Father Knows Best I always wanted a father like the fathers on TV: Ward Cleaver, Mike Brady. I wanted a father who wore a tie and carried a briefcase and went to the office. I wanted a father who called "family meetings" and talked to me "man-to-man." But my old man was different. He came home at five fifteen with sawdust in his hair. By five twenty-five he was asleep. At five forty-five I'd wake him. He'd take off his coveralls and we'd eat. His hands were greasy and tipped with thick yellow nails. They looked like a mass of molten black iron and glass: something found in the ruins of a burnt house. In spite of all this, I tried to act like a TV kid. "Did you bring me anything?" I'd ask. He looked at me as if I were naked. It occurred to me one day, "Charles Ingalls works with his hands. Maybe he can be like Charles Ingalls." "That jackass," my old man said. I stopped my dreaming one Sunday when my old man called from the basement. "Hey junior," he said. "Come down here and help me with this." He had built this weird looking thing out of a lantern battery, a black metal cylinder, and a mass of copper wire. The whole thing was mounted on a sheet of plywood. "Here, hold this wire," he told me. I did. What did I know? I was ten. He picked up another wire and grabbed my free hand. The shock hit me like a medicine ball. Before the electricity left my body, I started to imagine the potential this new toy held. Almost immediately, I was calling for my brother, my mom, the cat. I wanted to shock the world. Put the fear of Frankenstein into every man and beast. Most of all, I wanted to jold Ward Cleaver, Mike Brady, Charles Ingalls. "That jackass," my old man said.
I think I will post some more of these in the coming days. I do remember this one, since it is a true story, but there are so many that are completely new to me, as if they were written by someone else. This is fun.
-------- TITLE: Change is coming. AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 2/16/2005 03:44:00 PM ----- BODY:
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TITLE: Speculative Bullshit
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/15/2005 02:20:00 PM
-----
BODY:
"I'm sorry," the drunk guy at the bar said to his friends as the Kid Rock song came on the jukebox for the second, perhaps third time that night. "I just love this song so much. I can't help it." Then he stared off into space with a look of sheer ecstacy on his face as Kid Rock did whatever it is that Kid Rock does.
This really struck me, because I think Kid Rock is pretty stupid. I started to think about how even though he does nothing for me, people obviously like something about him, because they consume his albums like crazy. The same goes for so many others.
I've come to the conclusion that a person's chances of liking a particular song or not depend on two things: 1) the person's life experience, and 2) the person's previous exposure to, and appreciation of, other songs up until that very point in time. The variables and elements in this equation are too complex to pin down, exactly. I ask myself, why do I love Gary Jules' cover of the Tears for Fears song, "Mad World" so much? Part of it has to do with the excellent movie Donnie Darko (the Director's Cut was released today on DVD--mine is on the way!) and the scene at the end where that song appears. But I'd go nuts over the song anyway. Why? I have no idea.
I want to make a mix CD consisting of songs that completely grabbed me the first time I heard them, and continue to grab me throughout the years. Hm. This sounds like fun.
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TITLE: El Weekendo
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/14/2005 12:13:00 AM
-----
BODY:
Here is the post where I'm supposed to brag about what a great weekend I had, all the stuff I did, yadda yadda yadda.
My god did it kick ass. Still, I don't really feel like writing about it, because words can't do it justice.
Video, however, can describe it very well. It pretty much went a lot like this. [WMV, 283Kb]
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TITLE: Yippee Skippee
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/10/2005 06:15:49 PM
-----
BODY:
Man, am I ever gleeful today. Today is the first day in my four-day/three-night vacation, which I began last night when I got off work a full two hours early and went immediately to sleep after coming home. I sprang out of bed at the bright and early hour of 10am, and I've been tossing back the caffiene and slacking about ever since.
One of the things I impulsively did today was to wander into Central Sales. I love that store. I don't think I've ever purchased anything there, but holy crap they have a lot of crap there, and luckily I had my camera in tow. Check my Flickr photostream, man. Cherubs playing basketball. 'Nuff said.
In case you missed the 
I have no idea when and if this will run in print, since The Ripsaw is having a little trouble at the moment.
What I want to know is, when writing this story, why did the Trib decide to interview the publishers of Milk, a zine that has no advertisments and has had only one issue? Does the paper really place The Ripsaw in that category? Is all alternative media the same thing? At what level do the two publications compete?
And why not mention The Wave?
I'm so inquisitive.
--------
TITLE: Lately, I've been drawing these.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/08/2005 05:54:34 PM
-----
BODY:
Excuse the blurriness. I'm learning this new image program.
--------
TITLE: Superior Insomnia
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/08/2005 04:56:41 AM
-----
BODY:
On Sunday morning I woke up at an ungodly hour and couldn't get back to sleep. So naturally, I wandered the streets of downtown Superior, Wisconsin.
Like most Duluthians, I rarely see Suptown in the light of day. Or sober for that matter.
Here is the obligatory video. [WMV, 4Mb]
Sweet, gentle lord. Look what we've done to this city.
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TITLE: Horrifying.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/05/2005 04:31:55 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: Death from above ... and below.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/04/2005 06:04:31 AM
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BODY:
Ok. First things first: I almost got killed.
So I'm standing in my kitchen, kind of groggy because I haven't been awake for very long. I'm sipping some good coffee, waiting for a friend to pick me up, peering out my side door now and then. I can't actually leave the house that way at this time of year, because the steps are trecherous. But the window is convenient to peer out of. It's warm outside, so I think for a second about hanging out on the side deck to wait, but for some reason I decide against it.
Just then, there is a sound like the world is ending. The house literally shakes, and I go immediately into panic mode because ... well, what IS this? An earthquake? I'm darting around in circles not knowing what to do.
It takes a few seconds for me to realize what has happened: the gigantic ice dam on the roof has slid off onto the deck where I was just going to stand. Not only that, but a lot of it has also slid across the deck and down the stairs, since the whole works is glazed with ice. We're talking a whole effing lot of ice here, folks. Ice that almost decapitated me, or at the least, knocked me down the ice-glazed, ladder-like staircase.
I'm sure my new neighbors heard it and thought, what the hell is that guy upstairs doing? Yeah, that's right, I have new neighbors living downstairs -- the landlord actually rented the place out immediately after the remodeling was done, which is outrageous considering the inflated price he was asking. Maybe they talked him down, I don't know. I haven't even laid eyes on the people, and didn't even know there was anyone living there until the landlord called yesterday and said, "Uh, there are people living downstairs now. Why don't you limit the shoes you leave in the front hall to like, three pairs."
I suppose they're good neighbors, since I didn't even hear them move in and haven't heard anything more from them than an occasional door closing. The trouble is, they smoke, and now the whole place reeks like cigarettes.
It's really weird. I've been living here without neighbors for a year and a half; most of that time, I've lived completely alone. Now suddenly there are these strange people living here with me.
I don't like entering into relationships that I haven't chosen. You chose the people you want to have as friends, and hang around them only when you want to. You chose your romantic partner, too. But when you rent, you normally have no power over who lives next to you or beneath you. Fate has chosen what kind of person has sex four feet from where you eat breakfast.
You don't choose your family, either, but that's a lot different. I'm reminded of this Kurt Vonnegut novel, Slapstick, which is about a set of genius twins who are so smart that they discover as toddlers that their lives will turn out much better if they pretend to be drooling idiots who can't even feed themselves.
Anyway, these twins invent all kinds of things that make the world better, and one of their ideas is a smashing success. One of the twins becomes president, and has everyone in the US assigned a random middle name. After that, everyone who has the same middle name is officially related according to the government, so now everyone has a large extended family that they can call upon wherever they go.
Someone brings up a good point. What if people keep coming to you and making demands on you, and they're crazy? Or what if you just don't want to help them? The president simply points out that these people are family, and under such circumstances you should do what people in traditional families do: "Tell them to take a flying fuck at a rolling donut. Tell them to take a flying fuck at the MOOOOOOOON!"
So all I'm saying is, I'd be a lot happier in this situation if my neighbors would go on the patch. And I'd be a lot happier in general if I could reserve my flying-fuck rights as well.
--------
TITLE: I blog in a circle of light.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/02/2005 05:48:47 AM
-----
BODY:
Literally. I have almost always done this. I sit in the computer room/office/man-den, and the only light in the room comes from the screen. It's as if the rest of the room, or even the world, doesn't exist and whatever I am typing is confidential, just between me and the blog, with no one else involved. I suppose it's the same concept as the psychiatrist's couch.
Somewhere off to my left is a cup of tea. The optical mouse has a faint red glow to my right. Everything else is dark, especially after I've been staring at the bright screen for awhile. Eventually the room ceases to exist and I become the Internet. This is when the magic happens, for me at least.
Now and then, however, I'm forced to turn on the big overhead light or enter this room during the day. It is at these times when I look around the room, my eyes exploring all the random objects, and realize that this room is a total fucken pigsty.
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TITLE: Faster than your cousin Wendy after a couple of Jello shots
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/01/2005 07:44:25 PM
-----
BODY:
So, what happened was, after I got my big cable upgrade, my Internet connection didn't seem fast enough. Not that it was slow. It just wasn't the lightning-speed connection I was promised. As is my wont, I delayed any kind of complaint. I just wasn't ready to hear the inevitable: That's as fast as it gets, hon.
Anyway, this morning I called the demon cable company and complained. The woman who answered was all like, "Did you do blah blah blah?" And I was like, "No." And she was like, "Well, you do bliddy blip, and I'm gonna skip dee skizzy do, and we'll see if that works."
Long story short, my connection is now so fricken fast I have to wear a seat belt. I'm searching for all kinds of junk to download now, just so I can watch the green progress bar zip from left to right. God bless Starfire for continuing to vlog, is all I have to say.
--------
TITLE: How it works
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/01/2005 06:15:44 AM
-----
BODY:
At risk of belaboring a point, here are some things I've learned during my vampiric winter:
- When you sleep in the day, it's really difficult to keep track of time. I think that the variations in light during the day help us remember which day is which and what happened when. In other words, if Tuesday is cloudy and Saturday is really sunny, it's easier to hold those days individually in your mind than if you always are asleep during sunlight hours. Nights always look the same, unless you're really into stargazing or something. When you combine this with the fact that I work six days a week, I really can't keep track of time at all. Ask me what I did on the weekend, and I'm like, "Uh. Um. When was the weekened again? Oh. Uh. OK."
- There is a strange sleep/wake window at certain times of the day. In other words, if you stay awake until it's fully daytime, like after 9:30am or so, your body then believes that it is DAYTIME, and you should NOT BE SLEEPING. Likewise, if you sleep past dusk, it becomes very difficult to get up even if you've had 10 hours of sleep. Sometime I'd like to do an experiment where I wake up at 6pm, then just allow myself to go back to sleep and see how many hours I can remain unconcious. I suspect it's around 14.
- Lately, I've been experiencing something I like to call "Daylight Cravings Time." It works like this. I go to sleep at my normal time, around 7-8am. I wake up around 9-10am, and I am WIDE AWAKE. I feel fully rested and ready to start my day. I force myself to go back to sleep only to wake up again, feeling wide awake again, around noon. After some struggle, I go to sleep again, then wake up in the late afternoon with daylight either gone entirely or rapidly waning, and I feel like I haven't slept at all. I'm tired all night until dawn approaches, at which time I am filled with energy.
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TITLE: Sometimes, bodies are gross
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/31/2005 06:30:17 AM
-----
BODY:
So a mere 12 hours after I get into a conversation about whether or not men can, in fact, breastfeed, good ol' cable TV comes to the rescue with the Discovery Health program, Men With Breasts. Yes, it turns out. Some men under some circumstances can indeed lactate.
Discovery Health is the weirdest fricken channel on the dial by far. Tonight, for example, there's a big double feature: You Swallowed What? followed by When Surgical Tools Get Left Behind.
No wonder I can't sleep.
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TITLE: The latest obsession.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/30/2005 09:57:27 AM
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BODY:
I am completely hooked on podcasts. Completely. Obsessed. Hooked. Infatuated.
If you're unfamiliar, here's the skinny: Invented by former MTV VJ Adam Curry, podcasts are basically radio shows recorded at home by amateurs and posted on the Internet, blog-style. You can go to each site and individually download each podcast and listen to it on your computer, but the best way to listen to them is to get an aggregator such as iPodder, which automatically downloads all of your favorite podcasts for you whenever it's convenient. I set mine to do it while I'm sleeping. I wake up, update my iPod, and now I have hours of shows to take with me.
See, I am the ultimate podcast audience, since I listen to headphones for 5-7 hours a day, 6 days a week. I'm always needing new content, and podcasting provides it for me, with no financial or time investment on my part.
Anyway. Here are some of the podcasts I've been listening to. I'll probably end up posting more in the future.
The Dawn & Drew Show (website | feed)
The A-1, most popular podcast in the world, with good reason. It's funny as all hell, and I could listen to it all night. Drew Domkus of Wisconsin was one of the first geeks to do a podcast, but the problem was, it was really boring. Then his wife, Dawn Miceli, stepped in and turned everything around. The show consists of the two of them sitting on their living room floor and talking about whatever, and it's always hilarious and usually raunchy and juvenile. As they describe it, the show is just how they talk all the time. Sometimes they have guests, like the time they called up a friend of theirs to describe the time she did crack. But mainly it's jokes about leprachauns, Coca-cola, and blowjobs.
Daily Source Code (website | feed)
This is Adam Curry's podcast, which deals mainly with the subject of podcasting. There's lots of techy, geeky talk about gear and software, but there's also a lot of suggestions about other podcasts to listen to, which is the best part. It has a professional feel, mainly because of Adam's VJ voice, but you get the real podcast feel too when he starts yelling at his dogs or has to stop recording to answer his phone.
Tracks Up The Tree (website | feed)
Funtime Ben and his buddy Josiah play indie music and jabber on endlessly. It's sort of funny, but what this show is lacking is any kind of serious discussion of the bands that are played. Since this is all "podsafe" music, the bands are all people you've never heard of. I'd like to know some more background stuff about the bands, and why they are chosen, since if all I wanted was to find anonymous indie music, I could just surf around on the web and find it myself.
Coverville (website | feed)
At first I was a bit put off by the amateurishness of this show. Brian the host is sort of a nerd, but he really knows his stuff. Each show features about 5-6 cover songs, many of which are played by request. I like this show and now it doesn't seem amateurish at all.
What They Sang To Me (website | feed)
This podcast is a good idea, but very poorly executed. The host David Johnson chooses one song, describes what he likes about it, then plays the song. The best part is when the description is really personal, like when he tells an anecdote about the first time he heard the song, or something like that. Trouble is, these descriptions are rare. Usually, he just tells the "story" of the lyrics, and talks about how cool the guitar part is. But the worst part is that when he plays the song, he talks over it. "OK. OK. Here's where the drums come in...YEAH! OK. Now this is that one part I told you about, where his girlfriend dies... OK. OK. Check out these background singers..." I've stopped listening to this show, but I'd like to see a podcast similar to the "My Life In Music" blog posts that I and a bunch of other bloggers did a few months back.
The Daily Download (website | feed)
Host Chris Rockwell is a great multi-tasker who makes efficient use of his time. The gimmick here is that every day, he records a show while going #2. (His goal is to get a sponsor to give him a year's supply of TP--the really soft kind.) There's the inevitable poop and ass jokes, but there's also telephone interviews, sometimes interrupted by Chris saying something along the lines of, "Hang on a second, I gotta push." God bless the Internet.
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TITLE: I'm Tired.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/27/2005 06:15:31 AM
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BODY:
But I won't leave you empty handed.
Go here.
Then come back and thank me very much.
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TITLE: Speech Recognition Poetry
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/24/2005 05:46:02 AM
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BODY:
Microsoft Word comes with a speech recognition component, which must be "trained" to recognize your voice. It also helps a lot if you use a good microphone. However, after some experimenting, I've found that when you speak into an old set of headphones and don't train it at all, MS Word makes its own poetry through not understanding a single word you're saying.
Here's the result from reciting Shakespeare's Sonnet 48 into speech recoginition. [Tip for schoolkids: This isn't even plagerism!]
- - -
Sonnet 48 ("Translated")
So here was winning
Each tried to install and
Then to mine use in mind: They
Prone a N. pearl Olson The issue were words of trust
But now to my age and tried all are
Most were indeed prowl my greatest.
The best of his pen mine only two years
Part (a very remote. The Then revolve. He
The headline not locked up any chance of
They were found not part of the fuel I feel the of
They came again so low assurance]
Phone when south placer No means, and Before
Any even then Bill will he still live here
For truth proves the bench for a broad and so you your problem
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TITLE: Laws...Huh.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/21/2005 06:27:15 AM
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BODY:
God bless Russ Stewart. Apparently, he is going to begin an effort to remove the stupid laws from the books, beginning with Duluth's controversial anti-loitering ordinance, which so many people fought so hard to pass, but no one has ever seen the need to enforce.
The anti-loitering ordinance is one example of the misguided attempt of some of our citizens and leaders to mandate civility. See, there are a lot of things that people do that are more or less harmless, but can be somewhat annoying. Instead of responding to these folks by simply behaving as a shining example of kindness and good citizenship, some people respond by getting angry and passing laws to force them to be nice. They're kind of like the father who says "We're going to have a nice family evening together whether you like it or not."
The Trib is sort of spearheading its own forced civility campaign with its series, "The Unshoveled Truth," wherein it invites citizens to submit photographs of their neighborhood's illegally unshoveled sidewalks, which it will publish so to humiliate the neighbors into complying with Duluth's 24-hour shoveling ordinance.
Now, I'm a decent and timely shoveler. Just last night, for example, I brought out the heavy-duty coal shovel to chip a wide path through the 4-foot-high, 6-foot-wide concrete-like mountain left on my boulevard by the snowplow. I'm not legally bound to do this, but I did it just to be nice to the people who visit me, and to myself for that matter.
However, this move by the DNT is insane. Sure, it gives some satisfaction to the shovel-happy nuts in our community, but how many people can that be? And who the hell cares about people who are that mean? Old Lady Anderson down the street hasn't shoveled her sidewalk, and it's been TWO DAYS since the snowfall! What? I don't care if she's 80 years old and has artificial hips! Burn that bitch at the stake! Yeah, let's give that guy some satisfaction.
But then again, I start to think about Super One Foods in West Duluth, and its refusal to clear the sidewalk that runs along the side of its building. This refusal forces me to walk out in the street every day to and from work, with cars whizzing past me, honking and splashing sludge on my Fluevogs. Sure, I could use a different, safer route with clear sidewalks, but I should be able to use the fast route and the sidewalk that is currently buried under four feet of impacted snow. And if that isn't bad enough, whenever I shop there I end up ditching my cart just outside their door and carrying my groceries two blocks home, instead of pushing the cart all the way down the sidewalk and ditching it in the snowbank a mere half-block from my house. They need to accommodate this habit, dammit! One of those bags could easily break, spilling my 18 cans of Chunky Soup all over the street.
Listen, Super One, you are not allowed to make me spill my Chunky Soup all over the street. That's the job of the Rustic Bar.
Fucken A, man. Now I'm upset. To hell with these ideals. I'm reporting the Super One to the DNT, just you watch. And the rest of you lazy bastards in this town better get moving. There's a storm approaching tonight, and I have rather effective digital camera and a big ol' chip on my shoulder. Old Lady Anderson -- I am talking about you.
In the meantime, if anybody needs me, I'll be at the Rustic.
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TITLE: A couple notes is all.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/20/2005 05:31:31 AM
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BODY:
- I found this thing recently, and I've been testing it out in a combination of annoyance and fascination. I think it's the interface that I don't like, as it reminds me of awful javascript-based websites, animated GIFs, etc. Why is it so irritating when things move around on a web page? But I like the idea, and I would like to see something similar for movies and books.
- I started listening to Podcasts last night at work, and now I have a whole other thing to get hooked on. I only had time to find and download one podcast, so I chose Coverville which I thought was potentially pretty cool, considering my love of good cover songs. If anyone knows of any other good podcasts, I'd like to hear about them, because I have, like, hours and hours of listening time every night.
- It appears that Spacewaitress has dismantled her blog after some serious reflection. I'd say I'm disappointed, but I completely understand the desire to do that. Plus, my opinion doesn't count for much, being as I just linked to a 404 on purpose.
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TITLE: Oh, so sweeeeet!
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/17/2005 07:46:46 PM
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BODY:
Hey! Remember back when my computer fouled up and I almost completely lost everything?
The thing I was worried about most was my vast, vast music collection. So what I did was, I backed the whole thing up on DVDs. What I didn't report, because I was so sick of posting lousy news, was that after everything was taken care of virus-wise, half of the DVDs didn't work.
HOWEVER. I had a backup backup plan. Only I didn't want to implement it for fear that that, too, wouldn't work. I am ecstatic to say that as of this morning, all music has been restored, along with some new, amazing functionality heretofore unseen.
This morning, I went to this site and downloaded a program called XPlay 2, which is simply awesome.
See, the problem with iPods is that normally you can only move music from the computer to the iPod. However, with XPlay 2 installed, you can move music in the opposite direction as well. Luckily, I was smart enough to keep my iPod intact.
Another great thing (some would say) is that I can now transfer music from ANY iPod to my computer, and from my computer to ANY iPod. Not that I would do such a thing. Oh, no, never.
Uh, call me.
[note: a similar program -- iPod Access -- is available for Macs at www.findleydesigns.com]
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TITLE: Burnin' Down the House
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/17/2005 06:12:03 AM
-----
BODY:
Burnin' Down the House
Originally uploaded by Barrett. For years, whenever I've seen my living quarters from the freeway (no matter where those quarters might be) I've always imagined smoke and fire pouring out of the window. So anyway, this morning as I was walking home from work, there was smoke everywhere. This is no big deal usually, because the Stora Enso Paper Mill is right by my house, and huge amounts of steam billow out of it constantly, especially in cold weather. But this was different. This stuff was right next to the ground. Cars on the street had to nearly stop as visibility was nonexistent. Then I noticed that it was concentrated around my block, and that there were flashing lights there, too. I ran. I sprinted. In the subzero cold. My iPod still blaring. I couldn't help but think I had left the stove on when I prepared my prework meal. But I am just paranoid. The smoke turned out to be just the usual paper-mill steam, which had momentarily drifted down to street level. The flashing lights were from a snow plow. I arrived at home a minute or so early, with a numb face and raspy, icy lungs. It ain't easy bein' me. -------- TITLE: Sorry, but I had to beat the Onion AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 1/15/2005 05:45:07 PM ----- BODY:
-------- TITLE: Should we talk about the weather? AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 1/13/2005 06:10:45 AM ----- BODY: Man, it feels good when you look out the window to see about a million feet of snow, then realize you have a snowblower. You fire that bastard up, crank the controls all the way from turtle to rabbit, pop it in gear and you're fricken rolling, baby. It's 6am and the snow in the street is still up to my eyeballs, but my sidewalks are clean, clean, clean. And I stink like a gas-huffer. And hey, speaking of shoveling, my brother-in-law Paul is a good citizen who shovels with pride. Now it's going to be -30° to -50° for the next couple of days. When this winter BS first started, I was kind of grumbly about it, but now that it's extreme, I think it's pretty awesome. So stay in and keep yourself warm with the new Low video, Death of a Salesman, which is world premiering on Perfect Duluth Day. (Tell your friends.) -------- TITLE: Christ. AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 1/10/2005 02:58:02 PM ----- BODY:
portion of a handbill received with my paystub
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TITLE: Oh, joy. More good news.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/08/2005 05:09:50 AM
-----
BODY:
Well, the good news is I am told that I will have a job of some sort when all is said and done.
The bad news is that the location of that job will probably not be in Duluth.
2004, I thought I was through with you.
Details here: Postal Facility to Close
--------
TITLE: Thoughts on Colleen Shannon
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/06/2005 05:31:06 AM
-----
BODY:
So with all this talk about vlogs lately, I started thinking about starting my own, and then realized that the danger of starting a vlog is the risk of turning into the next Colleen Shannon.
For the uninitiated, Colleen Shannon had a public access TV show here in the Twin Ports back in the early '90s called "In My Room." In it, she would just sit in front of the camera and talk candidly for an ENTIRE HOUR. New shows aired weekly, I believe, but the episodes aired many times, so it seemed like she was always on the television.
I was sort of addicted to "In My Room." It was very rambling and disjointed. Most of the monologues had to do with politics. Colleen was very upset with the world, and in her rants she would often break down and cry. Every episode began and ended with music played on her stereo.
Toward the end of her stint on public access, she reached out and invited the public to join her. She wanted others to come on the air and talk about whatever it was they wanted to talk about. No one took her up on it, except a couple of punk kids who made their own version of Colleen's show called "In My Glass Of Puke."
In her way, Colleen Shannon was a pioneer vlogger, and I wonder if she's online. I used to see her around downtown every now and then, but I haven't for several years.
I have to hand it to her for being courageous, though. It doesn't seem that hard to put yourself on the Web, but doing the same thing on television is a whole other story. Especially when what you're doing is describing how you make reusable sanitary-pads out of sponges from Hardware Hank.
--------
TITLE: Thoughts on Jason Johnson
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/04/2005 08:02:47 PM
-----
BODY:
So I'm reading this book I Hate Bush and So Do You by Reader Weekly columnist Jason Johnson, who happens to be my co-worker (or, to use Jason's word, fellow "postman"). The book is a compilation of Johnson's columns from 1999-2003, and I had no idea it existed until I accidentally came across it at the library.
My favorite parts of the book occur when the subject strays from politics and into a more personal realm, namely that of Jason's job, which is the same as my job. Here's an excellent example from his May 31, 2001 article, "The Decline and Fall of the Midwestern Work Ethic" in which he discusses his award for perfect attendance (an award which I received in 1999, incidentally):
Then, earlier this year, I was given an award for my perfect attendence for the year of 2000. I was told to stand and receive applause from my co-workers for this award. It was a touching, humbling experience until I realized that I got this award for literally just showing up. Ever hear of contests that give awards for crossing the finish line within the lifetime of an elm tree? This is that award!
I wasn't asked to give a speech, or it would have gone like this: "I'd like to thank my co-workers for having some kind of life outside work, thereby rewarding me for my limited obligations. I'd particularly like to thank my female co-workers; if any of you had actually gone out with me, I might not have been free to work all those weekends. And I'd like to thank the rest of you for catching my flu, which I brought to work with me because I couldn't afford an unscheduled absence." I would then eat lunch in the cafeteria alone.
That is gold, Jason Johnson. Gold.
I especially like that last line, because although Jason works in the same place as I do, doing the same things, at the same time of day, often even sitting right next to me, I have never spoken to him in my life. I have never said hello, and I have never even said something as impersonal as "excuse me." I would feel pretty comfortable wagering that we have never even made direct eye contact. Yet we are not merely co-workers, we are both writers of smart-aleck journalism, and we have both been published in The Cheerleader magazine. What are the chances?
Last night I was thinking about this fact and planning to write this post. Then, I went to sleep and dreamed that Jason Johnson came up to me and introduced himself. I got really mad and screamed at him, "What the hell do you think you're doing?! We had a great streak going on here and you just blew it by talking to me! We are NOT SUPPOSED TO ACKNOWLEDGE EACH OTHER'S EXISTENCE!" My rage was exquisite.
I also eat lunch alone in the cafeteria every day. I do this by choice and by habit, and because it is part of the culture of the place. Since talking is prohibited on the workroom floor, you don't generally interact with your co-workers in the lunchroom either unless one or more of the following is true: 1) you are both extremely extroverted, 2) you know each other through some means other than work, 3) you are a smoker, or 4) you are a middle-aged woman who likes to get to work early and drink coffee and eat cake.
Maybe someday I will run into Jason Johnson outside of the workplace and we will have a conversation of some kind. But there's no way in hell I'm going to initiate one on the clock. I have my bubble of isolation to think of.
I'm done.
--------
TITLE: Things I learned from VH-1's Metal Mania Marathon
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/02/2005 09:51:40 PM
-----
BODY:
- During the guitar solo, it is important for the lead singer to upstage the guitar player. But it is important to do it right. DO: Bug out your eyes, lean over the guitar player's shoulder and make squiggly finger motions. DON'T: Turn around facing the drums and wiggle your girlish butt.
- Also during the guitar solo it is important for all nonplayer characters to remember that a lead guitarist slowly walking down a darkened hallway is the scariest thing in the world.
- Y'know, in retrospect, that dude from Anthrax can't rap for shit.
- I want to write a short story where the protagonist is the son of that babe who lifted her shirt in Mötley Crüe's "Home Sweet Home" video.
- After World War III, supplies will be short, forcing women to wear ripped fishnet stockings. But thankfully there will still be plenty of rouge and Aqua Net.
- Dio, man. Ronnie James Dio.
--------
TITLE: 2004: The Year in Pictures
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/31/2004 06:23:25 AM
-----
BODY:
I did this last year with some success. But this year, I have a lot more photographic experience, plus a Flickr account.
Check 'em out here. Hints: Choose the Slideshow option if you please, or just use your mouse. If you choose the latter, you can leave comments on the individual picture.
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TITLE: Big Plans
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/30/2004 04:17:34 PM
-----
BODY:
So this year, for the first time in my life, I will ring in the new year at work. And to tell you the truth, I'm kind of looking forward to it.
I think New Year's Eve is my least-favorite holiday. I've had very few positive New Year's experiences. Last year at Starfire's house was fun, up until the point where the party (or at least some of the party) moved to Luce, at which time it was definitely necessary to give up and go home. I'm not going to explain in detail all the reasons why I hate ringing in the New Year, but in general it has to do with two things.
The lesser of these is that New Year's Eve, like St. Patrick's Day, is Amateur Night at the bars. The world is filled with people who normally do not drink often and do not know have the slightest knowledge of drunk ettiquette. Yeah, yeah, yeah. You've had 8 martinis and you're the king of the world. Ok. But this isn't so bad, because there's always one or two of these in any establishment on any given weekend night.
The worst is the feeling of desperation among the partygoers. That facial expression, where you can just read the secret, dark, thoughts: I have to have a good time tonight. I must have fun. Am I a fun person? How can I have fun? Oh, God, let me please be a fun person tonight.
I think the ideal New Year's party, for me, would have a cast of about 12-15. None of the desperate, lameoids would be invited, only fun people, like you for instance. And there would be a sworn oath to never give up the ship and go to a bar. And no one would drive home drunk.
Another reason I'm looking forward to working the New Year's shift is that I take perverse pleasure in doing something productive and wholesome when most people are out getting hammered and participating in debaucherous behavior. Even last year, I didn't drink much at all, and felt great when I sprang out of bed the next morning with the knowledge that most of the world was nursing a vicious hangover and nauseating sexual regrets. It's sick, I know, but it makes me feel like a good citizen. Besides, drinking gallons and losing all your morals is much more fun, like, say, on a random Wednesday in August.
This year, I will briefly look up from my computer screen to holler Happy New Year. There is no one at my job I would like to kiss, and if I did I would probably be fired, so that's not a problem, either. Then at 5, I'll finish my shift, come home, drink 0-3 celebratory cocktails, and bask in my sick pleasure, knowing that somewhere out there at that very moment, a naked stranger is puking in your hamper. Meanwhile, I'm safe and happy at home, watching the fucken Smurfs.
I need help.
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TITLE: Barrett was smashed like a bowl of eggs.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/29/2004 02:55:52 PM
-----
BODY:
Oh the year was seventeen seventy eight
I wish I were in Sherbrooke now!
A letter of marque came from the King
To the scummiest vessel I've ever seen
God Damn them all! I was told
We'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns, shed no tears
Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier
The last of Barrett's privateers.
[the rest]
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TITLE: Blog in the Family
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/25/2004 06:45:38 PM
-----
BODY:
I found out today that my nephew Joe has a blog. Joe is a major drunkard and a major computer geek and I took this picture of him at my parents' kitchen table, through one of my mom's curlers.
Check him out. He's the Gootch Monkey.
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TITLE: Mmmmm. Scrumptious.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/25/2004 06:25:12 PM
-----
BODY:
Finally captured on a photograph -- yes, this, my friends, is the infamous "moon pudding" which has been a tradition in my family for generations. I've described this stuff to practically everyone I've ever met, an no one can quite picture it in mind, so here it is in all its glory.
This English dessert looks like some kind of cake or fudge, sure. But keep in mind this is a traditional ENGLISH (read, "kinda disgusting") dessert. It isn't made like cake at all.
The primary ingredient in moon pudding is suet. Yes, suet. Just like the stuff you feed the birds, sans the birdseed. This suet is ground and mixed with flour and raisens. The fatty blob is then plopped on a towel, which is wrapped up and tied at the top. The towel is then put onto a plate, and the whole works is then submerged in boiling water, where it cooks for literally something like two days.
Traditionally, I am told, there is a hard sugar sauce made with apple juice which is supposed to go on top of the moon pudding. But this tradition has been lost in my family. Instead, everyone has developed their own style of eating moon. Most eat it plain. Newcomers generally do not think of it as a dessert as it is greasy and not very sweet by American standards, and so they eat it with gravy. Some wait until the next day and fry it in butter. Some eat it with powedered sugar or Reddi Whip.
The horrific story that goes with moon is that one year my mom was transferring the boiling-hot towel blob to a different pan, and the towel suddenly split open, spilling scalding grease all over the dog's back. Let me tell you, hot uncooked moon pudding is a lot like napalm. It sticks and burns and there's not much you can do about it. It burned the dog pretty badly and the dog lived for about another 10 or 12 years with a bald back.
As for me, I rather like moon. I mean, a cannonball-sized chunk of low-grade fat, complete with raisens? Shaw. How can you go wrong?
--------
TITLE: Christmas Eve Dialog
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/25/2004 03:27:05 AM
-----
BODY:
- WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
- Mom said to take this turkey out for tomorrow and clean it.
- DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING?
- No. I've never done it before.
- LET ME DO IT. I KNOW EXACTLY HOW TO DO IT.
[20 Minutes Later]
- WHAT THE HELL? WHERE ARE THE GIBLETS?
- You probably left them inside.
- NO. I HAD THEM ON THE COUNTER WITH THE NECK. WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY?
- Well, here's the neck.
- YEAH, BUT WHERE'S THE FUCKEN GIBLETS?
- Maybe you threw them away.
- NO. THERE'S THE BAG IN THE GARBAGE. THEY WERE IN THAT BAG. I TOOK THEM OUT AND PUT THEM ... SOMEWHERE
- What's this?
- THAT'S THE ASS.
- You cut off the ass? Aren't you supposed to leave that on?
- HELL NO. I ALWAYS CUT OFF THE ASS.
- Mom, what do you do with the ass of the turkey? On or off?
- It depends. If anyone wants to eat it, leave it on.
- My grandma said it was the best part. It's all fat.
- YEAH, YEAH. "IT'S GOOD FOR WHAT AILS YOU."
- No one here is old enought to want to eat the turkey's ass.
- ARRGGGHH! WHERE ARE THE GODDAMN GIBLETS?!
- Oh, hey. I bet I know. [Points at the dogs, who immediately look guilty]
- Yee. Haw. Dogs eating raw giblets. We're gonna have an adventure tonight. Hope you got a lot of paper towels.
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TITLE: I want a new vice.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/23/2004 04:46:20 AM
-----
BODY:
This year, my family has decided not to exchange Christmas presents. I think this is a great idea. We all have too much stuff anyway, expecially my parents, who certainly do not need any more Jesus-oriented wall hangings or porcelain knick-knacks.
But I have decided to extend this spirit of ungiving to everyone I know. Yeah, I realize that last year I got all sappy about wanting to give presents to everyone in the world. But this year I feel like it's not even Christmas, really.
Still, I've decided to give a little gift to myself: Cable TV, baby. I figure since I'm 90% less interested in the expensive habit of intoxicating myself, I can afford some deluxe boob tube action. I haven't had cable since I moved out of my parents' house, and that was back in the analog days. Back in my day, sonny, we had only one HBO. And we liked it, dammit.
I plan on having 12 HBOs plus the Independent Film Channel, Sundance, and Cartoon Network. I'm sure there's a couple hundred other decent channels in there (along with about a thousand channels that show nothing but nuns selling cutlery) but those are the ones I plan on watching a lot of.
So come on over and let's watch TV. I'll provide the beverages. You provide your own drool towel and Depend Undergarment.
And yeah, I'm not stupid. I know the introductory price, which is guarateed through 2005, will be jacked up by prolly about 50 bucks a month as soon as the offer's over. But despite Charter Cable's slogan ("Get Hooked"), I'm hoping this adventure will be like joining the Columbia Record Club, and not like establishing a healthy smack habit.
Merry Christmas, Earth People.
--------
TITLE: Birthday Rally Photo Wrap-up
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/20/2004 10:03:46 AM
-----
BODY:
So, on Saturday night, Paulie Boy and I hosted the Birtday Rally in Spirit Valley. As usual, a good time was had by most.
Here, the brothers Lundgren perform "Come Sail Away." Meanwhile, V-Nick looks on as Maria's face melts.
Karaoke masters line up to dispute Larry Holmes' so-called "Championship." At a nearby table, however, an historic event takes place: sushi is consumed in the Rustic Bar.
Gartman leads a rousing rendition of "Livin' on a Prayer." Paul begins to get creepy.
I suppose this would be a good place to hide the Drunkest Picture of Me Ever Taken.
Rustic karaoke shut down at midnight, which lead to the inevitable plan: more karaoke at the Keyport.
And so the evening ended, as all good birthday parties should, with a nice game of Pin the Tongue on Gene Simmons.
--------
TITLE: OK, while I feel fine now...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/16/2004 07:39:28 PM
-----
BODY:
...I have this major, major cold sore system working on the right corner of my mouth. It really is prodigious. Seriously, you people are lucky that the batteries in my camera are worn out.
So noticing that I'm out of Ambesol or Campho-phenique or whatever, and being a geek, I casually hopped online to try and discover which brand works the best before going out and buying some. Here's what happened next.
1. Every reputable site I visited said that that stuff doesn't work.
2. Every reputable site I visited warned emphatically that a person with a cold sore should be EXTREMELY careful when touching their eyes or genitals, because it is easy to get ocular or genital herpes from a cold sore.
Great. Like I need this worry. I am a paranoid person to begin with, and among my many frets is the fear that I will do something like this. That I will touch my cold sore, my eyes, and my ... self, and then while the cold sore will run its course, I will be blind and will never have sex again.
Such is the mind I live in. I'm going to the pharmacy.
--------
TITLE: eXtreme BEDREST!
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/14/2004 05:09:19 PM
-----
BODY:
So on Sunday night, the night of my birthday, I realized I was coming down with something. My throat felt a little painful, and I could feel a headache coming on. I also felt pretty tired, but I hadn't slept very well for a few days, so I chalked it all up to that.
I went to work at 12:15am, and by the time I got home at 5:30, I was dizzy and had the chills, and I was very, very tired. So I went to bed and was out by 6.
I didn't get out of bed until I had to, which was at 7:30 the next night. Sure, during that time, I woke up to get water, go to the loo, answer the phone, etc., but for almost that whole time -- 13.5 hours -- I was asleep.
But wait. It gets better. I miserably dragged myself to work at 8:30pm feeling like hell. I put in for an early out, and they let me go home at 1am. By 2:30, I was asleep. I woke up at 4pm.
I've decided that until this goes away, I will be sleeping at all times, unless there is something important I need to do instead of sleeping.
Like blogging.
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TITLE: Uh...I s'pose I oughtta tell the internet...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/11/2004 05:25:19 AM
-----
BODY:
Tomorrow (Sunday) is my birthday. I will be 32.
The party is next weekend, and everyone reading this is invited.
--------
TITLE: soooo dryyyyyyy.....
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/10/2004 05:20:32 AM
-----
BODY:
When you take a 10-minute shower and the mirror doesn't even fog up...
When a slice of apple on the table turns to leather before it turns brown...
When your knuckles begin to resemble the Alps...
There is no choice but to make soup.
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TITLE: The Late Night Airwaves
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/07/2004 06:15:39 AM
-----
BODY:
One of the joys of working at night is being able to tune in nightly to Coast to Coast AM with George Noory and stay informed on all the latest Bigfoot and poltergeist happenings out there. But about a week ago, I turned my radio on a little early and discovered my latest guilty pleasure: The Phil Hendrie Show.
OK, OK. I'm sure there are some of my fellow Democrats out there who probably know about Phil Hendrie and his infamous pro-Bush rants. But let's just set that aside right now, as personally I've never heard any of that. From what I've heard recently, The Phil Hendrie Show is a work of genius.
For the uninitiated, I'll explain. The show is much like any other AM talk-radio show. It's offensive. The guests are idiots and there is a lot of arguing. But here's where the genius comes in: all of the "guests" are portrayed by Hendrie himself. He's fairly open about that fact on the show, but still, every night people tune into the show and are completely duped. They call as if the guests are real (callers are screened so only the duped callers get through) and scream and yell about how idiotic the "guest" is. The more they scream, the more offensive the guest becomes, until Hendrie intervenes, "hangs up" on the guest, and then apologizes to the audience. It's awesome.
Hendrie has about 40 characters that he keeps in rotation. Recently, I've heard Hendrie portray a man who loaned someone $1,000, only to have the guy join the military and get killed in Iraq--so he's suing the guy's family. The angry calls poured in, meanwhile in the background, you could hear the "guest" adjusting his hot tub. What's wrong...can't a man be interviewed in a hot tub? What the hell country is this?
This article explains the show much better than I can, and lists some of Hendrie's characters. But maybe this article from the LA Weekly says it most eloquently:
"Hendrie has said he is not worried that exposure might ruin the show by tipping off potential callers — he believes you cannot overestimate the stupidity of the AM-radio audience, and his work is enduring testament to that fact. But his point is not to expose simple stupidity. His “guests” are sophisticated parodies designed to incite the easy anger of the self-righteous, whom he expertly lures by creating characters who run roughshod over their pieties — the sanctity and safety of American children, the meaning of patriotism, kindness to animals. He likes to create characters who have thinly veiled ulterior motives, which he reveals little by little, as if in a well-constructed one-act play.
Listening to Phil Hendrie combines the pure, illegitimate pleasure of making prank phone calls with an intense, stoned reading of Marshall McLuhan. Hendrie’s show is a scathing and wholly original critique of what passes as dialogue and debate in vast portions of our culture. He uses the AM-radio call-in audience as “found objects” to reveal their own prejudices and susceptibility to manipulation, and he in a sense bestows on them an eloquence they themselves do not possess. Hendrie takes the average, depressing predictability of the average American psyche and somehow makes it into joyful comedy."
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TITLE: Macaroni Angel Rocks the House
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/03/2004 08:04:30 PM
-----
BODY:
Earlier this evening, the old man who lives across the street came over with a shoebox full of ornaments for me via Predicate Nominative. Then, like 30 minutes later, Ms. Nominative herself showed up with an additional paper bag full -- FULL -- of stuff ranging from antiquey breaky things to cutesy wooden stuff to creepy yarny wonders, all to adorn my tree. Let's hear it for PN!
I'm setting all this stuff up this weekend. And making a diorama. And exploding from excitement.
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TITLE: Anagrams
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/03/2004 05:00:32 PM
-----
BODY:
I've become obsessed with anagrams recently, and I would like everyone to know my new name is Abe Hartcrest.
Also, if I ever start a band, I could call it:
Crab's Theater
Teacart Herbs
Rehab Scatter
Breast Rachet
Charter Beats
Catheter's Bar
Cheater Brats
Saber Chatter
The Arab Crest
The Rarest Cab
The Bear Carts
The Bar Reacts
The Brat's Acre
I encourage everyone to find their own anagrams. You might find out your new name is:
Dr. Neal Unplug
Eli Cheetah
Jam Reseller
Drama Nazi
Cheney Zoo
Milk Canon
Neutral First
Weighted Moods
or my personal favorite:
Regis Barleycorn
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TITLE: Time Travel
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/02/2004 05:24:24 AM
-----
BODY:
There were about three or four times when I had this thought as a youngster. I remember being about 13 or 14 and laying in bed thinking about how old I would be in the year 2000, and about some kind of stereotypical Jetsons-like future that involved jetpacks and moving sidewalks and all kinds of fun stuff like that. I figured that maybe, at some point during my life, time travel would become possible.
I figured there was an easy way to find out immediately if I would ever get to travel through time. I made myself a promise that if I ever got the chance to use a time machine, I would travel to that exact moment. I made a point of thinking about the year, date, and time of day, and then I waited. Nothing happened. I never showed up.
The thing is, as an adult, I don't remember those dates and times. I'm not even sure how old I was. I think I was 13 or 14, as I said, but I could have been 17. I have no idea. I let myself down.
So, here I at the end of my 31st year, thinking about this again, and writing it down on the Internet for my future self to find. Here it is, with the date and time and everything right there for you. So c'mon, future self. Go ahead and hop in that machine. I'm right here.
If there were a knock at the door right now, I would literally collapse from an aneurysm.
Waiting...
Oh, god. I gotta go.
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TITLE: Weird Stuff at the Supermarket
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/30/2004 04:14:10 PM
-----
BODY:
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TITLE: 2004: The Year That Bit Big Ass
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/29/2004 05:41:09 AM
-----
BODY:
Oooo. This is the year that just keeps on giving. It's been a banner year here at the ol' Chase residence. Oh, yes. Let's look back on it, shall we? On second thought, let's not. At various points on this blog, I've already recounted a good 25% of all the horrific shit that went down this year so there's no need to relive it.
Nonetheless, 2004 just keeps rolling on with all its wonder, and I've been thinking a lot about it lately. It's not that nothing good happened to me this year--a lot of great things happened, in fact, mainly having to do with the people around me and how great they are--but 2004 ate, there's no doubt about that.
I have written several times about how in the mid-late 1990s, I was a very unhappy person. My plans to actually use my major had fallen through (this is a story of its own, one I'll tell some time) and I was poor and underemployed. I felt like I was in a holding pattern, frozen there not knowing what to do. Back then, my "workdays" would usually last anywhere from 30 minutes to 2 hours. The rest of my time I'd spend reading, listening to music and fretting. Oh, and doing housework. I'd prepare two healthy homecooked meals every day, and the apartment was always immaculate. The books I read were always very thick and very difficult. And almost every day, I'd listen to Jerree Small's Sleeping Giant album, not that I even knew who Jerree Small was, only that she was originally from Duluth but didn't live here anymore.
Recently, I was laying on a chaise (ironically, the kind of couch you see in psychiatrists' offices, at least in the comics) in a room lit by only one candle. A few feet away, Jerree practiced for an upcoming show. I didn't say much; I just laid there listening and enjoying the music. Every now and then, I'd make an unorthodox request, not for a title, but for a subject. I'd ask if she would play a song about ice cream, for example. "Well, none of my songs are about ice cream," she'd say, "but I have this song that mentions..." And so on.
"Could you play a song about a foreign country?" I asked. It had been years since I had listened to Sleeping Giant, so I had completely forgotten about the song "Romania." As soon as I heard it, I was instantly transported back to that unhappy time, and the difference between my life in 1998 and 2004 was practically enough to unravel my mind. It's unbelievable to me how different my thinking about the world was back then, and how it worked to my detriment. If I had those fears and concerns now, I wouldn't be able to get out of bed.
...I am trying to forget where I'm from
But all around me are familiar sounds...
The oddest part is how now that I have been facing real issues as opposed to mid-20s life-crisis bullshit, I seem to have summoned a reserve strength that I didn't know I had. My two concerns now as I watch the sun set on this year are 1) whether or not this year has still more in store for me and mine, and 2) whether it is truly the curse of 2004, or if this year is just the warmup for 2005.
I guess we'll see, won't we? And I guess I'll most likely tell you all about it. Now that my computer is back up and running.
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TITLE: In-feck-shun
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/23/2004 06:37:31 AM
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BODY:
Right now, my computer has the worst infection I have ever seen. I've dealt with viruses and spyware a few times before, and some of those times were bad. But this...oh my God listen to this.
The START MENU doesn't work. Also, "Run" is missing from the Start Menu as is "Find." "My Computer" is now called "Folder." None of the icons on the desktop work. Internet Explorer does not work. Norton Antivirus seems to have been partially deleted.
The only way I can use any program is to go into My Computer and find the program in Program Files. I can get online with Mozilla, but I cannot run any online virus scans, because they all require Internet Explorer.
Cachee actually went out and bought a copy of McAfee Antivirus, but I can't install it until all Norton Antivirus garbage is removed from the registry. Seemingly, I can't remove that without the help of Norton, and they charge something like $60 for support of any kind.
I can't reinstall Norton, because it came with the computer and I never got a disc of any kind.
I have four anti-spyware programs installed. I can scan and scan over and over all night, and they will keep finding and removing the same things over and over. I think the source of the problem is probably a trojan horse, or many of them. But how should I know?
Do other people encounter these problems, to a greater or lesser degree? I have heard complaints in the past from people but none of the details. Is there anyone out there who can help me in any way?
Right now I am doing something I should have done long ago: backing up my MP3s. 25 gigs worth. This is going to take forever.
Meanwhile, I'm going to watch Gremlins. It seems appropriate.
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TITLE: Blogger.com Eats
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/22/2004 02:03:05 AM
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BODY:
Too many users? It's 2 a.m. on a SUNDAY.
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TITLE: I get to make a diorama!
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/22/2004 01:10:21 AM
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BODY:
Last night Sarah Heimer invited me to participate in her Diorama Art Show and I'm really excited. I don't think I've ever made a diorama, and I really want to. Here are some thoughts I've had so far on the subject.
1. I won't be making a "diarrhea diorama." This was my first response to the invitation, which Heimer met not with disgust, but with palpable impatience. "Do you know how many times I've heard that?" she said. I know, I know. I just had to get it out of my system. Sorry.
2. It is currently my opinion that I won't be using any action figures, Legos, or anything else of that nature. Everything is going to be from scratch, baby. At least that's my goal right now.
3. Though the subject of my diorama is currently undecided, I think perhaps all of the characters in the diorama are going to be drunk. A diorama of the Pizza Lucé bar complete with illuminated "LIQUOR" sign would be beautiful, but I think I can come up with something better than that.
4. FUN!
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TITLE: Jimmy, you're so photogenic!
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/20/2004 09:15:25 PM
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BODY:
I think I could photograph this scene every day, as it's always different. In the spring, the smaller tree that's in front of the streetlight blooms with the most amazing flowers. Followers of this blog will remember the picture of the Northern Lights from last week.
This would have to be a video, but often a girl of about age nine zips down this street at about 30mph on a homemade motor scooter, with another girl of about age four behind her, hanging on for dear life. That is just bitchen.
About a month ago, I saw a parade of five adults marching down the street dressed as clowns, blowing noisemakers. If only I could have grabbed my camera in time.
I think I need to set up a webcam.
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TITLE: Charity?
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/20/2004 06:38:13 PM
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BODY:
Well, in keeping with a wonderful history of rocket-scientist behavior, it appears that my landlord sold all of our Christmas decorations in his rummage sale. Ornaments I made in kindergarten? Gone. Engraved ornaments from the first Christmas Cachee and I spent together? Gone. Ornaments given as gifts or handed down from previous generations? Gone, daddy, gone.
Sure, he's going to pay for this, yadda yadda yadda. But in the meantime, I'd like to make the most of it, which is where you come in.
If you have any ornaments you feel like shoving my way as the decorating season begins to unfold, I would like that. Ms. Small is starting things off with this ornament and lovely diorama. In this scene it appears that Santa Claus is holding a baby in one hand and a stick in the other. What he plans on doing is unclear. An ominous rabbit oversees the action from a shelf, while a cherub prances around the room on a horse. You can't see it very well in this picture, but there is a bucket near Santa's chair, the purpose of which is also unclear. Whatever is happening, all the characters feel safe and secure, guarded by the ornament of a Keystone Kop wearing a dress.
But don't be intimidated. Not all ornaments need to be this fantastic. They will all have a special place in my heart, as well as on this weblog--as if there's a difference.
[Oh! And don't forget Cachee. She needs ornaments, too.]
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TITLE: What I did, and what I didn't.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/19/2004 05:31:26 AM
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BODY:
So I bought this new Handsome Boy Modeling School album, White People, and my assessment is that it's the muvvafukkin business. Of course, you could say that about any album that includes the words "featuring Father Guido Sarducci," but this album has one song that leaps off the plastic and knocks you out with a Taser, and that song is "I've Been Thinking" featuring none other than Cat Power.
This song is way too sexy to even exist, and not just because of the smooth beat. To hear Cat Power sing, "You can slide, slide, slippity slide, you can hip hop and don't stop" ... how am I supposed to take that?
Plus there's the usual HBMS skits, including some takes on The Dating Game and some etiquette advice from Chest Rockwell ("You gotta fart, you wait until after the date is over when you go home. That is when you do your fartin'."), and some sweet hip hop action. So I got this baby off the Internet (I actually bought it) and went to work.
On my way to work, I stopped by the supermarket to get something for lunch, because I really didn't feel like eating a lunch consisting exclusively of foods in bar form. On my way out, I noticed a piece of paper tacked to the bulletin board near the exit. The ad said this:
Chest freezer
grate for deer
I prefer to think these are two different items, and that the first item is some sort of ray gun.
When I got to work, the first thing I did was pick up my check. The second thing I did was look at it, and the third thing I did was practically faint. See, this is the first check I've received since doing the full-on night-shift action. And it's huge! Well, not huge, but it looks like this month I can actually pay my bills AND eat! And that's something! Let's hear it for money.
I also believe I've saved a lot of money lately because, suddenly, it's like I don't drink anymore. Working nights has a lot to do with it. It isn't very much fun to drink at 5am, because, among other things, when you wake up at noon to pee, the sun is screaming in the windows and every cell in your body is telling you it's daytime, stupid, and you'll never get back to sleep. So it's been almost two weeks since I imbibed, and that was only because I was hanging out with Buck Satan.
The funny thing is, I don't even miss it. And maybe I'll lose a bunch of weight. That is, if I can manage to stay away from food that's in bar form.
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TITLE: "Portal"
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/17/2004 05:23:57 AM
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BODY:
Bam! Just as I was about to run out of storage space, my hosting company quintupled the storage space in my contract. So now I can once again post photos with impunity. Sweet, sweet, sweet. I don't even know what impunity means.
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TITLE: Fantasies
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/16/2004 05:40:43 AM
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BODY:
Whenever I get a little bit dissatisfied with my living conditions, I start to fantasize about the ultimate dream house. And every time I do this, the house is different. My ideals are always changing.
Right now I'm thinking of a dream house hobbled together from all the houses on classic TV. It's one spectacular goddamn house.
The kitchen is from The Brady Bunch. Aside from the extensive food preparation area, this baby had two ovens. Two. It's a given that Alice comes with the kitchen to serve up hotdish and witty comments.
The living room is from The Dick Van Dyke Show. A sunken seating area, open to the dining area, is excellent for entertaining. There is a sliding panel to the kitchen, which is opened for serving a buffet-style meal, and is closed for hushed, private discussions when wacky trouble insues. Be careful of the ottoman.
The den is from Leave it to Beaver. Ever since I watched this show as a kid, I wanted to grow up and have a den like Ward's. I don't even know what the hell a den is, or what you do in it. I know it's a man's room, so I assume Ward pretended to do some kind of manly paperwork, but in reality he had a little locked drawer in his desk where he kept a bottle of Johnny Walker Red and a stack of bondage mags. That is so cool.
The bedroom is the room inside the genie bottle on I Dream of Jeannie. That room might just be the greatest room ever devised by humankind. Talk about a freakin' opium den. I don't think I'd ever leave.
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TITLE: I Should Be Sleeping...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/15/2004 09:17:52 AM
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BODY:
But the idiot crew doing the remodeling downstairs is keeping me awake. They're not sawing or hammering. They're just talking. One problem with that is that the walls and floors of this place are paper thin, and I can hear every word they say. The other problem is that, as I said, they're idiots. It's bad enough to hear them at all, but it's even worse to hear them go on about "fucken fuck detox fucken squad fucken bitch fucken serves her right fucken divorce fucken fuckity fuck shit pack a smokes."
Right now I am considering the following options.
1) Staying awake and cranking some LOUD-ass hip-hop. I know this type of idiot. They HATE hip-hop. Logic: If I'm gonna be miserable, they're gonna be miserable. Problem: I still don't get my much-needed rest.
2) Popping some sleeping pills and cranking up the iPod. Logic: This might work. Problems: a. Lack of vengeance. b. If it doesn't work, I'll be doubly tired.
I think I'm gonna go with #2. But I'll be back online if it doesn't work. In that case, I'll need some suggestions.
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TITLE: Oh for the love of god
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/15/2004 06:33:15 AM
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BODY:
My sisters gleefully informed me yesterday afternoon that if the Chase name is to be passed on to future generations, it is solidly my responsibility.
I have five siblings, three of whom have reproduced. The sisters had almost all boys, but my brother had all girls. As for the remaining two siblings, reproduction for one would be impossible and for the other would be not bloody likely. And if you're thinking maybe one of my neices might squeeze one out and give it her name, well, let's just not go there, 'K?
Plus, all my siblings are over 40.
I responded to this in completely the wrong way. I said, "Well, can I at least first get my life into something that resembles order?" They were overjoyed, and not in a teasing way. "He didn't say no!"
Chase is the 508th most common name in the U.S. One in every 1,000 Minnesota residents is named Chase.
I think we have enough.
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TITLE: Irony
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/11/2004 05:29:38 AM
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BODY:
I must have walked past this 10,000 times, but tonight on my way home from work, I walked past "The Gentle Dentist" and noticed the sign on the door that says "We shoot every third salesman, and the other two just left."
Gentle dentist, my ass.
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TITLE: November Occam's Razor
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/10/2004 05:28:59 AM
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BODY:
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TITLE: Yet another brilliant idea
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/09/2004 05:27:28 AM
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BODY:
I want to start a magazine called Nap.
All the latest trends in napping. Advice on how to shut sunlight out of your bedroom. Which pillow is the best--we test drive the top five selling models.
Think about it. I've got a huge success on my hands.
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TITLE: Quick! Go outside!
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/07/2004 07:29:18 PM
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BODY:
I promised myself I'd stop posting so many pictures, since I'm quickly running out of storage space. But this shot of tonight's Aurora Borealis over Jimmy's Nuts & Bolts was just too sweet to keep to myself.
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TITLE: Jesus Built My Weblog
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/07/2004 01:43:41 AM
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BODY:
The first time I heard Ministry, I was 17 years old. I just got home from Perkin's, which for some reason was a place to hang out in high school. Lundgren (of course) knocked on my door and said "Jeff needs help." Jeff being Jeff Anderson, which lends a certain flavor if you know who I'm talking about. Jeff's car, a ratty old Chevette, was stuck in the snow behind Kmart. I got some shovels and went back to help dig out the car.
Jeff didn't have a tape deck. He didn't even have floorboards. But he did have a boombox on the passenger seat, and in that boombox was Ministry's "A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Taste."
We dug out the car while listening to that album, and then proceeded, in the most juvenile, high school manner, to ram the car into the snowbank again and again, all the time listening to that album. It was terrific. After that, I thought Ministry was incredible. I devoured everything Al Jourgensen had to offer, from Ministry to Revolting Cocks to Pigface to Lard. Then I got into Nine Inch Nails, who would not exist if not for Al Jourgensen.
So, all those years ago, I never would have thought that I'd find myself at the entrance of the Norshor Theatre, staring down at the words, "Chase, Barrett ... Guest of Al."
How did it happen? It's a friend-of-a-friend thing. My good friend Jed is a friend of Al's. And thus, I got to spend a few hours on the tour bus with Al Jourgensen and Ministry. All of whom are cool guys, I might say. I was sort of concerned about what might happen, (what if I think they're utter cocks?!) but we just listened to some ZZ Top and some awesome accordion-driven Tex Mex music, discussed our hatred of George W. Bush, and even connected a bit regarding the finer albums of Wanda Jackson.
The whole experience, I think, was a lesson in rockstardom. Al kept talking about how great it was to hang out with real people, and about how of all the hundreds of people he meets on tour, there are really only four or five people that he meets, over and over again. They're all the same. He told the tour manager, "Set these two up with everything, everything you can. They're sweethearts, they're not Sponge Bobs. You'll never meet better people. They're not like the rest."
Then he poured us some homemade wine and went to the back of the bus to cut the sleeves off his "Fuck Bush" T-shirt.
Everyone else in Ministry was cool, too. I hadn't seen them live since 1993. And it was really weird to meet all of them, hang out with them for awhile and speak to them as real human beings, and then suddenly see them on stage doing their schtick. I was like, "What the fuck are you guys doing? Why are you wearing makeup?"
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TITLE: Ridiculous Injury #1,000,001
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/05/2004 05:29:27 AM
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BODY:
Last night I made chicken for dinner. After thawing the chicken in the microwave, I put black pepper on top along with Cajun hot sauce and then ground up some dried red peppers in my hand and sprinkled them on top. Then I put the chicken in the oven.
About a half hour later, my eye itched, so I rubbed it.
Holy mother of god.
Rule #1 of crushing dried red pepper in your hand: wash your hands afterward. Thoroughly.
At least now I know what it feels like to be maced. Yeah, it'll put you on your knees, shrieking and blubbering.
I don't know why I tell you guys this stuff.
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TITLE: More cynicism
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/04/2004 05:58:34 AM
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BODY:
Man, the world is full of idiots. Check out this letter to Dear Abby:
Dear Abby
I have been hit on by scam artists more than once. They must think I have "sucker" tattooed on my forehead.
The latest has been a series of e-mails telling me that a Mrs. Virginia of the United Kingdom was killed in a car accident, and I am the sole beneficiary of her $12.5 million estate. All I have to do is provide them with my bank account number, and the money will be transferred from the Habib Trust Bank of England.
Well, I'm not stupid. I gave them the account number of a bank I no longer do business with. There is a grand total of $2.83 in that account. They are welcome to it.
Their scam promises they'll do all the paperwork -- but after a while they'll tell you that you either have to send an advance of several thousand dollars to "complete the transaction," or go to Nigeria to sign the papers. This going to Nigeria gets better: They'll tell you that you don't need a visa to go there, as they will "take care of all that." But as soon as you land in Nigeria, you'll be arrested for NOT having a visa.
So, Abby, please warn your readers if they receive any type of e-mail, or regular mail, or even a phone call to that effect, they should explain it all to the Secret Service like I did. No one should fall for this trap. I'll get $12.5 million when I am next in line to become the pope. I've got a better chance of coming into money by playing the lottery.
Eugene B., Clifton, N.J.
OK. Um, I got 25 spams today. First off, I think I'll actually read them all. Second, I think I'll sort of give them my bank account number, but it's OK because there's not much in there anyway (WHY?! On the off chance that it ISN'T a scam?). Third, I think I'll call up the Secret Service and "explain it all" to them, but only after I find out that I'm not actually getting my $12.5 million.
Software companies can spend billions of dollars coming up with anti-spam devices, but it doesn't matter. Spam wouldn't even exist if people weren't dumb enough to fall for it. And it's UNBELIEVABLE that people fall for it. But they do all the time.
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TITLE: Oh, all right. Here it is.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/04/2004 05:20:45 AM
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BODY:
So. Bush was re-elected. And yes, we are all outraged. But at this troubling time, I think it is important to remember what the real problem is. The real problem is not that George W. Bush is back in the Oval Office.
The real problem is that half, yes half, of our voting population is actually gullible enough to think that George Walker Bush is doing a great job flushing our beautiful country down the toilet, and should continue to flush our beautiful country down the toilet for the next four years.
Think about that. And realize that when I say "half" I'm rounding down. It's actually more than half, since 51% voted for this retard. That means if you're in a room with one other person, chances are better than not that that other person is a complete idiot.
So while it's utterly horrible that this figurehead and his evil cronies are still in charge of our lives, it's even worse that a majority of voting Americans chose of their own free will to put him there.
Since we as a country are apparently more than willing to give up our civil liberties, I'd like to do a little experiment. Let's get out the polygraph machines and the sodium pentathol, and ask a question of our Bush supporters. I want to know, very concisely but also specifically, and most of all truthfully, what was the one issue that made you decide to vote for Bush?
My guess is that in most cases, people voted for Bush for some stupid reason that they connect with "morality." My guess is that most of the time, you'd hear the stuff about gay marriage, or prayer in schools, or some other such nonsense. Which, in my humble opinion are absolutely asinine reasons for voting for or against any candidate. Oh, sure, you lost your job and your son has been killed in Iraq, but hey, at least those homos won't be able to visit their lifelong partners in the hospital when they get sick. Yeah, that makes a lot of sense buddy.
The other reason I'd expect to hear from people is the admission that they subscribe to that selfish "I got mine, you get yours" brand of suburban conservatism. Well, that is not only stupid but gross, and I'd rather not discuss it. The only hope I have regarding these people is that Bush is gradually weakening and destroying the middle class, so maybe these people will disappear when their jobs get outsourced to India.
Also, to be fair, I'm sure there are some people who have legitimate reasons for voting Bush. I'd like to know what these reasons are, too. Because I've never heard one. And because if such reasons existed, it would give me hope.
As things stand, however, I continue to be cynical.
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TITLE: Hope
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/02/2004 05:38:12 AM
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BODY:
For some time now, I've been moping about the realization that due to certain modern-day inventions like, say, window screens, I will probably never get the chance to steal a pie off of someone's windowsill and eat it with my hands down by the river.
I have come to terms with this. It simply will not happen, unless somehow it is "arranged," and what good is that? Not much.
Today, however, I realized another thing I will probably never do. I will probably never shave off my beard and cut and bleach my own hair at a highway rest-stop sink while being on the run.
You'll notice that I used the word "probably." That word gives me hope.
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TITLE: Simply Awesome
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/01/2004 05:49:51 PM
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BODY:
If you haven't seen the new Election Day video by Eminem, I suggest you check it out. Then get out your black hoodie, and head to the building with the little old lady, en masse.
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TITLE: Weekend Wrap-Up
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/01/2004 06:34:23 AM
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BODY:
Friday
Ok, so we got to watch Children of the Corn, and that's always good. But the trip to the corn maze was derailed by the fact that, when we opened the door to leave my apartment, there was white wall of water just outside the door. Holy crap was it pouring. So, faced with this dilemma, we did the natural thing. We charged through the monsoon and headed to the North Pole Bar, where we drank large quantities and drew pictures.
Ok, so you can't stay the whole night at the Pole. You have to move on, especially when the talk turns to karaoke, and the fact that a certain karaoke king was slated to appear at the Keyport Lounge, and that we could easily cross the bridge (it's just a bridge, get over it) to witness/participate in the karaoke mayhem.
I sung "Rock the Casbah." And I had my camera and huge memory card with, so we also set about the task of taking 246 pictures in one night. Mission ... accomplished.
This is my favorite of the bunch. Notice how the Summit sign makes an ominous cross shape. This could be the cover of a great horror movie that went straight to video.
Saturday
I was supposed to get my hair cut that day, but instead I slept until about 3:30pm, as is my usual waking time. I frittered away the evening, enjoying some rare time off, but then, around 11:30, I got a call from my favorite late-night partner in crime, Ms. Small, who brought over...
...the Midnight Indoor Sushi Picnic. OK, I provided the snazzy beach towel, but holy Christ, what do I do to deserve this treatment?
Then we watched They Shoot Horses, Don't They? which we enjoyed, despite its rather depressing themes.
Sunday
Another late rise, with a Pizza Luce brunch, and some lazing around in the evening, once again. I had to work at 12:15am, so I had no plans to attend C-Freak & Foggy's Halloween Bash, but once again, the Yippee Ki-yi-yay Small came forward and interrupted my plans for the evening, which originally involved watching things on PBS that I really wasn't all that interested in seeing. "I'm dressed like a cowgirl and we're going dancing," she said.
I said, "Uh ... no. I have to work. And I don't have a costume."
"There's a costume in your house somewhere," she said. I'll spare you the next 20 minutes of discussing whether or not I had a costume, and what that costume might be. Finally I 
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TITLE: Corn to the CORE
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/29/2004 03:13:11 AM
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BODY:
Who: Friends, snobbits, countrymen.
What: A pre-Halloween, pre-Election Day spookfest featuring (hopefully) a screening of the horrific horror classic, Children of the Corn, followed by a trip to "Flashlight Friday" at the Silver Brook Corn Maze.
Where: My house, then to Wrenshall, Minnesota.
When: Tonight (Friday). We'll begin in the very early evening, so as to cram all this in before the maze closes at 10pm.
Cost: $5/person at the maze, unless we have more than 10 people, in which case it'll be $4. (Cash only)
Other: Dress warm. Bring a flashlight. Bring whatever else you need. I have a Race Case of Molson Canadian.
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TITLE: The view out my window
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/29/2004 01:14:08 AM
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BODY:
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TITLE: La gélatine rouge dans la repaire d'opium (avec ananas)
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/27/2004 08:43:42 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: Beauties
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/27/2004 04:14:29 PM
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BODY:
With the chilly months coming and all, I thought I'd share with you the greatest socks in the world. They're a bit ragged, and a bit irregular, but I've had them since I was about 13 and they've never done me wrong.
Don't mess with me when I'm wearing these babies, or you will feel the sting, sting, STING! Plus, the "tread" effect done with black yarn on the bottom makes me too fast to comprehend.
Hall of Justice, here I come.
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TITLE: Advantages
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/26/2004 05:18:12 AM
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BODY:
It doesn't matter what his real name is. Let's call him Andy. Andy went to my elementary school and to my junior high, and maybe to my high school as well, but I'm not sure about that. I am sure, however, that I never said one word to Andy in my entire life. I'm also sure that Andy had few if any friends, was always physically dirty, and did poorly in school.
I've never given Andy much thought. I know his name, what he used to look like, and that is about it. But in the past week, I've come across two different people who may or may not have been him. One was an exquisitely obese man driving a nightmare of a minivan. The other was a down-and-out guy with long hair and a beard smoking in front of the Holiday Center.
Both times I had the same thought: "So that's what became of Andy. Well, that's about right."
Most of us are disadvantaged in one way or another. But some of us are just doomed from the start.
I've been thinking about this a lot lately. I had a lot of advantages. I was born into a house filled with three generations of relatives, not to mention the occasional foriegn exchange student. During my formative years, there was always plenty of people to pay attention to me and teach me things. I always had nutritious food to eat, clean clothes, and plenty of books. My parents never hit me once. When I reached age nine or so, the house emptied out and I had the run of the place, so was able to develop my independence. Plus all the money that was spread thin on feeding nine or ten people suddenly went to just three of us. I think I turned out fairly well-adjusted as a result of these things.
But there were limitations, too. For one example, even if I never contracted Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and effed up my GPA, I probably would never have been able to go to a really good, exclusive university simply because I never encountered anyone who knew how to prepare for such a thing, financially or academically. The only way that might have happened was in some bass-ackwards Tobias Wolff sort of way that involved an extreme personal motivation, luck, and a lot of cheating.
Yeah, I know: Boo-hoo. And yeah, I know: That kind of thing has as much to do with happiness as the number of molecules in Leonard Nimoy's butt.
But my point is that so much of who we turn out to be is determined by the people who surround us, their influence. Sure, once you get to a certain point in life, you can alter your course at will, but by how much?
And then there are people like Andy. Just doomed. As doomed today as they were in first grade. In fact, I think I see the doomed sort more often than any of the other sorts from my past. Or maybe I just notice them more. I see them in filthy jackets that advertise cigarettes or football teams, pushing rickety strollers or dragging obese toddlers. Or maybe they are alone, carrying that way about them that suggests they don't even know how to begin to dig their way out of this mess they're in. Sure, I might be wrong; they might be happy. But I don't think so.
For most of us, however, it is not a bad thing, provided that you acknowledge it. Where you are determines where you are going. And it doesn't matter what anyone else says or thinks about it, because no one else is travelling that same road. The only thing that matters is that you are travelling actively, and paying attention, and making some effort to steer. Because life will move you forward whether you have your eyes open or not.
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TITLE: Sweet & sticky Sunday night goodness
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/24/2004 11:05:58 PM
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BODY:
Mom update. First things first. So, I woke up this evening and headed straight to the hospital, because it has been a full week since I had seen my mom. I walked into her room and was utterly shocked. She wasn't in her bed ... she was sitting in a chair. "Hey, it's Barrett!" she said. It was the first time I'd heard her voice in a month and a half. She is beginning to walk, she is eating actual food (well, hospital food at least), and is getting stronger every day. There is a good chance that tomorrow she will leave the ICU and go to the rehab floor. She said she's excited about talking to a variety of people and being able to look out a window. I know that things like walking and eating probably don't seem like much, but after six weeks of being mostly unconscious, they are outstanding strides. Just to be see her sitting up and watching the ball game was incredible.
"People need to be as self-sufficient as possible," she said. "I'm not bragging, but I am the backbone of this family. But everyone has to take care of themselves now because I can't do it. I can't even take care of myself. Hopefully now that I'm getting better, the family can get back to normal, only more self-sufficient."
I told her that this is something we've been discussing for almost two months now. It's weird to have to look out for/worry about my mom. She always was the one to on top of everything, which is probably why she won the chess game with the reaper, this time at least. The doctors say it's a miracle.
I didn't do a whole lot. On my two days off I mean. I meant to go out Saturday night, because plenty was going on. Mike Nicolai played the Brewhouse and I wanted to see that. Sloe Loris played at Beaner's, a mere three blocks from my apartment. The freaking Dames played Luce, which I have sworn to avoid, but I would have liked to see the Dames. For certain undescribable reasons, I did none of these things. But -- I did get to hang out with Space Waitress who made an impromptu visit to Duluth for a little while on Saturday afternoon. We ate dinner and she shivered in my freezing apartment. Meanwhile, I ran around closing windows. Duluth is a cool city, SW. just like the T-shirt says.
FYI. When you're working the graveyard shift for the USPS, which is awesome by the way, the greatest song in the universe is "Sleeping In" by the Postal Service. Not that the whole album isn't fantastic.
Heads-up for next weekend. If you're looking for something to do Friday, and you consider yourself a friend of mine, I'm inviting you join me and mine for CORN TO THE CORE, baby. That's right, a pre-Halloween fiasco beginning at my apartment and extending out into the further reaches of greater Wrenshall.
Things start out in the early evening at my place with a screening of the horrible horror flick Children of the Corn. Then, all hopped up on corn and whatever, we head out for "Flashlight Friday" at the Silver Brook Corn Maze.
Now, however. I got home from the hospital, realized I had no booze in the house, and then realized I had a rare opportunity to steal some (don't ask). My plan is to drink it and watch both volumes of Kill Bill, back to back. Wakey, wakey ... eggs and bakey.
And yes. That is me in the picture. Notice the small eye-holes. I'm a year old or so, a blogger in the making already with pencil in hand. I look at this photo and think, god I want those chairs, those curtains. Those pants. I want everything 1974, except the computers. Well, not everything ... if you think the corn party is going to be a key party, you can just stay home. It's going to be good clean fun. Well, relatively clean. But please check your suburban desperation at the door.
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TITLE: Red
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/23/2004 10:50:37 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: Film Revisited 4: Motel Hell
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/22/2004 04:53:09 PM
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BODY:
Halloween is coming up soon, and that's the second-best reason to run out and rent Motel Hell immediately. The best reason, of course, is that this movie is so awesome I can hardly contain myself. I came home from work at 5am and threw this DVD in for some pre-dawn relaxation. Little did I know I would be in hysterics for the next hour and a half.
The first of the big belly laughs comes about 5 seconds into the movie. Even the credits are funny.
Rory Calhoun Nancy Parsons and Wolfman Jack
Rory Calhoun is old dude who was in about a million cheap westerns back when they made such things. Nancy Parsons is best known as Ms. Ballbricker from Porky's. Wolfman Jack is Wolfman Jack, and apparantly was such a star in 1980 that he gets top billing, even though he only has a cameo.
The plot is both familiar and ridiculous. Farmer Vincent (Calhoun) lives in the country with his sister Ida (Parsons), where they run a farm with a couple of sideline businesses. First is the ominous Motel Hello, with its flickering neon sign. Second is Farmer Vincent's Smoked Meats, which are best smoked meats in the world.
I think you know where this is going.
The secret recipe, of course, uses human flesh mixed in with the pork to spice things up. "It takes all kinds of critters to make Farmer Vincent's Fritters." The humans (or "animals" as Vincent calls them) are kept buried alive up to their chins in the "secret garden" with sacks over their heads. When Vincent and Ida "plant" them, they cut their vocal cords to keep them quiet. Vincent is kind enough to play 8-tracks for them so they don't get bored.
But none of this even matters. What matters is they way this stupid scenario is delivered. This movie is a study in how to make a B-movie, and everything is executed perfectly.
The unhidden, unforgiving backbends that the movie takes purely for the inclusion of nudity is a prime example. Why the hell does the sheriff take this girl to lover's lane so they can watch a drive-in movie with binoculars? Well, so that when the squad car pulls up to the make-out spot, the naked people in the cars will panic and do the natural thing, which is jump out of their vehicles and run around frantically jiggling. Of course. Who wouldn't do that?
Other scenes are just shockingly lurid. For instance, there's a scene with a kinky couple who show up at the motel with a tacky little pamphlet, wanting to know if the place is "cool." I can't and wouldn't even describe what happens next. It's too outrageous and too funny. You need to see it for yourself.
Also, there is the sympathetic attitude toward Farmer Vincent. He's not a bad guy. He prays to Jesus every day. He refuses to have premarital sex. Even the canniabalism, he does out of social concern: "There's too many people in the world and not enough food," he says. "Now this takes care of both problems at the same time."
Really, Farmer Vincent has only committed one sin in his entire life, which he reveals at the end. It's the punchline of the movie, really. Don't miss it.
Man. No sooner do I completely fall in love with Wanda Jackson than Bloodshot announces the upcoming release of Hard-Headed Woman: A Tribute To Wanda Jackson, featuring Neko Case, Trailer Bride, Robbie Fulks and the whole Bloodshot gang.
Says Bloodshot: "Known to many as the Queen of Rockabilly, Wanda Jackson is a maverick performer whose influence has reached far beyond the genre and cast a long shadow on the history of music---both sonically and in her performance style: She is one of Rock and Roll's original bad-asses. Wanda helped stake out a direct route from the feral origins of rock to the punks, riot grrrls and psychobilly boundary-busters 50 years later."
The CD is due out either Tuesday, October 26 or Thursday, October 28 (depending which part of the website you're reading). The full track listing can be found here.
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TITLE: Some damn fine mixes.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/20/2004 05:49:12 AM
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BODY:
That's what I've been makin'. If anyone wants to trade, drop me an email.
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TITLE: Paperboys, Grocery Stockers, and Me
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/19/2004 05:23:01 AM
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BODY:
There's a lot of people on the street at 5am. Well, more that you would think, anyway. I must have seen ten or twelve of them on my 4-block stroll home from work this morning. The slackers smoking in front of the gas station. The stockers filing out of the supermarket. The errant troublemakers roaring down Grand Avenue at 60 mph.
It kind of reminded me of when I was an errant troublemaker, during the summer in between high school and college. I had no job. I had no girlfriend. What I did have was an addiction to Jolt cola and a handful of similarly disinclined friends.
"I don't have a life," I'd complain, chuckling for some reason.
"Yeah, but you don't have any responsibilities either," was the inevitable reply. This was true. The most pressing decision of any day that summer was whether to swim in the lake or in Lester River.
The clock, like just about everything else, meant nothing. Hanging out could easily begin at midnight and end at noon the next day. Far too often, these hours were eaten up by endless games of Risk, interspersed with caffeine-induced arguments. Other nights we'd drive back and forth down Skyline, "surfing" on the outside of the car, stopping occasionally to shoot at stuff with BB guns. Youth, as they say, is wasted on the young.
For so many people, the day follows a regular schedule. Wake in the morning. Eat breakfast. Get to work at 9. Work. Get home at 6. Eat dinner. Watch TV. Sleep. Repeat. The TV news caters to people with this schedule, especially the weather report. They're always talking about "On your drive to work tomorrow morning," and "your weekend weather." I'm offended because sometimes my weekend occurs in the middle of the week. And as of today, morning is when I can either choose to go to sleep or choose to get drunk.
There is a whole segment of society that lives at night, some by choice and some not by choice. But by and large, we don't think about that. And we still equate rising early with virtue, and sleeping in the day as vice. It's silly, really.
In 9th grade, I got in an argument with my English teacher because she said, "Nothing good ever happens after midnight." Well, I lost the argument because I was only 14 years old and my defense was that her statement was too absolute. Yadda yadda yadda. But I'm 31 now, Mrs. Klun, and I can guarantee you that in my lifetime I've been ridden to the point of near insanity many, many times in the wee hours, and that is a very, very good thing. Case closed.
When you live life according to the schedule of the majority, life is a lot easier. When you tell people you're working the graveyard shift, they wince and feel sorry for you. But I'm not feeling sorry for myself right now. I'm feeling pretty good. And so many of the people I work with at night are happy with their schedule. They earn more money. They get shift differential, and they get more hours. And as my new supervisor said several times tonight, they have more fun. It's hard to describe, and I don't quite understand it yet, but the "vibe" is a lot more relaxed at night. It is more fun. Somehow.
I'm going to take these good things and run with them. I'm going to take these lemons and make lemonade. And being as that it's 6am, I'll dump a little Bacardi in that lemonade and think of you as your alarm is jolting you awake. Have fun at work, friends. I'm gonna watch some cartoons.
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TITLE: People who are angering my bunghole.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/18/2004 08:08:51 PM
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BODY:
The Destruction Crew The crew started remodling the downstairs apartment on the very day I was supposed to have switched to the night shift last time. And by "remodeling" I mean doing stuff that sounds like they're digging a coal mine, and doing it with the windows open so that the thermostat gets all confused and turns my apartment into an oven. A very noisy oven. Anyway, they apparantly found out that I was not working the night shift, and so postponed the project until this morning. This, my friend, is clearly a case of street theater.
Martha Stewart I simply do not understand the purpose of "sheer" curtains, or even worse than that, those curtains that are just a ruffly bit of fabric across the top of the window. Curtains have two very specific purposes: 1) to block out the evil, devil sun, and 2) to keep the guys at the auto shop next door from seeing my weiner. In order to accomplish these two objectives, curtains need to cover the entire window and be as opaque as the average sleeping bag. Yeah, I know you have two or three "maximum privacy" styles hidden over on the bottom shelf, but please. I have no interest in "filtering light" or "accenting" my room. And while I appreciate your efforts to encourage suburban women to turn their homes into fish bowls, I need a functional item here, and you have failed to provide it. No wonder you're in prison.
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TITLE: What is it?
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/18/2004 01:19:04 AM
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BODY:
You figure it out. I'm gonna go watch Returner.
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TITLE: Preparations
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/17/2004 11:15:48 PM
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BODY:
So far, my preparations for my new night schedule are going as well as can be expected. I stayed up until almost 4 last night, and slept all day. Tonight, I am attempting to make my bedroom as comfortable as I can. I've removed most of the clutter, washed the sheets, and, most importantly, dismantled the bed frame and put the mattress and box spring on the floor.
As any of the 
This movie is grouped with The Hollywood Knights in my mind, because both came out in 1979, both take place in the early 1960s, and both involve groups of high school kids who wear matching jackets. But whereas The Hollywood Knights is about a "car club" on the West Coast, The Wanderers is about a street gang in the Bronx.
I watched this movie over and over during the summer between second and third grade. Back then, I thought it was tough, but there was something definitely "off" about it. I didn't know what it was back then, but boy oh boy do I ever know what it is now.
The Wanderers is totally fricken HOMO.
The movie opens with Richie, a blue-eyed Italian who looks like he just stepped out of Teen Beat, deflowering his girlfriend. At the very moment of climax, he hears a whistle outside signaling trouble for his fellow Wanderers. Since he has his priorities straight, he leaps up and runs out to join the boys.
The Wanderers are being chased by the Baldies, a rival gang led by a huge 400-pound behemoth named Terror (you might remember this actor, Erland van Lidth de Jeude, from such memorable roles as Dynamo in The Running Man). Terror has a girlfriend named Pew Wee, who is probably 4'5" and 60 pounds. Pee Wee looks and dresses like a 10-year-old boy, so it's quite something to see Terror pick her up, cradle her in his arms, and make out with her. This oddity is compounded by the fact that Terror speaks in a very smooth and effeminate manner.
Anyway, back to the plot. Richie and his Wanderers are rescued by the new kid in town, Perry (played by Tony Ganios, whom you might remember from such memorable roles as Meat in Porky's). They want Perry to join the Wanderers, since he is Italian, too, and all the gangs are segregated by race, creed, and color. Perry is noncommittal.
For some reason, there are no girls at this school in the Bronx, even though this is obviously a public school. (All the kids are just too poor for private school.) This adds to the utterly homo feel of the movie, too. And it makes it easier for the kids to harmonize as the randomly break out into spontaneous doo-wop. (Gay, gay, gay!)
Trouble starts when the boys go out for an afternoon of "elbow-tittin'" (bumping into women as a ruse for copping a feel) and meet Nina (played by Karen Allen, whom you might remember from such memorable roles as Marion, the gal who can drink anyone under the table in Raiders of the Lost Ark). Despite the fumbled and obvious attempt at elbow-tittin', Nina obviously has the hots for Richie, and vice-versa. This is bad news, since the girl he just deflowered is the daughter of a local Mafioso.
There's a bunch of other boloney about an upcoming rumble with the black gangs which somehow turns into a football game, and then there's some weird Irish gang that lurks in the fog and makes everything turn surreal when they come out swinging their shillelaghs. Plus Richie knocks up the Mafioso's daughter, we find out that Meat's mom is an alkie, and Dynamo leads his Baldies to get drunk and accidentally join the Marines. The movie ends when Meat and John Ruvelson drive off to California, Teen Beat Richie chases Marion to the folkie coffeehouse and realizes he's no match for Bob Dylan, and Pee Wee parties down at the mafia shotgun wedding.
I think there's some deleted scenes on the DVD that feature a gay orgy, but I'm not sure.
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TITLE: Slack-Off Friday
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/08/2004 09:37:22 AM
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BODY:
All right, enough of my woe. Do yourself a favor. Navigate through and watch the "sexy vids" from Goldie Lookin Chain. This can turn your day right around.
I am a robot. I am interfaced with my spectrum. Behold.
[via Mass Distraction]
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TITLE: Film Revisited 2: The Hollywood Knights
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/07/2004 10:37:34 PM
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BODY:
This is the second in a series of reviews of movies I liked as a kid, and have not watched since.
Truthfully, I was a little scared about revisiting The Hollywood Knights for two reasons. The first was that I suspected that the movie just wouldn't be any good. The second was that when I first started discussing the idea of rewatching these movies, someone commented that in this film, you get to see Fran Drescher's boobies -- a frightening prospect. Nonetheless, I forged ahead in the name of art and science and all that is and is not holy.
The Hollywood Knights sucks. I'm saying this as an adult. With that in mind, I can see exactly why I liked the movie so much when I was 12. I liked it because of two things: 1) It has a lot of nudity. 2) It has a lot of jokes about poop, farts, and butts.
This sort of thing really flies when you're 12, but it doesn't age very well at all.
The story, if you can call it that, takes place in Los Angeles on Halloween night of 1965. There's a "car club" called the Hollywood Knights, consisting of teenagers who all wear matching jackets and drive hot rods. They hang out at a drive-in called Tubby's (Home of the Big One) and race hot rods and play pranks -- lots of pranks. The community wants to see them gone, so Tubby's is being demolished in the morning. Their head honcho, Newbomb Turk (played by Robert Wahl) makes sure their last night is a doozy. He leads them through adventures that involve farting along to "Volare," pissing in a punchbowl at the country club (one woman exclaims "I've had this taste in my mouth before..."), mooning people, and doing the old flaming-bag-of-dog-poop trick.
There's also a side story about Tony Danza being all mopey because Michelle Pfieffer has a screen test in the morning, and he thinks if she makes it big then he won't be good enough for her anymore. There's some other story about one of the Knights going off to Vietnam, but it's hardly worth mentioning.
The worst part is, unless I blinked at the wrong moment or something, you don't even get to see Fran Drescher's boobies. Her friends' boobies, yes. Fran's, no. I was actually a little let down about that, because in 1979, Fran Drescher was kinda hot.
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TITLE: Note to Today's ICU Visitors
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/07/2004 01:15:32 PM
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BODY:
You have my sympathy regarding your relative who "was fucken blitzed and went through the windshield." However, I have been in this waiting room for a month now, and I've learned a lot about how things operate around here. Here are a few bullet points that might help you and everyone else in the vicinity while you are waiting.
+ There is free coffee and cocoa for the people waiting. This does not mean, however, that you should take 50 packets of cocoa and stuff them into your backpack. Sure they are free; sure they are replenished. But this is a HOSPITAL, and the cocoa is there for the GRIEVING.
+ Wear a shirt. That's my final opinion on the subject. Your shirt is in your hand. There is no reason for you, as a person waiting in a hospital, to be shirtless. You are indoors, there is no possiblity of getting a suntan. People are crying, grieving, making arrangements for their recently deceased loved ones. Put on your goddamn shirt.
+ Let's have no happy memories of "that time you got in that fight and they had to dig out all them bone chips and then I came and seen you after I got outta Detox across the street and then we all went to the fucken Twins Bar and got hammered." Or at least, keep the volume down during such discussion. It's nice to know that while good, innocent people are suffering and struggling to hang onto their lives, that you are voluntarily flushing your life down the toilet.
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TITLE: November Occam's Razor - Teaser
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/06/2004 01:25:09 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: Occam's Razor - October
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/06/2004 01:24:47 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: The Early Out Form
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/04/2004 07:39:39 PM
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BODY:
One of the great things about my job is that when the volume of mail is low, I can request to leave early. I do this by filling out a form, and then waiting for the supervisor to approve the early out and tell me I can leave. Most of the time when I submit an early out, I still end up working the full shift. But it's always worth a try, epecially on nice days or on days when I have a lot to do.
Lately, I've noticed a voice in my head every time I submit an early out. It's a little bit of one-sided dialog, which is quite entertaining. And while I recreate that dialog for you now, let's just say that supervisors' names are, oh, I don't know, Joan and Lindsey. It doesn't really matter; the dialog is the same no matter what supervisors are on duty, because the whole thing is in my head.
OK, Joan. Now's the time of day when you sign that form and let me outta here. I can see you looking over in that general direction, because you're thinking about how that form is there, and how you plan to walk over and sign it. Go ahead. It's time ... YES! YES! Right over there! Now walk over, and ... YES! IT'S RIGHT IN THAT BOX. Now just take it out and ...
NO! NOOOOOO! NOT THE FRICKEN STAPLER!!! You don't need to staple something, Joan, you need to sign my form and let me go. OK, now when you put that stapler back the form is THREE INCHES FROM YOUR HAND. Pick. It. Up.
Oh, OK, Joan. Mmm-hmm. Go ahead, go ahead. Check the stats and write them on your clipboard. That's OK. You'll quickly notice how LOW the numbers are, and that in order to be efficient, someone should leave, and that someone should be ME. So go ahead and check the stats. That's it. Surprising, aren't they? There's one quick fix to those low stats, Joan. SIGN THE EFFING FORM.
OH! OH! OH! Here comes Lindsey. Since Joan is so busy checking those low stats, maybe she just doesn't have time to sign the form. But now with LINDSEY here, that form is DESTINED to be signed. Maybe management was understaffed all morning, but now that that is taken care of, they'll be able to realize how OVERSTAFFED the rest of this place is. And Mr. Barrett Chase of Barrett Chase Dot Com can go home.
That's it, Lindsey! Right over ... ARRRGH! Don't start doing EDITS. No one wants to see edits. But everyone wants to see my workstation without me in it. Hey ... HEY! Where are you two going?
The technician's room? Why in the HELL are you going ... ohhhhh. Heyyyy. Maybe there's some kind of super sensitive equipment in there that they need to check with before letting me go. Yeah, I bet that's it. And when they come out of that room, they'll be practically fighting over who gets to sign that form and send me home. But rivalry won't stop them from fulfilling their duty. And what a noble duty it is, too--getting me out of this fluorescent light and out into the sun, sunny, sunshine!
All right, here we ... hey. Joan, what are you ... checking the stats again? And Lindsey! Put down those freaking edits! We're burning daylight, here!
OK. You get the idea. This goes on for hours, until finally, I go home at my normal quitting time.
Finis.
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TITLE: Death Race 2000: A Critical Analysis
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/03/2004 10:17:59 AM
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BODY:
This is the first in what will hopefully be a series of reviews of B-movies I loved as a kid. The idea is to re-watch said movies and discover whether they are truly entertaining, or whether they have lost their charm during my whole growing-up process. The first of these little gems is a racing flick from 1975, which I saw on Showtime some years after that. If you think you might actually want to watch Death Race 2000, beware: there are spoilers ahead.
Before I begin, I just have to say that it took me about one minute after pressing "play" to realize that this movie kicks serious ass. It's that ... good.
Death Race 2000 tells the story of how, in the year 2000, after the Great Collapse, our great nation is held together by a cross-country auto race in which racers score points by running over pedestrians. Different types of pedestrians are worth different amounts. Senior citizens, for example, are worth 100 points. Teenagers are worth 40 points. Toddlers are worth 70. As race wisdom would have it, "If everyone scatters, go for the baby and mother."
The racers are a flamboyant lot, with character gimmicks much like pro wrestlers. There's Calamity Jane, with her bull-shaped car. There's Nazi-esque Mathilda the Hun (from Milwaukee), and her nerdy navigator, Herman the German. There's Nero the Hero. But the man to beat is Frankenstein, played by David Carradine. Frankie got his name because he's been in so many wrecks. He "lost a leg in '98, an arm in '99 ... With half a face and half a chest, and all the guts in the world, he's back!" The only real competition Frankenstein faces is Sylvester Stallone's character, Machine Gun Joe, who dresses as a '20s gangster and totes a Tommy gun.
Each of the drivers has a navigator of the opposite sex, because the relationship between driver and navigator is not only professional, but sexual. All the navigators are hot, except for Herman the German who is a real Poindexter. In a gloriously orchestrated plot complication, we learn that there is a rebel group who opposes the race (and the nation's leader, known only as "Mr. President," who heavily supports the race). The rebels have infiltrated the race and placed one of their own, Annie, as Frankenstein's navigator. Annie must somehow thwart the race from within, while not getting blown up and killed by one of her own group's saboteurs.
For me, the best part of the movie occurs early on, when the racers are lining up at the starting line. Many of the fans are cheering for Frankenstein, which angers Machine Gun Joe, whom the fans generally despise. Joe stands up in his car, grabs his machine gun and screams in true Stallone style, "You want Frankenstein? I'll give you Frankenstein!!" then proceeds to randomly fire his machine gun into the crowd.
But not only is there plenty of senseless and gratuitous violence, there's senseless and gratuitous nudity as well. At the first pit stop, all the drivers and navigators get "rub downs" from extremely buff and attractive members of the opposite sex. The nudity and sex is just as hilarious as the violence. You haven't lived until you've seen David Carradine seductively unzip his jumpsuit.
The whole movie is hilarious, really. I mean, for Christ's sake, one of the jokes is blatantly lifted from The Bugs Bunny/Roadrunner Show. Watch for it--it's a classic.
It's an obvious statement that Death Race 2000, like all good science fiction and all good satire, predicted the future somewhat accurately. The connection between the Race and reality TV ("You can't call off the race! The American people won't stand for it! The race is a symbol of everything we hold dear! Our American way of life! Sure it's violent! That's the way we love it! VIOLENT! VIOLENT! VIOLENT!!!") is the first to come to mind, but there is also the spin the government puts on the race, and the terrorist organization, led by Thomasina Paine, that wants to stop the Race and restore the "United Provences of America" back into the United States. Rather than admit that some people think the status quo is wrong, Mr. President goes on air and blames the "the treacherous French." He raves, "It is no coincidence, my dear children, that the word sabotage was invented by the French!"
Hmm...
But who cares about high-falutin' interpretations, anyway? You get to see a fistfight between Kung Fu and Rocky. And that's what really matters.
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TITLE: Truth on Tap
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/29/2004 08:25:17 PM
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BODY:
As of today, my mom has been in the ICU for three weeks. Right now I am in a state where I just want to say everything, so I am going to. Please do not leave comments. I don't want any of that. I just want to get this stuff out of my head, through my fingers and out into the world.
Three weeks ago, she went into the hospital for what is known as a 'stress test.' She had been having trouble with extreme fatigue and chronic bronchitis for a long time. After lots of other theories, her doctor thought that perhaps she had a heart problem, hence the test. During the test, they make you walk on a treadmill while connected to an EKG. The idea is to monitor your heart while it is working hard. After three minutes, her heart rate shot up to 260. If that means nothing to you, realize that at that rate, the heart is beating over 4 times per second. Luckily, this happened in a hospital, while being monitored.
An angiogram discovered three blocked vessels in her heart. They tried angioplasty--where they go in with a balloon and attempt to expand the vessels without surgery, but no dice. She needed a bypass.
The bypass went fine. However, there were two complications. 1) It did not fix the excessive heart rate--this was due to an additional problem. 2) She developed severe pneumonia.
The pneumonia was/is resistant to antibiotics. On top of that, she developed a very serious staph infection. For all this time, she has not been able to breathe on her own. Which means she has a tube down her throat, which means she can't talk. It is very uncomfortable, so she has been heavily drugged.
When they did the bypass, they used arteries from her chest to reroute the vessels in her heart. This caused a complication which happens with about 10% of bypass surgeries. See, when they do a bypass, they have to cut through a lot of bone. That bone has to be wired back together. Well, the arteries they use for the bypass feed those bones with blood. But since the arteries aren't there, the bones weaken. Sometimes they die. The dead bones, combined with the constant coughing from the pneumonia, caused the wires to rip though the bones, shredding them and exposing her heart below. Literally, it was wound, nothing, heart. Here's the understatement of the century: That is very dangerous, not to mention painful. So, she had to have another surgery to remove the dead bone, and take muscles from her chest and relocate them across the wound so there was something between her heart and the open air besides loosely stitched skin. This happened Monday. And all of this does not even take into account the fact that she will have to have another surgery to implant a device to regulate her heart. Sometime in the future, after recovery from this surgery and the pneumonia and staph infection.
There are many people I really care about who read this site, and some of those people smoke. I know. I know. This is "uncool" and I hate to sound like a public service announcement, but I beg you to stop. My mom quit seven years ago, but it seems that that only bought her a few years of health. This bed, these tubes, this extreme pain--this is where you are headed, and I don't want to see you in a bed suffering like this. Not that I will even be allowed in the vicinity; in most of the cases, as you are not my immediate family. Let's hope you have people like my sisters who will be there constantly for you, otherwise, you will lay there alone, in pain, terrified. This is what my mom does anyway, but she does have people coming in to comfort her, at least.
So. This brings us to yesterday. Yesterday I visited in the morning, and everything was fine. I left around noon, with a plan. Today I had the day off from work, and my plan was to do absolutely nothing. I wanted to enjoy not working, and to avoid the hospital and all its bleak news. I wanted to surf the internet, work in my yard, and watch junk TV. All of which I did. Then I got a phone call.
It seems that after I left yesterday, they attempted some kind of procedure. I don't know what it was, some readjustment of one of the multitude of tubes running into her body. Anyhow, my dad went in afterwards and found no one in sight. Not only that, but there was blood all over the floor, dirty rags and dirty hospital gowns strewn about. It smelled. The tape securing the tube to my mom's mouth was filthy, covered with blood and crust. They had apparently spilled some of her "food" (which is injected through a tube that runs into her stomach through her nose) and that was not cleaned up either.
My dad was enraged. He got my aunt and they complained. They were told that it would be cleaned up soon. It wasn't.
They filed a formal complaint, and got the attention of *someone* I am not sure who. There has been a lot to complain about. The doctors almost never tell us what they are doing. We sit in the waiting room all day every day, and sometimes we are told that one of the doctors is going to come to speak with us, and sometimes they actually do this, but sometimes they just never appear. Sometimes we hear rumors about possible procedures, repeated as though they are a done deal. There is a lot of misinformation. Most of the nurses are absolute saints, but one or two of them obviously (and when I say obviously, I mean obviously) view this as simply a job.
I think it's a bad sign when her regular doctor, the person who assigned the stress test to begin with, has been pretty much completely absent as far as family contact is concerned. After all, it's not like my mom is capable of making decisions right now. She's been pumped full of morphine for three weeks. She admitted to me after the first week that she didn't remember any of it.
So tomorrow morning, we are having a conference with the staff to find out exactly what is going on. We have been advised not to allow them to leave until we understand absolutely everything.
What gets me is that whenever I think it is finally OK to just breathe easy a little bit, there is yet another setback. For the first two weeks, I felt so anxious it was like my throat was closing. Then I just got depressed. Now I am angry. I am so sick of this I want to scream.
The thing is, what do I have to complain about, really? I'm not laying in there suffering. The only part I have to play in all this is to worry and hope.
Once again, please don't comment. I'm not looking for sympathy. I just want to dump this stuff on the world in general, being as that I've dumped too much on the people who mean the most to me.
Y'know ... no one ever talks about this really. You don't see this stuff on TV or in movies. It's all really easy and/or dramatic in the media. But (and I hate to say this) this is what happens to people. It's too awful to even discuss, apparently.
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TITLE: Photographic Capabilities: Restored
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/27/2004 08:08:16 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: Thanksgiving
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/25/2004 11:46:21 AM
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BODY:
Sometimes, when I am just walking leisurely down the street or laying in bed or hanging out in my yard, I stop for a second and realize that everything is going well.
It's a good thing to do, because you often don't realize that everything is going well. You only realize the extremes.
When I was working 60 hours a week, I'd be traveling between jobs and see people -- sometimes people I knew, sometimes not -- just taking a few moments out to talk to each other on Superior Street or to eat a sandwich while sitting on a fountain. I'd be so envious. I barely had enough time to eat lunch at all, and I had no time to enjoy the outdoors or to take it easy during the day.
The same thing happened to me while I was walking down First Street last week to see my mom in the hospital. It was a gorgeous morning, and people were out walking their dogs or just walking down to the bakery for scones. I wished that I was doing something like that, instead of visiting my mom in the ICU.
This morning reminds me a lot of a day like this almost a year ago. It was another beautiful autumn morning, and I woke up and blogged and drank strong coffee. I had a blast just taking it easy and doing nothing. I had that incredible feeling of being free, with nothing weighing on my mind. That night, I went to a going-away party and then to a bar, and had a lot of fun. At 4am, I received a call; Starfire had been attacked in downtown Minneapolis and was in the hospital with a broken jaw.
The point is this. These bad things that happen in life are often sudden and terrible. But the good things, more often than not, are quiet. And you have to be alert to tune into them and enjoy them while they're occurring. But we rarely do that unless it's obvious. We take all the good things for granted, because they are so quiet. There's no dramatic crescendo and creative camera angles to show us that it's an important moment. It just happens like the rest of life.
Stand By Me is not one of my favorite movies, but there is one scene that is just brilliant. The boys are in the junkyard, talking about Annette's tits on The Mickey Mouse Club, and Vern suddenly says, "This is a really good time."
The narrator explains, "Vern didn't just mean being off-limits inside the junkyard, or fudging on our folks, or going on a hike up the railroad tracks to Harlow. He meant those things, but it seems to me now it was more, and we all knew it. Everything was there and around us. We knew exactly who we were, and exactly where we were going. It was grand."
Then they flip to see who has to go to the store, they come up with a "goocher" and everything goes to hell from that moment on.
That is life. That's exactly it.
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TITLE: Election Night Idea
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/24/2004 04:23:52 PM
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BODY:
If I owned a bar, I would have mudwrestling on Election Night. The main event, of course, would feature two women in bikinis wearing rubber Kerry & Bush masks. But leading up to the main event, we would see important presidential bouts from history, such as Nixon/Kennedy and Lincoln/Douglas. For those who prefer a slaughter, we'd have Reagan/Mondale, but for those who prefer tighter competetion, we'd have Truman/Dewey.
Did I mention I'm a fricken genius?
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TITLE: 
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TITLE: Grief Goes Political
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/19/2004 01:19:56 PM
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BODY:
OK. A few days ago, I was in the intensive care waiting room, which was filled mostly with my family. In fact, there was only one non-Chase in the room. So at one point, this person drags a chair over to the TV (like a foot and a half fromt the screen) and turns it on. This would be fine, except she chose to watch CNN.
Let me tell you, when a loved one is in seriously bad condition, the last thing you need to hear is people loudly yammering over Kerry's war record. For hours. Plus, there is the heated emotional environment in the waiting room, and the fact that various members of my family are polarized when it comes to politics, and there is so much potential for things to get ugly, should a political discussion emerge.
Anyway, that was bad enough. Rest assured that no political argument happened, everyone was too mature for that. But then, oh, god, here comes the interview with the mother of Laci Peterson, the woman who was murdered in California by her own husband.
Now, someone whose daughter was murdered by her own husband has all of my sympathy. But Christ, she's on CNN, all blubber blubber blubber with what should be private, while just down the hall from where I'm at, people are suffering and dying far worse deaths than her daughter ever dreamed of. Trust me.
Still, that's not what my problem is.
My problem is (and while I admittedly have not been following this case, and while I was admittedly trying to ignore the interview, here we go) she made the following remark. I'm paraphrasing this, but it is true:
Deep down, I actually am somewhat grateful, because she is dead now, and therefore she won't ever have to worry about being in a terrorist attack.
DOUBLE. YOU. TEE. EFF.
MAY I REPEAT: EXCUUUUSE ME?
Are we so afraid of terrorists that it is actually better to be murdered by someone you love gone berserk than by some stranger? Uh, I can't even imagine why this would OCCUR to someone, let alone why someone would think it's a good thing to say on national TV.
Today, golf was on in the ICU. I have never wanted to watch golf in my life, which made me think it was perfect ICU material. Because nothing is easier to ignore. Amen.
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TITLE: Chair Politics
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/18/2004 10:41:45 PM
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BODY:
There aren't many variables to my job, and thus, when people ask "How was your day at work?" I'm usually baffled. "Uh. It was a day at work. Just like yesterday. Just like a year ago. Just like always."
Sometimes I have to stay late, and sometimes I get to go home early. Sometimes I get in trouble for something, and sometimes I am praised. Rarely, everything breaks down and we have to wait, or there is a tornado warning and we have to stand by the wall, or someone burns something in the microwave and we have to go outside and wait for the fire department to shut off the alarms.
But most of the time, it's the same.
Really, there are only two major components to my job -- sitting and typing -- and it is a rare occasion indeed when something happens to affect one of those major components. Well, this week we got a whole bunch of new chairs, which is a huge event in the world of sitting and typing.
Let's start with a little chair history, shall we? At first, there were the red chairs. Everyone loved the red chairs*. They were so easy and so comfortable. The backrest adjusted for tilt and for height. The seat adjusted up and down. They swiveled and rolled.
Then some of those wore out, so we got some new chairs -- the blue chairs. Everyone hated the blue chairs, mainly because of one feature: the backrest reclined when you leaned on it. But here's the clincher. There was a switch at the bottom to lock the backrest in place. Because people hate change, nearly everyone assumed that the new chairs just plain sucked, and you'd see people panic when they came in to find a blue chair in their usual cubicle. They freak out, and dump the blue chair somewhere else, exchanging it for one of the older, more familiar red chairs.
For the record, I thought the blue chairs were just fine. But I was one of the few (and I do mean few) who knew the secret of the switch.
Now, we have these new, ultra-super, space-age babies. These sassy little darlings have arm rests**, which are individually adjustable. The "seat pan" adjusts for maximum comfort. The backrest raises and lowers, and adjusts to any angle a healthy person would want. In combination with a footrest, it is possible to turn one of these chairs into a chaise that feels like the cockpit of a rocketship to Venus. Bravo, US Postal Service! Your new chairs rock!
I'm interested, however, to find out whether people will be willing to figure them out on their own, or if we will have to have a training session to learn how to use them. Today I saw someone actually switching the old red chairs around. Rather than simply adjusting the chair to meet their needs, this person was wandering around trying to find one that was already adjusted that way.
Government workers. *Sigh* This is my life.
* This reminds me of the episode of Friends where they describe their La-Z-Boys as "the chair that Sit magazine called Chair of the Year." OK, say what you want about the show, (no, go ahead, please) but that line fricken cracks me up.
** Which hopefully will put an end to the arm-rest torture devices that some people insist on using at my workplace. These look frighteningly like the stirrups on a gynecologist's examination table. They clamp to the desk, not the chair, and are stored in a huge cardboard box. When the people who use them arrive at work, they dig through the box to get their favorites (this sounds something like someone dropping a silverware drawer down a flight of stairs) and then put them on their desks, a seemingly 10-minute process. The people who use these things are very, very passionate on the subject, and you don't want to cross them. The arm-stirrups are their heroin.
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TITLE: Observations and Thoughts
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/16/2004 10:40:14 AM
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BODY:
On a street near my house, there is a huge lake of a puddle, like maybe fifteen or twenty feet across. But even though it has a large surface area, it's pretty shallow. Yesterday, I was walking nearby and noticed a disturbance in the puddle. Well, the disturbance turned out to be a mouse, which suddenly shot across the puddle and then across the rest of the street. You kind of had to be there, but it was sweet. You could have waterskied behind that little bastard.
This morning, I put on a T-shirt and then realized it had the words "I'm with stupid" scrawled across the front in Sharpie marker. There is a corresponding arrow pointing to the right. I momentarily paused, thought, "Hm." Then carried on about my business.
I used to think a good shirt idea was "I'm with stupid," with the arrow pointing straight down. Then, in a catalog, I saw a shirt that said "I'm with stupid's wife." You can't beat that.
Speaking of good inventions, everyone hates the lo-flo toilets. That is a certainty. But in some parts of the world, they conserve water by using dual-action toilets. These babies have two flushers: a #1 flusher and a #2 flusher, so to speak. #1 uses just a little water, while #2 gives you the big flood we all know and love. When I first heard about that, I thought it was ingenious. But it's not ingenious, it's obvious. How many other products are this inefficient?
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TITLE: So.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/15/2004 11:31:29 PM
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BODY:
My left brain is completely useless these days. I got nuthin'. I think if my camera were back from the shop, I'd be able to come up with sumthin', but it's not, so I got nuthin'.
Still.
My good friend Maria called me today and said, "Barrett Chase," (she always calls me that) "you once told me the best idea for a party I ever heard. And right now, you could use some cheering up so I think you should follow through. It would be good for you. It would be like a rain dance, only for your mind."
Let's see ... holy shit, that would be a good thing!
Anyway, here's my idea. It's called "BC's BYOBC Party." (The "c" stands for chips.) It's basically a run-of-the-mill party, except that I want to get one of those huge cans of fake nacho cheese from the industrial food aisle as Super One. I'm gonna take the label off and stick the whole works in the oven to warm it. Maybe I will or maybe I won't dump a jar of jalapeno peppers in there. Then we all get squiffy and eat chips and have ourselves a good ol' time, yessir.
The question is whether to have it soon (for immediate relief) or to wait a week or so (so that I can acquire season 2 of Aqua Teen Hunger Force and Death Race 2000 from Netflix).
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TITLE: Escape
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/14/2004 01:50:12 AM
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BODY:
OK, this blog is still too serious. It's time for some escape. Despite the cheesiness of quizzes, I think this one has some definite merit. (via Briantology)
Take the quiz here and then Check out the Scoreboard
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TITLE: It's going to be a long and slow process...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/13/2004 11:52:03 AM
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BODY:
And right now, I have a cold and about a million zits. I have no immune system left.
Anyhow, there is not much to say, and really nothing anyone can do. So let's bring this blog back to its original purpose: general fuckheadery.
One of the interesting things about spending hours upon hours in a waiting room is that you exchange lots of weird stories with your family. Stories you've never heard before.
Yesterday, my sister was telling me about how bad her kids were when they were little (they're in their mid-late 20s now). "One day I came home," she said, "and I went into the backyard, and what do you think I found hanging from the clothesline? FROGS! Live frogs! Clipped to the line by their hind feet with clothespins!"
I haven't been able to get that image out of my head since.
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TITLE: It's Not Good.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/12/2004 01:15:07 AM
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BODY:
I feel stupid writing this, because this is a goofy weblog, and it lends itself mainly to cheesy humor and sarcasm, but anyway...but anyway. I feel there is some sort of release to be gained by doing it, so I will.
My mom is not doing well at all. I don't even know where to begin to decribe my feelings. In fact, I don't even want to.
Her bypass surgery, though necessary, did not solve her problem. She is in a very bad state, and will be into the near future.
I remain optimistic, but obviously it is difficult to see her in so much pain, and so terrified, unable to speak, unable to move, unable to breathe on her own. She is supposed to take care of me, right? When I am looking at her, my first impulse is to go to her house and talk to her about it, which is the ultimate paradox.
Compared to this, everything else is easy. Everything else.
There is no more fucking around. I have plans, and I will cool down and think before I act on them, but life is short as they say. There is no more fucking around.
But first, I have to ride out this horrible nightmare. It is the worst I've ever had.
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TITLE: Oh, life.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/09/2004 12:01:46 AM
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BODY:
This evening, my mother was sent to intensive care due to heart problems.
I have no desire to use my left brain at all. I am dealing with this with a combination of red wine, the Talking Heads, and the colorization of old Occam's Razor comics. It is working remarkably well.
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TITLE: Sammiches
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/08/2004 11:17:53 AM
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BODY:
When I was in my teens, my mom had this awesome thing she'd do with leftover mashed potatoes. She'd make them into these sort of patties and fry them up. They weren't latkes, which are thinner. These were big, thick bastards, well-browned and cripy on the outside.
But the real magic happened when these patties became leftovers. Whew. I can barely type this remembering it.
See, when you're 15 years old, you like to eat more than anything else. You have to eat like a lunatic. I'd eat a whole box of Cap'n Crunch in one sitting back then. It was the greatest.
Anyway, what I'd do is take one of them patties cold out of the refrigerator along with a thick slice of cold, leftover meatloaf and make a sandwich on gooey white bread, just drowned in ketchup. God, that was good.
The best part is, whether you're a vegetarian or a carb-counter, there's something in there to horrify everyone.
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TITLE: Bowling Scores
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/08/2004 01:07:33 AM
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BODY:
It's been a long time. But I'm right there, baby.
1. 138
2. 106
3. 157
P.S. Check out Nixon's foot in the above photo: Over the line, Smokey! Mark it a zero.
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TITLE: Sneak Preview
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/05/2004 10:31:31 PM
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BODY:
Here's a drawing from the October edition of Occam's Razor. I'm isolating it right now because it's one of my favorite frames of all time. I had so much fun drawing it. The image of two guys playing checkers in a general store has always captivated me, and I'm glad I finally got to use it in a comic.
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TITLE: The Most Hideous Thing I Own
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/05/2004 09:45:26 AM
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BODY:
This really takes the cake. I am simultaneously fascinated and repulsed. And yes, I downloaded the song to match the sheet music.
Of course.
Duh.
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TITLE: Please Stand By
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/05/2004 01:53:30 AM
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BODY:
As you most certainly have realized, barrettchase.com has been ignored for the past few days. It will return to its regularly scheduled blabber very shortly. Until then, please enjoy this image of Ken Curtis, aka Festus from TV's Gunsmoke.
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TITLE: The Best of Eleanor.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/29/2004 09:23:48 PM
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BODY:
A while back, I wrote about the 300-350 records I got from the house of a deceased recluse named Eleanor. I haven't even listened to a fraction of these records, but here are my five favorites, so far.
1. Right or Wrong by Wanda Jackson. Wanda Jackson is "The Queen of Rockabilly," and on this album, she "pours sugar over six ballads and rocks around six big beat tunes," according to the sleeve. There is no better way to describe this album. And aside from being utterly hot (see above picture) she was also the first female rockabilly singer to design her own swanky, stylish clothes (on the sleeve, she's wearing a bustier) rather than get duded up in the cheesy, fringy outfits of the day. It doesn't hurt that her singing is outstanding.
2. I Walk Alone by Don Gibson. Don Gibson wrote all kinds of incredible country songs such as "Sweet Dreams" and "Oh Lonesome Me." I have several of his albums, but this one is by far the best. It's slow, sad, and sweet, with a funky groove that runs throughout. I imagine that under the right circumstances, it would be a good makeout album.
3. Night Life by Ray Price. This album is utterly debauched. The chorus in the title track is so hardcore I can hardly stand it: "Oh, the night life ain't no good life, but it's my life." But that's nothing compared to the song "The Wild Side of Life," which is about a guy who married a party girl, much to his dismay: "The glimmer of the gay nightlife has lured you/to the places where the wine and liquor flow/where you wait to be anybody's baby/and forget the truest love you'd ever know." This is immediately followed by a song about a guy who can't stop drinking and fighting. Awesome.
4. Devil Woman by Marty Robbins. OK, I admit the sleeve has a lot to do with why I love this album. But I think the title track is one of the best Marty Robbins songs, plus the album wraps up with "The Wine Flowed Freely," which is just tremendous.
5. Jackson Ain't a Very Big Town by Norma Jean. Norma Jean looks so innocent but she isn't, and that's part of her appeal. Her song "From the Church to the Bar Room" tells about her downward spiral, from being a respectable girl to being a barfly having an affair with a married man, is probably the best track on the album. Then there's "Now it's Every Night," with its refrain, "It started out as once a week, but now it's every night."
I think we all know what that means.
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TITLE: Missed Opportunities
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/28/2004 06:58:34 PM
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BODY:
I coulda had a spontaneous adventure. So I'm riding my bike down Grand Avenue this morning, when what should I see but a carload of Snobbits tooling down the street. "We're going to the fair!" they said. "Quick, chain your bike to that pole and get in!" But ... I had to go to work. Despite how they insisted that I call in sick, I did the right and boring thing. It's been a long time since I just hopped into a car and left town unannounced for a couple days; that would have been cool.
I coulda got mad, like this one guy. The reason I was on my bike in the first place is that I was going to the bank, which is in a new location. When I got there, I discovered that the new place only has drive-through service on Saturdays. So as I was inside the lobby, filling out a deposit slip, a guy came in and got totally enraged. "What they're saying by this is that if you don't have a car, you are a second-class citizen! That is clearly their philosophy. And I suppose if I stand here by this commercial window, no one will come to help me." I said I'd been there for about five minutes, signing my checks and filling out my forms, and no one had come over. "Maybe there's a bell," I suggested.
"Yeah, there's a fucken bell," he said, indicating the fire alarm. "It's right here!"
I coulda got me some mink fur. Seriously. I probably still could. There's a squashed mink on the side of the road less than a block from my house. It's there for you if you want it. I've never actually seen a mink around here, only martens, and they are pretty skittish, too. Mink.
Mink.
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TITLE: Stuff I'm Supposed to Love, But Don't
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/26/2004 01:29:47 AM
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BODY:
Chocolate. It's not that I hate chocolate. I'll eat a chocolate-chip cookie now and then. A few Hershey's Kisses about once a year. A mocha java on occasion. I just don't understand why people love it so much. It's nothing special, and cheaper varieties are downright gross. In ice cream, however, I think it is disgusting. There are so many other toppings that are so much better (there's caramel, for crying out loud). And chocolate ice cream itself tastes like wax -- why the hell would someone ruin perfectly good ice cream? Ugh.
And don't even think about that whole "chocolate as a substitute for sex" thing. If that's your way of thinking, you might as well just give up. Just get yourself some reading material and spend the rest of your life tucked away in your apartment with your little friends.
Reggae. OK, here's something I really do hate. With a fricken passion. There aren't very many human-made sounds that are more irritating. There's a great scene in the movie Ghost World where Enid says something like, "This place is full of idiots," then this frat boy walks by and says, "Dude, let's go hear some reggae." Enid motions to him as if to say, "Case in point."
Natural Hygiene Products. I'm sorry about this one, but it's true. I wish these products actually worked, but they seem to be a scam perpetrated against people who want to protect the environment from harm and their own bodies from cancer. The fact is, I get better results wearing no deodorant that I do with that Tom's crap. And if you ask me to brush my teeth with little more than baking soda, you'd better start looking for a new friend.
Monty Python Movies. Yeah, they're funny. And yes, the cast is incredibly talented. But you know what? I've seen them, and I have no desire to see them again and again.
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TITLE: Window Washing Stories, Pt. 4
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/25/2004 11:05:01 PM
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BODY:
Of course, everyone wonders what it's like to spend so much time so far above the ground. I have to say that it rocked, at least after I got used to it. And I never felt like I was in any kind of danger. Well, almost.
There was one time when I was on the piddly ladder -- the 16-footer -- which only reached to the second storey. I was doing a normal-sized house in Superior, I remember, whose yard was very hilly, with wet grass that hadn't been mowed in a long time. For some reason, the slant of the yard combined with a wrong move on my part made the ladder suddenly tilt backward, away from the house.
I did the only thing I could -- I thrust out one leg and one arm in an attempt to balance myself on the ladder, which was not leaning against anything but just standing straight up in the air. It worked. Then I leaned forward so that the ladder would smack back onto the side of the house again. This worked too.
And then, I just continued washing the windows, thinking about how I could probably make a lot more money in the circus.
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TITLE: This Says It All
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/24/2004 10:18:22 AM
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BODY:
So I'm working on a post when suddenly this thing arrives via email. What use is the written word now?
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TITLE: Window Washing Stories, Pt. 3
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/23/2004 11:11:08 AM
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BODY:
One of the nicest houses I ever worked at was just off of Skyline Drive in the West End. This place was an absolutely huge house, and was brand new. I chose to clean inside while my partner took the outside. In general, he preferred not to interact with the customers. I preferred not to dangle from the eaves like a monkey.
So this house. When you walked in, you were in a foyer with a skylight two stories above you. To your right was a spiral staircase with several landings. Straight ahead was the kitchen.
If you walked halfway up the staircase, you got to the living room, which was huge and surrounded by windows. There was a fireplace, several couches, and a great entertainment center. I remember that these windows were so new that they still had the stickers on them, and I had to scrape them off with a razor blade. It's pretty standard and easy, if you know what you are doing, but the woman of the house was kind of distraught about it and gave my the typical million apologies I'd become accustomed to as a window washer.
The woman of the house. She was very beautiful and blonde and meek, and she had a baby. She was also very quiet and very sad. About halfway through the job, her husband came home and I saw why she was so depressed. He was about 35, dressed in a suit with his hair slicked back. She handed him coffee when he came in, and went into the kitchen. Soon, the shouting began.
"Where the FUCK is my paper? Your job is NOT very hard. I work and I work and I work and it is not in my fucking job description to search the fucking house for the paper. It is supposed to be on the kitchen table. Is that so DIFFICULT for you to do? To put the PAPER on the TABLE?"
Ugh.
I retreated to the third floor, where the bedrooms were, and tried not to listen. The master bedroom had a king-size bed in the middle of the room, directly beneath a skylight in the 15-foot ceiling. The master bath had a sunken bathtub big enough for two, plus a separate shower and a deck overlooking the back yard. I was young, poor, and newly in love, and my mind alternated between how I would like to use these rooms, and how this asshole undoubtedly defiled his pretty, shy wife in this very bed and bathtub on a routine basis.
There was one window I could not clean, which was the sliding glass door in the kitchen. I wanted to address the guy personally about this, because I knew if I talked to the woman, the guy would throw a shitfit at her when he saw that it was still dirty. I told him it would never come clean because his dog had scratched it up, and there was dirt embedded in the glass. He started to complain, and I just said, "Look." I rubbed the squeegee across the inside pane, and on the outside the dog started chasing the squeegee and pawing at the glass with his extremely muddy feet. The guy defused right away, and seemed to calm down in general.
I don't think he even knew I was there when he was yelling at his wife, and I gathered that the screaming fits were generally a private thing. The baby would probably be 11 years old now. I wonder how the little family is doing?
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TITLE: Time After Time
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/20/2004 10:05:13 PM
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BODY:
Several months ago, I made a couple posts about movies I enjoyed when I was a kid, and would like to see again. Mainly, I just want to see how ridiculous they are, and how they hold up over time.
Well, I was looking through the DVDs at the library the other day, and I found a movie of this type that wasn't on either of my lists. Naturally, I snatched it up and took it home.
The movie is Time After Time, starring Malcom McDowell, and for some reason, I really liked this movie as a kid. The premise is that H.G. Wells actually built a time machine before he wrote any books. He is discussing the machine with some of his associates when the boys from Scotland Yard come to the door. It seems that one of H.G.'s friends is actually Jack the Ripper! The Ripper escapes by using the time machine to go to 1979 San Francisco. Of course, H.G. chases him into the future, where he falls in love with Mary Steenburgen.
But before he leaves, we learn that H.G. has the idea that the future will be a utopia, and that everyone will get along beautifully. Jack the Ripper thinks the opposite is true. Of course, the Ripper thinks 1979 is incredible. "I'm an amatuer here," he exclaims. Wells is shocked and disgusted.
The movie is cute and funny, with utterly terrible special effects. I think the thing I liked best is that there are several details that later ended up being referenced in Back to the Future. To a certain extent the inside of the time machine looks very similar to the one in BTTF. The time circuits are laid out the same way. And the time travelers go from Nov. 5, 1893 to Nov. 5, 1979, just as in BTTF, Marty McFly travels from Nov. 5 1985 to Nov. 5, 1955.
Anyway, the experience inspired me to throw some of my old favorites into my Netflix queue. If anyone wants to watch Death Race 2000 with me, give me a shout and I'll let you know when it comes in.
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TITLE: Bak 2 Skool, Dood!
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/19/2004 11:09:01 AM
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BODY:
The air is getting crisp, the squirrels are turning grey, and once again, it's time for the kids to prepare for another school year. All students have to take certain mandatory courses, but what electives will prepare little Jimmy for the real world? Well, I'm glad you asked. Here are some of the options available, and my assessment of them.
Marketing. In marketing, you will learn important concepts such as latent needs, wherein you make the consumer realize they have a need for something they previously didn't even know about. You will learn about the most important rule of sales: ABC -- Always Be Closing. Most importantly, you will lean about AIDA -- generating Attention, Interest, Desire, and Action to sell your product and/or service.
These concepts are completely useless in the business world, of course. But when properly implemented in social settings, they will get you laid every time.
Higher Math. Math is mandatory to a certain level, and after that, it is elective. You will never need to know math higher than geometry, and you will only need that to find your way home when it is 3 o'clock in the morning, you are flat broke, and you are triangularly drunk.
Photography. During my stint in high school the great genius economics teacher Richard Gastler often explained to us the importance of taking a photography class. "That way," he said, "you can ask that special someone to 'come into the darkroom and see what develops.'" Gastler.
Wood Shop/Home Economics. Don't ever take these classes. They're for stupid kids, and they're beneath you. You will never need to know how to varnish wood or cook eggs. Obviously, you will have servants to do that for you.
Anatomy & Physiology. I can only speak from personal experience when it comes to A&P. I took this class on the pretense that I was thinking of going into a career in the sciences. In retrospect, my career in the sciences didn't pan out, but I did gain a terrific appreciation for dismantling cats with a scalpel and a bone saw, and taking 6 weeks to do it.
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TITLE: Totally Mint
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/18/2004 01:18:40 PM
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BODY:
Recently, I acquired a kickass bookshelf from my parents, on the condition that I get rid of all my crap that was inside it. When I did this, my parents informed me that I also had a lot of junk left in my old room, and that I should get rid of that sometime soon as well. So, having the day off today, I went over and took a peek at what I left behind many years ago.
OK, the Kojak book pretty much rocks on its own, since it's a UK import that originally went for 50p. But what's even better is that I found this little morsel tucked away inside it. Wow. That's almost too much mint for me to take.
Some other items in the general morass of my old closet include:
- About 50 Mad paperbacks.
- A Kool-Aid promotional comic book, in which Kool-Aid Man battles the Thirsties.
- A 110 camera, with six mysterious pictures on the roll of film inside.
- An unopened bottle of Leinie's Honey Weiss, circa 1995.
- Two Casio keyboards.
- Tons of Dungeons & Dragons books.
- Four quarters in a sealed envelope. (?)
- Lots and lots of cassette tapes.
- My 7th grade yearbook, complete with witty commentary regarding the assistant principal.
There is oh, so much more to go through.
--------
TITLE: Window Washing Stories, Pt. 2
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/17/2004 10:33:19 AM
-----
BODY:
One morning, my boss called me early and said that the job for that day was in Two Harbors, and that he had to go to Two Harbors for some other business, so he'd appreciate it if I rode with him instead of my partner. Confused, I said OK.
As soon as we got on the road, he handed me a pamphlet titled something like "Dealing Politely with Customers." He asked me to read it, so I did.
When I was finished he said, "I suppose you know what this is about." I was baffled. "We've had some complaints about you, and I want you to know I'm taking them very seriously."
"What kind of complaints?"
"Well, the woman out in the East End, the one with the dogs. She said that you were very rude to her, and that you took too long to clean the windows. She said you were lazy, and that the job you did was unsatisfactory in the end."
Now, this didn't TOTALLY surprise me, because while most customers ran around frantically, embarrassed by the state of their windows and apologizing for not being able to clean them themselves, sometimes customers were Horrible Assholes Who Should Go Straight to Hell, and these people would complain about the slightest little thing. Still, I didn't remember any dogs.
"It was a huge green house. And you had to be very careful around the dogs. There were three huge dogs, and they were all very vicious."
This I would have remembered. But I had no recollection of the place.
"She said you scratched up the side of her house with the ladders. She said your partner did all the work, and that for the most part you just stood around in the backyard smoking. When she confronted you, she said you used profanity and you were very rude."
OK. This is just plain wrong. First of all, I wasn't even there. Second, I don't even smoke. I told my boss this, and he was skeptical. I told him to ask my partner Andy about it if he didn't believe me. Andy wasn't there either.
Eventually, it came out that one of the other window washers, Bruce, was the culprit. Bruce who lived in a van. Bruce who had been given the job as a favor to someone my boss knew. Bruce who, when confronted by an angry housewife, told her 1) to go fuck herself, and 2) that his name was Barrett Chase.
The next day my boss apologized, and said that I was a good man. I was just a kid then, so I brushed the whole thing off. I think if someone did something like that to me now, I'd hunt them down and remove their eyeballs.
--------
TITLE: Window Washing Stories, Pt. 1
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/16/2004 09:57:44 PM
-----
BODY:
When I was in college, I had a job as a window washer that I liked quite a bit. It was a dangerous job and the pay was awful, but it was cool to go into different places every day and see how other people lived. I made 40% commission, which I had to split with my partner, which ended up being something like minimum wage. We couldn't work on days when it rained, and we spent much of our time climbing up and down 40-foot-tall extension ladders. You read that right: 40 feet. That sumbitch was both scary and heavy. But after awhile it was also kind of cool. I didn't work there long enough to be able to do a "jump," where you rappel down the side of a building using rock-climbing gear. Our outfit wasn't classy enough to have stuff like scaffolds or cherry pickers.
Anyway. On to the first story.
My partner's name was Andy. Andy was a cool guy, but also kind of strange. He was a pastor, so he talked about Jesus a lot. Also, he seemed to really get into being a window washer. He even went as far as to paint his Honda station wagon with yellow house paint, so that it would look more like a service vehicle.
One day, a guy from Andy's church spotted us as we were working at the UMD Medical School. This guy was pretty damn weird. He was scruffy looking, a little dirty, with extremely unkempt hair and thick glasses. He came up to Andy, and asked him, as his pastor, to give him some advice. The two of them walked away a few steps so they could get some privacy, and I did my best to ignore them, which proved to be impossible.
All I know is that Andy appeared to be very uncomfortable after he learned what the guy wanted advice about. The guy didn't take this discomfort very well. Things got a bit heated and voices were raised. But all I heard was Andy saying something like, "You've got to just trust in Jesus," while the guy yelled, "I wouldn't have this problem if I could just get a wife!" Andy said he would pray for him.
I would like to think that the problem might have been a non-problem, like maybe the guy just felt guilty for taking too many solo flights or something. Or maybe he was just into porn. But his creepiness makes me fear that something it was something more depraved than that. I hope not, because you can pray on that kind of shit all day long, but some people just need to be isolated.
--------
TITLE: C'mon, Mom, everyone else is doing it...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/15/2004 11:35:18 PM
-----
BODY:
All my recent debacles with my job, in addition to all the recent talk about moving away, has got me thinking about fleeing this town. Not that I'm going to do it. I'm just thinking about it. Imagining it, so to speak. See, one of the great things about working for the USPS is that you can transfer anywhere. There are Post Offices in every city in the nation, and a lot of them are hiring. So anyway, I've been thinking about my possible options. It's very liberating. Here they are:
The obvious. I've always had a prejudice about Minneapolis. But the thing is, there are a lot of ways to live in the Cities, and there is a lot to do and experience there. I feel pretty confident that I could make a life for myself there that doesn't involve some suburban nightmare complete with SUV and Mosquito Magnet. The problem here is that my confidence might be misguided.
One of those cities you never even think of. It gives me great pleasure to know that there are certain cities I forget about, for years at a time. Indianapolis, for example, enters my consciousness about once every five years. There are a whole host of cities like this, and it would be kind of fun/stupid to move to a city I know absolutely nothing about. The problem here is obvious -- I'd end up living in Cleveland.
Some small town in the middle of nowhere. Another great thing about the USPS is that (I'm not quite sure if this is true, but I'm 85% positive) a job is a job is a job, as far as salary goes. What I'm saying is that a clerk gets the same pay no matter where they live. A clerk in Manhattan would probably find things a little tight, at least at first, but a clerk in Buttmunch, Michigan might live high off the hog. It would be cool to get a job no one wants, because it's in a remote location. That way, you'd have lots of extra income to spend on a swank house and cool stuff to fill it with. The problem here is that, social opportunites being few, I'd probably end up screwing someone's wife, which is not really an avenue I want to explore, no matter how much fun John Redcorn makes it seem.
A city that's prolly a'ight. There are several of these that seem obvious to me. Denver, Seattle, Albequerque, etc. There are a dozen more that aren't even coming to mind. Both the upside and the downside of these cities are vague and probably to be discovered immediately upon arrival. Or maybe two weeks after arrival.
Some place near Duluth, that seems like Duluth in some ways, but isn't. Yeah, but what's the point?
Tulsa. Dear God. Could my liver even take it? I am from Duluth. If it can make it here, it can make it anywhere.
--------
TITLE: Update
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/13/2004 10:09:46 AM
-----
BODY:
So, after all my effort to change around my sleeping habits for the new job, and after filling out a stack of forms, and after everything was sent to the Cities for processing and approval, and after everything was prepared and ready and all that, I got a call this morning from management.
My services at the new place are no longer required. I am to report to my regular job today.
This is why my job classification is "Flexible."
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TITLE: I am so screwed.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/13/2004 02:44:16 AM
-----
BODY:
Well.
Right now I can hardly keep my eyes open, even though at this time tomorrow, I'll be halfway (read that again, halfway) through my shift at the main post office. It's a good thing that the job is both physical and complicated, or so I've been told. I'm sure that come 6-7am, I will officially be the Sharpest Knife in the Drawer™.
Have you ever been so tired you feel like you're going to throw up? It's really an experience.
Anyway. I'm trying to think of ways to keep myself awake for a few more hours at least. I already drank a lot of coffee, and now I'm working the Coke. It helps to be wearing headphones, with Devendra Banhart screaming "We certainly are nice peeeeopllllllle" directly into your medulla oblongata.
TV is horrible. Coast to Coast AM is awful. I'd read, but then I might as well take a handful of Xanax.
Anyone out there want to come over here and slap me around for awhile? Uh, nevermind. I think I know the answer to that. I recant.
--------
TITLE: Ghosts of the Past
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/10/2004 11:31:20 PM
-----
BODY:
Recently, I realized that before a certain point in my life, I don't have many pictures. I think I realized this while reading Mass Distraction and thought about just how many pictures of Sharyn's son there are on that site, which is fantastic. When I was a kid, there were not many pictures taken in my house, probably because everyone in my immediate family is terminally shy when it comes to cameras, etc. (Which is funny, because they are all so loud.) They also don't like to be touched by other human beings. I am the exact opposite.
I have some pictures of myself as a very young child. But I would be surprised to learn that any pictures of me exist between ages 8-12, except for the prerequisite school pictures, which are like driver's license pictures for kids.
As a teenager, my friends started taking pictures and they most certainly have many, many pictures of me with bad clothes and worse hair. Somewhere I have a box filled exclusively with bad pictures -- pictures that are either just lousy, or purposely confusing, or oddly hilarious. I taped a shoe box shut sometime when I was about 17, and cut a slit in the side big enough to slide pictures into. It's like a piggy bank for bad photos. Someday I'll tear it open and post some of them.
What really jerks my frog is that there are hardly any pictures of me from my angry, skinny years. I looked better at that time then any other time of my life. Damn narcissism.
After none of my photos turned out from Geek Prom 2: the Geekquel, I decided to buy a digital camera. Which was great until it broke. Then I got another one, which was great until that one broke. Now I'm addicted to photographs. I want to see them instantly, and I want to be able to carry 1,000 of them around in my pocket at all times.
I'm sending my camera in for repairs, which is supposed to be free because the thing is still under warranty. We'll see. Until then, expect a very texty blog.
--------
TITLE: Three Realizations
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/09/2004 09:42:02 AM
-----
BODY:
1. Very soon, I will become adjusted to being awake and active all night. Yes, as soon as I begin working as a mail processor down at the main PO, I'm going to become a night owl.
2. No one is going to be staying downstairs for a long time. The renovation is going to begin soon, which means no neighbors for awhile.
3. One plus two equals party.
=====
There is a fourth, unforeseen realization: Soon I will be attempting to sleep during the day, when there is construction work going on right beneath my head.
There's a fifth, unforeseen realization, too: I need to find me some neighbors. My landlord requests that, if possible, I should be the one to choose who rents the downstairs apartment when it is finished. "You're the one who has to live with them," he said. This makes sense. So if anyone out there wants to live in a duplex in West Duluth with a great yard and garden, OSP, on a dead end, three blocks from Beaner's Central and one block from the grocery store, give me a shout. You could do a lot worse, and believe me, I have.
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TITLE: Enjoyin' Me Some Good Weekend, Yessir
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/08/2004 06:00:55 PM
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BODY:
A couple of unpleasant things happened to me over the weekend, but all in all it's been awesome. I've been rolling with the punches and getting to what's real.
Victories
- Ever since I got my iPod, I've had a problem with it: The screen is very dim. I've compared it to my friends' iPods, and theirs are much easier to read. One person I know strongly advised me to send it back. "How much did this COST?!" he said. "Did you pay FULL PRICE for this?!" I lived with it for a long time, but recently I made up my mind to send it in to be fixed. But then, last night ...
Last night I was fooling around with all the options I'd never bothered to check out before -- the alarm clock, the calendar, the game where you shoot down the paratroopers. That was when I realized, "Oh. There's a contrast setting." In literally less than a second, I solved the problem. I can't remember the last time I felt so good and so stupid at the same time.
But anyway, it's like I have a new iPod now.
Fun and Games
- I bowled for the first time in a long while. The Pansy Folk Singer and I decided to check out the newly surfaced lanes at Stadium, and I wound up with a 131 and a 150 even though I was tired and sober. Awesome.
- Ca-chee came over with fixings for Sunday breakfast. Omelets with toast and cream cheese, along with strong coffee and grapefruit juice, just put me in the perfect mood this morning. The peppers and basil for the omelets came from my garden.
Acquisitions
- While visiting my parents, I mentioned that I have been having a lot of trouble finding a suitable shelf unit for my LPs. So then, my mom just offhandedly said, "Why don't you take the one in the upstairs hallway?" Wow. The shelf in the upstairs hallway ain't no particle-board crap, let me tell you. It's a real wood affair, in great condition, probably from the 1930s or 40s. My grandpa got it from some building downtown way before I was born. I had that sumbitch home in a matter of minutes.
Now where I once had junk all over the floor, I have this great shelf with two rows of records on the bottom, comic books in the middle, and CDs on the top. I put a great lamp and my puzzle box on the very top. It's fricken swank.
- I boldly stepped into the 1970s with the purchase of a microwave oven. Ten bucks at the rummage sale downstairs bought me a fake-wood-grain Magic Chef with a rotating thing on the inside for even distribution of fake heat. Now I can cook frozen burritos in two minutes instead of 50, which is probably not too good, because that was basically the only thing keeping me from buying awful processed food like frozen burritos.
The Bad Stuff
- Sure, I got a microwave and that's fine. The JFK picture from downstairs, however, was a big ol' NFS. Part of me is thinking oh well, and part of me is thinking I shoulda stole that Catholic womanizer when I had the chance. I think I'll be able to go on, though.
- After the Spirit Valley Days Street Dance, my camera crapped out ... again. Now when I turn it on, it just beeps and says "E18." I looked this problem up online and found a lot of people ranting about the Canon PowerShot, and "the dreaded E18 error," which is apparently a known issue with this camera. I wish it had been a known issue to me before I bought it ... twice. I guess I'm supposed to call the help line "during regular business hours," a phrase which makes me roll my eyes and give a Bronx cheer, because I am one of those people who keeps "irregular" business hours, apparently.
- Someone stole the woodchuck trap. During the rummage sale, I am told, several people inquired about the trap and whether they might buy it. (It was set up in the garden, ready to SPRING, muthafukka!) And apparently, one of these people decided that if they couldn't buy it, they would steal it, and came back for a little midnight visit. The thing that pisses me off the most is that they knocked over one of my tomato plants in the process, and if it dies, I am going to swallow my own tongue. Well, not really. I think I'll be able to go on, once again, because now I have the perfect excuse to get rid of them some other way ... heh, heh, heh.
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TITLE: Spirit Valley Days, baby.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/07/2004 08:59:25 AM
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BODY:
Click the pics to see 'em big. Also look for the video at Perfect Duluth Day.
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TITLE: More Occam's Razor
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/04/2004 12:05:40 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: Yummy. More change.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/04/2004 11:35:55 AM
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BODY:
I think I'm going to take this new temporary/voluntary assignment at the post office, where I will be working at the main P.O. as a mail processor, filling in for people on vacation. This should really mess up my life, because ... well ... it's an overnight shift. Why would I do such a thing, you ask? Here's why:
1. A higher rate of pay + night differential + possible overtime = mucho dinero.
2. I have a general need to shake things up a bit.
3. It's a more physical job than my current one, which would do me good. Of course, laying on the couch, eating Corn Nuts and watching Totally Outrageous Behavior Caught On Tape is a more physical job than my current one, but hey.
Speaking of TV, last night I turned on Law & Order: Special Victims Unit and the first thing I heard was this dialog:
Cop: "And what did you do when you started to have these thoughts?"
Perp: "I started a blog."
The crazy part was, that was the end of it. Just "I started a blog," not "I started a blog, or weblog--a frequently updated online journal with daily posts listed in reverse chronological order." Hm. Maybe we all know what it is, finally.
And speaking of finally, The Simpsons came on after that, and I can't believe it took until now for someone to make this joke:
Marge: "Quick! Someone perform CPR!"
Homer: "I see a bad moon risin'...I see trouble on the way..."
Then I shut off the TV and watched Barry Pirkola play lap steel guitar without his shirt on.
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TITLE: Not much today because...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/03/2004 10:12:27 AM
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BODY:
...I am currently working on what may be the dumbest Occam's Razor comic ever. It came to me in a dream. When I woke up from the dream, I thought, "That's BRILLIANT!" Now I'm just baffled by how stupid it is. Still, I rather like it, though.
If you are in need of entertainment, hop on over to slimgoodbuzz.com and check out the X106 audio archive. Currently, there are three of Slim's appearances on X106 for your listening pleasure.
Or if you haven't already, you could go read what's happening at Complicated Fun. Peter is scanning/transcribing all the notes he received from his 8th-9th grade girlfriend, Wanda. Let me tell you, I didn't know any girls like Wanda when I was that age. Sigh.
Well, off to draw my weird subconscious.
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TITLE: Occam's Razor -- August
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/01/2004 08:19:18 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: Gummi Ninja
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/31/2004 02:10:37 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: Greater Californicators
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/29/2004 10:55:25 AM
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BODY:
On a whim, I recently ordered a 45 from my friends Greater California. I met Terry and Kari Prine a few years back at the Norshor Theatre, and I believe it was the day after Thanksgiving. From the Shor, we went on a weird and wild and debaucherous adventure that involved barhopping and lap dances and drunken revelry. The next day, they went off home to Long Beach, and I ate a huge omelet to sober up at 10am.
Since then, we've exchanged e-mails, and they sent me their two albums, The Little Pacific and Somber Wurlitzer, which are absolutely beautiful. Their sound is very soft; Kari plays the Hammond and the electric piano, while Terry sings and plays guitar and trumpet. It's a '60s sound, and is very warm and soothing.
Anyway, the record arrived today, and these awesome folks not only sent the 45, but also a T-Shirt and a $5 bill! I don't exactly know what kind of impression I made on them that one night, but it was lots of fun, and I'm glad I know them. A few weeks ago, they played with Calexico, and I would have loved to see that.
Well, what the hell am I doing blogging? I got $5 to spend!
-------- TITLE: If You Ain't Jacked In, You Ain't Alive, Baby. AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 7/27/2004 10:26:30 PM ----- BODY: So I'm sittin' here bloggin', gettin' hungry, thinkin' about how there's almost nothin' left in my fridge, and I decide, hey, I'm gonna order a pizza. It's been awhile since I ordered one, so when I reached over and grabbed the new phone book, I was surprised to find Web sites listed with the phone numbers. My mind immediately brought up the only entertaining Sandra Bullock movie ever made, The Net, which was released in 1995 and begins with her ordering a pizza online. Things go predictably downhill from there, when she realizes the consequences of our entire lives being on the Web. Duh. You should try living in 2004, Sandra, when everyone has a blog. Thinking about how it took 9 years to get from The Net to my actual life, I went to rsvpizza.com, which belongs to Pizza Hut, where I chose my toppings and made my order. Thirty mintues later...BAM! Pizza at my door. And I didn't have to talk to the crabby phone guy. Delivery guy was cool and he informed me in a very by-the-book manner about my chance to win free pizza for a year. Which for me, means like 4 or 5 pizzas. Anyway, the pizza was good and I geeked out. It made my rum taste shitty, so I quit drinking. Now I'm gonna watch a Japanese horror movie. Once again, this is my life. -------- TITLE: Completely Scatterbrained AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 7/27/2004 10:31:30 AM ----- BODY:
I think the Hello BloggerBot is cool. A bit difficult to use, and certainly buggy, but cool. I can see definite potential here, and I wish I had more new pictures to post. Ha. I have a goal. Goals make me feel all tingly.
++++++
I can't stop listening to this new Eleni Mandell album. I mean, I've always had a thing for Eleni, but I just got her new album, Afternoon, and I'm hooked again. After her forays into jazz and country, she's back with the low-down groovy groans and stand-up bass sound she had on her previous albums, only better. My God, the second-to-last song, "Dangerous," is about sex and longing. She's singing about a guy she can't wait to get with, and when she says "You are so, so, so disgusting!" like it's a good thing, I just about wig out. It's a shame I missed her in Minneapolis on July 1.
In addition to the CD, I got two 45s with the latest shipment, one of which might turn out to be my favorite Eleni song of all time: "Turn on the Lights." Seriously. I'm gonna wear this somebitch out. "Dear love, can you explain to me how such a simpleminded girl could catch your eye? Did she lure you close with booze and mystery? Oh, how regretful you are gonna be." This song is right up there with "Pauline" in my book. There are four songs you can listen to on her site, so go check 'em out.
++++++
My landlady is having an estate sale, so every day there are people crawling around downstairs, hauling stuff out and messing up my (my!) garage. It's odd when you technically have neighbors, but you never see them. Then suddenly, they're there, and walking around like the own the place. Which, of course, they do. But I like to pretend this place is all mine.
++++++
Just let me pretend. Please.
--------
TITLE: One more time. This time sober.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/25/2004 10:01:59 PM
-----
BODY:
Whew. Tonight begins the recovery period for my semi-lost weekend on Madeline Island with Paul and Maria. Oh, and yes, in case you were wondering, being stuck on an island with such hotties is everything it is cracked up to be.
Seriously, the weekend was exactly what I needed: 50 hours filled with sarcasm, outdoor adventures, singing Calvin Johnson songs, 40-ouncers of Mickey's Malt Liquor, extra heavy-duty barroom drinking, beach shenanigans, hummus wraps, a million jokes about shitting, and overutilization of the F-word, if such a thing is even fucken possible.
Here's what I learned:
+ "Ferry out" does not mean the same thing as "fairy out."
+ Paul Lundgren will drink hot cocoa on a sunny summer day, and put cream in it. This is absolutely insane!
+ I like crap made out of iron.
+ Beach Club bartender Ben Small will pour 'em tall.
+ This guy will pour 'em even taller.
+ The best cure for a hangover is waking up, immediately taking down tents in the glaring sunlight, and then getting on a boat. I am being facetious.
I probably learned a lot more, too. But I'm going to bed now.
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TITLE: Mystery Pic
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/22/2004 05:14:42 PM
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BODY:
So I'm scrolling through the photos on my digital camera, and suddenly there's this:
After freaking out for a few minutes, I looked at the surrounding images and realized I had drunkenly photographed the pictures on the menu at Papa Don's. I have issues.
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TITLE: Just a question...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/22/2004 10:26:00 AM
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BODY:
Have you ever attempted to pull a really tight cap off a pen, only to punch yourself in the face?
Uh. Um. I'm just curious. Really.
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TITLE: On Boredom
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/20/2004 10:45:44 AM
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BODY:
My mom is always wondering how I cope with the boredom of living alone. She asks questions like, "What do you do over there?" and seems to have the impression that living alone equals moping, sighing, and never leaving the house. "Oh, well," she says, "I suppose you could read." I don't know what to say to this, because the truth is I rarely get bored.
Aside from a full and rewarding social life, I spend a lot of time wasting time. It's not so much doing nothing as it is a state of freedom within my own mind. This, for me, is a necessity and it always has been. I need to have some time set aside each day to let my mind roam exactly how it wants to, and if I am deprived of this, I flip out, stop showering, and start whipping ninja stars at people in the Super One canned goods aisle.
Wow -- flashback! I just remembered that when I was a kid, I once made ninja stars from soup can lids. You take a soup can and open it all the way around with that triangular kind of can opener you use to punch open tomato juice or Hi-C cans. Voila! Instant stealthy death right out of your kitchen! Note to self: if ever caught in the need of ninja stars while at Super One, improvise.
Remember that ninja commercial that used to be on TBS in the '80s? I can't remember what it was for exactly, whether it was a full-fledged ninja training course, ninja outfits and paraphernalia, or all of the above. I just remember the commercial enticing you to "practice the art of stealth and secrecy." What the hell was that all about? It was almost certainly a brainchild of the infamous Ron Popeil.
Ron Popeil. Ronco. I don't think I own a single Ronco item. You know how some people outfit their whole apartments with IKEA? I think I'm gonna do that with Ronco. I'll start out with the flavor injector and work my way up. Maybe I'll have the spray-on hair by Christmastime.
First I'll become a ninja.
Right now, however, I'm just gonna go to work.
--------
TITLE: The "G" Stands for "Godot."
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/19/2004 11:44:57 AM
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BODY:
RRRR. Gmail is down. Still. It has been down for days. I've been getting the "Cross your fingers and try again in a few minutes" message for 48 hours. I am about to go insane.
By the way, speaking of Gmail, if you have some Gmail invites and you want some chocolate-covered cicadas, a Commodore 64, your picture in a window at the Empire State Building, or just to watch a guy staple his own thumb, go to gmailswap.com where you can hook up with people willing to trade interesting things for Gmail invites.
Well, back to the Hotmail ghetto.
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TITLE: How I Feel Right Now
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/18/2004 12:28:28 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: Dinner with Jack
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/15/2004 04:00:54 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: Call me Griswold.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/14/2004 07:22:46 PM
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BODY:
Wow. It seems I've managed to fall ass-backward into a four-day weekend. (Which is how I fall into all my weekends. Or rather how I fall out of them. Um...never mind.) Two normal days off plus a vacation day plus delayed Reagan day equals a mighty load of nothing to do, and the first PBR is going to crack ... now!
Seriously, though, this mini-vacation is going to involve a ton of musical endeavors. First is the ever-enjoyable Recliner Sessions, during which Starfire and I will switch off playing one song apiece for a few hours at Starfire Lounge. Then the Green Man Festival begins on Friday. I've never been too much into the Green Man scene, but this year is going to rock, even without Willie Nelson. I'm especially excited to see Califone. I'll be dispensing music more music from my collection on Random Radio, 93.5 FM from 6-9 on Friday and Saturday, for those of you within earshot.
All of that said, let me conclude by officially announcing that I hate Perfect Duluth Day. That blog has a disease and I'm staying out until it's run its course.
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TITLE: Two Comics
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/13/2004 09:10:06 AM
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BODY:
Here are the June and July editions of Occam's Razor for your reading enjoyment. Check the Ripsaw stands in the near future for the August edition. Or, wait for me to post it, if it suits you.
Gracias.
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TITLE: Once Again...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/12/2004 10:33:59 AM
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BODY:
It's gonna be outdoors this time. Sweet, sweet, sweet.
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TITLE: Yum, yum!
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/11/2004 07:45:26 PM
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BODY:
Not so long ago, I was sitting in a bar with a few friends watching professional wrestling with the sound off, and discussing how in the year 2004, muted professional wrestling looks as though it could turn into porn at any minute. During a lull in the conversation, one of my friends asked me who my favorite professional wrestler was. I immediately answered Abdullah the Butcher.
My answer was sort of facetious. I mean, sure, Abdullah was the Madman from Sudan. Sure, he weighed over 400 pounds. Sure, he'd often tear up his opponent's face with a fork wrapped up in white tape. Sure, his "trunks" were genie pants pulled up to his armpits. Sure, his boots curled up at the toe. Sure, he'd run/waddle down the aisle to his matches with an insane look on his face, appearing to have just been let out of a cage.
However.
Chubdullah the Butcher was difficult to look at. For one thing, he had piles and piles of scar tissue on his forehead that would burst open at the slightest nudge. And then there were the man-boobs that looked like he was carrying a couple of manta rays under his arms.
Recently, I got to thinking about good ol' Abdullah, and what he might be up to. A quick Web search revealed an unbelievable fact: He now owns a place in Atlanta, Georgia called Abdullah the Butcher's House of Ribs and Chinese Food.
While most of the readers of this blog are now waiting for the point, I know there's about four or five of you who have just fallen out of your chairs and are now flailing around in fake epileptic spasms on the floor.
Let me repeat: Abdullah the Butcher's House of Ribs and Chinese Food.
Let me repeat: Abdullah the Butcher.
Let me repeat:
Call (404) 629-2332 for reservations.
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TITLE: Nice.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/11/2004 07:30:06 PM
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BODY:
So, yesterday my grandfather would have been 100. He was born July 10, 1904 and died at the age of 95.
Anyhow, one of the great things about him was that he always used to sing the traditional song, "Moonshiner." So it was a great coincidence last night when Haley Bonar chose that song to end her set at Washington Studios.
There are many, many versions of that song out there, but I've never actually heard anyone sing the one gramps was fond of. Most people sing it in a mournful way, but his was more jovial. The line that usually goes something like, "Let me eat when I'm hungry, let me drink when I'm dry. Two dollars when I'm hard up, religion when I die," he'd sing "Eat when you're hungry and drink when you're dry. Whiskey won't kill me, I'll drink 'til I die."
Way to go, gramps. Happy birthday. And thanks, Haley--coincidence or not.
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TITLE: Ask not what your furnace can do for you...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/08/2004 08:40:43 PM
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BODY:
Look what I found in my basement!
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TITLE: My grandfather would be 100 this week.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/06/2004 12:18:19 AM
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BODY:
My grandfather was just about the coolest person I ever met. He died just before his 95th birthday, and had he lived to see this Saturday, he would have been 100. I know it's uncool to post lyrics on your blog, but just this once (OK, and tomorrow, too, maybe) I would like to post some, in his honor.
This is a familiar song you've probably heard before, which happened to be my grandfather's favorite. I heard this song my whole life, but my greatest memory is from a Christmas toward the end of his life, when my sister gave him a sort of music-box thingy that played this song. I remember that he stayed up very late that night, and when just he and I were in the kitchen, he wound it up and played it, and for the first time in my life, I saw him cry. Someday, I will listen to this song, and I know now that if I keep living the life I'm living, it will mean that much to me, too.
The song is "Those Were The Days," and it goes like this:
Once upon a time there was a tavern
Where we used to raise a glass or two
Remember how we laughed away the hours
And think of all the great things we would do
Then the busy years went rushing by us
We lost our starry notions on the way
If by chance I'd see you in the tavern
We'd smile at one another and we'd say
Those were the days my friend we thought they'd never end
We'd sing and dance forever and a day
We'd live the life we choose, we'd fight and never lose
For we were young and sure to have our way
Just tonight I stood before the tavern
Nothing seemed the way it used to be
In the glass I saw a strange reflection
Oh was that lonely person really me
Through the door there came familiar laughter
I saw your face and heard you call my name
Oh my friend we're older but no wiser
For in our hearts the dreams are still the same
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TITLE: I'm in love with the Internet.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/05/2004 10:40:09 AM
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BODY:
These things are making me very happy:
- Erin has a crush on me. (It's so, so mutual.)
- Lorika posted an mp3 of one of my favorite songs.
- Spacewaitress is adopting my philosophy.
- Many expatriates of cities like Detroit, Chicago and New York take with them fond memories of eating the diminutive hamburgers in the wee hours of the morning.
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TITLE: I have a new philosophy.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/03/2004 07:24:23 PM
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BODY:
So yesterday, Ca-chee told me about something she learned from this book about human cadavers. She said that when people get shot and they immediately fall down, it is all in their head. Unless your central nervous system has been damaged, there is no reason for you to fall down right away when you get shot. Take a look at animals: when you shoot them, they don't fall right down -- they run.
The thing to remember, she said, is that when somebody shoots you, you should at least try to run away. What do you have to lose? You might not be wounded that bad, and you might be able to make it to help and save your life. But if you fall right down, you're dead. No doubt about it.
Anyway, I have this new philosophy based on that idea. I am going to refuse to "fall down" when I am psychologically wounded. When that happens, I am going to gather all my energy and haul ass.
I think it's a good plan.
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TITLE: The Intruder
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/30/2004 07:30:46 PM
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BODY:
So, about a week ago, I happened to see this monstrosity barrelling down the road, and I just about had an aneurysm. I mean, OK, I can see the appeal of an RV, don't get me wrong. But the "Intruder"? Please. Who is this thing marketed to? Are there people out there who actually want to be considered an intrusion? Apparently so.
Wait. I know who this is marketed to. This thing reminds me of a canoe trip I once took. It was just an overnighter: We got there in the morning, canoed all day, and then set up camp in the regular campground. This was a mistake, however, as there was an RV in the campground, and the people in it were dead set on "intruding." They had their generator running all hours of the night, and a radio going, plus they had bright spotlights shining down on the picnic table outside their RV. It was like a fancy little suburban nightmare right there in the north woods.
"No one ever goes hungry on my camping trips," the main guy announced, over and over again. The most irritating part was that when he talked, he talked like this: "The soup is ready ... it's right over there ... it's all cooked and ready to go ... so just go on over ... get yourself a bowl ... the bowls are there too ... grab the ladel ... ladel yourself some soup ... get a spoon off the table ... there are napkins there too ... and just get your soup and your crackers ... bread if you want it ... and ... y'know ... enjoy."
Sure, it doesn't sound absolutely horrible, but this followed a terrific day of canoeing on silent lakes, seeing few if any people but plenty of bald eagles, loons and moose.
Then we had to try to sleep while being intruded upon by, uh, a bunch of loons and a moose. Intruders. Indeed.
UPDATE: This just in ... the Intruder's still in town
[photo courtesy of Concublogger]
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TITLE: Missing Link
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/30/2004 12:43:59 AM
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BODY:
All right people, I got nuthin'. Well, nuthin' 'cept fer this:
"At the [Lincoln Park] zoo's new Regenstein Center for African Apes, chimpanzees can touch a panel hidden from public view that will shoot harmless bursts of air at unsuspecting visitors.
'You often hear about chimps spitting or throwing,' said Steve Ross, a behaviorist at the zoo. 'They do that to get a rise out of the public. This gives them that opportunity but in a safe way.'"
Read all about it.
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TITLE: Spring Cleaning
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/29/2004 08:24:13 AM
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BODY:
If anyone knows a good surgeon, I've decided to have all the extraneous body parts removed. When I was 15, I had my tonsils ripped out, only to have them grow back. I'll start with those, even though a tonsilectomy is just about the most uncomfortable experience I can think of.
Then I'll move on to the appendix, a common enough surgery. I still have three wisdom teeth that could also be easily yanked. After that, things begin to get difficult.
I suppose a plastic surgeon is the best person to see if you want to have your nipples removed. And anyone who does electrolysis could take care of my body hair. But as far as what kind of specialist is capable of removing the mechanism that makes goosebumps, I have no idea.
I don't know the name or location of the six or seven muscles that are only good if you walk on all fours, but I know they're in there and I want them out. Likewise, my tailbone has to go, and so do the muscles that allow me to move my ears, even though I can't control them for the life of me. The little remnant of the "third eyelid" in the corner of my eye is another disturbing reminder of my evolutionary origins. Yank it.
Most distrubing are the body parts that I'm not sure I even have. A certain percentage of the population has a fold of tissue inside the abdomen that would become a pouch if that person were a marsupial.
Sinuses will probably present the biggest problem, since they are not a part that can be cut off, but a part that must be filled up. I'll leave that to the experts.
However, I think I'll remove my pinky toes myself. Now where'd I put them tin snips?
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TITLE: Scavenge This
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/28/2004 08:56:35 AM
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BODY:
By now, I am sure the media has informed you all about Easily Intimidated's crushing victory in the 2nd Duluth Citywide Scavenger Hunt--a 1,200-point margin between us and the rest of the pack.
And while the $400 will certainly come in handy, we were quite upset at missing out on the last-place prize: free drinks for the rest of the night. We were almost up for a trade before we eventually came to our senses and grabbed the cash.
My advice to all you youngsters out there is this: when the scavenger-hunt bigwigs demand a clean bill of health from a doctor, realize that there's nothing in the rulebook that says it can't be for a horse.
Amen.
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TITLE: Big Gravel Pit Action
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/24/2004 10:16:14 AM
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BODY:
So last night, we went out to the gravel pits to look for agates. Personally, my plan was to find one of those huge mofos that you can sell for $500. But all we found was a handful of the typical pebble-sized agates. But while I was looking (or as I like to call it, prospectin'), I thought about what I'd do if I suddenly had $500 via agate.
When you come across a surpise windfall like that, it's important to share the wealth, so the first thing I'd do is have a kickass party. Five hundred bucks can buy a lot of party, especially if it's a BYOB party. I think I'd rent a hot tub and hire a guy to spit fire. Then take everyone to Taco John's.
Or maybe I'd take a different route. Maybe I'd go on a trip. Vegas, baby, Vegas ... for maybe two nights. I'd stay in a suite, dress like a jerk, and I'd have a secret compartment in my suitcase for my coke and my 9mm. Wacky shenanigans would ensue, and I'd end up driving a vintage Mustang through the front doors of the Luxor.
Finally, I'd probably quit my job and move to Tokyo. I'd move into one of those capsule hotels, and I'd date a supercute girl with a gigantic Hello Kitty collection and the best cell phone in the world. My life would become a miasma of sushi, karaoke, manga, weird-ass TV and incomprehensible punk rock. I'd ... I'd ...
Whoa. Things got away from me a bit there. Five hundred, Barrett. Just five hundred.
Or as it turned out, none.
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TITLE: What has Barrett been up to?
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/23/2004 10:40:02 AM
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BODY:
1. Sleeping. Oh, sweet blissful sleep. 10 hours, 2 nights in a row. This is heaven. I believe I am finally caught up, for the time being.
2. Watching this Gene Simmons video, marveling at how many rock stars try to do THAT and do a pretty good job doing THAT, but how Gene, who is an old man, is still the best at doing THAT.
3. Screaming (via e-mail) at the punk-ass who sold me a turntable on eBay, who is insisting that I didn't pay, even though I'm looking at the screen that says I did.
4. Looking at my 350 LPs that I can't play. Repeating #3.
5. Fooling around with my new coffee maker:
See, when I get something new, I MUST use it immediately. Always. Yesterday I purchased some deodorant, and came home and put it on. This is why it especially irks me that the dude hasn't sent me my turntable. Oh, well. At least I have immense amounts of caffiene in two shiny mugs to tide me over.
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TITLE: Joy
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/21/2004 10:27:25 AM
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BODY:
Recently, someone asked me about the things that make me happy. What are the things that always bring me joy, no matter what? I've been thinking a lot about this question, and of course I've come up with a list, and of course I'm going to share it with you now.
- Sleep. This has always been at the top of my list of things that never, ever let me down. Ever. Lately, however, the Sandman hates me. He never comes over anymore, and he won't return my e-mails. When his goddamn machine picks up, I know he's there screening. Bitch. It just makes me want him all the more.
- Coffee. I love this because I am an addict, and according to our society it is completely OK to be an addict when it comes to coffee. I love the taste of coffee, the smell of coffee, and the sound of coffee. It always makes me happy. I once read a book about coffee and coffee rituals and it just blew my mind. It made me want to play chess, even though I hate chess.
- Writing. OK, that sounds pretentious. But it's true. There's nothing better than sitting down at the old 'puter and cooking up some ridiculous BS. I go right out to lunch.
- B-grade movies. Popping in Spider Baby is just about the best cure for the blues I can think of.
- This is just speculation on my part, but I'm beginning to suspect it would be intensely pleasurable to kill a woodchuck with my bare hands.
- My First Band (by Mattell®). Come see us tonight at the MAC.
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TITLE: I don't know. Don't ask.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/19/2004 10:03:07 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: We Rip and Kill Like a Benzene Spill
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/18/2004 10:26:46 AM
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BODY:
Clear your calenders for June, 21 2004. Not only is Found Magazine coming to Duluth, but the Twin Ports' hottest new musical sensation, Toxic Tuesday, is on the card. Monday night at the MAC, baby.
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TITLE: Well.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/16/2004 09:31:43 AM
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BODY:
I don't have much to say today, because I'm turning dumb. This happens to me in times of stress, and this is a time of stress and change. I turn dumb, make lots of errors at work, can't spell for the life of me and have no sense of focus.
I promise to sleep more, and make it up to you, dear sweet Internet.
However, I'm not going to leave you high and dry today. I normally don't get political, but if you want to have your mind blown with irony, check out this site, which is devoted to encouraging people to pray for George W. Bush.
Yeah, I know.
My favorite part is this: "Pray for our financial markets, not only that they would continue to recover, but that people's focus upon them will be adjusted to the point that the economy is not the number one priority for them..."
And what is it about me that, when I read the words "lift up President Bush in prayer," I immediately imagine some sort of professional wrestling maneuver?
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TITLE: TV 1-2-3
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/15/2004 06:43:10 PM
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BODY:
OK, here we go.
1. That commercial for Western Union with the beautiful, optimistic young woman who has just arrived in Hollywood with dreams of being a movie star ... is it just me, or does everyone else get the idea that the Western Union shop is a front for a porn studio? Especially when Western Union guy says "you can always count on a happy ending."
2. Recently, I've had a few opportunities to watch cable, and this taught me something. If you have cable, and if at any point during the day or night you have the urge to see Jessica Simpson, you can.
3. I'd like to publicly announce that from now on, I'm going to eat all my meals while nodding and looking at my food, just like Mark McGuire eats that Thickburger on the Hardee's commerical. I'm also going to grow a goatee and wear a XXL muscle shirt. I think that'll work out nicely for me.
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TITLE: Windfall!
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/14/2004 12:36:23 AM
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BODY:
I just acquired a huge pile of records, for free! But first, this story:
When I was growing up, there was a lady who lived next door named Eleanor. Eleanor was morbidly obese, and a recluse. She rarely, if ever, left her house, and then she only went out onto the porch.
Eleanor had no electricity, because she was afraid of it. So you would see her through her windows fumbling around at night, flashlight in hand. She had cats, but she was not a cat lady. My parents did her shopping for her.
When the whole Y2K thing happened, Eleanor was terrified. She made my parents buy stuff to hoard. She made them buy extra napkins and paper towels, and put them in separate plastic bags, so that she could swing them back and forth, and throw them on top of the many piles of junk in her house.
Eleanor was afraid to allow my dad inside her house. She was also afraid to leave it. Therefore, she never took out her garbage. It just kept piling up inside.
Eventually, she fell and had to be hospitalized. They put her in a nursing home, where she lived for several years until she died.
Her family did not want to deal with this house of hers, understandably. And so, when my sister inquired about buying it, they told her that if she wanted it, she could just have it. Free. Along with everything inside.
While most of the stuff inside was stuff no one would ever want -- bags upon bags of garbage, a refrigerator full of years-old meat, a urine-soaked couch -- there was cool stuff, too. A console TV from the '50s with a round screen, for example.
Or, better yet, a collection of pristine old-country records that look as if they have never been played. These, my sister told me, I could have. If I did not take them, they would go into the Dumpster. Needless to say, I got the hand truck out immediately. "I already threw some out," she said. I screamed. "Oh, they weren't very good anyway. It was all stuff like, 'Sing Along with Jeno Paulucci.'" I wanted to knock her unconscious.
Anyway. Getting the records required going into the house, and that, understandably, required vomiting. I was in there for probably 5 mintues, but I would never go into that place again without a respirator. It is, I gather, a lot cleaner that it was a few days ago. There is no garbage, no couch, no refrigerator. But still, it is moldy and smelly.
Oh,yeah ... my sister removed one box from the closet that she said was the worst smelling of all. She didn't dare open it. "I'm pretty sure it was Snowball," she said.
So now I have all these records, which smell a little bad, but in a normal way. They smell like St. Vincent de Paul -- dusty and a bit mildewy. But they are dry and clean.
I am sort of afraid to bring them into my house. Like maybe they're contaminated or something. Do you think this concern is valid?
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TITLE: Weekend Photos
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/13/2004 11:21:29 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: Going Postal
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/11/2004 02:31:33 PM
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BODY:
OK, so this didn't play out just like this, but here's my dramatic interpretation of management attempting to describe the bureaucratic nightmare that today's National Day of Rememberance caused in the timekeeping department. Let me preface this by saying I have the utmost respect for the people involved, and that I mean this in fun, and that I do not wish to get fired.
Management: We just realized we made a mistake when we told you you'd get Friday off for the National Day of Rememberance. It turns out we'd have to give you administrative leave, and you don't get administrative leave as a part of your benefits package. You have to earn your adminstrative leave, and the only way for you to do that is by working Friday.
Co-workers: So, uh, in order to get Friday off, we have to work Friday?
Management: Yes. You are now all scheduled to come in at 2:30. Then, sometime in the next 6 months, you can take the administrative leave you've earned.
Me: But what about me? Friday was supposed to be my day off, Reagan or no Reagan.
Management: OK, then you get it off.
Me: And what about earning the administrative leave?
Management: You don't need to. You'll just get it based on your average hours worked last week.
Co-workers: That's not fair! He gets it without having to earn it? What about us? We want Friday off!
Management: Then you can take Friday off without pay. Then it would be like you're not scheduled to work--just like him. Oh, by the way, Barrett, you also get a three-day weekend.
Me: Huh?
Management: Yes, your day off is always one day later than it was the previous week. And since we're now including Saturdays in your days off, you get Friday off this week and Saturday off next week. Remember that in the Postal Service, the week starts on Saturday.
Me: So what you're saying is, I get three days off this weekend, plus an additional day off that I don't have to earn?
Management: Yes.
Co-workers: And what is the point of all this?
Me: To recognize the death of the Great Communicator.
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TITLE: Barrettchase.com Interviews Barrett Chase
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/08/2004 11:24:15 PM
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BODY:
a candid conversation with the blogosphere's hardest-working dillweed regarding the recently altered status of his lovelife.
Barrett Chase is known as the creator of Occam's Razor comics, the co-creator of Perfect Duluth Day, and the co-publisher of Perverse Verse. But to many, he is known as the romantic partner of everyone's favorite information scientist, Ca-chee. Barrettchase.com is sad to report that this uber-relationship has come to an end, after an unbelievable 12-year run. We caught up with Barrett to ask him what the fuck is going on.
BCDC: First off, I just have to ask the question that's on everybody's mind -- WHY?
CHASE: Like I know. There are a lot of factors. It's like asking why toast tastes better than bread.
BCDC: But dude, TWELVE YEARS!
CHASE: Yeah, I know. Believe me, I know better than you do. Back then, the first George Bush was president. Johnny Carson had just stepped down from the Tonight Show. It hadn't been that long since Hammer dropped the MC from his name. This relationship has been going on since the "2 Legit 2 Quit" era! I have these two friends now -- Nick and Maria -- when Ca-chee and I met, they had just turned 11 and 12, respectively. It's mind-boggling.
BCDC: A lot of people are saying that they kind of saw it coming. But why did you take so long to tell the blogosphere?
CHASE: The same reason I'm doing it right now with this dumbass interview. The Internet is where I go to escape this stuff. Plus, just because this is a blog doesn't mean it has to be all personal and weepy. When it comes to comedy, I try to put out whenever I can.
BCDC: So you are sad about the whole thing aren't you?
CHASE: Well, yeah. What do you think I am, a zombie? A robot?
BCDC: Zombie. Hee hee! Robot! Ha!
CHASE: Braaaaains! BRAAAAAAAAAINS!
BCDC: If you make an R2D2 noise right now, I'll piss my pants!
CHASE: (flailing arms about limply) Danger! Will Robinson! Danger! I'm a robot!
[the scene degenerates]
BCDC: (wiping away tears of joy) Is this just avoidance? I mean, does this indicate that you are actually torn up inside?
CHASE: Absolutely.
BCDC: Your audience is going to find you pathetic.
CHASE: Ah, fuck 'em. I'm trying to survive here.
BCDC: So what about the logistics of the whole thing? How's that going to work?
CHASE: Well, I'm staying here, and she has a new place of her own now. A little one-bedroom deal in the East Hillside. She's gonna do laundry here and we're still gonna hang out and stuff. We're just not boyfriend/girlfriend or whatever you want to call it.
BCDC: So it's pretty cordial?
CHASE: Totally cordial. The whole point is to save the friendship. You don't go through 12 years of everything with someone and just throw everything away. Or at least I don't.
BCDC: How have other people been responding?
CHASE: Pretty good. My mom is worried that I'll "start in on a heavy drinking program," which means she cares about me. It also means she's inadvertantly funny because she used the word "program." My friends have been supportive, which means they've been working hard to get me started on that program as soon as possible. But also, they've been helping out as much as possible.
BCDC: I hate to do this, but well, it's a natural progression. So, tell me, why was it you broke up again?
CHASE: I think the most prominent reason is that whole 12-year thing. See, if you meet someone in your teens, and fall in love and everything, you are basically going from the care of your parents into the care of your lover. You can try to get around that in every way possible -- and believe me, we have ... in every way possible -- but you're still never going to be truly independent. You need that in order to be a whole individual. If you don't get it, you crave it. You have to establish it. And you start to resent the person who stands in the way of it.
BCDC: I see.
CHASE: So it's like, we really want to be together, but we also really don't want to be together. We need to change. But most of all just not be together.
BCDC: And that's it?
CHASE: Hell no! This is just the Cliff Notes version. In fact, it's just one page of the Cliff Notes version. I'd write some more pages for you, but shit, I haven't even read the book yet.
BCDC: Typical English major.
CHASE: Yeah, whatever.
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TITLE: Well shod.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/08/2004 11:26:24 AM
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BODY:
Not that I can afford them, but I take great pleasure in my recent purchase of these babies. They're supposed to be "Satan Resistant." Let's hope so.
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TITLE: 1911 - 2004
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/05/2004 10:23:31 PM
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BODY:
I just have to ask these questions.
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TITLE: Varmint Cong
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/04/2004 07:37:37 PM
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BODY:
So, in the past two days, I've lost four tomato plants to marmots. Groundhogs. Woodchucks, if you will. There are big ol' rodent tracks all over the garden, chewed-off stems, and woodchuck shit right next to my soon-to-be food.
Note that very important word, Mr. Woodchuck. MY food.
I've been trying to figure out how to deter these demons. There is a live trap in the garage, but I'm very reluctant to use it because A) woodchucks aren't the only animals that roam the yard--there are occasionally skunks, and you don't want to trap a skunk because, well, then what do you do, and B) a lot of the Web sites I've read insist that trapping will do no good because I apparently have a woodchuck-friendly environment.
Obviously, then, I'm supposed to create a woodchuck-unfriendly environment. OK, this sounds fun. But the sites out there don't have much to say about which is the best way to do it. Advice ranges from cruel (pipe car exhaust down their burrows) to tedious (surround your garden with a fence they can't burrow under or climb over) to commercial (buy our woodchuck repellant) to unhelpful (get a dog). There are also a handful of do-it-yourself repellants, but not much testimony about what really works.
The only book I have that remotely covers the subject of gardening is entitled Country Women. Subtitle: A Handbook for the New Farmer. Sub-subtitle: How to negotiate a land purchase, dig a well, grow vegetables organically, build a fence and shed, deliver a goat, skin a lamb, spin yarn and raise a flock of good egg-laying hens all at the least possible expense and with minimum reliance on outside and professional help.
Well, this should have something.
But, no. The book does not mention the woodchuck, probably because there are no woodchucks in wherever it is these people lived. There is mention of gophers, however. And the advice seems like it would probably work: dig a two-foot trench around your garden and fill it with "broken glass, tangled barbed wire and rusty tin can lids." Hm. Don't think I'll do that. Otherwise, the best method is to use traps--the killin' kind. It seems these women have three basic responses to garden pests: kill them, fence them out, or allow them to realize how much you care about the garden (apparently, this last one only works with deer, who are "reasonable creatures"). Oh, well. I guess I should expect as much from a 1976 lesbian farming manual.
At last I decided on making the funnest concoction I could find. I took a bunch of cayenne pepper and garlic powder, mixed it with water, and sprayed it all over the tomato plants. I also sprayed it on the peas, and dumped the remainder around the perimeter of the garden. At least for tonight, I can imagine the little motherfucker's reaction to getting a mouthful of hot pepper.
I hope they learn.
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TITLE: Eight Great Examples of Parenthetical Song Titles (in Random Order)
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/04/2004 11:21:59 AM
-----
BODY:
1. Take Off Your (Dirty) Panties | Beck
2. She Took A Lot of Pills (And Died) | Robbie Fulks
3. Come to Duluth (If You Want to Be an Unemployed Alcoholic) | Vinnie & the Stardüsters
4. Pardon Me (I've Got Someone to Kill) | Johnny Paycheck
5. It's Alright Ma (I'm Only Bleeding) | Bob Dylan
6. Nuclear War (On the Dance Floor) | Electric Six
7. 4:58 A.M. (Dunroamin, Duncarin, Dunlivin) | Roger Waters
8. Spare Parts I (A Nocturnal Emission) | Tom Waits
Any more? I'd like to make it an even 10.
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TITLE: Inertia
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/04/2004 10:52:31 AM
-----
BODY:
It's the first law of physics and cripes do I hate it. You know you're in trouble when someone starts listing the rules of the universe and right away--on the first one--you have to say, "Stop. Go back. That thing about bodies at rest and motion. I don't like it. Can we change it?" The answer, obviously, is a resounding NO.
Of course, I'm not really talking about physics here. Actually, I'm thankful for inertia as Newton saw it, and I'm pretty glad that my shoes, my books and my toilet tend to stay where I leave them. My disgust has to do with a more psychological type of inertia, namely my own.
You see, I am both incredibly tolerant and easily bored. Simultaneous, like. I have never been able to determine why certain attitudes of mine are "bodies at rest" and others are "bodies at motion," but it is true that there are aspects of my life that I would change every hour if I could, and others that could drag on for years unchanged, and would never change at all if some outside force didn't intervene.
Most of the time, on a case-by-case basis, it's OK to be completely scatterbrained about some things, while being anchored down by others. But in the long run, I think it is bad. Because sometimes even when I would like change, I do not move toward change. I'm too busy fixing what isn't broken.
This problem of mine, it has to change.
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TITLE: Bowling Scores
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/02/2004 11:07:08 PM
-----
BODY:
1. 132
2. 103
3. 112
I'm not sure how I feel about the whole riding my bike home drunk thing. It seems really dangerous, but it's oh so fun. I raced with a teenager on a BMX who was going my way -- he won, but only slightly and only because I'm old and inebriated. Otherwise I woulda beat him fer sure.
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TITLE: 40 Acres and a Mule
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 6/02/2004 11:24:03 AM
-----
BODY:
It's lookin' a little shabby around here. Better spruce things up with some pics of my home and garden.
OK, so these fine people did it. That means I must do it as well. Because I follow all the trends. But check back again tomorrow, too, for I might just set a new trend. You never know.
The 1970s.
I am living in a three-bedroom house with my parents, my five brothers and sisters, and my grandfather. When it comes to music, there is a policy of "equal time," meaning no one gets to dominate the hi-fi.
My parents listen to Charley Pride, Conway Twitty, and Loretta Lynn. My older sisters listen to "devil music" such as Nazareth, Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath. The rest of my siblings listen to John Denver, England Dan & John Ford Coley, and other forms of pansy music. My grandfather only listens to the constantly droning AM radio in the kitchen. He sings along to "Mrs. Robinson" by Simon & Garfunkel. Sometimes we get to hear his old 78s played on the Victrola, which you have to wind up by hand. These are special times.
I like all of this music. But equal time in my case means I get to play my Cat in the Hat album, which is kind of scary to me at the time.
My older sisters get married and move out, and my youngest sister discovers disco. My brother buys a kick-ass system. They start throwing parties, and, to keep me out of the way, they always let me be the DJ. I like the song "Ring My Bell" by Anita Ward, and I play it all the time even though my mom gets mad because it's "dirty." This is my first experience with rock-n-roll rebellion. I play nothing but disco until some guy informs me that disco sucks. Then I become obsessed with The Cars and Blondie. Deborah Harry's heavy rouge excites me. I play "Another One Bites the Dust" and some stoner explains the "meaning" to me. I think that's cool.
The Early 1980s
MTV is everything. I discover Van Halen, which is better than anything I've ever heard. My sister takes me to see Purple Rain in the theater, and to see Joan Jett in concert. I like Motley Crue, but not as much as my classmates. I hate Boy George, but secretly not as much as I let on. Michael Jackson's "Thriller," Duran Duran's "The Reflex," John Cougar, etc. Madonna. Good lord, Madonna.
My brother gets heavily into making mix tapes -- both on cassette and reel-to-reel. His record and tape collection becomes huge. Sometimes he gives me money and tells me to go buy him a record; any record will do. One day my insane cousin shows up with a giant stack of records. They play them so loud that it is literally painful to be in the house. Of the artists they play, I am very impressed by The Ramones and Willie Nelson. I play the resulting Ramones tapes all the time, and my mom actually agrees that they are cool. They remind her of the '50s. This embarrasses me, but makes my life easier.
Eventually, all my siblings move out, and so does my grandfather. I get a boom box to fill in the void of my brother's awesome stereo. I go to his house and transfer my favorite albums to cassette -- Van Halen's "1984," Blondie's "Autoamerican," and Eddie Murphy's first stand-up album. I make a mix tape of my favorite 45s -- "Our House" by Madness, "Jack & Diane" by John Cougar, and "She Bop" by Cyndi Lauper.
Whenever there is a top 100 countdown on KZIO, I tape the songs I like. It pisses me off that there are snippets of DJ talk at the beginning and end of every song, but there's nothing I can do about that.
I hear Weird Al Yankovic's "Eat It" for the first time, and my mind is blown. It is a blend of my two favorite things -- music and comedy. I ask around at school and find out about the Dr. Demento radio show, which is on Sunday nights from 10-12. I begin listening and taping religiously. I meet Lundgren, who is into the same stuff. We comb Young at Heart Records and Carlson Book looking for novelty music. I gradually forsake normal, popular music and start listening to the likes of Tom Lehrer, Allan Sherman, Barnes & Barnes, and Cab Calloway. I join the Demento Society, and start exchanging letters and tapes with other kids interested in the same music (plus one guy in New York who's like 30).
Sometimes I dig out my grandpa's 78s, because they now fit my musical tastes. Billy Jones & Ernie Hare.
-"What are you kids doing in that apple tree?"
-"Well, we might be playin' marbles but we ain't."
The Mid/Late 80s
Junior High is a nightmare. I still like novelty music, but not exclusively. I see Bob Dylan's "Subterranean Homesick Blues" video on MTV, and instantly become a Dylan fan.
When Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar On Me" comes out, everyone thinks it is the greatest song ever. Until MTV starts playing it every five minutes. Everyone loves "Parents Just Don't Understand" by DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince. For some reason, George Michael escapes being called a faggot, and it's OK to like him. I agree with all this, but not with everyone's obsession with the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, or the movie Top Gun, for that matter.
I briefly believe that Michael Jackson sucks, until "Dirty Diana" comes out. This is something I can stand behind. Also, the "Bad" video is no "Thriller," but it is still good. I recite the opening dialogue along with everyone else. Even kids with nothing else in common enjoy the exchange, "Is that what they teach you at that little sissy school of yours?"
High school. The decline of western civilizaion: the metal years. At first, heavy metal is all I listen to. Mostly, I like classic metal such as Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin. But Metallica is in there too -- I buy all the CDs. I see Metallica in concert. I am not above hair metal, and it figures prominently in my rotation. I watch Headbanger's Ball every weekend.
I pay a guy I know to steal CDs from Kmart. He gets busted on his second run.
Metal tapers off toward the end of high school. I hear Ministry's "A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Taste," and discover a whole new way to piss my parents off. I start admitting some things to myself that I never would before. I like U2, the B-52s, and REM. This is rough to admit, for some reason. Pink Floyd makes its first appearance in my collection, and it fits late adolescence perfectly.
The Early 90s
The whole Nirvana thing happens, of course. I see Tori Amos' "Silent All These Years" on MTV and start liking her as well. I go to college and meet people from Other Places who know Other Things. My soundtrack is Smashing Pumpkins, Jane's Addiction, Nine Inch Nails (Pretty Hate Machine), The Breeders, and Pink Floyd. I go to Lollapalooza II & IV, and see Ministry, The Breeders, Pearl Jam, Cypress Hill, A Tribe Called Quest, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, L7, Porno For Pyros, Smashing Pumpkins, Ice Cube, George Clinton, the Beastie Boys, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, et. al. On the drive down to Lollapalooza II, we have two tapes: the first Violent Femmes album, and a cassingle of "Jump Around" by House of Pain. This is just fine by us.
I get a summer job in a factory, where they play the radio all day. I hear the Chili Peppers' "Under the Bridge" approximately 10,000 times during those three months.
I am very poor. I wear clothes that I have found. I have one pair of jeans, which are hand-me-downs from my girlfriend. I joke about how I'm lucky that MY grunge period is coinciding with THE grunge period. This is funny.
At the end of college, I start going to bars. I go to RT Quinlan's every week for open mic night. There is not much live music in Duluth, but my favorite band to see is Puddle Wonderful, which is an early Hog Damage band.
The Mid 90s
Perhaps because I am too old for my years, I stop listening to popular music altogther. I do not have cable, so I do not have MTV. I am completely unaware of anything happening in music. Sometimes I ask people I know what is good now, and most of them say "nothing."
I start listening to jazz. My favorite is John Coltrane. I listen to Coltrane, drink a lot of coffee, and read fat Russian novels. I am unhappy. This is my life.
The Late 90s
Live music begins to take off in Duluth. The Norshor (the Stage Door Lounge) starts having live shows. The Brewhouse opens. Random Radio starts. The Northland Reader begins publication, followed by the Ripsaw. I write and draw for the Reader and start frequenting the Norshor and the Brewhouse regularly. I meet people who are Trying To Make Things Happen. My unhappy period ends.
Low is wonderful. I listen to "I Can Live in Hope" over and over. There is live music happening all the time, and I get in free to stuff most of the time.
I see Split Lip Rayfield at the Norshor and become infatuated with Bloodshot Records. I get into the Meat Purveyors, Trailer Bride, and the Sadies. I miss the Sadies' historic show at the Norshor, where only 4 or 5 people showed up, but I see them in their hometown of Toronto, where they blow away a packed house.
I intentionally start to get into the music I missed during my Coltrane period. I discover Portishead, and through them, trip hop. Suddenly all the music in my CD changer makes you want to have sex. Tricky, Mono, Air, and Alpha are my favorites.
The 00s
Two of the best shows I've seen locally happen around the Millenium. Low's "A Very Duluth Christmas" show -- when people actually danced to Low -- was the first. The Millenium party also rocked, simply because no one died.
I buy a computer, and eventually install a CD burner. I start downloading music illegally. I only have a dial-up connection, so I queue up about 15-20 songs every night before I go to bed, and in the morning I check to see if they worked. Eventually I give up downloading as I get tired of it.
I start borrowing CDs from people and burning them, and also buying CDs to trade in return. I acquire a lot of music this way. It turns out that I will listen to any kind of music. Music simply grabs me or it doesn't. I am not picky. I am not snobbish.
The trend continues, however, as my next computer has a huge hard drive, for the specific purpose of being my home jukebox. I install iTunes and plug into my stereo. I purchase an iPod, and inject this entire musical history directly into my brain.
Life is good.
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TITLE: Three Things I Hate
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/29/2004 11:05:58 AM
-----
BODY:
People Behind Me | This is my #1 hate. It's OK if the person behind me is someone I know. And it's OK if there are a lot of people behind me. But having a few people behind me makes me utterly uncomfortable. The place where it bothers me most is in the movie theater. Once again -- it's OK if the theater is packed, but if there are seats everywhere and someone chooses to sit right behind me, I have to move. One time someone behind me at the theater spilled a jumbo Coke all over the place, which might be where this hatred originated.
At one of my former jobs, my office was arranged so that my desk faced the wall opposite the door. I'd be working or screwing around or whatever, and people would come into my office and suddenly be right behind me. I'd wheel around with a coffee mug clenched in my fist, ready to defend my life. Worst. Feng Shui. Ever.
Plastic Shopping Carts | This is a sound issue. Regular metal shopping carts are fine. In fact, the sound they make is kind of pleasant. But plastic shopping carts like the ones at Target, Kmart, etc. make me want to pull out my own eyelashes. I have no idea why this is.
The Voices Of Some 4-Year-Old Girls | Another sound issue, which when combined with plastic carts, can make me flee Wal-Mart in a blind panic (which is ideally how one should always flee Wal-Mart). Again, I'm not talking about ALL 4-year-old girls -- not by a long shot. And to give them credit, they always grow out of this phase and become normal children, and eventually normal adults. But there are certain kids who for a certain period of their lives speak in a voice that is amazingly loud, screechy, and repetitive. Yes, Skyler, we know that your doll pisses herself. Now just be quiet for a time while I collect my eardrums from the floor.
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TITLE: When Does It Become Stealing?
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/28/2004 10:02:11 AM
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BODY:
Ok, so a few weeks ago, I wrote about how I found this bike, and was bringing it home when the owners accosted me and demanded it back. Well, the day after that happened, I found the bike again, leaning against a tree, with a bike chain around it.
I didn't think much about it, until the next day, when I saw it there again. And the day after that. And the day after that. Then I went up and inspected the chain. There was no lock -- it was just draped around the bike to make it appear as though it was locked to the tree. Meanwhile, it was sitting out in the rain and elements, on public property, unused.
A week went by, and there it stood. I was very tempted to just take it. It was, through my way of thinking, abandoned. But the chain declared dibsies. Brain aneurysm!
You should be able to predict where this is going. Wednesday night I made up my mind to go take the damn thing. But then, well, I got a bit drunk and just went home to bed. The next morning, I walked by the place where it had been standing for two weeks and, of course, it was gone.
So let this be a lesson to you kids out there. When you have the chance to steal something, don't hem and haw about the morality of it. Just hork it.
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TITLE: Creepiest Dream Ever
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/27/2004 09:44:47 AM
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BODY:
Yesterday I had the pleasure of seeing Bridget Riversmith's art show -- "Out There" -- at the Norshor. It was terrific. Her art really grabs you in a visceral way when you see it. Of particular note was a series of paintings depicting women outdoors in hospital gowns, with vacant expressions on their faces. I overheard lots of people commenting on one of these, in which the woman's tears were turning into birds.
Anyway, this art influenced my dreams last night, and I dreamed that Bridget and her husband Edgewood brought me home. Ca-chee, Starfire, and Nick were outside my house, and we all stood around talking. I mentioned that it would be cool to take pictures of this gigantic, run-down mansion in the woods a block from my house. (There is no such mansion in real life, nor are there woods.) They were reluctant, but I forced them.
The mansion was huge, about five stories tall. There was white paint peeling off the clapboards, and all the windows were gone. Suddenly, these incredibly beautiful young men and women came out of the house -- maybe six or seven of them. Somehow, something was very, very wrong with them.
Instantly I knew what was going on. These people were brothers and sisters, and would do anything their father told them to. They belonged to a bizarre religion where if anyone who wasn't a member of that religion got close to them, they'd kill that person. At that moment, they saw us and came after us. The old man, who was upstairs in the house, saw us too and started shooting out the window.
The scene changed at that time to a dark room where people were eating unhealthy food. The only thing I could think of was how I badly needed a haircut. Someone said they knew of a way I could get a haircut for free. I said sure.
The way I could get a haircut for free was to be part of this bizarre re-enactment of a murder, where a guy was killed with an axe while getting his hair cut. The axe was a big, brutal thing unlike any axe I've ever seen. I had to sit in this dark room, a woman cutting my hair, and the axe man would come in and do his thing. The worst part, I was told, was that there would be only one person watching -- a southern man sitting at a table in the room. His voice, I was told, was "real." I asked what that meant, but no one would say. They did tell me that other people who had done this re-enactment were scarred for life by his voice.
I also found out that this was the exact room where it happened and that was the real axe. After the re-enactment, the axe would be sold to the highest bidder.
Somehow I escaped from there, and ran outside to the ocean. There was ice on the ocean for a few hundred yards. It looked like it was about 1/4 inch thick, but I didn't care. I ran out across the ice to a small, rocky island. When I got there, I just looked out at the sea and realized there was no way I could go any further.
Then I woke up.
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TITLE: Bowling Scores ... Ugh.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/26/2004 11:31:16 PM
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BODY:
1. 115
2. 90
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TITLE: Perfect Duluth Day
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/26/2004 03:49:44 PM
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BODY:
I have the day off today, and so far, it's shaping up to be one of those amazingly great days. I woke up early, drank a lot of strong coffee, and read blogs and e-mails. Then I mowed the lawn, and then I had a great lunch at Beaner's (Peter Piper wrap and terrific harvest grain soup).
The rest of the day has been spent on the garden. This garden is HUGE. I've divided it into several sections, which go as follows:
1. The Partially Shaded Section | This section is closest to the house and has lighter crops such as lettuce (which did not sprout -- I've reseeded), spinach, parsnips and radishes. I mixed carrot seeds in with the radishes, because I understand that's a smart thing to do.
2. Peppers, Onions and Peas | There's no actual reason for these to go next to each other -- they just are. I'm hoping that planting the onions next to the peas, etc. will help keep the rabbits out. But I'm not holding my breath. Basil also makes an appearance in this section.
3. Tomatoes | These have not gone in yet since I'm waiting for a shipment of seedlings from Ca-chee's friend Pamela, who grows 'em good.
4. The "Experimental" Section | This is my favorite section. It contains stuff that I've never seen growing in northern Minnesota. Eggplant and leeks appear in this section. I put rosemary in here, too, because whenever I've tried to grow it, it has died. Acorn squash is there, too, but that's just a matter of space.
This is just the vegetable garden. There is another huge flower garden in the front of the house (mainly perennials), along with about 7-9 tractor-tire gardens full of flowers. Plus rose bushes and a few more random flower zones throughout the yard. The people who lived here before were garden maniacs.
I'm trying not to become one myself.
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TITLE: In sum.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/25/2004 07:48:09 PM
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BODY:
Someone in Brazil found this site by searching for "BITCHES CARTOONS BLOGS". Yeah, that's pretty much what barrettchase.com is all about, baby.
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TITLE: Withdrawal
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/25/2004 10:02:43 AM
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BODY:
What? Where did the blogs go? Perfect Duluth Day ... it's not there. Cannot find server, my ass. Where is it? ...
My blog? Gone, too! Holy cripes! Ok, ok. Don't panic. This is temporary. Maybe PDD is back online. Uh! (grasps midsection to quell intense longing) Where IS IT?
Oh, God. What if I'm the only one who can't see it? What if other people are posting and commenting right now? What if there's a huge, interesting conversation happening and I can't participate ... I CAN'T EVEN LURK! Oh, no. Where's the phone? I gotta make some calls.
Dammit, why isn't anyone answering. It's 10am, for chrissake. GET OUT OF BED! GET OFF THE CAN! This is an emergency!
Ok. Calm down. Think. Ok. The Homegrown site has the same host. Ugh, that one's down, too. And, um, Slim Goodbuzz. Down. Ok. So this is the host's problem. Ok.
God. Where are these servers again? Um, Vancouver. Yeah, I'm pretty sure they're in Vancouver. Shit! What if there's been a natural disaster in Vancouver. Uhhhhhhhhh. Check ... CNN. Yeah. CNN. Ok, Bush .. Shrek ... boy born from 21 year old sperm ... floods in the Carribean? Are the servers in the Carribean? Oh, God.
Ok. Just relax. Take a shower. You need to take a shower anyway. Then come back and everything will be fine. But check one more time to see if they're back.
Oh, wow. There they are. All intact. Come to poppa.
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TITLE: Occam's Radio
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/24/2004 09:29:13 AM
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BODY:
I don't think I'll be doing this very often, as I suspect there are many people who do not want me to do it, but last night I configured my computer to broadcast Internet radio. So if you want to listen to what I'm listening to, I'll be broadcasting this morning from 10-1.
You should be able to hear it 
This is one of those things where ... you had to be there. For the whole. Fucken. Thing. More pictures are available here. Not that it will do you any good, if you weren't there 'til the bitter end.
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TITLE: What kind of friends do I have?
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/19/2004 08:56:24 PM
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BODY:
Well, today I found this in my mailbox.
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TITLE: How to DESTROY your springtime cold
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/19/2004 09:05:56 AM
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BODY:
1. When you feel the cold coming on at 9pm Sunday, do not hesitate to go to bed. Stay in bed, no matter what, until 1pm the next day.
2. Get out of bed, put on clothes, go to work. Convince your supervisor after 1 hour that your services are actually not needed. Go home.
3. When you get home, once again, go immediately to bed. Sleep for hours and hours. Awake only to grudgingly answer phone calls, and to watch TV for a couple hours in the evening.
4. Wake up at 6am on Tuesday. It helps to have Tuesday off. Drink lots of coffee, and ravenously eat a huge breakfast. Spend the morning playing around on the Internet, and drinking about four or five quarts of water.
5. Discover it is really nice outside. Head out into the yard and halfheartedly dig up dandelions. Bask in the sun.
6. Go to Lucé and fuck around with your iPod over the sound system. Drink the free vodka gimlets they ply you with for doing such a thing (these are medicinal, trust me). Eat free pizza.
7. Go home. Watch this before turning in early.
In the morning, you will feel terrific.
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TITLE: So proud to be a part of this...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/18/2004 07:03:49 AM
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BODY:
--------
TITLE: Beautiful.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/16/2004 08:49:28 PM
-----
BODY:
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TITLE: On Hoarding
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/15/2004 01:30:22 PM
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BODY:
Even though I thoroughly enjoy throwing things away, I could totally become one of those people who hoards stuff. See, I enjoy throwing used items away. New, unopened items, on the other hand, I crave.
Sometimes I am plagued with the idea, "it doesn't spoil." Underwear, for example, doesn't spoil, nor does it go out of style, for the most part. I think most people have about 10-15 pairs of skivvies at any given time, and I'm no different. However, why purchase underwear only when you need to? And why purchase underwear in reasonable quantities? There is no reason why you shouldn't buy like, a hundred pairs of undies all at once. They'd last forever, because you'd only wear them something like three or four times a year. And laundry day would be hilarious -- ALL UNDIES. Awesome.
Likewise, toothbrushes don't go bad. I like to use a nice, new, soft-bristled toothbrush. Why not have a couple hundred on hand, so you never have to use a worn-out brush? Plus, when people get drunk and fall asleep at your house, they will be so grateful in the morning to be able to brush their teeth with a new, unused toothbrush instead of with their finger.
There are so many things that fall into this category -- soap, shampoo, shaving cream, toilet paper, etc. Hell, if I were getting a tax return this year, I know what I'd be spending it on.
Socks.
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TITLE: I Almost Got a 3-Speed Today
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/13/2004 04:23:02 PM
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BODY:
This morning while walking to work, I noticed a pretty nifty '70s-era Columbia Tourist laying in pieces in the parking lot of my workplace. I see abandoned bikes all the time, but they're usually rusty old Huffys that have been run over by semi-trucks. This bike was cool, and in good condition except for the fact that the back wheel had come off and some of the pieces were missing.
Anyway, when I got off work, it was still there. So I put the back wheel on well enough to walk with it, and started to take it home. Halfway to my house, a beat-up van pulled up next to me and a frantic, older woman with a thick Appalachian accent yelled, "SIR! THAT'S AR BIKE!" I thought it was a put-on at first, but after talking to her and her husband for a few mintues, I realized that no, this was their bike. That it fell apart while the guy was riding it. And, from what it looked like, they live in their van.
They offered to sell me the bike for $12, but I didn't have any money on me, so they insisted that I hand it over. I did. Now I kind of wish that I had bought it. It was a bit of a rattle-trap, and it would have been a bit impractical, but it looked cool.
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TITLE: Bowling Scores
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/12/2004 11:15:15 PM
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BODY:
1. 111
2. 133
3. 122
It should be noted that the third game might have been better, but we only had 20 minutes so it was "speed bowling." Also, I believe I was the overall winner, but that was due to the absence of Disaster Small.
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TITLE: Coincidences
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/12/2004 11:04:37 AM
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BODY:
I love coincidences. To me, a really good coincidence can brighten up my whole week. These are very rare. The more mundane coincidences, however, produce a brief rush -- they're the crack cocaine of weirdo excitement.
The telephone is always a great source of coincidences. Most people have experienced the phenomenon where you pick up the phone to call someone, only to find them already magically on the line. A couple of times I have received wrong-number phone calls from people I vaguely know or know of. Once I got one from my old guidance counselor. Yesterday, former mayoral candidate Charlie Bell called here looking for someone named Nicole.
A lot of times at work, I will be thinking about something, only to suddenly see a reference to it on a piece of mail. For example, maybe I'll be fantasizing about robots taking over the earth, and suddenly there's a Popular Mechanics magazine and ... oh, jezus my job is boring.
I've discovered that coincidences are elusive, however. I've tried actively searching for them, and this by its very nature doesn't work. Still, putting yourself into a position for weirdness is always good.
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TITLE: Hot, Hot, Hot!
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/11/2004 10:04:47 AM
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BODY:
I'm glad people are beginning to talk about the fact that this Sunday, it will be 20 years to the day since the death of Andy Kaufman. You see, it is said that even before his diagnosis of cancer, Andy plotted what he called, "the greatest put-on of all time." Namely, that he might fake his own death, and return exactly 20 years later to make the wildest performance in the history of comedy.
Sunday May 16, the House of Blues in LA will host "Andy Kaufman — Dead or Alive?" featuring Tony Clifton and the Cliftones, Jerry "The King" Lawler, and others.
Check out this article in the LA Weekly for details.
[via Secret Farm & Cheek]
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TITLE: Get into a depression and protect your head
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/09/2004 08:28:39 PM
-----
BODY:
Whoa! Weird yellow light ... wicked clouds ... constant thunder ... damaging hail ...
I'm preparing for the coming of Gozer the Gozerian (aka the Destructor).
--------
TITLE: Another Brilliant Idea
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/07/2004 11:20:47 AM
-----
BODY:
About a week ago, one of my associates was talking about a role-playing game based on the movie and TV series Stargate. Of course, I immediately thought, how about a role-playing game based on Stargate, the Superior, Wisconsin nightclub? Maybe you'd role 4d10 to determine your bra size.
Better yet, a role-playing game based on Süptown itself. You could have nonplayer characters like cops, bouncers, bartenders, and the like. I'm not sure what the point of the campaign would be, other than wandering up and down Tower Avenue getting 'faced. The best part is you'd get to say things like "I'm a third-level skank," or "I'm proficient in Bacardi."
I get to be Rod Stewart.
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TITLE: DON'T CALL IT A COMEBACK
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/06/2004 09:16:19 AM
-----
BODY:
I been here for years/rockin' my peers and puttin' suckas in fear/makin' the tears rain down like a monsoon/listen to the bass go boom
That is right, ladies and gentlemen. Watch for the return of Occam's Razor comics to the Ripsaw in the June issue. In living color.
--------
TITLE: It's Ripe.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/05/2004 08:49:18 PM
-----
BODY:
As promised in the comments, the bruise.
--------
TITLE: Summertime Goals
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/05/2004 10:24:50 AM
-----
BODY:
My sap is seriously rising, and I have some goals for this summer. I feel so optimistic I could scream. In fact I will. [pause] Ok, here we go:
1. I want to make out on the ferris wheel at The Mighty Thomas Carnival Shows. This might be a tall order, because the Thomas Shows are kind of, well, gross. But I would be willing to settle for any of the area ferris wheels. The Head of the Lakes Fair is a very close second, especially on demolition derby night. If my partner's mouth tastes like cotton candy, that would be extra special. If at any point my partner informs me that I'm feeling her goldfish baggie, not her boob, that would be extra, extra special.
2. I want to shoot off a veritable buttload of bottle rockets. Bottle rockets, I think, are my favorite form of fireworks. A couple of years ago I launched about a million of them into the stratosphere, and I want nothing more than to do it again.
3. I want to host a game of ghetto horseshoes. I live near Duluth's second-worst park, Keene Creek Park. This is a park beneath the freeway overpass, where everything is either broken or covered with graffiti. It would be awesome some Sunday to have couple games of horeshoes in the weed-covered horseshoe pit, with some beer and maybe a grill. This will happen very soon, and anyone seriously interested should contact me immediately. Anyone mildly interested should watch Perfect Duluth Day for a more general invitation.
4. I want to go to Tulsa. We have talked about it, plotted and schemed many times. Now Erin Lady Byrne has seriously extended the invitation. The D-T Express WILL ship out in the near future, travelling across the Midwest like an effing funnel cloud.
We're all gonna die.
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TITLE: Altercation!
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/04/2004 10:08:04 AM
-----
BODY:
Fig. 1
So last night, I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and got into a serious rumble (see fig. 1) with my bedroom. (see fig. 2)
I got out of bed, and, just as I do every night, whacked my thigh on the footboard. But unlike the other five or six times a week I do this, I hit it hard enough not only to leave the usual purple and green bruise, but a big bloody scrape as well. This knocked me off balance substantially, so when I lurched ahead and stepped on Ca-chee's silky robe, that was enough to catapult me headfirst into the bedroom door, where I sustained the injury pictured above.
Fig. 2
I've come to the realization that most of the injuries I've received in my life are the result of some such stupid story. The most painful injury I've ever had, a terribly wrenched back, happened while I was performing the incredibly dangerous task of towel-drying my hair.
I just know that some day I'm going to accidentally kill myself while attempting to eat soup.
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TITLE: Barrett Chase Speaks Out
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/03/2004 12:44:12 PM
-----
BODY:
On Boredom | Any boring situation can be improved tremendously by simply imagining all the wacky trouble that would insue if suddenly the Harlem Globetrotters showed up.
On Automobiles | There's nothing cooler than a beat-up 1974 Cadillac with a tennis trophy for a hood ornament.
On Movies | There will always be a hole in American cinema until they decide to finally make a Leprechaun movie in 3-D. I mean, sure there was Leprechaun in Space, and Leprechaun in the Hood, but did they really need to send him Back 2 tha Hood? (I know, I know. Of course they did.) In general, there needs to be more 3-D technology employed in Hollywood, and don't even get me started on Odorama.
On Sports | Recently I discovered that the best sport, hands down, is one-on-none basketball. It's as addictive as computer solitaire, especially when accompanied by an iPod loaded with Roth-era Van Halen.
On Bill Cosby | Generally I think he's a putz, but I can't thank him enough for introducing the phrase "shoot you in the face with a bazooka" into my vocabulary.
On TV Commercials | The one for Charmin where the cartoon bear is frolicking in the meadows because his asshole feels so terrific, that one makes me physically ill. I'm considering placing a puke bucket near the couch just in case that commercial comes on and I can't find the remote fast enough.
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TITLE: The D-Fens Fantasy
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 5/02/2004 01:43:38 AM
-----
BODY:
I, like any other sane person in the world, routinely gamble my entire sanity on the D-Fens Fantasy. Oh, what's that? You've never heard of the D-Fens Fantasy? Read on.
The name "D-Fens Fantasy" was inspired by Michael Douglas' character in Falling Down, who was referred to only by his vanity license plate, D-Fens. In the movie, Douglas walks around in his suit and tie, beating the living snot out of people, sometimes shooting them, for doing the little things that piss him off, like charging 85 cents for a can of soda instead of 50.
Anyway, it's a lot fun to imagine the most innappropriate and extreme responses to things that are mildly irritating. Jerry Seinfeld once decribed such a fantasy when he talked about wanting to just stand up in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner and launch the turkey through the window. Of course, you wouldn't really do that, but it's fun to imagine your family's reaction.
Sometimes my D-Fens Fantasies are just for fun. Like when I'm bowling and miss a difficult split, I imagine blasting the last pin into splinters with a shotgun.
The place where I have the most D-Fens Fantasies is on the corner of Central Avenue and Bristol Street when I'm walking to and from work every day. First of all, no one on that corner ever seems to go straight. They're all turning. Second, they don't seem to realize you're supposed to come to a stop before doing the whole right-on-red thing. Third, almost no one yields to pedestrians. The result is that sometimes you will not be able to cross the street on the first light change, even if you have the walk signal.
Through trial and error, I've found that the best mental weapon to employ in this situation is the crowbar. It provides immediate, satisfying results, especially when that windshield shatters and falls like a jellyfish onto the driver's lap. They're sitting there, dazed and terrified, probably not even knowing what they did wrong, and that's the time to grab their cell phone out of their hand and drop some witty one-liner on the person on the other end.
Of course, when I'm standing there trying to come up with such a line, and imagining all the details, the light has turned red again.
Bastards.
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TITLE: I Once Killed a Dog
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/30/2004 10:22:43 AM
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BODY:
OK, I threatened to tell this story to a couple friends of mine on Tuesday night, and they covered their ears and chanted "not listening not listening not listening," so restrained myself. Then I realized, hey, this would make a pretty good blog post, because it ends with a startling twist. They replied that they didn't want to hear about any dog killing, and if I posted it, they would not read my blog until this post dropped off into the archives.
What I'm saying is, consider yourself warned.
My sister used to have this cute little lap dog named Daisy. I liked dogs of all kinds at that point in my life, and I thought Daisy was pretty cool. So when my sister moved to Germany, she left the dog at our house and I had the general responsibility of taking care of her.
I should mention that this occurred at the same time that I acquired the bedroom with the magazine pictures on the ceiling. Since my three sisters used to share that room, it had three beds--a regular bed and a set of bunk beds. I could sleep in any of these beds, but I most often chose the regular bed.
The thing about Daisy was that she liked to chew things. In particular, she liked to get up in the night and chew things. Consequently, I was supposed to tie her to my bed post with a leash at night, so she would just sleep in my bed and not chew up all the furniture.
OK, I think you can tell where this is going. One night I didn't sleep in the regular bed. I slept in the top bunk bed. And, stupidly stupidly stupidly, I clipped the leash on Daisy's collar and put the loop over the bedpost, as usual. Ugh. In the middle of the night, she leapt off the bed, and, since this was the top bunk, instead of landing safely on the floor as she normally did she was hung and instantly killed.
All of this was very traumatic. But. I promised a twist and here it is.
My sister was heartbroken, but eventually she moved into an apartment in Germany that allowed pets, and she got another dog, a huge male golden retriever named Reuben. When she moved back to the US, Reuben came with. This dog was in our house for probably 20 minutes before I started wrestling around with him. He seemed to be having fun, but suddenly he just snapped and completely mauled me. One of his teeth went halfway through my left hand, and he ripped a decent gash all the way around my right forearm. For some time, I had bandages on my arms and hands, and I looked like I'd attempted suicide.
So, while I still feel guilty for making a mistake that cost the life of one of my sister's dogs, I sometimes look down at the scars left by her other dog, and I feel like I've paid my dues.
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TITLE: Roll On
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/29/2004 12:40:12 AM
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BODY:
I've decided to start keeping track of my bowling scores. What better way than to do it publicly?
Tonight's scores:
1. 125
2. 124
3. 130
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TITLE: Up Above Us
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/28/2004 10:22:59 AM
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BODY:
When my sisters were teenagers, they had pretty bizarre idea for decorating their room. One afternoon, when I was about five or six and our parents were out of the house, they clipped hundreds of pictures out of magazines and glued them to their ceiling. They completely covered the ceiling with overlapping photos taken from magazines such as Cosmopolitan and Glamour. Our parents were furious, but what could they do?
A few years later, my sisters moved out and I inherited the room. I hated that ceiling, but my parents were old and not really motivated to remodel. So I lived with it for years. I didn't need magazines of naked women -- they were all over my ceiling. But by then they were out-of-style women with feathered hair and blue eye shadow. Friends would come over to visit and want to know why I had ads for Loreal and Maybelline all over my ceiling. I'd be mortified.
At night I would lay there forced to look at the pictures and, worse yet, read the words in the ads. "If my man can't wear English Leather, he wears nothing at all." When there are words in front of your face, you have to read them. It becomes a sort of OCD. "If I don't read the English Leather slogan nine times before I fall asleep, I do not sleep at all."
Once, I tried to clip my own pictures from magazines and glue them over the old ones. But it was an insane task. I didn't have many magazines except for Mad and Discover. And it wasn't worth the effort to cut out and paste up hundreds of pictures of Alfred E. Neuman and the Space Shuttle. I did about 1/8 of the ceiling before I gave up.
Eventually, when I got a bit older, I acquired some sheets of chip-board and screwed them to the ceiling to cover the magazine photos. This lead to even more OCD behavior, but it was much more pleasant. Every night before falling asleep, I'd look at the various patterns in the chip-board and see all kinds of images and scenes. It was kind of the white-trash equivilant of looking at constellations. "There's the guy with the huge eyes. There's the donkey. There's the Winnebago. There's the couple humping. There's Gene Simmons."
These days my bedroom ceiling has lots of glitter embedded into the textured paint. Once again, this was not my decision, and when we first moved here I thought it to be incredibly tacky. But now I sort of like it. The light from the street makes the glitter look kind of orange, like all the stars and planets have turned into Mars. It looks best in candlelight. When I look at it each night, I don't have any OCD routines. I just look.
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TITLE: First Comic in a Long Time
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/25/2004 09:02:15 PM
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BODY:
--------
TITLE: Talk About a Conundrum
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/25/2004 10:45:41 AM
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BODY:
I don't need any additional confusion in the morning; I'm confused enough in general. But this morning, something happened that just kicked all of my groggy brain cells into overdrive, attempting to answer the question, "What the fuck?"
So I'm in the shower. And I'm naked because that's how I like to clean myself -- I like the whole body to get clean, not just the parts that show. Anyway, I'm in the shower, naked, and suddenly I head a *clink*. I look down, and sure enough, there's a shiny nickel on the floor.
Where the HELL did this nickel come from?
No. I don't remember putting any spare change up my ass. And I'm 95% certain that no one did it for me, either. So ... what the fuck?
After about ten minutes of head scratching, I woke up enough to realize that I must have slept on the nickel, and it stuck to my skin somewhere, only to fall off at the most confusing time possible.
My brain is fried. Guess I won't be able to work on that Mensa application until later this afternoon.
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TITLE: Hooky Hooky Hooky
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/23/2004 03:52:25 PM
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BODY:
It's the most beautiful of spring days, a Friday no less, and guess who got to cut out early? Still guessing? Huh? ME, that's who.
Which begs the question: If it is the most beautiful of spring days, and I can do whatever I want, why am I indoors at the computer? Hmmm... (strokes translucent, pasty-skinned chin with permanently clawed hand)
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TITLE: But still.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/22/2004 11:44:33 AM
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BODY:
I am not ashamed to admit that I enjoy sci-fi and young adult fiction. Not so long ago, I read a book called Feed by MT Anderson. This story takes place in the not-too-distant future, and is about a device called the Feed, which is a networked computer implanted in human brains.
People use the Feed for a lot of things -- school, work, entertainment, etc. -- but most of all, they use it for shopping. Talking to your friends about cars? The Feed will bombard your very brain with ads for cars, and help you find the best deal. Like those pants that guy is wearing? The Feed will automatically sense your feelings and tell you how much they cost and how you can order them. The Feed transforms the world into living hypertext.
My point is that in today's world, I think Gmail is the closest thing we have to the Feed. Gmail is pretty cool. It has 500 times the storage capacity of Hotmail. It is really easy to organize, and pretty innovative, too. But how can they afford to give you a whole gigabyte worth of storage? Here's how.
Ads alongside your e-mails are targeted to you based on the content of your e-mail. You read that correctly. If you and your friends are discussing going out for pizza, you will, in theory, see pizza ads. The people at Google make a big deal about your privacy, insisting that no humans will ever read your e-mail, and that they will not give any of your personal information to advertisers.
But still.
This is really freaky, and I don't know how I feel about it. On one hand, who cares? It's sort of sophomoric to whine about "Big Brother" etc., as if we don't know that he exists. I for one am not going to cut up my credit cards and move to the Northwest Territories. But still.
But still.
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TITLE: Mutual of Omaha Presents...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/21/2004 01:09:29 PM
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BODY:
For quite a while now, I've been wondering if all the rabbits in the yard are going to devour the garden.
But today, I'm wondering what's been devouring the rabbits.
I think it's a fox, because our fence would keep out dogs, and a cat probably wouldn't do this. [Not for the squeamish.]
* * *
On a completely unrelated note, I'm now signed up for the much-anticipated beta version of Gmail. Drop me a line: bchase (at) gmail (dot) com.
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TITLE: And Now Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Blabber
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/20/2004 11:02:02 AM
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BODY:
Sometimes, I go into a shell. Even though I think I make a decent extrovert, extroversion does not come naturally to me, so on days like today, I often need to recharge. I crave certain things intensely: showers, sleep, solitary bike rides, tea, books.
At times like this, I love my job. First of all, it doesn't start until noon. That leaves all morning for blogging, coffee drinking, reading, and listening to music. When I finally go to work, there is not much interaction with other people. I sit at my terminal, typing away and listening to my iPod. Sometimes I bring my Walkman and listen to books on tape or NPR. Once you learn how to do my job, you don't have to think much about it, and so it allows time for contemplation. Most of the good ideas I have had originated while I was at work.
The bummer part of my job is that I almost always work on Saturdays. This makes it a little difficult to go out of town, or to do fun Saturday activities like see movies at the library, or take part in the upcoming PDD Field Trip to Karpeles Manuscript Museum. However, I do get one weekday off, and this makes for even better recharging time.
On my weekday off, I do exactly as I please all day long. A lot of times, I get up a lot earlier on those days, because that way there's more day to enjoy. I don't look at the clock too much; I don't worry about being anywhere at a certain time. Sometimes I cook something healthy and delicious.
A year ago I worked two jobs, and had almost no time for recharging. Commuting between jobs, I'd see people leisurely walking down the street, or eating solitary lunches on benches, and it was enough to cause me to ache.
This spring, I am thankful for what I have.
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TITLE: Geek Pics
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/18/2004 04:53:47 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: The Folly of Youth
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/16/2004 10:03:48 AM
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BODY:
When I was about 12, I had a sort of problem with my underwear. The problem was, often the waistband would enjoy displaying itself to my classmates as I leaned forward to diligently work on my math assignment. And so, I was often treated to the whispered phrase, "Blue stripe today. Must be Wednesday." Geek that I was, it never occurred to me that my clothes were cheap and ill-fitting. I was convinced that it had something to do with my own ass.
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TITLE: Good Lord! Another Pic Post!
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/16/2004 01:15:41 AM
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BODY:
These are all red because they are colored with my blood. I put my finger over the flash bulb. The Geek Prom Starfire Lounge rocked! Edgewood was the total shit. He should be the spaz-dance host, not me.
-------- TITLE: More About Marathons AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 4/15/2004 11:50:06 AM ----- BODY: So in honor of Geek Week, and because it was just released on DVD, we've been having a Freaks and Geeks marathon over at our place. If you were my downstairs neighbor, you'd be able to set your clock by the sounds of "Bad Reputation" by Joan Jett. I've come to the realization that my obsession with marathons has a lot to do with their mood-altering abilities. A good marathon is a lot like a bender, especially at the beginning. Think about it. When you're in the midst of the marathon, you know exactly what your mood is going to be like. Is life getting you down? Start up the marathon. It's escape at its best. -------- TITLE: Pic Post 3: Zoey's Birthday Madness AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 4/14/2004 12:11:13 AM ----- BODY:
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TITLE: Pic Post 2: Cramming Geeks Into a Kia
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/14/2004 12:02:12 AM
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BODY:
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TITLE: Pic Post 1: Rules & Regulations
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/13/2004 11:51:43 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: (Not) Wasting Time
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/12/2004 11:12:16 AM
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BODY:
In the summer between my sophomore and junior years of college, I was almost completly unemployed. I made a few dollars here and there temping and doing odd jobs, but for the most part, I did nothing. I was poor, but I was rich in free time.
Every day, I'd wake up and eat a mixing bowl full of Honey Nut Cheerios out on the porch. It seemed to rain every night, so there was always a pleasant scent of rain in the air every morning. After I finished eating, I'd just sit there for awhile and do nothing.
After that, I'd usually go for a walk in the woods. I'd bring a small daypack with water, some fruit, a book and a notebook. Maybe I'd make use of these things or maybe not. I had about four or five different routes that I'd take, and all of these routes had places to stop and rocks to sit on.
When I returned, I would usually go to my room where I'd play loud music and throw darts really hard. The music was often Pink Floyd's "The Division Bell" or The Breeders' "Last Splash." The darts were the real kind--the sharp kind--and for some reason I'd always throw them hard enough to pierce through the dartboard and into the wall behind it.
The rest of the day I'd usually spend sitting in a lawn chair and reading.
In the evening, I got together with Ca-chee, and we spent our time watching movies, necking, playing board games, and sleeping. Once we played a checkers tournament that lasted for weeks--we kept track of our wins and losses in a little notebook. One of my favorite memories from that time was when we fell asleep watching a rain delay on ESPN.
My point here is this: A decade later, I still waste a lot of time. It is my nature. But the difference is, back then it felt like these things were good for me, like I needed to do them. Now, for the most part, I don't feel that way. Sure, I spend my mornings drinking coffee and reading blogs, and that is good for me. But for the most part, I feel like wasting my time also wastes my energy. I feel like my mind is focused on the wrong things. I feel like I procrastinate things that I actually want to do.
I want to do these things. I want to organize all of my Occam's Razor comics and make a series of about 10 zines containing every comic I ever drew. I want to create a new comic, too, perhaps for print, perhaps just for the web. I want to start shooting more pictures and digital video, and make short, stupid web movies. I want to find weird places in the city and investigate them. I want to ride my bike and work in my garden. Most of all, I want to waste time in such a way that, 10 years from now, I will remember how I used to waste time.
It's a tall order.
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TITLE: The Real Easter Bunny
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/09/2004 11:57:10 PM
-----
BODY:
I really don't know why this is, or what it means, but I just remembered the first time I realized that the Easter Bunny is not a real bunny. Immediately, I approached my family and announced my discovery. It went something like this.
ME: The Easter Bunny isn't a real bunny.
THEM: Oh?
ME: No. A real bunny couldn't carry baskets. It's a person.
THEM: A person?
ME: Yeah. He's just a little kid dressed as a bunny. A black kid.
I vividly remember my conception of the Easter Bunny, and I can still visualize it. Black kid, maybe 9 years old, dressed in a pink bunny suit. I don't know where I got this idea; I suppose I saw a picture of some kid dressed up for Easter somewhere and made an assumption. All I can say is I'm really lucky I didn't turn out to be a furry or something.
Of course, we all know the real Easter Bunny looks like this.
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TITLE: These people suck!
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/08/2004 11:18:40 AM
-----
BODY:
From the New York Press' "50 Most Loathsome New Yorkers"
#42
i-Snobs
"THE BLINDING WHITE cords flowing out of my sublimely waxed ears say it all: I'm in no mood for talking, and my income bracket makes cumbersome CDs so unnecessary, so Second Wave. With thousands of songs from my iPod at my polished fingertips, I can now walk through life effortlessly, angelically, shielded by the anodized aluminum of my futuristic listening device. I can strut with confidence and disinterest past those in my chosen path. I'm cut off from your dirty world by my ear buds and their enhanced sound and noise-suppression features. I'm a creature of advertising, a walking cliche with 25-minute skip protection and Volkswagen dreams. Shit, my profile even resembles the faceless, platonic form in the billboard."
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TITLE: Time to Panic
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/07/2004 10:44:39 AM
-----
BODY:
Only 10 days left until Geek Prom. I really want to pick out my own clothes this year, instead of having my mom pick them out for me.
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TITLE: A Magical Time of Year
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/06/2004 11:01:57 AM
-----
BODY:
It is now cold enough outside to store beer on the porch, but not so cold that the beer freezes and explodes. Yes, it's a brief window of opportunity, so you have to take advantage of it. Nothing beats the deliciously white-trash feeling of stepping outdoors in your boxers to pop a cold one. A very, very cold one.
Incidentally, if any underage drinkers are thinking about climbing my steps and making off with my Hamm's, keep in mind that I have a keen ear, a coffee can full of taconite pellets, and a wrist-rocket.
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TITLE: Bitching
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/05/2004 02:16:13 PM
-----
BODY:
Every time I attempt to logon to Hotmail today, I get a message saying "The server is too busy."
Too busy. Hotmail. Microsoft.
Listen, Microsoft's servers are made of millions of Pentium 20 processors grafted into the reanimated chunks of JFK's brain. There is no effing way they could be "too busy."
Someone's out to get me. Obviously, this is all a conspiracy to keep me from receiving important penile-enlargement information.
* * *
(Note to those studying the fine art of smart-aleck humor: notice how I made the final lame joke into an almost-funny joke by changing the expected word, "penis," into the more technical-sounding word, "penile." This kind of decision making is, unfortunately, my #1 talent.)
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TITLE: Spring Forward
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/04/2004 12:08:06 PM
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BODY:
Everybody knows that the official theme song to Fall Back is "Back in Time" by Huey Lewis & the News. But I'm trying to find a suitable theme for turning the clocks forward. At first I thought it was "The Future" by Leonard Cohen, but it really should be more upbeat.
Hmmm ... songwriters aren't really all that optimistic are they?
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TITLE: Idea #467,255
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 4/01/2004 07:57:04 PM
-----
BODY:
I think there needs to be a DVD featuring all the famous Letterman meltdowns. I'm trying to remember them all:
- Harvey Pekar
- Crispin Glover
- Farah Fawcett
- Madonna
- Cher
- Drew Barrymore
- The World's Fastest Hypnotist
- Brother Theodore
I just know that there are so many more. Does anyone remember?
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TITLE: Emotional Trauma
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 3/31/2004 05:23:37 PM
-----
BODY:
OK. It's been almost 24 hours since this happened, and I think I'm ready to talk about it now. Bear with me -- I might break down at any point.
So yesterday I came home from work and decided to make a tuna sandwich. I opened a can of tuna over the sink, and proceded to drain out the water. You know what I'm talking about; you push the lid of the can down to squeeze the water out of the tuna. Well, I must have pressed way too hard, because the lid of the can suddenly bent in half, causing the tuna to quite literally explode out of the can. Instantly I found myself wearing half a can of tuna. There was tuna on the wall, tuna on the floor, tuna all over the clean dishes. But mostly there was tuna all over me.
My natural response was to go absolutely apeshit. I tore off my shirt and plunged it under the tap. (At this point, your mental image of me should switch to Walter Matthau, as he's my official nude stand-in.) I started screaming and swearing, and as I was doing such, Ca-chee walked in, home from work. As I cleaned up the mess, I was slamming things down and thowing things and cussing like mad. Every time I thought I had it all cleaned up, I'd find more. The last glob I found was on the top of my foot.
Finally, it was all cleaned up. Ca-chee just looked at me and said, "Well, at least you're a passionate person."
Fucken-A. From now on I'm buying that tuna that comes in a sack. That is, if I ever eat tuna again.
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TITLE: The Dawn of the Dead remake is worth seeing.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 3/30/2004 12:19:21 AM
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BODY:
OK, so I just saw the remake of Dawn of the Dead. I consider myself somewhat of a connoisseur of the zombie genre. And as such, I really enjoyed it.
But. There are two things that bother me about the remake. And I'm here to whine about them.
1. The remake is scary, but not funny. This is sort of the opposite of the original, which was funny but not scary. Sure, Night of the Living Dead was terrifying, but the original Dawn of the Dead (which is its sequel) was intentionally stupid. Romero wanted the movie to be comic-book-like, and was very successful in the respect. The new version seems to owe a lot to 28 Days Later. It is scratchy, jumpy, and all-over scary, and it's better than 28 Days, but it lacks a lot of the humor of the original Dawn.
2. The remake cuts out the major theme of the original. Namely, that we are becoming mindless drones of consumerism. According to the original, the zombies have "Seemingly little or no reasoning power, but some retain basic skills that they learned in their former life. These creatures are nothing but pure, motorized instinct." Which is why they are all crowding around the mall. In the original, one character asks, "Why do they come here?" Another responds, "Some kind of instinct. Memory, of what they used to do. This was an important place in their lives." These rotting corpses only have the capacity to do one thing, and they want to shop til they drop. Of course, now that they're zombies, they want to shop for brains and guts.
I don't know why they chose to downplay this theme. Also, while the characters in the remake do take advantage of being sequestered in a mall, they don't show signs of pure joy about it, as do the original characters. The original characters are thrilled to have all of this stuff to themselves, and it is obvious (and once again, funny). Plus, it's an important part of the end-of-the-world/zombie genre, as evidenced in The Omega Man. In that movie, sure, Charlton Heston has his guns, but he also has his groovy apartment, his bodacious hi-fi, and his top-shelf booze. When everything has gone to hell and it's all there for the taking, one must loot. It's the only joy left.
Nonetheless, I did enjoy Dawn of the Dead thanks in a large part to Sarah Polley, who is beautiful and amazing. As always.
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TITLE: Livin on the Edge
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 3/29/2004 11:26:55 AM
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BODY:
Sometimes I like to make those healthy Amy's-brand TV dinners, which come in a paper tray. The box says to cook them at 400, but I like to cook them at 450, knowing from Ray Bradbury that paper ignites at 451.
It just makes the whole frozen-dinner-eating experience a little more exciting.
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TITLE: Personal Inventory (Sunday Morning)
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 3/28/2004 12:09:56 PM
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BODY:
[waking up] *Yawn* That was fun last night. Let's see, did I do anything terrible? Hmm ... drank beer ... smarted off ... jumped in the pit ... danced at gay bar ... got package grabbed ... ate fried food ... um ... no, everything seems OK.
[looks in mirror] Oh, yeah. I forgot that I got my hair cut. In a bar. At a punk show. With a Leatherman.
Not bad.
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TITLE: Tenderness
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 3/27/2004 10:15:31 AM
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BODY:
Exchange between a 5-year-old girl and her dad at Hollywood Video
Girl: Daddy, can we get Hulk?
Dad: No, hon.
Girl: Why not?
Dad: Uncle Jeff said it sucks majorly, sweetie.
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TITLE: More Paranoia
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 3/26/2004 05:54:17 PM
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BODY:
OK, so I got home from work today and found the following:
1. There was an awful smell in my apartment. It smelled something like hot and electrical, sort of like when you accidentally vacuum up a cord.
2. The back door was wide open. Locked, but open.
3. The back gate was also open.
4. This ancient Galaxie 500 was parked in front of the house. (apropos of nothing, but check this baby out!)
Nothing has been stolen. The digital camera is on the table. The TV and computer are still here. I've checked the entire place, and there is no one lurking in the closet ready to spring. I know that it's a really windy day and I just didn't close the back door tightly enough, and that there was a plastic bag next to the heat register that probably made the smell--it's melty and everything.
Still.
I'm checkin' the attic.
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TITLE: Night of the Living Dead
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 3/26/2004 11:42:18 AM
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BODY:
I live in very safe neighborhood. The vast, vast majority of my neighbors are old people and middle-aged, childless couples. Sure, there are plenty of lowlifes around, a few tweakers and whatnot, but they usually keep out of my immediate vicinity. Last night, however ... eek.
Maybe it was the relative warmth of the weather yesterday. It certainly wasn't a nice day--it rained and was foggy with lots of pollution in the air. This neighborhood was crawling with violent freaks. I was out for a short walk, and before I left, I could already hear some "activity" (i.e. yelling) outside my house. OK, whatever. So I put on my shoes and head out.
I got about one block before I was almost run over. Some guy in a pickup, screeching around the corner. Then oddly enough, another guy in another truck came screeching around the same corner, in the opposite direction. Then suddenly it was quiet again. No one around but me and some drunk using a building to hold himself up.
Anyway, I get to the store (which is full of obvious chonic alcoholics), pop in and out, and I'm walking home when I see this couple. We're walking in the same direction, and soon our paths will merge and I'll end up walking right next to them. I don't want this, because I can tell immediately that these people are trouble. Sure enough, before I even get there, the woman starts screaming at another woman across the street, "What are you looking at, you fucking bitch?" The 2nd woman gives the obligatory response, "Fuck you, cunt." Let the catfight begin. Or at least let it almost begin before the guy drags his woman off, screaming at her.
One more thing. Before I got home, another vehicle--this time a car--screeched around that same corner. This is just a one-block long residential street. I don't know what was going on down there, but a lot of people needed to get in and out of there, fast.
All of this was quite bothersome to me. I know I'm losing my edge, as a year ago I lived in a building where this kind of activity was a daily part of life. A typical conversation at our place went like this:
"What was all that racket out there?"
"Oh, there was a fight at 309 again. It took four cops to put the guy on the ground."
"Hm. Are we out of milk?"
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TITLE: I love this photo.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 3/25/2004 05:18:07 PM
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BODY:
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TITLE: A Need for Speed
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 3/25/2004 10:55:59 AM
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BODY:
Finally. Finally. FINALLY, we have put an end to the 2-year-long procrastination and gotten ourselves officially hooked up with broadband. Believe it or not, these geeks were still on dial-up until this very morning.
With that in mind, don't expect to have any non-electronic contact with me in the coming weeks. By the time Geek Prom rolls around, I will be pasty to the point of being translucent, like a sauteed onion.
Perfect.
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TITLE: Two iPods and a Microphone
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 3/23/2004 06:42:50 PM
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BODY:
In case you didn't know, I will be DJing the "Spaz-Dancing Contest" at this year's Geek Prom.
Tonight, I started thinking about what I'm going to play.
To quote Wesley Willis, "I'm gonna fuck your ass up like in a car crash."
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TITLE: The PeeJays
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 3/22/2004 09:50:57 AM
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BODY:
OK, so maybe I had a lazy Sunday, and maybe you think I'm not qualified to make the criticism I'm about to make, but Jesus H., I gotta do it.
What the hell is with women wearing pajamas in public? Most often you see this at the grocery store -- women with bedhead pushing cartloads of sugar cereals, wearing pajama bottoms. The thing is, I predict these people don't even think of them as pajamas. "Oh, these? No, these are just baby-blue flannel pants with teddy bears on them."
Listen: Tracey Ullman might have done the whole shopping-in-sleepwear thing in her "They Don't Know" video back in 1984, but Tracey Ullman also appeared in the movie Jumpin' Jack Flash. I rest my case.
Let's start a movement. From now on, anyone with the audacity to wear pajamas to the grocery store gets pantsed. We have to put a stop to this. I don't need to see that shit when I'm buying food.
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TITLE: Day of rest, my ass.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 3/21/2004 10:45:14 PM
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BODY:
I felt a little guilty today as I awoke from my second nap, but then I realized -- hey, not only did I get that whole book read, but I ate all those sandwiches, and I managed to watch a whole episode of Malcom in the Middle. Geez, I even did some work and got some sun as I carried the garbage all the way out to the alley.
*Yawn* What time is it? 10:45?! Way past my bedtime. Nighty night.
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TITLE: The Collector
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 3/17/2004 08:59:40 AM
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BODY:
Not being the kind of person who becomes sentimentally attached to objects, I am no good at collecting stuff. Still, in the back of my head, I can see the appeal of collecting. Here are a few categories of items I wouldn't mind stocking my shelves with.
K-tel Records
Some people collect jazz 78s. I would never be so high-and-mighty. Available at any yard sale for under 50 cents, I love the K-Tel record. I like to imagine the people working at K-Tel, coming up with track lists and themes, and creating the sleeve art. I suppose it gave some hope to guys who were good at making mix tapes, like there might be a career in it.
Japanese DVDs
For all the movies we watch, we don't own many DVDs at our house. But recently I realized that of the ones we do own, 3/4 are Japanese. There's some really great movies coming out of Japan right now, and I want to see all of them. (What is the name for someone who loves Japanese stuff anyway? A Nippophile? Sounds dirty.)
Sexist Buttons
Unfortunately I can't find any photos of these, but they are out there. I came across some in an antique shop once and really wanted to buy them, but I didn't have any money. When I returned with some cash, they were gone. One of the ones I saw had a cartoon USO girl being chased by a gang of horny sailors. She had a look of utter glee on her face, and the caption read "Fleet's in!" Another had a retro-looking guy choking a retro-looking woman. The caption read, "Keep 'em in line." I can't begin to explain why, but these were awesome.
Bar T-shirts
It's sad to say, but bars are among the only true small-businesses left. Sure, there are conglomerate bars, but these places are mainly for dingbats. I think it's cool that every grimy, decrepit place owned by some guy named Don has a T-shirt you can buy. No one ever buys these shirts; they just hang in a plastic bag behind the bar getting yellower and yellower. I think it would be kind of cool to own some, especially once the bars went out of business.
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TITLE: Just need to get this out of my system.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 3/16/2004 11:18:40 AM
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BODY:
Don't get me wrong, I really like Johnny Cash. I have many Johnny Cash albums. And I really like my downstairs neighbors, too--they're nice people. But for the past four or five days, they've been playing old-school Johnny Cash albums for around 3 or 4 hours every morning. And while Johnny Cash music playing in my immediate vicinity is something I appreciate, hearing only Johnny Cash bass lines (DUM. dum. DUM. dum. DUM. dum. ) all morning can certainly wear on the nerves.
The first few days I alleviated this problem by singing along in my head or even out loud. It was kind of cool to make eggs on Friday morning jamming to "I Walk the Line." But yesterday ... man yesterday it didn't stop. We're talking at least 12 solid hours of Johnny. I woke up--Johnny. I went to work--Johnny. I came home from work--Johnny. I had dinner--Johnny. Johnny didn't go away until about 9pm. I spent most of my time at home with my headphones on, and Nerf Herder cranked up to 7. Still Johnny vibrated the floor under my feet.
I suppose when I'm in my 80s and have pneumonia, I will probably spend my days hunkered down listening to Johnny Cash ad infitium too. I too will eat turkey and refer to it as "him," and when people say "How's it going?" I also will respond, "Lousy." These are good traits. I only hope that I will have handsome young neighbors who will be polite and keep the sidewalk completely clear of snow. I won't mind if they get drunk and launch pumpkins off the deck, or if their visitors are all freaky looking. And when I turn up "Don't Take Your Guns to Town" yet again, they won't complain.
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TITLE: Metadream Microblog
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 3/15/2004 09:33:30 AM
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BODY:
I had a dream last night that I was standing in the street talking to David Letterman when this little boy with a crew cut came up and gave him a huge flower. The stem was about 9 feet long, but the yellow bud at the top was about the size of my thumb. Letterman was utterly perplexed.
That night on the show, Dave brought out the flower and told the story. I was in the studio audience, so he gave the flower to me and made a big show of it. Afterwards, I brought the flower home (somehow traveling instantly from NYC to my apartment) took a lot of pictures of it and wrote a blog post about the whole experience.
I just wanted some part of that story to have happened in real life, so here we are.
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TITLE: Grumble Grumble.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 3/12/2004 08:49:28 PM
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BODY:
Never during a job interview has anyone ever asked me what my greatest weakness is. You know what I'm talking about: you're supposed to come up with this great weakness that is actually a strength. "Well sir, I'm a little ashamed to admit that I am just way too gosh darn enthusiastic about working for your company. By the way, do you need me to clean the lint out of your navel for you? You do?! Well let's get to it! My, what a lovely torso you have!"
But seriously, I do have one weakness that just drives me ape. From time to time, I think of things I should do--and I mean really need to do--and then I just say to myself, oh, I'll get around to that later maybe. Sometimes it's something really simple and important like calling to have a prescription refilled. Or it might be something personally pressing, like eating lunch when I'm really starving.
It's not a matter of procrastination, it's a matter of whacked-out priorities. It's a matter of obsession. I get easily obsessed with something like blogging, and think about it to the exclusion of everything else. Then I end up rushing around trying to get things done at the last minute, and eating tuna straight out of the can. I might even go into the kitchen and look into the refrigerator for what I might make for lunch, but then thoughts of the blog will turn me away and lead me back to the keyboard.
In short, this absolute obsession I feel about satisfying my reading public really does cause me personal strife. Oh, here, let me just get that lint out of your navel for you. Hmm. Have you been working out?
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TITLE: Sorry About All The Picture Posts
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 3/11/2004 12:24:36 AM
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BODY:
...but Stadium Lanes rocks my socks off.
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TITLE: My Own Private iPod
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 3/10/2004 10:48:03 AM
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BODY:
However, when you flip the package around, it reads a lot differently.
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TITLE: I don't usually take requests, but...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/27/2004 12:17:50 AM
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BODY:
A new drug for curing has been perfected by a team of . The breakthrough follows years of testing the effects of on and should people who and are . Created by the new drug is and is not available to the public.
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TITLE: Ash Wednesday Stats
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/26/2004 10:04:44 AM
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BODY:
Number of people I saw yesterday with an ash-mark on their forehead: 1
Number of the above who were drunk: 1
Number of people I saw yesterday with what looked like dollars signs drawn on their cheeks in green magic marker: 1
Number of the above who were shopping at Super One Foods: 1
Number of times I looked away from the dollar-sign person, then looked back and thought "Tough on Prices": 7
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TITLE: Turn Ons/Turn Offs
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/25/2004 11:18:15 AM
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BODY:
Turn Ons
- When that woman on Letterman says "Did you see or touch any monkeys?"
- Air's Talkie Walkie album.
- Bonfires.
- Goldar, Silvar, and Gam.
- Everything Joan Jett represents.
- Getting packages in the mail.
- That afterschool special where Helen Hunt did angel dust and then jumped out the window.
Turn Offs
- The sound of shopping carts.
- Celery in omelets.
- Sitting with my back to the door.
- People who use the word "scoff."
- Broken belt loops.
- Irrational fears.
- Precious Moments merchandise.
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TITLE: 2003 - 2004 barrettchase.com web awards
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/23/2004 12:01:06 AM
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BODY:
It's been a wonderful year, everyone. Thank you for all the terrific comments, the fabulous insight, and the awesome rides in your bitchin' Cameros. I now present to you the best and the brightest from a year's worth of my name dot com.
Enjoy.
Best Statistics | Lifestyle Segment. I've always said that among my particular demographics, Ca-chee and I are sort of the West Duluth representatives. This gives an idea of the type of people we choose to have as neighbors. And we really do love living with these people. Don't think this is making fun. West Duluth is the best neighborhood in the city.
First Really Good Post | Eavesdropping is Fun. This is where I felt I started contributing to the community as a whole.
Most annually pertinent post | One of these things. I love Geek Prom so much it hurts.
Best link | The Rock and Roll Hall of Douchebags. This by popular opinion.
Best Image [Donated] | Gitchee Gumee Girls. Thanks to Karina for this beauty.
Best Image [Stolen] | Andre the Giant. I consider this one to be the best images period. This comes second to the picture of Richard Nixon bowling as far as my favorite pictures of all time.
Best Image [Mine] | Utter Hotness at the VFW. The party went far better than I expected, and this image, for me at least, sums the whole thing up.
Most Insightful Post | Fond Irving Memories parts One and Two. God, you can't believe how happy I am not to live there anymore. Shoveling every day is pleasurable compared to living among those cretins.
Most Inciteful Post | Beatrice. I truly thought she was a fictional character. Wrong. I met her recently and found her to be pretty decent. I hope she doesn't still hold a grudge. I really do feel bad about it.
Best Cheesy Online Test I Ever Took | The Online Personality Test. This was 100% accurate.
Best Unsolved Mystery | How EXACTLY was Monroe Raped? I put out the call about this startling and confusing episode of Too Close For Comfort. I got a few nibbles over the course of several weeks, but I'm still baffled.
Best Obituary | Tie: Classy Freddie Blassie and West Duluth White Castle. I felt utterly torn apart by the demise of both of these icons.
Best Comic Book Link | Milk and Cheese by Evan Dorkin. Dairy products gone wrong. What more can you ask for?
Best Post Title | Jackie Rogers Junior's $20,000 Jackpot Blog. Either you get this or you don't.
Best Public Service | Hosting the Chan Marshall [Cat Power] Pubic Hair picture. I have received more hits from people looking for this than for anything else.
Best Personal Revalation | Model Citizen ... Zero Discipline
Most Lucrative Post | hint, hint. Just before Christmas, I said I wanted open-mouthed kissing and mild groping for a holiday gift. I had no idea that I would actually get it, and that the groping would not be "mild." That was awesome.
Funniest Post | Barrett's Straight-to-Video Paradise. Well, at least it's the one that I had the most fun writing. I could make up plots like this all day.
Best Post Series | Famous Firsts, pts 1, 2, 3, 4, & 5. Hopefully the recentness of these posts means that I'm getting better.
My Favorite Post | The Most Important Thing I Learned in College. This is kind of personal, and I'm sure that most readers don't quite get it. But I hope they are able to interpret the quote in their own way.
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TITLE: An anniversary, of sorts
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/22/2004 02:26:24 PM
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BODY:
It was one year ago today that I decided to start a blog. I had already been commandeering my own Web site for quite some time, which began completely out of boredom and a desire to learn something new. One day, I just thought, "I'm going to teach myself HTML." A few hours later, I had a Web site.
At first I started with a free site, which I used to promote my comic strip, Occam's Razor. It was updated every week, with a new comic and some other crap in what I called the "news" section. After some success with that, I registered barrettchase.com and kept the same format for about six months.
Then I discovered blogs. At the time I didn't even know what they were called, but I was impressed with the idea of a personal site that was updated every day. I immediately wanted to make one of my own, but first I knew I'd have to redesign my site and figure out how exactly to go about it.
I experimented for a few days with entering my posts as I always did my updates, in straight HTML using Windows Notepad. Then, while looking for other blogs for inspiration, I found out about Blogger and signed up. My plan was complete. I promised myself to keep with it. To try to update at least once every weekday, and (the impracticality of this last promise became quickly apparent) to create a new template once a week.
At first I had no desire to "live online" the way many bloggers do. I wanted to make something along the lines of John Ramos' Countdown to the Millenium, which was a daily blurb that provided some sort of insight/incite about his life. As time went on, my posts grew longer and more personal. But they've kept a good deal of that facetiousness.
Now I am going to crawl through the archives and remember. And oh, as a special anniversary gift to my readers, I've upgraded my commenting system, so now the old comments that disappeared should return.
Rock.
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TITLE: Goddamn do I love profanity.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/20/2004 09:39:30 AM
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BODY:
So, the FCC wants to have 8 words that you can never say over the airwaves, ever, under any circumstances. I think this is bullshit. I love swear words and I think they're funny as all fuck. And I think that TV has suffered over the years due to the absence of words like fuckhead and shitpile.
What really disturbs me is that one of the words on the list is asshole. C'mon people. Don't you realize that the best part of NYPD Blue is the first scene, when Sipowicz inevitably looks down at a mugshot on someone's desk and says "Who's this asshole?" Way to jump right into the plot!
I wish someone could go back and digitally alter old sitcoms so that they're full of swear words. Imagine how great Good Times would have been if J.J. had been allowed to say, "Mutha fuckin' Dy-no-mite!" But the show that could have benefitted most from an influx of four-letter words is The Little Rascals.
Alf comes in a close second.
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TITLE: Two Things I Was Afraid Of
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/17/2004 12:10:40 AM
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BODY:
Ok, so, I've never told anyone about this, but here are two things I was afraid of as a child. They're kinda ridiculous but then again, not really.
I was afraid of not being able to support myself.
One day when I was washing my hair, I noticed that the shampoo was running low. I made a mental note to tell my mom. Then I started to think about all the things I used in the house. Shampoo, soap, toothpaste, etc. And I started to think about how much they cost. Shampoo, I knew, cost about $2 for a bottle. I only had saved about $7 and I guarded it with my life. $2 seemed like a lot to spend on shampoo. Who knew how many hidden costs there were in running a household. I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to meet those costs, and I worried about it secretly for a long time.
I was afraid that I would turn out to be a pervert.
OK, so yeah, I did in a sense. Hardy har har. But I was seriously afraid of turning out to be an actual pervert. I saw the movie Death Wish at too young of an age, and there was a character in that movie who had had troubles with women and therefore turned out to be a rapist. I was utterly, utterly disgusted by this character and I loved it when Charles Bronson whacked him. I wanted his death to be more violent. But I had the horrible thought, what if I have troubles with women and turn out like him? I mean what the hell did I know? I was probably 10 years old. But I was horrified.
I was afraid of a lot of other things too, like the vampires from Salem's Lot and the Devil and whatnot. But those two things, they were the worst. And yeah, they're pretty effing bad.
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TITLE: Some More Movies I Need to Revisit
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/15/2004 11:03:48 PM
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BODY:
Blood Beach
This film is about a monster that lives underneath the sand of a beach. Every now and then, it sucks someone under the sand and eats them. I remember my favorite part was when this guy was trying to get an all-over tan and the monster rose up and bit off his cock. Cut to a shot of the cops investigating, and a couple of kids running by. The kids throw a hot dog at the cops and scream, "We found it! We found it! We found the man's weiner!" Awesome.
Motel Hell
"Meat is meat and you gotta eat." This movie is about a motel far worse than the one in Psycho. Here, you get buried up to your neck in the dirt, fed through a tube, and eventually butchered for meat. Lundgren has a good anecdote about this movie.
The Wanderers
My childhood friend Terry was obsessed with this flick and with all things '50s. My research tells me it wasn't even B-grade, but a well-respected movie. I only remember that it was about '50s gangs, and that I loved the music. I don't know whether the other gang movie I loved from that time--The Warriors--was a rip-off or not, but Terry and I loved The Wanderers far better. I've seen The Warriors several times since then, and it's funny in a B-grade way, but I think The Wanderers is actually a good film and I want to see it again.
The Hollywood Knights
This movie, I think, tried to steal from both Porky's and American Graffiti, which means that it ruled. I group it together with both those movies and with The Last American Virgin, which I recently re-watched. Incidentally, I thought that that movie was basically a more realistic version of Fast Times at Ridgemont High, and I read an article about it that said it played an instrumental (no pun intended) role in the death of the American Musical Theatre. I have to agree.
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TITLE: Grand Avenue Storefront
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/13/2004 10:57:53 AM
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BODY:
Despite my being constantly coupled, Valentine's Day has always been one of my least favorite holidays. I don't like celebrating it because it is to love what St. Patrick's Day is to booze--amateur night. Those of us who are serious about those two things don't really appreciate all the contruction paper and green food coloring. But this year, for the first time in a long, long, long while, I will spend Valentine's Day away from my special lady friend. And I kind of hate it.
I'm not really sure how I will deal with this. To me, as usual, it's pretty much just another Saturday. But there will be a lot of people out and about who will be behaving otherwise, and my partner in crime will be 700 miles away. My point is that right now I'm wondering how this environment will affect me.
I plan to spend the evening in a smoke-filled basement listening to rawk and/or roll, drinking lots of cheap beer, and mingling with my tribe. I expect that this will be a lot of fun--there is absolutely no reason why it shouldn't be.
At any rate, I will have a better time than she will, since she'll be not only away, but attending a funeral. But this is no consolation.
*Sigh*
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TITLE: Planet Darrell
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/06/2004 10:25:14 AM
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BODY:
Yesterday I started working on* a book whose working title is either Planet Darrell or Dream Come True. The protagonist's name is Darrell, a regular guy like you or me, who is approached by aliens that all look like supermodels. They offer him the proposition to travel to their planet for breeding purposes--they need him to serve as something like the male equivilant of a queen bee. Darrell isn't stupid; he accepts.
But it's not all it's cracked up to be. First of all, the aliens don't really look like supermodels, they just bend his brainwaves to make him think they look like supermodels. That kind of creeps him out. Second, he doesn't get to have sex with them (What? That would be tremendously ineffiecient!). His DNA is extracted from him using some kind of process he doesn't understand. However, he's kind of excited about having a whole planet of people related to him, and they feed him a steady diet of pizza, beer, and trash TV to keep him happy. Also, he spends a lot of his time writing in his journal.
The journal, not the cockamamie alien story, is the real point of the book. In it he explains what his life was like before traveling to this mock Utopia, and gives his whole take on life on Earth and the human race in general. Reflections from afar, so to speak.
I expect it to be a bestseller.
[*Regular readers of this blog will know that by "working on" I mean "thinking about while eating minestrone and watching King of the Hill."]
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TITLE: My world would be complete if only
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/04/2004 12:07:05 AM
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BODY:
I recently found this link that features video clips of some of the great, personality-shaping TV programs of my youth. Yes, we're talking about the classics--Commander USA's Groovy Movies and of course Up All Night--plus two that I had unfortunately forgotten about, Saturday Nightmares and TNT's Monstervision--and the one that none of us could ever forget, Night Flight.
I especially love that Commander USA is described as "an older Superhero retired from the Legion of Decency."
Gawd. I think if these shows or anything similar were on the air today I would never leave the house.
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TITLE: Why I'm Not In Charge
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/03/2004 12:26:27 AM
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BODY:
Y'know ... I haven't really been too impressed by all of the special features available on DVDs. Sure, I like the picture quality and some of the viewing options. But the bonus material just seems like a missed opportunity for me.
Take The Lord of the Rings for instance. Man, if I was in charge, I'd have an interview with all the actors talking about how grueling it was to have to watch Gollum bounce around in that loincloth, and to have to look at his ugly little pecker all the time.
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TITLE: Scattered Brain
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 2/02/2004 10:22:30 AM
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BODY:
Last night I had a dream that my mother was attaching electrodes to my head. Actually, she was putting earphones in my ears and attaching electrodes to my spine. The electrodes and the earphones were both attached to a thing that looked like a Walkman and I was supposed to listen and follow the instructions, but I couldn't hear them.
Afterward, I found out that she had put Jergen's lotion under the electrodes, because it was supposed to make them work better. I took a look at the lotion bottle, then noticed another container on the table. The label on this one read "Jergen's Electrode Grease." No wonder it didn't work right.
* * *
Speaking of which, I just finished snowblowing and holy crap do I smell like a grease monkey. Heh. Grease. Heh. Monkey.
* * *
Years ago (and this still may be the case, for that matter) you could put free classified ads in one of the local papers by filling out a form at the grocery store. So when I was about 16, a friend and I stole a whole stack of forms and tried to see how much weirdness the paper would tolerate. You couldn't just say "Dog shit, $10/pound." It had to be more subtle. One of my favorites that actually ran read "Snowblower wanted for lonely bachelor." Another good one was "Will trade: Civil War chess set for Forever Teijo cologne."
Anyhow, I suppose that was an important part of my beginnings in Smart Aleck Media That Nobody Reads.
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TITLE: If anyone's interested...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/31/2004 01:20:36 AM
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BODY:
I have 19 copies of the MyDoom virus in my trashcan. They're all yours.
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TITLE: 10 Things I Hate About Living Alone
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/30/2004 06:11:36 PM
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BODY:
1. You never come home to find the whole house clean.
2. "Dinner for one" equals "stuff I ripped off a chicken."
3. Traditionally, the meal above is eaten standing up, facing a wall.
4. Watching videos, drinking beer, and discussing the day's events are all better when they're done with someone else.
5. Not to mention.
6. Sometimes you can really benefit from the potential for social embarrassement. Especially when it comes to Divorce Court and The Rest of That Pizza.
7. If it's -35 degrees and you lock yourself out, you're screwed, buddy.
8. When Sadako comes out of the TV, there's no one to go insane in your honor.
9. Massages are something you have to pay for.
10. Not to mention.
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TITLE: I really don't know how to feel about this.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/28/2004 05:56:09 PM
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BODY:
I just found out that there's an upcoming remake of one of my all-time favorite movies, Dawn of the Dead. This is the heartwarming tale of a group of people trapped in a shopping mall inhabited by zombies. Together they must kill the zombies inside the mall and defend the mall against the army of zombies outside who have the mall under siege. (The zombies are attracted to the mall because going to the mall is the only thing their ultra-limited intelligence understands.) If they can manage this, then all the bounty inside the mall will be theirs!
For all its glory, the original version of Dawn of the Dead is somewhat dated. I mean, would you risk your life for that couch? Huh. I didn't think so. However--and I realize I talked about this subject like seven or eight posts ago--there have so many awful, truly awful horror remakes in the past few years. I mean, look at the Psycho remake. Hm. Here's an idea. Let's do frame-for-frame remake of one of the most popular horror movies ever made. (Why?) Oh, and while we're at it, let's insert a sort-of "whack-whack-whack" sound effect when Norman Bates is spying on Marion though the peephole, because I don't think many people realized he was a pervert in the first one.
But anyway, I will probably risk seeing the new DOTD. Because it could be a great remake like Willard was a great remake. And because it stars Sarah Polley, who looks like a Chris Monroe drawing.
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TITLE: Bachelorhood (Tonight, let it be Lowenbrau...)
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/27/2004 06:55:35 PM
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BODY:
The beautiful Ca-chee has embarked on a five-day trip to South Dakota, leaving me to fend for myself in this lonely Duluth apartment. I'm trying to decide how to make the best of it. I think I've got the alone part covered. The social part, though, is still up for grabs.
So if at any point in the next few days any of you sportos, motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, waistoids, dweebies and dickheads want to get together and hang out, drink beer, fry up a mess a catfish, listen to my bachelor-pad playlist, watch trashy cinema, bowl, discuss the finer points of Donkey Kong, lurk in the shadows of C's Lounge, swap fashion advice, write HTML, get in a snowball fight, eat dinner, or anything else, then call me immediately. You know my digits. Otherwise, I think I'm gonna spend the whole week jerking off and building model airplanes.*
Now where did I put that bearskin rug?
[*I stole that from Kurt Vonnegut.]
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TITLE: So Glad to be a Part of the Digital Revolution. Again.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/26/2004 01:02:59 AM
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BODY:
I have a camera. Again.
-------- TITLE: Dialogue AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 1/25/2004 09:09:30 PM ----- BODY: Me: I just really feel like I haven't been getting enough exercise lately. Her: You're probably right. Me: The problem is that exercise really bores me. Unless it's just something fun that's also active. And the trouble with that is that it's been so cold lately. It's hard to get that kind of exercise on a regular basis at this time of year. Her: Hmmm. Maybe you should just get yourself a ski mask and take up wandering the streets. -------- TITLE: Howlin' Wolf AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 1/24/2004 12:09:52 AM ----- BODY:
I'm sitting here with my right hand switching back and forth between my mouse and my wine glass, and my right hand tapping keys and snapping fingers. Yes, Howlin' Wolf is on the hi-fi and I'm likin' it.
I completely forgot how much I like this fat motherfucker. He's got everything you want--sexiness, humor, and a serious groove. He's down and dirty. Real dirty. The whole thing reminds me of the notorious trip around the western U.S. which I embarked on the day after I graduated from college. It was a train/hitchhiking trip, so we had no music except for the jukes in the redneck bars we stopped at along the way. But on the roads and trails, "Built for Comfort" became the theme song. And it was sung relentlessly: "I'm built for comfort, I ain't built for speed. But I got everything all you good women need."
The only Howlin' Wolf song better than that is "300 Pounds of Joy." This obese fatass really had it goin' on. The song basically has this message: "I'm fat. Nonetheless, you REALLY need to fuck me." Is there anything hotter than that? I'm serious. This guy's got confidence. Not to mention a voice. And that's hot. I mean, look at him.
But if you want sexy, "Tail Dragger" is about as hot as it gets. "I'm a tail dragger. I wipe out my tracks. When I get what I want, well I don't come sneakin' back."
Ooh, yeah. Them's words to live by.
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TITLE: I will never be a mailman.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/23/2004 10:01:44 AM
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BODY:
Recently I took a test that will qualify me to transfer to different jobs in the USPS. So anyway, I was thinking about what jobs I might like, and they all sounded OK, including being a mailman. You could get a lot of exercise, etc.
Then yesterday, as I was leaving the house to go to my nice cushy indoor postal job, I ran into my mailman. It was about 20 below outside with high winds, and this mailman was the picture of misery. Despite his parka and fur hat, he looked like he was going to cry. "There's no way to get warm..." he said. "Just no way. I can't be warm." Then he continued on his route, literally running from house to house.
Buck up, buddy. You only have another four or five hours.
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TITLE: And speaking of food...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/22/2004 12:21:40 AM
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BODY:
Have you seen this Pizza Hut commercial with the Meat Lover's pizza that says something like, "Practically every kind of meat on the planet!"
If only. I'd kinda like to eat a giraffe pizza. Or a Chuck Woolery stuffed crust.
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TITLE: Muffins
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/20/2004 09:19:49 PM
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BODY:
Where did people get the idea that muffins are a good way to start your day? Listen: muffins are just a variation on cake. There's like, a whole stick of butter and a cup of sugar in each one.
Take your muffins and shove them up your ass.
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TITLE: Famous Firsts, Pt. 5
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/19/2004 08:40:55 PM
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BODY:
The first time I watched two gigantic animals fuck, it totally blew my mind. I can't remember how old I was, but I was just old enough to have a vague knowledge of the mechanics of sex, and of sperm and eggs and reproduction, etc.
See, every now and then, my brother's girlfriend used to take me to either her parents' house or her uncle's house to ride horses. So one time we came back from riding and I was told not to go into the barn. Let me tell you, I had absolutely no desire to go into the barn, because it sounded like a horse was being tortured in there. It was screaming in that eerie way that horses scream, and kicking its stall and stomping. So I just stood under a nearby tree and watched what transpired next.
A couple of guys trotted out this horse that was acting really weird. It was obviously agitated for some reason, and it wouldn't stand still. They did everything they could to make it stand still. Then, some other people trotted out a huge horse, and when I saw the ... uh ... size of it, I probably looked very, very funny. All the horses I had ever ridden were girl horses. This was obviously not a girl horse. How can I put this delicately? Its boner was bigger than me.
Some teenager saw me standing there gaping, and smirked. "If you think he's got a big one, you should see mine," he said. This sent me into gales of laughter.
It took a lot of people to keep these horses under control. And even then, it was a rough struggle. What I remember most is how literally insane the horses were. They both were screaming and obviously out of their minds. These normally docile animals had been turned violent and dangerous by lust. I had no idea that such a thing was possible. It didn't shock me or confuse me or scare me; it just amazed me.
Of course, it wasn't until I was much, much older that I found out that the same principle applies to people, and that it's a lot of fun.
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TITLE: Famous Firsts, Pt. 4
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/17/2004 12:33:45 AM
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BODY:
The first time I saw someone get their arm broken, it was very gross and very thrilling. It was a bright and sunny Sunday afternoon when I was 15, and my dad brought me to the bar that's now called T-Bonz to see an arm-wrestling tournament. Let me tell you something: For a 15-year-old boy, going to a bar with your dad to watch a bunch of 300-pound bikers arm-wrestle is like heaven.
So we're sitting there watching these guys go at it, and like I said, most of them were bikers but there were some barrel-chested bouncer types and here and there you'd see some gnarley, weather-beaten guys who looked as though they chopped wood about 26 hours a day. Anyway, we're sitting there, and suddenly...
...SNAP!
Ugh. Have you ever stepped on a half-rotten stick the same thickness as an arm, and heard it break underfoot? Well, it was exactly like that. The room immediately got silent. The breaker jumped back like someone had lit a match under him, and the breakee just screamed, grabbed his arm, and turned white. Then everything went into an uproar, and the breakee's friends hustled him out to the car and rushed him to the hospital.
The tournament continued.
We watched for about another half-hour, but the blood had been spilled. After we witnessed the worst, the competition seemed anticlimactic. It didn't really matter who won--hell, it never had. I was there to gain life experience and well, I got it.
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TITLE: Famous Firsts, Pt. 3
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/16/2004 07:18:33 AM
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BODY:
The first time I ever had the living bejeezus scared out of me was on November 17, 1979. Let me explain.
Even though I was only 6 years old, I loved watching horror movies. I called them "scary" movies, and every Friday, I got to eat popcorn and watch a show called Friday Night Frights, which showed classic horror movies like Dracula and Frankenstein. These didn't scare me at all. I thought of these monsters like a subdivision of superheroes. Frankenstein's monster was like a darker version of the Hulk, and I grouped Dracula in with Superman and all the other people with powers and capes.
So anyway, I liked scary movies. But I had never seen a real terrifying horror movie. That all changed on November 17, 1979 when I saw the made-for-TV movie, Salem's Lot. Gawd. I can't believe they actually showed that film on network TV. No child should ever, ever watch that movie. For months afterward, I knew there were 12-year-old demons floating in the fog outside my bedroom window. And don't even get me started on that bald, green-skinned freak with the teeth.
Since I still love horror movies of all kinds, I decided about a year ago to finally re-watch Salem's Lot, preparing to laugh at how silly and childish it was to be afraid of it. No. No, no, no. It is still awful. I mean, I'm not afraid of it anymore, but it is one of the scarier movies on film, especially for kids. If you really want to fuck up your child's brain, go ahead and show it to them. They'll end up like me. Now, that is scary.
While I was researching the date that Salem's Lot aired on TV, I found out that they're making a new version which is sure to suck. It's coming out this year, and stars Rob Lowe. Gee.
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TITLE: Famous Firsts Pt. 2
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/15/2004 11:24:51 AM
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BODY:
The first girl I ever kissed had feathered-back hair, a terrycloth top, and breath that smelled like Bubbalicious Ripe Raspberry. The deal went down during a game of Spin the Bottle. I spun, it pointed at her, and she pushed me down on the floor and stuck her tongue in my mouth.
She was older than me, and I was pretty young and naive at the time. I didn't know anything about tongue action, and I remember being utterly, utterly shocked that something could be simultaneously disgusting and wonderful. It confused me, and I tried to push her off, but she held me down. That was weird. I was stronger than her, and I could have wrestled her off, but I pretended not to be able to. In retrospect, I realize that the holding down part must have been fun, too.
We did this same routine several times that summer, never with the bottle, and sometimes with the holding down and sometimes not. Then she moved away, and it was a long, long time (like, years and years) before I had the chance to participate in anything like that again.
As a side note, there was no radio playing during the Spin the Bottle game, but when I think back on it, I always mentally edit in a radio playing "Pink Houses" because it was a popular song at the time, and it seems somehow appropriate.
But come to think of it, "Hurt So Good" is probably a better choice.
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TITLE: Famous Firsts: Pt. 1
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/14/2004 07:01:43 PM
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BODY:
The first time I ever saw marijuana, I was about 8 or 9 years old. A super sweet Dodge Charger pulled up across the street from my house, and I thought it was pretty choice so I decided to check it out. I wanted to take a look at the cool knobs in the interior.
When I got there, I watched as the guy inside sold a bag of reefer to one of the neighborhood teenagers. I was familiar with the comedy of Cheech & Chong, so I recognized the stuff for what it was.
A couple of days later, the kid's dad found out about his weed and made him burn it in the yard. I taunted him, and asked him why he was burning that stuff. He gave me a smug look and said, "My plan is to get the whole neighborhood stoned." I thought that was pretty funny--almost as good as Cheech & Chong themselves, and I laughed my fool ass off as he stood there lamenting over his lost dope.
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TITLE: I deserve praise.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/13/2004 10:50:55 AM
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BODY:
Sometimes I find myself expecting to receive praise for simply not going batshit. I often forget that for other people, it is not a tremendous effort to refrain from acting like a lunatic. When they behave normally, they are doing so because they actually are normal, not because they're straining mentally to keep things under control.
Take for instance when I go to the grocery store. I think that I deserve rewards for my good behavior. I do not tear open bologna packages and toss the meat down the aisles like flying discs. I do not attempt to purchase individual hot dogs. 
Born in 1963, You are possibly the original colossal death robot, being one of the patriarchs of the current crop, and definitely an advocate of old-skool enemy-bashing. Why use a clumsy particle weapon when you can create supernovas just by flexing your arms? Your one minor weakness is that you are entirely dominated by some kid with a remote contol - still, don't let it get you down. You can sink a nuclear submarine with jazz music.
Which Colossal Death Robot Are You?
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TITLE: Updates
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/10/2004 10:29:30 PM
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BODY:
A few days ago, I linked to a site called Lurid Fridge, which sells refrigerator magnets made of 50s pulp book covers. Well, I'm happy to announce that there are lots of new covers on the site for your enjoyment. Check it out.
Also, in reference to yesterday's discussion of a letter to the editor, I present this fabulous letter from today's Trib (top).
Enjoy.
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TITLE: I kid you not.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/09/2004 01:14:00 PM
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BODY:
In the break room at work, people always bring in their old magazines for other people to read. Most of these are pretty popular magazines, like Entertainment Weekly, Time, Good Housekeeping, etc. Other people usually end up taking these home with them, which is the whole idea. But there's one magazine that no one steals. This is World, a right-wing conservative mag.
I think World is really funny.
Sandwiched in between ads for gas masks and the George W. Bush "Top Gun" action figure is some of the most ridiculous commentary you can find out there. My favorite thing I ever found in World was a letter to the editor regarding the TV show, "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy," from a woman who was obviously very upset:
"I am sickened that some women want effeminate men," she writes. "These poor girls are obviously very confused. I suggest a show called A Woman's Eye on a Masculine Guy. Get him into a church where he learns to love the Lord, get him to cry over the souls of the lost, and teach him to take care of his family and pay his bills (which means he works). The bonus comes if he gets suntanned from the neck up and the bicep down and then buys a pick-up and at least one hunting rifle. How about toasting that in this day and age?"
Yyyyep.
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TITLE: Art
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 1/09/2004 12:27:39 PM
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BODY:
This page has lookin' might dull since the demise of my camera, but I still have a scanner. And monkeys. And a shockingly impressive sense of style.
-------- TITLE: More bullshit AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 1/08/2004 01:19:13 PM ----- BODY: In regards to the discussion that followed yesterday's post, sometimes I think about what stuff today will end up being cool/retro/awful tomorrow. For instance, which of today's popular haircuts will become tomorrow's mullet? What movie slipped through the cracks and will become a total cult classic in 2015? Douglas Coupland once wrote about the 90s, and how ridiculous it was that in, say, 1997, people were actually beginning to feel nostalgic for 1993. There was this whole retro grunge thing. 25-year-olds yearning for their glory days of age 20. Christ. I guess my point is that I wish I were all-knowing and all-seeing. Then I'd know how to make my present self into someone who will still appear cool in photographs ten years from now. And I'd be able to check out your sweet little ass without leaving the comfort of my own living room. -------- TITLE: What is this world coming to? AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 1/07/2004 01:35:03 PM ----- BODY: Sure, you can buy refrigerator magnets of them. If you search around, you can find old copies of them. But why doesn't anybody publish books like this anymore? And what has replaced these things in our culture? I mean, we still have a need for sleaze. And don't say porn; I'm not talking about that. I mean pure, unironic sleaze. It seems that we're inundated with a need to be cool, with a need to either pretend to be something greater than what we are, or to look down at things and laugh at them. To hell with that. I just want to read books about robots and naked women. If you can throw a couple of escaped mental patients in there, too, that would be great. -------- TITLE: New Year's Eve Regrets AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 1/06/2004 08:41:51 AM ----- BODY: I just realized that at no point during the New Year's Eve kissing-fest did I kiss someone, then shove them back and say, "You're not Seth Cohen." Damn. Damn, damn, damn. -------- TITLE: Balls of Steel AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 1/03/2004 06:16:50 PM ----- BODY: I would like to express my personal admiration of and respect toward the Duluth News Tribune for taking a firm, bold stance against snowless winters on its editorial page today. But get this ... not only does the article denounce a lack of snow, but it simultaneously supports an end to cold temperatures in winter. It was impressive to see that a great deal of scientific knowledge and research went into the article, too, as is evidenced toward the end:"It's easy for ordinary people -- as opposed to meteorologists and scientists -- to experience snowless winter after snowless winter and blame global warming. Perhaps it is having an effect. It would be disheartening to learn that our region is forever going to have relatively snowless winters but still suffer from onslaughts of sub-zero temperatures such as those forecast in the next few days. Where's global warming when we really need it?"
I have a feeling that if you could harness the mental energy in the room when that article was written, you could warm a muffin. Mildly.
-------- TITLE: Sick Thoughts AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 1/03/2004 01:03:00 AM ----- BODY: If I were a modern-day cannibal, I think I'd go after old ladies. They're pretty sedentary and easy to catch, and I bet the meat around those hip-replacements is extra tender. -------- TITLE: Happy New Year, everybody AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 12/31/2003 07:34:56 PM ----- BODY:
"In focus groups, online polling, and one-on-one discussion, Transit Books has found that the number one reason teens don't read the Bible is that it is 'too big and freaky looking.' This fashion-magazine format for the New Testament is the perfect solution to that problem. Teen girls feel comfortable exploring the Scriptures in the New Century Version and over 500 further-study notes because of the relevant language and format!"
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TITLE: Cocoon
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/28/2003 06:39:05 PM
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BODY:
Considering the copious Christmas bounty I received this year, don't be surprised if you don't see me in real life for awhile. There are so many toys to be played with in this apartment that it is unreal. I've spent the last few days listening to hot music and biting the heads off of marines.
I haven't really gotten into the big stuff yet. Though we did break in the new TV by watching one of the best/worst movies of the 1980s. I was really excited at first, because I thought it was Corey Haim's first movie, and that we might get to see the credit "Introducing Corey Haim" but alas, Corey #1 appeared in First Born in 1984, of course. Still, while not a landmark movie, it did have Kelly Preston topless, which is all you can ask for in an '80s teen flick. I mention this only so I can get hits from people searching for "Kelly Preston topless." I love that.
It's fitting that Ca-chee gave me a TV, because I gave her her favorite Japanese horror trilogy on DVD, and a faux-fur blanket to wrap up in while watching them. A Ringu marathon is in the future, unfortunately. When it comes to Japanese cinema, I wish the marathon would start immediately.
Some people mock the commercialism of Christmas, but I love it. If I could afford it, and if it didn't make people feel weird, I would be giving people stuff all the time. And it's a blast to see what people think I will like. My sister, for example, gave me pancake mix. That's awesome. From Ca-chee's parents: a bonzai tree. See how this works? It's beautiful.
But enough of this. I'm going to put on my new pajamas, make some pancakes, and check out the widescreen features.
These lights are never coming down.
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TITLE: Self-Portrait in MS-Paint
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/28/2003 05:16:01 PM
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BODY:
So last night as I was putting up a few decorations, I cracked a PBR to help get me in the spirit of things. Needless to say, I wound up writing the new smash-hit Christmas carol parody, "I'll Have a Blue Ribbon Without You."
It's fun to be dumb.
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TITLE: hint, hint
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/19/2003 10:18:12 AM
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BODY:
If anyone out there is still agonizing over what to give me for Christmas, I'd like to point out that it's really the simpler things in life that are the most enjoyable. There is no need to spend your hard-earned money on me; I always appreciate a nice open-mouthed kiss, accompanied by some mild groping.
Family members should disregard this post.
So should Starfire.
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TITLE: Fun This Holiday Season
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/18/2003 10:40:08 AM
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BODY:
OK, so here's how you can have a little fun with your relatives this holiday season. During Christmas dinner, excuse yourself and go to the bathroom. While in the bathroom, take some powdered sugar (you will need to hide the props in advance) and a razor blade and arrange some fake coke lines on the vanity. Then put some of the sugar around your face, and some fake blood running out of your nose. Making sure the door is open just a crack, lay down on the floor and wait for your family to come looking for you.
Awesome!
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TITLE: My new favorite phrase
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/18/2003 01:39:10 AM
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BODY:
"Ass over teakettle." Oh, yeah! I had completely forgotten about that one until today.
For the uninitiated, here it is in context: "The minibike seemed to come out of nowhere and knocked him ass over teakettle."
Oh, yeah, baby! That's the way papa likes it.
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TITLE: Cosmetic Surgery at Home (and related subjects)
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/15/2003 11:31:53 AM
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BODY:
For a long time, now, I've had what is known as a "cutaneous skin tag" above my left eye. It's just a little benign protrusion of skin about 1mm in diameter. I've never had the best complexion in the world, so my expectations for what my skin looks like are pretty low. I've always looked at the CST in the mirror and thought, "That thing's kind of gross. I should have that removed." But the process of making an appointment and going to the doctor never seemed to be worth it.
Well, last night, I looked at it in the mirror and thought, "Goddamn, that thing is UGLY! Why do I put up with that thing?" Cathie suggested that I make an appointment in the morning. I said "Screw that." Then I sterilized a nail clipper and just cut it off myself. There was a brief, sharp pain and then blood and blood and blood and blood. Finally, it stopped bleeding, and now you can barely tell there was anything there. I don't even think I'm going to get a sexy scar.
Anyhow, now that the CST is gone, and that it was so easy to get rid of, I feel happy, but I also feel kind of stupid. It's like I was walking around with mustard on my shirt for about a year.
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TITLE: Post-Party Post
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/14/2003 01:41:22 PM
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BODY:
Even though I feel like I spent the night sleeping in a crick, the birthday elves definitely worked their magic last night. A beautiful attendence, and I think people enjoyed themselves. Not to mention that I was on the top of my game. Bowling scores: 158 and 173. Damn.
Thanks to everyone who came and was nice to me. My near future will be all about listening to the music you gave me, reading your comics and zines, gazing upon your desert-robot drawings, expanding my horizons, and appreciating the extent to which my friends kick ass.
But right now I'm going to drink water. Lots and lots of water.
Rock.
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TITLE: Things I Saw at the Liquor Store
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/13/2003 12:08:46 AM
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BODY:
- A flask in the shape of a cell phone. It was labeled as "discreet."
- A big fake wooden "War and Peace" book that opens up to reveal hidden liquor bottles.
- A woman in a snowmobile suit buying a magnum of Raspberry Reunite. "Is this sweet?" she asked the clerk. "Uh, yeah, I think so," the clerk said. "I've never had it, but I'm pretty sure it's sweet." "Are you sure?" the woman asked. "I need it to be sweet. I need to know for sure."
It's sweet, honey. I know sweet when I see it.
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TITLE: Older and Wiser
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/10/2003 04:50:24 PM
-----
BODY:
Seeing as how I have a birthday coming up in a few days, I thought I'd pass a little wisdom on to my younger readers. Here goes.
When someone asks you if you got a haircut, you can zing them with the wacky comeback, "I got all of them cut." However, be sure to phrase it exactly like that: I got all of them cut. Do NOT say, "I got 'em all cut." If your companion is slow on the uptake, he or she may think you said, "I got a mall cut," and if that happens, your joke is ruined.
Thank you very much. I'll be back again in 365 days or so to report on what I learned in year 31.
--------
TITLE: You're All Bad (And That's Why You've Been Invited)
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 12/08/2003 09:13:13 AM
-----
BODY:
A lot of people have been proposing lately that the unbelievable amount of media attention that has been given to the charges against Michael Jackson are meant to distract us from the real news--the war-for-profit policies of the current administration.
I would like to take this idea one ... no, two ... steps further. I would like to propose not only have the charges against Michael Jackson been fabricated by the government, but that the being we know as Michael Jackson himself has been fabricated by the government.
Every sane American knows that the real Michael Jackson died in the explosion that decapitated him in 1987 when he was filming a Pepsi commercial, and that he rigged the explosion himself, that his suicide was inspired by his admiration for the actress Jane Mansfield (who was not, despite urban legend, decapitated but merely scalped) and by the realization that he would never be able to match the success of his Thriller album. But suffice it to say, there are few sane Americans.
Sources indicate that mere seconds after Michael's severed head hit the floor, CIA operatives were there to clean up all evidence. By "clean up," I mean "shoot in the face." Jackson's remains, already cyborg-like at that time, were whisked off to a secret location in the Andes, where they were dismantled and reassembled by US-funded Soviet defectors with expertise in the field.
All African-American features were removed, including the skin color. The idea was that children would admire something that resembled more of the WASP ideal, but obviously, technology was not so great during the Reagan administration. What we ended up with was something that looked like a Muppet gone wrong. The cyborg that was conceived of as the grand distraction had to be destroyed when it was finally realized this year that 1) it had no fans and 2) the administration is desperately, horribly in need of distraction.
At any rate, get ready for a trial as long and as widely publicized as the Friends farewell season.
--------
TITLE: Omelets
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/30/2003 10:30:32 PM
-----
BODY:
I sat at the local greasy spoon with the Devil, eating omelets and watching the rain. The Devil chose the taco omelet, whereas I, not being a flesh-eater, chose the vegetarian. The two of us sat in comfortable silence for a long time, until finally I brought up the subject of television game shows.
"Did you see Price is Right yesterday?" I asked, taking a sip of coffee to punctuate my question. I've found that such physical punctuations help to create a friendly, casual atmosphere between mortals and demons. "This sailor spun the wheel and landed right on the dollar. Then, when he got the extra spin, he landed right on the dollar again. I thought he was going to have a seizure."
"No, I didn't see that," the Devil said, wiping the grease from his Van Dyke beard with a paper napkin. "I stopped watching Price is Right after that scandal between Bob and his Beauties."
"I thought that was all a hoax," I said, tearing the crust from a slice of muffin toast, folding it in thirds, and popping it in my mouth. "At least that's what Bob said on Letterman."
"Well, even if it was a hoax--which I don't believe for a second--what bothered me was the way Bob let his hair turn gray." He paused poignantly, resting his fork on the edge of his plate and leaning forward. "As if a gray-haired man is any more innocent than a black-haired man. An insult to intelligence!"
"So what game shows do you watch now?" I asked, dumping pepper on my omelet with a vehemence unmatched in our lifetime.
"Well, sometimes I catch Jeopardy," the Devil said, peeling back the edge of his omelet to inspect and inventory the ingredients inside. "And I watch Wheel of Fortune pretty regularly. But what I really enjoy is my complete video library of Press Your Luck."
"I remember that show," I said, brushing crumbs from the front of my shirt with a mule-hair brush that I carry around specifically for that purpose. "That's the one with the Whammies. It aired back in the 1980s. I loved that show."
"Well, if you want, you can come over Friday night and we can watch a few episodes," he said, pretending to be spreading wild berry jelly on toast while actually sharpening a hunting knife and staring hungrily at an old lady’s Reagen-neck.
"Sounds great," I said, removing my clothing, getting down on all fours, and rubbing up against the table like a cat. "I'll bring a twelve pack of Mickey's Big Mouths."
"It's a date then," said the Devil, plunging his weapon into the old lady's windpipe. "Maybe we can even order some Chinese."
"My all-time favorite was Family Feud, back when Richard Dawson was the host," said the old lady, spraying blood from her neck and collapsing on the floor.
"What I wonder about," said the cook, zipping on a rubber jumpsuit and breaking out into a rash, "is whether these game show hosts ever fear for their lives. I saw Richard Dawson picked up and tossed around by one boisterous family."
"What about the time on The Price is Right when that woman was jumping up and down and she lost her tube top?" said the waitress, transforming herself into a red-winged blackbird and pecking sesame seeds from the top of a bran muffin. "Now that was funny."
"I'll never forget the time on The Newlywed Game," said the Devil, chopping up a potato sausage, rolling it in cash register tape, and smoking it, "when Bob Eubanks asked this woman 'Where is the strangest place you've ever made whoopie?' and she replied, 'In the ass.'"
"Well, I've got to go," I said, cutting two deep slashes in my back, pulling my lungs through the holes, and flapping them like wings. "It's already eleven o'clock, and I'm afraid the fish in my aquarium are starving."
--------
TITLE: Wham, Bam, Thank-you Spam
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/25/2003 10:54:56 AM
-----
BODY:
I just got this hilarious piece of virus-spam. There was a zipped attachment, which was presumably the 
OK, so the two or three Occam's Razor fans who visit this blog may have noticed that for, oh, the past several months or so, the comic has been in reruns. The truth is, I was thinking about quitting it. But...
Screw that. Occam's Razor is good. I know that. It may need some fine-tuning. It may need a complete overhaul. But it's funny. I think. And, I intend to keep doing it. Starting now, I make my pledge. I'm hopping back on that horse and riding it until it's dead. I just hope it isn't dead already.
--------
TITLE: I must be doing something right...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/19/2003 10:36:29 AM
-----
BODY:
...because things like this are so completely foreign to me that it seems like a joke. It's not.
That said, these little breaking soft-news headlines that show up on the Hotmail home page are a great source of entertainment for me. Whoa! The King of Pop is getting arrested!
--------
TITLE: Enough About the Norshor.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/17/2003 09:56:54 PM
-----
BODY:
People, I know you are all worried about the recent closure of the Norshor Theatre and that many of you are undertaking the valiant effort to bring that establishment back to us, but c'mon ... we've got a SERIOUS crisis on our hands that demands our full attention.
I hate to be the one to break this to you, but ... the White Castle on Central Avenue has closed.
Apparently, the big White Castle corporate van pulled up, took the cash registers, dismantled the drive-thru system, and covered the window with plywood. The word is (this via Ca-chee, who heard it from the Conoco gas station attendant) that suits felt that the place was not making enough money.
So. Who is to blame? YOU ARE. The fine folks at White Castle provided one of the only 24-hour restaurants geared towards drunks in this area. Now that service is gone. GONE. All because you either did not drink enough whiskey to require 3-6 squares of steamed meat at 2am, or because you took your patronage to some high-falutin' place like Papa Don's or the House of Donuts.
Meanwhile, as it has with the closure of the Norshor, Pizza Luce is just licking its chops over the prospect of siphoning more of the thousands of dollars per week that we earmark for boozing and its consequences. I wouldn't be surpised to see a bail bondsman move into the Tech Village next.
And, as with the Norshor, we've been through this before. Before the Castle, there was Taco Bell. And before Taco Bell, there was that other place. Let's cross our fingers and hope that the next restaurant to move into that location will be as drunk-friendly as those previous. If and when that happens, remember that it is up to you to keep that greasy meat sizzling. So do you duty. Get hammered. Eat garbage.
I'm sure that somebody out there is scoffing at this post. To you I say this: May Elizabeth welcome you. In hell.
--------
TITLE: Again, I am obsessed.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/14/2003 10:34:34 AM
-----
BODY:
You know that feeling you get when you first get seriously involved with someone romantically, and you're discovering each other, and finding out all kinds of cool stuff about each other that you never would have imagined, and everything seems shiny and new and glorious?
Well, that's how I feel about my new computer.
Aside from the sexy flat-panel monitor, the best thing about it is that it has a 160 Gb hard drive, as opposed to the 4 Gb drive on our old system. Right now, I'm in the process of ripping many, many audio CDs onto it and when I'm finished, I will not have to deal with CDs any more. I'll be able to shuffle all my music at once, and I'll be completely off CDs.
You don't know how Kramer that makes me feel.
--------
TITLE: A Meatloaf in my Chest
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/12/2003 11:43:50 AM
-----
BODY:
Tired.
Depressed.
Thinking about Space Waitress.
Space
Waitress.
And Erin.
Erin.
Yes, Chuck. Blogs are people.
--------
TITLE: Bring Money.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 11/07/2003 09:32:00 AM
-----
BODY:
--------
TITLE: ...please see for me that she's wearing a coat so warm...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/27/2003 10:24:48 PM
-----
BODY:
I am home alone, and the lake-effect snow is piling all around. I have a kettle of homemade soup bubbling on the stove, and Dylan's "Nashville Skyline" album on the hi-fi. All the lights are off, and the jack-o-lanterns are lit. This is very, very good.
Nashville Skyline always reminds me of the time years and years ago when Mr. Lundgren and I got exquisitely drunk in Superior, Wis. and had to walk home. We sang the Bob Dylan/Johnny Cash duet version of "Girl from the North Country" over and over as we crossed the bridge back to Minnesota. We didn't make it to our respective homes, but we made it as far as my parents' house. Luckily, they were out of town. (Sorry, Mom. I don't believe I ever told you this story.) We drank their Bacardi and watched the Cartoon Network into the wee hours. The next morning, still drunk, we watched the Weird Al Yankovic Show. That was also very, very good, but in a completely different way.
--------
TITLE: I can't take it any more.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/27/2003 10:12:49 AM
-----
BODY:
This is something that I've been tempted to yell and scream and complain about, but have kept to myself for a long time. I need an outlet, and dear readers, today you're going to be just that. I'm sorry to bring a subject like this up, but I need release. Here goes.
Every day, one of my co-workers goes into the bathroom just down the hall from my office, takes a gigantic dump, and, upon leaving, closes the door nice and tight to seal that scent in as a sort of surprise gift for the next person who needs to use the facilities. Every day.
Would it kill you to open the window, for chrissake?
OK. That went better than expected. Now we can move on. Or at least I can.
--------
TITLE: The Greatest Lyrics in the History of My CD Collection, Part One
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/25/2003 09:34:54 AM
-----
BODY:
"It's the cool of the evening, the sun's going down.
I want to hold you in my arms; I want to push you around.
I want to break your bottle and spill out all your charms.
Come on, baby, we'll set off all the burglar alarms."
--Tom Waits
"She throws up, he calms down,
they watch TV.
They live in Disneytown.
She's his Barbie."
--Mono
"I'm searching the city for sci-fi wasabi
The start button has been pushed already
Obi-Wan Kenobi's waiting for me in Union Square
My wheel needs repair; the bike lane's glowing all over the city
My bike specializes in the nitty-gritty
New York City never heard of equality."
--Cibo Matto
"Ad Rock's down with Ione
Listen to the shit because both of them is boney
Got to do it like this like Chachi and Jonie
Because she's the cheese and I'm the macaroni"
--The Beastie Boys
"Unglued, depressed,
a meatloaf in my chest."
--Beck
"Pauline,
more than a memory, girl,
gotta tell you what--
the lamp looked down while the record player twirled
I was sweet and pretty like a Chinese glamor girl."
--Eleni Mandell
"Spoonful of absence made my heart grow fonder
Spoonful of absinthe made my mind a-wander
Spoonful of sugar down at the candy store
I got a string around your sweet-tooth, baby,
and I'm gettin' up to slam the door."
--Freakwater
"So you're a music fan, you know some guys in bands,
and your name is on the list, plus one.
The day I need you to get me in a show
is the day I go and buy a gun."
--The Meat Purveyors
"I had opinions that didn't matter.
I had a brain that felt like pancake batter."
--The White Stripes
"The devil went down
to Newport town,
he brought his red surfboard
to race against the Lord.
It was totally rockin'."
--Mono Puff
--------
TITLE: My Second-Place Bowling Acceptance Speech
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/23/2003 09:50:41 AM
-----
BODY:
I would like to thank everyone who let me bowl with them last night. I had a wonderful time, and bowled a 129.
I would like to thank Whiplash, for insisting that everyone who got a strike do a shot of Jagermeister, and I would like to thank myself for seconding the motion. I'd like to thank fate for making my first ball of the night--which was also the first ball I'd bowled in ten years--a strike. I'd like to thank everyone who escorted me to the bar and purchased the many Jagermeisters that followed that. And I'd like to thank Whiplash again for wearing pants that were plaid, corduroy, and glittery all at the same time.
I'd like to thank the fine folks at Stadium Lanes, for charging only $1 a game, and for still having the same monochromatic scoring computers they installed in 1982, which look like something from NASA. I'd like to thank NASA, John Glenn, the crew of Apollo 11, and all the eggheads who made it possible.
I'd like to thank my nephew Bob for coincidentally being there, for purchasing an undeserved shot of Jagermeister for me, and for telling his teammates that he loved them like an uncle.
I would like to extend special thanks to the people at Culligan for providing me with fresh, cold water this morning, and to the folks at Arco for providing metallic-yet-life-giving coffee. Really, if I had a bagel right now it would be nice, but I could live without it.
Most of all, I'd like to thank the gods for letting that #10 pin stand, so that I didn't get a turkey. Had that happened, I might not be here today.
--------
TITLE: The Cap'n is Hap'nin'
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/22/2003 12:30:25 PM
-----
BODY:
A few posts back, I mentioned this old cereal box which shows Cap'n Crunch getting horney over a sexy whale. I should point out that there is an alternate version in which the whale has taken off her whorish makeup (not that it stops the Cap'n from getting horney over her).
Brian B. just pointed out that he just discovered that the Cap'n has an arch-nemisis named Jean LaFoote. Since I'm in full research mode today, I found out that Cap'n Crunch had a whole host of long-forgotten 
There's Smedly the Elephant:
Now we start to get disturbing. Meet Chockle:
Even more disturbing, there's the Crunchberry Beast:
There's Harry the Hippo (I wonder what he has behind his back?)
And finally, there were the Soggies.Everybody remembers the Soggies. The #1 FAQ on the official Cap'n Crunch site is "Whatever happened to the Soggies?" The response is as follows:
Sylvester, Snyder, and Squish (aka the Sogmaster) were once the archenemies of Crunch. Their Soggy brains couldn't stand to see the Capn's crunchy, sweet cereal adored by millions so they tried to destroy it forever. After many years, they finally got bored of losing to Cap'n Crunch and have now found honest jobs for themselves as quality control testers at the AFCO Sponge Company.
You can read a great essay about the Soggies right here.
-------- TITLE: PDD Offline AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 10/20/2003 11:55:01 PM ----- BODY: To those of you who are also fans of Perfect Duluth Day, the site is currently offline while it is being reconfigured for a new hosting program. When it returns, all the recent bandwidth problems will be eliminated, and new features will be added as we figure out how to manage new technologies. Which brings me to this: if anyone reading this is smart when it comes to computers and wouldn't mind fielding some complex questions, drop me an e-mail. Please. -------- TITLE: T-Minus 14 Days to Normality. AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 10/20/2003 11:19:00 AM ----- BODY: Believe it or not, I work all the time. But, soon that will not be the case. In 14 days, I will stop being an advertising proofreader, and therefore only work one job. It's going to be amazing. What I've come to learn about the advertising business is that there are many different types of companies in the world, and most of the ads we do here are pretty conservative--hospitals and law firms, energy providers and nonprofits. But not all advertising is so classy. Just take a look around you, wherever you are. When I consider all the advertising and promotion out there, I'd really like to have the responsibility of coming up with new names for fast-food items. You know what I'm talking about--you look at the menu in a fast-food joint and think "What the hell is that? What's in it?" Taco Bell's "Cheesarito" comes immediately to mind, as does Subway's "Chicken Pizzioli." It's like a secret language spoken only by fatasses. If I were a better artist, I'd like to design maniacal characters for cereal boxes. That would be so hot. (Speaking of which, I think the Cap'n has been at sea WAY too long.) On the other side of the coin, however, pimply teenage boys with their mouths absolutely stuffed have been showing up on frozen pizza boxes lately, and I think it would be awful to have to draw them on a Monday morning. -------- TITLE: Just Look at Yourself. AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 10/17/2003 09:47:44 AM ----- BODY: So last night was the Perverse Verse edition of Starfire Lounge, featuring yours truly cranking the wheels and punching the knobs (i.e. playing dirty music). And, it was yet another time in which I wanted desperately to go back in time, grab my former self at age 13, come back and say "Look at this. See what you've become? Do you realize what you are doing? You are awesome." My 13-year-old self would not need any explanation. He'd be too busy having a complete and utter conniption. He'd be so excited that all his skin would turn into dirt and blow off of his face, just like the Nazi at the end of Indiana Jones & the Last Crusade, when he drinks out of the wrong chalice. "You're ... you're playing Dr. Demento records in a bar!" he'd exclaim. "You just went from William S. Burrough's 'Love Your Enemies' straight into 'Making Love in a Subaru' by Damascus. You're selling dirty books! And girls are buying them! (For the record, one of those girls was Chelsea Clinton. Well, not really, but close enough) What's that? You're going to play 'Bounce Your Boobies' by Rusty Warren, but you're waiting for the stroke of midnight? *leap*... *flail*... " This is not the first time I've had the urge to brag to my 13-year-old self about what I'm up to. In many ways, I've dedicated my life to that little fucker. In his eyes at least, I am a complete success. -------- TITLE: Happiness. AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 10/16/2003 10:11:33 AM ----- BODY:
There are two items in my apartment now, just waiting to be enjoyed, courtesy of everybody's favorite lipstick librarian, Ca-chee.
The first is the hot-off-the-presses DVD of the greatest Japanese movie of the 21st century thus far: Moonlight Whispers. We saw this baby about two or three years ago at Facets in Chicago, and I've been waiting for its DVD release ever since. It has a certain innocence, a certain charm, and the ever-important certain S&M factor.
The second, related item is Heartbroken Angels, the masterpiece comic by the creator of Moonlight Whispers (which itself started out as a comic, Sasayaki).
I haven't had much of a chance to enjoy either of these yet, but I opened Hearbroken Angels last night to find a section entitled "The Panty Snatcher in His Prime."
I am ecstatic.
--------
TITLE: Shor No More
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/15/2003 10:33:59 AM
-----
BODY:
On a sad note, word is rapidly spreading that the backbone of the Duluth scene, the NorShor Theatre, has apparently closed due to extreme debts. Being the cynical bastard that I am, I will now make two awful predictions, so that if they do happen, I can say "Told you so," and if they don't happen, we can all be glad.
Scenario 1: The NorShor will be purchased by Clear Channel, who will either attempt to make it compete with the Sports Garden, or will get rid of the liquor, music and debauchery and make it into a vanilla movie theater.
Scenario 2: The NorShor will become a different kind of business altogether, such as a hotel, and will be skywalked to the casino.
At any rate, I fear that whoever takes over this icon will be someone who has no idea what entertainment is all about. It is truly unbelievable how many people literally fear the fun entertainment venues in this town, and have it in mind that they need to be "cleaned up." Sure, it would be nice to see the NorShor given a little spit-and-polish so that it's restored to its glory days. It's a beautiful building, and deserves to be respected in that way.
But leave us our debauchery, our mischief, our wild nights. It's hard to live in this city without it. I know. I've tried.
--------
TITLE: Journal Exerpt. May 14, 1997
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/14/2003 10:31:51 PM
-----
BODY:
The phones are shut off. The door is locked. The blinds are drawn. I am alone, behind another door which is locked. Every candle I own is in this room. I feel like Prince.
--------
TITLE: Introspection 101
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/13/2003 12:39:58 PM
-----
BODY:
Looking back at all the attempts I've made at keeping a journal or diary or whatever you want to call it, I think that this blog is the most successful of such ventures I've made. Not that it is in any way personal or revealing. But it is consistently updated, and after all these months, it's still fun.
Mainly, I think that this is because of the flexibility of the Web. First off, I like that I can totally change the way everything looks, any time I want to. You can't do that with a notebook. Sure, you like it at first, but then after a while, it starts to look shabby. It gets bent. Your tastes change, and you realize that it's ugly. Or whatever. But with a notebook, you're stuck with it. Likewise, if you're just typing into MS Word, well, that's a really boring interface. You could be working on anything. It's all the same, aesthetically speaking, and aesthetics are important to me when I'm spilling my guts.
There are other elements of a blog that make it an almost perfect medium for personal writing. For example, the Web is everywhere. And so, I can post just about any time or place I want. It's as if my thoughts go from my brain directly to the world, with nothing in between. That's cool.
My new project is to figure out what exactly makes blogging fun, and attempt to implement those elements into a personal, private journal. Being a narcissist, I fear that it might be impossible for me to be entertained by writing something that no one ever reads. But I think it would be good for me to try. If it were successful, I think I would be better off.
Soon, I am going to dig through some of the personal journals I've kept in the past, and find some golden nuggets to reprint in this blog. That, my friends, should be entertaining and painful for all of us.
--------
TITLE: Another Cheesy Movie Idea
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/10/2003 12:08:17 PM
-----
BODY:
Ok, how about this. A movie about four friends on a hunting trip who get trapped in their cabin by a blizzard in the remote wilderness. Soon, a guy shows up who claims to have been lost. The guy looks sick, and farts a lot. This is because he is infected by an extraterrestrial larva growing in his intestines. The creature tears its way out of his ass when he's on the toilet, and is thereafter known by all as a "shit-weasel."
Government operatives circle the cabin in black helicopters. The four friends must keep from being quarantined and killed by the secret army, all the while battling the shit-weasels (alternately known as "ass-weasels") the adult version of which crash-landed their flying saucer in the woods a few miles away. The friends have an advantage, because are they befriended a mentally handicapped kid when they were young, and therefore gained psychic powers.
Oh, wait. That movie has already been made. It's called Dreamcatcher.
--------
TITLE: I am a U.S. Postal worker.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/09/2003 12:27:45 PM
-----
BODY:
It's about 75 degrees outside, but at the good ol' USPS, it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. As a result, I'm taking a not-so-brief hiatus (sabbatical? leave-of-absence?) from my part-time job at the ad agency, the very possiblity of which shows how cool this place is.
My two jobs are exact, 180-degree opposites. Working for the government is boring, repetitive and soul-sucking. It's all about quotas, speed, accuracy, and working at a cubical, in a windowless strip mall. There is little room for advancement, and it comes at a glacial pace. But it also pays a livable wage, with all the benefits you could ask for. My other job is relaxed and friendly. I work in my own office in a Victorian mansion. Personal calls? Sure! Surf the Internet? Why not! Shoot the shit with your intelligent, witty co-workers? Of course! As long as things get done, and get done right, it's all fair game. But there's no way I could live on this wage.
If I were paranoid, I would think that all of this had been set up as some sort of test. Oh, wait. I am paranoid. Huh.
--------
TITLE: Three Things I Saw Yesterday
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/08/2003 10:48:37 AM
-----
BODY:
- A Port-a-John on the roof of my old high school.
- A guy wearing rainbow-colored suspenders and an "I Voted for Bush" t-shirt, with 96% of the word "Bush" jammed in between his rolls of fat.
- This.
--------
TITLE: Model citizen ... zero discipline
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/07/2003 11:35:15 AM
-----
BODY:
So, on Sunday morning I made an important decision. Dear Ca-chee and I have been together for over 11 years, and we have lived together for eight of those years. There are a lot of landmarks in that kind of long-term relationship, many of which require a great amount of trust. But there was one particular level of love and trust that I was never quite willing to reach with anyone. All of that changed Sunday morning.
Yes, I finally gave Ca-chee my Van Halen 1984 t-shirt.
This t-shirt is a fine, fine article of clothing given to me by my sister Beth back in 1984. Perfectly preserved, it is not the ever-popular "smoking cherub" 1984 shirt, but the rarer "angry eagle" 1984 shirt. On the back is a sinister Snidley Whiplash-type character hiding a huge mallet behind his back. And the writing on back is in a Chinese-style font. This baby carried me through the traumatic late-elementary/early jr. high years, and is now worn just enough to be comfy, and small enough to be worn by a girl.
The present, by the way, was very well-received and was worn immediately to the Scenic Cafe. Not that I had any doubts after her Saturday night on-stage dance performance to Bone Appetit's rendition of "Patience," sexily covered in Donny Ness campaign stickers.
So does this mean we're married?
--------
TITLE: Foul Mood Turns Tail
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/07/2003 09:17:44 AM
-----
BODY:
This morning I woke up 15 minutes late, seriously not wanting to enter the land of the living. One of the first orders of business for the day was to slam my finger in the bathroom door (which is not easy to do in a sliding door, let me tell you, but I'm a professional). More general foulness followed.
It's funny how all that melts away when someone says, "Hey, Barrett. Have some hot apple cider."
I'm so easy.
--------
TITLE: Rodentia
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/06/2003 12:23:06 PM
-----
BODY:
I don't know what this means, but this morning I was threatened by a squirrel.
So I'm just standing there, and all of a sudden this squirrel comes up to me and stares me down. I'm all like, "What's your problem?" and he's all like, "You're my problem." Then, in the way that a human will slyly approach an animal in increments intending to grab it and stuff it in a sack, the squirrel started slyly approaching me. Little by little, step by step, all the time with that threatening look on its face.
Not really wanting to get suddenly lunged at and bitten by a psychotic squirrel, I decided to be proactive. I quickly stepped forward and made like I was going to boot the damn rodent across the street. That got him moving, and he ran away and ducked under a car. When he crawled out about 10 seconds later and started his sly routine all over again, I repeated my defense and he ran away for good.
This is what you call "being at two with nature."
--------
TITLE: I'm keeping mine a secret.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 10/01/2003 10:38:10 AM
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BODY:
What is YOUR prison bitch name?
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TITLE: Beauty.
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/29/2003 10:42:27 AM
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TITLE: Top barrettchase.com search engine hits this week
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/29/2003 10:16:45 AM
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BODY:
- chan marshall pubic hair
- when you're mad at your boyfriend
- backwoods marcy
- alarm will sound if you don't back away
- teenage corporal punishment
- kid corporal punishments
- commander usa groovy movies
- damsels being chloroformed
- topless cleaning minnesota
- fat jedi cult canada
- chan marshall new yorker pic
- pranks and revenge tactics
- funny barbeque drawings
- jack lalanne and fhm photos
- chan marshall mental illness
- half past a monkey's ass
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TITLE: Weekend Wrap-up
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/29/2003 10:08:37 AM
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BODY:
"Every day is Friday, every night is a party, every job is a temp job, every asshole is a friend, and every morning is Monday, and there's no such thing as Saturday anymore."
--Mike Mertz
So, it's Monday morning, but it feels like the weekend never happened.
Saturday began early, at the very western edge of the city, where eight of us assembled for the Nonchalant Jaunt, a 26-mile walk spanning the city of Duluth. I bailed after mile 10, because I had to go to work. But I'm proud to say that all seven of my comrades hung in there and finished, audioblogging the whole way. Meanwhile, I spent my time sitting behind a computer terminal, leg muscles gradually stiffening.
Sunday began with a terrific brunch at the Scenic Cafe, where I started with fondue, and ended with butternut squash ravioli. But the rest of the day was eaten up mounting art for the Perverse Verse Filthy Art Show and Book-Release Kegger. Everyone who reads this blog is invited to drink free beer, eat free food, view wonderfully dirty illustrations, mingle with fellow perverts, and purchase the book--Perverse Verse. Monsieur Goodbuzz will be on hand to sign them and to shock and offend you.
Someday, work and fun will completely merge. Until then...
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TITLE: Fat Free and Hateful
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/23/2003 10:35:09 AM
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BODY:
Because it has come up in conversation about five times in the past two weeks, I've decided to write today about the time Ca-chee and I completely eliminated fat from our diet.
All of this began in November of 1997. A lot of stuff went down to precipitate this decision, but foremost among them were 1) a desire to look and feel better, and 2) a general disgust for everything around us.
Somewhere I read that you should derive 30% of your caloric intake from fat, and that this is so difficult to do that if you strive for zero fat you will end up hitting the 30% mark. Whoever came up with this idea obviously did not intend it for people who become easily obsessed. We completely changed our entire diet, existing mainly on soup. Or should I say "soup." A typical recipe for one of our soups would be: take a handful of red lentils and put them in boiling water with an onion and a carrot. Cook until done. Enjoy with three glasses of water and no bread or crackers. Congratulations, you've just eaten one of your two meals for the day. Our only indulgence was two pitchers of oatmeal stout at Starfire Lounge every Thursday.
Soon, we were very thin. It was like magic. My family became very worried, and thought that I was sick or something. We started spending a lot of money on clothes, and we became hyper-critical of everyone around us. In fact, we found it difficult to tolerate anyone but each other. Then we learned an interesting fact: fat is essential to mental well-being. Studies show that the complete elimination of fat makes people angry, mean, and antisocial, which is exactly what we were. That wasn't very pleasant, so we altered our diet--every now and then, we'd throw a spoon of olive oil into our soup. And as a special treat, we'd split an order of quesadillas with our beer.
Now, of course, we eat like normal people. But part of me wants to get some of that back. I want to regain that mindset where one glance at a piece of cake makes me shudder with disgust. See, we never felt deprivation, or any craving for anything fatty. We actually found unhealthy food to be revolting.
I think that's a good thing.
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TITLE: Casting Agent
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 9/18/2003 10:29:57 AM
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Siren Tales will Produce, Shoot, and Edit your very own Custom Video in a Movie Style Format. Your script or story outline can be brought to life using Professional Level equipment including the latest in technology. We shoot with 3 Chip Broadcast Quality Camera's and Edit with a full Non-Linear (Computerized) Suite including Special Effects, Transitions, Titles and More to give your production the look and same quality as many Hollywood Movies today. Siren Tales will Create Movies in various styles which include any or all of the attributes below; Damsels in Distress Horror/Fantasy Martial Arts Comedy-------- TITLE: Bela Lugosi Rides Again AUTHOR: Barrett DATE: 9/07/2003 11:24:54 PM ----- BODY:
I am currently putting the final tweaks on the most-anticipated Web site in the history of the Internet, slimgoodbuzz.com. I'm still not satisfied with the banner at the top, but other than that, it's holding together, I think.
I want the site to be as interactive as possible, without too much clutter or redundancy. The ultimate goal is to have the regular Goodbuzz readers speaking up about the things they drunkenly care about (i.e. whether Slim is "way off" or "spot on").
Anyone who wants to throw any ideas my way will be enthusiastically greeted. I'd especially appreciate it if anyone knows URLs to sites by area bars, or other inebration-based attractions, local or otherwise.
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TITLE: Tired of Evil Psy-ops Penetrating Your Foil Hat?
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/28/2003 12:03:30 PM
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Use Reynolds Wrap for your anti-brainwave-screening needs. When it comes to deflecting harmful mind-control rays, Reynolds Wrap is 26% more effective than the leading brands. And it keeps your food fresher longer.
Reynolds Wrap. The #1 choice for psychic-beam-defraction helmets since 1949.
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TITLE: Street Theater
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/27/2003 11:18:46 AM
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BODY:
Ever since I came across this Web site, I have been obsessed with the idea of "street theater." I don't think I experience these things more than the average person, but I just can't shake the feeling that whenever someone bumps into me, gets in my way, or somehow incoveniences me, that there isn't some malicious intent behind it.
This is, of course, because I am thoroughly paranoid and narcissistic. And for the same reasons, I have two fears about making this post. 1) That schizophrenic people will target me thinking either that I am going to join in the fight against Street Theater, or that I am making fun of them. Neither is true. 2) That the evil psy-ops behind the Street Theater program will target me in retaliation for drawing attention to their secret program.
Maybe the title of my comic is ironic. No, wait, I hate irony. Let's see ... hmmm ...
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TITLE: Barrett's straight-to-video paradise
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/25/2003 12:48:42 PM
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BODY:
I have always wanted to write/direct/produce a series of absolutely lurid, terrible, and offensive low-budget movies. Perhaps it is because I spent much of my teenage life watching "Up All Night" on the USA network (not to mention spending much of my pre-teen life watching Up All Night's predecessor, "Commander USA's Groovy Movies") or maybe I'm just a sick bastard. But here are some ideas I've had for treatments.
Escape from Retard Mountain | Sort of a Deliverance-type story about a troup of cheerleaders on a field trip, whose school bus runs into the ditch in the middle of the Appalachians. The girls are chased through the woods by raving inbreds, and progressively lose more and more clothing. Lots of nudity, slapstick comedy, and gratuitous girl-on-girl action.
Clusterfuck! | Some people say that the musical is dead. Well, if it isn't, this project would certainly finish it off.
Attack of the Shitheads | A chemical spill causes insanity and mutations among sewer workers. As putrid-smelling zombies come crawling out of the manholes, it is, for some reason, up to a sheriff and a waitress to save the town.
Inflate-a-mate | A lonely man purchases an inflatable love doll through the mail. At first, their relationship is idyllic. But as his fantasies grow more and more obsessive, the doll begins to take over, resulting in a mass-murderous outcome.
Stake My Wife, Please | In the spirit of TV's "Bewitched" and "I Dream of Jeannie," this is a comedy about a straightlaced man whose life is turned upside-down when his wife becomes a vampire. The entire soundtrack would be lifted from Starship's Greatest Hits.
Four on the Floor | Life is all about two things for John and Susan--auto theft and hot, hot sex. But when they hook up with another couple with similar interests, their interests expand accordingly.
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TITLE: A Sure Sign
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/24/2003 11:44:02 PM
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So, everyone has played the game where you read your fortune cookie message, and then add the words "in bed."
In the same vein, you know you're addicted to blogging when 75% of the ideas you have end with the words, "and then post it on the blog."
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TITLE: kudos, thank-yous, and nice-to-meet-yous
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/21/2003 10:02:35 AM
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Click the pic to learn how to die.
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TITLE: Dominatrix
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/19/2003 11:36:09 AM
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BODY:
Back in elementary school, the best thing that could happen, aside from going on a field trip, was for the teacher to be sick and for a substitute to take her place. This meant a day of goofing off, taking time out from the inane busywork to play cruel pranks on the poor, minimum-wage slave at the front of the classroom. But sometimes ... sometimes you'd come to class and see the two most terrifying words in the English language written on the board. Those words were "Miss Loyer."
Miss Loyer was easily the most feared and hated employee of ISD #709. She was young, probably not too long out of college, and blonde and petite. She was also a big believer in two things: 1) absolute obedience, and 2) corporal punishment.
But Miss Loyer didn't just believe in ordinary corporal punishment ... she believed in humiliating corporal punishment. There were different punishments for different offenses, and there were no exceptions whatsoever.
I was only subject to a Miss Loyer punishment once, and this provides a pretty good example of a routine event in her class. We were supposed to be doing math problems. The kid next to me didn't quite hear the assignment, so he leaned over to me and said, "Are we supposed to do all the problems, or just the even ones?" I answered, "All." Well, apparently, I wasn't sneaky enough, because Miss Loyer heard me say that one word. My punishment for talking in class was to stand up with my arms outstretched at my sides, holding a textbook in each hand, for 10 minutes. If I dropped the books or put my arms down, the time would be increased. You do not want to know how hard that is. I did it, but not without a lot of shaking, and I was sore for several days afterward.
Part of me thinks that maybe she got some kind of thrill out of torturing little kids, but I think that she was probably just young, and diminuative, and pretty, and didn't want little kids to take advantage of her. So she tortured us, knowing that, given half a chance, we certainly would have tortured her without any reason at all, and we would have enjoyed it.
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TITLE: Futurama
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/18/2003 12:20:44 PM
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BODY:
Now, they want to bring these things to our city. The problem as I see it is that at this point, they only want to build a "test track" between Canal Park and Downtown. Cripes. You can walk from Canal Park to Downtown, fatass. We need these babies all over the Twin Ports, most importantly shuttling drunkards from Duluth to Superior and vice versa.
"Have another one, man. Hell, have four. We're takin' the space car home."
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TITLE: Memory Lane
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/17/2003 08:54:02 PM
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BODY:
When I was 8, I had a friend named Terry. Terry was very cool in many ways, but there's one memory I have of him that's not too flattering. Somehow, Terry got it into his head that as soon as you turned 12, you could openly swear in front of grownups. He simply could not wait until he turned 12, and had an elaborate plan to get his mom to ask him what time it was on his 12th birthday, just so he could answer, "Half past a monkey's ass according to his balls."
Terry's stint in the neighborhood was shortlived, however, because his mom thought the neighborhood was "too violent." Little did she know that Terry's stories of neighborhood violence had much more to do with his obsession with the '50s-era gang movie The Wanderers than it did with real life.
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TITLE: Huh? Wha? Is this the right site? Uh...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/13/2003 11:43:05 PM
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BODY:
Yes, it's a new design. Hope you like it. I think I do.
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TITLE: Marathons
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/13/2003 12:45:59 AM
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BODY:
I don't watch much TV. In fact, except for a few truly amazing programs, I rarely ever watch. But that doesn't mean that I don't appreciate all that the electronic teat has to offer. Oh, no. Let us discuss marathons.
If there is a five-word phrase I love in this world, that five-word phrase is complete first season on DVD. There is simply nothing better than never really watching a great TV show, then watching it all once. Here's a walk-through of the best experiences.
- The X-Files | This was the first marathon I ever enjoyed, if you don't count the numerous Nick-at-Nite marathons that got me hooked as a teenager, the most notable of which were The Twilight Zone and The Patty Duke Show. The highlight of this marathon: After the episode where the pervert got into manicuring and washing the hair of female corpses, there was a strange hissing sound in my apartment. I looked out the window to see the creepiest guy in the building by far (The Picker, if you are a follower of this blog) looking right back at me. The hissing turned out to be my bike tire going flat.
- Twin Peaks | One word: Bob. Actually, three words: Bob & Sherilyn Fenn.
- Buffy the Vampire Slayer | Like most great TV shows, the first season was definitely the best. We're talking total "teenage-sexuality-as-demonic-behavior" metaphors here. After that, they started playing to the lowest common demoninator.
- Family Ties | When this show first aired, I was completely in love with Mallory. Later, I thought it would be funny to see what a silly crush I had as a teenager. But, after watching a couple dozen episodes in a row as an adult, I have to say, damn, Mallory was hot.
- Six Feet Under | The latest in the series of marathons. Six episodes in, and so far the best part is when Ruth asks Claire, "Do you have an eating disorder?" and Claire responds, "No. I wish."
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TITLE: Counting Down...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/08/2003 11:52:26 AM
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BODY:
This morning I woke up and for fifteen blessed seconds, I thought that it was Saturday, and that my nine-day vacation had begun. Then, reality jumped on my chest and gave me a vicious backhand. But now, I've discovered the joy of anticipation. The whole nine days (all 216 hours. all 12,960 minutes. all 777,600 seconds) stand before me intact. Plus 7.5 hours after work tonight, and 9 hours before work the following Monday. It's all there, all ready for me to use in any way I see fit.
To quote Bob Schulte, T-minus nine hours until complete retardation.
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TITLE: My Favorite is Gordon Solie
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/07/2003 12:01:42 PM
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Microwrestlers. All you need is Paint Shop Pro and an interest in old-school rasslin'. [Note: there are three pages of these babies.]
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TITLE: Rescue 911
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/07/2003 09:56:50 AM
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BODY:
So, last night, a fire truck pulled up about a half-block from my house, and of course, all of the neighbors came out of the woodwork to gawk. It gave me a great feeling of warmth to know that someday, should I have a heart attack, all of my neighbors will pull themselves away from the TV screen long enough to wander out and enjoy the beautiful low-rent reality show I've provided for them.
And hopefully, like last night, someone will take advantage of the opportunity to spin around and around the block on their new moped, honking the horn.
All of this reminds me of one spectator-event I saw about ten years ago, when there was a high-speed police chase in my neighborhood. Everyone came out to watch the cops chase some guy around the block four or five times, as he tried to ditch them. Eventually, he crashed, and they pulled him out and cuffed him. Then one cop said the the crowd, "No need to watch C.O.P.S. tonight!"
Every day for two weeks after that, a little kid down the block rode his Big Wheel up and down the sidewalk, making siren sounds.
...Nobody naw give you no break
Police naw give you no break...
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TITLE: A Few Things That Give Me Joy
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/07/2003 12:19:58 AM
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BODY:
- When people use the trademark symbol for comedic purposes (e.g. "Over the weekend I had an Emotional Breakdown™.")
- When they dig out the interior of the bread at Erbert & Gerbert's, then put that log of dough on top of your sandwich.
- Crossbreezes.
- Walking into a party like I'm walking onto a yacht.
- Carly is finally going to reveal who that song is about. You probably thought it was about you.
- Harvey Pekar's American Splendor has been made into a movie.
- Using the word "blog" in the same way that the Smurfs used the word "smurf."
- Donnie Darko's rant about Smurfs.
- The reacquisition of The Umbilicus™, which allows me to make these late-night posts.
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TITLE: Disconnected
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/04/2003 10:11:59 AM
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So, for some reason, somebody decided--hey, we don't really need this phone jack to actually have a wire on it that goes to the exterior of the house. Let's just have it end somewhere in the interior of the wall. It obviously won't be needed ever again. No one will ever want to have a phone in this apartment. Let's just do away with the whole unsightly wire-thing. And if someone moves in here and does have the audacity to want a phone, they can just go outside and plug right into the box. It's been done before.
But other than that, the new living quarters is pretty effin' idyllic. When you sit out in the garden on a Sunday night, surrounded by squirrels and bunnies, noticing the grapes coming in, you almost don't care that you are totally disconnected from the umbilicus that is the phone system. Almost.
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TITLE: Who's visiting?
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/01/2003 12:38:19 PM
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- Someone searching for "jerkin neighbors."
- Someone linking from a weblog in Icelandic.
- Someone searching for "Bob's Minitruck."
- Critics.
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TITLE: I'm not going to explain any further
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 8/01/2003 11:53:11 AM
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BODY:
The thing I remember most about her is that she is the only person I've ever seen stoned. And I don't mean stoned in the Cheech & Chong sense. I mean stoned in the biblical, Mary Magdalene sense. Not that there were any actual stones--it was mainly garbage, and stuff that people had in their pockets.
The other thing I know about her is that the last time I saw her--about six years ago--she looked a lot like Iggy Pop.
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TITLE: Jackie Rogers Jr.'s $20,000 Jackpot Blog
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/31/2003 12:35:38 PM
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BODY:
The next few days are going to be days of uncertainty. Days of frustration. Days of waiting. Right now I am waiting for a call from the printer, to hash out the final details for the big project. Meanwhile, I am listening to my inner voice, which sounds disconcertingly like Gilbert Gottfried. He's saying, "Oh. Here's an idea. Let's get a couple more jobs. In fact, let's bellyflop into the publishing business. And let's have our first project be a dirty book, written by a professional drunk. Yeah. That would be a great idea."
When he's not talking about that, he's talking about my decision to wire the phone line to my new apartment myself, instead of paying the phone company $99 to do it. This will either be the smartest decision I have made recently, or the stupidest. I know some things about phones. I mean, I took them apart and put them together when I was a kid, and I've done much of the required reading. But once again, Gilbert is sitting on my shoulders, dressed up like that reject from Seabiscuit, whipping me with an extension cord, and mocking me: "Look at it this way. Maybe you'll get to drill holes through the wall." Sorry, Gilbert. It won't go that far.
The real frustration comes into play when I will be sitting at work tomorrow night, while downtown, there will be an opening for an art show that my work is actually in. I will not be shmoozing. I will not be hobknobbing. I will not be eating Starfire's potato salad. I will be typing codes into a keyboard, so that you [and I do mean you] can receive your remote-control-airplane newsletter, your Krispy Kreme coupons, and that Lesbian Hospital DVD you ordered from J-List on time.
Gilbert, shut the hell up.
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TITLE: link link linkity link linkty linkty link
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/29/2003 10:53:47 AM
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BODY:
Fine-art taxidermy
Good news for youngsters: What happens in your dreams isn't a sign that you're straight, gay or that you like pizza or Britney.
"It's one thing when a 2-by-4 gets picked up in a hurricane and it hits you in the head," Schotz says. "When you start getting into handlebars and Ivory soap, it gets more complicated."
Check here to see if your username or IP address is on one of the [peer-to-peer filesharing] subpoenas filed with the D.C. District Court.
Dannii's attempts at raising the alarm by frantically pointing at the boat in a lake behind the audience backfired when fans thought she was performing a new dance.
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TITLE: Idea
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/28/2003 11:06:27 AM
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There needs to be an amusement park ride called "Hell." It would be a combination roller coaster/spookhouse--you'd get into a regular roller coaster car, ride up to the top of a huge ascent, then zoom straight down, just like any other mega roller coaster. Only on this ride, the descent would actually continue straight underground. The rest of the roller coaster ride would be in a subterranean nightmare world, a la Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, with horrific images flashing on the walls and demonic holograms jumping out to grab you.
Remember, you heard about it here first.
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TITLE: My Job Requires Creativity and Quick Thinking
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/25/2003 11:21:51 AM
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BODY:
In a brief conference next to the fax machine, it was decided that we need a trained monkey to traffic jobs thoughout the building. When asked what the monkey's name should be, I suggested "Witherspoon."
The fact that the monkey would wear a tuxedo, of course, was assumed.
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TITLE: Fun with Drugs
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/24/2003 12:00:48 PM
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BODY:
I can't overemphasize how much fun it is to flush expired medication down the toilet. There are at least two thrilling fantasies you can have while you're doing this. 1) You have seen the DEA swat team piling out of their van and they're heading up the stairs, or 2) You are either a strung-out 50s housewife, or a family member thereof, and THINGS HAVE GOT TO STOP! LOOK AT THE CHILDREN, GODDAMMIT! THE CHILDREN!! {SLAP! SLAP!}
The little things make life worth living.
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TITLE: My comments! My beautiful comments!
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/23/2003 11:10:07 AM
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BODY:
You may have noticed that all the comments have disappeared. That's because I switched from backBlog comments to Haloscan comments. The reason is, backBlog started putting banner ads in the comment window, and I don't think that you, the reader, want or need to see such things. So, all your previous comments are smoke. Look at it this way--now you have a clean slate. It's like being absolved of sin. Now you can start darkening your soul from scratch.
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TITLE: Party Plans Called Off
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/22/2003 11:23:33 PM
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BODY:
DULUTH, MN—All plans for Barrett & Ca-chee’s “Kiss-Off Irving School Party” have fallen through. The party, which was supposed to include free booze, dancing, and a kiddie pool filled with instant mashed potatoes, had been planned for the last weekend in July to “de-christen” the couple’s apartment upon their moving. Plans were called off, however, when they realized the planned date was three days away, and they hadn’t yet invited anybody, and still hadn’t even acquired the keys to their new digs.
“Simply put, that’s the only time we have to move,” said Barrett, “if we can even move that day. We might not even be able to move until the week after. It’s all up in the air at this point. In any case, we have to be out by the 31st, and that’s a Thursday. Nobody’s gonna come to a party on a weekday.” Barrett went on to express regret about the failed plans. “We weren’t going to have a keg or anything, but we did plan on filling our empty refrigerator with cheap beer. And DJ Starfire was going to provide the music. If the right people had shown up, it would have been a lot of fun.”
Potential guests also expressed disappointment when they heard the news. “I was gonna bring this guy on my softball team who talks really, REALLY loud and always gets too drunk and hits on women,” said Bob Schulte of Minneapolis. “It would have been AWESOME.”
The couple vehemently opposed the idea of having a housewarming party in their new home. “Hell no,” Barrett said. “This place is spotless. No one has lived in it since it was remodeled. There’s an off chance that we may have one or two friends over and grill up some alligator meat in the yard, but that’s about it.” Likewise, they rejected the idea of somehow breaking in to their old place on the first weekend of August. “Listen, we were willing to take a disturbing the neighborhood charge for our friends and not even flinch. But I think it’s a bit much to add breaking and entering, trespassing, and probably vandalism on top of that. Not to mention the various acts that would be certain to attract the attention of the local vice squad.” Representatives from Bowman Properties, which manages the Irving School Building, were presumably not available for comment at the time this article was published, since it was published in the middle of the effing night.
Barrett went on to express that anyone who really wants to attend a moving party hosted by bloggers should make their way down to Oklahoma, where Sarah Brown is planning a kick-ass '80s-style bash of phenomenal proportions. He also noted that those not willing to travel so far might inquire about Minneapolis blogumentarian Chuck Olsen's plans, being as that he is moving as well.
"It's an unfortunate situation," Barrett concluded. "What you have to realize, however, is that we're hermits by nature anyway. Sure, when we're out at the local drinking establishments, we'll arm-wrestle you, grope you, and otherwise mank on you. But when we're at home, we like to be at home."
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TITLE: Priorities
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/22/2003 12:41:52 PM
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BODY:
I just had the thought--"Hm. Not much going on at work here. Maybe I should see if I can knock off early." Then I realized that, no, there is work to be done. It's just that no one is updating their blogs or sending me e-mails. And if there's no recreational correspondance, then hey, why the hell I am here?
In other news, I just found out about this. I guess it's been around the whole Internet five or six times, but bear with me, it's the first time I've seen it. Also I'm apparently the last person in the universe to find out about how if you type "weapons of mass destruction" into Google, then hit the "I'm Feeling Lucky" button, you get a funny, funny wartime joke.
The lesson to be learned from all of this is that my network of webjoke associates is totally breaking down. E-mail me. And update your damn blogs.
Bastards.
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TITLE: My question is...
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/22/2003 12:08:02 AM
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BODY:
Does anyone remember the educational film they showed us in school called Cipher in the Snow? I've asked many people about this film, and it seems like the only ones who remember it are products of the Duluth Public School system. I know for a fact that I saw this thing in elementary school, junior high, high school, and in college too. And I am forever scarred. So have you seen this movie or what?
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TITLE: New Toy
AUTHOR: Barrett
DATE: 7/21/2003 10:14:45 AM
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BODY:
I just installed the Google Toolbar, which has at least two awesome features. One is a little Blogger icon, which when clicked, opens a "BlogThis!" post window complete with a readymade link to 
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