This "I told you so" is comin' in like a Katyusha rocket

In March, 2004, I posted this item on what at the time passed for my blog:

I got some incensed e-mails for it, and one long-time reader even declared she wasn't visiting the page anymore. But I remained convinced. I mean, come on: I've got a big Jewish nose; I could smell these winners from up on a cross. So now, finally, after so many people dismissed Mel's inexcusable refusal to contradict his Holocaust-denying father, are we all finally ready to admit that Braveheart's got a cold heart? Or does he need to join Hezbollah before anyone gets the hint?

Permalink: 11:46 PM | Comments (4)

The place where niceness goes to die

I’m an occasional lurker on the Rants and Raves section of Craigslist’s Boston page, mostly out of perverted amusement. The site, which is an anonymous, free-for-all message board, is full of vicious people spouting off, and watching them interact is a fascinating bloodsport. The site is so vulgar, in fact, that I wondered if the Craigslist bigwigs had noticed. I contacted Craigslist’s CEO to ask, and lucked out: Boston’s site is particularly nasty, he said.

That was the basis of an item I have in this month’s Boston Magazine called “Naughty by Nature.” It seems the Bostonian Craigslisters noticed the piece already, and were more pleased (here, here) than I expected. I thought they were going to flame me.

Permalink: 08:42 AM | Comments (1)

Oh Kevin, you were supposed to be here today

Kevin and I, in our younger days

As should be fairly obvious, the name of this website is ripped directly from a scene in Kevin Smith’s first flick, “Clerks.” It just seemed like a funny thing to name a site, and when I launched it in 1997, I was an obsessive Kevin Smith fan. At first I just appreciated his raunchy jokes and slacker characters, but then came to admire the way he created opportunities for himself -- how he shelled out his own cash to make Clerks, how he built an empire around his personality. In 2002, I managed to get my college to shell out something like $25,000 for Smith to come speak -- mostly so I could meet him -- and the thing ended up being filmed for a DVD (for which I’m in the credits). When I introduced him to the crowd, I said, “Fuck Benjamin Franklin. Kevin Smith is the self-made man!” People cheered, although probably just because I said “fuck.”

But in the years since, my enthusiasm waned. “Dogma” was ok, “Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back” was weak, and “Jersey Girl” felt ordinary and insincere. He started writing comic books and then taking enormous breaks in the middle of storylines. I wondered if he had stopped caring, and had begun coasting on his name. I began to tune out. When I heard about “Clerks II,” I shrugged. It seemed like a retreat, just going back to what’s easy and familiar.

But I went and saw it anyway, just to see what became of him. And boy oh boy, Kevin, it’s good to have you back.

Go see “Clerks II.” Seriously. From a rabid fan who almost fell off the wagon, I’m telling you: It’s not a retreat. Yeah, sure, it’s the same characters and full of the same rambling, pop culture-infused dialog that populated “Clerks” and “Mallrats,” but that’s just fine. That, I realized during the movie, is Kevin’s voice. The real core of this film is how it mixes bawdy fun with genuine heart, and how there’s real meaning underneath all the dick-and-fart jokes. Kevin said he had a personal story to tell with “Jersey Girl,” but it got lost in translation. No wonder: You can’t express yourself as well with a language you’re not fluent in. No need to speak Swahili when English will do, and Dante and Randall are Kevin Smith’s native tongue. This movie just felt right.

I may not continue to follow Kevin’s life and career as avidly as I used to, but I’ll promise this: Next time you release a movie, Kevin, I’ll be one of the first in line. I might even pick up your comic books again... if you promise they’ll come out on time.

Permalink: 01:21 PM | Comments (2)

Welcome to the house that fat built

In the current issue of Boston’s Weekly Dig, I’ve got an arts piece that chronicles two things I’ve never done before: Sat down in a museum and, by my own initiative, had a conversation about art; and met somebody in person that I first met online through this blog.

How did such a thing happen? It all began with this post about the Fat House, a big piece of goofy artwork currently showing at Brandeis University. That prompted an e-mail from another fan of the house, who found my blog when Googling “Fat House.” We traded a few e-mails and then decided to meet at Casa de Fatty so I could write about it, and the rest is, well, right here.

I expected our meeting to be more awkward than it was, considering we met online first. But it was, as the kids say, pretty chill. We chatted about our jobs and politics, lamented how damn hot it was outside, and put on our paint-splattered thinking caps to talk art. All in all, good fun. (I should note that the monstrosity of an illustration in this post is my own doing. Don’t blame the Dig for that!)

Permalink: 08:15 AM | Comments (2)

You and me? Not without youandme.com, baby

Back in February, I noticed a funny trend of couples launching websites to celebrate their happiness. I put together what I thought to be a witty and sarcastic blog post, and then showed it to my girlfriend, who said, "It sounds like you were just dumped and are bitter." Hmm. How, I wondered, did she know I was just dumped by my other girlfri-- I mean, not wanting to confuse her into thinking she just dumped me, I re-worked it a bit, adding more lame jokes and taking out much of the sarcasm. Then I posted it.

But while I typically forget about blog posts a few seconds after they go up, something about this trend continued to tickle me. It's like a litmus test for romantics -- you either find it lovely or tacky. I wondered what the couples would say about these sites, and figured that somehow, for someone, this would make a good story. So after a little of this and a little of that, I give you the final product: "Together forever online," for the Associated Press. (The above graphic is from AP's asap front page.)

No couples, I trust, were harmed in the making of this story.

Permalink: 12:17 AM | Comments (2)

Table scraps:

♣IF YOU COULD ask Mr. T one question, what would it be? Paul Davidson had a good one. (via Cityrag)

♣WHEN ZSA ZSA Gabor dies, she will be reincarnated as a Rosy-Lipped Batfish. (Wait, is Zsa Zsa already dead? Uhh, let me check... well, no death date on imdb, so I guess not.)

♣IN COLLEGE, I got into an e-mail spat with one of the school's deans, because I insisted on calling her -- as I called everyone -- by her first name, and she wasn't having it. She wanted me to say "Dean" first. Dean Roz -- Roz being her first name. It seemed so stupid to me, just as it does today: We know you're a dean (or, in other cases, doctor, professor, etc.), and you know we know you're a dean, so why are you so self-conscious without the title? Ugh. But apparently this is something other academics are obsessed with, too.

♣DOES YOUR DATING life suck? Has your sense of literary value plummeted? You're in luck: Julia has just launched Project Please Help Me Get Rid of the 8,693 Extraneous Self-Help/Love/Random Books That Publishers Send Me Which Are Overtaking My Very Small Apartment and Making The Boyfriend Cross. Take this crap off her hands, will you?

♣"REMINDS ME OF childhood memories"—Redundant. You either have a memory or you're reminded of something. You're not reminded of a memory. Heavy-metal fans won't stand for such writing, my friend. So go Alx Rose's editor's notes on "Sweet Child O' Mine."

♣AS YOU MAY have heard, Boston has gone bonkers since a Big Dig tunnel collapsed and killed a woman. I wrote about its political implications for this week's Weekly Dig, and the headline they wrote summed things up better than anything else I've seen: "Ceiling hits floor; shit hits fan" (Elsewhere in the issue, the top piece on this page makes me want to stick one of those freaky candles in my ear.)

♣NUDITY: GREAT FOR underwater art photography, not great for outdoor wedding photography.

Permalink: 01:13 PM | Comments (0)

So now, how many reps of bitterness is this?

After signing my life and bank account away to the local Gold’s Gym, the meathead behind the counter made it official by offering me a free gym t-shirt. “What size are you?” he asked.

Medium, I said.

He ruffled through their stacks, found no mediums, and then handed me a large. “Once you start lifting,” he said, “you’ll fill it out.”

“I doubt that,” I mumbled.

My right knee has been hurting for the past few weeks, especially when I drive. I went to a doctor last week, and he told me I’ve got mild tendonitis, likely caused because my leg muscles aren't holding my knee well enough. The solution: get some freakin’ exercise, you lazy bastard. He gave me a sheet of knee exercises I can do at home, but they reminded me of a tv show I once saw for wheelchair-bound elderly people looking to stay fit. So yesterday, I decided to do something I had actively avoided for the past 25.9 years: join a gym.

I don’t like gyms. I can’t take them seriously. When the gym meathead told me I could see a personal trainer to "revamp my routine," I shook my head: I haven't vamped, let alone need to revamp, a routine. I don't even like the idea of having a routine.

To me, working out at a gym is like a mouse running in a wheel: You spend a lot of energy, but ultimately get nowhere. You go, you pick something up, you put it back down, you leave. And you feel exhausted and sweaty and need a shower, and you're surrounded by people who sound like they're masturbating. I want none of that. I see these guys with big muscles and think, “Shouldn’t you be doing something more productive?” -- like, you know, blogging?

People have tried getting me to join a gym before, but I always reject it. I just don’t have the motivation, I say. It’ll be a waste of money. My metabolism is naturally high, I don’t need to be strong for my job, and my sense of self has nothing to do with how far I can run, how much I can lift or how well I do on a basketball court. But, well, here’s this knee. This damn knee. It makes driving uncomfortable, it’s stiff when walking, and something needs to be done.

So now, I suppose, I have a motivation: The gym has opened a wound in my bank account, and it won’t stop bleeding for a year. At this point, the best I can do is get my money’s worth -- and wait, as the days crawl by, for July 19, 2007, so life can go back to normal.

Permalink: 08:14 AM | Comments (0)

And don't get me started on the misuses of "broadcast"

From today's Six Chix:

...which is especially impressive considering that cable channels, like the name implies, are transmitted by cable, and not through the air in waves that could be picked up in a dish resembling the one Max is wearing. But thanks for playing, Six Chix, and better luck next time.

Permalink: 08:14 AM | Comments (1)

With standards like these...

Someone sure is the life of the party! "Hey baby," he'd say when you respond to his ad. "I'd sure like to watch some TV with you. And I mean, watch. Big Brother's on at 8, and then CSI, and I won't tolerate any distracting hanky-panky, you got it?"

(Ad found in the back pages of a local alt-weekly.)

Permalink: 12:08 AM | Comments (0)

Passive-aggressive stage antics

Weakerthans lead singer John Sampson rocks it

I had the pleasure of seeing the Weakerthans in Boston this weekend, and they were, as always, outstanding. They even played some new, unreleased material, which has got me giddy for their next album.

But the anecdote of the night comes from the opening band, The New Amsterdams, who introduced a slow song like this: “John from the Weakerthans told me a story about a fan who said, ‘I love your shows, man. You play loud songs and I listen, then you play quiet songs and I get to talk to my friends.’ So, have fun talking to your friends.”

And they did.

Permalink: 09:15 AM | Comments (0)

Understatement of the month

My girlfriend walked into the bathroom at work yesterday and was met, face-to-ass, with a heavy woman wearing no pants or underwear, with shit smeared down her legs, washing her hands at the sink. "This is a disaster," the woman was muttering to herself. "This is a disaster."

That's one word for it.

Permalink: 11:42 AM | Comments (7)

It's the big one!

From Boston.com today:

Is that what we're calling this now? The Big Death? I'm guessing a headline writer just forgot the word "Dig," but I kind of like it. Morbid, but catchy.

Permalink: 10:35 AM | Comments (0)

My monster goes unfed

Seth Mnookin did a reading in Newton last night, and I went for two reasons: First, I’d finally learn how to pronounce his name; and second, I hoped he’d talk a little about his first book, “Hard News,” which was one of my favorite books of 2004, instead of his current book, “Feeding the Monster,” which is about the Red Sox.

In baseball speak, I batted .500: His last name, according to the woman who introduced him, is “Mah-noo-kin.” I always figured one of the first two letters was silent -- either “Nookin” or “Mookin” -- or they were somehow blended in a way I can’t figure out how to spell.

After that, though, it was baseball all around. In hindsight, it was stupid to expect otherwise: He’s coming into Red Sox nation, he’s got a book about the Red Sox to promote, and the crowd is going to come, drink some beer and not shout high-minded questions about journalism. So all I heard last night was, “Blah blah blah Red Sox blah blah Manny blah blah Boston.”

There were a two interesting moments, though, and they both came when questioners implied that his book wasn’t special. The hook of “Feeding the Monster,” you see, is that Seth got super-special access to the inner-workings of the team, and so he’s created an insider’s account that nobody else could.

As Seth wrapped up an answer about something in the Sox’s recent past, some woman yelled out that she’d rather him talk about what’ll happen in the future, because everyone already knows what happened in its past. “We’ve read your book already. We know this stuff. We read the Boston Globe, we watch television,” she said. Then, recognizing that this was a bit insulting, she added: “But I can’t wait to read your book!”

Seth replied, “So you’ve read my book already, but you can’t wait to read it?”

A few moments later, some guy asked Seth what the Red Sox thought they’d get out of giving him special access. It’s a legitimate question, especially considering the team isn’t happy with his book. “I mean, there are 40 books out there about the Red Sox,” the guy said. Seth snapped back something like: “Tell me another book from this perspective. I don’t know of another book whose author had such special access. One Red Sox book was just a book of e-mails. I don’t know of another one like mine.”

Ok, Sethiepoo. Calm down. We all know you’re special.

Permalink: 10:17 AM | Comments (0)

Good advice for adults, too

Does anyone remember this PSA? I don't, but I wish I did. (via Fark)

Permalink: 12:16 AM | Comments (2)

Sing it, sista

The first person I ever interviewed was Kay Hanley, lead singer from the now-defunct Boston band Letters to Cleo. I was 17 and really into them, and was nervous as all hell. It was for a piece in a local music mag, and I remember us sitting on the ground, me clutching a piece of paper on which I had written all my questions. At some point, I asked if she was bothered by Letters to Cleo's classification as a "chick band" (huh? What was I talking about?), and we had this news-making exchange:

Her: It's just not really an issue for me. I don't really think in those terms, and plus, I'm kinda guyish. I'm not really a girly girl. I'm kinda tough and brawny.

Me: You think you could kick my ass?

Her: Absolutely. No question.

I can’t recall for sure, but I’m betting that last question wasn’t on my little written list.

LTC is notable for another reason, though: I can't remember another female-fronted band that I've been really into. I had a brief love affair with Sarge and remember being pretty impressed by The Amps, and there are good bands like Belle & Sebastian that occasionally use female singers, but, for no better reason than happenstance, nothing's left a lasting impression.

So the past week has been exciting, because I found three female artists that are producing music I wouldn't expect myself to like, but really am digging. They are, pictured above from left to right, Lily Allen, Regina Spektor (who, yeah, I already mentioned on the blog) and Feist. I still don't know much about them, and have only heard what's posted on their websites, but I consider it a good step. May I suggest: Lily Allen’s “Smile” (go to her site, click on the song on the top right), Regina Spektor’s “Fidelity” (go here; it’s the first song to play), and Feist’s “Mushaboom” (her site's a pain in the ass, but the video is on YouTube).

I don’t have much insight into any of these gals; I just wanted to share. If anyone has thoughts on 'em, or cares to suggest more music to check out, comment away.

Permalink: 08:27 AM | Comments (7)

We're not in Colombia anymore, Toto!

City officials in Bogota, New Jersey, are going loco because McDonald's has put up a billboard advertising its new iced coffee -- in Spanish. From the Star-Ledger:

"Something like this doesn't really help the Latino community," said [councilman George] Shalhoub, the son of Lebanese immigrants. "If they're going to assimilate they need to utilize the language of the country they're in. That billboard helps no one but McDonald's to sell coffee and hamburgers."

Because, you know, McDonald's ads in English usually cure cancer and find homes for stray puppies. Oh, the irony of this taking place in a city called Bogota.

Meanwhile, Bogota itself is apparently guilty of keeping immgrants isolated within their own scary, alien languages. On the left-hand column of its website, there's a handy translation tool for eight foreign tongues -- Spanish included.

Permalink: 09:13 PM | Comments (0)

How the news breaks

Today: Federal authorities announce that, by monitoring Internet chat rooms, they uncovered and disrupted a plot to attack Manhattan’s tunnel system.

Tomorrow: New York Times runs a story explaining that federal authorities have a program to find terrorists by monitoring Internet chat rooms. Bush administration angrily responds. In a speech, Bush says, “Once again, the New York Times makes the job of defending against further terrorist attacks more difficult by insisting on publishing detailed information about vital national security programs. Terrorists would have never known we were monitoring their chat rooms had it not been for the Times.”

Sunday: New York Rep. Peter King goes on Fox News Sunday to announce that New York Times Executive Editor Bill Keller shouldn’t just be tried for espionage anymore -- but instead, his arms and legs should be tied to four horses running in opposite directions. “This vital tool in the war on terror is now lost,” King says. Chris Wallace nods solemnly.

Monday: Rush Limbaugh says the only way to protect the American way of life is to shut down the press. Bill O'Reilly nods and screams.

Permalink: 01:04 PM | Comments (0)

For their first anniversary, they'll build an electric car -- by hand

When I was in middle school, I hung pictures of basketball players on my bedroom wall. My friend Seth, meanwhile, hung glossy headshots of congressmen. He grew up, not surprisingly, to be the kind of person that doesn’t just have convictions, but actively embodies them. Watching him is part inspiring, part spectator sport. His head-first mentality is just plain fun.

So when I saw his wedding photos, I asked his family if I could share a little about it on the blog. They said sure. And so here, with my graphical enhancement, is the quintessential picture from Seth’s wedding:

What do we have here? We have the result of many socially-responsible wedding brainstorms -- ideas that went from gathering family and friends to clean a coastline or build a Habitat for Humanity house, and then finally settling upon Seth and his now-wife Caitlin walking into a Tennessee courtroom and getting married while wearing shirts that say “Support Gay Marriage.”

Look at that judge; his face is about as red as his state. Behind that smirk, he must be thinking, “Roll up your New York Times and go back north before I get Dick Cheney to personally chase you out of here.” According to Seth’s mom, the judge was “a bit taken back (his name was Robert E Lee Davis) and he took a very good look as Seth and Caitlin....just to make sure!”

So here’s to Seth and Caitlin, all walk for their talk, doing it in style and giving Robert E. Lee Davis’s family a story to tell for generations.

Permalink: 08:15 AM | Comments (2)

So nice, I wrote it twice

How much did you like my June 22 post about my idea for pro-gun commercials? If your answer is, "I liked it so much that I was hoping you'd re-write it, stretching it out with a few more jokes, just so I could read it again," then you, my wonderful friend, are in luck. An expanded version of it is in this week's Boston Weekly Dig (although, as you'll notice, there are a bunch of lower-case o's mysteriously missing from the copy. I have no explanation for that, but at least it looks fine in print.)

Close readers will notice that the final punchline in the published version was stolen straight from a joke my friend Rob made in the comments section of the original post. I knew I kept him around for something...

Permalink: 05:56 PM | Comments (2)

Table scraps:

♣I THOUGHT IT was creepy when an ex-girlfriend showed up at my door at 2 a.m., wearing a clown outfit and singing "Don't Stop Thinkin' About Tomorrow," but then I heard about the girl whose ex-boyfriend sent her a severed finger and a note saying, "This is my last chance to touch you." ...well, ok, so only one of those stories is true. Guess which one.

♣WHY DO CONSERVATIVES love ZZ Top's "Cheap Sunglasses"? Because, according to this list of songs conservatives love, "keeping wages under control means inexpensive goods for all! Those sunglasses would cost a lot of money if the unions had their way!" (The list is a parody of this list of conservative songs, originally published by the National Review.)

♣ATTENTION CAPITOL HILL: If you're wondering why polls show you out of touch with America, look up Mr. Ted Stevens. He's the elderly guy at the helm of Internet regulation who believes the Internet is actually just a series of tubes.

♣MY FAVORITE SONG of the week: Regina Spektor's "Fidelity." To listen to it, go to her site, click on "music," then click on the "soviet kitsch" tape. You'll never hear the line "It breaks my heart" sung more playfully.

♣HOW MUCH DO you hate your job? Enough to hide in the woods for two weeks, sleeping under trees and not eating?

♣WHILE WATCHING BASKETBALL one day, it occured to me: A commentator, Stephen A. Smith, is yelling unnecessarily, and I really want him to either calm down or shut up, or perhaps both. It turns out I'm not alone. Here's a great video of some guys heckling him during the NBA draft. (And on unrelated video notes: Mexican midget dancing, the fear of pickles is no joke, and this is one hot ass... hand!)

♣IN THE LATEST episode of "I Can't Open It," starring Steve Garfield's mom, she still can't open it. (How much do I love these segments? Scan through the right-hand column on her blog and you'll see.)

♣THIS IS ALMOST a month old, but I just noticed it: The Boston Globe mentioned this blog in a column called "Cyberscenes." Thanks!

♣AND THEN, THERE'S this.

Permalink: 12:20 AM | Comments (0)