Thursday, August 31, 2006

Slack Rerun: Snubbed By Drew Brees

Regarding yesterday's coveted advice, I selected LaDainian Tomlinson with the second overall pick in my fantasy draft last night. And like the time I went swimming in raw sewage, I love it.

Our annual fantasy draft serves as my official kickoff to the football season, the time when I get the goosepimples and start to grow increasingly more excited about the upcoming campaign. This year I'm not prognosticating the Jets to win the Super Bowl like I foolishly did a year ago, so I'm counting on my fantasy squad to provide me with most or all of my excitement over the next five months (and Liverpool across the pond in the other football season).

A team called the Porn Kings selected New Orleans quarterback Drew Brees with the 67th overall pick, and I couldn't help but snicker and/or giggle. Every time I hear the former Purdue Boilermaker's name I automatically think back to that time he supposedly shamed me in front of my house-party guests. And since my audience when I posted this story for the first time was about 1/20th of what it is now, please allow me to recount a few paragraphs from my 9/21/04 post (slightly edited for typos and sense-making):

"Two groups of women never fail to take a liking to me: unabashed fatties and the criminally insane. Well, a pleasant combination of both happened to live in my house senior year in college. This chick wasn't fat per se, but she was plumper than the average bear, and by all means crazy, uncomfortably crazy, like on more than one occasion I thought she'd boil my bunny. Craisins.

Anyway, after her initial attempt to ask me out was thwarted by the 2000 Subway Series (and by my vomiting in the corner like the new guy at a crime scene), she covered it up with a string of doctored e-mails from a fake and clearly transparent Hotmail account, claiming she really wasn't asking me out but was taking me to meet her boss Conan O'Brien at the NBC Studios, where I'd get hooked up live via satellite to the Yankees and Mets lockerrooms before the first game of the Series. I'm not making that up. This girl was that batshit nuts that this lie didn't seem far-fetched to her. So there's a little bit of background on this bitch for youse.

Fast forward a few months and a few envisioned fists punches and judo kicks the right temple, and we're having a party in our house. Despite inviting way too many people, we neglected to invite our crazy upstairs neighbor, who takes offense in the biggest way possible. And then unbeknownst to me, she concocts the following story, and procedes to tell many people on campus, mostly her black pantsed sorority. I had maybe three separate groups of people come up to me and ask me if it were true or not. How she picked Drew Fucking Brees, I'll never figure that out -- maybe she thought I liked the giant thing on the right side of his face.

Here's the story she came up with to spite me and show me how cool she was: Drew Brees, star quarterback of the Purdue Boilermakers, came to visit this neighbor on the night of the party, and knocked on our door. [ed. note: We didn't even fucking go to Purdue] Being the ridiculous sports fan that I am, I opened the door and immediately began fawning over the arrival of our guest: 'Come on in, man, can I get you anything? A beer? Wow, Drew Brees, I loooove you man.'

Brees, invited by our upstairs neighbor to her place and not to our party, hatefully responded that he had no intention whatsoever of coming inside, for if our neighbor/his close friend/perhaps boyfriend/ looney slutbag wasn't invited, then the lovable QB wasn't gracing us with his presence and coming to our party. 'I wouldn't go to any party thrown by someone who doesn't invite [crazy neighbor girl],' I believe he said to me in front of others.

I forget how it all ends exactly, but apparently I was so distraught by this turn of events that I spent the rest of the night sulking in the bathroom (which is actually the only accurate part of the story, and how most parties ended for me in college) while they laughed it up at my expense. Everyone laughed it up at my expense. I was ridiculed. And the relationship between Brees and I has never been the same since."

I apologize for the somewhat anti-climactic finish, but the intense comedy of the situation has never been lost on me. I can't see his name or face without thinking of our fight. I mean, as payback for not inviting this girl to our party, a story circulated around a bunch of anorexics that one of our school's rival QBs, a Heisman candidate no less, came to campus and snubbed me in front of my friends. Between this story and the fake Conan interviews, I'm not entirely sure how she wasn't committed to an institution. I loved her.

Maybe I just should have let her blow me and saved a little face. Perhaps a lotta head saves a little face.

Slack Video of the Day: Two of my favorite things -- Jell-O and Racism -- come together for a 1950s commercial that may not exactly be considered politically correct today. (Thanks, D-Noonan for the link)

Slack Song of the Day: The Brain-Damaged Eggmen played together for the second time earlier this month, laying down some serious Beatles and Floyd covers at The Vic in Chicago.

By all accounts, the group -- Jake Cinninger, Brendan Bayliss and Kris Myers of Umphrey's McGee with Marc Brownstein and Aron Magner of The Disco Biscuits -- kicked some serious ass in the Windy Apple, ala Urlacher and Singletary. Listen to 8/6 for yourself.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Bro Rape Investigation

Take eight minutes and watch this YouTube video...incredibly well-done and pretty damn funny. Watch out, folks.

"The Phish farewell tour? That was like an all-you-can-rape buffet."

Help Me Raise the Jolly Roger

Help Me
I have the #2 pick in tonight's fantasy football draft. The league is for big money, and people take it fairly seriously, much like every other fantasy football league in the world. I won my inaugural year in the league and have been bounced from the playoffs early every year since. I'm ready to re-claim that trophy.

If Mr. Larry Johnson's there, I'm clearly taking him. He likely won't be, as the team that picks first overall has had LJ each of the past two seasons, winning the title both times. We hate those fuckers. But if he's gone, who do I take with the #2 pick this year: LaDainian Tomlinson, Shaun Alexander or Chad Pennington?

Initially I thought about Shaun, but now I'm leaning towards my boy LDT. I'd love to take the Jets' D there, but I think it's a round or two early. I know the obvious pros and cons of each franchise back (I'm wicked smaht), but I'd love to hear what people are thinking. Weigh in below in the comments section with some sound advice...

Bonus points if you can identify where my team name -- Double Wing (Double Wing) -- comes from...

Raise the Jolly Roger
As I said earlier this month, one of the best parts about having the beisbol package is the ability to either praise or prod the announcers in other markets. Last night's effort by Pittsburgh's FSN crew was hysterically over-indulgent, so much so that I had to rewind and transcribe the whole exchange (strangely, I am spectacularly amazing when it comes to transcription). I don't know why I'm so amused by a local call, but I just am, and that's me:

"The Buckos have defeated the Cubs! Ball four! Raise the Jolly Roger, an improbable come-from-behind win at PNC Park!"
"Call the Cops there's been a robbery!"
"A walk-off walk...Batista gets an RBI, and the Pirates defeat the Cubs. Yup, you could raise the Jolly Roger after all."
"Well, you take them any way you can get 'em and just sneak off into the night and get ready for tomorrow's game..."
"That's unbelievable."
"Somebody had to win this baseball game. That's just...There's no clock. Somebody's gonna win it."
"Well, the Cubs didn't want this one."

The Pirates defeated the Cubs 7-6 in 11 innings last night, falling behind by just one run in the 11th, only to win it with a bases loaded walk in the bottom half. You'd have thought the Bucs came back from five runs with a six-run grander slam to defeat a 120-win Yankees team in the World Series, not the 54-78 Cubbies, who are also 1-9 in their last 10, in a meaningless game. These guys managed to combine irrational exuberance with moronic statements and complete non-sequitors to form the perfect game-ending call.

And I'm sure all of Pittsburgh appreciated it. Kudos bar to them.

Slack Google Searches of the Day: how long is a chinaman?, how do you pronounce biopic, what does yah mo b there mean, how to make jack link's jerky, how much has barry bonds' head grown, Dale Earnhardt sr myspace, bus good boobs, screech penis, mike lowell hidden ball trick video, ravishing rick rude poster, "get off my train" clip from ghost, police dogs and psilocybin mushrooms, slack lalane fasano, and dakota fanning rape pics.

Slack Video of the Day: Hoobs had a radio show in college at which I was the Heather Locklear DJ. I was always "Guest Starring," even though I was a mostly permanent fixture on the show. But it allowed me to skip certain nights when I felt like it, while Hoobs was anchored to the chair rain or shine, drunk or sober. It was awesome. I wish I took it more seriously.

I bring this up because the show's theme song was Peter Tosh's cover of Steppin' Razor, which quickly became one of my favorite songs ever (my friends really have great taste in music, I've been blessed). And ever since, I've had a soft spot for Mr. Tosh, based mainly on that song, and of course, Legalize It. So when a YouTube video of Tosh and Mick Jagger singing Don't Look Back crossed my path yesterday, I knew I had a Video of the Day. Enjoy this awesomeness.

Slack Song of the Day: Here's some more Peter Tosh for ya this morning -- Equal Rights/Downpressor Man, Oh Bumbo Klaat, and a really cool ska reggae version of Johnny B. Goode.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

This Boat's a Rockin'

I'm not sure if it's National Jaundice Awareness Week, but the Empire State Building emanated a bright yellow glow last night. The skyline sure did look purty from the Hudson River. So what the fuck was I doing on a boat on a mislabeled tidal estuary following a five-day meth bachelor party binge that begged for a solid Monday night's rest?

The occasional quasi-supergroup cover band known as Bustle In Your Hedgerow rocked the Rocks Off Boat Cruise for three hours last night. And between December's ridiculous performance at the Tribeca Rock Club and the promise of a free ducat, I felt there was no way in good conscience I could have sat on my couch while the boat circled our little island. I'm still hurtin' badly today, but hot damn am I glad I got off my ass and found that fuckin' (black) dog.

Last night also marked the return to live giggery for guitarist Scott Metzger, who brilliantly deParted a less-than-stellar techno-jamband about five weeks ago. Metzger joined his old friends Diamond Dave Dreiwitz, Sir Joe Russo and Untitled Marco Benevento on the three-year anniversary of the very first Bustle performance, and it's almost as if the four of them have been playing together nonstop since that night's debut. Talk about cohesiveness...I think this is the kind of overwhelming tightness to which pedophiles are attracted. That's a horrible analogy, sure, but dead on.

The boat was crowded but not nearly packed, and watching people try to dance in the small space when the waters whipped the ship around was pretty hilarious. But dance we all did -- it helps when you're prodded by four insanely talented musicians that get together rarely to cover one of the greatest rock bands of all time. What's more impressive is how amazing they do it, though. I could maybe perhaps kinda use a lead singer up there, but musically, I'm not sure I've heard anyone cover anything so incredibly in the history of live music. How's that for all-out fluffing hyperbole?

Marco and Scott re-create the classic Zeppelin sound, but it's Joe and Dave that make this band as perfect as it is. Dave could have piloted the Enola Gay because he drops serious, destructive bombs all over the Japs place, and sans analogy, Joe may actually be the best drummer on the planet. If anyone can fill the dead shoes of John Bonham, it's certainly this human octopus pictured above that simultaneously makes it look so effortless and yet so difficult. Parking my no-talent ass directly next to him throughout the whole second set was like a eunich watching an orgy.

The remaining highlight that I'd be remiss if I didn't point out: the two School of Rockers that sat in with Marco and Dave to open the second set. The female guitarist made Metzger look like a chump and the young longhair on drums told Russo to go home and get his fuckin' shinebox. Well, maybe they weren't that great, but they really were phenomenal. These two folks have a very fine future ahead of 'em (a kind anonymous commenter chimes in: "The special guests were Sarah Zimmerman on guitar and vocals and Eric Slick on drums...").

I took some video footage of Immigrant Song and the not-so- impromptu DanjaBoots two-song encore ("We're out of Zeppelin tunes," I heard Joe say), but I've yet to upload the clips. Hopefully one of the videos does justice to that rendition of Immigrant Song. I hate to use the Ace-cliche "off the charts...we need new charts" here, but good lord, sometimes I just have no words for greatness.

And that, my friends, is greatness: a Top Fiver for 2006, for sure.

More Pics: Metzger, Dreiwitz, Russo; Marco's jamface; pre-encore band meeting; other side of the meeting; Metzger & Dreiwitz; School of Rock sit-ins; The Statue of Liberty.

(All pics courtesy of the lovely Penny Lane Seiden and myself -- but, of course, Seiden took the future album cover shot above)

Partay in Delaware?

There's not too much from the past week in the way of specifics that's truly printable. But, sheeet, I'm gonna recap it anyway.

You know it wasn't exactly a PG trip when the three main goals of the bachelor party slowly devolved into this list: 1) ball-gagging and gang-raping a sweet elderly man that we met with his three middle-aged sons in the bar on the first night, 2) firebombing the condo-hotel across the street from our house and gunning down those that luckily flee, and 3) bumrushing and beating Tony Danza to death before his upcoming show at nearby Dover Downs.

The hilarious damage? One dude unconsciously pissed in another dude's law school knapsack at 6 am. When pressed, his drunken, sleepy response was "I was told on the phone earlier that I could piss in this bag." One dude couldn't be more upset with me that I wouldn't let him throw a glass pickle jar into the street; another hates me for putting a stop to Roof Golf with beer cans, a broom and the neighbor's backyard for a fairway. One dude spit the whipped cream off his Jello shot into the waitress' face at a bar called the Rusty Rudder (also affectionately known as The Slutter). Three dudes, including a former D-1 lineman, took turns pitching fastballs at each other's backs with rock hard potato rolls from five feet away.

Between the hours of 2 and 6 am one night, three of us wouldn't stop yelling the name of Blackburn Rovers winger Morten Gamst Pedersen, with the "Gaaaamst" bastardized to fit the style of Cameron's "Peterson!" from Ferris Bueller. The night before it was a version of Ted Knight's "Danny, mow my lawn, hmmm hmmm, Danny" speech, obviously loosely based on the actual dialogue. The night after we did the same thing with old ballplayers in the voice of Yanks' radio announcer Jon Sterling. "Theee 1-1 to John Jaha." The stenographer I wanted to hire would have had a field day with this dialogue.

All told, we drained at least twenty 30-packs in the house alone, cracked 192 whippets, ate $200 worth of dope, smoked $400 worth of meat, created a new drink called CumpleMinze, played a whole six-team Cornhole tournament, built a Beirut table from scraps and played hundreds of matches, and the cops only came by twice. We, of course, ball-gagged and gang-raped the police repeatedly. About the only people we didn't kidnap were the three most heinous girls -- not just in the world, but along the entire eastern seaboard -- that Starbux brought over from the beach to act as our very own Ipecac.

It was one of those trips that was intensely and incredibly hilarious there, but if you weren't in Dewey with us to witness it, you'd think we were a bunch of dorks. Probably the truth, anyway. I cried from laughing at least three times. And we had our very own Yankees Old Timers Day, courtesy of Handstand the Elder, who made up some awesome shirts for us and called the whole 10-minute ceremony with a dead-on Jon Sterling impersonation, complete with stats and middlenames and nicknames.

Above: What has two thumbs and a shirt of a guy who sucked balls after being the greatest rising star ever. Below: Yankee fans, give a Bronx welcome to Kevin Maas, Eric Plunk, Dan Pasqua, Mike Easler and Mike Pagliarulo (not pictured: our own Bobby Meachem, who showed up a day late). More Yanks Pics: Another group shot, Plunk & Easler, Accepting my shirt and Pags!

This truly was a trip for the ages...and my immune system agrees, having completely shut down for the last 48 hours. Between that and the bachelor yakking behind a dumpster on the way home, I think I did my job as Best Man. Best Man...Better Man.

Slack Link of the Day: Mang, how didn't I think of this? This is just brilliant: "A man claiming to be a high-ranking federal housing official addressed a conference Monday on public housing in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, claiming the government was reversing its policy."

Runners-up: Saddam Hussein forced to watch South Park movie; Dozen Pot Plants Found Growing...At Police Station; and Kids Watch As Clown Is Crushed to Death...

Slack Video of the Day: Handstand the Younger told me about this video, and it's as good as advertised. Take the Ipecac Challenge.

Slack Song of the Day: I'll explain later why I've had Led Zeppelin in my head on a loop for the last 24 hours, but for now, please enjoy this crisp copy of the Stairway Sessions from 1970. It's got a couple Stairways, at different points in the history of the song, a Black Dog, a Hey Hey What Can I Do?, and much more. Beauty.

Monday, August 28, 2006

Still Alive...But Just Barely

I fell in love with a cute little Irish girl in Dewey Beach this past weekend. My opening line was "Hey. Uh um, I'm sorry, I got nothin' right now." She responded, "I can see that."

Twenty minutes later we were exchanging classless jokes like we'd been old racist friends for years. She asked me whether I knew the difference between Jews and pizza, then revealed to me that pizza doesn't scream when it's put in the oven.

When I fought back with my best Potato Famine material, she compared it to the Holocaust. I reminded her that the Jews were slaughtered mercilessly by a man in a tiny moustache, but her drunk fuckers of an ancestry simply forgot how to farm properly.

After much laughing and flirting and my deciphering of her intoxicating accent, we shared this exchange after her latest foray into jokes that would make my mother cringe:

Her: "What's the best way to keep li'l kids from playing in your yard?"
Ace: "How?"
Her: "Rape 'em!"
Ace: "Good lord. Marry me."
Her: "Not a chance, ya mothafuckin' jooge*."
Ace: "Well, at least give me your phone number or e-mail."
Her: "Okay, my e-mail is eatmyshit at"
Ace: "I actually own the domain thanks for your business and patronage, you fucking clown."
Her: "Shu'tup already and leave me the fuck alone."
Ace: "Seriously, come home with me and don't ever leave."

I had been planning a trip to England at the end of January for a troika of Premiership matches in a five-day span, but this could certainly change those plans for the two off days. I think there's an Aer Lingus > Cunnilingus joke in there somewhere, but I'm way too Schiavo right now to think of it myself. Have it at, hosses.

*Apparently this means "cunt" in Waterford, Ireland and nowhere else.

(Feel free to click right here for more on this outrageously silly trip, including 14 dudes plotting to gang-rape an elderly man. Awesome.)

Slack Link of the Day: I've previously sung the praises of Improv Everywhere on this here rag, and I'll do so again today. The last time I mentioned this little troupe they had hundreds of people all wearing the same blue shirt and khakis to Best Buy, confusing the customers who were asking for help from staff-dressed people that simply didn't work there. Their latest challenge was Slo-Mo Home Depot, and it's a pretty cool gag. I couldn't make their last few, but this is an activity in which I'd eventually love to participate.

Slack Video of the Day: I didn't do a very good job of looking for a quality video clip this morning, but here's a card trick worth watching. I'm really a sucker for a good card trick.

Slack Song of the Day: Let's go simple...Van the Man's TB Sheets, Caravan and Glad Tidings.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

We'll Be Right Back in 15 Minutes

It's time once again to go fuck yourselves. Hey, whoa, that's just not nice.

Okay, then, well, it's that time once again when that fierce playground of irreverance known as Slack LaLane goes dark for an extended period of time and you're instead forced to fend for yourselves in that turbulent sea of office procrastination. Allright..that's better, jerk.

I'm off to Dewey Beach, Delaware for the remainder of the week, where 12 dudes and I will be showering this blog's co-founder Donnie Fiedler with one last weekend of the joys of bachelorhood before he gets October. We've rented a big house right by the beach (boyyyy), we're toting tons of supplies and we're prepared to ask ourselves "Deweeeey go down to the beach or Deweeeey sit here and play more Beirut?" at least 75 times a day.

We'll be back and ready to go here bright and early Monday morning, probably with more insensitive jokes than ever. I think the Asians really have it coming to them. In any event, enjoy your weeks, enjoy your weekends, enjoy your veals. I'll see you with my nub.

Slack Link of the Day: What is the following quotation referencing? "We are not promoting Hitler. But we want to tell people we are different in the way he was different." If you guessed it's about a new restaurant in Mumbai, India that says it chose the name strictly to stand out among its peers in the financial capital of the country, you just won yourself a bowl of curried Jew pieces. Congratulations.

Oh, and congrats as well to the article's author, who managed to use the garbage phrase "serves up a wide range of continental fare and a big helping of controversy." Great work, you're great.

Slack Video of the Day: I'll let the aggregator/proprietor of Candy in a Barrel describe this instant classic: "When the Great Pumpkin puts a contract out on Charlie Brown, Linus, Schroeder, Snoopy, and Lucy do their damnedest to kill him. Instead, CB exacts a kind of Taxi Driver-like revenge that’s not to be missed." Bring Me the Head of Charlie Brown...

Slack Song of the Day: If you're lookin' for something to do the weekend of October 6th and you're not invited to Donnie's wedding, head on over to Buckeye Lake in Columbus, Ohio for the 2006 Harvest Jam. It's run incredibly well by good folks, it features a solid lineup of talent and you'll get a chance to see Ace-fave Tea Leaf Green and a little-known band called The Maji, the festival's gracious hosts. Here's a taste of The Maji from 7/27/05: Sweet Content, Promised Land, Loving Cup, Green Grass. And don't forget about their Maze cover.

Monday, August 21, 2006

The Finger Thing Means Taxes

And the broom thing means sweep...a five-game sweep. Look how happy The Boss is with that little broom. Look at 'im all happy with that broom. Such a little broom, but such a big sweep.

A fucking five-game sweep. A five-game sweep on the road. On the road in one of the more hostile environments in the majors. Some say it's the Boston Massacre 2006, but I'd like to name this one Big Dig Panel Smashing Through That Lady's Windshield 2006.

22-Hour Saturday

At 8 am I sat alone on a stool in the Red Lion bar on Bleecker Street. Surrounded by 10 Brits and a full English breakfast, I watched Liverpool's disappointing 1-1 draw against recently promoted (Gary) Sheffield United. Incidentally, there may not be a cooler iota of trivial fun than Liverpool's having two guys on their defensive line with weird double vowels (and sometimes vowels) in the middle of their last names: John Arne Riise and Sammy Hyypia.

At 1 pm I sat amongst friends on a plush couch in a top-floor suite at the Marriott Financial Center on West Street. Surrounded by a stable of fellow groomsmen and a smorgasboard of deli sandwiches and fixins, I watched the Yankums take the third game of the weekend series and fellow Northwestern alum Luke Donald challenge for the PGA championship. Incidentally, I love how all my Yanks fan friends refuse to even taunt our Sawx fan friends. It's the ultimate insult, feeling so bad for a downtrodden franchise that we're not even saying shit. Had the situation been reversed, you know we'd never hear the end of it. We are the Israelis, and Sawx fans are the Palestinians.

At 9 pm I stood at the front of the sickeningly gorgeous Cipriani ballroom on Wall Street. Surrounded by groomsmen and bridesmaids, 320 party guests and a happy couple, I watched my first best friend in the world marry his fine-lookin' ladyfriend. At 2:30 am, the disgustingly awesome all-black, 15-piece soul band concluded the night with a Shout reprise* and absolutely tore the house down. Incidentally, if you're booking yourself a wedding, do not under any circumstances hire white people to entertain the crowd -- a white band can only funk it up as good as a black band on its worst night. (*w/ Superstition teases)

At 4:30 am I sat wastedly in that top-floor Marriott suite on West Street. Surrounded by 20 bleary-eyed half-(formally) dressed revelers, a bathtub full of beers and 10 pizza pies, I watched myself become way too stoned and tequiladrunk to have anything to do with anybody, stumbling over sentences and smiling with one of those evil Chesire Cat grins. Incidentally, the fear of vomiting profusely defeated the promise of exciting one-night coitus, and I'm officially a fucking loser. A loser with a wicked case of the spins.

At 6 am, I fell asleep. Only to have to wake up for the post-wedding brunch. At 10 am. Needless to say, two full wedding weekends in a row -- from rehearsal dinner to brunch -- can make a man get down and pray for a full week off from work. Ohhh, sweet, I'm off this week. Suckers.

Slack Link of the Day: If any random passersby reading this here rag are currently juniors or seniors in college, you should consider writing a killer thesis on Criminal Ramifications of Terrifying Homoeroticism in Eastern Canadian Youth Treatment Facilities, concentrating on the oft-used helicopter maneuver. It'll be more of a scorcher than that one you're planning to write about Sanskrit. Here's your first piece of comedically strange research...

Slack Video of the Day: The Alec Baldwin SNL with the Glengarry Santa's Workshop sketch was re-aired this weekend (although I didn't see it this time around). In honor of one of the more genius and underrated post-12:30 skits in the show's storied history, check out this sweet clip of Baldwin's intense cameo in the original flick: an Oscar-worthy seven minutes.

Slack Song of the Day: If you're not familiar with sometimes Greyboy Allstars keyboardist Robert Walter, you're really missing out on one of the better musicians out there. If you ever see his band or GBA coming to your town, make it your beeswax to be there. From the Robert Walter's 20th Congress New Year's 2001 show, here's Good Times Bad Times, Ain't It Funky Now and Fire Eater.

Friday, August 18, 2006

Here We Go...

It's a beautiful weekend for a baseball game...let's play five.

Game One: Johnson versus Wang? What a bunch of dicks.

Cerebro Frito

It's Friday, it actually feels like a Saturday, I'm fairly fried after a long week, I'm off on vacation after today for at least the next week, I have lots of shit to do before this much-deserved respite, I've gotta sprint out to Lawn Gisland again tonight for a wedding rehearsal dinner, our pets heads are falling off...

So in lieu of any strong to quite strong rhetoric or uninteresting posts about the Yankums or Phish this morning, allow me to point you to this ridiculous article that contains the following elements: China, heroin-soaked women's panties, a girl named Wang, the unintended punny phrase "Wang was arrested after a tip-off," and a semi-morbid turn at the end about her potential punishment.

Hey Wang, I think this country is restricted, so don't tell 'em you're carrying heroin-soaked panties!

Slack Explanation of the Day: Some of you may have noticed I took down the Floyd Landis "Life Cycle" suicide post from yesterday... Please note my opinion on the matter has not changed, and I still feel the same way today I did when I posted it. I'll debate you suckas 'til the cows come home (and commit suicide in the pasture). But the sentiment of the piece was really not in the spirit of this here rag. We're a fun-loving bunch, not unlike Marky Mark's friends, and that thing had no place on Slack. If you want to debate, post something on your own blog and let's get it goin'. Thanks, MGMT.

Slack Link of the Day: Deputy Girardin found this absolute gem of a piece, a hilarious article by Cocaine called "When This Meth Thing Blows Over, You'll Come Crawling Back" from The Onion.

Slack Video of the Day: P-Noonan over at The Electric Commentary sent this badboy over last night -- Leonard Nimoy singing a strange tune called Ballad of Bilbo Baggins. One may think this song kinda makes him look like a Douche Baggins, but I think the joke's on us.

Slack Song of the Day: Another Friday mix from the good people at StreamStash, this time just from the "R" section -- God Bless the Child (Richie Havens), Ripple (Rick Danko), Photograph (Ringo Starr), Sailing Shoes > Hey Julia > Sneakin' Sally Thru the Alley (Robert Palmer), and The In Crowd (Ramsey Lewis).

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Job Opening

Does anyone want a job teaching Robbie Cano or Melky Cabrera how to bunt? I mean, good fucking christ, mang.

Yankee Stadium was electric last night, first and second with no out in the 8th, and Torre doesn't signal for Cano to put down the bunt because he flat-out doesn't know how...or at least that's my guess as to why they didn't. Sure, Robinson's swingin' a good stick right now, but you gotta lay one down there. The whole thing's just incredibly frustrating -- these are seriously basic skills.

Do they not teach you how to bunt in Lower Mexico?! That's like my wanting to be called a professional journalist and not knowing how to drop down a possessive noun or pronoun before a gerund.

Slack Link of the Day: Interestingly enough, the not-so-old Jimmy Connors has a new hip. And he's endorsing the company's product on a website guessed it, I remember that 1991 match against Krickstein like it was yesterday, now the guy's got an artificial hip. Craisins.

Slack Video of the Day: Going back to old-school Daily Show, check out some of these Even Stevphen clips with Colbert and Carell: Medical Marijuana, Islam versus Christianity, The War in Iraq, and the Responsible Drinking. Man, it's amazing to me that Colbert and Carell were on the same show and worked together for so long -- The Daily Show in the new SNL.

Slack Song of the Day: How about a ridiculous Two for Thursday hodgepodge? Two for Thursday? Yeah, makes sense to me. Here's Billy Ocean's Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car and Loverboy; Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up and Together Forever; Erasure's Chains of Love and Take a Chance on Me; and Annie Lennox's Walkin' on Broken Glass and Take Me to the River. Holy shit, did I just lose all credibility as a serious music fan or what?!

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Say Goodbye To Real News...

...for the foreseeable future: "Authorities have made an arrest in the JonBenet Ramsey case, law enforcement sources told CNN..."

I will say one thing -- if this suspect really did kill her, I feel terrible that Mrs. Ramsey died while everyone thought she had a hand in it, and more so that she never got to see justice served. Craisins.

This ain't no party...this ain't no disco...this ain't no foolin' arooound. This ain't no Thailand...I killed your daughter...I ain't got time for jail nooooow. Tell me if you put a big suit on this guy he wouldn't be ready to belt out Life During Wartime. Go 'head, tell me.

Clever Girl

Unrelated to that pic, if anyone in New Jersey or the surrounding areas of Lakewood is looking for something fun to do on Friday night, head on over to FirstEnergy Park for this special promotion:

"Friday, August 18 marks the release of the highly anticipated film Snakes on a Plane, starring Samuel L. Jackson. The BlueClaws are also happy to announce that on August 18 there will be Snakes in a Ballpark. Fans attending this game will not have to fight off snakes loose in the ballpark, but instead have the opportunity to touch and hold several different varieties of snakes. Snakes currently scheduled to appear include our friends the Burmese Python and Anaconda."

Contact Handstand the Elder, Director of Promotions, for details...

Slack Link of the Afternoon: Not sure how I of all people missed this story, but a U.S. Congressman helped his wife deliver the couple's third child. Rep. Bobby Jindal and his wife Supriya now have another kid...with a strange fucking name (no comment).

They Have the MLB Package in Rehab?

The Roommates and I finally splurged for the MLB package from our local cable provider, only slightly pro-rated, of course, suckers that we are. And as much as I'm excited about the prospect of 10+ beisbol games a night at the tiniest tap of the clicker, I'm more pumped about listening to the games' local commentators and watching their local commercials for the remainder of the season.

Nothing beats watching a 6-6 Cubs/Astros game in the 14th Inning on FSN Houston...nothing, that is, except the bizarre mersh featuring Shawn Bradley and some little basketball chica warning everyone to keep a portable defibrillator on hand at all games and practices. The high-five they exchange at the end is worth the whole package right there. Joe Mauer doing milk mershes? Hearing the impending sense of doom in the voices of the Red Sawx announcers? These things are going to make my life immensely better.

Now I didn't see this particular clip last night as it aired, but an esteemed colleague of mine forwarded this to me a few minutes ago. Ace-fave Dennis Leary and the less-funny Lenny Clark stopped by the Sawx booth last night, and let's just say they had some choice words for Hollywood's favorite anti-Semite when they found out Kevin Youkilis is Jewish (and a better Jew than me I'm sure):

First they bring Weeds back, then we opt for the baseball package. Between that and the upcoming Premiership season, I'm gonna have to cancel a lot of plans over the next few months. Will the Ace Couchboy be back in business?

Slack Link of the Day: I hope everyone's ready...the 2006-07 Premiership season gets underway this weekend (with Liverpool heading to Sheffield United). Hooray for regular readers of this here rag, who now have yet another topic they couldn't give a shit about to wade through for the occasional nugget of humor. Phish and soccer have got to be the two biggest turnoffs out there, and yet you fuckers keep coming back. Kudos bar to you, I says.

(Ir)Regardless, you might as well follow the EPL this year because you'll hear about it from time to time. So click here for some Soccernet previews and bone up on the upcoming season. "You're gonna like the way you look." --George Zimmer

Slack Obit of the Day: You don't realize how good of a character actor Bruno Kirby was until you think about all the great parts he's played -- Young Clemenza in Godfather II, the Sinatra-lovin' limo driver in This Is Spinal Tap, awesome roles in Good Morning Vietnam, City Slickers, When Harry Met Sally and The Basketball Diaries. RIP Bruno Kirby.

Slack Video of the Day: Speaking of dead actors, here's a tribute video to Chris Farley I thought I'd post up here this morning.

Slack Song of the Day: A friend of mine, when he's not living free or dying, plays the drums in a NYC pop punkish trio called Negative Ken. They used to play shows around the city but somehow that all stopped. Now they're releasing an album, so I bet they'll take to the bars once again to promote it (or give them away), but until they do, feel free to check out their website and a few of their songs: Harder Than It Looks, My Friends are Better and Are We Still Friends.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

An Evening With The Roots

Good times with Pharcyde, Supernatural, Talib Kweli & The Roots at Webster Hall last night. Unintentional comedy everywhere, but good times nonetheless. Not a bad way to pop my hip-hop cherry.

I must admit I left a little early and missed some top-notch shit, including a rendition of Crazy with Gnarls Barkley's Cee-Lo, but The Roots put on a helluva show. If you're white and want to buy a $12, six-ounce cup of Hennessy and some green shit, sign up for free stuff from the cool people at Kool, and get free dogtags and Zippos with customized sayings, then The Roots are certainly for you. Go git 'em.

They're also a supremely talented band and put on quite a fun show from start to finish. ?uestlove is a monster on the drums, and one day when he and Trey play together (nearly confirmed by Roots Lover J-Cantor this weekend), it's gonna be a nice little gin party. Oh yeah, and their MC's name is Black Thought. I mean, that's just cool as hell. "Uh, Mr. Thought, can you sign my hat?"

Slack Pictures of the Day: Some more from Webster Hall -- The Marquee; This picture just seems racist...booty-shakin' girls with Kool ads behind her; Pharcyde opens the show... not well, but they played their hits (Yo Momma, Passin Me By, etc); Supernatural -- this guy literally asked for people to pass him shit to the front of the stage and he'd take it, rap about it (to show they weren't old raps), and pass em back -- he lit the show on fiya; Black Thought and ?uestlove; More Roots; Even more Roots; and Talib Kweli, who I thought sucked.

Slack Song of the Day: Obviously we'll stick with The Roots - check out their faux MySpace page here for some tracks off the new album.

Monday, August 14, 2006

Why I'm a Bad Person and a Worse Jew

I love everything about my brother's kid, and I love being an uncle. As the unofficial motto goes, uncledom gives me all the joys of parenthood without any of the responsiblity. That's pretty much been my life story as America's Guest, so that works for me.

After playing with the nephew and my cousin's girl this weekend, I think I'd enjoy being a father right now. For serious (I really love the phrase "for serious"). But as much as I think I'm ready, I'm not nearly mature enough to be a husband. So I'm totally backwards, the opposite of how most men see their lives in their late 20s. I wouldn't mind a kid, but I would mind a wife.

That questionable mindset led me to offhandedly declare at Saturday's wedding that I now hope to meet and marry some good-looking girl with great genes and intellect but poor birthing hips that will lead to her tragic death after childbirth.

My parents would love to help me raise the kid, and I'd probably get tons of sympathy sex. Maybe (s)he'll grow up poorly without a mother, but I think I can help him or her adjust. As long as (s)he doesn't think I killed their mother intentionally, I think we're golden grahams. Anyway, is that the stupidest and most mischievous train of thought I've ever expressed out loud? Up for debate, but I think so. Terrible.

I also might be the worst Jew in the world. It's not like I'm actively rooting for Hezbollah or anything, but I'm just a bad Jew in general. One of my best friends bestowed an amazing honor me this weekend, asking me to sign his Ketubah, which for all the goyim out there is a marriage contract between a husband and wife. And like Ron Burgundy, the ketubah is kind of a big deal.

We had to sign our Hebrew names on the ketubah, which posed a small problem. I have no idea what my Hebrew name is (not terribly uncommon). Strike one, says the Rabbi presiding over the closed-door session. I tracked down my vacationing parents and got my Hebrew name, and I hung up. "What's your father's Hebrew name?" asked the Rabbi. "Your name is your name AND your father's name." My mother's phone was somehow off when I called right back, so I had to pretty much had to make up my full name. No, not "pretty much," I fully signed a fabricated name. Strike two, says the Rabbi.

Then I became the ultimate Jewmoron...the Rabbi wrote out my Hebrew name on a Post-It note for me to literally copy onto the ketubah, as he did for the other signees. He then said "Why don't you take some practice on the paper before you sign it for real?," and I thought that was a great idea. I started with the first letter on the left and thought I did a fantastic job.

The Rabbi looked at me with a burning look of incredulity. "Okaaaay, but how about now you try writing from right to left like we do in the Jewish religion?" Strike three, jew are outta there.

Those years of Hebrew school really paid off...I can't even remember how to fucking read and write correctly. Well, maybe I'm not such a bad Jew in toto, maybe I'm just an illiterate Jew.

Which Game Is That, D-Bot?

So why does the guy who works in the coffee shoppe downstairs think he can ask me "You watching the game?" every time we cross paths?

There are no sports on television at 7 pm on an August Sunday night, yet sure enough, he nailed me with the query like it was October or June. "Which game?" I replied. "Oh, the Yankees?" he retorted. "Nah, I just woke up from a nap," I said. "And all of my teevees are broken."

This dude clearly doesn't like or know anything about sports, and he doesn't even know what game is on when he asks, but he feels compelled to throw out the more manly and personalized equivalent of asking me "How's it goin'?" every time he sees me. I think he wants me to say, "I don't watch sports anymore since I met you...wanna come upstairs and let me fellate your enormous cock all night while we watch Grey's Anatomy?" I don't want to say it.

I mean, I'm friends with the guys that own the sandwich shoppe and I'm friends with the guys in the bodega next door. But this guy...this guy and I shared one pause-riddled awkward conversation about how he wants to be the next great maker of risque and questionable Larry Clark films and now he thinks he can throw me a "You watching the game?" on a summertime Sunday night at 7 pm when nothing's even on the tube. That's laughable, mang.

Slack Quotation of the Day: The Reds downed the Blues yesterday, as my Liverpool club defeated Donnie Fiedler's Chelsea 2-1 in the FA Community Shield on a late goal by Peter Crouch.

Offseason transfer Craig Bellamy supplied the brilliant cross that an unmarked Crouch headed into the net. Bellamy's a real jerk, but he's going to be the most valuable acquisition in the Premiership this year, you can mark those palabras. And when skipper Stevie Gerrard accepts the championship trophy at year's end, he'll have Bellamy (among others) to thank for helping him win the league title. Chelsea better get used to the idea of losing now.

But here's the quote of the year maybe, from the game recap on Soccernet: "[Chelsea manager Jose] Mourinho's blue machine was stopped by the England striker who was briefly famous for his robotic dancing." You have to love a straight-up sports article that has the phrase "briefly famous for robotic dancing" in it to describe the game-winning goal scorer.

Slack Anniversary of the Day: Two years ago today (and the whole weekend), many of us made our way up to Vermont to say goodbye to The Phish. If anyone ever uses the word "goatfuck" and you want to know what it means, read this recap.

Slack Video of the Day: From those fun-lovin' folks in Japan comes the World Record Trampoline Slam Dunk. Awesome shit.

Slack Song of the Day: Here's a new song by Robert Randolph & The Family Band from his website. Kinda sounds like most every other old song of RR's, but then again, I go see Randolph for the fun factor, not the trailblazing musical genius factor. Enjoy the Thrill Of It.

Friday, August 11, 2006

Git 'R Dun, Leafers

The lone shot of tequila at 1:15 in the morning was probably unnecessary, I'll give you that. But the slice of pizza at 3:30, well, that was essential, man. That was sustenance personified. --My Brain, 4:15 am

I'd give you more than a million guesses as to who opened for Tea Leaf Green at Mulcahy's on Lawn Gisland last night, but even that would be a sucker's bet for all of youse. Funny, I'm going to look back at this concert years from now and giggle as I recall how a "performance" by Dale Earnhardt Jr. preceded my 10th TLG show.

That's not an ironic band name like Sam Champion or Gnarls Barkley. I'm talkin' old Number 8, Son of The Intimidator, Dale effin' Junior, in the flesh, signing autographs for a raucous crowd of rabid fans that put the young TLG fanbase to shame. Kenny Alias and I exited the LIRR and found the bar packed with bluestate red-staters dressed head to toe in red and white, numero ochos abound, moustaches overcrowding upper lips and plump woman with teased hair.

Amazingly, some folks got shut out of the Dale show. And they were pissed. They were disappointed. They were ticketholders yet they were outside looking in. They were angry. They were cursing. All because they couldn't snap a pho-to of Junior at a place where "Ladies Drink Free" and "Islander Fans That Drive Camaros Get Half Off Jalapeno Poppers" on most off-nights.

What an awesome juxtaposition...NASCAR fanatics and obsessive faux hippies all coming together at Mulcahy's in support of good tunes and the HANS device. The response to Dale's signing was so intense they pushed TLG's set back a little while, but the unintentional comedy we received in return was well worth the wait.

And would you look at that? They parked Dale Sr.'s #3 Intimidator vehicle right outside the venue. Apparently it doesn't like to be photographed and cloaks itself to the best of its ability.

Tea Leaf Green itself rocked my fucking pants off last night. Well, I didn't leave pants-less, but figuratively, I don't even know what to believe. I said in my review after the CBGB show in April, "Like Phish my first 10-20 shows, TLG gets hyperbolically better every time I see them. Tighter. Looser. More Confident. They've got the swagger now. They don't take a night off. They don't take a note off."

And I can't find anything to say this brain-dead morning that can top my older sentiments. It was right then, it's more right now.

There were too many highlights from last night's show...just about every song was a rager. But for me nuthin' beats the Precious Stone > Can You Guess It? and the Can't You See cover > Warmup > California. So if you manage to hear this show on or etree and someone's continually screaming "Earnharrrrdt" or "Dale Juuuunior" into the mikes between songs, you know the Cowboy stood a little too close to the taper. Sorry, Focker.

Slack Photos of the Day: Here are a couple more pictures from last night's incredible show: Full band, Full band #2, Ben and Josh close-up, and Josh crankin' out a tune (little fuzzy).

Slack Song of the Day: No long stories today...just Van the Man joining The Band on a fantastic track called 4% Pantomime. If you've never heard this song, get on it now. Now.

Thursday, August 10, 2006


We missed a notable one-year anniversary yesterday: Scott Harper's 40-foot freefall from the Yankee Stadium upper deck to the netting behind home plate. It's fitting this kid is back in the news today, for the Red Sawx now seem to be emulating his rapid and steep descent.

So apparently this 19-year-old rabblerouser got banned from Yankee Stadium (I'm assuming he's barred from the new one as well) and may face 30 days or more in a Turkish prison. Well, maybe not quite Turkish, but I'm sure he'll still see a grown man naked. That's a pretty harsh punishment, but on the bright side he just saved himself $8.75 per watered-down beer.

I'm not a big fan of bringing the penal or judicial system into the sports arena. I think justice is best served on the field. A shirtless father and son duo jumps onto the diamond at a baseball game? Pummel the living shit out of him. A drunk hoser hops onto the rink at a hockey game? Black his eyes and kick his dog. A downtrodden, balding Bengals fan leaps out onto the football field? You guessed it, bust a nut inside his eye to show him where you come from ("I do not think that word means what you think it means").

Fuck jail time, a memorable beating that requires at least two facial reconstruction surgeries and an appendectomy stands as the biggest deterrent to idiocy and spotlight hoggin'. This Harper kid, 30 days in jail and lifetime ban ain't the way to go. Instead, they should have left him out on the net and had the bullpen run in to pelt fastballs at him for the rest of the night. That's a real lesson.

Slack Link of the Day: I saw something yesterday I've never quite seen before -- a visiting player receiving a curtain call in a road stadium. Mets fan, classy stuff. Last night will surely go down in history for Mikey Piazza as one of the best nights in recent memory, right behind that first candlelight dinner with Sam Champion.

Slack Video of the Day: In the wake of the Ron Artest melee in Detroit, SportsCenter put together a short clip with some good fan versus players fights. It's decent, but also check out these clips of the Bruins fight at MSG (easily worse than Artest brawl), the Flames taking on Edmonton's fans and a great minor league hockey fight.

Slack Song of the Day: Ever since I was a little kid, Huey Lewis has been around. Not so much in a literal sense -- he didn't attend my birthday parties or anything -- but he's just been there. Around.

One of my first concert-going experiences as a little kid was, of course, Huey Lewis & The News. One of my favorite movies involves a well-known rant about Huey's work. One of my cinematic guilty pleasures stars the man as a serious actor and crooner (I like it more for Pig Vomit's scenes than Huey and Gwyneth, but still...). One of my idols, Bill Graham, died in a helicopter crash after a Huey show. One of my favorite touring bands has brought him out not once but twice to sing with them. One of the weirdest coincidences of my life centered around Huey. Basically, he's everywhere.

So from his Live at 25 release, I give you The Heart of Rock & Roll, Heart & Soul, and Hip To Be Square.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Headline of the Day

This also doubles as one of the unintentionally funniest articles I've read in years...some real gems in here: Naked US tourist amok in Swiss town may have been high on mushrooms.


I'm standing in my usual spot on the north side of Bleecker Street, minding my own.

Last week's heat hath returned (in part) and exascerbated my chronic lethargy, but I manage to start myself towards the bodega a few doors down in search of tasty beverages.

Two formerly mounted policemen exit the most underrated sandwich shoppe in the city and hop back up on their equine friends. At that moment, a tall, dark halogen lamp of a man, not unlike a shorter Manute Bol in appearance, stops dead in his tracks and stares intently at the horses.

I take a few steps closer to the bodega and stop outside, perhaps unconsciously waiting for a reaction of sorts. The horses begin to trot east with their respective officers aboard, and Manute Minus a Foot turns the other way following an intense 10-second glimpse. He shakes his undersized head and catches my gaze.

"Sheet!," he exclaims in the manner of how I perceive the negro Jones from A Confederacy of Dunces would sound in real life. "'Dat horse got bigger cock than me! Fuck!"

The excited African continues to shake his head and walk towards 6th Avenue. I chuckle inside and out before acquiring a drink and returning to my air conditioning. You, sir, are a self-racist.

Slack In Memorium of the Day: Eleven years ago today I was a fresh-faced, 16-year-old sassmouth playing softball in Northeast Pennsylvania when I heard the news Jerry Garcia had died. The world lost a great white beard that day, and Robert Hunter said as much (and a little more) last year. Eleven years. Sad.

Slack Video of the Day: From the desk of ScottyB comes this gem... You've all probably heard the country-style Gin and Juice by The Gourds (mislabeled on Napster as Phish and circulated as such). Well here's a short little video of Snoop Dogg listening to it and seemingly enjoying himself. Wish it were longer, but it is what it is.

Slack Links of the Day: From the "How the Once Mighty Have Fallen" files, I think it's about time we lock up Mr. Clarett for a little while. I wonder what's more valuable to him these days, the national championship ring or the loaded rifle, three handguns and hatchet police found in his car after a car chase and a Mace-ing.

And from the "Pornographers are People, Too" file, here's a pretty cool profile on the guy who brought college boobies to your living room, Joe Francis.

Slack Song of the Day: It's August 9th, and I've already mentioned the day's significance, so I think a little Jerry Garcia Band is in order this morning: Ripple, Cats Under the Stars, and Deal.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Nose For News

I've heard the best parents often try to light a fire under their kids for motivational purposes, be it in sports or academia, but this just may cross the line: "Mom Tries To Set Kids On Fire, Police Say."

While that horrific tale captured my short attention throughout the brief text of the article, I was more intrigued by the "Most Popular Stories" feature immediately following the piece:

Most Popular Stories
Mom Tries To Set Kids On Fire, Police Say
Alleged Road Rage Incident Critically Injures Man
Man Charged In Stabbings Over Soap
FBI: Sleeping Husband Killed With Hot Oil
Steelers Cut Wide Receiver

So, according to WPXI in Pittsburgh, four of the top five most popular stories in the area right now involve heinous crimes committed with lighter fluid and fire, an angry vehicle, a knife over soap, and hot household cooking oil. Oh yeah, and four-year veteran Eugene Baker got cut from the Steelers. That really sucks.

I'm feeling Pittsburgh these days. Seems like a lovely town.

Slack Google Searches of the Day: Tubbs Mulgrew gets all huffy 'n puffy when lowly bloggers don't credit him for inventing this gag, so this one's for Col. Hoooagies...these are the strangest searches that brought random Interwebbers to this here rag: deadwood al suck it mean like whore, fuckable Soledad O'Brien, john basedow nude pics, "it's enrico palazzo," suspended bitches, cowboy urns, androgynous video clips, and "you mean i'm not white?" and manny papi pee pee.

Slack Video of the Day: Yesterday I mentioned the Dave Matthews Band pre-show extravaganza at Randall's Island we caught on Saturday. Today, I offer a post-script.

Apparently Dave called out Bela Fleck and all the Flecktones for the extended #41 encore. Had we been there for that part, I'd be pretty psyched, as Bela and the Flecktones are some of the best, most professional musicians out there. The New York Post's critic, Dan Aquilante, saw things the other way, and in just one sentence in his review lost all musical credibility. He's done, seriously.

Aquilante naively reported, "But to give the Flecktones' bassist, reed player and synth percussionist major solo time at this crucial end-show period - especially when the DMB aces (bassist Stefan Lessard, drummer Carter Beauford and saxman Leroi Moore) are able and willing to take the music higher - is absurd."

Absurd? That statement's fucking absurd, Dan. Have you ever seen Victor Wooten play bass? How about his brother Future Man*, who might be the most unique motherfucker on the planet? Do you have any idea how foolish you sound when you make bold statements of idiocy from that half-baked intellect? I can't even begin to explain how upsetting it is that music critics like you exist. So, Dan, this one's for you -- Wooten layin' it down. And if you wanna see him in the DMB context, here's Wooten owning Dave's face.

Slack Song of the Day: "There's aspects of the Grateful Dead that I love. There's aspects of Boston I love." Whichever redhead made that ridiculous quotation was right: There are aspects of Boston we all love. Let's play a few: Foreplay/Long Time, Rock & Roll Band and the obvious, More Than a Feeling. Incidentally, is it possible Boston only released one album in its history, and it was called Greatest Hits?

(*Future Man is quite a character, aside from his unusual percussive style. He was indicted on four counts of tax evasion in 2001, and I think his defenses were brilliant: As Wiki explains, "he claimed, for example, that the IRS is actually a Puerto Rican debt collector. He also used esoteric and arcane tax protester literature and at one point made the bold claim that because he was from the future, the U.S. Government has no authority to tax him.")

Monday, August 07, 2006

Lester Burnham Moments

This weekend I figured out what I consider the most awkward part of societal interaction: second meetings, following a notable time gap.

I can't think of anything more embarassing than a mutual friend re-introducing you to someone you've met maybe three or four months earlier, only they don't have the slightest recollection of the first encounter. There's nothing more injurious to the ego than that deafening moment following "Oh hey, Ace, have you met Buelah?" when I say, "Oh yes, absolutely" as they simultaneously declare "No, I don't think we have."

Sometimes I want to respond, "Really? You don't remember me? You don't recall the time we met in Phlox's apartment shortly after Arbor Day, when we stood by the window and discussed passionately how the downfall of Monday Night Football began shortly after they replaced MacGyver as the lead-in program? No? You have no memory of my smooth segue into how I thought you looked like a young Jessica Tandy and how I wanted to dress up in blackface, narrate a story and drive you to the Piggly Wiggly? Well, I sure as shit remember it, as I remember our witty repartee about the little girls that fall down wells and how they deserve to wither and rot. I fucking remember you."

Usually, though, I'll just make some self-deprecating yet still narcissistic remark a la the hero of this post's subject and pretend I've also never met them. "Oh, right, I was thinking of someone else." I musta been thinking of someone who gives a damn about me. Someone who knows I'm special. Like my mommy.

Slack Recommendation of the Day: I took in an absolutely incredible movie called Brothers of the Head this weekend. The story itself is the fucking bees' knees -- conjoined twins sold by their father to a producer in order to become the next great pop band, but instead the boys turn punk and rock out with their British cocks out, drinking and drugging and sexing and loving, basically leading a Sid Vicious-esque life. But like the story, the filmmaking is also genius, shot brilliantly in classic mock-documentary style without so much as a head fake towards reality. If this movie's playing anywhere near you, which it's likely not, go see it. Marvin K. Mooney will you please go now...

Slack Quote of the Day: "I can take you to the trough, but I can't put the pussy on top of you." --OJ Simpson, as can be heard on the new website, [Quotation taken from the NY Post article]

Slack Video of the Day: Check out this hilarious clip of a public access television host getting pranked by an army of well-trained pranksters. It starts off kinda slow, but by three minutes you'll literally be laughing out loud. "A caller called before with a very valid point..."

Slack Song of the Day: I went out to the dust bowl known as Randall's Island on Saturday to see the Dave Matthews Band. Well, no I didn't.

I guess DMB was the headliner of the six-band sun-soaked fiesta, but we left shortly before he serenaded the popped-collared and oversized-sunglassed masses with his own brand of unintelligibility and inferior musicianship.

Say what you will about the man, but Dave puts on a fantastic undercard. We got to see Ace favorites Tea Leaf Green and Bela Fleck & The Flecktones, as well as Yonder Mountain String Band, Slightly Stoopid (which was Slightly Terrible) and the first half of Government Mule. Bela Fleck's Stomping Grounds > Wipeout > old timey dixie music > Wipeout > Stomping Grounds stole the show, but TLG was the overall highlight of the day, as very well expected.

'Twas my ninth Tea Leaf show in 11 months, and I cannot be sweeter on a live touring band than I am on them. In honor, here's Sex in the 70s, Garden Part III, Incandescent Devil, and Can You Guess It?.

Friday, August 04, 2006

Ain't No More Cane In This Office

No better way to say "Have a good weekend" than this:

Seems too easy to play Spot the Deceased Musical Genius in that clip. Enjoy the weekends...when you awake, we'll meet right back here.

Don't SportsCenter Baseball Tonight

I really despise ESPN most days. It provides me much pleasure in watching sport, but lately it inspires more frustration and anger than anything else. I know, I'm not alone. Everyone hates Stuart Scott, and I'm very late to the Hater in Tha House Party.

But this goes beyond one man with one eye. This is about branding: the Mobile ESPN shit, the "We're in it for the keeeeeds" My Wish series, the Around the Horn waste of space. Seriously, who's idea was it to put Jay Mariotti and Woody Paige on the air together for a half-hour show hosted by Ralph Macchio's retarded stunt double? "C'mon!"

The latest example of why I'd like to see the Unabomber released and unleashed upon Bristol surrounds the current Baseball Tonight lineup of analysts. I'm sure the rock-solid Karl Ravech agrees with me when I say I want to poke out my eardrums with an exacto knife when Jeff Brantley, Orestes Destrade or Rectel Hershiser take the set. And as much as I fucking adore Buster Olney's writing, he's a cross between the flustered, shy kid that almost pees his pants giving a book report in 4th Grade and David Spade's imitation of Michael J. Fox.

The inexplicably employed Destrade really irked me last night, rousing me from near-slumber with two severely idiotic remarks. First, he said something fairly innocuous like, "There's a famous expression, 'Never wake a sleeping dog.'" But duder, if you're going to sport a universal adage and introduce it as such, at least get it remotely correct. Let sleeping dogs lie, my brother. I know another famous expression: I hate you, and I hate your assface.

Okay, but I could forgive that. English isn't his native language, and he at least got the meaning correct. The next slip-up killed me, though. When discussing Chase Utley's 35-game hitting streak, the former mediocre first baseman stated that only two guys in the major leagues are consistent enough to put a streak like this together: only Ichiro and Chase Utley.

Really? Of the hundreds of hitters in the show, Destrade has known for a while that just Ichiro or Chase Utley could put this streak together? Not Jimmy Rollins or Luis Castillo, each of whom put together streaks of 35 games or more? Not Joe Mauer, who was batting .390 for a large part of the season? Not Vlad Guerrero, who can hit a ball off his shoetops into the ozone? Not Jeter or Tejada or Michael Young, three guys that have just as many hits as Utley? No? Just Chase Fucking Utley or Ichiro? Okay, we gotcha, Orestes.

I just cannot fathom how some people get jobs, and really, I can't imagine how they hold them. And for chrissakes, BBTN, who does a guy have to blow around here to get you to mention that Joe DiMaggio started a 16-game hitting streak the day after his 56-gamer snapped, effectively hitting safely in 72 of 73 games. Just say it once. Once, Johnny, once! I'm begging you.

They really need to re-hire Harold Reynolds and Weekend at Bernie's Gammons. I just used Weekend at Bernie's as a verb. What of it?

Slack Link of the Day: Talk about shrinkage, this might be one of the weirdest news items I've ever seen -- "A sunbather was left writhing in agony when his testicles became trapped between slats of wood in his deckchair." [Nad Trap Man Set Free]

Slack Plug of the Day: I rarely throw out links to other blogs (because I want all your attention on me...well, me or Chase Utley), but I've become a big fan of this dude Murph who commented here a few times recently. If you have some time, I strenuously encourage you read some of this kid's barely coherent ramblings -- fucking genius stuff. Warning: May not be suitable for tight-asses.

Slack Video of the Day: Hoobs, Lukas, Donnie and I strolled through the subsiding heat to Joe's Pub last night to see a rising young "post-Afrobeat" band from Ann Arbor called NOMO. And, sure, there are more predominantly white Afrobeat bands out there right now than ever, but these guys really, really can play.

They've got some seriously talented dudes and chicks: two trumpets, a baritone sax, the lead guy plays keys and sax, then a funky bass and guitar, drums and percussion. Best of all, they each know their instruments really well and play their asses off. The horns are super-talented -- the baritone kid is especially stellar and the male trumpeter has a Kind of Blue thing goin' on when he solos that actually fits right in to the band's sound. I described him in a kind-of permanent state of Masquelero. Really a fantastic show, I couldn't recommend these guys any more highly.

Here's a two-minute YouTube clip I uploaded of the band's encore. And from NOMO's website, here are two songs to sample: Better Than That and Hourglass.

Slack Song of the Day: Time for another Friday StreamStash mix -- Lawyers, Guns & Money (Warren Zevon), Come On, Come Over (Jaco Pastorius), Baby Hold On (Eddie Money), Tell Mama (Janis Joplin), Day Tripper (Ramsey Lewis) and I Got a Woman (Ray Charles).

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Caption Contest

Take your best shot at this one, Slackers...

If we both let you rape our girlfriends, can Straw 'n I blow lines off Givens' ass? Arvid and Dennis can't watch, yo."

Eh, not my best, and definitely in the obvious camp. What say you?

Speaking of the Mets, I'm not sure if anyone caught this (and I didn't see SportsCenter last night), but the Marlins used four pitchers in the span of 90 feet last night against the Metropolitans. If that sounds confusing, it probably isn't, but I'm tired and cranky this morning, so allow me to explain a little better.

With a man on first and no outs in the ninth inning, Joe Girardi sent pitcher Brian Moehler to the plate to pinch hit for pitcher Joe Borowski. Moehler, instead, got hit by a 3-0 Billy Wagner pitch. Girardi then replaced Moehler with a pinch runner, fellow pitcher Scott Olsen. After Hanley Ramirez inexplicably struck out on a third-strike bunt and Dan Uggla went down like a fat chick with low self-esteem, Girardi replaced pinch runner Scott Olsen with pitcher Logan Kensing.

Kensing, following an extensive stretching routine, was stranded. Borowski, Moehler, Olsen and Kensing, all to get a man to first and leave him there. I've never really seen anything like that, on two separate fronts: ne'er seen four pitchers used for a single at-bat and ne'er seen a pinch runner replaced by a pinch runner (sans injury).

This might be the most blatant misuse of pitching talent since Phillies starter Brett Myers beat...ah, forget it. Craisins.

Slack Link of the Day: If you've ever wondered what Jessica Simpson's nipples look like, you're in luck...

Slack Video of the Day: Not quite the RBI Baseball/1986 World Series from a few months back, but here's a little clip called Sports Bloopers you may or may not enjoy.

Slack Song of the Day: I'm pretty sure I could post a different song by The Band every day and not feel badly about it. The world deserves The Band. You need The Band, whether you know it or not. It's part of your soul. You should dig down deep and find the spot in your lungs that's craving the greatest non-American American band in music history, and once you locate that place, then and only then should you click on these tracks here: Chest Fever, We Can Talk, Ophelia, King Harvest (Has Surely Come), It Makes No Difference, Mystery Train.