Tuesday, May 31, 2005
 

The truth is that the truth sucks.

There are those who will say something pompous and self-righteous like: Bull roar, Author of The Spoonbender! The truth is the least sucky thing there is, for it is the foundation of everything. It is that which we all seek, and it is that which will, to paraphrase someone, set us free. Maybe in saying that, you'd be right in some kind of abstract, philosophical way. But frankly, based on your track record, I doubt it.

In any case, that's not the truth I'm talking about. I'm talking actual, objective, verifiable truths. And the truth about those truths is that they're always disappointing. They take the wind out of your sails and they rain on your parade.

See? Just now. You realized I was right -- that what I said about the truth was the truth -- and it was disappointing, wasn't it? It was. I can see it in your eyes. But, for the sake of the others, let's continue, shall we? After all, no reason not to. The truth is that you've got nothing better to do.

Here's an example.

People have been speculating about the identity of Deep Throat for more than 30 years. His identity was one of the few real intrigues of our modern history, and the story captured the American imagination the way only a David and Goliath story can. The subject has been the focus of countless books and articles, the focus of a number of films, and the inspiration for at least one elegaic shanty by Gordon Lightfoot.

But when today we learned that Deep Throat was former FBI big wig W. Mark Felt, you could almost hear the nation's bored and resigned sigh. There goes another topic of conversation.

So, in the tradition of truths that are way less exciting than the alternative, I give you The Spoonbender's 9 Truths That Are Much Less Exciting Than The Alternative.

"Just under six inches."

"I took her back to her place, but I was nervous, so I decided to just head home."

"My parents loved me."

"Of course it's for oil, but we all know it'll come down to this eventually."

"I'm pretty sure I don't have any black ancestors."

"I asked if she ever tried it back there, but she seemed grossed out so I dropped it."

"I had work the next day, so I just kind of spread it around on the mirror and hoped they wouldn't notice."

"I walked in on them, but the guy was like 6'1" and pretty built, so I just left and cried for a while."

"Of course I don't like it on my face, but I need the money."

Analogcabin @ 4:29 PM
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Friday, May 27, 2005
 

While all my mates dauwn undah are up-in-arms over the conviction of Australian hairdresser Schapelle Corby and her subsequent sentencing to 20 years in a Balian prison, I haven't heard enough about about the case to come down on one side of the issue or the other.

On one hand, I find it really difficult to believe that anyone would smuggle nine pounds of pot into Bali. Isn't that like bringing sand to the beach? But on the other hand, look at her. The glassy, lidded, red eyes -- she's obviously stoned out of her fucking gourd.

In the end, like most of us, I'd rather err on the side of guilty. Let's be honest: What hairdresser do you know that couldn't use about 20 years in a third world prison?


Take another bong rip, Cheech.

Analogcabin @ 11:39 AM
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Thursday, May 26, 2005
 

There are many among us quick to claim that the media is little more than a radically liberal instrument of the global Jewry, but I am not one of them. While I will admit that the global Jewry stirs many, many pots with its slender, slimey fingers, I tend to believe that the American mainstream media is safely in the pocket of the much more reactionary military-industrial segment of the worldwide Masonic conspiracy.

That said, I find it difficult to explain why CNN.com would run a story about a poll that found that a "
majority may vote for Clinton," especially when the same poll found that 39% of respondants were "not likely at all" to vote for Hillary should she run, as opposed to only 29% who were "very likely." Granted, a much higher percentage of people said they were "somewhat likely" than "not very likely" -- 25% to 7% respectively -- but I tend to believe that has more to do with Americans' inherant open-mindedness than any actual intention to vote for a dame.

I mean, seriously. A woman President? If that day comes, the terrorists really will have won.


The Woman-Jewrian Candidate

Analogcabin @ 3:18 PM
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Wednesday, May 25, 2005
 

If Shaquille O'Neal's success behind the mic and in front of the camera is any indication, we're at the dawn of a wonderful day for internet sex predators.

luvem12_69: im totally into the oc 2! but are you really only 11?
shaqfu32: fo sho
luvem12_69: for some reason i find that hard 2 believe.. and youre a girl? ferreals?
shaqfu32: abstoluvely.
luvem12_69: i want some proof
shaqfu32: kazaam was my favorite movie
luvem12_69: good enuf. I"M LICKING YOUR ASS!! I"M LICKING YOUR ASS!!
shaqfu32: you under a rest



Shaquille O'Neal, above, teams with The Who's Pete Townshend to infiltrate internet sex rings next season on The WB's sitcom "The Kids Are Alright."

Analogcabin @ 3:29 PM
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Tuesday, May 24, 2005
 

Put on your thinking caps, adoring fans. It's time for another first ever edition of Professor The Spoonbender's Tough Word Problems Based on Really Pathetic News Stories! Answer in the comments, and please show all work. Ready? Let's have a mathtasm!

In South Africa a woman is killed every six hours by her boyfriend or husband, and only 40% of these sistacides leads to a conviction. Every how many hours then is a man convicted of killing his partner?

Analogcabin @ 8:50 AM
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When you hear about a woman who was arrested in California for driving a Toyota Corolla with nine people in it, including two children in the trunk, I know what pops into your head: Must be a Mexican.

Well, you're wrong. It's racist to assume that the only people who overload their crappy cars with passengers are Mexicans. The woman's name is Lavern Dunlap, and that's obviously a black name. A Mexican would be named something like Poncho Cruz or Maria Enchilada.

Analogcabin @ 8:42 AM
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Monday, May 23, 2005
 

It probably seems to many of you that I've been tough on scientists lately. Maybe even too tough. Well, you know what? Fuck you. I do it because I know scientists' potential and want to see that potential realized. If scientists becoming the scientists I think they can become means tears or that from time to time I'll be subjected to an "I hate you, Author of The Spoonbender!," followed by a stomping up the stairs and a slamming of the bedroom door, then I can live with that. The bad guy role isn't one I chose, but I'll play it.

So these scientists at the Lawrence Livermore Labs are currently working on creating the world's most powerful laser.

I know what you're thinking. Another of GWB's diabolical plans? Perhaps to plant popcorn in the home of the Ayatollah, and then to cook it from space, thereby accomplishing a dis "the likes of which God has never seen.

In a word, no. Apparently the primary purpose of building this laser is because it can be used to test our long-dormant nuclear arsenal. How? I have no fucking clue. Why? Because we stopped underground testing long ago, and I suppose we want some assurance that when we drop a few on Pyongyang they do more than give everyone a good fright.

Oh. And the laser will also be used to generate a fusion reaction in laboratory conditions.

I know what you're thinking. "Fusion Reaction?" Isn't that a record by Chick Corea? No, you fucking boob. A fusion reaction is when atoms are fused in a way the releases more energy than is required to initiate the reaction.

I don't think I need to explain to anyone who has seen The Saint the importance of this event, and yet these sonofabitching scientists seem to think that testing some nukes is a bigger deal. That's like inventing the automobile and saying it's an amazing place to get a blowjob. It might be true, but it's hardly the selling point.

And so I say to you, scientists, take a page from Elizabeth Shue's character's book in The Saint. When you explain fusion, say it like this: "Fusion is, like, totally important because it means, like, completely free energy for everyone." Then lean over a table and push your tits together.


High tech stuff, above, is required to build a big laser.

Analogcabin @ 3:12 PM
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Thursday, May 19, 2005
 

Scientists, always eager to baffle us with information that sounds impressive but has no real world application whatsoever, have decided that the earthquake behind last year's December 26 tsunami was the longest ever recorded.

Funny. That's what my doctor said after measuring my weintraub.

Hello!

But seriously, folks. Thousands of Sumatrans were killed in the tsunami leaving us without the cheap labor needed to pick and roast my favorite blend of coffee. The tsunami is no laughing matter.

It was so serious in fact that an international group of seismologists set aside their personal feuds to work together and study the event. It was a congregation the likes of which hasn't been seen since the opening of The Star Trek Experience at Las Vegas' Hilton Hotel and Geeksino.

Their conclusion: The quake released an amount of energy equal to a 100 gigaton bomb.

You heard me right. I said a gigaton.

The scientists also speculate that the quake displaced like a cajillion gallons of water, and that the wave generated moved outward in all directions at speeds reaching a bazillion miles per hour.


The Sumatra earthquake displaced a fucking cajillion gallons of water, shown above.

Analogcabin @ 12:06 PM
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Wednesday, May 18, 2005
 

The West Wing has done it again. No, I don't mean disappoint viewers with a surplus of lame replacement characters played by actors vaguely recognizable from two to three failed sitcoms per or by the dearth of ruminations on the unfortunate use of military force as an alternative to peace, love, and understanding delivered in a rapid fire, denture-whistling New England staccato and coupled with Kennedyesque gazes out over the fake rose garden. By "done it again" I mean that their "do we or don't we send the secret military space bomber to save the stranded astronauts" storyline was prescient of some real world brouhaha.

The President, Mr. Mission To Mars himself, is poised to approve a national security directive that will allow the Air Force to deploy space weapons. Apparently Bush was unhappy to have been overshadowed this week by another notably maniacal believer in unseen forces that direct the happenings of the universe -- Darth Vader.

Aside from the questions about the cost versus the effectiveness of a tie fighter in the war against our dust-colored brothers and their TNT-packed parkas, there's sure to be some more philosophical debate over whether or not space should be weaponized by us or anyone else.

For its part, the Air Force think it's an issue of equal access. "The focus of the process is not putting weapons in space," said Maj. Karen Finn, an Air Force spokeswoman. "The focus is having free access in space."

I don't know about you, but I agree with Major Finn. And I'd like to take a page from her book to set straight some misconceptions about me and my intentions.

It's not about racism. It's about free access to the term "beaner."

It's not about the Counting Crows, it's about the universality of the sentiments in "A Long December."

It's not about smoking marijuana. It's about free access to that "totally fucking stoned" feeling.

It's not about misogyny. It's about my fucking dinner, you bitch that took my life away from me.

It's not about fucking your ass. It's about free access to your ass. It just so happens that at the moment the thing that needs that access is my wiener.

Analogcabin @ 12:13 PM
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Tuesday, May 17, 2005
 

There's this researcher named Scott Lukas up in Boston. And there's this fast-growing vine found primarily in the southeastern US called kudzu. And then there's delicious, delicious beer.

So according to this article, Lukas decided to study the effects of kudzu on alcohol or alcohol on kudzu or whatever. How'd he choose those two things? That's what those scientists in Boston do for a living -- they pick two cards out of a Pictionary box and they study the impact of this on that and that on this until eventually they find out something worth 600 words in CNN's "News of the Weird" section.

Lukas' 600 words came after he published the results of his little study in a magazine called Alcoholism: Clinical and Experimental Research, which, incidentally, is published by the same folks that brought us Juggs: The World's Dirtiest Tit Mag. Anyway, the crux of his findings is that people who were given kudzu, presumably to ingest in caplet form and not in a chef's salad or to pot and set above the radiator, drank "an average of 1.8 beers per session, compared to 3.5 ... by those who took the placebo."

For those of you that ain't that good at maths without pencil and scrap, that's just over half as many beers per session.

I know what you're thinking. Half as many beers? Doesn't that mean half the chance of getting a half-hearted hand job while half-enthusiastically kissing a halfway decent-looking sophomore Pi Phi and half-listening to "Your Body is a Wonderland?"

No, and put on your thinking caps because this is where the science comes in. To paraphrase Lukas himself, Um, what?

Though he has no actual, like, proof, Lukas speculates that the kudzu increased the rate of alcohol absorption into the body, meaning that those subjects who took it felt the alcohol faster. "Rapid infusion of alcohol is satisfying them and taking away their desire for more drinks," Lukas said. "That's only a theory. It's the best we've got so far."

Though Lukas can't seem to figure out what to make of all this, CNN seems pretty eager to suggest that the findings might lead to a way to curb binge drinking.

Now, I don't know about you, but I never thought the problem with binge drinking was that it was creating an alcohol shortage. I was under the impression that the problem was the, like, drunkenness that accompanies the binge drinking. I'm not entirely sure how creating a pill or alcohol additive that reduces the number of drinks required to blackout and show a strange girl your balls would help that, but I'm certainly willing to examine the issue further.

That is to say, I've got the time and the balls if you've got the kudzu and beer.

Analogcabin @ 9:38 AM
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Monday, May 16, 2005
 

Teen's Body Hidden in Woman's Grave

When I first saw this headline, I thought to myself, Awesome! Then I paused to compose myself, considered the seriousness of the matter, composed myself further, and read on. Apparently a 17-year-old Illinois man was killed during an argument with a 26-year-old Arizona marijuana dealer. He had journeyed across country to buy a bit of Ye Olde Greene Tea at Arizona's cut rate prices with the intention of returning to Chicago to sell it at nice little markup. Unfortunately, the deal went sour.

The killer, red-eyed though he might have been, was canny enough to devise what might have been a fool-proof plan: to find a freshly dug grave, and to bury his victim in it along with the grave's rightful tenant. Ingenious, but with one major weakness -- it required that he not confess. But confession is was that landed the pot-smoking wildman in the clink.

According to the detective on the case, that confession thing was a major gaff. "Had this guy kept his mouth shut, we would've never, ever found out what happened to this victim," Detective Tony Morales said.

Morales went on to say that, "If anyone else out there plans on killing someone, they'd be well-served to try this out. I mean, not the confession part. That was a giveaway. But the burying thing. That was really smart, and even now that we know about it, I'll bet we couldn't figure it out again. Seriously."

Analogcabin @ 1:36 PM
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Friday, May 13, 2005
 

You know what they say about Laos: "There are a million reasons not to live in Laos."

Here's an example: Today there was news that scientists, those unstoppable bearers of eternally bad tidings, have discovered a new species of rodent there.

But you, contrarian fuck that you are, will say, What's so bad about living in a place where new species are uncovered even in these modern, knowitall times? It sounds like a delightful land of discovery to me! Well, dipshit, it's bad because the new rodent was discovered "...for sale on a table next to some vegetables."

So I guess if you like your rodent breakthroughs made next to your haricot vert, then, yes, Laos is a delightful land of discovery.


The Kha-nyou, above, is what's for dinner in Laos.

Analogcabin @ 4:27 PM
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Thursday, May 12, 2005
 

I've been thinking about Stacked for a while now, and I've decided that I'm ready to go on record.

I like it.

I came to the realization last night following the American Idol results show. Perhaps I was "high" on the patriotic triumph that was We The People pulling together to overcome whatever 10-year-old gay Ruskies had been buoying Anthony Federov. Or perhaps that "high" feeling was the marijuana. In any case, as Seacrest went out and the Stacked opening came on, I realized that I was excited; that I was actually eager to see what kind of shenanigans would ensue when an attractive, very buxom woman is put into a bookstore, of all places.

You want to know what kind of shenanigans ensued? The fairly humorous kind.

Granted, I've only seen two episodes so far, and not even all of those. But when it comes to television sitcoms, fairly humorous shenanigans are pretty fucking good. For example, I've seen at least one complete episode of America's best loved sitcom, Everybody Loves Raymond, and I can assure you that they don't.

I'm sure there are those of you who will say, Obviously you're being swayed by Pamela Anderson's unique look and figure, and perhaps by her choice of costume. Well, I can assure you that I am not, and quite frankly I'm offended by the suggestion. Sure, Pamela Anderson is an attractive woman, but an objective eye such as mine can't help but notice that she's getting a bit long in the tooth. Her body no longer has the soft curves of a young woman's -- it's hard, angular, and full of cartilage like Madonna's or Teri Hatcher's. And to be perfectly blunt, all those years of gobbling hair metal cock have left deep lines in her face that tell a story I'm not sure I want to hear.

No, my appreciation for Stacked is no mean appreciation.

To be completely honest, though, one thing about the show does disappoint me. I could have sworn that I saw That Thing You Do's Tom Everett Scott in the promos for the show. Now that I've seen about half each of two episodes, it's clear that he's not in it. Whether it was a fever dream or a subconscious stroke of casting genius, I'm now convinced he'd be much better in the up-tight brother role than the Wallace Langham lookalike they've got playing him now.

Analogcabin @ 9:16 AM
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Wednesday, May 11, 2005
 

France's version of the FCC, the CSA repremanded private TV operator Canal Plus for satirically portraying Pope Benny Deuce as a Nazi. Why this is news in America I'm not totally sure, but there it is.

The hilarity was crafted by the brains behind the hit show The News Clowns, which I gather is a cross between Crank Yankers and The Daily Show, except French and, therefore, stupid. Er. Anyway, there was an outcry from both France's Roman Catholic bishops, who don't really have much of a choice in the matter, and the CRIF, which is France's version of the ADL. I find the second one a little odd, given that Benny was, in fact, a Nazi, but what can you say. It's France, and rolling for Nazis is a tough habit to break.

Get it? Habit? That's the kind of Catholic comedy you can't find anywhere free these days.

Jokes about those effeminate Gauls aside, you've got to love CNN's choice of picture to couple with the story.


The weather? Looks like heil.

Analogcabin @ 1:30 PM
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The White House and Capitol were evacuated today after an unidentified aircraft entered restricted airspace over Washington DC. The President wasn't evacuated because he was on a bike ride at the time, proving to terrorists once again that, if you want to take out the leader of the free world, hit the various bike paths, parks, and barbecue pits in the greater Washington area.

Analogcabin @ 9:46 AM
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Tuesday, May 10, 2005
 

I'd imagine that a lot of bloggers will post about Tony Danza's go-karting mishap today. They'll probably make light of it, perhaps by implying that an accident of this type airing on his show is apropos, as the show itself is something of a car crash. From there they'll probably move into a lot of really unfair criticism of his singing voice, spastic goomba mannerisms, and acting.

Well, if you want to read that kind of thing, I'd suggest you go elsewhere. Because, in my book, a Tony Danza trapped in an upended go-kart is no laughing matter.

Tony Danza figures prominently in my psyche. He represents for me something essentially masculine. He is at once warmly paternal and irresistibly attractive to women. He is athletic and artistic, gracious, kind, strong, and sensitive. I've recently come to understand that all of my life I've aspired to be the man that I think Tony Danza is.

I've also come to understand something similar about Marilu Henner. For me, she is the quintessential woman. She is nuturing and kind, thougtful, non-judgmental, supportive, and outrageously sexy. And she walks with the kind of weightless bounce that not only makes you believe that being with her would relieve you of life's many burdens, but that also accentuates her fantastic breasts. She is the feminine ideal I've looked for in the eyes, arms, and thighs or countless women, aged 13 to 32, from the hallowed halls of our nation's capitol to the dirty back alleys of Bankok's red light district.

These realizations are a little frightening to me because I was a very young boy when the two appeared together on the hit sitcom "Taxi," and I'm now certain that the show was the single biggest factor in making me the man I've become.

I'd like to think I'm a little Tony Danza, and I'll admit to being a bit of Danny DeVito. But in the end, I'm most like Judd Hirsch, caught in the middle while DeVito and Danza battle for what Platoon's Rhah called "possession of my soul."

Analogcabin @ 9:35 AM
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Monday, May 09, 2005
 

So suppose you're in prison. No, not the metaphorical prison that is your hollow and ultimately meaningless life. I mean an actual, bars-on-the-windows, ignominous-delousing-and-cavity-searching prison with inmates and guards and razor wire. And no, I don't know why you're in there. Let's say it's for smuggling... maybe endangered lemurs packed full of cocaine and wrapped in old copies of Preteen Whackers Illustrated.

Now, suppose that the conditions in the prison are bad enough and the management so unresponsive that you feel like your best course of action is to covertly rally your unreliable fellows and risk life, limb, and further punishment to take a guard hostage with the intention of holding him until your demands have been met.

You'd expect that these conditions would be bad, indeed. Maybe there's urine and feces in a bucket in the corner, or your sleeping mat is filled with old action figures, or the sound of a garbage truck backing up is piped into your cell at random intervals throughout the evening.

Were you in this situation, would you release your hostage in return for 15 pizzas? Wouldn't the implication -- that the inhumane conditions you were protesting could be successfully addressed with approximately $100 worth of junk food -- trivialize future concerns you might raise?

My point here? Prisoners suck at negotiating stuff.

Analogcabin @ 10:57 AM
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Friday, May 06, 2005
 

The army demoted Janis Karpinski from Brig. General to Colonel as a result of her stewardship of the Abu Ghraib prison.

This is what she looks like:

Analogcabin @ 10:33 AM
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I'm worried about today's youngsters, and it's not for the reason you might think -- that rap music is turning them all into fucking wiggers. No, I'm worried about them because time and time again they've proven that they're easily the stupidest youngsters in the history of our nation.

I know what you're thinking. Surely youngsters are no stupider today than they were, say, in the 1970's? And if they are, it can't be all that much stupider. Unfortunately for you, I disagree, so prepare to be persuaded.

Take this story as an example. It details the recent introduction of a marijuana-flavored lollipop called Chronic Candy, and the sale of said to today's youngsters.

In the 1970's, children frequently smoked marijuana. Some said this was a reaction to the general malaise felt by the country during the waning years of the Vietnam War. Others attribute it to a loosening of moral standards following the excesses of the late '60's. No matter the reason, they used marijuana because they wanted to feel euphoric, relaxed, and generally delightful.

Some speculate that the nation is in the throes of a similar malaise today. There are certainly parallels -- we're involved in an occupational war that appears to be without end, energy prices are rising, and the economy is languishing. And yet the reaction of today's youngsters is to eat a marijuana-flavored lollipop.

Analogcabin @ 10:27 AM
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Thursday, May 05, 2005
 

I'll admit that it's been a while since I was a child, though I'd like to believe that I've retained not only a youthful appearance but also a childlike sense of wonderment with the world. Lord knows I've maintained the affinity for peeping I developed as a boy. From time to time, however, I feel as though I can't relate to today's children at all. At all.

Upon waking this morning and following my daily excercize routine of 30 minutes of Tai Chi, 30 minutes of bikram yoga, 300 knuckle pushups, 500 abdominal crunches, and a merciless buggering of my Fleshlight, "Trudy," I tuned in CNN. Like I'd imagine many of you were, I was alarmed to be met with a "Multiple Explosions in New York" banner. We live in an age of tyranny, after all, and also Gina Gershon lives in New York. Losing her prior to our long-fated meeting and my loveless and rigorous rogering of her saucy, saucy mouth would be too much for me to bear.

Thankfully, no one was hurt, and especially not Gina (you will always be 'Gina to me, my sweet.) Also thankfully, the assault was upon the consulate of that great outpost of maleficence that is Great (Ha!) Britain. My relief quickly dissolved into limeade, and that into shock upon learning that the "improvised explosive device" was made from "novelty-type grenades."

Normally one associates "novelty" items with children. To wit, novelty dog shit, an example being that which is manufactured by the Adams Corporation, is most often purchased and put to use as decoy by children. No manner of meddling, however, would make this novelty dog shit actual dog shit.

Sometimes adult toys are also referred to as novelty items. For example, long ago I regaled you with the tale of my encounter with The Fister. For those of you who don't recall the details of that fabulous yarn, The Fister is a life-sized, latex novelty arm up to the elbow. Although not made explicit on the packaging, the novelty of The Fister is that it is intended to be shoved into your ass. Thankfully, my encounter was across the counter of a novelty pipe and adult item store, and The Fister was at safe distance and encased in packaging. And here again, regardless of its rather menacing purpose, no amount of modification would make The Fister a suitable replacement for an actual arm.

In both of my examples, the novelty items are, indeed, for novelty purposes only. And yet somehow these rapscallions were able to make actual grenades from these novelty grenades.

I leave you with this question, rhetorical though it may be: Does an item lose its novelty when it becomes the thing itself and, if so, should we be selling novelty weapons that are a little black powder away from "fire in the hole?"


Novelty dog shit, above, is intended to be confused for actual dog shit, although it is not and cannot be easily tranformed into actual dog shit.

Analogcabin @ 11:54 AM
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Wednesday, May 04, 2005
 



When you look like this, you don't need bombs to terrorize people.

Analogcabin @ 9:23 AM
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Tuesday, May 03, 2005
 

There are almost as many reasons to visit The Spoonbender as there are people that visit. I'm talking about tens of reasons. For example, some people want to know, as have many recently visited Googlers, whether American Idol's Scott Savol is an African American or an American. Others hope to find an example of the proper usage of the racial slur "fandango." Some visitors to The Spoonbender would like to see a nude photo of Marilu Henner, and others want to become emotionally involved in a blog fight over which 25-year-old girl in Brooklyn is fattest and whether she's neglected her moral responsibility as a high-profile blogger. And still others come because they'd like to know how to organize their iTunes library correctly. As you, regular readers all, know, I've covered all but one of these topics recently. Today, I will take on the remaining.

And so it is that I present to you, this: The Spoonbender's Guide to the Organization of an iTunes Library.

Though I am a great fan of Apple's iTunes software, I discovered a few major shortcomings while undertaking what was a task of great magnitude -- importing my library of CD's into said. The below is primarily a discussion of how I addressed these shortcomings. It should be noted, however, that I have what I think is a relatively large collection of CD's -- about 600 -- and that I am rather particular when it comes to the organization of this collection. Some knowledge of my organizational preferences will inform your understanding of the iTunes choices I made, and so I have provided that background here.

First, I believe that the proper organization of a CD collection must be primarily alphabetical, secondarily by date. There are those who would argue that a collection should be organized by genre, then alphabetically, and then by date, but these people are stupid. The genre system is a slippery slope. Where is John Zorn filed? And what of Frank Zappa? Should Spain's second record be in country and the first in jazz? The unsatisfactory answers to these questions lead to one conclusion: Genre is for suckers.

Second, I believe that solo artists should be filed by last name. Exceptions are few, but they do exist. For example, fake names, such as Jethro Tull or Cat Power, should be filed by first name. In the rare case of an artist such as Will Oldham, who records under the various Palace monikers, Bonnie "Prince" Billy, and his own name, all records should be filed under O for Oldham. Within that section they should be organized chronologically. Records on which Oldham is featured, such as The Anomoanon or Superwolf, such be filed as though they were any other band.

Third, I believe that motion picture soundtracks should be organized by movie name. Exceptions are made when the entire soundtrack is authored by a single artist, such as in the cases of Badly Drawn Boy's work on "About A Boy" or Toto's score to the film version of "Dune."

Let us now return to our discussion of iTunes. When importing your collection, you must be aware of some things. First of these is that iTunes searches for the name and track listing of your CD on some online database. This database consists of user generated content and, therefore, it is unreliable. Be ever vigilant for misspelled track names.

Now, about 90% of the time this database lists solo artists first name first. In order to accomplish proper organization, it's necessary to rename all of a solo artist's imported tracks in the follow format:

Lightfoot, Gordon

Please note that exceptions should be made when dealing with the likes of Cat Power. In the case of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, you should rename as follows:

Cave, Nick (and the Bad Seeds)

This prevents separation of works by artists like Elvis Costello who recorded albums with and without named backing bands such as the Attractions.

Another naming conundrum is presented by soundtracks. In all cases, the album name should appear as follows:

"Pretty in Pink" Soundtrack

This insures that, when sorted by album name, all soundtracks appear together (alphabetized by ").

Finally, after you've imported your collection you will find that you have a number of duplicate songs. To find these, use iTunes "Show Duplicate Songs" command -- a very handy tool. Economy and good sense dictate you remove these. In this situation, you must respect the primacy of the album. So, if you have Alice in Chains' "Would?" on both Dirt and the "Singles" Soundtrack, delete the version from the soundtrack. The same rule applies to greatest hits collections, singles, and EP's. Whenever possible, attribute songs on any collection to the album on which they first appeared. That is, Jim Croce's "Operator" should be attributed to Don't Mess Around with Jim rather than whatever greatest hits collection you might have imported it off of.

Now that you've properly named your music, it's time to get the album artwork. I suggest MPFreaker. It allows you to select your entire library, hit go, and return in some time to an iTunes library complete with artwork. Some of you may also have music trapped on your iPod. For this, I highly recommend Senuti. It will copy all music and any playlists you might want to save from your iPod on to your Mac.

It's that simple. I welcome your questions and suggestions, though both will likely be ignored.

Analogcabin @ 10:21 AM
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Monday, May 02, 2005
 

In my life, I've lived in a number of different parts of the country -- gentrified rural Ohio, the Rust Belt, the Hog Butcher to the World, and the City of Angels' fabulous Boyle Heights district. This is not horn-tooting, as I recognize that all it takes to move around is a pulse, the desire to dodge a warrant, or the inability to hold a job. It's simply meant to convince you that I speak with authority.

Today I live in Northern California, and during my time here I've noticed a number of ways in which the people of this region differ from those found elsewhere. For example, in Northern California many people strongly identify themselves as Liberals. Somewhat incongruously, they're also extremely unfriendly and very racist toward Hispanics. It's not an overt, "Hey, you, wetback!" kind of racism. It's the kind in which they don't even acknowledge as human any member of the largely Mexican service class.

To be fair, I'd say this is also the case in Los Angeles, though not in Boyle Heights, specifically, because there are no white people in Boyle Heights. Also, I say "incongruously" not because I think all Conservatives are racist, but because those who are tend to be pretty open about it. Which, I think, is better.

Back to Northern California. People here also tend to think of themselves as environmentalists, and yet I've found that per capita car ownership here is higher than anywhere else I've lived. For example, a family of five -- three children, none older than 7 -- lives next door to me. They own five cars -- a newish Toyota pickup, an old Datsun pickup, a Miata, an Isuzu SUV, and a Porsche. Across the street lives a family of four. They have two children, aged about 16 and 18, and they own two Ford pickups, an old Bronco, a Toyota pickup, a Suburban, and an RV.

I find these two things to be irritating, but only mildly, especially when compared to the third thing I've noticed. This is that Northern Californians love to ride bicycles. This would be fine in and of itself, except that here it is accompanied by two highly obnoxious traits. The first is that Northern Californians on bicycles claim right of way in all situations. They don't, however, respect any of the generally accepted rules of the road. I'm talking about things like stopping at stop signs or red lights, signaling turns, or avoiding crossing into oncoming traffic whenever possible. If a driver should dare do something like pass a bicyclist or, God forbid, honk at one who is attempting to pass a right-turning car on the right, he or she will be subjected to a litany of profanities only imagined by the most unsavory of minds. This sense of entitlement is made even more annoying and absurd by the fact that even the most obviously novice and out of shape biker here feels compelled to outfit himself like Greg Fucking LeMonde. I'm talking about the spandex pants, little shoes, helmet, and racing shirt.

In any other part of the country or, I'd speculate, the world, being an overweight 38-year-old venture capitalist in spandex pants who yells at drivers about passing too close will get you laughed heartily, if not beaten to death with jumper cables. No here in Northern California.

It is with this perspective that I read this story about a 57-year-old man who died of a heart attack after riding across the country on his bike. At age 39 he'd had a quadruple-bypass, and his wife attributed the following 18 years to health earned by bicycling.

I choose to think that it was bicycling that took him from her at age 57, and that she should have known as much would happen to a grown man who wore spandex pants.


Nice pants, tubby.

Analogcabin @ 3:27 PM
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