Survey for the Discerning

With the academic hours long, and the days progressively shorter, I find myself on the introspective side of my general mood cycle. With the proverbial lens turned inward, several questions have surfaced for which I find myself unable to provide an effective answer. And so, I post them to all those willing to lend me their minds and hearts in assistance and able to help me overcome several philosophical hurdles that on tackled on my own, have proven onerous and emotionally draining.

http://www.zoomerang.com/Survey/?p=WEB229P2TFC6TY

Results to be posted here at a later time.

You wouldn't bang a zombie so...

Zombies do not inspire sexual stirrings. They are rather frigid, both emotionally and physically, and their miasmatic aroma reminds me of a McDonald's dumpster in August. Furthermore, their undeadness on its own certainly drives me to abstinence, not to mention that any sexual contact will probably lead to my becoming zombified as well, and I'm pretty sure a 1000th of an inch thick piece of latex will not protect me from supernatural pathogens. That being said, why in god's name does our country seem to currently be sporting a massively triumphant boner for vampires?

My roommate sat me down the other day in front of "True Blood". Now, to get the record straight, I'm a huge fan of all supernatural, fantasy, sci-fi goodness and the vampire theme is most definitely included in things I will watch on principle. What I wasn't ready for was the egregious banging that happened within five minutes of my sitting down. We're not talking surreptitious PG-13 suggestive love making here, more so in the line of uncannily canine custom copulation, complete with Anna Paquin's (Rogue from "X-men") swinging boobs shown from all angles, plenty of mid to high volume grunting, and very little requiring imagination extrapolations.

Now call it my conservative upbringing, but vampires are not for sexing. Any sexual call one may feel towards a vampire is the vampire employing a succubus-esque power in order to engage in some serious blood/soul chugging. I understand Kate Beckensale looks great in black leather and am not advocating her donning a form hiding cape instead, but shouldn't human/vampire copulation seem intrinsically wrong to both parties? To make it worse, "Twlight" totally bastardized the vampire of any of their negative qualities leaving evampireated deer-blood drinkers that scintillate when they lie shirtless in a sun-washed meadow. The legendary duality of night and day has been replaced by soft-core porn and shiny teenage dreamboats targeted at 13 year old girls.

Don't get me wrong, I'll still gladly watch any supernatural show available but somebody most definitely needs to tell Stephanie Meyer that vampires do not play baseball. Twilight, in my humble opinion needs fewer shots of Edward Cullen's resplendent chest, and more decapitation. Is Blade doing freelance consulting work by any chance?

Lollapalooza goals

Endless years of schooling have instilled me with a need to always be prepared before sitting in on any symposium. This includes foreknowledge on the presenter's topic and a basic understanding of the presenter's past work. Since most of my work seats me before a computer screen, I am free to study up a prestigious symposium I plan on attending next weekend: Lollapalooza.

As any who looks at the schedule can easily deduce, the conference is rife with a plethora of solid bands. Many of them fall into that eclectic Indy up-and-coming category, which means that prior knowledge of them is based purely on the musical diversity (and snobbery) of those you choose to surround yourself with. I've been forced to do homework on many of the 2nd tier bands playing and have discovered scintillating musical gems in the mix. These I proudly offer for your enjoyment, as well as several popular tracks I'm excited to see.

Arctic Monkeys - Dancing Shoes
Band of Horses - The Funeral
Bat for Lashes - Daniel
Cold War Kids - I've Seen Enough
Of Montreal - Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse
Rise Against - Prayer of the Refugee
Silversun Pickups - Panic Switch
Vampire Weekend - A-Punk

Call Up The OED.

Nobangtionship - [no - bang - shuhn - ship] - NOUN
A very specific relationship stalemate between two friends. One member appreciates the relationship as a close, personal, and immensely fulfilling platonic friendship, with no romantic desires of any kind. This member feels threatened whenever any potential mate approaches the other member, even going so far as to sabotage the other member's advances towards any outside party. Conversely, the other member would like nothing more than to engage in some seriously savage slamming with the first member ASAP.

"Hey girl, are you and Brett dating."
"EW no! He's like a brother and such a good listener. I feel like I can tell him anything."

"Yo Brett that girl's hot, are you banging?"
"I fucking wish dude, I'm so sick of listening to her shit with zero bang-a-rang to show for it. I'm stuck in a decidedly unbonerific nobangtionship."


Unfind - [uhn - fahynd] - VERB
The loss of an item previously procured in one's morning ritual while searching for another item.

"Sorry I'm late, I keep unfinding my keys. I had 'em but after spending 10 minutes searching for my damn laser pointer, I put my keys down in the confusion and lost 'em again. I even managed to unfind my padded helmet somewhere in the mix.


Procrasductive - [proh - kras - dukh - tiv] - NOUN
A state characterized by procrastination from what is unarguably one's highest priority by being immensely productive in other ways.

"You were being procrasductive again."
"I went grocery shopping, bought a new waterbed, read all of 'Atlas Shrugged', and taught little Jimmy how to balance his checkbook."
"You were supposed to take Muffin to the vet."
"But Muffin hates the vet, chinchillas have feelings too."
"Muffin has Ebola, we'll all be bleeding from the eyeballs by tomorrow evening."

Anagram Iso Calls

The iso calls for my Sandblast team. Sponsored by the internet anagram rearrangement server.

Peter Blessington - "Boner Gel Pens Tits"
Zachary Higgs - "Gay High Czars"
William Longo - "I Mow Loin Gall"
Kevin Mabry - "My Brave Kin"
Michael Montesano - "Came Into Manholes"
Mark Rubin - "Rumba Rink"
Rafe Steinhauer - "Featherier Anus"
Zarin Stone - "Sorta In Zen"
Benjamin Sulman - "Ninja Men Albums"

Caitlin Ewing - "I Clean Wit Gin"
Mary Glickman - "Milky Man Crag"
Elizabeth Harrison - "Bizarre Loin Sheath"
Julie Reichling - "Chili Jungle Ire"
Kathryn Shephard - "Hyper Hard, Thanks"
Laura Tan - "A Natural"
Kathrine Zipp - "Phat Ink Prize"

The Ultimate Hero

In my humble experience, I have come to realize that all competitive ultimate players think of themselves as superheros. For the most part, they are gregarious, charismatic, marginally productive members of society and most important to their attitude, they take significant pride in their ultimate skills. I just spent all of last weekend out in Seattle at Potlatch, a famous 98 team tournament that culminated in Team USA defeating Team Canada to take the title. Over the weekends course I witnessed displays of athleticism that would blow the pants off of a high-level talent scout of any sport/competitive hobby.

One of the major aspects of an ultimate players athleticism so esoteric to this particular demonstration of skill, is the ability to make it through a full tournament without irreparably damaging every organ of the body while each and every muscle complains through the lactic acidosis/alco acidosis . It's one thing to play three straight days of any competitive sport and an entirely different thing to replace a hearty, glycogen-replenishing meal and a good night's sleep in between each day with brewery parties, impromptu raves, portable castle beerbongs, 3am bacon feasts (courtesy of the team "Night Bacon!"), a laundry list of debaucherous makeout
related shenanigans, and a crowded tent one may or may not return to as the sun begins to rise.

Said summer mid-tourney nights are beyond memorable, both literally and metaphorically as their Dionysian splendor, which rivaled any saturnalia penned in myths of the Greeks (sans the little boys shagging), drowned a good deal of the memories I accrued. Once the week is over, and the various teams have traveled their separate ways returning with somber melancholy to their cubicles, I certainly can't help feeling like a superbeing who, having just rescued a 747 from certain doom at the toe-talons of flying velociraptors in a most awesome display of power, dons his Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne persona.

SFW Amersterdanian Adventures

Needless to say, the trip to Europe was tight. Rather then rehash all the absurdities that kept me awake till the wee hours of the morn and dragged me right out of bed soon after, I'll drop the occurrences one story at a time.

Location: Amsterdam, Netherlands

Obvious to all reading when considering the location of this story and my extracurricular activities, I spent all day basking in Amsterdam's rich history. Sufficiently high on culture, my brother and I walked over to a park to throw a disc for a bit. Three throws in, he sends it right into the center of this tepid and brackish pond, too still to nurture the hope of the wind taking it to shore. My brother, aware of how much this disc means to me (my world travels disc has gone with me to 13 different countries at this point) immediately disrobes to his skivvies and prepares to jump in.




A local runs up to him with a look of concern in her eye and tries to talk him out of fetching my disc with stories of broken glass, tetanus, and forearm length leaches. After about a minute of convincing my brother that he's going to die a horrifically tragic death if he jumps in, another local walks and tells us of how she went swimming in there not a week ago and that people hop in all the time. A good 15 minutes of Vacillation ensues until a third local strolls on up, clearly stoned out of his gourd, with a huge German Shepard mix. He casually picks up a stick and throws it just past the disc and to the gathered crowd's delight, the dog paddles on out and brings back the disc.



Thankfully, I was spared having to explain to my parents how my brother got both tetnaus and cholera retrieving a plastic dinner plate.

Alternatives to Alternative Romantic Manuvers

1) Dirty Sanchez: Take a romantic vacation in Acapulco, go mud hiking all day, then fall asleep cuddling during an intimate bath in a five star resort.

2) The Switcharoo: Get a massage table and commence supreme oily backrub. Midtask, preferably when your vast skillset puts your better half to sleep, have a close friend of yours swap in. Stealthily leave, prepare an intimiate candlelight dinner in a romantic setting, and put on a suit/dress. Signal to your friend to wake up your sleeping mate and indicate that "The sir/madame is waiting for you in the great hall." Score relationship points.

3) The Houdini: During that heightened moment in a sexual encounter where your partner ceases to understand the world around him/her and can only yell "yes" on repeat, propose marriage.

4) Cleveland Steamer: Move to Cleveland, date an immensely zealous sports fan, and wait for either the Browns, Bengals, Cavaliers, or the Indians to win a championship. Go to the celebration parade, and introduce your significant other to the star player of whatever team took home the gold, and watch her spontanously combust. Then poop on her chest.

Elicits an Emotional Response: Public Transportation

1) Anyone reading a comic book that isn't "Watchmen."

2) People who don't move to the back of the bus. Do you think the driver keeps pushing the button that blares "will all standing passengers, please move to the rear of the bus" for your enjoyment?

3) Anyone who requires more than three seconds to react to their obnoxious earsplitting ringtones. The commuting populace does not care how hip your ringtone is. I imagine I'm not the only one who pukes in his mouth under the assault by Lil' John's nauseating "YEAH!" no matter who's pocket it comes from. The high volume setting is meant for airport gate attendants and metallica bouncers, not nursing students.

4) Friendly people at 7am. I do not consider myself unapproachable or standoffish by any means and apologize to anyone I've offended thus far, but at 7am, I have no friends, only obstacles in they way of my sleeping through the commute.

5) Hobos who swear at me if I refuse their panhandling. I do not justly deserve vituperation just because my washing machine and Chicago's parking meters pacman every quarter I get my hands on. If you truly have to yell, call me a "penurious miser" or some such, not a string of nonsensical vulgarities.

Mock Tweet

My parental units, with myself in grad school and my brother having just completed his second year of college, miss our heartwarming company for some so far unknown reason. In an effort to mollify the pain of the two kids flying the coop, they lure us together with the sweetest goddamn vacationary adventures. Now, I'm not a twitterer and will not tweet on the tweetnet to feed the tweeting twits tantalizing tales of my travels. However, in a hypothetical parallel universe where I have given in to said activities (I am blogging after all) my twitter over the next 14 days would look something like this.

6/01: PhD qualifying exam
6/02 10:15am: entering airport in Cork, Ireland
6/02 10:30am: drinking in a pub in Cork, Ireland
6/03: still drinking in a pub in Cork, Ireland
6/04: drinking in a pub in Dublin, Ireland
6/05: drinking in a pub in Belfast, UK
6/06: drinking in a pub in Glasgow, UK
6/07: drinking on a boat
6/08: drinking in a pub in Inverness, UK
6/09: drinking in a pub in Edinburgh, UK
6/10: shuffleboard on a boat
6/11: shrooming in a pub in Amsterdam, Netherlands
6/12: merrily obliterated in a tavern in Bruges, Belgium
6/13: detoxing in Heathrow

Swearing

There's so much to be said for creative swearing. Nothing beats a show stopping vituperation that renders its victim, and all within earshot, utterly speechless. Here's a few swears in languages that don't refer to every moderately negative occurrence as "gay." Warning: some may cause you to utter muffled crys of surprise and alarm.

Arabic
"Elif air ab dinich"
A thousand dicks in your religion

Chinese (Cantonese)
"ow lun dun jhew hai"
ox cock boiled in a pig's cunt

Italian
"No Skuche ala Gats!"
What the fuck do you want from my balls?

Morrocan
"Takool zep ala hamada, woodla halum"
Eat the dick of a donkey, Allah wills it.

Norwegian
"runknisse"
Wanking gnome

"Jeg spretta søstra di mens den tilbakestående faren din sto bak og fumlet med ballene mine."
I stretched your sisters ass while your retarded dad stood behind me and fumbled my balls

Turkish (a tongue that takes "motherfucker" to the next level)
"Ananin amina cam dikerim, golgesinde seni sikerim trans"
I will plant a pine tree into your mom's pussy and fuck you in its shade.

"Ananin Amina Beton dokerimde butun mahalle abaza kalir"
I will pour concrete in your mothers pussy, so the whole town will be horny.

"Ananin amina kale kurar sabah aksam mac yaparim"
I would create goals in your mother's pussy and play soccer there day and night.

Critical Critic Critique

Reading music reviews makes me want to obliterate things at random. Seriously, what kind of shit-slinging shister came up with the denouncement, 'They sound too much like themselves?' (http://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/12926-swoon/) as justification for a poor review. The bastardo at Pitchfork who struck Silversun Pickup's new album with that critical gem can go tiddle himself in the back room to unapproachable hipster garbage noise all he wants. In Pitchfork's review of Animal Collective's Merriweather Post Pavilion, they extol the album's various musical “strokes of brilliance”. “They've punctuated perfectly likable indie rock songs with bleating vocalizations. They've seeded pretty instrumentals with irritating noise. They've stayed on a single chord for 10 minutes.”

If I join a band and some reviewer has the gall to pen an article containing the words “bleating” and “irritating,” I swear to god he's getting icepicked in the dick, whether or not he gives my album a 9.6 of 10 (the rating for AC, Silversun clocked in at 5.3). How can those words possibly be used to describe music, much less anything experienced via ears, in a positive light? Now, I'm not saying Silversun Pickups should be taught in Music Theory 101 but man, I've heard animal collective live and close enough to smell the drugs oozing out of their eyeballs and can firmly say that “bleating” and “irritating” and “one chord for ten minutes” are pretty accurate descriptors. The only use for their auditory vomit would be as the soundtrack for an LSD sponsored teddy bear orgy.

World Travels

Usain Bolt in mph:
100m in 9.34 sec (second split of his 200m Bejing WR run)
--100m/9.34s = .062137mi/.0025944hrs = 23.95 mph
alternatively, 10m in .82 sec (the fastest 10m split of his 100m Bejing WR run)
--10m/.82s = .0062137mi/.000227778hrs = 27.28 mph
which he held for only 40 meters.

Hippopotami top out at around 30mph and can hold that speed for a few hundred meters. They are also fiercely territorial, gladly using that or any other excuse available to engage in their favorite past time, being lumbering death machines. Before charging, they're known to open their mouths as wide as possible, yell "I'm the juggernaut bitch!" and deal out copious quantities of wholesale death.

In short, I am never going to sub-Saharan Africa. I have no desire to be utterly destroyed by a belligerent beanie baby.

Double the Meaning, Double the Fun

Now for those of you who don't know, I work in a lab in which I'm a minority. The English language's idiosyncrasies provide entertainment on a nearly daily basis. Here are a few gems from a gregarious and fiery Turkish friend, still in the process of mastering the language. Both came from one conversation regarding her bar flirtatiousness.

"I love when I go to bars with my boyfriend and other guys come over and hit me, it makes him very mad."
"My boyfriend thinks he is tough guy. Sometimes when he goes to bars, he will yell at other boys and they will go outside and fist each other. Sometimes I make him mad enough to fist me, although he is a big pussy and never will."

Behold, the subtle differences in hit me vs. hit on me, or fist each other vs. punch each other.

Pseudoscience

If I had superpowers, I would definitely use them for ill. Now, I'm loathe to admit that I lack said supernaturals as I definitely would have thrown a levitating glowstick goo rave or a "wow I wonder why it's 95 degrees in December" party or some such. The closest thing I have, which I try to take advantage of on the regular, is the one boon a bio undergrad degree and a year of PhD work has given me, the ability to spout immensely believable pseudoscience like a champ.

Riding on a bus last fall with several bio peers all armed with textbooks intimidating enough to be considered tomes, a fellow commuter asked “hey do you guys do, like, weird science?” So, revving up some serious charisma and a solid, no-bullshit 'I'm obviously a genius in the subject' voice, I told him the first thing that popped into my mind. Paraphrased: “Well, I'm currently deeply involved in the study of biomagnetism, that being the study of how certain species can both sense and utilize the Earth's magnetic field or in rare occasions, exude magnetic forces of their own. Did you know cattle have been observed to line up north to south when grazing?”

Pseudoscience followed, along with a rather convincing explanation of the early Amish Compass, and how the Amish discovered a lone dairy cow on a canoe in a sufficiently still body of water will point north. Truthfully, I think I freaked him out a little bit. He probably has nightmares of a cabal of labcoated madmen turning welsh corgi puppies into WMDs.

Shopping Cart Etiquette

Somebody show me where it is written that one is not allowed to ride the back of one's shopping cart through the parking lot at costco. Is there a “rules and regulations” manual on the topic of being a mature adult that I forgot to pick up when I turned 24? Is it stated in chapter “Fun time is over” section 12.36.1 in 'shopping etiquette' that one is not permitted fun of any kind while fulfilling one's weekly errands? And what about addendum 12.36.1a in which one must scoff at passers by who are having fun while running said errands?

Seriously, shopping cart riding makes so much sense. After I fulfill my hunter-gatherer instinct at Costco and find myself with about a hundred grapefruits and thirty pounds of Cinnamon Toast Crunch as my spoils, I definitely look for energy efficient ways of crossing the 200 yards to the ass end of the parking that still has leftover snowpiles in April. Doesn't it seem wise to get it up to speed, jump on the back and careen over the asphalt like a champ?

Locker Room Etiquette

I'm not one to stifle people's creative energies nor make people feel self conscious about their bodies, but I feel it's time to come out and say what needs to be said as the atrocities have gone unchecked for long enough.
The object pictured above is known as an automatic hand dryer, not an automatic OLD MAN TESTICLE DRYER. It is not for campus gym locker room beanbag aeration. You are not allowed to plant one foot on the wall, lean back, and lift bag to dry the underside.