So it's the third day of the National Convention in... wherever (I guess a few years from now since I'll be at least 35 then) and it's the point of the Convention where the candidate accepts their party's nomination for President of the United States. Now before there were the usual speeches (young party figures, respected old-hands, the token nod from the rival party, wives of candidates) and it was the usual old tired roll of political drumbeats. There are the twenty-four hour cable news

It's hard to be a hero these days. Especially when the Wachowski brother and sister decide to do their "magic" on your volume. It also doesn't help when a bunch of Salafi teenage jerk offs decide to kill folks in the London summer giving you some of the worst possible sort of PR. It's hard to be a terrorist. People use that word today like it means something.

Exhibit A as to why AJAX stuff still needs a fucking wash: that if you browse off of a page and go back in your history, you lose everything. Fucking shit... *sigh* at least Gmail was smart enough to intermittently save your draft. So I was using this oh-so-bad-ass journalling tool on last.fm (with no preview BTW, a demotion from even the limited feature set of /.) and it killed my original review. So I spent a few minutes soul-searching, almost tempted to the l

These VW Unpimp my Automobile commercials are hilarious. And now you know why he'll be integral to Rammstein and Me.

My brother and I rarely wait for occasion to force us to do something stupid. But the Anti-birthday, the 182.5 days after your birthday, is something we've taken to liking for just a reason: do something idiotic, dumbfound the natives.

From Pitchfork Media:

Sacre bleu, Francophiles! Holy mixtapes, indie kids! Your two cherished worlds are about to coalesce in a big way. The center of gravity: suave, debonair, and--admit it-- rather creepy French crooner Serge Gainsbourg.

WTF? Tuesday his album dropped and I was reading the Pitchforkmedia review that was plagerized from the Okayplayer boards... and now he's gone.

Let me start by saying that all award shows are worthless. It's the cashflow ressurrection game; take movies/records/ear bolts that are rotting out on the vine, throw some gold-plated statuary at them and watch the punters roll out their wallets again. Plus, think of the advertising opportunities! And who doesn't like to celebrity watch?!? Guhghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!! But Em brought up the subject. Anyway, from least worthless to mos

The current estimate has me buying less than 21 albums this year. Who the fuck knows, eh? Funny, ironic- or neither of those. What much am I looking forward to? Hmmm, dunno. There's a new Masta Killa disc coming out. Maybe Portishead will finally drop? Then there's that Villalobos vinyl which (hopefully) will get released in some plastic/electronic form. But there is a great air bubble, pushing up through the water, into my brain, ready for the big skull-artery blow out. That's the a

Rain, thunder and wind kept me inside today.
But later,
I went out
to see the world disappearing.
Fog had fallen
And all the shapes were indistinct,
Better: tenuous
on the dark navy canvas
where the earth
and the sky were unbroken;
they did not end.

February, fog, and 48 degrees;
Executive summary
of my Mid-Atlantic character.

Is this the greatest entrance of all time - or one of the wierdest international appropriation across cultures? You be the judge! I like how he robots out, shoots out the steam and then breaks into them Tekken 3 moves. Priceless

250 years. I'm usually more of a Schubert or a Dvoák guy but I got to give W.A. a tip of the hat (as compared to a wag of the finger).

What do you do when you walk into work and see that the campus is on emergency power? Well you sit around, walk around, and play games on the whiteboard (placed conveniently under one of the emergency lights) and listen to the facilities guys talk about how fucked up things might be. So they were talking to BGE, down at the substation and then at 9:30 they sent us all home on administrative leave. Schwing!

George started this and it's an interesting concept: explain America as an idea in ten movies. I hate ordered lists because they assume an order where I'm not drawing a line but a demarcation. What ten movies would I give to St. Peter (knowing he'd look through any of our lies)? When America is no more, what would the appropriate coda be? I wanted to gather our best artists and directors and I wanted each to be fitting. I wanted

Few cars dot
The waves of asphalt crash
Empty hills when you go to work
On a Dead Man's holiday.