Merry Christmas, everyone!
12.24.2008
christmas songs
Okay, last Christmas post. Here's some punk Christmas songs to ruin your Christmas.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Merry Christmas, everyone!
sedaris christmas III: the reckoning
Skipped a year last year, due to my chronic forgetfulness, but the kind-of-annual Sedaris Christmas story is back, baby.
Merry Christmas all four of you who read my blog!
SIX TO EIGHT BLACK MEN
by Davis Sedaris
I've never been much for guidebooks, so when trying to get my
bearings in a strange American city, I normally start by asking the
cabdriver or hotel clerk some silly question regarding the latest
census figures. I say silly because I don't really care how many
people live in Olympia, Washington, or Columbus, Ohio. They're
nice enough places, but the numbers mean nothing to me. My second
question might have to do with average annual rainfall, which,
again, doesn't tell me anything about the people who have chosen
to call this place home.
What really interests me are the local gun laws. Can I carry a
concealed weapon, and if so, under what circumstances? What's the
waiting period for a tommy gun? Could I buy a Glock 17 if I were
recently divorced or fired from my job? I've learned from
experience that it's best to lead into this subject as delicately
as possible, especially if you and the local citizen are alone and
enclosed in a relatively small space. Bide your time, though, and
you can walk away with some excellent stories. I've heard, for
example, that the blind can legally hunt in both Texas and
Michigan. They must be accompanied by a sighted companion, but
still, it seems a bit risky. You wouldn't want a blind person
driving a car or piloting a plane, so why hand him a rifle? What
sense does that make? I ask about guns not because I want one of
my own but because the answers vary so widely from state to state.
In a country that's become so homogenous, I'm reassured by these
last touches of regionalism.
Guns aren't really an issue in Europe, so when I'm traveling
abroad, my first question usually relates to barnyard animals.
"What do your roosters say?" is a good icebreaker, as every country
has its own unique interpretation. In Germany, where dogs bark "vow
vow" and both the frog and the duck say "quack," the rooster greets
the dawn with a hearty "kik-a-ricki." Greek roosters crow "kiri-a-
kee," and in France they scream "coco-rico," which sounds like one
of those horrible premixed cocktails with a pirate on the label.
When told that an American rooster says "cock-a-doodle-doo," my
hosts look at me with disbelief and pity.
"When do you open your Christmas presents?" is another good
conversation starter as it explains a lot about national character.
People who traditionally open gifts on Christmas Eve seem a bit
more pious and family oriented than those who wait until Christmas
morning. They go to mass, open presents, eat a late meal, return
to church the following morning, and devote the rest of the day to
eating another big meal. Gifts are generally reserved for
children, and the parents tend not to go overboard. It's nothing
I'd want for myself, but I suppose it's fine for those who prefer
food and family to things of real value.
In France and Germany, gifts are exchanged on Christmas Eve, while
in Holland the children receive presents on December 5, in
celebration of Saint Nicholas Day. It sounded sort of quaint until
I spoke to a man named Oscar, who filled me in on a few of the
details as we walked from my hotel to the Amsterdam train station.
Unlike the jolly, obese American Santa, Saint Nicholas is painfully
thin and dresses not unlike the pope, topping his robes with a tall
hat resembling an embroidered tea cozy. The outfit, I was told, is
a carryover from his former career, when he served as a bishop in
Turkey.
One doesn't want to be too much of a cultural chauvinist, but this
seemed completely wrong to me. For starters, Santa didn't use to
do anything. He's not retired, and, more important, he has
nothing to do with Turkey. The climate's all wrong, and people
wouldn't appreciate him. When asked how he got from Turkey to the
North Pole, Oscar told me with complete conviction that Saint
Nicholas currently resides in Spain, which again is simply not
true. While he could probably live wherever he wanted, Santa chose
the North Pole specifically because it is harsh and isolated. No
one can spy on him, and he doesn't have to worry about people
coming to the door. Anyone can come to the door in Spain, and in
that outfit, he'd most certainly be recognized. On top of that,
aside from a few pleasantries, Santa doesn't speak Spanish. He
knows enough to get by, but he's not fluent, and he certainly
doesn't eat tapas.
While our Santa flies on a sled, Saint Nicholas arrives by boat
and then transfers to a white horse. The event is televised, and
great crowds gather at the waterfront to greet him. I'm not sure
if there's a set date, but he generally docks in late November and
spends a few weeks hanging out and asking people what they want.
"Is it just him alone?" I asked. "Or does he come with backup?"
Oscar's English was close to perfect, but he seemed thrown by a
term normally reserved for police reinforcement.
"Helpers," I said. "Does he have any elves?"
Maybe I'm just overly sensitive, but I couldn't help but feel
personally insulted when Oscar denounced the very idea as grotesque
and unrealistic. "Elves," he said. "They're just so silly."
The words silly and unrealistic were redefined when I learned that
Saint Nicholas travels with what was consistently described as "six
to eight black men." I asked several Dutch people to narrow it
down, but none of them could give me an exact number. It was always
"six to eight," which seems strange, seeing as they've had hundreds
of years to get a decent count.
The six to eight black men were characterized as personal slaves
until the mid-fifties, when the political climate changed and it
was decided that instead of being slaves they were just good
friends. I think history has proven that something usually comes
between slavery and friendship, a period of time marked not by
cookies and quiet times beside the fire but by bloodshed and
mutual hostility. They have such violence in Holland, but rather
than duking it out among themselves, Santa and his former slaves
decided to take it out on the public. In the early years, if a
child was naughty, Saint Nicholas and the six to eight black men
would beat him with what Oscar described as "the small branch of
a tree."
"A switch?"
"Yes," he said. "That's it. They'd kick him and beat him with a
switch. Then, if the youngster was really bad, they'd put him in
a sack and take him back to Spain."
"Saint Nicholas would kick you?"
"Well, not anymore," Oscar said. "Now he just pretends to kick
you."
"And the six to eight black men?"
"Them, too."
He considered this to be progressive, but in a way I think it's
almost more perverse than the original punishment. "I'm going to
hurt you, but not really." How many times have we fallen for that
line? The fake slap invariably makes contact, adding the elements
of shock and betrayal to what had previously been plain, old-
fashioned fear. What kind of Santa spends his time pretending to
kick people before stuffing them into a canvas sack? Then, of
course, you've got the six to eight former slaves who could
potentially go off at any moment. This, I think, is the greatest
difference between us and the Dutch. While a certain segment of
our population might be perfectly happy with the arrangement, if
you told the average white American that six to eight nameless
black men would be sneaking into his house in the middle of the
night, he would barricade the doors and arm himself with whatever
he could get his hands on.
"Six to eight, did you say?"
In the years before central heating, Dutch children would leave
their shoes by the fireplace, the promise being that unless they
planned to beat you, kick you, or stuff you into a sack, Saint
Nicholas and the six to eight black men would fill your clogs
with presents. Aside from the threats of violence and kidnapping,
it's not much different from hanging your stockings from the
mantel. Now that so few people have a working fireplace, Dutch
children are instructed to leave their shoes beside the radiator,
furnace, or space heater. Saint Nicholas and the six to eight black
men arrive on horses, which jump from the yard onto the roof. At
this point, I guess, they either jump back down and use the door,
or they stay put and vaporize through the pipes and electrical
wires. Oscar wasn't too clear about the particulars, but, really,
who can blame him? We have the same problem with our Santa. He's
supposed to use the chimney, but if you don't have one, he still
manages to come through. It's best not to think about it too hard.
While eight flying reindeer are a hard pill to swallow, our
Christmas story remains relatively simple. Santa lives with his
wife in a remote polar village and spends one night a year
traveling around the world. If you're bad, he leaves you coal. If
you're good and live in America, he'll give you just about anything
you want. We tell our children to be good and send them off to bed,
where they lie awake, anticipating their great bounty. A Dutch
parent has a decidedly hairier story to relate, telling his
children, "Listen, you might want to pack a few of your things
together before you go to bed. The former bishop from Turkey will
be coming along with six to eight black men. They might put some
candy in your shoes, they might stuff you in a sack and take you
to Spain, or they might just pretend to kick you. We don't know
for sure, but we want you to be prepared."
This is the reward for living in Holland. As a child you get to
hear this story, and as an adult you get to turn around and repeat
it. As an added bonus, the government has thrown in legalized drugs
and prostitution-so what's not to love about being Dutch?
Oscar finished his story just as we arrived at the station. He was
a polite and interesting guy-very good company-but when he offered
to wait until my train arrived, I begged off, saying I had some
calls to make. Sitting alone in the vast terminal, surrounded by
other polite, seemingly interesting Dutch people, I couldn't help
but feel second-rate. Yes, it was a small country, but it had six
to eight black men and a really good bedtime story. Being a fairly
competitive person, I felt jealous, then bitter, and was edging
toward hostile when I remembered the blind hunter tramping off
into the Michigan forest. He might bag a deer, or he might happily
shoot his sighted companion in the stomach. He may find his way
back to the car, or he may wander around for a week or two before
stumbling through your front door. We don't know for sure, but in
pinning that license to his chest, he inspires the sort of
narrative that ultimately makes me proud to be an American.
Merry Christmas all four of you who read my blog!
SIX TO EIGHT BLACK MEN
by Davis Sedaris
I've never been much for guidebooks, so when trying to get my
bearings in a strange American city, I normally start by asking the
cabdriver or hotel clerk some silly question regarding the latest
census figures. I say silly because I don't really care how many
people live in Olympia, Washington, or Columbus, Ohio. They're
nice enough places, but the numbers mean nothing to me. My second
question might have to do with average annual rainfall, which,
again, doesn't tell me anything about the people who have chosen
to call this place home.
What really interests me are the local gun laws. Can I carry a
concealed weapon, and if so, under what circumstances? What's the
waiting period for a tommy gun? Could I buy a Glock 17 if I were
recently divorced or fired from my job? I've learned from
experience that it's best to lead into this subject as delicately
as possible, especially if you and the local citizen are alone and
enclosed in a relatively small space. Bide your time, though, and
you can walk away with some excellent stories. I've heard, for
example, that the blind can legally hunt in both Texas and
Michigan. They must be accompanied by a sighted companion, but
still, it seems a bit risky. You wouldn't want a blind person
driving a car or piloting a plane, so why hand him a rifle? What
sense does that make? I ask about guns not because I want one of
my own but because the answers vary so widely from state to state.
In a country that's become so homogenous, I'm reassured by these
last touches of regionalism.
Guns aren't really an issue in Europe, so when I'm traveling
abroad, my first question usually relates to barnyard animals.
"What do your roosters say?" is a good icebreaker, as every country
has its own unique interpretation. In Germany, where dogs bark "vow
vow" and both the frog and the duck say "quack," the rooster greets
the dawn with a hearty "kik-a-ricki." Greek roosters crow "kiri-a-
kee," and in France they scream "coco-rico," which sounds like one
of those horrible premixed cocktails with a pirate on the label.
When told that an American rooster says "cock-a-doodle-doo," my
hosts look at me with disbelief and pity.
"When do you open your Christmas presents?" is another good
conversation starter as it explains a lot about national character.
People who traditionally open gifts on Christmas Eve seem a bit
more pious and family oriented than those who wait until Christmas
morning. They go to mass, open presents, eat a late meal, return
to church the following morning, and devote the rest of the day to
eating another big meal. Gifts are generally reserved for
children, and the parents tend not to go overboard. It's nothing
I'd want for myself, but I suppose it's fine for those who prefer
food and family to things of real value.
In France and Germany, gifts are exchanged on Christmas Eve, while
in Holland the children receive presents on December 5, in
celebration of Saint Nicholas Day. It sounded sort of quaint until
I spoke to a man named Oscar, who filled me in on a few of the
details as we walked from my hotel to the Amsterdam train station.
Unlike the jolly, obese American Santa, Saint Nicholas is painfully
thin and dresses not unlike the pope, topping his robes with a tall
hat resembling an embroidered tea cozy. The outfit, I was told, is
a carryover from his former career, when he served as a bishop in
Turkey.
One doesn't want to be too much of a cultural chauvinist, but this
seemed completely wrong to me. For starters, Santa didn't use to
do anything. He's not retired, and, more important, he has
nothing to do with Turkey. The climate's all wrong, and people
wouldn't appreciate him. When asked how he got from Turkey to the
North Pole, Oscar told me with complete conviction that Saint
Nicholas currently resides in Spain, which again is simply not
true. While he could probably live wherever he wanted, Santa chose
the North Pole specifically because it is harsh and isolated. No
one can spy on him, and he doesn't have to worry about people
coming to the door. Anyone can come to the door in Spain, and in
that outfit, he'd most certainly be recognized. On top of that,
aside from a few pleasantries, Santa doesn't speak Spanish. He
knows enough to get by, but he's not fluent, and he certainly
doesn't eat tapas.
While our Santa flies on a sled, Saint Nicholas arrives by boat
and then transfers to a white horse. The event is televised, and
great crowds gather at the waterfront to greet him. I'm not sure
if there's a set date, but he generally docks in late November and
spends a few weeks hanging out and asking people what they want.
"Is it just him alone?" I asked. "Or does he come with backup?"
Oscar's English was close to perfect, but he seemed thrown by a
term normally reserved for police reinforcement.
"Helpers," I said. "Does he have any elves?"
Maybe I'm just overly sensitive, but I couldn't help but feel
personally insulted when Oscar denounced the very idea as grotesque
and unrealistic. "Elves," he said. "They're just so silly."
The words silly and unrealistic were redefined when I learned that
Saint Nicholas travels with what was consistently described as "six
to eight black men." I asked several Dutch people to narrow it
down, but none of them could give me an exact number. It was always
"six to eight," which seems strange, seeing as they've had hundreds
of years to get a decent count.
The six to eight black men were characterized as personal slaves
until the mid-fifties, when the political climate changed and it
was decided that instead of being slaves they were just good
friends. I think history has proven that something usually comes
between slavery and friendship, a period of time marked not by
cookies and quiet times beside the fire but by bloodshed and
mutual hostility. They have such violence in Holland, but rather
than duking it out among themselves, Santa and his former slaves
decided to take it out on the public. In the early years, if a
child was naughty, Saint Nicholas and the six to eight black men
would beat him with what Oscar described as "the small branch of
a tree."
"A switch?"
"Yes," he said. "That's it. They'd kick him and beat him with a
switch. Then, if the youngster was really bad, they'd put him in
a sack and take him back to Spain."
"Saint Nicholas would kick you?"
"Well, not anymore," Oscar said. "Now he just pretends to kick
you."
"And the six to eight black men?"
"Them, too."
He considered this to be progressive, but in a way I think it's
almost more perverse than the original punishment. "I'm going to
hurt you, but not really." How many times have we fallen for that
line? The fake slap invariably makes contact, adding the elements
of shock and betrayal to what had previously been plain, old-
fashioned fear. What kind of Santa spends his time pretending to
kick people before stuffing them into a canvas sack? Then, of
course, you've got the six to eight former slaves who could
potentially go off at any moment. This, I think, is the greatest
difference between us and the Dutch. While a certain segment of
our population might be perfectly happy with the arrangement, if
you told the average white American that six to eight nameless
black men would be sneaking into his house in the middle of the
night, he would barricade the doors and arm himself with whatever
he could get his hands on.
"Six to eight, did you say?"
In the years before central heating, Dutch children would leave
their shoes by the fireplace, the promise being that unless they
planned to beat you, kick you, or stuff you into a sack, Saint
Nicholas and the six to eight black men would fill your clogs
with presents. Aside from the threats of violence and kidnapping,
it's not much different from hanging your stockings from the
mantel. Now that so few people have a working fireplace, Dutch
children are instructed to leave their shoes beside the radiator,
furnace, or space heater. Saint Nicholas and the six to eight black
men arrive on horses, which jump from the yard onto the roof. At
this point, I guess, they either jump back down and use the door,
or they stay put and vaporize through the pipes and electrical
wires. Oscar wasn't too clear about the particulars, but, really,
who can blame him? We have the same problem with our Santa. He's
supposed to use the chimney, but if you don't have one, he still
manages to come through. It's best not to think about it too hard.
While eight flying reindeer are a hard pill to swallow, our
Christmas story remains relatively simple. Santa lives with his
wife in a remote polar village and spends one night a year
traveling around the world. If you're bad, he leaves you coal. If
you're good and live in America, he'll give you just about anything
you want. We tell our children to be good and send them off to bed,
where they lie awake, anticipating their great bounty. A Dutch
parent has a decidedly hairier story to relate, telling his
children, "Listen, you might want to pack a few of your things
together before you go to bed. The former bishop from Turkey will
be coming along with six to eight black men. They might put some
candy in your shoes, they might stuff you in a sack and take you
to Spain, or they might just pretend to kick you. We don't know
for sure, but we want you to be prepared."
This is the reward for living in Holland. As a child you get to
hear this story, and as an adult you get to turn around and repeat
it. As an added bonus, the government has thrown in legalized drugs
and prostitution-so what's not to love about being Dutch?
Oscar finished his story just as we arrived at the station. He was
a polite and interesting guy-very good company-but when he offered
to wait until my train arrived, I begged off, saying I had some
calls to make. Sitting alone in the vast terminal, surrounded by
other polite, seemingly interesting Dutch people, I couldn't help
but feel second-rate. Yes, it was a small country, but it had six
to eight black men and a really good bedtime story. Being a fairly
competitive person, I felt jealous, then bitter, and was edging
toward hostile when I remembered the blind hunter tramping off
into the Michigan forest. He might bag a deer, or he might happily
shoot his sighted companion in the stomach. He may find his way
back to the car, or he may wander around for a week or two before
stumbling through your front door. We don't know for sure, but in
pinning that license to his chest, he inspires the sort of
narrative that ultimately makes me proud to be an American.
12.19.2008
the politics of overreaction
Re: the Rick Warren "controversy", Yglesias suggests I read a treatise on multiculturalism to "get" what the big deal is. Well, sorry Matt, but that is not gonna happen. But such a response does make it crystal clear that his problem is one that is confined to the politiblog circle jerk, and not something that most people give a shit about. So I guess it's not really a controversy after all.
But I would like to ask who the nationally recognized, pro-choice, pro-gay rights, Christian pastor is that should be giving the invocation.
News flash: Christianity in America is overwhelming anti-gay and pro-life. Your problem is with Christianity, not Warren specifically. Just say so, and I will agree with you.
But I would like to ask who the nationally recognized, pro-choice, pro-gay rights, Christian pastor is that should be giving the invocation.
News flash: Christianity in America is overwhelming anti-gay and pro-life. Your problem is with Christianity, not Warren specifically. Just say so, and I will agree with you.
make 'em talk
I have been saying this for a while. You wanna filibuster? Well, then filibuster, motherfuckers.
What I do think makes sense is for the majority to actually require the minority to filibuster -- as in talk and talk and talk. We've arrived at a point in which it's become standard, even in the most contentious of cases, for the minority to be allowed merely to signal the intention to filibuster rather than doing the actual thing itself. Filibustering is a tool of obstruction. It's a critical right of the minority in the senate. But it is, by definition, obstruction. So it makes sense to put the obstructionists to their task, make them do it publicly. I don't know why the Democrats are not doing that in this case.
12.18.2008
"the game is the game"
I was going to write a long post about the left's hyperventilating over Obama choosing Rick Warren to deliver the inaugural invocation. I was going to mention that, like it or not, in large part, Christianity in America is anti-gay. And how you can pretend it isn't, but it is. And also how to be okay with the concept of Christian invocation in the first place, and yet to freak about an anti-gay Christian pastor delivering it, well, it just seems like a weird thing to get outraged about. And something to the effect that the politics behind Obama's choice are pretty obvious and blah blah blah and so on and so forth. I was going to say a lot of things.
But then The Editors, as usual, broke shit down better than I could possible dream of.
But then The Editors, as usual, broke shit down better than I could possible dream of.
To state the obvious: Rick Warren isn’t there to represent (metaphorical) “gay-bashers”, he’s representing (white) Christians. Now, Christians, as a group, are primarily concerned with stopping abortion, gay sex, and fucking generally - I understand this isn’t universal among Christians, but the anti-gay and anti-abortion jihadis do exist in large numbers in this country, and I doubt many of them come from the secular humanist community (all of whom are going to be tortured in flames forever by the Merciful Sky God for noticing that this is fucking retarded.) People with very well-thought-out theological arguments about why 70-whatever percent of Christians are not really Christian can present them to me right after I present my dissertation on why Batman could beat up Darth Vader if Thundarr the Barbarian let him borrow his Sun Sword, and also a hundred other brilliant arguments based on fiction. Apologies to believing Christians and Jedis.
To answer John’s question: give it a month. Barack Obama will then sit down with, and promote at state events, a parade of very non-metaphorical racists, anti-Semites, murders, tyrants, torturers, and worse, many of whom are our very great friends. He will do it for these essentially the same reason that he has, and will again, court Rick Warren - because they are players in the international sphere much as I gather Mr. Warren is in the domestic. And so they will be offered these symbolic concessions in the hope that they are stupid enough to trade them for material concessions. And it often works: you’d be surprised how many people expect politics to validate their identity, and for whom the ultimate prize is to win meaningless symbolic triumphs over their rivals. It’s called “politics”, the business of negotiating the world of humans, most of whom are scorching assholes and insecure idiots. There are ways of avoiding this unpleasantness, but they all involve not being a politician. The Game is the Game.
Is this smart politics? Will courting Warren indeed weaken the Republican stranglehold on white evangelicals? I don’t know, and neither do you. Warren is being given a symbolic victory in exchange for the possibility of material political gain for a liberal agenda. That’s a trade you take every single time.
darth cheney
I guess I shouldn't be shocked, it's something we all knew, but it is striking to hear him out and out admit it:
Vice President Dick Cheney said Monday that he was directly involved in approving severe interrogation methods used by the CIA, and that the prison at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, should remain open indefinitely....
"I was aware of the program, certainly, and involved in helping get the process cleared," Cheney said in an interview with ABC News.Surely this solidifies his position as one of the most dangerous, un-American elected officials in our history.
12.14.2008
no reprieve
The Chargers comeback today should in no way, shape or form save Norv Turner's job. That's twice this year we've gotten lucky against the Chiefs, one of the worst teams in the league. Norv, for all his supposed offensive genius, has neutered what should be a prolific offense with his questionable play calling.
Here's Norv Turner in a nutshell.
Faced with a 1st and 20 in the first quarter, Norv calls at LT run that gets a whopping 1 yard. On 2nd and 19, a wide receiver screen for no gain. On 3rd and 19, and a running back screen for 6 yards. Punt.
Inspired play calling, I tell ya.
That is enough to make my blood boil on 1st and 10, much less 1st and 20.
San Diego won despite Norv Turner. Dude needs to go, the sooner the better.
Here's Norv Turner in a nutshell.
Faced with a 1st and 20 in the first quarter, Norv calls at LT run that gets a whopping 1 yard. On 2nd and 19, a wide receiver screen for no gain. On 3rd and 19, and a running back screen for 6 yards. Punt.
Inspired play calling, I tell ya.
That is enough to make my blood boil on 1st and 10, much less 1st and 20.
San Diego won despite Norv Turner. Dude needs to go, the sooner the better.
12.12.2008
gray davis was right
According to the conventional wisdom in California is that during the good times, you can't raise taxes on the rich, because it might threaten those same good times. And you can't raise taxes on the rich during bad times, because the last thing you want to do during a recession is raise anyone's taxes. That pretty much applies to the "okay" times too. So you can't raise anyone's taxes ever. And you can't raise the sales tax, or any other taxes either, because the last Governor who actually thought that the state balance sheet might actually matter was driven out of office like some sort of child molestor.
So, with no extra money coming in, surprise, surprise, California is about to run out of money. Arnold's faith in the market and staunch opposition to any taxes have contributed to an already bad economic crisis. Maybe it's just now occurring to Arnold that taxes are a necessary evil.
Somehow this gross mismanagement has not led to a recall. Funny how that works. Clinton impeached. Davis Recalled. Yet Bush and Schwarzeneggerget off scot-free.
So, with no extra money coming in, surprise, surprise, California is about to run out of money. Arnold's faith in the market and staunch opposition to any taxes have contributed to an already bad economic crisis. Maybe it's just now occurring to Arnold that taxes are a necessary evil.
Mr Schwarzenegger is proposing the same kind of emergency tax rises that in 2003 turned Mr Davis into a pariah. He has suggested a 1.5 per cent increase in sales tax — the equivalent of Britain’s VAT — and a tripling of the car tax. When Mr Schwarzenegger first ran for office, he did so on a promise to revoke a similar car tax increase proposed by his predecessor.So basically, yeah, Gray Davis was right. Philosophical arguments against any and all tax increases don't usually jibe well with the reality of actually running a government. It's extremely easy to sell the public on the "all taxes are bad taxes" line, but what do you do once the bed is shat?
Somehow this gross mismanagement has not led to a recall. Funny how that works. Clinton impeached. Davis Recalled. Yet Bush and Schwarzeneggerget off scot-free.
12.11.2008
bok bok
Nothing in recent memory has made me laugh as hard as the Bluth family doing their various impressions of a chicken.
12.05.2008
punk cd's for sale
If you're into punk, or know anyone who is, I listed a shit-ton of CD's over the past few days. All bids start at 99 cents, and I can pretty much guarantee you'll be the only bidder.
Click here, or search eBay for seller xjerryx.
All proceeds will go to my charitable foundation, Holy Shit Saab's Are Expensive To Repair.
Click here, or search eBay for seller xjerryx.
All proceeds will go to my charitable foundation, Holy Shit Saab's Are Expensive To Repair.
12.03.2008
zune: more proof that obama rules
Apparently Obama, like me, has ignored the "iPod is God" crowd and chosen the plucky underdog, the Zune. That's change we can believe in, my friends.
I know the Zune is supposed to suck and be the worst mp3 player ever, but after a year, I like mine more than ever. I do not understand people who have never used one, yet hate it. Same deal with Microsoft Vista.
I know the Zune is supposed to suck and be the worst mp3 player ever, but after a year, I like mine more than ever. I do not understand people who have never used one, yet hate it. Same deal with Microsoft Vista.
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