I watched the debates on CBS. I missed the first 20 minutes. There was a part where Kerry was talking about a suitcase full of nukes that had been broken into 100 pieces that had been scattered throughout 80 video game arcades all over Moscow and its suburbs, and my housemate knew about it, and shouted out the number right before Kerry did: 13 years! or, like, 13 months! I have no idea what the fuck that's about. Please tell me. Is that how long it would take for someone to visit each arcade and retrieve every part of the nuclear suitcase?
After watching the CBS commentary for a second after the debates ended, we flipped around and watched FOX (a woman who seemed very drunk, like Wild on E! style, "well I'm down here on the floorrrand lemme tellya the margareetas are fucking frantashtic"... then we watched PBS for a second and there was a guy who had tiny jewfros growing all over his body and a former Bush Sr. speechwriter with grey hair and black eyebrows saying how strong he thought Bush was, and how Kerry was on the defensive.
Then I came on the Internet to watch the discourse about the debate blossom Satori-style LIVE throughout the blogosphere.
Except I didn't really know where to go. I looked at some blogs. Then, misguided, I tried to call the
Bush Cheney conf call. [1-800-262-1292 password Miami Debate], very nervous because I had NO IDEA WHAT IT WAS but luckily a pleasant female operator told me that call had already ended.
So here I am, with live coverage of the aftermath of the debates. More... "after the jump"??
- the most popular movie at the box office was Paramount's Subterranean Chieves.
- it starred Sagat as both Weird Al Yankovic and a diamond smuggler with zippers on the insides of his calves (not the backs).
- Sagat co-wrote the lyrics to "Zippers on the Backs of My Calves," which he sung to the tune of "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes."
- uncredited cinematography by Rod Washington.
- Kurt Russell.
for our UK readers [har] and beyond...hope y'all find luv:
Switching the names on the Sunday Rota Chemist lists of Uttoxeter no longer holds the same thrill it did back in 2002. What I need now is a woman. That's where you come in. You have two degrees in Maths, look like Bettie Page, are a strong swimmer, and like nothing better than standing next to the rabbit cages in branches of Pets at Home and weeping disconsolately as horrified children look on. Man, 38. Very, very alone. Box no. 18/10
In a certain light I look like Robert Mitchum. In a certain light you look like Kim Novak. More usually I look like Shrek. More usually you still look like Kim Novak. Yes, you're very unlucky. Now pass me the Dorritos and get over it. Box no. 18/12
Sure, I could spend all day trying to shoe-horn Slavoj Zizek into a personal ad, but when we finally get to meet I'm going to spend the whole time just staring at your breasts. No illusions at box no. 18/13
My finger is on the pulse of culture, my ear to the ground of philosophy, my hip in the medical waste bin of Glasgow Royal Infirmary. 14% plastic and counting - geriatric brainiac and compulsive NHS malingering fool (M, 81), looking for richer, older, sex-starved woman on the brink of death, to exploit and ruin every replacement operation I've had since '74. Box no. 17/06 (quickly, the clock's ticking, and so is the pacemaker).
I don't post because you mothers are so fucking prolific and brilliant. Maybe I'll buy a digital camera and study graphic design! Maybe I'll write dumb short stories that you can critique in the Comments field!
Better yet, maybe I'll make a Ben-Franklin's daily schedule-style daily post about what I can remember from that morning's newspaper to improve myself (and my critical reading skills).
Maybe I'll post things Stee Vee emails to Mc Muller and I -- which never ceases to baffle me, when this blog would be the perfect place for these things Steven emails! But that just goes to show my real problem: if Stee's emailing them to us but won't post them, then he cares about what the people other than Mc Muller and I who are reading this blog think. He is crafting cool detournements for their benefit. Which is fine! There's nothing wrong with that! What am I complaining about?
And speaking of which, who the frock are these people other than Mc Muller and I who are reading this? I haven't told anyone. here is my guess:
That guy, Brian's friend, he writes in the commentarios sometimes.
The guy who wrote the book about how cows are bad for the environment
for-to equalize the prolific-cy of crudeFutures authors: Here's two from the Andrew Journalism vault [one from yesterday 2000, one from tomorrow 2002]
'bout 11:38pm September 27, 2000 sum-body did write:
subject: here to grenada
baby I call you but you never home. Had one class already. "good!" No
ashberry, but his influence has been noted (aloud, by the professor).
Cultural Studies is more "generous" than other disciplines, because it's
more inclusive. Housing issues have been "wack" at best. But tomorrow
they may get resolved (but I may have to live with dorky post-grad film
major females who are scary and libidinous). Tonight you are witnessing
all sorts of acts of musical bravery and bravado. CAN I GET A what what?
Rather, can I get a brief synopsis in the great rock-journalist tradition
of Lester Bangs, and, more recently, Camden Joy? ... Discard the reference to Cult. Studies, and the words "libidinous", "bravado", "the great rock-journalist tradition", "buddha
nature", "self referentially", and, most importantly, "efface". All that
aside, ahem, etc. Tomorrow I will in fact secure housing. Wish me luck.
Did don cab's drummer show his weiner to the crowd (he did in CA). Is it
b0rdens birthday today. K3rstin told me bits n pieces of yr 0berlin saga,
which sounded rough yet entertaining, painful yet memorable. You guys are
so lovably dysfunctional. I am an obese, retarded, phlegmatic eight year
old while stoned. PEACE OUT YO!!!!
'bout 3:05pm September 29, 2002 sum-body did write:
subject: barks from the dogfather
I need to whine, so here it is:
I am too tired to write this paper! (cf. the conversation on preciousness,
pp 33-67) Mr. Juang is so rigorous, but I feel like rigor mortis! Are you
there, God? It's me, Margaret.
Missed ya this weekend, dog! I went to the conference with Kyle yesterday,
and R3nata this morning, but R and I got lost and ended up back at
Conservatory Music. It was nice, but I got up at 7:10, and now I'm so
sleepy! How'm I gonna write this paper?? I can't nap, 'spresho aint doing
Alright, just had to get that offa my chest, and yr all I've got, mortimer.