Promulgate rathskeller cadres

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Two creepy Italian professors explain that Michaelangelo's David's manhood and corresponding bits aren't small, given the circumstances. This contradicts the prevailing opinion that the marble man is of proportionately dinky schlongitude and shows the bizarre lengths people will go to assuage the bruised psycho-sexual self-image of once-great nations that now suck at everything.

"Here we have a naked man who is about to fight. He has an orthosympathic activation consistent with the combined effects of fear, tension and aggression. A contraction of the genitals is totally normal in such conditions."

Shrinkage? Normal? Pffft, maybe in Italy, but not stateside, am I right fellas? Hell yeah.

Mine grow. Huge.

But then, were huge to begin with.

So, get even bigger.

Lots bigger.

Boredom comes in twos

I'm reading A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius right now, roughly 4 years after the rest of America and her colonies. The book is hilarious and energetic and inventive, but there's this part, about half-way through, were the author, Dave Eggers, recalls an interview he had with the Real World people for the season set in San Francisco. That 40-odd page interview is boring the utter hell out of me. I might not even finish the book because of it.

Then today--just now--I found that the Onion AV Club has another long interview with Eggers. It's also boring as hell.

Strange and portentious.

Hunter S. T's [nearly] final words

Was Thompson's death a murder fixed up to look like a suicide? Was it a suicide planned out to look like a murder that looked like a suicide?

Neither seems likely, but either might just be possible given an interview the writer granted a radio station in January. Quoth Thompson:

"Bush is really the evil one here and it is more than just him. We are the Nazis in this game and I don't like it. I am embarrassed and I am pissed off. I mean to say something. I think a lot of people in this country agree with me -...we'll see what happens to me if I get my head cut off next week -- it is always unknown or bushy-haired strangers who commit suicide right afterwards with no witnesses."

Those last remarks are in reference to the inexplicable suicide another self-described Bush whistle blower, James Hatfield, who had written an expose on the West Texas clan.

It seems like anyone killing Thompson would be counter-productive, as no one was really reading his political diatribes anyway. It also seems out of character that Thompson would try and manufacture martyrdom for himself. Most likely it was simply the tragic end of another tragic and beautiful life and another sad loss for American letters, but conspiracy buffs will have their way, so you might as well have heard it here first.
[I really did like Thompson more than that story about K let on, I swear]

Still more [geek] lists

1up.com has its list of 50 essential video games. Smells like . . . childhood. And also . . . everything since. It's bittersweet to realize the staggering amount of time I've spent with these games over the years. More bitter than sweet are my bizarrely passionate opinions about 1up.com's choices.

They're mostly on point. Most, even, are above reproach, beyond dispute etc, etc. Some, however, are just moronic. Like Halo coming in at number 50. If they couldn't think of a game more groundbreaking/influential than Halo since Grand Theft Auto III--a span of three years--then they should have just made it the 49 essential. . .. Even the article offers more caveats that praise. It's not as intellectually challenging as other Bungie titles, it's shorter, more linear, etc etc. It essentially boils down to this: Halo made the XBox a viable platform. And hell rode with it.

Then there's the dreadful omission of Final Fantasy III/VI [depending on your preferred numbering system]. Final Fantasy VII is on there for it's graphical advancements and [wha?] astronomical cost. But such window dressing is pointless without the gameplay and story innovations brought by III/VI, none of which has been duplicated by any console role playing game since. III/VI represented Squaresoft's zenith, frankly. FF VII was great by proximity.

In brief browsing, I noticed three FF III/VI screenshots when talking about other games, which is more props than they gave some games that made the list. They obviously felt bad about leaving it out, but they had more popular fish to fry.

Thoughts on home design

This has been happening to me enough lately that it's sprung to the forefront of my brain and challenged through clenched fists and teeth for some solution, some reprieve. It seems (through extensive trial and erro) that bathrooms serve two distinct and mutually exclusive functions: Cleaning oneself and evacuating from one's innards dirty, filthy, gut-wrenching waste.

Now, some might say they are both acts of cleansing, one ridding dirt from the skin, the other sweeping more unnamable things from within. To those I say, spare me your metaphysics! Deliver to me such measured arguments whilst showering in a smelly bathroom. Methinks you won't be able to.

Assume briefly that you wake early one morning, perhaps after a big meal of Indian food or Mexican food or the food of some other spice-friendly ethnicity. Lo and behold, walking down the hall, itching your scalp, scratching your groin, you realize that both functionalities are in direct and immediate need of addressing. There is no way to order A) bathing and B) toiley-use that will provide a satisfactory conclusion. B then A deadens the effect of the shower for the sure acridity of the bouquets swirling about. A then B, well, that negates the effect of A, doesn't it?

So I say: Architects and carpenters, cleave to your fate! Two separate rooms are in order! Or at least a stout hermetic seal.

Zealots and I on same page

I can't say I have much in common with the Committee for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice, the Saudis responsible for the torturous debasement of women through a perversion of Islamic law. I, for instance, like to see a little girl-forehead once in a while, something that would land my ass in some mutawwaeen gulag. However, I think they may have gotten one thing right.

They're trying to stamp out Valentine's Day. Say what you will about these murderers and brigands, any step to stop Hallmark's global chokehold on sentimentality is perfectly fine with me.

Plus, I mean, they're our allies.

You'll have more time later

It's been proven, our proximate future will have more time. So go ahead, overbook.

Youth and lies

Pitchfork has a funny interview with the Advantage, a Nintendo cover band. It's a trip down memory lane, featuring classic Konami games with original controllers and cameos by the Max [which I had] and the Advantage [which my uncle had and I never had the nerve to steal].

That's all fun, but the best and most interesting part are the similarities to my own life in the stories they tell; the understanding that all kids lie, and apparently, lie the same way. Exhibit:

Robby: I remember parents being outraged at The Wizard because it made them have to get Mario 3 for their kids.

Pitchfork: Right, that was the debut of the game.

Ben: Actually, my friend Joe said he saw the game before, but I don't believe him.

We had a kid like Joe in our neighborhood, except we called him Tom. We never believed Tom.

My parents never let me see Wizard because they didn't burn their Led Zeppelin albums just to let the occult waltz in our living room in the guise of Fred Savage.

Uh-oh . . .

Desist back-patting , pop those shoulders back in their sockets and prepare yourselves for the messy reality of democracy. Messy, in this case, being a short-sighted euphemism for constitutionalized inequity.

Didn't see this coming? We know what faith-based politics have wrought locally, why would this be any different? Oh, right, the people who started the war said it would.

Still, it'll be freedom for everyone with a penis, that's almost half. And no clumps of replicating stem cells will be murdered.

Democracy Box Score:
Realism: ∞ -- Power of positive thinking: 0

At least they don't have slaves.

Ride you dark cowboy, ride.

For the calorie conscious

One of the great ironies of this image-conscious nation of ours is its startling obesity rate. McDonalds, long a primary contributor of the latter, has recently begun to cater heavily to the former, creating commercials that feature hot, fit urban kids, choosing to hide off camera any and all of the things they sell.

Then, a week ago, they tried something startling, essentially saying: if you're worried about the fat content of the food at McDonalds, don't eat it. Instead, the megalithic death vendor is now encouraging you to search out other uses for their products. Like sex.

Spotted on ESPN.com.

The Double Cheeseburger, though not one of McDonald's signature sandwiches, was likely chosen because of its versatility. Most of their sandwiches are fine for either eating or humping, but if both cravings strike simultaneously, the double cheese offers two patties, for your convenience. So go ahead, shake things up a little.

And so affordable.

Update: A friend who is in business school talked to one of her professors, who does some ad work locally for McDonalds, and he told her that they understood the sex connections, and were using them to reach out to black men. They also hoped it would appeal to white youth because of the more understated drug reference. I wonder if it's functioned the way theyd hoped. I haven't seen it around in a few days . . .

MP3s: The Arcade Fire

To those of you who like good music I declare: I also like that. But now, since I have no real income beyond what I scrape together as down payment on debtor's prison, I can no longer afford to indulge my sensitivities with complete albums and am forced to beg for scraps at the alley-door of fan-boy websites and blogs as P2P programs generally suck and my dial-up precludes any serious torrent work.

The Arcade Fire I've been wanting to hear for a while, since around the time I stopped having access to any money whatever. Turns out they're good, which will be of interest for those who like such things. There is a recent school in this musical realm of artsy shit that delights in pitting accompanied instrumentation with off-kilter vocals. The Arcade Fire take this to its conclusion with singer Win Butler, who has probably the worst voice of anyone I've ever heard, even considering my own death-knell yelp. Wake Up, for it's part, has violin work whose capacity to induce weeping has no serious competition since, probably, November Rain. No mean feat.

So here's some fairly high quality live stuff: Bradley's Almanac

. . . and a token track from the CD: Download.com

. . . and this, which is a site offering their music for ten cents a track. But it's based in Russia so I'm going to ask Mike to try it first and, if that Mac of his is still kicking tomorrow, let me know and God help me I'll go on an mp3 buying tear that will turn your hair white. Even lowly I can afford a buck an album. Or at least I can steal that much without getting caught.

Their website is . . . precocious.