snackalogical warfare

c4ts, i know you have a blog entry fermenting in that fecund mind of yours, so i will keep my kobayashi- related post rather brief.

does he or doesn't he have jawthritis? even though he said he can barely open his mouth, he has vowed to compete next wednesday. omg...the suspense...

some choice quotes:
The Associated Press reported on Tuesday from Tokyo that “The champ may not be able to chomp.”

“All my friends and family,” he said, “they’re all saying, ‘Don’t pay any attention to it.’ But it doesn’t make sense. Why would anybody say, ‘Oh I’m going to compete, but I’m hurt’?” Mr. Chestnut sighed again and thought out loud: “He’s never gone into it as an underdog.”

Mr. Kobayashi, he said, “could come to the Fourth of July with his jaws wired shut, and I’m sure he could still do all right; he’s that good of an eater.”

“I tell myself that there’s nothing solid inside of me,” he said, “so I can put 14 pounds of food inside. It’s a mental thing, to be able to convince your body that it can do this.” He added, “My body says, ‘Hey, I’m hungry.’ There’s a reason to eat this much food.” [Ed. note: i say this to myself pretty much before every meal.]

Quit Squeezing Pweeze

So, I was just now looking at the 22nd Amendment. (Yes, I procrastinate by looking up shit I won't be tested on.) So far as I can tell it limits the President to two terms, but it ignores any term limits for the Vice-President. I don't know; I'm not a lawyer. Anyway, the point is I get the distinct feeling that when January 20th, 2009 rolls around, we'll be revisiting this issue when Bush's ass gets tossed back to Crawford--err, I mean Kennebunkport--and Cheney's cold, stern, extra-constitutional, non-executive, 4th-branch-of-government vice-grip on our national testicles continues on, presumably until the nuclear apocalypse...

great minds think alike

everyone hates freegans!

A Misspent Youth

Here's the first photo from the Indiana Jones 4 set. This is the moment where my level of excitement begins its Kilimanjaro-high trek to fever pitch. Yeah, I use mixed metaphors--jealous? Obviously, the movie will be a spectacular turd, but unjustified, unreasonable hope springs eternal, or at least until the Transformers movie comes out, and said hope starts flatlining. And then I'll watch the the live action Thundercats movie and that'll suck, and I'll accept finally and forever that I am but a consumer and Hollywood will stop at nothing to make the joys of my youth fodder for its shit-mills--granted, the mixed metaphor there doesn't make much sense, but you know what I'm saying.

Music Video of the Day: Flight of the Conchords Edition

This one goes out to a very special, anonymous blog-reader, who's just suffered a devastating loss at work. Hang in there, guy...And let the Conchords sing what's in your heart and mine: "Depending on the street...[she's] definitely in the top three."

lolsad

gentrification kills

i don't believe in heroes. unless they are nerdy, japanese and appear on the show "heroes."

in any case, it's hard to argue against anointing firefighters with such a lofty title. would you train your ass off to run into a burning building to save people? doubtful. last night a twenty-three year-old firefighter died fighting a blaze in williamsburg. details are here in this article.

but the saddest part comes from another article:
Those two buildings, and the man linked to both of them, tell the story of the shifting dynamics of industrial Brooklyn: working-class neighborhoods settled by European immigrants, and the frontier of artistic colonization. The apartment that Mr. Pujdak had been trying to save had been illegally converted into an artist’s loft, according to city officials.

what, you couldn't afford to pay for a space with your trust fund, you fucking freegan?

Fake v. Foreign

I know the story about Nino and Jack Bauer is stale, given our 36-hour news cycle, but when I first saw it I was struck by the notion that the Constitution should bend to accommodate a fictional, Hollywood creation, yet it would be high crime (not misdemeanor) for it to be illuminated even somewhat by reference to foreign sources of law. Just to put a finer point on it: Justice Jowls-Scratcher (pictured) is saying the coke-addled brain of some writer in a Universal backlot is a more worthy source of law than, say, an opinion from the European Court of Human Rights. Yay, Article III. Now, back to the law of contracts, which befuddles me similarly.

the case of the stupid movie review

what in god's name is anthony lane yapping about? how could they print this in a national magazine? la latina and i did a better job over IM back in the day.

also, did anyone else think mr. lane was a portly older gay gentleman?

you give love a bad name

i admit it. i was a huge fan of the OC back in the day, when adam brody was better known as nerderiffic dave rygalski of the gilmore girls and mischa barton hadn't yet begun dating the ballsiest (also seriously NSFW) guy in hollywood.

one of my favorite scenes is when ryan moves away from the cohens' house in season 1. jeff buckley's cover of leonard cohen's "hallelujah" resonates while the camera shows ryan being driven away by his pregnant girlfriend, kirsten cohen breaking down crying, marissa hitting the bottle again, etc. emotional stuff.

but now we get this monstrosity. i know leonard cohen is a bit hard up for money nowadays, but the horror! the horror!

Separated at Birth?

Bonus question: Which one's done less for the world?

Playlist of the Day

Pockets, E, I owe you both some music, I think. Follow this link to my Summer in Ann Arbor Playlist. Of course, on the incredible off-chance, the RIAA--its lawyers and its henchmen-- stumble onto this website, the usual mp3 blog disclaimers apply: The music on this playlist is for the sampling pleasure of E and Sugarpockets (and whoever else cares about what I'm listening to) only. If you represent an artist whose mp3 I have posted and would like me to remove said mp3, do leave a comment on this post and I will do so immediately. And if it's not too much trouble, also explain how the hell you found this blog. And if you still can't get over my playing fast and loose with the laws of intellectual property, please note, it's not a subject covered by the California Bar Exam, so there's no room in my brain for it.

Quote of the Day

“He’s been riding our coattails since 9/11 like he did something. He did nothing. He showed up to funerals. So what? He’s a self-promoter. I told my wife, ‘Anything that ever happens, I don’t want him at my funeral.’" -- New York City Firefighter John Walsh on America's Fame-Whoring, Cousin-Defiling, Cross-Dressing, War-Mongering, Squeegee-Hating, Abortionist Mayor

My Open Letter to Obamamaniacs

So, John Edwards hovers in third place (fourth, if you count Gore), my friends make fun of my steadfast support of him, and the homophobic, feminizing pretty-boy-with-an-expensive-haircut storyline continues to interest the press and the electorate more than the fact that he's a for-real anti-war candidate, despises Bush's tax cuts, wants meaningful universal health-care, has some interest in alleviating poverty, and has pissed off the Democratic establishment for, I suppose, being an individual. Now, I'm no fool--or I might be, but not for the reasons you think. I understand how amazing it is that the Democratic front-runners are a woman and a person of color respectively. And given the viability of their campaigns and the merits of their candidacies, what possible justification is there for voting in another rich, white guy? I get it.

But with Obama's campaign--not some Swiftboaters front group, mind you, but his motherfucking campaign-- peddling in this kind of shit, I ask you, how is someone like me--a South Asian of Punjabi heritage--how is he to bring himself to cast a vote for Obama? Now, or ever.

Well, you might say that's politics in post-Rovian America. But the next time you feel like annointing this guy the messiah, shut your face. The Obama who made his name channeling John Kennedy at the 2004 convention (see above) is dead. Congratulations on what's left in his place.

Sticky Wicket

Earlier, I had reported on the apparent murder of Pakistan's English cricket coach--within hours, mind you, of the team's humiliating defeat against Ireland. The weeks since the World Cup have been interesting. Despite the tremendous circumstantial evidence, most Pakistani fans have steadfastly resisted the initial account of what happened--that a mysterious poison was used to strangle Coach Woolmer. In fact, some have espoused what looks to me to be this view--and I'm speaking in the broadest of generalizations: "Come on, you know the Jamaican police is incompetent." That is, come on, you know black people are stupid and lazy. The Jamaican police, for their part, made no effort to rule out natural causes and hung their hat on a wild theory about non-manual strangulation at the hands (vials?) of angry odds-makers. That is, come on, you know brown Muslims are savage and wanton.

What I fear about colliding stereotypes like this is that in the wake of their collision one side is left more emboldened in its view. Despite the fact that Woolmer's death from natural causes has now been confirmed by an international team of pathologists, and despite calls for the Pakistan Cricket Board to sue the Jamaican Police for defamation--yeah, it's as dumb as it sounds--I hope my fear is misplaced.

Goodbye, My Girls! Don't Stop--

For all you intellectually challenged/televisually dependent Sopranos watchers who can't get over the personal affront of Sunday's subtle and unsettled ending, let me rub it in: This is how the pros end a TV series. F'ing genius. But if that doesn't mollify you, check out the clip above: Meadow Soprano is a really bad actress and can barely contain her fury about how the show ended, and the FBI Agent guy reveals that, as originally shot, the menacing dude at the diner makes his way to Tony. (Read: He gets whacked, people, so can we get over ourselves and talk about season 5 of The Wire?)

Lowering the Standards of the Blog: Hot Women

So as staggering a notion as it is, the editors of Afterellen want us to face the fact that Maxim doesn't cater to lesbians. Of course, they seem to think that Maxim caters to an indisguishable class of straight men, which is funny, because I thought Maxim was for 19-year-olds who wear seashell necklaces and are really into the new Maroon 5 record.

Regardless, the AE ladies have put together their own list of the 100 hottest women (based on reader votes). What's confusing to me is that Afterellen wants its readers to be congratulated for keeping it real, having embraced Queen Latifah's curves and slotting her in at 55, but even my dad thinks Queen Latifah's hot. And, what, the voters should get props because they know what everyone else does: that that girl from this show Ugly Betty is smoking hot? Anyway, the list is obviously a vast improvement on Maxim's, but I don't understand how after a big to-do about Lindsay Lohan topping the Maxim list, her raspy-voiced, coke-headedness still makes the cut--bafflingly, along with Carmen Elektra, Neve Campbell, and--dry heave--Jessica Biel, Hollywood's plague on my senses. Though reordering the Maxim list and adding Stockard Channing and Allison Janney (I like the West Wing too, but really?) doesn't make it much better, what does is giving Kate Winslet the bronze, and Mariska Hargitay well deserved recognition.

Still, I am continually amazed that we live in a world--gay or straight--that refuses to recognize Thandie Newton (excluded from both lists, but pictured) as far and away the hottest woman in Hollywood and beyond.

Our Crumbling Republic

So, this is the state of our country: Even Paris Hilton thinks the cable news networks aren't covering Iraq and Afghanistan enough, and those who should have been thinking about the gathering threat of terrorism in the mid-1990's (and America's nurturing of it) instead spent time and resources considering how best to turn enemy foxholes into a big, gay Real World Las Vegas. I guess it makes sense: Hating gays and hating Muslims for independent reasons is kind of exhausting; merging the two threats to Our Way of Life makes things a whole lot more efficient. But still, when did the editors of Mad Magazine take over the Pentagon?

Honestly, at this rate, it's just a matter of time before China or Google comes and colonizes us, or the Apocalypse strikes. Either way, thankfully, we all gonna die.

Land of Confusion II: Music Video of the Day -- Illegal Alien Edition

So, E decided to post on the 2012 Olympics logo--what someone quoted in the Times calls a comical sex act between the Simpsons, and what Jon Stewart more aptly described as (and pardon the prurience here) "a slot machine going down on a stop sign"--but what struck reader Owen's eye was the Genesis motif. With the comprehensive immigration bill getting dragged through the mud on Tuesday during Torturepalooza II: Gay Linguists Need Not Apply, and with it failing to achieve cloture last night in a stunning rebuke of even a pretense of bipartisanship, there is little one can say. Maybe that's okay. Maybe Phil Collins, whose prescience knows no bounds, said it best: "It's no fun, being an illegal ay-lee-un."

land of confusion

i saw this article (more like headline, i guess) in the onion and thought, huh? where do they come up with this shit?

then i saw this nyt article.

most delicious article ever?

the dining & wine section of the times often annoys me, with its references to pickled ramps and its decision to feature the $25 and under column only every other week, but i guess that's what you gotta do to rise above the hoi polloi.

sure, the juvenile graphic above looks like something that i could've made on a commodore 64, but this article is so damn appetizing that i can't stop thinking, nay, dreaming about it. i mean, c'mon:

He took his mother’s recipe for veal, beef and pork meatballs, and tweaked it heavily, tripling the meatball’s size to that of a softball, coring it like an apple and stuffing the cavity with whipped ricotta and Parmigiano-Reggiano (leaving a beret of the mixture on top), and giving it a smoky finish in a wood-fired oven.

Optimash Prime

So, 'Pockets wants me to look at the registry and approve the cutlery or whatever, but I'm being a boy about it. If I add this, E, will you buy it for me?

News to Me

As I ill-prepare for the notorious California Bar Exam and try not to think about my statistical likelihood of passing, news like this is heartening--even when it comes out (or rather is reiterated) in a tabloid smear-job written by a formerly honorable journalist. If Hillary can fail the DC Bar exam and still juggernaut her way to the nomination, then there is hope for me still.

Conflict Resolution

In the battle of people dressed like waiters covering Grizzly Bear's masterwork "Knife," the little kids above kick the asses of the big kids below. As blog non-reader Natalie says, "I heart headband kid."

Blogger E, keep the faith. A capella is a scourge sprung from the Inferno. I came to know this that first day of college when Speak of the Devil came to my dorm's common room and sang Dave Matthews Band's "Crash Into Me" to a sea of applause. I've never really fully recovered.

i'm so conflicted

during my sophomore year in college, my friend (who was in an a capella group) decided to arrange "sweetest thing" by U2 for his group, uptown vocal (yes, that is the group's real name). being forced to listen to his countless synthesized renderings of that song pretty much guaranteed that i would hate it forever. and maybe him a little bit as well.

in any case, i found this through stereogum and i feel as confused and betrayed as those people who worked with tootsie. do i secretly love this or does it merely confirm my longstanding belief that a capella is the devil's music?

booksie, i'm sorry. i know my strident dismissal of your art form offends you. and heidiroo, this is by the carleton singing knights of your alma mater. thoughts?