Thursday, December 31, 2009

Highlights; Decade # 4 on Earth

END OF A DECADE DEPT., DEC 31 - The third millennium is now 1% over. The tweens are nigh, and supermarket checkout stands bloom with tabloid year end reviews. Here are my own top five grand trends of the aughties. Coincidentally, it’s also my list of top five missed stories of the decade:


American anti-intellectualism is nothing new, and this decade’s incarnations – Glenn, Karl, Sarah, the teabagging lumpen – look pretty tame when stacked up next to Father Coughlin or Joe McCarthy. But this last decade did contribute something fresh to the assault on public discourse; the creeping ideology that amateurs are more valuable than experts. In the 1990’s, America had municipal term limits. In the 00’s, it was viewer tweets on CNN.

Irony: within the grand intellectual triumph of Wikipedia is a monstrous strain of anti-intellectualism, the idea that “common folk” can write an encyclopedia just as well as the experts. It’s a sneaky bit of righty populism disguised as lefty “democratization of knowledge”, one made all the more insidious by a second deception; the lie that Wikipedia can be edited by anyone. The site is governed by a de facto elite of community editors, and, as anyone who has tried to fix an entry knows, corrections are hard to make stick. You can join the de facto elite of community editors, but that’s no guarantee that your facts will make the cut.

I’ve never been concerned by the site’s inaccuracies. What burns me is the idea that some entries are worthy of inclusion and some are not, and that these distinctions can be resolved by consensus. It’s an anti-democratic principle dressed in hippie garb, the slow, soft push of mob rule without any checks or balances. Dozens of my friends have had their entries (biographical and otherwise) deleted as irrelevant, and just as many pals have had to fight to get private information scrubbed. It doesn’t take much imagination to see the sinister future applications of a universal reference site where information control is determined by unidentified and unaccountable committees.

Imagine how great Wikipedia could be if there were an entry for everything. That old bridge two miles outside your hometown? That band you never quite got off the ground? Your lucky pencil? Each gets a page in the book of life. The storage space certainly exists for an all-inclusive online reference work, so what I’m discussing wouldn't be beyond current technological capacity. And it's certainly not any more of a paradigm-shifting vision of an encyclopedia than one edited by rookies and cheesers. Seriously, why not?


Throughout most of human history, assaults to one’s honor had remedy: dueling, litigation, Seppuku. That ceased in the aughties. It is now possible to insult anyone on Earth with airtight anonymity and impunity. Come up with a few hundred bucks for a spam mailing list and you can insult millions of people, entire nations, with one mouse click. Honor is no longer defendable. Anyone with a hint of an online presence can expect routine abuse in the course of their everyday transactions.

Earlier this year, I told a reporter for the San Francisco Chronicle that I dreaded reading online comments attached to my articles. He just laughed. “I stopped reading my comments years ago.” A few months later, several scalawags misread a review of an online interview I gave and called me a "hipster cunt". Even ten years ago, I might have attempted to defend my honor online, ala Courtney Love on AOL circa ‘95. Now I understand that honor itself has evaporated, like smallpox. One less thing for me to worry about.


A nice thing happened this decade. Music got bad again. In the 1980’s, it was easy to dismiss pop music as a mere byproduct of a vast overhead cheese machine. Then there were a weird fifteen years where grunge and alternative and dirty southern rap kind of made FM radio OK to listen to in the car. It was confusing. Only in the last half decade have things slid back into their proper order; your (digitized) record collection is where you go to hear good songs, and the radio/MTV is where you go to get demoralized.

Strip away Lady Gaga’s desperate, why-be-normal blandness, and you’re left with reheated Air Supply. What could be more sleep-inducing than an endless roster of hip-hop odes limited to the emotional realms of nightclubs? Happily, Autotune makes it easier than ever to pretend that each new FM hit is nothing more than a rogue computer program.


Last month, New York Times columnist Judith Warner, writing of the House-passed Stupak-Pitts Amendment prohibiting federal funds from abortion coverage in a national health care plan, concluded;

Last night, I watched 'By The People', HBO's new documentary on the election of Barack Obama. 'We're gonna change our country. We're gonna change the world," I heard candidate Obama say. But we didn't. At this point, I sometimes wonder if we really wanted to.

This is a perfectly acceptable paragraph if you're writing a paper for fifth grade social studies class. It is maybe not so hot if you are a columnist in the planet’s leading newspaper. But a lot of this sentiment has made the rounds in the last few months. A growing number of grown adults seem quite comfortable expressing dismay that the president of the United States doesn’t agree with their every political belief.

It’s an old phenomenon – think of the countless eons of pundits and barflies complaining about “those idiots” in Washington – given fresh wings by smart people. Liberal dismay at this administration’s Afghanistan policy is a particular stumper. I understand disagreement, or outrage. But from whence springs the anguished shock? Obama’s campaign specifically posed Afghanistan as “the good war”. The Nation’s Alexander Cockburn recently wrote off this entire, well documented stance of candidate Obama as “a one-liner". How do otherwise smart people reach these conclusions? Is this childlike capacity for self-deception viral, like a fast-spreading Internet video? Or more like a bad STD?


It’s strange to recall how much less horror was afoot just ten years ago. At this point in the 1990’s, terrorists were still generally regarded as holding their own lives as a self-interest. “Torture porn” didn’t exist, and there were no internet beheadings. There hasn’t been this vast a collective loss of first-world innocence since 1945.

Of several upcoming benchmarks - July 2011 for Afghanistan watchers, Dec 2012 for apocalypse watchers – one date has eluded note: March 27, 2010. As of that date, 3,119 days will have passed since 9/11. Meaning, more time will have passed since 9/11 than elapsed between the original, 1993 WTC bombing and 9/11. For the last eight years, I kept this date visible on my computer’s desktop as a reminder to keep my emergency supplies stocked. 2010 may just be the year I’ll finally get that squared away.

It’s been easy to convert fear into background noise these last eight years. Even now, last week’s Underwear Bomber has reprised the role of the comic, bumbling Al-Qaeda operative. Richard Reed was the last guy to fill this role. But the guy before him was Mohammad Salameh, the gagster who attempted to get his van deposit back after the 1993 WTC bombing. That joke was funny for exactly 3,119 days.

Monday, December 28, 2009

Quotes of 2009

"John Wilkes Booth was a stone cold fox."
- My wife

"What is that on the ground over there? Is that... a pile of hair?"
- Me

"I can't wait to schlop a beer down my hole."
- Neil Burke

Me: What kind of a madman would...
Joe Preston: Mad Lib? [laughs] Fruitfully.

Friday, December 25, 2009

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Monday, December 14, 2009

New: Dude, No

SHORT FICTION DEPT., DEC 14 - My new 4,090 word short story, "Dude, No", is now online at Vice.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Show Review (1990)

SIGNIFICANT DOCUMENTS, Dec 11 - My pal Adam made this years ago, and it has appeared on the walls of at least 8 different apartments and houses in the interim. I can't think of any other single piece of paper in my life that has lifted me out of so many mental depressions. So; thanks, Adam.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Misc: Disappointments

1. I tried to watch Flashforward - the new ABC sci-fi drama my wife calls "a giant BM" - for the first few episodes. It's really bad. My interest was piqued because the show's producers chose my 41st birthday as their metaphysical goalpost (at least for the first season). But they seemed entirely uninterested in using April 29, 2010 to showcase any real world scandals or politicians.

Imagine one character turning to another and casually discussing the car crash death of Senator Arlen Specter on January 9, 2010. Or discussing the failure of Obama's health care package in the senate. Or mentioning some sort of sex scandal involving Jake Gyllenhaal and / or one of the Williams sisters. There's a million ways you could run with a concept like this. ABC is already getting heat for the alleged anti-Obama overtones of their other SF BM serial drama, V. Why not go the full distance? (Likewise, it was deflatingly lame when last month's 2012 decided to give Schwarzenegger a third term, but replaced Obama with Danny Glover. Fred Armisen has already done the hard work of drastically lowering the bar on presidential impersonations; pretty much any of this nation's approximately 20 million African American men could have done a better job).

2. Our neighbor Eddie came over last weekend with his Wii. Eddie's a great guy that we don't see enough of, so this seemed like a nice excuse to hang out. What worried me was the addiction factor. I spent my 30's avoiding video games as diligently as I avoided drugs as a teenager. Now than I'm in a new decade, it feels like there is a real threat of my falling prey to the wonderful, endless universes of FPS's, RPG's, or Life Sims. When I dabbled in Second Life 2 years ago for a writing project, the excursion seemed fraught with the peril of dependence.

The Wii didn't seem to offer so much addiction. We played a few songs on Rockband, and I only managed to make the guitar warble a bit before the virtual audience booed me out of existence. It was demoralizing. We discussed loading up "Rebel Girl", which seemed weird, so I did a round of remedial drums on a Pixies song and then Tara belted out "Eye Of The Tiger". Later, we took turns making some blobby lego-men slalom and crash on virtual ski slopes.

Whence the fuss? How do millions of people devote all their free time to these things? Did I have the wrong games? This realization also seemed demoralizing. The boat I thought I'd missed maybe wasn't worth catching. It was that harshest of tokes: offered crack, but given Tang.

3. Related - I know I'm almost a half-decade behind on this one, but I'm still waiting for the metalcore group The Devil Wears Prada to spark a massive paradigm shift in band naming. What could be more post-everything than naming your group after a movie based on a book that directly references a high-visibility company name? Where are the new bands named 2003 Hyundai Santa Fe V6, or Save On Verizon High Speed Internet, or Barbie Wild Horse Rescue For Xbox 360? Also: Question: if you named your band The Devil Wears Prada Soundtrack, who would get to sue you?

4. Speaking of band names, Born Against 4.0 is in the mix now. Someone, not me, should probably inform B.A. 3.0. Kalamazoo, after all, is just 282 short miles from Columbus. Territories will need to be negotiated. Off the top of my head, here's one simple solution: the new Born Against can play shows anywhere east of I-75, while the new, new Born Against gets everything west of I-75. If that doesn't work, what about a battle of the band(s)??

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Misc: F That S

ANNALS OF JOE, NOV 12 - If you've been wondering where to go to listen to DRI and SOD played without irony, look no further than "F That S", Joe Preston's downloadable radio show that I was only told about yesterday.

Now imagine it is 4 in the morning and Joe is driving you to Denver in his van and this music is playing very loud while you try to sleep...

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Misc: Pittsburgh Style, Beefing Cretins

I'm still undecided on the iPhone's two-megapixel camera as an actual device for taking photographs. But as a device for accentuating the hidden creepiness of the physical world, it's top notch. Here's a perfectly sunny afternoon at the pier in San Clemente:

I ate a nice dinner at Colombo's Steakhouse in Eagle Rock on Saturday. After I ordered penne with marinara and a coke - basically, a kid's menu choice - nearly everyone else at the table ordered huge steaks and water & whiskeys. The fellow next to me asked that his steak be cooked 'Pittsburgh Style'. I asked what this meant. Turns out 'Pittsburgh Style' means seared and charred on the outside and raw and bloody on the inside. I joked that this had been my signature cooking style most of my life. Everyone laughed politely.

Later, it occurred to me that 'Pittsburgh Style' could refer to a wide range of life's boners and goofs. "Shit, my investments went Pittsburgh Style". "Man, my marriage really went Pittsburgh Style." "I don't really feel anything anymore. It's like my soul has gone Pittsburgh Style."

I caught Valerie Bertinelli on "Chelsea Lately" last week. In the middle of the interview, she assured Chelsea that, yes, her 18-year old son, Wolfgang Van Halen, was watching the show that night and that, yes, Wolfgang is still a virgin. Longtime readers of this blog may remember that I wrote about Wolfgang's onstage hazing at the Staples Center two years ago. I remain very confused by the math here. How does World's Coolest Dad + Universe's Foxiest Mom = Existential Humiliation on pretty much every national platform?? This kid is either going to grow up to be an emotional eggshell or the psychologically toughest motherfucker this side of Pelican Bay State Prison. Good lord.

The continuing Sarah Palin / Levi Johnston smackdown makes me kind of sad, in that someday it will be over. It is such a rare, beautiful thing when cretins beef with each other in public that you never want it to end. Why don't clods quarrel with each other more often? What about Tom Tancredo vs. DMX? Scott Stapp vs. Lynne Cheney? Donald Trump and Nancy Grace are about the same size; will I really never get to see footage of these two brawling on a street corner??

My wife bought her grandpa a cane last Christmas. Today we got the first issue of an apparent subscription to Fashionable Canes And Walking Sticks. It's a great magazine... why'd they wait 11 months to send it?

Friday, November 6, 2009

New: The Dessert Psycho

EXCELLENCE IN JOURNALISM DEPT., NOV 6 - My 7,500 word profile of drummer and pastry chef Brooks Headley is now online at Vice magazine. Brooks - now the head pastry chef at Mario Batali's Del Posto restaurant - was kind enough to give me full access to his kitchen, for which I thank him. It was a fun piece to write.

Glen E. Friedman took the photos. Although I had no contact with the man, it's still a little unnerving to see that byline. Friedman's My Rules photozine was one of only three influences, all visual, that made me want to perform in a band twenty years ago. Collaborating on any project with him, no matter how indirectly, has the feel of past brushes with personally significant celebrities, like the time I passed Kurt Vonnegut on an Upper West Side sidewalk, or the time my band played the courtyard of the Arclight in Hollywood and annoyed Eric Idle.

photo by Justine Demetrick

Also, It's come to my attention that some people are put off by the length of these profile pieces. I would like to remind these people now that reading such articles is, in fact, quite mandatory. You don't have a choice in the matter. Get on it.

Monday, November 2, 2009

New: Chuck Biscuits Death Hoax

EXCELLENCE IN JOURNALISM DEPT., NOV. 2 - My piece on the Chuck Biscuits Death Hoax is now online at the Village Voice.

One night fourteen years ago, I decided to make my maiden voyage on the Internet a memorable one by posting my own carefully worded death announcement on any Usenet groups that seemed like they would care. But some other plans got in the way of me using my friend's computer, and the next morning a different friend actually did die, so I quietly abandoned the prank. I hadn't thought of that incident in years, and only when writing the piece over this weekend did it occur to me that I'm really glad I didn't get the chance to go through with it.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

New: Peaches Preview

EXCELLENCE IN JOURNALISM DEPT., OCT. 22 - My preview of a Peaches concert in Pomona, CA is now online at the OC Weekly. I liked my original title better ("Peaches Unleashes An Emotional Shitzkrieg On Pomona"), but otherwise, this turned out pretty good.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

New: Steve Martin Preview

EXCELLENCE IN JOURNALISM DEPT., OCT. 21 - My preview of Steve Martin's upcoming Chicago banjo concert is now online at the Chicago Reader.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

New: Weird Interview From Last Year

THE ZONE OF UNEASE, Oct. 14 - A new interview with me posted earlier this week. The conversation took place this time last year (something not made clear in at least one version floating around) so it reflects the dread of pre-election '08. I come across as kind of a fast-talking crank in the piece, which wasn't the impression I wanted to give. I definitely didn't know I said the word "man" so much in conversation. I'm not a hippie, so I'll have to work on that. Maybe I was nervous.

It's always interesting to see the edits made on long talks like this. Listening to my own MP3 of the conversation, I can pick out a few slips of translation. The phrase "three obese politicians" should read "three obese Harry Potter fans". The phrase "fine misfortune" - which isn't something I would ever say - turns out to be "sorry misfortune". The sentence about reductive thinking isn't actually supposed to be in quotes. And the implication that a serious economic collapse - a societal collapse - would have any good artistic consequences isn't something I believe in, although it's apparently something I said.

Interviews are weird. To produce a usable end product, two strangers have to establish a quick rapport, ignoring the adversarial position they have placed each other in. When I interviewed Janeane Garofalo last April for the Village Voice, I had to decide beforehand if I wanted to play it nice (I'm a big fan), or firm (joining 24 could be considered the worst kind of sellout, if I still thought in those terms). It was a 900-word piece, so I couldn't have it both ways. I went with nice, and the interview posted as a sympathetic, entertaining little chat. Days later, the piece still managed to rack up 139 comments of the mostly vile variety.

Being interviewed is even weirder. It's a situation bathed in constant unease, like talking at a party while trying to figure out if you're boring the other guests. There can be extreme conflicts of interest, and deception, and hidden agendas on both sides. Years before I met him, my friend Joe Preston was interviewed by someone pretending to be me. In 1993 - back when I was a hot commodity to fans of obscure music - I encountered a string of fanzine interviews, with me, that had been faked. I talked about this in a radio interview last year, and, later, read reviews of this interview implying that I'd made up the bit about the fake interviews. I'm not sure what my motive would be for lying, but then, I'm also not sure why the fake interviewers lied in the first place. Maybe that'll give me something to talk about in the future.

Monday, October 12, 2009

Viking Funerals (2000)

FROM THE ARCHIVES, Oct. 12 - This originally appeared in Punk Planet, mid-2000. The piece was written ten years ago, so the writing is a little stiff. Also, I'd originally put the word 'terrorist' in quotation marks, maybe implying that I didn't yet believe in their existence? Yikes.


From the NY Times business pages, St. Patrick's Day 2000:

A few years ago, William F. Farley was dating Miss America and talking about running for president. Now Fruit Of The Loom, the company he ran, is in tatters.

Could any word have brought such joy to my life as just this one little "tatters"? Would anything I ever read again, I wondered that bright St. Patty's morn, ever bring me as much delight as these two sentences?

Turns out I didn't have to wait long. At lunch, leafing through the LA Times and holding no expectations for any juicy tidbits, I stumbled quite innocently across the words "Iridium LLC" and "cratered" in the same headline. Some background: "Iridium" is the chemical element found in traces of platinum ore, supposedly brought to this planet 65 million years ago on the back of a dinosaur-killing meteor. "Iridium LLC" was the corporation that built the world's only global wireless phone network not two years ago - rendering it possible, for the first time in history, to call anywhere on the surface of the planet from anywhere on the surface of the planet. This one story seemed to sum much of the screwy, dizzying pace of the new economy, the chilling triumph of the one multinational entitled above all others to the overused image of a swelling globe on their corporate literature.

As it turns out, Iridium the company has not fared well. "Imploded", went the color commentary. Their initial five billion dollar investment came bundled with breathtaking pressures for "results" - in this industry's case, a fully operational system up and running a year before any of a half dozen competitors. They came through, more or less, on schedule... 66 satellites in a low Earth orbit constellation by late '98. But, as with any business, general laws of physics dictate that quality control declines the quicker production is paced. These folks were cranking out a new satellite every five days. And any design calling for total planetary coverage will be more complicated (meaning: more expensive) than a traditional communications satellite system. Unlike normal sky-to-ground relays, these satellites had to talk to each other, networking which begat larger onboard computers, which begat backup computers, which begat increased memory and extra sets of antennae and finer degrees of positioning and increased thruster burns, which requires fuel, which requires money, and so on and so forth. Hundreds of engineers, managers, and ground staff were complicit in a vast orgy of spending that spanned the 90's. Business partner Motorola shouldered the initial investment, but damages had to surface somewhere. By the time of Iridium's debut, infrastructure costs had translated into hissy $7 a minute calls on $2,800 brick-shaped telephones.

Subsequently, of the one million subscribers needed to just break even, Iridium never signed up more than 50,000. The revenue from their "global citizen" constituency of oil rig workers, container ship captains and arctic surveyors didn't even cover interest payments on the initial bond. By March 2000, only 19 months in, the company's finances had ceased "plummeting" and were officially "cratered".

A typical bankruptcy story. Yukks aplenty when it happens to someone else, but also loaded with sobering lessons for businesses of all sizes & stripes. For example, as a self-employed person I was able to extrapolate the following for my own company - 1) Set realistic deadlines (and if anyone from Mordam is reading, this terrible tragedy has at least taught me this much), 2) stay current (Iridium's business concept dated from 1987 technology) 3) Do not try to "brand" your product, in the way that "Pepsi" is a name-brand, if your product turns out to be a $2,800 brick-shaped telephone, 4) Customers don't like getting gypped on service. (Only 6 months into Iridium's operations and already 3 months into their cash crunch, Iridium gave away free phones to journalists in Kosovo; the phones failed to work indoors).

Not typical to this timeless tale is the irrevocable physical fallout. Most companies don't leave behind 50 tons of flaming space debris to rain down on the planet when they go chapter 11 (although I certainly wish mine could, at least for extra bargaining power with certain creditors). The night before Saint Patrick's Day, a final corporate buyer declined to step up, and a federal bankruptcy court judge decreed that Iridium LLC would be liquefied, its remaining employees cast free to wander the Earth, its 66 satellites - $5 billion in hardware - "de-orbited", their thrusters set to gently nudge downwards into fiery oblivion.

None of this should serve as an indictment of satellite phones as a concept. Future orbital systems won't do a damn thing to stop the two ladies sitting at the table next to you from holding separate conversations at top decibel on their matching sapphire blue Nokia 5190's with earbuds, but satellite systems are somewhat blameless when it comes to the second worst infraction of the wireless age - those tactless aluminum cell phone towers that've been mandatory for every US county since the 1996 Federal Telecommunications Act (out here in LA county I spot them from the freeway, preposterously straight palm trees with metal prongs jutting under the fronds). Although for the time being satellites are dependent on local, cellular installations. Orbiting systems may also be our best bet for increased privacy, at least in this country. Last March the European Council of Ministers met to update the 1995 "Legal Interception of Telecommunications Resolution" to allow euro law enforcement to listen in on all Iridium calls without a court order, lest terrorists figure out that fully private conversations could be had for a mere $7 a minute.

Iridium was special. Pomp, squander and hubris were signal traits of the 90's bull market, and from day one this company's sales antenna was hailing all three. Marketing plans called for lasers to beam the company's logo onto cloud banks over major cities. CEO's started referring to Iridium as a nation after the International Telecommunications Union assigned it a unique country code for dialing. Great woo was pitched to the US military (and the Pentagon did buy 800 units, raising the obvious question - why didn't Iridium just charge a quarter million dollars a phone and stay afloat?). This was history's first de facto planetary monopoly, a company technologically powerful enough to interfere with, by a factor of 100 to 1, the cosmic signals studied by radio astronomers. Their satellites were actually visible at night as "iridium flares", 10 to 30 second flashes of sunlight glinting off orbiter bows, brighter, in certain latitudes, than all other night sky objects but the moon. "Don't write Iridium off," said an in-house consultant after the first quarter 1999 losses, "It's a bit like Iridium is this big tanker in the ocean... It takes a while for the vessel to turn." Anyone with the nerve to make maritime analogies deserves all the icebergs they get.

And what of that falling space junk? After deorbiting, there will still be around 3,500 satellites in various strata, another 8,649 man-made objects tracked by U.S. Space Command. The Earth's atmosphere eventually flushes down and incinerates all low-Earth-orbit debris, but some pieces make it through. This last May, several large chunks of a DOD rocket rained down on two South African farms. Any surviving fragment, even the size of a bullet, has the destructive capabilities of, well, a bullet. To claim that Iridium's posting of a "deorbiting bond" to cover the $30-$50 million destruction of all satellites represents some sort of "act of good corporate citizenship," according to one outgoing exec is like handing out plaques to atomic plant agencies for properly storing their wastes. These people created the problem, and this is the best they can do?

Motorola has yet to destroy these satellites. Turns out a final decision doesn't come down until July 31. There are two prospective buyers lurking in the wings. I've slogged through many disgruntled Iridium stockholder chatrooms and no one has any idea how the system could possibly be made profitable at this point. Smart money stays on flaming death from space (one extant Iridium satellite will remain propped up on display at the Smithsonian, a warning to future generations). Nor is that front going to get anything but messier. Son Of Iridium is already in the works; Teledesic, the $9 billion, 280+ satellite system planned for 2004. Funded by Bill Gates and several Saudi princes, this little scheme is to provide two way video and voice communication by satellite internet service to everyone on Earth. But half the Earth's population has never made a phone call and earns less per capita in a year than what even the cheapest of handsets will cost. How exactly will this system pay for itself? Who will float the bonds to remove this junk in 2006? Query unknown. System error. "Teledesic," remarked a former competitor," is the kind of thing that James Bond used to have to stop".

Friday, October 2, 2009

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Sketches (1986)

FROM THE ARCHIVES, SEPT. 30 - Drawings from high school. If this seems like filler, that's only because it's filler. Things will get better next week.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Sketchbook: Yet More Random Drawings

Been a crummy week inside a crummy month.

I just watched the "Smells Like Teen Spirit" video for the first time tonight.


Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Photos Of People Screaming on TV

It's been that kind of month. Related: if you plan on writing any insane letters to the White House web site, here's their Captcha;

$490 million??

Monday, September 21, 2009

Mystery: Former Band Name In Mildly Amusing Movie

JUST WHEN I THOUGHT MY LIFE HAD NO PURPOSE DEPT., SEPT. 21 - From 2006's Tenacious D in The Pick of Destiny:

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Norb Sketches

1991-2003. The man.