Subterranean Beefworks

crashnburn

I'm as smooth as a 3 day beard.
I'm as smooth as old pavement while you're being dragged over it.
I'm as smooth as bar of soap made out of a brick.
I'm as smooth as smooth as a plane breaking the cloud barrier.

I'm as smooth as ride down a steep hill on square wheels.
I'm as smooth as a shaken baby.
I'm as smooth as a milkshake made from rocky-road and broken glass.
I'm as smooth as the hair of a man who's been living in the woods for 3 months.

I'm as smooth as that molar that's been giving you trouble.
I'm as smooth as a convict who is hitting on a weaker inmate.
I'm as smooth as the sodomy that follows minutes later.
I'm as smooth as the useful side of a housekey.

I'm as smooth as a brocade top is rough.
I'm as smooth as as the hands of a construction worker.
I'm as smooth as the buttocks of an elephant.
I'm as smooth as a sandy bathing suit.

I totally lost it trying to talk to a girl I like. I totally, utterly, completely busted. You could've made an instructional video on my performance. I would be the example of what not to do, the scene that everyone thinks is so exaggerated that they would never land themselves in such a horrible state. OUGHGJSDFJASD

Now I know what it might feel like to wrap your car around a tree and break your passenger's leg because you got distracted telling a really stupid joke that they wouldn't have laughed at anyway.

FUcking a. beyond redemption

http://www.google.com/language_tools?hl=en

Entschuldigung ihr bitte, ich weiss natürlich, dass alle ihr nicht deutsch kann. Aber seit schon lange wollte ich einen Eintrag auf Deutsch machen. Daoben steht ein Link nach einem Uebersetzer.

Weil dieses auf Deutsch ist kann ich euch die schlimmsten Sachen erklären, ohne Angst, dass jemand sich beleidigt fühlen werden. Es stimmt, dass ich keinen journalistischen Mut habe, aber doch ist soziale Einfachheit und kein Drama in dieser Sache wichtiger als Sprachmut.

Jetzt in dem Schmutz:

Mitbewohner und seine neue Freundin sind ein paar, dafür es viel zu sagen gibt. Erstmal muss man etwas über Mitbewohner weisst. Er ist ja freundlich und tut nichts gegen mich, aber nach acht Monaten weiss ich doch nicht genau wer er ist. Alles personliches scheint so echt wie ein Rolex, der auf dem Strasse gekauft war. Seine Freundlichkeit kommt aus einer Dose. Es ist ein Massenbedarfsartikel, generisch und falsch. Es ist ja möglich, vielleicht bin ich nur sein Mitbewohner, und dabei nicht ein echte Freund, der er ihm wirklich kennen lernen dürfen. Aber doch was soll der scheiss? Ich bin nicht so geschlossen, und kenne niemand das ist.

Die Wahrheit ist, dass er nun eine Freundin hat, und ich doch nicht. Das ist gleichzeitig witzig, und eckelhaft...aber am meistens eckelhaft. Ich kenne er als ein falscher Mann. So wann er «sein Stil» zeigt, oder versucht «kuhl zu sein», muss ich mich lächeln. Heutzutage, jeden Abend kleidet er sich in seinen besten Kleider und belasten das Luft mit seinem Kölnischwasser. Ich setze hin und kucke an, fast explodierend mit Lachen. Ich habe gestern einem Freund gesagt, er ist ein gangende, sprechende Witz. Dann seine Freundin, auch Chineserin oder so etwas. Die kann nur das unbeholfene Englisch, zum Beispiel «Harro, howahyew djewing?» «Idon know how he rooks» «Dah iss such boolshee!» Fobby heisst es. Doch leider ist sie unverschämt laut mit ihrer zerbrockenen Sprach.

Warum bin ich so übel? Es hat eigentlich nichts mit «er hat und ich nicht» zu tun. Es ist die eckelhafte Klänge, die ich nachts unter mir höre. Wann er isst, ist es unglaubig laut. Die nasse, öffene Lippen, so gross wie sie sind, bedeckt mit dem Essen, erinnern an den pulsierenden Schamlippen einer heissen Kuh. Also wann die Lippen auf einem Mädchen sind, sind sie immer mehr furchtbar, die Bilder im Kopf. Die Beziehung ist auch ohne ein Ziel. Ich bin nicht sicher, aber ich denke, dass sie nur für eine Woche zusammen sind. Schon haben sie Traulosigkeit diskutiert, mit dunklen Sätzen wie «Wenn du nicht trau bist, sind wir fertig» und «Und will dich vertrauen, aber es ist schwer.» Es sagt nichts gut über den Zwei. Er macht auch kein guter Mann. Wann sie ins Bett liegen, auch während Küssen, wird er alles halten, um ein IM oder die Handy zu beantworten. Was für ein Arschloch.

Tja, endlich habe ich schimpfinde Worten über ihm hier gesagt. Es fühlt gut, aber ich wollte mehr sagen. Es gibt so viele Wege zu sagen «Er ist am ganzen ein unintelligente Arsch, der nicht da sein würde, wann er da sein versprach.»

Er verdient meine Mittelfinger.

ain't no time to stash the gumbo

To quote my friend Alexia's livejournal:

I got new shoes today. They are Kill Bill style shoes. The Asics Onitsuka Tiger. Dan G, I think my shoes are officially cooler than yours. Check your e-mail, buddy. heh heh.

Understandably taken aback, insulted even, I checked my inbox to find:

Okay color me skeptical. They're cool shoes and everything, but seriously. Cooler than mine? This isn't even necessary, but for the sake of comparison:

Enough said. Look at them. Be drawn to their boundless class and elegance. These are the kind of shoes rockstars wear while being ravaged by attractive groupies. I don't think Uma has groupies. She's got really ugly feet too.

I want to talk about Kill Bill/Quentin Tarantino for a minute. He's a sham. A predictably eccentric, inarticulate filmmaker whose special powers go no further than a fantastic ability to rehash. He's shamelessly ripping off (using techniques of past film makers in uninspired, unflattering, and poorly executed ways) the likes of Lo Wei (directed Bruce Lee movies) and being hailed as some sort of cinematic Christ for it. I can appreciate paying homage to films that have inspired you, but what QT did in Kill Bill was recycle a bunch of elements from movies he's liked, watering down each element with copious amounts of fake blood and a star who has no right to swing a sword due to her complete lack of grace. Kill Bill is a westerner's kung fu movie, and having seen a great deal of authentic asian cinema myself, QT's work just seems contrived.

The guy is getting paid millions of dollars to bring his hobbies, obsessions and fetishes to fruition on film, and there is no disrespecting that. But lets try and see through him on Kill Bill, shall we? He put Uma fucking Thurman in a Bruce Lee outfit. I'm surprised he hasn't been dragged out and beaten to bewilderment by someone who can handle a set of nunchucks.

I like your shoes though Alexia. I bet they look a hundred times better on your feet than on that caricature of an actress Uma Thurman.

I want to talk about a new study abroad program I found, but not right now.
I want to talk about the craziness of the Mitch Hedberg show I went to on Saturday. Decent stories abound.
I also want to talk about my trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Philly today.
And stemming from that, I want to talk about how energizing it was to be outside in beautiful weather with really attractive women all over the place. (but i'm not really going to touch on this stuff right now).

What I will touch on is Spring. I can only feel as though we've made it through an ordeal. Winter was a motherfucker this time around man. I usually feel pretty good about the season when it's over, but this time the good memories all have freezer burn. Catching the occasional softcore on HBO over vacation actually became too much of a chore because I was too busy trying to keep myself wrapped in covers fending off the draft coming from the sun room. And as has been the case for the past couple winter I've experienced, there was very little productive snowing, let alone daytime snow. Ah well. It was my first winter in my house, so it solidified all sorts of memories and moods that I'll expect to feel nostalgic about when I encounter them next year.

So in honor of this beautiful, sweaty-ass hot day, I'm playing some really old live phish mp3s I have that, for some reason, always bring me back to a really summery mood. I want to see a show this year. This summer, I am also going to work more hours than I will be happy with so I can buy a 1999 or 2000 Subaru Impreza 2.5RS. A blue or black one, a 2 door coupe with standard transmission. Kelley the Blue Book says it will cost about $8K or so. We'll see.

Wow awesome. I loaned my pocketknife to a guy downstairs yesterday night and he never gave it back to me. But, it's sitting right here on my desk.

Oh, and wash out that cut on your lip before it turns into a cold sore.

Just a little badass to close the night.

dour

Facing an entire week of cold cloudiness, I decided that I had to embrace what little signs of spring there are and take some pictures.

And my tripod with telephoto lense

reversion

I don't know how people who see this page actually use 800x600. I think it's too small, so if I ever feel like fucking with stylesheets for a whole night I'm changing it.

I made a picture while I was on the phone. It's there below...

and the shoes

Obscurity:

I carry around a little seed that i got a long time ago.
i don't look at it very often. i just carry it with me.
it's really special to me. and i don't want to get rid of it.
all the time it's spent in my pocket, or in my drawer,
it probably can't even germinate anymore.
i'm afraid, in fact, to see if it will.
i don't want to find out that it can't.

Still more stuff

I bought a pair of shoes when I was in Vermont, which I think I mentioned. But I want to mention them again because I like them so much.

They're black and white (kind of an off-white), and they're vegan, which I guess means they have no animals in them, and no animals were enslaved or killed during the manufacture. That's always nice. But I really like this shoes because of how they make me feel. They're flat, and two-tone, with thickish white laces. They could be dress shoes for skaters or something. When the cuffs of my pants cascade over the tops, I feel like strutting around while people say "gosh, he's got some hot steps, that fella'." I really can't get enough of them.

They make walking around campus a lot less boring, because I have something to look at if I get tired of looking for attractive people. I just look down as my shoes roll over the sidewalk, looking sweet, and then I feel sweet. I give them further signifigance (admittedly, really stupid signifigance) because I've gotten back into serious Go playing (which....i mentioned before...too...) and the black and white color scheme of my kicks goes well with the black and white color scheme that's always in my head now.

I watched a movie last night at a friends apartment, more specifically I got drunk while watching Saving Private Ryan. You wouldn't think so, but at least three times were all doubled over in laughter. First was when someone broke wind right after the secretary general just got done with a really poignant monologue written by Abraham Lincoln. Another was when I remarked that Pig Vomit from Howard Stern's Private Parts plays SSgt. William Hill. It was impossible to take him seriously after that.

After the movie, we decided to go get high, so we went out into Allentown and went to the top floor of a high-ass parking garage. That's the extent of how high we got, we just went up about 7 floors. It was really awesome though. Some people were throwing a party and we looked in their window for a little while. I ended up leaving half a pint of Chunky Monkey icecream in the garage because I got tired of carrying it. It's really beautiful to see urban sprawl from high up. You start thinking about humanity, from the macro scale, to the micro. If it wasn't so fucking cold, I would've wanted to stay up there much longer.

Ich spreche im ernst, ich suche cannoli. Wer versteht mich?

More stuff

Judging from the quiver and tingle within the middle joint of my right middle finger, it is a safe assumption that the new Colin McRae Rally game has come out. You could also confidently postulate that I have managed to aquire the game, install it, and devote already about 20 hours to playing it.

You don't need to assume. This is exactly what happened.

I didn't think so at first, but this is a really solid game. Naturally, every pixel and behavior will be placed beside the masterpiece of CMR3 and scrutinized beyond any reasonable degree; CMR3 is my favorite game ever. The good news, however, is that given all the changes, tweaks, and differences, CMR4 holds its own very well against its impeccable predecessor, that is, if you compare the two games as though they aren't sequels.

What CMR3 lacked in its physics engine (eg. if you drove straight into a tree, you could "drive" yourself off of it) CMR4 makes up for (eg. now you have to reverse off the tree, then proceed). I didn't think anything could approach the pleasure obtained from a really serious accident in CMR3, but through some new, painfully realistic sounds, IV takes accidents to the next level. It doesn't end there either. Perhaps it was because they took "Rallying" so seriously in III, but they really didn't emphasize the glory of destroying your car. In IV, however, you now have an after-race "damage view" which pans around the shredded, smoking remains of your vessel. Furthermore, the bone-splitting-violent-slamming-around-jarring factor of big accidents has been given a primally thrilling enhancement. My jaw dropped and my eyes bulged when I took a really bad, really inadvertant spill. I expected human limbs to start flying out of the window as the car tumbled itself beyond cruelty.

CMR4 is definately more complicated. Just in terms of adjustments, repairs, and overall involvement in the racing process, IV really pulls it off. Coming from my insatiable addiction to III, all of this is really something incredible to me. And fuck! Now you can race any car you want in the championship, instead of being limited to the jury-rigged POS Focus. You bet your ass I have won every Rally so far with my trusty WRX.

Which brings me to the next point: The rivalry.

Search around for my last extended post about CMR3 and you'll remember the ongoing rivalry between Mitsubishi and Subaru. Well, it seems that there is a new challenger, one the Rallye world would never have expected, Citröen. They have a 4WD offering this time around, busting out something like 310BHP or something crazy like that. The Mitsubishi handles like a flaccid dong in comparison. Exciting times for racing, no doubt.

Overall, I wouldn't say CMR4 is my new favorite game. My first impression was that the cars handled a bit more sluggishly than in III, making for a bit less excitement. That opinion is slowly changing as I get accustomed to *Semi-Automatic* transmission which allows the computer to shift when I don't need to, and me to shift when I do. But for now, III still holds the throne. The cool thing is, I keep discovering more about this game which makes it ever more incredible. Everything that lacked in III is accounted for in IV, from better engine sounds to more balls-out straightaways. It's there. You really feel like you're going to shit yourself when you're pulling 130 in 6th gear, landing a jump that would surely sterilize any mortal, only for your co-pilot to inform you of the 2nd gear turn coming up in 50 meters.

It lives up to my expectations.