Saucerful of Twaddle
Well, I now have advertisements for porno sites being left in bulk quantities in my comment section. This is really just fantastic. I mean … I was already giddy over the exciting new things they’ve been doing with blog invasion in the past months, but now to add 8 comments worth of porn links? A million times THANK YOU! It’s reassuring to know that even a man or woman’s personal blog can become marketing space for the wholesome and culture-progressing internet porn industry. I was beginning to think for a moment that it was possible for those weird creeps who want to keep small amounts of space free of advertisement might actually have been on to something with their blogs, but thank heavens for the persistence and resourcefulness of those undying footsoldiers … internet marketers! With a track record like theirs, we may one day reach that indescribably beautiful utopia wherein the entire earth is transformed into one big commercial.
Well, where should we start off today? I can only thank whatever god may or may not exist a million times over that Heath Ledger failed to win best-actor award. It would surely be a sign of pending apocalypse if that weird fucker were to be acknowledged as something resembling a legitimate actor, let alone the best in the biz. I’m disappointed that Joaquin Phoenix was not acknowledged for “Walk the Line.” He’s a tremendously talented actor, and he did a remarkable job as Johnny Cash. But the guy who did win for male lead is a talented and hard working actor as well, and I’ve read good things about “Capote,” so cheers. Other than that, the staff of Dominion of Cool don’t know a damn thing about what happened at this year’s Oscars.
Speaking of signs of approaching apocalypse, there’s some revelations you should probably all be aware of, if you don’t already. For one thing, I have become Jerry Sullivan’s greatest supporter in the past nine months. Yes, the same Mr. Sullivan I spent years comparing to the likes of Bin Laden and Molly Shannon in terms of sheer evil. The same Mr. Sullivan that once prompted me to sacrifice a fatted calf to Ra in the hopes that his evil would be extinguished and he would be banished to the inner most chamber of the earth’s core where he would try for eternity to write his vicious and lying articles, but all to no avail because they would evaporate into thin air from the tremendous heat. How things can change. It is now the rest of the Buffalo sporting media whose reporting I bemoan, while Mr. Sullivan’s articles seem to-the-point and dead on balls accurate. While Gleason has disappeared off the face of the earth, and plays things excruciatingly safe when he does occasionally surface, and while DiCesare and Vogl lack both personality and color – Sullivan, love him or hate him, offers passionate conviction and vivid, entertaining writing. When you agree with him, he’s a genius. When you don’t, he’s less likable than Hitler. But even then, he, like Robitaille, is the kind of guy you love to hate, rather than just hate.
The second sign is my newfound respect for Lindy Ruff. I know, I know. Your eyes probably just rolled back in your head as you fought the temptation to faint dead away. Listen, don’t jump the gun here. I am not saying Lindy Ruff is a “good” coach. I’m just saying I respect his transition from defensive grunt and unimaginative hack to hands-off-the-offense liberal. Then again, I think that order probably came down from on high within the organization, but Lindy caved and deserves credit for having the wisdom to do so. Also, there has been another transition on his part. He’s gone from tyrannical overlord, hated by fans and players alike, and often a public target of former-Sabres’ bitterness toward their wasted years here, to a respected and downright encouraging figure. Rather than constant shuffling of lines, benching of players, rotating of players, and public criticism of players, he’s bought into the traditional notion of “be positive” and “let them build chemistry” and “reward them for their hard work.” Pays dividends. Nice work, Lindy. We’ve been saying it for years, and you finally got on board.
Finally, the third sign of impending doom and chaos … I now like The Strokes. Now I know you fainted, so I’ll take a moment to let you get some air and come to. I’ll sing quietly to myself while I wait. “Hang down your head, Tom Dooooley. Hang down your head and cry.” Alright, I’ll assume you’ve come to. I know I’m laying a lot on you guys, but seriously … the new Strokes album is damn good. I still think the first two suck, and the band just sounded like some recycled late 70’s shit. But this album has scrapped the cheesy distorted vocals approach, and tried to make the band sound like an actual contemporary act. “First Impressions of Earth” it’s called. Check it out. There’s a lot of fun lyrics too, many of which sound like he’s making them up on the spot. There’s a particularly great song about how much he hates his friends, so he drinks so that he’ll like them. Then he drinks too much and hates them even more than he did before. Good stuff. Another song has a chorus that just repeats over and over again “I’ve got nothing to saaaay!” I’m listening to the album right now while I type this at work, rather than actually earn my paycheck. Though I consider the fact that I even show up to this shit job every day and sit in a cubicle more than enough to justify five or six times what I make. So maybe I should ask for a raise. Anyway, listen to the new Strokes album. I think you’ll be as impressed as I am.
You know, I drink so little these days, and I’ve found it’s had a tremendous upswing on my overall quality of life. Rather than guzzling whiskey, I now have a few beers, a couple of shots, and maybe a glass of wine to round out the evening. I don’t get savagely drunk, rather I have a very pleasant buzz, or a very mild but totally aware and in control drunk. It’s three or four times as entertaining as being totally blasted. The drawback, as you’ve no doubt discovered, is that it gives me less to talk about in this blog. No funny stories, no bad experiences, nothing. Sure, I could write about how I went to a couple of bars last week and did nothing exciting, and …. OH WAIT! Hold on. Forgive my total stream of consciousness here, but rather than go back and delete the above, I’m just going to plow ahead. A very mediocre and bland sort of interesting thing happened last weekend that is just barely worth relating, but it was hilarious if you were there. Saturday night was the first time I have ever been nearly kicked out of a bar for dumping salt on a candle. Now, I’ve been booted for my fair share of things, and that’s fine. But I really wish this guy would have followed through, just so I could have the distinct honor of being maybe THE ONLY person ever to be asked to leave a bar for shaking salt on a candle.
Here’s the story. Buss, Lisa, Liz, Mumbach, and Myself were in Jimmy Mac’s on Elmwood. Nice joint. We had ourselves a booth, and for some reason certain members of the party (not including myself) decided to have a salt and pepper fight. So while sodium chloride and fresh ground pepper soared through the atmosphere and scattered all over the table and floor, I sort of hunched over my gin and tonic and chuckled at the absurdity of it. So nothing happened for a while and we relocated to another booth so as to avoid the filthy salt/pepper surface of the old one. At which point, for reasons unexplained, my sometimes lucid, sometimes anarchic mind started asking certain questions that probably wouldn’t occur to most normal minds to ask – namely, what would happen if I shook salt all over the decorative candle and into it’s melted wax and flickering flame. At which point, needless to say, it became clear to me that my mind was not in “Lucid Phase,” but I persevered to find an answer nonetheless. After about two minutes of shaking salt into the candle, some fellow from the bar came over and politely asked (I thought) for me to stop doing that, saying something along the lines of “nice people like you don’t need to spill salt into the candle.” Luckily, my mind was still somewhat in “Lucid Phase” and I saw no argument against this assessment, so I smiled awkwardly and put the salt down.
My colleagues felt differently, and insisted that we leave the bar immediately as protest against this unfair treatment. And as the night wore on, I was regaled with tales of this fellow being confrontational and a hardass, and even using the word “fuck” at some point, and also he didn’t even work at the bar supposedly. I am in no position to verify or refute any of this. Suffice to say, his point was just – there was no need for nice people like us to spill salt into the candle (moral of the story).
And, unfortunately, the anarchic half of my mind felt justified in the whole thing because it’s original question was “what would happen if I shook salt all over the decorative candle and into it’s melted wax and flickering flame?” Rather than accept the inane nature of the question, and that the answer was “nothing,” (as did the lucid half of my brain) it satisfied itself by maintaining that the question was academic, and the answer was “a guy from the bar will come over and ask me to stop.” So my eccentric half, as usual, was only encouraged by something so stupid, and will undoubtedly use it as justification to do further pointless things in the future. Sigh.
Well, I’m not saying anything go of real significance here (do I ever?) so I should bring it to all to a halt. Thanks for reading, chums (if you did), and stay tuned. These things have been coming slower, and growing less pointed, but who cares. It kills an hour at work.
Leave a message. And ignore the automated advertisements and links. The bastards who create those things are indecent, and not to be trusted!
A presto …
As a post-scrip of sorts ... I've just added this final note on edit. Through the "settings" section of my blog, I have been able to manipulate the blog so that comments can only be left by passing a word verification system. In other words "retype this word as it appears on your screen" type shit ... meaning only physical human organisms can leave comments. I apologize to anyone who supported the automated porn links. It's not the end of the world, it's just one of those things.
Well, where should we start off today? I can only thank whatever god may or may not exist a million times over that Heath Ledger failed to win best-actor award. It would surely be a sign of pending apocalypse if that weird fucker were to be acknowledged as something resembling a legitimate actor, let alone the best in the biz. I’m disappointed that Joaquin Phoenix was not acknowledged for “Walk the Line.” He’s a tremendously talented actor, and he did a remarkable job as Johnny Cash. But the guy who did win for male lead is a talented and hard working actor as well, and I’ve read good things about “Capote,” so cheers. Other than that, the staff of Dominion of Cool don’t know a damn thing about what happened at this year’s Oscars.
Speaking of signs of approaching apocalypse, there’s some revelations you should probably all be aware of, if you don’t already. For one thing, I have become Jerry Sullivan’s greatest supporter in the past nine months. Yes, the same Mr. Sullivan I spent years comparing to the likes of Bin Laden and Molly Shannon in terms of sheer evil. The same Mr. Sullivan that once prompted me to sacrifice a fatted calf to Ra in the hopes that his evil would be extinguished and he would be banished to the inner most chamber of the earth’s core where he would try for eternity to write his vicious and lying articles, but all to no avail because they would evaporate into thin air from the tremendous heat. How things can change. It is now the rest of the Buffalo sporting media whose reporting I bemoan, while Mr. Sullivan’s articles seem to-the-point and dead on balls accurate. While Gleason has disappeared off the face of the earth, and plays things excruciatingly safe when he does occasionally surface, and while DiCesare and Vogl lack both personality and color – Sullivan, love him or hate him, offers passionate conviction and vivid, entertaining writing. When you agree with him, he’s a genius. When you don’t, he’s less likable than Hitler. But even then, he, like Robitaille, is the kind of guy you love to hate, rather than just hate.
The second sign is my newfound respect for Lindy Ruff. I know, I know. Your eyes probably just rolled back in your head as you fought the temptation to faint dead away. Listen, don’t jump the gun here. I am not saying Lindy Ruff is a “good” coach. I’m just saying I respect his transition from defensive grunt and unimaginative hack to hands-off-the-offense liberal. Then again, I think that order probably came down from on high within the organization, but Lindy caved and deserves credit for having the wisdom to do so. Also, there has been another transition on his part. He’s gone from tyrannical overlord, hated by fans and players alike, and often a public target of former-Sabres’ bitterness toward their wasted years here, to a respected and downright encouraging figure. Rather than constant shuffling of lines, benching of players, rotating of players, and public criticism of players, he’s bought into the traditional notion of “be positive” and “let them build chemistry” and “reward them for their hard work.” Pays dividends. Nice work, Lindy. We’ve been saying it for years, and you finally got on board.
Finally, the third sign of impending doom and chaos … I now like The Strokes. Now I know you fainted, so I’ll take a moment to let you get some air and come to. I’ll sing quietly to myself while I wait. “Hang down your head, Tom Dooooley. Hang down your head and cry.” Alright, I’ll assume you’ve come to. I know I’m laying a lot on you guys, but seriously … the new Strokes album is damn good. I still think the first two suck, and the band just sounded like some recycled late 70’s shit. But this album has scrapped the cheesy distorted vocals approach, and tried to make the band sound like an actual contemporary act. “First Impressions of Earth” it’s called. Check it out. There’s a lot of fun lyrics too, many of which sound like he’s making them up on the spot. There’s a particularly great song about how much he hates his friends, so he drinks so that he’ll like them. Then he drinks too much and hates them even more than he did before. Good stuff. Another song has a chorus that just repeats over and over again “I’ve got nothing to saaaay!” I’m listening to the album right now while I type this at work, rather than actually earn my paycheck. Though I consider the fact that I even show up to this shit job every day and sit in a cubicle more than enough to justify five or six times what I make. So maybe I should ask for a raise. Anyway, listen to the new Strokes album. I think you’ll be as impressed as I am.
You know, I drink so little these days, and I’ve found it’s had a tremendous upswing on my overall quality of life. Rather than guzzling whiskey, I now have a few beers, a couple of shots, and maybe a glass of wine to round out the evening. I don’t get savagely drunk, rather I have a very pleasant buzz, or a very mild but totally aware and in control drunk. It’s three or four times as entertaining as being totally blasted. The drawback, as you’ve no doubt discovered, is that it gives me less to talk about in this blog. No funny stories, no bad experiences, nothing. Sure, I could write about how I went to a couple of bars last week and did nothing exciting, and …. OH WAIT! Hold on. Forgive my total stream of consciousness here, but rather than go back and delete the above, I’m just going to plow ahead. A very mediocre and bland sort of interesting thing happened last weekend that is just barely worth relating, but it was hilarious if you were there. Saturday night was the first time I have ever been nearly kicked out of a bar for dumping salt on a candle. Now, I’ve been booted for my fair share of things, and that’s fine. But I really wish this guy would have followed through, just so I could have the distinct honor of being maybe THE ONLY person ever to be asked to leave a bar for shaking salt on a candle.
Here’s the story. Buss, Lisa, Liz, Mumbach, and Myself were in Jimmy Mac’s on Elmwood. Nice joint. We had ourselves a booth, and for some reason certain members of the party (not including myself) decided to have a salt and pepper fight. So while sodium chloride and fresh ground pepper soared through the atmosphere and scattered all over the table and floor, I sort of hunched over my gin and tonic and chuckled at the absurdity of it. So nothing happened for a while and we relocated to another booth so as to avoid the filthy salt/pepper surface of the old one. At which point, for reasons unexplained, my sometimes lucid, sometimes anarchic mind started asking certain questions that probably wouldn’t occur to most normal minds to ask – namely, what would happen if I shook salt all over the decorative candle and into it’s melted wax and flickering flame. At which point, needless to say, it became clear to me that my mind was not in “Lucid Phase,” but I persevered to find an answer nonetheless. After about two minutes of shaking salt into the candle, some fellow from the bar came over and politely asked (I thought) for me to stop doing that, saying something along the lines of “nice people like you don’t need to spill salt into the candle.” Luckily, my mind was still somewhat in “Lucid Phase” and I saw no argument against this assessment, so I smiled awkwardly and put the salt down.
My colleagues felt differently, and insisted that we leave the bar immediately as protest against this unfair treatment. And as the night wore on, I was regaled with tales of this fellow being confrontational and a hardass, and even using the word “fuck” at some point, and also he didn’t even work at the bar supposedly. I am in no position to verify or refute any of this. Suffice to say, his point was just – there was no need for nice people like us to spill salt into the candle (moral of the story).
And, unfortunately, the anarchic half of my mind felt justified in the whole thing because it’s original question was “what would happen if I shook salt all over the decorative candle and into it’s melted wax and flickering flame?” Rather than accept the inane nature of the question, and that the answer was “nothing,” (as did the lucid half of my brain) it satisfied itself by maintaining that the question was academic, and the answer was “a guy from the bar will come over and ask me to stop.” So my eccentric half, as usual, was only encouraged by something so stupid, and will undoubtedly use it as justification to do further pointless things in the future. Sigh.
Well, I’m not saying anything go of real significance here (do I ever?) so I should bring it to all to a halt. Thanks for reading, chums (if you did), and stay tuned. These things have been coming slower, and growing less pointed, but who cares. It kills an hour at work.
Leave a message. And ignore the automated advertisements and links. The bastards who create those things are indecent, and not to be trusted!
A presto …
As a post-scrip of sorts ... I've just added this final note on edit. Through the "settings" section of my blog, I have been able to manipulate the blog so that comments can only be left by passing a word verification system. In other words "retype this word as it appears on your screen" type shit ... meaning only physical human organisms can leave comments. I apologize to anyone who supported the automated porn links. It's not the end of the world, it's just one of those things.
posted by Il Pazzo @ 4:38 PM
1 Comments:
At 7:15 PM,
john. said…
I'm glad to hear that you have finally discovered that happy medium when it comes to drinking. Too bad that couldn't have come, oh say, a few years back. Much less would have been destroyed during college if this were the case.
....like my dresser.
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