Look! My favorite magazinelikes me too! You can see proof of this on the bottom right corner right now, and for posterity (if they ever update the Subscriber of the Week again) here.
This is less random, but much more awesome, than the unexpected CS assignment that someone wrote about me ten years ago.
It's the end of the year, so here's some bullet-pointed crap for you.
Things Which I Continue to Like * Baked Goods * Serial Dramas * Words That Begin With Capital Letters * A Healthy Obsession With People Who Are Unhealthily Obsessed With Pop Culture * Giant Snowstorms * Unwatchably Bad Movies * Cats, Goddamn It. Motherfucking Cats. I Like Them. * Olde Englishe Christmase Carolese * Curling, But Only As An Ironic Counterculture Appreciation Of A Past-time That Is Widely Mocked In My Country * Top Chef * Creative Profanity In The Form Of Ridiculous Compound Swear Words That Don't Really Make Sense When At Face Value * Sectaurs
Things About Which I Remain Curiously Ambivelant * Gillette * That Whole "Don't End A Clause With A Preposition" Thing * Corporaterias * The Term "Lady Garden" * The Music Of Elton John * Fire * The Fact That, Having Finished My Tasks For This Week, I Have Essentially Finished All Of My Tasks For This Job, Ever. * Actual Cankles * Spore * Liposuction * Trapezoids
By Alan Smithee Globe Contributing Writer / February 23, 2008
For several months, backstage visitors to Symphony Hall have been greeted with an unusual sight: a patchwork row of auditorium chairs, marked with letters, and a modest ballot box affixed to the wall above them. Members of the BSO, as well as its attached chorus, were asked to try out the chairs, and then place ranked votes on a ballot to decide their favorite seat. On Monday, it was revealed that seat "C" had won the contest by an overwhelming margain. [Full disclosure: this reporter co-chaired Seat C's election committee]
While no BSO staff could be reached for comment, citing potential interviews as "totally gay" and "a waste of everyone's time," we were able to speak with members of TFA, the BSO's resident choir.
Tom Anderson, a chorus member and amateur sports mascot, was excited by the win. "I couldn't be more happier [sic] with this outcome. C is pretty much my favorite letter in the first half of the alphabet, and it's always cool to see it get some respect." When asked about his opinion of the bottom-ranked seat, Seat F, Tom chuckled. "Yeah.. sometimes when I'm playing Wii, I slip and fall on my bottom."
Seat C itself was quiet and dignified in its victory, but close friends were overheard claiming that it is in fact elated by the win. "I'm just proud for my friend," Seat B remarked, "I was in this to win, but having lost, I'm glad to see the honor go to such a worthy contender." Seat B then broke down in tears upon learning that, as a losing candidate, it would be removed and incinerated the following week.
Many chorus members expressed sadness at the thought of seeing the display taken down; over the months it had become a popular relaxation area and make-out spot. Eryk Nielsen, another TFA singer and total stud, spoke with us between sips of his fashionable appletini. "They're taking it down? That's a damn shame." He grinned, and continued, "I've spent some quality time 'testing' these chairs, if you know what I mean." Mr. Nielsen gave an alluring wink, and then concluded "Let's not fool ourselves. I'm effing irresistible. The ladies love me, and now I'll have to find another spot to work my magic." When asked for comment about whom he may have shared this space with, Mr. Nielsen was uncharacteristically demure for a man of such virulent machismo: "Um.. yeah. I can't think of any names right now. Hmm, wait. Does "Katherine Donagee" sound too made-up? People will believe she's a real person, won't they?" Mr. Nielsen then broke down in tears,rocking back and forth and repeating the words "So lonely... so very lonely."
In an interesting twist, it was announced at a separate press conference that Seat C, as part of a unique collaboration with the DNC, will also be serving as an official Superdelegate at the Democratic National Convention this summer. Seat C has released a statement that it is planning to follow the wishes of the citizens of Massachusetts, and will be casting its Supervote for former Democratic frontrunner Hillary Clinton.
It is true, friends. I have quietly answered "yes" over the years, letting the curious know that, indeed, it is true, but I have not sought to spread this truth to the greater public. Until now.
The world is a frightening place. The economy is waning, the environment is in crisis, and good food is hard to come by. I know these things. I especially know the last thing. And the reason I know this is my secret, now revealed to you.
I AM A SUPERTASTER.
I am a SuperTaster. Yes. My friends, my acquaintances, my people who writelivejournalwebcomics and don't actually read this.. It is time you knew. I am a SuperTaster. A SuperTaster.
A Super.
Taster.
Me.
How do I know this? It came to me gradually. Where some would say "My god, man, there's too much garlic in this, I can't taste anything else," I would say, "My, god-man! I taste the delicious garlic, but through some strange chemical provenance, I can taste, in fact, beyond the garlic, and detect delectable flavors to which lesser tasters may be blind." And not just garlic, oh no, friends. Spicy peppers, sweet creams, and herbs both common and arcane, I taste them all, with an intensity and purity which your simple-minded tongues cannot conceive. It is as though your feeble eyes might see into other wavelengths, viewing flowers in ultraviolet, or your frisky neighbors in infrared. It is as though your pesky ears could hear the great thrum of magma in the earth, micrometeors burning in the atmosphere, or the delicate strains of a KISS concert three counties away. My ability to taste as one super is akin to some mythological figure, whose skin can feel not only pressure, and temperature, but even otherworldly beings brushing near us in an unseen dimension. If your inner ear could adjust your sense of balance to the Great Movement of the Heavenly Spheres, then you would have a tiny glimpse of the magnitude of sensation that is every moment of SuperTasting.
You have questions. Of course. I will answer them.
1. It's okay, I can eat at Burger King just like everyone else. Being a SuperTaster means that I can find the hidden flavor in nearly any food, so in a way, I derive even more enjoyment from a delicious bacon double cheeseburger than you do. I still don't derive much nutrition.
2. Yes. You may touch me. The next time you see me, you may, if you wish, address me as "Friend SuperTaster," and touch me on the arm. You may feel a slight tingling sensation in your hands, if your sleeves are too tight and you are cutting off circulation. Do not be alarmed; this will not harm me.
3. No, and I'm a little offended that you would even ask that. Beyond the level of basic hygiene that I think everyone should expect from their partner, there is no special restriction in that department, you cad.
4. To answer this last question, allow me to wax metaphoric. In an interview with an acclaimed young mind, the subject was asked if she could describe the experience of being a genius with a mind so far above yours or, to a lesser extent, mine. Her answer was that sometimes, people will have a moment of inspiration when some taxing question becomes clear, and the solution comes like a bee, buzzing towards a pollen-laden flower. And she said that for some, there is always a bee somewhere, that there is a constant stream of insight. Finally, she said that for her, her mind is a great beehive, comprehending everything simultaneously. I do not know if this is a real story, or if I just made it up at some point, but it is an apt description of my day-to-day eating experience. Except that, rather than being in my mind, I have a swarm of bees in my mouth.
Good day to you, my ordinary friends. Know that I am always here, somewhere, SuperTasting not just for me, but also, with great love, tasting for all of you, as well.
I don't quite understand where thesethings come from, but they are adorable silly. It's like someone took the brain of Dave Pantzer, circa 1995, and made 400 short cartoons out of it.
Eight years ago, this cartoon cracked me the hell up. I'm at work, and therefore can't watch it yet, but I've been looking for it ever since I saw it way back when, and so here it is.
Okay, Happy Feet? The cute dancing penguin movie? Totally a Gnostic fable. I know, they make it look like it's about aliens and acceptance and everything, but the strict penguin elders totally give it away. They gave a couple of them jewish accents, so they're clearly meant to be the Pharisees, which makes the protagonist a Christ-figure. But he doesn't die; instead he's banished and goes on a journey of enlightenment, eventually bringing news of higher beings, and a means of salvation. He redeems the people from their blind, sinful ways (singing is everything), and shows them the true means to prosperity (dancing makes people give you fish). He spurns the pleasures of the flesh in order to pursue his true, divine calling! His time spent in the zoo parallels some Gnostic accounts of the resurrection (only with more bumping into glass). I guess the rock-hopper penguins are the gentiles, or something, which relates to schisms in early Christianity about whether one first had to be kosher in order to be saved.
..I'm starting to believe that there may indeed be such a thing as too much education.
Yeah, and I've got two words for you: Rafael Frübeck. ( Concerts )
So now I want to become a Frübeck groupie, sort of like those people who spent their lives following the Grateful Dead on tour. I'll just get a copy of his next year's itinerary, and beg my way into every chorus that he directs. There are worse ways to spend one's life than by being a Frübecker!
( Exercise ) And singing a Requiem is really satisfying after a four-mile walk.
After the concert, a few of us went out for desserts, and while I feel guilty about breaking the diet, I totally earned it.. and if you're ever on Mass Ave, and want a good plum cheesecake, you can do a lot worse than Betty's Crockpot Noodles, or wherever it is that we went. It's a faux-chinese place with sort of a 50's theme, minus the kitsch; hard to describe but a good place. Next time Beck visits we'll have to go there; I think she'd get a kick out of it. Anyway, it was nice to go out with other TFC folks; apart from talking with a small group of fellow Green Line passengers, I never see any of them outside of rehearsal. Myfanwy (whose name is further proof that the Welsh language was totally made up by bored Tolkien fans) has said she wants to make a regular thing of post-concert outings, which I totally approve of. There's not a lot I miss about the UNH music groups, but Wednesday nights at Libby's were a blast.
Bush will be giving another series of speeches about Iraq this week, explaining that the situation there isn't a train wreck, because he loves freedom. I've ignored the last seven dozen similar speeches he's given, but I think we should all give this round a chance. Maybe we don't support the Iraq war because we don't know the facts! Facts such as:
* Freedom is what Jesus likes, even if you don't like Jesus. * Democracy is a good word to repeat often. * Progress in the Middle East is. * What kind of assmuffin doesn't like Jesus? * Saddam <3 Bin Laden, even though he didn't. * Never forget everything about 9/11. Remember three or four things about it, that make the Iraq War seem sort of vaguely justifiable, and forget all the other stuff. * FDR was a terrible president, because of the New Deal, but he would have invaded Iraq too, because Progress Democracy Freedom. This is called "bi-partisanship." * Opposing the Iraq War means that you didn't cry on 9/11. I'm not sure why this is, but I'm confident that there is a cogent series of arguments to be made in its favor.
So please friends, listen to our President give the same speech he's been giving for three years, because maybe this time it will be true.
Hi there. My name is Eryk, and I like movies a lot. A lot of you have been in multiple movies that I like, and I really appreciate that, but lately I've been thinking that this is something of a liability. Observe:
I used to really like Mel Gibson's movies. Lethal Weapon was a great series, although it sort of jumped the shark around the seventh one; Braveheart was like my favorite movie in those delicate post-high school/pre-college years. However, I'm kind of sick of Mel Gibson now, and really can't stand his movies anymore. This isn't really his fault. But:
I have a soft spot for certain Schwarzenegger flicks, like True Lies and the Terminator series.. except that, during the California recall election he revealed himself to be such a colossal butt-head that it was very difficult to enjoy them for several years. Also:
Tom Cruise. God damn it. He was in a lot of good movies, like Minority Report and a bunch of others I can't think of because it's late and the TV is distracting me. Also that bartender movie that probably started all the gay rumors. But anyway, he's recently remade his public identity as a charming insane guy, and so there's another batch of movies I won't be watching any time soon.
In light of this, I have a request for you, the celebrities I like: please don't suck. John Cusack, please don't turn out to be an alcoholic wife-beater! Alan Rickman, I implore you not to publicly advocate bestiality! Russell Crowe, I don't know why I don't dislike you yet, but you're still cool. For now. Tim Robbins, if I ever stop being disgustingly liberal, I'll probably start hating you, but you only made that one movie that I like, so I guess that's not as big a deal. Matt Damon, just.. don't be Ben Afleck. And Coldplay, I've got my eye on you. You kick lots of ass right now, but then, so did U2 for a decade or so. Just because I don't get celebrity news from Shauna anymore doesn't mean I won't find out, you all! Remember, the specter of crappyness hangs over you all.
While cooking breakfast this morning, I noticed the maintenance kid doing lawn-mower donuts on the driveway before heading to the lawn, and thought, "That rotating dumbass! There's no grass on the driveway!" And then, I stopped, and realized that now I knew why.
Thank you, asphault mower kid, for the gift of a smooth driveway. Now if only I could move my car from it.
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