Wednesday, October 22, 2003
From: Mom
To: Pat
Subject: yo momma (and dad) love you
Hi Pat,
Just a little love note to let you know how much Dad and I love you and how proud we are of you. I'm sorry you are going through a tough time, but like the tough times before in G-ville, I'm sure you'll get through it. Know that I'm praying for you.
Dad and Paul are going to Springfield today for a case so they will be staying at Hotel [Kerry's place]. Michael is the concierge--watch out.
Will talk to you soon. Hang in there and know that your efforts will pay off, and that there is lots of good will coming your way. HUG HUG HUG Love, Mom
Aren't moms great? They know when you've got a lot of tests or what-have-you going on, and know exactly when to do mom things like this.
From: Grant
To: Missourian editors
Subject: Monday sports night note
Done at 12:38. Smooth night for the most part. Stephen Greenfield had a good shift and set a good pace with copy flow. Spent a few extra minutes fixing some bumped heds on his 4B which bumped us past deadline. More good desk work from Tim Ryan and Holly Wray. My postdeadline discussion w/ Patrick on Chicago greasy spoons and Mike Royko went on a bit long. I told him he needs to try a Maxwell Street Polish and read The Boss.
I have never had more fun putting off writing a paper than I had talking with Grant about the Cubs, Chicago papers and Bucktown's seedier taco joints and hotdog huts. And when the conversation lasts till 2, makes you want to live in Chicago ASAP and allows you to put off working on 390, then hell, you're golden.
From: Hazard To Ya Booty
To: Pat
Subject: website
Patrick,
If you could send me a link to a website that
you've done or had something to do with, we are
thinking about finding someone else to do our site.
Thanks dude.
Dave Bush
Hazard To Ya Booty
Okay, this I will have to explain. I was at Lakota with Emily Compton about a month ago when Dave of Hazard To Ya Booty sat down near us. Turns out he and Emily are friends, and I used the opportunity to tell him I'm a big fan of the band. He says he appreciates and then says his friend is slacking in terms of maintaining the Web site. A light goes off in Emily's head and she tells him that I am a Digmo TA. Dave is impressed by this and tells me to give him my e-mail address in case they should ever be in a pinch. I'm guessing they found themselves in that pinch.
"It's my own desire
It's my own reward
Help me to decide
Help me make the most of freedom
And our pleasure
Nothing ever lasts forever..."
-Tears For Fears, "Everybody Wants to Rule the World"
"I made a fire and watching burn
Thought of your future
With one foot in the past now just how long will it last
No no no have you no ambition
My mother and my brothers used to breathe in clean in air
And dreaming I'm a doctor
It's hard to be a man when there's a gun in your hand..."
-Tears For Fears, "Head Over Heels"
"All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
And their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tommorow, no tommorow..."
-Tears For Fears, "Mad World"
"You can't fight the fear you can't, this is the road you're on
You don't belong to me you don't belong to any one
Your reputation lies not in your eyes, but those who dare
Will bite the hand that feeds when it don't meet your needs When you got blood to bleed, you got a life to lead..."
-Tears For Fears, "Cold"
This is some of the best news I have seen in quite a while.
Curt and Roland have aged horribly -- they look like they've seen better days -- but lets hope the music is still good.
And if it is coming out this upcoming Spring, chances are they will want to tour, and where better to begin a tour than in their native country of, oh, I don't know... uh, ENGLAND.
Rule this world, bitches!
And while we're speaking of Tears for Fears and great 80s new wave, this is the perfect time to lead into a random but everso compulsory "Donnie Darko" quote. Hope you all enjoy, because it's the shit.
Friend #1: We gotta find ourselves a Smurfette.
Friend #2: Smurfette?
Friend #1: Mmhmm. Not a tight-ass Middlesex chick. Like this cute little blond who will get down and dirty with the guys, like Smurfette does.
Friend #2: Smurfette doesn't fuck!
Friend #1: Thats bullshit, Smurfette fucks all the other Smurfs. Why else do you think Papa Smurf made her? Cuz all the other smurfs were getting too horny!
Friend #2: No, not Vanity. I heard he was a homosexual.
Friend #1: Okay, well, you know what she fucks them while Vanity watches!
Friend #2: But what about Papa Smurf, he must get in on some of the action.
Friend #1: Yeah, you know what he does, he films the gangbang and later on he beats off to the tape!
Donnie: First of all, Papa Smurf didn't create Smurfette; Gargamel did. She was sent in as Gargamel's evil spy with the intention of destroying a Smurf village. But the overwhemlming goodness of the Smurf way of life transformed her. As for the whole gangbang scene, it just couldn't happen. Smurfs are asexual; they don't even have reproductive organs under thoes little white pants! That's whats so illogical about being a Smurf--you know, what's the point of living if you don't have a dick?
To: Pat
Subject: yo momma (and dad) love you
Hi Pat,
Just a little love note to let you know how much Dad and I love you and how proud we are of you. I'm sorry you are going through a tough time, but like the tough times before in G-ville, I'm sure you'll get through it. Know that I'm praying for you.
Dad and Paul are going to Springfield today for a case so they will be staying at Hotel [Kerry's place]. Michael is the concierge--watch out.
Will talk to you soon. Hang in there and know that your efforts will pay off, and that there is lots of good will coming your way. HUG HUG HUG Love, Mom
Aren't moms great? They know when you've got a lot of tests or what-have-you going on, and know exactly when to do mom things like this.
From: Grant
To: Missourian editors
Subject: Monday sports night note
Done at 12:38. Smooth night for the most part. Stephen Greenfield had a good shift and set a good pace with copy flow. Spent a few extra minutes fixing some bumped heds on his 4B which bumped us past deadline. More good desk work from Tim Ryan and Holly Wray. My postdeadline discussion w/ Patrick on Chicago greasy spoons and Mike Royko went on a bit long. I told him he needs to try a Maxwell Street Polish and read The Boss.
I have never had more fun putting off writing a paper than I had talking with Grant about the Cubs, Chicago papers and Bucktown's seedier taco joints and hotdog huts. And when the conversation lasts till 2, makes you want to live in Chicago ASAP and allows you to put off working on 390, then hell, you're golden.
From: Hazard To Ya Booty
To: Pat
Subject: website
Patrick,
If you could send me a link to a website that
you've done or had something to do with, we are
thinking about finding someone else to do our site.
Thanks dude.
Dave Bush
Hazard To Ya Booty
Okay, this I will have to explain. I was at Lakota with Emily Compton about a month ago when Dave of Hazard To Ya Booty sat down near us. Turns out he and Emily are friends, and I used the opportunity to tell him I'm a big fan of the band. He says he appreciates and then says his friend is slacking in terms of maintaining the Web site. A light goes off in Emily's head and she tells him that I am a Digmo TA. Dave is impressed by this and tells me to give him my e-mail address in case they should ever be in a pinch. I'm guessing they found themselves in that pinch.
It's my own reward
Help me to decide
Help me make the most of freedom
And our pleasure
Nothing ever lasts forever..."
-Tears For Fears, "Everybody Wants to Rule the World"
"I made a fire and watching burn
Thought of your future
With one foot in the past now just how long will it last
No no no have you no ambition
My mother and my brothers used to breathe in clean in air
And dreaming I'm a doctor
It's hard to be a man when there's a gun in your hand..."
-Tears For Fears, "Head Over Heels"
"All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
And their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tommorow, no tommorow..."
-Tears For Fears, "Mad World"
"You can't fight the fear you can't, this is the road you're on
You don't belong to me you don't belong to any one
Your reputation lies not in your eyes, but those who dare
Will bite the hand that feeds when it don't meet your needs When you got blood to bleed, you got a life to lead..."
-Tears For Fears, "Cold"
This is some of the best news I have seen in quite a while.
Curt and Roland have aged horribly -- they look like they've seen better days -- but lets hope the music is still good.
And if it is coming out this upcoming Spring, chances are they will want to tour, and where better to begin a tour than in their native country of, oh, I don't know... uh, ENGLAND.
Rule this world, bitches!
And while we're speaking of Tears for Fears and great 80s new wave, this is the perfect time to lead into a random but everso compulsory "Donnie Darko" quote. Hope you all enjoy, because it's the shit.
Friend #1: We gotta find ourselves a Smurfette.
Friend #2: Smurfette?
Friend #1: Mmhmm. Not a tight-ass Middlesex chick. Like this cute little blond who will get down and dirty with the guys, like Smurfette does.
Friend #2: Smurfette doesn't fuck!
Friend #1: Thats bullshit, Smurfette fucks all the other Smurfs. Why else do you think Papa Smurf made her? Cuz all the other smurfs were getting too horny!
Friend #2: No, not Vanity. I heard he was a homosexual.
Friend #1: Okay, well, you know what she fucks them while Vanity watches!
Friend #2: But what about Papa Smurf, he must get in on some of the action.
Friend #1: Yeah, you know what he does, he films the gangbang and later on he beats off to the tape!
Donnie: First of all, Papa Smurf didn't create Smurfette; Gargamel did. She was sent in as Gargamel's evil spy with the intention of destroying a Smurf village. But the overwhemlming goodness of the Smurf way of life transformed her. As for the whole gangbang scene, it just couldn't happen. Smurfs are asexual; they don't even have reproductive organs under thoes little white pants! That's whats so illogical about being a Smurf--you know, what's the point of living if you don't have a dick?
Thursday, October 16, 2003
I'm at the sports desk tonight, waiting for things to do, but in the meantime, it's time to post.
I may be in a goofy house, I may not be able to watch "Will and Grace" (ever), but at least I get my blog. Boo-yah.
The Notorious F.I.G.
A recent blog post by a member of the other FIG had this excerpt:
Jamie talked to Dean Brooks (no not me, silly) who told her that she'd be part of the J-Scholars program and could participate in that FIG (FIG 59, what-what!). So I showed her Mark Twain where she'd live. She thought it was the coolest dorm ever and was ready to move in immediately. I tried not to laugh too hard. Mark Twain, tut-tut. We all know the hard-core J-Scholars were when the FIG was housed in McDavid.
In response to that, another blogger from the other dorm's FIG system wrote the following:
yes, and the hardest hard-core J-Scholars resided on the third floor. Highest GPA floor on campus! Was Mark Twain blessed with the holy water of Jim Lehrer? I think not.
That FIG being exhalted had:
*Two people engaged
*Three people from Texas
*One girl from Minnesota
*At least two people from Wisconsin
*Four people who have since left MU
*Four people who have abandoned journalism
*At least two people who don't meet the minimal height requirements
*Six people from the South
*At least three people in advertising
*Three people in broadcast
*Two Redwings fans
And this is a proud group?!?
Whereas FIG 60 has/had:
*Two people now married
*Four people who have since left MU
*One of those people graduated -- a year early
*Five people who have left journalism
*Only two in broadcast
*Only two in advertising
*The B-double-O-T-Y
*One gay man
*One lesbian
*A guy with connections to "Clinton Fuckin' Iowa," one of the only cities in the country to have a middle name
*A bunch of groceries smashed to shit on Fifth Street
*Erin White and Kristen H. as Community Advisors
*A ball pit
*A pool
*A rockin' Chewbacca impersonator
*A girl who had been the subject of a Wesley Willis song
Take that, Fig 59.
You might not have had ambulance visits and Dixie Chick lyrics or any of that stuff, nor did you have a girl dump a guy for God, nor did you have to go through the "unwrap me" story, but man, oh, man, did we have fun.
And we lived with Naked Kenny and half-naked, pseudo-quasi-Mormon, fully erect, back-hair-having 5.75 military Steve. And there was Scuba Steve, and the ever so fun Rachel Ellen.
What did y'all have?
"Well, more or less, per se..." and indie girls who talked about Belle and Sebastian and Modest Mouse! How whack is dat?!?!?!?!
Either way, though, as this link will show you -- God hates figs.
And speaking of FIGS and figs, my fig-sized FIG leader alerted me to a certain something on the Mizzou-Mafia Listserv.
"If you're so special, then why aren't you dead?"
-The Breeders, "I Just Wanna Get Along"
The Mizzou Mafia has a listserv on which MU J-school alums (and some current students) can trade comments, insights, secrets and what-have-you on journalism jobs, practices and some downright zany shit.
On Wednesday, the main topic going on through said listserv was the topic of the schmuck in Chicago who threw his hand out to get the ball and has thus earned the ire of a whole city.
Well, one J-school alum posted an additional message to her e-mail:
P.S. As one on the j-school "thresholds' - graduated before the mark of your doom (2000) - I am embarrassed to ANYONE who graduated before me. The recent graduates who like to speak up with their "perspective" might like to step BACK and listen (not to the JUST issue at hand) but to the few experienced people who actually participate on our list serve and make it what it is - a relevant, educated, experienced network. I am not experience. If you graduated in May 2002 - you ARE NOT EXPIERENCED - in anything!
No offense - actually, I don't care - take offense - after you actually work for a couple of years, you might actually appreciate the opinion of a Mizzou veteran - after all - isn't that what journalism is about? Opinions and giving/listening to a voice?
If you are 22 - trust me - I don't need your condemnation/approval. I'm stilling paying my dues - and I'm paying my rent and about to pay $38K for grad school. Pay yours, work for a paycheck and THEN write back.
If you are older, please don't ignore the rest of us, who tune out the same emails you do - I would like a network of PROFESSIONALS - not a network of psuedo-intellectual kids.
Write back as you will.
But all your "academia" and knowledge is not your own - YET - work for it!
What a bitch.
Thankfully, my lovely fig-sized FIG leader had the courage to send this in response:
You don't have to be a grizzled journalist to have a valid opinion on a subject. Yes, some of us on this list might not have much real world experience. But the postings I've read on this ethical question don't smack of experience. Without the telltale "BJ (year)" after the names, it's sometimes hard to tell the difference between the "professionals" and the "pseudo-intellectual kids" on the list, especially about a subject that the whole country, not just this listserv, is talking about. We are perfectly capable of weighing the arguments about whether to publish a fan's name and forming an opinion. And your claim that you are embarrassed in front of people who graduated in front of you? You must not be very confident of your abilities if you feel such embarrassment. Myself, I feel proud to be a recent graduate. Although I have limited experience, I also have fresh ideas that might not occur to those who graduated years or decades ago. I am not embarrassed in front of any Mizzou alum, because I know that being born in 1981 isn't some kind of deformity to be ashamed of. I'm sorry that you seem to have such a complex about elders always being superior. I'm also sorry that you wrote such a scathing and petty e-mail to a list of colleagues and potential employers. Your words, rather than illuminate the inexperience of us "kids," only serve to show your immaturity, which I'm sure will not carry you far in this world. I wish you well in your future endeavors.
You go, girl.
And to the girl who wrote the first part -- get over yourself. It's my thought that this chick is bitter because she has a shitty job, or she got dumped, or her parents didn't love her enough, or all of the above. This chick is so distasteful, she even had Lisa Rummler upset. Lisa called this chick a "ho-bag," and well, if you know Lisa.... daaaaaaaaaaaamn!
I may be in a goofy house, I may not be able to watch "Will and Grace" (ever), but at least I get my blog. Boo-yah.
A recent blog post by a member of the other FIG had this excerpt:
Jamie talked to Dean Brooks (no not me, silly) who told her that she'd be part of the J-Scholars program and could participate in that FIG (FIG 59, what-what!). So I showed her Mark Twain where she'd live. She thought it was the coolest dorm ever and was ready to move in immediately. I tried not to laugh too hard. Mark Twain, tut-tut. We all know the hard-core J-Scholars were when the FIG was housed in McDavid.
In response to that, another blogger from the other dorm's FIG system wrote the following:
yes, and the hardest hard-core J-Scholars resided on the third floor. Highest GPA floor on campus! Was Mark Twain blessed with the holy water of Jim Lehrer? I think not.
That FIG being exhalted had:
*Two people engaged
*Three people from Texas
*One girl from Minnesota
*At least two people from Wisconsin
*Four people who have since left MU
*Four people who have abandoned journalism
*At least two people who don't meet the minimal height requirements
*Six people from the South
*At least three people in advertising
*Three people in broadcast
*Two Redwings fans
And this is a proud group?!?
Whereas FIG 60 has/had:
*Two people now married
*Four people who have since left MU
*One of those people graduated -- a year early
*Five people who have left journalism
*Only two in broadcast
*Only two in advertising
*The B-double-O-T-Y
*One gay man
*One lesbian
*A guy with connections to "Clinton Fuckin' Iowa," one of the only cities in the country to have a middle name
*A bunch of groceries smashed to shit on Fifth Street
*Erin White and Kristen H. as Community Advisors
*A ball pit
*A pool
*A rockin' Chewbacca impersonator
*A girl who had been the subject of a Wesley Willis song
Take that, Fig 59.
You might not have had ambulance visits and Dixie Chick lyrics or any of that stuff, nor did you have a girl dump a guy for God, nor did you have to go through the "unwrap me" story, but man, oh, man, did we have fun.
And we lived with Naked Kenny and half-naked, pseudo-quasi-Mormon, fully erect, back-hair-having 5.75 military Steve. And there was Scuba Steve, and the ever so fun Rachel Ellen.
What did y'all have?
"Well, more or less, per se..." and indie girls who talked about Belle and Sebastian and Modest Mouse! How whack is dat?!?!?!?!
Either way, though, as this link will show you -- God hates figs.
And speaking of FIGS and figs, my fig-sized FIG leader alerted me to a certain something on the Mizzou-Mafia Listserv.
-The Breeders, "I Just Wanna Get Along"
The Mizzou Mafia has a listserv on which MU J-school alums (and some current students) can trade comments, insights, secrets and what-have-you on journalism jobs, practices and some downright zany shit.
On Wednesday, the main topic going on through said listserv was the topic of the schmuck in Chicago who threw his hand out to get the ball and has thus earned the ire of a whole city.
Well, one J-school alum posted an additional message to her e-mail:
P.S. As one on the j-school "thresholds' - graduated before the mark of your doom (2000) - I am embarrassed to ANYONE who graduated before me. The recent graduates who like to speak up with their "perspective" might like to step BACK and listen (not to the JUST issue at hand) but to the few experienced people who actually participate on our list serve and make it what it is - a relevant, educated, experienced network. I am not experience. If you graduated in May 2002 - you ARE NOT EXPIERENCED - in anything!
No offense - actually, I don't care - take offense - after you actually work for a couple of years, you might actually appreciate the opinion of a Mizzou veteran - after all - isn't that what journalism is about? Opinions and giving/listening to a voice?
If you are 22 - trust me - I don't need your condemnation/approval. I'm stilling paying my dues - and I'm paying my rent and about to pay $38K for grad school. Pay yours, work for a paycheck and THEN write back.
If you are older, please don't ignore the rest of us, who tune out the same emails you do - I would like a network of PROFESSIONALS - not a network of psuedo-intellectual kids.
Write back as you will.
But all your "academia" and knowledge is not your own - YET - work for it!
What a bitch.
Thankfully, my lovely fig-sized FIG leader had the courage to send this in response:
You don't have to be a grizzled journalist to have a valid opinion on a subject. Yes, some of us on this list might not have much real world experience. But the postings I've read on this ethical question don't smack of experience. Without the telltale "BJ (year)" after the names, it's sometimes hard to tell the difference between the "professionals" and the "pseudo-intellectual kids" on the list, especially about a subject that the whole country, not just this listserv, is talking about. We are perfectly capable of weighing the arguments about whether to publish a fan's name and forming an opinion. And your claim that you are embarrassed in front of people who graduated in front of you? You must not be very confident of your abilities if you feel such embarrassment. Myself, I feel proud to be a recent graduate. Although I have limited experience, I also have fresh ideas that might not occur to those who graduated years or decades ago. I am not embarrassed in front of any Mizzou alum, because I know that being born in 1981 isn't some kind of deformity to be ashamed of. I'm sorry that you seem to have such a complex about elders always being superior. I'm also sorry that you wrote such a scathing and petty e-mail to a list of colleagues and potential employers. Your words, rather than illuminate the inexperience of us "kids," only serve to show your immaturity, which I'm sure will not carry you far in this world. I wish you well in your future endeavors.
You go, girl.
And to the girl who wrote the first part -- get over yourself. It's my thought that this chick is bitter because she has a shitty job, or she got dumped, or her parents didn't love her enough, or all of the above. This chick is so distasteful, she even had Lisa Rummler upset. Lisa called this chick a "ho-bag," and well, if you know Lisa.... daaaaaaaaaaaamn!
Wednesday, October 15, 2003
To Gillian on her 22nd birthday...
Did you all wish Gillian a happy birthday?
Well? Did you?
If not, you're a sorry fool. And if you missed the birthday party, dah-amn, you's a stupid sorry fool.
Unless of course you were out of town, in which case you still missed out, but you ain't no fool. You just trippin'.
It was a grand ol' fest, or at least what I remember of it. It was the type of party that makes you nostalgic for college as long as this type of party doesn't continue after college. It was fodder for stories to come. There was a keg, some beer, some cups, a cake, some Pop Ice and a British guy named Noel.
The cake was gone by midnight, Noel stayed till Sunday and the keg is still there.
It might even outlast us.
Yes, my friends, the time might have come for us to kiss Le Shithole Chateau goodbye.
You might recall that I blogged a few weeks ago about the state of disrepair in my house. It's stayed unchanged despite calls to the landlords. Ladies and germs, we have renters' rights. And I think we will exercise them by getting the heck out of that house.
But I am of course planning on making a soundtrack for the house, hoping to capture its "piece-o-shit" essence and its state of disrepair.
So, as for songs about houses and such -- any suggestions?
Friday, October 10, 2003
In response to my last post, Derek wrote:
Pat I have had just about enough of your Arnold-bashing. Arnold is a well-informed, intelligent and basically just all around awesome guy, and will make a great governor to resurrect the hellhole that is Cali politics. Tell God that D-Bayne approves of Arnold''s election and that I''ll ensure everything goes well. And one thought, doesn''t your pad already make you discontinue bathing and brushing your teeth there? Take it easy man, peace.
P.S. ARNOLD RULES!!
Arnold rules. He's a badass. He's a thug, and he has made some great flicks.
But can he save the state of California? I guess we'll find out.
He's no idiot, and he was smart to not show any weaknesses to the press. He might be slicker than we thought. He's no idiot.
And yet, a New York Times poll showed that there were people who favored him, even though they thought he hadn't done squat to address the issues.
If that's the case, then those people are the idiots.
To show that I'm no hater, I will post the entire lyrics of Wesley Willis' song, "Arnold Schwarzenegger." This will honor Ah-nold for his win, and Wesley, because he's dead.
"You are my favorite movie star
You are my big buddy
You are a low down rotten man
You are crazy like a roll lizard
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Arnold Schwarzenegger
You are the greatest
You are my kind of guy
You are my buddy
You are my main man
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Arnold Schwarzenegger
I love your movies
I love you too
You are the best man that I have ever liked
You are my rich man
You are my big millionaire
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Wheaties, breakfast of champions!"
-Wesley Willis, "Arnold Schwarzenegger"
You Arnold fans like that?
Pat ain't no hater.
Nuttin' but love in this capitol.
Pop quiz, hotshot...
I was perusing the blogs of others and came across this....
You are Lydia from Pride and Prejudice! You
are a young, lively creature, without much
thought for much of anything beyond the next
moment of pleasure... at your most extreme,
you are Louisa Musgrove in Persuasion,
jumping foolishly from a great height. At your
best, you are the belle of the ball, the life
of the party-- any party-- every party! You
are the most fun, and you know it.
Which Jane Austen Character Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
And then I got addicted, so I found a shitload of other quizzes.
So, what are you? Besides doped up, that is.
Pat I have had just about enough of your Arnold-bashing. Arnold is a well-informed, intelligent and basically just all around awesome guy, and will make a great governor to resurrect the hellhole that is Cali politics. Tell God that D-Bayne approves of Arnold''s election and that I''ll ensure everything goes well. And one thought, doesn''t your pad already make you discontinue bathing and brushing your teeth there? Take it easy man, peace.
P.S. ARNOLD RULES!!
Arnold rules. He's a badass. He's a thug, and he has made some great flicks.
But can he save the state of California? I guess we'll find out.
He's no idiot, and he was smart to not show any weaknesses to the press. He might be slicker than we thought. He's no idiot.
And yet, a New York Times poll showed that there were people who favored him, even though they thought he hadn't done squat to address the issues.
If that's the case, then those people are the idiots.
To show that I'm no hater, I will post the entire lyrics of Wesley Willis' song, "Arnold Schwarzenegger." This will honor Ah-nold for his win, and Wesley, because he's dead.
"You are my favorite movie star
You are my big buddy
You are a low down rotten man
You are crazy like a roll lizard
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Arnold Schwarzenegger
You are the greatest
You are my kind of guy
You are my buddy
You are my main man
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Arnold Schwarzenegger
I love your movies
I love you too
You are the best man that I have ever liked
You are my rich man
You are my big millionaire
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Arnold Schwarzenegger
Wheaties, breakfast of champions!"
-Wesley Willis, "Arnold Schwarzenegger"
You Arnold fans like that?
Pat ain't no hater.
Nuttin' but love in this capitol.
Pop quiz, hotshot...
I was perusing the blogs of others and came across this....
You are Lydia from Pride and Prejudice! You
are a young, lively creature, without much
thought for much of anything beyond the next
moment of pleasure... at your most extreme,
you are Louisa Musgrove in Persuasion,
jumping foolishly from a great height. At your
best, you are the belle of the ball, the life
of the party-- any party-- every party! You
are the most fun, and you know it.
Which Jane Austen Character Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
And then I got addicted, so I found a shitload of other quizzes.
So, what are you? Besides doped up, that is.
Wednesday, October 08, 2003
Some night when Pat is saying his prayers, right after the part where he pleas with God not to kill him or any of that stuff...
Pat: And God, please take care of Courtney and J-Dub...
A voice booms from Heaven
God: I do take care of them -- they're some of my favorite peeps!
Pat: No, I know You do, and I appreciate that. I'm asking you to take care of them because they live in California.
God groans.
God: Why? Because of the ozone layer being depleted and the air being toxic?
Pat: Nah, it's because California's a hell-hole now.
God: You're right. It's the recall.
Pat: Yup!
God: And now Arnold's the governor!
Pat: Yup! That's why I want you to take care of them.
God: You know, this is the 200th prayer of that type for the two of them I've gotten today. Courtney's sister Meagan counts for 100 of those prayers. Of course, that was before the recall happened, anyway.
----
So are my childhood dreams dashed? Am I ready to give up my dreams to pack my bags and head west?
Define "west."
If it's California, it better be good. I better be getting paid to play with midgets and write about it and scratch my butt and all that jazz, or else I'm not going.
And by midgets, it doesn't have to be Gary Coleman, but he is definitely butt-scratching material.
He's part of the whole damn reason I don't want to set foot in California -- maybe even near California -- for quite a while. I've never been there, and now, I am thinking I might want to hold off.
Sure, there are dumb people -- there are dumb people anywhere and everywhere. I worked at Wal-Mart, I know that you can be a dumbass and call anywhere home (Jackie's bed, etc.) I grew up in St. Louis and went to school with some kids whose MAP scores would not be stellar, and I've been some douche bags whose origins range from Kansas to Texas to New York to Virginia to Arlington Heights.
I've been there. Seen the underground railroad, ridden the rainbow.
This shit takes the cake.
Are the Californians stupid? Uninformed? Oblivious?
Or are they jaded? Fed up with politics? Apathetic to what goes on and ready to just see Sacramento become an official version of Hollywood, what it's kinda always been?
This can be up for debate.
What's not debatable is the stupidity of the candidates. How one can be that stupid and still have teeth is just baffling.
I was flipping around on cable the other day and saw that the Game Show Network had a game show in which the contestants were candidates running in the recall election: Gary Coleman, the big-boobed blonde porn star, some dude in a cowboy hat and someone else and a bunch of other chodes.
The MC was none other than former MTV VJ Kennedy, a bastian of obnoxiousness in and of herself. The questions focused on the other recall candidates and information regarding the government. How these people could not know some of this shit and still be able to pass the fourth grade is beyond me. How the porn star could fit her tits in her shirt and keep them there for the whole show is really beyond me.
I've decided that if a large amount of my fellow Americans have no regard for themselves or any ideals whatsoever, then neither should I. To show my commitment to this endeavor, I will discontinue bathing or brushing my teeth. I will no longer take the effort to look for bathrooms, and will instead just urinate wherever, whether it be the middle of the street or someone's table at the Artisan. I will walk to people I don't know and then proceed to growl and curse. In essence, I will give myself tourrettes.
I don't know if this will solve anything, but it will allow me the California experience without having a governor who's said, "It's not a tuma."
And because I've been planning to do this since May...
Pat: And God, please take care of Courtney and J-Dub...
A voice booms from Heaven
God: I do take care of them -- they're some of my favorite peeps!
Pat: No, I know You do, and I appreciate that. I'm asking you to take care of them because they live in California.
God groans.
God: Why? Because of the ozone layer being depleted and the air being toxic?
Pat: Nah, it's because California's a hell-hole now.
God: You're right. It's the recall.
Pat: Yup!
God: And now Arnold's the governor!
Pat: Yup! That's why I want you to take care of them.
God: You know, this is the 200th prayer of that type for the two of them I've gotten today. Courtney's sister Meagan counts for 100 of those prayers. Of course, that was before the recall happened, anyway.
----
So are my childhood dreams dashed? Am I ready to give up my dreams to pack my bags and head west?
Define "west."
If it's California, it better be good. I better be getting paid to play with midgets and write about it and scratch my butt and all that jazz, or else I'm not going.
And by midgets, it doesn't have to be Gary Coleman, but he is definitely butt-scratching material.
He's part of the whole damn reason I don't want to set foot in California -- maybe even near California -- for quite a while. I've never been there, and now, I am thinking I might want to hold off.
Sure, there are dumb people -- there are dumb people anywhere and everywhere. I worked at Wal-Mart, I know that you can be a dumbass and call anywhere home (Jackie's bed, etc.) I grew up in St. Louis and went to school with some kids whose MAP scores would not be stellar, and I've been some douche bags whose origins range from Kansas to Texas to New York to Virginia to Arlington Heights.
I've been there. Seen the underground railroad, ridden the rainbow.
This shit takes the cake.
Are the Californians stupid? Uninformed? Oblivious?
Or are they jaded? Fed up with politics? Apathetic to what goes on and ready to just see Sacramento become an official version of Hollywood, what it's kinda always been?
This can be up for debate.
What's not debatable is the stupidity of the candidates. How one can be that stupid and still have teeth is just baffling.
I was flipping around on cable the other day and saw that the Game Show Network had a game show in which the contestants were candidates running in the recall election: Gary Coleman, the big-boobed blonde porn star, some dude in a cowboy hat and someone else and a bunch of other chodes.
The MC was none other than former MTV VJ Kennedy, a bastian of obnoxiousness in and of herself. The questions focused on the other recall candidates and information regarding the government. How these people could not know some of this shit and still be able to pass the fourth grade is beyond me. How the porn star could fit her tits in her shirt and keep them there for the whole show is really beyond me.
I've decided that if a large amount of my fellow Americans have no regard for themselves or any ideals whatsoever, then neither should I. To show my commitment to this endeavor, I will discontinue bathing or brushing my teeth. I will no longer take the effort to look for bathrooms, and will instead just urinate wherever, whether it be the middle of the street or someone's table at the Artisan. I will walk to people I don't know and then proceed to growl and curse. In essence, I will give myself tourrettes.
I don't know if this will solve anything, but it will allow me the California experience without having a governor who's said, "It's not a tuma."
 |  |
Tuesday, October 07, 2003
Okay, home-slices...
You see that I have updated my links, taken off some stragglers, and most importantly, changed the nicknames.
Now, as you might be able to tell, all of these nicknames are musical, and most of them refer to a specific era (but not all of them, of course).
Thus, I have decided that whoever can correctly identify all of these references will get a prize of my choosing.
Good luck, homies.
And in the meantime, prepare for future posts to include info about another dope weekend, the answers to the month-old dog question and the debate over the correct meaning(s) of the word "hoosier."
Party on, dudes, and my I add, dudettes.
You see that I have updated my links, taken off some stragglers, and most importantly, changed the nicknames.
Now, as you might be able to tell, all of these nicknames are musical, and most of them refer to a specific era (but not all of them, of course).
Thus, I have decided that whoever can correctly identify all of these references will get a prize of my choosing.
Good luck, homies.
And in the meantime, prepare for future posts to include info about another dope weekend, the answers to the month-old dog question and the debate over the correct meaning(s) of the word "hoosier."
Party on, dudes, and my I add, dudettes.
Thursday, October 02, 2003
On a Thursday last week...
Katie: Are you going to see McLethal?
Pat: What?
Katie: McLethal -- the (hip-hop) concert with Derek tomorrow -- you going?
Pat: Uh, you mean Mac Lethal?
Katie: Oh, same difference -- it's all the same to me.
Pat: Why don't you say that about all black people!
But little did I know that Mac Lethal was white. Still, Katie was a maroon to miss this show, and it was a staple to...
The dopest weekend this side of the Ol' Miss
Jackie Harder. Drunk hoosier lesbians. A bridesmaid who "can smile anywhere!" A DJ that will father all of our children. An out-of-this-world round of karaoke. A humble MC. And a threat by a mob of hoosiers -- and a huge black girl.
This, my friends, was what made last weekend, September 26-28, 2003, a dope-ass weekend. You know me, I like the nightlife, baby, so let's go.
Friday, Sept. 26, 2003
For months, Derek (a.k.a. D-Rock, the MFBayne) has been trying to get me to join him at various hip-hop shows around Columbia and the Midwest. Whether it be because of cash, work or apprehension, I hadn't gone.
But there was one show I had to go to, a show he wouldn't let me miss: the Limited Liability Tour.
It was going to be Mac Lethal and Approach, two rappers from KC, and Archetype, a rap duo from Lawrence. I hadn't heard any of them, but I told him I'd think about it. When he told me the headliner was DJ P, a renowned spinner of the dub from Springfield, Mo., I told him I was going. If for nothing else but to tell my brother I finally saw DJ P spin, I had to go.
So we go to the Blue Note around 9:30 during mic check and there are few people there. Hilary (rap name: Hillogic) and I were skeptical as to the turnout of this show. All we saw were high school kids trying to do liquid and breakdance, but were horrible at both.
Later on, I joined Nat and D up front, when we saw two drunk hoosier girls wearing tank tops trip on the steps and fall down. They laughed loudly, indicating their drunken hoosierness, and thus the tragicomedy of their falling on their asses was thus that much more tragicomic. Nat let out a "What the fuck?" style laugh and we went about our business.
Well, about 10 minutes later, one of the aforementioned drunk girls (soon to be upgraded to "beyotches") approached Nat and said that her friends wanted to kick Nat's ass, because Nat laughed when this girl fell. This girl said she didn't want to kick Nat's ass, but her friends were mighty ticked. The girls (the poster-children of Wal-Mart, USA) came over to leer at Nat. Joining them was a large girl who I swear was as wide as she was tall, a five-foot-ball of "Oooh, girl."
Archetype came on and they were entertaining: two younguns from Lawrence with goggles and microphones. Not bad, not bad at all.
Then came Approach.
With dreads to poke your eye out and clothes to make any J-Crew enthusiast proud, this guy delivered the most unique flow I have ever heard. His lyrics were thoughtful, his background beats jazzy and his style was totally unexpected. He says he's blessed and he doesn't drink. At all. He's quite admirable.
Mac Lethal came up next, with a funky haircut, a white undershirt and a great KC twang. What a thug. Again, unique flow. Eat your heart out, Eminem. This whitey got style.
And then, I fell in love.
I want to have your baby
I had heard of DJ P through my rave-minded brother, and I knew that I knew lots of people who knew people that made out with DJ P in bathrooms.
What I didn't know was that I would fall in love with this man.
DJ P prefaced his show by saying, "I'm one of those DJs who just doesn't give a fuck. I'll play anything: hip-hop, techno, trance, drum and bass, jungle, new wave, disco, Elvis, anything."
He did.
And he will father all our children.
Just you wait.
He's that good.
He started his set by mixing Guns N' Roses' "Paradise City" with Pharomonch, and proceeded to mix Metallica with Eminem, Biggie with the Beatles and "Ballroom Blitz," Public Enemy with Nirvana, and Tupac with Tears for Fears. Plus, he also played A-Ha, Simple Minds, and Bananarama. Hilary (Brit-pop name: Hilastica) and I fell in love with this man, decked out in a tight "Rocky Horror" T-shirt. He had big guns, shaggy hair and tan skin.
So we were rocking out to his set for more than an hour, and while some people may have gotten bored, Hilary (New wave name: Hilary in motion) and I were dancing our asses off. Others were dancing their asses off, too, including these two girls who looked like Weird Al, complete with ugly curly hair.
"Don't they know anything about conditioner?!" Hilary (party name: Hil on Wheelz) wanted to know.
These girls got our attention when they sprayed their beer everywhere and doused us. The two of them then proceeded to make out with each other, which was gross for several reasons. Not only were they ugly, but they looked like each other, so it was like watching some Robert Mapplethorpe photo mixed with Sylvia Plath's diaries and well, it was just plain ol' fucked up.
But we moved on, and we danced.
I danced so hard that my knee was sore the next couple of days. But it was worth it. I bought his CD and even talked to him after the show. He's now located in Portland. Watch out, West Coast -- when I come out there, I'm following DJ P. He'll be my baby-daddy. And he can breakdance.
Also talked to Approach. Cool dude, and he said I could profile him in KC sometime. What a thug.
It was then time to go home, order Gumby's and watch the DJ P DVD, which included a movie about KISS action figures coming to life and killing people.
Saturday, Sept. 27, 2003
Jackie was in town to go to Tracy Krahenbuhl's wedding. Tracy was in 306 with me, Jackie, Erin, Courtney, Claire, Goodloe, Jeff, Ryan Wallace, Brady Teufel, Sheila Rose Browning, Shaffer and others (i.e. the good semester). I had known her a little bit, but she and Jackie-ho had been buds, and I got to be Jackie's date.
She picked me up at Derek's place, where I had been doing laundry and partaking in a donut/football party with Derek and Hilary (football name: Hil-cat). We then hopped on westbound 70, toward Concordia. This no-horse town was 50 miles from KC and definitely a pain to get to. First off, we couldn't find any gas stations and thus almost ran almost of gas. We would have been stranded there. Jackie and I might be rough folk, but honey, we ain't that rough.
The wedding was outside and officiated by a minister who looked like Scott Swafford. It was at the groom's parents' house. It was small and intimate, and the bathrooms were porta-potties in the back. It was a quick wedding (Prots do it that way) and was over within 30 minutes. Afterwards, they had us all bunch together for a photo. One of the bridesmaids had to move spots, but said that was okay, because "I can smile anywhere."
Now, Jackie and I are a bad combo: we have dirty minds and we can't help ourselves. Thus, a comment like "I can smile anywhere" will make us giggle.
But it made us giggle for different reasons:
*Jackie thought that the bridesmaid could make any part of her body smile
*I thought she could smile while in any physical position
Either way, we're dirty fucks.
After the wedding, we went to the Concordia Community Center for the reception but left early because Jackie's car's emergency lights and what-have-you were all coming on, and well, Jackie was freaking out.
So we returned to Columbia for Darlene's and drinking.
Joining us for said debauchery were Jeff, Erica, Hilary, Derek, Nat, Goodloe and the cops reporter, who does indeed look like Bill Gates.
With the exception of Nat, Erica and the cops reporters, we're regulars at Darlene's. The bartender knows us and the permanent blonde barfly knows us, too -- she's great for drunken duets. Whenever we come in, then, they know to kill the jukebox because we'll want to sing.
And sing we did.
Among the group of us, we belted out "Can't Get Enough of Your Love," "Heaven Is A Place On Earth," "Rock the Casbah" and "Fight For Your Right To Party." And I did a groovy version of Dead or Alive's "You Spin Me Right Round." Just so you know.
By the end of the end, we had been on the floor for most of the songs and danced with almost everyone in sight. Jackie had made a friend with a woman wearing a Doniphan shirt and I, well, I got my dance on with the blonde barfly.
Sunday, Sept. 28, 2003
Sunday was a comedown day, as Jackie left and I had to do homework and laundry. But I did get to do laundry at Keith, Josh and Derek's, and I had dinner with Josh and Derek at Flat Branch. Take that.
"Patrick, you are an asshole"
Yes, I'm a conceited bastard for typing all this pointless shit.
But you've been reading it.
And I hope enjoying it.
I'm off to STL tomorrow to take Hilary to the airport and party hearty with the fam. My siblings (and brother-in-law, and nephew) will all be in town, because our god-sister is getting married.
Expect an obligatory cute nephew update, for sure.
Katie: Are you going to see McLethal?
Pat: What?
Katie: McLethal -- the (hip-hop) concert with Derek tomorrow -- you going?
Pat: Uh, you mean Mac Lethal?
Katie: Oh, same difference -- it's all the same to me.
Pat: Why don't you say that about all black people!
But little did I know that Mac Lethal was white. Still, Katie was a maroon to miss this show, and it was a staple to...
Jackie Harder. Drunk hoosier lesbians. A bridesmaid who "can smile anywhere!" A DJ that will father all of our children. An out-of-this-world round of karaoke. A humble MC. And a threat by a mob of hoosiers -- and a huge black girl.
This, my friends, was what made last weekend, September 26-28, 2003, a dope-ass weekend. You know me, I like the nightlife, baby, so let's go.
Friday, Sept. 26, 2003
For months, Derek (a.k.a. D-Rock, the MFBayne) has been trying to get me to join him at various hip-hop shows around Columbia and the Midwest. Whether it be because of cash, work or apprehension, I hadn't gone.
But there was one show I had to go to, a show he wouldn't let me miss: the Limited Liability Tour.
It was going to be Mac Lethal and Approach, two rappers from KC, and Archetype, a rap duo from Lawrence. I hadn't heard any of them, but I told him I'd think about it. When he told me the headliner was DJ P, a renowned spinner of the dub from Springfield, Mo., I told him I was going. If for nothing else but to tell my brother I finally saw DJ P spin, I had to go.
So we go to the Blue Note around 9:30 during mic check and there are few people there. Hilary (rap name: Hillogic) and I were skeptical as to the turnout of this show. All we saw were high school kids trying to do liquid and breakdance, but were horrible at both.
Later on, I joined Nat and D up front, when we saw two drunk hoosier girls wearing tank tops trip on the steps and fall down. They laughed loudly, indicating their drunken hoosierness, and thus the tragicomedy of their falling on their asses was thus that much more tragicomic. Nat let out a "What the fuck?" style laugh and we went about our business.
Well, about 10 minutes later, one of the aforementioned drunk girls (soon to be upgraded to "beyotches") approached Nat and said that her friends wanted to kick Nat's ass, because Nat laughed when this girl fell. This girl said she didn't want to kick Nat's ass, but her friends were mighty ticked. The girls (the poster-children of Wal-Mart, USA) came over to leer at Nat. Joining them was a large girl who I swear was as wide as she was tall, a five-foot-ball of "Oooh, girl."
Archetype came on and they were entertaining: two younguns from Lawrence with goggles and microphones. Not bad, not bad at all.
Then came Approach.
With dreads to poke your eye out and clothes to make any J-Crew enthusiast proud, this guy delivered the most unique flow I have ever heard. His lyrics were thoughtful, his background beats jazzy and his style was totally unexpected. He says he's blessed and he doesn't drink. At all. He's quite admirable.
Mac Lethal came up next, with a funky haircut, a white undershirt and a great KC twang. What a thug. Again, unique flow. Eat your heart out, Eminem. This whitey got style.
And then, I fell in love.
I had heard of DJ P through my rave-minded brother, and I knew that I knew lots of people who knew people that made out with DJ P in bathrooms.
What I didn't know was that I would fall in love with this man.
DJ P prefaced his show by saying, "I'm one of those DJs who just doesn't give a fuck. I'll play anything: hip-hop, techno, trance, drum and bass, jungle, new wave, disco, Elvis, anything."
He did.
And he will father all our children.
Just you wait.
He's that good.
He started his set by mixing Guns N' Roses' "Paradise City" with Pharomonch, and proceeded to mix Metallica with Eminem, Biggie with the Beatles and "Ballroom Blitz," Public Enemy with Nirvana, and Tupac with Tears for Fears. Plus, he also played A-Ha, Simple Minds, and Bananarama. Hilary (Brit-pop name: Hilastica) and I fell in love with this man, decked out in a tight "Rocky Horror" T-shirt. He had big guns, shaggy hair and tan skin.
So we were rocking out to his set for more than an hour, and while some people may have gotten bored, Hilary (New wave name: Hilary in motion) and I were dancing our asses off. Others were dancing their asses off, too, including these two girls who looked like Weird Al, complete with ugly curly hair.
"Don't they know anything about conditioner?!" Hilary (party name: Hil on Wheelz) wanted to know.
These girls got our attention when they sprayed their beer everywhere and doused us. The two of them then proceeded to make out with each other, which was gross for several reasons. Not only were they ugly, but they looked like each other, so it was like watching some Robert Mapplethorpe photo mixed with Sylvia Plath's diaries and well, it was just plain ol' fucked up.
But we moved on, and we danced.
I danced so hard that my knee was sore the next couple of days. But it was worth it. I bought his CD and even talked to him after the show. He's now located in Portland. Watch out, West Coast -- when I come out there, I'm following DJ P. He'll be my baby-daddy. And he can breakdance.
Also talked to Approach. Cool dude, and he said I could profile him in KC sometime. What a thug.
It was then time to go home, order Gumby's and watch the DJ P DVD, which included a movie about KISS action figures coming to life and killing people.
Saturday, Sept. 27, 2003
Jackie was in town to go to Tracy Krahenbuhl's wedding. Tracy was in 306 with me, Jackie, Erin, Courtney, Claire, Goodloe, Jeff, Ryan Wallace, Brady Teufel, Sheila Rose Browning, Shaffer and others (i.e. the good semester). I had known her a little bit, but she and Jackie-ho had been buds, and I got to be Jackie's date.
She picked me up at Derek's place, where I had been doing laundry and partaking in a donut/football party with Derek and Hilary (football name: Hil-cat). We then hopped on westbound 70, toward Concordia. This no-horse town was 50 miles from KC and definitely a pain to get to. First off, we couldn't find any gas stations and thus almost ran almost of gas. We would have been stranded there. Jackie and I might be rough folk, but honey, we ain't that rough.
The wedding was outside and officiated by a minister who looked like Scott Swafford. It was at the groom's parents' house. It was small and intimate, and the bathrooms were porta-potties in the back. It was a quick wedding (Prots do it that way) and was over within 30 minutes. Afterwards, they had us all bunch together for a photo. One of the bridesmaids had to move spots, but said that was okay, because "I can smile anywhere."
Now, Jackie and I are a bad combo: we have dirty minds and we can't help ourselves. Thus, a comment like "I can smile anywhere" will make us giggle.
But it made us giggle for different reasons:
*Jackie thought that the bridesmaid could make any part of her body smile
*I thought she could smile while in any physical position
Either way, we're dirty fucks.
After the wedding, we went to the Concordia Community Center for the reception but left early because Jackie's car's emergency lights and what-have-you were all coming on, and well, Jackie was freaking out.
So we returned to Columbia for Darlene's and drinking.
Joining us for said debauchery were Jeff, Erica, Hilary, Derek, Nat, Goodloe and the cops reporter, who does indeed look like Bill Gates.
With the exception of Nat, Erica and the cops reporters, we're regulars at Darlene's. The bartender knows us and the permanent blonde barfly knows us, too -- she's great for drunken duets. Whenever we come in, then, they know to kill the jukebox because we'll want to sing.
And sing we did.
Among the group of us, we belted out "Can't Get Enough of Your Love," "Heaven Is A Place On Earth," "Rock the Casbah" and "Fight For Your Right To Party." And I did a groovy version of Dead or Alive's "You Spin Me Right Round." Just so you know.
By the end of the end, we had been on the floor for most of the songs and danced with almost everyone in sight. Jackie had made a friend with a woman wearing a Doniphan shirt and I, well, I got my dance on with the blonde barfly.
Sunday, Sept. 28, 2003
Sunday was a comedown day, as Jackie left and I had to do homework and laundry. But I did get to do laundry at Keith, Josh and Derek's, and I had dinner with Josh and Derek at Flat Branch. Take that.
Yes, I'm a conceited bastard for typing all this pointless shit.
But you've been reading it.
And I hope enjoying it.
I'm off to STL tomorrow to take Hilary to the airport and party hearty with the fam. My siblings (and brother-in-law, and nephew) will all be in town, because our god-sister is getting married.
Expect an obligatory cute nephew update, for sure.
Wednesday, October 01, 2003
Maureen: You need to update your blog!
Pat: What do you think I am doing right now?
Maureen: Good! I can't wait any longer!
Well, simmer down, missy, because here it is -- a serving fulla blog-o-licious love, just like the kind Mom used to make. This serving comes at the request not only of Maureen, but of others, including a certain Hillogic. Let's go.
-----
Date: Monday, Sept. 22
From: Anita Ryan (assistant to Fritz Cropp, J-school study abroad guru)
To: Pat
Subject: London
Dear Patrick,
Congratulations! You have been accepted to participate in the Missouri London Program during the Winter Semester, 2004.
In addition to this letter, you will receive a formal letter of acceptance from the International Center at the University of Missouri-Columbia. You will also be receiving general program information from International Enrichment, Inc., that will address housing, flights, etc.
-----
"Most of all, I love Manchester. The crumbling warehouses, the railway arches, the cheap abundant drugs. That's what did it in the end. Not the money, not the music, not even the guns. That is my heroic flaw: my excess of civic pride."
-Tony Wilson, "24 Hour Party People"
"Yes, London. You know: fish, chips, cup 'o tea, bad food, worse weather, Mary fucking Poppins...LONDON!"
-Dennis Farina, "Snatch"
I was really hoping to get a sense of the awe and magic and unknown elements of this trip by quoting Missing Persons' "Destination Unknown," but, you know what? That would be misleading, because, well, I do know where I am going -- L-O-N-D-O-N!
I'm gonna blow steam out of my head like a screaming kettle. I'm gonna see Shakespeare, the Globe Theatre, Buckingham Palace, Kensington, Picadilly and Earl's Court. I'm gonna see Manchester, the Hacienda, Factory Records, and the birthplace of post-punk new wave. I'm gonna be Ian Curtis, Morrissey, Richard Butler, Robert Smith, Joe Strummer, Mick Jones, Sean Ryder, Bernard Sumner and Martin Hannett.
Don't know these folks yet?
Oh, you will.
You most absolutely will.
"I lied. The house is alive. We're all gonna die."
-"House on Haunted Hill"
My house is old enough that it was built before pesky health codes came into practice. You know, those codes that say you have to have the heating unit inside the house, or that you have to have traps on the pipes to prevent sewage from flowing into the bathtubs, toilets and sinks. Or the pesky code saying that windows have to have screens and storm doors.
The house doesn't have any of this stuff, and the landlords haven't made a move to do anything about it.
Unless you consider putting the house up for sale a move.
Yes, we got a knock on the door a few weeks ago from some nice ladies from Century 21, telling us they were here to put up the signs. The landlords were selling some properties, including ours. They do that from time to time, we were told, but the landlords were of "good character" and would try to negotiate with the new owners so that we could finish off our lease. That's nice of them.
It's also the law. Our lease is legally binding, and we both have to uphold it. (I know a certain imp of a lawyer in Clayton, Mo., who has dabbled with corporate law and the like). In case we get bought out, though, Mary and Gillian are keeping their eyes open, because, well, hell, the house is not worth crying over. If they are in Columbia till May, might as well live in a place that isn't a shithole.
So, I guess the midget bathroom's days are numbered. Just as well. I've been showering at Hilary's this week anyway, and I must say, I feel the cleanest I have felt all semester.
In honor of the people touring the house with the real estate agents, I have concocted a plan to have some graphic DVD porn playing in the living room on repeat. Anyone owning such DVDs are encouraged to contribute to the cause. Please, if you have anything on DVD that would kill your grandma, please, let me have it for my living room. It will be a total hoot.
Our house... in the middle of the street...
It's this current house debacle that has me missing my former roommies. I don't miss the house, I miss the roommies, and I don't dislike the current roommies, I dislike the house. On that note, I do miss the old house, but I miss the old roommies even more, which will be made evident in this post...
"Dog in a bathtub, dog in a bathtub..."
1108 Thugz, "Fast Food Fuck"
Never have I had a better partner in being able to make fun of Lurch than I have had in Crank. Sure, he's been there for tough times, and for shenanigans, such as throwing things off the roof, causing hijinks in chat rooms, drinking Jeff Neu's booze, and what-have-you, but seriously, besides the Ben, P-Funk, and Smirnoff, the other big bond in our friendship has been the big guy. And I don't mean God.
I mean the guy who has done enough stuff that I don't even want to think of publishing it all here. But Crank and I know most of it (we were there for most of it, and if not, Lurch told us, only realizing later that we'd taunt him with the information). Hell, we know more than we would even want to know. I know, I know. Gah-ross.
But enough about Lurch. Back to Crank.
Josh Crank is a class act. He is a musician of the funkiest of trainings (Parliament, Talking Heads, the Urge, and INXS) and he knows how to get down. This cat spent the better part of our first semester in college tossing shit off the roof of a parking garage, just for the shits and giggles of it. And he ran up and down the hallways with tennis rackets and action figures in his crotch, turning his room into a Showbiz-style ballpit.
He's left all that to me for now, but he still has character and soul. He's a fun man to get sauced with, and he's also a good friend. Got a great set of ears on him and he'll listen to whatever beef you're having with life, love, the 'rents or academia, because chances are, he's had the same beef.
Here's to the original Lord of the Booty Dance. What a true thug.
"Time won't give me time
And time makes lovers feel
Like they got something real
But you and me
We know we got nothin' but time..."
-Culture Club, "Time"
I miss Keith. It's not that I don't love living here with Gillian and Mary (I do love it). It's not that I don't miss Crank (I do, and you'll see he gets his own post).
Aaargh, I miss Keith. I miss hearing him wake up and being able to count the time it takes him to stumble in his boxers from his doorway to mine (about five seconds). I miss hearing his, "Heeey, giiiirl" every time he greets me. He still says that when he greets me, of course, but it's less often now, because, well, I see him less often.
I miss hearing him play guitar at all times of the day, singing Meat Puppets, Iggy Pop or Tears for Fears. I miss the dance parties where we would crank up the Pet Shop Boys, New Order, Stardust and Daft Punk (insert fag jokes here, please).
I miss our sessions where we would make our own songs in the styles of Fleetwood Mac, They Might Be Giants, the B-52s, the Cars or the Smiths, singing songs about Lauralee's ex-boyfriend, Lurch, Josh's cell-phone, Derek's brother or the black kid that knocked on our door to get money to go to the Virgin Islands. We also did a musical about Keith's trip to Pridefest in this fashion, and if I do say so myself, it was quite rockin'. You should have been there.
Yes, you should have -- you should have been there. But my bond with Keith is one that, I think, will be hard to grasp, although very easy to recognize. One can see that we're close, and have more than one idea as to why (Christian Bale is the new Batman, by the way), but many won't grasp why.
I don't completely grasp why. I just remember that we were the two Woody Allen-types of our FIG, talking about Gene Loves Jezebel, The Pixies and of course, Culture Club.
"You love Culture Club's 'Time,' too?!"
It was a match made in heaven. In neurotic, flamboyent heaven.
And I miss my neurotic, flamboyent angel, complete with his DKNY wings and scent of lavender.
More to come...
Oh, you didn't see the part about this past weekend, one of the best weekends in the history of Boone County? Daaaang.
Well, that part is coming. I promise that upcoming posts will detail the glory of this past weekend: DJ P, Approach, hoosier bitches, Jackie's return to CoMo, the bridesmaid who "can smile anywhere," the triumphs of the Darlene's crew and laundry session that never ended. Yes, my friends, it was quite the weekend.
I will leave you with a collection of...
Things You May Have Heard Around the Newsroom:
I was heading to the men's room when I saw Judy B. (rhymes with "Mulch") coming out of the ladies' room. Her hands were wet and she was getting ready to fling the watery leftovers onto me, to which I said "Ahhhh!" while trying to get out of the way.
"No towels in the ladies' room," she said.
"Gross!" I said.
What she could have said:
"Do you know how hard it is to dry your hands in this newsroom?"
"Just like Columbia-- can't get wet in the bedroom, can't get dry in the bathroom!"
"Here! It's from my piss flaps!"
Pat: What do you think I am doing right now?
Maureen: Good! I can't wait any longer!
Well, simmer down, missy, because here it is -- a serving fulla blog-o-licious love, just like the kind Mom used to make. This serving comes at the request not only of Maureen, but of others, including a certain Hillogic. Let's go.
-----
Date: Monday, Sept. 22
From: Anita Ryan (assistant to Fritz Cropp, J-school study abroad guru)
To: Pat
Subject: London
Dear Patrick,
Congratulations! You have been accepted to participate in the Missouri London Program during the Winter Semester, 2004.
In addition to this letter, you will receive a formal letter of acceptance from the International Center at the University of Missouri-Columbia. You will also be receiving general program information from International Enrichment, Inc., that will address housing, flights, etc.
-----
"I feel so extraordinary
Something's got a hold on me
I get this feeling I'm in motion
A sudden sense of liberty
I don't care 'cause I'm not there
And I don't care if I'm here tomorrow
Again and again I've taken too much
Of the things that cost you too much
I used to think that the day would never come
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun
My morning sun is the drug that brings me near..."
-New Order, "True Faith"
-Tony Wilson, "24 Hour Party People"
-Dennis Farina, "Snatch"
I was really hoping to get a sense of the awe and magic and unknown elements of this trip by quoting Missing Persons' "Destination Unknown," but, you know what? That would be misleading, because, well, I do know where I am going -- L-O-N-D-O-N!
I'm gonna blow steam out of my head like a screaming kettle. I'm gonna see Shakespeare, the Globe Theatre, Buckingham Palace, Kensington, Picadilly and Earl's Court. I'm gonna see Manchester, the Hacienda, Factory Records, and the birthplace of post-punk new wave. I'm gonna be Ian Curtis, Morrissey, Richard Butler, Robert Smith, Joe Strummer, Mick Jones, Sean Ryder, Bernard Sumner and Martin Hannett.
Don't know these folks yet?
Oh, you will.
You most absolutely will.
-"House on Haunted Hill"
My house is old enough that it was built before pesky health codes came into practice. You know, those codes that say you have to have the heating unit inside the house, or that you have to have traps on the pipes to prevent sewage from flowing into the bathtubs, toilets and sinks. Or the pesky code saying that windows have to have screens and storm doors.
The house doesn't have any of this stuff, and the landlords haven't made a move to do anything about it.
Unless you consider putting the house up for sale a move.
Yes, we got a knock on the door a few weeks ago from some nice ladies from Century 21, telling us they were here to put up the signs. The landlords were selling some properties, including ours. They do that from time to time, we were told, but the landlords were of "good character" and would try to negotiate with the new owners so that we could finish off our lease. That's nice of them.
It's also the law. Our lease is legally binding, and we both have to uphold it. (I know a certain imp of a lawyer in Clayton, Mo., who has dabbled with corporate law and the like). In case we get bought out, though, Mary and Gillian are keeping their eyes open, because, well, hell, the house is not worth crying over. If they are in Columbia till May, might as well live in a place that isn't a shithole.
So, I guess the midget bathroom's days are numbered. Just as well. I've been showering at Hilary's this week anyway, and I must say, I feel the cleanest I have felt all semester.
In honor of the people touring the house with the real estate agents, I have concocted a plan to have some graphic DVD porn playing in the living room on repeat. Anyone owning such DVDs are encouraged to contribute to the cause. Please, if you have anything on DVD that would kill your grandma, please, let me have it for my living room. It will be a total hoot.
It's this current house debacle that has me missing my former roommies. I don't miss the house, I miss the roommies, and I don't dislike the current roommies, I dislike the house. On that note, I do miss the old house, but I miss the old roommies even more, which will be made evident in this post...
1108 Thugz, "Fast Food Fuck"
Never have I had a better partner in being able to make fun of Lurch than I have had in Crank. Sure, he's been there for tough times, and for shenanigans, such as throwing things off the roof, causing hijinks in chat rooms, drinking Jeff Neu's booze, and what-have-you, but seriously, besides the Ben, P-Funk, and Smirnoff, the other big bond in our friendship has been the big guy. And I don't mean God.
I mean the guy who has done enough stuff that I don't even want to think of publishing it all here. But Crank and I know most of it (we were there for most of it, and if not, Lurch told us, only realizing later that we'd taunt him with the information). Hell, we know more than we would even want to know. I know, I know. Gah-ross.
But enough about Lurch. Back to Crank.
Josh Crank is a class act. He is a musician of the funkiest of trainings (Parliament, Talking Heads, the Urge, and INXS) and he knows how to get down. This cat spent the better part of our first semester in college tossing shit off the roof of a parking garage, just for the shits and giggles of it. And he ran up and down the hallways with tennis rackets and action figures in his crotch, turning his room into a Showbiz-style ballpit.
He's left all that to me for now, but he still has character and soul. He's a fun man to get sauced with, and he's also a good friend. Got a great set of ears on him and he'll listen to whatever beef you're having with life, love, the 'rents or academia, because chances are, he's had the same beef.
Here's to the original Lord of the Booty Dance. What a true thug.
And time makes lovers feel
Like they got something real
But you and me
We know we got nothin' but time..."
-Culture Club, "Time"
I miss Keith. It's not that I don't love living here with Gillian and Mary (I do love it). It's not that I don't miss Crank (I do, and you'll see he gets his own post).
Aaargh, I miss Keith. I miss hearing him wake up and being able to count the time it takes him to stumble in his boxers from his doorway to mine (about five seconds). I miss hearing his, "Heeey, giiiirl" every time he greets me. He still says that when he greets me, of course, but it's less often now, because, well, I see him less often.
I miss hearing him play guitar at all times of the day, singing Meat Puppets, Iggy Pop or Tears for Fears. I miss the dance parties where we would crank up the Pet Shop Boys, New Order, Stardust and Daft Punk (insert fag jokes here, please).
I miss our sessions where we would make our own songs in the styles of Fleetwood Mac, They Might Be Giants, the B-52s, the Cars or the Smiths, singing songs about Lauralee's ex-boyfriend, Lurch, Josh's cell-phone, Derek's brother or the black kid that knocked on our door to get money to go to the Virgin Islands. We also did a musical about Keith's trip to Pridefest in this fashion, and if I do say so myself, it was quite rockin'. You should have been there.
Yes, you should have -- you should have been there. But my bond with Keith is one that, I think, will be hard to grasp, although very easy to recognize. One can see that we're close, and have more than one idea as to why (Christian Bale is the new Batman, by the way), but many won't grasp why.
I don't completely grasp why. I just remember that we were the two Woody Allen-types of our FIG, talking about Gene Loves Jezebel, The Pixies and of course, Culture Club.
"You love Culture Club's 'Time,' too?!"
It was a match made in heaven. In neurotic, flamboyent heaven.
And I miss my neurotic, flamboyent angel, complete with his DKNY wings and scent of lavender.
Oh, you didn't see the part about this past weekend, one of the best weekends in the history of Boone County? Daaaang.
Well, that part is coming. I promise that upcoming posts will detail the glory of this past weekend: DJ P, Approach, hoosier bitches, Jackie's return to CoMo, the bridesmaid who "can smile anywhere," the triumphs of the Darlene's crew and laundry session that never ended. Yes, my friends, it was quite the weekend.
I will leave you with a collection of...
I was heading to the men's room when I saw Judy B. (rhymes with "Mulch") coming out of the ladies' room. Her hands were wet and she was getting ready to fling the watery leftovers onto me, to which I said "Ahhhh!" while trying to get out of the way.
"No towels in the ladies' room," she said.
"Gross!" I said.
What she could have said:
"Do you know how hard it is to dry your hands in this newsroom?"
"Just like Columbia-- can't get wet in the bedroom, can't get dry in the bathroom!"
"Here! It's from my piss flaps!"
