Tuesday, May 31, 2005

Jammin' On The River

The following is the only possible way to start a review of Sunday's events in the City of Brotherly Love:

As two noble men and a woman climbed up the rigging to take in the sails of the pirate ship docked at Penn's Landing, immediately following our arrival and preceding a five-minute inspirational pump-up performance and free-shirt-visor-bandana giveaway by an honest-to-God Captain Morgan, former Grateful Dead keyboardist Vince Wellnick's unnamed slide guitar player nailed jamband leach DJ Logic in the facial/upper chest region with an errant toss of a floppy frisbee that had been flung on stage seconds earlier, causing the Ace Cowboy to literally double over from the subsequent laughter. Full-fledged doubling on my part.

'Twas to be that kind of day at Captain Morgan's Jam on the River.

'Twas the kind of day where people of all shapes and sizes and sexes would be smacked in the back of the head with said floppy discs, as well as Commerce Bank red-and-white inflatable beach balls (fair and full disclosure: I, too, unintenionally wacked a Commerce Bank red-and-white inflatable beach ball into the noggin of another festival-goer, and I laughed heartily and mightily).

'Twas the kind of day where you could watch a toddler do a fantastic rendition of the Robot to the sweet sounds of The Duo. 'Twas the kind of day where a quintet of stoned teenagers no older than 14 could pass their community doob to the 50-year drunken, sloppy woman next to them, a drunken, sloppy woman wholly unaffiliated to the boys in the pack, a drunken, sloppy woman I'd later befriend and brighten her otherwise groggy day.

Oh yeah, and they played music there, too. Lots of music. Lots of different types of music. Lots of different types of awesome music. And that meant lots of shit-eating grins, audible gasps, uncontrollable head-bobbing and the occasional high-five when appropriate (Personally, I think the high-five should always be appropriate, but others disagree and mock).

A pair of former Grateful Dead keyboardists book-ended the excellent day -- Wellnick playing upon our arrival and Bruce Hornsby closing it out -- but it was the three-band lunchmeat that really made for a great trip: Particle, the Duo and Railroad Earth. And Particle, while playing maybe the best I've heard them so far, played only a tidy, 40-minute set and then bolted. That was fine, considering I think the appropriate serving size of Particle is about 45-60 minutes, no more.

The Duo continues to blow me away. I often find myself spacing out during their shows and fantasizing about the three of us hanging out in their Brooklyn loft or wherever, me nursin' a beer while the octopus known as Joe Russo bangs on those drums and Marco Benevento sounds like he's playing a dozen instruments at once. They were incredible as always, and this may have been my favorite of the four shows of theirs I've seen over the past 10 weeks.

I love how Marco nails Mike's bassline in Becky when Mike's not around, and I love watchin' Russo go at it like he's got four arms. There was a brief moment during their new song My Pet Goat when I swear Russo hit every drum on Earth at the exact same time. He hit every one on the kit in front of him and several down the street and a few drums over in China, all simultaneously. These men are marvels, just so much talent. I have an erection right now.

But the band that suprised us the most was clearly Railroad Earth, the bluegrass band featuring a mandolin, banjo, violin, upright bass, drums and Todd Sheaffer on acoustic guitar and lead vocals. Their set was incredible, mixing traditional bluegrass with new versions of a few From Good Homes songs that Handstand used to enjoy. People who had never seen them before (like us) were sweating from some serious dancing by the end of the set. They made a lot of converts yesterday, and if they come to your area anytime soon, you gotta go see these guys.

Bruce Hornsby closed the festival with a 100-minute set of music and high comedy. This man should not be trusted. He will make you weak with jealousy of his ridiculous talents. Sure, along with the Range he had some hits like Mandolin Rain and The Way It Is, but he's not just some schmaltzy pop guy cashing in on some old fame.

Bruuuuce can play the piano better than anyone I've ever seen, he writes beautiful songs and he puts on a helluva show. He's also a masterful performer...his mike cut out unbeknownst to him and he sang about three minutes of the song before anyone told him we couldn't hear. When he finally got the word and a new mike, he proceded to recap the song in story-telling form, catching us up on what we missed. "See what ya missed," he cried as he went right back into it. Beautiful work...good save, good sir.

Looking back, I traveled about seven hours through three states for eight hours worth of music. Was it worth it? You bet your sweet tattoo of Dana Plato's mug shot. Each band alone would have been worth the trip, but throw me five bands over eight hours for just $15 on a sunny day on the river and you got one happy little monkey right over here. Tickets were actually $30 for a one-day pass, but for the second day in a row someone sold me a half-priced ticket right outside the venue. Everything's comin' up Ace.

Much thanks go out to Handstand the Elder, who picked me up at the Manasquan, New Jersey train station and transported me the rest of the way to Penn's Landing. We met up with his three friends, and because that's just how it works with live music shows they instantly became my newest three friends. Without Handstand the day doesn't happen...so thanks. And to Ryan, a former camper of mine, who packed me a few on a gorgeous, bowl-necessary day.

Deep Throat Revealed?

"I'm the guy they used to call Deep Throat." Man oh man, if I had a nickel for every time I said that.

Um, who's-a dis guy? Everyone always knew Deep Throat would turn out to be a no-name, right? I always thought it would turn out to be your mom. That's right, I went there.

An Ace Cowboy Weekend

A long weekend, a great weekend...I'm hurtin'.

A night of drinkin' with Donnie, Starbux, Wooglin and some other fine folks for Irene's birthday, a trip to Yankee Stadium with Dorsey levin and his Pops for the Sawx and the Yanks (um, 17 runs on 27 hits sound nice?), a fine, fine evening with the Dark Star Orchestra, a day/night jaunt to Philly for Captain Morgan's Jam on the River, some sunnin' out in the courtyard in front of my building reading some bookage, gettin' baked and cleanin' the whole apartment...

Good buds, bad baseball and plenty of ridiculous moozak, now that's what I call an Ace Cowboy weekend. Now I'm hurtin' big time and my throat feels like I'm perpetually gargling gravel and razors. This is a problem. But the bossman's out, the new hire is in and awaiting my tutelage and someone's gotta do some work. I guess that'll be me. More coming later...

Slack Song of the Day: The band that impressed us most at Jam on the River, a bluegrass band called Railroad Earth, playing Head from July 10, 2004 at my favorite bar in Chicago, Martyr's.

Friday, May 27, 2005

Can't Snatch This

The following video comes from a Russian news feed and was taken by a security camera in an elevator of some publishing company in Tokyo. There's no way to tell if it's real or not, but this poor Crazy 88s purse-snatcher pretty much gets a Perfect Plex for his trouble.

Way to go, Go Go.

Great Band Name

Fiberglass Plantains.

Shocker? Not Really.

According to the festival's website, this summer's upcoming ZOOMA Tour, featuring Trey Anastasio and Ben Harper among many other guests like MMW and Claypool, has been cancelled.

As Principal Joe Clark said to Mrs. Elliott, "Your concert is hereby cancelled. You do know what cancelled means...over, finished, terminated!"

But hakuna matata, folks, leave your worries behind -- Big Red is planning a whole new summer tour. 70 Volt Parade will not be denied its chance to make you miss Phish.

Slack Song of the Day: The Benevento/Russo Duo playing Foam with Mike Gordon from The Paradise in Boston on 12/29/04.

Oh, and by the way, don't tell anyone, but this A-Rod fella is sloooowly becoming an honest-to-God Yankee. Shhhhhh.

And Spanish Miguel passed this along last night, one of the all-time greatest headlines ever from the CBS Sportsline fantasy baseball department:

Putz Pitching Like One

J.J. Putz, RP SEA -- News: Mariners manager Mike Hargrove hasn't lost faith in reliever J.J. Putz, who has allowed four homers in his last six appearances. "Guys come out of this as quickly as they get into it," Hargrove said.

Thursday, May 26, 2005

A Year Already?

By the way, today is officially the first anniversary of Slack LaLane. I just realized that.

On Wednesday, May 26, 2004, Donnie and I posted the following communique from my apartment:

Slack LaLane: Getting Started

Welcome to Slack LaLane. Brought to you by Minolta: From the mind of Minolta...aaand by Enterprise: We'll pick you up. Enterprise.

Thanks Roscoe.

Online Cake will not be served. I'm wearing this pointy hat right now.

Big Pimpin', Oy Vey

"A 14-year-old Israeli was arrested by police on suspicion of working as a pimp, Israeli newspapers reported Thursday. 'Instead of playing ball with his friends, he discovered there was lot of money to be made in the sex industry,' the daily Maariv reported.

According to the newspaper, the adolescent allegedly employed two teenagers, age 17 and 19, to sell favors to Palestinian workers. In the beginning, he split the profits with the girls, but later began pocketing the entire amount." [MORE]

I personally applaud the efforts of this entrepeneurial youngster, seeing as how I firmly believe prostitution should be legalized and whores unionized. The benefits so drastically outweigh the cons that it makes no sense to me why this practice is illegal. But then I just take one quick look at our nation's drug laws and remember why I'm not surprised in the least.

Plus, as Aaron Sorkin points out, aren't women who fight against prostitution really just hypocrites? They spend so much time arguing that government can't tell them what to do with their bodies when it comes to abortion, but it's acceptable for this issue?

On a totally different note, while waiting for the down elevator yesterday I heard a voice coming from a spot about 10 paces to my left. The figure was hidden behind a big cardboard placard advertising free smoothies for employees in the cafeteria (that's today, yeah!), but I knew the voice right away. I knew it.

"That's definitely fuckin' Ron Howard," I said to my colleague. As soon as I made that declaration, the figure emerged from behind the big sign, and sure enough, Ron Howard walked over to where we were standing. Like I said in the Bono story from last week, it's really not my style to bother celebrities in the real world, a trait I definitely did not inherit from my mother ("Oh my Gaaawd, you guys, look, that's Brandi!").

I really wanted to tell him how much I love Arrested Development, and I wonder if he would have appreciated that. Of course I didn't say anything, despite the fact that he looked extra-approachable. I mean, no matter how rich and famous you are, aren't getting compliments the best thing ever? Isn't knowing that something you're a part of is giving others such joy? I sure as shit would want to hear it, even if I were a billionaire with two hot wives and a dozen paparazzi permanently following me around.

Alas, I held my tongue. So Ron, if you read this blog, I'm the guy who said, "After you, sir" on the elevator, and I really enjoy Arrested Development. Thanks for doing your part to get it back on the air next season. Oh, and EdTV, terrible movie. Just awful.

Junk and Dung

Derek Jeter made a serious catch last night...guy looked more like Laveraneus Coles gunning down the sidelines than the Yankums' shortstop. Beauteous.

Maybe Derek had some coaches in his history that really pushed him and tested him, taught him how to play the game properly, made him strive to be the best...a coach that maybe pulled down his own pants and pointed to his junk while asking the team if they came equipped with vaginas. Wait, that last one's not cool. Such is life for the ballplayers at Gulliver Prep in Miami. Goodnight, sweet coach.

But nothing says high school more than a good senior prank. I'm not sure where this ranks in the pantheon, as its not really all that cerebral, which I like, but it's definitely up there in the gross department. Yea, elephant dung for all!

Slack Song of the Day: The Popular Rock Band Phish nailing Ween's Roses are Free from the second set of their New Year's 1997 show at MSG. That's a great show and specifically a fantastic set: Timber (Jerry), Mike's Song, Piper > When the Circus Comes to Town > Roses are Free, Weekapaug Groove. For more, click here.

Band Name of the Day: It's something that Yankees color analyst Jim "Kitty" Kaat says rookie pitcher Chien-Ming Wang has a ton of -- ladies and gentlemen, I give you, MOUND POISE.

I trust Kitty...the guy probably had some mound poise of his own, considering he only won 16 Gold Gloves from 1962-1977.

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Chew On This

Would you want your male dog playing with this?*

And separately, if you haven't seen Burt Reynolds, aka Turd Ferguson, semi-slapping a CBS-2 producer in the face at last night's New York premiere of The Longest Yard, well then...you really didn't miss much.

This story has been extremely blown out of proportion. Nonetheless, I'll post it anyway. You can check out the video here. I'm of the opinion that Burt Reynolds is so cool that he should have complete immunity from prosecution any time he slaps or punches somebody in the face, women included. Nay, especially women. You get 'em, Burt.

*Thanks to Matty Mac for e-mailing me this link with the subject "Found Porn"...easily my biggest chuckle of the day.

Black Tuesday

We'd be remiss if we didn't point out that today's the first anniversary of the end of True Greatness. To me, and many others, this is the ultimate "Where were you when?" moment. Sad, but definitely true.

"We're done."

We're Not Gonna Take It

"Big ups" to Paul Quantrill, or whatever the devil it is you kids say to congratulate someone on a job well done. I'd guess that nine of every 10 Yankee fans strongly dislike last year's Quantrill signing, since he's done absolutely nothing to help the team in the year-plus he's wasted space on our bench. But after last night, it's hard not to want to jump into his open arms and smooch him right on the mouth.

After Tigers reliever Franklyn German -- seen here playing the role of "Nighttime in a White Uniform" -- plunked a red-hot Alex Rodriguez in the thigh fat, I didn't think for a second we'd respond in kind. Not once this year have the Yankums shown true grit and drilled an opposing player in a tit-for-tat situation. Until last night, that is.

Quantrill came in the 8th to relieve the Spectacular Moose. He allowed two men to reach base, but after a nice double play turn he realized he had some leeway to play around a little bit. So he threw behind hitter Jason Smith. Allright, I'll take that. The umpire warned both teams and I thought the spat was done. Next pitch: right between the shoulder blades. Awesome.

Not only did Quantrill drill Smith on the first pitch following his warning, but then he took a few steps towards the dugout and made a Don Flamenco "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon" gesture. He was later quoted as saying, "If they want to come out on the field and chirp, then just come out to the mound. When guys get wild when our guys are having a fantastic day at the plate, that leads to tension. The guy pitching for the Tigers, whatever his name is, it must have been the rain, the ball was slippery."

Whatever his name is...That's just salt > wounds. Fucking Quantrill, way to go, brotha. That goes a long way in my book.

Meanwhile, A-Rod bashed another two homers last night, both hit hard to right center. That gives him a career average of 1.000 against Tigers' hurler Wil Ledezma: A-Rod is now 4-4 with four homeruns and a walk in five career plate appearances against the Detroit scrub. That's, um, pretty good.

Eerie (Indiana) Story of the Day: For all you folks that think blogging is meaningless, here's a pretty chilling, yet must-read story from Noonan's blog about a kid whose final post solved his eventual murder (he was slain minutes after posting his sister's former boyfirend was in the house).

Slack Song of the Day: The Disco Biscuits playing Jamillia at the El Rio Theatre in Santa Cruz, California on March 7, 2002. These guys were the absolute highlight of NU's Dillo Day my freshman year (our Spring Fling-type extravaganza), when Donnie, two other dudes and I ate some serious boomers and ran into a guy that must have been eight feet tall and 500 pounds. No joke, the guy put two-handed dunker Evan Eschmeyer to shame.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

The Rude Pundit

You may have heard about last night's filibuster "compromise," which I describe as a deferment where both sides lost big time. Everyone's talking about it...you can't find one serious blog on the World Wide Web that ain't talkin' about it. This information superhighway is jammed with traffic, and everyone's honking their horns.

But if you want some help digesting this compromise, look no further than the Rude Pundit, who is easily the most indecent blogger I've ever come across (in a good way). He always knows how to put things into analogies and metaphors to which we all can relate.

So tune out the noise and let the Rude Pundit explain this last-minute deal to you, using words and phrases like "salami colonic," "back alley blow job" and "bust your nut." You won't be sorry.

Oh, and speaking of salami colonics and indecency, Paris Hilton is selling burgers for Carl's Jr. This chick obviously loves the meat.

Paging Dr. Darwin

Why do I get the feeling that this story is a fairly common occurence for the Texarkana Gazette?

"A 38-year-old Winthrop, Ark. man was hospitalized after jumping out the passenger window of a vehicle traveling an estimated 55 to 60 mph to retrieve his cigarette late Saturday, an official said.

Jeff Foran was riding in his friend's 2000 Dodge Stratus about 10 p.m. Saturday near the Arkansas-Oklahoma border when the cigarette he was smoking blew out the vehicle's front passenger window, said Arkansas State Police Trooper First Class Jamie Gravier. Foran jumped out of the vehicle to retrieve the cigarette and hit the pavement, causing facial trauma." [More]

Wait. Wait. (Pull what out?) Let me get this straight: This guy dropped his cigarette out the window of a moving vehicle and decided to jump out the window of said moving truck to retrieve it? Oh man. That's too much. Priceless.

Seriously, what must go through someone's head for them to decide this is a good idea? Hey, I dropped my dangin' cigarette...Should I light myself another, ask the driver to stop and reverse or just do a Dukes of Hazzard-style tuck and roll out the window?

How the fuck does this guy choose Option C? That makes no sense at all to me, but then again, I'm a giant pussy. Maybe if I were a bit manlier I'd have the balls to land face first on the pavement after jumping out a speeding vehicle. Maybe.

Goddamn, I love idiotic decisions.

Thanks to JRH's Upon Further Review for the heads up.

My Brothers and Sisters

Um, this isn't exactly the most Christian-like sign, is it?

Whatever happened to the tenets of tolerance and compassion? Even this hook-nosed Jew can tell you what's what. C'mon, Ye Ignorant Sluts of Danieltown Baptist Church, you're better than that.

Bauer Hour: Finito

It's tough to follow the greatness of the Deadwood finale. But even so, last night's finale of 24 was blah. Very blah. It was a mediocre episode that capped off a subpar season. Jack Bauer and CTU have become barely watchable. "Watchable" is a weird word, no?

I've never really felt so unengaged by this show. From the beginning of the season to the Incredible Hulk-walking-off-into-the-sunset-with-some-BluBlockers ending, there was never any point in the show this year when I sat up on the edge of the couch with my hands crossed, my bladder set to explode and sweat accumulating on my forehead like years past. Maybe once actually, in the episode where Jack pulls the gun on the CTU/ER doc while Paul Raines is on the operating table. That's the only episode that had me at hello.

Not only did I find the action lacking, completely unrealistic or entirely predictable this season, but the acting was even worse than it's ever been. And it used to be bad, so that's saying something. I mean, when you're actively looking forward to the return of President David Palmer -- the worst actor this side of Matthew Modine -- you know the cast is terrible. And seriously, whoever this President Logan character is in real life needs to have his SAG card revoked post-haste. Holy shit, this fool couldn't be worse.

I don't know, maybe I'm being too hard on a show that has given me hours of entertainment in the past. I thought the best course of action would have been to kill Jack Bauer in the line and have the next season be a prequel of sorts. By now the show has spanned about, what, six years or so? They easily could have killed Jack and then picked any year over the past six in which a new season could take place. That would have been a better way to end this one.

I'll watch next season and the season after that...especially if Jack takes his underground status and starts his own A-Team. The fact remains, this show is still better than 98 percent of the schlock on television. But I'd be daaamned before I openly praise a less than stellar season strictly because it's been a good show in the past. Jack Bauer is still the coolest cast in the fictional intelligence and defense world, and I thank him for his efforts. But let's get back on track next year, and let's start by bringing in some hot chicks running away from bad guys. What happened to that shit, producers?!

Slack Song of the Day: Since we posted some Robert Walter's 20th Congress yesterday, we thought we'd remain fair and balanced and continue with the former Greyboy Allstars theme. So here's Karl Denson's Tiny Universe with Tenor Man from September 2, 2004 in Nashville. These days Karl likes to play the cowbell and the cheese grater and dance and sing...I'd enjoy it a whole lot more if this dude just picked up the saxomaphone again. Karl Denson, guy's got serious talent.

Slack Musical Fact of the Day: In addition to writing the theme song for the original Wheel of Fortune, world-class sitcom patriarch Alan Thicke composed the theme music for both Diff'rent Strokes and The Facts of Life. Hmm, nice. Jason Seaver, guy's got serious talent.

Monday, May 23, 2005


Let me say this right at the top, because I have a feeling this post is gonna get away from me shortly and my rambling will commence: While 95 percent of all television watchers tuned into the Desperate Housewives finale last night, anyone that watched HBO's Deadwood at the same time was treated to the absolute greatest season finale in the history of the tube. Seriously.

Maybe, just maybe, I'll entertain the notion that title belongs to the episode where Susan dies and Jerry proposes to Female Jerry (Garofalo), but I think last night's Deadwood might take the "Best. Finale. Ever. Award." The last 10 minutes of that show couldn't have been more packed with action and awesomeness.

After 11 fantastic episodes, the show's writers summed up every imaginable angle from the season in incredible fashion: old allegiances tested, new alliances formed, the territory annexed once and for all, the Chinks' Alley death of San Francisco Cocksucka and his stable of celestials at the hands of Wu, the fully blossomed love between a Jew and a Whore, and a loveless marriage between the widow Garret and her employ Ellsworth...plus, Jane's clean, Farnum's insane, Hearst is cool!, Moes Manuel (sp?) lives, a troubled Wolcott hangs himself, Cy's stabbed and, once again, Al Swearengen is the fucking man with the fucking plan.

In this place where shades of gray are the only colors in town besides gold, it's easy to look at the show and its blue language of filth flarn filth and not know where to align yourself. But while the supporting cast of characters make up the best emsemble cast this side of Arrested Development, this show is all Al...look no further than the lymie cocksucker who operates the Gem Saloon. I can never quite understand why people would worship Tony Soprano and take a pass on Al Swearengen.

This guy is Tony Soprano, only he pisses and shits in a bucket, almost died from kidney stones and rants therapeutically whilst getting hummers with or without a thumb up his bum. But the similarities are endless: He rules the vice trade in town, he runs the 1870's Bada Bing, he brokers deals with local governments to curry his own favor, he's got a stable of both loyal and stupid henchmen and he's oddly compassionate when he has to be. I'd even go so far as to say this guy makes Tony look like an amateur thug. Al rules with his brilliant mind, Tony with his iron fist.

As happy as a happy ending (non-Asian) gets in Deadwood, the season ends with Al on top of the heap, having successfully bought off and partnered with gold rush millionaire George Hearst, scared off the brutal Pinkertons in episodes past and negotiated a deal for the camp to be annexed by the Dakotas. The townsfolk are singing and dancing and enjoying the wedding, while the real villains -- Cy Tolliver, Francis Wolcott and the San Francisco Cocksucka Lee -- get what's coming to them. And Al rises above it, hovering on his balcony as the season fades to black. Simply brilliant.

A few burning questions: Who does the actor that played Jack McCall in the first season and Wolcott in this one come back as next season? Where does the Farnum character go post-insanity and post-hotel sale? Why is Bullock such a fuckin' pansy all of a sudden? (Jeeeez, kill a man's son with a wild horse and watch him turn to mush.) Where's Charlie Utter's frock coat? Did I really see Jane's pubis bush last week or did I imagine that? What will become of Cy and his stab wound? And, will I go on a rampage and dismember certain human beings if Trixie (Paula Malcomson) and Al (Ian McShane) don't win Emmys?

Line of the season: The widow Garrett needs help from the whore Trixie, so she treks down the thoroughfare to the hardware store where the whore is getting accounting lessons from her beau, Star. Mrs. Garrett asks for help with her pregnancy, to which a pissed off Trixie says she'll reluctantly provide in due course. I don't remember the exact line, but Trixie then says something to the effect of, "Let me just finish up my Jewish lessons and I'll be right over."

Move of the season: Over the final six episodes or so, this show added Ned Ryerson and Major Dad to the cast. Wow, you can't honestly get better than that. Absolutely wonderful additions that fit into the cast perfectly.

I can only hope HBO doesn't make us wait a year or two for more Deadwood. In the next few months I'm gonna need a fix like Leon the faro-dealing junky. Welcome to Deadwood.

Karzai Is Kingsley...

...Kingsley is Karzai. Take away the beard and the funny hat, and really, who knows which is which and who is who?

Also, Hoobs passed along this site with the note, "Why this exists, I have no idea." I agree with Hoobs, yo. I don't know why, I jus' do. (Since my two trips to Shea this weekend, I'm trying to drop the word "yo" onto the end of a sentence on a regular basis.)

Shea Hey

I don't know what John Rocker's talking about. New York's 7 train and I made fast friends this weekend, and I'm pretty sure I didn't sit next to any "queer with AIDS" or "some dude who got out of jail for the fourth time."

I did, however, get stuck next to five stereotypical Jersey Trash D-Bags in their late 20s or early 30s (in full Yankee regalia, giving us a bad name) that were so annoying I thought I was filming some terribly predictable movie in Asbury Park. You know the type, guys with muscle shirts and guido goatees yelling things like "Duuude, I'm so drunk right now, did we kick all the Schnapps?" and "You broke my finger, you dick" and "Where did I steal this fork from, man?"

I mean, that's cool if you're 16 and wasted off-a blackberry brandy, but c'mon fellas, it's time to move out of your mom and step-dad's basement, trade in the Camaro and make something of yourselves. Juiced, semi-drunk and real stupid is no way to go through life, sons.

As for the games, the Mets not only signed Beltran and Pedro this offseason, I'm pretty sure the team inked Seinfeld's Poppy to a deal as well. We witnessed some real sloppy play at Shea this weekend, and as I watched from the first-base side on Friday night and behind home plate yesterday, the Mets definitely knelt down and blew two games with piss poor defense.

Hey, if the Mets wanna hand over two out of three games to a team their fans despise out of sheer jealousy and inferiority, be my guest, fellas. I'll be there to stand and clap and watch idiots fight about the scoreboard. That led to my favorite exchange of the weekend, from yesterday's game with the Yanks challenging but trailing by two runs late in the game:

Drunk Mets Fan: Yo! What's the scoreboard say, yo?
Yankees Fan That Says "Youze Guys": Typical Mets fan...can't read.

I enjoyed that dude's snappy comeback and the Yankum's comeback of their own. This was a huge weekend for interleague attendance: In addition to my 2-0 record at Shea this weekend, Fiedler, Starbux and Younger Handstand took in Friday's Baltimore/Phillies game on the final leg of their three-Stadium tour (hopefully we'll get a Slack post, but don't hold your breath), and new blogger friend Noonan has a nice write-up the Cubs/ChiSox at Wrigley.

Anyone else notice that San Francisco wore home uniforms with the word "Gigantes" across their chest for last night's game against Oakland? Whoaaa boy, I know one xenophobic anchor that's gonna be hot about that today. I bet those uniforms were made in China, too. Tune in at 6 pm.

Staying with sports, a hearty congratulations go to the Northwestern University women's lacrosse team, that brought my Wildcats a title for the first time since 1941 (um, our men's fencing team that year was sickkkk). Several items of import here: This team went 21-0 and became the first time outside the Eastern time zone to win a LAX title; the team is coached by the sister of one of my all-time favorite hockey players, Tony Amonte; most importantly though, I'm 99% positive we didn't even have a woman's LAX team at NU when I went there, not as a varsity program. So that's fucking awesome. Good work, ladies, seriously.

In other news, Miami's own EB told me to check out the pro-vegetarian video over at RudeFood.org, which apparently is causing quite a stir in Britain and elsewhere. The Vegetarian Society strives to show that veggies can be fun too, and this certainly does the trick. "Can you keep it up for a week?" Good question.

Slack Song of the Day: Former Greyboy Allstar Robert Walter and his 20th Congress with 2% Body Fat from the McDonald Theatre in Eugene, Oregon on February 5, 2003. Today's runner-up prize goes to the Dead's Mississippi Half-Step from 10/20/78, which I listened to on the way to work this morning and enjoyed thoroughly.

Friday, May 20, 2005

[Destiny's] Child Becomes A Man

From the Wailing Wall, to the banquet hall, to all-a y'all, the AGU just passed this gem along:

"British retail billionaire Philip Green has reportedly hired Destiny's Child to perform at his son's bar mitzvah -- a three-day event on the French Rivera. Singer Justin Timberlake might also perform at the event this weekend, the Times of London reports."

I hope it's like every Bar Mitzvah I've ever been to where these guys sing Hot, Hot, Hot, rock the Electric Slide and close the night with the That's What Friends Are For/Ya Gotta Have Friends medley > a rousing rendition of Last Dance.

L'chaim, young man.

Go Away, Clouds

My buddy QLRM invited two friends and me to the Yankees/Mets game at Shea tonight. Sounds lovely, man. A few days later the Mets announce that Pedro won't be pitching tonight due to inflamation of the lower labia. My best chance to see Pedro in action this year, right down the tubes (What tubes? Where are these tubes? Where do they go? And how come nobody's ever seen 'em?).

As Dorsey Levin said to me the other day, "I can't wait to see how inside Jorge sets up when Pedro comes to the plate." That coulda been real fun. But I guess I'll just have to elbow my way into the Yankee Stadium series versus the Mets and hope he pitches the day I show up or pray both teams make the Whirled Series again.

Now it's cloudy and rainy and generally shitty out. Thanks, Weather Gods, you dicks. But I believe in the power of positive thinking, and I'm betting by game time we're gonna see some clear blue skies and dry green grass. Green grass and high times. Let's do it.

In addition to tonight's game, I'm also really looking forward to the possiblity of a sick music festival in Vegas on Halloween. Rumors are swirling and the acts are "confirmed." I refer you to the Live Music Blog for details on what could be the bestest weekend of everyone's lives. Vegoose? Epicness in the making.

Saddam's Bulge

There's a nice package in London's The Sun newspaper today. If you ever wanted to know what Saddam Hussein looks like in his tighty whities, well, here ya go folks.

Slack Song of the Day: The real DMB, Del McCoury Band, with All Aboard from the All Good Music Festival on July 11, 2004.

Runner-up: Uncle Jesse Katsapolis with Michelle's Smiling (from the episode of Full House when Michelle's friend Howie moves away and she gets all depressed, leading Uncle Jesse to console her with a song about the most beuatiful thing in the world: Michelle's smile. Sure beats the Jesse and the Rippers song Forever, if you ask me. Why don't I find it hard to believe that someone actually recorded this off the TV and uploaded this to the Internets?!)

Thursday, May 19, 2005

This Is Red Rocks...This Is The Edge

I just had a brush with God himself.

Before heading up to the cafeteria for lunch I went downstairs for a little break when a black Escalade pulled up to the curb. The driver's side back door opened and some pretty chick and a humongous bodyguard exited before the door slammed shut. A Mr. Olympia-sized driver then hopped out of his seat and re-opened the driver's side door. Bono emerged from the vehicle.

That's right, Bono. Sunglasses, dark leather chaqueta and all (the man actually looked exactly like the pic above). Since I work where I work it's not out of the ordinary to see a celebrity in or around my building. And usually I want to say hello and gush, but I never do, as in the case of soulful white man Michael McDonald, Charlie Murphy and Ashy Larry, Bill Walton and a whole slew of more legit stars and other semi-celebrities. That's just not my style.

But Bono...eh. I'm not buyin' it. He doesn't do it for me: a little too preachy, a little too, um, douchey. He just seems like a world-class, first-rate d-bag, no? The make-up chick here says he was a good guy, but any rocker that wants to be the head of the World Bank and openly covets a Nobel Prize has to be a damn fool, methinks. So I let him stroll by and walk his cool walk, and that's that. Although to watch everyone here do a bunch of double takes is a beautiful thing.

Wanna know what's really giving me a stiffy in the pantalones today? Arrested Development is coming back to television for another likely hilarious season...this time on Monday nights. She will be mine. Oh yes, she will be mine.

As I've written plenty about in this space, AD is by far and away the funniest and most brilliant show on the tube right now, and it's arguably the second funniest program ever created. Yeah, I said it. Every member of the huge ensemble cast brings their best every week, especially Will Arnett as G.O.B., who should both win an Emmy this year and let me bang his ridiculously cute wife some time.

In an unusual move for the network, Fox made a great decision today. They just made six million people very, very happy. See ya Mondays, Bluth Family Circus.

Ace Flynt & The Deputy

I've been pretty psyched about the amount of traffic coming through these parts lately, as more and more horndogs search for Bobby Abreu's piece-of-ass fiance boffing the poolboy. But now it appears we've become the Internets' default porn site. The following Yahoo! and Google searches brought plenty of hormonally revved individuals to Slack within the past 12 hours alone:

Free porno pitchers (um, I think that word is pictures, bud), erect penises well endowed, teen mini boobs, teen big boobs, nurse boob, saggy boobs, completely free huge cock pornography, fuck frenzy, humiliation videos, and American fanbase Blue Jays.

OK, maybe that last one isn't porn-related, but I bet free porno pitcher Roy Halladay likes to put his erect penis well endowed in between some teen mini boobs (or teen big boobs, he might search for both).

Here's a non-porn video you MUST watch: "A sheriff's deputy in Minnesota survived after a pickup truck struck him Wednesday morning as he was helping a woman whose car was in a ditch alongside a busy highway. Deputy Glen Pothen, 35, was treated for injuries and released." [WATCH HERE]

Slack Song of the Day: Ye Ol' Grateful Dead on Van Morrison's Gloria from the Richmond Coliseum on November 1, 1985.

Current Trend that Needs to Stop: Comparing the Stars Wars franchise to either the current state of political affairs or the current state of the Yankees. It's old, it's trite, it never really worked and it's contrived garbage. Thanks in advance for ceasing this nonsense.

Just in Time for Memorial Day: You know how hot dogs come in packs of eight and the corresponding buns come in packs of either six or 12 (as mentioned in Father of the Bride and just about every amateur comedians' tired act)? Well, we've got a solution: The hot dog brass met in Chi-town this week and they hammered out a deal. Excellent news in the weiner world.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

Guest Lecturer: Rollergirl

Great news for 20 students at the University of Iowa...the school will begin offering a class on pornography in the fall. The only catch is that no porn or other explicit material will be watched during class hours. Regardless, the article still included snazzy inuendos like "All 20 student slots have been filled..."

I'll bet even money this causes an enormous uproar in Iowa (before eventually going national) over what taxpayer funds should be used to teach and what they shouldn't be used for. Say what you will, but pornography has had a profound effect on our society and I couldn't agree more with the class' premise.

Some of the effects have been positive, like how porn breaks down sexual barriers and stereotypes and brings people out from under the repression that is their sex lives. But I'll even admit that most have been negative, like the fact that I haven't finished getting a hummer without giving a money shot to the eye in about a decade.

Either way, I've always felt that things like this need to be studied and discussed. The adult entertainment business rakes in about $10-$15 billion a year in the United States, more than any of the major sports leagues. It's not like this is small potatoes. So let's talk about sex and get to the bottom of why even the mere mention of the word "porn" instantly conjures up all kinds of emotions and erections.

Buckle Up Or Die

You gotta love the Ol' Ballcoach. When he's not yappin' it up and drawin' plays to run up the score, Steve Spurrier is encouraging us all to buckle our seat belts...if you like to live, that is.

"Spurrier...filmed a public service announcement for the state Public Safety Department on Tuesday, urging drivers and passengers to 'buckle up, South Carolina.'

Spurrier said he has long been a committed seat belt user and thinks everyone should wear one. 'If you don't like life, if you want to die, then don't do it,' Spurrier told The Associated Press on Tuesday." [Article]

I'd love to see the look of smug satisfaction on his face when the police drive him to the scene of a deadly accident where some Gator fan could have lived if he had buckled up properly and followed the coach's advice. "Po' bastard, that's why I left that schoooo. Not enough bucklin', I says to them, I says."

Speaking of smug satisfaction, here's the premise of the millenium: "The White House said Tuesday the United States' image abroad had suffered irreparable damage from a now-retracted Newsweek article alleging that American interrogators at Guantanamo Bay desecrated the Quran, the Muslim holy book."

The Newsweek article is responsible for irreparable damage? Seriously? Not the war your boy started on false facts, Scotty? I gotta hand it to this White House, you guys really know how to deflect critique and divert attention. "Hey, these Newsweek people fucked our shit up. People loved us before this, they loved us!"

The AGU points out the United States isn't the only entity with an image problem. Apparently Donnie and Ace's alma mater is having a little trouble keeping the Masturbating Bear out of the Northwestern Library. I wanna get on the record right now: I never did this. But only because I only went inside the NU Libes about two or three times in college. I definitely beat off in public at the student union though.

Slack Song of the Day: Keller Williams' Best Feeling from Chicago's Aragon Ballroom on 8/12/2004...I'm on way too big a Keller Kick right now. You should be too. As my new blogger cohort over at the Live Music Blog said last night, "He's about 10 years ahead of everybody else right now." True.

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Planes and Pitchers and More

"We're flying high above a Florida runway, and we're all about to die."

I just watched a fairly ridiculous situation unfold. We had an internal feed here of a small private plane in Florida that couldn't get its landing gear in place. The back wheels wouldn't lock down and the pilot had to circle over a runway for about 45 minutes while trying to figure out what to do.

He came in for an attempted landing once, only to pull up before the runway while the plane shook and rattled. The plane circled again and stayed up in the air for awhile when the copter shooting the video lost it in the clouds for a little while. Several minutes later the copter found the plane as it came back into the picture, straightened out its landing gear and approached the runway. Finally it safely hit the ground as the newsroom here clapped.

What I always find so amazing and incredibly compelling about these situations is that one second everything's fine, the next second your life is in grave danger (is there any other kind?). These people went from cracking jokes or making out with monkeys or shitting in the seat pocket in front of them to fearing for their lives the second the pilot gave an audible "Ah crap, I'm stuck in the stairs."

These, my friends, are the "live every second of your life like you mean it" reminders. Yet by 6 pm when it's time to leave I'll probably complain about being tired and plop down on my couch all night. La Vida Ace.

Planes aside, I heard a great statistic last night: The Yankums and Mets have identical records at 20-19, the latest in the season the two New York teams have had matching records. Cool beans.

But something important came out of last night's Yankee victory. It's more important than our nine-game winning streak, more important than Bernabe's grand slam, more important than the Taiwanese Terror pitching six very strong innings and looking like a legit starter, more important than a late-inning barrage, more important than our bullpen coming out sharp and throwing darts.

No, the most important thing was the addition of the latest giggle-inducing penile pitching match-up: Wang v. Putz. Giggitty, giggity, gi-gi-tty (G. Quagmire, 1999-present).

In blog hit count news, Slack's still getting a ton of hits from people searching for "Alicia Machado sex scandal" or "Bobby Abreu's fiance." But here are some of the other more popular Google and Yahoo! searches we've seen from the past 24 hours:

1. Saggy boobs
2. Suck your boob
3. Slutty nurse
4. Jazzercise videos
5. 70 Volt Parade heroin
6. Trey Anastasio heroin habit
7. Kin Korn Karn
8. Freddy Got Fingered soundboards
9. Happy slapping bus stop fire
10. Family Guy, too soon?

Slack Song of the Day: Today we're kickin' it old school with the Spin Doctors...here's the always awesome Two Princes from Jones Beach on July 12, 1992.

And just because I'm on a huge Umphrey's McGee kick right now (I've been listening to their set from the Jammys with Huey Lewis, Mavis Staples and Sinead O'Connor non-stop), today's runner up is UM covering Baba O'Riley at the Langerado Music Festival in March.

Happy 42nd Birthday Page McConnell.

Monday, May 16, 2005

I Heart Jayson Stark

He's not the best writer and he's not even really a good columnist. But when Jayson Stark puts out a "Useless Information Department" page of cool stats you'd never read elsewhere, it's a must read. Here's my favorite from this week's installment, if only because I was there -- or wasn't there -- to (not) witness the feat:

"Out there in the great Midwest Last weekend, it sure wasn't a good idea to arrive at your seat late -- or you might already find a football score up on the old scoreboard.

First, the Dodgers scored 10 runs in the first inning against the Reds on May 6. Then, two days later, the Cardinals put up 11 against the Padres in the first. So when was the last time two teams scored that many runs that fast in games that close together? How about NEVER.

The previous closest gap between double-digit first innings, according to Elias, was four days. And even that was kind of a while ago -- on May 13-17, 1887, when Pretzels Getzien's Detroit Wolverines scored 10 in the first in Chicago and Toad Ramsey's Louisville Colonels matched them four days later in Baltimore."

I live for Starkian oddities.

Leaving Early

In high school I knew a couple of football players that were not good enough to play college ball anywhere, but they wanted to declare for the NFL Draft anyway. Just for fun. It never happened.

It never happened because of laziness though, not because of the red tape or the pages of documents that must be filled out. Enter the highly motivated Curtis Heroman from LSU, who declared for the NBA Draft in mid-April. The only problem is that he never played varsity basketball for LSU, only intramurals.

I bet he's still better than the utterly untalented Shavlik Randolph.

I Vote Yea

Continuing Resolution on This Weekend Being Awesome (Passed by My Brain, Stomach and Liver this morning)

Whereas the Redheaded Fuckface and 70 Volt Parade invaded New York City's Hammerstein Ballroom on Friday night to deliver a first-class asswhoopin' on the Trey Haters, playing a fuck-your-face first set of hits and covers that included Night Speaks to a Woman, Burlap Sack and Pumps, 46 Days, Push On 'Til the Day, Dig a Pony, Dark and Down, Will It Go Round in Circles, In the Light, Drifting and Peter Gabriel's Sledgehammer, then recovering from a "meandering" second set (Handstand, 2005) in a big way by playing nearly the last six songs off Abbey Road from Mean Mr. Mustard through The End and nailing it, I mean nailing it!, sending the crowd and my group of Lukas, the Brothers Handstand and a Zebra, as well as Jacob Eli and his Harem of Rolling Women, home in a total frenzy;

Whereas the Ace Cowboy skipped the next night's show and a likely appearance by Mike Gordon in order to drive up to the Northeast Pennsylvanian countryside for Boys' Weekend, our annual jaunt up to the 225-acre summer camp half of us attended as kids and staff, a beautiful campus at which 20 mostly married dudes in their late 20s and early 30s play hoops and softball, engage in total relaxation, start pyromaniacal bonfires, plow through a riiiiidiculous never-ending barbeque of steaks and ribs and burgers and dogs and chicken and fresh corn and more, throw out movie lines in place of original thought, produce inane conversation that goes on for hours (2004's highlight was an epic three- or four-hour dialogue started by the supremely innocent comment "Would you blow your father for $1 million?"), drive drunk around on golf carts and ATVs that kick up to 30 MPH and wreck our bodies with serious drinking and lovely doje;

Whereas words cannot accurately describe and decency does not allow me to recount this year's Boys' Weekend, where the assembled crowd kicked three kegs, three bottles of Patron tequila and plenty of rich greenery; where the Ace Cowboy abandoned a softball game against the local towns' softball team to get high with some fellas on a ripple-less lake; where one of those locals nearly kicked off a brawl at 2 am over a terrible misunderstanding; where the only thing to re-ignite the party after that awkwardness was the drunkest guy doing some sort of impromptu naked cartwheels/handstands before piling on a kegstand, a self-imposed second kegstand and a five-shot pull off a fresh bottle of tequila, much to my amusement and my pain (I was HURTING from laughing so hard);

Whereas I came home at 5 pm yesterday after an easy drive home to plop right down on the couch and watch Connie Gore/Tino Martinez and the New York Yank'ums win their eighth straight game to pull even to .500, validating my repeated warning to each and every Yankee fan not to panic until June 1st;

Whereas all of the above made it so I can't move or think this morning -- I feel like fuckin' Schiavo right now -- I declare this the bestest weekend of 2005. The bestest!

How's everyone else's? Anyone else pass out at 9:30 last night and still feel like they need another 16 hours of sleepy?

Slack Song of the Day: A really cool version Rusted Root's Send Me On My Way from the KBCO Studio in Boulder on May 17th, 2002. Holy shiite, remember these guys?!

Friday, May 13, 2005

Hats Off

We added a new feature to our fantasy beisbol league this year...the league is now in its sixth season and it's gotten a bit stale. So to spice things up, all 10 owners are taking turns with a weekly review of what's going on around the league.

Each owner thus far has used a different style and done completely different types of analysis. But the common theme is ripping on each other or each other's players. League owner (and sadly, defending champeen) Jacob Eli turned in a full 33-round draft analysis this week. And while the report was light on personal insults, Jake did churn out this line about Jim Thome that had me at hello:

"Straight-up Doodie In The Pants is the only way to describe Thome’s first 6 weeks."

Truer words ne'er been spoken, buddy.

Undeclared Nuts

Um, someone should tell the Canadian Government that when it's not apologizing for Brian Adams on several occasions it should learn to choose its words more carefully. The Canadians released the following health advisory this week: "ALLERGY ALERT - Undeclared nuts in COCK brand MATSAMAN CURRY PASTE."

I'd love to see White House press secretary Scott McCellan come out and announce a security breach like "ANIMAL ALERT - Undeclared beaver in BUSH-run White House."

And while we're discussing genitalia so openly, the people of Grand Rapids were dealt a serious blow today: "A Michigan court apparently has ended the television career of a talking penis. A three-judge panel of the Michigan Court of Appeals declared that the talking penis, nicknamed Dick Smart, telling 'purportedly humorous' jokes on a Grand Rapids, Michigan, public access cable television channel constituted indecent exposure."

That's too bad. Hey, Letter D, you're a Grand Rapids dude, what's the good word on this?

Sex-related Longball

The hits just keep on coming...Slack's gotten a ton of hits since we posted about Bobby Abreu's fiance and put up a video that may or may not have been said fiance gettin' it on in a sexy pool with sexy diving skills. Me and her got-it-on.

Incidentally, Abreu hit a homerun in his fifth straight game last night, tying him with Connie Gore/Tino Martinez for longest active streak in the majors. Each man needs just three more games with a dongy dong to tie Dale Long, Donnie Baseball and Junior Griffey for longest streak of all time. Is it possible that Tino's wife slept with some degenerate on an American reality show? Otherwise, I'm not sure how to explain the sudden surge in power. Worked for Bobby. Worrrrks for me (Slaterson, 1976).

We've also seen a larger-than-expected amount of people come to Slack looking for "Payola and Kennedy." Did Billy Joel announce a tour or crash a car or sweat through a shirt recently? Like Tino, why the sudden surge in searches for this? Any explanation? Did I miss the reunion of Belgians in the Congo?

Slack Song of the Day: Here's the Hot Buttered Rum String Band on the ol' bluegrass standard Ginseng Sullivan from 1/7/05 in Tempe, Arizona. Big fan of their playing, although the vocals leave a little something to be desired.

It's Friday the 13th. Ooooooooooh. I got nuthin' this morning.

Thursday, May 12, 2005

Panel Discussions Can Be Fun

Every once in a while I take advantage of all New York City has to offer. Most other times I only take advantage of my couch and drunk middle school chicks.

Last night I got roped into a fairly cool little event. LP, LG, their little sisters and I went to this place Show for a funny panel discussion on family life featuring the incomparable David Cross, the hilarious Andy Borowitz and writers Jonathan Ames and Meg Wolitzer. Somehow it felt like I was intruding on Little Sister Night, but I wasn't going to miss an opportunity to stand 20 feet away from David Cross.

First, though, we went out to Haru for some pre-panel dinner. Picture four girls and me sitting in a four-person booth, and when the waiter came over, picture the ladies ordering a bunch of shit and me saying, "I'll just have a salad." A side salad? "Yeah, just a side salad."

Like I've said before, I'm the world's fattest anorexic (although, in fairness to me, I NEVER eat salad except for ones with that awesome Nipponese ginger dressing). The sad part is the salad was absolutely delicious and I wanted to order a second one, but I didn't wanna look like a heifer, ya know?

We strolled in to Show a little before 8 pm and the panel started shortly thereafter. We couldn't find any seats so we stood by the bar. I nursed a Stella all night. The guests came out and the hilarity began right away. Jonathan Ames kicked off the night by telling a story about his delayed puberty and how the first time he "made liquid," as his mother explained would happen, he ran into her bedroom stark naked to show her the results. If that weren't craisins enough, he tells how he laid down in her bed to show her he could do it again.

Awkward laughter permeated the room, but in truth, it was a damn funny story. David Cross took the mike from Ames and without skipping a beat said, "I can't wait to get home later and jerk off to that story." And that's the way the night went...three funny dudes and a neglibigle chick telling embarassing and hilarious stories about their families, mostly as they related to sex and humiliation.

One of the cooler parts was listening to David Cross disclose that he came from a white trash family with a legitimately crazy mother and sister that only celebrates Thanksgiving together. But their Thanksgiving involves partying all night long at a gay club in Atlanta while rolling their fucking faces off. Now, that's a holiday.

We stayed for about an hour and 15 minutes, I laughed my ass off to Borowitz's stories about growing up in Shakur Heights and Cross and Ames as well, then we called it a night. But I'm definitly glad I went. Good times, great oldies.

In other news, the good folks at Major League Baseball gave the greenlight for a 16-team World Cup-style tournament. This might be the greatest thing of all time. Seriously. Here are some potential lineups (although if I'm managing the United States squad, I put Rolen in the starting lineup over A-Rod). This calls for its own post one of these days...Viva la beisbol.

New Gig

Every time I post anything about live music and/or the popular rock band Phish, I can feel the inevitable rolling of the eyes from most of you. If I had to guess, I'd say about 10 percent of this blog's readership genuinely enjoys those music posts, 15 percent tolerate them to an extent and the rest want to jam rusty tweezers into their scrotal or clitoral regions until they navigate away from the page.

Listen, I'm a good guy. So in an effort to alleviate some of that testicular and vaginal bleeding, I've hooked up with this dude Justin over at the the Live Music Blog (and I'm using "hooked up" in the parental sense of "met up with," not "received quality fellatio" or whatever the devil it is you kids say). I've been a big fan of the site over there, and I really love what it can eventually turn out to be.

But there hasn't been all that much content because it's really a one-man show. So I've decided to throw my hat in the ring and help him out, and I'll be posting over there with more frequency. To those fans of all things music -- and seriously, this ain't just jamband wankfest glorification -- I suggest you stop by over there and check it out. There's also a permanent link in the "Blogs We Likey" section to the right. Do it.

Slack Song of the Day: Warren Zevon's Excitable Boy from the Capitol Theater in Passaic, New Jersey on 10/1/82. Werewolves of London would be too easy to make the song of the day, but here's a link to it from that show anyway. I saw Lon Chaney walking with the Queen.

For some reason I woke up this morning singing "Last Christmas" by George Michael, but I can't find a free mp3 of it, so you get Zevon instead. Jeez, how bad is this fuckin' song?!

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

Ti-no, Ti-no

Another bomb from Connie Gore!

This guy's on pace for 5,000 curtain calls this year.

Two Great T'ings

1. Don't know if I'm late to the penis party on this one, but here's President Bush starring as Fitty Cent in a new tune called "D.R.A.F.T."

2. "A Good Humor man was served 18 months' probation Tuesday for losing his cool with a foul-mouthed teenager. Nazzareno Didiano, 44, stopped dishing out peanut butter bars and Blue Bunnies last May 12 and began pummeling a pudgy-faced Bloomfield teen during a meltdown...

'I told him he didn't need any ice cream anyway because he's fat,' said Didiano." [This one's great]

You just gotta love fat kids and ice cream trucks.


It's gonna be a busy day in the Large Apple, and the only thing on my mind right now is the Yankees' four-game winning streak. I don't know how many people I've said "Nobody's allowed to panic to June 1st" to over the past few weeks, but this is exactly why you don't fucking panic until June 1st. The Yanks are going streaking.

Mussina, Brown, Johnson, Wang -- four straight wins and four straight really impressive performances that saw each man go at least seven strong. Wait a minute, I just realized that two of those wins were by the Big Unit and Wang. We love the phallus here in New York.

It also helps to have Connie Gore, aka Tino Martinez, bashing balls out to right field every night. Four straight days with a big-time homerun...what more can you ask for? Tino's a true professional in every sense of the word. He basically lost the Yanks the game on Friday night, made no excuses, came to the ballpark the next day and proceeded to hit one out in each of his next four.

Sure makes it easier to put Jason Giambi on a flight to Tampa. And that fat fuck with shrinking nads better go down to the minor leagues if the Yanks see fit. Otherwise I say we call the cops and have this guy arrested for fraud and grand theft. Jason Giambi is a fraud and a nincompoop.

Anyway, let's change the subject here...what do you wanna talk about today? Got a blog? Post a link. Got a beef? Share the hate. Are you naked? That's awesome. It's Do-It-Yourself Day at Slack again, and I invite you all within reason to sound off in the comments section below. Do it. Do it.

Slack Song of the Day: Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra's Dirt and Blood from 11/3/2004 (these guys are really good, check out their other stuff on archive.org)

Link of the Day: Coventry Glowstick War

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

Heeeee's Back

People took the break-up of the Popular Rock Band Phish in many different ways. Most fans -- well, fanatics, really -- inevitably went through the five stages of grief, and the emotions setlist went something like this:

Denial (This can't be there last show, I don't buy it) > Anger (Fuckin' asshats takin' all my money and just quitting) > Bargaining (I swear I'll be nice to orphans if they give me just one more show, man, I swear to Jebus) > Depression (I don't know what I'm gonna do for fun now, maybe I'll go kick the homeless in the teeth) > Acceptance (I guess they're entitled to do what they want, and I'm okay with it). That was a tough few weeks for a lot of people.

But enough fans are still bitter enough about the death of Phish that the message boards are unoffically split in several different camps. And while it's tough to pigeonhole an intellectually diverse fanbase like Phish fans, they usually fall into one of three groups.

There are the Trey Haters, who are mostly jaded veterans that use clever phrases like "Be-Treyed" and "Trey-tor." On the flipside there are the Trey Apologists, who are the most likely folks to get their ears pissed in and they'll still be there to happily lap it up and spread the good word. Finally there are the Realists, who accept the Trey-led demise of the best rock-n-roll band in recent memory but still harbor at least some feelings of abandonment and resentment towards Big Red. I've probably got one foot in each of the last two camps.

To be sure, for many fans, there isn't a more polarizing living figure this side of President Bush than Ernest Guiseppe Anastasio III, our beloved Trey. And keeping with the political analogy, the announcement of his brand new project -- 70 Volt Parade -- was the 2004 election, which drove the ultimate wedge into an increasingly divided fanbase. Even though the things that unite us are far, far greater than the things that divide us, the Internets are now abuzz with warring hippie factions.

Trey kicked off his tour at the famed Higher Ground in Burlington on April 1st, and the fans in attendance, in conjunction with the technologically advanced that downloaded the show just hours after it ended, came back to the boards and panned the show. A few weeks went by before his next show, but as more people listened to it, the more they hated it. The Trey Haters were rushing hard and signing up pledges left and right. A few more shows went by, and 70VP received more bad reviews. Uh oh.

At that point I decided to heed the proclamation of Frank Costanza, who yelled "I wanna go in fresh" as Mr. Ross started to describe his feelings about the fictional movie Firestorm. I didn't download a lick of this new project...I'd just wait until I saw the Bad Lieutenant first-hand to form my own opinion with my own three ears.

When I saw Trey was playing Cincinnati on a weekend, I knew I had to get there. Anyone who has seen Phish in the Queen City knows the band sets that town ablaze. Literally. After the first night of their 2003 run, a fire broke out at the Westin, forcing the band and the hotel's other patrons to evacuate in the middle of the night (incidentally that led Trey to write a song called Cincinnati, that kicks ass). But seriously, they rip Cincy up every time they come through, and the last time I vowed not to miss a show there. So I booked my flight, met up with some good friends and went downtown to see what this new band was all about.

After strolling through the mini-Shakedown down the street from the Taft Theatre, we walked in for the last half hour of the John Butler Trio. If this guy is near your area, go see his show. His two bandmates and he ripped it up completely, set the tone for a great night. He finished his set and then the anticipation really started to gnaw at us, stomachs turning from the toxins we had recently ingested and natural butterflies that danced about waiting for our potentially fallen idol.

The lights went down at 8:45 to a primal scream of sorts from the fans, and Trey stepped on stage with as big a smile as I've seen in a long time. Out came the Other Four Dudes -- Skeeto Valdez on drums, Peter Chwazik on bass, Ray Paczkowski on keys, and Les Hall on keys and guitar -- and the show began with some new songs. From the start, Trey looked like he was having more fun than I'd seen him have on stage in a long time.

He did have a ridiculous leg twitch all night, but at least he didn't look like a cracked out OxyContin junkie doing the bump with his mom. And he didn't play Heroin Jam once all night (for non-Phish fans, that's not a song or a jam, that's just when it looks like Trey is on so much heroin that he plays these ambient nothingness chords while the band waits for him to get his shit together).

70 Volt Parade made one thing abundantly clear almost immediately: This band is really talented and meshes well with Trey's proclivity for straight-up rock and white guy porno funk. The drummer, Skeeto, is fucking great, and from where I sat he looked very much like a combination of a bleached blonde Dennis Rodman and child star Todd Bridges. That's always a plus. Les is also incredible, the kind of guy that plays any instrument you put in front of him, the kind of guy that looks like he'd wear a leather, studded dog collar if you asked him nicely enough. As for the other two, Ray's the lone holdover from Trey's last band, and Peter is not nearly loud enough; he's either not all that good, or he needs to be turned up in the mix.

But give these guys the rest of this tour, let them take the recordings and hit the Barn for some practice, then watch out on the Zooma Tour this summer. This is a band with serious potential. And they're gonna start ripping it up once they get a consistency and some confidence about them. Don't buy into the rhetoric and pressure of the Trey Haters...they know not what they speak or type. I would honestly challenge anyone to a formal debate who saw 70VP on Saturday in Cincy and walked out unhappy and unimpressed.

How could you walk out and not love It's Ice 2.0, the new and different version of one of Phish's older tunes (think It's Ice meets Floyd's Run Like Hell)? How could you have listened to the first set closer, Billy Preston's Will It Go Round In Circles, and not danced your fuckin' ass off? How could you hear that Night Speaks to a Woman that opened the second set and not broken out in a full sweat? They re-worked some old songs, cranked out some new songs, covered two Beatles tunes (Dig A Pony and I Am the Walrus, alllllright) and Zeppelin's In the Light.

But most importantly, they played everything flawlessly and flub-lessly with tons of energy and emotion. Isn't that what we always required of Phish towards the end but rarely received? Well, this is Trey's new band, and they're putting together solid performances. They're also here to stay.

At one point during Night Speaks my buddy tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the crowd, which was going ballistic in the heat of an intense jam. "It's happening again," he said. We're not there quite yet, but yes, it is happening again. It's all happening.

Go get 'em, Trey. See ya at the Hammerstein this weekend.

Monday, May 09, 2005

Linko Importante

A week ago we spread the word about Bobby Abreu's cheating fiance, who is a dirty, dirty tramp.

Today we bring you the video...I haven't watched it yet, but I'm told it's semi-safe for work. Actually, these are the instructions I got: "Not extremely safe for work, but nothing that would get you fired. Just keep a safe screen."

I'm not entirely sure what "keep a safe screen" means, but I'm totally on board with that.

**See comments section below...this may or may not be the right video. My source may have betrayed me. Damn.**

Ron Mexico

Bloggers everywhere rejoiced when Michael Vick spread the world's greatest gift to a pissed off woman he met on vacation. After all, Vick not only gave this poor girl herpes, but he did it after lying to her that his name was Ron Mexico. Classic case of Craisins.

Little did we all know this would start a cottage industry of hysterical Ron Mexico apparel. Thanks to Matty Mac for passing along this 100% authentic e-commerce site with some nice new digs that carry the Ron Mexico seal of approval.

Paul Wilson Sucks

One of the cooler parts to my jaunt to Da Natti was a trip to the Great American Ballpark on Friday night to see the Red-legs take on the Dodgers. What an awesome fucking stadium, this is a must-see venue on any tour of Midwestern ballparks.

Firstly, you look out onto the Ohio River and at scenic Northern Kentucky. It really is a gorgeous view, beats the shit out of what's behind the facade at Yankee Stadium. But also, since it's a new place, the place is spotless and the staff is friendly. The amenities are top notch and the food selection is seemingly endless. Plus, for the parents out there, the park even has an area for kids to play various games (timing how fast they run from home to first, measuring the speed of their pitches, simulating a real-life at-bat, etc).

We got to the stadium on time for a 7:05 game, but we had to buy some tickets at the box office (the $5 seats were sold out and we had to buy the $12s). Being Friday night, the lines were long and it took us about 10 minutes to purchase the ducats. Once inside, about 15 minutes after the game started, we looked at the gorgeous field to see a Dodger on third base.

Then we looked at the scoreboard and noticed that the hometown Reds were down 7-0. In the first inning. With only one out.

By the time we got to our seats, the Dread Pirate Roberts (aka Jeff Kent) had doubled in the three runners on base, and the hometown Reds were down 10-0. Yes, 10-0, before we got to our seats. The saving grace of the evening turned out to be Brad Penny taking a no-hitter into the 7th inning. So at least we had that going for us, which was nice.

The one real positive was the fact that it seemed to be Teen Trailer Trash Night at the GAB, where any girl under 18 from either Cincinnati or No. Kentucky sporting a bare midriff and chewing lots of gum got in free. At least half the crowd fit this description. Hey, I wasn't really complaining.

Another note: kids are fuckin' jaded these days. When Ken Griffey Jr. couldn't get to a ball hit waaay over his head, an unruly group of teens started screaming curses at him. When he struck out later in the game, a little kid that couldn't have been older than 5 years old started audibly complaining about Griffey's $10-million contract.

Man, when I was a kid I whined a bit, but whatever happened to hero worship through the good and bad? We whined because we were disappointed about the outcome, right? If my five-year-old knows the names Scott Boras or Drew Rosenhaus or starts whimpering about how much money the ballplayers make, remind me to beat him Kobra Kai-style with no mercy and then kill myself.

I guess the real bright spot was seeing a team in action the Yankees could annihilate. The Reds are in trouble this season. They've got talent, but no arms and no heart. Trouble.

Sail Away To Cincinnati

Update: Screw Cleveland, Cincy rocks.

What an unbelievable weekend in the Queen City...I just may write a nice letter to the Tourism Board detailing how much fun can be had inside the city. We scratched off a bunch of items off the list below (the good ones) and generally rabble-roused our way through three days of total bliss.

The Cincy scenery, the Reds' deficit, Trey's madness, Jungle Jim's and a whole lotta relaxation in the gorgeous Ohio weather...I'm content. We'll have more later.

Today, it's back to the computer.

Slack Song of the Day: U-Melt's Ernest Funknine from the Knitting Factory show that Hoobs, Jacob Eli and I went to on April 2nd. Incidentally, U-Melt will be playing a late-night set at the Lion's Den after the Friday Trey show in NYC.

Thursday, May 05, 2005

Army Had Half-a-Day

Come 1 pm, consider me Doug. 'Cuz at 1 pm, I'm gonna shout, "Forget it, you don't understand, I'm outtaaaaa heeeeere."

The Ace Cowboy is taking a nice long weekend in beautiful, um, Cincinnati. No, seriously. The Queen City ain't gonna know what hit it. I've been looking forward to this weekend for a long time.

Things to do in Cincy (when you're dead):
1. Meet up with Tits McGillicuty and TJ in OH in the airport
2. Journey back to TJ's place, hang with HJ the wife and HJ the kid
3. Watch The Big Lebowski, The Last Waltz, Stop Making Sense and Bittersweet Motel in no particular order
4. Tear into a 3-way from Skyline Chili
5. Make Fluffhead Signs
6. Reds/Dodgers game Friday night at the Great American Ballpark
7. Reminisce about how great Phish truly was
8. See the Redheaded Fuckface/Bad Lieutenant with his new and probably disappointing band: 70 Volt Parade
9. Rip Trey's performance to shreds no matter how good or bad
10. Hit an after-show in the 'Da Natti

I think that's a pretty good list. Then I'll fly home all wasted and cracked out and have to eat some brunch and hang out with the family for El Dia de la Madre. Wonderful. Still, can't wait to get out of Dodge for the weekend.

Slack Song of the Day: Plane Crash -- moe. with John Medeski at the Tsunami Benefit on 2/10/05 at NYC's Roseland Ballroom. Ace, Donnie, Handstand, Lukas, Fluffdead and Marcus F and many more in attendance for what has been the Show of the Year so far.

Incidentally, the Medeski-led jam that begins about five minutes into the song is sickening...I can listen to this every day. Wait a minute, that's completely fucked up, I just made a tune called "Plane Crash" the song of the day on a day that I'm getting on a plane and flying. That's some fucked up repugnant shit.

So to clear my conscience, here's the Sneakin' Sally Thru the Alley from Trey's SuperJam at JazzFest this past weekend...

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

Annie Get Your Venom

I had two major projects to do this week for my job...and both ended up getting cancelled while I was half-way done. I mean, that's super-sweet, really. In each case I get credit for the attempt, but I don't have to open myself to boss-related scrutiny and eventual ridicule of the finished product. Cool beans.

So instead I've been doing other things for work, but mostly I've been slacking big time. I've got the Braves/Marlins on my desk television, I've been e-mailing my tits off, I'm surfing the world wide web like nobody's business. Hell, I'm off to Cincinnati tomorrow afternoon and I've already checked out.

Then I came across this story and had to post it up here. The Lovely and Talented Ann Coulter spoke at the University of Texas last night, and a student got arrested for no good reason. Peep this:

"Shouts became so pervasive during the question-and-answer session that Coulter informed the organizers she would no longer take questions if the hecklers were not silenced. For a time, the shouts were considerably lessened, until the issue of gay marriage was broached.

Coulter said she supported the definition of marriage as between a man and a woman on the basis that a good woman civilizes and inspires a man to strive for something better, leading to a question that was met with a stunned silence.

'You say that you believe in the sanctity of marriage,' said Ajai Raj, an English sophomore. 'How do you feel about marriages where the man does nothing but fuck his wife up the ass?'" [More...]

Now, I can understand removing the student and even banning him from future events. But arresting him? For what? The police report says he made gestures simulating masturbation as he went back to his seat, but still, that's enough for an arrest? I'm on board with arresting the d-bag that throws a pie at this girl, that's fine, that's assault. But this is nuttier than squirrel turds.

I don't hate Ann Coulter...in fact, I think she's a smart business-woman. Do you honestly think she wakes up in the morning spouting this vitriol and hating liberals? Nah, it's all an act, and it's an act that has landed her four NY Times bestsellers and a shitload of cash.

To me, she's basically no different than Stone Cold Steve Austin. He's Steve Austin when he wakes up (actually, he's Steve Williams), but when he gets to work he dials up the rhetoric and the insansity to become Stone Cold, all in the name of making a buck. Coulter's gotta be the same way. She wakes up a conservative, but when she gets to work she dials up the rhetoric and the insanity to become a raging bitch, all in the name of making a buck.

And she's got both sides falling for it. The trick is to ignore these people, and one day they really will go away.

Saturday Bloody Saturday

Earlier this week I stumbled into the blogosphere-at-large and caught this story of a bullshit arrest at Madison's Mifflin Street Block Party.

But the following story is no bullshit arrest, this is the real deal. The better-than-ESPN website known as SI.com has obtained some pretty ridiculous photographs of the aftermath of an altercation that resulted in the suspension of UW tailback Booker Stanley. "Stanley was charged with battery, disorderly conduct and resisting or obstructing an officer during the party near the UW campus, Madison police said."

From the looks of these pictures, I'd say he should have been arrested for completely fucking some guy's shit up. Not sure what kind of sentence that carries, but I'm sure it's less than he'd get for possession of the doje. But that's a story for another time.

Saggy Boobs and Cigarettes

I usually try to stay out of the gossip business -- you can count the times I've written the words "Britney Spears" here on your thumb -- but this story is just too funny to pass up.

She's a GILF.

Hats Off To K-Brown

"Thieves hijacked a shipment of 47,000 New York Yankees caps meant for a fan giveaway at Yankee Stadium this weekend."

I'm no detective, but I suspect this caper may have been conducted by the same thieves that hijacked Kevin Brown's balls a couple of years ago. Holy fuckhead, is this guy the terriblest or what? Who cares if you re-make the lineup with nine Jesuses (or even nine David DeJesuses), you can't win ballgames if you throw this version of Kevin Brown out there every five days. Yuck. And congrats to me for starting him in fantasy this week because he was 4-0 against the Rays last season. Grotie to the max.

Slack Song of the Day: We're goin' old school, folks, with the now-defunct God Street Wine from 10/29/94 in Vail, Colorado. I give you one of my favorite songs from a decade ago: Nightengale. I used to looove these guys. Craisins.

Band Name of the Day: Stuttering Gobbler

Cool Fact of the Day: If you type "Chris Webber sucks" into Google, Slack LaLane is the top site on the Internets. I'm sure U of M alum Red Cowboy loves that.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Reunited And It Feels So Good

Wow, shit. I totally neglected to mention that Cream reunited last night. Eric Clapton, Ginger Baker and Jack Bruce took the stage at London's Royal Albert Hall for the first time in 37 years. Thirty-seven years! Not to get all Walton on you, but this might have been the toughest ticket in the history of the world.

5/02/05 Royal Albert Hall, London, England
I'm So Glad, Spoonful, Outside Woman Blues, Pressed Rat and Warthog, Sleepy Time Time, NSU, Badge, Politician, Sweet Wine, Rollin' & Tumblin', Stormy Monday, Deserted Cities of the Heart, Born Under a Bad Sign, We're Going Wrong, Crossroads, Sitting On Top of the World, White Room, Toad

E: Sunshine of Your Love

Extra extra, read all about it.

Now Hear This

Oregonian Jeremy passed this site along this afternoon: The entire N.W.A. Straight Outta Compton album edited down to just the explicit content. I especially like "Fuck Tha Police," or as it should be called on the site, "Fuck." Motherfucker.

And here's the story of the day: Deaf/mute man kills deaf/mute sister and deaf/mute brother-in-law for trying to move deaf/mute parents.

Where is the C&C Music Factory when ya need 'em, because this is certainly one of those things that make you go "hmmm." Robby Rob, break it down.

Morning News and Notes

I'm kickin' it old school, numbered-style:

1. Say what you will about Yankees play-by-play man Michael Kay, and most people do. Donnie's been trying to get me to attack Kay for years, but my defense of him so far, like Kush's dad's word, is stronger than oak. I mean, Kay certainly is a pompous douche, but he fills in the gaps well and knows his Yankees history better than 99 percent of the world at large.

Last night provided the perfect example of why we need someone like Kay in the booth. I'm a big fan of Bobby Murcer and Ken Singleton up there, but they're both color commentators and can't handle the game without a d-bag like Kay. Now, Singleton is the man, you won't get any complaints about him from Donnie or me (well, aside from being black of course). Murcer is, however, an Okie that barely speaks English. But he's such a beloved Yankee and makes some pretty good points from time to time that he gets a free pass. Regardless -- or irregardless as the kids say -- he's good for one of the following blips every game.

With the Yanks up 1-0 in the top of the fifth, with Devil Ray rookie Scott Kazmir mowing down Yanks, with all the negative stories surrounding the Bombers, with so much to talk about, Murcer decided to be a world class putz. Former Devil Ray-Rey Sanchez came up to lead off the inning, when Murcer throws down this antecedent-less non-sequitor:

"He's done it once as a Devil Ray. Can he do it again as a Yankee? (looong pause) Can Rey Sanchez hit an inside-the-park homerun?"

Wait, what? With all the possibilities that would lead to a fine discussion, Murcer took the time to wonder aloud whether the Yanks' back-up second baseman would hit a rare inside-the-park homer? That's priceless. The look on Singleton's face must have been one of complete amazement. He kinda stuttered and then responded, "Sure."

Sanchez proceded to pop up to right field, where rookie Damon Hollins making his big league debut in the field got his first fly ball EVER. Can of corn. But Hollins came in too far, made a Costanza-like puddle jump maneuver and completely missed it. God, I love baseball.

2. While we're talkin' Yanks, The Boss and Cashman decided to shuffle up the lineup to get the Boys rollin' in the right direction. Basically we're looking at Womack in left, Matsui in center, Bernabe to the bench and Robinson Cano to the majors to play second every day. I love these moves (well, except Randy may be going on the DL and Womack might not know anything about left field).

Either way, I like that Andy Phillips is getting good playing time at first and DH and Cano will be called up to get some action. Let's get younger. Some people are saying that Matsui's arm is a liability in center, but have you seen Bernie Williams throw a ball in from center? Seriously, I'd take Madonna's character All The Way Mae in A League of Their Own over this clown. So Matsui's quick release will be an upgrade there, don't listen to the idiots.

3. Did I mention anything about how cool baseball is yet? I turned on ESPN at 10:03 to see the Cincy Redlegs leading the Cardinals Ratzingers 9-3 in the top of the ninth. The bases were juiced, but there was already one out. Pujols then hit a taylor-made double play ball that The Mayor Sean Casey couldn't handle, making it 9-4 with two outs and runners on the corners instead of game over. And that's what makes baseball so amazing. The game should have been over, no question about it. Right there, over.

I called Mitchell VergerDartz III, the world's biggest fan of the oldest team in baseball. He still seemed confident in a Reds victory, as did I. Reggie Sanders then poked one through the hole to make it 9-5, which brought up mulletless Shawn Michaels look-a-like Jim Edmonds. Edmonds crushed one foul, and that gave us pause. A couple pitches later, Edmonds went deep and V-Dartz hung up on me when I cackled hysterically at his impending misfortune.

Mark Grudzsdhfshfqfk then banged one off Casey at first that caromed into the stands, putting the tying run on second base. Tying run? Nah, John Mabry don't need no tying run -- he belted a homerun to center. 10-9. Seven runs in the top of the ninth, the majority of which came with two outs. All in a span of about 10-15 minutes. I love this game, I live for this, whatever the slogan is, I agree. I agree with Marvin (random NU reference, sorry folks).

Incidentally, this is the type of game the 1998 Yankees would come back to win all the time. You just always felt like they could win any game. They were never out of it, no matter what the deficit. So, I make this prediction today: the Cards win 110 games and take home the World Series trophy. Mark those palabras.

4. A new study says ugly children get less attention from their parents. I don't know about the study, but if I have ugly kids, I'm not ignoring them. I'm beating them senseless.

5. Here's the story on the top of the Drude Report: Clinton announces initiative to combat childhood obesity. Here's the story right below it: Pa. Eatery Offers New 15-Pound Burger. Go to Drudge to see a picture of this monstrosity.

6. Photos from the Jazzfest SuperJam, where "Trey and his band welcomed several guests to the stage during their second set. Over the course of the evening, Trey and Co. were joined by Cyril Neville, Ivan Neville, David Grippo, Michael Ray, Sunpie Barnes, Dave Matthews and Mike Gordon for a spirited take on Sneakin' Sally, among others." Scroll down towards the bottom to see the Bad Lieutenant and Cactus in action...together again! More (better!) photos here.

7. Slack Google/Yahoo! Searches of the Day:

--The sound of slack when they fucked
--Grandmama fucking son
--Sodomizing (this is only notable because if you live in Brazil and type "sodomizing" into Google Brazil, Slack is the sixth link that comes up)
--Tit names
--Darryl Jenks

8. Finally, the Slack Song of the Day: Deep Banana Blackout's Get'chall, from 6/17/01, Louisville Motor Speedway. Watch out, y'all, this shit be funky.