A place so crowded that even if you merely almost slip on an actual banana peel in the middle of 6th Avenue at 14th Street during rush hour, but do not actually fall, the number of people who point and laugh will still extend into the double digits.
(PS: Shouts out to the comedy genius who put a banana peel in the middle of 6th Ave during rush hour. There are a lot of really well-dressed high school kids who hang around that corner cracking cool high school kid jokes. I bet it was one of those guys.)
Walking towards the park where I eat lunch, I tried to grab a free thing of Mentos from the people who give you Mentos and then evangelize Mentos to you. I was wearing headphones and listening to The Glands (been pretty into The Glands, lately), who left just enough open space in their song “Livin’ Was Easy” for me to hear one of the Mentos evangelists refer to me as “flippant.”
I think she saw my headphones as a lack of desire to hear her Mentos evangelism, where I saw them as a hopefully-mutual understanding that we both know just how good Mentos are (pretty good, not great), so let’s just cut to the chase. For how often I act pretty flippantly, I don’t think I’d ever been called “flippant” before.
I didn’t drive 30+ hours to stand in line, so I mostly only saw one kind of music, and everyone already knows The Puffy Areolas, Apache Dropout, and Thee Oh Sees are good bands. More important things abounded. For example:
On the way to Austin, I got carsick outside of a convenience store near Allentown, Pennsylvania (it happens when I am hungover sometimes and is probably a silent epidemic so back off). A nice man in a truck pulled up next to me and asked me if I was all right. For some reason I felt guilty, so I shouted the first reason that came to mind that a perfectly civilized man might be throwing up in a place like that, in the middle of the afternoon. Unfortunately, that reason was “I have post-traumatic stress disorder!”
I do not actually have post-traumatic stress disorder. I’m not totally sure that throwing up is a symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder. I’m not going to look it up, because I’d rather not be proven wrong. The man drove away without saying a word.
This is a really good example of a thing that I stared at and analyzed until I completely lost any sense of its quality. It is possible this review is incoherent. It is equally possible that if you remove every third letter from this review, you will extract a tighter, more observant review, and the remaining letters will form a nice recipe for a cool drink on this unseasonably warm New York day.
So: I’ve been effectively unemployed for awhile now. The living has been okay, though, and the end is near.
More Importantly: The discovery that I (apparently) came up with this has more than replaced any sense of accomplishment I might have gotten from working some dumb job for a few months.
“[Rasheed Wallace] gave just enough to become one of the most beloved players of the past 20 years. His in-your-face humanity takes most of the credit for that feat, but the fact that all it took was a couple jokes, one championship, and a whole lot of technical fouls shows the wariness and outright contempt the NBA’s younger fans felt toward the traditional sports-talky model of the athlete as role model and ambassador for all bland, generic virtues of sportsmanship and dignity.”
– Jay Caspian King’s out-of-nowhere thing about Rasheed Wallace is pretty spectacular; the above sums up a lot of why I find myself drawn to the NBA. (And, I think, pretty closely approximates why a lot of my like-minded friends like hockey so much, but one of these days I’ll figure that out for sure. I swear.)
Also, this bit: “In the early aughts, Rasheed tried to reach out to the Blazer fan base by hosting a radio show on Jammin’ 95.5, Portland’s only hip-hop station. Wallace and a friend mostly played underground Philly hip-hop and spat freestyles over instrumental tracks.” How did I not know about this? Are there recordings?
Actually, I did so awhile ago. And the album’s not that new. Such is life.
The review came out pretty good, though: Wounded Lion’s not writing earth-shattering pop songs anymore, but considering post-Reatard In the Red pretty much only releases records by (not-necessarily-bad) bands on artistic autopilot (and TV Ghost), at least there’s something there.
I realize that almost nobody who reads this cares about Tumblr theming at all, and my exceedingly unclear style of writing will probably make this useless for anybody googling for it, but I believe I have found an undocumented bug in Tumblr’s theming system.
When you are referring to a user-defined variable in a theme (like, for example, a download link to the movie Phat Beach), it’s done this way:
{text:Phat Beach Download URL}If, however, you put a space in there, like so:
{text: Phat Beach Download URL}The variable will appear correctly in the theme customizer’s preview pane, but will not appear at all on the blog itself, making you look the fool to, say, fans of Phat Beach, which isn’t anywhere near as good as you’d think it is.
Anonymous asked: I'm wondering what ever came of these blobs that fell from the sky, and what were the bacteriums found? The other question that causes doubts, not only in my mind, but many, is - how could the blobs have hit the ground without smashing into tiny pieces? The page showing this blob s practically the size of the persons hands, and even a rock falling from the sky would hit the ground and shatter, so please explain this if you can. Thank you.
Thank you for your curiosity. More information about the blobs can be found by researching the following:
- John Birch Society
- Reverse vampires
- Blobfish
- The unreleased Mario game where you control Mario by drinking a gigantic jug of water
- The terrible unreleased Void LP
- Government denies knowledge
- Government denies knowledge of the terrible unreleased Void LP
- Are Newport cigarettes illegal in Newport, Rhode Island; if so, why
