FOR SCIENCE!!!!!!!!!!!

This Saturday, I had me my science party.
Yes, there was science.
Fire and freezing and shattering and a bunch of fun stuff that would have gotten me expelled had I ever dared to do any of it in school.
Aside from having to resort to "poor man's liquid nitrogen" because some monster fuckmaster from T.W. Smith told me I could get the LN2 from noon to fucking four on Saturday forgot to mention that when he said "noon to four" he fucking meant "eight to noon".
God damn cuntflaps.
But, a million thanks to my One and Only who snapped to and tracked down 15 pounds of dry ice.
While not as dangerous or cold (-70 C) as LN2 (-321 C), it still has the capability to maim people, so, at least there was that.
Once I saw some videos of dry ice doing its ting, I stopped throwing my tantrum (and it was the closest thing to a tantrum I've had since I was 5) and the evening got started.
Seriously though, I felt like a little kid who had been promised a clown and who had told ALLLL the kids coming to the party that there was going to BE a clown...but then, at the last minute, the clown was killed by Nazis.
Who then raped the clown in front of the kid.
Laughing.
So, yeah.
But, despite the lack of potential lethal liquid elements, everything went super swimmingly.
Special shout outs (along with Chris) to Jan and Jim who brought a fucking trebuchet that was assembled with liquid quickness by Jen Rock and the Original Jen.
Also, to New Friend, Karyn Joy DeAwesomename, Becca's friend who joined in the science and shattered the shit out of some flowers.
We hope to see more of you guys the next time things get scientific.

The next day, Chris and I had Brunch with Kathy and I ate deep friend bacon for the first and last time in my life.
I can still hear it screaming in my colon just planning how to get back at me for eating it.
Its revenge will include bloody stool, I fear...

Later that day though, Chris and I watched Hunter S. Thompson's The Rum Diary and it was awesome.
The story and acting and everything were all right, but what it was...was amazing...
Rum Diary was basically Batman Begins for Hunter S. Thompson.
It's his origin story and it's pretty incredible to see what went into making him him.
I still miss that guy...
If you're looking for a crazy drug trip with mostly unintelligible dialogue, watch Fear & Loathing, but, if you want a less psychedelic film, and would like to Aaron Eckhart lose his shit, check out Run Diary.

I'm still crafting my account of my trip to Los Angeles at the end of January, so, hold tight...you, one person who is reading this, you'll get your butter tarts soon...

Exhausted today after only getting eight hours or so and waking up for, of all fucking things, an Odor Eaters VO.
Yeah, they still make those.
At least the copy wasn't fucking warm and friendly with a hint of a smile.
They sort of embraced the fact that their product is going to be purchased by people with smelly feet.

All right.
On your way.

Eat A Dick, United States Postal Service

11.1.11
3:54 pm
 
I was just on the line with the U.S. Postal Service's awful phone robot and it asked me:
"Are you in the business?"
Then a saucy pause.
Then: "The 'getting it there safe and sound' business?"
If I had had an employee of the USPS in front of me at that exact second, I would have screamed and laughed and torn their face from their skull, all at the same time.
And then there would have been diffused, polite applause from everywhere and nowhere.
And I would have smiled.
Stuffed their newly removed face into my mouth and smiled.
Chewed, swallowed, grinned, danced then smiled some more.
If I were running the Post Office, I'd go waaay out of my way to make sure the things that are already annoying in regular life (i.e. fucking awful phone robots) were much less annoying in relation to the PO.
I'd hire Morgan Freeman to read haikus about puppies.
Phone robots already make one want to tear peoples' faces off, but the Post Office...?
No one ever goes to the Post Office unless they fucking have to.
No one ever just calls the Post Office to say, "Hey, you guys are doing a great job. Keep up the good work and enjoy your still-attached faces."
No.
They go there because they didn't received something at their home.
They call because something went wrong, perhaps something costly.
And when you are calling the Post Office or the DMV or your insurance provider or any other organization that has a horrible-yet-completely-justified-and-proven-time-and-time-again stigma against it, the LAST thing you want to hear (aside from some disinterested freak with a wet sock in its mouth on the other end of the call) is something like the above awful phone robot statement.
WHY ARE THEY MAKING THINGS WORSE FOR THEMSELVES?
Even if you are coolheaded at the start of the call (and I will argue that years being on the other end of asshole phone calls has made me very sympathetic to these ball gargling fucks), by the time you've listened to the awful fucking phone robot go through its spiel six times, you're ready to...oh, I don't know...remove someone's face and eat it.
So why are they poking their proverbial stick into our proverbial wound?
Do they want people to scream at their idiot employees and tear their faces off?
Maybe this is all some trolling scheme to get great "Difficult Customer" training tapes for future employees?
Whatever the case.
Eat a dick, United States Postal Service.
Eat a massive, rancid dick.
 
In unrelated news, I've started editing The Grind Show again.
Halfway through chapter 29...which is huge, the longest remaining chapter, in fact.
After that, it's all a soft, sexy slope made of buttered leather.
Why have I suddenly returned to editing?
Well, because I have completed Batman: Arkham City, and I enjoyed every second of it.
There are approximately two things they didn't do as well as the first game, but they are minor enough as to not even count in the end.
And the end...oh the end...
I believe this might be the best ending to a video game I've ever encountered.
At least since Red Dead Redemption, but, fuck that, this is Batman.
I'll be replaying it soon, but it isn't going to consume my life as it did when it was fresh, so, don't worry, Phil
TGS will be fully edited well before the end of November.
Let us give thanks...to me.
While I'm not charging Phil anything for the recording and editing of Grind Show, he wrote me a little something that pretty much made everything worth it.
 
Over the weekend...the shitty let's-have-a-blizzard-just-to-fuck-with-Paul weekend...Chris and I had our Halloween party.
It was a sad state of affairs for an hour or so, but then people showed up and then more people showed up and it then began to kick ass.
Should have the '11 Freak Fuck video up soon so you can all either reminisce or feel left out.
Whatever.
 
I think that's all I'm willing to tell you at the moment.
Don't press me.
DON'T.
PRESS.
ME.
 
Don't.

We Only Come Out At Night

11.1.10

3:39 pm

Epic.

Weekend.

Huge.

One for the books.

The books people write about huge parties and fun and parades and dancing.

Those books.

So.

Phil and Grace ( the people, not to be confused with Will & Grace the television show) arrived Saturday afternoon, mere hours before Freak Fuck '10 was set to commence.

Phil was presented with (most of) his Birthday payload from Will, Chris, Diana and I, which included the first ever picture of a clown fucking a dolphin.

First Ever.

Write that down.

Then, after we discussed the list of what had yet to be done, we went out for a leisurely luncheon, then we finished the shopping and decorating and, right around the time Chris came home, we all took naps.

Except Chris.

Who did all the cooking while we slept.

I awoke and donned my costume which, at first, was just "woodland fairy", but, after the party got "bumpin'" and Bill arrived, he dubbed me a Brownie.

After seeing a picture, I was in complete agreement.

At first, the party was Phil (Jack Skellington), Grace (Sally), Chris (Closet Monster) and myself, listening to my demented hallscape booming from the darkened hallway, driving us all insane.

Then Colin (Jesus, the best one I'd ever seen not nailed to a cross) and Joyce (Gypsy Chick) arrived and then, everybody else.

No one slacked this year as far as their costumes, as is evident from the slew of pictures and video taken (go to Facebook, I'm sure you'll find something there).

Everything went at full bore until about three, when Grace, Chris, Linza and Jeannie had an otherworldly Belly Dance Off to some Peter Murphy (which came after a Regular Dance Off between Ray and Chris and a Plie Off between Molly (a ballerina) and I).

We also had some South African rap (NOT Die Antwoord, about whom Linza was gracious enough to answer all my questions) and South African industrial (sounded a bit like KMFDM but sung in Afrikaans), thanks to Josh and Linza.

Plus another spat of "bumpin'" dance trax courtesy of one Philip William Fortes Tucker.

More people met other people and so on, as seems to be the new tradition happening at our recent events.

Wow, was that sentence is mangled.

Sorry, I'm a bit mashed.

Some other excellent costumes included my sister, who showed up as Wednesday Addams (don't think she smiled in one picture...way to play it, sis)and, completely unknown to anyone, Jim and Jen, who showed up as Gomez (Jen) and Moriticia Addams (Jim).

It was the definition of 'kismet'.

Or 'coincidence' if you're an asshole with no magic in your heart.

Also, with my help, Jen learned to pelvic thrust.

I felt as proud as a new mother.

Katey and P.J. made a special surprise appearance which blew Chris' mind and almost brought her to tears.

Linza and Josh (TO WHOM I WAS FINALLY ABLE TO RETURN 'HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE'!!!!!!!!!!!!!) came as Sweeney Todd and Ms. Lovett, Cliff was Barbra Eden from I Dream of Jeannie...and it was horrifying...., Ray was Mr. C (who he described as "Cthulhu if he were a villain on Batman") and Steve, who was, in my mind, an NPC from Fallout 3.

But, the winner by far, was Lauren, who came as Garry Gaga, complete with gun, handcuffs, working walkie-talkies...and three different hats, one of which was a swan.

That, friends, is dedication and how you get ahead in this world. 

We also had several goddesses, a couple pirates and a few ladies who can only be described, with all due respect, as "hot booby girls", plus a witch.

The hallway (of my design this year) was more sensory that the last two, with no light and several lengths of latex tubing hung from the ceiling while a sonorous, deep, moist breathing boomed throughout the hall, our ceiling fan was turned into a Lovecraftian horror, but a cute, approachable Lovecraftian horror and our bathroom, which was taken in a different direction than the previous years, was set up as a kill room from Dexter, complete with pictures of our party guests taped to the tarp.

It was a resounding success, only marred by missing friends.

But we'll see them next time, we hope.

There should be something akin to the '09 Freak Fuck video posted at some point.

And for next year...Chris and I already have ideas...

The next morning, the four of us awoke and set out for Cafe Henri, Phil wearing a midnight blue half-mask and bowler, Grace wearing a blue wig and my Brownie skirt, Chris dressed as a fairy and myself wearing my Army jacket, Aviators and a combat helmet.

We don't brunch...we Brunch.

The food, as always, was delicious.

Then, it was time for the parade.

We suited up again and headed into Manhattan, where all of us were stopped at and around Union Square several times for pictures, especially Phil and Grace.

People were literally running up in droves to take shots with them.

New York loves the Pumpkin King and his special lady.

After meeting with Kaitlyn and getting some food, we braved the throbbing asshole crowds of New York (made 6.37 times more anusy by the holiday) and eventually made our way into the parade, where we were cheered and photographed.

The actor in me felt appropriated fed.

At one point, we were informed that there were about three million people in and around the parade.

Not sure if that number's hyperbole or not, but there were a metric fuckton of people as far as I could see.

We walked the length of the parade, stopping occasionally for pictures or for me to try to fly (almost made it) and exited to meet up again with Jim and Jen, before heading to a bar that ended up being literally around the corner from Irving Plaza, so Chris was able to go to the Doll's show after all, where she had fun.

Jim, Jen, Phil, Grace, Kaitlyn and I took a blue-lit back room and regained our strength for a bit before busting out dance moves that actually had the cops arresting us for being too sexy.

AND, how fucking weird is this, it turns out that Jim is friends with Taryn...a friend of Chris and I, and Chris' roommate from her Junior year.

And the Universe...gets smaller...

Chris rejoined us and we left Phil, Grace and Jim to destroy the rest of the city without us.

An excellent weekend, 10 out of 10 but for this morning when I awoke to find that Phil had lost his brand new Palm Pixie.

Perhaps because the name is totally gay.

No calls were made except to the phone's voice mail and only one text was sent, to me, at 10:01 this morning that read ".N", which I took to mean Phil was still out, drunk out of his mind and unable to even text coherently (I'm so imaginative).

I wish I had been right.

It's a bothersome, costly blight on an otherwise unblemished, cherry-flavored weekend.

I said my goodbyes and went to work while Phil and Grace tried to end things on a high note by having brunch at Tom's in Brooklyn then going on to spend their remaining hours here in Prospect Park.

Aside from the phone, it was a ridiculously funderful weekend.

And the best part?

In eleven days, we'll all be meeting up again, this time with Will and Diana as well.

I love having something to look forward to that isn't DVDs.

And, finally, on top of all this Happy Pudding, in a day or two, I will be posting the product of my most recent gig (all thanks to Ray), which Ray showed me last night.

Two words: Google munnny.

*bite*

Would You Like To See My Mask...

*OR* An Overly Detailed Recounting

9.27.10

3:50 pm

[Message redacted.] 

I had made a list of several things I was going to do so as to NOT waste the day sleeping or snoozing or napping or grinding my genitals into a fine, fishy paste.

While at home, I was going to try, one last time, as a final gambit in the most one-sided game of Phone Tag EVER, to contact my connection at Brillstein (home of such no-names as Brad Pitt, Paul Rudd, Natalie Portman etc.), get in touch with my cousin who has some high ranking position at Pearson Education (which is affiliated with Simon and Schuster Audio Books) and talk about sending my audio reel and demo and such, work on constructing the hallway soundscape for this years Halloween party and, finally, begin work on a special project suggested to me by one William "Rocket Man" Pomerantz.

Once these things were finished or at least begun, I was going to head over to my manager's office and pick up a check that had been waiting for me.

I placed the call to my Brillstein connection and left a message, considering the matter closed forever, spoke to my cousin's secretary, a lovely lady named Nancy who sent me the last three Dark Tower audio books for free and who informed me my cousins was eating a sandwich and would call me back and completed work on the hallway music.

I was about to embark upon the Secret/Safe Project when my phone rang.

It was a Brillstein number.

Long story short, I had a nice conversation with Stacy who said, now that's she's spoken to me and seen my reel/demo etc., that she was going to pass my name onto any agents she comes in contact with.

Maybe it means something, maybe it doesn't, but I felt good about it.

Anyway, after the conversation, I set out to pick up my money Lebowski.

I did so and was informed by Adrienne, my manager's excellent assistant, that she had just sent me an e-mail about a thing.

I had been recommended personally to a production company for a voice over project.

They wanted me to record some copy at home and send the file in to them.

Friday they wanted me in to record a "scratch" track at noon and, if they were needed, to do revision's on Monday at one.

I said: Good.

I went home, recorded the paragraph a few times, did some editing, mulled it over and then played what I had for my one and only who helped me cobble together what we thought was the best possible recording.

Then we cuddled and waited for my sister, who was coming up to New York for the third weekend running (this time for the ATDA conference and the Eels show).

She arrived with her brand new, 6 week old kitten, Dr. Spectre, in tow.

My sweet Christ, I have never seen anything this small and wonderful.

I quite lost my shit.

Eventually, we all fell asleep.

I woke early and even by normal people standards, around 9:45 am.

Hm.

Actually, never mind, that is still late for the Daylighters.

I called in again (I hadn't worked enough on the Secret Project) as my fake headache was now a full blown fake migraine, and I couldn't hardly speak, let alone work...

Anyway, I had been informed the day before that this recording was between me and one other person, so I wanted to make sure I was up and ready to go if I got the call.

At ten or so, I called my manager's office and was told by Adrienne that she was also waiting to hear back about the mp3 I had recorded and sent.

To kill time until the phone call did or did not come it, I began work on the aforementioned Secret Project.

Things were moving along nicely and then Adrienne called again.

The production house wanted me to come in to record the script today, in about forty five minutes.

I hopped on the train and headed down to Bond street to Greencard.

I arrived and recorded a thing for a new casino/resort opening in Atlantic City.

The two engineers were excellent, exactly the kind of guys you'd picture working in a production house on Bond street and we all had a fun time.

After that, I went home, at which point the kitten fall asleep on my shoulder.

Soon, Kathy and Christina came home, and we all watched Billy Madison.

That movie is still solid gold.

Then, we all slept again.

Saturday, I awoke late and showered in preparation for the concert.

Kathy arrived back from her second awful day at the awful, pointless conference and we set off for Terminal 5, about two hours before doors.

We were, literally, the only people there for a good twenty minutes.

Eventually, three or four more people showed up and Kathy and I passed the time playing hangman.

I must say, when I showed up 6 hours before doors for Nine Inch Nails at Terminal 5, I was about thirty people from the front.

Eels needs to step up their advertising.

Anyway.

At around six or so, we were all moved from outside the venue to the roof deck to wait there.

Not sure why, but we were still first so I really didn't mind.

Kathy was complaining about some chick in her personal space so we switched places and I farted on her.

No effect.

Which was kind of creepy.

Eventually, we were allowed onto the floor.

Kathy and I were dead center, on the barricade.

Once we'd staked our claim, we promptly sat down, backs to the barrier.

People began to trickle in, including the loudmouth from the last time I saw Eels.

What follows is background.

This guy is one of those people who has seen every show by every artist ever.

And he also knows all the bands,

All of them.

He is maybe...forty? And trying, desperately, to prove to people under forty that he is still hip and a part of the scene, any scene, every scene.

At the last Eels show I was at, I was maybe third or fourth in line and he was first or second, telling anyone with ears about how he knows Mark and he saw Eels when it was just him in L.A. in an empty pool etc.

Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't, but seriously, who fucking cares.

Unless you're going to give me money or backstage passes, shut the fuck up.

Anyway.

That show was at the Highline Ballroom and was very quiet.

So quiet you could hear individual audience comments.

There weren't many people making comments.

There was that understanding amongst the audience members, like when everyone knows not to clap along or to not scream stupid shit during the show, you know?

A vibe..

There was really only one person who didn't seem to get the vibe.

Yes.

Him.

Whenever E or The Chet (E's multi-instrumentalist) did something excellent on stage, in the resulting appreciative silence after said excellent thing, he would yell "BEAUTIFUL!!!".

Guy, we all know it was beautiful, but you saying that it was beautiful makes it less beautiful.

Cock.

Anyway, at one point, both E and the Chet were fiddling with stuff, getting ready for the next song.

There was maybe ten seconds of silence, not uncomfortable, just, silent.

This man would have none of that.

Apropos of nothing, he yells, "Thank you Mark! Thank you Chet! We love you very much, thank you!"

Forty year old guy.

At the concert alone.

E looks distractedly at the microphone and says, "Sir, please do not address the stage."

It was...well.."BEAUTIFUL!!!"

Back to Saturday.

This time, the man had brought his son.

Wait, back up.

So, he sees Kathy and I sitting there and says, "You guys just sitting there now, right? You're going to stand for the show, right?"

Before we can respond to such a retarded, question, he goes on.

"Because, you know, I drove five hours to get here with my sons, you know? So we could be up front."

Kathy, truly my sister, takes the words from my mouth and says, "Well you should have left earlier."

I just smiled, as I had JUST THEN recognized this wang as the guy from last year.

He then made a mental note to never speak to either of us again and went over to his son (who he called "honey". I have ALWAYS had a problem with men calling their male children, of any age, "honey" or "sweetheart" or anything like that. It's just fucking creepy.) and tried to find a good place to stand before engaging the poor fuckers three people to our right in "conversation" until the first opener came on.

Kathy and I nicknamed him "Honeyman".

Eventually, the first opener came on.

Clara Rose, a "rock n roll ventriloquist" from Brooklyn.

She had maybe twenty minutes or so, during which time she broke out a Keith Richards dummy and a bigoted 1920's dummy named something Sinclair.

She sang a bit and told some corny ass, off color jokes, pretty amazing overall.

The 1920's one would occasionally whisper that he was going to kill us all and at one point, he told us he was going to cut open our abdomens and fill them with salt water taffy...poison salt water taffy.

It was an excellent opener, completely adhering to the tradition of interesting, odd or just different Eels openers.

Then the second opener came on, a waifish Irish singer/songwriter type from California.

She sang five or six songs backed only by her acoustic guitar.

She reminded me a bit of both St. Vincent and Regina Spektor.

She did a great job, very haunting.

And, finally, around nine or so, the lights dimmed and an instrumental rendition of "When You Wish Upon A Star" began.

E came out alone, dressed all in white, sporting his usual sunglasses and a stars and stripes bandana.

He played "Daises of the Galaxy" solo and then called for the Chet.

After one or two songs, he called out the rest of the band: a bassist, yet another guitarist and a drummer.

Four guitars, one drum set.

Eels 2010.

Overall, not my favorite Eels show. I love his quieter, more nuanced stuff a lot and, without a keyboard up there, some songs lost something. The loud songs were done just right though, killing several members of the audience.

There was a massive amount of the three new albums played, and, as I don't really love all of them, that was kind of a bummer, but they brought out some jewels.

"Dog Faced Boy" and "Souljacker Pt. 1" rocked like fuck as well as "Jungle Telegraph".

They also played "Mr. E's Beautiful Blues" set to the tune of "Twist & Shout", which worked very well.

"Fresh Blood", "Baby Loves Me" and a hard rock version of "I Like Birds" were also highlights.

As usual, there were a few covers, "She Said Yeah" by the Rolling Stones, "Summer In The City" by Lovin' Spoonful and "Summertime" by George Gershwin.

Like I said, not my favorite Eels show, but, whatever, it was a blast nonetheless.

Afterwards, Kathy and I returned home and we all watched Tropic Thunder.

Then Adrienne (upstairs neighbor and friend/co-worker of Christina, not my manager's assistant) came down with her cat, Ziggy so we could watch what followed.

It was cute.

Then, more sleeping.

We all woke up and bade my sister and the kitten safe travel back to the land of living free or dying.

Then Christina spent the afternoon around St. Mark's like we used to.

We enjoyed some excellent (but sadly, soy based) deliciousness at a really excellent Thai place, then we split a gluten AND dairy free hot fudge brownie sundae in the 6BC Garden, one of the most magical places in New York I've been in a while.

Then...I had a strange feeling.

I called Video Game NYC, a small video game shop right around the corner from where we were, and asked if they had Dead Rising 2.

They said they did.

So I bought it.

Three days before it comes out.

I played a bit last night after working more on the Secret Project, watching the first movie in the Red Riding trilogy and eating an amazing meal of butternut squash, tofu and curry made from scratch by Christina.

As a tasty little coda to this scrumptious lie cake, I received a call this afternoon at 12:15 or so informing me that Greencard wanted back in for revisions at one, thus doubling my fee.

Folks, if things are always going to be this good, I just might get a brain tumor.

And I'll name him Abraham, because he will have emancipated me from the horrible slavery of my job.

Get it?

Why I'm calling my tumor Abraham?

Yeah.

You probably do.

Sorry, your princess is in another castle.

Tough shit.

Cake, No Sodomy*

9.17.10

3:32 pm

Yes. Cake.

Yesterday, I took off from work to see Cake perform at Summerstage IN Rumsey Playfield. Up until Monday I didn't know the two were the same thing.

Thank you Central Park Recreations Committee, you scum.

Anyway, my sister and I showed up unnecessarily early (about 4:45 for the 8 o'clock show) and were STILL 5th and 6th in line after three people who were fast asleep on the ground when we got there and two guys sitting on a rock trying to look interesting.

Things were fine for a while, the power was being switched on and the instruments plugged in and then Cake started sound checking.

Then came the Thunder.

Then came the Lightning.

Then came the Flood.

For a solid ten minutes, the world kind of ended...all with Kathy and I huddled under umbrellas.

The sky was green/yellow/gray.

And wet.

Then it stopped.

Eventually, the music started again and Cake played about five songs (missing a horn or vocalist here or there) and we knew things were going to be okay.

Soon, a lot more people showed up including Lisa and her sorority sister, Lindsey, who, apparently, has been hearing stories about me for ten years.

I certainly hope I delivered, although without my army of dildos and whatnot, I don't know if that was possible.

All the more reason to have a few on me at all times.

More the fool I.

Lisa came equipped with four cup cakes in order to have cake...at Cake...get it?

Well, some guy announced that that was "clever", although his subtext was so clear he might as well have just screamed "I WANNA CUPPY CAKE!! ME ME ME!!!!" while tearing his face off with his teeth.

Pseudointellectual smarminess is no substitution for cup cakes.

Fucker.

Anyway, we were dead goddamn center on the railing for the whole show.

It was very much along the lines of their show last year at Terminal 5, except it wasn't raining inside Terminal 5.

A few tracks I didn't hear last time like Pentagram (a real treat as it's one of my favorites from their first ), Shadow Stabbing and a new new one called Away (which has a very Mexico feel to it) although I would have loved to hear Italian Leather Sofa and Short Skirt Long Jacket again.

They had the typical long-ass-sing-along to Jolene, Sheep Go To Heaven and Sick of You as before, plus the tree giveaway, all of which could have been replaced with an extra song or two, but, whatever, it's their show and it was fun.

Plus, fina-fucking-lly, they announced the new album title and, praise the Bulbous Melon of Goodness, a release date.

"Showroom of Compassion" will be released on January 11 or 18th, 2011.

Why it's taking them over four months to release an album which has been done for six weeks and anticipated for six years is something I'll never accept, especially in the age of Radiohead, Nine Inch Nails, Beck and a ton of other artists just self releasing their new works the moment they're mixed over the Internet.

Come on, releasing it on the Internet with save some trees.

You like trees, don't you?

You whiny ass hippy fucks...

Whatever.

The date has been set and it'll be Day One for me whatever the case.

I have to say though, getting twelve or thirteen new tracks (three of which you're pretty familiar with from their live show) after six years?

That's kind of harsh.

I understand that Cake aren't really the "double album" kind of guys, but throw us a bone here, please?

I was thinking of just asking them last night what took them so long, but that probably wouldn't have been received as the well-meaning, genuinely curious question it is.

Meh.

We'll see.

After the show, we staggered home and watched Clue.

That movie is still one of my favorites and, check this shit out, Tim Curry wasn't the actor originally considered for Wadsworth.

Now, I can imagine what you might or might not be thinking, who else could possible do as great of a job with role as Tim Curry?

Rocky Horror Picture Show?! Hellooo? Helllooooo?

How about Rowan Atkinson.

Or maybe John Cleese.

Yeah.

I suddenly wish I could dimensional hop and see those two versions of Clue.

Can...you...just...imagine...?

Augh.

Pain.

BUT, I take solace from the fact that, in some other quantum eventuality, another version of myself is, at this very moment, writing about how cool it would have been to have Tim Curry as Wadsworth.

*quantum sigh*

Changing the subject.

Reznor has been teasing us with the promise of hearing new music this week and, sure enough, this morning the Null Corporation, Reznor's new self run label, posted a new link on their website (http://www.nullco.com/) to the Social Network soundtrack pre-order page.

As usual, you get some free stuff.

Namely, five tracks from the score (which feature heavy titles like Pieces Form the Whole, Eventually We Find Our Way and The Gentle Hum of Anxiety).

You can also pre-order the soundtrack in its three physical forms: a CD for $8, a 5.1 surround sound Blu Ray disc for $20 and a double vinyl for $25.

With each pre-order you receive the five track sampler and the promise of the entire soundtrack delivered to your e-mail via a link at midnight on September 28th, four days before the movie drops.

AND from the 28th to the 30th, the whole thing will be available on Amazon as mp3's for $2.99.

19 tracks for $2.99.

Hey, Cake?

Fuck you.

I've been able to listen to those five tracks once or twice and they're good. A bit more involved that some of the Ghosts stuff, which feels a bit linear at times, and a bit more surprising as well.

Reznor seems to have followed up on his promise to "practice piano more" in his spare time.

But, how excited can I really get about a movie's score?

I'm excited for new Reznor music, but, no matter how compelling an instrumental piece of music is, I really have never found myself that into the genre.

Even now, I'll only listen to a handful of Ghosts tracks when I'm feeling...I don't know...atmospheric?

Whatever.

The music is good and, apparently, the movie is great.

Quite a few reviews have popped up for The Social Network and all of them speak well of it, most mentioning the soundtrack favorably as well, specifically, there's a rowing scene that keeps getting brought up.

So I guess Reznor, Ross and Fincher found a way to make all this dark-ass, moody music work with the story of Facebook.

Way to go guys.

I think that might bring me up to today.

Oh, I also picked up Space Invaders Infinity Gene from PSN yesterday.

Basically, it's Space Invaders fallen through a black hole and into the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey and everyone had done acid and cracked techno music to 11.

Mind.

Blowing.

One last thing, I downloaded a HUGE torrent of Warren Ellis graphic novel and comic stuff.

This man...is sick.

He also writes angry Brits better than anyone I've read.

He has his own Zombie Apocalypse title called BlackGas.

I've read the first mini-volume (three issues) and it's different from the typical zombie thing already. Hard to do these days.

I recommend it to any zombiephiles.

Also, his Emma Frost is the truest I've ever read, I can't imagine anyone voicing her better than him.

Going to Eels alone next Saturday.

Bummer.

Okay.

Fin.

*A little sodomy.

I'm Getting An Erection

8.9.10

7:48 pm

This Saturday, Chris and I dragged our mattresses out to cover the living room floor, donned our "Camp Counselor circa 1980" costumes and opened our place to a scant few individuals.

Alan, Lisa, Danielle and Mel, to be specific.

As I am known to be.

We watched the 1979 Harold Ramis/Bill Murray joint "Meatballs" and then the 2002 David Wain/Michael Showalter joint "Wet Hot American Summer".

I had never seen all of "Meatballs" before and Christ is it worthless without Bill Murray.

Every shitty line is made gold by merely passing through his mouth.

Bless.

In the middle of "Meatballs", there was the inevitable moment where the two dorks are sneaking into the Ladies Dorm and watching the "do stuff".

In "Meatballs", the "stuff" was a bit odd.

There was one girl reading from a bodice ripper and other girls mockingly acting it out.

Nothing too sexy, but, nevertheless, the glasses nerd (as opposed to the "fat nerd") announces to his friend, "I'm getting a boner."

Okay.

Now.

I have heard this said and SAID this (jokingly) hundreds of times in my life, BUT Alan assures me that teenagers do, seriously and sincerely, say this to one another.

Why?

WHY?

Alan provided that they don't understand how awkward that actually is, but I have to disagree.

Why in the hell would you just turn to someone and inform them you have a boner?

Unless it's an attractive woman who has offered to play with it?

Or due, if you're into that.

But why would one straight male teenager say it to another?!

I'm mind blown here, folks.

Aside from that mini-aneurysm, everything else went fine.

AND I have actually left my mattress in the living room and slept there the past two days.

It's fun!

Like a sleepover in my own house!!!

I may just leave it there indefinitely, but who knows.

I think this is uninteresting.

I'm finished.

The Book of Road of Another Version of the Truth

8.3.10

4:25 pm

First off, watched Cormac McCarthy's The Road last night.

Whereas The Book of Eli was more comic book/stylish/action movie, The Road was more...we are gonna fucking die.

Dark shit.

Went along pretty well with the book, but for the addition of flashbacks to his wife and (sort of) how things got to be how they are.

A nice addition.

Nice job,

Nice, dark, dead job.

Moe importantly, Chris and I had our engagement/machete party last week.

A resounding success despite the lack of rooftop access (although I'm sure more people would have partook of the Chopping and been less Afraid if we'd had it) and a shorter than expected (five hours) duration.

We had a metric fuckton of people (that's 33 for all you non-mathematicians out there...like anybody that reads this isn't a mathematician...silly, silly me...) and it was delightful to see so many people that we usually don't.

This party has spurred us to want to have more and more frequently.

So, whip out your party hats, because hopefully, you'll be seeing a lot more of us.

Bill showed up and presented us will YET ANOTHER machete, this one was his father's and has actually been used to cut through vines and such in Burma and places like that.

It's a bit smaller than its Honduran cousins, but it's a fuck lot sharper too.

As in, you could die by touching it.

Our plan is to de-rust it (it's a leetle oxidized at the mo') and mount it with the others.

And then gut home invaders with it.

So, any home invaders out there?

Come on over and meet my little friend, Choppy III AKA Victor the Victorious.

We're naming our machetes now.

I've spent the last two nights rewatching Spaced, the British TV show written by Simon Pegg and Jessica Stevenson Heynes and directed by Edgar Wright.

These guys...boy oh boy, so glad they kept making stuff.

Jessica is just adorable.

Also hunted around (Google searched) and found a brand new teaser for the upcoming David Fincher movie, The Social Network, featuring brand new Reznor/Ross music.

As I thought, the music lends a slightly overdramatic feel to things.

This is going to be a really odd score for this movie, I think.

We'll see.

And speaking of Reznor, my Another Version Of The Truth Blu-Ray arrived today.

A little background.

A few years ago, Reznor leaked about 400GB of HD footage from their Lights In The Sky tour.

The original plan was to film a concert in 3D with James Cameron directing, but scheduling got fucked and the whole thing was abandoned.

This was a massive sad face for me and thousands of fans, because this tour was, by far, the most technically impressive, full of moving LED screens which used interactive, real-time elements during the show.

It would have made an incredible Blu-Ray release.

Anyway, some fans decided to take the 400GB (three whole shows worth of raw footage) and assemble a master edit, then release it, free (except for shipping) for anyone that wanted it.

After time there were torrents made available, then regular DVD's and then, finally, the Blu-Ray.

I got mine today.

Had a chance to pop it in a have a look.

These guys did a great job.

The ONLY problem I'd mention is the lack of professional editing.

Other than the occasional sloppy or odd edit, the thing looks amazing.

So, for $11 I got the professionally printed Blu-Ray of the leaked footage (called "The Gift"), a DVD of the last NIN show from that tour and a bonus disc with some pretty cool shit on it, all in a professionally printed package including artwork and some other dorky NIN fanboy goodies you would probably not care to hear about.

MAGIC MISSILE!!!!!

Magic Missile, indeed...

Anyway, now I'm planning a small (I can think of 8 people that might be interested) gathering to watch this tasty little biscuit at my place.

Should be fun.

Could that be it?

Well, I could mention that there's this dude here that believes Cool Water cologne doesn't smell like toilet cleaner or maybe he just has gangrene or massive halitosis and just pours the shit on every night before he gets here so he funks up the tiny, non-ventilated office I'm in so it stinks like the 80's whenever he shows up.

He smells awful and it makes me want to sob.

Maybe I'll bring Chris' respirator and see if he gets the point.

The point that he smells like a magazine insert.

Or maybe not.

He might be self conscious.

Of smelling horrible.

Anyway.

Yeah.

Crunchings And Munchings

7.7.10

4:34 pm

Some bits.

Yes, some bits and pieces.

First, apologies for any incoherence you might experience, sleep has not been coming easily with this weather.

I yearn for Canada.

I yearn for icy death.

All right, let's go.

As expected, eels has put up a second track from their new album; soon a video will follow, and then, the opportunity to pre-order the album which will come with an mp3 download of said second track.

Plus, pink shirts reading "tomorrow morning" on them

Then the album and then a second video and maybe a third.

None of the songs will feel distinctly "single-y", but they will, nonetheless, be released as such.

Ah, the arbitrary nature of E.

The first track, "Looking Up", was a straight-up gospel track with cheesy lyrics and evangelical hooting provided by E and the aforementioned choir.

I was unimpressed.

The latest track, "Spectacular Girl", which appeared on the web site today, is EXACTLY what I've been waiting for.

It has all the elements of a perfect eels song: sampled drum beats, Rhodes piano (or maybe electric piano?), some string work and the celesta. Eels and the celesta go together like something or other.

Don't believe me?

Check out "Trouble With Dreams" on their my space page.

It's Celesta City up in that sock hop.

Anyway, while the lyrics aren't as earth-shatteringly good as his other stuff, they're solid.

Still looking forward to this album.

And speaking of albums...guess who finally took a few minutes from their busy schedule of berating their fans for destroying the earth to finish their fucking album, you know, the first album they've done in over six years?

That's right, Cake.

In this case, the cake is not a lie.

Unless they are lying.

They sent out a message about looking for a means of distribution since they are on their own label now.

Hey, Cake, you ever heard of Radiohead and how they handled releasing "In Rainbows"?

Do that.

You fucking eco-whiners.

I swear, for every song on this album that isn't great, an Instant Cake Classic, worth the wait, I'm burning down one of those tress you're always giving out (along with a heapin' helpin' of snark, guilt and apocalyptic doomspeak) at your shows.

You've been warned.

But, seriously, kudos for finishing the album, I'll sure it'll be good.

You fucking jaded hippy fucks.

I think this weather might just be making me a little irascible.

Since I'm already rambling about albums, TMBG has announced that their new (adult) one is dropping in 2011.

Kind of surprised at that. Again, hopes are high since Flans has said this is going to be a return to their "insane, home recording sound".

Whatever.

Just take a break from the kids stuff.

No more of that for a bit, please.

Unless it's "No!" good.

Not a pun.

I mean TMBG shouldn't do any more kids' stuff unless it's as good or better than "No!".

The party on Sunday was a massive success, even without fireworks.

Malibu does very little to me, even in large amounts.

A bit concerned about the big one later this month.

We're expecting almost 80 people.

That's about 20 people per room.

Including the bathroom.

Rock.

We gonna do the Stomp.

And kill the chicken.

And chop the hell out of fruit.

Maybe not the chicken thing.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Hm.

There's someone in the hallway just yelling "Puerto Rico!".

I should do that more often.

"Connecticut!!!!"

Yeah, that's going well.

All this week I'm working straight through 3pm to 11pm, so I plan to read a lot of comics.

Just a heads up.

Also, I plan on seeing Inception, possible when Phil comes up with Lady Grace.

Chris Nolan...that man can do things.

To my miiind.

Freak things.

Speaking of Grace, I haven't quoted William Hickey from Christmas Vacation at her yet.

"The bleeeeee-sssssing!"

Time enough for that, my friend, time enough for that.

Remember when Benicio Del Toro was trying to get Christina Ricci to kiss him in Fear & Loathing?

That was hilarious and creepy as allll get on out.

BRANDED!!!

How come something rambling like this is sometimes considered Stream of Consciousness and sometimes a blog?

Phil?

You got some literary science you can drop on me?

I have to read your new short....

Maybe I'll do that tomorrow.

Okay.

Focus up!

...

Hm, I really have nothing to 'focus up' on.

Nuts.

All right.

Never mind then.

Tasty Beaver

11.2.09

3:24 pm

November always seems to disappear.

Thick weekend.

Blood and fetus clogged weekend.

I went as Stiffy the Priapic Clown for the party and, apparently, I am a bit more frightening in a clown suit with full make up, wig, shoes and squeaky nose and sporting (because that is what I do with them, I sport them) a ten-inch erection.

Go. Fig.

We had an excellent and mixed turnout with almost no surly douchebags.

The Machete Vignette was a total, blade-swinging success.

Gourds and apples alike were air-chopped.

And the bathroom....a reeling, roiling Nightmare.

It was a thing of beauty.

Here is some video shot by Darth Paul:
http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=195673793361#/video/?of=782173361
And next year?

Topping it.

Always topping it.

Then, Sunday, I ran in the New York City Marathon.

Ah...through the New York City Marathon.

I ran through the New York City Marathon.

To get to Brunch.

And a very fine Brunch it was.

I had arepas benedictos (eggs Benedict with arepas instead of English muffins) with a side of some of the greatest chorizo I've had since France.

And lots of coffee with lots of sugar and cream.

Then, I played a delightful game called Critter Crunch for several hours before delving deep into the 20th season of The Simpsons.

Man oh man have they gotten it right.

Nary a shit episode to be seen and I'm fourteen deep, people.

They have rekindled whatever it was they had.

Again, not as perfect and timeless and etc. as seasons eight and thereabouts, but sterling, excellent stuff.

AND, this blew my fucking mind: they redid the intro.

After twenty years, they redid the intro.

I believe this was spurred by the digital switchover.

Everything is now super detailed and just looks so much richer.

And I'm watching this on a flat screen, non-HD monitor from over five years ago.

Thoroughly enjoying every moment.

And this morning, I ate apple pie for breakfast.

Cue the Springsteen and they turn it off because he sucks blue collar ass. 

And there are now three more spots up on zapnewsapp.com, including Kitty Cam.

Go there and be soothed.

And finally, I just found out that tomorrow I have off.

COCAINE AND WHORES!!!!!!

WOOOO!!!!

THROUGH THE RABBIT HOLE!!!!!!!!!!!!

I JUST SAW MYSELF ON FUCKING TELEVISION!

Liquid Swords...of Metal

8.17.09

4:12 pm

This weekend, the Ageless Question (Does food taste better when cut with a machete?) was finally answered:

Yes.

Yes, it most certainly does.

This Saturday evening marked our first (Annual? Bi-annual? Seasonal?) Rooftop Machete Party.

Now, anyone who knows me also knows that when I plan something, anything, I create this Plato-Chained Ideal in my mind; well, this event was one for the Cave, folks.

We had an excellent turn out, several varieties of fruit (including some things that WEREN'T FRUIT AT ALL!!!) and a two and a half foot blade with which to massacre them.

The fruit, not the people.

After the rooftop hackery, we brought our sliced, diced and maimed trophies down to the kitchen where Kate Strauss, Purveyor of the Blade, Harbinger of Chaos, Mistress de La Machete made some kickass smoothies.

With real fruit.

Which we had just destroyed with an authentic Honduran machete.

Then came the Destruction of the Coconuts.

There will be footage up on YouTube soon, so I'll just bullet point it:

• Hammer
• Saw
• Lime in the coconut (drunk bode up)
• Coconut Memories

After that, in order to end on a fruit-related note, we all sat around and played Apples to Apples.

Then I ate a quarter of a watermelon in the bathtub, which was filmed by Ray.

It's...Lovecraftian.

That will also be up along with highlights from the roof, soon.

Thanks to everyone who came out and swung the blade.

And superspecial thanks to Kate, who rocks like the Grand Canyon and who made this epic, shimmering madness possible.

And who no longer has any culpability or legal responsibility for the aforementioned machete which she has presented to Christina and myself.

Dictated, not read.

The law firm of Booger, Booger and Fartybutts.

12.21.12 = WE ARE FUCKED

4.27.09

7:53 pm

On Sunday, Chris and I joined Bill and his friend at a warm up show of sorts for Bill's friend, Chris Rush.

Apparently, Chris Rush was a molecular biologist who spent five years at Harvard and so on and so forth, and he s now doing stand up comedy (he and George Carlin were friends and, apparently, he is one of the only comics that George Carlin actually endorsed).

He has a one man show coming to the Bleecker Street Theatre called "Bliss".

Quite frankly, he was funnier than his show, but an old woman DID fall down and crack her head open just as he started.

That was not part of the show.

Anyhoo, we all went out to Acme Underground after the show and I learned a lot about the end of the world.

Apparently, it's going to be on December 21st, 2012.

And here's why.

First off, the Aztec calendar (which is apparently THE most accurate and blah blah one) is going to end (and, for some strange reason, it doesn't just start up again, it just ends. I personally don't get that. When one cycle ends, you start another one. But then again, I'm not Aztec).

That's something we've know since 1994 though, right? When EVERYONE said that THIS calendar was more accurate than THAT calendar. I believe we've had three apocalypses thus far? WE'RE STILL HERE, MOTHERFUCKERS!

Next, (and alllll this stuff comes from Chris, who I really don't know from a hole in the ground, but he seemed pretty learned...sort of) 12.21.12 is the day when the sun, moon and Earth (I may be misquoting) are going to be in perfect alignment with the black hole at the center of our universe.

THEN, there is also going to be MAJOR sunspot activity that will, at best, fuck up all our electric shit and, at worst, release the thing will ostensibly to do us what whatever-it-was did to the dinosaurs.

And also, the magnetic poles have been losing their polarity and by 12.21.12, they might be switched, which also means a whole electrical apocalypse as well.

So...yeah, again, I don't know this guy from Adam (who is taller), but he's got some credentials.

I'm glad I've got Will as one of my two readers so he can chime in on all this eschatological hibble bibble.

Will?

Please?

Some light on this end times stuff?

Personally, I'm not going to worry until the Zombie Apocalypse which is, by far, going to be the most fun and marketable.

Go Shuffling Dead!!

WOO!!