Slurry Beta

Why I've been on extended hiatus.

2008-06-03T14:45:00.004-04:00

I've been busy designing my new clothing line, Slurry Wear. Below is a photo of my cousin modeling SlurryCo.'s flagship creation, which will be selling for $79.95 in select SoHo boutiques. It's called the Jockey Top.

Steed Watch: Permanent Commando Edition

2007-11-14T00:46:00.000-05:00

I know what you're thinking. The Steed tries to hang himself with his own underwear and I can't even muster up a sliver of time to write anything for my beloved Steed Watch segment. Well, I've been busy as balls with school and really haven't had any time to pander to the wants of an insatiable public. But there you go, The Steed tried to hang himself and although officials have not specifically stated he did so with his underoos, we can safely assume that he took a page from Cousin Ted's prison play book. On a related note, attempted suicide is nothing to joke about. I'm just reporting the news here.

*Odds and ends. Bits and Pieces. Scrap Metal. Particle Board. Random Musings*

In news that only Farmington, Minnesota cares about, Mountain Dew is running a promotion where they're asking the public to choose the next flavor, color and packaging of their new soda. They call it...wait for it...DEWmocracy! The operation looks ridiculously expensive, too, and includes such things as a live action movie (directed by Forest Whittaker!) and a virtual world for the nerds out there who need to meet and interact with other Dew drinkers living in their parents' basements. My prediction: leave the choice of a new soda flavor up to the Mountain Dew drinkers with such discriminating tastes and you'll likely end up with something that tastes like like crap, just like the original. I give the soda one summer before it's buried next to Crystal Pepsi, Surge, New Coke, Coke II, Pepsi Edge, and Slurry BetaCola ("Three times the sugar and caffeine as sugar and caffeine!").

****

That's it for me, but I will leave you with one final prediction in the spirit of upcoming holiday season: Aqua-dots won't be this year's Furby.

Oh, That O.J.

2007-09-25T18:38:00.000-04:00

You could probably file this in the I Already Knew That Because I'm Exposed to At Least One Form of Media, Slurry Beta, You Idiot category but I still feel like this is worth soaking in. So we all knew that O.J. wrote a book with the amazingly absurd premise of contemplating in purely hypothetical terms exactly how he would've killed Nicole and Ron if he had, in fact, done so. We've all heard every O.J. joke under the sun so I'll spare you any from my end but I just want you all to take a look at the actual cover of the book entitled If I Did It: Confessions of the Killer. I'll give you a Slurry Beta 3rd anniversary commemorative haiku via email if you can spot the word "If" in the photo on your first try. It's there, shoved ever so inconspicuously into the letter "I". Perhaps even better is the "He Did It" commentary by the Goldman family. Purely hypothetical, of course. Does anyone else find this as awesome (in a bad way) as I do? Actually, don't answer that. I don't care.

And just to quash any fears from my readers that this post will usher in a slew of O.J. Watch posts, rest assured that it won't. I've got my hands full right now with the group I'm watching. Speaking of which, The Steed has been convicted of the accomplice to rape charges I broke down, in detail, for you all last whenever. There really isn't too much else to report on this other than I heard Lindsay Lohan was as at the court house, doing cocaine in the bathroom off of an iPod with Paris Hilton, Brad Pitt, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the new Halo 3 video game, Nicole Richie's baby and a Toyota Prius.

Okay, so I put a few hot search topics in there to generate more hits to my site. You got me. The rest is true.

Steed Watch: The Trial Begins

2007-09-13T18:16:00.000-04:00

The trial of noted ladies' man, Warren Steed Jeffs, has officially begun and I think I speak for all of us when I say, "We are all really excited about this and Slurry is attractive." If any of you are unfamiliar with the case, let me bring you up to speed.

The Steed holds a firm belief that, when a man and a woman have an exclusive attraction to each other...wait, no...when a man is attracted to a woman and that woman has attractive friends who like to share...no, that's not quite it...when a man, under the color of a fundamentalistic interpretation of questionable religious doctrine, wants to do the Horizontal Mormon with several women in an acceptable manner under the eyes of God, he ought to be able to marry all of those women, even if they're minors or first cousins. That's not totally correct, either. It's called polygamy, okay? Look it up. The Steed is the religious leader of a group of these fundamentalist nut bags.

There he was minding his own business forcing a 14 year-old to marry her 19 year old cousin when the American justice system stepped in with a child abuse charge (correction: accomplice to rape). Get off his back, justice! He'd already been on the run from the law for a few years for stealing a candy bar or something so the buzzkills at the FBI threw him on the ten most wanted list and he was eventually caught at a traffic stop in true cinematic fashion. The cop spotted a pulsing vein in his neck-a sure sign of polygamy.

The proceedings officially commenced today with both sides delivering their opening arguments and, by all indications, the trial fixes to be a doozy. Don't bother following the case because I'm going to do it for you. That's just the kind of person I am. A giver. Stay tuned for more Steed Watch.

Sadly, I'm Back

2007-09-11T21:58:00.000-04:00

I know it's been awhile and I've probably lost most of my readership but my crew and I have suffered some nearly crippling setbacks lately in terms of blog development. Let me explain. It's pretty well established that I'm really into famous people or "celebs" as I like to call them. The exclusive content I post on Steven Seagal in the regular "Seagal Watch" segment has become so popular on the Interweb that if you type "Slurry+Beta+Steven+Seagal" into Google, it's the number one hit. Not one to argue with or understand statistics, I presented the data at the Slurry Beta Annual Creative Direction Symposium two weeks ago and everyone agreed that the "Celeb Watch" franchise should be aggressively expanded. For the next six days, we bickered over who should be that flagship celeb that would officially signal Slurry Beta's new direction. "Pavarotti Watch" was born. Coffee mugs were made, shirts were screen printed, and an entire series of postings were conceived. Unfortunately, Big Pavi kicked the bucket last week, taking with him his famous High C vocal range, six weeks to five years of exclusive Slurry Beta material and an almost inconceivable amount of ad revenue. And he looked so healthy!

So we had to move to plan B: "Van Impe Watch!". Now, if you know about a little thing called the Apocalypse, you most likely know Jack van Impe, an "award winning" Bible memorizer and polka enthusiast* who's been predicting the end of the world for 25 years next to his ravishing wife, Rexella (my God, she's attractive!). He's also one of my favorite celebrities . He doesn't do much outside of predicting Jesus' return every week, but we're going to watch him anyway. Just in case.

*This album is real. I'm not good enough at photoshop to make this shit up.

Road to the Bottom: Installments Two and Three (Plus Extra)

2007-08-27T15:08:00.000-04:00

Nothing motivates me to write blog entries more than homework so, readers, you're in for a real treat-two posts on two consecutive days. I think this is the first time it has happened. Don't get used to it, though.

In case you've forgotten, I'm still working at becoming next year's Bad Fiction champion. As I read my drafts over the other day, I felt like they were pretty mediocre so I tried to really dig deep for inspiration and spent most of the weekend at the local landfill. These next two have a "Steinbeck writes about trash" sort of vibe...or maybe a "Slurry writes about trash" vibe. Same difference.

No. 2:

In a flash, it was over and nothing remained but a three foot piece of bailing twine, a small, malleable chunk of black weather stripping, and a chipped ceiling fan blade which Todd fashioned into a non functioning yo-yo for the amusement of his newborn daughter, Chloe, who may or may not have been alive and even if she was, no reasonable person could expect an infant to know any yo-yo tricks.

No. 3:

The question was answered but not to the liking of an experienced janitor as he, so he repeated himself only this time while stomping his feet like an insistent child, one of wealth and privilege who probably knew nothing of cleaning a dumpster or that the ratio of bleach to water was one to ten when killing tuberculosis bacteria, but by that point the question had lost its relevancy because the person he was asking was now operating a loud weed whacker and could not hear him anyway.

*******

In other news, Attorney General Alberto "What's a Constitution?" Gonzales resigned. Does anyone else feel a really empty feeling when they hear of all these Bush administration resignations? They've already done irreparable damage to America's global standing, eroded our rights, and peed in our soup. Sure, it's nice to have some validation that they were horribly ineffective executives but now we've got all this inedible soup lying around that the French won't even eat. Bad analogy? Maybe.

Please Allow Me to Complain

2007-08-26T19:32:00.000-04:00

Recently, I've gotten myself into a situation where my name is being frequently called out by those who have never met me and, hence, haven't attempted to pronounce my glorious moniker. It's not a difficult name: short, fairly Germanic sounding, no umlauts, and it rolls off the tongue pretty nicely, if you ask me. But for some reason, nobody can ever seem to get it right.

Sometimes it works out well for me. Often the phone will ring and I'll pick it up to hear, "Yes, is Slurry Brita there?" Click. Call over. I don't want what they're selling.

Other times, like in the context of beginning my first, wait, third advanced degree, it can get a little irritating. The other day, I was in a room full of Polish, Lithuanian, and Laotian students and some lady was handing out our folders, flawlessly pronouncing each name as she handed them their orientation folders. But when she got to me, she was all, "Slurry, uhhhhhh. Hmmmmmm. Now that's sure a strange, stupid, unpronounceable name. Oh, hell, I'm not EVEN going to try. Here's your goddamn folder, you asshole. Now get out of my sight." Before I knew it, I was getting the Stink Eye from just about everyone in the room. When I was on my way out of the building, some jocks grabbed me, gave me swirly and the worst purple nurple I've ever had.

It's tough being me.

Seagal Watch: Kiss His Arm Breaking Ass, FBI

2007-08-19T21:17:00.000-04:00

Longtime Slurry Beta readers are well aware of my love for Sensei Seagal. I can't help it. His man musk is totally irresistible. When I originally started this blog, I intended on running a regular "Seagal Watch" segment but apparently, I was about 13 years too late. As far as I can tell, he hasn't been doing too much lately other than getting fatter, making terrible music, and not stocking America's Seven Eleven convenience stores with Asian Experience, which I'm still sort of pissed about (how am I supposed to get my energy?). To be honest, I had all but lost hope in Seagal but, as it turns out, his drift into obscurity was the FBI's fault. In a recent L.A. Times article, Seagal ripped the FBI for not publicly clearing his name after facts of an investigation into his alleged involvement with the German mafia were suspiciously made public. Apparently, involvement with the German mafia-not being a terrible actor-tends to make Hollywood studios reticent about putting you in their next big budget shit fest. Instead, they're forced to go with their second choice, Johnny Depp. Well, Seagal wants an apology from the FBI.

Honestly, I trust Seagal here. The dude's been in dozens of movies over the past two decades and has a secret FBI past in each one of them so he knows a thing or two about your precious bureau. Plus, the accusations are ridiculous in and of themselves. Associating with the German mafia and intimidating journalists into not writing negative reviews? Are you kidding me? First, there's no German mafia. I checked. Second, Seagal doesn't get negative reviews. Never has. This whole thing wreaks of global conspiracy.

Apologize, FBI, and allow Sensei Seagal to finally release another hit film. I suggest something with "Kill," "Death," "Deadly," "Dangerous," or "Mortal" in the title.

Road to the Bottom: Installment One

2007-08-17T16:39:00.000-04:00

Every champion has to begin somewhere. Fortunately, my brilliant ability to compose bad fiction began at conception, some 22 years ago, give or take. When I'm hoisting the Bad Fiction trophy (or plaque or maybe printed email) about this time next year, you'll be able to fondly look back at these yet to be released nuggets and say to yourselves, "How truly fortunate we are to even know who Slurry Beta is. He's moved onto greener pastures now, but it feels satisfying to know that he once spoke to us."

No, that wasn't the first entry; it needs to be one sentence. Here it is:

To be a fire fighter is to be adored and this was never more apparent to Anthony Gardner as he suited up for yet another shift at the coal mine; he thought about fire frequently and how many flammable objects there were in the world that need only a simple spark to ignite and require fighting, which he had neither the training nor the opposable thumb on his left hand to do.

Now be honest, people. Is this bad enough? My standards are, uh, low I guess.

I'll release the next one in due time.

**Late update: after consulting with James, I made a small yet significant change. The sentence is now exponentially better. I mean worse.

The Zapruder Film of Miming.

2007-08-16T15:11:00.000-04:00

It's a rare, special day here at Slurry Beta (for you, not me. My days are always special). Like the Loch Ness Monster or Sasquatch, catching Angel Moroni on video tape has historically been a near impossibility...until now. Knowing that he can always be found performing on Monday's open mic night at the local watering hole, my camera crew and I followed him for hours just to catch the three minute clip you see below. After a bit of practice in the bathroom mirror, Moroni delivered a performance for the ages; a three and a half minute pantomime odyssey that Pantomimus himself would have wept over...silently in an invisible box with perhaps a bit of wind. I believe he drew his inspiration directly from his daily morning routine. Keen viewers will notice the obvious lack of shower, toothbrushing, and deodorant pantomiming. I'm just saying.

Special thanks:
The camera crew
The unpaid joke consultant who basically came up with the punchline here
Angel Moroni for being responsible for 10% of my blog

Stay tuned tomorrow for my first bad fiction installment. You will hate it.

They Give Awards for This? Alternate Title: My True Calling.

2007-08-13T17:57:00.000-04:00

Lately, a significant part of my day involves perusing the daily newspaper, which around here is usually the Star Tribune. Actually "perusing" may be a bit misleading. I read the whole damn thing, front to back and sometimes the classified section for no good reason at all. I look forward to Thursday's Taste section like it's the new Harry Potter book and I'm an awkward kid willing to put a striped tie and glasses on and wait or camp for hours in front of a bookstore.* I realize, as a blogger, I should be rejecting the print medium altogether and embracing my contribution to this populist movement but I need to get out of the house sometimes. Unemployment can get a bit lonely.

The point is, I read the paper...in hard copy. So why didn't I just get right to the point and say that directly instead of wasting your time insulting Harry Potter fans and revealing that I'm the only one I know that gets pumped for the Taste section? The answer: I'm a skillfully bad writer. That's right, it's not an oxymoron. Apparently they give awards out to those who can compose poorly written fiction. Since this blog is basically fiction, I may have found a literary award I'm capable of winning.

I discovered it while I was reading the paper about a week a ago because someone from Wisconsin won it, which means it was nearly front page Strib material. It's called the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest and it gives out an annual award to the individual who can write the most horrendous opening sentence to an unrealized novel. It was apparently inspired by Edward George Bulwar-Lytton's book, Paul Clifford, which had the famous opening sentence, "It was a dark and stormy night..." Yeah, I didn't read it either nor do I care to. But I do like awards and I think I'm going to give it shot.

As such, I will be posting a few possible contest entries over the next week or weeks or years (Slurry Beta time cannot be restricted). Your job as an active reader of my blog is to read up on the award's past winners (you'll actually enjoy reading them, trust me) and let me know what you think of my possible submissions, which one is the strongest, weakest, etc. Keep in mind, I have a massive ego and will not tolerate criticism so, Moroni, I will blocking all of your comments. In fact, I may block all comments and keep my brilliance to myself if you all can't behave. I have reservations opening this up to input from readers, anyway, because I have less than three and I like to think of my blog as ridiculously popular. Hey mom, you might want to create a few more blogger names.

Just to give you an idea of the quality I'm aiming for, here's this year's winner:

Gerald began--but was interrupted by a piercing whistle which cost him ten percent of his hearing permanently, as it did everyone else in a ten-mile radius of the eruption, not that it mattered much because for them "permanently" meant the next ten minutes or so until buried by searing lava or suffocated by choking ash--to pee.
Jim Gleeson, Madison, WI

A truly inspiring piece. Of course, throw potty humor into pretty much anything and I'll be inspired--to pee.

*Okay, that was a bit of an unnecessary Potter jab there. I know some of my readers are Potter fans but you have to admit, it's a little ridiculous for people to dress up like Harry Potter or another character and wait in line for hours for the new book. It's not like there are a limited number of copies, folks. In fact, you could've saved time by pre-ordering it or possibly reading it on the internets earlier than the release date, albeit illegally. But what do I know? I'm equally perplexed by Star Wars, Star Trek, and Grateful Dead fans. I suppose we're cut from different cloth. The cloth I'm cut from is made out of bear skin with "Slurry Beta" inscribed with intricate embroidery surrounded by flames and barbed wire while your cloth is most likely a poly/cotton blend. But enough about you, this is my blog.

Cabin Fever

2007-08-07T00:07:00.000-04:00

I spent the past weekend at a beautiful lake cabin in Wisconsin for the annual Longfellow Neighborhood MENSA Chapter summer conference. Some of the highlights included: a wonderfully poignant keynote speech from famed wine maker, Carlo Rossi; an absolutely stirring rendition of "Stand by Me" from karaoke virtuoso, Angel Moroni, which was delivered to a group of cougars in sashes and tiaras; a dive bar scavenger hunt; some late night pontooning; and, of course, the budgetary meeting on the last night which ran into the wee hours of the morning on Sunday and got very tense at moments. Angel Moroni refused to see my side of things even though I am the self-proclaimed moral compass of the group.

Perhaps the main event of the weekend involved a highly touted beer chugging match between Angel "The Talker" Moroni and DC "The Walker" Josh that took place on the infamous Square Dock Arena on a lake near Danbury, Wisconsin (A.K.A. Beer Town, U.S.A.). Security was tight so all of us photo journalists were forced to remain the restricted docked pontoon area. Because I couldn't get all that close, the photos aren't spectacular but I was able to accurately capture the drama that unfolded.

Let me set the scene. Moroni was practically guaranteeing a victory over any challenger. DC Josh, a strong but relatively unproven athlete on the circuit offered a surprise challenge in the late afternoon on Saturday. Promoters went crazy. There were nearly three spectators. The stage was set for an epic battle. Before the event could take place however, some ground rules needed to be established. First, a referee (not picture but in an inner tube nearby) was to ensure the participants began drinking at the same time. Second, once the beverage is finished, the cup needed be turned upside down on the participant's head to ensure it had been completely emptied. In close calls, the referee was to check for spills.

Alright, here are the photos I took of the historical event:This is a snap shot we used for the event poster, which was displayed in approximately zero locations. Both participants had to be separated immediately as tensions nearly boiled over. Once they were safely sequestered in their corners, they were brought back to the middle of the dock for the contest.In a dramatic upset, DC Josh narrowly defeated Angel Moroni. But Moroni cried foul, claiming DC Josh raised his cup above the chest too early. DC Josh vehemently denied the allegations.Controversy ensued for several minutes. The athletes had to be separated once again.In a last ditch effort, Moroni proposed a rematch. DC Josh, although reluctant, agreed to at least discuss the details of a second contest.Negotiations were heated and took several minutes. Comparisons of each other's wingspans were taken to discern if there DC Josh's beer had to travel a lesser distance or if his wingspan violated any other regulations Angel Moroni made up. I believe the referee, on his way back with more beer, stepped in to mediate from his inner tube and it was agreed there would be a rematch.
With yet another strong performance, DC Josh won the rematch in convincing fashion (see cup on head). Ever the good sport, Angel Moroni conceded and did not request a second rematch. In fact, no contests were held on Square Dock Arena for the rest of the weekend.
And, with that, the waters calmed...until next year.

Not Cohesive Enough for a Title

2007-07-31T20:50:00.000-04:00

Once again, I apologize folks. It's been too long of a blog hiatus for someone on unsubsidized funemployment. I must admit, I've been keeping fairly busy although that's really no excuse for not giving my fans what they want. I actually posted an entry last week but took it down because it was the blogging equivalent of telling a dinner party you have bird flu and an aversion to washing your hands. Then asking them how they enjoyed your special hand-rolled tamales and fresh squeezed lemonade. Awkward.

***

On Sunday I was dealing with an extended late onset hangover from Friday night and managed to watch an hour and a half of VH1's Rock of Love, which is basically a show for people who just couldn't connect with Flavor of Love seasons one and two. And it was delightfully terrible; right up my alley. I don't know when the Emmy nominations come out but it'll probably sweep them. Hell, they might even throw in an honorary Oscar nomination for high art's sake.

Anyway, it stars a washed up Poison lead singer, Bret Michaels, who is looking for "love" from rock and roll groupies who weren't legal when his band was popular. You get the idea-it's not complicated but it's completely awesome.

Just as Dallas (who's most likely from Burbank) was exiting without giving Michaels his mandatory elimination smooch and I was THIS CLOSE to purchasing a DVR machine to tape the rest of the episodes, I began to feel very guilty. So guilty, in fact, that I remained motionless for an entire Scott Baio is 45 and Lame episode, which I sincerely regret. More on that when I can sit through an episode again.

Why was I paralyzed with guilt? Last week Angel Moroni accused me of having the television programming tastes of a 14 year old girl. It cut me deep. He's omnipotent, after all.

Well, I implore any of you to find a 14 year old girl who has the mental fortitude to sit through as many Real World episodes as I have whilst keeping up with the more current drama of Road Rules/Real World Challenge. It's not easy--sometimes they run the challenge shows with the same cast members as the current Real World season and it creates some sort of metaphysical paradox or whatever the nerd term is for "confusion". Or find me one that has the balls brass enough to watch even five minutes of Hogan Knows Best, which is a near impossibility. Dude's really protective of his untalented daughter. Has been for thirty episodes. Nobody under 18 has the attention span to deal with that.

Whatever, I am who I am. Deal with it. And why the hell does Moroni know so much about the TV interests of 14 year old girls?

***

So this week is Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. Instead of running a shark related program 65 per cent of the time, they run shark programming 100 per cent of the time. Now, don't get me wrong. I love sharks. I'd probably own one if it wasn't so aquatic but I find Shark Week completely misses the boat (pun intended). Half the programs completely downplay the danger sharks pose to humans and preach shark tolerance and conservation, which is obviously great. The other half? Programs such as: Top Five Eaten Alive (by sharks); Deadly Stripes: Tiger Sharks (tiger sharks eating humans); Shark Bites: A Statistical Guarantee; If You Swim in or Drink Water, A Shark Will Eat You. Do they think people aren't watching Shark Week ALL the time? Do we need to kill them all or save them?

***

After three years without a vehicle, I finally had to buckle down and purchase one. Minneapolis is truly great for biking but I need a set of wheels to impress the ladies. Unfortunately, I've been told the Subaru Outback I purchased is a car for lesbians. I thought the portrait of the Indigo Girls covering the hood would make me seem arty but apparently I was mistaken. It actually might be counterproductive.

Glad you stayed around until the end of this post?

Welcome Home Weekend

2007-07-23T00:16:00.000-04:00

What a great weekend! I think I need to just start leaving and returning to places, just for the going away and coming home parties.

This Friday, my new roommate in Mormon heaven, Angel Moroni, organized a little barbecue and keg party to celebrate my return and DC Josh's prolonged stay. To be accurate, it was really a guacamole party. I have never seen that much guacamole in one central location in my life. It was all I could think about for a good 20 minutes....okay, I'm still a little hung up on it.

Anyway, the food was great, the people were fantastic and I would give the welcome back party a solid A+. The only downside of it was that I was completely betrayed by a few of my closest friends. I learned that Angel Moroni pulled the ol' mattress switcharoo on me and switched the mattress Bobby Digital lent me with one stuffed with bricks that Moroni had been sleeping on since college. It gives me terrible bed head. Additionally, I discovered that Bobby Digital has been keeping massive secrets from me and possible playing both sides of a contentious situation. I really can't disclose what they were but they were serious. Also, I think someone switched my dinner with alcohol but so far I have no leads on that one.

After the beer, wine, and whiskey were gone, a bunch of us went to a local watering hole to talk politics over tea. It was nice except apparently the bar tender kept asking if I had driven there. She probably wanted to know if I drive a Trans-Am but I only seem like I do. Common mistake.

Today Moroni, an anonymous gentleman and I went sailing on the St. Croix river. Now, we all know that on land I am an impressive specimen. But put me in a sail boat and I completely shut down. I had never been sailing before so I had absolutely no feel for the vessel. Plus it was windy so when one of the first big gusts hit the sails and Moroni shouted at me to "GET DOWN!!" as the boat tipped on its side and the boom swung over my head, I was immediately convinced that I'm more of a pontoon guy. Two hours of choppy water, high winds and crude will writing later and we were back on land. Tomorrow I will be shopping for new shorts.

With the welcome home weekend over, it's time for me to buckle down and get my life back in order. There's a lot on my agenda, people, so I need to be the epitome of organization. As such, I will be making and adhering to strict to do lists that will help guide me through the next few weeks. See below for tomorrow's list.

Stay tuned for a live blog session later this week, this time from from the local laundromat. It should be interesting...or not.

Live Blog No. 7

2007-07-18T11:28:00.000-04:00

Sorry for the obvious lack of an ending post. I wasn't in too good of shape when we rolled in this morning. Read josh's blog for all the details on that.

Now that I've regrouped a bit, I feel elated. I can imagine how the crews of the lewis and clark expeditions must've felt after finally reaching the pacific ocean. While I did not have to fight through a crippling case of syphillis en route to my destination, I was certainly fatigued.

All in all, it was a decent road trip. Thanks to all who cared. I'll see you Minnesota folk soon enough. Right now I need to sleep.

live blog no. 6

2007-07-17T19:29:00.001-04:00

We've it a bit of a wall. Outside of chicago we were caught in an absolute deluge in the middle of a rest area parking lot.

Now I'm sitting on a bench at the wisconsin dells. Its 230 AM and some kid is making pay phone calls while Nickelback plays on the gas station PA. God, I want to be in Minny right now.

Live Blog No. 5

2007-07-17T19:29:00.000-04:00

Since we're in such close, dangerous proximity, I'm going to give josh credit for his comment as a blog post. (Bad sentence. I know. No surrender, no delete) So we'll call this one number five.

I'm back in the passenger seat as you can tell. We stopped for a bit to take the cat out and urge him to make use of his litter box. Much like me, he has severe pee anxiety and couldn't muster up the courage go. I'm sure wearing a harness doesn't help much. It doesn't for me, that's for sure. The cat and I have become closer through our idiosyncracies. Although right now he looks like the most pissed off cat I've ever seen so I may need to wait awhile before I ask him what he's up to this weekend.

I drove through two hours of rain storm with no lights on. As you well know, I do dangerous shit like this all the time (see jaywalking post) but it was an accident; I thought they were on and miscalculated.

We're close to josh's birthplace, Somewhere, Indiana.

Currently playing: clap your hands say yeah (self-titled)

More later. I will tuck you all in with a nice post around 1100 or so.

Live Blog Post No. 3

2007-07-17T11:04:00.002-04:00

Good news! We've found josh's ipod. Actually, I found it in the first place I looked: under the crackers. Needless to say, we're both pretty happy right now. Unfortunately, none of my clothes were under the crackers.

That's all. We're on the Pennsylvania toll road right now and it's quite a road, let me tell you.

Road trip blog no. 2

2007-07-17T11:04:00.001-04:00

I know this is really soon to be posting again but I realized we need a name for our rig. So far we've come up with "big trouble, little china" but I'm going to go ahead and open it up to the readers. Discuss.

I just found out Lindsey Lohan has checked out of rehab and has to wear a bracelet that monitors her alcohol intake. Just in time for her new movie release! Its funny how publicity just sort of FINDS her at the most opportune times.

Live Blogging the Road Trip

2007-07-17T11:04:00.000-04:00

1105 WED: We've hit the road and are somewhere between DC and Minnesota. Obviously, I'm bad with directions which is why Josh is in charge of getting us out of the city. I will take the long stretch when we get to Utah.

On a scale of 1 to 10, the snack situation is about a 12. Steff made us some unbelievable muffins which we are carefully conserving.

A few minor setbacks, however. I forgot to pack a change of clothes yesterday and all of my things are shoved way in the back or our rig (that's trucker talk for vehicle). So I bought some sexy road trip shorts and a $1.25 t-shirt at the drug store. I plan on being topless for most of this trip so I'm not concerned too much about the outfit.

Second problem: josh forgot his ipod so we have about 12 hours less music than anticipated. I was in charge of the spoken word material so I hope he enjoys chuck klosterman books on tape and lots of NPR podcasts.

The cat's in good shape right now.

I will post more as the trip rolls on. If you have any questions, need advice, or just want to check in, give us a shout. have fun at work suckers.

Oh, one more thing: I'm doing this with a mobile device so there will be a lot of misspellings and incongruity. It's basically stream of consciousness.

Josh says hello.

Sentimental Beta

2007-07-15T18:09:00.000-04:00

Well, the time has come. Goodbye Week 2007 has officially ended. The nights were late, the mornings were rough but I must say I'm extremely satisfied with the way I've been sent off to the great Midwest. Thanks to all my beloved enablers out there.

So the week culminated in a big going away blowout last night and, readers, it was one for the ages. Nothing says goodbye like way too many tequila shots, 80's hip-hop, and perhaps a little too much hugging. I like to hug it out when I get drunk sometimes. Deal with it.

Of course, moving away is always bittersweet. The real bummer is that toward the end of a tenure somewhere you tend to spend more, meaningful time with the friends you're leaving behind, which obviously makes it tougher to go. Except for an awkward work lunch where my office's receptionist told me she loved me (I said thanks) and my replacement became inappropriately physical after a pitcher of margaritas, it was one of the best weeks I can remember. I'm truly fortunate to know so many high quality people.

Tomorrow is my last day here before DC Josh, his cat, and I begin a 22 hour moving van road trip to my beloved Midwest. I would say the major X-factor here is going to be Josh's cat, who's basically a feline version of a hyperactive eight year old. He also often confuses me for prey and has a strange fascination with my feet. It's practically guaranteed to be an eventful trip so I'll be blogging live via blackberry during the day. God knows I'll have the time. Hopefully I'll have the wireless service.

Huey!

2007-07-11T11:08:00.000-04:00

Two years ago, I wrote a little ditty about Huey Lewis and the News' video for "Stuck With You". I must've spent two hours searching for a picture of the absolutely ridiculous dress Huey's love interest wears. Although reminiscent of Hemingway or Faulkner, the post felt somewhat incomplete since I had referenced the video and the dress but had no visual proof that either existed. Mind you, this was all the way back in 2005 when YouTube was just a fledgling little operation so I didn't think to search for the video. But I'm smarter now and here it is in all its cheesy glory. I would say it probably fits into my Top Five Favorite Videos That Aren't Journey's "Separate Ways" (I make no distinction between cheesy and awesome; they're one in the same).

House Cleaning

2007-07-06T10:05:00.000-04:00

So if anyone actually read my last post (besides Ms. McSlooterton who may be my mom trying to make me feel better), you would've noticed a broken link regarding my arch nemesis, Crazy Lady. That's because the link took you to my previous blog, which I have since deleted entirely. But don't worry folks, you can still read and re-read your favorite Slurry Beta classics of yesteryear on this blog. I've reposted and backdated them to 2005 so sit back, relax and enjoy my self-centered musings from a simpler time, when 50 Cent topped the charts and a fresh faced George W. Bush was only a few months into his second term. Oh, and I fixed the link back to my first and second encounters with Crazy Lady.

The Crazy Lady Returns

2007-06-26T14:29:00.000-04:00

So I saw this lady from my past this morning on my way back from the coffee shop. I don't think she recognized me judging from the way she called me "Daniel" while she placed herself in my walking path in the middle of the crosswalk. I mentally urged her to step into oncoming traffic. She didn't and I'll probably see her on a bus in Minneapolis next month. This lady has basically become the half naked Indian to my Wayne Campbell. The Room 213 to my Danny. The devil's peak to my mashed potatoes. The last one there was a bit weak but you get the idea...I see her a lot, she haunts my dreams and will likely do so until I die.

**********

Sorry for the lack of posts, readers. I'm busy "training" my replacement at work in what used to be only MY office. Now I have to share it. Things went well at first but I think she's officially annoyed with my antics and general demeanor. Basically, she's just like every woman who knows me. (Rimshot! Applause!) But seriously, we might need some cubicle walls up in here. Soundproof, preferably.

Nosejob!

2007-06-12T15:55:00.000-04:00

I had surgery on my nose last week. It's no secret; the media was all over it. And while the coverage was accurate on the main, I figured I'd give my take on the events of the past 6 days. I had actually planned on writing a blog while I was in full hermit mode but I was busy sleeping and watching COPS and Rachel Ray episodes. I don't know what it is about Ms. Ray but somehow she manages to keep my full, undivided attention for thirty minutes...yet part of me finds her incredibly irritating. For example, she tries to create her own buzzwords (which she has since branded on her own line of corresponding products) like E.V.O.O. or "extra virgin olive oil". But every time she says "E.V.O.O." she always follows it with an explanation that it's actually short for "extra virgin olive oil". So what's the point of coming up with a snappy abbreviation if you have to explain it every time? Mind boggling. Plus, her morning show is a complete and utter train wreck. Not even a Percocet haze will help you get through it. Moving on...

My surgery began on a somber note, readers. I knew going in that there would be at least one casualty--my beloved mustache. This type of surgery tends to get a bit messy so facial hair is prohibited. I pleaded with my surgeon, submitted testimonials from friends, and toyed with the idea of going to federal court on a mustachism complaint, but I ultimately caved. The night before, I lit some candles, put on some Air Supply, groomed it up real nice one last time, and shaved it off. To be honest, I'm kind of glad it's gone. It began as sort of a joke but I kept it for so long that it started to get a little too serious. People who didn't know me thought I honestly enjoyed looking like a pedophile and that got to me after awhile.

Anyway, as DC Josh reported, he picked me up and we headed to the surgery center and waited around for awhile until I was finally called downstairs for preparation. I threw all my belongings into a bag, lied down on a stretcher and waited...and waited...and waited amidst the nonchalant hustle and bustle of medical workers. It's a weird feeling to be sitting there in what is obviously a major life event and be surrounded by medical personnel who deal with people like me 5 times a day, every day. They gripe about their jobs and get into passive arguments in front of you. One surgeon called in a recommendation for one of his subordinates right next to me. I watched an overly gregarious intern try mightily to kiss as much ass as possible only to be blatantly ignored. I felt like I was in a Clockwork Orange only being desensitized to awkward situations. Not cool.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, my surgeon and his anesthesiology crew arrived, shot me full of meds and we were on our way to the surgical room. I've never been hooked up to an IV before so it was a new experience for me to feel the immediacy of the drugs they give you intravenously. They injected what they called a "pre-anesthesia cocktail" and I immediately felt like I had just pounded seven shots of tequila. The bad jokes started flying. I must've delivered some variation of "Just get me out of here in time for my _______ tonight" (insert motorcycle race, baseball game, boxing match, binge drinking competition, etc.) about 60 times. In true Slurry fashion, I thought it got funnier with each delivery but I think they were all just hoping I'd pass out sooner than later. I did. For the next two hours, they detached, reshaped and reattached my deviated septum and widened my airways with an endoscope. It's called a Septoplasty and Turbinate Reduction. Look it up.

I woke up with severe pain in my forehead and my butt on full (well, partial) display for the recovery ward's viewing pleasure. I rested there for an hour or so, inflating my pain level a bit to get some more of that sweet sweet fentanyl in the system before they took me up to the final waiting area. The nurse put me in a wonderful little partition directly across from the department's waiting area so, once again, I was forced to listen to the gossip and office politics of the ladies in reception. Only this time, I was in a complete haze with large amounts of blood dripping out of my nose. Two ladies were in a particularly inflammatory discussion and kept looking over at me in disgust as if I was eavesdropping on their conversation. I think they confused my look of intrigue with my look of near vomit and extreme pain. People make mistakes.

After some seriously aggravating attempts to locate DC Josh in the waiting room, the nurses finally tracked him down. Right where I said he'd be in the first place. He got me home. I bled for twelve hours.

The next few days were pretty much the same. Wake up with intense cotton mouth, clean the schnauz, take some pills, watch some COPS, Deadwood, Freaks and Geeks, and Rachel Ray, then take a nap. Repeat. Luckily, some friends came to my aid to break up the monotony. DC Josh's better half made me some unbelievable gazpacho and cookies. Steff brought me some fantastic muffins. Moroni drunk dialed me. I got out to watch Knocked Up (great) and attend a BBQ. All in all, it was a pretty good weekend despite the pain in my beautiful face. My breathing is improving slowly but surely, although I wake up with some pretty brutal headaches that have kept me out of part of the workday on Monday and Tuesday.

Life is Precious

2007-05-25T12:12:00.000-04:00

I've had a strange week and a half. One of my strangest.

My nose was broken when I was a kid and I wish I could say that it was in some sort of fist fight but it was, in fact, from a baseball I missed while playing catch with my Babe Ruth coach. He was throwing hard. I was scared and barely put my hand up to catch one of the balls and it hit me right in the face and broke my beautiful nose. Ever since then, I've had no ability to breath through my left nostril and very limited ability through my right. You don't care, I know, but bear with me here.

A few months ago, after doing some disability research for a case at work, I realized that my busted ass nose may be negatively affecting my sleep patterns. So I went into the doctor to get it checked out. Multiple appointments (one with the oldest, most awesome E.N.T. doctor ever) and an awkward sleep test later and I'm signed up for a septoplasty operation in June. Before I can undergo the operation, I had to get a pre-operative physical to make sure the Slurry Parts were all in working order.

My doctor was a somewhat high strung, thirty something female with a surprisingly gentle touch and warm hands. (inappropriate? yes.) Everything checked out fine, we rapped a bit about testicular health, she took some blood and said they'd call me if anything irregular showed up on the lab test.

Two days later, she called me to tell me that I had elevated cholesterol, my liver function tests were abnormal and my precious liver was producing certain enzymes at four to five times the normal amount. When I asked her what that meant she started dropping words like "Hepatitis A, B, and C," "liver scarring," "liver transplant", and "possibly resembling Cirrhosis." She said that whatever the condition was would require anywhere from significant lifestyle changes to an organ transplant but they wouldn't know until a definitive diagnosis was reached. First, a follow-up test was necessary to find out for sure if my liver was consistently over producing said enzymes and if it was, they would have to do a series of imaging scans and biopsies to diagnose the condition and deduce its severity. Needless to say, things got serious very quickly.

I scheduled the follow-up appointment with Dr. Gentle Touch for her next available time, which happened to be the morning after I was to return from the Twins-Brewers series in Milwaukee. Now, if there was ever a time NOT to check my liver function, it was after three days of professional tailgating and extremely inappropriate behavior with a dozen of my best friends. I called to reschedule but that was the only possible time for the next month and a half. I don't know much about being on a transplant list but I'm sure the general idea is "the sooner the better" so I kept the appointment. I don't play a professional sport so bypassing people on the transplant list because of celebrity status was not a realistic option. That's right, I'm talking to you, Alonzo Mourning.

When you think you might have a condition, internet research is enormously depressing. WebMD is the worst; you could type in something like "itchy nose" or "broken fingernail" and it will shoot back "cancer" or "ebola virus". Has anyone else found this out? When you type something in, it gives you the worst possible scenario like it ranks search results by how many people are clicking on a topic and not by likelihood or severity? Nobody? Not reading this anymore? Fair enough-I don't blame you.

Anyway, despite the dark cloud hanging over me and my largest organ, Milwaukee was spectacular. I had initially intended to turn it up to about 12 or 13 but kept it at a modest 7.5. Slurry B made a brief appearance to keep the crowd happy/annoyed and everyone held up their ends of the bargain by making the most of the 36 hours we were all in Sin City....wait, Beer Town.

So I reported to my appointment on Monday for more discussion on what my future may hold, which was basically more tests if the second lab results came back with the same readings. I wasn't optimistic. They took more blood. It ruined my day. I yelled at my boss. At the gym, I shouted things like, "You can beat this, Slurry! C'mon!" while smoke billowed out of the treadmill. It was a rough couple of days.

Yesterday, my phone rings and it's Dr. Gentle Touch. She tells me that my liver function tests came back completely normal and I have nothing to worry about. It was a 30 second conversation and that was that. It seems I'm just fine. She still wants to see me in July but it looks like I get to keep my liver for the time being. I'm glad because we've sure been through a lot together, through the good times and bad. I'm still going to keep up with the workout and diet routine, though, but with a little less intensity and desperation.

So the moral of the story here is: don't ever go to the doctor.

The Man is all up on me

2007-05-11T12:17:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I received a ticket for jaywalking. I was crossing the street in my usual way after fetching my morning beverage (used to be coffee, now Superfood) and I was summoned over by a cop standing on the corner. He wrote me and three others for a 25 dollar jaywalking ticket while two mounted officers looked on and pondered the significance of their jobs.

Okay, I admit it. I crossed an empty street against a red light so technically, I deserved the ticket. But it just seems slightly ridiculous that, living in one of the most dangerous cities in the United States, they bother detailing police officers to Capitol Hill street corners to catch a handful of office workers on their way to the coffee shop. I witness felonies in my own back yard on a daily basis.

Well, The Man got the best of me this time but I'm going to keep on shining. Patiently. While I wait for a green light.

NASCAR Weekend

2007-05-09T16:25:00.000-04:00

My Saturday at Richmond Motor Speedway actually started on Friday night. Two Slurry Beta favorites, The National and Arcade Fire, were playing a double bill at Constitution Hall and by some divine force, I acquired four tickets before the show sold out in three minutes. It was an absolutely fantastic show and we were all pretty fired up afterwards so we decided wet our whistles at a nearby saloon. The basement was empty so there was convenient access to the bar, which is a DC rarity on weekends. Things spiraled out of control quickly as I attempted numerous times to leave by ordering more drinks (Slurry B is not known for his advanced skills of logic after mixing alcohols). We closed out the bar and I was incredibly hungover Saturday's trip to Richmond, VA to watch cars drive in a circle. I prepared poorly.

So Saturday afternoon eight of us (some people I knew, some I didn't) met up in Arlington to board the Booze Bus, which was actually more of a Booze Limousine Bus. Leather seats, wet bar, tinted windows, track lighting, TVs, a driver named Dave and tons of light beer. Pulling up to a sea of Winnebagos, tents adorned with confederate flags, and old trucks converted to tailgating stations, we stuck out like a sore thumb. We parked next to a group of Bobs, Ricks and Bills (maybe a Skeeter?) standing and drinking outside an RV next to a flashy Corvette, which was there for purely ornamental purposes. One of the gentlemen was wearing a Viagra racing jacket without irony---a common NASCAR occurance. I think it's only a matter of time before some racing team signs a major deal with Tampax and it becomes perfectly acceptable for southern men to wear Tampax merchandise.*

The three attractive women of the group stepped out first and one of the guys immediately popped his head into the bus and said, "Is this thing full of broads?" They were disappointed to see the rest of us were dudes. Handsome, yes, but not the correct gender. We hung out for a bit while our new friends took pictures of the girls next to their ornamental Corvette.

Our parking spot was about 1.5 miles from the racetrack so we headed down to the tram loading area to see if we couldn't grab a ride on one of the shuttles. The shuttles looked like roller coaster carts on wheels and were pulled by pick-up trucks. They didn't appear to be the safest form of transportation and, sure enough, they weren't. As soon as we got in line, an ambulance rolled by to tend to an unfortunate female spectator who had fallen out of one of the shuttle cars. According to an eyewitness, Yogi, the woman yelled, "I'm going to be a millionaire!" as she was placed into the ambulance. She had no previous legal training, to my knowledge. She did, however, manage to bring the entire shuttling operation to a screeching halt. We decided to walk.

The beauty of NASCAR - and I think everyone can appreciate this - is that you are allowed to bring one cooler per person into the stands, provided they are in a soft container of a reasonable size. We filled everything we could possibly fill with cans of beer: pockets, backpacks, mini-coolers, etc. Dragging that stuff for a mile and a half was a pain in the ass but being able to cradle a can of my own nice, cool Coors Light (Montana's official beer) made it all worthwhile. And, yes, I realize that it's Republican beer but my sense of nostalgia trumps my liberal tendencies on special occasions. Plus, the cans are ergonomically designed and have this really sweet can liner that locks in the rocky mountain freshness.

The tickets we had received were from one of the girls' father and were technically for a client company of his, Warren Oil, an outfit in Dunn, NC that manufactures motor oil, lubricants, and other petroleum products. We were told that if anyone asked, we were part of the marketing department. So naturally, we needed a Warren Oil slogan to randomly shout at each other in obnoxious, drunken fashion. I believe the prevailing slogan was "Great lube at an honest price." I tried valiantly to have my "If it exists, we can lube it" slogan catch on but it ultimately fell flat. Only time will tell which slogan was better. Or it won't.

In true anticlimactic fashion, they called the race off after 12 laps under caution because of rain. We drove all that way for about 25 minutes of actual car racing. Luckily, we did so in a bar on wheels, which we happily returned to several a few more hours of good times that I vaguely remember. I would like to extend a special thank you to the person who did not bring hard alcohol on the bus as I would still be in bed.

*I may be the only person in the world who has not seen Talledega Nights so if this joke is already in the movie, I apologize and will take it out. I don't steal other people's jokes, Moroni.

It's Go Time

2007-05-04T11:50:00.000-04:00

Readers, I promise to write about something more than my mustache soon (like a minor but comical incident involving a cat, a rat, and my house last night) but this is important.

There are certain moments in our lives that define us as human beings; moments that we pinpoint as both the beginning and end to major chapters in our human trajectories. I have three of these, and only three: wrestling my first grizzly bear at age five, swimming from the headwaters of the Missouri River to New Orleans at age 12, and seeing my first television at age 18. Now I feel like I'm on the verge of another monumental life event. I haven't been able to sleep for days. I crave only raw meat, sauteed asparagus (with a hint of garlic and lemon juice), and Skoal. I find myself cutting all of my jeans into shorts. I can only drink Busch Lite beer and do so in large quantities. And strangest of all, my 'stache has been emitting a pale red-then-white-then-blue glow when I come within earshot of country music.

That's right, you guessed it. I'm taking my mustachioed mug to a major NASCAR event in Richmond, Virginia this Saturday. This will stand as a true test of all that I've been working for the past month. True NASCAR fans are sharp and can spot a phony a mile away so it is absolutely imperative that I am properly prepared and maintain a cool head, which may be impossible to do on the Booze Bus we're taking down to Richmond. Let's just hope the hair on my upper lip can hide the fear behind my eyes.

Operation: Awkward Mustache. Day #15

2007-04-24T17:49:00.000-04:00

Well, it has been 15 days since I started Operation: Awkward Mustache and you’ll be happy to know that I’ve still got it. On a scale of one to Tom Selleck, I guess it would be about a Sean Penn. Well, that may be stretching it a bit so we’ll call it somewhere in the neighborhood between Elijah Wood and Sean Penn. Aside from the one encounter with the weird iPod girl (see DC Josh’s 100% accurate account from my last post), it has failed to mesmerize as much as I had hoped. Comments have ranged from “You can’t really tell from far away, but when you get close, it’s definitely there” to “You’re growing a mustache? I guess I couldn’t see it in this light.” As a survivor of what I call “The Late Bloom” I know that good things come to those who are patient….at least when it comes to facial hair. I made a promise I would keep this thing until I head to Milwaukee for the Twins-Brewers series in mid-May and, damn it, I’m going to keep that promise. In the meantime, I should probably steer clear of signing up to be a tutor at the local community center.

The new me

2007-04-09T17:17:00.000-04:00

I have a weird obsession with nature documentaries. Last night, per weekly ritual, I was watching a PBS Nature episode on cephalopods and just as they were about to do a segment on cuttlefish, the channel glitched and the screen froze. I sat there staring at the tube for a good 3-5 minutes. Nothing. I came back to the channel several minutes later. No sound. Unable to watch the program, I went absolutely berserk. It’s a bit of a blur but I’m pretty sure I tossed my television through the window, lit my mattress on fire in the alley, yelled obscenities at Stewart, and placed dozens of calls to the PBS complaint line.

Alright, I’m slightly exaggerating, but I do like me some cephalopods; in particular, cuttlefish. They have an incredible ability to rapidly change their skin color to any combination of yellow, red, orange, brown and black hues. They use the ability to trick their prey and, perhaps more importantly, as protective camouflage. I would imagine it gives them invaluable piece of mind.

I’m in a bit of a transitional phase and dealing with a few significant changes: trying to get into law school, newly single, moved to a new location with different arrangements, etc. It’s like the murky, treacherous ocean floor for me right now and I need some type of adaptive mechanism to help move the transition along. I need something that will throw others of their game, confuse and mislead them while giving me the psychological upper hand. Something that says, “Hey, this guy’s dangerous. But maybe he isn’t. I don’t know whether to flee or embrace him.” So I’m going to try to accomplish this the best way I know how: I’m growing a mustache.

Last night I was shaving off my Beard of Disillusionment and decided to leave the ‘stache and give it a go. Day one hasn’t been easy. I’ve looked in the mirror a few times and I think I look slightly ridiculous. But for the sake of social experimentation, I’m going to leave it on as long as possible, which may only be until tomorrow, I don’t know. Maybe the rampant mustachism out there will be too much for me to handle. Perhaps I’ll get fired or start losing friends. Maybe it will open up new business opportunities. I’ll let you know if I find the answers to these pressing questions.

Odds and Ends

2007-04-02T23:05:00.000-04:00

Well, I finally moved and boy was it fantastic (extreme sarcasm). In my last post, I noted how awkward the process of finding a place was but now that I’ve found one and moved in, it’s still awkward. Last week, my landlord gave me an email address of one of the three people currently living in the house so I sent an introductory email basically saying that I looked forward to meeting them, etc. No response. None. Then when I moved in yesterday, nobody was in the house. The only living creature around was somebody’s cat that is absolutely mortified of me and acts as if I had committed prior violent acts upon it. Getting that little bastard out from under my bed took 45 minutes. Someday I hope to meet its owner, perhaps find out if it has a name and maybe find a way to resolve our differences.

After I put my room together, I went out to buy some groceries. On my way home, as I walked up the sidewalk to my new place, a young neighborhood kid approached me and asked, politely, if I had a dollar. I politely said that I didn’t and walked up to my front door. Just as I was opening the gate on the door, a large piece of asphalt exploded on bars of the gate, a couple of feet from my head. I turned around to see about six or seven middle school aged hoodlums silently staring at me. Not knowing what exactly to do, I turned to quickly open the door and get into the house. Because my keys are new, I was struggling to find the right key for each lock. Again, a large piece of road hit the house and again I turned around to see several kids, completely silent--not asking for money, not calling me names, not slapping high fives to eachother, nothing. At this point I began to wonder if I was about to endure history’s most awkward stoning. Fortunately, they didn’t throw any more projectiles at me and I safely got into my house. Not exactly a warm welcome. The weird thing is that they are most likely my neighbors and I'm probably going to see them like three times a week.

-------

So it’s officially spring here. While people in most “normal” American cities rely on calendar dates, melting snow, and more sunshine to signify that it’s spring, we here in this anonymous capital city rely on other indicators. Most of them have to do with the massive annual flood of tourists.

Metro hell. Clogged escalators, confused masses, and irritated locals add at least 15 minutes to your commute. Waiting on an escalator with your head 2 inches from someone's fanny pack as the last train for twenty minutes rolls by is like some form of weird torture.

Cherry blossoms. In theory, the week of the cherry blossom bloom is great. Even a hardened cynic like me can appreciate how fantastic they make the tidal basin look even if it is for such a short period of time. I even make an effort to take a few photos, which will be forthcoming. Unfortunately, I have to make that time around 7 o’clock in the morning because that’s really the only time of day that there aren’t thousands of people clogging the walking paths and ripping off branches as souvenirs, a practice which I just don’t understand. Of course, I don’t understand why anyone would buy one of those, “You don’t know me. I’m in the witness protection program” T-shirts so maybe I’m missing some key information here.

Baseball’s opening day. And I have to work. If I see another douchebag in a Nationals jersey drinking margaritas in the sunshine today, I think I am going to freak out. FREAK OUT! The only redeeming factor here is that Johan is pitching tonight on ESPN2 and I won’t have to watch the online game cast.

Homelessness in America

2007-03-13T12:40:00.000-04:00

I am afraid of being homeless. The mainstream media tries to make it out to be some sort of perpetual summer camp but it’s not. It’s a winter camp, too, and it can get cold out there. While I admit that there’s a certain part of me - the reclusive, crazy Montana side - that wouldn’t mind being liberated from the shackles of rental leases and utility bills, I do need to iron my pants occasionally or I would probably lose my job. So when I was notified that I needed to move out of my house by April 1 this year, I went into panic mode and immediately began scrambling to find a place to live.

Around here in this anonymous city I live in, (I’ll just say that it’s a capital city of a nation somewhere in the world) finding housing is difficult. Living by yourself is ridiculously expensive so if you are a lonely seeker like me, you really have no choice but to hit the Craig’s List roommate circuit. The process, although equivocal to a kick in the junkyard, is pretty well defined. First, you need to check the listings on Craig’s List for a place that fits your location and price criteria. Then you need to read the stupid posting and decipher exactly what the author is saying. For example, when the posting says “sunny room available in rowhouse. Room is cozy and has access to roof deck and laundry,” it actually means “the room is suffocatingly small but has a window. There will be constant traffic through your living space because it contains the door to the roof deck. The laundry machine is in your closet.” Unless you’re paying a ridiculous amount for the master bedroom nobody else wants to pay for, you’re paying a less ridiculous amount for the room nobody wants to live in. In these group houses when someone moves out everybody is free to upgrade, which inevitably leaves the worst room in the house for the resilient sucker who endures the process.

Anyway, once you find a posting with the most convincing lies, you need to respond with an email expressing your interest. But it can’t just be any email; you need to really wow these anonymous potential roommates who will be inundated with these stupid ass replies. You want them to think you're awesome but you don't want to give them information that might turn them off if they're Republicans. Be vague but folksy like, “Hey, I’m a laid back guy but not a pot head and I like to have a good time but I’m not an alcoholic. I enjoy all the same things you do! Fuck, we’d be awesome roommates!” If you do this well enough, you’ll get a reply, which comes from the person’s personal account as opposed to the anonymous CL address you responded to. Google the name.

Most likely the person will ask you to “drop by and check out the room” anytime after six tomorrow. When you head over to the address, you will notice a dozen or so other people about your age converging on the house from all conceivable angles. If you’re like me, you’ll get that feeling in the bottom of your stomach that you get when you know a situation is about to get seriously awkward. We’re talking puberty awkward. Kind of like when you go out to meet up with some of your friends at the bar and someone’s ex-girlfriend is there and then you realize you invited her ex-boyfriend who’s scheduled to arrive in the next five minutes with his new lady. Your skills of Social Meteorology immediately kick in and tell you that the situation is critical; there’s an extremely high pressure front about collide with a pocket of low pressure activity and you need to get drunk fast and run some serious interference to avoid social Armageddon. (I’m actually an expert at this, but that’s for another post.)

By this time you’ve figured out that you’ll be competing against 12 other people for a spot in their shitty open room. You walk in, they show you the room, you ask a few questions then…it’s judgment time. Everybody converges in the living room and stares at each other with a collective “how the fuck are they going to decide who gets the room” look on their faces. Note: it helps to have an attractive “how the fuck…” face to make a good impression so work on it in the mirror before hand.

Since the tenants haven’t figured out exactly how they’re going to choose, the quiet staring continues until someone breaks the ice with some small talk. Last week, in my third showing in two days, I made a deliberate attempt to be the cool ice breaker guy and simply asked how they were going to choose who gets the room. The person honestly said (this is no joke), “This is your time to shine. Ummm, so maybe you can just tell us a little about yourselves and tomorrow when we’re thinking about who to take, maybe we’ll remember you or something.” I seriously wanted to walk out right then and there, but I persevered. I collected myself, took a deep breath and charmed the pants right off of them.

Did I get the room? Nope. So what does one need to do at this point? I have no fucking clue. My guess is you need to do something immediately and maybe even shady to seal the deal. Put a cashier’s check in their back pocket on the way out, hide in their closet until everyone’s gone and jump out with a freshly baked cake, spray the competition with a radioactive mist, buy the house, I don’t know.

At any rate, I got a room. It’s small but it has its own bathroom, is in a fairly decent location and I didn’t have to go through CL to get it. I sort of know the landlord, who fills each room himself using a great website with tons of photos and honest information about the six (!) units he owns on the block. I haven’t met my roommates yet but methinks they are going to be absolutely enamored with me. And they’re going to love my new invention. I call it the Midnight Tuba.

Sorry, people.

2007-03-08T10:28:00.000-05:00

I just wanted to issue an apology for those who have been staring at my blog for the past month and half, repeatedly clicking the refresh button. It's been so long, I actually forgot my password. I've been busy applying to and getting rejected from several law schools so my time has been pretty occupied...with uncontrollable crying fits and threatening phone calls to various admissions offices (you know who you are).

I plan blowing all your minds with some blogs in the near future. There's so much to say, what with all the current events and whatnot going on. And movies, oh man, are they crazy to watch!

Universally Annoying Types of People Who Irritate Everyone and Not Just Me Because I Don't Have a Complex So Stop Bringing It Up

2007-01-30T17:19:00.000-05:00

This post may be more of an insight into how much of an asshole I am rather than a comical look at annoying people but what the hell? It’s been a month and a half. Caution: I mailed this one in.

The ATM Banker

You might notice this man or woman while you’re waiting in line to withdraw cash from the ATM machine. They’re pretty hard to miss as they spend a ridiculous amount of time using every service the machine has to offer; depositing checks, withdrawing money, reviewing their balance and printing out multiple receipts as an angry mob of people queues up behind their obliviously inconsiderate asses.

I’m always confused by people who find it necessary to use an ATM for all their banking needs because, outside of withdrawing cash, it’s not all that convenient. Writing your account number on the back of checks, entering the amount on the keypad, putting them in the envelope, inserting the money into the feeder then printing out a receipt is kind of a hassle that I’d rather have a teller take care of. Maybe I’m just a genius. I don’t know.

Over-Reactive Movie Goer

I really wanted to see Pan’s Labyrinth last weekend and since I don’t have any friends, I opted to go alone. Unfortunately, so did the rest of this city. The theater was full so I was forced to sit next to an older lady who had some sort of elderly ADD in which she reacted with a series of gyrations, audible hums, and “No don’t do its” to every violent, scary or sad moment in the film. Perhaps most irritating is that, in any moment of building suspense, she would lean over to her friend, grab her arm and let out a little screech and completely ruin the experience. If you’ve seen the movie then you know that, although fantastic, it’s some form of violent, scary and/or sad for the entire movie. It reached a point where I was shooting this woman an evil glare each time she made a noise but she was incredibly resilient. Needless to say, the lady and I didn’t hug it out in the end.

I find that this situation happens to me quite a bit and it may just be my problem for not just letting it slide like everyone else I know does. A few weeks ago, I mentioned to a friend that I wish theaters would install headphone jacks into the arm rests like airplane seats so I could listen to the movie without any distraction. He thought it was a stupid idea and maybe he’s right. I’d probably always get the seat with a milk dud or sour patch kid crammed into the headphone port anyway.

In other news...I’m writing a screenplay about immigration in America which will soon be developed into a cinematic production. I already have a production team ready, including an Emmy Award* winning producer and experienced director.** More to come. Maybe.

*Regional

**YouTube

Year End List #1: Music

2006-12-08T12:48:00.000-05:00

The end of the year must be a breeze for anyone in charge of content for most media outlets. All you’ve got to is repackage short media clips, put them into some sort of coherent hierarchy and, boom, you’ve got a year end list that you can run and rerun for three weeks. VH1 practically wrote the book on this shit and people eat it up so much that they’ve devoted ALL of their programming to the regurgitated-media-clip-with-sarcastic-unkown-comedian-commentary format. It’s a great way to mail it in so I’m going to go ahead and take a page from that playbook and do the same with some year end top six lists. I don’t post all that much so I won’t really have the luxury of simply repackaging old posts but let’s be honest people, Slurry Beta and its staff aren’t exactly held to very high standards….or any at all.

Top Six Best Albums of the Year

There are no others. These are the best.

6. M. Ward, Post-War

Sounds like: one of your dad’s records, remastered and updated somehow. But only if your dad was a massive John Fahey fan and apparently there were about five of them back in the day.

Best When Listened To: late at night when alone and inebriated. There aren’t any of those moments that are inexplicably loud that might jar you out of any attempt to fall asleep while retaining your dinner, if you know what I mean. You probably don’t.

5. Neko Case, Fox Confessor Brings the Flood

Sounds Like: Not really sure, but it’s awesome.

Best When Listened To: while at Bobby Digital’s house. He won’t stop talking about how much he loves female singers.

4. Josh Ritter, Animal Years

Sounds like: music made by some dude in northern Idaho sitting in a one room shack for an entire winter thinking about war, Biblical metaphors, and animals. Definitely the best song writing this year.

Best When Listened To: Sunday mornings when making breakfast. You got up early. You’ve got supplies for French toast and all day to make it. You put on a pot of coffee and flip on NPR only to hear a couple of jackasses talking about cars. Good time for Animal Years.

3. Band of Horses, Everything All of the Time

Sounds like: My Morning Jacket meets The Shins. They have a few drinks, the Shins convince MMJ to shorten their songs and make them feel guilty about putting weird carnival music on their last album, Z.

Best When Listened To: on a packed bus or train during a weekday when you need 45 straight minutes of music as you stare out the window. At least that’s when I listen to it and it seems to be uplifting and poppy enough temper my fear of crowds. In case you didn’t know, I’m from a small town and people scare me.

2. Built to Spill, You in Reverse

Sounds Like: a great rock band returning to form but teetering on the edge of a bit too much “noodling” as my friend, Seven E, would call it.

Best When Listened To: driving at night. Of course, I don’t know that for sure since I don’t have a car but that’s what I think of when I listen to it. Man, this is a pointless blog post. Sorry, people.

1. Sparklehorse, Dreamt for Light Years in the Belly of a Mountain

Sounds like: the result of a heavily medicated, musical genius shut-in taking 5 years to make an album.

Best When Listened To: a few years after you’ve nearly lost your legs from passing out for 12 hours with them curled under your body. No, it didn’t happen to me but it did happen to the lead singer, Mark Linkous, about 7 years ago. The music’s been really great since then but he apparently still needs help walking. If you ask me, that makes for a perfect album!

Honorable mentions

Bobby Bare, Jr., The Longest Meow; Midlake, The Trials of Van Occupanther; The Decemberists, The Crane Wife; Mojave 3, Puzzles Like you; Shearwater, Palo Santo; The Secret Machines, Ten Silver Drops; Centr-o-matic, Fort Recovery.

That’s it, folks. If you disagree with my list here, go ahead and log onto Blogger and create your own blog, asshole.

Election 2k6

2006-11-08T12:15:00.000-05:00

Well, it's the day after the 2006 midterm elections and if you're a Democrat or were pulling for them in any way, you're probably happy right now. If not, you may be feeling like one of Rick Santorum's kids who has, in one fell swoop, been forced to question the very existence of God. (See right) At least now Santorum, who famously argued that repealing a ban on sodomy would lead to rampant bestiality, will have plenty of time to rehabilitate her with a strict regimen of church and home school. For the record, I don't mean any ill will toward his obviously destroyed daughter. For me, Santorum represents every thing that is wrong with American politics and the picture was just way too classic not to post.

In other news, it looks like Democrat Jon Tester is going to defeat Republican Conrad "Montgomery" Burns for a Senate seat in Montana. A few counties had a bit of a software problem with some voting machines and have been recounting votes all morning but it looks like there won't be enough to dissolve Tester's lead. I've always said there weren't enough flattops on Capitol Hill.

In lesser publicized news, if you're a resident of a certain Montana county, you can feel safe and secure for at least four more years.

In BREAKING NEWS: Donald Rumsfeld has just resigned.

In EVEN MORE BREAKING NEWS: I am crying like a little Santorum right now. Tears of joy.

WTF, Hallmark? Seriously, WTF?

2006-11-03T12:44:00.000-05:00

In a fit of rage, I almost gave up on my Hallmark Keepsake Disney Christmas ornament collection. The prospect of me purchasing a “Sing-a-long Pals” ornament this year is in serious jeopardy. Don’t get me wrong, it’s probably the sweetest ornament Hallmark has put out since they re-released the rare 1965 “Tigger Goes to Hollywood” miniature in 1997. But two days ago, just one day after Halloween mind you, Hallmark ran a Christmas commercial on prime time TV. I realize the desire for companies to maximize on the commercial gluttony of Christmas but that’s WAY too early, especially if you’re something as completely stupid as the “Very Merry Trio” for $14.95. Damn, that's really stupid looking. Penguins in earmuffs? Hallmark may have ruined my Christmas already, which is bad news for my family as I am notoriously cranky on Christmas day. I have no idea why, but it’s been going on for so long that it’s tradition at this point. Christmas tree, lights, turkey dinner, Slurry B shames family. Happy birthday, Jesus.

Anyway, it got me thinking that I probably don’t have too many posts left before the end of the year so I need to start getting in some “Year End” lists in before it’s too late. I’m not going to do a Top Ten list because that’s too many for me. DePue runs a “My Top Five” over on his blog so I’m going to go ahead and one up that shit with a few “Year End Top Six” lists. Stay tuned.

Spiced Ham

2006-10-27T16:00:00.000-04:00

I don’t know about you all, but I have an electronic mail account. It’s a great new way for family and friends to communicate with each other instantaneously without the hassle of stamps or telegrams. As the world wide internet rapidly expands, I receive more and more unsolicited messages from random people with stupid ass names like Danity Kane who tell me that I need “pharms” or that my penis needs to be bigger or that so and so wants to meet me, then sell me some ViAgrA. I believe they call it “spam” for some reason nowadays, which is a real shame for the Hormel Corporation. They’ve actually been prompted to publish an official position statement on internet spam, saying that they aren’t the ones who want you to have huge unit. They just want you to eat their processed meat in a can.

Every time I see that I’ve received a dozen or so spam emails, I always wonder how the hell anyone is making money by sending them. I’m no economic genius, but the fact that I receive a dozen or so of these emails every day must mean that someone is making money by doing it. But I find it hard to believe that there are people out there who are so gullible that they see a message from a person named Violet Bickerstaff or something with a subject like, “RE: your proposal” and say to themselves, “Hey, I guess I could have written a proposal that I sent to someone named Violet. I mean, I stock shelves for a living and don't know anyone named Violet but who knows what I do in my sleep? It appears she's responding to a message I sent--must be important. Oh, she wants me to buy anti-depressants. Well, I hope this gets my proposal approved.”

So what’s the explanation? My guess is that it’s probably so easy and cheap to do that it essentially boils down to a numbers game. You send out millions of these computer generated messages to people around the world and it probably only takes a few morons to make it worthwhile.

Sporty Beta

2006-10-19T17:16:00.000-04:00

Watching the NFL on TV is stupid. That’s right, I said it, America. Every Sunday, I think to myself, “Hey, this might be a good day to lie around and watch a little of the ol' Pigskin Challenge. A battle on the gridiron. God’s game. Canadian football’s abusive step-father.” Then I click on the TV and all disappointing hell breaks loose. If you watch any NFL coverage at all, you cannot avoid the Fox network, which has the most annoying and inexplicable robot fetish. Robots warming up. Robots playing catch. Robots in the shower. Throw in seven hundred truck commercials, one of which features John not-Couger Mellencamp singing (surprise, surprise) a song about America and uses imagery from the New Orleans and 9/11 tragedies to sell Chevrolets, and you’ve got a sufficiently agitated Slurry B. And as my fellow readers know, this is not fun for anybody.

Now, I would stay in this poor disposition until the Fourth of July if it weren’t for a little thing called the National Basketball Association. I love the NBA, but more importantly, I love the Minnesota Timberwolves. Sometimes I get so excited that I can’t sleep at night and I spend hours rifling through my Kevin Garnett trivia flash cards (homemade) and listening to my Troy Hudson mix tapes.

On the verge of the 2006-07 season, the Wolves are in a peculiar position: trying to win a title with (arguably) the best basketball player in the league while an incompetent GM tries to run the organization into the ground. Actually, they’ve been in that position since Kevin McFail drafted Kevin Garnett in 1995. Only this year is different because if the Wolves fail to make the playoffs for the third season in a row, KG will be gone and so will his all his fantastic sound bites. Since McFail’s biggest off season acquisition was a 31 year old CBA veteran who had one good year in the NBA, the future looks a little bleak, to be honest.

Several things need to happen this season if the Wolves are going to even think about contending for a title:

The backcourt needs to grow testicles. So far Marko Jaric has been a huge disappointment and has the most fragile psyche in the NBA. Luckily, if he ever improves we’ll get to witness his comeback because he’s been signed for the next 12 years. Troy Hudson will never play another full season again. That leaves 31 year old Mike James and the 2007 rookie of the year Randy Foye. James had one stellar year last year while on one of the worst teams in the league so, logically, McFail locked him up until he turns 40. Foye, on the other hand, is an orphan and you can always bet on an orphan. (See Annie, Oliver Twist , Luke Skywalker, Anne of Green Gables)

Eddie Griffin needs to step up. We don’t have a legitimate center to take the pressure off KG so really the only solution is the incredibly athletic EG. The only problem is that he never listened to his mother’s advice as a child and has, in fact, gone blind from touching his no-no place too much. While driving. Drunk.

Dwayne Casey needs to become a better coach. In the words of the guy who knows Angel Moroni better than he knows himself, “I’m not impressed with what Casey did last year.” I'll cut him some slack, given that last year was only his first as a head coach but I heard more excuses out of him than a eunuch at an orgy. Get better Dwayney, or I’m coming for you.

Rashad McCants needs to heal quickly. Despite a fairly slow start last year, McCants really turned it on towards the end of the season. There are actual statistics somewhere but I don’t have time to round them up. The bottom line is that he is a phenomenal offensive player who could make huge contributions to the team. Or his knee injury could end his career. Either way, McHale is going to give him a long term contract whether he deserves it or not because that’s what he does, if you haven’t already gathered.

NBA League Pass needs to be free. To be clear, Comcast, this is not a request. I don’t know if you know me, but I have a rapidly expanding media conglomerate consisting of Slurry Beta blog articles, text messages, and drunk dials that reach a large swath of the population. I think it would be in your best interests to hook it up or I will single handedly bring you down.

That’s pretty much all I’ve got for a "preview". I’ll have more to say as the season drags on but if I write anymore now, I’ll probably get fired.

This just keeps getting better

2006-10-02T16:03:00.000-04:00

This will be the second and last post about Congressman Mark Foley (R-Fla.) because I don’t want my readers to get the idea that I actually care about current events. And the whole situation deeply disturbs me. However, I felt like there were some loose ends and some interesting developments that need to be addressed.

It’s truly amazing how the Republicans are handling this whole situation. It’s so incredibly Christian right wing that there must be some sort of handbook for this shit. First, they tried to keep it a secret, apparently knowing about Foley’s propensity for pedophilia since last year. Denial, as we all know, is the single most powerful tool in Christian fundamentalism (see dinosaurs, evolution, space exploration, sexuality, science in general, etc.). Second, and the absolute best part about this is that after he gets busted for doing everything short of committing a felony sex crime, he goes into rehab for alcoholism. That kills me. Way to address one major problem by seeking an acceptable solution for another, completely unrelated, more socially acceptable problem.

Also, I love how nothing in Washington is truly scandalous until the word “gate” is thrown onto the end of it. It’s not just “the time Republican Congressman Foley seduced a 16-year-old boy on the internet”, it’s FOLEYGATE. A few years ago it was Monicagate then Nipplegate (Janet Jackson at the Super Bowl), Macacagate (George Allen’s exposed racism) and surely we can’t forget Slurry Betagate a few years back (it was a localized scandal, which I denied and blamed on Razzleberry Pucker) among the countless others. Of course, all of these “gates” are obvious references to the mother of all political scandals: Teapot Domegate. I know my history, people.

30 second running diary

2006-09-29T15:53:00.000-04:00

The following is a running diary pertaining to a link I clicked on this afternoon whilst browsing the World Wide Web:

3:49:13 Scanning the headlines I read, "Congressman Resigns After Emails With Page." This could be as good as the chicken sandwich I had today, which was exceptional. Best chicken sandwich I've had in a long time. Seriously, you put a good handful of alfalfa sprouts on a sandwich and you've got something special on your hands. But don't be hasty, Chief. The sprouts tend to go bad quickly and may pick up a little salmonella if you're not careful. You might want to give them a little sniff to be absolutely sure.

3:49:25 I move the mouse cursor toward the link, thinking, "Please be a Republican. Please be a Republican."

3:49:36 I click on the link.

3:49:42 OOOOOEEEEEE! Thank you, Sweet Jesus! Wait, don't tell me the page is male. Seriously don't. He is? What a great day!

Important: A Life Lesson

2006-09-20T12:25:00.000-04:00

Like millions of Americans, I am addicted to coffee. I need it every morning, plain and simple. Until I drink a cup in the morning, I feel like I’m a carbon atom that picked up an extra neutron over night (re: unstable…that’s for you Johnny Chemistry). I can’t brew my own coffee in the office kitchen because certain people think brewed coffee “stinks” and wonder “why I can’t just brew one cup at a time instead of leaving the machine on all morning.” Instead of giving into such suffocating oppression and brewing a single cup of coffee every time I need a fix, I walk to Starbucks every morning and pick up a medium coffee or “grande” if you want to basically give everyone in Mr. Starbuck’s marketing department a baby oil HJ (that’s for you Moroni and Pleisure). Over the years, I’ve had various stints in the service industry so I know how much people appreciate it when you make their lives easier. So that’s what I get, one black coffee. $1.89. I’m in, I’m out. I’m happy, they’re happy. Sometimes, if she’s not too busy, the latte lady will come over and give my butt a little thank you pinch.

Once in awhile, a certain person will intercept me on my way out of the office and, without fail, the conversation always goes a little something like this:

Certain Person (knowing I go to Sucks to get a cup of coffee every morning): Are you going to Starbucks?
Me: Yes.
CP: Can I give you money to pick something up for me?
Me (reluctantly): Yes.
CP: Okay, I want a grande light, no whip, chocolate frappuccino…no, I want a vanilla bean, no whip, light frappuccino. And can you have them put a little less ice in the mixer and a little more milk? Great. Oh, and I actually do want whip cream on it, but could you ask them to blend half of it into the frapuccino? (Hands me a twenty dollar bill…as if I carry around change for a 20 all the time) Thanks.
Me (annoyed at the ridiculous coffee request that she could have gotten herself on her way to work 5 minutes ago): Alright. I’ll be right back.

*AT STARBUCKS

Worker: Hey, grande coffee for you today? God, I love you.
Me: Yes, thanks, you’re pretty cool too. But I also need a vanilla bean, no whip, light frappuccino.
Worker: We don’t have that. We’ve got the cream based but that doesn’t come in a frappuccino.
Me: I really don’t know; that’s what she told me. Is that light?
Worker: No, I don’t really know what you mean.
Me: Neither do I. It’s not for me.
Barista (chiming in from her station): I think I know what you want.
Me: Great. Um, also, can I pay for each drink separately?
Worker (looking at the long line behind me with fiery eyes): Uh, yeah.
Me (to the barista): Can you please add more milk and a little less ice to that frappuccino? I’m sorry this isn’t for me. And could you blend in some whip cream into that? I’m really sorry for being difficult but I’m getting this for someone else. Please don’t spit in that.

*BACK AT THE OFFICE

Me (handing the drink to Certain Person, along with exact change): Here you go.
CP (letting out a big sigh): This isn’t what I wanted. That’s okay, though...I’ll still drink it.

The moral of this story, my dear readers, is that you should never do anything nice for anyone.

Story Time

2006-09-13T17:15:00.000-04:00

I know there has been a longer blogging hiatus than usual, which has been adversely affecting my readership. Several readers have written me and said they’ve turned their backs on God, some have dropped out of school, and most are suffering from varying degrees of depression. Trust me, I know this blog has a profound effect on people so you’ll be happy to know that something peculiar actually happened to me today that's worth blogging about. Actually, several peculiar things have happened to me over the past few weeks. I just can’t write about them as they are a direct result of my own poor decision making. Let’s just say they involve a partially broken foot, a ruined shirt, and several misdemeanors that I may not yet know about. I’ll let you speculate. Anyway, on with today’s story.

On my way to lunch today, I stopped into a local used bookstore to add to my collection of books I’ll never read. You know the drill: smells like rotten paper; books stacked to the ceiling; barely any room for maneuvering; eccentric/cantankerous/senile person at the front desk. I think these used book stores are the same everywhere—almost like a franchise. There was an elderly lady at the front desk and I said hello as I entered and browsed around the first floor (biographies, new arrivals, non-fiction). Finding nothing, I decided to head upstairs to the fiction section and maybe check out the Danielle Steele spread they have (I don’t know about you all, but there’s nothing like lusty, steamy romance novel…nothing). As I passed by the lady at the front desk I said, “I think I’ll check out the fiction section.” You know, a little idle chit chat with the nice lady. A little Slurry Beta charm is always appreciated. Suddenly, the lady begins speaking in disjointed sentences, “I hate to ask this of you…but…when you go upstairs….and I don’t mean to be presumptuous…but…I was robbed at gunpoint not too long ago…there is a gentleman who comes in here often and never buys a book…not that he isn’t allowed to come in here….but I was robbed at gunpoint…would you mind checking it out upstairs and let me know if there is anything suspicious?…I mean, I hate to be rude…but I’m just a bit concerned…don’t be too conspicuous.”

At this point I was thinking to myself, “Well, not only to I feel morally obligated to check this armed gunman out (I have sheriff’s blood, you know) but I also feel obligated to buy a goddamn book lest I be construed as an armed robber.”

“Sure, I’ll check it out, Sugar Britches,” I said without saying Sugar Britches. I walked upstairs and, sure enough, there was a guy polishing his firearm in front the True Crime section. “I robbed that woman downstairs at gunpoint last month and I’ve been coming in here every day for the past few weeks, not reading anything, but just waiting for the right time, man. I think now’s the time,” he said. I quickly sprung into action and beat him down with “The Complete Works of Shakespeare.” Cops and reporters arrived on the scene not too long after and I was given the Presidential Medal of Honor, all in time to get back to the office for an after lunch meeting.

Okay, that didn’t happen. I did, however, walk upstairs to find three very harmless people quietly perusing the bookshelves. I picked up a copy of Tim O’Brien’s “If I Die in a Combat Zone”, told the lady she was okay, paid for my book and walked out.

A Missed Opportunity

2006-08-29T12:32:00.000-04:00

Okay, I admit it. I’m a bit of a Renaissance Man. Not in the Danny DeVito sense but more in the Leonardo Da Vinci sense. Like most Renaissance Men, I have many seemingly unrelated interests that, taken together, make me a bit of an enigma. Need someone to operate your pontoon whilst drinking a cool beverage? Done. Have a question about the correlation between raising cattle and Bob Seger’s “Night Moves”? Ask me. Need a great idea for an invention that will revolutionize the world of commuter biking? I’ve got one. Having an air drumming contest? I’ll win it.

I know, it just doesn’t seem like one person could possibly have that many skillz and interests. Well, what if I told you that I recently found a way to combine my entrepreneurial prowess with my knowledge of Polygamy? The answer is that it would blow your mind. So if yours is a bit fragile, I would suggest that you stop reading immediately if you haven’t already.

First of all, I realize Polygamy has been a hot topic recently with Mindy writing a great entry last week. I assure you that I’m not trying to use her ideas nor is it my intent to steal her thunder, which is very loud. This actually all started last may when Warren Steed Jeffs, the self-proclaimed prophet, most likely self-middle name giver and leader of a fundamentalist Mormon sect that practices polygamy, was placed on the FBI’s most wanted list with a $100,000 reward for his capture. He was (surprise, surprise) wanted on several accounts related to, um, illegal stuff with minors and was on the run from the law, probably hopping from one crazy polygamist compound to another performing illegitimate marriages with reckless abandon. The real kicker here is that the guy looks like a scrawnier, less intimidating version of Bill Nye the Science Guy, a man I have thought I could physically overpower since I was 12. (See above) So naturally I was thinking to myself, “This could be the easiest $100,000 I’ll ever make.” I proposed the idea of hunting Jeffs down to my associates and they were on board, although some were reticent of the fact that Jeffs supposedly had a heavily armed entourage protecting him. Such minor setbacks are easily mitigated with some careful planning and a bit of Montana charm.

Unfortunately, Jeffs was caught yesterday during a routine traffic stop, officially putting an end to our chances at throwing a $100,000 barbecue. But let me assure you, the wheels are still turning in Slurry Beta’s head. Oh yes.

People in the News

2006-08-11T16:54:00.000-04:00

I think it's time for some smarmy comments about people...in the news. Now, I realize this may alienate some folks in my fan base who have an aversion to people like me who are highly skilled at passing judgment on strangers. I think it’s safe to say that those people are not Slurry B and do not have their own blog. I do what I want. Let’s move on.

Deusches, you have found your leader.
Not too much to explain here, I guess, other than this is an actual person and that is an actual tattoo.
Honestly, though, we all know someone who would join his gang if he started one.

Conrad Burns (R-MT), US Senator.
(This is kind of old news but since I only update this blog every two or three weeks, it’s breaking news as far as I’m concerned. Again, I do what I want.)The great state of Montana starts on fire every summer so it has to employ a large number of firefighters, often flying them in from other states. It’s an incredibly dangerous and noble job (my brother, Slurry G, does it and he only does dangerous, noble things) and nobody appreciates it more than the residents of the state-except for one of our Senators. At the end of July, a team of firefighters was waiting in the Billings, MT airport to head back home to Virginia when Conrad Burns showed up in the terminal and verbally berated them, saying they did a “piss-poor job” and weren’t doing a “GD thing”, etc. He may as well have burned an American flag on national TV. Montanans are pissed and the media has jumped all over it. He’s currently neck deep in a controversy worse than the time he called Arabs “rag heads” in public; worse than the time he used the “N-word” to tell a joke about African Americans-in public; worse than the time he took more money from convicted felon Jack Abramoff than any other person; worse than the time he told a flight attendant who was about to lose her job to “go home and have babies”; worse than the time Time magazine named him one of the five worst senators; and worse than the time he called one of my friends a “little bastard” during a group picture session on a high school trip to Washington, DC.
The good thing is that he’s up for re-election this year and is almost certainly going to lose, even though he has 5 times the amount of campaign money as his opponent, John Tester. Tester is an organic farmer with a flat top. Just like me. Awesome.

The creepy dude who says he killed JonBenet Ramsey (not pictured. Too creepy).
I want to go on the record to say that I have a hunch that this guy didn’t do it, which is a shame because everything seems to fit. He looks psychotic (check), is probably psychotic (check), has a southern accent (check), looks as though anyone over 10 years old could waste him (check), inexplicably disappeared to Thailand to work at a school (check) and he admitted to it (check). However, he seems to be getting a few key facts wrong and is a little too comfortable with all the media attention.
You’re probably saying to yourself, “Why does Slurry B even care about this? He’s not interested in justice.” Well, you’re right, I don’t really care but I grew up watching local Denver TV stations and, honestly, this case was all they ever reported on. Day and night. For years. It would be great if they could finally solve this but I think all they’ve done by arresting this guy is make the situation even weirder.

The Legend of the 2003 Dakota County, Minnesota Milk Drinking Champion

2006-07-28T17:13:00.000-04:00

The title is a bit misleading because legends, by definition, are romanticized distortions of truth. The legend you are about to read, however, is 100% verifiable truth…so this is more of a “Recollection of Facts” than anything else.

A few summers ago, on a pleasant weekday afternoon, Erik, Sam, Bear and I hopped into Erik’s maroon LeBaron convertible and drove out to Farmington, Minnesota to soak in the sights (fat people) and sounds (fat people eating cheese curds) of the Dakota County Fair. Upon entry to the fair grounds, we stopped by a tent offering free milk to enjoy some fresh milk and receive the essential vitamins and minerals we would need to make it through an evening of fried goods, talent shows, and demolition derbies. Plus, after the car ride over, we all had an undeniable urge to eat even though we weren’t that hungry. It was uncanny…almost chemically induced.

As we were drinking our cups of free milk, Erik spotted a small, handwritten sign in the back of the tent that read something to the effect of, “Jeff Hanson: 12 cups”. When he asked what the sign was all about, the tent worker told him that it was the current milk drinking record at the Dakota County Fair to which Erik immediately responded, “I could definitely beat that. I’m definitely going to beat that. What do you get if you set the record?”

“You get your name on a sheet of paper and we put it on the back of the tent,” the worker replied.

After some cost-reward analysis, we elected to head into the heart of the fair, ate a bunch of food, checked out an awkward talent show, had an awkward conversation with Erik’s teenage cousins who happened to be there, contemplated sneaking into the demolition derby, and decided to call it an evening. On our way out, we passed by the free milk stand again to find that the 12 cup record was still standing. Now, if you know Erik then you know he has the heart of a champion and true champions never pass up a chance to set records. As soon as Erik made eye contact with the milk tent worker, he knew it was on and started pouring the milk.

Erik impressively downed the first 6 cups in rapid succession. Pure confidence. He had a look of determination I hadn’t seen since we were pitted against each other in the Dupre 4 East, NBA2k Dreamcast challenge championship game. I mean, it was going to happen. Sam, Bear and I could feel the electricity in the air. We were going to witness one of the greatest achievements of the 2003 Dakota County Fair.

Cup seven, eight and nine went down a little slower, but Erik was still keeping a fantastic pace, taunting onlookers and letting out thunderous roars with each finished cup. Next to him, a 12 year old boy had begun making an impressive challenge. The pressure was on.

When Erik hit cups ten, eleven and twelve, he had slowed considerably and was starting to struggle a bit. He had tied the record but the taunting and intense hubris were gone. A slight look of self doubt crept onto Erik’s face as his complexion faded into a pale white. “Now I know why that kid only got to twelve,” Erik said, holding the record breaking cup. Slowly he began to drink one small sip at a time, stopping every once in awhile to gather himself. Eventually, Erik’s competitive spirit pulled through. He finished the cup, slammed it onto the ground and unleashed the most raucous celebration I have ever seen. “I AM THE DAKOTA COUNTY MILK DRINKING CHAMPION!” he screamed with his hands in the air. For the next five minutes or so, he pointed at and shouted into the faces of everyone who had gathered around to watch. Mothers and fathers ran to protect their children. Dogs were barking. Cars alarms started blaring. Policemen went for their guns. The rest of us nearly hyperventilated with laughter.

Then, all at once, the celebration stopped. Erik immediately turned around, walked five feet to the garbage can and puked….and puked….then puked some more. Honestly, it was horrific.

On our way out, Erik made sure to tell the milk tent worker to put his name up on the back of the tent. He had earned it after all. Unfortunately, the guy misspelled his name.

Some say that if you go to that very spot at the exact right time during the Dakota County Fair, you can still hear Erik violently hurling a record 13 cups of milk into a garbage can. That may just be a myth, though.

The Story You've All Been Waiting For

2006-07-12T12:12:00.000-04:00

When I was in high school I worked at the local grocery store, bagging groceries, stocking shelves and spending as much time as possible hiding in the milk cooler. I once got caught sleeping on toilet paper boxes in the warehouse by the Meat Guy but that story is for another post. Summer was, by far, the busiest time of year because the town I lived in had an economy based almost entirely on tourism, specifically fly fishing tourism. During those months, the town and outlying areas would essentially triple in population as people with summer homes and/or large ranches returned for vacation. One of those large ranches, the Sun Ranch, was owned by none other than Steven Seagal, breaker of bones and deliverer of cheesy lines. He actually liked the area so much that he filmed a movie in Ennis called “The Patriot”, which may be the single worst film in American history. Apparently, it would have never been seen if HBO didn’t pay $5 for the rights to air it. I don’t understand who wouldn’t want so see a movie with almost zero action scenes in which Steven plays a doctor with a secret CIA past whose daughter gets kidnapped by armed militia men determined to infect a small, isolated Montana town with a devastating virus that he eventually cures with flower pedals? Still perplexes me.

Anyway, he and his entourage/family would spend about a month at their multi-million dollar ranch home (shaped like the Ranch's sun logo), occasionally driving into town in a caravan of black suburbans (Licenses SUNRCH1-SUNRCH3 so nobody would be confused) to buy a whole pant load of groceries, all the while asking for the most ridiculous items that no Montana grocery would ever sell. On one fateful day in July, the black SUV caravan rolled into the parking lot and out came Steve, his bodyguard (seriously), his incredibly young wife, and about three or four kids ranging from about 8 to 18. I’m not sure how many were his but I assumed they all were because they all had eerily similar qualities: they were all incredibly obnoxious. The young, approximately 8 year old kid was, by far the worst; completely unhinged. (For the rest of the post, I’m calling him Ocho, which could quite possibly be his name.)

Ocho had apparently been mainlining Fun Dip and Asian Experience in the suburban. I could basically read the thoughts of some of the cowboys waiting in line as the checker rang up their purchases of every item in the store: “Goddamn, in my house, not a minute would go by when I wasn’t hitting that kid. Am I out of Copenhagen?”

I bagged up the mountain of groceries, placed them on a large, metal, two-wheeled cart and began gingerly taking the heavy load to the parking lot. Everyone in the Seagal entourage walked ahead of me and out to their cars but Ocho stayed behind and proceeded to place his foot in front of the cart’s wheels. I stopped abruptly to avoid crushing his foot, which would have certainly sent Steve into a knee cap stomping, throat puncturing rage reminiscent of “On Deadly Ground” or “Marked for Death”. Ocho continued to do this every 5 feet until I reached the suburban. As I attempted to place the groceries in the rear storage area, Ocho hopped into the back of the car, making it impossible for me to put any bags there. Eventually, someone told him to cut it out and he jumped out of the vehicle. When I finished loading, I slowly shut the back door to buy some time in case they planned on tipping me, which they didn’t. As I made my way back to the store, I glanced back at Ocho who was standing outside of the passenger door. He had peed his pants so bad that it was running down his leg and into his shoes.

Steven Seagal!

2006-06-27T10:36:00.000-04:00

While we all eagerly anticipate "Under Siege 3: Plane Danger" (yes, they're actually planning to make it and yes, that's the tentative title), I just wanted to let all you Steve Heads out there know that he's on tour playing blues-reggae music at a club near you (see photos below). He's also signing autographs after the show so don't forget to bring your VHS copy of "Hard to Kill". In celebration, I have enlisted Bobby Digital to write a review of his most recent album*, which I am almost positive he has. I am also currently drafting the greatest Steven Seagal story you will ever read.

*Bob, will you please write a reveiw of Steven Seagal's latest release? Thanks.

Sports!

2006-06-23T11:17:00.000-04:00

Soccer
I know very little about Soccer (Football, Footie?). In rural Montana, it was dismissed as a “rich kids' sport" because none of us could afford those fancy shin pads. Actually, to be honest, we just didn’t have enough kids to play it but if we did, we would’ve played without pads like we played football. Once I went to college, I learned to enjoy the game, especially since some of my best friends played for Division III powerhouse the Fightin’ Scots. I still don’t know completely understand it, but I definitely get excited for World Cup, which, to me, is an incredibly entertaining and intriguing sporting event. Unfortunately, a majority of Americans could care less. Many become irritated with the inordinate amount of flopping, the lack of scoring, etc., which is a shame when you consider how important it is to the rest of the world. In fact, I believe El Salvador fought a 100-hour war with Honduras over a soccer match.

Personally, I don’t mind all the flopping. If you work that hard for 90-plus minutes to (maybe) score a single goal, an official’s call your way could mean victory. The thing that annoys me is how frequently the medical teams bring out the stretcher for leg injuries. Can’t they just be helped off the field? Honestly, I haven’t seen that many stretchers since the World Yoga Championships! (Zing!)

Basketball
Well, it looks like Miami finally ran down their dreams. After winning the first two games, Dallas backed down despite indicating that they wouldn’t even if you stood them up at the gates of hell. By the way, nothing resonates better with NBA fans than the music of Tom Petty. (sarcasm) I couldn’t be happier because I hate Alonzo Mourning so any glimmer of hope that he’ll finally retire is a wonderful notion to me. Me and the 50 people on the kidney transplant list who were skipped over so he could get his new kidney, return to basketball, point his finger in the air 60 times a game and incessantly taunt better players. Was it Richard Jefferson or Kenyon Martin who made him cry in practice a few years back?

As a Timberwolves fan, the end of the playoffs signals the beginning of the most wondrous time of year—the Offseason, where we all just sit back in giddy anticipation as Kevin McFail works his magic. (extreme sarcasm). I would write more but my salty tears are ruining my keyboard.

Baseball
Roger Clemens’ return from his soul searching hiatus (steroid detox) was on ESPN last night which meant I finally got to see Francisco Liriano pitch. He’s amazing. ESPN ran a graphic describing the deal that landed Liriano: AJ Pierzynski (The Jerk) and cash for Liriano, Boof Bonser, and Joe Nathan. Can the T-Wolves borrow the Twins’ front office for the next few months?

Jared Fogel: An Underrated Genius of Our Time.

2006-06-15T12:00:00.000-04:00

You know Jared Fogel. Everyone does. He’s the guy who lost 250 lbs. eating Subway sandwiches, scored a deal with the Subway Corporation to act as their spokesperson and now, several years later, has etched his nerdy, annoying mug into our collective psyches. Now newborn babies recognize him faster than they do Mickey Mouse. He will soon be represented by a simple silhouette, much like Hitchcock or Jerry West or maybe even just a symbol--like a really cool shield with intertwined letters J and F behind 6-inch sweet onion terriyaki sandwich (with your choice of condiments), all with a background of flames and barbed wire. Awesome.

Let’s review the facts: he’s a terrible actor; the advertisements are criminally lame; he’s lazy (the Subway he frequented while on his infamous diet was in the basement of his apartment building); and he has the charisma of an inanimate object (insert your favorite). In fact, after watching any one of his commercials, I am 90% less likely to go to Subway and choke down a sub. And yet, as angry as his existence makes me, I must consider him one of the great geniuses of contemporary times.

Despite having no redeeming qualities, Jared Fogel has apparently convinced Subway to give him a contract that lasts for his entire lifetime. There can be only one explanation for this: he walked right into Subway headquarters, engaged in an intense battle of wits with the Board of Directors and by shear mental fortitude, convinced them to give him a lifetime spokesman contract and creative rights to all advertisements and promotions. So here’s to you, Jared. I detest everything you stand for, but in the immortal words of Vince Vaughn, “Goddamn, I respect you.”

Jack Van Impe Has No Testicles

2006-06-06T18:01:00.000-04:00

As you all may or may not know, today is June 6, 2006 or 6-6-6 or "Sign of the Beast Day". That means, sometime around 11:30 PM Eastern time, the apocolypse will officially commence. It's about time, too, if you ask me. What with the state of the world and my rent being due and whatnot. I assume most of you have been left unaware that the Rapture is tonight and there's a reason for that: Jack Van Impe has no testicles. I don't mean JVI lacks testicles in the physiological sense. He clearly has a fine set as proven by his steamy on and off-screen love affair (i.e. fundamentalist marriage) with blonde bombshell and television ratings booster, Rexella (see right). I mean "testicles" more in the sense that he has no guts, backbone, or grit. Anyway, I'm sure you got my drift.

We rely on JVI to provide us with up-to-date prophecy on the end of the world as we know it. We buy his books, annotated electronic study bibles, memorization tapes and polka records because they inform us as to when the apocolypse will take place. A genius like Jack doesn't simply forget that today is 6-6-6, he purposely overlooks it because he doesn't have the balls to tell us. Shame on you, Jack. I most certainly will NOT be purchasing your latest DVD Animals in Heaven...actually I would like to know if my old Cocker Spaniel, Annie, is in heaven. But that's the last DVD I'm buying!

Week in Review: Summer, Beer, Segway Cops

2006-06-01T16:38:00.000-04:00

Summer is finally coming to DC after what seemed like a rainy, cold end to spring. For the next several months, I am going to be a hot, sweaty man…in a bad way.

For Memorial Weekend, we did the impossible-bought a keg of beer in DC. For those of you in normal states (or just states and not districts, for that matter) this is probably a common occurrence, but it’s extremely rare to drink beer out of a keg around here. First of all, nobody sells them. I had to apply every ounce of the research skills I learned in college to track down a place inside the district that carried them. Second, nobody has a car to transport them and the metro won’t allow you to take large metallic cylinders filled with liquid on a train. Weird. Anyway, I was lucky enough to have a supportive friend with a car offer to help me out. Once tapped, we immediately commenced grilling and eating copious amounts of meat. Eight hours later, I found myself alone in my back yard placing several ill-advised drunk dials. Just before bed, for good measure, I tipped over a few lawn chairs, and threw my Mardi Gras beer cup across the patio. Good times.

On Tuesday Jigga and I went to watch My Morning Jacket open for Pearl Jam at the Verizon Center in downtown DC. Some background: when I was eleven, I loved to stay at my Aunt’s house for the occasional extended weekend. Not only was she a great, fun aunt but she had cable television. Her TV was like a mysterious portal that allowed me to view magical worlds of immorality, the likes of which could not be seen on rural Montana basic service. Needless to say, I watched a lot of MTV. Pearl Jam was in heavy rotation at the time and when “Jeremy” came on, that was it. I immediately went out, bought the tape and played it in my Walkman until it no longer worked. When my uncle bought my sister Vs. for her birthday, I immediately stole it and listened to it incessantly.

Fourteen years, six albums and several live shows later, I’m still a fan and always buy tickets to any upcoming shows. Their music doesn’t have the same effect on me that it did when I was eleven and I get far more excited when other bands release albums, but I still appreciate them and wholeheartedly believe that their live shows are unparalleled. For me, My Morning Jacket is a close second. So when I heard they were opening for Pearl Jam this year, I was extremely excited.

I almost forgot how much of a scene these shows are. PJ fans are so weirdly rabid; they know every word to every possible song they could sing; they know certain hand movements and possible sing-along portions of all songs; they know when to be excited if a certain rare song is played, etc. It’s pretty sweet when you’re there but as Jigga put it, “it’s like being a guest at the table” if you're not entirely familiar with what goes on. I guess you have to be there to understand.

On the way home I saw a DC cop on a Segway, which is stupid on so many levels. This city might as well buy a fleet of Rascals or “Fat Carts” as I believe Easy E (aka King of the Orange Crate) calls them. I know a certain state fair that should have a ton of extras.

Website Review: Jesus, Dinosaurs and More!

2006-05-22T16:36:00.000-04:00

Most science is false, just ask any Christian fundamentalist. As the lies of science continue to spread through the complex web of propaganda contained in books and academic journals, it is refreshing to know that there is one last bastion of truth out there for those who refuse to compromise thousands of years of conventional belief: the internet.

Last weekend I made the claim that Koala bears were, in fact, chemically addicted to Eucalyptus leaves and that their existence was never really contingient a certain species of tree. Rather, they have evolved to become chemically dependent on the plant’s chemicals and now require it to survive. It was a 5 beer claim, what do you want from me? Anyway, I was sort of right. Koala’s probably didn’t start out requiring eucalyptus to survive but they don’t necessarily eat it to get high, as I also posited. They receive all of their water intake from the leaves because they’re too lazy and stoned to leave the tree. Whatever, I didn’t spend too much time figuring it out because I came across a great website called Jesus, Dinosaurs, and More! and my research came to a screeching halt. I can only hope that as the site’s exposure inevitably increases, all those “scientists” out there will follow suit.

Finally there’s a web site that proves once and for all that apes were not descendants of man, but just good buddies. Oh, and they are more accurately called “complex apes” because they were more evolved back then than they are now, holding tools and talking…but NOT evolving. Obviously.

But the site doesn’t stop there. Actually, I have no idea where it stops; it’s just claim after claim, each meticulously researched with the help of a little publication written by God himself, not some White Coat in glasses who's probably trying to produce animal-human hybrids.

Jesus, Dinosaurs and More! is visually impressive as well, with some of the best animated graphics I have ever seen in my entire life. I particularly enjoy the image of the Apatasaurus vomiting mail into a mailbox: This one was informative, as well:

Overall, I give Jesus, Dinosaurs and More! an A-Plus!

Something's 'Brewing' at Starbucks

2006-05-19T16:26:00.000-04:00

(The horrendous pun in the title is for the sole enjoyment of Johnny Vegas, the quintessential pun artiste)

For the second time in about a week and a half, the so-called Barista at Starbucks has given me a venti instead of the grande latte that I ordered and paid for. Obviously, she wants to go steady but I’m going to see how many venti coffees she gives me first.

Week in review.

2006-05-18T12:32:00.000-04:00

Actually, first a review of two weeks ago. My parents and sister came out for five days and we walked a million miles around DC with millions of other fanny packed, camera toting, escalator cloggers. It was a weekend full of revelations; I discovered that my sister can’t read a map and that my dad, Slurry D, can put away an impressive amount of beers when he’s 2000 miles away from his “turf” and not constantly on call. After 25 years it was finally confirmed that he is, in fact, my real father. I had a hunch but that weekend confirmed it.

Last weekend I went to Alexandria, VA for an all day, all you can eat, all you can drink, crawfish boil with Rebecca and her Tulane friends. Honestly, I can’t think of a better Saturday. All day we played bocci ball and Frisbee in the middle of a huge park while drinking an endless supply of ice cold keg beer. Reminded me of Minnesota if only for one day.

Last night I stayed up until 1 AM watching the NBA playoffs. Although TNT made every attempt to get me to shut off the TV (having Reggie Miller call the game, playing a montage during the Spurs/Mavs game with that ridiculously lame Moby song dubbed over the top, shoving constant X-Men 3 cross-promotion down my throat, etc.) I stuck with and was rewarded in the fourth quarter when Michael Finley posterized Eric “Contract Year Extraordinaire” Dampier. Great ending, too, although Dirk had plenty of time for a put back on Terry’s missed shot, which would have been his defining moment and right up there with Derek Fisher’s turn around, fade away buzzer beater against the Lakers a few years ago.

That'll bring you up to speed. Consider your lives better for reading this. (sarcasm)

One final note: my brother, Greg, turned 21 yesterday. Happy birthday, buddy. Let’s hope it went better than mine did.

I finally moved.

2006-05-18T11:10:00.000-04:00

I finally did it. I packed up all my things and moved the blog from Friendster blogs to Blogger, who immediately sent me a fruit basket for signing up. I gave it the same name so all my fans don’t freak out but, bear in mind, this one’s different--hopefully better and more informative. I know people look to me for constant insight and guidance. I am, after all, from Montana where everyone is wiser than average except for the Freemen, Unabomber, Conrad “Montgomery” Burns, the guy who tried to kidnap David Letterman’s kid, the Capital Gunman and the guy who invented Syphilis. Not those guys.

I've Got Nothing

2005-11-30T21:13:00.000-05:00

As the title indicates, I've got nothing. For the past few weeks I've had no grand epiphanies, revelations or any sort of inspiration whatsoever to come up with a decent blog post. And judging by the swell of emails from my vast readership, nobody gives a shit. That's fine, really. I've been doing some soul searching and have decided to make a few changes to this blog's content. As you can see, I changed the design to read "Put this in your pipe and smoke it" under the title Slurry Beta. Good times. Also, I can't write about music or the indie-rock concert scene anymore because it has recently come to my attention that I have been completely ripping off Chuck Klosterman's "Fargo Rock City." While it was nice to finally read a book that defines me as a human being, it was a little disheartening to discover that I had essentially stolen some pop culture analysis techniques and selfishly used them to increase my blog's popularity. I have since canceled all sponsorship deals and, from now on, this blog will only be personalized horoscopes and pictures of antique hats culled from the Internet.

HOROSCOPES:

Erik Nelson: You will call me once in awhile and attempt to convince me why I should retain your friendship.

Andy Levin: You will go to the Rogue Wave concert and buy me a night's worth of beers.

Gray: You will redeem yourself after being a lousy person when I was in NYC and visit Washington.

Hope those were insightful! They came to me in a dream last night. I'm merely a conduit.

ANTIQUE HAT:

COMMENTS

Man, that is one nice hat. My grandpa had one just like it. I think the book that defines me as a human being is entitled "liquids, Solutions, and Interfaces: From classical macroscopic descriptions to modern microscopic details". This too is "a little disheartening"

Posted by: John | December 2, 2005 07:41 PM

John: thanks for the comment. I would just like to say that, on a classically macroscopic and modernly microscopic level, you are comprised of upstanding liquids, solutions, and interfaces.

Posted by: Brian | December 2, 2005 08:24 PM

Brian, I respect your bold move to the horoscopes, though warn you of the dangers in personal advice. Horoscopes are safer left as too vague to even be boring blurbs on what you should spend at Wal-mart that will make America safer for its true partiots. Need I remind you of Mr. Bailey's "urge to touch (teach) older kids?" There was a lawsuit threat!
Now if I may, you east coast kids are so well read! Consider yourselves lucky because never will you have to come to grips with the fact that your entire being is encompased by "Everybody Poops." It will be okay, I mean, its true! I guess thats enough for me.

Posted by: Alinon | December 2, 2005 10:41 PM

Holy shit! This is my first read of this blog, and what did I do last night? Called Brian to try and retain his freindship. Creepy. Slurry Beta knows all, tells some.

Posted by: Erik | December 8, 2005 04:20 PM

Rural America Disappoints Me

2005-11-04T21:11:00.000-05:00

This week’s (perhaps month’s) topic is serious. Sorry folks, I know you like to read and laugh but I’m not just some monkey that hangs around for your own personal amusement. You can’t just put a quarter in my ass and watch me dance around, juggle bowling pins, and feed you popcorn and salt water taffy. (That one’s for you, Sean. I know how much you miss my monkey rant) I have a serious/thoughtful side, too, although much like the Ivory-Billed Woodpecker it is rarely seen and the only real evidence is a muddled recording of its distinctive warble. Also, like seeing the Ivory-Billed Woodpecker, it has been known to bring Ornithologists and other nerds to tears.

On with the post…

The Washington Post published an article today reporting that, according to the National Priorities Project, 44 percent of new military recruits come from rural areas. Strikingly, four of the top ten counties with the highest recruitment rates are in Montana with Madison Country checking in at number eight with 12.5 recruits per 1,000 people age 18-24 (Mineral County, MT came in at #1). Some of you may not know this*, but I was born and raised in Madison County, Montana (Ennis) and am quite proud of my cow tipping, meth snorting, marry-your-sister heritage. While it doesn’t surprise me that such a high rate of Montanans are entering the military, it does concern and irritate me.

Among the nation, Montana ranks 24^th in SAT scores, fifth in ACT scores, but 48^th in income. These kids aren’t stupid, they’re poor and isolated. When you grow up in a family where your dad pulls in $35,000 from the state, your mom doesn’t work, and the most you’ve ever been paid is 10 bucks an hour to sort through scrap wood at a construction site, a 30-40k military contract with 30 days paid leave and a chance to get the hell out of Alberton, Montana starts to look pretty good. Before you know it, you’re traveling the globe and flying a helicopter while a guitar solo wails in the background. Actually, it’s more like traveling to central Texas, driving a around in a jeep and listening to Tim McGraw or Alan Jackson while some meathead punches your service medals into your chest.

My old “guidance counselor’s” office was like a military recruiting 7-11, you go in for some bottled water and before you know it, you leave with a cheeseburger stick and a foot long chili-lime zester. I swear kids would go into that office, some dude in a flat-top would show them a video and tell them their ASVAB** scores meant they could be a nuclear physicist in the Navy. Contract signed. The counselor didn’t give a damn-he would just hand out any old crap the military sent him. Even in grade school we all had Navy rulers, Army pencils, and ROTC calendars that recruiters would hand out. Come to think of it, the entire class sat down to take the ASVAB during regular school hours, which is completely ridiculous.

But what does the counselor care? Montana teachers' salaries are among the lowest in the nation so it’s not like he went to Yale and sees the overwhelming benefit of a great secondary education. It was basically conventional wisdom that any other college than a state school is too expensive. You would have to get the Women’s Club, Lion’s Club, and the Diane Petroni Memorial scholarships just to pay for a plane ticket out of the state to visit schools. The Holy Grail was the full-ride state university scholarship given to the valedictorian or salutatorian of any Montana public school. But if your grandma isn’t in the Women’s club (it’s a $250 scholarship anyway) and you’re not one of the two people at the top of the class, you’re on your own. If your guidance counselor and parents don’t understand the concept of endowments and financial aid, then you’re really on your own and should start perfecting your bed making techniques. They bounce quarters off that shit.

*If you don’t know this, you haven’t been around me for more than two minutes and shouldn’t be reading this deeply personal blog.

**The ASVAB is a military recruiting test that allows recruiters to evaluate your ability to recognize what an engine looks like and to quickly copy data from one sheet of paper to another. If you score high enough, you become the lucky recipient of phone calls and bulk mail telling you that with scores like that, you could be president. But you have to start out as a cook.

COMMENTS

First, is there 1000 people in Madison County? Second, do you hate America?

Posted by: Nick | November 4, 2005 07:37 PM

To be honest, I stopped reading after the monkey rant. I mean, would you ever eat chocolate mousse after a five-course meal of devil's food cake, boston kreme pie, rice pudding, three-bean casserole, and a slice of lemon tort? Of course not. You know why? Because Brian's a real resut's man.

Posted by: Sean | November 4, 2005 07:47 PM

Absolutly-
You panned it out for the non-rural inquirers, but what can we do about it and how can we all help? Should we start picking off recruiters and counselors from a distant rooftop or should we seek out a caring congressman who looks down upon taking advantage of the vulnerablity of our rural youth (if they even exist)?
The real bitch of it is most people dont even see military testing in public schools as a problem. They are still stuck in the middle ages' line of thinking "what the king says, goes." That being said, people refuse to think for themselves and, in turn, fail to set a proper example for children to do any different.
The full list of what can be done, and to what extent is still in the rough draft, but those motherfuckers will not have access to my students, regardless of the consequences I must face. YEAH, that's right, Mr. Rumsfield, so put that in your strategically placed school and bomb it!
-Alinon

Posted by: Alinon | November 4, 2005 10:34 PM

Not to be polemical, but if an opportunity to get the hell out of Montana and get paid more than you would in Montana looks pretty good to a lot of Montana kids, might it just be because it's a good opportunity? Put another way, is heavy representation of poor/undereducated/rural people in the military exploitative per se (lying recruiters aside), or is it sometimes the best of a bad situation?
Also, who is Diane Petroni?

Posted by: Andrew | November 5, 2005 12:19 AM

I'm with you 100% Brian. Since I moved back to my beloved homestate of North Dakota in 2003, I have been heartbroken to rediscover how many young men and women in my community are running off to the military. Everyone here knows at least a handful of troops that are currently in Iraq, enroute to go, or recently returned home. Watching the agony and discomfort on the faces of my little sister's recently returned friends (all younger than 22 years old) as they try to reconnect with the family, friends, and opportunities that surround them has reduced me to tears more than once. Watching a dear marine friend who I had always envisioned as the toughest mo-fo in the northern prairie return injured to the point of being unable to open a car door, all the while knowing he will be sent back in a matter of weeks does something to the soul. I don't know what the answer is - but I cringe every time I pass recruiters hanging out by the pizza shop at the mall.
And it's not just the young ones. A male buddy decided at the tender age of 27 that his life in Bismarck was going nowhere, and he might as well join the army, where he now digs/cleans toilets. This is a man with a college degree that fell along with the dot com collapse. Unable to secure a job with better wages/hours/benefits than landscaping, he joined the army. It took him months to tell all of us what he had done. What??? What could drive someone to not share their life-long decision with their friends? Of course, we all supported his decision. However, he has been changed for the worse, and I fear foremost that he will not return, and if he does, that he may never get over this.
Depressed already on a monday.....

Posted by: Sarah | November 7, 2005 02:58 PM

Mineral County blows.

Posted by: Joshua | December 2, 2005 06:37 AM

Anatomy of an Indie Rock Concert

2005-10-03T21:09:00.000-04:00

Over the past several years I have attended indie rock shows from Minneapolis to D.C. (well, Minneapolis AND D.C. but I have also seen a few shows in Virginia). So, being an expert on the scene I can tell you that no matter where you see a show, there will always be a certain cast of characters. While there might be different variations on these folks, they will always retain certain core traits.

Star Struck Awkward Alternative Girl. She gets there when the doors open and camps out right in front of the lead singer’s microphone. She knows all the words and has probably been to all the shows that have taken place within a 200 mile radius in the past week. She is ultra possessive and needs her space. The music speaks to her and if it wasn’t for the money, the band would be playing in her living room because she is the only true fan. If male version is present, expect him to be in the back brooding.

The Buffoon. This is your indie rock concert alpha male. Only nobody at the show adheres to the alpha male ethos so he’s essentially reduced to an annoying, overbearing moron. He is easily identified as being incredibly exuberant, like he just chugged two red bull and vodkas and blew a large line off the cover of the new album. He tries to sing along but only knows a few of the words to the single off of the latest release (chances are that the band has released five previous albums and are all in their late 30s-and this one’s the worst). He consistently attempts to get the crowd as pumped up as he is by attempting to start the Unison Crowd Clap (UCC). It should be noted that the Unison Crowd Clap is always entirely spontaneous and only happens at the best shows. To be sure, someone always has to start it but it requires some sort of cosmic force that tells everyone else at the show, “Clap now, my child, in unison with your fellow concert goers for the touch of a hundred virgins awaits you in the afterlife.”

Inappropriate song request guy. This is the faceless person who shouts out song requests in the middle of the first set. 99.9% of the people in the audience know that the band has a set list and they only play requests during the encore. Inappropriate Song Request Guy simply cannot wait to see if his song is played during the first set so he shouts it out between every song and during any dialogue. Look for him to go completely insane if the song is played.

Inexplicably Old Fan. Perhaps an indie-rock oxymoron but there is always someone, a couple perhaps, that is just inexplicably old and strangely out of place because they are so...old.

Hipster Music Snob. There could be anywhere from 50 to 200 of these people at the show. They adhere to very specific rules:

1) Do NOT wear a concert t-shirt of the band on stage.

2) Do NOT talk to any band member, ever. That’s for Poison groupies.

3) Do NOT dance. Dancing is a skill obtained by popular kids in high school, like cheerleaders and jocks.

4) Always have a cigarette or beer in your hand. You have to give the impression that you came to the bar to drink and smoke and this so-called rock band just happened to be playing there.

5) Three words: irony, irony, irony.

Tall Semi-Hairless Dutch Ex-Rock Critic. Probably admitted free of charge, this specimen will stand in the back of the crowd to avoid obstructing the view of his fellow concert attendees. He will only dance when drunk and will almost certainly shout out a request for a song that was only released as a limited edition, tour-only B-side in 1994. His dance moves will blow your mind (fig. 1). CAUTION: DO NOT view Fig. 1 if you are prone to seizures.

**From the desk of indi-rock expert Rob Van Alstyne a.k.a Bobby Digital:

The Touchy Feely Couple. This pair probably hooked up for the first time listening to the band on stage and subsequently feels the need to heavy pet/dry hump in front of others during 50% of the set, the other 50% of the time they will be rocking back and forth gently while [vertically] spooning. Expect lots of mouthed "I love yous" during the choruses and the chance that some stray spit will hit you in the eye if you happen to be in the vicinity.

COMMENTS

Unfortunately, you have us all pinned. What is even more unfortunate is I am currently just a buffoon jealous of the hipster-music snobs cause they always have some really cute bitchy girl with whom I'd like to become a touchy-feely couple with.
Thank you, B, for reminding me where I stand in the crowd.

Posted by: Alinon | October 3, 2005 10:19 PM

Brilliant. Though the out-of-place-frat-boy tends to show up at the bigger shows or is that the buffoon?

Posted by: Philippe | October 4, 2005 04:14 PM

At a recent "clap your hands..." show I saw a unique breed of concert goer. He was seemingly unawares of his own role; a confused lad who was constantly moved to dance and be seen, but who had no dance moves or even rhythm. He was dressed like any other Indie rock show goer, the shaved head, the well-worn jeans and the one-size-too-small-thrift-
store-tee. He was like the bufoon and hipster morhped into one. On top of that I think he was confused about his own sexuality (well I for one was), but I digress. He was too wimpy for alpha status, although he was a "clapper." The girls behind him (girlfriend and friend or just two hags?) were appropriately embarassed, both of him and for him.

Beta, I know you saw this guy, what of him? My best guess is he was the starstruck awkward girl, trapped in a dorky man's body and too far from the stage to really show the band how great he thought they were with his "killer" dance moves.

Posted by: Josh | October 25, 2005 06:50 PM

Crazy DC Woman II: The Sequel

2005-09-13T21:04:00.000-04:00

I was on my way home via the Metro on Sunday and as I was sitting on the floor waiting for my train, I spotted a familiar and frightening face. That’s right, readers, it was the very same woman who verbally berated me in front of dozens of commuters a few weeks ago (see my August 29 post). Again, she was wearing nice clothes and was carrying a designer shopping bag. Luckily, I wasn’t wearing my glasses and my ‘beautiful hair’ was concealed by my Minnesota Twins ‘TC’ hat. As she was walking toward me, I bowed my head to avoid all eye contact and could only see her feet as they slowly walked up, stopped and turned toward me.

Woman: Is that a T.C.U hat? (Texas Christian University ?)

**I immediately try to come up with a response, perhaps in Spanish or with a Spanish accent but can only muster up a stoner reply.

Me (slowly and quietly): Whaaaat?

Woman: Nevermind….Stupid Ass. (Walks away, trolling for other potential victims)

Is there some sort of cosmic connection between me and this woman? Should I ask her to marry me or something?

September 13, 2005 |

COMMENTS

I think the only real option is to try to OUT-crazy her. Next time your paths should cross, approach her. Come up with something ridiculous like:

Beta (B): Holy crap, is that you Tina Turner?

Crazy Woman (CW): Fuck you white boy.

B: NO MA'AM I WILL NOT DO THAT. FOR MORONI's SAKE, I AM MORMOM, lady. WE DO NOT CONDONE THAT TYPE OF BEHAVIOR.

CW: Wha...

-B dramatically gets on both knees, hands in the air as he looks up to the ceiling of the metro and shouts:

B: oh Joseph Smith, what would you have me do with this heretic woman? I know you personally were a racist masogynistic egomaniac, oh Prophet Smith, but this woman desires to be my 68th wife, the most sacred of all the subjects in my wifery! What do we do? OH PLEASE TELL ME LORD, DO I MARRY TINA TURNER OR NOT?!?!?!

I think this little bit of Metro Theater should suffice in scaring her away... not to mention will probably secure you your own seat on the train.

Posted by: Josh | September 14, 2005 07:13 PM

Never Judge A Book By Its Cover/ It Hurts To Be Called Names

2005-08-29T21:02:00.000-04:00

The following is a conversation that took place between me and a woman on the metro last evening. It is 100% true.

Act I
A small fifty something woman dressed fairly nicely with a sun hat on sits down next to me.

Woman: You have beautiful hair.
Me (taking headphones out of my ear): What’s that?
Woman: You have beautiful hair.
Me: Thanks.
Woman: Are you a student?
Me: No, I’m a paralegal.
Woman: Oh, I’m a stocks and securities lawyer for McCovey and Hill downtown. What kind of law do you do?
Me: Military law.
Woman: Oh, we do some of that. My son is a member of the military. Where is your office?
Me: Eastern Market.
Woman: Oh, I used to live down there on A Street and 8th.
Me: Oh yeah, the office is on 8th at E.
Woman (annoyed): Well I live on A street.
Me: Okay.
Woman: That’s down by the naval barracks isn’t it?
Me: Yeah.
(Silence)

Act II
Woman: I locked my keys out of my house.
Me (chuckling): Well, I’m sure you’ll get back in somehow.
Woman (shocked/annoyed): It’s not funny.
Me: No, I’m sure you’ll get back into your house. It happens to us all.
Woman: You know, I don’t appreciate arrogant men.
Me: Okay, I think you misread my approach there. I’m sure you’ll get your keys back.
Woman: I live in Covington, Maryland! (Note: I don’t even think that place exists)
Me: Alright.
Woman (looking at lady in front of me): What are you looking at? (Back to me) Are you in law school?
Me: No.
Woman: I can tell.
(Silence)
Woman (all of a sudden nice again): Do you live in Eastern Market?
Me: Nope. I live in Shaw.
Woman: Oh, okay. What’s your name?
Me: Brian.
Woman: Mines Deliliah Jones (Note: or some shit).
(We shake hands)

Act III
Woman: You look familiar. Like someone I know.
Me: Well, I...
Woman: Don’t say everyone says that.
Me: Well, it’s true. Someone always tells me I look like someone they know.
Woman: Well, they don’t have hair like yours.
Me (smiling, but weirded out): That’s true.

Act IV
Woman: I’m about to stop off and ask you for something.
Me: Ummm....
Woman: I really have to use the bathroom.
Me (realizing this woman is really insane and wants to follow me home, use the bathroom, and murder me with a pitchfork): I don’t think I can help you out.
Woman (angry. Very angry): What did you just say?
Me: I mean, do you need help finding a bathroom or something?
Woman (yelling): Listen here, f****t (derogatory term for a gay person)! What are you trying to do, follow me into the women’s bathroom? F**king f****t! You probably like that. Do you use the women's bathroom a lot? F****t!
Me: What the...?
(I get up, exit the metro car, and look behind me to see a small woman following me and yelling explicatives while people stare at me)
Me: Get the f*ck away from me. Don’t follow me.

I take an alternate route home, constantly looking behind me for an small, irate woman in Sunday clothes.

~fin

COMMENTS

This offensive post is a prime example of the hardships and discrimination that schizophrenics like me are subject to everyday. Your callous and warped view is clearly evident in the blog. Come on, do you really think this ppor lady wanted to inflict harm upon you with a pitchfork? I'm sure all she wanted to do was make a friend to play dressup with and put pretty little pink ribons in your hair. Ironic that you can't even heed the advice offered in your own blog title. For shame, brian, for shame.

Posted by: Sam | August 30, 2005 04:01 PM

True Story

Act I. and 1/2

Last night at a byob Indian Restaurant in the East Village, Gray felt serious hankering to get rid of unpleasant pressure on bladder. So to relieve said bladder, Gray decided to make the arduous journey through the tiny dining room to loo. Gray is quite inebriated at this point. He decides to pee on the toliet seat after much deliberation in the unisex bathroom. After peeing on the said toliet, Gray decides to wash hands. Gray finished washing hands in said basin, and needs to dry hands. He then pulls on paper towel, and said paper towel roll falls into unflushed toilet. Gray has two options...Gray decides latter of two options, leaves the bathroom and blames problem on last customer...good choice gray...seeing as hot girl sitting next to gray was said customer, then other hot friend is next into bathroom, gray decides to drink more.

Posted by: Gray | August 30, 2005 04:37 PM

HA HA HA HA!! Big Bad Polar Beta (because like the blogger-formerly-known-as-slurry will tell you, polar bears are solitary and aggressive) is afraid of a little whacked out old lady he meets on the subway. What kind of a polar bear gets up and runs away from little old ladies? Why didn't you club her with your big ole paws or something? Bite her head off, do SOMETHING!

If only we could have had a recollection of this account if the Beta had been drunk, now that woulda been something. I'm positive it would have gotten much uglier!

Posted by: Josh | August 30, 2005 06:39 PM

An Apology to My Readers

2005-08-28T20:53:00.000-04:00

Dear Readers:

Please accept my sincerest apologies for not writing anything for the past week and a half. I have been extremely busy playing Tiger Woods PGA Tour 2004. Please stop flooding my inbox with emails.

thank you.

ps. I am currently working on a few things that will eventually make their way into this blog for your viewing pleasure. Here they are, in no particular order:

The Great American Novel (title and subject pending)
Brian Wilson Begets Carnie & Wendy, Michelle Philips Begets Chynna: Ruminations on Wilson Phillips
United States Military Legal Codes for Dummies
Vodka: What is it? How does it affect my body?
Cursing With Grace
Suing the Songwriter: A Discourse On Rock Bands That Tour Sans Lead Singers and Songwriters (Possible Alternative Title: Oh Sherry: The Steve Perry Experience)
Extreme Sarcasm is a Double Edged Sword
Proper Wedding Etiquette
Night Moves: An Official Endorsement of Bob Seger

COMMENTS

Please hurry with "Vodka: What is it? How does it affect my body?" This is information I need to know soon as its effects have been debilitating for me on several occasions. Also, a guide to proper wedding etiquette could deem very useful in the near future.

Posted by: Erik | August 23, 2005 09:45 PM

Deem, did I write that, WTF.

Posted by: Erik | August 23, 2005 09:45 PM

Erik, I will do what I can.

The post will involve a scientific experiment. Perhaps you could help me set it up, say, September 17th.

Posted by: Brian | August 23, 2005 10:19 PM

I have never met a true blue Bob Seger fan.

2005-08-25T20:59:00.000-04:00

To be a real fan of any band you have to be able to find some value in the music they released that was certifiably terrible. Every great band or solo artist goes through some dark days-it’s like a rite of passage. Bob Dylan had a gospel phase, Neil Young had a synthesizer phase, the Beatles wrote “Birthday” and Smash Mouth prematurely released a greatest hits album (although it is nice to finally get their singles AND soundtrack cuts on one convenient compact disc). Truly great fans can put mediocrity in perspective and continue to justify their loyalty. That said, the reason no true Bob Seger fans exist is because nobody (and I mean nobody) could ever defend a song like “Katmandu” and expect to maintain any shred of dignity. Plus, he wrote too many songs with the words “Rock and Roll” in the title. Seger’s not about subtlety.

However, I feel like Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band made some pretty great music. True, it’s Butt Rock, which by definition means it holds very little artistic merit. But Seger really knows how to tap into the very core of one’s sentimentality. Clearly, he has known this throughout his entire career because nearly every hit he had was about being young or reminiscing about something or another (card games, wind, old time rock and roll, life on the road, past loves, old cars, etc.).

My theory is that even people who claim to hate Bob Seger will play “Night Moves” on a bar juke box but will only do so after a minimum of four drinks. They might even sing a verse or two. Considering it takes me about 10 drinks to enjoy ‘Lil Jon and the Ying Yang Twins, that’s not too bad. But I still won’t sing along.

COMMENTS

On Saturday night at the VFW, I did a Night Moves that brought down the house. After returing to my table I was approached by a 47 year old woman who said she never new someone my age could appreciate Seger the way I obviously did because of my performance. She said, "How do you know Bob Seger?" I replied, "He's only the greatest songwriteer of a generation, duh." However, you couldn't catch me ever singing Katmandoo, certainly one of the worsst songs ever recorded. You hit some, you miss some.

Posted by: Erik | August 30, 2005 01:48 PM

Billboard 101

2005-08-11T20:48:00.000-04:00

Every week or so the fine folks at Billboard provide the public with important information on the music industry. They publish the raw data they gather on album sales and compile it into "charts" which are very, very complex. Here's the link: http://www.billboard.com/bb/charts/hot100.jsp. But seriously, you'd be wasting your time trying to decipher the data unless you were a Ph.D. in mathematics.

Not only are the charts difficult to understand, most people haven't heard the singles or even know the artists. Unless you own a radio, use a computer, watch TV, read magazines or look at billboards you probably have no idea. Let's break down the top ten singles of the week:

#1: Mariah Carey “We Belong Together”. Number one. Top of the heap. Mariah fucking Carey. You may remember Ms. Carey from the early ‘90s when she enjoyed brief regional popularity. This year, she has officially launched a comeback. I just hope there are enough young people out there who have enough disposable income to keep this comeback kid on the top. Good luck Mariah!
#2: The Pussycat Dolls featuring Busta Rhymes "Don't Cha". Busta Rhymes is an actor whose talents have been featured in such films as “Narc” and “Finding Forrester” I guess with a name like Busta Rhymes, it’s only natural to take a stab at a music career. Special thanks to The Pussycat Dolls for featuring him.
#3: Rihanna "Pon De Replay". Honestly, I haven’t heard this one yet as my radio only receives ten Top 40 stations. But I can tell you now that I like it! The word “Pon”, I surmise, is an attempt to combine the word “put” with the word “on” and the word “de” can surely be substituted with the word “the”. It’s that kind of creativity that gets you into the top 3.

***Let’s skip to the bottom three of the top ten. I really should be working right now anyway.

#8: D.H.T "Listen to Your Heart". There's nothing like a remake to remind you of the hits of yesteryear. This cut deftly melds the words of Roxette with the sounds of Ace of Base. If you have a soul, you will love it.
#9: Gwen Steffani "Holla Back Girl". I really think Gwen will be a star someday. Right now she’s probably not getting the radio play she deserves but this song is catchy enough to be very popular if it’s marketed just right. I recommend starting at the grade school level. Teach them how to spell “bananas” and play to Raffi’s old fan base. Take out the word “shit” though.
#10: Ludacris featuring Bobby Valentino “Pimpin’ All Over the World”. Ludacris has always been known as a visionary in hip hop music who is constantly taking the genre to the next artistic level. Today, too many hip hop artists pimp domestically and that really puts a damper on what could be a very popular style of music in the future. If people like Ludacris play their cards right, they could end up selling many albums and maybe end up in the Billboard Top 3 Singles of the Week. If not, they could at least get into the top ten cell phone ring tones list, which is a great honor.

COMMENTS

TO my favorite Blogger, Slurry B. I can only stay mad at you for a little while, then i come rushing back to read. What you didn't know I was mad at you? well now you know, and i'm over it, can we be friends? I love the blog. Sardonic wit looks good on you. It fits nice around the waist. But maybe a little melancholy cardagin would be nice?

Posted by: Gray | August 19, 2005 02:44 PM

To my only reader

2005-08-09T20:44:00.000-04:00

Dear Gray:

First off, you're my only reader and I appreciate that very much. However, I believe you misinterpreted my SDI post. I implied that there have been no actual strandings in the past ten years; not that Tom Hanks' Castaway was the only time in a decade the SDI scenario was employed. I fully realize Mr. Hanks was not really trapped on a deserted island with a volleyball. I was using "humor" to insinuate that he was. The post could have very well read, "To prove my point, I did a bit of independent research and found out that, in fact, there has been one deserted island stranding in the past ten years. It was Cedric the Entertainer, of all people." Get it?

Take a break from attempting to beat my records in Waveracer 64 and read the post carefully...dipshit.

***Angel Moroni: As of the end of summer 2003, I held ALL the records on Gray's Waveracer 64 video game. In a fit of rage, Grza erased them all because he tried for three months to match my simulated jet ski excellence and precision and couldn't. So, currently, Gray owns all the records only because he defaulted the memory. Thanks for your comment, Ms. Moroni.

It looks like I have two readers, which is fantastic even if one's a Mormon.

COMMENTS

Who currently holds those precious Waveracer records?

Posted by: Angel | August 9, 2005 03:48 PM

Why Brian, I didn't know pointless blogs were not supposed to be read. I usually forgo the ny times op-ed section for delicious blogs such as yours. And by the way, your blog would be much more interesting if it was about something cool, perhaps waveracer 64? But alas, I have no more time to be insulted on pointless blogs than the next guy, so i have moved on to a blog by a middle school teacher in Manhattan Kansas. It is much more interesting to read about how to get unruly 12 year olds to stop putting corn into their asses on the playground.

Posted by: Gray | August 9, 2005 07:31 PM

If you were stranded on a deserted island

2005-08-08T20:41:00.000-04:00

Huey Lewis has a problem. He hates industry parties. You see, Huey is a simple man who prefers to express himself in song form and feels rather uncomfortable at large social gatherings. As documented in his music video for "Stuck With You", Mr. Lewis feels more comfortable cruising on his "yacht" (a ten foot row boat, obviously) with beautiful women in gaudy dresses. If you don't watch three hours of VH1 classic per day and haven't seen this video, I'll summarize: Huey Lewis and a woman in an AMAZING silver dress escape an overblown industry party in the Bahamas, fall off his small row boat, narrowly avoid a shark attack, become trapped on a deserted island, fall in love, and get rescued by a cruise ship. (Strangely, there's no lip syncing. Odd.) I'm not going to get into the believability of the video nor am I going to rant about the obvious lack of "The News" sightings, which is bullshit. I am going to focus on one of the most oft-used storytelling devices in human history: the stranded on a deserted island (SDI) scenario. Whether you're selling a product or providing allegorical social commentary, it works all the time. What's amazing to me (and probably me alone) is how accepting we are of the SDI scenario when, if you really think about it, rarely happens, if ever. To prove my point, I did a bit of independent research and found out that, in fact, there has been one deserted island stranding in the past ten years. It was Tom Hanks, of all people.

COMMENTS

I have very few problems w/ the analysis of the SDI scenario. The only thing I would object to is the cavalier approach which you used in describing the last ten years of SDI scenarios. A little thing called ABC's Lost. Also if i recall correctly, Cedric the Entertainer also did a commercial for Bud Light on a Deserted Island...Idiot

-Gray

Maiden Voyage

2005-08-08T20:39:00.000-04:00

This is my first post to let you know that there will be more posts eventually. On a frequent basis, I plan to write down my opinions of politics, culture, society and music. Occasionally, I'll throw in a link to a silly website or put a picture of myself acting irreverent with my friends. Want to know what I think of intelligent design? Read my blog. Want to know what I thought about a particular movie? Read my blog. Want to know when I buy a new pair of pants? Read my blog. Curious about what I did last weekend? Read my blog. Want posts that are particularly well-written and conceived? Read Sean's blog. Want to learn about current events or political issues? Read the newspaper.

Anyway, stay tuned for a post tomorrow on the "trapped on a deserted island" storytelling gimmick. I mean, seriously, what's the deal with that? Right?