tony + mary!
busblog at gmail dot com

nothing in here is true


   Saturday, August 21, 2004  
things ive missed over the last few weeks

a man was fired from his job after heckling bush at a rally

what its like to work at mcdonalds

john kerry releases a video clip reminding people that this isnt the first time george bush hid behind a fringe veterans group to tarnish his opponent's unimpeachable miltary record.

lightening struck the hell out of vegas

a pretty damn good post from someone who then didnt post again for a few weeks

king benny has mixed feelings about the busblog, but mostly good i think

tim blair met the instapundit

flagrant wrote an incredibly happy and optimistic post. i hope it wasnt written by a ghost writer.

raymi linked to me

linda had a really good week of posts, mostly about being a prison guard

25 bush flip flops

sk smith was obviously confused by my poor writing, i meant, write about things that are scary (aka embarrasing, secret-ish, revealing, risky, frank) when you cant think of anything to write.

google ipo'ed at 100 and has already begun its climb.

the busblog turned three years old.

teera met napolean dynomite

texas man released after spending 42 years in jail for a crime he didnt do. he was released when it was discovered that his fingers were cracked in the doors of a cell in order to make him confess. he escaped several times and his wife was given six years after trying to sneak a saw into a prison in order to help him break out.

matt welch is no longer an assclown?

the beverly connection amc theatres closed. i saw 8 mile there and jeepers creepers. they should have turned it into a $2 theatre now that the new beverly is full price again. i blame the archlight for the competition and thus closure of this theatre more than the grove. and that weird strip mall is amazingly ghetto from being right across the street from one of the classiest malls in america.

gorilla mask mysteriously disappeared
there are some people at my work that i dont get along with. it's true. i try to make sure that the antagonism are based on purely professional reasons and not personal or political, and you know what, its not hard to do.

its so easy to hate someone for being sloppy and consistantly ill informed and slothful with ideas and vision and lazy and unappreciative of the opportunity to work for the xbi at this time when everything is changing and we are at the forefront etc etc.

and i watch myself as i talk to them. as does my crew. the other day one of them said dude you can totally tell how much you and col sanders dont get along. you barely talk to her. its all business. no fun. youre the funnest guy at work and she and sgt bilko get no love.

and its true and i will try to work on it i swear yoda. fine, i will fix it.

the other day chris matthews had someone on his program, as a guest, whom he didnt treat politely or properly.

michelle malkin, the well spoken fox news contract pundit and right wing author of In Defense of Internment: The Case for "Racial Profiling" in World War II and the War on Terror was on a segment with da mayor, former sf kingpin willie brown.

willie wondered aloud why kerry is being questioned about his triple purple heart showing at the vietnam war:
"He volunteered twice. He volunteered twice in Vietnam. He literally got shot. There's no question about any of those things. So what else is there to discuss? How much he got shot, how deep, how much shrapnel?"
to which malkin, who actually read the controversial swift boat veteran book, apparently, unfit for command, said that yes, there were some people who questioned exactly how much the democratic nominee for president got shot, how deep it was, how much shrapnel is in his body, and who was responisble for those wounds.
MALKIN: Well, yes. Why don't people ask him more specific questions about the shrapnel in his leg. They are legitimate questions about whether or not it was a self-inflicted wound.

MATTHEWS: What do you mean by self-inflicted? Are you saying he shot himself on purpose? Is that what you're saying?

MALKIN: Did you read the book...

MATTHEWS: I'm asking a simple question. Are you saying that he shot himself on purpose.
it's true matthews was asking the fetching though creepy malkin whether she believed that kerry had shot himself to get out of the war, an explosive accusation if ever there was one, on par to questions of bush's accused vietnam war attrocities (missing manditory physicals to avoid detection of illegal substances, attempting to transfer to an inactive unit to avoid any actual combat, deserting the national guard, and destroying and/or hiding records that would show a three-month unexcused absence (thus desertion and not awol) from the guard.)

the problem is matthews wasnt asking the right simple question to the right simple person.

michelle malkin was referencing amazon's #1 best selling book this week and quoting its wildest accusation. she has all the right in the world to reference this book, and since matthews began his program with a swift boat vet questioning kerry's injuries why isn't malkin allowed to *gasp* actually discuss what was written and is being bought?
MATTHEWS: I�m asking a simple question. Are you saying that he shot himself on purpose.

MALKIN: I�m saying some of these soldiers...

MATTHEWS: And I�m asking a question.

MALKIN: And I�m answering it.

MATTHEWS: Did he shoot himself on purpose?

MALKIN: Some of the soldiers have made allegations that these were self-inflicted wounds.

MATTHEWS: No one has ever accused him of shooting himself on purpose.

MALKIN: That these were self-inflicted wounds.

MATTHEWS: Your saying there are�he shot himself on purpose, that�s a criminal act.

MALKIN: I�m saying that I�ve read the book and some of the...
my belief is that Chris Matthews has been watching too much Fox News. a good interviewer, first of all is prepared. malkin caught matthews napping. he had obviously not read the book and was embarrased.

there were several ways that he could have dealt with this situation. he could have said that because one of the authors was an outright racist and kook, the book's validity is in doubt, and since no one who ever actually served with kerry had input on the book, it's 30 year-old heresay written for the sole purpose of either financial gain or political preference.

kerry has been in office twenty years. he and his band of brothers re-unite for many kerry campaigns, why does this book come out now? all good reasons to question and thus ignore this book at this time.

particularily because it's generally poor form to spit on vietnam vets in 2004, of any political party.

which is why i havent bothered myself with that book.

another way to respond to such a situation is to ask malkin if she agrees with the claim.

the way you would do it is say, "thats interesting, the vets who weren't in his boat or under his command write that they believe that he shot himself to get out of the war. maybe i will read this book now. but since you read it, do you believe them? are their claims believable in context of the full book?"

for that would expose malkin into acknowledging whether she read the entire book or just the juicy bits, which isnt criminal but, well, tacky.

instead, matthews melts down o'reilly style and gets beaten again by the sassy lassy, which has to be an unfortunate experience for the agressive hardballer.
MATTHEWS: I want an answer yes or no, Michelle.

MALKIN: Some of the veterans say...

MATTHEWS: No. No one has ever accused him of shooting himself on purpose.

MALKIN: Yes. Some of them say that.

MATTHEWS: Tell me where that...

MALKIN: "Self-inflicted wounds" in February, 1969.

MATTHEWS: This is not a show for this kind of talk. Are you accusing him of shooting himself on purpose to avoid combat or to get credit?

MALKIN: I'm saying that's what some of these...

MATTHEWS: Give me a name.

MALKIN: Patrick Runyan and William Zeldonaz.
she not only gave a name, she gave two. and because she read the book and he didnt, he doesnt know who those two are and how they were misquoted.

so not only does has she successfully dodged the rapid fire questioning where she refuses to be forced into either align herself with the criticsm

nor does she need to take defensive tact of "hey we're talking about their book, not mine. ask them about why they say these things. i wasn't in that war, who am i to judge? i just brought it up because Da Mayor is saying that no one is questioning his wounds. the point is, someone is questioning the wounds and they're selling a crapload of books by saying it, and maybe you two should have read it by now."

unfortunately matthews would have stopped her at the first hey.

heres the rest of the exchange:
MATTHEWS: They said�Patrick Runyan...

MALKIN: These people have...

MATTHEWS: And they said he shot himself on purpose to avoid combat or take credit for a wound?

MALKIN: These people have cast a lot of doubt on whether or not...

MATTHEWS: That�s cast a lot of doubt. That�s complete nonsense.

MALKIN: Did you read the section in the book...

MATTHEWS: I want a statement from you on this program, say to me right, that you believe he shot himself to get credit for a purpose of heart.

MALKIN: I�m not sure. I�m saying...

MATTHEWS: Why did you say?

MALKIN: I�m talking about what�s in the book.

MATTHEWS: What is in the book. Is there�is there a direct accusation in any book you�ve ever read in your life that says John Kerry ever shot himself on purpose to get credit for a purple heart? On purpose?


MATTHEWS: On purpose? Yes or no, Michelle.

MALKIN: In the February 1969 -- in the February 1969 event.

MATTHEWS: Did he say on it purpose.

MALKIN: There are doubts about whether or not it was intense rifle fire or not. And I wish you would ask these questions of John Kerry instead of me.

MATTHEWS: I have never heard anyone say he shot himself on purpose.

I haven�t heard you say it.

MALKIN: Have you tried to ask�have you tried ask John Kerry these questions?

MATTHEWS: If he shot himself on purpose. No. I have not asked him that.

MALKIN: Don�t you wonder?

MATTHEWS: No, I don�t. It�s never occurred to me.

Look, thank you Mayor Brown. We�ll stay with Michelle Malkin.
my advice to chris matthews is to quit trying to be bill o'reilly, who nobody likes and nobody respects. hes a blowhard who isnt interested in being anything other than a clown.

if matthews wants to be a clown then fine. tv clowns make a lot of money.

but the truth is you can have quick-paced, spirited, politely delivered intellectual debates on tv where columnists (like matthews and malkin) discuss the likelihoods of such claims and the believablilty of sources and comparisons of counter-claims. people will actually watch such things. yes there could be a siskel and ebert of politics if only there were two people who could take themselves out of the partisan attatchments to ideas.

you can say that the other night chris matthews blew it and michelle malkin defended herself very well while at the same time calling bush a retard. its ok.

it's also ok for matthews to actually act as a host and allow a talking head from a competing network to pose an allegation about a presidential nominee. its ok for matthews to admit that he hasnt read every number one best seller. its ok for matthews to seperate the message from the messenger.

its ok for matthews to not fall for the limbaugh trap of oafish bombacity. is that a word?

i disagree with pretty much everything the asian hottie from the right has ever said on tv, but she was wronged the other night on msnbc and matthews should own up to it and check himself instead of pretending to "stand up" to anything.

media matters editorialized against the wrong person + full transcript of the show + clip from the show + malkin's blog entry about the show + hardball's blog

   Friday, August 20, 2004  
today is danielle's last day

feel free to wish her well
you can live twenty summers in california and never have a drink on a perfect night on the rooftop bar of the wyndham bel age and be fine.

but i dont recommend it.

just like you wouldnt recommend for me not to hang out with karisa for more than six weeks. its just plain foolish.

towering above the sunset strip right behind the viper room where san vicente begins in west hollywood, the bel age is classy and hip and clean and attentive. so much so that if a party is to end at 10pm you can bet that a very handsomely dressed young man will politely ask you to leave the pool area.

apparently the guests expect to sleep in their rooms.

the 360 degree views are perfect, as are most sights when youre drinking with karisa.

tonights occasion was a party for mr luke ford, former adult film industry gossip expert slash news hound.

luke has just released two books, one of interviews with hollywood producers, and the other, a memoir of turning away from porn journalism to orthodox judaism. guess which one i want to read first.

the crowd was diverse educated funny engaging polite. both karisa and i were amazed at how much people wanted to talk to us, when for the first time in a long time i found myself seriously interested in talking to the author about his new book.

the LA Press Club turnout was so good, and karisa and i were so late, that we didnt have a chance to really do much talking with mr ford per se but perhaps since he's now knocked out a few IMs maybe he's ready to get interviewed via it.

its two am. karisa and i woulda stayed at the kickass hotel if they woulda kept the bar open but i was also starving so we went to the labrea sunset bk lounge and ate in the parkinglot of the powerhouse on highland, hollywoods last great dive bar which reportedly is going through a slow death that karisa and i wanted to investigate first hand.

the powerhouse has been one of karisas favorites for quite a while. its a real place thats been around for 50 years and feels like it. now all the pictures are down the posters are down the "decorations" are down but the springs in the cushions of the booths will still poke you in the ass if you dont sit on them right.

and the jukebox will always flow with a nugget to surprise you with as the clientele skews from hollywood hip to post punk to emo to tourist. its a good mix typically offerring enough to watch but theres always the tvs.

miss montreal and i met there one night after not dating for a while and i would like to think that it was the powerhouse that brought us back together before fate struck us asunder.

we had heard that the walls had been torn down and that yuppie scum redevelopment that has turned a good thing on the third street promenade into a tolerable but bad thing at hollywood n highland into a scary thing as it pops up on sunset and vine across the street from the archlight in the form of a borders/baja fresh/hollywood condo/bed bath and beyond monstrosity that says lots of things except hollywood.

artificial christmas trees are logical and fine and practical but theyre just not right.

and neither is slowly gutting a hollywood mainstay and turning it into just another bar for the tourists to get the wrong impression of america. yes i know there are more Applebies than Powerhouses but just because theres a Gap on one side of the street doesnt mean that every corner has to be a sellout too.

mickey kaus talked me out of putting ads on this blog until i was getting enough hits that it would be worth it. i appreciated his insight there.

saw my wife moxie looking gorgeous as always.

we met a real live novelist who gets to write from 10am to 4pm.


ben sullivan had a cowboy hat on.

people were making out.

then a whole bunch of hotel guests jumped into the hottub, and then the pool.

karisa and i agreed that the Walkmen are pretty good.

what the hell is that all about?

cathy seipp + amy alkon + emmanuelle

   Thursday, August 19, 2004  
murphys law at the xbi: if you show up hungover, all day will be loud explosions, helicopter blades, jet engines, and honking horns.

and no time to blog.

i did make it back to wilshire to meet up with danielle to have lunch. as you can see from the photograph, when the elevator took us down to the garage she collapsed in a sloppy heap.

she says i should caption the pictures that i post.

i tell her that during the times that im not being terribly lazy, im extremely busy.

tonight karisa and i are going to the la press club to celebrate the release of luke ford's new book at some fancy hotel in swanky somewhereswood hills.

she asked me through IM if she thought we were supposed to dress up.

i told her any party needed a touch of punk rock, and after a day of feeling like an old fucking man tonight i feel like rocking

in comfortable shoes.

i havent seen karisa in maybe a month. its ridiculous.

the california lottery is $59 million and i thought about that today. and how i told her a long time ago that if i won the lottery i would give her a million. and thats still the case.

the rest i would blow on tsar.

only thing better than taking a shower after a hard day of crawling in dirt, being shot at from three different sides, almost dying on the bus ride home, and being hungover during the entirety of it?

taking a shower and knowing that karisa will be at the door when you're done.

busblog recognizes the blogosphere's post of the week
im hungover, which is unlike me. but its the truth. therefore here is are some comments and rebutals that took place earlier this week.

The president is not a retard.

But keep telling people that he is!

And when you're crying into your margarita on the Wednesday after the first Tuesday after the first Monday of November, it'll taste extra salty.

Go fer it!
to which i replied:
people dont need me to tell them that the president is retarded.

and me telling them that i think he's retarded isnt going to make them vote for him out of spite.

people might act like dipshits from time to time but if anyone votes for the president of the united states for emotional reasons generated from an aside that they read in a blog, especially this one, then they are almost as retarded as the president was for invading iraq because of 9/11.

im sorry that the president is a fucking retard. im sorry that he doesnt want to hold press conferences because he knows he can barely speak to intelligent people in public. im sorry he was a coke head and a failed oilman and a deserter and an all around loser.

im sure around fellow retards hes probably one of the more funny. and because he can talk for five minutes straight and know how to pronounce correctly the names or the countries that he is being asked about doesnt make him capable. i can train a dog to stand on his hind legs for a full minute but that doesnt make him a human.

we have a handicapable commander in cheif who has cut taxes during war time, demolished the record surplus and turned it into a record deficit, will probably acheive the dubious honor of being the first president since the depression to have a net loss of job creation, and who sat and read that book about a goat for five minutes after learning the nation was being attacked.

theres an old saying in texas, maybe it's the same in tennessee

they say call a spade a spade

this retard is a fucking retard

dont get fooled again
to which an anonymous commenter named "jon" said:
fuck you i'm still voting for him. i guess i like presidents that are retards, but then again i didn't like clinton...
but because he didnt leave an email address and/or webpage, i dont believe him.

then the deputy laid it out:
The President


a Retard


~grumbling under breath~
fucking fascist neo cons
The Deputy
and then devoy squared the circle beautifully:
another old texas saying.....

A 70-year-old Texas Rancher got his hand caught in a gate while working cattle. He wrapped the hand in his bandana and drove his pickup to the doctor. While suturing the laceration, the doctor asked the old man about George W. Bush being in the White House.

The old Texan said, "Well, ya know, Bush is a 'Post Turtle.'"

Not knowing what the old man meant, the doctor asked what a Post Turtle was.

The old man looked at him and drawled, "When you're driving down a country road and you come across a fence post with a turtle balanced on top, that's a Post Turtle."

The old man saw a puzzled look on the doctor's face, so he continued to explain:

"You know he didn't get there by himself, he doesn't belong there, he can't get anything done while he's up there, and you just want to help the poor dumb bastard get down."
whover invented blog comments, God bless you.

kat + albino chiggers + deputy
you'll never guess who crashed
danielle's going away party

at the flower stand

   Wednesday, August 18, 2004  
on days like these that just speed by, when the bad guys just lay on the curb waiting to die, as blood drains between the grates in the sewers and the little kids cry

i sit on the bumper of the undercover smoking the remains of marlboro 100 and i wonder when mi vida loca will be over and not so loca.

im always feeling like im wasting my life, like im blowing some great shot at something big. i see those guys at google, how young they are, how super rica theyre about to be. i wonder what they will do with that power.

if i was a billionaire i know straight up what id do after buying the cubs and tearing down the lights of wrigley. i'd fucking retire. i wouldnt do shit. and i know thats why the lord hasnt given me my financial freedom.

i watch the olympics and i see everyone swimming and i wanna swim. i wanna go to greece where no one is. and i wanna do the breast stroke. i wanna lose to puerto rico.

i see kids coming home from school and i say hey why are you in school its august and the kid goes si and i go but porque and he goes year round school mister and i go when the fuck did i become a mister.

and i see my belly and i know the answer to that one.

and the gray nostril hairs and the gray nut hairs and the gray chest hairs.

sometimes i wonder what this blog be like if i had gotten a job with the la times back when they shoulda hired me when i was coming straight outta compton. i wonder if i would be playing the dumb game of trying to prove that the president is a fucking retard to a group of people who will never admit that the president is a fucking retard.


the same people who are all, but kerry thought he was in cambodia and he was still in Nam! but kerry took his purple hearts and threw them away. but kerry is a flip flopper.

first flip flopper i ever met was your momma i wanna tell em. she was laying there on my water bed smiling and i said flip that ass over so i can see it.

yeah im glad i was never an la timeser cuz i wouldnt be able to keep it real for your asses and even the naysayers want me to keep it real.

splinky asked me about danielle and i was all, shes just a girl who i work with, and i danielle read it and huffed off in a huff.

i saw her at the flowerstand during lunch and i was all youre the wrong sign baby. and she violently ripped the leaves from the stems of the tulips.

1908 she kept mumbling. i was all what? she said louder nine teen ooooooooh eight! cuz she knew that was the only way she could get to me.

i was all keep it up, its one reason i hate san diego and hope it burns in a terrible fire and then causes an earthquake slash tsunami and falls into the ocean.

she was all what does 1908 have to do with san diego. i was all san diego in 1984 got in the way of the cubs and for that i will never forgive them until they apologize like crazy.

she was all, youre loco. i was all so.

then we took pictures and she said ok are we cool then. and i said yeah. and she said are you gonna visit me down in the valley. and i was all no. and she was all are you gonna visit me. and i was all maybe. and she was all are you going to be my friend and take the train and visit me. and i said can we go to mexico and she said si.

so i said si too.

keeping it real + sanity adrift
when danielle cant find me at my desk she will call my cell phone, when i dont pick that up she calls me in Chopper One, something ive asked her not to do as, well, we're fighting crime. thats what we do.

some of us work for a living, ive been known to tell her.

some of us dont sit on a stool selling flowers to cheating husbands and begging wanna-be boyfriends.

all the conversations that take place on my cell phone or in chopper one are recorded, so i could verify them with written transcripts, but i wont bore you with the details.

so today i told her that i was going to be at my favorite hideout later in the day and that i would take her there for lunch, and if she was good, for the hip hop that will take place there in the eve, as they are having their summer party.

but because she is a drama queen and because everything is either boring as fuck or the end of the world, today when she called me frantically in my cockpit i thought something was tragically wrong at the flower stand.

oh my god, she told me, my mac wont be delivered till next week!

tragedies of tragedies i told her, which didnt sit well with our overly excited blonde girl from jersey.

you dont understand tony, i wont BE HERE next week.

once again overstating the obvious.

i was all, danielle, i can get you your computer, just chill out, im working right now, i will call you before i leave to pick you up for lunch.

to which she said FINE! and hung up on me.

on me!

little did she know but i was flying about a mile above and to the west of her.

i could have very easilly dropped something very irritable on top of her cute little flower stand that would have destroyed the loveliness in seconds, and done much damage to her beatiful locks.

earlier in the day when i told her that flagrant had emailed me and asked about her, danielle was super excited.

what did she say what did she say?!?!? she asked.

i dont remember, i think she said you were pretty.

i bet she said i was fat, she pouted. danielle hadnt gotten her coffee yet.

no, i very clearly know that she didnt say you were fat.

im very happy i wasn't born a girl.

the prettiest ones seem to have the scariest things running through their cute little heads.

obey pedro + the cub reporter + sk smith

   Tuesday, August 17, 2004  
the best exchange on Metafilter today; the topic was Phish's final concert which happened on sunday

it began with Seth:

As I stated before, their musicianship, and consequently, their significance is tarnished by the pathetic sychophants who want to argue that Phish is teh greatest evar or original or even just different than the rest. The reason why it is a joke is because the fans are the fan of the scene. So when these brain dead shroomed out pigpens speak as if Phish is God, then it prevents observers from objectively gauging the musical ability of the band.

The guys can play some instruments. But that is about it, which is why they are jam band. Songwriting? Phish couldn't write their way out of a nutsack (/cartman). Be instrumental. Instrumentalists can be great. But don't pretend like you can write a song when the song exists merely as a pretext for a 12 minute jam using things like vaccum cleaners and such. I think Phish catered to their stoned out fans, and, as such, were limited as musicians.

Hopefully, for the sake of the artists, the band members can leave behind that wretched scene and grow musically.
posted by Seth at 5:07 PM PST on August 17


Divided Sky
It's Ice
The Curtain
I am Hydrogen
All Things Reconsidered
Slave to the Traffic Light
Oh Kee Pa Ceremony
My Friend, My Friend
The Man who Stepped into Yesterday

All composition, all well done, possibly some of the best composition done (outside of the jazz and classical worlds) in the late 80's / early 90's. The improvisational things were spectacular at times, boring at others, but the jams - while a fun and occasionally interesting sideshow, were never what made phish great. What made them great was the composition, and the willingness to compose outside of the 4/4 3.5 minute rock song standard format.

Take Guyute for example, go download it - try and count it. Betcha ya can't.

I'll save you the effort even - it starts in 21/8ths, drops 3/8ths after the first verse into 18/8th's back to 21/8ths to 4/4, changes keys a couple times, has a tempo shift, switches to 2/4 to 5/4 back to c to 15/8 to 12/8 to 21/8 to finish the song.

And they executed it flawlessly on stage (ok maybe not everytime, but more often than not) time after time.

Name me a band that writes and plays a wide variety of musical styles, well, with interesting tempo shifts, interesting key changes, executes on stage, and has a care-free attitude centered around having fun - and that's a band I want to go see (previously, they were called phish, we'll see if someone else with as much talent comes along. it will probably be a while.)

To get it right, they practiced and practiced. Then along came wives and children and the like and the most time consuming thing they did, practice, fell by the wayside. So they moved away from executing on the complicated compositions and to having fun improvising for a while.

Like I said, sometimes it was great, sometimes it was just plain bad, but for a few years it was a new musical direction. As a big jazz fan, and a big phish fan, I can understand a few bad improv sessions, Miles & Coltrane - they both have some real stinkers recorded, so does phish - it's ok, its part of the improv ethic. However, the jams didn't really grow - into new forms nor into new composition, they lost the time to practice, and so they hung 'em up. Wise, not wise? who can say, bands form and disapate all the time, I'm just glad that they formed, played their songs and improvs for us over the course of 21 years, left some great memories and some great music lying around for future generations to dig, ya dig?
posted by kurtosis at 6:52 PM PST on August 17

it starts in 21/8ths, drops 3/8ths after the first verse into 18/8th's back to 21/8ths to 4/4, changes keys a couple times, has a tempo shift, switches to 2/4 to 5/4 back to c to 15/8 to 12/8 to 21/8 to finish the song.

And that, my friends, is why many people do not prefer the musical stylings of Phish.
posted by eustacescrubb at 6:54 PM PST on August 17

And that, eustacescrubb, is why I went and saw them. Say what you will, but you can never accuse them of being "formulaic."
posted by kurtosis at 6:55 PM PST on August 17

kurtosis: I'm counting 7 for every bar all the way through that first section of Guyute before the instrumental section. 21's a multiple of 7, but I don't think you need to keep counting that long. Heh.
posted by emelenjr at 7:12 PM PST on August 17

it's scored as 9/8 | 12/8 alternating bars which works out slightly differently than 21/8 or 7/8 for that matter. I was lazy and wrote 21/8 for the sake of ease. The 18/8th section is actually alternating bars of 6/8 | 12/8. i didn't think anyone would actually take the time to listen and too count!
posted by kurtosis at 7:29 PM PST on August 17

phishphilter + grow a brain + ken layne
oh today me and my buddy Damon went to hang out in front of the Winn Dixie and we saw these girls and one of them was all 'oh shit aren't you that guy from round oak central?'

and we were all LOL it wuz pretty cool

then we listened to tool it wuz awesome.

tomorrow im going to a hip hop show at one of my favorite hide outs.

in the xbi the best way to hide out is in plain sight.

alot of the fellas are security guards or meter maids.

me, i like to volunteer at the library or check i.d.s at the viper.

and sometimes those little clubs co-op a gig with a big studio or company or organization.

the thing is, you usually dont bring someone from the xbi into one of your hideouts. but i know how much danielle loves rap.

im going to miss her a great deal.

yesterday she saw how sad i was that she was leaving, so today she wore a plaid mini skirt for me cuz she knows its my favorite.

bananarama said a mouthful when they said its a cruel summer

she couldnt even look at me, nor i she

we made promises of train trips to tj but theyre just pretty things to say

she turned a gay guy straight today i saw it with my own eyes.

and then i went over to the Winn Dixie with Damon and we met those girls and one of them smelled like danielle and i was all is that spirit by chanel and she was all no laughed and snorted

life isnt fair

be glad yr not here.

scary shit (first read the intro) + via in search of utopia + baby i loved napoleon dynamite
anti's comments only accept 1000 characters, so i will have to post this here.

dear anti,

im bummed out that you guys arent getting along. you two were super cute together when i met you the first time. im not picking sides on this. all sides lose anyway in these matters, except those of us who read this as literature.

and as literature, i must say, this post kicked ass.

i will steal as much of it as i can remember in upcoming screeds.

i also found interest in the whole canada/america thing. not until blogs did i ever know there was tension there - or even much difference.

anyway, if i were to describe the day that i met raymi, i would say that it was like meeting a younger, hotter, shorter, brunetter courtney love. the entire world was radiating through her and back out. warts and all as they say.

i think she expresses that pretty well in her blog, which is why we all like her blog.

love, in my case.

she is a rockstar several times over with just as many ways to inspire us as to make us wince. but somehow she has like eight rockstars in her trying to rock their way out.


it saddens me that it has come to this between you because i saw you take care of her when she needed someone and since no amount of pussy is worth that much stress, i knew you must have really loved her.

i'm glad that you posted what you did today and promised not to make more of it publicly (and i know posting this on my blog now isnt making it any less-public, but wtf.) not that life is all gorgeous all the time, nor should be portayed in such bullshit ways. but im pretty sure you will live up to your word. and im glad you didnt trash her.

i like that you explained to us all how you cheated on her.

you two are classic people and excellent souls. it is a absolute honor to be likened to either of you because i have the utmost respect for both of you. you both continue to push the envelope in far more ways than showing green buds and titties.

you inspire me each time i come to your blogs and i want to steal everything.

just remember that no matter what,
you'll always be my third favorite blooger

hope things mellow out,

caption this please

im always amazed by the ignorance and cowardice of the anonymous commentors. i know there are people who lurk out there. i even know that some of them are quite famous and powerful.

some of my friends know these people and they ask me occasionally if i know how badass i am to have these people as readers, but im not impressed.

even the popular and famous need to read something on their internet screens.

hello, all of you: friends, foes, famous, not so famous, and the ignored.

i can understand why certain people would want to leave anonymous comments. some people have an awful lot to be ashamed about. some people play politics regarding what blogs they read and what they dont. some people are concerned by what their friends and associates would think, gads, if they signed their name to a comment on the busblog, or lord help them, agreed with me publicly.

what i can't understand is why people would leave anonymous negative comments to me regarding my attack on Peeps.


my happy easter photo essay is one of my favorites.

in it i denounced Christians for allowing their most holy religious holiday to be taken over by chocolate treats, jelly beans, and the easter bunny. i question them for giving their children peeps and letting the american culture water down the day that their messiah rose from the dead after paying for our sins.

and i did it by telling the story of Angus Young, my favorite guitarist of all time, who, like Jesus, also had four brothers. I asked if Angus would appreciate Quiet Riot music on his birthday instead of AC/DC anthems.

as a Christian I would have thought that other Christians would agree with me, but in the two and a half years I have gotten a variety of negative reaction from certain Christians.

last night's being the most disturbing.

not only was there an anonymous comment that denounced me, calling me dumb, telling me that he didnt understand the Peeps point, but then went over to my friend and yours, danielle's blog, and told me that she shouldnt be friends with me anymore, infact she should shoot me in the face!

fortunately danielle is a typical sagatarius and you cant tell those people to do anything, so i type to you from the cockpit of chopper one with no bullet holes in my lovely face

but i wonder if the Peeps industry wasn't behind the couplet of comments that have infested this blog and danielle's?

i never said that Peeps should be outlawed. Hell, make Jesus Peeps. make manger Peeps. make jenna fucking jamison peeps for all i care, but dont threaten to shoot me in the face because of a photo essay.

that you admit to not understand.

it will not suprise me if one day i do get killed by a gun + bullet + idiot, but i doubt that it will happen over a misunderstanding surrounding Peeps.

and if i do go down that way,

promise me that you will avenge my wrongful death

with an unrelenting barrage of Pez.

koganuts + sceinthire + rabbit blog

   Monday, August 16, 2004  
today is charles bukowski's birthday. my hero. the greatest writer of all time. the reason for everything.

tonight i write to you from hollywood california, where the king of the world once lived. lived for a long time. drank mostly but lived a lot too.

bukowski, savior to the underclass, defender of the forgotten. hope to the ugly and the scarred and the uncool and the sick.

proof that poetry can come from everywhere, even the drunkard in the corner with the bag around his bottle.

like most great things, the Lord showed me bukowski in a library. procrastinating as always i roamed the 8th floor stacks in santa barbara and found a tidy little row of one bukowski novel after another. mixed in were poems. quick little ones, longer ones.

lines that floated in space

gave you time to think about them

everyday language in everyday settings like diners and hotel rooms and train stations and factories.

bukowski showed us that the hero of the story could have a nickel to his name and bad breath

and maybe not even the best intentions even, but he was alive and therefore somehow important, and the story would explain what first glance couldn't.

the lesson of bukowski is the lesson for anything: don't give up, you might not be an american idol at nineteen, you might not be born with the looks of a kennedy, you might not always have the luck o the irish, you might not even ever have a number one best seller on the ny times list. but you still have a shot at being the best because being the best isn't about movie star looks, units moved, or luck.

being the best is about banging it out every day and every night better than the next guy, and definitely better than the pretty boy. its about taking back the night. its about picking fights until everyone knows that you're in the ring and you might not be the king of each battle but you're a force to be reckoned with. somehow.

bukowski didn't have to speak french in his novels the way hemingway did. he didn't have to tap dance around his drinking or stick his pinkie out or have to use the right glass or be international. he just fucking drank.

hem talked about wars and signed up and fought and buk fought too except he didn't have the luxury of leaving after a few years, hank fought for decades. and lost for decades.

hemingway was 24 when he wrote the sun also rises and it was published immediately.
bukowski never had a steady publisher until he was nearly twice that, hell, he didn't even start writing seriously until he was in his late thirties, but as soon as he started writing he never stopped. not even his mindless fulltime job at the LA post office that nearly killed him after his third year got in the way of his writing. in fact, when he returned to the grind and stayed there 12 more years, he finished his run by knocking out one of the finest novels of the american working class "Post Office."

As a matter of fact, once John Martin launched Black Sparrow Press out of his own pocket, pretty much just to allow bukowski to quit his job and write as much as he wanted, he reeled off an impressive string of novels and poetry collections of high quality, creativity, and depth.
Notes of a Dirty Old Man, 1969
Post Office, 1971
Mockingbird Wish Me Luck, 1972
South of No North, 1973
Burning in Water Drowning in Flame, 1974
Factotum 1975
Love Is A Dog From Hell, 1977
Women, 1978
Play The Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin To Bleed A Bit, 1979
Dangling in the Tournefortia, 1981
Ham On Rye 1982
Hot Water Music, 1983
i like bukowski because he barely bitched about his lot in life. he didn't run around saying oh woe is me. he didn't write about how ts eliot was kicking his ass in book sales. he didn't whine about how a certain young lady said she wouldn't f him even if she lost a bet.

one thing bukowski did that i wish i had the guts to do was send his shit out to the world. he mailed off his poems and his stories and his everythings out to the publishers and magazine editors and newspapers and they mailed pretty much everything back.

far too punk rock for the good paying literature mags of his day, bukowski was forced to write for sex papers underground magazines and collections of unheard poets and writers. but unlike van gogh he kept at it. getting little nibbles here and there. writing regardless. telling the stories of everyday life in americas lower class.

he married a wealthy five-foot tall texan with a stiff neck, divorced her, and then married two other times.

late in his life good luck found him and not only did he die wealthy and famous, but he lived the last decade of his life respected for staying true to himself, never selling out or changing for the times or for the big bucks.

his stories and novels live on. his poems resonate stronger now than ever. theres not a writer alive who match him with the one-two punch of poetry and fiction, longevity, and production.

and unlike papa hemingway and the other quote unquote important american writers other than twain, bukowski could make you laugh.

kyle + kevin m. + xtracyx
"I like your books"
by Charles Bukowski

In the betting line the other day
man behind me asked,
"are you Henry Chinaski?"

"uh huh," I answered.

"I like your books," he went on.

"thanks," I answered.

"who do you like in this race?" he asked.

"uh uh," I answered.

"I like the 4 horse,"
he told me.

I made my bet and went back
to my seat....

the next race I am standing in line
and here is this same man
standing behind me again.

there are at least 50 lines at
the windows but he has to find
mine again.

"I think this race favors the
closers," he said to the back of
my neck.
"the track looks heavy."

"listen," I said,
not looking around,
"it's the kiss of death to talk about horses
at the track..."

"what kind of rule is that?"
he asked. "God doesn't make

I turned around and looked at him:
"maybe not, but I do."

after the next race
I got in line, glanced behind me:
he was not there:

lost another reader.

I lose 2 or 3 each week.


let 'em go back to Kafka.
even though she's going to soon leave me here in this dark cold unfriendly city alone, today danielle was in the best mood i think ive ever seen her in.

the boys dont even strip search her the way they used to when she would try to gain access into the xbi, theyre all hey danielle how was your weekend.

she tells them and they smile and look down her dress but she doesnt care, shes outta here soon, shes off to rad school, shes playing that game of life the way you oughtta, taking the long cut through College and soon she will have a pink and blue peg in her lil car in no time

and you'll see her shopping at the gelsons, watching the mexican load her mercedes, telling her kids to shush shush mommy has to make a phone call

and you'll remember these days like i will when she skips to my desk in the hangar twirling around and hopping on my lap whispering in my ear and saying

lets blow this taco stand at noonish and have an early lunch.

to which i said, my love, ive forgotten my camera at the hideout.

and she replied, where for art thou camera of magic

and i said over by my hollywood hills cabana

and at noonish we sped across town feeling like a zillion bucks, exchanging good lucks, and she made a to-go order with palms thai via her cellular phone, and there it was waiting for us when we arrived. ta-da.

so we ate it at my place. we watched a little south park, she tried on several of the sunglasses that i purchased via ebay. and we had to drive home.

had to, i say, because it was so warm outside and so nice, and we were having so much fun, that we really just wanted to rip off each others clothes and hang out at my house drinking gin and juice and giving the finger to the man.

but alas we're good little injuns and we drove back to work, where we arent loved the way we should be, work that doesnt pay us what we should earn, work that doesnt even really want us

and during the ride home danielle said "i will miss you so much tony."

i said, "i dont believe you."

she said, "how can i prove to you that i mean what i say?"

i said, "lift up your dress a little and let me photograph your lovely legs for the good readers of my blog."

and she not only lifted her little dress for you, my sweet friends,

but for america as a whole.

and parts of canada.

jess + jennifer + sk smith

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to
mess me up?
you want to screw up the works?
you want to blow my book sales in Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night
when everybody's asleep.

I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be sad.

then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there,
I haven't quite let him die
and we sleep together like that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man weep,
but I don't weep,
do you?

today is charles bukowski's birthday 8/16/20

poem for my 43rd birthday + my bukowski photo essay + ebay listings "bukowski"
name: dumbass

location: hollywood

hair color? skintone

eye color? brown and occassionally bloodshit

age? hundred and something

sexiest man ever? prince

do you like your breasts? they're hairy, theyre firm, they dont sag, whats not to love?

color of your bathing suit: white, blue, and frequently unused

is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? depends on if the love was worth it.

give me a book, movie, CD, and song recommendation. cruddy, my life as a dog, loretta lynn's van lear rose, band+girls+money

what could you never tell your parents? who wil wheaton is and how many more hits he gets than me every damn day.

are you in a romantic relationship right now? several, however, unfortunately none are sexual

paper or plastic? plastic which i then recycle at the store

favorite song lyric? if only you were lonely/i'd go home with you

tell me a secret: theres not as much lying going on here as i would like

are you a good liar? the best, which is why i try not to abuse it

opinion on gay marriage? if we enforced the "till death do you part" commitment then marriage would mean something. therefore all of this is just a piss test to see who the homosexual more. currently the president is winning that dubious honor.

if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? i would have interned for the LA Times a long time ago.

what's your favorite accent? pillow talk

are you on antidepressants? fuck modern medicine until they can cure the common cold.

tell me a joke: half of america will vote for bush

everyone knows most people are... better than they come across on television

vous-parlez francais? un petite peut

is there a song or a CD or something that you strongly associate with a certain event in your life? i cant listen to the ramones's version of "do you wanna dance" without thinking about the time that my friends's apartment was being raided by the cops on the same night that the xbi poisoned me with six hits of liquid acid and i could barely walk let alone skateboard.

how have you changed in the past year? ive given up on all of my dreams. (in a good way.)

what is one thing you want to do before you die? triplets.

do you like to travel? mais oui.

states you've been to: almost all of them.

what countries have you been to? england, france, italy, sweden, denmark, belgium, switzerland, germany, mexico, aruba, spain.

where do/did you go to school?:
medinah high school, santa monica college, uc isla vista

smoke cigarettes? only while undercover

lucky number: 666

favorite super hero: underdog

favorite sport: competitive blogging

worst mistake you ever made: not marrying my true love in frisco

if you were an animal, what would you be? endangered

last cd you bought: American IV: The Man Comes Around by Johnny Cash

last movie you saw: magnolia

favorite tv channel: E!

ever been arrested? not yet

ever had to have surgery? im indestructible

kind of bike you had as a kid? schwinn with a banana seat and a sissy bar

kind of phone: lame ass big one.

lefty or righty: im a deadly slap hitter from both sides of the plate, but i have suprising power from the right side.

what would you want to do if you got drunk? smoke.

do you like your name? it'll do for now.

what do you want to be when you grow up? fat(er)

favorite concert you have been to? replacements at the roxy in LA circa 1986

favorite board game: APBA

favorite drink: baileys tall with some ice and some cream

favorite sound: bacon crackling in the morning at a new girls house

favorite smell: freshly cut wrigley field grass in the early morning

drinks with or without ice cubes? this is 2004. such things shouldnt even have to be asked. the question should be what type of ice. i like the ones that look like little life preservers because the girls like to play little kissing games.

favorite thing to do on the weekends: think about writing

favorite soundtrack: urg: a music war

what was the first thing you thought to yourself when you woke up this morning: god im lucky.

what are you doing after you finish this? looking for a picture to put next to it. or two.

who did you get this from: fragrant de milo

litwack + planet sara + tim blair

   Sunday, August 15, 2004  
sweetest lips. youd think after a full night of kissing and not much else i'd have something else to tell you about her but thats it. sweet lips. tounge like a scared kitten. her friend liked me more than she but there i was with her trying to figure out if i was the boobie prize the real prize just another guy or the lucky end of a female cock block where the one girl doesnt want the other girl to get any so she drags me to her barbie dream house instead of letting her bestfriendevah get what she wanted.

sometimes you cant lose mr kerry and you should just stand there and nod your head and smile which is all i did at the party and these two incredibly educated frightfully skinny young rich girls tried to impress me with their knowledge of poetry not knowing that the best way to impress me is to kiss me on the balcony like the taller one did while the other one steamed.

whats a blog she asked me as we sped through west hollywood. i wondered what could be said of tall girls with boots and stick shift convertibles. the wind was so loud she couldnta heard me if i had tried, nothing important i lied while noticing the shadows on her thigh.

she didnt even ask about my place. it was hers we would visit. no soul. no grass. miami vice chic, polished, primped, and sterile. too bright. all glass.

she knew the difference between one wine and another. she had a cheese dish that showed promise but they were leftovers from her mother. bad art bad tunes bad vibe but balloons filled with nitrous she brought out from her room and we sat there in luxury and

held it

held it

and then


normally i didnt find myself with a girl like this. you wanna say dumb but shes not. you wanna say phony but she actually is being real.

its one of the things that i like so much about hollywood, you really could be drinking with a one footed homeless man one minute and the heir to the home depot fortune the next.

when the balloons had emptied the warm side of her skirt became heir to my free hand and the oddest thing happened, i imagined the faces of mickey kaus and tim blair. mickey had recently told me that i was the only blogger that he knew of who had gotten laid from because of his blog. and blair said that he would only frequent my blog occasionally because he hated how much action i got. and i said its all lies tim its all lies and he said really and i said its mostly lies tim its mostly lies.

and there i was not only being blaise about the totally sculpted tail i was about to get but worried about how i could pull off writing about it in such a way that if those two fine gentlemen stumbled across it they would still respect me in the morning.

she was neatly shaved but sloppy. her lipstick had smeared and she wore a tiny speck of crystal meth on the tip of her cute little nose that sparkled in the candlelight.

norah jones was on and i wanted to ask her if it was on because she thought it was sexy or because it is sexy or because she thought i might think it was sexy but i was afraid our impromptu debate would ruin the mood so i bit her lip and asked her if she had any coltrane.

i could feel her want to get up as she said a love supreme but that one is too spiritual to be sexy which of course kickstarted the inconsequential debate that i was trying to avoid where she took the side that spirituality is extremely sexy and i retreated to the smile and nod tact and sipped at my rum on ice as she lit her parliment light.

hollywood has had a delightfully mild summer i said tracing the outline on her embrodiery not falling for the stalemate. she inhaled and said hasnt it been lovely. the sheer white curtains barely moved behind the opened sliding glass door and a faint cute car horn beeped in the darkness below.

we listened to the love supreme and held hands and she passed her cigarrette to me and i put my lips on it and made the tip glow and gave it back.

she had books everywhere

not dirty


and in the morning we both woke up in all of our clothes

and she still had a little speed on the tip of her nose

tiffany + banana blog + bettie
its two thirty a.m., ive been drinking, and you know what happens when b-list bloggers come home tipsy, thats right, we leave comments on fcc chairman michael powell's "blog" that he abandoned a month ago right before he said, "I am traveling for the next 2 weeks and will have limited internet access..."

know this: i will never be anywhere for two weeks with limited internet access. voluntarilly.

if i ever say something like that know that it's code for "im being kidnapped, alert the authorities and search my house for clues!".

but first, you really should click here to view the quickie little quicktime fisking that Outfoxed co-producer jim gilliam fine-tuned on everyone's best friend bill o'reilly.

if you remember last week, gilliam posted a tv show where o'reilly was a guest. also on the panel was nyt columnist paul krugman. o'reilly visibly upset by Outfoxed, the currently released documentary that takes aim at Fox News and their talk shows led by o'reilly's "The Factor", began cracking and thus lying and exaggerating.

in this new clip gilliam splices that appearance with segments of Outfoxed that o'reilly is rallying against.

needless to say, we discover that the former host of A Current Affair is less than truthful.

gilliam wins.

o'reilly should probably either throw up the white flag and admit defeat, or put his tail between his legs and quit trying to fight Outfoxed, or at least stop saying that they edited his words when they clearly didn't.

which brings us to the secretary of state's son Chairman Powell

who thought it was not only a good idea to get a blog

but to get a blog with publicly displayed comments

hosted on a site called Always On, which, to its credit, lives up to its name.

anyone a little more familiar with the blogosphere, or even usenet, would know that if someone has a chance to call you an asshole via the internet, someone will.

which is why, if youre eligible for being called an asshole, you probably should host your own blog and have editorial control over your comments.

unless youre a kickass debater, and not a tool of the right, and totaly willing to be fair to people.

but if you have something to hide, as powell clearly does, you should probably do exactly as the chairman did, which was stop "blogging" immediately after three posts, never to return again.

well, i returned and i left a comment.

Dear Chairman,

I can understand why you wouldn't want to blog about situations that you might have to make decisions about, but don't you think it would be valueable to explain to the public and to current (and future) broadcasters and talent as to why you reached certain decisions?

For example when Howard Stern described anal/oral sex many years ago he was not fined. But then this year you went back in time to fine him. And then you didn't fine him for all the stations that it was broadcast, just one. Detroit. Isn't indecency in Detroit indecency in New York and LA and all the stations that Howard described blumpkins?

I have the same question about the Janet Jackson super bowl incident. Why were only a handful of the tv stations fined? Shouldn't all of them been on a delay to protect their viewers from that tiny little brown spot on their television?

I would think that you would want to be very clear about your decision-making process and the reasons why only certain broadcasters and certain stations are fined while others are not. I would think that you would want everyone to know where the line is and why the line is there. I would think that you would want to silence your critics who say that you are nothing more than a tool of the right, and the best way to silence them is to show them that you are simply enforcing the rules and this is why you judged the way you did.

You were correct to start a blog. Blogs are perfect places to think outloud and get heard without having to call a press conference or speak to a reporter. Through a blog you can think about what you want to say, write it up, edit it, and then post it. By avoiding the more controversial/important topics you give creedence to the critics and appear to be hiding.

Why would the Chairman of the Federal Communications Commission want to censor his own communications in the freest form of communication in this new century: the blog?
tony_pierce | POSTED: 08.15.04 @02:07 + raymi + darling maggot + happy anniversary jack