Album of the Week: Tribalistas

This week's album is the Brazilian release "Tribalistas," by Marisa Monte, Arnaldo Antunes, and Carlinhos Brown. For those of you automatically associate Brazilian music with a washed up lounge singer doing a worn out interpretation of "The Girl From Ipanema," it's time to enter a brave new world. This album is a good start. How do I know this? As I stuttered about in a Rio de Janeiro record shop, I made some broken conversation with a helpful employee who understood a little English. I asked him what Brazilian music I should buy. He showed me this album.

This is Brazilian "popular" music. Don't be mistaken that it's like the Top 40 junk here in the States. This is real artistry. Now, Monte is usually a solo artist. That's the fantastic bit about this album, it features three distinctive voices that come together in an unbelievable harmony. Marisa Monte has an earthy sort of robust lower range. One of the men has a fairly standard middle range. And the third guy has one of the most distinctive voices I've ever heard. It's extremely low and gritty, but also stunningly melodic. The combination of the three is quite amazing. It's like, I don't know, sweet and sour chicken. On first glance, you wouldn't think it'd be a good idea. I mean, there's the sweet, there's the sour, and then there's the chicken. Individually, doesn't look like it'd work. But you throw it all together, and it's delicious. (I prefer Fang, in the Lakeville Crossing shopping center) Same thing on this album, the phenomenal vocal blend is worth the price alone.

Don't be fooled into thinking this album is just a novelty of funny voices. Hell no, this has songwriting of the utmost creativity. Obviously, you can tell it's not American music, it features mainly only acoustic guitar, percussion, and voice. Sometimes some electronic elements are tossed in too. Anyways, I especially enjoy the first two tracks of the album, "Carnavália" and "Um a Um." "Carnavália" especially has this sweet declarative feel. But really, everything on here is great. There's also a nice balance between slower songs and more upbeat ones.

I think it's interesting how the focus in this music isn't on all the flashy crap that is thrown into a lot of American pop, but instead is on the individual performers. Personally, I think it's a lot more respectful of the creative point of the music. Brazilian music in general, at least a lot of what I've heard, shares this characteristic. You listen to Jobim, to bossa nova in general, and you hear relatively simple yet spectacularly crafted melodies accompanying a vocalist or instrumentalist. So intimate.

This album has been critically raved about by people in Brazil and Europe, and now myself. Shouldn't that be enough proof? It's cheap on Amazon, check it out. It won't disappoint, and it's a good way to get into some international grooves.

Wow.

Did anyone else watch Barack Obama's acceptance speech tonight? I must admit, I'm a little in awe. Best speech I've heard him give. I'll actually say it, I teared up just a bit when he alluded to Dr. King's "I Have a Dream" speech. I know we all hear about that in 7th grade history, but if you haven't heard Dr. King give that speech, check it out right here. It's absolutely masterful. Back to Obama. What I really appreciated was its balance. Balance between abstract and concrete, the real issues that we are facing and the potential ahead of us. The sharp distinctions with John McCain and the Republican Party, who want to give us four more years of Bush policy. This cannot stand, Barack made that resoundingly clear tonight to everyone. It's time to be proud of this country again, and not have to feel foolish anymore. It's time to take hold of history and do something that we can look back on and know that we did the right thing. We cannot sit by and let the problems of our age swallow us up: global warming, heath care, education, inequality. All of us need to do our part to help others, be it serving without pay at a shelter for families in need, helping educate our youth, learning to be a doctor. Hell, even learning to be a lawyer. Shared responsibility, I loved that line in the speech. We all have a responsibility to each other. We can't simply turn a blind eye to the social ills of our society, we can't just dismiss people or think someone else will fix it. So let's all work together, elect Obama, and get on with fixing all the shit that's gone wrong.

Anyways, now that I got that out of my system. I'm going to go hear a trombone led, jazz/funk/r&b group at the MN State Fair tomorrow. I'm pumped, it's going to be fun.

And in other music news, I'm going to go shopping for a black t-shirt and some angry pills this weekend. Why, you ask? Because on Wednesday, I (yes I), am going to fight the power at the Rage Against the Machine concert in Minneapolis. I got a ridiculously cheap ticket on eBay and I am ready to rock. I'm going by myself, but that's fine. I don't think many of my friends up here would appreciate their music, and that's perfectly alright. It's not for everyone. I figure, everyone will be so pissed off anyways, all of us strangers will become friends by default. Kind of a shitty seat, but I have a long and storied history of getting the worst seats possible at music events, so it ain't no thing. Needless to say, I'm excited. Rage doesn't play together very often, least of all in Minnesota. Plus, I this will be my first real "rock" concert. Needless to say, with the presence of our Republican friends next door in St. Paul, I'm fully expecting some leftist rants, polemical chants, face melting funk riffs, and hopefully (fingers crossed) some sort of riot.



What do I have to look forward to? Here are some quotes from Rage guitarist Tom Morello from the Star Tribune.

"While there's a lot of clinking of champagne glasses and toasting one another and passing big checks back and forth inside the convention, there's a reality on the streets outside that will be represented by the Nightwatchman and Rage Against the Machine and Anti-Flag and all the other bands playing to protest in Minneapolis-St. Paul," said Rage guitarist Tom Morello. "We'll be outside the barbed-wire fences throwing musical Molotov cocktails toward the fences."

"[T]he Rage show there (in Minneapolis) is part of the umbrella of protest against the past, present and future crimes of Republicans."

Hilarious

Rule Britannia, Britannia rule the waves...

This is sweet

I'm not a basketball fan. Back in my youth, that was maybe not quite so accurate. I played two decidedly unsuccessful seasons in Farmington youth basketball in 4th and 5th grade, where I probably scored a total of 4 points. No matter though. I remember I really liked Michael Jordan and Shaquille O'Neal, and I had these two little books about both of them that my parents got me at the school book fair. I read them exhaustively, literally to the point of them falling apart. I also had a strange fixation with the Charlotte Hornets, mainly because I liked their logo with the bug.



I gave my dad a Charlotte Hornets shirt for father's day once. I've kind of reclaimed it from him, so I'm happy to wear it if anyone wants to see me kick it old school. I figure it's a great first date outfit.

Anyways, what the hell does this all mean? Mainly, I've become very intrigued, during my Olympics watching binge, with the US men's basketball team. It's very satisfying to not only see us dominate (everyone should know I like huge margins of victory), but do it with class. Not being a bunch of assholes. It's been really cool to see the men's team at so many different events; cheering on Michael Phelps, watching the women's basketball team, spending time with the rest of the US team in the Olympic Village, etc. It just seems like something we as a nation should be proud of. A group of guys getting it done, but doing it with respect for others, respect for the Olympic ideal, and genuine pride at representing the best of our country.

Check out this breathtaking video of Marvin Gaye busting out the national anthem at the 1983 NBA All-Star game.



Now check out this sweet Nike commercial, involving Mr. Gaye's above performance. If you look closely, you can see one of the players wearing (gasp) a backwards Minnesota Twins hat! Who the hell is that guy? Anyways, I'm really not a jingoistic person, or one of those people who flag waves blindly or anything, but this is just cool, no matter how cynical you are. Props to Nike for getting it done.


I have no problem being that guy. They just showed a panoramic view of the Forbidden City in Beijing on NBC.

I was there.

Omelets

I made the most God awful omelet tonight. It was an embarrassment to my egg-cooking prowess, which I pride myself on. So offensive to reason, good taste, and humanity in general, I'm somewhat amazed I didn't face some sort of official punishment. Lucky me, unlike my legendary cafetiérè coffee, no one else experienced it.

For those of you not in the know, the photo above is of a legendary omeletary (I made that up) in Sedona. Possibly the most amazing breakfasts ever, surely the best coffee mugs. If you ever want to see one, I have one. Anyways, I post the photo in the same way I'd hang an icon in a Greek Orthodox church. Maybe if I pay enough homage to it, it'll take mercy on me and forgive my unspeakable creation.

On a similarly horrifying note, I think I might try my hand at banana bread one of these days.

Well, I've now survived two whole days of actual law school. Is it intense? Yes. Will it be exceedingly difficult? Most likely. But can it be done? I think so. Now I'm lazing about my dad's house, listening to some orchestra play the hell out of "Pines of Rome" on the radio, staving off the gag reflex that my omelet is still triggering, and reading about theories of punishment in criminal law. I know, I know, spectacular evening. I might go to the Hamline Bar Review tonight at Grumpy's. Bar review, get it? At a bar? I think that's unceasingly hilarious. Sort of like Tony Gúzmansson. Gets me every time.

It hasn't been as challenging getting used to Hamline as a physical place as it was to Luther. Probably has to do that I'm basically invested only in the School of Law building. Really, nothing else on campus applies to me, save the fitness center, which I have to check out. It is an exceedingly ugly place, I think, in comparison to Luther, but I'm sure it could be worse. I do appreciate that the library has windows, unlike Preus. It actually kind of looks like the library at Notts. But most of the other buildings seem to have been designed by the same firm that built Dick Cheney's underground bunker.

The whole non-residential aspect is kind of strange. One would think that I would be used to that, with Nottingham and all, but this is not the same. The fact that I'm living with my parents, devoid of any other Luther folk (or Hamline for that matter) sets it apart from the uniqueness of Notts. Additionally, St. Paul is nowhere near as integrated as Nottingham was, as far as a transportation standpoint. It's probably a 15 or 20 minute bike ride, which is similar to the ride in Notts. But like I said, it just doesn't seem the same. This disconnect between school and home, not only is it a physical gap but it is a psychological one as well. I suppose it probably doesn't help that I really haven't met many people either. But regardless, it makes me glad for my choice of Luther, with the residential mentality.

There's definitely a diversity of people who choose to go to law school. People of all types, shapes, sizes, ages, hairstyles, etc. Quite a few second career students, actually. It would be interesting to see how the student body of say, Hamline compares with Minnesota, or Harvard or something. All my professors seem very good and interesting. It's nice to see that becoming a lawyer does not necessitate a transformation into the societal slug that is often portrayed in the media.

Anyways, the state fair starts today. I think last year was the first year I didn't go; I'm planning on remedying that this year. I'm not one of those people who attempts to fish for their social life online, but Trombone Shorty is playing for free at the bandstand next Friday and Saturday... And for that matter, Tom Morello is playing on Harriet Island on Labor Day, fighting the power and such. If my workload isn't too intense, I'm thinking of going.

Well, I should probably finish up some stuff. It's nice to be starting something new. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't intimidating, but I'm sure it'll turn out alright. It's also nice to keep in touch with Luther friends who are in similar, yet different situations from myself. Being, starting something new. As a good friend of mine mentioned the other day, off into the expanse we go!

New Shoes

That's the name of a Paolo Nutini song, right? Just flashing my cultural competence a little.

Anyways, today in my boredom (and reluctance to read about torts and contracts), I went out on a bit of a shopping excursion. I had wanted to purchase an academic planner, but since even my most mundane shopping list turns into a real life issue of Consumer Reports, I ended up wandering aimlessly around Barnes and Noble for 40 minutes, froth slowly forming at the corners of my mouth, preening over one Moleskine notebook or another. Of course, my trip ended in failure, as I couldn't make up my mind over how much money I wanted to spend in comparison to what I was getting. Most shopping trips of mine end like this.

Except, on a whim, I stopped in a Famous Footwear. I've been on somewhat of a quest to either procure a pair of Birkenstocks or new sunglasses before summer ends. And to my surprise, there was a suitable pair of sandals in my size and a quality color. On sale. After quickly consulting with my mom on the wisdom of the decision, I bought them. Right on the spot. The somewhat cute checkout girl was enamored with my Union Jack Discover card, I flashed her a smile and flexed my forearms as I wrote my signature. Then promptly left, ripping the sandals out of the box on my way to the car.

I must say, these sandals are life changing. It feels like I've encapsulated my feet in like, a tiny little mattress. Or bubble wrap. Or maybe a pair of miniature hovercrafts. Honest to God, I was walking around today on them and I had to remember if I was in fact walking on my feet, or maybe just hovering a few inches off the ground. So, watch out Oneota Community Co-op. Next time I'm in Decorah, me, my earth toned clothes, and my Birkenstocks are coming in for some fuckin' granola.

I've been watching equestrian events at the Olympics. So, if you're the winning horse, do you get a gold medal? I mean, think about this. The rider isn't the one jumping over fences, you know? The horse is doing all the legwork, he's the one pumping up the heartrate. The rider is just that, along for the ride. Gives a little direction here and there, sure, but you can't say that their physical exertion is outpacing that of the horse. So, I'm hoping it's the horse that wins the medal. Maybe the rider could get a commemorative pin or something like that.

Now I'm watching some badminton. This is cool, they have men and women's mixed teams. They are playing significantly more intense badminton than what I used to play in my backyard. Quite ridiculous, actually. I'd recommend it.

Album of the Week: Duke Ellington Meets Coleman Hawkins

This might be the first time I've reviewed a jazz album. Might as well start with a great one, right?

On a production note, I'm happy to say that most of the thought process behind this occurred last night at work at Walgreens, where I literally listened to the whole album and took notes. Busy night.

Anyways, I initially got into this album because our "signature" piece in Jazz Orchestra was Limbo Jazz, which is the title track of this album. If any of you recall, we used to process in and dance around like idiots whilst playing the sweet, sweet sounds of Sir Ellington here. This song was actually more of a joke than anything else. If you listen closely, you'll find that Limbo Jazz is based off the chord progression of the happy birthday song. Apparently, during the session, someone had a birthday, and Duke and the gang just started riffing off of it, coming up with Limbo Jazz. It just happened to get caught on tape, and voila. I love its joyousness, especially when band members start singing along. You can tell these guys are having fun.

One of my favourite moments in the entire history of Western music happens in Mood Indigo, the second tune on this album, at about 2:56 in, when Duke starts playing these series of three chords that are heartachingly gorgeous. I still get chills listening to it. I also love the swirling tenor solos of Hawkins. Listen to it, it legitimately sounds like he's up there just sort of spinning stuff out of nothingness. His improvisations just have this great quality of motion and circular motion. Love it.

Incidentally, Coleman Hawkins is regarded as the first great tenor sax soloist, coming up in the big bands of the 1930's. He's the one that really helped to assert the sax's dominance in jazz over the clarinet. Forever afterwards he was known as the President of the Tenor Sax. Or Prez, for short.

For me, Mood Indigo and Limbo Jazz make this album worth the price of admission, but the whole damn thing really is unbelievable. Nearly every song has what I can best describe as a very chocolately sound, a lushness of orchestration and sound. One of the more interesting tracks is the last song, The Recitic. This features some jazz violin, with a really fascinating marching band-esque rhythm on the trap set going on throughout. I love when the violin interacts with Hawkins.

When two masters of their craft meet together to create something both new and old, good things happen. If you want a perfect illustration of this, go buy this. Two of the most influential musicians in jazz history, supported by an all star group (most of them Ellington regulars such as Johnny Hodges, Ray Nance, Sam Woodyard, and Harry Carney) doing what they do best. Absolutely fantastic. Jazz lovers, heed this call.

That time.

So, it's that time of the decade again. Summer Olympics time.

I must say, I'm a fan of the Summer Olympics. First, it gives me something else to watch besides the Twins handing away their late inning leads. Secondly, this is possibly your only opportunity to watch sports such as sabre, archery, and team handball for the next four years. Isn't that glorious, the opportunity to watch all these obscure sports? Sports that when you think about it, some of them are pretty ancient. Pretty basic.

Like track and field. What is more elemental to the human experience than running? Running away from a woolly mammoth, running away from an approaching army, running to reach a destination before someone else. No implements, no nothing. Just legs and determination. The will to succeed. The strength to endure.

People are always talking about how the Olympics rise against politics, yada, yada, yada. For example, Russia has just recently invaded Georgia, but a Russian and a Georgian athlete were hugging on the podium of some air rifle competition. It's an interesting theory, I don't know if I quite believe it. Apparently members of the US basketball team were ready to make a statement on Darfur in Beijing, but now they've decided that they're just there to play basketball, not make statements. Which is entirely their option. And I don't know if I think US athletes should necessarily speak out about Tibet, Darfur, whatever. It seems hypocritical to do so, when we ourselves have done unspeakable things in Iraq. So, I don't know. This conversation is going nowhere.

I'm looking forward to watching our baseball team. Fun fact, I once met the manager of the British national baseball team. He actually gave me some tips on my swing, in my single glorious season as an amateur English baseball star. I guess that doesn't mean much, considering Britain didn't even qualify.

I spent Christmas 2006 in Geneva, Switzerland. I wouldn't recommend going to Geneva for more than say, 2 days. It's kind of like a French city, minus the charm, joie de vivre, and general attractiveness. Seeing that I was there for 3 or 4, one morning I took the train to Lausanne, in a singular pursuit of the Musee Olympique. I was alone in my quest, others were preoccupied with someone or something or God knows what else. And it was, well, it was an interesting morning. A morning I think I'll always remember. Since no one else was there, it's only mine. Well, kind of. You know the feeling when you're so self-reflective, so absorbed in your own thought, it's like you're with another companion? That was what it was like. Can't quite remember why.

That's a brazen lie. I can remember why, but I'm not telling the internet.

Back to the story, I ambled aimlessly down towards Lake Geneva, hoping to run into the museum which I sought, really in no rush to be anywhere.



Eventually, I came across the museum, which you entered through an Olympic Park. I had an album of Olympic fanfares on my iPod, which I listened to. The park had a variety of sculptures, signifying the Olympic spirit, praising the glories of human competition, of peace. It had a very dignified entrance, a repository for the Olympic flame was nearby. I had expected a museum celebrating the glories of games past, which I naively thought would have a distinctive American flair. That was incorrect.

Instead, the museum was a testament to the world, to the universal spirit of camaraderie and competition. I remember feeling a little out of place, I was alone in the midst of many families, almost all speaking foreign tongues. Unlike the British Museum, or the Archaeological Museum in Athens, the Olympic Museum had no specific national agenda. When I think back, this is what made it unique. It celebrated the world, not one nation or another. It seemed to intimate that through the spirit of competition, individual countries created something much greater than themselves. Like a magical sporting wonderland. An unspoken utopia, if only for 2 weeks at a time.

Of course, this utopia is just that, a utopia. Like Tom Paine's cosmopolitan democratic world. But, it's a nice thought. And I think, that's what I needed that day. Pissed off at being stuck in Geneva, wanting to be somewhere, anywhere else. Enraged that my fucking coffee cost 8 fucking dollars. Bored on Christmas, frustrated at more than a few things. Starting to get worn out. Wanting to go back to England.

I've thought about England a lot lately. Maybe it's the cosmopolitan nature of the Olympics. Maybe it's because of an e-mail I got today, something sent out by an acquaintance in the Peace Corps. Wishing I was out adventuring again. I'd kill for a pint of Roaring Meg at The Lion, followed by a quiet walk down Wilkinson Street.

I'm tired. Big week ahead.

Album of the Week: Abbey Road

I've been kind of on a Beatles kick lately, spurred by a chance discovery of "Rubber Soul" and "Magical Mystery Tour" in a half price bookshop. When I showed them to my mom, she asked if I had gotten "Abbey Road" yet. When I replied no, she looked at me with shock and sadness in her eyes, and told me I had better get a hold of it quick. Even she had it. So I took her advice and bought it on Amazon.

Now, I've only listened through the album once so far, so this is a fairly preliminary review. But what really impresses me most is the diversity of musical styles and melodic ideas on this album. It careens from psychadelic to hard rock, whimsy to seriousness, a cliché Beatles sound to things almost otherworldly. I mean, "Come Together" rocks with the best of harder stuff, while "I Want You" almost has a Hendrix-like vibe to it. But flying in the face of all reason, this hodgepodge collection of musical ideas locks in together like a vice in terms of overall musical direction. Not only is there incredible diversity, but it is executed with excellence throughout. Every song, no matter how radical, seems as comfortable and focused as the next. This is truly an album in the purest sense. The second half of the vinyl LP, or like, tracks 11-16 on the CD, is more like a pop/rock suite. The songs meld together, ebb and flow, to create something much greater than the sum of its parts. Really quite stunning, I think. Transfixing even.

Many folks are like how I used to be, liking the Beatles only because as music lovers, you had to like the Beatles. I suppose this summer has kind of been a sort of revelation to me, in that I'm discovering just how incredibly advanced this group was. Damn, still is. This shit is as complex as Beethoven's Ninth, but in a much different way. If any of my enormous readership has not given the Beatles a chance, or is complacent as I once was, or just hasn't explored much, I'd really encourage you to do so. I don't care whether you're into alternative, classical, jazz, Icelandic post-rock, shitty top-40, or whatever. Sometimes you just got to get back to your roots, you know what I'm sayin'? I mean, this is art in its purest sense, art that NEEDS TO BE HEARD. I'm kind of awestruck, that a group can be so incredibly popular and be so damn good at what they do in the meantime. A far cry from some of the popular musicians of today.

I'm now somewhat ashamed to share this, but I will nonetheless. On one of the last of my weekend jaunts down to London when I was in Nottingham (damn I'd kill to be able to do that again), I stayed in a hostel up in Bayswater, just maybe a 10 minute's walk to the crosswalk that John, Paul, George, and Ringo memorably traverse on this album cover. They even gave out directions at the desk to get there. And I did not go. May the gods of rock have mercy upon my soul.

However, when I was in 7th grade, I did don a wig, a white suit, and circular glasses to lip sync to "Here Comes the Sun" as John Lennon. That counts for something, right?

I suck.

Pretty much self explanatory.

Back to this fucking pharmacy.

Wood Panels

My dad moved from Lakeville up to Falcon Heights a few years ago, probably when I was in 11th or 12th grade. I was somewhat resentful at this, resentful that my dad got remarried, resentful that she didn't want to live where we had lived happily ever since I was born. How could she make him leave a home full of memories, a neighborhood filled with old friends, a beautiful yard? As such, I refused to help in the move, considering it my prerogative as a teenager newly full of angst. Needless to say, my room which had been depository of my belongings forever, was simply shoveled into boxes and shipped up to St. Paul, where it was promptly left in my "room" in the basement. Since I never considered this new house to be home, I didn't bother to unpack anything. And as time went on and bitterness faded, I simply didn't want to bother with it.

Considering that I'll be spending a fair amount of my life in this basement during the next three years, I figured it was about time to do something about all this shit.

It's really somewhat shocking, I never knew I had so many Farmington High School academic planners, or obscure music awards. Nor all this Minnesota Twins stuff, though I suppose I should have guessed that. It's just kind of bizarre, shoveling through all this stuff from another era. I ran across some photos of my senior prom and graduation, and was somewhat taken aback. Typically I only see the professional photos that were taken of both events, it's strange to see how slovenly I looked through my dad's candid lens. Why the hell was I wearing Vans with dress khakis at our band banquet? Did I realize I looked like a heroin junkie? So strange to see a girl who, at the time, meant everything to me. Now, she's just like everything else. I have a notebook at my mom's, that I used to use as a sort of journal in mid-high school. Incredibly embarrassing, to be sure, it's full of juvenile pinings for this individual or another and what now seems like pointless angst. Usually about once a year I pull it out just to remember how ridiculous I was. I suppose hindsight is 20-20, but isn't that funny, how something so intense at the time can be looked back on as being so insane? Nothing from back then seems real anymore, but it surely was. I guess I'm just sort of amazed at how different a person I used to be four years ago.

A couple key finds:

Autographed photo of Kirby Puckett (basically my prized possession of middle school)
A bulletin board covered in scouting awards
My 5th grade baseball picture on a Wheaties box
5 Orange Dollars from Farmington Middle School (pretty sure those should have been cashed in say, 9 years ago)
A 6th grade adjective project where Sebastian the Macaw takes a world tour

You get the idea.

It's just funny, I spent most of the summer trying to make my mom's basement presentable, just sort of ignoring the fact that I was going to be spending more time up here. And of course, no one ever came over. Now I'm sitting in a wood paneled time capsule from 8th grade, much closer to where other folks live. Oh well. Life is full of small challenges.

Wow

Last night, I had the unfortunate luck of having to watch about an hour of "American Pie: The Naked Mile."

The plot is really quite stunning actually. Oscar-worthy, I would imagine. It goes something like this. One kid, afraid of graduating high school a virgin, fails to score with his girlfriend and goes to visit his cousin at college on a "guilt free pass" for the weekend. Conveniently, it's the same weekend as the annual "Naked Mile," where, as you might have guessed, everyone runs a mile naked. As expected, the unnamed college is apparently populated solely by hot, large breasted women who have no inhibitions about shedding their clothes and having lots of sex, and beer swilling frat boys who are choking on their own testosterone. Our hero almost scores with a hot sorority girl, then rides a horse (literally) back to his hometown where he declares to his girlfriend that he loves her, and it's not about the sex. They promptly have sex about 15 minutes later, the guy drives back to the college and brags about it to his new pals. In the midst of this, there's a whole lot of drunken revelry and an army of "bad guy" midgets. I think my favourite part was when the two frat boys accidentally took Viagra before the running of the naked mile, then at the bash at the frathouse afterwards, they play ping pong baseball with their boners. Now that's visionary filmmaking.

Seriously, what the fuck? I mean, is this what people think college is actually like? In four years of college, I'm fairly certain I was never at a party where everyone just got naked for the hell of it and screwed around. (I realize naked soccer might parallel this film, but since I never actually witnessed it, it's not factoring into my thought process) Is this what some idiot thinks relationships are really like? That it's a cakewalk to attract a super hot girl and then have sex 10 minutes later? That that's what's central? What the hell is wrong with these people?

I don't know, the sex was so absolutely gratuitous, the humour so unbelievably tasteless, I couldn't really handle it. It was obviously made for people with the I.Q. of a hammer. And I mean, I feel I can handle crude humour with the best of them. I think most of the stuff Judd Apatow has put out is hilarious (40 Year Old Virgin, Knocked Up, etc.). But seriously? Playing ring toss with your erect penis? Give me a fucking break. The only way it could have been worse is if I was watching it in an IHOP and there was a scene involving ESPN giving sexual favours to the Red Sox, Yankees, and Dodgers (which happens nightly on "Baseball Tonight").

This story by The Onion is just really funny I think. I also like the bit about Al Gore placing his infant son in a rocket to escape the dying Earth.

I wish I had something more interesting to talk about. Something with some sort of oomph, but I'm afraid I've been a bit humdrum lately. The daily routine of my life has lately been kind of crushing, like there's no respite. I work at a job I don't really enjoy, go home, listen to some music, watch the Twins highlights, wish I was with people, rinse, repeat. Get angry when people who claim to understand me really don't, or they wouldn't be making me watch shit like I explained above. It's right about time to start doing something meaningful again.