DJ Fucking In the Streets. You heard it here first people. DJ Fucking In the Streets.

Granted, I haven't heard him "spin" or "work it", but that particular detail, I feel, is completely beside the point. My point? My point is that his name is DJ Fucking In the Streets. End of point.

So. I was perusing over today's headlines, and something caught my eye. Let's see if I can explain this.

Headline #1: Schiavo Dies Nearly Two Weeks After Removal of Feeding Tube

Headline #2: Report Calls U.S. Intelligence 'Dead Wrong' on Iraq Weapons

These particular headlines came from The New York Times, but I found the same stories at BBC, USA Today and The Times.

I don't know if people have been following this Schiavo case, but it's pretty interesting. Been in a coma for 15 years, laws have been made and unmade just for her situation, Supreme Court refused to get involved 6 different times, basically a whole bunch of rabble rabble.

I assume we've all heard about the rabble rabble in Iraq.

Does anyone else see the...irony? World is captivated by braindead woman, and her right to live or die. Georgy even gets involved, explaining that we must "ere on the side of life". And then, in the same sentance, in the same breath practically, is an article about how WRONG the war we are currently fighting is. It actually says "Intelligence DEAD WRONG".

Do I need to explain the unintentional humor here? It's so fucking absurd, it lapped itself, and is hiding itself under the guise of respectability. What the fuck is going on here people?

Anyways: in response to Acklin's inquiry into Bowie's career as a...I'm not even sure what his career can be summerized as. Regardless, I think the answers you are looking for can be found in a little timeless classic I like to call "Labyrinth". For a more detailed inquiry into Bowie, I would require a fifth of Jack and a comfy chair, preferably on a beach somewhere.

I will say this though. Bowie's sophmore effort, Space Oddity. Last track, Memory of a Free Festival. Line about halfway through the song:

Oh to capture just one drop of all the ecstasy that swept that afternoon
To paint that love upon a white balloon
And fly it from the toppest tops of all the tops that man has pushed behond his brain
Satori must be something must the same

That line, or the scene it inspired, actually made it into the book (which I found a name for: The Cosmic Heartland). Check for it on the shelves in 2058. It should be done by then.

But really, it's a great song. Recommended listening. Space Oddity. Bowie. B section. Music Store.

This one's for Mikey:

"I like your sleeves"

Hugs and kisses

J

and don't forget about that DJ Fucking in the Streets shit. Somebody, for the love of god, have sex to the bumpin' of DJ Fucking in the Streets. Mikey and Ramey, I'm looking in your general direction.

Modern Love

Having allowed my mind to wonder during another meaningless commute to work this morning I thought to myself, "David Bowie was pretty good." Naturally my curiosity latched on to this fleeting thought like a dead carcass in the talons of a rabid vulture. I couldn't effectively weigh in on just how good, or bad, David Bowie really was in his prime. Sure, he did a lot blow, wore make-up, was the poster child for the glam-rock movement, and probably sucked down yards of cock. While these aren't what I would consider prudent lifestyle choices (well, maybe doing a lot of coke is on there) I couldn't help but wonder if I hadn't had a good nights sleep in a few moons and that, perhaps, this is why David Bowie's struck me in such a manner. Thus, I look to your insight.

On a completely unrelated note, Mr. Serazio will be officially wrapping up his long and distinguished tenure with that icon of New Journalism, the Houston Press. In order to facilitate an effective celebration I urge all of you (the three or four of us who will probably read this) to have a drink for Mike tomorrow night; and if you happen to wander into IHOP, The Waffle House, or an all-night Mexican eatery, don't hesitate to give Mike a call and leave a detailed message centering not only what you're having for a late night snack, but also what volume of drink has led you to where you are at three or four o'clock in the morning.
Cheers,
Aden

Lord, I Was Born A Gamblin' Man

Dude, what would sports be without gambling? And how come UC-Boulder couldn't get a piece of the action right now? That place deserves an honorary mention at least. A 65th spot maybe? Pete Rose wannabes + recruiting orgies + giving tenure to Al Qaeda operatives = Final Four if you ask me. Anyhow, I can only assume you fools have whiled away just as much Company Time on your brackets as TPS reports so whaddya got?

Working forward people:
First round notables. I like Nevada over the Longhorns. BC's been flailing about of late like an altar boy in the Boston Archdiocese; watch Penn come outta nowhere on 'em. UCLA beats Tech and (mercifully) we'll be rid of that baroque sideshow Bobby Knight. The UNM Loblows take 'Nova -- I already bet Null a Hopi Indian on it. NC St. up on Charlotte. Other than that, favorites all around.
Final Four pics. Louisville on top of the Illini. UNC over Syracuse. Tar Heels take it all; Malisow wins the gay-off.

P.S. Me and Null have a running bet that I'll probably lose but we made it like a month ago. It's that the Pac 10 will get more wins than the Big East in the tourney. Haha. Go Cardinal!

Lates,
Big Oil

A Life of Privilege

Ramey,

I enjoyed your song oh so much. I am personally gunning for the coveted "triple crown" of Ivy League rejection: I have been denied admission at Ivy League institutions for undergraduate and then medical college and next year I presume I will not be accepted at any Ivy League-affiliated residency programs. When one is rejected from the Ivies it brings a special sense of failure and self-doubt. After years of personal success and achievment in Dog Dick, USA ones ego can be dashed pretty quickly when even a sleep-over camp for the developmentally disabled like Brown doesn't want you. Perhaps its my Hebreic good looks or your lustfull peasant bosom that blew our chances. Maybe we just don't look right in cable-knit sweater vests. I will say this: nothing grinds more soil in the wound then being associated with one Michael James Serazio- gadfly prince of the Ivy League. Yeah, Mike modestly pulls out the "I've been so blessed to be accepted at Penn. What a wonderful . . . surprise" card with a semi straight face and it compounds one's awareness of your own total failure to achieve entry into the top socioeconomic class in the United States. Mikey and his other Yale club buddies better watch out; we public-university educated folks may not have airily discussed the lesser fiction of John Cheever or audited a seminar on "Hardwood Trees and the Post-War African-American Experience" recently, but we do pretty good work in-close with knives and pipes.

Dave

Reporting the news

I'm watching CNN on my last day before starting a new job and losing the joys of spending three hours a day arragning and rearranging my fantasy baseball draft order when a story comes on about a demonstration somewhere in Europe. Apparently a bunch on women got upity and held and informal protest. The highlight, however, came when several riot police beating the crap out of one helpless woman. She was running away, they pushed her down, she tried to get up but was kicked in the back, then as she was on her knees she was kicked in the ribs and finally, just for good measure, as she leaned her head back to cry, another policeman kicked her square in the face. The instant the boot hit her check bone, the CNN anchor said deadpanned, "There were no injuries reported."

Now I understad the idea of journalistic integrity and hate Fox News and it's "commentary", but isn't there some middel ground where an unbiased journalist can say, "Well, they are reporting no injuries but obviously this woman just got her face smashed in"? I figure you paper pushers might have an opinion on this.

Donnie in to bring the convo to a halt

Mikey this is sweet work putting this together and I'm glad I came to read everyone's shit, however late in the game this may be. (My famous JV baseball bench-sitting until late innings when we were +/- 7 runs apparently continues to haunt.) So back to bringing down the convo and yes Dimmy, I am like a child.
First off, the Democrats fucked up last year and so did we. I've started meeting a lot of red supporters and they are not retarded, they just care about their jobs and their family first. Bush has somehow promised to be on their side on this and the Democrats (us and myself included) can't quit bitching about foreign policy. It's wierd, the left used to be the little man's voice helping out labor unions, etc. Now we laugh at people without a college education. I'm certainly not saying Bush and his crew are right, that's easy to see, but Democrats currently have no street cred with the working man.
Now to movies and Mikey, I actually slept through part of the Bourne Supremacy. I liked the first one but this one was a mess. Huge props for Napoleon Dynamite though buddy. It's crazy that a PG movie can be that huge. Did you know the writer/director is a mormon supposedly from SoDak? I am also with you on Eternal Sunshine, I think that was one of Kaufman's best. I haven't seen Life Aquatic yet so Dimmy, I can't rant on that front yet.
Strangely left out from your list was Bubba Ho-tep which was amazing. Strongly recommended if you're in for a little dry humor.
Okay kids, it's a little late for me with my crazy 2-10am schedule these two weeks. Crazy night vision and their nightness, or something. But the Blackhawk is a money ride, especially at night. Plus I'm now on the same schedule as Dimmy's drunk dials. Good times.
-Nacho

a new song

REJECTION
By Julia Ramey
To the tune of Fiddler on the Roof’s “Tradition”

CHORUS (Preferably Jewish, in traditional Yiddish garb, dancing in a big circle)

Rejection, rejection! Rejection!
Rejection, rejection! Rejection!

APPLICANTS & PROSPECTIVE APPLICANTS
Who, day and night, must study for the tests while
Continuing to work and drink four nights a week?
And who would prefer, as a twenty-something girl,
To blow all of her cash on shoes?

The Letter, the Letter! Rejection!
The Letter, the Letter! Rejection!

ADMISSIONS DIRECTORS
Who must know the way to crush a person’s dream,
With a sentence or two, and a fake signature?
Who must charge $90 to read a 10-page app,
So they won’t try again next year?

No phone call, No phone call! Rejection!
No phone call, No phone call! Rejection!

NERD
At three, I started reading class. At ten, I finished Faust.
I hear they've sent the letters out. I hope it’s thick.

Tequila, tequila! Rejection!
Tequila, tequila! Rejection!

DEAN OF YALE
And who can’t bother to even send a letter?
Clearly Yale needs the money to mow its pompous lawns.

An email, the fuckers! Rejection!
An email, the fuckers! Rejection!