Rehashing Regimental Regalia

With the inception of the '07-'08 NHL season so recently upon us I've been neck-deeping myself in hockey as of late. With this new season is also ushered in a new epoch of sweaterdom. This has prompted some teams to make logo changes as well. Some are good - yay Washington...relegate teal to ridiculous football teams - some bad - boo San Jose...relegate orange to ridiculous football teams.

In the spirit of this renewed sense of frockery I encourage all who have never seen it, to bask in the glory of The Sweater.

rock.
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See Also: Beck - Mellow Gold, Track 1

Sweet effin' cee. You know you've reached the all-time low rung on society's ladder when you have been legally declared less-fit-to-be-a-parent than Kevin Federline. Oh, and I think other things happened today...

rock.
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Six Degrees of Expatriation

So let's take a second and give nod to Matching Tie and Handkerchief by playing a little news-cycle word association football.

Let's start with a random story from our neighbors to the north - Canadian sex toy parties are on the rise! (There's apparently a reason the CFL featured both the Rough Riders and the Roughriders!) From there we launch to another kind of party...the Cuddle Party!

At a Cuddle Party, erections become Mother Nature's way of giving us the thumbs-up sign. Nothing's wrong. Nothing's dirty. Nothing's suspect. And as long as you're not dry humping anyone (Rule #7), it's completely okay. Really.

-cuddleparty.com's FAQ section on erection

It's through cuddleparty.com we quickly make our way to an article on CNN.com about Public Displays of Affection (PDAs) - the site is referenced in the article. The most delightful bit of this piece is a quote from Charles Purdy, an etiquette columnist, who says:

Assuming that one half of the couple isn't leaving for a two-year deep-space mission, I'll say that any PDA beyond the hand-holding, arm-around-the-waist, closed-mouth-kiss type is out of order.

So apparently astronauts at cuddle parties are given a free pass. Nice. This article features a bit about Dicky Gere and his virtual live-sex show when he planted a big fatty on the cheek of Bollywood starlet Shilpa Shetty. Long story short, India flipped out...big time! No slobber-knockin' on the sub-continent...at least in the outdoors. For you see if we venture on a bit we find out that India is a veritable porn-cliche unto themselves. A sultry school marm, or perhaps a latently lustful librarian. It turns out that prudie India is poised to take the reigns as the most populous nation in the world. To quote Kenny O'Dell's Behind Closed Doors

'Cause when we get behind closed doors
Then she lets her hair hang down
And she makes me glad that I'm a man
Oh, no-one knows what goes on behind closed doors
Behind closed doors.

Or, to quote Sean Waltman, "Suck it, Chyna[sic]!"

But fear not, dear American readerate, for the US shant be outshined! For as we speak, babies is bustin' out all over Denver - a bi-product of Ol' Man Winter's benumbing tempest which ravaged the mile high metropolis about 9 months ago. Boo-yah! Welcome to Babytown; population: logarithmically exponential! And from this expansion in denizenry through parturition (aka Birth in a Nation), we segue into the newest means by which we fuel the fires of American Plutocracy, I mean Democracy: a new nationalization test! Yay! As a concerned citizen, I also feel that it is my duty to report according to CNN.com's simulated test I could indeed be naturalized if it weren't for my jus soli/sanguinis status. For those of you who found difficulty with this - here are the answers to the tests for becoming an American citizen: both old and new. And here is a crazy banana.

rock.
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Money Talks, Orphans Stutter

So among other things, I've been reading a lot recently about advertising to children - in terms of both the ethical issues as well as the approaches taken. While staring into the dubious abyss that is Kidscreen Magazine I came across this wacky little cartoon from June of '07:Awesome.

Also feel free to peruse one of the reasons that universities have Institutional Review Boards - Wendell Johnson's 1939 stuttering research, affectionately dubbed the Monster Study. A study that sparked a court battle that was just recently settled.

rock.
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Der Uber Autobahn

I recently decided to venture into the realm of Buckaroo Bonzai, a delightfully cultish cinematic experience from days gone by. One of the major plot points involves traveling through a mountain via the use of The Oscillation Overthruster. Essentially this is what two supra-adequately named germane German scientists, Günter Nimtz and Alfons Stahlhofen (from the University of Koblenz! Koblenz! That's twice within the span of a gee-dee month! Sweet effin' see! El em en oh pee!), purportedly accomplished recently...more or less (I mean check out the balls-out-wicked to-scale diagram! Science in action, Jackson!). If you're so inclined, you can gator-wrestle with the full-board scientific scrawlings. Or take a peek at some other potentialities for quantum livin'. And if you want to read more on this here science crap check out Alan Boyle's garbanzory of scientificalities.

Or just get straight up fuckin' freaked out by a baby vampire puppet. Whatev'.

rock.
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G-funk: Where Rhythm is Life and Life is Rhythm

I was out and about in a local purveyor of media media, as in entertainment in more than one medium, where I began to wander through the CD section. I chanced upon Art Garfunkel's latest attempt at avoiding a 9 to 5. Now whether or not the album is even any good matters not to me, although I will say this; while Artie-baby may have the chops to carry a tune, I equate his solo vocalizings to a lone man riding a tandem bicycle- it can be done, but why?

No, my major concern was more cover-centric, primarily in the fact that as a hexagenarian he's still got the same doof-wad haircut, or lack thereof, as he did forty years ago. Far be it from me to tell a grown man to get a haircut, but when you're shooting for this rat-packish urbane look...the waning Gar'fro has to go.

A. Garf's own website is even more depressing, a veritable ego buttress; a stanchion to try to combat decades of overshadowing by a man much shorter in stature then he. Plus the fact that the site is genuinely corny. At one point it cites the A-bomb's opinings, "In this nervous world I want to soothe." And then displays a labyrinthian wisdom when our boy placates the masses and answers the burning question everyone wants to know, but is too afraid to ask...

Do you ever play Sudoku and do you find it difficult or easy?
(Submitted by Marcia from Ireland)

• Don't play.

Oh snap! You read it here first, Artie G and the Sudoku go together like guerrillas and gorillas...they're homophonous! Wait, what?!?

rock.
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Gamboling

So I was on the internet machine reading about Fidel Castro's advice for the Democratic party when what do I happen to see as a story headline? Man loses top of his head in brain operation. I'm sorry, what? It turns out that the Maytag repair man hasn't been to the Rhineland since the Treaty of Westphalia (I realize the historical inaccuracy there, but you try coming up with something about Koblenz!). Oh well, at least Man is getting a more comfortable plastic skull.

Other bits of note - The Maldive Shark, by Herman Melville: Where else will you encounter the phrase his charnel of maw? Effing delish!

And speaking of finding things delicious, don't forget to find out how fat your state/kids are!

rock.
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Underwhelmed by Overlappings

So despite all the recent activity swirling around Kookie Ookie, I'm more focused on the virtual ven diagram of news surrounding China and the FDA. So China just got caught with their lead painted squarepants around their ankles. The FDA just approved a pretty strong antipsychotic for kids 'n teens. And just where do they meet? Counterfeit toothpaste.

Can you say Nord-tastic?

rock.
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A Typical Saturday

People often ask me why I am the way I am. I really have no definitive answer for them, but I thought perhaps if you took a look at how I've spent the "online" portion of my Saturday.
Reading about traumatic brain injury(T.B.I.), including the following de-luscious excerpts:

-First, defining T.B.I.

Traumatic brain injury is an insult to the brain...

-In reference to Coup-Contrecoup Injury,

This occurs when the force impacting the head is not only great enough to cause a contusion at the site of impact, but also is able to move the brain and cause it to slam into the opposite side of the skull, which causes the additional contusion.

I also read up on B.E.A.R.- the Battlefield Extraction-Assist Robot. Took a peek at Sims Zealot - The Fundamentalist Expansion Pack.

And then after coming across a RollingStone.com mentioning of the current state of RATM, I decided to access some politically dissident readings online (thanks in part to the wayback machine!)

V.I. Lennin - The State and Revolution
Noam Chomsky - What Uncle Sam Really Wants
Ernesto "Che" Guevara - Guerrilla Warfare
Abbie Hoffman - Steal This Book

Recently I obtained the tools with which to brew my own sudsy delights, but am currently in a state where a career shift has resulted in a bevy of new at-work learning/preparation to be completed. This being the case, since I can't set aside the time to read up on Water Chemistry Adjustment for Extract Brewing or Determining Bicarbonate Additions to Raise the Mash pH, I thought I'd just stumble around and nibble on beery tidbits.

So there you have it.

rock.
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Open Access to Wail on Cherry Axes

So the verdict is in and open-access is sort of the phrase that pays. Whomever wins the 22 MHz of the soon to be auctioned off broadcast spectrum will not only have to allow users to connect with any device or software, but will not be able to slow down the connection speed of competitors. A 10 MHz chunk will also be sold to a non-profit for emergency broadcast usage. In fact it basically seems that other than the wholesale-type commercial leases to third-party providers, Google basically got what they wanted. There is a little grandfathering though, but whatever. All and all, Chairman K-Mart and the Effin' Cool Club did right by America.

rock.
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Bizarre Foot Dragging

An update to my previous post There Are no Strings on me.

What? A crazy delay? Didn't see that one coming. S'okay, Kev-o thinks better with a full tummy. Pity he isn't Team Kevin Martin.

rock.
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There Are no Strings on me!

What could be a monumental decision in the realm of modern communications will, barring any sort of bizarre foot-dragging, be made by the end of today. To preface, the 700 MHz broadcast frequency (yes, the same frequency that our modern little TV sets use) will soon be going up for auction as broadcasters make the push into HD. Google has promised to make a $4.6 billion bid as long as the FCC makes a few to mandate a few rules in this game (this excerpt and a nice little summary can be found at The Machinist):

1) Firms that win 700 MHz space must let customers download and use any software on the network; 2) they must let customers use any device on the network; 3) they've got to lease wireless space to third-party wireless providers at commercial rates; 4) and they've got to allow their wireless networks to interconnect with other Internet service providers.

The end result of Google (and a few other tech companies/public interest groups) getting their way would be more wireless competition due to increased open-access. Let's just hope FCC Chairman Kevie-bear Martin doesn't fall sway to the Mephistophelian whispers of the The Greenback Gang.

rock.
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Peddle Powered Cheat Machines

Here's a thought...why doesn't cycling just make doping mandatory to the point of psychotically morbid and turn each race into a literal survival match; an unnatural selection, if you will. At this point you've got a shorter list of those who aren't cheating. An excerpt from a fun little SI.com article that touches on the recent events.

German rider Patrick Sinkewitz crashed into a spectator then was revealed to have failed a drug test in training before the race began.

Then on Tuesday, star cyclist Alexandre Vinokourov was sent home after testing positive for a banned blood transfusion, and his team pulled out of the race. Wednesday, it happened again when the Cofidis squad confirmed its rider Cristian Moreni of Italy had failed a doping test, prompted the withdrawal of the entire squad.

Wednesday also saw the departure of of Michael Rasmussen, another stage leader, for violating team drug test policies. Of course the other option is to just let Mike "Ookie" Vick, aka Ron Mexico, just deal with the participants that fail to perform.

rock.
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Pistol Grip Pump on my Lap at All Times

If you don't own at least a dozen Rocket Fishing Rods by the end of the month then Al Qaeda wins.

rock.
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Preposterous Patriarchal Powder Pull

If you haven't heard by now Keith Richards is the most fantastic person ever, literally. In a recent interview with NME Richards describes his experiences with strychnine laced dope and and snorting his father's cremated ashes.

I snorted my father. He was cremated and I couldn't resist grinding him up with a little bit of blow. My dad wouldn't have cared, he didn't give a shit.
It went down pretty well, and I'm still alive.

That was yesterday, today Keith got even more radicalicious when he made the claim that the whole thing got blown out of proportion by "media slant" and he was actually trying to tell a story of how he used his father's ashes to grow "a sturdy English Oak". Fantastic.

rock.
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The B-lo Down

Well the results are in, Buffalo is the cryinest sports town ever. The Sabres bring tears of joy while the Bills, tears of pain. The Buffalo Silverbacks, however, confuse everyone to tears with their baffling multi-zoological referencing name/logo.

The Silverback, native to only the Western New York Region, is the most ferocious of the “tiger” family.

-Silverbacks website

What the hell?

rock.
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A Cross Promulgation Re: Cross-Marketing

At first I wasn't going to write anything, just make a snarky comment or two while watching tv (as I am oft prone to do) however with the ceaseless and inescapable barrage of a particular advertisement I feel as though it is my civic duty to take some sort of action...for the sake of the children.

No doubt that you have by now seen Burger King's new commercial "The Rut Cracker Suite" where The King sends forth his baryshnikovian shock troopers on an unwitting snack machine patron. The ladies render Joey Vends-too-much snackless and proceed to enchant and ensare him with their dollar bill encrusted tutus and terpsichorean delights. Our captivated protagonist is then sent before his royal creepiness to choose a newer, more "flame broiled" temptation; a snack to lift this poor hungry fellow out of his everyday doldrums and instead catapult him headlong to a magical land of platinum-electroplated dreams and nougat-filled wishes. But then the viewing public is blindsided by a cross promotional twist that sends the commercial suddenly careening into uncharted fast food territories.

It seems that the BK brass have decided to allow The King to plug his escort service as one of the ballerinas thrusts her hands into the unwitting gourmand's trouser pockets. She proceeds to fish around for a few seconds before a quick cut away to her finishing her hand-jive and then retrieving a single dollar from the man's front pocket. It should be noted that just before we leave our "dancer" she appears to just be getting warmed up for a marathon game of "pool" and yet after the cut away it would appear as though the eightball has just been sunk into the final pocket. And with that our tale comes to a close as the girls float away ebulliently and Johnny Snacks-a-lot, still perched in front of Daddy Sweet King, mindlessly masticates with a shit-eating grin emblazoned across his physiognomical region.

Talk about having it your way...damn! I only mention this because it seems as though the general public is in no way surprised or even mildly grossed out by this bizarre display of The Kings unmitigated powers. Am I seriously alone in not thinking that this was delightfully cute? And does that mean that I'm the only one who was freaked out when Pizza Hut and Verizon unveiled their stupid buy-a-pizza-encircled-with-cheese-goiters-get-a-cell-phone deal? Are we really that desensitized/unaware/passive/oblivious/moronic that the general population is willing to cry out "Dude, whatever sort of dumptruck idea you can concoct we will not only accept it, but support it with everything green in our wallets!"? That makes me a sad panda. This however, does not.

rock.
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Icing on an Already Tasty Cake

There are times in life when things get good and then on closer inspection they end up out of this world good. For example, the CBA is expanding into Atlanta and the new team was slated to be called the Atlanta Krunk. That's pretty effin' crackerjack if you ask me. But wait, it turns out the team decided to pay homage to a fallen athletics program by renaming the team the Atlanta Krunk Wolverines. I'm sorry what...did you just say the Krunk Wolverines? Yes disembodied italicized voice, yes I did.
Now if ever there were a sports team name to be afraid of it would be a Krunk Wolverine. A wolverine is a pretty ruinous animal when it's just idling at 400 cph (casualties per hour). When the damn thing gets pissed off you've got yourself a 3-foot WMD...but krunk (I'm assuming this is an alternate spelling for 'crunk')? Can anyone really fathom the unbridled wrecking power that would radiate from such a creature? I think not. The devil himself dare not dream of such a beast for fear it might come into existence! Beware Albany Patroons! Krunk Wolverines are known for their insouciance towards the legalities of purlieus in New Netherland!
Needless to say, I'm eagerly awaiting the unveiling of team merchandise. In the meantime I've been content to revel in the new look of the Milwaukee Admirals and the A-1 super status of my beloved Sabres.

rock.
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Homophonous Nostalgia

I think few people take the time to enjoy the fact that entire sentences can be created by just using the word "Buffalo" at least once. The most famous example was from William Rapaport, who concocted the phrase

Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.

Outstanding.

rock.
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C.R.E.A.M. Get the Money

Last Friday crazy-like-a-fox bastard and generally silly English kuh-nig-it Dick C. Nick Branson announced that he's the un-ne'er-do-wellest to date. The Virgin Earth Challenge is Branson's newest philanthropic venture, promising what Sir Ricky B. is citing as an unparalleled recompense. The winner of this contest will be awarded $25 million for demonstrating, to the judges' satisfaction:

"a commercially viable design which results in the removal of anthropogenic, atmospheric greenhouse gases so as to contribute materially to the stability of Earth’s climate."

There is a slight catch, once you can successfully please the panel of judges (including such smoldering sexpots as Al Gore, of Al Gore and the Funky Bunch, and James Lovelock, papa of the Gaia Theory, which is in no way affiliated with Captain Planet) then you're entitled to $5 million bucks, with the other $20m coming after the design successfully kicks greenhouse gases in the teeth for 10 consecutive years.
Branson, the dyslexic nutjob entrepreneur best known for his contributions to the music industry and riding around in a hot air balloon, also decided to toss a crapload of money at the Ansari X PRIZE winning SpaceShipOne to start up Virgin Galactic.
Segueing delightfully to the X PRIZE foundation, the current contest is for the Archon PRIZE in genomics - a $10 million dollar purse for the first entrant who successfully sequences 100 human genomes in 10 days. But the real kicker is the contest that is still in development; the Automotive X PRIZE for a super freakin' efficient bit of mobilery. Also very similar is the Hydrogen 500, an on-track race for cars powered by hydrogen electric fuel cells. Pretty gee-dee nifty if you ask me.
Actually, I've been (drunkenly) ranting about the need to get NASCAR more involved in the development of alternatively powered autos for quite some time now. I mean seriously, the country's in a war over oil, on the cusp of another troop surge and yet there is this glorious insistence to expand the motorsports industry? Whatever happened to buying war bonds and recycling pantyhose? Fuck you, pussy! If I can't watch Jr. run some asshole into a wall at 200 miles-an-hour then goddamn Al-Qaeda wins. Shoot.
T'ain't nothing like watching cars drive in a circle several hundred times, yee-haw! We piss away millions of gallons of gasoline every year, and that's not even factoring in for all of the amateur racing that goes on across the US. But I digress. You see, if there is one thing that I've managed to learn, it's that life would be infinitely more excellent if only Charles were once again in charge.

rock.
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Canadian Gregorian Menology

It's finally happened. All my dreams came to fruition when I managed to stumble on the first truly Y3K compliant device. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
I spent Tuesday evening at a hockey game at Phillips arena. While there I heard the Stompin' Tom Connors "hit" The Hockey Song. For those of you unaware (i.e. virtually everyone outside of Canada) Stompin' Tom is a country/folk singer who is fiercely jingoistic when it comes to the Canadian music industry...I dunno, whatever floats your boat I guess. Anywho, this song, a real Stompin' Tom classic, is sort of the hockey equivalent of Take Me Out to the Ball Game, but nowhere near as popular...or even as good. I guess it reminds me of a poor man's version of Big Rock Candy Mountain, but about hockey instead of fanciful tongue-in-cheek hobo gambolings.
Upon doing a little research into the song and its auteur, I came across this gem of an invention. Now I must say, if there is anything appreciated here at "the ung" more than irony, it's innovation. From Eli Whitney's cotton gin to Brad Neely's Wizard People, Dear Readers...well you get the point. But let me just say this friend, Stompin' Tom, Canada's favorite euphoniously militant son, has managed to transcend his trubadorian status and donned the cap of a true Renaissance man.

rock.
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Note to Self: Consult Spaceman Spiff

So, as previously posted, NASA's got plans to build a big fat moon shack in the next score, not to be confused with a baker’s score. In the spirit of this I did a bunch of "research" (booze + typing = research) relating to the topic of moon life & lunar bases. But then I was interrupted by life and had to back-burner my little foray into interstellar hogwash. Well, daddy caught a break and penciled a little time into his date book for stupidity. In the words of Neil Innes, “Ladies and gentlemen I’ve suffered for my art long enough, now it’s your turn.”

So, as many people know, this recent plan for lunar denizenry is far from the first. In fact the US has planned on getting to and utilizing the moon in more ways than should be legally allowed. Some plans have included using the moon as the ultimate military high ground (Betcha’ didn’t see that one comin’ Sun Tzu, you wacky bastard!), or detonating a nuke on the surface just for shits and giggles. Awesome. But the real question that NASA and the global space community needs to be asking themselves is are we going to be arriving on an empty rock?

While it may be a satellite of the Earth, is the moon really the Earth’s satellite? Or has it been annexed by another species, and if so does that make our astronauts illegal aliens? What about Dennis Hope, the man who laid claim to the moon in 1980 and has been selling property rights ever since. And is anyone prepared for the possibility of engaging with a contingent of space-Nazis (that’s right, space-Nazis)? Luckily this is slated to be an international effort, so we can hopefully muster up a little Allied reunion if need be.

Speaking of which, just how excited is the international community about this? Alain Berinstain, the Canadian Space Agency's director of planetary exploration and space astronomy (as opposed to the widely popular undersea astronomy) proudly declared "Why not!" when asked if a Canadian could take part in the international effort. Oh, Canada! People may not realize that the Ruskies had a few plans for a moon base in their bag of tricks…if only they could have figured out that whole landing on the moon thing. Apparently the Chinese have also considered going the whole moon base route, but it seems they’re a bit off of the time table of regular moon trips by 2005.

Anyway you slice it the moon is a crazy place that rouses curiosity, conviction, and conspiracy; but at least you can still get work there.

rock.
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Can the Cavalcade of Cockamamie Conduct Continue?

Am I the only one who seems to think that it’s totally weird that Michael Vick used a little Aquafina "diversion safe" to transport some pot-scented fish food? I mean, don’t get me wrong, if the Miami-Dade police say he’s totally legal then who am I to argue. My only hope is that the NFL, and more importantly the Falcons decide to take some sort of serious recourse. Last time little Ronnie Mexico decided it was time for some off-field action he thought it prudent to brandish his dirty birds to the Georgia Domers and was hit with a total fine of $20,000 - 10 to the league and a mandated 10 to charity. Atlanta Hawks forward Josh Smith just got hit with a $25,000 fine for the same thing this past Saturday; a slightly larger fine on a guy with a substantially smaller salary. In fact this year Smith stands to make just under $1.5 million making the fine about a sixth of his salaried earnings. Vick stands to pull in a comparable amount ($1.4 million base salary) however he’s also earning an additional $7 million in bonuses this year. Suddenly it’s not such a big fine. Lesson learned? Apparently not. So now it’s time to see if fresh face Bobby P. can offer a little redirection to Atlanta’s favorite coach killer.

rock.
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Maybe They Just Like Burl Ives

Has it been seen and discussed before...yes. Do I care? No. Why? Because it's just effin' bad-ical. Vampire watermelons. If ever there were a reason to become a gypsy it's because of the concept of a vampire watermelon.

The belief in vampire fruit is similar to the belief that any inanimate object left outside during the night of a full moon will become a vampire. According to tradition, watermelons or any kind of pumpkin kept more than ten days or after Christmas will become a vampire, rolling around on the ground and growling to pester the living. People have little fear of the vampire pumpkins and melons because of the creatures' lack of teeth. One of the main indications that a pumpkin or melon is about to undergo a vampiric transformation (or has just completed one) is said to be the appearance of a drop of blood on its skin.

That is an amazingly choice passage...select even. In fact, according to the Journal of the Gypsy Lore Society (now published as Romani Studies) this phenomenon happens in pumpkins as well and after the aforementioned 10-day grace period and vampirism is attained "then the gathered pumpkins stir all by themselves and make a sound like 'brrrl, brrrl, brrrl!' and begin to shake themselves."

All is once again right in my world.

rock.
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I have a dream...

Hey everybody, let's make Monday, January 15th really special by honoring an amzing person who has made such a profound impact on lives everywhere...Warren Beatty. Aww heck, let's just make the whole day about stroking actor egos...I just hope none of this Morton King festival stuff takes away from television's Golden Globe coverage!

rock.
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Resolution: Elucidation Dispensation

Holy crap it's been a while since I've gotten to pollute the internet machine with more nonsense. My choice in careers has led me to live a life of extreme busitude (that's like being really busy, but with a dash of sass) as of late. Anyway, the end result is me not getting to play on the internet for quite some time. Sadness. And with the recent holiday onslaught I've logged a heapin' helpin' of mid-air man hours. But never fear, faithful readers (all none of you) there is a glimmer of hope on the horizon! It would appear that Lady Luck, the fickle bitch-goddess taskmaster of life, has shifted her attitude for the latitude of my platitude. And just as sure as Don Knotts can save orphan gold, I can continue to provide "quality" infotainment to the world at large.

rock.
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