I've long been bored with the internet; it's a fad whose tenure has ended but just won't clean out its desk and go, much like tight-rolled jeans in Europe. As such, I hadn't thought my ComeCorrect entries would be rife with weblinks, but I am but a vessle and that's what the good lord hath provided tonight. A nice quiet evening of eavesdropping (or as I call it, Vicarious Conversation) has netted two reasons to flip up the lid of your laptop.
If I may regress for a moment: These tips were picked up a few hours ago in Boise at my favorite organic cafe from a friendly table of retired hippies, laid-back mountain-dwellers, and one obvious trustafarian (ie: dreadlocks down to his birkenstocks, Red/Yellow/Green colored AmEx card in his hemp wallet) who were drinking organic beer and certainly NOT discussing politics.
1) The Center for Land Use Interpretation is an obscure/brilliant research organization based in LA that is dedicated to land/landscape issues and effortlessly presents info in unconventional and artistic ways.
2) A few minutes on CLUI's site led me to one of their current exhibitors : Animal Vegetable Video, an art/research project whose motto is "Pursuing the Art and Science of Capturing Animal and Plant Perspectives". I must say I was a little disappointed that the armadillo-cam didn't end at the front-bumper of a southbound semi.
For a bonus tip, click continue
Do you suffer from multiple-personality disorder -- eg: you're both a Red Sox and and a Yankees fan? Short on cash? Never fear. Seems the Chinatowns of NYC and Boston are linked by several bus lines and suicidally competitive pricing has made the 4-hour, 215 mile trip cheaper than a cab ride from SOHO to the East Village and probably more entertaining than our town favorite 24 Bus. Bring $10, a good book, and god help you if you don't have an iPod.
Everything else on the internet is crap and I promise that all my future observations will root from the analog world.
You know…heading out last night, I was loathe to admit to my friends that I was on my way to check out 80’s night at the Cat Club. After running into about seven people I knew in line, and offering each of them some feeble explanation for my presence about how a co-worker had invited me and I hadn’t seen her in a long time and….blah blah blah…we entered ye olde Cat Club.
To my great surprise, this club had somethin’ going on. The music was the usual 80s fare which I can barely name since I’m so damn culturally illiterate, but there was definitely some Duran Duran and some Tears for Fears in the mix. But what made the vibe was just the all-out levels that people went to with the garb. You get your garden variety dudes in polo shirts, khakis, and penny loafers, as well as your cindi-lauper-my-hair-is-seven-colors type chicks. And then there are the random gems, like the chick with the vintage ¾ sleeve baseball shirt from the Police Synchronicity tour and those guys rockin’ the wife beater and tie look. And what the fuck is that about? I was alive in the 80s and I don’t remember no wife beater/tie combo. But then again…maybe I wasn’t paying attention.
Hang on though…remind me one more time what makes a good party? Oh yeah….HOT CHICKS! Right. The capper here was that all of those generically slutty-looking chicks with their teased hair, tight jeans, 4-inch wide belts, and off-one-shoulder blouses…they never partied in the 80s. They were BORN in the 80s. Yes indeed, we like ‘em young, and we like to see them rockin’ the fuck out on the dance floor. Shamelessness…yes. 80s night at the cat club? Sure…
If you're like most, there's a good chance you'll be looking to get your groove on at some point this Memorial Day weekend. So much going on, so many decisions to make. One aspect of discussing your options is discussing dance party names, which are sometimes clever, sometimes inane, and sometimes hit just the perfect note and almost make you want to go to them for no other reason but the name. It's a way of branding an event in a way that isn't necessary in a rock or pop music context, where the headliner or the promising opening act is all you need to know about. Sure, some big name acts have names for their tours, but you'd never discuss whether you're going to see the Bay Area stop of the Musicology Tour; you'd just say, hey, are you going to see Prince?
I haven't been keeping up with the dance music scene as much as I used to way back in the heyday, but I'd be surprised if any event has come up with a more memorably bad name than a certain party from the mid-nineties, which I'll get to later. What are today's contenders? I'm more up on the weekly club calendar versus the one-offs, so I'll pick from that pool. 
On Saturdays at the Top you have a wet fish handshake of a name, a night of broken beats called Safe. I'm sure it's a good night of music, but what were they thinking with the name? I don't want djs playing it safe; I don't want people playing it safe on the dancefloor; I don't want women playing it safe with their morals. Sorry Safe, I'm going to take a chance on something else. On Memorial Day we have Gentle at Dalva. Granted, Dalva is a straightup bar and doesn't really have any dancefloor action, but if I want gentle I'll take a warm bath. To get me to leave the house, don't give me gentle, give me buckwild. Maybe I should check out both of these nights so that come Tuesday, when asked what I did over the weekend, I can say that I checked out Safe and Gentle. If you ever hear those words coming out of my mouth, remove the safety lock and just shoot me.
As unfortunate as these names are, they are minor leagues compared to the worst name ever for an underground dance music party. The mid-nineties was a golden era for the underground dance music scene in SF. Underground had a little more meaning back in that day as electronic music had not yet been adopted by the masses through MTV-friendly acts like Moby and the Prodigy. Back then, you could still see Richie Hawtin play a small, sweaty warehouse party in Soma (that one is firmly etched in my top ten). You could check out parties from a small handful of collectives that threw consistently banging parties that were sweaty, not profit-driven, and 100% underground. Sure, there was a little neo-hippie-dippiness going on. You had some people who were a little too into it, throwing around words like PLUR, short for Peace, Love, Unity, Respect. I gagged at the word, but at least it was coming from a place that was a legitimate alternative to mainstream culture. In this millieu, you had a party promoter called Global Party Network step into the ring with an event that attempted to appropriate the language of an underground they weren't really a part of. It was like that moment when the various forms of electronic music, as we knew it, suddenly became "electronica," compliments of the mainstream music press.
Begin drumroll buildup...
Without further adieu (building), I offer you now the textual equivalent of bunk e (building, building), the party that marked the moment when the underground dance music scene in SF jumped the shark (building, building, building!):
PLURity Vibe-Fest.
Hope everyone has a safe yet buckwild Memorial Day weekend.
Oh damn...most of the free world has probably seen this..clips from Chapelle's 2nd season are up....which is a big deal to a no-cable-havin bastage such as myself....Black Bush, Black Gallagher, and b-ball with Prince are some of the more notable....strike that, Black Bush is a RIOT!
OMG...there's a snake on my crotch!
aaaaaand a really funny/inventive Thai TV commercial (via Gizmodo)
Let’s be honest, if Jesus were walking the earth today he’d probably be walking his ass over to his BMW M3. We’re supposed to believe that the son of god would be driving a Prius or taking public transportation? Or that he’d be driving an old 21 window minibus? Nigga pulleaze.
I’d like to think that J-sus would have a silver M3 with a deep luscious red leather interior. He’d cruise top down with the bumpin’ 36 speaker system sprouting The People Under The Stairs. And despite those tall tales about the messiah suffering for the sins of all mankind…I believe that he wouldn’t think twice about clocking in at a ungodly 11.8mpg. Or slightly lower in sport mode. Because while the celestial icon we call Jesus may have been able to appease the masses with his water into wine shenanigans…he was probably still mortal enough to appreciate the fact that nothing attracts the bitches like an M3.
So, you live in SF, you hear a fair share of hippie jokes....I feel like I would be remiss for not posting about the Phish breakup......let the hippie jokes fly, they ended their run yesterday, as announced on the bands website. Adored by many for their music and ideals and reviled by others for....well, being a fun-loving jam band with a huge following of yuppies masquerading as dirty hippies.... Anyway, they've been immortalized by the Simpsons, Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream and many others. Say what you will, they made a lot of people happy, played some great music, and made a very decent living off of it. They'll phinish out their tour and play a phinal phestival in Vermont in mid August.....should be a shitload of phun.
Phish were known to post all their live shows to a website days after the show so their phans could purchase a high-end recording of it. At the shows, a couple of smaller outfits would sell CD's from previous shows in the tour...alongside glass pipes, applications for all things hemp, plethora’s of schwarma, and rice krispey "treats"...ohhh, the deadly the rice krispey treats...
Well, in related news, yesterday, the media giant everyone loves to hate, Clear Channel, have asserted they have a patent (viewable here) on manufacturing CD's immediately after shows and distributing them to fans, ( according to this Rolling Stone article, and this Slashdot post.) While Clear Channel said they wouldn't be charging bands like Phish for the royalties to the patent, the stated that they have the rights to prevent anyone from infringing (...or keeping with the theme, "inphringing")..on the patent. If you actually trust Clear Channel, please let me know, b/c there's a wealthy Nigerian foreigner who would like you assistance in transferring some monies from his homeland...and he'll even cut you in on the proceedes...
In unrelated news:
"American Spirits," Santa Fe Natural's website quotes one magazine, is "the smoke of choice for San Francisco’s reigning hipsters[!]" San Francisco, the city that does yoga by day and snorts various things up its nose by night, was and continues to be the perfect market to push the American Spirits brand of "healthier" cigarettes.
In a move very much in step with their corporate ethos, Santa Fe Natural recently added an organic variety of American Spirits to their lineup. What's in the works for 2004-2005, you ask? Here's an exclusive advance peek for ComeCorrect readers:
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Immunity Boost -- Fortified with Vitamin C and Echinacea, these
are the only cigarettes you need when you're trying to get over that nasty
cold. |
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Vegan - When vegetarian tobacco just isn't good enough. |
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Kosher - Commandment 11: Thou shalt smoke this special Judaic blend. |
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Lactose Intolerant - Geared for the Asian American market, this
special blend is not only free of any dairy products but is also is laced
with Mylanta for those times when you'd like to have a smoke with that tall
glass of milk. |
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Mothers - You've passed the first trimester and want only the best for Junior, so give him a drag of the 8 essential vitamins and minerals in this special pre-natal blend. |
Ok, I know what you're saying: you're from Siberia or Boston and the weather in SF is so wonderfully mild. Yeah, and that thick, weirdly-breasted Polk Street tranny doesn't look so bad when you just got out of the federal pen and the only love you've gotten in the past few years was tough, hairy love from a guy who looked like Captain Lou Albano.
SF has a homeless problem. We have a budget problem. And we have have a fucking wind problem. San Francisco wind should not be mistaken for warm, gentle breezes. No, that's called balmy. That's good shit right there, balmy winds. No, San Francisco wind is characterized by making you feel like you're getting raped in a freezer. Yeah, that didn't make my top ten list of best feelings either.
You'd hardly believe that SF had shitty weather if you looked at this week's news racks. The SF Guardian has their annual summer guide, which promises you the scoop on the best places to "take it all off." Hell, I could tell you the best place to get naked in San Francisco: it's called inside. The SF Weekly has their annual "best of" issue with two women featured prominently in bikinis (using sex as a marketing tool, so tried and true). Thumbing through the pages of the Weekly and seeing these women dressed in next to nothing at different outdoor locales turns what should be a fun, light read into a harrowing tale of exploited laborers working under inhumane working conditions. It's summer in San Francisco and these women are in bikinis at the beach -- someone hand them a parka, a gorilla suit, something. The only people in SF who willingly brave sunny yet cold and breezy days in their bathing suits are Castro gay boys. With speedos on, uniformly muscular gay men from the Castro and peripheral areas can be seen densely packed in the southwest corner of Dolores Park, manifesting a quality that has evolved as a survival strategy: a vanity so strong that it can numb pain.
I've heard apologists for SF try to explain the bright side of our weather. My favorite one is that because the weather is usually cold it really makes you appreciate a nice day. By that logic you'd appreciate me slapping you in the head everyday with a pancake griddle because on that rare occasion when I choose to skip a day you'll be really, really stoked. To be fair, it is true that on unusually hot days (90 degrees and up), the people of SF stop what they're doing to indulge in some sexy, concentrated feel-good time on their front steps, in bars, and anywhere they can explore the peculiar feeling of leaving their apartment at night in a minidress or shorts and a t-shirt, without the burden of layering. Some women, you can tell, have been burned too many times by the weather because they still rock the pants-under-the-dress style even though it's 80 degrees at night.
The most popular spin on our weather is that if SF had really nice weather a bunch of fucked up people, like from LA, would swarm the City. I actually buy into that argument to an extent, but I'd be willing to roll the dice and risk SF becoming bastardized for the chance at one ridiculously nice summer. I'm telling you, something like that could prompt a second Summer of Love. Currently, the only people experiencing a sense of love with our cold, windy summers are windsurfers and Goths.
On the subject of love, the only thing people in the City complain about more than the weather is how hard it is to meet someone of substance and to have something of substance with them. I'm here to tell you why it's so difficult: wind. Whether you know it or not, if you live in SF you're in an abusive relationship with the wind. Every once it a while he stops hitting you and you lovingly forgive him. Well, the very next day he's back to his old ways: your hair is being pulled in all directions, he throws newspapers at you, and you're forced to put layer upon layer of clothing on to protect yourself from the blows. You have this look on your face like you're bracing yourself for some blunt trauma. That's me you're waiting for. I have the pancake griddle in my hand and am about to whack you in the head for your own good.
Ok, so if I have the demo(graphic) of this site right, it's prolly mostly friends and friends of friends etc around SF. I know there's prolly a few ppl signing in from Uzbekistan, Jamaica Queens, and obviously the greater Milpitas area...but I digress. If you're already familiar with Wonkette, the infamous beltway blogger, then all this will probably be old news. But since there are quite a few readers who are new to the cyber-crack that is blogging, this is where the story begins.....
I guess I shouldn't be extremely shocked that D.C. has its share of bloggers. Outside of 5th period Home Economics, I don't know of a greater concentration of people who love to dish about any and everything. Add in the fact that a good amount of the demo on the hill gets refreshed with young interns and aspiring politicos every year serving some of the most rich and powerful people in the country, sometimes the world, and things just heat up. I've always sort of likened D.C. to Hollywood...scores of people showing up everyday, fresh and delusional, thinking that they too will truly change the world. And, at times, these people ultimately end up disillusioned, broke and sleeping with everyone...only in D.C. you don't talk about who you sleep with...one of those uptight east coast things I guess, I dunno...
Anyway, to the point, get to the point.....So Wonkette runs a political blog out of D.C., if you haven't checked it out, you should, it's good stuff. So one day at work, somehow during an internet trawl session (hey you don't think this content comes out of nowhere), or an IM session with a friend she happens upon this blog by a person named Washingtonienne with all kinds of stories describing all kinds of nutty sex with, well, basically everyone... The full archive of Washingtonienne's blog can be found here.
(Now I guess it's a good time to point out that here is where Washingtonienne's blog is located. During the process of time where her blog was discovered and then became all the technorati rage, it was deleted. In the past few days, the site has shown up again, only it's sort of impossible to know if it's the same person, they definitely don't seem to be writing with the same intent.)
So, Washingtonienne's is just emoting away using initials I guess to protect the innocent, but dropping enough hints so her close friend's know what's going on....granted, being a slut's no crime and I've know girls in my life that would make this girl look like the mother Teresa...but it' pretty amazing this girl has the tee's to post that her income (of 25K) is getting subsidized by having ass-sex with a high ranking Bush-appointed official. Along with the other boys she is or isn't calling back, or fucking, etc. I guess a phone call to a close friend wasn't good enough...i dunno.
So meanwhile, Wonkette, is in full on blog mode writing about everything that pops up....she's chipping away at different parts of this blog in a parallel universe online....Washingtonienne has listed enough details that Wonkette's even able to piece together a possible suspects list. All pictured are shitting thier pants royally, I'm sure. Soon, after all this goes down, Washingtonienne get's fired, confirming that she is probably a real person and this probably did happen. (Hey folks it's the internet..distrust everyone.)
So, I was tinkering with the idea of writing about this last week when the whole situation was quite hot, but then Washingtonienne vanished so I couldn't see much use in any mention. After all, no one's sure she's real. I mean the idea that you have this crazy situation of parallel live going on, on person carrying like there's not a problem in the world and the other trying every way they can to find this girl out makes for quite the modern day drama. So, I thought all the relevence was gone and had scrapped the idea.....
Then Wonkette turns up today with an entry and and interview with Washingtonienne!!! I guess the mental picture from the article that's the wildest to me is this girl working away at her desk and then one of her co-workers prints out a page from Wonkette's website and walks over and hands it to her...talk about a moment that changes everything.
So you can check out all the links, etc and get caught up on the news, so when the Washington Post finally gets around to running their story, you an reflect on how different the internet makes the way we get our news in the world....or you can just use that section to line the dog cage first...
last night i went out to a new sushi joint, Amasia Hide's Sushi Bar @ 149 noe street in the castro. i went with my friend ryan (the hawaiian), who is a complete sushi connoisseur. he'll eat the most exotic of fish, and even orders sushi with a well-trained japanese accent. impressive.
anyhow, i'm a faithful kind of gal, and that commitment sorta applies to my favorite sushi restaurants -- the ubiquitously crowded sushi zone on market street; tsunami, but only when i feel like i look uber-hipsteresque; and Ebisu and Hana, which both are local heroes of the inner sunset and appeal to my lazy side because they don't require me to drive anywhere. however, despite this fidelity, i've got a serious wandering eye for the next best sushi thing. the fish is always fresher, isn't it?
at about this time, i bet you're expecting a review of Amasia. how was the ambiance? did i get prompt seating? was it romantic? good for groups? was the fish fresh? do they take american express? well, sorry kids, but you're gonna get a case of the blue balls if that's the finish you're hoping for. i'm really here to discuss the top five types of sushi that gross me out.
that's right. the top five types of sushi that i find utterly inedible.
so, five minute primer on me: i am not a picky eater, in fact, i am a self-described foodie. and, i love sushi. toro, hamachi, maguro, hirame -- all of it is an oral orgasm for me. so, when ryan suggested that i branch out and try some new sushi, i went for it.
but here's the bottom line, friends: even if i had fasted for 40 days and smoked out of a gravity bong, i would not be tempted to eat any of these:
5) ama ebi (sweet shrimp) - hell no. the chewy consistency of this thing is just wrong. it is like biting into the casing of a smokey joe filled with ooze. YUCK.
4) ankimo (monk fish liver) - it's like fois gras of the sea, but folks, it's fish liver. it excretes bile. that can't be good for you.
3) uni (sea urchin) - guess what? t his is actually the sexual organs of the fish. i shit you not.
2) ikura (salmon roe) - salty eggs. it's like eating perspiring embryos.
1) spicy sea snails - okay, you've got me. i've never had this, but i'm sure that i wouldn't like it.
don't believe me? take the sushi challenge. eat all five of these and let me know what you think.
disclaimer: my experience with this freaky sushi doesn't reflect badly on Amasia at all - quite the contrary, i thought they had fantastically fresh fish - but is just a personal opinion. (though it's probably universally true. fish liver? come on.)
...and I let it ring forever!!! I guess you weren't around.
(via ThighsWideShut)
You’ve been to every bar in town. You’ve crawled through the gutter and find it a little too sanitary for your taste. You’re beginning to wonder if the alternative scene has an alternative. Then head to Divas and confuse your libido with their beautiful asian tranny strippers. Divas provides a distinct form of entertainment that can best be described as a mix of Cirque De Soleil and the Mitchell brothers. And one should never underestimate the amount of skill required to climb upside down on a pole while juggling your massive implants and revealing just enough of your package to entice but not to give the show away.
Aiming straight for the Maxim demographic (via dj M)
Almost everyone I know grew up playing kickball. It's a playground staple, and it was a sport that dictated your social rank through middle school. You were either the kid that everyone wanted on their team - the all-around popular, superstar athlete - or the kid that was picked last (ah, that would be me). That's right. The puny runt who was scared of the ball, couldn't figure out the bases, and, actually, even slightly afraid of the people on their own team. Tragic.
Well, this year, I decided to face my school yard demons ... when my friend Julie told me she was going to form a kickball team, I jumped on the opportunity to prove to myself that I was no longer worthy of the Remedial Kickballer title that I held till sixth grade. I'm now a proud member of the World Adult Kickball Association, and it's quite an experience.
I play on this team - we're called the Hog and Cat Tossers (Julie tried to get us to be called the Drunk Assholes, but that was turned down) - and we're undefeated.
That's right. Undefuckingfeated.
We play in Speedway Meadows out in Golden Gate Park every Wednesday night. Between slugging down shots of Jack Daniels, and dancing to the different ring tones on people's cell phones (song of the day yesterday: Usher), we actually kinda rule at the game at hand. And, my friends, let me tell ya, there is almost nothing more satisfying than absolutely ruling in kickball. Especially when your team color is fuscia.
Our team has had to take more than our fair share of shit-talking due to the unfortunately assignment of fuscia as our team color. Fuscia does not scream "ASS KICKERS!" -- though it really should. Because that is what we do - kick some ass. I mean, we take pride in shaming other teams, watching them try to play outfield or have some sort of kicking strategy (ever heard of bunting fellas?). It's sad, really, but entertaining nonetheless.
The shit-talking is always amplified at the nearly mandatory post-kickball happy hours that take place at Kezar Sports Bar. Last week, we happened to park right next to our opponents from this week, Another Reason To Drink. Our team color was blasphemed as the opponents - whose team color was Loser Black - had a healthy round of smack-talking with some of the gentlemen on our team.
Needless to say, it was absolutely essential that we win yesterday's game, and that we did. Despite foul play from the Loser Black team (e.g., throwing a ball at Jen's head, arguing with the ref Paul over how many runs we scored, game was fairly epic, thanks in part to our Guest Star MVP. Another Reason To Drink really gave us one when we pummelled them 4-1.
What's also somewhat entertaining is the fact that everyone on our team is in their mid-20s/early-30s, but after a few swigs of liquid courage we believe that we are possibly still in our teens. Thus, every Wednesday evening is a delicate dance between our egos, which tells us that it's still the glory days, and our bodies, which tell us that we're fucking idiots for playing kickball in the freezing cold, and that we are getting old. This week, yours truly joined the Injured List, suffering a serious pulled quad (left side) and pulled calf (right side). 
Guess I won't be shaking my groove thang at the Lush Camp Benefit, nor will I be serving up drinks smoothly at the Sublounge on Saturday. I'll be happy to be able to do some sort of limpy attempt at the running man, and to wobble my way to the bar with beers in tow.
So, if next Wednesday rolls around and you find yourself looking for an alternative to 111 Minna, come on by Speedway Meadows and grab some bleacher space to cheer us on -- join in the fun -- we ain't elitist!
Or, just hold out for next season ... Adult Four Square, anyone?
Just saw Super Size Me, a documentary that follows Morgan Spurlock's experiment to see what would happen if his diet consisted only of McDonald's food for 30 days. It made me flashback to my own 30-day McDonald's binge in the summer of 1984, the year of the LA Olympics. McDonald's had a game piece promotion where each ticket listed an Olympic event and a corresponding food prize if the US won gold in that event. Here's the beautiful part: that summer, the Soviet Union and 13 allied Communist nations boycotted the Olympics, causing an incredible surge in gold medals and free golden fries for the US.
U-S-A! U-S-A!
I'm surprised that McDonald's on Victory Blvd. and Coldwater Canyon didn't go out of business, given the amount of Big Macs, Quarter Pounders, Filet o' Fishes, and sundry McItems my cohort Kenneth and I consumed for free. All that money we didn't spend on food we spent on Super Big Gulps -- the OG supersize consumable -- at 7-Eleven. Kenneth and I survived that summer just fine; we were in a whole lot better shape than Spurlock at the end of Super Size Me.
The critical success of Super Size Me has already spawned imitators. Here's a sampling of documentaries coming to an arthouse theatre near you:
This Bud's for Me follows Brad Siefert, a laid-off Domino's Pizza driver who smokes pot continuously for 420 hours. The film actually began shooting while he was still employed as a Domino's driver, but after a memorable scene where Siefert hands over to a customer a half-eaten Mushroom and Pepperoni pizza, the movie switches gears and follows the filmmaker into his living room, where the blinds, like his eyes, are mostly shut and where lazy days slowly blaze by to a soundtrack of Bob Marley and Sublime. There is a message that every "casual" pot smoker should take to heart: smoking for 420 hours straight is bad for you.
Replay Button is the sequel to This Bud's for Me. In this one, Siefert exposes the video game industry's culpability in America's obesity epidemic. With the supersized spotlight fixed firmly on the fast food industry, video game companies have managed to avoid any real scrutiny -- until now. Seifert, now employed as a full-time documentarian, returns to tell America what it probably already knows but what it needs to have spelled out on the big screen: playing video games for 30 days in a row with no exercise (trips beyond 10 feet required the use of a Segway) is not good for you.
Polyamorous Perros follows Wayne Jabra as he explores the highly promiscuous SF underground swingers scene utilizing experimental storytelling techniques. His goal is to have unprotected sex with 69 people in 69 days or until his penis falls off, which ever comes first.
Unwanted Transfer shows us what happens when Brody Lassen rides the 19 Polk bus for 30 days wearing the same white pants.
And that's a wrap.
Rating for Super Size Me: 6.03 (out of 10)
More evidence that technology advances are merely aging us all prematurely. The PayPhone project has indexed thousands of payphones from all over the world. While novel aesthetically for marveling at these communications portals this site provides a much more novel application. Instead of calling those friends for day old exchanges of info, this site allows you to call complete strangers in far away lands. Practice random acts of telecommunications.
The modern bender, like altoids, our military and the eerie feeling that the second coming of the tech renaissance is upon us, has become stronger. What once consisted of a late model automobile, an expired license and a hankering for cheap whiskey has evolved. And it’s killing me.
The modern day bender, as showcased in such played out carnival events as Burning Man, currently has the pre-requisites of methamphetamines mixed with 2-5 other mind altering substances endured for 2-4 days in which friendships, love affairs, family relations are stretched torn and abused like a womb post-pregnancy.
Curiously absent from the modern day bender is the use of acid. How is it possible to truly lose oneself in a multi day bender if you don’t enlist in the Superbowl of all hallucinogens? For those who prefer a more organic approach there are currently other alternatives: Nafta Acid
....while you can use the web to suck up for a gmail account, choose your own adventure in New York, make snowflakes, find a bathroom, or a cheap(er) gas.....if you have to do anything productive today, for the love of god, DON'T PLAY THIS GAME... (some links via utterlyboring & memepool)
...and please, if it's humanly possible, don't let some eastern block kids play around with a video camera, lighter fluid, an open flame and a girl who will pull her pants down for anything...it could get ugly...or extremely hilarious, you decide (larger media file, via MC Duh, via DOA)
...oh yah, and don't cover e'yting in vaseline like some freak-o (via Fark)
Man....there is there *anything* that doesn't involve Arnold Schwarzenegger?? He must not be getting as much play from those Japanese commercials...in his spare time, he's now taking on the people who immorlized him in a Bobblehead doll....cummon man, WTF, you don't see Charlie Tuna or Count Chocula gettin' all amped out about rocking out in a head shop on Haight St. or holdin' it down in the back window of a dirty Nova. Seriously, just cool out, trip around the globe thumbing your nose at California's mounting deficit, openly smoke your illegal cigars, and F.O.A.D. pls...kthnx
Freakish scene on an outbound N Judah train last Friday night in South Beach. It was 6:30 in the evening, normally a mellow scene: a sparse, work-weary group of people entering an empty train just starting its route. Well, this train wasn't empty when I boarded. There was a goddamn pigeon inside.
Hey, we all hate pigeons, but we normally tolerate them in their natural habitats: at Ocean Beach, on Telephone poles, around people having lunch outside, all along Market Street. We don't really flinch when seeing them in these expected contexts. But seeing a wild pigeon inside a Muni train is not only unexpected, it's borderline cultish, Satanic if you will.
I entered the car behind four teenagers who, upon realizing the situation, started jostling each other to make sure that there was a friend between them and the pigeon (ah, what are friends for?). I stood by the door as it closed, unnerved by the grey beast but outwardly restrained and even-keeled in the face of giggling, spasmodic teenagers. The teenagers managed to tip-toe away from the feathered menace, eventually leaping for hysterical joy like they just escaped from Jason. I was still near the bird, who had flapped around a little to let me know who was boss. A voice from the speaker box asked me if there was anything wrong (apparently, one of the kids had pushed the button). Before I could finish my sentence, about a half second after the word pigeon came out of my mouth, the train began to rumble along. It was the driver's way of saying, "Look, I don't got time for this bullshit."
And so I stared at my feathered foe. What made him so powerful? The restored, original cut of Godzilla had recently opened at the Castro, but here I was getting to see people flee a monster in 3-D for a matinee price of $1.25. What made this pigeon so frightening? So spine-tingling? So apocalyptic? To put it succinctly, a pigeon on Muni is like a midget on PCP. PCP midget is a living nightmare because you don't know what the hell he's going to do. Is he going to continue to stay agitated in one spot or is he going to punch me in the fuckin' face? Is he going to argue Satan's case to the Muni driver through the speaker box or is he going to run up and down the train naked, punching the living crap out of people? That kind of uncertainty is not what you want to experience on the train ride home from work.
Fortunately for everyone involved, this pigeon decided not to poke anyone's eyeballs out. At the next stop, the doors parted and this bird decided to fly the coop. Once he was gone, all gone, I thought to myself, man, I had this pigeon all wrong. He wasn't on this train to frighten the innocent patrons of the N Judah -- he was being fuckin' lazy and hitching a ride to the next stop. Hmm, maybe this pigeon is living off the scraps outside McDonald's on 3rd and Brannan.
big ups to Jason/MethodOne @ 1115.org for our new banner (which we *badly* needed.)
...who knew people gave house warming gifts on the internet, thanks Jason...
(Extra points if anyone can guess the movie the post title was quoted from...hey guys quoting movies on the internet...how novel.)
So, if hell does freeze over and I don't end up sacrificing my days to vicious hangovers from getting roped into hitting up the Get Freaky/Freq Nasty affair @ 550 Barneveld, or rocking with the Stefbot @ the Cloud Factory Design Collective, or making funky @ the absolute last Hemisphere party @ Amnesia this weekend, I'm definitely gonna hit NextFest like Ike hit Tina...
WIRED's NextFest is running this weekend @ San Francisco's Fort Mason. I've had this love/hate relationship with ye old WIRED mag since I first came in contact with it....wow, 10 years ago. When it first showed up, I was blown away by it's amazing design, use of color, blazing cover with Burning Man, etc. It was formatted like an art magazine but was all about technology...complete a-bomb right to my target market.
Then, over the years, the magazine got fatter, until it was one huge Beamer ad. They also had stopped writing articles of any substance. It was all one huge chin-stroke...after all, these guys were tech before tech was cool, and they took full advantage of having to produce nothing of substance and still get credit....which I guess is a trick used by most shrewd geeks @ some point or another. Blah, Blah...Anyway...One of the best things that happened b/c of the dot-com crash was the square kick in the balls WIRED got. Recently, I've started to like it again, the content's better, the redical design has become common place, but it getting back on my good side.
This weekend is NextFest, which promises to be everything I'm into about WIRED. Cutting edge design and invention. Among 70-odd exhibits, they'll be showcasing the Strength Suit, an Invisibility Suit (which I'm sort of on the fence about being impressed with it or not), a skycar, and a bunch of demonstrations of Honda's ASIMO robots. Which I'm into seeing, but have alot to live up to after I saw the clip of Sony's dancing QRIO robot's. All in all, way cheaper than the price of a floor pass to a convention (where this stuff usually goes down), it could be a pretty cool time.
Big up the Jerms for reminding me about this. (Cause If I don't say it, I know he'll only break my balls l8r for it...iz like Whitney said...that's what friends are for.)
I take back everything I said yesterday about Neighborhoodies. I found the perfect neighborhood slogan in Wednesday's Chronicle (if you have trouble with this link, you can just enter "crack whore" in the Chronicle's search area -- do it just for the hell of it). On the cover of the Datebook section, we learn that New York-based adult movie director Joe Gallant was recently in SF to shoot a movie titled Crackwhores of the Tenderloin. The 3-hour DVD is set to be released later this month. Gallant is currently finishing up work on the musical score, which he says is shaping up to be "very psychedelic/garage/Dead/Herb Albert-esque." Sweet, I need to remember to put that in my Friendster profile under favorite music.
Apparently, Crackwhores of the Tenderloin wasn't Gallant's first choice of movies to shoot on location in SF. Here are some movie ideas that were scrapped before shooting began:
-Total Marina Chixxx
-Art Academy Lolita
-Crackwhores of the Endup
-The 69 Muni
and last but not least...
-The Devil in Mr. Ammiano
Are there any titles that I missed?
NICE!! A court in Boston gave the state six months to commence ceremonies for same-sex couples. For some reason, people are worried that the ceremonies may become "too flamboyant"....
Ok, so it's quite possible you've heard of this PacManhattan craze (if not, well, obvs, you have now). At first, I thought it was pretty novel, but these vids of dorks chasing each other around the NYC are quite funny. (This one especially)
The WTF award goes to a bunch of "gangstahs" in Dallas, who manage to bring the beef from the chat room to the streets ANNND cops produce the following genious quotes: "Let's face it: Gangs already have their own alphabet, their own language, their own hand signals, so why not use the Internet?" ...watch for the upcoming Death Row Records (or as we refer to it in tha cut "tha Row") to release their newest compilation "N1gg455 B L337" (via Fark)
Yo, Webby's announced...funny, I thought they would've died off with all my friends jobs in the spring of 2000...the winner of the "weird" category going to www.carstuckgirls.com, which, like, duh, is a fetish site about hot girls stuck in their cars needing some man-ly assistance...I'm feeling virile just typing about it...(site may be down due to traffic.)
It's a damn shame I hate Nike, b/c this is the coolest Internet ad campaign I've seen in quite some time.
Finally - Pepsi releases bourbon in a can (THUMBS!!!)...and, via Yahoo, just in time for summer, strapless swimsuits :drool:
Bay to Breakers is one played-out party. We all know what's gonna happen -- the Kenyans will win. I don't even TRY to participate in the actual race because - who am I kidding, I'm a short-legged asthmatic ex-smoker. We all know what the events of the roaming street party will be too -people will drink cheap alcohol and piss on Fell Street; the younger half (both at heart and in age) of San Francisco will dress up in Burning Man-lite garb; there will be the ubquitous scantily clad and/or naked people (who, as a rule of thumb, are always those people who should never be naked); and hopefully, if all goes well, our friends will throw their annual Festivus Debaucherus on Divisiadero.
Been there. Done it. Baby snore.
The real fun, mis amigos, starts at 7pm the evening prior. Not only is it worth coming to (you'll get the pun in a moment), but there are chances to go down in history by breaking world records. Yes, my friends, it's the Masterbate-A-Thon. Competition will be held for four separate titles: Longest Time Masturbating, Largest Group Wank, Most Money Raised, and, of course, Most Orgasms. So, while you and your friends know you don't have a shot of winning this year's Bay To Breakers, why not enter something you might have a chance at? And, for those of you who - despite the predictability - heart B2B, you will be happy to know that the evening pleasure party is half off for those who plan to run the foot race.
"They're doin' it over there, but they don't do it here... Fashion."
Certain words grab your attention when they're found in unexpected contexts. For example, this past weekend I saw the word "China" on the front of a woman's hoodie at a party in Cole Valley. In classic SF fashion, she was layered and wore a jacket over the hoodie, partially obstructing what was written on the other side of the zipper. I asked and she revealed China Nob. Aha.
Her hoodie was a customized creation of Neighborhoodies, a Brooklyn-based company that puts the name of neighborhoods on clothing, most notably on hooded sweatshirts. I first became aquainted with this company through an ad in the SF Guardian. The copy read something like "What's your hoodie?" and a picture showed models giving visual shout-outs to the Castro, Tenderloin, Mission, and Lower Haight. Yes, I remember the first time I saw this ad because it was one of those pure and clearly articulated "Are you fucking kidding me?" moments.
If you visit Neighborhoodies.com, you will observe that SF is one of the showcase cities with several neighborhoods listed for your convenience. In addition to the aforementioned hoods, you'll find such disparate areas of town as Western Addition, the Marina, Hunter's Point, and Fisherman's Wharf. And if you can't find the neighborhood you want, you can customize to your heart's content. According to the owner of the company, the two SF hoodies slightly outpacing the others in sales are the Tenderloin and Excelsior. Does that make any sense to you? It does to me.
It's all about cred.
Let's stop for a moment and imagine an SF before Neighborhoodies. Up until last year, there was only one real game in town for locals: Upper Playground's Fillmore hoodie. 
Folded neatly in a stack in the middle of this Lower Haight hip hop clothing boutique was the most credible marriage of an SF neighborhood and a hoodie. Spelled with white, rough-edged letters against a black backdrop (you could probably read into that), separated by a zipper down the middle like a traffic divide, is the word "FILLMORE." A good combination of aesthetics and meaning. The Fillmore means ghetto; it means jazz then and hip hop now; it means the 22 Muni; it means having Lower Haight and Western Addition as neighbors who come over and brown-bag it on your porch; it means a little too sketchy for Don Johnson.
I was suprised to find that even Upper Playground recently "globalized" their lineup to include the Sunset, Mission, and the all-encompassing SF. The Sunset? Please. The Mission? Too general. SF? The Niners and the Giants have that covered.
The price Upper Playground pays for expanding their selection of neighborhoods is a perceived lack of loyalty to any specific one, particularly the one right in its backyard. Now bring Neighborhoodies into the mix. The impending glut of hooded neighborhood shout-outs begs the question: Is it still possible to have a cool hoodie with your SF neighborhood written on it? The Fillmore hoodie might be spared because it was the first and comes from a local store, but ultimately all SF neighborhood hoodies will suffer a hit. Maybe we'll revert back to a time when you only really rocked a locale when you were very much away from it: the college you went to in the East Coast or the city in the South you never lived in but whose shirt fit you really nicely at the thrift store and whose design was very clean. Ah, those were simpler times.
God, I feel silly talking so seriously about fucking clothes... Then again, you should see some of the nonsensical selections that Neighborhoodies has for your hometown. You'll alternately laugh and grimace.
"They got the goon squad and they're coming to town... beep beep."
This just in...HEAD = GOOD .....Ahh, this reminds me of the good old Joycelyn Elders scandal. Note to the Royal family, if you're looking for Joyce, she needs a job badly...she's currently pulling mad tubes in beantown and watching Up in Smoke for the 300th time. )
Lots of touchy stuff about P2P networks rolling in the news today. One professor was awarded a patent for creating a software to flood P2P services with faulty files, while a professor in Tokyo was arrested for creating a P2P software....clearly, we've touched a nerve. (via Wired)
Having trouble getting acting work? eBay may be able to help.
Oh, in othe bizzarre moves, McDonald's is now asserting a trademark on the phrase "I am Asian"...these ppl might get intouch with the with the people from Abercrombie and Fitch...b/c when the Cal kids in Berkley get wind of this, the mcShit could fly...the site's actually celebrating asian culture...but I'm not getting why McDonalds is so hot on asserting a trademark on it....I mean, their sweet and sour sauce for the McNuggets doesn't even have that elusive Red no. 5-esque color.
So, I'll have to admit, I'm feeling a bit of anxiety over this first post. There's this wordless pressure caving in on me from all angles -- I just want this post to be really, really good. Really. Good. Like, it's gonna define who I am, and whether people will like me and my writing. Am I good enough, smart enough? Dare I admit it? Okay, I will ... I'm nervous.
This whole first post thing, it's like a first kiss - I'm a bit unsure about how ya'all will react ... will I be too aggressive (and, for the record, that would be par for the course), too timid, use too much teeth? I sure hope not on that last account, but, as is often the case when I'm going in for the first date kill, I'm definitely thinking too much about this.
When I find myself in a situation where my thought process gets tangled, and my brain and body pummel into paralysis, I tend to rely on a particular panacea ... alcohol. So, I thought the perfect remedy to pop my first post cherry was to get downright dirty and sloppy ... and what better way to do that than to give props to the Cole Valley Social Club? Once again they threw a stellar party -- the highly anticipated annual Cole Valley Drinking Progressive. Didn't hear about it? Buddy up with some Upper Haight homies ASAP because this is one party you don't want to miss.
Remember college? If you're someone I know, your answer is probably - maybe. So, to get a bit more specific, remember drinking parties in college? I'm expecting a resounding HELL YEAH! here, since drinking parties are where we all perfected our now flawless social graces. Ahem. The CVSC has taken us all back to the old school with their neighborhood shot party, and I've been lucky enough to attend both the inaugural and sophomore attempts.
The gist of this party is simple - take six households of hipsters/hippies and convince each of them to make enough of a drink (think Jungle Juice and Everclear) for about one hundred roaming partiers to have a shot. Participants in the party spend about a half an hour at each location, mingling and tossing alcohol down their gullet. By the last stop, the generally rococo hood of Cole Valley turns into a debaucherous fiesta, full of scandal and shame -- all the makings for a great episode of the O.C. I've already heard through the grapevine that this party had it all -- hooking up in private, and not so private places; faux-wrestling or interpretive dance (aka rolling on the ground), people passing out along Frederick and Cole Streets -- enough content for "Veronica's Top 10 Do's and Don'ts" five times over.
In a perfect world, this party might happen monthly, in different neighborhoods along the City. This would enable folks to branch out, cross-breed (notice the Marina chick in the sweater set getting freaky with the Mission bike messenger), and drink (for free) until they just can't drink no mo'. No cover charges, no waiting at the bar, no leaving your credit card somewhere (but where?) yet again.
But, alas - the world is far from perfect, and only a few incredibly innovative souls made the decision to resurrect a beloved tradition. Ren, Rectors, Shawn, Cole House, Dack and the infamous Tiger House ... this shot's for you.
Ok, so, it goes without saying I'm a MAJOR sucker for any pop cuture reference harkening back to my youth. Extra bonus points if it's tied to candy that makes your teeth rot. So, I guess it should come as no surprise that I was pretty dorked out that Topps is cranking out another round of Garbage Pail Kids. While you won't see me beating down the door at the local comic bookstore to collect them all, I'm was EXTREMELY stoked to see that Topps is down to let you create your own!!!
On the comic tip, I haven't been feeling the whole Strong Bad quite to the levels in the days of yore, but any spoofs an old G.I. Joe cartoon, complete with red and blus lasers, well, that's just a whole 'nother level.
Finally, with all this nostalia whipping about, I later hit the trifecta at the Gothamist. Apparenty a Swatch has a new ad campaign that's sending some people in NYC into a frenzy. (I know my friends from Bunny Camp would dork out to extreme levels about this BunnySutra piece.) For a brief moment, I pondered the street value of the once balleyhooed Keith Harring collector's watches I once owned....I quickly realized, I would have been better off with one of the new Helment Newton joints.
Also, one last cool bit, to celebrate the Equinox in May, alot of photogs hooked up some 360-degree panoramas from different parts of the world. I could spend hours here...so far the pics from Reunion Island, Indian Ocean is the fav.
....more writers with actual talent to appear in this space soon.
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Colin If the internet ever needed a poster boy for A.D.D., it would probably be Colin. A fierce appetite for all types of music, truely bad jokes, and random worthless knowledge fuels this Irish-Texan. A computer dork by day and paranoid dj by night, he masks his terrible spelling in a mountain of slang and hacker abbreviations, and his punctuation in a flurry of elipses. Son of a drama queen, he probably enjoys making you laugh more than you enjoy laughing...though he'd never tell you that...he's deathly afraid you'll tell the little green men to hide his car keys again for you're own amusement... email: colin (at) comecorrect (dot) net |
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Jeffro Jeffro is a romantic existentialist. He is constantly falling in love and breaking his heart and he tries very, very hard not to show it. email: jeffro (at) comecorrect (dot) net |
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Rok
Writer for hire. Out to lunch. email: rok (at) comecorrect (dot) net |
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Veronica A bridge-and-tunnel transplant, she managed to find her way out of the east bay and into the always-hoppin' inner sunset, where some of her favorite hobbies include star-gazing or sun-bathing on her deck in the fog and waiting for the n judah. Her past is a paradoxical balance of shame - she was both a collegiate cheerleader and a camp calculus graduate, so she can do a high kick while reciting the quadratic equation. she spends her days marketing to the masses; her evenings tending bar, opening her third eye, and carousing around cole valley or the mission. She currently enjoys live music of virtually any genre, but particularly of the electropunkdisco persuasion, hipster boys who are easy on the eyes, people who aren't stupid, the 80s, hot dogs, and the lakers. She constantly hates trance music, large clubs such as ruby skye, the marina, spiders, fast food and george bush. email: veronica (at) comecorrect (dot) net |
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Balthazar Balthazar Petty is the by product of one wild night of fraternizing between a very uptight Navy Fly-boy and a Hawaiian sugar cane despot. He has been banned from the annual Santa Claus Holiday role at Bloomingdale’s due to overzealous lies told in good nature to young children of both sexes. Balthazar believes that Maker’s Mark can bring us all closer together and that humans are inherently positive beautiful creatures...even Republicans. email: balthazar (at) comecorrect (dot) net |
This site is basically intended to entertain. There's no set schedule on when material is posted, though we like to do so often enough to encourage readers to return frequently. There's also no real boundaries laid on what each person can contribute, but most of the group is pretty laid back, so what you see here might be the same conversation they had in a bar the night before or saw on the train as they headed into work the next morning.
Let's face it, there's enough dildos running around exercising their franchise on the internet looking to do nothing but shock you or test the boundaries of your tolerance. We as a society continually push and prod at each other sense trying to get a collective rise out of each other that we miss the amazing dynamic that's hidden in everyday life. For the most part, the present is the most interesting place to be....and if you pull you head out of your cell phone and just sit back for a second and take it all in, you be surprised at all the things you'll see.
More on the derrelects in this detention hall here.
If you feel like you have something you can contribute to this whole mix, we might be down, hit it up @ colin (at) comecorrect (dot) net.
so this is it...ComeCorrect(.net)
There's plenty of blogs/zines on the web. Some espouse personal drama on the daily, others run some of the most cutting edge political commentary around. Hopefully, this will be neither of those. The intention of this site shoots much lower....It's about having a few laughs, and giving people of similar interest something to check out ....hopefully people can learn some and laugh some.
This blog hopes to serve as a framework for some of the funniest people and talented writers I've met. It's a project intending to building an online community. I could ramble about this for lines and lines, but instead of pontificating too much, let's just see what happens, I gotta get some sleep.
ez
