Bring on the PSLs

That's Please. Stop. Losing.

Merry Bloopers!

Seasons greetings from Emmett Otter and the Jug Band!
(And Arielle)

Domo Arigato, Google

As the birthday of our Lord and Savior approaches (I'm referring, of course, to Jimmy Buffet and Larry Csonka, respectively), I'm moved to celebrate a Rolling Bones milestone.

This humble blog is now the #1 Google search result for "drunk karaoke songs."

For this honor, I must thank T. Perl, for his tenacious insistance on prolonging the life of "Funky Cold Medina."

So now folks from as far away as Bourbounnais, Ill., and Perth, Australia, dutifully searching for how best to inflict pain upon their drunken comrades, discover this ridiculous list atop 431,000 results. As if someone really needed prompting to join in the glorious splendor of "Sister Christian."

But since 'tis the season for more spiritual sustenance, I offer this throat-choking bit of pure beauty: Leon Russell, Willie Nelson and an ailing Ray Charles singing Russell's "A Song For You" at the Beacon in New York less than a year before Charles died.

It's no "Mr. Roboto." But please forgive me my tresspasses.

Coolest Muthafucka on the Planet

By TPerl

Obama: The College Years

Paleolithic Pricks

Ever since the letters DVR marched so triumphantly into my life, TV commercials have become something of a distant stranger.

And while this might spell disaster for networks in much the same way the internet and a tanking economy has been speed-typing the obituary of newspapers, I'm enjoying this golden era, when "The Office" runs right into "30 Rock" in a tight 44 minutes without stopping to hear about some failing car company's new 0.0% financing plan with nothing due at signing (which until last year I had always heard as "do-it signing," which, considering it's a meaningless phrase, left me quite confused).

Anyway. For the most part, I still watch football live. So it caught me a little by surprise when, in the midst of watching the Jets prove just how crappy a team they are, I ran, once again, into this asshole:



Didn't this offensively overplayed, moronic ad campaign beget a still-born, offensively moronic ABC sitcom America embraced about as gladly as a festive case of herpes? Hasn't the country voted for change? What's it going to take to end this monstrosity?

I just can't believe it's in an insurance company's best interest to inflict unending pain upon potential customers. But then these are the same people who find boundless delight in the cavorting of cockney gecko.

I'm reminded of the seemingly decades-long Energizer bunny campaign, which was only briefly interrupted by the battery company's criminal decision to inflict upon America the barking madness of Ausie rules footballer "Jacko." And yeah, I think he got his own sitcom, too.

Don't Let The Shoes Hit You On the Way Out

It's not hard to gain some enjoyment from the sight of a bitter Iraqi journalist firing not one, but two shoes at the still-president of the United States.

One must truly admire the president's ability to duck projectiles, thrown hard, from close range, and with great accuracy.

And it might be easy, as it appears for our still-president, to laugh off the incident as just one of those things a president must endure. Everyone has critics, right?

But throwing shoes is a gesture of the highest disdain in the Arab world. And as he cursed George Bush for the crimes he's committed against his people, one might wonder if Bush really comprehends what he's done.

It's too easy to psychoanalyze a sitting president from the comfort and distance of my desk chair. But it's hard not to see a smart, but simple and incurious man blinded by the black-and-white comforts so easily swallowed by recovering alcoholic religious zealots.

And yet, how can a moral man of any stripe justify the conclusions reached by this recently released bi-partison Congressional report.

The president of the United States authorized torture. Plain and simple. Just like him.

OJ to begin 9-to-33-year search for real killers in Nevada prison

It's beyond pathetic.

First morons and incompetents aquit OJ for the near decapitation of his ex-wife and the brutal stabbing of a luckless bystander.

Some 14 years later a bunch of low-lifes set up OJ to commit a crime he probably had no intention of committing.

And now there's a decent chance he'll spend the rest of his life in jail.

I'd be lying if I said it didn't put a smile on my face. But the watch the video of his rambling pre-sentencing statement and it's hard not to feel a twinge of sympathy. Just a twinge. It's worth watching just to hear him say "garnishable."

But then I remember who he is. And it doesn't matter who he has become since then. How low he has fallen into self-delusion and waste. A pathetic murderer is still a murderer.

Holiday!

By Arielle

No, not that one.

According to the Associated Press, the powers that be in Perry County, Alabama, have officially declared "Barack Obama Day" a county holiday. It will be observed on the second Monday of November and "highlight the Democratic president-elect's victory as a way to give people faith that difficult goals can be achieved."

All 40 county employees will get the day off, paid.

I found this a bit hasty. I'm all for commemorating important historic moments and clinging to whatever optimism we can wring out of the present state of the world, but aren't there proper waiting periods for naming things after people or declaring holidays? Like waiting five years after retiring from football to be eligible for the Hall of Fame, or having to be dead to be considered for sainthood. Or at least waiting for the guy to do something as president.

Besides, can you just declare holidays - the paid, day off from work kind - so casually?

Then I read on: seems the state of Alabama has way more holidays than the rest of us. There's Confederate Memorial Day. That's in April. The state observes Jefferson Davis' birthday in June. Alabama marks the birthday of Martin Luther King Jr. like the federal holiday that it is, but he's got to share the date; the Official State of Alabama Calendar lists the holiday as the "Martin Luther King, Jr./Robert E. Lee Birthday."

So what's one more holiday? Commemorating something that happened since 1865? 

I'll be expecting my Barack Obama Day card next Nov. 9.

And That's the Tooth

Josh Levin at Slate examines Rick Reilly's peculiar oral fixation.

"P"

Looking back (you know, without the future of the world at stake), the 2+ years we spent deciding on a president was damn entertaining. Time to appreciate the sublime absurdity of Sarah Palin.

Just the Plax, Ma'am

I'm not one to get all high on the Jets recent success. The Giants are (sickeningly) by far the best team in the league this year.

For the Giants to fail to win the Super Bowl again, they would really have to shoot themselves in the foot.

Er. Bad choice of words?

Hannity & A Tube Sock

Alan Colmes will be leaving the "Hannity & Colmes" show on Fox News after 12 years.

How long will it take for anyone to notice he's gone?

Lizard People

Vote on how ballots in the Minnesota Senate race should count.

If you ask me, anyone who can't fill in a simple bubble next to a name doesn't deserve to participate in democracy.

Run, Forest, Run (Away From This Horrible Woman)

It's time for my semi-annual rant against the evils of Forrest Gump.

I caught about 10 minutes of the shit-fest toward the end. After the moronic cross-country running sequence dictated by plot necessity and featuring the origin of that great American invention, the smiley face T-shirt miraculously transmitted via mudstain. The part when the flashbacks end and Gump realizes he doesn't need to wait for the bus. When he goes to Jenny's apartment and meets his son.

That bit always gets to me. Jenny tells him that Haley Joel Osment is his son, and he freezes up, slowly backing away. Jenny explains he's done nothing wrong (No shit, lady!). And Hanks does this vulnerable, somewhat feminine thing with his hand against his chest as he gathers the courage to ask her if the boy is mentally retarded like him but never quite gets it all out before Jenny answers him. The look of fear and confusion and relief and pride that wash over his face earned Hanks his Oscar right there.

But that's what kills me about this stoooopid movie. I've said before that if there has ever been a more cloying, crass attempt to manipulate an audience without an actual purpose or message, then I haven't seen it.

Seriously. What are we supposed to take away from this film? Stupid is as stupid does? America has gone through some tough and interesting times? War and AIDS are bad? Life is like a box of morons spouting inane drivel to a captive audience?

But what we as a nation need to discuss more often is this: Jenny is the most reprehensible character in the history of American cinema.

Just about every decision she makes is selfish and cruel. We are supposed to sympathize with her because she had an abusive father and was kind to our simple-minded hero. She's America: a flawed beauty born from chaos with a heart of gold and dreams that fuel her excesses.

Fine, sure, whatever.

But how to explain the pure cruelty of her supposed redemption and martyrdom? After teasing Gump for the near entirety of his absurd life, she succumbs to her loneliness by bedding him, hides her pregnancy and his son for three years, and then springs the kid on him when she needs 24-hour nursing for her pathetic, dying ass.

And she asks him to marry her? While the movie wants us to believe this is her great redemptive act of true love, it's actually the cruelest of all her selfish acts.

Here's a good summary of her character arc: No, you can't have me. No. Not yet. Nope. Gotta snort coke and experience the counter-culture, man. Nope. We don't want your stinkin' war! Nope. Ah, what the hell, fuck me just this once. And nope again. See you later. Hey, here's this kid of yours. You can have me now, while I waste away from this debilitating disease and leave you alone for eternity.

Jenny. Baby. If life is like a box of chocolates, you're the one with that rancid mint inside.

New and Sort of...Green!

Welcome to the slightly improved and evolving Rolling Bones. Do not adjust your computer monitor. That sickly green shade is called ocre. And we be rocking it today.

Just one of the many improvements you can expect here as we work to make your life just a little more boney. What's that you say? Not so much interested in change?

Sounds like you've got yourself a little case of the McCains. Take two hopes and call me in the morning.

The Most Oppressed Person in America

By TPerl

Wanda Sykes is a black, gay, woman. She might as well just go for broke and become a Scientology-worshipping, dog-fight-organizing, pro-life, terrorist with AIDS.

And be Mexican.

Our Next President

By Arielle

There is no subtext here. I just love this photo.

Thank God

By TPerl

It took 8 years, but America finally got it right.

The Rising

See the future.

Thumbs Way Up

Roger Ebert is having a rennaissance.

I'm not sure if it's because he can no longer talk, but America's most popular film critic has been on fire recently.

Whether he's got more time on his hands now that he's not appearing on TV or he's just happy to be alive after multiple surgeries and lengthy bouts of bedrest and physical therapy, the man has struck a torrid pace.

There seem to be more reviews of new films in addition to regular contributions to his reviews of Great Movies from the past, the always perceptive and playful Answer Man Q&A column, reader contributions to his witty Little Movie Glossary, analysis of cultural moments such as John McCain's appearance on Letterman, and twists to his writing such as this brilliant dissection of a new film based on the first eight minutes with a link to a thoughtful blog post and an engaged discussion.

In fact, the greatest engine for his newfound enthusiasm seems to be a discovery of blogging. Roger Ebert's Journal has become an outlet for deeper and longer investigations into the many themes and theories he's espoused over the years in reviews.

He's tackled the definition and mission of a critic, taught how to analyze a movie a shot at a time, and talked about how to answer the question "What's your favorite movie?"

To top it off, you get an amazingly refreshing string of intelligent, engaged and almost unfailingly polite comments which Ebert reads and responds to.

I would never wish such severe medical maladies on anyone, much less someone I've enjoyed for so long. But if there is an upside to such struggle and discomfort, I'm glad this one man has found a way to share it.

Country First

I'm doing my best to avoid blatant political discussion here. But as a service to anyone who plans to vote next month, it should be your duty as an informed citizen to read these two indespensible and engrossingly convergent profiles of Sen. John McCain.

First, the late David Foster Wallace's brilliant look at the "maverick" in 2000. And this recent, even sharper look by Tim Dickenson into the necessity for those quote marks.

Choosing Sides

My adoptive state of Connecticut has become the third state in the country to legalize gay marriage. This is an encouraging trend that I fully endorse.

But while I applaud the state Supreme Court for granting same-sex couples the freedom to enjoy the same rights as everyone else let me take a moment to say something that might disappoint a small, but well-dressed percentage of the population: I'm still going to marry a woman.

Birthday Update!

CONNECTICUT - After 34 years of celebrations, a stunning new record has emerged, suggesting that D. Bones has hated birthdays since as far back as 1977.

"I don't like birthdays!" Bones, 34, exclaimed Friday morning, shortly after opening his presents and answering a celebratory phone call.

It appears this is nothing new. New evidence unearthed from a photograph hanging on the wall in the Bones residence indicates a less-than-happy response to an early birthday cake.

It was unclear whether the young Bones was responding to his birthday, the party letdown, or the 1970s-era overuse of denim, sources said.

"Something always went wrong," Bones explained. "Something stupid that got me upset."

"I cried at my first five [birthdays] at least," he continued. "I mean, I was an infant for at least two of them."

Bones, who insisted that he and his future wife have a wedding rather than elope, maintained that he dislikes being the center of attention. "Like it's any great accomplishment to grow older," he said. "And I never like the gifts I get."

Bones then complained about his shoes. "That's what you should have gotten me," he mumbled as he tried to fish a pebble out of a small hole in the heel. "Shoes."

Happy Birthday!

Two big birthdays today, so I thought we should consider some similarities:

                                                 Brett Favre                               D. Bones

Age:                                             39                                                  34
Hopeless seasons with Jets:         .5                                                   34
Football-related streak:          279 QB starts                      632 sad Sundays
Loved by:                                     Peter King                                        Me

Enemy of:                                       PETA                                              OJ

Facial Fuzz:                                  Stubbley                                     Groomed

Hair color:                                   70% gray                                     10% gray

Football skills:                        Can't complain                      Untapped glory

OJ To Be Inducted Into Hall of Prison Guards and Showertime Rapists

Ask, and ye shall receive.

It seems for years retailers have steadily jumped the calendar, pulling out the tinsel as early as August to stretch the holiday season. But Christmas really did come early this year.

Santa came in the form of nine women and three men from Sin City who found OJ Simpson guilty on 12 counts stemming from an armed robbery last year.

Does it matter that the crime looked an awful lot like a bunch of scumbags conspiring to send OJ to jail and make money off their eventual book deals? Not to me. My disdain for The Juice has been well documented on this blog. And there is often a greater justice than the American court system.

The question, now that karma has intervened to partially reverse the criminal negligence of the Los Angeles Prosecutor's Office and the 12 Angry Morons selected to serve on the jury of OJ's peers in peerless incompetence, is this: What's next?

A lot has gone wrong since 1995. But this could be the start of something. I will wait patiently while the Supreme Court reverses Bush V. Gore.

And it's about time The Jets get to replay the second half of the 1998 AFC Championship Game against Denver. Vinny Testaverde, Curtis Martin, Keith Byers: Time for some redemption.

Rolling Bones Mark II: Jazz Odyssey

Something is happening here.

Clearly it hasn't been happening on this blog. It's in my head. And I'm completely flummoxed about how to get it out.

I started this blog while in journalism school. I was finally reconnecting with the part of my brain that takes thoughts and puts them into orderly, occasionally witty words (perhaps too many of them costing above $5)


But at some point I came to a point where I felt useless. I track the traffic here, and it's not an exaggeration to say that the regular readership of this blog could fit in a compact car with a baby seat and a Doberman in back. The others came (though likely not in the way they had hoped) looking for naked pictures of Eva Longoria. And thanks to this fresh reference, I can guarantee a new surge in visitors typing with one hand and their pants at their ankles.


This was disheartening. I mean, I have an ego. I like to think I'm humble, but nobody really writes to be anonymous. As a reporter, I like being recognized and praised for good work even as I maintain a cool, above-it-all, watchdog demeanor.

And I'm perhaps excessively proud of much of the work I've done on this blog. If you happen to be new here or haven't visited in a long time, please peruse a random sampling of archived material represented by the dated months on the right side rail. It's been a place to post some of my most passionate beliefs, some cool though completely obsessive shit, the Great Collaboration on Mock Porn Movie Titles, and my hatred of all things OJ.

I'm also incredibly resistant to Facebook, not necessarily for rational reasons. I like the idea of connecting with friends and family across the country. I like the idea of spying on long-lost friends and acquaintances I really don't care enough to actually connect with. And it's not like I need an excuse to fritter away my time.


But I don't want to put my life out there for scrutiny. If I were to jump into the Facebook pool, I'd maintain strict controls on who and what gets posted. Maybe I can drive some traffic to this blog. But it will never be the kind of confessional therapy session that really attracts readers. And as a reporter, I really shouldn't be talking about all the stuff I actually believe because it could compromise my ability to maintain objectivity in the stories I might cover, scare away potential employers or invite two guys named Phil to confine me in a flourescent light-drenched room and feed me thorugh a straw while speakers blast Clay Aiken day and night.

So what's the solution? This blog can continue to provide a place for me to post cool stuff I encounter on the 'net, complete with a few wry comments. But that really doesn't fire me up. I can try to scrub this site of any reference to my identity. But that probably isn't practical or even possible, depending on how these things get archived across the web.


And yet I can't imagine keeping quiet anymore. There is something going on all right. Something about an election, the looming collapse of the nation's financial system, the assisted suicide of the newspaper industry, and -- on a personal level -- my upcoming wedding, blogging at a site near you.


That last bit is more than a late August ceremony to be attended by at least half of that compact car of Rolling Bones readers. I see the 11 months to come as an opportunity to solidify relationships with family and friends, to reestablish connections with far-flung folks and form a bond with members of a new family. This blog -- and my inevitable capitulation to Facebook -- can help facilitate this.


All of which is to say, something is happening here, and here I'll have something to say about it. Writing is thinking. It's not thinking written down. I need the exercise to make sense of this world. Your comments and contributions will always be welcomed and almost certainly mocked.


With any luck, this new era will soon see a brighter future for the country with a steady, worthy leader in the White House. And OJ in jail.

Happy New Year

By TPerl

It's the Jewish New Year, in case you didn't know. And TPerl is (supposedly) Jewish, in case you didn't know.
Just how Jewish is he? I'll let you be the judge. Here's a rundown on the activities of some of my family:
- I am working today
- My brother is not working today, but not attending synagogue either
- My Dad has the day off and is going to Atlantic City

If the Jews gave out membership cards, I'm assuming mine would've been revoked years ago.

On an unrelated note, is it me or is this blog circling the drain at this point? I blame Facebook.

Earwaxing Philosophical

You may have noticed I haven't blogged in a while. Or maybe you haven't, considering how few people visit this site. (Then again, if you don't visit this site, it's hard for you to read this post in the first place).

So much has happened since I last expressed my mind wanderings on the Fourth of July. We've had a Chinese Olympics with record-breaking accomplishments, pre-pubescent gymnasts and hours and hours of bikini-clad beach volleyball coverage. The New York Jets traded for a drama queen Hall of Famer in the twilight of his career. The Democrats nominated a black guy who should be president.

I could go on and on and on (and on) about this stuff. But what really got me all riled up today is this story about earwax.

Apparently, despite my lifelong history of swabbing the yellow shit out of my ears with fascinated disgust, earwax is good for you. Something about providing lubrication and whatnot. And -- get this -- it's self-cleaning!

Question: Ears have been on fully evolved human heads for, let's say to be conservative, forever. Why are we only learning this in 2008? And has anyone told the Q-Tip people?

This is not a casual question. It seems everything I've ever been taught growing up turns out to be wrong. Milk does the body good (it doesn't, really. And when you think that we're the only species that drinks the milk of another species, it's kinda gross). Smoking isn't addictive. Fox is fair and balanced. Michael Bolton is talented. All lies.

So forgive me for my cynicism and skepticism. So much of what is wrong in our world derives from someone else exploiting neuroses and fear to make money. If I ever meet the dude that invented Q-Tips, I'm gonna stick a handfull of swabs up his ass. Take that, Leo Gerstenzang!

Rockin' the Mic

By TPerl

I'm meeting my friend Rocky for lunch next week. I haven't seen him in a while since we're usually on different coasts, and I was reminded again about how cool his job is, especially when compared to mine. Rocky works for a major league baseball team. His office is inside the stadium - how cool is it to wake up every day for work and commute to a major league ballpark!

Also, in his spare time, he does radio broadcasts for the local minor league affiliate. When I went to visit Rocky a few years ago, I got to sit in the booth with him while he did the game - it was a blast. During one inning, he let me participate in the broadcast as his "special guest" - he interviewed me between plays about my baseball loyalties and experiences. The funniest part was when the half-inning ended and Rocky deadpanned to me "Can you stick around for another half-inning?" as if I was a VIP with places to go and people to see.

Check out Rocky in action by clicking the link above - he's got the first 2 highlights and the last highlight in the series of clips.

Doubles Diving

By Arielle

I am a sucker for the Olympics. I love just about everything about them - the big sports, the bizarre sports, the patriotism, the NBC Olympic music, the cheesy stories about the athletes who overcame absurd obstacles, Bob Costas...it all gets a free pass through my skeptical filter.

But I have a problem with this year's Olympics, and it's not just about Darfur and important things like genocide. No, this is sports-related.

What the hell is up with doubles diving?

It's actually pretty cool to watch. Two divers jump off a platform at the same time and do flips in unison. Pretty cool. But..this is really a sport? Like, at the same time that they cut softball and baseball from all future Olympics? Seriously?

I'm sure synchronized diving requires more and different skills that the regular, one-person kind. But if you have to limit the number of sports, shouldn't you maybe start with sports that are, like, literally redundant? If the doubles divers don't make the team, they can always try out as a single. Softball players...what do they do? Try badminton?

My friend Pam also has a good point about this: If you have doubles diving, why not doubles for every sport? Doubles hurdling? Synchronized javelin? Synchronized volleyball?

And you thought your commute sucked...

By TPerl

I needed to spend the day in the Boston office on Wednesday. So I flew out Wednesday morning from Newark to Logan. Then it rained. And here's the chronology of my trip home:

5:10PM: leaves office
5:12PM: stands in the rain looking for a cab
5:28PM: finally gets a cab
5:50PM: arrives at Logan, checks in for 4:30PM flight which is scheduled to depart at 7:49PM
6:15PM: Wendy's for dinner
7:05PM: Miller Lite at the bar - the Red Sox game goes into extra innings (how appropriate)
8PM: our plane arrives at the gate, but we cannot board for an hour due to weather in Newark
8:10PM: Coffee Coolatta from Dunkin Donuts
9:15PM: we board
9:30PM: we're told that we cannot leave the gate due to bad weather in Newark. Next update to come in a half hour
10PM: still not allowed to leave. Next update in 45 minutes
10:50PM: still not allowed to leave. Next update in an hour. People are allowed to leave the plane to cancel or reboard later. I stay on the plane. First flight tomorrow morning is already cancelled.
11:52PM: those who left the plane (and didn't leave the airport) begin to re-board the plane
12:09AM: plane finally leaves the gate
12:20AM: takeoff!!!
1:32AM: land in Newark
2:02AM: get in my car
2:25AM: home in bed

USA! USA! USA!

I love this country. Mostly because I understand what patriotism is and hope what's good about this country can cure what's bad about it.

But this excellent list of crap is ridiculous -- sickly sweet treats for people who feast on a steady diet of jingoistic bullshit. Happy Fourth of July.

Most People Are Not Particularly Good At Anything

This just sucks.

Waking up to this news on a cloudy day-off from work takes the luster off my laziness. This is sad, useless news. The kind that was certainly to be delivered eventually. The same as it will for us all.

Maybe there is some irony (nah) that thanks in part to George Carlin, I can get no solace from religion. I've often said that I'm a cynical idealist -- someone who expects the worst in people but deep down, often secretly, hopes for the best. My philosophy in life has been a marriage of the teachings of Carlin and Kurt Vonnegut, whose humanism always seemed to trump his deism and whose words I stole for this blog's epigraph.

Now they are both gone. And yeah, Vonnegut smoked unfiltered Pall Malls most of his life, almost as a defiant tar-stained middle finger to any almighty being who might strike him down for having dared to live so long with two such abused lungs. And Carlin lived to 71, leaving us piles of wisdom disguised as comedy. He had done enough for me, even if I always clammored for more. It's his family's loss I feel today.

But I won't pray for them. Or him. The old dead bastard said it best:

"If it's God's will, and he's going to do what he wants to anyway, why the fuck bothering praying in the first place? Seems like a big waste of time to me."

But not you, George.

------------------------------------

Spirituality: the last refuge of a failed human. Just another way of distracting yourself from who you really are.

You know what you never hear about? A bunch of Jews being hit by a tornado.

Every six minutes there's a rape in this country, and boy, is my dick sore. I'm tellin' ya, every day, house to house, there's no letup. It's a fuckin' hassle.

There's something I like about the clitoris, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

If there really are multiple universes, what do they call the thing they're all a part of?

Instead of warning pregnant women not to drink, I think female alcoholics ought to be told not to fuck.

I'd like to pass along a piece of wisdom my first-grade teacher shared with us kids. She said, "You show me a tropical fruit, and I'll show you a cocksucker from Guatemala." I'll always remember that.

I hope we're not just human garbage drifting toward a big sewer. But I think so.

Do you ever open the dictionary right to the page you want? Doesn't that feel good?

They say only 10 percent of the brain's function is known. Apparently, the function of the remaining 90 percent is to keep us from discovering its function.

Griddle cakes, pancakes, hotcakes, flapjacks: why are there four names for grilled batter and only one word for love?

I would like to open a restaurant, call it the Marilyn Monroe Cafe, and put hundreds of pictures of Jeff Goldblum on the
wall.

Here's more bullshit middlebrow philosophy: "That which doesn't kill me makes me stronger." I've got something a little more realistic: "That which doesn't kill me still may sever my spinal cord, crush my rib cage, cave in my skull, and leave me helpless and paralyzed, soaking in a puddle of my own waste." Put that on your T-shirt, touchy-feely, New Age asshole!

Life and let live, that's what I say. Anyone who can't understand that should be killed. It's a simple philosophy, but it's always worked well in our family.

I don't understand why prostitution is illegal. Selling is legal, fucking is legal. So, why isn't it legal to sell fucking? Why should it be illegal to sell something that's legal to give away? I can't follow the logic. Of all the things you can do to a person, giving them an orgasm is hardly the worst.

In the army they give you a medal for killing people; in civilian life you go to jail for giving them orgasms. Am I missing something?

Why aren't there any really disturbing pop songs, like "Tomorrow I'm Gonna Fuck Your Wife."

A long time ago in England a guy named Thomas Culpepper was hanged, beheaded, quartered, and disemboweled. Why do I have the impression women were not involved in these activities?

If a group of people stand around in a circle long enough, eventually they will begin to dance.

Why is it every time some celebrity gets cancer the National Enquirer says he's "vowed to lick this thing." Just once I'd like to hear a guy say, "I've got cancer, and this is it. I'll be dead in a few months."

But enough about boobs (sort of)

By TPerl



Just to show I can appreciate some good political/social commentary, check out what CBS News Chief Foreign Correspondent Lara Logan had to say on The Daily Show, confirming what most intelligent folk already knew about the US news media. Still, it's somewhat surprising to hear someone in the mainstream media be so blunt.

Plus, she's smokin hot.

The Erotic Adventures of Hercules

Tory McClure film or actual terrible movie? Take the suprisingly difficult quiz.

And Now For Something Far More Wholesome

Kermit v. Nicky Holiday?

My Vote for Prom Queen

By TPerl

The above picture is an actual high school prom photo (see above link for the full album). While the photo certainly speaks for itself, here are some of my thoughts:
- Is she really the kid's classmate, or a professional escort?
- I guess girls really do mature much faster than boys
- What's with the slanty photography? Do those huge fucking tits have their own gravitational pull or something?
- I guess the reason this dude looks so pale is 'cause all the blood is rushing from his head to the huge erection forming in his tuxedo
- If this is what passes for prom dresses these days, I'll just have to break the news to my daughters now that they will never attend a prom. In fact, they may never attend high school.

Here's one more look, in case you missed it:

"Hey, my eyes are up here buddy! What? Oh yeah, you're right, who needs eyes when you got these ginormous funbags to swing around?"

And Then There's This

I'm a cynical idealist. I expect the worst in people, but deep down, I hope for the best. There has been little to hope for over the last seven or eight years and much reason to dispair. I have seen the future, brother. It is murder.

And though a president can't fix everything that's broken or likely do anything by himself, there is something to be said for inspiration. And integrity. And even though it's a cliche damn it: hope.

Take it from the little Jew who wrote the bible:

I've seen the nations rise and fall
I've heard their stories, heard them all
but love's the only engine of survival
Your servant here, he has been told
to say it clear, to say it cold:
It's over, it ain't going
any further

The Future

A musical meditation on the state of the world and where we are going...


"Ultimate" -- Gogol Bordello


"Hard Day on the Planet" -- Loudon Wainright III


"Are You Alright" -- Lucinda Williams



"Hard Sun" -- Eddie Vedder


"Wreck on the Highway" -- Bruce Springsteen


"Keep Me In Your Heart" -- Warren Zevon


"Calling All Angels" -- Jane Siberry


"The Future" -- Leonard Cohen


"I Can Only Imagine" -- MercyMe


"Until the End of the World" -- U2


"Reason to Believe" -- Bruce Springsteen


"He Was a Friend of Mine" -- Cat Power


"Tears of Rage" -- The Band


"Shine Silently" -- Nils Lofgren


"Tea for the Tillerman" -- Cat Stevens


"Long Walk Home" -- Bruce Springsteen


"Many Rivers to Cross" -- Jimmy Cliff

To Play Us Out

I know I've been away from this blog so long, you probably have had to get your fix of Harrisonalysis elsewhere (I'm told there's a bunch available in Ecuador).

So much going on in the world. War, cyclones, tornados, earthquakes, Hillary Clinton. And yet I'm here today to give you another in a long series of moments I like to call "Bill O'Reilly is a Raving Jackass."

Enjoy. (NSFW)

Even better: Stephen Colbert takes it to the next level of absurdity.

Which, of course, leads us to the inevitable, inimicable, dance remix:

Random Conversation at Work

By TPerl

Caught the following conversation between two colleagues who were walking by my office today:

"Hey, is today Tuesday or Wednesday?"

"Uh, Tuesday"


(It is, of course, Wednesday as I write this)

Farewell, Phantom Dan

A sad day on E Street. Rest in peace, Danny Federici. The fireworks are hailin' over Little Eden tonight.

Pining for the Fjords

Nerve.com and IFC combine to provide an excellent way to spend the rest of your Friday with their supposed 50 Greatest Comedy Sketches of All Time.

The list is as debatable as any stupid list. The State and Mr. Show are well represented, SNL too much, childhood HBO favorite of mine "Not Necessarily the News" not at all, and the commentary is mostly moronic. But you gots yourselves lots a YouTubers of some classic yucks. Yee-ha, goodtimes.

Thrilling

By Arielle

I'm glad as anyone that Patrick Swayze is responding well to his chemotherapy. But isn't this headline a little...um...well...you know...off?

People Exclusive
Patrick Swayze 'Thrilled' by His Response to Cancer Treatment
By Mike Fleeman and Julie Jordan
Originally posted Tuesday April 08, 2008 02:30 PM EDT

That's What Earplugs Are For

A karaoke gem from Seth's Bar Mitzvah in 1993. I don't know who Seth is, but his dad is probably not enjoying his newfound YouTube popularity.

Anyway, none of these guys can touch the greatness of my lip-synching "Jacob's Ladder" by Huey Lewis at Drew's Bar Mitzvah in 1987. Sadly, this is only available on analog video. In a box. Buried in my basement. Stay away.

Mad About Al Jaffee

This might be the best thing the New York Times has done all year. An interactive collection of fold-in cartoons from Mad Magazine's Al Jaffee dating back to the 60s.

What? Me Foldy?

Celebrity Crush of the Day

By TPerl

I've never seen Veronica Mars, but she looked cute in Heroes, and then I saw her in the trailer for "Forgetting Sarah Marshall", and it was tough to get this image out of my head:



Anyway, Kristen Bell is lot easier on the eyes than Eliot "Dick-head" Spitzer.

Deep Thoughts

By TPerl

Is it me, or does Eliot Spitzer's head look pretty similar to a penis?

Is it that much of a stretch to go from here:


...to here:


...to here:

Five Years

3,990 U.S. soldiers dead

29,395 U.S. soldiers wounded

Happy St. Beaker's Day

Where are they now?

By TPerl

And here's the famous cover boy today:

Cover Boy

Some people might be embarrased by this photo. But not The Birdman. Order your copy today.

Spitzer Swallows (His Pride)

By TPerl

I actually don't give a shit if Governor Spitzer was caught on a wiretap soliticiting sex from a call girl.

I just wanted to be the first to publish my witty headline.

A Dog Story

BETHLEHEM — After ram­bling for six wet weeks from Naugatuck to Watertown, from Morris to Washington, Conn., and all around Bethlehem, a German shepherd finally went home Saturday.

But it was a new home.

“Hi, buddy boy,” said Dan Di­eterle, a Bethlehem resident who adopted the dog Saturday after having sheltered him for five days and turning him in to authorities Feb. 16. Dieterle lifted the dog into a bear hug at the Watertown Animal Shelter on Saturday afternoon, allowing him to lick his face.

“I can’t believe it,” he said. “I love this dog.”

The previous owners of the dog, a 9-year-old named Alex, read about his travels in Satur­day’s Republican-American, according to Bethlehem and Woodbury Animal Control Offi­cer Angela Bond. They called the Watertown Animal Shelter, where Bond met them Saturday morning.

“They are not bad owners,” Bond said. “Some things hap­pen in your life you have no control over.”

Bond would not disclose the names of the previous owners, saying they were from Nau­gatuck and that they raised Alex from when he was a pup­py. Bond said the couple pre­sented her with a complete medical and pedigree history for Alex.

And though Bond wouldn’t say how the dog got loose or why the couple were unable to track him down, she said she wouldn’t file any charges against them.

“If I felt there was an issue, I certainly would file charges,” Bond said. “That’s not the case.”

Bond said the couple ap­peared happy Alex had been found but also felt upset after giving up custody to the town of Bethlehem.

“I don’t think it was an easy decision,” Bond said. “But it was the best thing they could do."

Bond allowed Dan and Nanette Dieterle to adopt Alex without paying the $50 adoption fee.

The Dieterles joined a group of neighbors and busi­nesses around East Street in Bethlehem who helped feed Alex during an odyssey that began around Christmas. People spotted Alex at Black Rock State Park in Water­town, downtown Morris, in Washington Depot and Beth­lehem. Several people got close enough to pat his head while feeding him, though he mostly ran away when ap­proached.

The Dieterles said Alex lay down two weeks ago on a blanket in a neighbor’s garage before the neighbor closed the door behind him. The Di­eterles took Alex to a veteri­narian and paid for a full checkup and shots.

The Dieterles own a 40­acre horse farm on East Street, including three fenced-in areas with shelters for Alex and their two other dogs.

“I told him his blanket is waiting for him,” Nanette Di­eterle said. But she also knows she’ll need to keep her eye on this dog, which has a penchant for wandering long distances.

“We can’t let him get loose,” she said.

And Then She Had A Lot More To Say

By Arielle

Fear not; the high-estrogen version of this operation will be housed on a separate blog, where I try to maintain my non-girlie credibility with the appropriate level of snark while planning a wedding (and getting all girlie about it).

She Said Yes

The Proposal:

I don’t like Valentine’s Day. This you know.

Then again, there’s hardly anything you don’t know about me. In fact, you’d certainly be the best person to figure out what it is about me that you don’t know. Myself, I’ve lost track.

One thing I needn’t remind you about is that I’m a chronic procrastinator. As I’ve said more than once: Why put off until tomorrow what you can forget about all together? But some things can’t be forgotten. Some things just should not be neglected.

Valentine’s day isn’t really one of those things. Everybody knows it’s a greeting card company’s excuse to make money off of love and guilt. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t use the opportunity to express love or give in to guilt. I know I’m always grateful for an Arbor Day card from a local dendrologist.

Anyway, I’m getting off topic here.

I was wondering what should I get you for Valentine’s Day. Well, flowers are obvious. And I hope the ones I sent you made you feel special today. You should feel special every day, but we all know that’s not realistic. I figure sometimes you could use a little reminder. These greeting card companies were on to something.

But I wanted to give you something really special. Something I haven’t given you before. Something you’d remember forever or at least until you conk your head on sailboat’s mast and wander through Mystic aimlessly until you encounter a shirtless Matthew McConaughey with whom you fall in love while he assists in recovering your memory and you and a ragtag group of misfits help him defeat an angry old spinster who has threatened to sell his grandmother’s beachfront cottage to make way for a new condo development. (© 2008 by R. Harrison)

There’s so much I want to give you. After all, you’ve given me more than you might realize. A regular smile. A true sense of who I am and what I can be. A hard time when I pick my nose. A best friend. A home.

I’m not sure what makes the best gift. Usually they aren’t store-bought things. But I’d like to think at this point in our lives together, there aren’t too many things I could give you that wouldn’t also be a gift for me. I don’t mean that in the Homer-buys-a-bowling-ball-for-Marge sense. I mean that anything really worthwhile I could give you, I’d also be giving myself. Your happiness is my happiness. Even if it’s just a pair of new socks to warm your cute little feet.

No, I didn’t buy you socks.

And yes, I did buy you something. But it’s just a token (worse, actually). What’s more valuable, what’s better than anything I’ve ever given you or anyone for that matter is something we can, hopefully, both share forever. Something nobody, not even a shirtless Matthew McConaughey, can take away from us. One of those things that should not be forgotten. Should not be neglected.

And yeah, it’s Valentine’s Day. Maybe that cheapens this gift. I don’t know. I’d like to think it will finally give this day some actual, earned meaning.

So please turn the page.

And please say you will.

Who Cares About Clemens?

By TPerl

Pitchers and catchers report to Tampa today to officially begin Yankees Spring Training. Only 46 days until Opening Day!

Farewell and Adieu

Rest in peace, Roy Scheider. May someone show you the way to go home.

Tuesday Can't Be Super on its Own

I know I'm succumbing to the idealism of youth on this one. But if this country -- the same one that elected George Bush twice and made Tim Allen the no. 1 television star for like five fucking years -- if this country can actually embrace hope and actual change...

Well, we'll see if anyting actual changes. But even that slim chance is worth more than all the alternatives stacked up together. Happy Super Tuesday. What say we make it memorable?

18-1

By TPerl



Perfect.

He Could...Go...All...The...Way...

...off the deep end. A Chris Berman meltdown to help celebrate a miserable Super Bowl Sunday.



Update: If YouTube takes this down, go here for the goodtimes fun.

Update Update: How the hell did this escape my attention?

Rudy!

It may have taken about a year too long, but Rudy Giuliani has finally been punted off the national stage. Back to 9/11 profiteering for you, Rudy!

In retrospect, it seems hardly plausible he made it this far (not all that far, considering he never finished higher than third in any primary).

I mean, here's a guy who felt himself so indespensible to New York City, he was prepared to jetison democracy and install himself as some kind of emergency mayoral viceroy in the aftermath of 9/11. This barely worked for Musharraf in Pakistan.

Rudy, sweet, dear Rudy was also the dude who gave the world Bernie Kerik, that mobbed-up puke who turned a downtown apartment for 9/11 workers into his festering lovenest with O.J.'s book enabler, Judith Regan. But he'd certainly make a good head of Homeland Security, right?

Even the New York firefighters attacked poor little Rudy for his supposed shining moment during 9/11. If he didn't put his emergency command center inside the buildings that had already been attacked in 1993, if he had done a damn thing to coordinate the police and fire department radios as had been demanded back then...then who knows. But it's certain lives would have been saved.

Here's a guy who volunteered to serve on the 9/11 Commission charged with investigating the attacks and providing recommendations on how to prevent further attacks. Did he ever attend a meeting? Nah. There were millions to make on the lecture circuit simply talking about 9/11. No time to, you know, actually do something positive about it.

When I lived in New York, I was a Guiliani fan. It didn't bother me that he was a hot-headed bully. Sometimes that's the attitude you need to run a sprawling city. But he always took everything too far. Attacking the Brooklyn Museum for some dung-smeared painting of the Virgin Mary. Attacking the victims of racially-tinged police shootings. Attacking powerless enemies and ferret owners.

Rudy Guiliani is a petty tyrant with a messianic complex. It's fitting the religious kooks of the Republican Party dismissed him. It's sad they likely did so because of his multiple marriages, absentee children and stances on abortion and homosexuality. There are so many legitimate reasons to hate him.

Farewell, Rudy. We hardly knew too little about ye.

Super Bowl of Feces

I haven't spoken much about football recently because it took me until now to recuperate from the queasiness of Championship Weekend. I can hardly imagine a day that would provide me with more searing gas pains that that one.

Which isn't to say the Giants don't deserve their success. Ten straight road wins, including three in the playoffs. No INTs. And somehow Coughlin avoided frostbite on his little beady red racoon face.

(Also, Eli Manning is the most ineffectual, lost, bleffff QB I've seen win big games in a long time. He's like air-flavored ice cream. Of course, he made all the throws he needed to make, backed up by some great catches)

But fuck all if I can stand these two weeks of Patriots-Giants hype. I'm gonna root for the Patriots, but only because I figure they might get some of this excellence out of their systems. And I really hate Giants fans.

Yes, this means many of you shitheels. Being a Yankee fan on top of it only makes it worse. Up here in Connecticut, we're surrounded with Pats-Sox fans that have suddenly developed the same maddening sense of Donnie Baseball-Cocksucking Jeter entitlement and general assholosity. Fuck you all.

I've never woken on Super Bowl Sunday to watch the Jets play. I have no idea what that would feel like. I don't ever expect to.

The House That Ruthlessness Built

By TPerl

Bones doesn't want to talk about football, but evil opportunism is OK. So, let's try baseball and the New York Yankees.

These recent pics of the new Stadium got me a little pumped up, so I thought I'd share:




And I'm sure Citi Field will be nice too - even when the Mets are playing in it.

See, no football talk here. I didn't even mention the NFC Championship game this Sunday. At 6:30. On Fox. On the frozen tundra.

Bum da Dum Dum

Let's not discuss football. Instead, let's marvel at this clash between hypocritcal shamelessness and evil opportunism. See if you can spot which one is which.

All part of this entertaining rundown of interview disasters on FHM.

Tears of a Clown

By TPerl

I'll stop short of saying this was the best part of yesterday's win, but it damn sure was the funniest.

Is it me, or is TO channeling a little Tracy Morgan here?

Loathsome Dove

CBS is all set to air its prequel to "Lonesome Dove." Exciting, I know.

But while you struggle to contain your eager anticipation, nod your righteously indignant approval for The Beast's annual 50 Most Loathsome People in America.

Shame on Zoo

By TPerl

There's an old Steven Wright bit that goes something like:
A guy pulls up to a convenience store around 2 in the morning and sees a guy outside locking it up.
The first guy says "Hey. The sign says 'Open 24 Hours'."
The second guy says "Yeah. But not in a row."

The signs all around West Orange (including the one above) cleary state that the "Holiday Light Spectular" at the Turtle Back Zoo runs from "November 23 to December 31st" from 5PM to 9PM.

Well, imagine our surprise when my wife and 3 kids pull up to the Zoo on Christmas Eve at about 5:15 and the whole place is dark. Guess what! They're closed on Christmas Eve! How were we supposed to know that, you ask? Fuck if I know! There wasn't even a sign on the locked front gate or the empty ticket window stating that they were closed.

After a few minutes of us sitting there in our minivan feeling totally confused, a cop car actually pulls up and some Zoo guy gets out and starts walking into the Zoo office. When my wife asks him what's going on, his response was "Well, we wanted our staff to be able to spend a couple of days with their families, too." (it turns out they're closed on Christmas Day as well). And he said it with such a tone as though we were such selfish pricks for wanting to deny these people some time off.

So it's OK for them to put up misleading advertisements all over town, but we're the assholes for calling them out on it.

Cause ya know, giving a thrill to three small children who still believe in Santa is nothing compared to making sure the guy who cleans up horseshit at the Zoo gets some quality time with his family. Just replace "some quality time" with "totally fucking wasted from huffing that can of turpentine he stole from the storage shed". And replace "with his family" with "watching 16 straight hours of porn in his cousin's basement".