Idiotarod 2005: The Passion of the Pig

Yesterday, we participated in the 2nd annual Idiotarod, the race in which each team of five runs a shopping cart from Fulton Ferry Pier in Brooklyn to--after a few mandatory pit-stops at watering holes--Tompkins Square Park in the East Village. Our hastily assembled team, Porky's Resurrection, was humble in appearance, with our cart sporting only our mascot, The Blow-up Pig; nevertheless, the afternoon was one of great Passion. Behold the pictures:

The Pig before Her Trial


The Stations of the Cart: Their carts on their backs, the teams climb the stairs to the bridge, as spectators hurl ice and insults from above. The Pig is hit by a block of ice and loses a Leg. She quickly deflates.


The Holy See blesses team and Fallen Pig


Fear not, believers; the appearance of the Easter Bunny augurs well. Our Pig shall rise again!

A Brief and Enjoyable Conversation

Hello, Readers!

We are writing you from our constitutional law class, where an overeager student has derailed an otherwise pleasant lecture (and how rare those are!) into an exchange of pop-psych platitudes. We feel, if only momentarily, as though we were watching the philosophy class episode of The Fresh Prince (Anyone remember that one? Anyone?). Nevertheless, it occurred to us that the detour may be a blessing in disguise, as it provides us with the precious opportunity to converse--however briefly--with you, our Dear Friends. Let us commence!

So how are you? It’s awfully cold here in New York!


(This picture was taken about a week ago, but you get the idea)

Have you heard of the Idiotarod, the Brooklyn-to-East-Village shopping-cart race? Our friend Jon brought it to our attention, and we are considering assembling a team named after and honoring our friend Pinto.

Did you hear that a Senator from Oklahoma wants to save cock-fighting by having the roosters wear boxing gloves and electronic, protective/score-keeping vests? Should this be considered a centrist animal rights position?

Our friend Mike recently returned to the blogosphere with a flurry of excellent posts--the best of which, in our humble opinion, are "Fida 1619" and "Some things I wanted to say to you". You should check them out.

If you like photographs, we direct your attention once again to our friend Shane. Click on the orange van.

Alas, that great octopus, the Commerce Clause, calls. We must away!

We Believe the Children Are Our Future, or The Bad News Catholic Schoolgirls

Having been educated, in part, by the Catholic Church, we have taken the liberty of the occasional cheap joke at its expense. It has not been the best of times for The Holy See & co.--and they took yet another hit this year when our friend MeShow was hired as a temporary teacher at one of their all-girls schools. Her class of sixth graders has prayed for a broken air conditioner, and was beaten out by fifth-graders, among others, for the final spots in the school spelling bee.

Today, we got this e-mail from her:

The assignment: Write an original paragraph using the following words:
captivate, attain, splendor, campaign, pedestal. After each word, give the
part of speech in parentheses.

The paragraph, as realized by one of my 6th graders:

Once there was a man who captivated (verb) his audience with his amazing
farts. But, in all their splendor (noun), the farts were smelly. The man,
who's [sic] name was Stinkle, decided he would attain (verb) one of his
farts and put it in a jar for all to see. (And not smell.) So, Stinkle
went on a campaign (noun) to collect money so he could buy the right
equipment to catch his farts. Eventually, he raised enough money and caught
one of his farts. You can still see his fart today, standing on a pedestal (noun)
in the Museum of Natural Fartstory.

End.


Bravo, Girls! Let us Join J.P. in offering you a week at abstinence camp, a lifetime supply of overpopulation, and second-class status in the Body of Christ!

Brace Thyselves, Dear Readers

One of our favorite songs from the excellent soundtrack to Spike Lee's Crooklyn is the Chambers Brothers' "Time Has Come Today." However, we were always a little baffled by the lyric:

And my soul's been psychedelicized.

A catchy line, no doubt--but what exactly does it mean? A musing on musical styles, or, as our friend Nirav would say, the answer to a basic ontological question? Perhaps both? Sit down and brace thyselves, Dear Readers, because we finally found out.

Introducing Two Persons of Great Genius

Greetings, Friends! We are pleased to introduce two persons of great genius who, we hope, will become regular contributors to the "blogosphere" (and what a wonderful word that is!).

First, debuting with a lovely poem on feminine hygiene, is MeShow. When not penning paeans to "plastic nozzle," "fleshy sleeve," and "woeful, wet, and piscine smell," she teaches a class of well-behaved Catholic schoolgirls, and directs them to pray for their broken radiator. She is a woman of unmatched genius; a college professor once proclaimed her smarter than God.

Finally, the much awaited

nirav vs. the unbearable lightness of being
nirav wins! being becomes bearable!

has arrived. Nirav is a friend of ours, and we feel confident that his online musings will change your lives in ways that you could never have imagined.



* Update: MeShow just added her own bluegrass song.

Narcissus Meets Ophelia, or The Time We Went Fishing with Our Friend Shiri

Recently, a friend of ours, upon realizing that blue skies forever is both the talk and toast of the town, asked that she have the honor of gracing its pages. Clever and charming though she may be, we generally don't let others dictate the content of our blog; indeed, what would happen if we let every Tom, Dick, and Harriett tell us what to publish? This may be a blog for the people, but it is not a blog by the people. Rather, it is a blog by ourself.

Nevertheless, we told her we would consider her request. She sent us a picture of herself as encouragement. We shall not disclose her identity.

On to another tale:

Recently, our friend Shiri and ourself went fishing. After several hours of delightful conversation, we noted that, unfortunately, the fish were not biting. "Perhaps we need better bait," said she. "No," we replied, "we think the bait is good." So she peeked over the boat's edge to assess the situation. Then she said, "hey, look at my reflection," and fell in.*

Go ahead and look, Shiri; you know you want to

*Of course, we can't blame her--for a lovely reflection it is.

A Passing, a Failure, and a Poem for the Weary

Blue skies forever is sad to report the passing of our comrade, "do you know how it is being on law review? because i do." In those fine pages, Jared, writing under the pseudonym, Robert S_____, produced such gems as "it's con law time and i'm PUMPED!" and "i am the team captain of team terrible." His warmth and wit will be missed.

We tip our drinks to your memory, "law review"

Of course, that fine blog's passing serves also as an opportunity for us to forget our ignominious failure to achieve admittance to even the lowliest of the law journals. How could we, founder of blue skies forever, have foundered so?

There are many theories. While we believe our rejection was likely due to an unfinished sentence in a footnote, our lovely girlfriend thinks we were damned from the opening paragraph of our submission to the journal competition:

Who was that masked man, anyway? On television, he was a crime-fighting hero of the Wild West, firing silver bullets and riding with his friend Tonto to the tune of the William Tell Overture. In Springfield, if the Stonecutters had had their druthers, he would have been a convicted child molester, protesting the next potential iteration of hysteria-inducing community notification laws. The Stonecutters, however, did not have their druthers...

Was it the two uses of druthers? Was it the Lone Ranger? We are left with nothing but questions. And when we have nothing but questions, when we are despondent and forlorn, when it seems as though the entire world is conspiring against us, we turn to the man with the answers.

Ladies and Gentleman, your favorite and ours, Science Man!

[applause]


On the Eve of the Summer of Our Discontent, We See Shades of Autumn
By Science Man

Ice is cold, while heat is hot.
Some will win, while some will not.
Despondent, double-crossed, and reeling,
Beleaguered by not-so-fresh feeling.
Take a walk along the beach;
Lost not--"Once more into the breach"
Bag in hand, follow direction:
Stench, here comes thy insurrection!

A Man with Big Calves, and Sujan

We spoke with our friend Jason on the phone today, and he commented on how much he likes this picture.



Also, Sujan came up with what we think is a great twist on the old Batman model--an intra-Wayne Manor, each party is both Roadrunnner and Coyote scenario. Television and movie producers take note: there is gold to be found in these pages.

On Ulysses and Marky Mark, Among Others

After our last couple of postings and the comments we received, we are unsure whether we have a butler, a sidekick, a nemesis, or some combination of the three. Perhaps this is not the best place for us to inform you, Sujan, that we are your father? (Or was it 'daddy'? Damn those kids and their confounded slang!)

Our lovely girlfriend and ourself are about to leave the Gotham Batcave for a couple of days in Connecticut, where we will celebrate her uncle's birthday. Hence, we shall leave you, Dear Friends, with a few links with which to amuse and edify yourselves.)

The graphic novel has become a popular form, the result of a generation of comic book readers growing into artistic maturity. It was only a matter of time before this form was applied to a few of the pre-graphic classics--much as truly prescient critics, upon encountering The Sugarhill Gang and Grandmaster Flash, could see hints of Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch reworking Lou Reed's classic "Walk on the Wild Side." (However, not even the most visionary and apocalyptic critic could have predicted Lou's audience numbing, filibustering use of "The Raven" as a live performance piece.

Thus, we have come to our featured link. It may not be new to you--as the site says, it was featured on ABC's World News Tonight in 1998. But, in the spirit of The Seven Year Itch, we re-introduce it to you, just days after Pinto (famous documentarian of shopping carts) introduced it to us. Here, Dear Readers, is

The Graphic Ulysses

The knee pads are a nice touch, Marky

Will You Be Our Butler, Sujan?

Earlier today, our friend Sujan suggested that we could not claim to have bested the Caped Crusader until we had "a damn butler" and a "pimped lexus." We think that our decision to roost in Gotham rather than Wayne Manor gives us the edge; however, we would rather our triumph be decisive. Therefore, we invite you, Sujan

(Sujan)

to be our butler. We shall pay you in alcohol--and we know how much that means to you.

Think of all of the greats who have battled Batman, have been oh-so-close to defeating him, but have failed. Greats like

The Joker


The Penguin


Catwoman

Please, Sujan, make it happen--for them, for ourself, for yourself. We think you will be an excellent butler. Your first assignment is to procure, by whatever means necessary, a pimped Lexus.

And those of you readers who believe in the democratic power of the Internet, please take the comments section below as a surrogate petition. Let Sujan know that you, too, would like to see him be our butler.

Finally, it should be noted that, upon the release of the 1987 Batman movie, seven-year-old Handsome Brother Dean wore his Batman t-shirt for eight consecutive days.

Our Batcave is IN Gotham City!

No, sir--no Wayne Manor for us! Our Batcave is in the city, not the suburbs--because the city is cooler!

Yesterday, we returned (from our West Coast sojourn) to our Batcave, smack-dab in the middle of fair, bustling Gotham. A little photographic review:


Batman:


Ourself:




Batman in his Batcave (which is in WAYNE MANOR, NOT GOTHAM CITY):


Ourself in our Batcave (IN GOTHAM CITY!!):



Chew on that, Caped Crusader

A Joke for the Law Crowd

What happened to the LLM who got a couple of A's?










She turned into a LLAMA!!!

Brother Dean: From Cute to Handsome...and Witty!!

One of the pleasures of being home in Seattle the last few weeks has been spending time with Handsome Brother Dean. Here is a brief photo retrospective:

From Cute



To Handsome

(He's so handsome, they've started calling it Deansome!!)

And he's not all looks. That handsome head packs some wit...

With conversation starters such as:
"I like rubbing salt in wounds; do you?", and
"OMG, aren't you familiar?"

And Instant Messenger away messages like:
"Americans are fat. Canadians are phat."

Oh, Brother!

Pinto's Shopping Carts

Our friend Pinto, the man who once napped in a shopping cart, is also rather adept at photographing them. Below is a link to a page containing many of those photographs. The page is on the server of his former employer; we don't know how long they'll keep his account after his departure, so get while the gettin's good.

Pinto's Photographs of Shopping Carts

There aren't any thumbnails, so you'll just have to be pleasantly surprised. Here are links to a couple of our favorites, along with our interpretations (which, of course, do not necessarily represent those of the artist):

This picture reminds us of the Grandaddy song "The Saddest Vacant Lot in All the World".

The hint of a halo lends poignancy--and hope--to this scene.

Settling for the Kids

The California Diocese proved that it knows how to put the "ass action" in "class action."*

* We know that sexual assault is no laughing matter, but we just couldn't resist the pun. We think you're great, readers!

Matt S. Responds to Das Booty Obit

We received the following message from Matt S. (of Hot Atmosphere fame):


Thanks for the booty memories. One little known fact: the first das booty show was actually in Bellingham at a Hawaiian themed party and featured Nick Haney on drums and Dwight Seferos on keyboard, along with the two Matt's. One highlight was a cover of "land down under". Another long lost favorite was a little ditty (original) entitled "cancer's a bitch".


Can anybody confirm whether these things are true?

Also, a word to those of you in Seattle--Hot Atmosphere will be playing at the Crocodile tonight ($6.00 cover).

More good news: Andrew Niemand, Lincoln Playa, and the rest of the Express News 66 crew are back

Finally, when clicking the "next blog" button today, we encountered this blog, which contains many interesting photographs.

Das Booty (2000 - 2005)

Last night, at Seattle's Tractor Tavern, we said goodbye to Das Booty. Incestuous, yet all-inclusive, Das Booty had been entertaining Seattle audiences with their special blend of semi-competence, chaos, and enthusiasm for almost five years.

They were formed on a whim, when the late Willis (later the late Actual Tigers) were booked to do a show at the EMP and were told they could have whomever they wanted as their opening act. They told their friends to form a band, and thus Das Booty was born. From the beginning, it was an anarchic venture--everyone was welcome to join, write songs, perform, or contribute however they saw fit. And everyone shared the rewards. At the first show, Booty members raided the green room and doled out the stolen "booty" at a party at which all were welcome.

As the band's following grew, so did its cut of the night's earnings, so that the parties became increasingly ostentatious--multiple kegs, expensive liquor, large quantities of sticky, hot tubs, and mariachi bands. Such decadence is the stuff of great rise-and-fall stories, but Das Booty did not so much fall as dissolve; their decline was the result of entropy, not hubris.

We will miss Das Booty. We will miss seeing Nick, host of many Das Booty parties, have to pull a sheet of paper out of his pocket because he forgot the lyrics to his rap. We will miss Yianni's Das Booty bling and jerseys. We will miss the band performing "Feed the World" every Christmas. We will miss the band performing "Fuck the World" with Lillian and Coqui leading. We will miss seeing Das Booty rise to every occasion, from the inaugural show, to the Reid/Secrest Olympics premiere, to last fall's fundraiser, "Booty vs. Bush: Four More Beers." Most of all, we will miss the love.




Sometimes Nick had difficulty remembering lyrics.



What would you do if I sang out of tune?



Approximating musical competence (and attempting to eat a cello?)



Playing in bubbles can be exhausting (note the Das Booty bling).



Matt and Matt (of Hot Atmosphere fame) with a cardboard elephant.



Awash in tinsel, fake snow, smoke, lights, and love--and joined by, among others, a robot holding a 40--Das Booty brings it "all the way live" for the last time.


Click here to listen to Das Booty's signature song, "Yo ho ho"