Feaverish

I got fingered by the fuzz this morning on my bike ride to work. According to the po-po I was “running a red light.” Whatever that means. Evidently Whitey has nothing better to do these days than pull over nearly-innocent bike commuters. Here’s a blow-by-blow transcript:

The Man: [getting out of his berry] Last time I checked, that’s a vehicle you’re piloting.

Our Hero: [dismounting from piloted vehicle] What’s it to ya, Oinkers? [makes pig noise, then more pig noises, then a prolonged pig noise, then tries and fails to accurately reproduce the sound of bacon frying]

The Man: [reaching for Taser™] That’s it! Spread ‘em, scofflaw. [flashing Abu Ghraib grin™] Or I’ll make you.

Our Hero: [brandishing bike chain] You and what army, 5-0?

The Man: [twirling Taser™ around on index finger] Punk. Your mouth’s writin’ checks your chain can’t cash.

Our Hero: [spinning bike chain overhead] Your ass is writing ch. . .

And that’s all I remember, since just then I was Tasered™ and passed out. Evidently I was laboring under the misapprehension that you had to actually touch someone with a Taser™ to zap ‘em. Turns out they can shoot you with it. From quite a distance. Like, a distance greater than a whirling bike chain.

Oh and speaking of bikes, I just found this blog, which appears to be written by another indie-rock–loving Portland cyclist. Weird. I feel so . . . un-unique. I mean, this is Portland! I thought I was the only one.

“So besides being electrocuted, what’s been going on?”

Well, thanks to Plastic Bugs I’ve been playing the smallest game of Pacman ever and reading these hilarious seller feedback comments on eBay.

I also really enjoyed the arial photography of Alex MacLean courtesy of Tom McMahon.

I scored 9 out of 10 (A-!!!) on the Arial or Helvetica? quiz (the capitals are tough), but I don’t remember how I found out about it.

And Simplebits was kind enough to point me in the direction of these Napoleon Dynamite quotes. However, I don’t recall on which of my many internet travels I chanced upon the Napoleon Dynamite Soundboard.

“Let the spiral of boredom begin!”

This afternoon I walked into the coffee shop humming “Here Comes the Sun” by the V.U. and was shocked — yes, shocked! — to hear it playing on the store’s sound system. I walked out, then walked back in humming “Me So Horny,” but it didn’t work. Also, that song is really hard to hum.

In related news, “Here Comes the Sun” is the second song today I’ve initially mistaken for a Beatles song. The first was “When You’re Loved Like You Are” by Of Montreal. Could this be less interesting? Yes:

I also noticed how back-pocket–placement on pants can make a big difference regarding the appearance of your butt. For instance, pockets that are spaced too far from the crack-seam make your butt look huge, like your ass is about to explode out your jeans. My own ass has joined forces with my love handles to form a kind of “super-ass” that goes halfway up my back. Flimsy chairs you have been warned.

Update!

A coworker just sent me this hilarious link to an item for sale on Amazon. As if the product itself isn’t funny enough, be sure to read the reviews at the bottom. Priceless.

Hi everybody. Just a little announcement: Pitchfork Media has reviewed my latest mix tape (it’s actually a CD). I’m very excited, as it’s rare for them to review mixes, and also because I think the review is pretty favorable. Click on the image below and give it a read, why don’t you:

Various Assorted Links

You’ll have to forgive me; some most all of these links are really old. This is the funniest picture I’ve seen in a long while. Via Authentic Boredom.

I also really enjoyed this Dan Rather fansite I found at Que Sera Sera.

Finally, I know everybody’s already linked to it, but here’s that Israeli Pulp-Fiction–esque McShwarma commercial, which, like many of my links, I found at the excellent Waxy.org.

Update:

Safari isn’t honoring my min-height declaration and I’m not super-keen on the short-book–look, so here’s a photo to give the page a little more length. I took it on my ride to work this morning as I crossed the Hawthorne Bridge.

This might take a while to load, but oh man is it worth it.

At lunchtime today, I saw this outside my office window:

As I headed out the door to purchase the latest Fiery Furnaces album, the crow (raven?) winked at me, and kind of nodded its head. Naturally, I took this to mean “Oh yeah, you’ve got great taste in music.” I must have messed up the interpretation, though, because what the crow really meant was “Beware! Disaster will befall you!”

And so it happened that on my walk back from Jackpot I saw this:

“Oh dear,” I thought, cleverly. And then like any good journalist I braved fiery death and carcinogenic fumes to see what was going down. I ran towards the scene. Or at least I jiggled my camera as I walked briskly towards the scene. You know, to make it look like I was running:

When I got there, well, let’s just say it wasn’t as dramato-tragic as I thought it’d be:

Turns out it was just a car fire, and the firemen seemed to have it under control.

That didn’t keep me from repeatedly asking if they needed a hand, though.

Suddenly the wind shifted, and the noxious smoke was heading right for me! I was trapped! There was nowhere to go, except backwards.

So I took a few steps back.

Here’re Ripley and Wight. They look like they’re workin’ pretty hard. Not like those jaw-jackers to their left.

The fire was pretty much out by this point.

Also, Budge was on the scene, making sure everything was in order. I think their names are made-up.

Giving it one last squirt.

This is all that’s left. Pretty sad. Plus I think one of the firemen (probably Ripley) busted the hood.

Here’s a final framing shot. I think this sums it up nicely. Portland. Aww yeah.

Oh, and about five minutes later I got shat on, tremendously, by a seagull. So that’s probably what that damn crow was all winky about.

I was just bitching the other day that I hadn’t seen a really great movie in a long time. Well, folks, this weekend I saw two. Technically I saw three, but I’d seen one of them before. The other two, though, were new.

First, and least, is Harold and Kumar go to White Castle. I’d been very disappointed with the latest spate of comedies, including Dodgeball, and Anchorman, both of which seemed to be trying way too hard to mimic the success of the genuinely funny Old School, and both of which came up pathetically short. I’m not saying Dodgeball and Anchorman were humorless — they had their moments (“It’s these pleated pants!”) — but the yucks were, for me and mine, few and far between.

By way of contrast, my sides and stomach were in laughter–induced pain after only a few minutes of Harold and Kumar, and several scenes had tears pouring down my face while I gulped for air. The scene where Kumar goes down on the anthropomorphized bag of pot is worth the price of admission all by itself. There’s a lot more I could say to recommend the movie (Neil Patrick Harris giving it to a car seat, “Battleshits,” etc.) but you’ll be better served if you just go rent it.

Moving back in time, but laterally along the ladder of hilarity, is Undercover Brother. I saw it when it came out a few years ago, but we rented it again (as research for a parody-themed lesson plan L was putting together. Learning is fun!) and it was just as funny the second time. It’s basically Austin Powers, but, you know, blacker.

While both these films gave my funny bone some much needed action, the real treat of the weekend was The Barbarian Invasions, a moving and unbelievably intelligent film by French–Canadian director Denys Arcand. I loved an earlier film of his, Jesus of Montreal, and The Barbarian Invasions was equally brilliant.

It’s one of those films that’s about so many things but doesn’t feel at all disjointed. It reminded me of Fellini’s 8½, in that examining-your-life-while-in-the-company-of-friends kind of way (see also The Big Chill and Secaucus 7), but it’s a unique film, and incredibly smart.

In other news, Apple had a few announcements yesterday that got my knickers in a twist. Besides all the great new software, they introduced, finally, a “cheap” Mac.

I’m a little divided, actually. I mean, the more people use Macs, the less of an elitist snob I’ll seem, and the loss of one of my defining characteristics, however unsightly, is bothersome.

Still, how anyone could choose Option A over Option B is beyond me.

• A
• B

Also announced was the iPod shuffle, one of which we promptly ordered to please The S on his upcoming B-Day. (The S, if you’re reading this, please don’t tell The M that I told you.)

On a webmaster-esque note, please notice the new links in the sidebar to your right. This is for now kind of my “best of the web,” or “currently enjoying,” or “too lazy to update his links” links list. Also note that, after so many of you requested it, I’ve linked to my del.icio.us bookmarks.

In case you turned on a computer for the first time today, del.icio.us is, among other things, a way to keep all your bookmarks in one place online. So whatever computer you happen to be working on, whether at work, at home, or at some cyber-opium-den, you have access to all your favorite websites and whatnot, without having to remember if it’s “thehouseofwigs.com” or just “houseofwigs.com”.

More than that, though, del.icio.us organizes your bookmarks using tags you provide. So now, instead of putting, say, Feaverish in your “humor bookmarks” folder, you can tag me with tags that describe the site, like “humor,” “links,” “sex appeal,” “towering intellect,” etc. After that, you can call me up by typing in any of the tags. It’s pretty sweet, once you get it down.

Even more than that though, is they way del.icio.us lets you know who else is bookmarking the same sites as you. So, for instance, if you bookmark Feaverish, you’ll notice that there is one other person (it’s me!) who has Feaverish as a bookmark. And you can see the most popular bookmarks in del.icio.us, and a host of other things. A host, I tell you.

Oh, and check out the links at the bottom of this page, allowing you to move easily from one page to another, without having to access the messy archives. I do it for you, people. Because I care.

On a more personal note, I hope to make this site more personal in the coming posts. I want to try to get back to the incoherent and overwritten ranting you’ve enjoyed in the past. So, in summary, less cultural news and more bitching. That’s my promise to you. (See how I resisted writing about the new Fiery Furnaces album? I’m on a total roll.)

Oh how I love that word. Anyway, life is good. Period. And here are just a few of the reasons why:

This is the funniest thing I’ve seen all week. Discovered while browsing this site which in turn was discovered at the always excellent Rebecky.

And speaking of excellent, Ms. Sarah Brown never fails to disappoint. Her archives are just what the doctor ordered. The LAUGH doctor, that is.

And this is what I’ve been listening to, over and over, all week. I’m not overly embarrassed to admit that yes, I got three of the four above albums because they made it onto Pitchfork’s top ten albums of the year list. But I am a little embarrassed.

The Long Winters are just flat-out awesome. Pretty straightforward rock, à la Wilco or R.E.M., but with a brass-band backup and occasional strings. They’re kind of a supergroup, I guess, with contributions from members of Death Cab and the Posies, among others, but the songwriting is all John Roderick’s doing. And what doing indeed! The lyrics are cryptic and moving and overwhelmingly life-affirming. These songs will drag your sorry ass out of a bad mood faster than Kung-Fu-lesson–begging Ninja victims.

Devendra Banhart is probably what you’d consider a folk singer, but that’s only because troubadour and balladeer aren’t relevant musical categories any more. He sings beautiful, sometimes poignant, sometimes silly songs accompanied by guitar. His voice is the standout instrument, though. He sometimes reminds me of Rufus Wainwright — especially early Rufus songs like Barcelona and In My Arms — but mostly this is music to Proustian-rush you away to late summer nights and half-empty bottles of red wine.

Joanna Newsom makes harp-pop. She’s a classically-trained harpist with what could most generously be described as a “unique” voice. I was prepared to be annoyed by this album, but the songwriting is so excellent and the music so catchy that I enjoyed the album the first time through and only like it more with each subsequent listen.

Finally, The Go! Team is what would happen if Clinic, Le Tigre, and the Jackson 5 made a demo tape. The music is all over the place, but consistently chaotic, rockin’, lo-fi, and joyous. There’s a little bit of Motown and funk, a little bit of indie rock, a little bit of Vince Guaraldi, and even a little big of rap. Check out some of their songs at their website and don’t blame me if your party bone starts, well, partying.

I don’t want to end this on a sour note, so consider this a warning rather than a gripe, but I saw that movie Troy last night, and it’s awful.

For starters, it’s pretty obvious that whoever wrote the screenplay couldn’t make it through the actual Iliad and had to resort to a children’s picture book version instead. I guess it is called “Troy” and not “the Iliad,” but still.

The acting is terrible, and the casting is all wrong. Eric Bana as Hector, Breaker of Horses? I think not. Oh, and here he’s “Tamer of Horses” instead, which—and I don’t care if it’s a more literal translation—is all wrong. It’s like one step up from “Petter of Horses,” and two short steps from “Molester of Four-Legged Things.”

Even Brad Pitt, whom I usually like, is reduced to talking in some kind of fake deep voice and sticking out his lower lip to pout a lot. “Oh, see, Achilles is petulant. Look how he’s sticking out his lower lip.” Right. Also, he’s totally straight is this one. And Patroclus is his cousin. What. Ever.

The bottom line: don’t see it. Please. I’m begging you. You’ll only be encouraging them to mutilate another historical epic.

Ugh. What happened this morning is I was in a hurry to get some clothes dried before work and it ended up that certain ancillary parts of the clothes got thoroughly dried (like pant legs, which rarely come into contact with my pin-thin human legs) and certain more vital parts of the clothes (like crotches and armpits) did not. Needless to say, I am uncomfortable.

It always bugs me when people say “needless to say.” If it really was “needless to say” then you wouldn’t in fact “need” to say it, now would you? Ass. From now on, I’m just gonna write “needless to say…”, followed by a coupla periods like that, and you’re gonna have to decide for yourself what it is I have no need to say. Think you’re manslashwoman enough? Needless to say…

...And now for some New Year’s Resolutions:

1) walk the dog every day
2) drink less
3) eat more
4) floss daily (starting . . . now!)
5) listen only to bands who will never ever be signed to any record label whatsoever
6) increase heapings of scorn onto the heads of those I scorn
7) take up yoga pilates weight lifting flip off fewer strangers
8) ride bike every day
9) stop using the fact that I bike commute as some sort of ethical “get out of jail free card” enabling me to e.g. litter, drown puppies, trip cripples, pour motor oil down storm drains, etc.
10) talk less about bike (“I am so sick of hearing about that goddamn bike” being actual words spoken by basically everyone I know.)
11) cut casual lying in half
12) increase casual sneering
13) be less of a bitch to some people, and more of a bitch to others. You know who you are. Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just pick randomly.

Suggested Reading

The Urinal Game via CEO Blues.

Hamster-Powered Night Light via Jeremy Zawodny.

These Eastern European Stop-Motion Animation Clips are wicked cool (and via Coudal.)

More trippy stuff over at Masters of Deception via Josh Rubin: Cool Hunting.

Michael Heilemann takes on the Anti-Piracy Group (and their poor choice of font).

“Please join us in our unqualified hatred.” Elite Designers Against IKEA, via Inman.

I guarantee this will be in a sci-fi action movie within the next five years (possibly doing battle with the Seattle Public Library). Via Kottke.

Don’t miss The Rocklopedia Fakebandica and Album-O-Matic 2004, both via The Morning News.

And finally, also from The Morning News, gasp-inducingly awful interiors from 1974 Europe at Eurobad ‘74.

So basically what I’m telling you is that there are a lot of better websites than this one.

Now get the fuck out.