It doesn't mean they're not out to get you.

Where there's a shill, there's a way.

The Next Big Thing: Axis of Emo

GRAND THEFT AUTUMN (WHERE IS YOUR BOY) (Fall Out Boy)

Video Code provided by VideoCodeZone.Com

Fall Out Boy emerged from the legion of punks playing melodic music with Take This To Your Grave in 2003. Great day in the morning! Has it been that long?

Well, what a difference two years, and the endorsement of Seth Cohen can make. I mean, for a band that was named after an obscure character on The Simpsons, (the sidekick of Bart’s favorite comic book hero, Radioactive Man, to be specific) Fall Out Boy’s first album, 2003’s breezy Take This to Your Grave, sold like hotcakes (mmmmmm…hotcakes), but it took The OC to finally land these guys on the pop culture map. Now, after an upgrade to a major label and a concise but glowing recommendation from Newsweek, I think it's safe to say they're done flying under the radar.

The lesson this four-piece from Chicago carries over from its smart-aleck predecessors, such as Blink 182, is that they avoid taking themselves very seriously for the span of more than one song, which allows their cleverness to shine through. Me? I like that in a band.

If you're a fan of Jimmy Eat World and New Found Glory (i.e. infectious, heart-on-the-sleeve-style rock, and if you're reading this, I'm guessing you are) you'll love Fallout Boy. No lie. Despite the somber deduction that, “the poets are just kids who didn’t make it,” Fallout Boy has arrived, proving that not all incisive lyricists slip through the cracks.

Oh Hell, Just Hate the Playa Already

Riddle me this:

What do you get when you mix a giant douchebag, a recording studio, and the worst single ever released by a human being? The funniest fucking thing you'll see today!

You haven't lived until you've seen Kevin Federline bobbing his head and tripping out to his own pathetic single. Well maybe you have, but everything up until now has just been practice for this.

Rappy Bernard.

How do you say "carthartic?" "Cathartic."

Your 15mb are up.

And it's Not to Score Touchdowns

My dad is not athletic.

I’ve never been particularly athletic myself, but like every little boy, I loved to run. I was pretty sure I was the fastest runner ever… I even won medals at the Cub Scout Olympics. Given a choice between walking to the car, and running to it? I chose running every time, and twice on Sundays.

So for years, on those few and far between occasions my dad and I went anywhere alone together, he’d always offer to race me “there.” To the car… to the front door of Radio Shack… on the best weekends, to the lake to throw balled-up bread at the ducks.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. My dad is a gangly fella, and was older than dirt (my GOD! He had to be 40 by then!), and me? I dressed poorly, and wasn’t terribly coordinated, so there were a lot of short arms and legs and long collars flailing about… yet, by some miracle, I usually won.

Sure, sometimes it was close… but generally? Oh yeah, I won.

And we’d sit there, outside of Moran Oldsmobile, and he’d congratulate me, and note with amazement that this time I’d run even faster than that time in the Safeway parking lot. He’d tell me it wasn’t cool to gloat about winning and remind me that I always had more in me, and next time? Next time would be the fastest yet.

It took me years to realize that the greatest lessons my dad ever taught me were learned in the parking lots of greater Fremont. I learned lessons about not just being a good man, but being a better person in the red zones of most every hobby shop in Alameda County… all from a guy who had twice my stride, and no desire to move faster than a saunter.

Someone on Smallville dies tonight.

Sure, there’s a moment we’ve been waiting five years to see, and coal is crushed and titans clash… but we’re left standing over a fresh wound in the ground… and I’m left thinking about a summer afternoon long ago… sitting on a curb next to my dad, while the rest of the world walks by….

Like tigers on Vaseline.

Experts of panel.

Cowl at the moon.

Life and how to live it.

Jack hasn't even been near a gun, violently interrogated someone or barked "Where's the bomb?" in nearly two years. You think that matters? Come, Mr Tally Mon....

(scroll down... dude's compiling a pdf of the 24 body count this season... kinda' rocks)

Super Bowl Brought to You by the Letter "S"

Holy shit.

I said it before: I don't know about football; I don't care about football... but man I love the Seahawks.

Maybe it's that they're so damned earnest... maybe it's that they're built to be underdogs... maybe it's that they really are a team, and not just a bunch of guys waiting for a better contract... maybe it's that happy as I am here, back in California? I miss Seattle. Maybe it's that they have the teeniest lime green accents you ever did see on their uni's. Maybe it's that I can't not follow a team named after a mythical bird.

Maybe I like it when bald guys finish first.

I dunno... but I do know I've walked into every August for years crowing "This is it! This year the Seahawks go all the way!" This year? At long last? Today? They're NFC champs, baby.

So, yeah... I don't care about football. Still, nothing's stopping me from wearing my Darth Vader football jersey on 2/5, and setting my Emerald Downs pint glass down on my the end coaster while we watch the game in... well... earnest.

Go Hawks.

Hooked? Not appealing.

I'm not even supposed to BE here today!

You wanna' piece of me?

File Under Pressure.

File Under Water

According to In Touch Weekly, Kevin Federline wants to open a Vegas nightclub.

The magazine reports that there’s a bit of a hitch, though: Kevin needs to get the money from his wife, who’s none-too-happy with the idea of her spouse spending his time in a nightclub.
A friend says, “The last place Britney wants Kevin to be spending his nights is in a nightclub, even if he’s the owner.” Still, K-Fed has persuaded Britney to talk to the owners of the Palms Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, about the possibility of his opening a nightclub there.

Damn it must be nice to be married to Britney. The girl can't say no to anything. And she should, because "Hey Britney can I build a nightclub?" or "Hey Britney, five milkshakes, twenty minutes - think you can?" or "Hey Britney, why don't we give the baby some weed?" are questions with only one right answer. And that answer is to tattoo the words "boy toy" on Kevin's ass and drop him in prison.

File Under Fire

Americans will buy anything. Literally, and metaphorically.

Take Ronald Reagan. When Regan wanted to make a point during a press conference, he would lean right into the microphone, and get softer
and softer
until he was talking like
this.
The more important it was
the softer
and more intimate
it would get.

With lots
and lots
of
pauses.
Like he was trying to remember something that happened
a long time ago,
but he could never really quite put his
finger on it.

And when he talked
he was singing to you,
and what he sang was
When You Wish Upon a Star.

Joe Kids

If you know me at all, you know I hate cell phones.

Okay, that's not entirely true. I hate cell phone culture. I hate having to hear half of a stupid conversation in the bulk foods aisle, or coming out of the bathroom stall at the car show, or while Obi Wan tries one last time to pull Anakin back from the dark side. I mean, look, if you want to have pointless conversations, go right ahead. Knock yourself out... but I don't want to be even remotely involved... and I sure as hell don't want to have to tell the cops that the reason you plowed into that semi, and caused the 11-car pile-up, was that you were too wrapped-up in your first "free minutes" call of the evening to notice the semi, or the rain, or the blowout of your front, passenger-side tire.

Look, I can see how cell phones can be useful... even cool. They are gadgets, after all, and I am, after all, gentically predisposed to like gadgets... so I do see some merit in them. None of the cell phone merits I can see have persuaded me to sign a contract or pay as I go, though... but thanks to an Xmas miracle, I actually have a cell now... God bless us, every one.

Yes, a few pals (and by "pals" I mean "Kind and generous people I'm very lucky to know through the blind luck of taking this job") from work got together and got me a cell phone. They thought I should wake up and smell the Millenium. They thought it'd be nice to get ahold of me in a crisis, or when Guinness went on sale at Albertson's. They thought I might find having a mobile communication device somehow useful in case I was ever mobile, and in need of communicating. They were, as is their way, thoughtful, and selfless.

So now I have a cell phone. Mostly I leave it on my desk... I haven't gotten into the habit of carrying it around, or checking my voicemail messages in the middle of the street... but I'm sure that day will come. It is, somehow, strangely comforting just having it... I'm pretty sure it can't ward off emergencies, but I'm almost as sure that in the case of one, having it could prove useful... if just to call the media, and get on the news.

Anyway, after I set my settings, and downloaded a ring tone for Nancy, I broke the news to my best friend. He's actually had a cell phone for some time. He tells me that they're really quite common. He's an expert... and a giver... so, as is his way, he shared with me these following cell phone guidelines:

1) Always have the cellphone to year ear whenever dealing with a cashier under the age of thirty. This goes for everything from McDonald's to Sak's Fifth Avenue. You don't even have to be engaged in a coversation.

2) Bonus points if the cashier is over the age of 30, or god bless you if the manager of operation is filling in for a cashier's break. When the cashier announces your total, glare. Glare like you have never glared before. Can't they see you are on the phone?

3) Randomly tell strangers how many bars you are getting. Bars are like gold to the cell phone afficionado. I recommend announcing that you have 11 bars. The obvious nod to Spinal Tap will still make you feel cool and hip, while forcing nerdy executives with no sense of humor to run to the local Radio Shack and ask for the new Razor phone with 11 bars.

4) While at the grocery store, block off an entire section of produce with your cart and call your mother. Repeat this often, "I KNOW! Bananas are only 49 cents a pound! What's that? Sure they go bad in a day, but you can make banana bread. Which makes really good toast. Forty-nine cents a pound, ma." If anyone approaches the bananas, hold up the one "wait-wait" finger. Can't they see you are talking to your mother?

5) Everyone knows you are supposed to turn your phone off during movies these days. But there are no announcements that you can't play Tetris. See how many levels you can clear during the previews.

6) If you must engage in public transportation, use your cell phone as a defense mechanism. Call a friend you haven't talked to in 12 years and catch him/her up on your life. If you have had any major surgery, go into graphic detail. Works well even if you have to make up a friend. When utilizing the "no-one on the other end" tactic, be sure to insert appropriate pauses and nods other wise it just looks like you are talking to yourself. I find that the best way to time these pauses is to use the crazy guy who actually is talking to himself as an egg timer. A kooky-bipolar-smells like urine-egg timer.

7) Drive.

8) Whenever flying, always make sure that you are the last one to turn your cell phone off, "Yes we are taxiing on the run way now." And the first one to make the announcement call "Yes, we just landed." Pre-emptive calls like "I am gonna be late, we have been circling the airport for 20 minutes now" are always well received.

9) Use your cell phone in the largest, loudest crowds possible. Dance clubs, sporting events, riots, whatever is generating the most chaos. Shout your conversation as loudly as possible, and engage in as much eye contact as you can with those around you. Shhh, quiet! Can't they see I am on the phone? A great stress reliever if you can't come up with a better reason to shout. Again, it is not important that someone else actually be on the other end.

10) If you are fortunate enough to have other friends with cells, always make sure to "take another call." The length of time that you are on the other call will let them know how important they are to you. Make it brief, "Oh it was just my mother. She just got out of surgery; I told her I would call her back" let's your friend know that you really appreciate their companionship. A lengthier wait, "Oh, it was my ex-boy/girlfriend from highschool. She wants her Bon Jovi T-shirt back" will let them know that you didn't appreciate getting a $5 bottle of Aste Spumante for Christmas when you shelled out $65 on a bottle of 18 year-old scotch.

11) If it is said over a cell phone, it's not really a lie. Stuck in traffic, delayed at the dentist, cat's puking on the new carpet are all valid reasons for being late for your job, a date, or your aunt Fiona's funeral. At least you had the courtesy to call.

Now, if you'll excuse me, it's 7:01. The free evening has begun, and I have calls to make.

I can relate to trying to save the world on an empty stomach.

Once, this group of ninjas broke into the White House and were threatening to murder the President. I was just about to break in myself and kick a little ninja ass, but then I had to stop by Jack in the Box and pick up a Sourdough Jack. I don't remember what happened, but I think the President died and the United States blew up. What? I'm supposed to keep track of everything?

Tanks For Nothing

There's a lot ot be said for a plan.

The afternoon Patton defeated Rommel in the desert? That was a good plan. Of course, it was Rommel's plan... guess maybe he shoulda' taken a page outta' der fuhrer's li'l red book and burned it... rather than transcribing it. Irony... it's a karmic kick in the ass, huh Rommy?

Yeah, so, I had a plan this week. Came to me, oh, 'round about Monday... "Ninjas & Pirates! This week only!" Sounded great Monday evening... I imagine it sounded as great as the brainstorming session in the Crawford room the night before they unveiled New Coke. Funny thing though... turns out it wasn't such a great idea. Like leg warmers, Bonnie Tyler and Cholera before it, "Ninja/Pirate" week slides helplessly backwards into ignominy my friends... sad but... well, not so sad, really. Really... it was just a bad idea. Forgive me.

I think "Mucous Plugs & Bubble Teas" week is gonna' be great though! Ding!

Satire on the half shell.

More than the sum of their pirates.

Role-play during wartime.

If you build it, he will plunder.

Bet you weren't ready for that.

No sex, no drugs, no wine, no women
No fun, no sin, no you, no wonder it's dark
Everyone around me is a total stranger
Everyone avoids me like a cyclone ranger
Everyone....

Now Ninjas know.

Throwing Starbuck.

I'm a ninja... I just work as a pirate.

The circus was burning.

I figure it was on account of Joey Punchinello freaking out, you know, 'cause I couldn't see nuthin' through the dogs.

She used to be wild for those bare-knuckle clown fights behind the tents after hours, but this was different to her....

Bingo's crying, and not just baby tears through borboun.

I stared 'em down and strolled out real slow. Never burn a clown.

The boss man treats me fine because he knows a good clown is hard to find, and I think that deep down I make him nervous.


All captions from the timeless classic: A Cotton Candy Autopsy.

If a saber falls alone in the forest, does it make any sound?

Don't try this at home.

Sabers light.

Great Moments in Comic Book History!

On Sep 13, 1999, the moon was blasted out of Earth orbit by an explosion in a nuclear waste storage area....

K-Fed-Up

You can stop wringing your hands while you wait breathlessly by the monitor... it looks like Kevin Federline's official website and MySpace are totally legit. You know... like him. Which is sad, because you wouldn't think it was possible for somebody to be so incredibly self-obsessed as to think they have achievements or that anybody cares about them just because they're married to a celebrity.

"I don't think we've ever been formally introduced. My name is Kevin Federline. I'm 6 feet tall, have brown hair and brown eyes. I enjoy horseback riding, long walks on the beach and the wind whipping through my hair. Ha ha ha. On a more serious note, there's going to be a lot more information and updates on here in the coming weeks and I think this will provide you with the opportunity to get to know who I really am. Anyway, thanks for checking out my site and be sure to come back often." ~A message from Kevin's website

I'm pretty sure if I hit him in the face with a rock the police would let me go with a warning. Either that or some sort of medal for heroism.

Franz list.

Just... just don't shoot his wolf, alright?

Great Moments in Comic Book History!

It's been too long, hasn't it? Well kids, at least it was worth the wait!

The two things ex-astronauts agree on:
1) Nobody up there is watching us. Nobody at all.
2) We are not the last survivors of life in the universe, but very likely we are the first examples of life.

These things have convinced them that the most important thing humans can do is learn how to be excellent ancestors.