Last Build Date: Tue, 14 Jun 2016 22:36:14 +0000
Fri, 07 Dec 2007 03:13:00 +0000Podcast 8
Thu, 22 Nov 2007 19:15:00 +0000After a long, long break, we're back in the blogosphere.
Tue, 26 Jun 2007 15:46:00 +0000I've been a huge fan of Mediocrefilms.com for a while now, and I've got to say, Greg Benson, you're pretty much the greatest man who's ever lived.
Sun, 17 Jun 2007 21:23:00 +0000
Mon, 11 Jun 2007 01:56:00 +0000(image) This cartoon is by Dan Reynolds.
Sat, 09 Jun 2007 06:12:00 +0000I like this. Possibly because it's 1:13am, but also because it's funny.
Fri, 08 Jun 2007 19:14:00 +0000When Samuel read the manual he noticed something quite peculiar.
Wed, 06 Jun 2007 23:06:00 +0000The Incurable Allure of Carrots
Wed, 30 May 2007 13:48:00 +0000It's IAC Vidcast 1. Yay.
Sun, 27 May 2007 19:00:00 +0000This is friggin' awesome.
Fri, 11 May 2007 18:57:00 +0000LIST #3
Sun, 06 May 2007 06:53:00 +0000Podcast 5D
Tue, 24 Apr 2007 20:07:00 +0000Podcast 5C
Sat, 14 Apr 2007 01:21:00 +0000(image)
Thu, 12 Apr 2007 21:18:00 +0000
Mon, 09 Apr 2007 23:36:00 +0000My view of the window from my couch, as I have been habitating it for the past 5 days while sick.These were taken this morning, just after I woke up, and before I ralphed on the floor.-A[...]
Wed, 04 Apr 2007 04:35:00 +0000(image)
Tue, 03 Apr 2007 07:14:00 +0000We're back from hiatus...
Tue, 03 Apr 2007 06:17:00 +0000(image)
Mon, 02 Apr 2007 00:24:00 +00001. The Show with zefrankEspecially the scrabble episode. And I'm quite upset that I didn't find out about this a year ago. Thanks a lot, Ze. 2. Lions (yes, that's my face on the lion) 3. The Lascivious Biddies I heard these guys for the first time two weeks ago, and since then I've probably listened to their album "Get Lucky" about twenty three times. These women rock with some serious class. Not only are they amazing musicians, but the lyrics are great, and the tunes are about as catchyas......I don't know, something that's really catchy.Plus they've got hot voices. Score.Check out their website. They've got a podcast. Double score.4. Scrubs.I'm sad to say, it's true. A friend lent me the first season and I indulged.But hey, there are worse things to be addicted to, right? Like, say, heroine, or masturbation.y'know, just hypothetically, that's all I'm sayin....what?5. Direct sunlight.It makes me happy.Ahh.6. Bread.(this is the last day I can eat any before Passover starts)And finally...7. The Weekly WikiWorld Comic, drawn by Greg WilliamsWell, that's it for today. Keep rockin' in the free world.-A[...]
Sun, 01 Apr 2007 02:41:00 +0000A door is a door is a door.Or so they say. But not this door.This door was different. This door’s name was Harry, which was already uncommon, as doors rarely have names.Occasionally you will meet a door named Archibald, or Woodrow, perhaps even an Edward, but not a Harry. Harry liked his name though. It kept him content, and as we all know, there is nothing more important to a door than being content. Well, almost nothing. Harry was ajar. He was open. Quite wide, in fact, and had been so for about eight years now, which in door days, is quite a long time. Harry was a very important door, or would be if he’d been shut for eight years. But an open door… an open door was a direct contradiction to Harry’s very purpose in doordom. For you see, a door is meant to close, otherwise it’s merely a doorway, and the door, or rather, Harry, hangs on his hinges unused. Harry’s mind rarely strayed from his predicament, for its cause lay directly in front of him for the past eight years. That cause was Professor Cummings. In the past, the Professor had always been a friend of Harry’s. Opening, shutting, opening, shutting. Every day it was the same routine. The Professor would climb the eight hundred and sixty two and a half stairs up to Harry, swing Harry open with a push of his flappy hand, grasp the tree trunk of a rope that hung from the ceiling, and with a mighty tug from his tusklike shoulders, he would ring the bell and call the students to class. And so it went, every day, and Harry enjoyed this thoroughly. He enjoyed the affectionate pat from Professor Cummings’ weathered palm, he enjoyed the vibrations in his hinges as the mammoth bell would gong, he enjoyed watching the Professor clasp his hands over his ears immediately after releasing the rope and cursing loudly, only to be offended once more by the groaning sentinel that was never on the lookout, for it’s eyes had long since been silenced by the very ringing it produced. And by the fifth or sixth ring, the Professor would stop cursing, grab hold of the large bell, and attempt to slow it by heaving his weight against its swing, which always ended in his being shoved backwards onto the stone floor, grunting. “You may be big!” the Professor would shout, “but I’m bigger!” Which wasn’t quite true, thought Harry, for the bell surely equaled, if not surpassed, the weight of Professor Cummings, who would then stand and rest his leathery hands on the stone, looking out over the campus for a moment. “Yes, Harry”, He would say, through thatched lips, “Looks to be another day.”Then he would turn, grasp Harry’s knob, and shut him as he left.That was Harry’s favorite part. For as we all know, doors love being shut. But all that was quite a long time ago. The ancient ringing of the mammoth bell hadn’t called the students to class for many months. Professor Cummings hadn’t shut Harry in quite a while. And now Professor Cummings was getting quite old, laying on the stone before Harry. So old, that he was, in fact, dead. First had come the birds, eager to pick away at the fresh skin of the deceased. Then the rats, gnawing at bones, lashing out at one another in vicious quarrels for rotting organs.Then the flies, sucking away the blood and laying their maggots to tunnel through the flesh till all that was left was the bone of Professor Cummings....And a[...]
Mon, 12 Mar 2007 04:53:00 +0000So, In an effort to get back to the good old days, where I was posting new stories and poetry and things like that, here's a vignette I wrote today.-AChicago AvenueIt is Sunday, March 11, 2007 First day of daylight savings First thaw of the year The sun is out at 5:30 as I leave the theatre building with Brea, my director for Machinal, the show I’m composing music for. We’ve just seen “The workroom”, in the new studio. We part. I make my way down printers row, through the deserted, vacant downtown on this Sunday afternoon in early march. I enter the LaSalle st. subway to make my way north on the blue line, back home before I have to go tile a bathroom. On go the headphones, on goes the iPod Shuffle as I hunker into the station and await the coming train. I hear the clarinet of joyous klezmer celebration, clapping, wailing trumpets, fiddle, I shuffle and sway slightly, my true feelings betraying my façade to the station. Rumbling, on comes the train, round the bend and right to me. I board the front car and notice its vacancy. This is a day of vacancies. A vacancy of cold, a vacancy of crowd, yet today is more full of life than all the winter’s been. I sit facing front and realize than I can see through the front window and view the oncoming tunnel. I wait, I move closer as we descend down through the tubular depths, gliding past lights and signs briefly illuminated by our headbeams in the darkness. A light approaches, we glide into Jackson Glide into Monroe Glide to Washington Glide glide glide through the dark world of the underground Then suddenly, the CURVE TOWARDS CLARK APPROACHES We’re not going to make it, are we? It’s so steep, so tight! And just as the windshield and headlights prepare to kiss the curvature of concrete, it slides on past for moment after moment as we spin our tangent, a thing made of straight lines turning in a seemingly effortless cheat of option. Glide into clark, glide down the ramp, deep into the belly, towards the long stretch to grand, past lines of staggered bulbs, illuminating a rat A crawler A cord A sign Up and down, an invisible roller coaster of secret joy, spinning and twisting, wheels nonexisting Glide into grand, on a cushion of air. The Grand Station That which is wonderful And though the Voice of CTA now says “This is grand… and Milwaukee” We still know it’s grand. With its euphoric blue lights at its stairways, a cool pleasing mother I will never touch, save for sight And as soon as we see her, grand is gone, and a fat lady with skin both black and white sits in front of me to the side, so I can still see our path With lights swooping past, gliding me home to Chicago, and up jumps the station and out jumps me Double take, for now that I’ve seen the way here, is here really here? Turning left up the stairs past the wet red floor that is always wet and red and a floor Out of the cage turnstile Up into the clear and onto Chicago avenue Joel rubin still playing his clarinet in my ears, more joyous than winter’s been And I take a breath and smell the same smells I always smell upon exiting The sewage, highway, wastewater, pizza, distant bakery The birds are chirping past me, past the fire station, walking west, a young man Clarinet clarinet clarinet Army surplus on the left “Don’t Tread On Me!” say[...]