Puking Rainbows

The following is a post that I'm sick of having in my drafts. I'm
ending this:

Vomit isn't easy to clean up. It can be done, but it takes time, and
love. Its gotta be done right. No half-assing. Approach it with an
open mind. Problem solving at work. We have all these newspapers,
let's start with them. That sawdust stuff? I wouldn't even know
where to go about getting something like that, and its Sunday. Can we
use hay? or Hair? Big sexy piles of it could do the trick. Get my
razor. and the cat.

Months later, the crime scene is visually and olfactorally sound.
Your peers have no idea how grave the situation was. You know it
though. Every time you walk passed that spot on the carpet, you'll
cringe. Try vomiting on someone. They're soiled for life. Put it in
their eulogy.

I don't want to be mr. unhappy blog pants though. I want to talk
about a vomit so beautiful, I almost ralph just thinking about it.

It was the year of our lord, 2006 D.R., A.A. (during Renfro, after
Aaliyah). The world was a better place. Spiderman 3, only in its
planning phases, had yet to drop the entire world's collective IQ's 4
points. Jessica Alba wasn't pregnant. Really, the only thing I can
think of that wasn't better in 2006, was that the Iced Cream Precinct
had not yet been created.

There was a night in August 2006, in the city of Munich, Germany,
where I blew big, big, chunks. I drank a lot of beer. A lot. I ate
tons of sausages, tons of mashed potatoes, tons of macaroni and
cheese. It was bubbling up, I could feel it. Someone made a funny
joke, some girl gave me a pull of her cigarette, and I saw a drunk man
fall flat on his face. I laughed so hard that I threw up. All.
Over. The. Place.

It got on everyone. It was on my friends' plates, in babies' mouths,
in tubas and hair, and in everyone's beer. It traveled through the
sewers of Munich, covered buildings, and monuments. It travelled
through time and space and covered the world. For a moment, I was
taken over by sheer terror. I'd been here before, but never on this
scale. This was going in everyone's eulogy.

But look! My vomit! This isn't your granddad's vomit. Its
technicolor. And its smells like heaven. Unicorns are playing in
it. I had puked a rainbow all over the world. Don't clean this one
up. If I'm lucky, I'll slip in it someday.

Riff Raff and Thugs

First of all, to find three things I want to post about in 1 day is remarkable. But then again, I took today off, and have just been peru'sin USA around the internet. But this shit slays me deep. I apologize ahead of time for my use of cuss words and simple sentences, but I'm angry.

Here's the mother fucking source

Here's your headline:

Papelbon says Red Sox still owe Rays for brawl

Now, right there. If you've seen any of whats happened with this, you should be fuming. Unless you are a blind Red Sox fan, which is NOT an excuse.

Papelbon just shot up to the top of my list of classless dick heads in baseball, I don't care how good he is. Him and Youkilis share the crown I think. He says:

All I got to say is what comes around goes around, man. Payback's a b----, I'll tell you what.

Oh really? Well first, congrats on sounding like a redneck moron. A story: These days, the city of Baltimore is made up of a bunch of young professionals, older couples, and otherwise good people. But then you have the old locals that are holding on to the dump of a row home that they live in. You can find these people walking the streets in the middle of the day (GET A FUCKING JOB), shirtless, lighting cigarettes, cursing, spitting, and either talking to themselves, or talking to someone else about some of the DUMBEST tough guy shit you'd ever hear. And this applies to women as well. And these people LOOK like hell. Ravaged by crack and alcohol, they're probably 2o years younger than they look. And when I read this sentence from Papelbon, I can't help but put it to the voice of one of these fucking riff raff walking down the streets. I swear to god I heard a trashy ass woman saying to her other worthless thug friend just yesterday, "Alls I got to say is, she better fuckin' show up cause that bitch owes me 5 dollars, I'll tell you what." My God, what a life you're leading. I digress.

So this all started when Coco Crisp slid real hard into second on a stolen base attempt. James Shields retaliated by hitting him in the lower body in a later at-bat. This all should be over at this point. But Crisp's a fucking thug who's flat out NOT very good at baseball and maybe frustrated by his diminished playing time, so he decides to charge the mound. That's when this occurred:











And by "this" I mean, when James Shields almost knocked Coco Crisps' fucking lights out. A bench clearing brawl ensued in which Coco got his ass handed to him by Johnny Gomes, but I'm sure some Red Sox got a few punches in themselves. Either way, the issue isn't about whether the teams are "even now," the issue is that Papelbon thinks because he's on his local sports talk show, he can say what he wants without repercussion because his Boston cronies will back him up. And that now both teams will have an even more dangerous rematch when they play again on June 30 because the Fucking Thug Papelbon thought he could say whatever the hell he wants. And I say dangerous because we're talking about 90 MPH baseballs hitting people.

MLB should immediately come out and say that ANY retaliation from either team in their next game will result in an immediate ejection and a fine/suspension. Put this shit to bed. But, HOOEY THE RATINGS WILL BE THROUGH THE ROOF!

I don't expect much from this, if fines or suspensions are handed out, I'm sure they will be drops in a hat. And it may end up being just a plunk in the ass or two, with no one getting hurt or anything. But on the slight chance that someone does get seriously injured, the first person I'm blaming is Papelbon for acting like a fucking childish thug. Its a good thing he's safe in the later innings.

Man and I thought hating the Yankees in the 90's and early 2000's was easy.

Mr Jeff Foxes...or two things that are similar in that they both make absolutely no sense

Mr Balloon Hands.  No Way.

Fleet Foxworthy

Take a look at that image.  Uppity size that.  

That's the cover for the debut Fleet Foxes LP just released on Sub Pop.  I've had this album for a few months at this point, and I've recommended it to some of you.  I think its friggin' fantastic and its only competition for best album of 2008 so far is Portishead's new one.  

Sup Pop released it on Vinyl and included the band's EP Sun Giant with the LP.  Also included was a link to download the mp3s of both the LP and the EP.  You know when people say What Would Jesus Do?  I think if the guy were around these days, the first thing he'd do is release all vinyls with high quality mp3 download codes.  I'm pretty sure he said it once in the Bible.  

So as I stated, I've had this album for a few months.  Apparently it was recorded quite a while ago (the EP was actually released first, but recorded second), and naturally it was leaked.  I don't know what it is that I found so charming about music that paints a picture of Ye Olde Frontier, but its got me hook, line, and sinker.  Fucking guys fixing leaks in houses, tending to the land, wearing hats and beards, etc.  Prime example of this is Midlake's "Roscoe," which was my song of the year last year by a landslide.  Fleet Foxes' LP is the musically superior cousin of Midlake's "Trials of Van Occupanther," though I wouldn't say any one song is better than Roscoe.  Thanks to Sub Pop for releasing this album on Vinyl, because after listening to mp3s for months, I was ready to have the album reborn in my grado's with vinyl pops.  And this album screams to be enhanced by the scratching and popping of a needle.  And that album cover!  Big and blown up on the cover of the gatefold!  Give me one tab of acid, this album, and its vinyl gatefold, and I'll see you at the yard.  I'd come out looking like this guy.

There have been enough blog posts out there about how fantastic "White Winter Hymnal" is so I'll just say this and move on:  Its the best song under 3 minutes I've ever heard.  

It didn't surprise me to learn that seasoned producer Phil Ek (of Built to Spill and Shins fame, to name a few) was involved in mixing this album, in particular "He Doesn't Know Why," which challenged me to focus on that piano backing track, and when I finally did, the song hit like a ton of bricks.  THAT is how you mix music.  Make me work for it.  

I mentioned before Portishead's new LP.  At first it was only available as a CD and as a stupid giant box set vinyl, but they came to their senses and released just the single LP a bit later (which did the Christian thing and included mp3s).  

I really like to listen to these two albums one after another, because its like drifting off to sleep after a hard day's work of tending to the livestock and prospecting my land, and then plummeting down into a smelly, steamy, metal factory made up of nothing but massive turning gears which grind and crush my bones to powder when I fall into them.

Nude Remix. AKA another example of people other than us having some indelible and yet seemingly unattainable quality of vision, access & application

Big Ideas (don't get any) from James Houston on Vimeo.

Alien Sex: Get A Job

The company I currently work for is interviewing for entry-level positions. They even went as far as to take out an ad in the classifieds.

When you advertise a position on such a grand scale, you're bound to have some jokers come in that make you say, "Is this guy serious?"

Unfortunately, that's been the MAJORITY of the applicants.

In addition to the basic "what high school did you go to and who are your last 2 employers?" bullshit, there is also a LENGTHY personality profile, some math questions, and a 75-100 word essay to close everything out.

Why is the application so involved? To weed out the people that aren't really serious about the job.

If you can't sit down for 45 minutes to fill out some basic information about yourself, then you won't be able to get a job ANYWHERE.

One kid, for his 75-100 word essay, actually wrote, "I just want to be part of the team." That's it. That is literally ALL he wrote.

Well, I want to play for the Dodgers; I want to be part of THAT team. But, unfortunately, my desire is not enough. Why? Because the Dodgers still believe in the archaic notion that you should have to prove that you're qualified for the job before they just give it to you.

Even worse than the kids that don't fill out the application are the kids that fill out the entire thing, then hand it to ME. (I'm not a manager, or even an assistant, and have very little say in who gets hired and who doesn't, other than my boss occasionally asking me: "What did you think of that kid?")

They see me in khakis and a polo shirt, and assume I have some kind of authority. But instead of trying to make a positive first impression on me, they ask me stupid shit like, "What is the starting salary?" I had to actually tell one kid, "That's something we would discuss with you after we've reviewed your application, set up an interview, and offered you the job."

Is that an asshole thing to say? Absolutely. But, he asked an asshole question. The only bigger asshole question you can ask a prospective employer is, "How many vacation days would I get?"

One kid said to me, "I'm looking for at least $10 an hour, and I'm looking to get hired as soon as possible." The kid had a college degree, claimed to have a clean drivers' license and no police record, and actually seemed qualified to do the job. Is he going to get the job? Absolutely not.

Why?

Because I told my boss, "You're not hiring that kid."

Even though I have fairly little say in what goes on there, my boss does respect me enough to cross someone off the list if I've asked him to.

I've spent my entire life as a NY Giants fan, and do you know what I was doing during the 4th quarter of their spectacular Super Bowl win? I was getting ready for bed, because I had a job interview in the morning. I woke up, shaved, dressed like an adult and walked into that interview like a grown man. I got that job because I walked into the interview asking for the job. I wanted the job. Not just the money I would make as compensation, not the company car or the health benefits that are wonderful perks of my particular job...I wanted to actually show up there for 40+ hours a week and work my ass off. That's what I wanted, and they gave it to me. I applied for a position that wasn't even open, and they gave it to me.

These fucking guys are walking into an office that I spend my whole week in, and they're acting like I OWE THEM something. I don't owe you shit, and neither does my company. Sit down like the entry-level applicant that you are, and fill out a fucking application.

How about some fucking professionalism? Walk in dressed like an adult, speak like a man, and don't ask any stupid questions. You're not entitled to ANYTHING. Show up every day and work as hard as I do, then ask about compensation. Do something of value for the company. Believe it or not, just because someone "ranks higher" than you doesn't mean that they're doing less work for more money. In some companies, that is certainly the case, but you'll find that out after a few months on the job. Not during a 3 minute conversation with one of the salesmen.

3 minutes isn't long enough to find out anything worthwhile about a company; but it's more than enough for a company to figure out that you're a fucking piker.

- Eli