Friday, January 30, 2004
 

From the Six Degrees of Spoonbenderation files, longtime reader of The Spoonbender, CNN anchor Lou Dobbs today interviewed Spoonbender-endorsed presidential candidate, Peabs.

The transcript of the interview, which will air on tonight's episode of Lou Dobbs Tonight, can be found on CNN's website.

Image via Whatevs.org. Obvs.

Analogcabin @ 12:39 PM
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We're just short of a month into 2004, but it's already clear that midgets are this year's gays.

The first evidence came in the form of Jasmine Arteaga -- America's bitsiest Idol. Now I can't honestly discuss Jasmine without a couple of confessions. The first is that I've always been incapable of picturing dwarves doing certain things. I'm not talking about competitive high jumping. That would make sense. I'm talking about things like writing cursive or drawing a picture well. Like walking backwards without toppling over, riding a bicycle, or winking. There's no logic to why these things seem to me impossible for dwarves, but they do. Before seeing Jasmine on American Idol, singing was one of them. My second confession is that I found Jasmine kind of sexy. Not sexy like I find that one girl on Las Vegas sexy, and not sexy like some people find midget porn sexy, either. Just run of the mill sexy.

I realize how thrilling this revelation would be for Jasmine.

But let's be honest, here. Jasmine was OK. She certainly defied my midget expectations, but she wasn't up to the level of the others that made it through to the next round. Simon and Skinflap lowered the bar. But it's the Year of the Midget, and I couldn't be happier about it.

Then there's Fox's announcement of a new reality dating show called The Littlest Groom. A friend brought it to my attention, as he was quite excited about the prospect. As soon as I saw the words "little person" in the press release, I made my mental commitment. I'll watch the entire season, and if five more midget shows come along, I'll watch them, too.

It's like Queer Eye was last year. We all couldn't wait to see what those fabulous gays would do or say next. This year, it's midgets. We'll all be watching intently, thinking, How the hell is he gonna get that Coke can open?

Sing into the microphone.
American Idol Jasmine Arteaga Turns On, Looks Up

More forehead!
The Littlest Groom Glen leans toward the camera to maximize forehead visibility.

Analogcabin @ 11:55 AM
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Thursday, January 29, 2004
 

Valentine's Day is already difficult for fans of the comic strip Cathy. Now they've got to deal with
this.

For 27 years, single women of not less than 30 and not more than 60 have counted on Cathy to brighten their cubes. I'm talking about the ladies with one in box that's always filled and another that hasn't been for years. Maybe they're not the most toothsome, but it's not like they're not asking for Tom Jones. Just someone to curl up on the couch with the kittens (named Josh Groban and Andrea Bocelli, after their favorite singers,) open up a pint of Häagen Dazs (they shouldn't, but they will,) and watch the latest edition of The Bachelor with (it really is like a fairy tale.) While they wait for their Dilbert, they can count on Cathy to commiserate.

But for Cathy to abandon them? And on Valentine's Day? Well, you'd better make that pint a quart.

Analogcabin @ 9:40 AM
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Wednesday, January 28, 2004
 

So much love to Ultragrrl recently. First the image of Dean decking a small boy, now this. She's big and fat, and in the foreground. When the door in the floor gets opened, it's not like you don't know what's coming. It's the waiting. The blissful, excruciating tease....

Do the right-click thing, 'cause I don't stream shit.

Analogcabin @ 2:11 PM
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Is pitching gay?

It's an ages-old conundrum, and today remains one of the sport's most divisive issues. There will always be fans that argue pitching is not gay. They assert that, for the best pitchers, the catcher is irrelevant. Great pitchers can toss effectively to any catcher, or to no catcher at all. They argue that pitching is an important part of the game and, in many cultures, it is considered integral to one's growth as a player.

Other fans will argue that the very definition of gay is delivering a heater, slider, curve, spit, or ball into another man's pocket.

"I'm not gay. I'd like to clear that up right now," said 23-year-old Indians pitching prospect Kazuhito Tadano. In this case, he's no mere victim of the philosophical debate on the gayness of pitching. This is one pitcher that actually appeared in a gay porno movie. And not as an extra, either.

Tadano held a press conference today in a totally misguided attempt to put an end to the controversy surrounding the porno, which he made when he was, "...young, playing baseball, and going to college and [his] teammates and [he] needed money." Obviously Japanese baseball teams haven't heard of selling candy bars. Regardless, the Tadano situation is certain to fuel the already flaming issue that is the gayness of pitching.

Thankfully, there are some issues on which all fans can agree. Like that catchers are totally gay. Inning after inning, they're on their knees. They face down hard pitches, they face down soft pitches. The best catchers shag foul balls. Come on. Consider Mike Piazza.

Batter up!
Gay Porn Star/Cleveland Indians Pitcher Kazuhito Tadano

Analogcabin @ 10:36 AM
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Tuesday, January 27, 2004
 

Eurotrash knocks one out of the park with her parody of hooker blog du jour, Belle de Jour.

Analogcabin @ 10:17 AM
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CNN reports that NYU paleoanthropologist Katerina Harvati and her colleagues have discovered proof that man is not descended from Neanderthal, as many scientists have previously suggested.

Unfortunately for Harvati, CNN has unwittingly discovered absolutely irrefutable proof to the contrary. The photographic evidence of a human/Neanderthal connection accompanies a preview of USA Network's upcoming miniseries Traffic.

HRRRG!
Actress Mary McCormack, left, with Actor/Missing Link Elias Koteas.

Analogcabin @ 9:41 AM
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Monday, January 26, 2004
 

The uproar over the Pope's alleged and later recanted endorsement of Mel Gibson's The Passion hasn't dissuaded the pontiff from indulging in the arts. CNN reports that a troupe of Polish breakdancers performed at the Vatican today. At one point it was unclear whether John Paul was attempting to emulate the robot or was simply wracked with Parkinson's tremors.

When the performance concluded, the Pope said, "It is as it was -- fresh."

A View from the Phatican
A View from the Phatican

I could have gone for the Polish breakdancer joke, but this Mel Gibson thing seemed more topical.

Analogcabin @ 10:47 AM
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Friday, January 23, 2004
 

I have nothing for you today except this stupid game. Play it all weekend, dicky.

Analogcabin @ 2:09 PM
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Thursday, January 22, 2004
 

Ye-ahhh!

Image via Ultragrrl.

Analogcabin @ 10:14 AM
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You've got to love Romanian plastic surgeons. That is, of course, unless you prefer a plastic surgeon with some kind of formal training.

Regardless, the year's best quote has got to go to Romanian plastic surgeon Ion Lascar. He said, "She is doing very well. The lack of tumor really suits her." This in response to reporters' questions about patient Lucica Bunghez, from whom he removed a 175 pound tumor that covered her back, waist, and hips, and nearly doubled her weight.

Analogcabin @ 7:53 AM
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Breaking News! Osama bin Laden hasn't been captured!

Analogcabin @ 7:44 AM
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Wednesday, January 21, 2004
 

I'd like to begin with an apology. What you're about to read is exactly and perfectly boring. I'm going to couch my thoughts on digital music, the iTunes distribution model, and the record industry in a response to something written by USA Today technology columnist Kevin Maney. In an effort to make what's going to follow at least marginally entertaining, I will use adult words like "fuck" and I'll call Mr. Maney names. I'll also include an image of breasts at the end. None of these things will help much, but I hope it shows that I'm making an effort.

OK. So the first problem is that the above linked piece is titled "Apple's iTunes Might Not Be Only Answer to Ending Piracy." Whether Maney or his editor is to blame, I can't be certain, but I'll unfairly hold him responsible for a clunky, noncommittal headline that goes perfectly with his meandering ruminations on why the praise heaped on Steve Jobs for iTunes is ultimately unwarranted.

I'll boil Maney's argument down to two key points. The first is that iTunes loses money and people still file swap, therefore it can't be all that great an idea. The second is that he suggests that Magnatune, an online label and distributor, has a more compelling answer to the record industry's woes. Maney is comparing Apple to oranges, of course, and how about that nifty little turn of phrase? Apple with oranges? Get it?

Let's deal with Maney's beef with iTunes first. Steve Jobs has said that Apple doesn't make money on iTunes. That's a drag for Apple. What they do make money on is the iPod. They make lots of money, in fact. To ignore the connection between the two products is stupid. If nothing else, think of iTunes as your iPod's hot-sync software. If you did, you wouldn't expect there to be any revenue stream associated with it.

Or don't think of it that way. Instead, think about QuickTime. For years Apple tried to get QuickTime on Windows, and for years they were effectively prevented from it. Isn't iTunes just another attempt? To ignore the significance of Apple's recent deal with HP is massively stupid. In exchange for the right to make an iPod clone, HP will bundle iTunes on all its PC's. John Markoff examines the implications in this article. It appeared in The New York Times. It's not Maney's green section of the USA Today, but it's not too shabby, either. In a nutshell, he posits that iTunes is a sneaky way for Apple to get a little API leverage of its own over Microsoft.

But that's speculative, isn't it? Let's just ignore the iPod entirely.

Let's suppose that iTunes penetration wasn't increasing, that the library of songs wasn't getting larger, and that initial development costs continued indefinitely. If we suppose all that, Apple would continue breaking even or losing money. The fact remains, though, that record labels are making money with iTunes. Apple's taken the labels' only real assets, their music catalogs, and made them a spectacular offer: "We'll take this market that you're completely incapable of reaching, and we'll reach it for you. All you need to do is give us access to your catalog, and we'll write you a check every month." Not bad, especially since the labels weren't doing much with those catalogs, other than watching them fly out the Napster window.

And Apple is writing them those checks. They did it not by selling downloads to big fucking nerds like Kevin Maney. They did it by selling downloads to my mom, my sister, and me. In short, people who can afford to spend a dollar but can't afford to spend an hour and a half finding some bullshit Gnutella connection, downloading from a 10-year-old and splitting his bandwidth 'cause he's getting a clip of Jenna Jameson sucking dick, then waiting 15 minutes only so you can listen and discover it's the wrong tune, and the last two minutes are clipped. iTunes is good because it's reliable, reasonably priced, and it's easy.

I remember that my sister used to call the radio station and request a song. She'd then turn on the radio, set up a little tape recorder in the same room and wait. When the song came on, she'd hit record. Eventually, she stopped because it was a huge pain in the ass and the recordings sucked 'cause my mom would barge in and tell her to clean the room. There'll always be people who do that kind of thing because they're cheap and they have a shitload of time. iTunes doesn't stop bootlegging. Nothing ever has, and nothing ever will. It's providing an attractive alternative to bootlegging where there was none previously.

Before I get into Maney's next point -- that Magnatune has the business model that's the solution to the labels' problems -- I really must insist that you read this. It's a piece by noted indie producer Steve Albini on how a band gets fucked by its record company. It's a grim view for musicians, and it's why I don't feel particularly sympathetic when the major labels whine about piracy losses.

OK. So here's the deal with Magnatune: Suppose you're a band. Maney says you should record your album at home on some of the inexpensive new digital recording equipment available, so you buy an iMac and GarageBand (thanks, Mr. Jobs), and lay down some tasty grooves. You submit said grooves to Magnatune and, if you're the lucky one in 300, they agree to distribute your record on their site. They won't promote it at all, of course, because that would require an investment on their part. That's called financial risk, which is gross. Nope, they'll just sell it and take half of the money. Oh, and one other thing. They're going to sell the record at a flexible price. So they'll suggest people spend $8 for it, but if people want to spend only $5, that's OK, too. Why not, right? It's all profit for them, and they'd rather have half of $5 than half of nothing.

Bands sign with a label to get two things they usually can't afford to pay for on their own: distribution and promotion. Granted, they're getting fucked on the deal, since everything they're getting is an advance against future royalties, but that's Albini's issue. The logic of the labels is that since they're taking most of the financial risk, they should get most of the reward. In Magnatune's vision, the one that Maney finds so attractive, the bands take the vast majority of the financial risk, and they get half of the reward.

By the way, how this model solves piracy is completely beyond me.

The flexible pricing thing is indeed new to the music business. Never mind that it's stupid. The rest of the model isn't. In fact, Steve Jobs has been asked a number of times if Apple would start signing bands, presumably adopting this all digital, low risk model. His answer is always no, because there's no benefit to either Apple or the bands. Jobs recognizes that simply having a CD available doesn't mean anyone's going to buy it. Apple wants sales, bands want sales, and labels want sales. That means someone's going to have to risk marketing the thing.

But suppose that the days of marketing bands are over. CDBaby is a terrific company for indie bands that distributes but doesn't promote. It's widely recognized as an artist-friendly way to make money in music. Any indie band can sell their CDs on their site. CDBaby just does the order fulfillment. Basically, for years they've been doing what Magnatune plans on doing, except they don't reject any bands, they can actually ship you a CD, they're already making money, and they give bands between $6 and $12 per CD sold -- more than half the money.

You know who does CDBaby's online distribution? Apple.

So here are the breasts I promised:

Mrs. Maney's Mammies

Analogcabin @ 10:04 AM
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Tuesday, January 20, 2004
 

I've always wondered what it's like to be a member of Hollywood's Zionist cabal. Now I know, thanks to Low Culture's Sundance coverage.

Analogcabin @ 12:05 PM
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I guess when an exorcism goes wrong, it really goes wrong.

The AP reports that an Atlanta couple was arrested when police found them wandering the streets naked, accompanied by two of their children -- a 2-year-old and a 7-year-old. The elder child provided cops with information leading them to a motel where a third child, this one 6-years-old, was found stabbed, strangled, and with a broken back. And dead, incidentally. Atlanta police now suspect the murder might have been an "exorcism gone wrong."

I wonder which part of the exorcism was where it went wrong. After the broken back, but before the stabbing? After the strangling, but before the parents stripping?

The Lord works in mysterious ways.

Analogcabin @ 9:20 AM
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Monday, January 19, 2004
 

Much of the blogosphere is silent today, no doubt in recognition of MLK and the day off he died to provide. I cannot be silent, however, because I, too, have a dream.

My dream is a dream that people will be brought together. Specifially, the Amish and UPN's primetime programmers. I have a dream that attractive Amish teens aged but 16 years will be the focus of a reality television show. I have a dream that they will be taken from their rural homes to Los Angeles, where they will be subjected to each of Hollywood's many temptations. Perhaps they will even be subjected to The Temptations. I have a dream that their escapades, and even their sexcapades, will be televised in a weekly, one hour format. I have a dream that they will be completely without self-consciousness, as they never will have watched reality television, or any television for that matter, and that they will have not learned the lessons of Jerri or of Richard Hatch.

Unlike MLK's dreams of racial equality and peace, my dream has already come true. I'm not saying it's because I'm a great leader of men. It's because I set my sites a little lower than MLK. It makes for less disappointment.

Analogcabin @ 7:22 AM
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Friday, January 16, 2004
 

I know you've all been waiting anxiously, so here it is:

I'm endorsing Peabs in 2004.

Why? The choice is obvs.

For that reason, I encourage you all to take the "Obvs in '04" logo below and left and incorporate it into your site. Why? Not so obvs, even to me, but do it anywho.

Analogcabin @ 8:24 AM
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I never got the whole White Stripes thing, and I still don't. Now that the backlash is in full effect, my admission isn't even remotely unique, and would certainly not warrant your marginally valuable attention under normal circumstances. Everyone's placing bets on whether Jack White or Ryan Adams will reach the Nadir of Integrity first these days. I realize it's blasé, and I wouldn't bring it up unless I thought it was worth what you're paying.

It's definitely not cool to admit, but I've liked Rush for a long time. Sure, they've been out of regular rotation for the past decade or so, but I was a big fan in my teens. The early to mid-era stuff, of course, and absolutely nothing after Presto. I saw them live two or three times, in fact.

I bring it up because Diablo Cody recently made the argument that Rush is better than the White Stripes. I was moved.

The comparison is especially relevant in light of the recent arrests of Jack and Rush axman Alex Lifeson. What's more rock and roll, punching some acne faced never-was named Stollsteimer in a jealous rage, or tearing up the Ritz on New Year's Eve, then throwing a cop down some stairs? I think you know the answer. And Lifeson's doing it at 50.

Analogcabin @ 7:19 AM
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Thursday, January 15, 2004
 

Have you heard about the best Survivor Pool on the internet? No? It's fucking awesome! It's only $10, winner takes all, and even grovites like you can enter! Check it out!

Analogcabin @ 10:32 AM
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Someone's finally created a device that approximates my heretofore inimitable knack for making the ladies go crazy. On and on 'til the break of dawn, as it were. It's called the Slightest Touch, and it retails for $139.95. Since the cat's out of the bag, I suppose it doesn't hurt to detail the technique here.

First, the quarry must imbibe what this article calls "an electrolyte sports drink." I've found that Gatorade Ice: Lime mixes best with vodka, which is, or course, an integral part of my method, though the Slightest Touch people claim it's not necessary. The Slightest Touch folks then direct the user to connect their device's electrodes to the insides of the lucky lady's ankles. I would normally use a defibrillator for this step, but I've found that jumper cables and a car battery or portable generator work well for more spur-of-the-moment sessions. When camping or at the drive-in, for example. Once the charge is applied, the makers of Slightest Touch claim that it will bring the woman "to the pre-orgasmic plateau where she dangles on the edge of orgasm for as long as she wants." I can verify the effect. It's evidenced by shrieking and howling you'd expect from a wolf in a bear trap.

Now the Slightest Touch folks don't say it's necessary, but I'd suggest you keep an analgesic salve at hand, as contact burns may occur.

Link via TMFTML.

Analogcabin @ 7:14 AM
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Wednesday, January 14, 2004
 

I'm all for going to Mars, but doesn't it seem like this billion could be put off a bit? I'm starting to get the feeling that Bush's cabinet meetings are less like "a blind man in a room full of deaf people," like Paul O'Neill says, and more like a room ful of stoners hashing it out as they go.

The following is excerpted from my never-to-be-written play about the Bush administration, Burning Bush: A Joker, a Smoker, and a Midnight Toker.

On benches facing out from the oft-portrayed porch behind the Oval Office are seated George W. Bush, the President, and a number of members of his cabinet. It is night. A twelve pack of Hawaiian Punch sits open on the ground, as does a box of Bugles. They are passing a green glass bong shaped like a dragon between them.

Spencer Abraham, Sec. of the Interior:
Mineta. I think this is beat. You might have to pack it again.

Secretary of Transportation Norman Mineta takes the bong from Abraham.

Tom Ridge, Sec. of Homeland Security:
Seriously, though. I'm totally serious. It'd just be this card, right, and it'd have, like, everything about you on it. Seriously.

Tommy Thompson, Sec. of Health and Human Services:
But what's that cost, Tomboy? I mean, it's gotta be a shitload. For everybody in the country? A fuckin' shitload.

Abraham:
No doubt. Probably like a billion dollars, anyway.

Bush:
Dude. Dude! Check that out.

The President points toward a bright star in the night sky above the capital.

Bush:
See it?

Elaine Chao, Sec. of Labor:
I don't see it....

Donald Rumsfeld, Sec. of Defense:
That's 'cause you're squinting, Chao Chao. Oh, wait, I'm sorry....

They all laugh. Rumsfeld elbows Chao in the ribs, smiles, then he takes the bong from her and hits it.

Bush:
Right there. It's Mars. I have this awesome telescope at the ranch, and I can see, like, every planet in the universe, practically.

Thompson:
That's amazing. I can't believe it's Mars. Can you even imagine how far away that is? So fucking far, dude.

Abraham:
Yeah. Like a billion miles or something.

Bush:
I'll bet we could get an astronaut there.

Thompson:
No fucking way, dude. There is no. Fucking. Way.

Bush:
There totally is.

Ridge:
Yeah. Prolly. I don't know, though. It's like, why, you know? And it'd be so fucking costy.

Thompson:
Yeah. Super costy.

Bush:
Fuck that. I'll bet it wouldn't be that costy. I mean, we fucking took over Iraq and have, like, what? A million soldiers totally living there right now, right Rumsmells?

Donald Rumsfeld finishes a hit and speaks through held breath.

Rumsfeld:
Pretty much.

Bush:
And wha'did that cost?

Rumsfeld breathes out. Smoke continues out of his mouth as he speaks.

Rumsfeld:
I dunno. A billion dollars?

Bush:
Yeah, dude. Like a billion dollars.

Bush accepts the bong from Rumsfeld as the group stares up at Mars. He takes a deep hit, then he speaks through held breath.

Bush:
I'm totally going to ask congress.

Analogcabin @ 2:26 PM
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Top Ten Places Where Spalding Gray Could Be

10: Sucked into same breach in the time/space continuum as Emilio Estevez.

9: In high school, after shaving, peroxide on sides of hair allowed him to pass as new wave student named Maxwell Houser.

8: Abducted by fundamentalist Morman to be second wife, currently chained to tree near Sandy, Utah.

7: In law school, after using melanin pills to pose as a black person named Mark Watson allowed for his admission.

6: During visit to "barcade" Dave and Buster's, overdosed on fun, quaaludes.

5: Working as toy designer in Manhattan after fortune-telling vending machine trapped him in the body of an adult.

4: In Altus, Arkansas with Martin Amis filming The Simple Life 2.

3: In high school, posing as studly male student named Terry Griffith in order to prove worth as writer for the paper.

2: Not missing at all; simply the size of an insect after the shrink ray he was close to perfecting misfired.

1: Swimming to Cambodia.

Analogcabin @ 10:26 AM
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Tuesday, January 13, 2004
 

I don't care about the Scott Peterson case. Of course I think he did it. I'm not an idiot. But I really don't understand why I need to hear about it everyday. Except of course that an attractive honky gutting another attractive honky is more hand-wringingly delicious for the news than, say, the just plain sad trials of people poorer or darker.

That preface is provided so that you don't confuse my disgust over this for concern whether Scottie winds up strapped to a table, swabbed, and stuck.

Some background for those of your not playing the String Up Scott home game: A guy named Scott Peterson was banging some floozie much less attractive than his wife, even pregnant. Apparently he didn't think so, though, because he killed the missus and sunk her into a marina. Allegedly. So they're getting ready to put him on trial, but his lawyer wants to move the thing out of Peterson's hometown of Modesto.

Frankly, I don't blame him. I wouldn't want to work in Modesto, either.

But seriously, fuckers. There's obviously some absurdity to supposing that anywhere in California is less saturated by Peterson trial coverage than any other place, but like I said, this isn't about Peterson.

It's about the fact that the judge based his ruling on a study conducted by 65 undergraduates at The University of California's prestigious Stanislaus campus.

Apparently the court used a survey conducted and compiled by students of Professor Stephen Schoenthaler to determine whether more unbiased jurors could be found outside of the county than in it. Each student's participation accounted for 20% of their final grade, and required "dozens of lengthy long distance phone calls."

And in a development shocking to no one that ever took a lab psychology or statistics class in college, the crack reporters at The Modesto Bee cite anonymous student sources saying that a number of Schoenthaler's students falsified information on the surveys.

I don't know. Should I be more enraged that the courts consider a study conducted by undergraduates at some third tier California state school worthy of use in a capital murder trial, or that a university president and faculty member think enlisting the aid of 20-year-olds that couldn't get into Berkeley, UCLA, Santa Cruz, or Davis in a capital murder trial is a good idea?

And you wonder why they say you can't get a fair trial or a decent public education in California.

Analogcabin @ 12:32 PM
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I generally stay away from Britney news. This is not only because I like to think of myself being above interest in the mucky fracas her life is becoming, but also because there's nothing I could post here that wouldn't have been discussed ad obvsium at Whatevs, The Blueprint, and Peabsburg.

So news that Britney's tour will be called The Onyx Hotel did not pique my interest initially. Soon, though, I was piqued. Fully piqued. How could anyone, let alone weak-willed me, resist being piqued by the following Jive Records PR quote?

The Onyx Hotel is a vibrant, whimsical place where wondrous dreams are realized, and the darkest of secrets are revealed.

If anyone knows somebody at Jive, I'd love to talk to the person responsible for that line. "Vibrant," "whimsical," and "wondrous" all get used, and they're followed up by "the darkest of secrets." Not just "darkest secrets," "the darkest of secrets."

Somewhere in a luxuriously appointed office sits a highly paid public relations professional imagining a place where dark and terrible secrets are revealed. Not just dark secrets. Things like incest fantasies and murderous rage. The darkest of all secrets. And they are revealed with whimsy.

Analogcabin @ 10:09 AM
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Monday, January 12, 2004
 

It's hardly novel to be in favor of the legalization of marijuana, especially if you're a largely ignored blogger that spent Saturday afternoon stoned, watching the Tenacious D DVD and playing SOCOM online. But I won't let that stop me from taking a stand. I say legalize it. If not for me, for the cancer people and other sickies that would prefer smoking a jaybird to writhing in pain and having explosive diarrhea.

But as we of the largely laughable legalization contingent know, there are those in power, The Man, collectively, that insist on perpetuating the idea that Mr. Green ain't all that and a bag of Hostess Donettes. Like Dracula, The Man can appear in many forms. Here is one.

Though his name evokes images of a jackbooted member of the Third Reich, Arne Dietrich is the name of a so-called researcher who is suggesting that the euphoria following extended exercise, known as "runner's high," is similar to the euphoria following extended toking, known as "high." Seems logical, and it provides the first explanation of why those obsessive runners do it that I can relate to. What I find objectionable is that Arne suggests that his discovery "could provide sufferers of glaucoma and chronic diseases an alternative to using marijuana for pain control."

What's the matter, Grandma? You're weak from hunger because your chemotherapy is causing you to throw up any food you manage to fight past your swollen lymph nodes and down your gullet? I know the weed helped that, Gram, but research says there's something better. Why not take a nice, long run? Sure, it's not only winter here in Minneapolis, but it's the winter of your long life. And I know your rheumatoid arthritis, also easily relieved by a toke now and then, makes any real movement impossible, especially in the cold, but they say you only need to run hard for an hour or so. Sure, the glaucoma that causes your eyeballs to pound, also once treated by marijuana, makes your vision cloudy rendering running here in the city dangerous, but think of how great you'll feel when you're done? I love you, Grandma. On your mark, get set, go!

Analogcabin @ 7:55 AM
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Friday, January 09, 2004
 

Preferring New Hampshire to Vermont or vice versa seems a little silly to me, but maybe that's because I'm not a huge maple syrup guy. Vermont resident Steven Kelly, on the other hand, has a preference, and that preference is Vermont.

"I love having a Vermont address. I'm proud of it. It's a cool place to live," said Kelly in this CNN article. The piece didn't make clear whether Kelly intended the "cool place" comment to be a pun.

Nonetheless, Steven's preference is in jeopardy, as his home town of Killington is considering attempting secession to New Hampshire. Apparently the wealthy resort town is unhappy with its tax burden and feels as though it'd be better off as part of its sales and income tax free neighbor to the east. Or west. Whichever it is.

Trigger happy Vermont officials, presumably speaking on behalf of Howard Dean, baited Killington residents by saying that their secession has little chance of success "absent an armed insurrection." Killington rebels are expected to respond with violence, "until the blood of our oppressors in Montpelier flows like maple syrup and paints our famed hills red."

Analogcabin @ 9:39 AM
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Thursday, January 08, 2004
 

I can't say there was ever a time that I respected Madonna, but there was a time when I considered her attractive.

I was nine years old in 1984 when "Like a Virgin" came out. I don't think I was capable of real and sticky lust back then, but I recall being stirred by the song's video, nonetheless. The feelings were mysterious and guttural. I didn't know what they were, but I knew they weren't caused by the stalking lion or gondola. There was something about the still immaterial girl's wriggling and writhing. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I sure tried.

My attraction to Madonna continued until about 1992. I was a junior in high school and, unlike when I was nine, I was having sex quite regularly, thanks to a couple of generous classmates willing to overlook my acne. Also unlike when I was nine, there was no longer anything about Madonna that visually stimulated me. I'd begun to have a "type," and I guess gap-toothed bottle blondes weren't it. I'd also taken up the silly indie rock cross I still bear, so I found the idea of Madonna intellectually repulsive. In short, she shouldn't have given me a boner, but she still did.

"Erotica" and the Sex book ended that. Madonna wounded my psyche, and it wasn't until she finally showed me her boobs that I could heal.

Yesterday Madonna endorsed Wesley Clark on her website. The letter was laughable -- exactly the kind of overly dramatic and nonsensical crap you'd expect from the shell of a pop star. At one point she assures Americans that their greatest risk isn't Iraq or terrorism, it's "...a lack of honesty and a complete lack of consciousness." While I concur that a nation unconscious is certainly a recipe for disaster, I think it's safe to assume she meant conscience and was trying to sound smart by adding a syllable.

It's not that I think Clark is a bad choice. It's not that the letter repeatedly mentions her citizenship and concern for the future of her children's nation, despite her high profile status as Anglophilic ex-pat. It's not the cloying tone and thoughtlessness of the letter, and it's not that Madonna's current image will make the endorsement low-hanging fruit for Republican spin doctors.

It's that I resent her for giving me blueballs when I was nine and waiting eight years to relieve them.

Analogcabin @ 11:47 AM
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Wednesday, January 07, 2004
 

If there's one thing I've always said about Hillary Clinton, it's that her sense of humor is what makes her so sexy.

I wasn't at all surprised to hear about the hilarious quip she made at a fundraiser for Senate candidate Nancy Farmer. Shit, people -- when Hillary's involved in a fundraiser, you can bet she'll make it a fun-raiser. I mean, Mahatma Gandhi running a gas station in St. Louis? Hello? Where did that come from? Everybody knows he's the father of modern India, but it's so funny because Indians run lots of gas stations and convenience stores! Hillary, no you di'int!

But can't you just picture her sly grin and warm, sparkling eyes? I don't know about you, but with a firecracker like that at my side, there ain't no way I'd stray.

What I wouldn't give to be sandwiched between these two high-collared hotties. Aw, shit.
Two high-powered hotties sharing a laugh at the expense of some darkies.

Analogcabin @ 9:04 AM
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Tuesday, January 06, 2004
 

While I think that Al Gore ran an abyssmal campaign in the last election, the argument can be made that he can has the ear of enough Americans to win the popular vote. In that, I can see why his endorsement of Howard Dean matters somewhat.

It's a lot tougher for me to understand why I should care that Bill Bradley endorsed Deano. It's like Florida State supporting a USC claim on the championship -- it's nice to hear from a has been, but it doesn't change the fact that USC's getting fucked on the deal.

Analogcabin @ 7:17 AM
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If I felt as though people who spell the name Alicia with E's were trustworthy, I'd feel terrible for Elecia Battle. I don't, so it's not an issue. Still, I can think of only a couple of things worse than losing a lottery ticket worth $162 million, and all of them involve my urethra and Cholula brand hot sauce.

Analogcabin @ 7:03 AM
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Monday, January 05, 2004
 

'Ray... is that your penis in my popcorn sack?'
A Rare Glimpse into Geek Heaven

CNN reports that robotic explorer Spirit is beaming 3D images of Mars back to mission control. That means if Leonard Nimoy is declared Emperor of the Known Universe, then all signs of the Nerdpocalypse have been fulfilled.

Mars? Nevada? Only 3D glasses know for sure!
The Desolate, Featureless, Almost Two Dimensional Mars Landscape in 3D

Analogcabin @ 1:20 PM
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To say that my holidays have been eventful might be the understatement of 2004. By now I'm sure you've all heard about it, but for those living under rocks --

Pop Star Britney Spears Weds Web Phenom, Cocksman The Spoonbender

First off, let me just say that, no matter what you've read, heard, or suspect, Britney and I were not drunk on anything but our love. The only chemistry making us high was our unimaginable sexual chemistry. We were as cognizant of our actions as any young lovers reveling in unquenchable desire, and we undertook our vows without reservation.

While our marriage might have lasted only a few hours, our love remains. I hope it lasts for a long, long time. Some beautiful day we'll steal away, far from the celebrity that hounds us both. Maybe it will be tomorrow, maybe in three month's time. We'll go far enough that we'll be beyond the reach of her money-grubbing handlers with their Shylock looks and Zionist aims. When that glorious day comes, we'll return to the chapel and reunite under the eyes of God.

Until then, we have only our sexual passion to satisfy us. I know it will be hard, Brit, but rest assured -- it will be hard.

Analogcabin @ 7:32 AM
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