tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56190552011-04-21T14:08:51.757-05:00...or Is It?J.A.noreply@blogger.comBlogger661100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1079365094667383182004-03-15T10:38:00.000-05:002004-03-15T10:41:47.860-05:00

O.K., folks, this place is on hold for now, until I figure out what I'm doing with it. Until the pipe returns, please click your way over to Yankee Pot Roast and read something or write something.

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1074698237668840432004-01-21T10:16:00.000-05:002004-01-21T10:18:44.670-05:00

Pipe Returns in '04! Still yet to break '98's resolution: no more resolutions. What a crap week: first Haypenny ups and goes on us, which, seriously, is traumatic. I can't have my daily routine altered like that with no warning. Now I'll have to develop a new OCD quirk to fill those free minutes. Maybe I can up my locking-unlocking of the door by 50%. Anyway, I'm already grief-stricken from

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1071658967898591702003-12-17T05:38:00.000-05:002003-12-17T06:09:39.826-05:00

Hi folks, I've been a very negligent proprietor of this which is not a pipe, and I offer no apologies, no excuses. I'm simply not that good at a lot of things, and I'm content with it. However, I do offer what's surely one of the earliest "Return of the King" posts, because I'm a stupid sucker who goes to see big super smash-hit blockbuster mega event movies at midnight opening eve. I'm no

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1071212799885271762003-12-12T02:06:00.000-05:002003-12-12T02:27:37.716-05:00

I'm not one to believe in precognitive predictions or other such hopeful chicanery -- one of my first ever stabs at journalism involved 65 bucks worth of psychic-hotline phone charges (for which I'm still awaiting remuneration...) incurred while challenging paranormal authenticity; also I once chucked a myopic palm reader's magic rock across the tent in anger -- but I think this Nostradamus

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1070484559489679982003-12-03T15:49:00.000-05:002003-12-03T15:51:41.546-05:00

Hoobastank's new album is coming next week. I don't particularly care for their music, but it makes me happy that the word "Hoobastank" is now part of the English language. Before, it's like there was this "hoobastank"-shaped void in the range of sounds we were able to produce. And now, hoobastank. Blythe Danner is going to be a grandma. I hope they name the baby "Yellow." Belated but terse

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1070314492388202332003-12-01T16:30:00.000-05:002003-12-01T16:35:29.093-05:00

Guten tag, mis amigos! Well, November is over and with it, NaNoWriMo—the endeavor to which I gave my lifeblood this month, semi-apologizing for a lack of pipery. Unfortunately, I failed. I could not string 50,000 words together in any order that resembled something worth reading. So, I may take a few days to wash the stink of failure off and then jump into DecemboWriMo. I’ll trust all your

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1070314143352272332003-12-01T16:29:00.000-05:002003-12-01T16:29:40.106-05:00

BLOGGER

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1068758742486161572003-11-13T16:25:00.000-05:002003-11-13T16:26:01.436-05:00

P. Hilly's mother, Kathy Hilton, was a porn star in the 70s. How the hell has this fact eluded the media/blogworld???? Anyway, there's a complete filmography (swiped from IMDb), including "Sexcapade in Mexico," "Terror in Orgy Mansion," and "The Erotic Adventures of Zorro," plus director's commentary up on YPR today. Check it, check it, y'all.

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1068701353485468062003-11-13T00:29:00.000-05:002003-11-13T00:29:10.623-05:00

There is a Neal Pollack-shaped hole in the Internet.

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1068646464778856142003-11-12T09:14:00.000-05:002003-11-12T09:18:37.010-05:00

Though appearances would point toward my being idle, the lack of pipery is due to the soul-sucking snare of NaNoWriMo. I’m at 11350 (goal: 50k) and it’s the 11th day of November, which hath 30, so by fudgey math, I’m six hectares behind schedule. Or possibly a bushel ahead. The point is: I’m tired and my brain hurts. What have I missed? Is the Paris video passé yet? I think it’s so, like,

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1068157631097527502003-11-06T17:27:00.000-05:002003-11-06T17:27:09.240-05:00

[Spoiler Warning!] I know everybody else seems to be a little disappointed, but I think Rev was by far the best of the whole trilogy, and a perfect, perfect ending to the whole saga -- as somebody once said (D. Parker?) the perfect ending is that which is at once surprising and inevitable. The swarm attack on Zion was the most breathtaking action sequence in any movie ever. Keanu finally

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1068053046776859902003-11-05T12:24:00.000-05:002003-11-05T12:24:05.000-05:00

Just a month ago, I made a whiny rant in this forum (scroll down toward 10/7) wherein I beseeched the small but noble online literary scene to kick up some dirt and shout loudly, lest it wither away into nothingness. Well, Sweet Fancy Moses is back. Über is back, and Über's Ben Brown is now editing Suicide Girls' Fiction (which is kind of like reading Playboy for the articles). So, although I had

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1067981960372049742003-11-04T16:39:00.000-05:002003-11-05T00:26:16.800-05:00

This is a month old, but Boing-Boing just reported it, so I just found it: An experiment, of sorts, in which fifth-graders were asked to “draw what you feel” while listening to Hail to the Thief, Kid A, and OK Computer. Totally ridiculous. You can’t just start somebody on Hail to the Thief, for God’s sake! As a side note, my Spanish teacher made us listen to Manilow. ¡Tengo dolor en mis oídos!

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1067869403696902912003-11-03T09:23:00.000-05:002003-11-03T09:23:22.210-05:00

NaNoWriMo It was a dream come true: locked in the basement with my beloved Mallory, snuggling in our chipmunk costumes for warmth… “Call me Ishmael, muthafucka…” My mother came to Hazard when I was just seven; even then the folks in town said with prejudiced eyes, “That boy's not right…” “Dr. Heinsenfrau, you glorious bastard, you’ve done it – a completely functional perpetual-motion machine

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1067619017645580772003-10-31T11:47:00.000-05:002003-10-31T11:50:16.180-05:00

Good golly, SWEETFANCYMOSES is back. Huzzah! Also, was it weird for you too, watching the world's greatest living writer/rock'n'roller "break character" last night on the Daily Show?

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1067618683015417842003-10-31T11:44:00.000-05:002003-10-31T11:46:33.950-05:00

Finally, there’s an appropriate toy to give your voluble, curmudgeonly, liberal-turned neoconservative kid on the second night of Chanukah. Hot on the tendon-straining heels of their Talking Ann Coulter with Kung-Fu Grip poseable action figure, TalkingPresidents.com now brings you the Talking Dennis Miller plaything. (Bibliographical index of esoteric references included.) Two limited collectors’

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1067265319748653262003-10-27T09:35:00.000-05:002003-10-27T09:39:05.533-05:00

Hey, kids! If you’re anything like me, (not just the dashing good looks) you probably fondly recall the crappy toys of your youth with winsome nostalgia, even if you hated the things back then – inept things with terrible design and missing/broken pieces that were more frustrating than fun, pathetically representing the crappy best that the plaything-engineering minds of the late 70s/early 80s

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1067030595753941052003-10-24T16:23:00.000-05:002003-10-24T16:26:17.756-05:00

All Smiths, All the Time! Look, I had no intentions of this becoming, like, a Smiths-fansite or something, but this news keeps popping up all over the place. (And Donnie of Left Pedal seems to be the prime offending hooligan…) So, after reporting (?) over the last two weeks of Andy Rourke’s hocking his bass on eBay, citing books like “Songs That Saved Your Life,” “Girlfriend in a Coma,” and “

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1066921219286880192003-10-23T10:00:00.000-05:002003-10-23T10:06:08.550-05:00

This dead-celebrity thing is getting old fast. Some poorly researched facts: Frederick Berry legally changed his middle name to "Rerun." He was a Baptist minister. He was married six times to four women. Yes, he married the same woman twice, twice. He earned just 500 smackers per episode of "What's Happening Now!" His beret was also ordained as a Baptist minister.

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1066857036668859252003-10-22T16:10:00.000-05:002003-10-22T16:10:36.670-05:00

It used to be, I got my news from newspapers (or, at least, their online equivalents). This morning, I got my only relevant news -- that of Elliot Smith's stupid, stupid "choice" -- from blogs. Whatevs was the first reporting I'd read (and, truth be told, if Uncle Grambo was hiding in Elliott Smith's dumpster in search of scoopage, I'd believe it), and shortly thereafter, nearly every single site

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1066772886671869812003-10-21T16:48:00.000-05:002003-10-21T16:51:29.016-05:00

I confess I'd never heard of Chuck Klosterman until all the Sex, Drugs & Cocoa Puffs hooplah errupted a couple months ago. Now the bastard's popping up everywhere: a chapter of SD&CP was included in Best American Nonrequired Reading, this week's NYT Magazine gives us CK on the Streets, and CK interviews a pantsless Britney in this month's Esquire (article greatly truncated online). Also in

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1066717818410344062003-10-21T01:30:00.000-05:002003-10-21T01:30:18.150-05:00

If you scroll down a bit, you'll find a recent blathering post about the neo-Smiths popularity (hey, look -- free plug for Matrix Revolutions!). And I didn't even include these gems: First, there's Joe Pernice's new novel "Meat Is Murder" about the Smiths album of the same name. It's part of Continuum Books' 33 1/3 series, a project with an awesome mission/purpose: to publish short books focused

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1066683937497926632003-10-20T16:05:00.000-05:002003-10-20T16:05:37.590-05:00

Holy Crap! I just discovered that I have (had?) this, via Jessa of Bookslut: synaesthesia, a disorder so ridiculous you'd think it was made up. Apparently, there's something screwey in the brain's wiring that causes music or words to trigger mental associations with colors or aromas, which means you can "see" music without chugging absinthe. I don't know if it's possible to "lose" or outgrow it,

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1066613917139262782003-10-19T20:38:00.000-05:002003-10-19T20:40:11.130-05:00

The best part of Game 1 of the Series was, during the top of the second inning, when professional baseball fan Billy Crystal interrupted Robin Williams's Sprint PCS antics, snapping, "Enough of your manic-depressive horseshit, Mork, I'm tryin' to watch the freakin' game." Anyway, this Easterblogg dipshit has got me pretty steamed/incredibly bemused. And not just the psychotic, paranoid

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1066402034035811992003-10-17T09:42:00.000-05:002003-10-19T20:55:23.773-05:00

Everybody neaten up that handwriting and submit something longhand to Y.P.R.'s Graphology. See ya.

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1066400057017047392003-10-17T09:14:00.000-05:002003-10-17T09:33:39.630-05:00

Somehow, I always new that Steve Martin and I would eventually have both our works posted/published in the same venue on the same day. So now it's O.K. that he keeps bumping me from the Back Page of the New Yorker.

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1066365014457751422003-10-16T23:30:00.000-05:002003-10-16T23:31:08.960-05:00

Windy Citizens and Beantownfolk: It's better this way. Victory is fleeting, anyway. But a decades-long curse you can cherish for years and years to come.

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1066322761404956502003-10-16T11:46:00.000-05:002003-10-16T12:14:52.630-05:00

Egads, last night in Michigan must have been a blast and a half because it looks like the recuperating Haypenny has [gasp] finally missed a day's posting! Please, please, please do not let this be true. I believe in Haypenny. I have faith. [Update: They're up. Whew.] Anyway, I'm as envious as anybody regarding the anonymous Internet-based media gadfly manqué*, TMF,TML, but it seems like over at

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1066243136174194392003-10-15T13:38:00.000-05:002003-10-15T13:38:55.756-05:00

Oh man, I really wish I were in Ann Arbor, Michigan, tonight. Sigh.

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1066189012930649322003-10-14T22:36:00.000-05:002003-10-14T22:40:15.053-05:00

Ha, ha. The O.H. does a sharp impression of Whatevs's Uncle Gramz and his infectious clipped-slang A.D.H.D. vocabulary.

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1066153584338730232003-10-14T12:46:00.000-05:002003-10-14T12:50:29.060-05:00

Remember what I said about that Smiths resurgence? Well, the mopey Brit 80s gothy pithy Smiths I was refering to did not include Robert Smith. Total opposite switcheroo on a Cure resurgence. Jeez, first there’s that commercial that makes you smile for three seconds upon recognition of “Pictures of You,” and then wince for the remaining 27 upon realization of its shilling for Hewlett Packard. And

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1066074567549822642003-10-13T14:49:00.000-05:002003-10-13T14:56:56.426-05:00

Whew. Just got back from Boston (though I didn't see much of it beyond some filming in Davis Sqare and some stranded hours in Chinatown) where I participated in a beat-the-clock shoot to produce a short film for The 48-Hour Film Project. It was a great time, it certainly reminded me how much fun and reward an inch of passionate energy positively directed can be (because I lazily tend to reserve

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1065748974191335042003-10-09T20:15:00.000-05:002003-10-09T20:28:19.490-05:00

I'm headed to Boston to participate in the 48 Hour Film Project wherein teams of filmmakeers are assigned a genre, prop, character, and line of dialogue on Friday evening, and must submit a short film by Sunday evening. I don't know most of the Bostonites who will be co-crew with me. This thing should be good and manic. And while it takes a solid weekend to create a quality short film, it takes

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1065735646242280262003-10-09T16:29:00.000-05:002003-10-09T16:44:38.176-05:00

Sweet Jesus, I wish somebody were around to witness the insane laughing fit (still lingering) triggered by this español-language blog forwarded to me, unsolicited, by Señor Wolinetz: un dia a la vez by habito incorregible. If your Spanish is as good as mine (nada), scan through this and you'll catch "El Sr. Belding." That means "Mr. Belding." Principal Belding. Then he talks about the White

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1065718176470985642003-10-09T11:32:00.000-05:002003-10-09T11:52:04.233-05:00

Good gravy, did you know we’re in the midst of an unprecedented Smiths resurgence? First off, log on to KaZaA and download yourself a track of “Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others” expertly covered by Supergrass. The, go to Glorious Noise and read Why “Rubber Ring” Is the Best Song Ever by Jake Brown. Then cry for two hours of wistful nostalgia for your lost youth/innocence. Then go to eyeshot

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1065670020699439072003-10-08T22:13:00.000-05:002003-10-09T02:45:37.066-05:00

My new favorite, er, Internet-based media gadfly manqué*, TMF,TML, desperately clinging to its mien of collaborative anonymity, sets the record straight: it comprises "total dicks," and not "complete puss[ies]." Indeed. Because, y'know, those labels are mutually exclusive. Or are they?** * “Internet-based media gadfly manqué,” © & ™ J. Abraham, 2003 (pat. pending) ** “Or are they?”, courtesy

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1065667661014986912003-10-08T21:46:00.000-05:002003-10-08T22:08:40.590-05:00

Best American Nonrequired Reading edited by the Eggman, intro by Zay-D Smith, written by a whole host of people including some nifty ones from Pboz awesome cover designed by Enid Coleslaw and Never Mind the Pollacks by Master P Initial gut reactions while waiting on line in B&N: The "Best" thing's lineup of authors/stories seems oddly calculated, but stimulating nonetheless. "Pollacks," I've

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1065598713052822402003-10-08T02:38:00.000-05:002003-10-08T09:39:36.836-05:00

Diacriticism Last week at the Schticker, my ex-wife Lizzie kicked up a couple of snorky posts about Paper's unhealthy fixation with my ex-fiancée Chloë, culminating with an "insider's tip" that criticizes Ms. Sevigny's God-given choice to accentuate her name with an ümlaut. That's all fine and good; but it hit me today (why? I don't know) that Ms. Spiers, Ms. Sevigny, her publicist, and the

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1065560513659246942003-10-07T15:48:00.000-05:002003-10-07T16:06:58.406-05:00

Also, That and the Other Thing Go read this. I confess I didn't really get this at first, and was dangerously close to labeling it "stupid and pointless" until I happened to scroll down and read this explanation, which made me realize that I'm guilty of this, as are you, and everybody else. Now this makes sense. Which brings me to something sort of related, though not really. What happened to

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1065497808404228512003-10-06T22:17:00.000-05:002003-10-06T22:38:40.746-05:00

I Meant to Link These Guys a While Back... The greatest living writer in the free world, Neato Neally P, is currently sailing the seven seas. In his absence, check out Pauly Paul Fisherspooner and his guest-blogging gymnastics, which have been thus far nifty. Also, while you're at it, did through last week's archives to find the first guest-blogger, Dirty Donnie Boman of Port-side Foot Lever.

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1065491961426750912003-10-06T20:49:00.000-05:002003-10-06T21:01:12.230-05:00

Yum, Kippers! I spent my day of atonement illegally downloading copyrighted music, and the gods of the Internet have punished me for displaying offensive hubris/balls. Nearly every Strokes track KaZaA handed to me was one of those noisy fakeouts. Damn you, RIAA! Anyway, glamorama apparently had no troubles downloading, because there's a nifty track-by-track review up there. Also, I finally

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1065393666783130592003-10-05T17:41:00.000-05:002003-10-05T17:41:06.530-05:00

And also... ...there's this.

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1065322480463197242003-10-05T12:40:00.000-05:002003-10-05T13:05:05.766-05:00

I've Been Hagged Ye Old Hagge correctly used the word “attenuated” while citing my recent off-handed remark regarding Elizabeth Spiers’s new gig sellin’ out to the Man, after losing Gawkster to Choire Sicha in a Tequiza-fueled arm wrestle. Egads, that’s a lot of redirections in one very poorly constructed sentence. Taken out of context, my excerpted comments sound decidedly snarky (

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1065370054441934462003-10-05T11:45:00.000-05:002003-10-05T12:01:36.220-05:00

Who Didn't See This One Coming? It's only logical that if you capture a ferocious beast from the jungle, schlep it to the desert, poke, prick, and prod it until it dances and leaps through flaming hoops on your cue, and then parade it before an overpaying audience 8 times a week, the beast is bound to pounce and maul you sooner or later. As they say, perfect endings must be unexpected yet

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1065194292023381082003-10-03T10:18:00.000-05:002003-10-03T10:18:11.923-05:00

Look at This, I'm Posting Multiple Times In One Day Goodness gracious, I just saw a clip on MSNBC of Arnie apologizing for his youthful indiscretions. This, folks, is comedy at its finest. Sure, he doesn't remember all the girls he may or may not have groped on drug-saturated movie sets in the late 70s, but, hey, who wasn't injecting themselves with steroids, snorting fine powders, and playing

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1065189018782523282003-10-03T08:50:00.000-05:002003-10-03T08:50:18.256-05:00

Gawk This Well, Lizzie Spiers's Schticker is up and a-runnin' and am I the only one who thinks it feels like a corporate Gawker without the grungy, grassroots charm? I love Ms. Spiers and all that she's done at Gawker -- I think we're all a little jealous of how she's parlayed a gawking blog into big cash money -- and the few appetite-whetting posts so far at Schticker retain her wonderfully

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1065111693512076612003-10-02T11:21:00.000-05:002003-10-02T11:21:33.360-05:00

Things You Should Read Got to say, I'm really getting swept up in the love/hate soap-opera swirl that involves Maud, TMF,TML, the Old Hag, the Antic Muse, et al. It's a dizzying blur of hype and criticism and links, links, links. I love it. I've long been a fan of Maud, and I'm relatively new to the others, but their collective friendly sparring is an exhilarating read. Smart, funny, and I'd bet

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1064598648213535812003-09-26T12:50:00.000-05:002003-09-26T13:04:14.140-05:00

I Ain't Tired No More Deckie has shamed me into posting. My excuse for not posting is this: I was busy. But now I'm not. Hence, here we are. My marathon rewrite was fun and productive. I think I'll do it once a week. We took two wrong trains on our trip to meet the producer and back, but in our defense, we've only spent 27 years in New York. I'm heading out for some matzoh ball soup, but I

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1064250473584482182003-09-22T12:07:00.000-05:002003-09-22T12:21:36.440-05:00

I Suck I swear, every four or five days or so, I get that nagging feeling like I'm forgetting something. Pants? Am I wearing pants today? Wallet, keys, merkin? What did I forget? Oh. Right. My B L O G. I'm rotten. It's not that I'm too lazy (though I am that, in spades) or unispired (that too), it's just that I never freakin' remember that I've got this pitiful excuse for a Web page. The

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1063745614492599502003-09-16T15:53:00.000-05:002003-09-16T15:53:33.983-05:00

Some Things Tonight, you will watch "The O.C." only you will love it twice as much as normal if you imagine that Seth is not really jittery and twitchy owing to nervous, teenage awkwardness, but because the actor is on drugs and wigging out. Also, elevators are a hell of a lot more exciting if you imagine Sean Connery announcing, "We've hit bottom. Out ya go, you rogue!" I've decided today

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1063720081741267072003-09-16T08:48:00.000-05:002003-09-16T08:48:01.513-05:00

Hi, folks. Just thought I'd let you know that Sir Sean Connery will be the voice of Lifty, the Parliamentary Elevator, as brought to my attention early this morning by Mr. Wences. I, for one, can't wait for the eventual Saturday-morn cartoon spinoff.

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1063233563179686852003-09-10T17:39:00.000-05:002003-09-10T17:39:23.123-05:00

The Fourth Estate While I usually write nonsensical, inane fluff, occassionally I like to try my hand at legitimate journalism. So, for a taste of Josh Abraham's serious efforts (albeit on a rather off-color topic) go check out my investigation of port-o-potties over on the most awesomest online magazine, The Black Table. Then, e-mail me to bestow upon me praise of my journalistic finesse, or

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1063129677802396572003-09-09T12:47:00.000-05:002003-09-09T12:52:28.190-05:00

True Tales of the IMDb In addition to Pamela Anderson's varied acting roles, she is also credited as Hairstylist and Makeup Artist on the direct-to-video hit, Pam & Tommy Lee: Stolen Honeymoon. She did, presumably, apply her own lipstick. Tommy is credited as Editor and, *ahem*, Special Effects Department. The couple share Cinematography credits, as they took turns pressing Zoom. Long before

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1062540668820338942003-09-02T17:11:00.000-05:002003-09-02T17:11:08.883-05:00

YAP! This afternoon, between flashes of rain, I got to watch another exciting episode of Dog v. Crazy Old Man. For those of you who do not live on my terrace, and have not seen this awesome challenge of man against nature, I'll explain as best I can: Dog lives across the street and hangs out on the terrace opposite mine. He's a big brown dog, I don't know what breed. Assume he's a mutt of

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1062483192324905892003-09-02T01:13:00.000-05:002003-09-02T01:13:12.366-05:00

Summer Movie Roundup Well a quick rundown of the titles of this summer's blockbusters (or intended blockbusters, anyway) reveals this common trait: they're all stupid. And more than just the titles; the movies themselves stunk too. But, since that type of material is covered elsewhere, and since I didn't even see most of the movies, I just want to address their stupid titles. Minutia, I admit (

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1062478575891935272003-09-01T23:56:00.000-05:002003-09-01T23:59:53.880-05:00

Is It Really Labor Day? Already? Who likes good music? I sure do. Right now two bands are in a tug-of-war for my undivided attention: the Doves and Supergrass. The Doves maintain a slight edge, but Supergrass is advancing rapidly. Plus, there's Turin Brakes, which I used to hate until one of my roommates decided to play it for six weeks straight, eventually wearing down my resistance. Also, has

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1062130703021724772003-08-28T23:18:00.000-05:002003-08-28T23:18:23.050-05:00

Avril Lavigne Didn't Mispronounce Anyone's Names Tonight! Look, I know that the MTV VMAs are nothing but a celebrity fuckfest, a sinfully opulent showcase for beautiful millionaires with a modicum of talent to promote themselves and try to sleep with each other. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love watching it. In case you are Amish or pretentious and did not watch the “ceremony,” the show began

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1062004342492887542003-08-27T12:12:00.000-05:002003-08-27T13:16:48.546-05:00

What Ever Happened to "This Is Not a Pipe" ? Hey! Did you guys know I had a blog? I didn't! How long has this thing been here, anyway? Well, truth is shortly after regaining power from the blackout (hey! Remember the Blackout?) my roommate accidentally (?) yanked the phonejack out of the wall, thus ending my ability to get online. For almost a day. Since then, I don't have a good excuse. I've

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1061049046148244522003-08-16T10:50:00.000-05:002003-08-16T11:02:41.093-05:00

Black In Well, I've got power again, glorious power. A day without appliances was nice, for about 20 minutes. Then I realized just how much I am head-over-heels in love with my air conditioner. Really, we've got something special. Also, I'm pretty happy I don't live in Basra, where it's 120 degrees and they haven't had Iraqi Con Ed turned back on since we blew it up way back in that war. I

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1060829744898791852003-08-13T21:55:00.000-05:002003-08-13T22:00:25.393-05:00

Buzz. There's a family of hornets that lives in my air-conditioner sleeve. (My A/C is shoved in my window, with the gaping hole plugged by corrugated cardboard fixed by duct tape. Classy, I know.) I think they're hornets; they might be wasps or yellow jackets or Insecticons -- I don't know what the differences is, entomologically, but they've got wings, thoraxes, and stingers. The point is, I

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1060528280405982432003-08-10T10:11:00.000-05:002003-08-10T10:16:49.560-05:00

Brown Leaves, Gray Sky Well, it's official: I'm 3500 bucks lighter and 65 signatures heavier and I'm in the Californian gubernatorial ring. I do not live in California, and have no intentions of moving there (definitely not to Sacremento, anyway), but I figure one can telecommute thanks to the miracle of modern technology. Now, I've got no official "platform" or even an opinion on the state of

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1060307457819531392003-08-07T20:50:00.000-05:002003-08-07T20:50:57.830-05:00

Hollywood Predictions: Chances Jamie Kennedy Xes Ashton Kutcher at the very same moment that Ashton Kutcher is punk'ng Jamie Kennedy: 64% Chances we'll see Whoopi Goldberg, Rosie Perez, and Lili Taylor play a trio of monkey women: 26% Chances they will do so without any makeup or masks: 94% Chances we'll get to see John C. Reilly and Phillip Seymour Hoffman play Vladimir and Estragon in P.T.

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1059669979272826202003-07-31T11:46:00.000-05:002003-07-31T11:46:19.243-05:00

Your Morning Surfing Well, I cannot imagine that anybody reads this that hasn't already read ypr, but you really should check it out today, after reading gawker first, if you do not regularly start your day with gawker. So, to sum up: your normal morning routine should go YPR, gawker, nytimes, (insert up to three elective websites here), this is not a pipe. Today, however, it would be best if

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1059586476631827962003-07-30T12:34:00.000-05:002003-07-30T12:38:45.950-05:00

Office Space Comedy Central has blessed us yesterday with yet another airing of Office Space. That wonderful movie so adeptly captures the soul-sucking spirit of pretty much every working sap's career life, be it filing in the cubicle or tending to the blacksmith's kiln, that the flick should be screened for HR departments and upper management and boards of directors while they are strapped

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1059502436276762412003-07-29T13:13:00.000-05:002003-07-29T13:16:01.053-05:00

Hiatus Well, YPR is on a quick little siesta, which is good because it will give me some time to work on completing my life-size busts* of the Golden Girls, sculpted entirely out of compacted Cheeto powder. When done, they will look glorious perched atop my baby grand piano as I play "Miami Is Nice." Lou Ferigno will accompany on the kettle drum. While Lou Ferigno is deaf, he plays a kick-ass

J.A.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619055.post-1059401401354253952003-07-28T09:10:00.000-05:002003-07-28T10:28:19.436-05:00

My First Blog or O Fortuna! Foul Temptress, Wretched Wench! Why Dost Thou Torment Me So? Guten tag, mis amigos! So, here we are on the awkward first blog, and I've got the first-timey blog jitters. Be gentle. Well, first thing's first: a shout-out to my homeys whose blogs or blog-like sites make my days complete. They're all listed on the starboard side of this page for your easy-readin'

J.A.noreply@blogger.com