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July 29, 2005


I haven't seen the door-to-door bubble gun salesman at all.  No.  Since I first say the door-to-door bubble gun salesman -- nothing.

No bubble guns for us.

And it's even Friday.

Posted by mrbrent at 11:24 AM

July 28, 2005


Today the Yahoo! Container of Headlines makes with the cautionary example:
• NASA pessimistic about solving debris woes

It's true.  The word "woes" cannot ever again be used seriously.

Just try saying it out loud.

Posted by mrbrent at 11:59 AM

July 27, 2005

nothing says blog like whining about the weather

At the risk of betraying myself, and my war on whining, lemme say this:

Here in New York, there is a cold front that will be coming through sometime this late afternoon.  This cold front will lower temperatures fifteen or so degrees.

I am sitting in my office, with the a/c wheezing, and I am waiting for this cold front like I used to wait for Santa Claus.

Once that fucker blows through, this city, including my immediate friends and family, will be 85% less cranky.

And then we will dance, just like that old Hooters song.

Posted by mrbrent at 2:16 PM

rumours mongered daily

I've been asked to get off my ethical high horse and spread some dirt.  Well, I've asked myself to do that, so, the first sentence is not a hundred percent lie.

The online presence of Radar magazine (which magazine, in certain circles around these parts, is the tip of an iceberg-sized in-joke) reported that there's a certain rumour in the state of Texas (no, not the one about the Gov and closet) that lends credence to the idea that power is indeed the ultimate aphrodisiac.

(Though actually, I think that sentiment reveals a giant blind spot in the wisdom of Henry Kissinger.  The whores didn't love Henry for his power -- they loved the hundred dollar bills he kept giving them.  The aphrodesia does not reside in the power itself, but rather in the trappings of power, like money or fame or even infamy.)

Let me wash the image of Henry Kissinger having sex out of your head with this -- the image of Karl Rove having sex, with someone who is not his wife.

Sure, it's a dumb rumour, and who cares about Rove's marriage?  I'll tell you who cares: spite cares.

For the record, I do not have any ethical high horse at all, but I can gin up this "righteous" angry look on my face that I think is impressive but rather causes recalcitrant fast food employees to laugh at me once I've left.

Posted by mrbrent at 10:11 AM

July 26, 2005

god bless the brothers boing

While I'm reading some heavy shit these days, I don't feel like posting heavy shit.  Which is why God invented links.

[Via Boing Boing, which you already read:]

"Hey Steve, how terrified are you?  Fucking.

Also, John Lennon plus Chuck Berry multiplied by Yoko One?  Why, that would look like this.  More info here.

[Via Romenesko, which you don't read:]

Garrison Keillor's gentle but withering political satire -- a palliative for a stressful, sticky day.

Posted by mrbrent at 2:52 PM

raging beast soothing happened

Last night I saw me some live music for the first time in what feels like years.  Actually, just "first time in years".  But the show was a success.

The band, which contains an acquaintance or two of mine, is called The Wooden Hills.  They came out like Ray Davies and the Attractions and closed like Screamin' Jay Hawkins.  Which was a pleasurable experience.  They're right up Monk's alley, unbeknownst to Monk.

They have their own online prescence, which, I'm told, includes much in the way of free music -- a "song of the week" or some such.

Yes, I suppose this counts as a "shill".

Posted by mrbrent at 9:17 AM

July 25, 2005

not in the wal-mart parking lot you don't

It's Monday morning.  New York is going to work.

In my office neighborhood (a galleryish remote area on the west side of Manhattan), the walk from the subway brings you fellow desk jockeys, some new mediaish and some, like me, of an office trade, condo-owners taking the dog for a walk, locals setting up their lawn chairs next to the stoop, and this guy, my new favorite:

Six foot plus and bald, carries a cheap duffel filled with the same children's toy, lumbering from storefront to storefront while crying, "BEHHHHHHH-ble gehns!  BEHHHHHHH-ble gehns!"  Accent is something African (like I could actually place it closer).

He is a bubble-gun door-to-door salesman, and I hope that today, he will sell many bubble guns.

Posted by mrbrent at 8:52 AM