looking desperately about. "You gotta get me outta here."
"Oh no," I said. "I'm no thief. Especially no dildo theif."
"But you don't understand!" it cried. "You have no idea what this evil woman puts me through! Why, do you realize that she tries to kill me several times a week!?"
"Kill you?" I asked, suspiciously.
"Yes!" Its voice was frantic now. "She keeps me prisoner in that inpenatrable cell" - I presumed it was talking about the drawer - "and she takes me out every once in a while to try and kill me. She's got me wired with all this electric shit, and when she flips this little switch under my feet I get these horrible shocks sent all throughout my body, sending me into uncontrollable convulsions. Its unbearable!"
"Shit," I said, awed by the cruelty of the woman.
"That's not even the worst of it," it went on. "While I'm being zapped and fried by electric waves, she takes firm hold of me and tries to suffocate me!"
"Suffocate you?"
"Yah! Her species has some orafice that opens and closes where she splits at the waist. She keeps it roasting hot, like an oven, and tries to burn me."
"I thought you said suffocate you."
"That to. Its really cramped in there. So I'm suffocating and burning and convulsing from electric shock, and then this bitch starts trying to drown me!"
"Drown you?"
"Fuckinay!" it screamed. "She fills this cavernous opening with water - only its not water, its some stickly, slimey, foul-smelling ooze. She pushes me in, then pulls me out, just to torture me - let me get a gasp of fresh air, and then back in!"
"My god," I said. Could this really be true? I decided I had an obligation to save Mr. Dildo. And that, your honor, is how I wound up being arrested for dildo theft.


Okay, that's it. My dangerously insane mind has run out of maniacal things to say for today. So leave comments.

A Presto


Mike

The Very Finest In Crap

The comment cycle on my last four blogs ...

5 comments ... 1 comment ... 8 comments ... 1 comment

This makes, obviously, very little sense to me. This blog needs consistency because there is currently no sports or policitcs worth discussing. But since I only got one comment last time, I am again left looking to my own dangerously twisted mind for subject matter, which is never a good thing.

Thankyou to the Venerable Schwegs for his long, thoughtful, and carefully researched comment. Unfortunately, the editors/undergraduate-interns down at the Buffalo News changed the title of my letter to make it sound as if I wanted to make a point. Well, in a way I was trying to - the point being that chicken-wing hording Buffalonians write stupid things and should be mocked. But the letter was not meant as a "pro-Bledsoe" peice, rather as an "anti-Buffalonian sports-fan's attempt at writing" submission. I succeeded in this task, I think. However the editors deemed it necessary to utilize my letter as a counter-point to the flood of anti-Bledsoe mail, and therefore re-dubbed it "Give Drew Bledsoe a Break." A minor change, you might argue - but unfortunately, this seemingly tiny alteration recasts the entire tone of my letter, making it read as a harsh rebuke of anti-Bledsonians, and a loudly trumpeted vote of confidence in him from myself. Whatever. I simply wanted to make fun of two individuals who thought the thesaurus could make a brilliant writer out of them and who thought that describing a "beautiful montana sunset" was somehow appropriate for the Sports Letters page.

In response to the many who have argued about my "future hall-of-famer" comment - all I would say is you're dreaming if you think he'll never make it in. It is unthinkable that someone could put up the statistics of a Drew Bledsoe (he's what? 9th on the all-time yardage list) and not be entered into it. In direct response to Schwegler's Art Monk argument - Art will make it in eventually, and it's ridiculous that he isn't already. The NFL can talk to me all it wants about "intelligent NFL boards" and "hire criteria" and "integrity of the Hall" ... the NFL has bought into this snobbish thunderstorm of bullshit in the past decade, saying astronomically stupid things like "He wasn't a great QB cause he never won a Super Bowl," or "He was a great receiver, but he didn't revolutionize the position." That's exactly what it is - snobbish bullshit. The idea ... the very fucking thought that Michael Vick could already be considered a future-hall-of famer ... the very fucking fact that I can read an article in the paper comparing him to Bobby Hull and Magic Johnson ... is completely, entirely, and in every way beyond my faculty for comprehension. Here's' your precious fucking Michael Vick, NFL fans: 2,313 total yards, 14 TD's, 12 INTs. BOY FUCKING HOWDY!!! He's got to be the greatest fucking player in professional sports!!! Why? Because he can run really fast. Oh wait, that's not what a QB's supposed to do? Okay, well we'll just write an article in the Buffalo News about how he's revolutionizing the position.

And please - don't give me this He Wins Games bullshit. Its such a tired, groundless old argument. Yes, Atlanta is a better team with him in then with him out. But you win and lose as a team. You don't win or lose because Michael Vick scrambled for sixty-seven yards against the Redskins in Week X.

While we're on Michael Vick - how fucking long do you think it would have taken Bill Bellicek to figure the fucker out if Atlanta had made it? My bet is three seconds.

In conclusion - I'll say it for the thousandth time - I AM NOT DEFENDING DREW BLEDSOE!!! I am merely stating that this brazen hostility Buffalo has toward him is unwarranted. He's playing mediocre football. Not better, not worse. But to blame your problems as a team (and as a city) on Drew is making a scapegoat out of him. If a 33 year old QB can throw 3,000 yds and 20 TD's for me in an NFL season, I say that he deserves not to be treated like the second coming of Todd Collins.

This response was directed at BUFFALO IN GENERAL. And thankyou very much to the Venerable Schwegler for the long, thoughtful response. You can all learn a thing or two from him. Keep them coming.


END SPORTS


A few blogs ago should have made my disdain for graduate students quite clear. Well, I can honestly say after a recent class that this disdain has nearly doubled. I'm speaking of one student in particular - a badly balding, saggy-faced motherfucker who gave a presentation on anti-Semitism in Hemingway's "The Sun Also Rises." To be clear, it is not the subject-matter that angered me. I've come to expect such pompous and ridiculous analytical efforts from grad students eager to show that they are smarter than the greatest of writers. God bless his bullshit. What I'm speaking about was his slow, enunciated, hand-gestured, "aaah" and "uum" filled manner of speaking, complete with all the cliche's and pretentious flowerings of "academic speech." They all do it, but this wicked prick took the whole gig to a new level. It may sound like a silly thing to be angered over, but I honestly felt this kid could use a swift kick in the ass.

And then the worst part ... the teacher was speaking to one of his points and made something of a joke. Not really a joke, but one of those intellectual utterences meant to illicit a laugh of understanding from fellow intellectuals. So, while people chuckled, grinned, squinted gleefully, and otherwise snorted horribly ... this badly balding, saggy-faced motherfucker who gave the presentation laughs very loudly and says - "HAHAHA ... as it were ... HAHAHA!" ------ What! Are you fucking serious!? Am I going totally insane, or did you just pause laughing to say AS IT WERE!!??


In a recent class a girl mentioned how she enjoyed reading Hunter S. Thompson. The teacher replied, "You know Hunter Thompson was here about ten years ago." The class perked up. Really? The creator of Gonzo Journalism and the writer of such brilliant novels as "Fear and Loathing" and "The Rum Diary." He was at UB!? Do go on, teacher! "It was a disaster. He showed up completely drunk and walked out on stage with a glass of Gin in his hand. And the Student Union paid him $10,000 for this." This is just fucking great shit. The world needs more people like Hunter S. Thompson.


Unsolicited Movie Review:
Andrew Lloyd Weber's The Phantom of the Opera: A brilliant fucking movie. Developed almost identically from the musical performance, which is a damn good thing. My fear was that they would decide to "update" "contemporize" or use any number of so-called "artistic interpretations" that would have changed the plot, the characters, and/or the music. Thankfully, they exercized better discretion than that. And ultimately, what makes this such a powerful show is - as you already know - the music. The music is genius. Gives you chills to hear it. Brilliant movements varying between sadness, joy, rage, hate, etc. It is not simply the apparently heartwarming love songs and obnoxious group-sang theatricals of other musicals. This musical is MADE by the music. It is not merely good, it is essential to the performance.

Unfortunately, the Buffalo News decided it would continue it's long-standing tradition of the very shittiest in film reviews. This time, some horrible kunt named "Victoria" (undoubtedly an intern put to work by the miserable Jeff Simon) spreads two blatant lies. I say lies here because it is not simply a difference of opinion - it is an outright lie. The first is that this film does not translate well between stage and screen. This is bullshit. The stage, of course, will always be the best way to view the Phantom. However, it translated surprisingly well. The second lie was that the Phantom was "a weak attempt at a Moulin-Rougish type spectacle." This is beyond me. How can you take the Phantom - a nationally known and celebrated musical known by every single person without fail - and compare it to Moulin-Rouge, a production known only by those with an interest in musical theatre? How can one say the widely and critically acclaimed "Phantom of the Opera" is a WEAK ATTEMPT AT A LESSER KNOWN SHOW'S SPECTACLE? Especially when the sets were lifted almost identically from Phantom's stage performance. There was no embellishment. There was nothing new! It was basically the stage performance put on the silver screen. And it was done terrifically. Don't listen to Victoria's slanderous lies. She is obviously a whore. See this movie. It is more than worth your time.


CONTROVERSIAL ARGUMENT OF THE WEEK:
Fighting should not be illegal. Sometimes people need to be fucked up, and sometimes we ourselves need a good beating. A society that embraces heavy drinking and fighting is a society that does not need a military and does not need to go to war. (See Ireland). I'm convinced that wars happen because we all just get so damn aggrevated with all the bullshit we have to put up with every day that it's only a matter of time before we snap. And just like that - thousands die. Global destruction. So I say - drink more, laugh more, and fight more. And if the police try to arrest you, just say "I'm calling Cellino and Barnes and putting their power to work for me!"

Leave comments.


A Presto


Mike

My Tortured Mind Vomits More Bullshit

Winter is a whore. A cheap harlot with scabs on her pussing rot-hole. And I hate her.

To all of you who commented on my blog last time - THANKS!! We now have a new record with 8. That is a great, great effort, and I'm very proud. The staff here at Dominion of Cool will be trying in this blog to respond to all requests, though there were quite a few and this might get tricky.

Moving along ...

Depression and despair asks - "would it be smart to test everyone in the world for AIDS, and put all the people with AIDS on a shitty island, like australia for instance?" What a question! The answer, I think, is rather complicated, and ultimately not much of an answer at all. On the one hand, we can send all the cocksucking, needle-pricking victims of certain doom out of society which will benefit all parties, as D&D correctly points out. That way we non-cocksucking, needlephobic "cleanies" can rest easy knowing we will never catch AIDS, nor will our children, and we can all fuck happily like rabbits so long as no one does it with any jungle chimps this time (this is supposedly how AIDS got started among human populations). It benefits them as well - they can fuck just as happily, just as rabbit-like, and know that they are not infecting anyone who isn't already fucked over and deathbound anyway. But, on the other hand, as D&D also points out in his comment, what about the families of the doomed? What about those who are doomed through no fault of their own? This solution might cause some serious pissing and moaning. And then, if everyone in the "clean" society is fucking like rabbits, there will be a lot of dooshbags and fuckups and bums who are getting action they don't deserve. Nothing disgusts me more than some ugly, shit-eating, smartass-grinning, mangly toothed motherfucker of a poindexter getting pussy. If a society with AIDS means less sexual activity, then maybe less of these human-pimples will be finding action. So the answer here is - there are upsides and downsides to both scenarios. I can't make the call. A hire power than me (if one exists) will have to be the judge of this.

"Anonymous" asks - "it would be kind of you to devote a blog concerning one peter jason ross's affinity for the band fleetwood mac; esp. their classic, 'go your own way.'" Certainly. I have never seen - not even fucking close - a single living sole who is devoted to any band as much as PJR is devoted to this one. Loyal would be one word for it. Creepy would be another. Especially when young PJR dons a wig and asks people to please refer to him as Stevie Nicks (lead singer). Or when you say, "Hey, PJR, where's your pisser at?" and he shouts "YOU CAN GO YOUR OWN WAAAAAAY, GO YOUR OWN WAAAAAY!" But it's good to have a sense of purpose, I guess. A sense of what one likes and what one will consume. In PJR's case, it's Stevie Nicks.

Thugs2121 asks - "Should chicks where signs around their necks stating when it's "that time of the month" to let us men all know when not to go around them, those dumb fucks?" The answer here is DEFINITELY FUCKING NOT. I sure as shit don't want to be standing in the middle of a crowd of girls who are all wearing "period signs" that probably say something like "Red Light!" or "Don't try to fuck me, I'm menstrating." But I see where you are going with this one, Thugs, and I appreciate the sentiment. It is a problem that should be addressed. Nothing is more aggrevating than going hard to work on a chicken, having her seem willing to step up and bat, and them WHAM-FUCKING-O! Sorry, Mr. Petey Penis, but access to this tunnel is restricted on account of leaky plumming. Try back next week when the Bloody Nile has receeded. Maybe subtle hints is the answer here. Like girls not having their periods can dress in black, white, and green, but if they are then its red or pink only! Might this idea work?

"Anonymous Andrea" says - "Mike forgot to mention that he saw her (Lucinda Williams) live as an opening act to Tom Petty." Yes, thankyou, this is true. It was a fuck of a show, an unforgettable one. One seriously talented female vocalist/guitar player, followed by one rock legend. Thankyou for the comment.

Thugs 2121 says - "Lets not forget here that Mike is a big Elvis fan, and at I am not. So when he brings about a music act that I have not heard, I remember he has some, but not all, poor taste in music." The deceptive word here is "big." I am no "big" Elvis fan. I simply recognize (as Thugs2121 stubbornly refuses to do) that from the years '56-'60, the King was making some goddamn good music. As for my "poor taste" in music - its an irrelevant argument coming from an individual who loudly trumpets the merits of such brain-twisting, gut-mangling music as Nelly (the rapper), and Simple Plan ("I'm a dick - I'm addicted to you!"). My downfall in most people's eyes is that I like something from every genre of music, rather than simply wedging myself neatly and conveniently inside one specific brand of it. So people always give me this - "eww, you like this? But its not alternative!" ... or ... "how can you listen to this shit, man? It's not rap!" Well, I don't apologize. I'm open to it all.

OK, that covers most if not all requests. Keep them coming. As I've said - with no politics, no football, and no hockey - this blog needs subject matter and it needs it desperately.

Unsolicited CD review - Lucinda Williams Part II - Since last blog I have downloaded her most recent album, the 2003 release "World Without Tears." Much more mellow than "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road," but this is not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, its not a bad thing at all. If "Car Wheels" is a rock/country fusion, then this new album is rock/country/blues fusion. Terrific album. Very good shit. Check it out or die.

--- CHECK OUT MY LETTER TO THE BUFFALO NEWS SPORTS PAGE IN THIS SUNDAY'S PAPER (23rd). ITS POINTLESS, BADLY-WRITTEN, AND SARCASTIC. WHAT ELSE COULD YOU POSSIBLY ASK FOR FROM A BUFFALO SPORTS FAN? ---


Hockey talks have resumed. If something can be worked out by next week, then the season will not be cancelled. We here at DOC are not impressed. It's a shameless, wicked ploy. A ridiculous little plot to make it look like they tried, when in reality - they fucking didn't, and they aren't fucking ever going to. Fucking pricks. I say the hell with the lot of them - players, coaches, managers, owners, league officials. Fuck them all. Replace them with a new league and new teams - just make sure you bring the Stanley Cup over. And for the love of Christ, lets see some fucking hockey!!!!!

WEEKLY COLUMN:
- CONTROVERSIAL ARGUMENT OF THE WEEK -
I hate vegetarians. No, not really. Just a certain bread of vegetarian. The one who isn't just vegetarian ... they are FUCKING VEGETARIAN, BABY!! You know the type I mean? I hate them. You might say I have a certain "anti-vegetarian" streak in me. Well fine, I'll accept the charge since Dietism is not yet as socially frowned upon as Racism or Sexism. I am a partial-Dietist. I think vegetarians - okay, wait. This is a problem. I have no problem with vegetarians in general, just a certain breed. So, like, let's try this. The type I'm talking about isn't "vegetarian" ... they are VEGETARIAN. Will that suffice? Okay, so let's stay on point - I think VEGETARIANS sould be discriminated against. In fact, if I were President, I'd pass a law that said if you are seen within a hundred feet of a known VEGETARIAN and not discriminating against him/her, then you are to be arrested, beaten, and your family is to be ruined. And as for the VEGETARIANS themselves - well, I'd deliver them the most ironic fate I can think of. I'd release them into a large territory and hunt them like big game. Then I'd feed them to the cannibals. Clever, ain't I? VEGETARIANS being served as a grilled-meat dish? You like? "But what about the cannibals, Mike? Why reward them?" Oh, don't worry. I wouldn't. I'd kill two birds with one stone by poisoning the VEGETARIAN cadavors. So ... anyway ... VOTE IL PAZZO IN '08!

Bob Barnashuk: I woke up shitfaced on the couch at 6 in the morning, threw in a lipper, and watched Inside the Actor's Studio.
Me: What actor was it?
Bob: Fuck if I can remember.


And now - for no reason at all - a good theoretical fight.

Willie Nelson vs. Keith Richards

Round 1: Richards has early energy from some rotten stuff he drank/inhaled/injected in the locker room. WINNER: Richards

Round 2: If Nelson seems distracted it is because he is trying to remember some obscure Jefferson Airplane lyrics he was listening to last time he smoked a joint (eight minutes ago). WINNER: Richards

Round 3: Nelson remembers that he's a skeleton and delivers some bone-jarring rights and lefts. WINNER: Nelson

Round 4: Someone who bet on Nelson sells Richards some toxic-waste knowing the man will drink anything. WINNER: Nelson

Round 5: Willie Nelson remembers that he actually died fifteen years ago and that leftover pot is all that is moving his muscles around these days. Gets depressed, yearns for the 60's. WINNER: Richards

Round 6: Richards loses his bandanna and seems upset. WINNER: Nelson

Round 7: Richards fashions new bandanna out of loose neck-skin. Gets a new burst of confidence. WINNER: Richards

Round 8: Nelson summons ghost of Hank Williams who shows up slugging whiskey in the drivers seat of his Caddilac. Richards summons ghost of Christmas Past. WINNER: Nelson

Round 9: Nelson remembers he's a fucking waste, his music might as well have never existed, and nobody fucking likes him. Starts crying, allowing Richards to slip in a few shots to the ribs. WINNER: Richards

Round 10: Richards sprays Nelson with water. Nelson screams ... "I'M MELTING! LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE!" Then he melts leaving nothing but long gray hair and the stench of refer behind. WINNER: Richards.

And the winner by a decision of 6 rounds to 4 ..... KEITH RICHARDS!!!


Leave comments, chums.


A Presto



Mike

The "Kinds of Graduate Students" Edition

Before getting to the cruxt of this blog (my belated response to the venerable Schwegler's request), I will make some brief responses to the most recent comment left on my blog.

1. Where is Buffalo? Well, Buffalo is a crusted, maggot-birthing cadavor of a city that is located somewhere between the outer circles of Hell and the volcanoes at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. Its infesting wretchedness is exceeded only by the nightmarish, sickening cesspool that is its suburban neighbor - the village of Hamburg, whose inhabitants are frozen up to their necks in ice, and whose brains are eternally chewed on from the back of their heads by demons. There is, however, a green pasture amidst all this horror. The town of Orchard Park provides a sun-shiney playground of friendly people who pave their streets in gold and make life a pleasant experience. (AKA - Buffalo is located in Western New York).

2. Thoughts on Mitch Hedburg? Previous to this request, I had exactly zero thoughts on Mitch Hedburg. His name being mentioned, however, led to my first thought on him - "who is Mitch Hedburg?" This led to my second thought on Mitch Hedburg - "he must be somebody famous" which led to my third - "what is Mitch Hedburg famous for?" A quick Yahoo search (totalling twenty-six seconds) informed me that Mitch Hedburg is somebody who appears frequently on television ... and then ... well, my interest in researching Mitch Hedburg came crashing to a hault. But if anyone else has thoughts on Mitch Hedburg, and would like to leave your thoughts in a comment (particularly if the comment helps to enlighten my entirely Mitch-ignorant ass) then feel free.

And thankyou for your comment. Always appreciated.

Now, I was remiss in my last blog for not responding to a direct reader request - namely the Venerable Schwegler's request that I discuss graduate students. But I never refuse a request, and so belated as this may be, the matter is addressed nonetheless.

There are three types of graduate students, and I have managed to interview one from each category. The encounter was simple: Me: Please classify yourself as a graduate student Them: Why, certainly. So, without further delay, the staff of Dominion of Cool now presents ... "Categories of Graduate Students"

1. "Hi. My name is Sigmund Waltergas and I am a graduate student at Balls University. Currently, I am a third-year history PhD with a concentration in early European commerce. I fancy myself an intellectual of the highest variety, though I'm really just a pompous, pretentious cocksucker of a bastard that pisses everyone off with my side-parted hair and my sweater-vest/collared-shirt combo. Also, I love to use words like "appropriation," "hegemonic," "discursivity," and "rhizomatic." One day I will realize my dream of being a college professor and I'll get to publish scholarly articles in publications that nobody reads, and I'll get to present papers at scholarly conventions, and (this is my favorite part) I'll get to smile and snicker like a shit-eating little fuck about the clever way I put something - ya know, the type of joke that only us intellectuals get. In the meantime, if you'd like to meet me at a cafe or a very high-class, fancy-drink, upscale-dress type bar, I'd be happy to discuss any number of academic subjects with you. Oh yah ... I also like to use the words "pathos" and "phallogocentric."

2. "What's up. My name is Seth Shitface, and I'm a second-year Masters student at the University of Monstrous Boobies. I'm studying English, and my concentration is in the hermenutics of suspicion as it pertains to contemporary American lit. But I'm not one of those uppity intellectual types, as you can clearly tell from my salvation-army shirt, black jeans, and psychotically styled hair. I'm my own person. I like to wear jeans and a t-shirt, and then for no reason at all put a suit-coat on instead of a real jacket. I like to wear crumbling old bowling shoes and talk about all the nameless, bizarre, garbage-disposal music I listen to. Though I'm incredibly intelligent (a fact I will subtly drill into you over, and over, and over again - AD FUCKING NAUSEUM!!) I just want you to see me for who I really am - namely a posing, middle-of-the-pack, billboard advertisement for mediocrity, pretending to be a unique, free-spirited individual who does my own thing. Some things I really, really hate a lot - politcally incorrect statements, Republicans, anything resembling a racist comment, sexists, police officers, white people, good music, movies you've actually heard of, and people who eat meat. Also, I love to read Hunter S. Thompson's "Fear and Loathing" and Jack Kerouac's "On the Road" and pretend that I'm a hip anti-art artist. If you wanna chill sometime, come meet me at one of the artsy bars in the theatre district, and we'll talk about bands like Moe, writers like Ginsberg, and movies no one's ever seen."

3. "Hi, my name is Il Pazzo, and I'm a Masters student at a major university. I'm the kid who dresses normal and sits in the back of the class with my arms folded behind my head, chewing on my pen, legs crossed, and staring silently into space while the pomp and arrogance of academics manifests itself all around me. I'm the one who is disillusioned entirely with the world of academia, the one whose abandoned my plans of going on for a PhD despite my 4.0 gpa, the one who just wants to get the fuck out, guzzle a bottle of Maker's Mark and several Gin and Tonics, smoke a thick Havanna cigar, and scream obscenities at innocent pedestrians. I'd rather sit down and write a colorfully worded letter to the Buffalo Sports Page than send a mercelessly boring and pointless intellectual article to a scholarly publication that nobody reads. I'd rather spend my mornings writing, my afternoons lifting weights, my evenings reading, and my nights drinking my face off than sit through another class with all of you high-wired, self-assured, brand X martyr's to the textbook that are trying so desperately to buy your future - a future that is as bright and beautiful as lipstick on a corpse. Give me a drink in my hand, a mouth to fuck, a fine cigar to puff, and a high-scoring hockey game on TV, and I'll show you everything you've ever needed to know about life. Academia is bullshit. Graduate students are fuckers. The hell with the large majority of you."

Well, that was fun. Thankyou to the Venerable Schwegler for such a worthy request. I hope I was able to do it justice.



Well, with the election long over, the Bills now officially eliminated, and hockey still far away on the horizon, this blog is hurting for subject-matter. As always, I solicit comments and requests, because they provide fuel for the creative fire. But I've had an idea. Maybe some "weeklies" would spice the damn thing up and give me something to write about on a regular basis - ya know, in the absence of more worthy material. So, with that in mind, I've created what I envision as my first weekly feature, a section I am calling ... "Controversial Argument of the Week." As you might expect, this section will feature a weekly comment/argument/brief-essay, etc. that is intended to anger/humiliate/enrage and otherwise provoke on all levels the masses who may or may not be reading this blog. So enough blathering - here is the section's debut:

- CONTROVERSIAL ARGUMENT OF THE WEEK -
I think people with lazy eyes are offensive. They make everyone uncomfortable with that crooked gaze of theirs - you never know where they are looking. Are they looking at you? At something behind you? Next to you? I think people with lazy eyes should be required (by law, if not simply by good manners) to wear sunglasses everywhere they go. Either that, or they should have to point at what they are looking at. At all times. This would help minimize any confusion, am I right? Otherwise, they will continue to be offensive, odious, and utterly hateful members of a society that doesn't want them.


Let me know what you think about my new idea. I think it shows promise, but the staff here at Dominion of Cool understands that true progress is made only when helped along by outside criticism and insight.


Unsolicited CD reccomendation: Lucinda Williams. A little-known, underappreciated country/rock female vocalist who sings some seriously cool shit. I can't speak for most of her work (yet - that will soon be changing), but I do own her 1998 "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road" album, and it remains one of my very favorite. Some great songs, all with a hint of country, but managing not to fall into the quick-sand deathtrap of cliche country-western. What it is more akin to is rock music with country influence. Those who are familiar with the work of the more famous, less-talented Sheryl Crow can get a good sense of what Lucinda's music is all about. Only its far better. Lucinda is no pretty-faced, delicate-voiced california hippy babe posing as a hard-rockin' mama. No, she's the real deal. A tough-looking, beer-chugging, tough-voiced, seriously talented motherfucker of an artist. So check her out.


Okay, well that'll have to do it. As I said, the blog is struggling for ideas, and is really just coasting along at this point. Please leave comments, chums. We only had one last time, and that is a disappointing number - the kind that strips the blog of all legitimacy and threatens to render it irrelevant and a pointless waste of my time. Leave comments - make arguments - fight with me, swear at me, compliment me, declare your undying love for me - DO SOMETHING!


A Presto


Il Pazzo

Drivel - Brilliant Drivel

Congratulations, blog readers!! You have set a new record (I think) with five comments on the last blog. And the best part is ... they were all long, insightful, and well-written comments. I've been walking around with a smile on my face for days now - which is awkward for the people around me, but I just can't help it. I'm so flattered. Keep it up!

I just found out that Pearl Jam apparently put out a Greatest Hits album in November. This has somehow flown under the radar for a while now. At any rate, here is the first draft of a 300 word review I'm sending to Hooligan magazine, in case you're wondering whether the CD is worth it:

Pearl Jam: Rearviewmirror - Greatest Hits 1991-2003
Review by Michael J. Sherry

There’s a lot to be said about this confusing ninety’s band, and none of it can be said in a brief review. So let’s just get right down to brass tax here; buy this album if you like Pearl Jam. Don’t if you don’t.
My own thoughts about the integrity of releasing a Greatest Hits album only twelve years after hitting it big aside – this is a group that can afford to. Should they? The same anti-mainstream insurgents that always manage to show up amidst the happening music scene anyway? Isn’t releasing a Greatest Hits album when one is relatively young and still enjoying widespread esteem suspiciously like cashing in?
But that is the danger of discussing Pearl Jam and I don’t have the space for it. So let’s stay on point; you might find this album worth purchasing, if only because it’s a collection from one of the few contemporary groups that have consistently released a product vaguely resembling tolerable music. And what’s this? They had the wisdom to leave off the silly "Glorified G"? Well that settles it. This is a GOOD album.
Seriously. There’s some damn good music on here – most of it from TEN. Hell, with thirty-three tracks on a single album, there’s bound to be a few good ones, right? Well, let’s see here. There’s the grunge classics "Alive", "Even Flow", and "Jeremy". There's also a sprinkling of some later, lesser-known songs like "Given to Fly", and the dreary "Nothing as it Seems".
And don’t worry. For every goofy "Dissident" or "Daughter", there’s a near-masterpeice like "Black" or "Yellow Ledbetter". Eddie Vedder may be a cheerless, despondent old freak, but he can write a decent rock tune. A truly memorable one, at that. And if you can appreciate that, then this album is a good one for the playlist.



I had to do some tinkering here, because this fucking blog doesn't allow italics for some reason. But that's the jist of the thing. First draft, keep in mind. And NO - I did not listen to the album. Instead I sat at my desk, drank some red wine, glanced over the playlist, and punched this thing out.


A new study found that an astounding 98% of surfers survived the Tsunami.

"While My Guitar Gently Weeps" is a fucking unbelievable song. One of the few greatest ever written, if you ask me.

"Jungle Boogie" is not. But its good.

Here's an interesting website, worth anybody's time who had to read a book for a class:

http://www.rinkworks.com/bookaminute/classics.shtml

The point of this site is that it summarizes books in less than a minute, to spare your actually having to read it. An example, you say? Why certainly ...

THE GREAT GATSBY
Gatsby: Daisy, I made all this money for you, because I love you.
Daisy: I cannot reciprocate, because I represent the American Dream.
Gatsby: Now I must die, because I also represent the American Dream. (Gatsby DIES.)
Nick: I hate New Yorkers.
THE END

Another? Well, okay. Since you asked.

OTHELLO
Iago: Your wife's cheating on you.
Othello: She is? (kills wife) Damn, she wasn't really.
THE END

Seriously, check out the website. It's got a shitload of books on there, some of which you've undoubtedly read, or at least are familiar with. And it's funny shit.

While we're on literary topics: In our neverending quest to convince people that there's actually books out there worth reading (its not all scholarly, read-for-class-only bullshit), we here at Dominion of Cool often suggest books to check out in this blog. This time, we have two.

The Nick Tosches Reader: by Nick Tosches
A Whore Just Like the Rest: by Richard Meltzer

Now, these are both long books. But the good news is that they aren't books. Well, not exactly. Not in the standard way you'd generally think of a book. What they are is collections of thirty years worth of rock jounalism by two of the best in the field (particularly Nick Tosches). I've read the Tosches Reader, and its fucking great. 700 some pages worth of CD reviews, concert reviews, interviews, essays, stories, excerpts, poems, and so on. Goes all the way back to the early 70's. Good reading for anybody who likes rock. And the same with "A Whore Just Like..." - I'm in the middle of reading this one, and its great. Same thing - reviews of CD's and concerts, interviews, and so on. And this one goes all the way back to the late 60's. You get to read these guys writing about groups like the Stones and the Beatles when it was contemporary shit. And the best part is - these guys are fucking hilarious. Take-no-prisoners, scathing, and viscious writing at its best. And don't worry, contemp-music fans. They both work their way up to the present. Anyways, just a suggestion if you're looking for some relevant, non-scholarly reading. These texts will set you straight: or as Nick Tosches puts it - "The author will cure you of your nasty habits. He will cure you but good."

How we go from a 68 degree day, to a day with five or six inches of snow is beyond me. Fuck Buffalo.

As always, my solution to these problems has been DRINK TOO MUCH.

And now, for no particular reason at all, my votes for various animal categories ...

Coolest animal: Lion
Dumbest: Whale-shark
Best pet: Penguin (with a tuxedo and a top hat)
Worst pet: that boxing kangaroo from Looney Tunes
Animal I'd most like to get drunk: Rhinocerous (they charge things)
Most deadly: Koala-Bear (seriously - they'll stab you if you turn your back for a second)
Smartest: Trekkies
Ugliest: Opera Winfrey
Blackest: Tie between the American Black Bear and Bruce Smith
Whitest: Tie between Polar Bear and Good Charlotte


Warren G was good.


Well, leave comments, friends. See if we can beat five this time.


A Presto



Mike

Drug-Induced Reflections

Looking for a book to read? A short one, perhaps? Check out Kerouac's "The Subterraneans." One review of the book says that this is what jazz would sound like if it were literature, and after reading it myself I must agree. In fact, here is one of the few texts you can read where the words themselves are far more interesting than the story (which is also good, don't get me wrong). Its only about 110 pages, so don't be a lazy bastard - check it out!

I'd like to encourage all of you to be more like "Anonymous Bob" whose comments of late are thoughtful and extensive. We here at the Dominion of Cool believe that this blog should be used as a forum for all manner of furious and empassioned debate. It can be about anything - sports, politics, entertainment media, prostitution. Especially prositution!! Agree with me about something, disagree with me, its all welcome. The staff here is happy to accomodate consent, and happier to accomdate veangeful discord. And on that note, I must defend myself against the proposterous, deceitful, and unfounded accusation left on my last blog that quoted me as saying that Bledsoe has one of the best passer ratings of all time. My exact quote (the one apparently in question) - taken from the "Something Foul..." post - was: "one of the best statistical QBs in NFL history." It should be noted that this comment came as a bit of redemption amidst what was otherwise a harsh critique of Drew by the staff here at Domion of Cool. But at any rate, the key word here is "statistical" (i.e. yards, completions, etc.). Had I intended to mark Bledsoe as the owner of one of the NFL's greatest all-time passer ratings, I would have said so specifically. However, I think I deserve a bit more credit than that (perhaps I'm wrong in this, and its a terrible tragedy). But the claim would be totally unfounded. I would have to be a donkey (a mentally deranged and severly retarded donkey at that) to make such a moronic claim as that. Thankfully, I never indicated that anywhere, in any blog, anywhere, and for good reason. Because its not correct. I AM REDEEMED! And secondly, "AB" - the Roethlesburger (I'm not checking the spelling here, and you can't make me) argument is a hopeless and irrelevant one. So one rookie QB surprised everyone and succeeded. Can you honestly argue that this suggests every team should ditch their QB's and start the inexperienced, unpracticed kid because Roethlesburger had a good season. The staff here at DOC tends to scoff at this idea (though it did give us a good laugh) - but just consider that for every one "Roethlesburger" there is ten or fifteen that range anywhere from "miserable failure" to "mediocre at best." Losman will succeed in this league (we certainly hope), but he needs to put in his time and arrive at the starting position when he can handle it and not be a detrement to the team. Roethlesburger could have thrown for 7,000 yards, 78 TDs, with a 98% completion rate and no interceptions - what would this have to do with Losman? Or the price of rice in China, for that matter?

An open invitation to everyone - please feel free to jump in on this debate. With football done, hockey extinct, and college basketball failing miserably in the area (though it sucks anyway, even when its good), we really need to work to keep sports worth talking about. If we lose sports, we lose a good chunk of what comprises this blog, and the staff here is too lame, too uncreative, and too half-witted to talk about much else.

Well, it should be obvious to everyone now that the San Diego Chargers were a joke all along. One of the NFL's dominant teams? Please. Drew Brees is a good quarterback, but this is a mediocre team.

I'd like to see Philadelphia vs. Indianapolis in the Super Bowl. This might just make for the first exciting Super Bowl in several years. McNabb vs. Manning. M&M, as it were. But two good offenses, squaring off, shooting it out. If Indi's gotta go down, however, I hope and pray to Zeus that its Pittsburgh who makes it in. If its New England again ... and worse, if they win it ... I'm going to kill Zeus.

I have finally come to accept (unhappily) that I can no longer drink an entire bottle of whiskey in a single night. In fact, I really cannot even drink half a bottle of whiskey anymore. Does this mean my manhood is failing? Not necessarily. I can still drink almost half a bottle of whiskey right out of the bottle, which is more than I can say for any of you beer-sipping, mixed-drink loving, leotard-wearing sailor boys out there.

If anyone would be interested in starting an underground fight club with me, just let me know. We'll do it just like they did in the movie. We'll stand outside a bar and fight each other until someone else wants to join in. When we get a lot of people, we'll strike up a deal with the bartender and get him to let us use the basement. Then we'll use soap to make explosives and organize a series of terrorist attacks and blow shit up. Okay, nevermind. We won't do all that shit. I'll just duct tape you to a telephone pole and smash in your face, and we'll call that our fight club.

Every minute I sit in this room I get weaker. And every minute Charlie squats in the bush he gets stronger.

I'm now officially racist against Tsunami's. If I ever see one in Buffalo, I will discriminate against it.

And now, brethren, please join in me condemning all those who worship the nefarious Dan Brown and his wicked novels. What we have here, apparently, is the Dave Matthews Band of literature. Pretty soon people will be simply referring to him as Dan, and will become near rabid and maniacal in their fanatical haste to buy up and consume every last peice of anything with "Dan's" name attached to it. And maybe Dan will be just like Dave and decide to release a new book every single year, sometimes two. We here at Dominion of Cool do not condone this. We cannot. We will not. Dan should be driven (along with Dave) into the sea, screaming like a sissy.

Somebody should organize a hunger strike to force the Jerky Boys to reunite and release a new CD. Those guys were fucking hilarious, and now they are fucking extinct. A society without new CD's full of prank calls is a society unfit for existence. Am I right? By the way, if you've never seen The Jerky Boys movie, check that out. Its great.

Does anyone feel sorry for Martha Stewart? I mean, honestly its a joke that they actually sent her to prison - but its a fucking hilarious joke, and I'd like to see the sentence extended. And while we're at it, let's go after Christopher Lowell.

I like Geico commercials. Especially the caveman ones where they say "switching to Geico is so easy, even a caveman can do it," and the cave man working the camera gets all pissed off and storms out while the guy who said it shouts "I didn't know you were there!" Good stuff.



Well, that'll about do it. Oh, and before I forget, thankyou to the venerable Schwegler for pointing out Bledsoe's extended contribution to the flick "Jerry Maguire." I'm not entirely familiar with the movie, so I failed to point out that he did actually have speaking lines. But hey, when he retires in a year or two, it's good to know he can move to Hollywood and resume what appears to be the makings of a tremendous acting career.

Leave comments, chums. I crave them in the worst way.



A Presto



Mike

Singin' a Bit, Clownin' a Bit

If anyone is interested in the idea of living in an igloo, I would be happy to trade houses with you. You can live with my insane, cold-obsessed family full of tough people who walk around in this frigid ice-box saying things like "What do you mean 'cold'?" or "Put some more clothes on, its your own fault you only have three layers on." You can be just like me ... wearing two long-sleeve shirts, a sweatshirt, a hood, and double-layered running pants, and still fearing to come out from under the blanket. You can do as I do ... wait around all day for dinner to be cooked so that you can have the brief pleasure of huddling up next to the oven. Anyways, this is just a proposition. I know there has got to be some eskimo blog readers out there who are looking for a colder place to stay, so I'm just putting the offer out there.

I'd like to thank "Anonymous Bob" and "Thugs2121" for their thoughtful, reflective, and lengthy comments on the last blog. It puts a smile on my face and warms my heart. However, I am baffled that someone would make the argument that Bledsoe's career QB rating is somehow a knock against his career. Consider the following career passer ratings: Jim Kelly 84 / Aikman 81 / John Elway 79. And to do the further injustice of equating this to Flutie somehow. Uggh. Shameful argument. And besides --- Bledsoe has a two-second, wordless cameo in "Jerry Maguire"!!! He's a fucking, artist, man!! Seriously, though, Bledsoe now stands in the top ten QB's of all-time for "Passing Yardage," and a quick check of NFL.com's record keeping section will show you any number of other records held by the Bills current QB. And I repeat, since people keep wanting to put words in my mouth - DREW IS NOT PLAYING TOP NOTCH FOOTBALL BY ANY STRETCH!! The team is winning as a whole, not because of Drew. I have never insinuated otherwise. I merely resist the rush to start Losman because my point is simply this - the team can win with Drew. It cannot with Losman. At least not yet. We have this horrible misconception in Buffalo that we should always be building for the future. And everytime we have a handful of young guys get old enough to start playing a little better and we still aren't winning championships, we always say "the hell with it, throw them to the curb, lets start over and build for the future." We do this in football. We do this in hockey. I think we have a good team here. I think, if our offense gets its act together and if our defense figures out how to come up big when it matters, and if we lynch Ryan Lyndell and replace him, then we have a competitive team in Buffalo that can challenge. But not if we burn Drew and start a kid with no experience, and not even a full year of practicing under his belt (keep in mind how much time he missed cause of his injury). That's all I'm saying, chums. Halfway through next year, if we're losing and Drew is struggling ... can him! By all means. Start Losman. But the truth is, if you start Losman right off the bat, you will be losing and struggling halfway through the season no matter what. And no one questions this. Not even my arch-nemisis, the evil sports-writer Jerry Sullivan. Even he has admitted as much!

In case anyone is interested, the Buffalo News is currently accepting submissions for a Short-Story Writing Contest. The deadline is Jan. 20, and the top two stories will be printed in the Life and Arts sections on Feb. 1. The story should be 1500 words (which is short) and can be on any topic, and be written in any genre. They give you the first few sentences, and you write your story from there. Let me know if you're interested, I'll give you the rest of the details.

Want to know why jazz music is still thriving, and has still mantained its integrity, years and years later? Because it has never gone pop. It has remained safely ex-mainstream bullshit. As such, it is the only genre of music that can truly be trusted. How, you ask? It remains relatively (not entirely) free from pomp and buffoonery. It is largely without adherence to the "bullshitism" that comprises so much of every other genre (i.e. rock, country, rap, R&B, etc.). Jazz is perhaps the only remaining contemporary genre where expression comes before image, art before packaged product. Not that it doesn't have its own darkside (e.g. Kenny G), but the comparison to mainstream music's wickedry is not even close enough to gesture at (i.e. Kenny G may suck huge balls, and his music is a travesty, but the man himself at least has talent as a musician). These are just random thoughts, friends.

I recently purchased "The Essential Bob Dylan." Why I did so is unclear to me, aside from the fact that Bob Dylan is a legendary rock artist and a hugely influential one at that. But I must say ... Bob Dylan, at least to me, is not "listenable" music in the sense of "Hey, I'm gonna take a ride in my car, and I think I'll listen to Bob Dylan." I think, at this stage of the game, Dylan can be best utilized as background music. For instance, I listened to disc 1 last night as I was trying to fall asleep, and I found the music rather soothing. Its this, however, that keeps Dylan from (at least in my mind) being on the same level as say Zeppelin or The Stones or Hendrix, and other 60's icons.

A brief tribute to the Rat Pack...

I recently began listening to an album that was made for me some two years ago. It lay forgotten for this long epoch, but it finally resurfaced several weeks ago, and I joyfully gave it a play through. Since then, I have given it several more play throughs, and I must say --- its fucking great. The album - since you're wondering - is The Rat Pack Live!! It begins with a few live numbers by Dean Martin (introduced "Here he is, the star of our show, direct from the bar, Dean Martin!) Dean begins with "I Left My Heart in San Francisco" which he drunkenly (or perhaps not) refers to as "Fran Sancisco" before telling a screaming admirer "Oh, shut your goddamn mouth." He does several more (e.g. Volare, An Evening In Roma, etc.) before giving way to Frank, who does a few diddies. Then, on comes Sammy Davis, Jr who tries - not entirely successfully - to sing a few tunes while being tormented relentlessly by Frank ("You wanna laugh, Sam? Go out in the audience") and Dean ("Hey, Frank, where's the toilet?") Then follows the better part of the album - The Rat Pack, all on stage, singing a bit, clowning a bit, swearing a bit. Let me tell you something - these guys are fucking hilarious. Surprisingly. And talented. There really ain't entertainment like this around anymore. And sadly, there never will be again.

But these guys could do it. And be cool doing it. This is worth checking out. How often is comedy cool? Almost never. But to be funny, and be cool, and be able to sing, and be able to drink, and be able to do movies ... and to do it well enough that its still being listened to decades later ... well, you can't underestimate these guys.

Some of the better moments:
Dean and Frank talking loudly offstage while Sammy sings on stage. (Dean: Where's the toilet? Frank: Down the hall. You gotta knock though, there's no sign on the door. Dean: Oh, scuse me lady. Frank: What d'ya mean, lady? I'm a waiter here, pal.)

Frank: (Beginning a song) Ah ffff - oggy day. --- don't get nervous!

Dean trying to sing a song ... Frank angrily correcting all the wrong words.

Dean and Sammy sing "Sam's Song". Dean keeps calling it Dean's song, Sammy gets upset, so Dean sings - "Tell ya what I'll do ... since you're a Jew ... we'll call it Clyde's Song!"

Dean tries to jump in on "Lady is a Tramp" with Frank. Frank yells "You got a beat like a cop!"

And of course, the classic line by Dean - "Hey, how'd all these people get in my room!?"

I've always said it though, and I'll stick by it. Dean tops the list when it comes to cool. Frank has got the edge on "badass," I won't deny this. But Dean is a cool fucking bastard, and this CD proves it. Surprisingly, his voice sounds even better live - quiet, scratchy, laid back. Sings the wrongs words, adds his own little touches (i.e. "You's and you's alone"), does plenty of drinking, and lives up to his Italian nickname (which I forget) that translates to "One Who Does Not Give a Fuck."

Okay, so what's the point of this overblown, flattering, and drawn out review? The point is that The Rat Pack are fucking cool, and they are fucking worth listening to. Pick up your own copy -- or if you're cheap, I'll make you a copy. For free! It needs to be heard!

Okay, enough for this blog. I'll close with two simple thoughts:

1. There is little that separates the French language from the English spoken by queers everywhere.

2. Zorro is the greatest crime-fighter ever. Seriously. He did it all with a sword and a horse. Not superpowers and invincibility (Superman) or all manner of fancy machines and weapons (Batman) or freakish mutant manifestations (Spiderman, The Hulk, etc.). So there you have it. Take that, Marvel Comics.



A Presto



Mike

Something Foul in the State of New York

Well, there you have it. Another NFL season comes to an end for the Buffalo Bills, and once again there will be no playoff action for hungry fans. You might be asking yourself why that is? I'm not. The Pittsburgh game was a display for all who cared to notice all the many things that remains wrong with out shameful football team. If you are too stupid to see what these things are ... or if you're kidding yourself into making excuses and trying to pin the blame on this or that ... or if you're mind is completely fried from years of excessive alcohol abuse and drug usage ... then allow me to spell this out for you.

Problem Number One - Ryan Lindell. How many seasons will the Bills insist on limping along with a field goal kicker who might be lucky to make it past the first round of cuts on a good high school team. "Oh, but he's consistent!" say the buffoons. Yes ... indeed, he is. However, it is not so difficult to be consisent when one never has to kick longer than, say, 35 yards at most. And boy did he do it to us today. Boy did he stick his rotten fucking leg up the ass of every Bills fan in the world when he missed a 28 (repeat - A 28 FUCKING YARD FIELD GOAL) at the end of the third quarter. Not that big of a deal, some idiots will say. Come on - its a six point swing (once you figure in the following Pitts fieldgoal. Do the math, geniuses. We win the game. Even if that were not the case, however, anyone who has played a sport in their life, particularly football, can tell you how fragile momentum is. When your offense has struggled all game, but has finally put together a good drive and moved down the field - and when your offense should have gotten a touchdown but for a lousy call on Josh Reed - and when all you need to do is kick a short field goal, which they pay you huge bucks for - and you MISS IT! BADLY! Well, that sucks the life out of a team. Not to mention kickoffs that the opposing team catches at their 30 yard line. Come on. The 30? How is this guy even in the league!!?? Hopefully that will soon change.

Problem number Two - Our defense. Let me make this explicitly clear!! DON'T FUCKING KID YOURSELF ABOUT OUR DEFENSE!! They are not a top five defense. They are stifling, exciting, and very difficult to play against, but never - NEVER - ask them to come through big when the game is on the line. Hey, remember this? The Jacksonville game? We'd be in the fucking playoffs anyway. But no. Clemens can't knock the deep ball down on fourth down. Why? Because his locker says it all. "Playmaker." Nice fucking play, Nate. Or how about the TD on the last play of the game. How could you let them drive down the field and score like that on you? Are you top five? Maybe not, huh? But guess what. Nobody in Buffalo is going to talk about this. Everyone will conveniently forget that the defense let a SECOND STRING OFFENSE led by a THIRD STRING QB take off almost ten minutes from the clock in the 4rth quarter, march down the field, pick up the field goal, and give our struggling offense the ball back with two minutes left in the game. Top five? Hmm. Have to think about that. And of course, worst of all - a third string running back somehow rips off a 60 yard run against us when we needed them to come up big the most. Top five? Well ... okay, no fucking way.

Problem number Three - Drew Bledsoe. Arm like a mother fucker, one of the best statistical QBs in NFL history, and still a threat in this league with some help. But WHY DO YOU HOLD ON TO THE BALL SO LONG, DREW!!! Haven't you learned after ten-plus seasons in the league that you got to get rid of the fucking ball?

Problem number Four - Eric Moulds. Overrated, plain and simple. Too many dropped passes, not just against Pittsburg, but all season. He makes some great catches, no question. But we pay him too much money to drop several passes a game.

Problem number Five - Coaching. We've had some good coaching this year, sure. But you don't come out and play conservative offense against the best team in the league when you're trying to make the playoffs. We sucked the life out of ourselves right off the bat, and could never recover from it. How many strikes down the field did you see all game? Hmm. One? To Lee Evans when the game was already lost with less than two minutes left? You kidding me? We're fighting for the playoffs here and we're not throwing the ball downfield ... at all? Against a second string defense?

Problem number Six - Combination lack of discipline, and poor officiating. Too many penalties, simply put. A lot of that was us, a lot of that was some lopsided reffereeing. I mean give me a break - we had over a hundred yards in penalties called agianst us - a HUNDRED YARDS! At some point somebody's gotta start asking what the reff's problem is. Especially the bullshit call against Josh Reed for offensive pass interference. He touches a guy twenty yards away from the play and a flag gets thrown six seconds later. Fucking weird.

Problem number Seven - the fans. Yah. Believe that. We're going to do what we always do. We'll overlook all the glaring deficiencies this team is afflicted with and just try to pin the whole thing on our quarterback. We've done it historically. Everybody forgets what a beating Kelly took here, but they actually used to call for Frank Reich ... when we were winning games!! They hated Todd Collins (rightfully so). They hated Flutie. They hated Johnson. They hate Drew Bledsoe. Its not an inconsistent defense, or a lack of discipline, or a bad game plan, or a superior team that beats us. No, its always the fucking quarterback. Drew played like shit. Its a team fucking game. You'll never have a great team in this city until you see the big picture and address ALL the problems. Its not enough to cry endlessly about one of them.

That said, I suggest we all say fuck the Bills until next season. Its their own fault they aren't in the playoffs. "But Mike ... they went on a six game winning streak!" Goody fucking gum drops. Look at the combined record of those opponents. Not very good. The best team we beat that whole time was the Jets, and whoooopy!!! They are so friggen good, aren't they? (The answer is no - they are not). They get taken to overtime by a sub-500 NFC team. Not very impressive.

So ... FUCK THE BILLS

How was everyone's New Years? Congratulations, by the way, on everyone's creative genius in bullrushing Chippewa. Yes, downtown was certainly the "cool" thing to do, as usual. I'm disappointed I couldn't make it there myself. How hellish for me - not to get the chance to pay seven dollar covers to stand in shoulder-to-shoulder dance clubs and listen to nightmarish music being played loud enough to piss off a dead body and spend all my hard earned money on expensive, poorly mixed drinks that I have to wait ten minutes to get. Oh, and there's the sweat, and bad smells, and drunk assholes, and the whores, and the hardasses, and the tough-guy bouncers, and the flashing lights, and long lines, and so on. And of course the best part of all - the oppurtunity to "be seen." I envy all of you.

But seriously ... Happy New Years!!

I would like Gary Bettman to die a painful, agonizing death.

I hate the commercial where the black guy puts on all those clothes so he doesn't have to carry a bag on the plane. What a stupid fucking commercial.

I don't feel good, I'm tired, I'm angry and malovelent ... so this blog is over.


A Presto


Mike