Archive for August, 2004

In Which Rudy Loses The Respect Of The World

August 30th, 2004 13 comments

“And I grabbed the arm of the police commisioner and and I said to him ‘I am so glad that George Bush is our President.”

Folks. We saw how Bush dealt with the first knowledge of 9/11. He did nothing.

Don’t whore yourself for a cabinet post, Rudy. Depending on your platform, I could have almost voted for you. But if you shill for this wretched lying piece of shit and spew the lies of Iraq caused 9/11, then you deserve a slow and painful fall from grace.

“He dedicated himself to destroying global terrorism.” Too bad Bush just admitted that you can’t win such a war. The words kind of ring hollow after such statements.

Oh, this is just too, too frightening.

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In Which I Sincerely Apologize Those Affected With Disanusitis

August 29th, 2004 No comments

To All Those Afflicted With Disanusitis,

I hope you will accept my apology and the apologies of the staff and the families of the staff of Hbee Inc. for any offense you might have taken from this blog and/or website.

While, obviously I cannot know what it is to go through life without an anus, I certainly can empathize with the pain and related mental stressed caused by the uncaring and unfeeling comments of those who take their anuses for granted.

Although I think that possibly you paid more attention to the way he conveyed the message, rather than what he meant to say, I would like to commend you on your strong opinions and urge you to keep up the good fight against this kind of insensitivity.

If you would indulge me in a brief, illustrative and uplifting story –

A certain wise man had frequent business with a woman who had no legs. At the time, the phrase “not a leg to stand on” enjoyed immense and undue popularity. Everyone said it from the newspapers, to common folk walking down the street to the wise man himself, as wise as he was. One day the woman had enough. She began to write letters and speak out against this phrase. One day the wise man said in reference to the country that claimed dominion over his country that they had “not a leg to stand on.” Although she respected the wise man, she read him the riot act. (Note – I apologize to those in the SDS in the ’60’s and the relatives of Eugene V. Debbs in advance). The wise man stood and listened to the woman scream and curse at him. When she finished, he realized that, of course, she was right and pledged to help her in her quest to eradicate that phrase and others like it. This quest lead him to a greater quest of freeing his country from the tyrannical clutches of the British.

That man was Mahatma Gandhi.

So, if there is ANYTHING I can do personally to help you, do not hesitate to email me personally at

Again, we all sincerely apologize.


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In Which I Provide A Brief Postscript

August 28th, 2004 1 comment

I found myself wondering why The Doctor wound up on this blog. It seemed kind of random. After all, it’s not like this blog approaches anything near popularity.

So, I looked at the blog log, which showed the following information in the “referring search” page

08/28/04 – 09:23:58 am – – the doctor wmfo – Blog Central /blog/
08/28/04 – 09:10:40 am – – the doctor wmfo – Blog Central /blog/

He Googled himself.

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In Which I Post A Longer Response To The Doctor And Then Change My Mind

August 28th, 2004 13 comments

Well. I guess The Doctor didn’t care for the MFO post.

very interesting spin. you left out tons of info and framed the situation rather poorly and so way out of context. not only that but you totally misunderstood the message, you paid more attention to how it was convayed than what was being said. opinions are like assholes, and everybody’s got one.

I started a repsonse in the comment section, but, since I’ve been lame on the posts this August, I figured I bump it up to Post Level.

Two things jump out immediately.

1. “you paid more attention to how it was convayed than what was being said”

Presentation is important. Very important. Critically important. Unbelievably critically important.

[snip]At this point in the post, I spent an awful lot of time disecting the original email. My thought was to try to go through the original email and point out the rhetorical problems with it. I really thought it might help. But then I kept reading the final statement – “opinions are like assholes, and everybody’s got one.” and gave it up as a pointless exercise[/snip]

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In Which Change Is Measured In Different Ways

August 26th, 2004 No comments

I go to someone’s house maybe once a month. Frequently, since they are busy, they leave a key under the mat and I let myself in. The first thing I do when entering a new place is to look for books. If there are a lot of book cases packed to the brim, it’s a good bet that we’ll get along. Hardcovers rank higher than paperbacks generally.

The books in one particular bookcase contained an abundance of books with Bondage and Discipline themes, including the classic “Story of O.” And I have to say, that it didn’t surprise me all that much.

Recently, the person got laid off in the worst possible way. They just got dumped. Another person at the same company worked there 23 years and received no severance package at all. Just a curt and formal “see ya”. I went back to the house a few days ago. The B&D books were all replaced with self-help books on running your own business.

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In Which I’m Hopeful About Parenting An Adolescent

August 25th, 2004 28 comments

It should be known by now that I DJ for WMFO, the Tufts University radio station. It’s yet another opportunity that fell into my lap. Mostly, I adore it. I get to play all the weird stuff I listen to, secure in the knowledge that very few other people tune in.

The downside, as with most things, lies in the fact that other people DJ there, too. The station uses both students and non-students, referred to as “community members”. The students run the station and community members frequently get screwed over. Last semester, they kicked me off the schedule for some reason. Fortunately, an angel came to my rescue and although my show ran every other week for an hour, I still had a show.

I can’t speak for other radio stations, but at MFO there’s usually a few community members who think for some reason that if only MFO were a better radio station, they’d have jobs at a commercial radio station. This particular breed of meglomanic spends all of its time bitching and moaning about how there’s absolutely no reason why a low powered college station shouldn’t be as good as BCN or BOS. If I read their subtext correctly the logic goes something like

If this station didn’t suck so much then I wouldn’t suck so much and I’d be raking in the big bucks working drive time and doing mattress commercials. I am the greatest fucking DJ on the face of the earth and I’m going to prove it by whipping this place into shape whether you like it or not.

Um. Right.
Currently, The Doctor (oh, stop giggling!) fills this role. “Doc”, as he likes to refer to himself, knows the score. And even though it’s summer and barely any students are around, he’s rarin’ to pontificate and stir up a community member uprising. I mean, GODDAMN IT, how’s everybody gonna know how superfine he is if the webstream is down?! Where the HELL are they going to listen to Pink Floyd?

So for 655 words, “Doc” tells it like it is and bites the hand that feeds him.

After all (correct me if I’m wrong) we make up more of the staff then the students do. We also are the only ones that produce top quality radio shows like British Accents, Two Hours Is Just A Tease, On The Town, Galactic Fractures, Pinwheels Of Your Mind,…Headbanger’s Ball, Coffee And Smokes… I can go on and on naming awesome shows on WMFO. These shows have placed WMFO on the radio world map literally. I’m a fair guy, yet I fail to think of any student radio shows that even come close to comparison. So why are we “pushed aside”? Do the students feel we are out to steal the station away from them?

Now where the hell would they get THAT idea?!

Someone else chimed into to praise The Doctor’s candor and went him one better.

“The station is a mess. My ten year old who helps me in studio has to look at penis cartoons, sick sexual jokes and pentagrams on the walls of WMFO. I am ignored by students when I attend cd filing parties. One filing party I brought posters to give out and no one thanked me. I held a door open for a student and he didn’t even look at me never mind thank me. I exhibited common courtesy but perhaps that is a lost art in the current generation.”

He went on to suggest that MFO paint the walls of the studio.

Normally, I stay out of these discussions. But when you start complaining that a college student with fifteen piercings and a tatoo reading “Fuck You!” isn’t polite, something needs to be said. So, like Fats Waller, I sat right down and wrote myself an email.

Without making this whiny post whinier, I pointed out that the station belongs to the students and does not exist to further the careers of DJs in the commercial market. And “…to the person who brings their 10-year into the station to look at pictures of penises – that’s your choice. It’s a college.”

Three hours later, the phone rang. Anti-Penis Man had issues.

“I don’t know why you felt you had to attack me personally.”

“Well, whaddya want,” I said, “It makes me cranky.”

“I only get my kid on weekends and it’s a family thing for me.”

“Look. I understand and if I went over the line, I’m sorry. I’ve got to get a babysitter for my kids to cover for the time before my wife gets home from work. But it’s pretty simple. We, as community members, stay in their house. It’s theirs. If they want penis pictures and pentagrams…it’s their house.”

“They break things! They’re rude!”

“THEY’RE KIDS!! What were you like in college?! We’re the enemy! And we’re in their house! If they come to my house, I’ll expect them to behave and wipe their feet at the door and say “please” and “thank you”. College kids are college kids. They were that way in the ’20’s and they’ll always be like that. Whaddya expect?!”

We went on this way for about ten minutes. He came close to understanding that we’re old people and need to shut the hell up. But he just could commit to it. The girl didn’t say thank you when he held the door. She didn’t say thank you!

I feel great sympathy for the students at MFO. Fuck old people! They’re not hip no matter how many “Buck Fush” t-shirts they wear. Students have nothing to learn from us because we’ve made horrible messes of our lives and if we were any good, we’d be getting paid for working on the radio instead of begging for time on a shitty little college station. Those who can’t spin, spin at college stations. They went to college to get away from people like us and now they have to listen to us tell them how to play in their sandbox. We suck.

I’m hoping that I can keep this understanding fresh in my heart when my kids start telling me to fuck off. I hope.

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In Which It’s Difficult To Write In 15 Minute Blocks

August 23rd, 2004 No comments

When writing time is scarce, you frantically type as quickly as you can only to find that time runs out before you can…

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In Which There’s Nothing Necessarily Wrong With It

August 19th, 2004 No comments

Women’s beach volleyball.


What else can you say? About the only people that don’t love it are straight women.

The commentators at MSNBC certainly dig it, as they keep a running “hug count”. The game against Cuba involved 26 hugs by the Brasilian team each and everyone called in not-quite-detached enthusiasm by the commmentators.

“It looks like THAT play deserves a hug, don’t you think?!”
“OH YEAH!! A great big hug, I hope!”
“Me, too! A great…big…long…hug!”
“A great…big…long…sweaty…hug!”
“Sweaty. Let’s…ummm…go to commericial.”

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In Which I Realize Why I Don’t Listen To Irish Music

August 18th, 2004 8 comments

[Vacation Post – 8/8]

Because it SUCKS!

I’ve just come back from eight hours of the Celtic Festival and I’m all deedle-deedle- deedled out. The inherent schizophrenia of Irish music, vacillating between deedle-deedle-joy-joy and twenty-three minute songs about tragic dead people, makes me want to drink a quart of whisky and kill a bunch of Protestants. Get some fucking therapy!

“Em…harz a soong abutta woomin who keelzer tree children an’ then hacks alluvver limbs off. I hoop ya enjoy it.”

Enjoy it? Why not hand out free straight razors and overdoses of Valium? People shout from the rafters about how the media sells the public things they don’t want. No one mentions a word about the motivation to buy billions of dollars of CDs filled with songs filled with suicide and dead children?

Here’s an actual quote sans difficult to read phonetics: “This song’s about a husband and wife who’ve been married for a long time and although they still love each other, they realize their love was strongest when they were young and free.”

As opposed to elderly and enslave, I assume. The twenty something who wrote this song understands nothing about marriage. Marriage concerns itself with emotional comfort and stability. “Young and free” implies that someone in the relationship still keeps an eye out for some third party.

Another thing: how can you love listening to a 70-minute deedle-deedle jam and turn around and claim not to understand Phillip Glass or Steve Reich? Endless repetition is endless repetition no matter what subtle variations get thrown in. Sometimes a deedle-deedle is just a deedle-deedle.

Plus, you’re either stepping or dancing. Not both. One or the other, your choice, but for Christ’s sake CHOOSE!

I will take twelve hours of bagpipes over three minutes of tin whistle any day of the week.


Someone roundly criticized me about my hatred of Irish music using the words “close minded” which always makes me cringe. So, in order to expand my mind, I’ve started an Irish ballard to be sung acapella in a solo spotlight and very, very, very slowly. Razors optional.

Mary Kate had fifteen children
She killed all fifteen children
She killed all fifteen children
Fifteen separate times

Fifteen square the slaughter
Every son and daughter
Two hundred and twenty-five murders
I’ll tell you of the crimes

She killed the first child firstly
Firstly killed him this way
She made him drink ’til dying
Then killed him fourteen more

She killed the first child firstly
Secondly killed him this way
She jumped upon his trachea
Then killed him thirteen more

She killed the first child firstly
Thirdly killed him this way
She threw him to the wolverines
And killed him twelve times more

She killed the first child firstly
Fourthly killed him this way
She buried him in wingnuts
And killed him ‘leven times more

She killed the first child firstly
Fifthly killed him this way
She rolled him flat as pancakes
And killed him ten times more

More death and sorrow to come

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In Which I’m A Fucking Boy Scout

August 17th, 2004 No comments

[Vacation Post 8/7]

It’s true. In my pre-misspent youth, I attended Boy Scout meetings every week in a church basement. (As a side note, in my post-misspent adulthood, I wound up back in church basements but this time for AA meetings) I enjoyed the first year or so of Boy Scouts. Camping, hiking, urinating into the fire – what’s not to like? Our Scoutmaster knew that most of us attended meeting to fuck around. No fast-track Eagle scouts in this group. The meetings consisted of a vague attempt to teach us a new type of knot and then on to the Kool Aid, potato chips and mayhem.

Sadly, our Scoutmaster left. In his place, Scoutnazi appeared. Scoutnazi must’ve been in the Marines because suddenly we heard the word “discipline” more than we cared to. Scoutnazi insisted on straight lines. He forbid giggling during the Scout’s Oath. Scoutnazi marched the fun right out of the troop. Plus, Bill Bixby’s new show, The Magician, got rescheduled for the same night as Scouts. WWJD?

I quit.

The Boy Scouts instilled in me enough knowledge that if one day I chose to join a survivalist group, they wouldn’t kick me out immediately. I’m good with a knife, I can raise a tent quickly and build a one match fire. Boy Scouts instilled in me a rampant hatred of fascist dictators, as well. I grew to hate camping and the outdoors in general.

Vacations, however, tend to bring out the Boy Scout in me. As my wife, in her annoyingly semi-intuitive way says, “Once you get there, you always enjoy it so stopped bitching and think of your children for a change.”

The other day on a mandatory hike, we came to a small stream with a bridge over it. “The perfect place for Pooh Sticks”, I cried, as I stumped over the bridge, humming a hummy little hum. I then proceeded to show my daughters how to make a small scale raft by lashing branches together with plant stalks. We then held boat races. I even dug out a mini canoe. All the while, my wife smiled her annoying little smile and sat on her butt doing nothing but gloat.

Damn Boy Scouts. They ruined me for life.

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