Thursday, March 29, 2007

When In Doubt, Empty The Magazine

Interwebbing Update (Now in Binary!):1. I recieved this, the best piece of spam I've seen in a while, earlier today. Highlights include "Brain Cancer," (you know....."Brain Cancer") and "Please dtake this message seriously!"

10. So I was checking out the Society For Creative Anachronism, and I found this brief essay on knighthood. It seemed pretty straightforward, if awesome ("this article is written in persona"? awesome), the sort of thing Niemi would describe as a "dated passage. But then I read the last line and recieved a suprise.

11. Reading this is entirely worth your time.

P.S.: In meatspace news, I totally beat Matt Houle 6-2 in a challenge match at tennis today. I have a feeling that this will be the highlight of my tennis career. I'm satisfied with that.

P.P.S.: "Johnny Valesano" has now passed into legend among BHS tennis players. Thompson has used him 2-3 times so far as an example of someone with a terrible looking serve and mechanics in general who was a "great competitor."

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Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Economists Do It With Models

I know you've all been just dying for an Economics Challenge 2007 update, so I guess I'll take some pity on you and try my hand at slaking your seemingly unquenchable thirst for Econ Challenge gossip tidbits. The Brainerd squad, composed of Tirth Patel, Chris Dens, Garret Wedan, and yours truly (the best of the best, in other words), placed, brace yourselves, FIRST IN THE WHOLE DAMN STATE in the online preliminary round.

Now I get to look forward to an action packed April 17th car ride to the cities and back with Dens, Tirth, Garret, and one Mr. Christian Barnett. We'll drive back directly to Craguns just in time to attend the State KB banquet thing. I will obtain two nerdy t-shirts, for free, within about 8 hours of each other. Truly, it will be a banner day.

I've been thinking that we should come up with a sweet economics-themed team name. I really don't have enough econ experience to come up with something sufficiently badass: The Multiplier Effect? The Supply Siders? Adam and the Smiths? The Invisible Hand?

We'll have to work on that. At least we have a theme song. And a few jokes to tell.

From that site:



For some reason, these remind me of Pelkey. Can anyone explain #1 to me?

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A Message For Andrew Kubas

Bring the I Shall Avenge My Father DVD to school Thursday


Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Look Upon My Schedule, Ye Mighty, And Despair

This week is beginning to resemble some sort of anti-Spring Break.

It's as if the gods of scheduling looked down upon me as I engaged in wanton time slaughter last week and decided to punish me for my hubris. And so they crafted the week of March 25th-31st, a kind of a dark mirror on all of human time-management. When I look upon this week I see reflected in it my own recklessness, all the wasted hours of Wii golf and Harry Potter come back to haunt me.

Gaze upon it, but remember, the schedule gazes also:

Monday:Tennis begins

Tuesday: School, then honor's band practice in St. Cloud--get home at 9:30

Wednesday: Calc test (goddamnit, I still don't understand the shell method), more tennis

Thursday: First ever in-class DBQ in Lang, Econ test, begin practice AP test in German, yet more tennis

Friday-Saturday: Catch a 6:30 bus to go practice for honors band, then all day at CLC band thing, then four hours of dead space, then honors band concert, get home at 9:30, go to Ubernachtung, stay up all night throwing spears at 9th graders, possibly go to part of 8-12 am tennis thing (I kinda doubt this; Hell, I don't even know exactly when it is)

I'm happy with the number of Watchmen and Sandman references in this post.

P.S.: I realize this schedule isn't really that bad, it just feels that way after break, so please don't leave any whiny college-is-so-much-busier-you-have-no-idea polemics in the comments. Unless if you reeeealy want to.


Monday, March 26, 2007

Five Point Palm Exploding Pug Technique

First day of tennis today. Despite my hopes up for some real hardass Drill Sgt. Bundy action, we actually spent most of the day hitting, very little of it running. Which is not to say that it didn't totally wipe me out, because it definitely did.

Man, pushing yourself athletically can really suck when you're doing it, but I actually enjoy being completely drained sometimes. It gives me a real sense of accomplishment. I'm never able to motivate myself enough if I'm just working out, so I only get that disgusting, sweaty, heat-strokey kind of exhaustion when I'm doing an organized sport.

Hard to believe I spent most of band considering dropping, eh? (What a twist!)

Yes, believe it or not, after I heard that a certain Andrew "Will Power" Kubas had decided to drop tennis so he could spend more time stroking his trumpet, I strongly considered giving up the tennis ghost, so to speak. However, I was quickly assured by knowledgeable parties that I could quit tennis and get a refund pretty much any time in the first couple of weeks, and I wanted to give it a shot, so I went to practice. I did wear my old beater shoes instead of the shiny new ones, though, just in case.

But things went well so I'm sticking with it, despite the t-shirts which, judging by their $30 price tag, are apparently made of dwarf-wrought mithril.

Dudes, I watched the first episode of this Planet Earth nature documentary, and it was quite good. One part in particular was un-fucking-believeable: check this shit out. My version was narrated by Sigourney Weaver, but this British dude is way better.
My sister got me UHF on DVD for my birthday (for about $1.65, if I recall correctly), and I finally got around to watching it yesterday. I enjoyed it (obviously), but I noticed a plot hole for the first time.

In case you're not familiar with the film, here's the deal: Al's rich uncle Tony wins a TV station in a poker game. He lets Al manage it, and it does very well, much to the consternation of the evil network affiliate boss R.J. Fletcher. When Tony gets in money trouble, however, and needs $75,000. R.J. offers him the money in exchange for the TV station (which he plans to bulldoze as soon as he owns it). Tony agrees, but says that he has to give Al a chance to raise the money first. Al puts on a telethon, attempting to sell 7500 shares of the company for $10 each. Now, obviously what happens is they sell enough shares and get the money and R.J. gets kicked in the nuts by an old lady. But here's my question: if the shares were being sold to the public, couldn't R.J. have just bought them all (or even 51%) and then bulldozed the station after he was the owner?

This sort of thing can really bother me sometimes.

Man this is turning out to be a rather long post. I guess that's what I get for letting my blog material build up.

Oh, and I got admitted to Carleton today. So I've got that going for me. Which is nice.

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so then i started talking to this really old man


max, bundy,

right now you guys are probably running.

and i'm sitting here. in an air conditioned room.

mustache faithful: get ready for a series of "mustache flashback" posts featuring some of your favorite/most memorable mustache moments. we're planning to highlight the best from each of our contributors...

mustache out!


Friday, March 23, 2007

Built Like A Brick Outhouse

So I left my cell phone charger at JM's about 3 weeks ago. He gave it to John, who forgot to give it to Ashley. John brought it home with him over Spring Break, but John's apathy and my own lack of urgency (as it turns out, my phone holds a charge amazingly well, and the family charger was available whenever I needed a few hours worth of juice) kind of reinforced each other.

I mean, it was like our phone charger apathy functions (everythings a function, guys) could be represented by electromagnetic waves of the same wavelength and amplitude, perfectly in step.

Still not clear? Okay, refer to the following diagram.So lets say that there's just one universal apathy wave (that would explain a lot) with wavelength a, and John and I are just slits in an opaque barrier, seperated by some distance d, and some distance L away there is another barrier, and some point on this second barrier represents the phone charger. The phone charger is just high enough along this screen that it forms an angle 0 with the horizontal line midway between John and myself such that d sin 0 is equal to ma, where m is some integer, resulting in a bright fringe of apathy right around the charger.

In any case, I finally broke out of the apathy pattern today and picked up my phone charger from the Valesano residence. It was warm and sunny and I played Sgt. Pepper's with the windows rolled down. Good times.

In a completely unrelated note, I also took a bike ride and picked up my physics book from BHS. While I was there I noticed a curious object outside: a Brained Daily Dispatch vendor box thing, painted bright yellow and covered with lots of inspirational messages (Commit random acts of kindness!) and plucky paintings, each one with a signature and an "07" next to it. Seems art club or something has slapped together a class gift of sorts. It was just sort of sitting on the sidewalk outside of H-Link, not bolted down or anything, so I'm worried/hopeful that it will be stolen, or perhaps hurled onto the roof.

Recipie for wonder:
1. Make a document in Microsoft word and save it as Vietnam.
2. Open a Firefox window and go to the Wikipedia article for Seven Dirty Words
3. Maximize both windows
4. On the bottom control bar thing, click quickly between the two windows
5. Watch the "W" in the title bars of both window and prepare to be amazed

Note: if this is not enough to excite wonder in you, you are bitter and jaded. Go hug a pug.

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Thursday, March 22, 2007


Gopher basketball has new hope


Monday, March 19, 2007

I'm Not An Asshole, I Just Play One On Television

Tay Stevenson has been quite succesful so far. He's got hisself a girlfriend and some friends and he loves his college and he seems to be enjoying life more than pretty much anyone I know, with the possible exception of Humpty Hump (is that his full name?).

That said, he can be a really ridiculous person.

I mean no disrespect here Tay. I'm just saying is all. You can do and say really insane things. Mostly you say them. Understand, I'm not complaining. I'm usually entertained by your antics, and they arouse a deep disgust in Sam Walker which I find uniquely hilarious. For example, your Dartmouth Beer Pong League (or DBPL) t-shirt, complete with a stylized logo on the front and crossed ping-pong paddles and the motto "I SINK IT, YOU DRINK IT," prompted a special sort of anger in Sam that I got to laugh about all morning.

Now, we all say silly/inappropriate things from time to time. But Tay....well he takes it to another level. I mean, would anyone else ever consider walking out of the bathroom and saying "Man, I feel ten pounds lighter"?

And don't get me started on the endless sexual references. Those from Holbrook's were so numerous and inappropriate that I won't attempt to reproduce them here (although the first paragraph here is a fine example straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak). Instead, I'll offer this bit of conversation from lunch the next day:
Max: (while discussing video surveillance of Sam Walker).....well Sam, perhaps your lair has been penetrated.
Sam: See, this is where Tay would go "Hey, kind of like gay anal sex, am I right guys?

Tay can be nice to have around. In particular, he is useful for uniting everyone else against him for a good laugh. I offer these two examples from the entertaining night of Illuminati at Holbrook's the other night:

Tay (bragging about the big D): Man, we have an astronaut who's running for Senate
Max: Tay, it is not hard to run for Senate. As a matter of fact, I am now running for Senate.
Shane: We have a monkey who's a magician
Sam: He's got my vote!

Tay: Man, we take drinking seriously at Dartmouth. I saw this guy do a sixer in ten seconds the other night!
(two beats of silence while we think about this statement)
Max: Holy SHIT! An entire SIXER? In TEN SECONDS?
Sam: I mean, maybe a fiver I would have believed. But a SIXER?
Max: Yeah, or a sixer in like 20 seconds. But a SIXER in TEN? GODDAMN!

In conclusion, everyone brace yourselves for tay's inevitable flip-out in the comment thread.

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Spring Break is going okay so far. I've been having a hard time coming up with a visual metaphor for it, so I was thrilled when One Big Happy provided one this Sunday:See, in this scenario I'm the creep in the leather jacket, and Spring Break is personified as the unsuspecting prude. Or maybe it's the other way around. Only time will tell.

I haven't been watching CSI: Miami the past few months (as I mentioned earlier). I know, I know, I'm a terrible person, but it was getting old, okay? Also, it was on the same time as Studio 60, which was slightly less predictable.

But I decided that Spring Break is nothing if not a chance to let go your inhibitions, so there I was, sitting on the couch at 9 p.m., watching a few more hot babes walk by while the camera jumped around to the beat of some hot new hippity-hop song.

Let me just put it right out there: Horatio is back, ya'll.

This episode was a goddamned rollicker from start to finish. We started off with the typical high-class party function, with the aforementioned crazy jump shots, hot babes, and hippity-hop, but there were a noticible number of frames of the menacing, spiky ice sculpture centerpiece....located, handily enough, directly beneath a balcony. Our inevitable suspect of a hot blonde wife stands up to make her self-congratulting toast and solidify her alibi. A gunshot is heard amid the popping of champagne corks and her wealthy husband cries out, stumbles over the railing, and gets FUCKING IMPALED ON THE FUCKING ICE SCULPTURE.

I thought this would be the high point of the intro; I mean, how are you gonna top an ice sculpture impalement? Answer: Horatio Caine pre-credits one-liner from Hell (I want the soundtrack for this video on my iPod...when I get a new one).

Here's the final exchange:
Autopsy Lady (Alex, now that I think of it): Shot in broad daylight, in a house full of people? Horatio, that's cold blooded.
Horatio Caine: Yes, Alex. It's as cold...(puts sunglasses on) ice.

Awww yeah, it's good to be back.

While the rest of the show never quite approached this level of awesomeness, it was still a pretty great episode of CSI: Miami, which makes it one of the better 43 minutes of television ever to be aired. I'd hate to ruin it for anyone, but here's a quick rundown of the highlights:

-The dude who got killed? It wasn't even him. It was a hired double.

-The wife who was making the speech somehow managed to leave her DNA in the room where her husband was killed. How? Simple: IDENTICAL TWINS.

-But wait, witnesses confirm that the twin was at the gym. Well shit there goes the case...or does it? Remeber that old brain teaser about the two kids, born on the same day to the same mother and father, who weren't twins? Well these two are in a similar situation, because they are not twins....they are two in a set of IDENTICAL TRIPLETS.

The twists just kept coming. To be fair, the episode was called Triple Threat, so I had a hunch that perhaps a second bomb was about to drop in the final 15 minutes. Still, it kept me on my toes, which is more than I can say for the average eppy ( I use this contraction not to seem cool, nor to save time, but to annoy Sam Walker) of House.

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Sunday, March 18, 2007

like what you find at the end of a rainbow.

so, the other night while studying for econ,

wait a minute, that doesn't make sense.

the other day, my econ book fell out of my locker, and i stumbled upon this gem:

i really wish i could return it to him/her, but unfortunately he/she never filled out his/her homeroom, telephone number, OR address. oh man.
mustache out!


Saturday, March 17, 2007

is it because of my dark skin?

last night, jenden, pelkey, and myself took an adventure to the casino.

on our way back, i was stuck behind this guy driving...slowly. i wanted to pass...but i saw a cop on the side of the road just gunning people. obviously, we were going under the speed limit, so i knew i was safe. the cop pulled behind me...and followed for about 7 miles. the whole time consisted of me saying "fricking fuzz face, get off my back!" or other such quips.

i signaled that i was going to turn left...and...BAM! the lights came on. i had no idea what i did wrong. so i pulled over.

fuzz face (FF): "step out of the car, please."

so i stepped out.

FF: "can you see out of your car ok?"
me: "haha, yeah, the windows are a little foggy."
FF: "license and proof of insurance, please."
FF: "what have you been doing tonight?"
me: "oh, well, my friends and i went to the casino at about 10."
FF: "why did you leave so early?"
me: "we didn't do too well."
FF: "where are you going now?"
me: "back to brainerd..."

the fuzz face tapped on the side of the neon and addressed pelkey...asking him what we had done/where we were going.

FF: "the reason i pulled you over...a number of brainerd kids have been meeting in the casino parking lots to deal drugs. anyway, ahh...just make sure you heat up your car next time."

what really pisses me off:

he pulled me over a solid like EIGHTEEN miles from the casino. he started following me about 11 miles from the casino. therefore, he had NO idea where i had come from, and his logic for pulling me over was false. he just pulled me over because i'm darker skinned than the average brainerd/baxter resident. blah. i hope everyone else had a better start to their spring break.

i'm going to the doctor later this week to get some more potent drugs. i'm really not doing well.

mustache out!


tom day must die

well, tennis starts soon, and along with that comes a kiwanis run every day, in order to:
A. get the pussies to quit and thin our numbers
B. get the fatties to lose some weight
C. get the team morale to an all-time low so that we can build it up, dog treat by dog treat
D. maybe allow brainerd to be GOOD at tennis for once in 27 years

look for an inspiring and heartfelt speech about team unity given by el capitán bundy near kiwanis park on monday the 26th, assuming practice is outside.

max - as appointed tennis team muscle and hardass-elect, you have the order to KILL tom day. (his lanky ass has just told me that he will not be playing tennis in the spring, even though he promised that he would.)

so, your first assignment is to kill tom day, or at least break his legs...stephen king's Misery style.

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Wednesday, March 14, 2007

one day i slowly floated away.


Side effects:

feeling restless or anxious, nausea, diarrhea, trouble sleeping, vomiting, stomach pain, headache, drowsiness, sleep problems, tremors or shaking, mild itching, confusion, hallucinations

luckily for me, i have such an advanced case of bronchitis that i'm on roughly twice the normal dosage.

mustache out!


Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Pentultimate Showdown

Unusually large day yesterday.

First, big KB regions at CLC-Staples Campus. This was my, ahem, fourth trip to CLC-Staples for regions (and, if I'm not mistaken, my fourth regional championship victory), and while I would not want to attend that particular college, I bear no ill will to those for whom it is an excellent option. Some other members of my team, however, seemed to absolutely hate the place. Like, "Man, if I could I'd burn this place down" kinda hatin'.
The way I see it, it pretty much boils down to this:
Pros: pool table, big TV playing nothing but soaps in the cafeteria, good fries, robots
cons: cold burgers, homely student body

In conclusion, let's burn this mutha down.

But anyways, about the knowledge bowling: I had a pretty good time. For being so competitive, I seem to really dislike competition and pressure in KB. There were a couple of teams that gave us a little bit of trouble, but we eventually prevailed by about 15 points or so. There were several answers on this day that were of the satisfying "I learned this precisely for KB" variety; the sort of information which is utterly useless in any other pursuit, but which comes up ususually often in the sport of kings.

Here is a brief list for future KBers of America:

-There was a big union in post-soviet Poland called solidarity.

-If a question starts "an excess of dinoflaggelates..." the correct answer is "red tide."

-The phylum names for segmented worms, roundworms, and flatworms are annelida, nematoda, and platyhelmenthes, respectively (the last one, the most ostentatious of the three, was the one I got to answer yesterday. Goood times.)

-Bonus for Ranger Rick fans: geckos are the only lizard with a voice, and the most common sap sucking insects are aphids.

In any case, Metallica and Stalinistic Democrats (Tirth and Dens' team) are going to State, where we will get our asses handed to us. I plan to have fun nonetheless, hopefully by womping on Dens and Tirth (and possibly Sam, if he's not above it) in Halo. Really the highlight of the weekend for me will be standing up at the banquet (this year's menu: green beans and stuffed pork chops, probably) when they say "Is anyone here for the FOURTH time?" There'd better not be anyone to steal the spotlight from me in my brief shining moment, or I will be sorely disappointed.

Secondly yesterday, I had a band concert, which, for being on a Monday and me being gone for that day's practice and Kubas not having had band since Wednesday, and the both of us being sick, went unusually well for all parties. We played some sweet songs, did really well on them, I hit my solo (it wasn't very noticible, but I know I did it), and I had an excellent piece of peanut butter silk pie at Perkins afterwards.

P.S.: Saturday was so glorious I broke out the new tennis racket and played against the wall at Gregory for an hour, then went for a bike ride. Sunday I felt a little under the weather but went for a long walk with my mom anyways, and Monday and Tuesday I felt sick. This whole Max exercises=Max gets sick equation is gonna have to get broke pretty quick here or tennis could be even more disasterous than usual.

P.P.S.: The theme for this year's battle of the bands will be "Prophecy." The motto will be "This Was Meant To Be," and the logo should be a hawk clutching a guitar in its talons.

P.P.P.S.: Advice from John Blong today--If you ever have anyone biting your knee, like latched on, all you gotta do is grip the back of their head, put your palm up on the soft cartilidge of their nose, and push up and back and forth to make them open up their jaws. Just don't try to pull your leg away, because whatever is in the biter's mouth will be ripped off.

Jesus Christ Blong tells some inappropriate stories.

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Sunday, March 11, 2007

i love my life, i really do

what a boy named kubas consumed a few split seconds ago:

what will happen to a boy named kubas in roughly 10 minutes:


Just About To Lose My Mind

I saw 300 Saturday night. To parrot W: a fun movie, weak dialouge, not great but good.

I really liked the part where the Spartans are killing the wounded Persians and Leonidas is fucking walking around, eating an apple, and chuckling. And I liked the fact that Xerxes had dude with axes for arms for an executioner. I know that if I were a general for a god-king, I'd definitely be more motivated if I knew axe-arms guy was just waiting for me to screw up.

And in the end they all die. Ha! Gotcha, suckers!

Really, the most notable thing about this movie experience was not the movie. It was the evil new pre-show advertisments. No longer do we get the crazy employee music over charming still slide ads like "Ask A Lawyer" with Stephen D. Lastovich, or Rafferty's telling us to redeem our ticket stubs for some product of some sort, or ENABL telling us to "leave scoring to the sports teams!" Gone too are the long-since-memorized trivia and name that movie slides (Early Julia Roberts movie? Mystic Pizza. Dude sitting in a tiny bathtub? Little Big Man.).

In their place the corporate plutocrats have plugged in horrifying, screeching, moving-picture advertisements for Coke and diamonds and the fuckin Gumdrop Tree, interspersed with advertisements for current, shitty films, disguised as trivia (In this hilarious comedy Eddie Murphy plays both a skinny loser and his overbearing girlfriend!).

This was all pretty unbearable, but the worst part came when a cartoon frog came on screen, and, backed up by his frog pit-band, broke into a song about turning off your cell phone and buying concessions, sung to the tune of Heard It Through The Grapevine. As if that weren't bad enough, the frogs are apparently characters in some terrible new CGI kids movie.

I realize that this experience was probably worse than average; we did sit in the theatre for about 20 minutes before the show started, after all. Still, I plan to lodge a futile complaint with the managment.

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you died a little inside.

oh man. i am sick.

i either have a really bad sinus infection or a really low-key case of bronchitis.

i need some hardcore drugs. to put me down-and-out for a week or so.

you might not see this mustache for awhile. (except...i'll be at the concert tomorrow.)

mustache out!


Saturday, March 10, 2007


I was recently called down to the Brainonian room for a mysterious picture of some kind. The photographer, a master of dissembly, prevaricated his way around actually saying what the picture was for. Some snooping has revelaed that I probably won some senior poll thing. I hope it was quickest wit and not something lame, like most opinionated. And don't even try to construe that as a dig on you, Tay, because you know most opinionated is a relatively weaksauce award.

I'm hoping for quickest wit. I had a pair of bon mots today which I just have to share with the world:

1. (Sam and I are walking out of German class when we notice a poster which says "Deaf History Month")
Sam: "Deaf History Month." Man, fuck the deaf. (note: sam may or may not have actually said this, but it was clearly implied by his deadbeat tone and scowl of utter digust.)
Max: Jeese, Sam, don't let them hear you say that!

2. (My mom, my aunt and I are sitting at the kitchen table)
Mom: I found some dust bunnies the size of small sheep in my pantry the other day.
Aunt: We call those "Dust Buffalo"
Max: Yeah, and we call small sheep "lambs."

I had a couple more good burns on Sam, one at Diamond House of which all I can recall is the post-burn fist pump, and another when Sam was talking about he didn't mind the goiter/testicular cancer portion of a physical.

P.S.: I was gonna go to the 9:50 show of 300 tonight, but when I arrived at 9:30, it had already sold out.

What the hell, Brainerd? When did you get so fucking hip? You're gonna sell out a fuckin' 9:50 showing of a hyper-violent Frank Miller graphic novel movie? That's not what you're supposed to do! You're supposed to The Astronaut Farmer (if old), Music & Lyrics (if a girl), The Number 23 (if stupid), or Ghostrider (if a sex-crazed 14-year-old boy)! Not 300! The 9:50 show of 300 should contain a total of 12 customers, maybe 15 if a few homeless guys sneak in; in any case, certainly not a goddamned sell-out crowd! Fuck!

Oh well, I guess there's always tommorow night.

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Thursday, March 08, 2007

The Italian Connection

Found this jem on Wikipedia whilst I was perusing the article on "jeans." It appeared under the unexpeted heading "Law:"

"On 10 February 1999 the Italian Supreme Court of Appeal in Rome overturned a rape conviction, stating that jeans are unable to be removed without the wearer's consent. Therefore, they ruled, the supposed victim must have been an active participant in the act. [3] This last verdict, however, was also overturned, on 28 November 2001 by the Italian Supreme Court of Cassation, which finally established that wearing jeans does not excuse rape. [4]"

And directly underneath it was this link to the jeans fetishism article, which, like most fetish articles (I imagine), was written by participants in said fetish, lending it a special sort of energy, intensity, and often disturbing precision.

In other ridiculous jeans-related legal news: a court found that the term "Daisy Dukes" is accepted vernacular for a women's short denim cut-offs, and is not neccesarily directly linked to the Dukes of Hazzard, so Warner Brothers' Studio (the owners of the Dukes of Hazzard) lost their complaint against, a pornographic site.

Best quote: "The best evidence submitted by [the defendant] in support of that position is his submission in evidence of the lyrics of a 1992 song “Dazzey Duks” by rap artist Duice. The song repeatedly uses this term to refer to cut-off shorts and makes no reference to the Dukes of Hazzard television series."

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Wednesday, March 07, 2007

The Ice In My Teeth Keeps The Cristal Cold

Three items today, presented here in order of importance.

1. From KB practice today:
Pritschet: The last words of this arctic explorer were found in a journal... (Sam and I buzz in first)
Sam: Well, there's always this guy (writes down "Shackleton")
Max: Sam I really don't think it's Shackleton
Sam: I know, it's just that Shackleton was a huge badass
Max: Yeah...(4 second pause)...Yeah, Shackleton was a total badass.
Sam: Fuckin Shackleton.
Max: Fuckin...Shackleton.
Pritschet: Answer please?
Max: Roald Amudson?
Pritschet: That's incorrect.

2. Big Koeping W/ Government action today. I'm sure you all made sure to tune in, or at least listened in telepathically, so I'll just describe it so you can all relive the magic.

The teams:
In the blue corner....weighing in at a combined 345 pounds...with a combined height of 11' 7''....those livid lions of liberalism....the bleeding hearted who get things started....Looogan Mohs and Maaaaaxxx Kuehn!

And for the conservitives we had Catherine Lepel and Carl Robson (a soft-spoken, derby-ish junior), which is better than the conservitive delegation that past few times, which has been nobody. Honestly, we haven't had a good, solid, outspoken, crazy conservitive since Garret Owens and Parker Keinholz (sp?). I mean, Mike Rammsdale was good, solid, outspoken, and crazy, but really not that conservitive.

The Reppies serve an important purpose: they articulate the opinions of about 3/4 of the people listening, thus soothing the angry family-values masses and preventing them from calling in to bitch about kids these days and eat up precious airtime that could otherwise be utilized for further liberal propogandizing. Sure we have to listen to them talk every once in a while, but we come out ahead, trust me.

But seriously folks: Catherine was publically mystified as to why anyone could possibly not follow what she considers "human values" and the rest of us call "catholic values," Carl waffled like Mrs. Butterworth, and Logan played the thoughtful, passionate liberal crusader. I knew that there is such a thing as too much earnestness (if you don't believe me, try watching "Ernest Scared Stupid" and "Ernest Goes To Camp" back to back), so I decided to go for the whacky uncle vibe, but I think I came off as more semi-bitter hipster. Good times.

Mary was her usual slippery-slope, devil's advocating self, the station owner was gruff and understandably self-promotional, and the receptionist was unexpectedly slender, elegant, and well-dressed. I'm not sure why she seemed out of place; I guess I was just suprised to see such a pretty young woman out of high school and still living in Brainerd.

Best line: While discussing the smoking ban--"Well, I don't smoke and I don't hang out in a lot of bars...yet." Got a laugh from Jeff Prior on that one.

Also, from Logan, while discussing the morality of stem cells: "If I have to choose between you, Mary, and a frozen embryo in a test tube, I'm gonna smash that goddamn test tube on the motherfucking floor." He didn't actually swear on air, but you could tell he wanted to.

3. So my parents made me do the dishes, and I could tell that they were planning on hanging around and getting in the way of my rock out time. What I needed was some appropriately offensive music to drive them away. My mom likes Kanye West, my dad would be into Venus and Mars, and I wasn't up for 2Pac, so I kept looking. Then, I came upon the solution: Showstoppers--The Album. I popped that baby in, pushed play, and watched the parent problem clear itself up to the tune of "I Wanna Know What Love Is."

Two conclusions drawn from listening to Showstoppers--The Album:
A. It is, unfortunately, an overall better album than the Manly Mixtape. This is due almost entirely to the fact that Showstoppers included White Houses and that hilarious O-Town song (with the "knock knock" action? priceless), thus preventing Kurt from including them in the Manly Mixtape.
B. There are plenty of sweet rap songs, or at least lyrics, about shooting dudes, and beating dudes up, but very few for stabbing dudes. What's up with that? Can anybody think of any sweet stabbing lyrics I'm forgetting here?

P.S.: I had a really misogynistic remark in here that I removed because it was so mean. Aren't you proud of me?

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Tuesday, March 06, 2007



Monday, March 05, 2007

Interrobang The Drum Slowly

So I had that Princeton phone interview thing on Saturday. The interview dude, or John Braman if you're not into the whole brevity thing, is an orthopedic surgeon down at this backwards farm university called the U of M, which I realize is kind of like being one of the most respected roaches at Roach University (Roach University is a roach disposal system, similar to the Roach Hotel but much larger in scale and more time consuming. The advertising tagline is "Roaches enroll, but they don't graduate."), but still pretty good. I was expecting someone who would be basically a 39 year old Tay, except he's actually accomplished something, so he's an even bigger dick. John dashed these hopes early on and actually proved to be a pretty laid-back, personable guy. I'll have to come observe him perform shoulder surgery sometimes.

I was just certain that he had been lying earlier when he told me that the interview was mostly about him answering my questions, so I had a bunch of notes on how to justify my existence to this complete stranger. As it turned out it really was mostly me asking him questions, and I think I did a pretty good job of coming up with ten or twelve interesting queries for him to ramble on about for a few minutes apiece. Overall, he did a pretty good job of talking up Princeton. His best story was about taking a pulls off of his Guiness whlie milling around with Toni Morrison and some Irish poet who would later win a Nobel for literture. Even so, if I do end up at Princeton I'll probably end up being the most self-hating IV leaguer of all time.

Damn, I suppose the big P will be sending out letters of love/hate pretty soon here. Best not to think about it.

P.S.: My mother has a pretty good test for any music. While you listen to it, you ask yourself "Hey, wouldn't I rather be listening to James Brown?" If no, keep listening. If yes, throw the CD behind the couch and listen to some James Brown.

Anyways, the reason I brought it up is, Paul McCartney's Venus and Mars passes the James Brown test with flying colors.

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Sunday, March 04, 2007

awww yeah.



A Conscript In The Kiss Army

The laser show was actually pretty neat. Sam and I planned to arrive for the 6 pm "laser vinyl" (Monsters of Classic Rock) show 20 minutes early, so of course I got there at 5:55, and Sam strolled in at about 6:03. Luckily the show was being run by two former science teachers of mine, misters Peabody and Wallace, so I was able to save a couple of seats.

Things started out rather surreally, as Mr. Wallace led us into the room with the show already in progress. Put yourself in my place: I've never been in this room before. I have no idea how it is shaped or how the furtinure is arranged. It's pitch black, AC DC is blaring, and there are lasers dancing on the ceiling. I'm following a spot of light on the floor from the flashlight of my sixth grade science teacher, struggling to orient myself as he leads us to the two empty seats. Sam was in a similar situation, except he didn't even have the light and was instead guiding himself by holding on to my hood. A pretty freaky start, all things considered.

As for the show itself, its contents can be divided up into two main categories.
1. Zany, psychodellic, geometric patterns which don't have anything to do with the lyrics but follow the beat and tune of the music. These could get eye-searingly repetitive, but were usually just pleasantly hypnotic. To paraphrase Sam Walker: "Man, my eyes kinda went outta focus a few times there. That was really cool."
2. Cartoons or images which followed the meaning of the lyrics as well as the beat, or at the very least the lasers formed recognizable shapes. The story in Bohemian Rhapsody was told in floating stylized theater mask format, and the Journey song featured (from what I could tell) an enormous scarab beetle flying through space and occasionally exploding. The best displays in this category were the ones that focused entirely on the band and what badasses they were. For the Van Halen song, for example, we spent most of our time falling down between two enormous skyscrapers, looking up at the sky as Van Halen merchandise (tickets, backstage passes, t-shirts) drifted by. Rock and Roll all night, by KISS, was even better: The KISS logo and the four band members' faces twirled about in a graceful yet awesome ballet of lasers and eye makeup and tongues. At one point they went through a fuckin laser-KISS roll call: The faces flashed up and the names wrote themselves in perfect cursive. Ace Frehley has both the best namd AND the best makeup.After Laser Vinyl Sam and I took a break to eat and soothe our throbbing peepers by looking at the very pretty partially eclipsed moon (whoooooa, Dark Side of the Moon, maaaaaaaan, deeeeeeep). In the name of convenince we went to Taco Hell to eat. I've never been a big fan of Taco Bell (or T-Bell, as assholes call it), but when Sam suggested it and I said "Man I hate that place" I realized that I really didn't have a very good reason to dislike it. I had eaten there literally once. So I approved a Taco Bell trip, and it was really terrible, and I was actually kind of happy about it. Because as much as my stomach was cramping up, the self-satisfaction outweighed the indigestion. A little grumbly in my tummy was a fair price to pay for confirming my long-held belief that Taco Bell really sucks.
Jordan joined us for Pink Floyd, which I don't wanna get too specific and ruin it for anyone who hasn't seen the show yet, and is planning on seeing it sometime in the future. So pretty much everyone, I guess.

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Friday, March 02, 2007

I Know It Was You

Perhaps you've heard of a new movie called Wild Hogs. I think it has the potential to be really great.

It features John Travolta, William H. Macy, Tim Allen, and Martiiiiiiiiiin Lawrence as four middle-aged buddies who decide to go on a cross-country motorcycle trip in an effort to recapture their lost youth. Maybe they'll also save somebody or learn about each other. I don't care, as long as there are sufficient whacky misunderstandings and broad slapstick.
Here are the tidbits of the movie I am familiar with from trailers and previews:
-John Travolta is attacked by a bird while driving his motorcycle
-William H. Macy makes some offhand "black guy" remark and Martin Lawrence flips out about it
-Tim Allen (Possibly Mr. Macy, it's hard to tell) is knocked off of his motorcycle when he is clotheslined by a hanging sign
-Kyle Gass sings "Don't Cha" by the Pussycat Dolls
-The guys try their hand at camping, but end up whackily setting their tents aflame, forcing them to sleep on the ground, huddled together for warmth
-The actor who plays Dr. Cox on Scrubs (here as a skeptical cop in a tight-fitting uniform) comes across the guys in the morning, after which they all feel compelled to vigerously demonstrate their heterosexuality

Here are the sections which I haven't confirmed, but which will almost certainly be included:
-The guys try unsuccessfully to woo some young women in bikinis
-Martin Lawrence displays his "street smarts" in getting the gang out of a tight spot, possibly in a holding cell
-The guys fight and go their seperate ways
-The guys realize how much they need each other and reunite
-Tim Allen is hit in the crotch

P.S.: So after we discussed logical fallacies in Lang the other day I printed off some logical fallacy-related Dino comics and left them annonymously on Mrs. Niemi's desk, despite Sam Walker's assurances that she wouldn't "get" them. In the last minutes of class, she picked them up and started to read them. About 25 seconds later she looked up and said "Max, was this you or Sam?"

I wonder how she narrowed it down so quickly. Perhaps she maintains a mental card catalogue of all her students' sense of humor, and Sam and I were the only ones in class who fit the Dino Comics profile.

P.P.S.: The Godfather is fucking intense.


Thursday, March 01, 2007

a man of many manly muscles

my father and i just finished shoveling. again. this snow...was heavy. and wet. and god, what a workout.

i, unlike maxwell, was quite pleased to hear heise announce tomorrow as cancelled. things possibly going on tomorrow: a potential 50,000/50 states/1 year party...sledding!...getting rid of frozen cookie dough in my freezer. yes...tomorrow is looking quite promising.

on saturday there is supposed to be a speech tournament in park rapids. (this is, generally, the largest/most competitive tournament of the year) the park rapids coaches have said that their city is supposed to be "north" of any major storms, so the tournament is still on. but i really don't want to go. i don't want to get up extra early, battle the elements, spend an entire day in a crappy city, do something that i haven't really enjoyed all year, and then come back home. if mrs. cummings happens to read this, i kind of hope that brainerd decides not to go.

speaking of which, i haven't thought about it much lately. but this is year number seven for participating in speech. since it's kind of coming to an end...i don't know what i'm supposed to think. when it's all said and done, am i supposed to look back and be proud of what has happened? because i'm kind of leaning towards the "wow, what a waste," feeling. (i think [perhaps] a boy named pelkey can relate with his last year of debate) seven years. daaang.

so as i was loading up some pictures on facebook, i stumbled across this diamond in the rough.

i bet you had no idea i was so nimble! oh man, that was one neonic night.

mustache out!


So Many Tears

Heise came on the all-call at about 2:55 today to let us know, in a roundabout, self-satisfied kind of way, that we will not be having school tommorow. I am not happy about that, and I have a feeling I am pretty much alone in that anger, which makes it better because I can be really self-righteous about it. Oh, why must our school officials constantly bend to the demands of overprotective, coddling parents at the expense of our education?

But seriously folks, I am a little peeved about the cancellation. To explain why, I'll need to give a little background info:
I have this thing where whenever I have a day off of school, I feel like I should be doing something the night before. Unfortunately, I don't have Sam Walker's gift for completely disregarding social expectations; I think to myself "I'm an average teen. Shouldn't I be out enjoying myself instead of stewing at home with my dogs and my parents? That's more of a LOSER thing to do, isn't it?" The real loser thing to do, of course, is to let the expectations of others impact your self-image, but that's for another time. The important thing to realize here is that I usually make an effort to have at least a cursory plan for Friday and/or Saturday night.

Before the accursed snow announcement, this weekend was looking better than usual. I had the Germanklub Overnighter all night Friday, and the Laser Marathon on Saturday. Mr. Pritschet made it clear that in the event of no school Friday, the Overnighter would be "delayed" (translation: completely and permanently cancelled). So now, with school called off, I not only lose my Friday night plans, but I gain another non-school night (tonight) to feel loser-ish about. Fuck.

The bright side of life:
1. The Laser Marathon is still on (although unless if I'm mistaken a certain mr. matt capelle will be unable to attend, seeing as he'll be dancing a few hundred miles away at the time).
2. Chinese food for dinner tonight, payed for by my momma on the condition that I tromp through the snow to pick it up, which I am of course more than happy to do.
3. A couple of snowed in days might do me good. I can finish up my editorial for Lang (topic: the state of hip-hop today), practice my band music (Jazz and Honors [I'm principle baritone this year; uh-0h]), and build some snowmen.
4. Andrew Kubas, fresh onto the facebook scene, finally got around to posting some pictures today. Among them was this little gem, composed and shot by yours truly.I think I like Tom Day's pose the most.