April 24, 2002

grilling season

Grilling season was here last week but I was unarmed. The weather was beautiful, and I was outfitted with bottles of savory juices but no meat. I had plenty of ammo but no guns. A pile of ordinance but no cannons. Lots of bomb belts but no eager teenagers dying to be martyrs.

So I bought a large sack of assorted chicken parts frozen in a solution of not less than 10% magnesium salts and frost. This was with the hope of eventually soaking the assorted parts in Caribbean Jerk marinade, which has the delightful tastes of fresh papaya and Jamaican oppression. I find it fitting that my favorite meat soaks are something called ‘jerk’, and I have started a fine collection of various jerk sauces in anticipation of a lovely charcoal spring.

Charcoal spring is gone. Grilling season is over. Cold is here, snow is now. Right now the giant vacuum could descend space and steal our atmosphere and no one would complain. Go ahead, take our foul weather! May it bring you a frosty death!

April 23, 2002


Do this! Do, do, do, do!

Which Monty Python Character are YOU????>?>>?!?!?!

I’m not telling who I am! You will get to guess! Guess which one I am? GUESS GUESS GUESS. GEHS, GEISS, STRESS, MESS, FESS, UNDRESS, QUANTUM FRIVOLITIES!!

Oh the fun to be had in Bio, now! I’ve started writing lists!! Maybe one day there will be a section of the Website called lists!!! WOW I went to the store!!!!! I bought MILK!!!!!! I AM GIVEN MYSELF AN ANURISM WITH UPSIDE-DOWN ‘eye’ SHAPED THINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is the future of Cromlech manufacturing, my friends, as the quirky tastes of a listless fool are released back into the wild to breed and toast marshmallows over burning tires.

piles are what, now?

Pulled this here this from this:

Piles are living, breathing archives. Over time, they get broken down and resorted, sometimes chronologically and sometimes thematically… the messy desk is not necessarily a sign of disorganization. It may be a sign of complexity: those who deal with many unresolved ideas simultaneously cannot sort and file the papers on their desks, because they haven’t yet sorted and filed the ideas in their head.

I have a desk?

April 22, 2002

d4 c00p3r r0xx0rz

The only car built in the last 40 years that is worth owning is available here. The Mini Cooper. They managed to make cars beautiful again, and I can’t stop oggling. This is the future of auto manufacturing, my friends, as the quirky tastes of our unmoored 18-24 culture tear pages out of history and glue them over the present. We may not understand the references, but we know what we like when we see it.

April 21, 2002


A well-rounded cocktail of drugs and orange juice has me almost on top of things again. Reality no longer grates like a power sander across my brain. Figured out how to keep Premiere from crashing (it seems that the prog freezes when it tries too hard to load and unload things from RAM at the same time… so I just run a memory manager called RAMBooster, optimize out 128 MB or so when it hangs and Premiere takes over from there… beautiful, really!)

It’s snowing, and it’s snowing hard. Tuning my mind away from the spring that seemed so near so recently, I put in Endtroducing by DJ Shadow. Two years ago on a December night a load of Woochers were crammed in the Tempo, shooting down a narrow winding road north of Ely. This CD epitomized the mood. The atmosphere was frigid, and Endtroducing chilled it further with it’s drawling, creepy melodies. We would turn the headlights off and follow the brakelights of the car in front of us. They would turn off their lights and we’d navigate by the moon. Sharp turns in the icy road would sneak up. Mixed in was a serious relationship that I knew was on its way out, but couldn’t figure out how to bring to conclusion.

Some music resonates so strongly in my soul that I need to store it under oil for a few months. I flip through my CDs and pause on an album, afraid to touch it because it’s so loaded with meaning. So wired into my emotions. Endtroducing. Yonder Mountain String Band. They are cached away for a time, and while I love the albums to death I won’t listen to them. The time is not right. To listen would dishonor the music. The memory.

Sometimes it’s the other way around. I can listen to a single album for days on end and never tire of it. God Shuffled His Feet by The Crash Test Dummies. Amnesiac by Radiohead. I’ve been totally digging these two CDs the last few weeks. There’s no specific event that I connect with the albums, but it just feels so right I keep listening to them. It will be interesting to see where they stand in a year. Will they ever mean anything more? Will they be hollow utterances? Self-indulgent nostalgia? A glimpse into the psyche?

Or maybe it’ll just be music, and that’s all that matters.

April 20, 2002

clogged with spam

Ill. The condition, not the state. Perhaps the state, but definitely not the state. My brain feels like it’s clogged with Spam and all I want to do is nap, but the cold/flu/mono/strep/meningitis is to the point that the bed is annoying and uncomfortable. At least when you’re sick you can snap at people who are bothersome (and feel quite guilty about it, no doubt), but my shouts do nothing to make the bed aware of my plight.

All I want to do is edit some video, but all Premiere wants to do is crash. I reinstalled the program, I reinstalled Windows, I cracked my knuckles, I swore a lot.All to no avail. The rhythm of the evening has been edit for five minutes, crash the program, reboot, redo everything I just edited, crash the program, reboot, redo everything I just edited, crash the program, reboot, redo everything I just edited, crash the program, reboot, redo everything I just edited, crash the program, reboot, redo everything I just edited, crash the program, reboot, redo everything I just edited, crash the program, reboot, redo everything I just edited, crash the program, reboot, redo everything I just edited, crash the program, chat with the natives, get thrown over the waterfall, get caught in an eddy and swirl around for hours, chat with the coroner who wants a match, offer to trade places with him, get arrested for shouting for help, get fined by the judge, have the last word because the natives stole my pantaloons with my wallet in them.

Things look really cool from in here.

GRAH! I HATE THIS PROGRAM. EVEN WHEN IT DOES WORK THE RENDERING LOOKS STUPID. Whenever some moves (which, in video, is fairly often) it gets these damn bars aliasing across the picture. They aren’t in the original video, but crop up when I render the final edit on my computer.

Boring. Sleep. Boring. Annoyed. Boring.

April 19, 2002

toothless goat

Any time the topic of drinking (or under-age drinking, or partying, or just the off-hand comment on college students) crops up, the city (or Duluth News Tribune, or Chancellor, or Administration) always makes reference to Ken Christensen, who sadly drowned in Chester Creek last April walking back from a party. This incident is their ace-in-the-hole, and they play the card whenever students try to argue for a change in city policy towards partying. It’s an extreme example of the evils that can result from the favorite college passtime, and a beautiful one at that. Who could possibly speak in favor of killing freshman? Who could speak in favor of the vile acts that lead to such cruel results?

Hi. Ken Christensen was not a victim. Ken Christensen was an idiot that made some really bad decisions. As humans we have this little thing called “free-will” that allows us to make our own choices. Sometimes these choices are compelled by outside forces (say, a surly group of rugby kids encouraging me to do a keg stand) but ultimately none of my actions can occur without my consent. The reason we don’t have students drowning in the creek every day is because most of us exercise good judgement. No mention is ever made of the hundreds of parties that occur each year without drownings.

But we need to blame someone, and the carousing UMD student is as toothless as scapegoats come.

April 18, 2002

drizzle checker

Drizzle. So light you can’t tell whether it’s raining or your skin is tingling.

My spellchecker did not recognise the following words:












It does now.

…or does it? [cue spooky chord built on fourths and diminished fourths and augmented fourths named after that one halfwit composer who actually had enough wit to get said chord named after him and I shouldn’t talk because there ain’t crap in the word named after me… except for an entire nationality which a fundamentalist Muslim group openly encourages the murder of and I don’t care whether they wanna kill Danish Jews or Danish Danes or Danish pink-eyed Snits I take a bit o’ offense at the whole dang thing… there is THAT.]

source code voyeurism

Neat. I just peaked at the source code for Little Green Footballs, which can be like looking up a girl’s skirt if you’re a pathetic web geek. The nice thing about LGF is Charles adds little explanations in the HTML to help voyeurs like me figure out what’s what. He even tells what things are moderated through PHP.

Oh my god, what’s that?

breadcrumb trail for the little birdies to follow

Ahh, I understand. And that one?

this is our copyright. honor it, or we will hunt you down and beat you senseless with a large club. you don’t want that.

Voyeurism is not without consequences.

nothing ubiques like ubiquity

I’m slowly becoming ubiquitous in this beautiful city, this charming town. I’m Vice King Geek, I write for the Statesman and the RipSaw (well, once), I wear pope hats and powder blue suitcoats, I maintain a dishonorable website…

And I just got off the phone with Mark Stodghill of the Duluth News Tribune. Spring Bling II got canceled, and apparently Mark picked up my name from UMDStudents.com thinking I’d be a good student quote for the story. As luck would have it, I’ve been working on a Spring Bling story of my own, so I gave him an earful of leads and other sources to contact. Mark was very polite. Poor guy. He was probably hoping to finish the story before lunch.

It’s really funny when journalists interview other journalists. A lot of linguistic clumsy dancing occurs. I’m interested in how I’m portrayed, and how much Mark rakes into the story. There are so many things going on with this issue: The conflict between Duluth and its college population, law enforcement throwing its weight around, the flawed repercussions of an idiot drowning in a creek…

…and stuck somewhere in the middle is a jerk that flings words like poo and has a recording gig with a slipshod blues band tonight.