Tuesday, November 30, 2010

For further reading...



Here's some other shit I wrote this week with my big boy pants on, just in case you're into "reading."

  • The Black Eyed Peas chain your brain to their basement dungeon of damned professional affability.  
Stockholm syndrome refers to the condition in which hostages develop positive feelings for their captors, but there’s also a corollary in pop music. It happens when a group’s music — an album that sells 11 million copies, and yields five Top 10 singles, say — hijacks your aural space so aggressively that the listener is pummeled into acquiescence... Boston Globe

  • Two questions: Why are so many bands performing single-album reunion tours lately? And why am I not ashsamed to admit I liked this Dashboard Confessional record? 

When you think about nostalgia-minded single album tours—ones where a band play a classic album front-to-back in its entirety—it used to be old-timers dusting off the hits of yore for one more go ‘round. When Roger Waters or REO Speedwagon do it, it seems like a case of fueling up the wayback machine for Granddad. If it’s an actively touring icon like Bruce Springsteen, it’s a chance to break up the monotony for fans who’ve seen him perform dozens of times. You probably don’t think about the type of bands you actually give a shit about doing the same thing—maybe indie heroes like the Pixies performing Doolittle for a long overdue makeup call cash-in ... Alternative Press


  • What are you supposed to be drinking next? How about an Indonesian "rum"? 
Like anything else that people get really, really into - Internet porn, for example - once you've started chasing the infinite possibilities inherent in mixing cocktails down the boozy rabbit hole, you need to work harder to make things interesting. That's why desensitized tipplers turn to increasingly exotic cocktail ingredients and esoteric recipes to get that dopamine going. So while we covered the trend of tiki cocktails a while back in this magazine, the idea of plain old rum drinks just doesn't get our rocks off anymore. Yawn. What else you got? Stuff 

  • In case you missed it on Street Carnage:

Went out to your old hometown bar on Thanksgiving eve? Got into a fist fight with your high school best friend and then threw up on your ex while you two were trying to have a quickie in the alley behind the pub? Luke O'Neil tried to save you
So you’d do an awkward stop-and-chat, filling each other in on the past five or ten years of shared mediocrity, then you’d be like, “Nice to see you, I gotta run,” and you’d speed out of there on your roller blades, because everyone rollerbladed everywhere back then, if I’m remembering it correctly..... Street Carnage

Monday, November 29, 2010

RUSSIA BLOWS MY MIND



I’ve never been to Russia, although I’ve spent a significant amount of my life appreciating some of their greatest contributions to the world, so I guess you could call me a Russophile. You could also call me a poseur fag too, if you want. Your call. Most of my appreciation comes in the predictable areas, like literature, for example.

That’s all well and good, as far as nerdy shit goes, but if we’re talking about Russia, probably the only thing they’re better at producing over there than writers, corporate criminals and shit-faced mafia goons is gorgeous dead-eyed sluts. 


Go read the rest at Street Carnage, or follow the jump below for a treasure trove of alien landscapes, weird history, sluts, and collapsing architecture, some of my most favorite things in the world.


Sunday, November 28, 2010

11/28 Never Forget

images via

You ever forget that you were replying-all to an email chain and accidentally talk shit about one of your boys? Total boner, right? That's what this whole WikiLeaks fiasco is like, only in this case your boys are fucking insane despots and military dictatorships with unstable holds over their nuclear arsenals, or else they're tenuous allies like Russia, (although I sort of covered them in the first two descriptions there I suppose). To paraphrase my homeboy Joe Biden, this is a pretty big fucking deal...


Friday, November 26, 2010

Because they look different than me



This picture from a Motley Crue concert in St Louis is making the rounds of the internet machines today. Why? Because it's funny is why. Here's why-why: First of all, oomf, look at these losers, right? With their differently designed t-shirts, and tattoo choices that don't precisely align with the ones I might make myself, and their popular entertainment taste on display. The motherly-looking one is even pregnant! Haha, what a cunt. And they're all hanging out together at a music concert that they probably are really excited about on a nice sunny day. Perverts. Got to be something wrong with a family like that. 

For more insane human beings having their awful human being fun, follow the jump, which is a thing I'm doing now to trick the machine into giving me more hits. (Pictures from the Riverfront Times)

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

WTF Does a Paramedic/Firefigher Do All Day?



This was originally posted at Street Carnage you guys.  Go leave a comment there so I don't get fired for sucking.
What did you do at work today? Oh, just saved a few lives with my bare man hands, doused a towering inferno with my giant water dick, then chilled out on max with my bros back at the crash pad playing video games and punching each other in the balls. Like ya do. If you’re a paramedic/firefighter, that is. Now that no one believes in 9/11 anymore, it’s been a minute since everyone was all about firefighters and emergency professionals, but it turns out these dudes are still out there pulling our broken bodies out of wrecks, pumping life back into our ghosts with science machines and nailing bitches in the back of the bus. I asked my old-timey boy from back in the day what it’s like to be ten times the man I’ll ever be.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Every like button is a flirt

I'd like to talk about music with her.

This was just posted over at Platform, so go read it there if you want to see a version with extra u's in words like favour and colour and bonour.

A graduate student got in touch with me recently to talk about a research paper she's writing on identity and music. Since I'm a music journalist I'm an expert, I guess. Expert at bullshitting things on the fly anyway. “I'm detailing the reasons behind young people defining themselves by the music they listen to,” she said. “Not, like, 'Why do goths listen to industrial?' It's more like, 'How is it that young people are using their music taste to define them?'”

Using Facebook, and iLike and Last.fm and Pandora are the ways we broadcast to the world whatever our shitty taste is now, and has been for years. Back in my day you had to go through the painful process of growing out a mohawk and sewing weird shit onto your jacket to let everyone know you were into punk, or not shower for a week to let everyone know you hearted Nirvana forever. It took some effort, you see. Gross, gross effort. Nowadays all you have to do is push a button to push someone's buttons.

“When I had Myspace, I would only add people whose music preferences overlapped with mine,” she said to me. “Why? Why is musical preference so important for some people? How can it comprise an identity?”

Bang! Your scene is dead. (Literally)


I'd sooner choke on a pube beard than talk about hipsters one more time, but you know, sometimes in life, and in love, things have a way of sneaking back up into your heart, fixing themselves a cup of tea, and staying for the long haul. Like this video of Charles Bronson cleaning up the mean streets of Green Point or wherever. That MGMT fan with the boombox had it coming if you ask me and Chuck. Tip of the keifa to The Daily What.

Monday, November 22, 2010

That's racist. (Actually, it is)


That's racist, yo, and surprisingly, I'm not kidding this time. 

For those of you who live outside the hub of the universe, our local learning institution of note, a certain university on the Charles River, held its annual networking opp / vulgar display of institutionalized brutality and pleated khaki exhibition over the weekend, when the dapper dandies of Harvard squared off against the pedigreed punters of Yale in what they call, without any sense of shame, The Game. The most noteable thing about the event was that it totally fucked up my ability to get a drink in Harvard Square on Saturday night without having to wade through a sea of wasted hedge fund managing bro duders in training and pink cheeked bio-chem majors with XXXL Crimson hoodies and apartments worth more than my hypothetical childrens' black market resale value. Sort of like every other weekend around here but multiplied by a factor of ten. Basically every rich person in the country gives a shit about this sporting contest, even the ones that don't give a shit about sporting contests, so they all flock to the area once a year like a horde of zombies to an unguarded orphanage, only the zombies are all wearing top hats and monacles and have their drivers circling the towncar around  the block all night until they're done.  Worst zombies ever, I guess you could say.  

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Ladies and gentlmen: America

second place winner

George Washington? Fag. Bald eagles that fuck your shit up and cry about 9/11?  Emo poseurs. Our brave terrorist-wranglin' troops, or, like some evil science hybrid mutant of Rocky and Rambo and Ronald Reagan karate kicking the Berlin Wall down on a skateboard? All pussies compared to this, the single most patriotic man I've ever seen in my life, whose Christian name, I'm assuming is Captain America. 

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Ladies and gentlemen: The Internet

hot or not?

If I wasn't a complete moron when it comes to even the simplest of computer tasks, I'd jimmy-rig one of them voting...things on here so you guys could decide on whether or not I should puke right now like I really, really want to, or just pass this off as another case of internet people being internetty.  Hold on a sec... brb.

OK, never mind, I puked anyway. Jesus christ what did I eat last night, a plate of dog pants? Where was I? Oh right, here's the thing we're going to be outraged and/or smug about today.  It's a site that's gone up recently called Birth or Not

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Airport sex is hot

Because religion never drove anyone to do some dirt in an airport.

Apparently we're supposed to be upset about getting our shit checked out at airports this week. The choice, as CBS news explains below, is between getting an XXX-rated picture of your penis and tits taken (and probably saved on some dude's masturbation machine forever) or letting some low rent security dude two steps up from patrolling outside Sbarros in the food court touch you in the bad place.

What did I tell you guys about Halloween?


Here's a video from Halloween (I hope) in which a bunch of Denny's customers take a fast food costume party to its logical conclusion (zombie apocalypse level violence).  I haven't got the stomach to look right now, but can someone go ahead and check that the You Tube commentariat are keeping things as lively and convivial as I expect they would in a scenario like this? 

PS: The girl in the green is kind of hot. She can slam a chair on my head any day of the week if you know what I mean. (Just in case you don't, the chair in the metaphor  here is her vagina.)

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

What's the ideal BPMs for getting a blow job?

someone's about to get their face fucked

This was originally posted at Street Carnage. Go read the rest there. Then come back here and hang out with me a little bit. I never see you guys anymore. How do I get the bold to turn off on this font? Shit. Oh, there it is. 

For the past year Boston’s synth disco act Mystery Roar have been laying down the sexiest grooves and tastiest electro hooks in the city. I asked the band’s Nathanael Bluhm, who also DJs at a bunch of parties, to cook up the ideal mix for getting handsome to. Turns out he figured out the perfect BPMs for getting a blow job. Here’s the mix. You’re on your own with the mouth-fucking though.

Racist lady is racist


Apparently, and let me see if I've got the quote here correctly, this is something that this person actually said with her mouth: "You killed Martin Luther King, you niggers turn on each other, you're stupid." And that's probably the least offensive part of her rant.

Gawker has the deets, as they do.

We have friends

classic Dig cover is classic

From our homeboys over at DigBoston.com  a tip of the hat, or a Brimjob, if you will, to PTSOTL's uncanny douchespotting eye.  Go read them regularly over there, because they are really Boston-y. And not in the bad way. 



A friendly reminder


I know this blog is barely adequate and all, but you're really missing out if you aren't looking at my other one called Luke's Ice Cream Blog. I like to think that is the truer representation of what I'm really like. Insane, I mean. 

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Never mind what I said about skateboarding before


I have no idea if this is sick or not, because I'm over 30 and I live in Watertown, MA, but I'm gonna go out on a limb and say this is the best skateboarding video I've seen in 15 years. It's also the only one I've seen in 15 years, but time has a way of healing all wounds, as they say. And by wounds I mean indifference. What? Indifference counts as a wound. What are you, a doctor? No seriously, are you? Because I have some shit I need to get looked at under the hood, so to speak, and linking to other talented people's things on the internet isn't exactly paying the insurance bills like it used to when our parents were young.

UPDATE: Wow, so my man just sent me a link to this other one. Is this what they're doing with skateboard videos now? Back in my day it was two guys at the mall parking lot with a Hieroglyphics cassette playing on the boom box in the background. This one here is some cinematic shit. (It's in slo-mo so you know that it's dramatic, jsykers)

How can you tell if you're old or not?

Here's one good way. Let's say you've gone out to see a couple of friends' bands play at the Paradise...as ya do.  One of them is a disco electro hybrid that I once described as sounding like getting smashed in the vagina with a lubricated synthesizer, and the other is a gang of sweaty man bro dudes playing heroically anthemic video metal. 

Like so:


and so:



What do the two bands have in common, you might ask? THE EIGHTIES IS WHAT. Remember the eighties? That was a whole decade.

So, what would you do after the show? Would you head like 3 blocks up the street with your old lady to the indie dance night that plays all your favorite music and keep dancing for a couple more hours? Or would you... say go eat a disgusting burrito at a shitty college restaurant that smells like pancake syrup and Old Spice? I think you fucking well know what happened next.



Here's how we felt before the nachos and shit.

girl
boy


here's how we felt after:


Speaking of horrible shit, I almost forgot the whole reason I started taking pictures on this descent into the heart of darkness that is Boston University area bars on a Friday night. That would be this sign right here I saw behind the bar. 


this is a real thing, that real people made for other real people to look at

Just in case you can't see through the haze of my ass-pocket cell phone camera, the words someone made with their hands for your eyes up there go...ahem, a little something like this...

DRINK THE TEQUILA FROM ENTOURAGE

One more time?

DRINK THE TEQUILA FROM ENTOURAGE



PS: This photo was shot in the year 2010.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

How bad can this whole Tea Party shit show get?


Here's the one where I make a bunch of wild generalizations about an entire state in order to make myself feel superior to everyone else. Go read the rest at Street Carage.  If you want to read the extended UK import version of the article, with extra b-sides and outtakes where I explain things a little more slowly for the kids of London who, I'm guessing, don't tune in to MSNBC on the reg, go here.

If you follow American politics at all, you’ve probably thought to yourself, “Just how stupid can this whole Tea Party thing be?” Americans are by and large reasonable, right? Few bad apples making everyone look bad isn’t it? Short answer: No. Long answer: Also no. Allow me to introduce you to Arizona. MORE

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Because they bleed on their hands, you see?


My homeboys over at Platform just put this up. You should go look at their site every day. 


Every man of faith knows women are built out of some ancient chemistry lab reaction between powdered evil, spiderweb meat and pregnant dinosaur fangs, and are therefor evil and to be avoided at all costs (except, you know, via the vagina for carrying out the last step in the baby recipe). We don't know exactly how it works yet but we've got our people working on the details.  



What you may not also know is that when you touch a woman's hands you turn into a homo -sexual and god just generally gets ripshit at you for like a week. Just ask Indonesian Information Minister Tifatul Sembiring, a Muslim politician who got Michelle Obama's uterus-paws all up in his business this week when she traveled to his country  to flaunt her Western sex bits all over the place like some heathen whore-daughter of a pig. 


Dude's homeboys were like "WTF? Bros before hos." And he was like "JKLOL" and then they were like "Tape don't lie dude," because here's our man shaking the shit out of her hand like he was milking a coconut.



Explain that shit Tifat (that's what I call him).
"I tried to prevent (being touched) with my hands but Mrs. Michelle held her hands too far toward me (so) we touched," Information Minister Tifatul Sembiring on Twitter. 

While Indonesia has the largest Muslim population in the world, the vast majority practice a moderate form of the faith. But Sembiring has flaunted his conservatism and says he avoids contact with women who are not related to him...
Sembiring has often tweeted controversial comments, including blaming natural disasters on a lack of morality and joking about AIDS. Associated Press

Wellllp, guess who's got the deadly disease now, buddy? Worse than AIDS. It's called cooties, and science has yet to develop a cure for that plague. See you in hell.

Sometimes things aren't un-good


I've always said a kick ass dance party is just like a horror film -- shit doesn't actually get real until motherfuckers start getting their faces ripped off.  I've been dancing to scenes from Silence of the Lambs at home on my own for years now, which is a whole thing I can't really get into right now,  but thanks to this remix of from my homeboys set to a video from Bennett Media I don't have to feel so alone when I do it anymore. This shit is so much fun it could make a dance party at the bottom of the torture well you live in seem like a blast. 

thanks to the PHNX for the head's up

Sorry to bum everyone out by enjoying myself for a minute there. I've got a piece coming up about how fucking awful the state of Arizona is pretty soon, and exactly how dumb the Tea Party can really get. I'm just waiting for those socialists over at Platform to post it first.

Monday, November 8, 2010

WTF DOES A SUPER DO ALL DAY?


This just went up over at Street Carnage. Go read it here, so I can justify earning the big bucks. 




If you live in an apartment building (which you do because, if you’re reading this, you’re in your 20s and either living in New York or whatever Canadian New York is), then you’ve probably had to deal with the building’s super from time to time. He’s the scaly old goblin who lurks in the basement and has a whole system of cameras set up to watch you shitting. His name is probably Janusz. For those of you who don’t live in buildings like that, the super is essentially the dad of the building: He fixes shit when it’s broken, wants you to turn that awful music down and doesn’t like it when you come home wasted so late at night.

My man here is a relatively young musician super, but that doesn’t mean he won’t throw your ass out.

SBTVC: What’s the apartment complex like that you manage? What kind of people live there?

SUPER: I manage an apartment complex in [the Boston area]. It’s two four-story brick buildings with 66 units, one bedrooms and studios. The buildings were constructed in 1925. There actually used to be a dentist office located on the ground floor. Yuppies, artists of varying sorts, grad-students and one elderly dude live here. Seven are privately and federally subsidized tenants.

What sort of training does one need to become a super? Is there, like, a night school class? Do you come from a long line of proud supers?

No training needed. I have a B.A. in English. I can assure you, my dad did not spend $100K so I would do this.

Is it a full-time job? Are you supposed to be on call all day?

I am on call 24/7. It is not necessarily a full-time job. Spring and summer is very busy. This obviously coincides with the school year. End of fall and winter is very slow. When there is a problem, I get it taken care of. Either I do it, or I call someone to do it. In an old building like this plumbing issues are the most time-consuming. However, weeks can go by where I don’t do a damn thing.

That sounds like every other job. So are you naturally handy around the house? Can you actually perform real manly tasks? Fix the sink and so on…

I am not very manly. When I got this job, I couldn’t do much. I knew how to paint apartments because I had done that for a few years prior. I have learned how to do a lot though. I am a master in the fine art of toilet repair and drain clearing. To some tenants, I am kind of like their resident shrink. I hear a lot about people’s personal lives and the problems they go through. I have learned that divorces and break-ups play a big role in people moving.

What are the most common, minor problems that arise?

Without a doubt, anything plumbing related. I get a lot of lock-outs too. There is no charge. Not yet.

I just had some nasty Indian food last night, so I’m having a few plumbing-related issues right now if you know what I mean (shit fountain-wise). What are some of the weirdest problems you’ve had to deal with?

I have had a few domestic issues that I have literally had to get between. Awkward. One time a lady went to sleep and left her kitchen sink water running all night. The next morning the guy who lives below her, who happens to be 92 years old, called me and told me his kitchen was flooded. I went over there and knocked. When he answered the door he was ass-naked, holding a mop in one hand, a pipe in the other, and he exclaimed, “It’s high tide in here!”

One time I was watching football on a Sunday afternoon. I smelled smoke and heard an alarm going off down the hall. I opened my door and walked down the hall to the apartment I heard the alarm coming from and knocked. No answer. It smelled bad though so I opened the door only to find the tenant passed out on the floor, bottle of wine in one hand. Smoke was coming from his kitchen. I rushed in and discovered his pan was totally engulfed in flames. I called the fire department and evicted him the next day.

That old dude is kind of a trip, right?

I saw him making out with this total skank in the public hallway. She couldn’t have been over 40. Gross.

Does the job pay well? Do you get a free apartment or something?

It’s decent pay, a free apartment, with bills included. I also get to contract out to myself when I paint apartments, so that’s in addition to my weekly pay check. It won’t make you rich though. But, I’m happy.

Do you have to crack down on people wilding out? Break up parties or anything?

No, it’s generally a quiet building. I like to keep it that way.

Ever have to let the detectives in to investigate a crime scene or something like what those swarthy supers deal with on Law and Order all the time?

I have had to deal with local law enforcement several times. Domestic issues, one break-in many years ago. Some motherfucker stole my snowblower. Oh, one time I was on the roof drinking a cup of coffee. This was at like 9 A.M. All of a sudden two cop cars come screaming down the street and stopped in front of the building. I go down to see what’s what and they told me that a lady had reported a drunk individual on top of my building. Duh. I explained that it was only me. The cop demanded that he smell my coffee and take a look up on the roof. We go up there (he was totally out of breath after climbing four flights of stairs), he takes a look and says, “Nice view.”

That doesn’t sound so bad. Any sort of porn scenarios going on? Ever get invited in by the lonely housewife upstairs?

OK. Back to the 92-year-old dude. He has a porn collection that would rival Hugh Hefner’s. Last week I found a porn mag that had been left on the radiator in the entryway of one of the buildings (Playboy, October 2010 with Sasha Grey on the cover). I grabbed it and brought it down to his apartment. Told him he can’t leave stuff like that in the entryway. He left a bondage whip there last month. His reply, “Well, I’d already read it. Thought someone might get some use out of it.”

That sort of logic is hard to argue with. What are the good parts of the job?

Free rent is huge. I enjoy not having to go into an office. Cool boss. It is very flexible. I can generally plan my own day. I take pride in the buildings and I like to keep them clean. I constantly try to make improvements whenever I can. The company I work for is great in many respects. They let me spend whatever money I need to to keep them looking nice. Oh, and the best part, I have a commercial Home Depot card!

I don’t know what that means. What’s your general impression of the way people treat their apartments? Are people in general just fucking slobs?

Most of my tenants are great. You’re always going to have a few slobs. If I go into an apartment and it looks like shit, I will call the tenant out on it. I’ve evicted seven people in the last six years. Get my point?

What did you evict them for?

A few years ago I was woken up at 6 A.M. to a domestic fight down the hall. I got up to check it out. When I got down there the door was open. I knocked and called out the tenant’s name. When the tenant came to the door, he had no shirt on. He was holding a guitar in one hand and he had blood all over his chest and face. The guitar was also covered in blood. He told me he and his boyfriend had gotten in a fight and his boyfriend attacked him with the guitar. I evicted him the next day.

That’s racist. What else?

Back to the 92-year-old guy. His hearing is so bad that when he watches his porn he cranks up the volume on the TV. The tenants in his hallway are always complaining. The guy just doesn’t care. And I am not about to evict a 92-year-old dude.

I can’t tell if this guy is bumming me out or giving me hope for the future. Anyone die on your watch over there?

Four years ago a tenant had to move out because his sister was sick. He was my favorite tenant. He was so depressed when he moved out that he took a gun and blew his head off. He lived here for 20 years. He lived it. But he fell into a depression and couldn’t take it.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Remind me again why so many of you harbor deep-seated antipathy for sports



Oh right, this sort of thing from Sports Illustrated. It's a story about a Texas high school cheerleader who refused to cheer for the basketball player she accused of raping her. The school, as you can probably imagine, did the reasonable thing and kicked him off the team. Her I mean. Kicked her off the team.

By custom Tigers cheerleaders support any player at the foul line by shouting his name. In the first half Bolton was fouled twice. H.S. had been cheering as usual, but each time Bolton went to the line, in a peaceful protest, she folded her arms, stepped back and remained silent while her squad cheered, "Go, Rakheem!" After the halftime buzzer, H.S. was scolded "in front of God and everybody," says her father. H.S. had not "abided by the Cheerleader Constitution," according to Hunt. The code requires cheerleaders to shout equally for all. Rather than cheer for Bolton, she chose to go home.

In the school's defense, she was probably mad for it. If I've learned anything from the internet it's that girls in cheerleader outfits are down for whatever.  All this story really needs now is someone -- let's just say, oh I don't know, a lawyer for the school district --  to spell that out for us. Oh right, that happened too:

Though H.S. was later permitted to rejoin the cheerleading squad if she would follow its rules, the family filed a civil suit against the school district, and on Sept. 16 the Fifth U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals ruled that H.S.'s silent protest was not protected speech under the First Amendment. However, the court wrangling distracts from the bottom line: A school is supposed to be an emotional safe haven for all students, and educators should help, not harass, students in vulnerable positions. Why force H.S. to do something that made her uncomfortable? Why not err on the side of compassion? "For all anyone knew," Hunt says of the protest, "it was a girl mad at a boy." By this rationale a rape charge is no different from a text-message breakup.

That's probably what it was.  Just a silly kids in love story. Haha, you guys. It's like something straight out of Glee, but only slightly less depressing than that mess.

Here's the one wot I talked to Baba Booey

via

Back when I used to have to drive to work in the mornings there was only one thing that made the idea of commuting even remotely tolerable, and that was being able to listen to the Stern show on the way in. Now that I don't have a satellite machine in my spaceship car I never get to listen to it any more. It's a tough call, but I'll take not having to see the horrible glare of the early morning expose the monotony of the dread human condition to me on a daily basis over a few chuckles from the radio as a win.

I had to interview Baba Booey the other day about his new book, and it was kind of weird. I don't normally give a shit when I'm interviewing musicians or celebrities, even the ones I'm a fan of, mostly because they're all egotistical boors and you have to literally drag words out of their faces with a tractor beam of lies and ass-kissing. But when I was talking to Dell'Abate I had a strange emotion: excitement.  Hmm, that doesn't sound quite right. Let's just say I didn't dread making the phone call and talking to him.  The funny part for me was how I kept forgetting I wasn't actually listening to the show during the pauses in conversation, and that I had to chime in with questions to keep things moving. Woops. I'm a professional. Anyway, here's the thing, which I only put up here because most of you deviants are probably closet Stern fans too. It's short and to the point, unlike this intro.



Longtime Howard Stern sidekick and show producer Gary “Baba Booey” Dell’Abate stepped outside his normal wacky radio studio environs on Friday to give readings at Northeastern University and The Brattle Theatre. Dell’Abate is in the middle of a tour to promote his newly released memoir “They Call Me Baba Booey.”

What do you think will surprise people the most in the book?

I think the biggest surprise will be about how I grew up. I came from a dysfunctional family. I had a mom that was suffering from depression. I think if you're a big fan of the show and you read those first few chapters, you'll go “Oh, now I get it, now I understand it.”

Does it feel liberating to be able to address this stuff outside the context of the show? 

I talk about a lot of stuff, my mom's mental illness, I had a brother who died of AIDS, and I tell the story of how that all happened. Then I tell funny stories…I made a video tape to a girl I was in love with and it got out on the show, I talk about that. Then I talk about how I met Howard, so there’s a little bit of everything.

Did your real family prepare you for your dysfunctional radio family?

There's no doubt in my mind. Some people say ‘Your mother gave you a hard time isn't that terrible?’  I look at it this way, my mother sort of got me ready for the job of a lifetime, because I always had to think five steps ahead. The mood swings in my house were so crazy when I would come home I never knew what I was going to get on the other side of the door. It's sort of like producing a show. 

Howard has been pretty hard on the book on the air.

Yeah, but it's all in good fun. He wants to talk about the book, and it's not our nature to say ‘This is great, this is great.’ So he's got to figure out ways to make it interesting and entertaining, and goofing on me is always a good fail-safe. 

Do you have a favorite time someone has shouted “Baba Booey” on the air when they shouldn't have?

I've got a ton of them. Probably the best one was during the OJ car chase. Peter Jennings was live on the air and a guy called in and claimed he was right across the street watching the whole thing. He was doing the worst voice ever. It was so obvious it was a phony phone call after the first two words. Jennings was letting this guy go on. Even though I didn't know it was one of our listeners, I could tell. And at the end he yells out ‘Baba Booey to y'all!’ That's one of my favorites.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Jon Stewart is a giant pussy



You could probably make a case that Bill Maher is an unfunny blowhard who needs to get a hair cut and lose the 60 year playboy shtick, and you'd be right, but you'd also be missing the point. Maher may still be perceived primarily as an entertainer, but unlike his peers who go to great pains to point out that they're "only comedians," he also happens to not be a giant fucking pussy who confuses reasonableness for a compelling political viewpoint. 

"Don't yell at each other" isn't a political argument, it's the equivalent of your 15 year old cousin wearing eyeliner and a Taking Back Sunday t-shirt to Thanksgiving dinner.  It's hiding in your room when mommy and daddy are fighting about daddy's sleepover friend with the forty year old tramp stamp.



Keith Olbermann is right when he says he’s not the equivalent of Glenn Beck. One reports facts. The other one is very close to playing with his poop. And the big mistake of modern media has been this notion of balance for balance’s sake, that the left is just as violent and cruel as the right, that unions are just as powerful as corporations, that reverse racism is damaging as racism. There’s a difference between a “mad man” and a “madman”. […]

But the message of the rally as I heard it was that if the media would just stop giving voice to the crazies on both sides then maybe we could restore sanity. It was all nonpartisan and urged cooperation with the moderates on the other side, forgetting that Obama tried that and found out, there are no moderates on the other side. Crooks and Liars

In other words, if you want to cut my fucking head off and keep it in a freezer, but I'd prefer that you tucked me into bed at night with a kiss on the forehead, it doesn't count as compromise if you settle on chaining me to a pipe in the basement and putting hate babies in my mouth. I learned that in politics school, which is a real thing that exists. So, in summary, Jon Stewart is destroying America. 

Friday, November 5, 2010

Please stop talking about it

You know what the internet needs more of? Actually, I do. Glad you asked. It needs more talk about hipsters. Who are these kids with their clothes on and their music listening? Let's find out. 

Here's how this is gonna work. The first video is gonna bum you out. I don't give a shit about Henry Rollins, but I respect him for some reason. Mostly so you guys will like me. Then the second video is gonna make it all better. Then we'll meet back at the bottom for a wrap up if I think of one by the time I get done wrestling with these embedding codes.


Hoo boy. So that's what you sound like when you talk about hipsters. On the other hand, that's what you look like when you are one.  Who wins? Tough call, but the answer is no one. 

This other video is from a blog called IMBOYCRAZY, which is apparently a thing. I hadn't heard of it until just now when my GF5000 made me look at. She tells me what's a thing and what isn't a thing, because I'm easily persuaded. Plus she just went and picked up the Indian food a minute ago, so I sort of owe her one. It's the least I could do really. 


What was my point again? Shit, the Indian food is here. Farts ahoy. 


News is Hard (Part 3)


Today I'm working in the office at the giant news-paper machine thing I usually write for from home in my underwear (just kidding I don't own any underwear).  It's kind of weird for a couple reasons.

1) I had to set my alarm to get up this morning at 9 a.m. What am I, a lobsterman? Not having to set an alarm is the whole reason I dedicated myself to a life poverty and zero marketable job skills besides farting out words about how some dude's guitar sounds atmospheric.

2) I had to ride the train with all the commuters in the morning. Woh. People still do that? Weird. Everyone seemed bummed to be alive. I was into the novelty of it though. Look at meeee. I'm a real boy!  That would get old real fast I bet.

3) Cubicles. I haven't sat in one of these... ever. It's been like six years since someone expected me to show up to an office on time every day. I couldn't even do that right.

4) I can't believe how much shitting goes on in a giant work place. There's a row of like twenty five stalls in the shitter over here. My schedule is all fucked up though since I got my timing thrown off by the commute and the lack of coffee. Fortunately there's like a roof deck to smoke dukes on. No one else really smokes. I should have gotten a gig at a newspaper next door to a time machine. The air in here would reek of smoke and gravitas and sexism, which are three things I thrive on personally. I'd probably be drunk under my desk by now too.

5) When can I leave? Not really sure. I'm just gonna sit here until some sort of horn blows. Do they still do that at jobs?

That's about it I guess. I'm not sure if this is even going to get through because I'm writing it using IE on a Dell PC. Do they have the internet yet on PCs?

PS: This keyboard is rotten with someone else's soup cracker dust and fingernail turds.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

News is hard (part 2)


Awwww, who's a good little fellow! Look at him go. 

The dog is a metaphor, by the way. I'm the dog, the fish is bad jokes, and the river flooding the street is the internet. Or are we all the dog, the fish is man's cruelty toward man, and the internet is the river? Something to think about for the next 2 seconds before clicking off this site.

And this guy is saying 'Whadda ya want from me?'


Because they're Italian

Nothing is funny anymore apparently, now that Obama lost the election or whatever it was that happened the other day on the teevee, so I'm going on blog strike for a day or two. By which I mean I am feeling lazy today.

Big news though: I'm hungover. Haven't been hungover in months, because, as you well know, doing shots is OTMFL. So, I dunno... maybe I'll see you guys around. We had a good run. Let's still be friendsthok? 

Go watch this video like I do every day. (Because I have bad taste in music.)

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

The news is hard

Am I the only one with a nervous stomach after looking at this photo?

Are you TIRED of having to track down DOZENS of on-air newscast fuck ups every day, one by one, with your own person-hands and eyes? If you're like most people, you just don't have the TIME to spend on it like you USED TO, what with, uh, the internet being on, and jobs are also... You know what I mean. That's what's so great about this video from channel 10 in San Diego, it has all the boner and gaff bases covered in one easy to watch video: trippy camera pans, shots of the wrong person, script reading mistakes, non-sequitur responses, mismatched segues, inappropriate laughter, and just an all around lack of substance and actual information (although that last part is sort of like normal newscasts every day, so never mind.)  It's like Anchorman for real directed by Michel Gondry. Coincidentally, that's also how critics have been describing my line of solo sextapes I just put out had stolen.

Nerd Riot

via Valleywag

I get just as emotional as the next guy when the group of billionaire boy-men randomly assigned to my geographic vicinity make more balls happen over the wall than the other team. That's just reasonable. I'll occasionally storm around my living around upwards of two to three times after a loss and/or victory of my favored team; other times I'll fire off close to five or six emails to my friends who share my affinity for the team in question. Sometimes when the football Patriots lose I'll be in a bad mood for like an hour. One thing that's never occurred to me as an option, however, is to wreck the shit out of some cars and burn down some stores in the wake of a victory I had nothing to do with. I'm weird like that. 

Here's a video of the kids in San Francisco storming the gates of the castle or whatever after their base-ball employees did a good hit. 


Jesus Christ. Is there anything lamer than rioting after a sports victory? No there is not. 

Valleywag

Except yes, yes there is.  Checking into a riot on FourSquare. I don't think that's how criminal activity is supposed to work, but if it's a thing now, fuck it, I'll go with it. You should be seeing this pop up in your feed in a couple minutes: 

PTSOTL just checked in to the coke dealer's car on Tremont St. in Boston. Right near the Subway there, dude. I've got a black coat on. #fuckthepigs #drugs4ever
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