Anablogcabin
Friday, October 31, 2003
Racist Against Retards
Posted by Jimmy Saffron @ 4:16 PM
There's a campaign talking point for you: "For far too long, people in this country have faced discrimination based on color, for the sole reason that they are retarded."
Right up there with Sexist Attitudes toward Gun Owners and Tax Relief for the Unborn. And let's not forget that most heinous of societal injustices: Hate Fraud.
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To Love As & With a Retard
Posted by Analogcabin @ 3:57 PM
Despite Sumday's insistence to avoid any semblance of generally accepted headline capitalization techniques; despite his relentless addressing of posts as though this were a private forum; despite his unquenchable thirst of non sequiturs, I love him.
I love him as one might love a retarded person -- with slight hesitation, but unconditionally, and utterly nonsexually. I look at him... love at him and I know, there but for the grace of superior intellect go I.
But his last post fascinated me. Not only because I'm a fan of film, and especially the filmic study of retards and retardation (from Las Hurdes to S. Coppola's compelling self-portrait of a retard in Japan, Lost in Translation), but because the image of a striking and retarded beauty is provocative to me.
And since we're there, at the intersection of film and life, let us use what is quite simply the most thrilling and accurate examination of retarded love and sex yet executed, Garry Marshall's magnificent The Other Sister.
For the uninitiated, this remarkable work features outstanding performances by retarded actor Giovanni Giuseppe and the normally intelligenced Julia Louis Dreyfuss. The latter, playing the eponymous sister, is a beauty of great renoun. Please reference the below images of her from the film.
Now, as you can see, she portrays a rather sexed-up retard, and I think we can all agree (with the possible exception of Barry, and he only because he's racist against retarded people) that she stirs our loins. Sumday said the retarded girl in the coffee shop was very sexy, and that he's masturbated to her image many times in the days since. I think that's brave.
What I'd like to know is if any of you gentlemen would love a retarded girl? There are obvious advantages -- amiable, easy to convince to try new things sexually, etc.
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Middle Path My Ass!
Posted by Billy Sumday @ 2:16 PM
Shakti Mann,
Your aggressive tone belies your Buddhist allegiance. Need we be so argumentative, casting insults and proclaiming others as having "egg on [their] face"?
No, we do not.
I merely proposed a few films to get the ball rolling. Of course, we can always add or remove films to our list, carefully sculpting it until it becomes the industry and academic standard. A book will follow, and it will be sold to film schools and students. Starting tomorrow, I'll begin work on an article for Film Comment.
So, any more titles to add to the list?
I'm thinking Lucan, though it was only a television show and never a movie.
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Sumday with Egg on His Face
Posted by Shakti Mann @ 1:58 PM
Billy, in your sermon about the merits of cinema devoted to feral and otherwise forsaken children, you neglected to mention this classic. Faux pas!
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He's Not a Feral Child -- He's My Brother!
Posted by Billy Sumday @ 10:58 AM
You know, if I were a cinema professor at a small liberal-arts college somewhere in Ohio (not that I know of anyone who fits that description -- hardy har har!), I don't think I'd hesitate to offer a class called "Feral Children in Film."
Think about it. Films like Rudyard Kipling's The Jungle Book (a poignant, animated re-creation of the lives of Kamala and Amala, beautiful young girls who, like so many before, lived with wolves and slaughtered livestock -- and the hopes and dreams of a community -- in a small town in India), Truffauts' Wild Child, and Herzog's Kaspar Hauser all showed us the warmth and humor of unwanted and abandoned children, left to survive in the wilds of the Indian jungle or in the cellars of their parents' modest suburban houses. And who could forget Jodie Foster's hilarious turn as Nell in the film Nell, a film that bore the title 'BEST PIECE OF ART - EVER' until the recent release of Cuba Gooding's Radio. These films are not only cinematic gems, they're viable proof why children shouldn't have human contact until their early teens.
Where am I going with this?
ITEM!
Two days ago I was in a coffee shop getting some...coffee when I saw the most beautiful retarded woman I had ever seen. Dressed to the nines, this young twenty-something sprite wasn't your average Hollywood hipster. No, this little starlet was a little...off. And it was weird. Really weird. Like being attracted to your cousin. Which, in my case, is all the more relevant, since my cousin actually IS retarded.
But my cousin was never this hot.
Nowhere CLOSE.
Snap.
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Dongs of Sevotion
Posted by Sue @ 10:01 AM
Mr. William "Billy" Joel composed an entire collection of songs and compiled them into an album called "The Stranger." If you listen closely, you will hear detailed instructions on how to make the below masturbatory techniques work without fail.
In fact, the album cover depicts Mr. Joel about to engage in manual coitus into a clown in a technique known simply as "The Clown."
As an aside, take a look at this story: Catholic schoolgirl revenge!
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Thursday, October 30, 2003
An Addendum
Posted by Analogcabin @ 10:16 AM
In the time since Jesse introduced this technique to me (orally, not manually... shit... theoretically, not physically,) I've heard it called "The Stranger."
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Who is the Sleeping Beauty?
Posted by The Reverend Harlow Jesse Carpenter @ 9:21 AM
You young whipper-snappers are making my old and feeble mind work overtime here.
I do remember this particular lady you call The Sleeping Beauty. Now, I can't exactly recall who introduced us, but I do know that it was senior year at an undisclosed midwestern liberal arts university, and that places our meeting in the 1994-95 timeframe (a few years before another beauty entered my life... The Fleshlight).
Now, unlike Spencer2K and his Sock Technique, I harbor no illusions that I "invented" The Sleeping Beauty (or "The Beaut" for short). She was definitely "handed" down to me from elsewhere. I wouldn't say that she and I enjoyed a particularly long or successful relationship, but as she was passed to me, I passed her on to others. For me, the truth about The Beaut - as with so many other short, ultimately unsuccessful, private, "self-loving" interludes (i.e. an oven mitt, Sue?) - is that the idea of her is much better than the reality.
Now as some of you surely know - for young, single men, nighttime can be the worst time. All alone in a cold, empty bed, the lonesome, wakeful moments lead to torment in the sleep. Dreams become sullied with sinful thoughts and carnal feelings. Impure images rise before rapidly-moving eyes, and before too long... specific body parts rise to follow suit.
Sometimes in its fitfulness, the body inadvertently comes to rest for an extended period on one of its own arms. And when the lustful dreamery becomes too much, and you awaken with a shudder, you may find that this arm - having been pinned beneath your craving body for God knows how long - is still... fast asleep.
This is when your arm is no longer your arm - it is The Sleeping Beauty. And you must act quickly, for the Beauty does not sleep for long.
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Wednesday, October 29, 2003
Here, Here
Posted by Jimmy Saffron @ 3:52 PM
Sleeping Beauty! It must be told.
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Sleeping Beauty
Posted by the spencer2000 @ 1:06 PM
Long ago I heard another masturbation tale about the Reverend. One involving a girl named "Sleeping Beauty".
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Music For Thought.
Posted by Sue @ 12:57 PM
I would like to suggest, fellow 'Cabin Readers and Members, that you listen to Frank Sinatra and Tommy Dorsey's rendition of "Fools Rush In" as you read the following posts. I did and I'm a better man for having done so.
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The Reverend & The Sex Toy
Posted by The Reverend Harlow Jesse Carpenter @ 11:33 AM
As happens so often when two men are involved with the same, uh... semblance of a non-specific woman's body part, the details of what happened when, who did what to whom, who did what with what and when, will vary between the two fellows.
Boys, gather 'round your monitors as I tell you the story of my brief and stormy relationship with the Fleshlight (pet names will remain undisclosed), and uh... "straighten out" a few of the facts. Back in the latter-half of 1996, my "main squeeze" was a lovely young lass, working for the respectable Self magazine of New York City. I was living in Chicago, and as a young couple in the throes of new love, it was... frustrating... on a number of levels... to be so far apart from one another.
One day, m'lady was asked to write a small article on this "brand-spankin'" new gadget, the Fleshlight. But here was "the rub" - in order to write the article, she had to find someone willing to take this thing for a test run.
The backstory: the Fleshlight was the invention of a former "cop" who "came" up with the idea while oogling his standard-issue, foot-long flashlight. He explained that he had seen a lot of cases of sexual assault committed by lonely, horny men, and that his new invention would hopefully provide a better outlet for these would-be aggressors - by providing a more "realistic" simulated sexual experience.
Well, I got the call to be a test pilot. At first the offer seemed a bit... unsavory, but after thinking it through I decided that my participation would be of great help to a wide swath of society - my galpal, the inventor of the Fleshlight, the would-be victims of sexual assault the world-over, the would-be rapists of the world, the police who have to catch the rapists, the taxpayers who have to fund the police, the publishers of Self magazine, untold numbers of lonely (albeit unagressive) men the world over, countless others in circumstances seemingly unrelated to my masturbating with a sex toy, and last but not least... myself. I'd be a hero (myself). I'd really be helping people (myself). Myyyseeeeelffff....
So, a few days later a "box" arrived in the mail. Upon opening it, I was a little stunned by the reality of the object (accurately described below by A-Cab), and where I knew it inevitably would... go. I set it on a table on the far side of my studio apartment and let it be for awhile. I needed time to adjust to this new reality. You could say we were courting one another.
Eventually of course, unbridled... well, "passion" isn't the right word... followed. It uh... it worked, you could say. No major issues or anything. I suppose I gave it a thorough "testing" over the next few days (or weeks... or months... I don't know! I don't remember!), and it continued to function just fine.
Sadly, in spite of my mostly positive review, the story never made it to print. The editors at Self deemed it less important than "12 Exciting New Skin Care Tips!" or some other such doggerel.
Maybe as a result of this "anti-climactic" finish, or maybe as an inevitable denouement, the excitement wore off (not to mention the skin on my... just kidding!). The Fleshlight was called into duty less and less often, and by the middle of 1997, when A-Cab and I became roomies in Wrigleyville, the Fleshlight was just another strange, plastic item collecting dust in the strange, built-in medicine cabinet outside of our bathroom. Word however, continued to spread after-the-fact, and I was occasionally asked to recount the story. Sometimes, the Fleshlight was even trotted out to shock and entertain our guests.
And of course... the Fleshlight was also trotted out to "entertain" A-Cab once or twice.
When it came time to leave that apartment, my girlfriend had by then moved to Chicago, and whatever use I might have had for the Fleshlight was long gone. Sadly, I'm not even sure what became of my Fleshlight. It may have wound up at The Brown Elephant near the corner of Halsted and Addison.
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The Affair of the Fleshlight
Posted by Analogcabin @ 10:20 AM
This morning, while enjoying my daily ritual of a fresh cup of coffee and a visit to the world's most entertaining website, something caught my eye. Something familiar. The plastic casing is black rather than the off-white I remember, and the pink latex labia aren't caked with lint, but there's no mistaking the Fleshlight.
That's right, gentlemen. I've loved a Fleshlight, and I loved it well.
The year was 1997, and I lived in the third floor apartment at 908 West Addison Street in Chicago, Illinois. I tell you the address because I no longer live there. In fact, if you have the means, I encourage you to visit. I'd recently graduated from college, and I shared the apartment with two friends -- one of them our own Rev. H. J. Carpenter. We were young, alive, horny, and poor -- monetarily and vaginally.
"How could that be?" you're undoubtedly shrieking to the sky. "Seldom have two more physically attractive men walked the wretched Earth!"
True, but Jesse and I were romantically involved. Not with each other. Me with a young lady in Ohio and he with the New York City magazine writer he now calls Mrs. The Reverend Harlow Jesse Carpenter. It was that magical confluence of circumstances -- our cohabitation, our horniness, and her magazine writing -- that brought me together with the Fleshlight.
I don't remember all of the specifics of the conversation, but at some point Jesse sat me and the other roommate -- a man who I'll call Dr. Seamus Mighty Thunderclap, currently a theater professor at a small liberal arts college -- down for a heart to heart. He told us that the now Mrs. Carpenter wanted to write an article for Glamour or some other women's journal about a new male masturbation aid called the Fleshlight, and that she'd requested Jesse's help. The Fleshlight, she explained, was designed to appear at first blush to be a standard flashlight, so as to alleviate those embarrassing situations when, say, your mother discovers a pocket pussy in the ice tray. Despite my misgivings about whether such an article would appeal to Glamour's female readership and my discomfort with the formality of Jesse's announcement, Seamus and I encouraged our friend.
A few weeks later, the Fleshlight arrived. Our unpacking of the parcel was oddly similar to the scene in A Christmas Story when Ralphie receives his secret decoder ring. There was overwhelming excitement that quickly melted to confusion. First of all, the device looked only vaguely like a flashlight. The handle end was roughly four inches in diameter, while the business end must have been ten. This resulted in a heft that would have made for a dangerously unwieldy flashlight. Further, there was no on/off button, and a plastic cap covered where the bulb should have been. We unscrewed the cap to reveal a comically pink jiggly latex enclosure that was both immediately recognizable as a vagina and completely unlike any vagina I'd ever seen.
"You guys can use it when I'm done," said Jesse charitably.
While Seamus immediately declined, I wasn't so quick to look a gift pussy in the mouth.
"Sure," said I.
Again, I don't recall when it was determined that Jesse was done, but at some point later it was. The Fleshlight was kept in our medicine cabinet, and one lonely night I paid it a visit. Sparing you the ugliest, most beautiful details, I'll say only that it requires quite a bit of work -- lubrication beforehand, cleaning afterward, and careful avoidance of lint throughout. In that way, I suppose it's very like a real vagina. Nonetheless, I never loved the Fleshlight again.
Except once.
So much happened in the months that elapsed between the affair of the Fleshlight and my move from that apartment. Mrs. Carpenter relocated to Chicago, Seamus received his Masters, friends were married and visits were made, including our own Barry Kailee who hid notes throughout the place, making us smile long after his departure.
When I was moving out of that apartment, Jesse and I rediscovered the Fleshlight while cleaning. It was like a Schwartzeneggar family Nazi heirloom -- hidden and objectionable, but an undeniable part of our past. I don't know why I opened the cap. Maybe it was to say goodbye. When I looked inside I saw a scrap of paper resting on top of the graying latex labia. On it was written familiar script reading, "Barry was here."
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Tuesday, October 28, 2003
A Vagina, A Vagina. My Kingdom For a Vagina!
Posted by Sue @ 9:59 PM
I will be first in line to sing the praises of masturbation. But I have to say that I have never used a sock as a "spunk receptacle." I've heard of socks being used as such, but not until I was in my mid-20's. As old habits die harder as we get older, I can tell you honestly that I've never jerked off into a sock.
A jar... A rubbermaid drum... An oven mitt... A sloppy joe... Yes. But never into a sock.
Perhaps you all should buy one of these:
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S'that so?
Posted by Billy Sumday @ 8:06 PM
Sure, Sue, a vagina.
That mystical, elusive, and smelly creature oft written about in children's fairy tales and law journals. Yeah, and I'm sure that the first time "the urge" reared its (and your) head skyward, one of those furry little critters was close by for the grabbing.
I'm not hearing it, Sue. You can skirt the issue all you want, but if you're a man, you'll admit your love for masturbation - and socks - like the rest of us, right here on the pages of this immensely popular and public forum.
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Stop With the Socks!
Posted by Sue @ 8:01 PM
In my day, we didn't use socks to masturbate. We used a little device called a "vagina."
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Clarification
Posted by Billy Sumday @ 6:04 PM
When you say "drop it in a sock," Spencer2000, do you mean in a sock or on a sock? I've used both techiques, and have found the latter to be less abrasive and equally satisfying. For those that are still confused, let me explain.
First method: Sock actually covers the phallus, a la Chili Peppers, hand is placed around the phallus-filled sock, and the sock is manipulated in a gentle, rhythmic back and forth motion, placing enough pressure on the head of the instrument to release its Halloween treats inside the aforementioned sock.
Second method: Primary hand is placed directly on phallus while secondary hand unfolds and flattens a dirty sock. Using the same gentle, rhythmic motion described in the first method, the instrument is discharged and its sweetness sprays out and down, coming to rest in a gooey puddle on top of the aforementioned sock. The sock is then folded.
Whereas I have used the first method, always as more of a gimmicky, exhibitionist act, I prefer the second and it's tidy, almost geometric precision.
But I agree that your original question is an intriguing one, Mr. Spencer2K. Why always socks? Are we genetically programmed to gravitate toward such white, cottony, tube-like fabrics?
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A Sock by Any Other Name
Posted by Jimmy Saffron @ 3:34 PM
He claims fidelity to the sock. But it's been my understanding that when Spence2K stays in a motel, a sock is not even necessary. That's what the carpet is for.
Regrettable as this subject is, maybe we can talk Spence2K into posting that much beloved tale of adolescant humiliation involving him, his mother, and that pair of pajamas he thought he'd put in the laundry.
It's a classic.
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Lifted, or The Story's in the Sock, So Keep Your Spunk to Yourself
Posted by Analogcabin @ 2:13 PM
Let's get a couple of things clear: First, my admonition of the Spencer for his highly dubious claim that 2003 is the Worst Year of His Life is exactly the kind of paternal "Walk It Off, You God Damned Fairy" advice in which I specialize. It's what he needed, and it's why he came to me in the first place. Second, our AOL IM conversation only briefly touched on masturbation. It's not my habit to discuss such topics during internet "chats," as it's creepy to do so and the FBI is listening. Third, my prescription to the Spencer was a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 and a drunken walk along the boardwalk, ogling the Santa Monica beauties like a latter day Aqualung. In my experience, that'll cure what ails ya. Obviously, he's not filled my prescription. Instead, he's opted to fill a sock.
That said, I find it troubling that the Spencer2K had a girlfriend that felt it appropriate to discuss the masturbation habits of her male exes with him. Call me old fashioned, but that's inappropriate. Not as inappropriate as, say, discussing hand job technique with your grandmother, but more inappropriate than pooping in your pants.
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The Sock Technique
Posted by the spencer2000 @ 12:45 PM
So I was chatting with Analogcabin this morning. The main gist of the conversation was how crumby 2003 has been for the spencer2000. I maintained that 2003 has been the worst year of my life. Analog chided me by saying, “The worst year of your life must have been when you lived at home after college. Working in Kinko's? No chance at sex?” He reminded me that while I might be unemployed, I can stay out as late as I want and don’t have to worry about my mom coming in my room and catching me wacking off. All true.
I got to thinking about wacking off when I was in high school and college, specifically, where I deposited my spunk. Not much of a tissue man, most of the time I would to drop it ("it" being my seed) into a sock. Seemed like a logical choice. They didn’t leak that much, and I could count on my roommate not rummaging through my dirty socks? Wadded up tissues in the garbage are tantamount to hanging a jar of Vaseline around your neck. Sure masturbation is something we all do and most of us can talk about, but the aftermath of the act should best be kept out of the public eye.
At one point I was discussing various masturbation techniques with a lady friend of mine. She asked about my semen deposition policies so I explained my sock technique. She asked why all guys do that. I was a bit shocked by this. What did she mean,, "All guys?" I though I was the only one. To think there were other "sock squirters" out there. She went on to explain that several guys she dated did the same thing. Then asked if anyone told me the merits of sock spuging (sp?) when I was younger. I told her that those are the types of thing guys figure out on there own, and from the sound of it, sometimes reach the same conclusion.
I am the spencer2000 <beep>
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Dr. The Spencer2K and the Women
Posted by Sue @ 12:25 PM
I suppose besides Mr. Saffron, I'm sort of privy to the 411 on The Spencer2K's love life. I am not one for blackmail, but unless The Spencer2K shows his face more often around here I, for one, will not quell any rumours about his outing in Vegas with 3 strippers (all MALE, mind you).
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Or Not
Posted by Analogcabin @ 10:50 AM
So maybe the Spencer2K's lovelife is less interesting than I thought.
What do you people have to say for yourself? Don't make me fuck this shit right up.
The Next Joe Millionaire? Who saw it?
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Monday, October 27, 2003
A New Week
Posted by Analogcabin @ 11:31 AM
Alright, people. It's a new week, and I think it's time we turn the subject from Elliott.
Let's talk about the Spencer2K and his love life. What's the buzz? Tell me whatsa happenin'?
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Sunday, October 26, 2003
I Better Be Quiet Now
Posted by Shakti Mann @ 2:50 PM
I don't know if you've all visited the Elliott Smith webpage lately, but you should.
It features, among other things, a link to an entry on Margaret Cho's blog about Elliott, entitled "R.I.P. Elliott Smith," which is lovely.
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Saturday, October 25, 2003
With Open Arms...
Posted by Shakti Mann @ 8:37 PM
The return of the Spencer2000, grammatical warts and all, has brought some much needed cheer to our sounding board.
And to me personally.
In case there's any doubt about that....
[Photo taken by the Benevolent Ryan Irvin]
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The Spencer2000, Our Hapless Jed
Posted by Analogcabin @ 7:39 AM
I'll admit it. I mistakenly edited the Spencer's post to change a reference to Saffron's real name, [J.W. Gacy], to his Analogcabin sanctioned nom de plume. In my haste to protect him from the prying eyes of a nation of readers that undoubtedly would like to see him swing from the nearest tree for his persistant ignorance, I inserted Billy's name. It was an honest mistake, and I'll accept that my care and concern for even the likes of Saffron have resulted in a minor gaff. I apologize to you, Billy. To you Saffron, I only wish I could see you so that I could thumb my teeth at you.
And to you, the Spencer2K, you mark your return by plaguing me with uncapitalized prose -- the blight of the internet. I've already editied your previous post (the contents of which we quite touching, incidentally.) No this.
It's fairly simple -- depress the shift key whilst hitting the character key when it's the first word in a sentence (following the period, or "dot") or when it's a proper name, like John Wayne Gacy.
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Posted by the spencer2000 @ 5:01 AM
no, analogcabin doesn't know your names. he changed the post.
i am the spencer2000 <beep>
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Friday, October 24, 2003
Falsely Accused!
Posted by Billy Sumday @ 7:37 PM
Spencer2000.
You were once a consistent contributor to this site. I would even go so far as to say you were one of the pillars that buttressed this once young and burgeoning forum of intellectual thought and bi-curious erotic confessions.
But now...(sigh). Now. Now you don't even know our names, for it was Jimmy that accompanied you to the memorial, whilst I, Billy, spent the evening repelling down Thailand's steepest and most harrowing cliff "Dong-tyung-uwn", appropriately nicknamed by the locals and loosely translated as "The Biting Bronco".
Spencer2000, you are the weakest link.
Goodbye.
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Pictures of the Vigil
Posted by the spencer2000 @ 2:24 AM
Billy and I went to the Elliott Smith vigil last night. Here are some pictures.
I am the spencer2000 <beep>
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Thursday, October 23, 2003
No More
Posted by Analogcabin @ 4:42 PM
The scene outside of the aforementioned Sunset speaker shop....
Now that's it, yes?
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Everybody Cares, Everybody Understands
Posted by Shakti Mann @ 1:04 PM
I hate to give MTV or MTV News much credit (one their "top stories" right now is about Jessica Simpson figuring out that Chicken of the Sea is made of tuna and not chicken), but this is a very nice write-up.
We don’t have you with us but/
We keep a good attitude/
We miss you, Mister Misery/
Like we say we do.
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A Moment of Levity
Posted by Analogcabin @ 11:11 AM
Though I'm sure we're all still touched and saddened, history has taught us nothing if not that Analogcabin continues, though times of turmoil, tumult, and tragedy, to provide America and the world with patently hilarious internetty goodness. Today will be no exception.
I won't craft the goodness, of course. I'll just link to it. This is perhaps the single most remarkable piece of audio editing I've ever experienced. The satire's target is our generation biggest, most slow moving and obvious: Rush Limbaugh.
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Los Angeles Express
Posted by The Reverend Harlow Jesse Carpenter @ 9:38 AM
On the cover of his "Figure 8" album, Elliott is wearing a Los Angeles Express shirt (a team from the short-lived '80s pro football league, the USFL).
I find this so sadly appropriate on many levels.
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Wednesday, October 22, 2003
Last Call
Posted by Shakti Mann @ 4:08 PM
I was fortunate enough to meet Elliott Smith once.
Halloween, 2000. I was seeing a show of his with some friends at Carnegie-Mellon. We perched outside the green room door and chatted with the members of Grandaddy while we waited for him to emerge. When he finally did come out, he was nice enough to sign an LP for my friend Meggie, who couldn't make the show because of a conflict and was a bit disappointed about it. I told him what a great set he played. He looked back at me in apparent disbelief and sighed, "Oh, yeah? Well....I don't know." I thanked him--for the show, for his work, for everything. He thanked me for the enthusiasm. We shook hands. He managed a nice smile. And then he wandered away, alone.
The drummer from Grandaddy, who had earlier told my friends and I what a good guy he thought Elliott was, nodded in affirmation of himself. Then, drunkedly pulling the flower-print bedsheet that he was wearing over his head, he departed our company for the green room.
In search of candy, no doubt.
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More Elliott
Posted by Analogcabin @ 3:48 PM
My friend Jason intended to post this on his site, but didn't have the space. It's a photo of the wall of the store on Sunset pictured on the Figure 8 cover. He mentioned it looks strange without Elliott, and I agree.
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Posted by Jimmy Saffron @ 1:05 PM
The usual attempts to compare him to past artists (Nike Drake, Simon and Garfunkel), I always thought were lacking. He dredged deeper than the former, he could be as catchy as the latter. He was, I think, the premiere singer-songwriter of his time. The songs are indelible. His voice was beautiful. The lyrics are haunting, poetic. It was all of a piece.
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Independence Day
Posted by Analogcabin @ 1:01 PM
It's a little difficult to shift gears so suddenly. This site is usually so cynical and disingenuous, myself in particular, that I fear waxing whatever about Elliott Smith will be taken as overly sappy in contrast. Or worse, cynical and disingenuous.
Billy's question is an interesting one, though. Is his death sad in the way that it's sad when someone's taken off of life support? I think it's fairly common knowledge that Elliott's tried to commit suicide a number of times over the past few years, by overdosing and more direct means. He obviously had some serious drug problems, and maybe it was all a "cry for help," like we're told suicide attempts are in high school. I don't know, though. People don't often talk about it, but I think one has to wonder if there aren't people that, for one reason or another, really aren't meant to stick around.
I can say that I'm sad for his girlfriend, and I'm sad for the friends that tried to help him through what was apparently a very difficult last couple of years, like Aaron. I'm sad for me and anyone else that loved his music, because we won't ever be able to see him play it in person again. I'm sad that he felt the way he did, and I wish he was happier in life. I don't know whether to be sad for him in death.
It's been said online and in magazines a million times, and will probably be said a million times more after today, but anyone who saw him live knows the way the crowd responded to him. He was never great live, but, like his music, his emotion was so personal. The was a palpable sense that everyone in the crowd was rooting for him.
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Will be missed
Posted by Billy Sumday @ 11:16 AM
I had a friend in Chicago who knew Elliott Smith. Meaning, he stayed with him for awhile in LA. He told a story once of how Elliott tried to kill himself while my friend was hanging out in his apartment, and of how he (my friend) stayed with him through a long and horrible night of vomiting, cold showers, screaming, and so on. I always thought the story was bullshit. The worst part of the story was how my friend wanted to be a musician so badly, in particular of the Elliott Smith variety, and to see his hero so close to death and despair was almost enough to give it all up. When I heard the story, I thought, "SO after-school special." Now, it all strikes me as quite sad and dramatic.
Well, I don't know what significance that story has, if any. I'm just the guy who wants everyone else to know that I have a story about the guy we're all talking about, I guess. It's no whopper, but it's the best I got.
Elliott Smith was an amazing musician, and I love his albums. What I'll be looking for now, though, is how much press this gets. Is he a mainstream artist (Good Will Hunting songwriter?) or will the news stay on small sites like pitchfork?
I know that the proprieter of this site knew him and of him better than I, and the question I have for him is, is this a sad day? Or is this a good day, like when they take grandma off life support?
Rest in peace.
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Elliott Smith
Posted by Analogcabin @ 9:40 AM
I'll miss him, and I know I'm not the only one.
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Technical Difficulty
Posted by Analogcabin @ 8:54 AM
My web hosting company just sent me the below email, so be patient, readers. Saffron's tomfoolery will be here waiting when the hackers have been contained by my deadly chops to the medulla.
This email is sent to keep you aware of the current status of your web site. There is nothing that needs to be done by you.
At this time there is an ongoing Distributed Denial of Service (DDoS) attack that is being conducted against the server where your account is located.
The purpose of these attacks is to disrupt normal data flow in and out of servers and they are usually conducted for "fun" by unscrupulous individuals on the Internet.
These attacks are notoriously difficult to stop or control because they come from hundreds of locations and there are literally hundreds of modifications needed to be done to your server's security configuration to keep this under control.
We are working hard to minimize effects of this current attack, but you will see slowdowns in your web site speed until this attack is over.
We apologize for any inconvenience.
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Tuesday, October 21, 2003
Guilty as Charged
Posted by Jimmy Saffron @ 10:11 PM
I know, I know. You want to talk about TV shows. But just take a look at--
Yes, I understand, but listen to--
Please, for the love of God, just--
READ THIS!
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The Great Deflater
Posted by Analogcabin @ 3:56 PM
Again, Saffron has proved to us all that there's no better wetter of blankets. He's the great rainer of parades and stealer of joy. I weep for your mother, Jimmy, because she must feel terribly about the whole fucking mess.
In the interest of getting things going again, what say you we discuss this season's crop of new shows? Any favorites?
Come on, people. To quote the Digital Underground, let's get stupid.
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Monday, October 20, 2003
Lost in Translation
Posted by Jimmy Saffron @ 1:17 PM
America has spoken, Saffron, and it has said, "We find your sententious tirades boorish." I second that emotion.
No, no, dear chap. You have misunderstood them. They said, quite clearly, "We like your Spanish tiles. Ornate. Moorish?"
By this they were referring to the entryway at my villa near the Alhambra. The tiles are actually Asturian, not Moorish. It's a common mistake.
Once again, I must question your competancy as a mouthpiece for America.
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Suggestion for a Bleak Autumn Day...
Posted by Sue @ 10:56 AM
I, too, had the honor of receiving one of these 'Cabin autumn mixes. Alas, as pointed out by its creator in the note that had accompanied the disc, being that I live in Los Angeles, much of the atmosphere he had intended to create might not be as effective in such a warm, friendly, hospitable climate (and city, for that matter!).
I had initially resigned myself to this caveat. But I'm happy to report that I've actually spent many a gloomy day (rather, nights... usually driving moderate distances in heavy LA freeway traffic) with said mix cd as my only companion... Riding shotgun with yours truly while its sad songs of midwestern melancholy filled the cab of my California emissions-cleared vehicle.
I even took up smoking for a spell. Just to round out the whole experience.
To you, Reverend, I would suggest you consider only one thing as you prepare to craft your own personal-tale-on-CD: You might want to bookend your disc with the "O Fortuna" movements from "Carmina Burana." What could be more poetic (for a mix CD in all its 44.1 KHz glory) than:
"O Fortune, just as the moon you vary your state always increasing or decreasing; the detestable life now difficult and then easy with your games sharpens poverty, power dissolves like ice."
Ah, yes. Indeed, Fortune is just like the seasons. Then again, you might as well throw in a little Sinatra... "Luck... Be a Lady tonight! Hey! Ho!
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What Does Anything Mean? Basically.
Posted by The Reverend Harlow Jesse Carpenter @ 10:05 AM
I had the pleasure of seeing Herr Cabin back in the Holy Land this past weekend. As some of you may know, several weeks prior, in the midst of his well-documented bout with cancer stick-withdrawl, A-Cabin spent a few cranky, trembling hours preparing a CD-R of songs filled with autumnal longing and gloomy resignation, informed both by the oncoming onslaught of another Chicago winter and I feel, a subliminal dissatisfaction with the cool, clean air coursing through his lungs and filling his body with the fresh, unfamiliar red bloodflow.
Now, back in the waning days of the last century, it was not uncommon for young persons such as myself, persons of a certain sullenness, to compile specially selected audio snippets onto that format of old - the "cassette tape". Often 90 minutes in length and easily erased, the resulting "mixtape" (as these homemade creations were known) is as tied to that era as pegged jeans and Pretty in Pink. A crude, homemade cover often completed the package, and although new production dwindled to nothing in the face of advancing digital technologies, a precious few artifacts remain hidden away in dilapidated shoeboxes. Brave are those who dare attempt to play an early-'90s mixtape in a similar vintage tape deck, for they will know the pain of the "eaten" mixtape.
As the years passed, and the days between the completion of my last mixtape and the present grew greater in number, I often wondered - as the cassette tape goes the way of the horse-drawn carriage - what do the young and angsty of today do to convey their artful angstiness to friends, crushes, uninterested third parties, etc.? IM some MP3s? A Photoshop collage?
A-Cab's CD thus enlightened and inspired me. Autumn is a most reflective season, and nothing can capture the adolescent nostalgia as well as a well-compiled selection of musical bonnes bouches. It is at this point that I decided to undertake my first ever Mix CD.
As I began to draw up the master tracklist, I thought that Echo & the Bunnymen would surely make the final cut - perhaps an obscure early b-side from their excellent Crystal Days boxset. Alas, as the list narrowed and the tough decisions were made, the Bunnymen were sadly snuffed out.
The Chameleons however, were not. The ever-important track 4 slot was filled with "Tears", from what I feel to be their best LP - 1986's Strange Times.
Mr. Shakti - in this Reverend's opinion, The Chameleons were one of the most excellent (and unlucky), overlooked bands of the '80s (... and today? There's been some recent reunion activity - even a new album that I have yet to hear, which you can read about at their website). One of those bands for whom posthumous bootlegs - rehearsals, live shows, radio apperances - outnumber actual studio albums (they only recorded three in their heyday).
They were similar to the Bunnymen, and yet hinted at something altogether different - as the gloominess and tension of early Bunnymen LPs such as Heaven Up Here and Porcupine gave way to the orchestrations and sleekness of Ocean Rain and "The Gray Album", the Chameleons expanded from the more synth-y sound of their 1983 debut to a reverb-heavy, twin-guitar attack that I feel presaged the rise of shoegazer acts like The House of Love or even My Bloody Valentine.
In short Mr. Shakti, I love The Chameleons (true fans do not recognize the "U.K." suffix). Yesteryear continues to flicker in the back of my feeble, eroding mind.
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Saffron, The Chameleons, & Other Evasive Creatures
Posted by Analogcabin @ 9:46 AM
America has spoken, Saffron, and it has said, "We find your sententious tirades boorish." I second that emotion.
For that reason, I'll make note of only one more Saffron-related thing. In checking this site's referrer logs, I saw that Google recently directed someone here who was searching for "Amy Brenneman's ass." Though that person may not have realized it, he or she found it in Jimmy Saffron.
Though I'd like to weigh in on the Echo and the Bunnymen issue, my knowledge of the band doesn't go much further than "Bring on the Dancing Horses." My knowledge of The Chameleons is even shallower, though I did have the opportunity to play with frontman Mark Burgess a few months ago. The anecdote follows:
I was briefly playing with a band called My Secret Service that was booked to open a solo show for Burgess at Chicago's Subterranean. Upon arriving for soundcheck, Burgess ask us to back him up on his encore. We ran through the song once or twice, played our set, got drunk, joined him onstage after his set, and played our little hearts out badly. I can't say much about him, other than that he's a very nice man with large eyebrows who has a number of good things to say about Munich.
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Friday, October 17, 2003
Saffron = Taker of the Wind from the Sails
Posted by Shakti Mann @ 4:27 PM
Christ, Saffron.
Everyone's in the middle of a rollicking discussion about the contributions of Rhodes Scholars to the world of Prog Rock....when suddenly, we are again beset with your shrill, puissant outrage-of-the-week. In you come to our most agreeable "big-people" conversation wielding your vitriolic prose like a monkey with a shotgun.
Clark is yesterday's news, you clodhopper! Literally!! I wish him well in the race for the White House (if anyone can do it...), but, as of this morning, we seemed to be done with him at Analogcabin.com. Likewise, it should be out with your bantam fury (as well as your wholly inappropriate and illegal lasciviousness), and in with the Benediktbeuern!
Anyway...
As a Bunnymen enthusiast, I took great interest in the Good Reverend's post. Haven't heard "Reverberations." Must give it a listen instead of staying caught up in the "nearly universal hatred" that surrounds it and keeps me at a distance.
While we're on the subject of Brit rockers who rode the coattails of the New Wave....
Where do you stand on The Chameleons, Father?
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Analogcabin = Limbaugh Hier Apparent
Posted by Jimmy Saffron @ 12:15 PM
Could Manzarek have had something to do with the decision to make “Reverberations?” He tried a similar thing with The Doors. Note the titles on these records. “Reverberations”—a synonym for echo. “Other Voices.” They want to have their cake and eat it, too. We’re the same band, only we’re not.
I could go on, but at a risk of losing the Reverend following a rare and welcome engagement, and trampling over Sue's truly enjoyable anecdote, I’m going to return to our previous subject. Sorry. Have to do it. You see, war has been declared. Culture war. Did you miss it, the opening salvo? Here, I’ll explain:
As a contributor to this blog, I've taken my share of personal insults, most of them courtesy of you, Analogcabin. Among other things, you called me a pederast and a zoophile. In return, I called you a bigot and a holocaust denier. All of this I understood to be in good fun.
But when you called me a "pissant," I felt something had changed. You meant to hurt me on that one, and in my mind, any notion of playful sparring went right out the window. This was an escalation, in tone and hurtful intent, and I racked my brain to try and discern a reason for it. I worry you're back to your old tricks again.
In a word, rat-fucking.
Those of you familiar with the story of David Brock will find several interesting parallels between the rise of that infamous conservative muckraker and our own Analogcabin. Both gained notoriety after orchestrating nasty, near libelous smear campaigns on behalf of a vast right-wing conspiracy. And oddly enough, Brock's best-selling memoir "Blinded by the Right" was released a mere two weeks before Analogcabin's own tell-all account, entitled "Blinded by the Right, And Syphillis."
Just so you all understand where his tent is pitched, and what’s at stake by yielding to this raving lunatic.
Now, to the lambaste itself:
Give me a fucking break, Saffron, you unbelievable piss ant! How is determining how you would have voted on one of the major issues of our day "navigating a gray area?"
There it is. The shot heard ‘round the blog.
The best rebuttal I've read to the whole "Clark flip-flopped on the war" boondoggle was written by Josh Marshall. Read it here. It says, essentially, that Clark’s stance on the war in Iraq has been very consistent, and that his statement of “probably” can be seen as a contradiction only if you take an extremely simplistic, monochromatic view of the debate. Such as this:
It was a declaration of war, they knew it then and they know it know.
It was not a declaration of war. The justification for the Congressional resolution was that it would give the US leverage when it went back to the UN Security Council. It would convey to the world that we meant business. That’s how it was pitched to Congress. It was not pitched as a green light to ignore the UN and conduct a unilateral pre-emptive invasion. I think it’s totally plausible that this is the point Clark intended to make when he said he “probably” would have voted for the resolution—conceding to the emotions you mention, yet pointing out that the Bush administration had been disingenuous about its intentions for seeking multilateral support. But a vote for that resolution is not the same as approving the war on Iraq as it was conducted.
You want to say that everyone in Congress knew what Bush really intended to do. You want to say Clark knew, you knew, everyone knew. Everyone except Colin Powell, I guess.
Seems to me you’re the one benefiting from hindsight.
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I Concur!
Posted by Sue @ 11:05 AM
Indeed, the text of Carl Orff's "Carmina Burana" comes from the original texts of the Benediktbeuern, whose myriad works were discovered in the early 19th century several miles from Munich.
It is a rare occasion that one gets to see this opera in its entirety, the way it was originally intended to be performed. Yes, yes... We all know the "O Fortuna" movements, which bookend the opera, as the familiar, generic score of cinematic evil. But what about the choreography of the chorus? Remember that "Carmina Burana" is an opera, which is to say that there is as much going on visually as there is aurally.
Anyway, back to the point. Original performances of "Carmina Burana" opened with a raw chant of these Benediktbeuern texts by two performers who would usually walk through the darkened performance hall donning black monk suits and incense.
(An aside: I once played in an orchestra in college. We performed this piece as such and the incense set off the fire alarms. Mind you, this happened 3 days after the Oklahoma City Federal Building bombing. Half the 2,000 attendees left for good, wrongly assuming it was a bomb threat.).
The point of this story is that not only is incense an integral part of the legitimate performance of Orff's musical extravaganza, incense is also an inextricable element of the music of The Doors.
So, I wish to retract my statement of "Who needs (Rhodes Scholars)!?!" Well, The Doors do, for one (or did, anyway).
When you're free flyin' with The Doors, man... You don't need no stinkin' bass!...
...But you DO need Ray Manzarek.
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Bedbugs & Ballyhoo
Posted by The Reverend Harlow Jesse Carpenter @ 9:50 AM
Ah... The Golden Scarab. Carmina Burana. The Lizard King's Lapboy. Analog's "Rhodes Scholar" entry eventually leads us to one of my favorite topics: Echo & the Bunnymen (check the credits on their self-titled 1987 LP. At long last.
A question that has bothered me - does Echo & the Bunnymen's ill-advised, Ian McCulloch-less 1990 album "Reverberation" warrant the nearly universal hatred it encounters from Bunnyfans?
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Rhodes Scholar
Posted by Analogcabin @ 6:50 AM
For my money, there's only one real Rhodes Scholar, and I wish the internet would draft him to be president.
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Thursday, October 16, 2003
Did Someone Say "Published Author"?
Posted by Sue @ 11:31 PM
Let us not forget about Analogcabin's favourite published author.
Indeed. It is quite an accomplishment to be a published author in today's day and age.
As for Rhodes Scholars... Who needs 'em!?!
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Saffron = Retardation Lite
Posted by Analogcabin @ 2:45 PM
Finally. Jimmy Saffron weighs in on the tough issues of the day. Breath out, Nation. It's lucky for Analogcabin readers that the "large internet-based contingent" hasn't yet drafted him for office. For now, he still has time to light the way for us all.
Of course, Jimmy's right. I should apologize to you all now. The DNC had nothing to do with the spontaneous "Draft Clark" movement. For me to have understated the raw political power of the internet and its ability to mobilize the everyday people of our country into a true grass roots movement is to deny that it is the promise of Arrested Development fulfilled. Looking back a decade, I think we all can agree on that. The internet is good for so much more than pornography, circumventing local laws governing the prescription of certain impotence medications, and self-absorbed blogging. It has allowed us to safely secure tens of millions of dollars from deposed Liberian president Charles Taylor, kept us from losing our kidneys in covert acts of organ hijacking, and empowered us to save public radio by simply forwarding emails. Now, it has allowed us to choose a candidate for president.
On to your "points."
He's got no qualms about calling himself a liberal.
Unfortunately, nor does he have qualms about calling himself a Republican.
He's a Rhodes scholar, a published author...
Of course, being a Rhodes scholar is impressive. No argument there, but let's not pretend being a published author is an accomplishment, lest I'm forced to remind you of our friend Jaime. Er, "James."
...and he's not afraid of complexity (although he may soon be, considering how he's gotten burned trying to navigate some of those gray areas).
Give me a fucking break, Saffron, you unbelievable piss ant! How is determining how you would have voted on one of the major issues of our day "navigating a gray area?" It was a declaration of war, they knew it then and they know it know. And Clark has the benefit of retrospect! At least Gephardt or Lieberman could say they were caught in the emotion of the moment. Clark wasn't on record until nearly a year later, and still he couldn't decide.
And is it fair to say Clark is only "slightly lefter than Bush?" What are you basing that on?
Let me see. How about that he admitted to voting for not only Ronnie Reagan but Richard Milhous Motherfucking Nixon and his ultra-right wing crew of cronies including Dr. Henry Kissinger? And what about his Republican fundraising?
Interesting that Saffron, ignoramus that he is, should mention a lack of convictions. Considering these thoughts on how Clark represents exactly that, it's understandable that Saffron should be attracted to Clark.
I'd mention the cliche having to do with birds or a feather flocking, except that I'd hate to make Jimmy's officemates uncomfortable with the tiny but still noticeable erection that would surely spring to life beneath his ill-fitting pants at the slightest mention of birds.
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Draft Kailee
Posted by Shakti Mann @ 1:49 PM
Perhaps more interesting than Clark himself is his official campaign blog.
And even more interesting than the blog? Today's contest.
I think we need a man inside on this one (so to speak).
Barry, can we expect you to step up to the plate? If not Good Mr. Kailee, then Cabin? And if not him, then Saffron (provided he can leave his licentious ways at the door)?
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Analogcabin = Politics Lite
Posted by Jimmy Saffron @ 11:29 AM
The Dems, on the other hand, spend much of their time trying to prove themselves middling. They're never educated, they're never urbane, and they're certainly never liberal. That's my concern with Clark. Perhaps running a candidate slightly lefter than Bush breeds only apathy among the demographic that's responding so positively to Dean.
Yes, the DNC is all about middling. But we're talking about Wesley Clark, not Joe Lieberman. Is it fair to say the DNC is "running" Clark? Wasn't he drafted by a large internet-based contingent, not unlike the one that powers Howard Dean?
Also, I think your point about alienating the Dean demographic is off the mark. I think that people who want Dean will be just fine voting for Clark should he win the nomination. I think the priority for them is ousting Bush.
And using your criteria, look at Clark. He's got no qualms about calling himself a liberal. He's a Rhodes scholar, a published author, and he's not afraid of complexity (although he may soon be, considering how he's gotten burned trying to navigate some of those gray areas).
And is it fair to say Clark is only "slightly lefter than Bush?" What are you basing that on?
Read this interview. Be sure to read past the early stuff, where he talks about himself. It's kind of awkward.
I'll admit it. There's this "idea" of Clark that people are in love with, and I'm still in its throes. I just hope his campaign doesn't get diluted with the sort of hedging and pandering that DNC trucks in. Unfortunately, it looks like that may be the way things are headed.
On a side note, I find it funny that Analogcabin blasts Wesley Clark for lack of convictions. He, the perpetual self-deprecation machine. Incapable of stating anything that isn't drenched in irony and sarcasm. Trapped in the clenches of his own self-hatred.
But to clarify, when I say "lack of convictions," I mean personal beliefs, not criminal convictions. Everyone knows Analogcabin has plenty of those under his belt. How do they know that? Because it's the law.
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Wednesday, October 15, 2003
You lazy ass.
Posted by Barry @ 7:04 PM
This is exactly what I didn't want to have to list here, since there isn't space to list all of this stuff for ALL of the candidates.
The list below is how Wes Clark (Junior Hunk) answered our questions on Tuesday night when we asked where his father stood on the issues.
Clark :
-wants to end tax cuts for those making over $300,000 a year.
-wants to fix corporate tax loopholes.
-supports campaign finance reform.
-wants to protect a woman's right to choose.
-opposes war, viewing it only as a last resort.
-opposes the Patriot Act.
-wants to protect the environment and fight Global Warming
-wants to raise average-mileage performance on automobiles.
-would end "Don't Ask, Don't Tell", preferring Britain's policy informally dubbed "Don't Ask, Don't Misbehave"
-is against school vouchers, which weakens public institutions
-is for charter schools.
-wants health care for all Americans
-is pro-affirmative action
-feels that terrorism isn't something to be fought militarily but through working with localities and their forces.
-believes civil-unions is the first step in order to procure gay marriage.
-wants a moratorium on all executions until a DNA testing system is in place.
-is for gun control.
-believes the "War On Drugs" should be fought medically instead of criminally.
-believes that Saddam should have been handled through an indictment for war crimes (like Milosevic) by NATO instead of the U.S. invasion that violated international law.
-believes in dissent and open debate on all issues.
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My #1 Platform Issue: Rocking Your World
Posted by Analogcabin @ 6:24 PM
You wonder why I mention the editing of your post? To quote the late, great Simply Red, "If you don't know me by now, ooo, you never will."
Now let's get down to brass tacks, Kailee. And by brass tacks, I mean politics. Specifically, the race for the Democratic nomination. I can understand your desire for an electable candidate. My point is that, in my opinion, your concern is too often the DNC's concern, and that I wonder whether there could be a flaw in the logic that results in nominees like Michael Dukakis.
During the races for the Republican nomination, you'll occasionally hear candidates distance themselves from the Christian right or far right or the living-in-Montana-with-an-arsenal-and-a-commonlaw-wife-buried-in-the-basement right, but generally the GOP embraces the conservative brand. Their issue, it seems to me, tends to be whether their candidate is conservative enough. The Dems, on the other hand, spend much of their time trying to prove themselves middling. They're never educated, they're never urbane, and they're certainly never liberal. That's my concern with Clark. Perhaps running a candidate slightly lefter than Bush breeds only apathy among the demographic that's responding so positively to Dean.
Now, having said all that, I'd like to know Clark's stance on some of the issues you mentioned in the last paragraph of your post, if only because I feel they he hasn't clearly stated them.
And further, I demand you prove, in pictures and in print, that my assessment of the happenings on this "playa" collectively called Burning Man is incorrect.
What gives me the right to make these demands? Perhaps you've heard of the Lord on High?
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GEEZ!!! You want me to make airplane sounds whilst I'm spoon-feeding you?
Posted by Barry @ 4:22 PM
Firstly, Thanks for cleaning up my post... but why mention it now that everyone else will wonder what was wrong with it? For those of you scratching heads, I couldn't get the bottom three links to work so I just listed the urls.
Secondly, I can't tell you why I think YOU should support Clark..., and the policies and ideas he has may not even be reasons for you to support him. BUT, I believe he's a thinker - read his Rolling Stone interview - and aside from competing for military advancements, he's new to politics (which is why he seems to be flip-flopping in the infancy of his candidacy... he wants to say one thing, his advisors urge him to say another. Do you play the game or just be yourself?? Who knows? Almost all my adult life I've believed that anybody truly smart enough to be a good President is too smart to enter the campaign for the office. They are making changes in his staff and trying to come up with a more comfortable fit.).
Months ago, when I was doing my homework on ALL of the candidates (save Al Sharpton because... well... come on... it's AL SHARPTON!!!), I started going through their positions and weighing that against their electability. I like Kucinich and what he stands for... A LOT... but he's too Dukakis... he'll never get elected -- prove me wrong Dennis, I dare you. Then I went between John Edwards (a golden boy for the Dems if I ever saw one) and John Kerry. Edwards may carry his state (and California on his looks alone) but he can't beat Bush... and John Kerry makes Gore seem positively hyperactive by contrast. Then there was Dean... Dean might still be the man and I'm behind him if it happens. But I waited to see whether or not Wesley Clark would throw his hat into the ring. Why? Because the simple fact of the matter is that America has never NOT re-elected a sitting war-time President. I think if Clark wins the nomination, he could do it.
I guess what I'm saying is... if you don't like Bush, then you have to do your own homework and decide for yourself which candidate's goals you think best represents your ideals. Personally, I like Clark's plans/ideas for the economy, foreign and domestic policies, education, gay rights, how to best deal with terrorism, Israel/Palestine, capital punishment, women's rights, gun control, health care, and the war on drugs. Your viewpoints on those issues might differ from mine and therefore perhaps another candidate could be closer to the mark for you. That's not a question for me to answer.
Similarly... why would you expect me to post Burning Man stories for your enjoyment and delight when you did nothing but rail on it before I headed up to the Playa?
(I'll see what I can dig up)
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The Supreme Commander of Editing and Our Own Lt. General Kaillee
Posted by Analogcabin @ 4:14 PM
As I'm both magnanimous and an unbelievable neat freak about all things except my own hygene, I've cleaned up Barry's post. No need to thank me. No, really. I do it all because I enjoy it.
Now, to speak politically for a second, my concerns with Clark are similar to my concerns with our own Jimmy Saffron -- that he's a know-nothing hypocrite stumbling through this world like a retard in a potato sack race, sans any real convictions. Granted, my concerns about Saffron run much, much deeper, and to compare Clark to Jimmy is tantamount to comparing Dennis the Menace to Hitler.
I felt that Clark was entirely unimpressive in the debate. He was evasive and benign, which, if history indicates anything, should guarantee his nomination. The DNC has consistently underwhelmed America with its choice of bumbling dunderheads in the name of appealing to "the middle," and I'm concerned that General Clark is just another example.
But maybe I'm wrong. Barry? Plead for him passionately, and while you're at it, avail us with tales of Burning Man. And pictures, if you have them. I think we all deserve it.
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The General
Posted by Barry @ 3:25 PM
Well Jimmy, I knew I wanted to volunteer for the presidential campaign this year and I was feeling for a long time like Howard Dean was going to be my guy. But then I heard about General Wesley Clark, mainly through an interesting Esquire article a few months ago. Don't get me wrong, I still like Howard Dean, but I feel like Clark's military experience and his economic ideas may just be able to unseat Bush... which ultimately is my main goal.
You can check out any of the links above or read what
Michael Moore has to say in his open letter which hits on the main points of why Clark is a good candidate.
My friend Dave and I went to a Meetup on Tuesday night and we were surprised when Clark's son, who was around 38-ish and swarthy and a writer himself, showed up to answer our questions about his dad. He was forthright and unassuming and unpretentious and extremely down-to-earth. Made me feel like his Dad was intelligent and on-the-ball and grounded... especially since retiring from the military and seeing how regulars Americans' lives compared to military families'.
You never know, though. I could still end up with egg on my face... especially under allegations that Clark almost started World War III and how he was behind the Waco massacre. And how he's a liar.
One thing is for sure though. His son is a real HUNK.
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Draft Clark?
Posted by Jimmy Saffron @ 10:28 AM
C'mon Barry. Since you've officially thrown in for the campaign, let's hear it. Why Wesley Clark?
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Tuesday, October 14, 2003
Dork on High
Posted by Jimmy Saffron @ 5:05 PM
Wow. The response to Analogcabin's return has been positively overwhelming. Clearly, sir, you were missed.
And I'm glad to see that your brush with death resulted in some much-needed reshuffling of the priorities. You've gone back to your first love, what you always dreamed of doing, and I think that's great. Ever since the release of this classic, the world's been waiting on baited breath for another animated fanboy fuck fantasy set to the music of Blue Oyster Cult. Clearly, you are the one who can make that wet dream a reality.
Keep up the good work. And the furious masturbation.
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Now that the strife is over...
Posted by Barry @ 4:46 PM
All I want to say is, if ANYONE around here is going to be spraying boymuck on others, it's gonna be me.
So there!!!!
-Barry
(paid for by the Committee to Elect General Wesley Clark for President)
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Monday, October 13, 2003
Lazarus, I!
Posted by Analogcabin @ 12:56 PM
Behold, infidel Saffron! Your eyes do not deceive you, Sumday! Rise, Shakti, and wipe away the joyous tears that streak your filthy cheeks! Remove your busy hand from your erect member, Sue!
For I have risen.
I can see by the simpleton's look on your face you're wondering if your myopic eyes deceive you. You find yourself suspect that this is nothing more than palaver and if not, you yearn to know by leave of what powerful demigod or mighty wizard have I returned?
Read on, my cohorts, for I'm about to trip a light fantastic.
I found myself at peace there in the clutches of disease. I was so unlike Roy Horn flopping ineffectually in the maw of a mighty white tiger. I felt assured that my good work, exposing the tyranny of Saffron, served as inspiration to a generation of boys and girls unwilling to consent to his disgusting and highly inappropriate touches.
And then, during the final moments as my magnificent body began to fail me, I was blinded by a light. I was revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night, for a glorious angel floated down toward me. Within the glowing and billowy folds of a pearlescent cape and powerful dove's wings of the softest down was the most beautiful form -- that of a Buck Rogers-era Erin Gray.
Softly, she kissed my forehead. With the touch, I felt my strength return. She said to me, "Continue your work, Analogcabin Jones, for it is the most important work. Let not Earth fall prey to Saffron, that son of a pup. And when you are tired, know that I fight with you. But before you go, let us make otherworldly love to the sound of one million holy clarions."
And we did.
So it is with new strength and focus I battle you, Saffron. As evidence, I offer you the below painting I crafted in just minutes.
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Well, Actually Jimmy...
Posted by Sue @ 12:23 PM
Analogcabin and I (The Lord Almighty, The Great I AM, Hosanna in the Highest, et al.) go waaaay back. We used to toke it up back in the dorm rooms in college. It'll take a lot more than a little insulting quibbling among you mere mortals to piss me off. Shit, I got a lot to deal with. For example, take a look at this clusterfuck in Iraq! Whooooaaaa Nelly!
Anyway, gotta run. I hear some Al-Qaeda operative in Jordan is summoning my support. Take it easy, Homies.
Oh, yeah... And bless you all.
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Friday, October 10, 2003
Ceasefire
Posted by Jimmy Saffron @ 4:45 PM
This might come as a surprise to you all, but I am actually quite saddened by Analogcabin's demise. I take no delight in seeing him suffer this way, nor do I intend to kick him when he's down. After reading his last post, any rage or animosity I accrued over the past few weeks was lost, neutralized by my unerring need to do good by others, no matter what wrongs they've committed against me. I can let bygones be bygones. I have a thick skin. I can take a joke.
Unfortunately, the same can't be said for our Lord Almighty.
You have offended Him, Analogcabin. And in His wrath, He has smote you. Struck you down like the folks at Sodom and Gomorrah. I can only hope that you've done something in your life, some tiny piece of goodwill buried somewhere in your sordid, sordid past, that might redeem you in his eyes.
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My Final Words
Posted by Analogcabin @ 1:11 PM
I've spent the last few days on death's doorstep. My every breath has been labored, and has brought me precious little of the life-giving oxygen I so crave. Each exhalation is marred by fits of wet and deep coughing. My skin is cold and damp, and it aches. I cannot stay awake for more than a few moments, and my sleep is tormented by nightmares.
That's right. I've got the consumption, and I won't be long for this world.
As one might expect, these last few days have been difficult. I've reconsidered my life, my friendships, my words, and my deeds. I see now that petty differences can divide us, and shouldn't. We must set aside those things that seem insurmountable and realize that, at the core, we all cherish certain human things: Beauty, love, and honor.
And I realize, now more than ever, that in order for those three thing to flourish, Jimmy Saffron must be stopped.
He blackens everything holy about this world, and though I may fall by the wayside of this battle, remember my words and deeds. Let the memory of my genius inspire you to battle on and, though our foe may seem well-protected in his keep of ignorance, continue to batter his walls of ineptitude with projectiles.
If those projectiles need be seminal, as Sue and Shakti have suggested, so be it. Billy's is suited and inclined to spray his boymuck upon the Jewish visage of Saffron.
So he must, and so he shall.
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Thursday, October 09, 2003
"What the World Needs Now Is Love, Sweet Love"
Posted by Shakti Mann @ 9:44 AM
Sue, my good man, you're right on the money.
What our boys need is a sweaty, violent, mutally-gratifying tryst and all will be right with the world.
The only question is: "Must the rest of us continue to be subjected to their ham-handed, overbearing, less-than-subtle attempts at foreplay?"
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Wednesday, October 08, 2003
Ah, The Webs We Weave!
Posted by Sue @ 6:25 PM
Barry, lest your ignorance of the situation be misconstrued as bliss, let me wax informative about the goings on here at the 'Cabin.
As far as I can tell, Analogcabin and Mr. Saffron are reaping the rotten fruits of their having swept their unquenchable carnal lust for one another under the floor mat for all these years.
I could be wrong, but that's what I think. Perhaps they both need a good leather chaps-clad, ball-toting man-servant to straighten them out right.
Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go smoke a cigarette in a clearly delineated, well ventilated space in my apartment.
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Tuesday, October 07, 2003
What the?
Posted by Barry @ 2:13 PM
I don't understand any of the latest posts. Lots of anger, strife, cynicism, badgering.... Where's the love?
p.s. Billy, I've got a pair of chinese handcuffs you can borrow.
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Saffron: Evil's Advocate
Posted by Analogcabin @ 10:49 AM
Truly, Saffron, you are a man of rare skill. You are an adept in the ancient art of buffoonery.
I wish I could say that I'm surprised at the way you opened fire your laughably under-caliber cannons of argument at Mr. Sumday, but I cannot. Unlike you, I am not condemned to filter my understanding of the world through an intellect slightly less powerful than that of a Muppet. The truth behind your twee assaults is as plain to me as your looks.
You cannot accept any bad opinion of Los Angeles. Dissent, regardless of how personal or coherent, must not be allowed to taint the deceitful facade concealing the unholy Zionist media conspiracy in which you joyfully participate. Hollywood, the whore on whose chapped and chancred teat you sup the sour milk of showbiz, is behind your every action, pulling your strings with the delicate, sinister hands of Amy Brenneman.
I almost feel sorry for you. You can't be blamed for your virtually subhuman genetics, your twisted chromosomes and misshapen brain.
But you can and must be blamed for your conscienceless quest for carnal desire that, for the sake of all that is good, must remain nameless, except to say that it involves young, young boys.
I might as well suck a balloon full of helium, put my nuts in a vice, and talk through a kazoo. The results would be about the same.
You would know, Saffron, for few others in this world are more expert on the results of this type of sexualization of children. What I find most shocking is how brazenly you flaunt not only your insatiable desire for boyflesh, but also your unquenchable thirst for overstatement, redundancy, and mixed metaphor.
That is why I fear for Billy. Currently living in the belly of the beast, his boyish, almost hairless genitals are near to your clambering grasp. Beware, Billy. Your bodily innocence is a precious, precious thing and must not be sacrificed before your fruits are ripened.
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Monday, October 06, 2003
Posted by Jimmy Saffron @ 10:51 PM
You know, though, when I really think about things, I suppose you're right. When you urged Cabin to "Put down that burning cross and come over here", you weren't interested in making amends, were you? Nope, that was just your dishonorable way of luring Cabin across the fiery divide of misunderstanding and reactionary accusations, luring him closer, then closer, and then finally close enough to squarely send a judo chop to his nuts. It was your Trojan horse of cowardice and deception.
That's a compelling metaphorical narrative, Sumday. Compelling and clear as mud.
Folks, Billy Sumday's assertion that you don't have to read the papers to understand his post is correct. It's largely fiction, so reading the papers (or the posts on this site, for that matter) would only cloud things.
I have some questions:
Who is this neutral third party who offers nothing but a hand in friendship, but gets bombed anyway? Syria?
What exactly did you mean by the "haze of opportunity and peace?" Isn't peace more of a "clear blue sky," or a "star-filled firmament?"
And how dare you claim I barrel through on my personal crusade at the expense of dialogue. You sir, are impertinent.
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Chill pills, anyone?
Posted by Billy Sumday @ 7:07 PM
Damn, Jimmy. SNAP.
No you di'nt.
You know, though, when I really think about things, I suppose you're right. When you urged Cabin to "Put down that burning cross and come over here", you weren't interested in making amends, were you? Nope, that was just your dishonorable way of luring Cabin across the fiery divide of misunderstanding and reactionary accusations, luring him closer, then closer, and then finally close enough to squarely send a judo chop to his nuts. It was your Trojan horse of cowardice and deception.
And you know what, you should be real proud of that, you child.
I also find it fascinating, on a purely sociological note, that the only discussion you find interesting is the stale argument of recylced slurs and exaggerated insults hurled between you and your nemesis. Let's see...who else does this remind me of?
Let's review. First of all, you're always right and the world is always wrong, considering the fact that the entire damn thing is against you. Secondly, you will stop at nothing to attack your enemies, even in the haze of opportunity and peace. Indeed, you will go so far as to lob a bomb into the borders of a neutral third party who offers nothing but an outsider's opinion and a thirst for friendship, claiming that I am somehow against you. Lastly, you view your personal crusade against one man more important than an entire community of positive dialogue, of built bridges, of love and of kindness. This belief you have in your inherent infallibility causes grief and frustration to those that must listen to your belabored justifications of your own righteousness.
Folks, you don't have to read the papers to realize that I'm accusing Jimmy of being akin to the nation state of Israel, and therefore, a Jew, which is not really an accusation but more of a statement, since he is, in fact, a Jew.
Jew.
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Sumthing to Talk About
Posted by Jimmy Saffron @ 4:32 PM
Jimmy, your leak of Analogcabin's identity is an act as honorable as the one you pulled the night before our senior prom, when you "accidentally" dropped our newborn baby into that dumpster behind Santa Monica High. You have no moral compass and are a walking timebomb of criminal and offensive behavior.
Which is to say, my success as a gangster rapper is more or less in the bag.
I agree with you, though, that the feud you and Cabin shared should be extinguished and quelled so that we here at Anablogcabin can roll up our sleeves, pull down our pants, and finally get down to discussing the big issues.
I find it interesting that you're agreeing with me on a point I never made.
Do me a favor, Sumday. Next time you want to speak on my behalf, don't. I might as well suck a balloon full of helium, put my nuts in a vice, and talk through a kazoo. The results would be about the same.
I also find interesting your call to "extinguish" and "quell" the only real dialogue this site has had for about the last month. You're right. I guess it was getting in the way of your phoned-in-on-a-three-week-delay non-sequiturs.
Unlike you, I haven't forgetten the lessons learned at Munich in 1938. Appeasing Analogcabin now only ensures another confrontation with him later on. Mark my words, Sumday. Mark my words. Keep coddling Analogcabin, and you can be sure he'll never quit smoking. At least, not until he's turned the entire eastern seaboard into a mushroom cloud.
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Can I Bum One of Those?
Posted by Shakti Mann @ 12:25 PM
Man...
I don't smoke, but I think I need a cigarette to take the edge off of this crap.
Some of us start smoking because of rock-and-roll. Others because of women. Others because friends with literary namesakes drag us along to buy Kools at a gas station.
Me? I start smoking because that smug, low-watt robber-baron at 1600 Pennsylvania is writing poetry instead of--oh, I don't know--doing anything even remotely resembling good for the country.
"Smoke if you got 'em?"
Oh, I'm ten steps ahead of you.
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La Rocka desde Fumar, Para Ti o Para Mi?
Posted by Analogcabin @ 10:03 AM
"I didn't realize you spoke Spanish, 'Analogcabin.' That's amazing."
"I know. I'm fairly remarkable. And please, don't be so formal. Just call me Mr. Jones. Now sit. Make yourself comfortable. Why don't you go ahead and kick off your shoes. Right. And your bra. That's it. Relax, because I want to talk to you about smoking, Los Angeles, and a little something called Rock and Mother Licking Roll."
Kindling
I think I began smoking formally during my Sophomore year of college. It could have been the summer following my Freshman year. Either way, I was about 19. I'd smoked casually before that. If I had to guess, I'd say that I had my first cigarette somewhere around sixth grade. Stephan "Not the Author" King, a good friend of mine at the time, and I walked to a gas station and bought a pack of Kools, as I remember. Kools are menthol, and that might have been the last time I smoked menthols. For some reason, I've always considered menthols a very trashy kind of cigarette. Like something a misguided hooker might smoke in hopes the minty taste would brush away the grime of a misspent life. Like toothpaste for the soul.
I suppose I shouldn't say I've always considered them trashy. Obviously I didn't in the sixth grade. Then again, I didn't think about hookers' souls when I was in sixth grade. As much.
A number of my friends are casual smokers. If you can pull it off, that's the way to be. These are the people who rarely buy a pack of cigarettes, and if they do, it's as much to pay back the fortnight's worth of smokes they've "bummed" (as is smoking parlance) from a more formal smoker as it is to smoke. Casual smokers don't smoke in their own homes. If they do, they tend to isolate the smoking to a single room -- an enclosed porch, a basement, a bathroom, etc. They don't smoke in their cars, and there are certain people they don't smoke around -- usually parents, sometimes certain friends, a significant other or sex partner, or children.
I would consider myself a formal smoker. I was a formal smoker. I bought cigarettes by the carton, and I was in constant search of the best deal. Many times I'd considered switching from the Camel Wide Lights I'd been smoking since college to something like Chief Smolder's Smokehouse brand because they're so much cheaper. I smoked everywhere -- on the toilet, in the bed, at the dinner table. I'd be willing to bet that, at some point in the last ten years I'd smoked in the shower, or tried to. As Roger Waters said, the pinhole burns are inevitable -- I had them in most of my shirts, all of my jackets, my car seats and my couches. I own more than twenty ashtrays.
Where There's Smoke....
As Billy said, smoking and rocking go hand in hand. Obviously not all rockers smoke. This isn't about the act of smoking. It's about the presence of smoke.
Let me ask you this: Why do you think big stage shows always include a smoke machine? It's because, at its best, rock is performed through a haze. Real rock, the roots of what winds up in the Hollywood Bowls of the world, happens in clubs like the now-passed Lounge Ax in Chicago -- narrow shitholes with low ceilings that become completely filled with smog by the end of the evening. It's dirty and it's genuine and it smells like beer and urine. Even the biggest bands began playing in a haze. They spend their careers trying to recapture the magic they had when they started, and the smoke machine just establishes the scenario.
Where There's No Smoke....
The problem with seeing a show in Los Angeles is that, in their heads, everyone is rocking as hard as the band. Everyone is an actor, writer, director, producer, musician, artist, or something like that. It's an overstatement, but it's more true than you'd think, in fact and in the city's consciousness. These people aren't amazed or enthralled by the rock. They're assessing how much more talented or deserving of success they are than those playing the show. In fact, they're putting on their own little show -- talking loudly and strutting around like retarded pheasants. Everyone is too concerned about themselves to get caught up in the haze of rock.
Of course, Jimmy is right. People are rocking in LA. Just find the smoke, and you'll find the rock.
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Sunday, October 05, 2003
Smoking? Count Me In.
Posted by Sue @ 8:50 PM
Many of you may have visited the Analogcabin "Staff" page. Now, I've been aware of a few mistakes on my profile that have been made, as it was implied to me by the operator of this site, intentionally for "dramatic" reasons. One of those mistakes is that my patriotism is questioned. I just want to set the record straight. Yes, I am Armenian. And yes, I sometimes look dangerous (see photo in a previous post where I'm giving y'all bitches the finger 'cause I was pissed off)... But I am in no ways unpatriotic. Go ahead. Wave an American flag. You will most definitely see a rise in my shorts.
Anyway, back to the other mistake. I have not and am not dating a "plastic surgeon." I had dated a "general surgery resident," which is very different. Now, you may ask, where does "Smoking? Count Me In" come into play here? For the duration of my relationship with said person (which commenced for approximately 5 months, ending just a few short days ago), I had hardly smoked. Of course, much of that was due to the fact that my girlfriend didn't smoke and I had only been at most in my life more of a "Billy Sumday" category smoker for short periods of time, but mostly in college.
Anyway, last night my band rocked the Santa Monica pier. I think the reason we had rocked so hard is because a) I was so full of angst for having to let go of the woman I love because her family are (and I'm seriously not exaggerating here) a bunch of neurotic, alcoholic psychopaths and b) I had gone to the 5:05pm showing of "School of Rock," which let out just 30 minutes before my band was to take to the stage. And what do you think I did after we rocked? I smoked. And smoked. And fucking smoked.
So there. Long fucking live fucking rock.
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Saturday, October 04, 2003
Nic-ity split
Posted by Billy Sumday @ 8:23 PM
Jimmy, your leak of Analogcabin's identity is an act as honorable as the one you pulled the night before our senior prom, when you "accidentally" dropped our newborn baby into that dumpster behind Santa Monica High. That is to say, you have no moral compass and are a walking timebomb of criminal and offensive behavior.
I agree with you, though, that the feud you and Cabin shared should be extinguished and quelled so that we here at Anablogcabin can roll up our sleeves, pull down our pants, and finally get down to discussing the big issues. Big, like, how does Paul Harvey's voice crack every single time he says "Good day"? Or, where would the world be without love?
But today, the big question I have is directed at Cabin: have you been smoking?
I personally don't consider myself a smoker, but I do smoke cigarettes, and at times, many and often. So I suppose, in some circles, I would be considered a "smoker". It's funny how I have no intention of smoking, but as soon as my pack of cigarettes is emptied, I purchase another. I often have no or little recollection of acquiring them.
Anyway, how's it coming, Cabin?
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Friday, October 03, 2003
Hate in his Heart, Sock in his pants
Posted by Jimmy Saffron @ 6:25 PM
Alright, Analogcabin. Put down that burning cross and come over here. It's time we had a little talk. Just you, me and the world.
How dare you accuse me of sexual harassment, considering the cloth you were cut from. Too long have you hidden behind your screenname, spewing lies and sweating deceit, all the while concealing the truth about your own vile origins. Well, with the brave Joseph Wilson as my spiritual steward, I'm coming out with it, consequences be damned.
Readers of the world, lend me your ear! This man, he who accuses me of consitutional impropriety, is none other than Daniel......Peter......Ray. And his father? James Earl Ray. That's right, people. Analogcabin is none other that the son of the man who shot Martin Luther King, Jr!
Talk about Civil Rights violations! My word!
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Rockers never quit, and quitters never rock
Posted by Jimmy Saffron @ 5:22 PM
Yeah, Billy. Concert-going in LA is not for the faint of heart, or the short of patience. Nothing is guaranteed, except that your tolerance for bullshittery will be put severely to the test. You're not in Kansas anymore.
But I implore you, Billy, not to give up just yet. And while I could tell you just to quit smoking, that the embryonic link you see between smoking and rocking, though widely accepted, has never been definitively proven, that you should put down your cigarettes, for the rock will endure, I won't. I won't because I know you don't have to. What I want to say to you now is that hope springs eternal, even in this desert city. Allow me to point you in the right direction.
The Henry Fonda Theatre - You were born too late, Billy. No fault of your own, but had you caught the band you saw last night earlier on their meteoric rise to fame, you would have seen them at this fine venue. And alas, your post from before would never have been written. Newly reopened and retrofitted, HFT boasts a wonderfully accommodating outdoor "smoking lounge" on its roof, perfect for pre-concert mingling, nic-sticking, and people watching. It also features a bar, audio speakers, projection video of the stage, not to mention a stunning view of the neighboring strip malls and car dealerships.
Spaceland - Here is one of the few spots in town that dares thrust off the yoke of the city's smoking restrictions. Patrons are allowed to puff away with abandon inside the glass-enclosed back room, meaning you can enjoy your smoke while still keeping on eye on the washboard midriff of that sexy lead singer. There is a bar there, too. Pool table. Pac Man station. Centipede. C'mon Jimmy, admit it. Your faith in LA is restored, your hunger to rock renewed.
Let us pray.
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Rock in LA
Posted by Billy Sumday @ 1:30 PM
So.
I've been living in Los Angeles for close to two weeks. It was only a matter of time. A good band comes to town, a friend has an extra ticket, wardrobes are selected and, in all regards, a whole day is spent in mental and physical preparation for the holiest of all holies, a rock show. What weight those words hold. Rock show. Well, apparently not in LA.
I believe that last night was the defining moment of my disdain for this city. It was the night LA's taste in my mouth turned from sour to utterly pungent, rancorous, shit-spewing bile. You call that a show? I call it a fucking travesty.
No smokes. OK. I can handle that. I mean, pardon me for wanting to smoke a cigarette; it's not as if the band members are all smoking (oh wait - they are) or that I've smoked at every other rock show (oh wait - I have) or that, according to the scriptures of musical performances of ROCK, smoking cigarettes is just what you do at a rock show, a shared affectation that may not be healthy or attractive but is communal and just goddamn right, the same as a cocktail party having cheese and a birthday party having cake. I don't make the rules. But I like 'em, and I live 'em.
So no smokes. I can deal. After all, this is California. It's a law. So why don't I go outside, walk the block to my car, and smoke a quick nic stick as the lame opening band riffs some Happy Mondays rip-off? Wait. No exit, no re-entry. "Well," I say to the seemingly kind and understanding doorman, "what if I just want to step outside and have a cigarette?"
"Why? Do you have cigarettes on you? Cause I could throw you out of here in a second if you have cigarettes."
Hmmm. WTF?
As I walked back to the stadium hall, I thought of the film Swing Kids. Granted, I've never seen Swing Kids, but I have a general idea of what it's about. And I felt like I was the guy from Dead Poets Society (all I want to do is dance!) and the Hollywood Palladium was the funless Gestapo (dancing leads to individualism and babies - no way!). No swinging, no smoking, no liberties, no joy. It's all like a great big metaphor for something.
But the joylessness didn't stop there. I saw a young man, dancing slowly with his girlfriend, get thrown out because someone called him on his cell phone. I saw another young man get thrown out for putting an unlit cigarette in his mouth. "This is not a rock show", I said to no one in particular. "This is hell."
So the show finishes and the lights come up. Time to go home and drink some water. OK, I'll just flag down a taxi or take the subway, cause I'm 3 sheets to the wind and fuming mad at "the man". Well, wrong again kemosabe, this is LA, and therefore there are no taxis, and taking the subway is as good an idea as sticking my penis in chinese handcuffs. So, what else to do but get in my car and drive home as fast as possible. Right.
Man, fuck this place.
But hey, I saw Patsy Kline's Hollywood star last night!
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Thursday, October 02, 2003
Saffron, In All His Glory... Holes
Posted by Analogcabin @ 3:09 PM
I'd love to say otherwise, but I'm not the least bit surprised that, once again, you're imagining me sexually, Saffron. Perhaps to the casual Analogcabin reader, your last post was an innocent if awkward and ineffectual gibe. To those of us who realize that your nickname throughout high school and college was "baseball glove," it was something far more sinister.
Jimmy, let me introduce you to a little something called sexual harassment. Please peruse Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 for the complete legal definition, though I have little doubt both the language and concepts contained therein will be completely over your head. In essence, it defines sexual harassment as repeated unwelcome sexual advances that create a hostile environment, or exactly what's been happening here for far too long.
In private and in public I've been forced to suffer the indignity of your clumsy innuendos and juvenile advances. No more! I've come too far to let you treat me like a sex object, though my remarkably large and built-to-satisfy genitals might make that seem natural.
No more!
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Wednesday, October 01, 2003
Saffron, In All His Glory
Posted by Jimmy Saffron @ 5:00 PM
I have to hand it to you, Analogcabin. What you lack in smarts, you make up in stupidity.
Wonderful reply, by the way. Artfully profane. But you forgot one thing: Your point.
You claim to have our audience's best interests at heart. But as we all well know, you have no heart. And after they've applied the necessary filters to your post-- screening out the usual lies, spin, and xenophobia-- they are left with absolutely nothing.
Okay, not nothing. But here's a sampling of what they find:
"Oh, Jimmy. It's... you...your...the...take...Perhaps I was wrong..."
Not exactly a cogent argument. Not even English, really.
I've convinced my audience of nothing except the validity of the inner states and emotional predicaments that Sophia Coppola sought to capture in her film. At no point was I begging for sympathy, and for that matter, neither was she.
It comes as no surprise to me that you enjoy "Good Will Hunting," considering the close parallels it draws to your own experience as a born-to-lose Buffalo ne'er do well. But the image I find most evocative of your life is not that of Matt Damon driving off towards the horizon to realize his future, but Casey Affleck, red-faced and spent after masturbating into a baseball glove.
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Smile on Your Brother
Posted by Shakti Mann @ 1:13 PM
Jimmy and Analog. My word.
The sexual tension in the air is so thick you could spread it on toast.
As much I would like to further bait Saffron by raising the possibility that Oliver Stone's upcoming Alexander the Great epic might be more shrill, annoying, and mind-numbingly awful than Baz Luhrmann's, I will not. And as much as I would like to further bait Analog by questioning his obvious, unhealthy infatuation with Saffron's boss Amy Brenneman, I will not.
For I am a broker of the peace. As such, I offer one piece-of-shit vanity project that I think we can all get behind.
Friends?
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Behold, Saffron Unhinged
Posted by Analogcabin @ 11:26 AM
Oh, Jimmy. It's during these rare moments, when your frustration brings you to the brink of genuine, human emotion, that you're at your most truthful. Unfortunately, it's also when you're at your least comprehensible.
Though I'm sure to find vivisecting your post rather blase, I'll do it. Not for myself; for the readers. For the fans. For all who love and cherish the bright and undying flame of truth that you so relentlessly try to extinguish with your damp prose and humid logic.
But before I begin, let me make clear that I find it unnecessary to discuss your embarrassing admission of psychosexual fantasies starring me. It doesn't take Sigmund Freud to understand that the "screen" on which you imagine me "splattering" my "seed" is your thickly-haired back. There's no need for me to reference your quote: "I can see you now, furiously pumping away [in my ready and willing ass]...." I simply won't stoop to the personal attacks that are your closeted gay stock and trade.
So to begin, let me address your most predictable gaff:
...kareoke....
Surely someone so intimately familiar with the mysterious Orient should be able to spell karaoke. And if not, of course they'd have enough respect for the Japanese culture to look it up. Wouldn't they, Saffron? You tell me. You're clearly the Marco Polo of our little group here.
Before I move on, please excuse me for a moment while I unfurl my kerchief. I must keep it at the ready, for the very thought of a lonely Saffron suffering through a month in one of Shanghai's (China, lest you become confused by the reference) finest hotels without friends or even a basic understanding of the language will no doubt cloud my eyes with sympathetic tears. Imagine his gilded prison! It is one of the great tragedies of our time.
Perhaps I was wrong to assume that this, a work of art commercially marketed to an American audience, should be understood by those who've not been cursed enough to have lived and worked in the Orient. I'll admit that I jumped the gun in identifying Johansson's emotional state as ennui when it's clearly something only experienced by others who, by the grace of God, have escaped through the golden bars of their five star prisons to see this film. And I certainly should have placed the word ennui into quotes, despite that fact that it's not some concept for which I've coined a term off-handedly but a word that can be found in the E section of any dictionary meant for readers above the fifth grade level.
Of course, you do toss out that you, "...don't think you have to have lived in the Far East to recognize this as the director's intent." But how would you know, Saffron? You're forever scarred by the crushingly difficult months spent in this unimaginably exotic place you call "Shanghai," are you not? You'd just spent the bulk of your argument convincing us of it.
And to top it all off, you feel compelled to slight the great Good Will Hunting during the rambling and uncertain course of your ill-conceived rant. That, my preposterous friend, will not stand. I think I speak for Billy Sumday when I say that you've chosen to dismiss the wrong film.
It was not long ago when he and I enjoyed a viewing of Good Will Hunting together. Near to the end, I remember looking over and seeing this unimaginably strong young man -- he who had overcome an allergy to his own blood, he who wrestles with Iraq War Syndrome to this day -- weeping openly. The film spoke to us. Billy saw so much of himself in the Ben Affleck character, knowing that my genius demand I do great things while he was condemned to stand by and watch. In turn, I saw that my intellect and good looks should not be squandered, and that those who are predestined for greatness, such as myself, must not look back at the markedly lesser friends left in our proverbial dust.
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