“Brian, do you want to hold the new baby? Why not? Everyone else has…Oh come on, please?! Just go over there and sanitize your hands. You can sit on the couch while you hold her, if you want. Why not?”

1. The thought of Sen. Ted Stevens appearing on The Daily Show - Jon Stewart did a bang-up job of lampooning Sen. Stevens and his idiotic comments about Net Neutrality. The thought of this asshat appearing on the show would make me giddy. Tubes…heh.
2. Westmalle Trappist Tripel - I sipped an 11oz bottle of this Belgian white ale last night whilst peeling wallpaper. Not sure if the 10% ABV contributed to it or not, but I thoroughly enjoyed this beer. And to think that it was brewed by Belgian Monks makes it that much more awesomer!
3. University of Nottingham’s website - Points off for the stock “handshake photo,” but besides that, helluva job. Beautiful use of select Flash, CSS design, great information architecture. Well done, I say!
4. The icon work of Stefan Dziallas - Absolutely stunning icon work. Anyone that’s ever tried to make an icon should recognize the genius in his work. We take small symbols for granted, but his demand respect.
5. Cut Chemist: The Audience’s Listening - I thought I could get through a week without mentioning a new album in FTILFF, but alas. Cut’s new solo disc (now seperated from Jurassic 5) is a perfect reflection of his personality. Soulful, whimsical, humorous and party-loving. A solid addition to the turntabilist genre.

“I’d rather not hold her. I didn’t hold your last child the day she was born, either. And look, she turned out just fine! Besides, I just dumped her on her face in the waiting room before we came in. Twice. Sorry in advance for those bruises.”

Dear Guy Selling Hotdogs Outside My Local Home Improvement Center,

Hey man, what’s going on? I mean seriously, it’s not even 9 a.m. on a Sunday morning, and you’re already pimping your goods. You are one dedicated hot dog vendor.

See, the vendors downtown are on some other stuff. They’re lazy compared to you. They must have been the C students in the Wiener Academy because they don’t even bother to start setting up shop until at least 10 o’clock. And that’s on a weekday! Not you, though. No way. You’re out here, *hard* *core*, peddling foot longs when those other fools are sleeping. Cha-ching!

You’ve really figured it out, haven’t you? You’re one of those secret diabolical genius mofos that everyone thinks is just pullin’ a cart for a living, but really you’re making bank. Right? I mean who else would have thought that suburban Americans with too much expendable income would crave processed pig toenails while shopping for paint stirrers on a Sunday morning? Brilliant! Wow, I would have never thought to tap that goldmine demographic. But it must work because people go batsh*t crazy for your hotdogs, bro. Even at 9 a.m. I don’t get it, but it works. Just look at that line!

I really need to take a lesson from you, ya know? I mean here I am shopping for screws and I’m spending money, not making some! I should be up on this game. I need a piece of this action. I was thinking…maybe we could hang out sometime, grab a beer or something, and you could teach me your secret. Like a Jedi and master. Or kung-fu hero and young grasshopper, ya know? I need to figure out my game plan. I could sell stuff out of the back of my truck for awhile, until I could afford a cart or kiosk or something else that looks super official. Burgers? No, too unoriginal? Flan? No, too weird. What about those lemon ice things? Everyone likes them, right?

I dunno, hot dog dude. I just saw you the other day and you inspired me, like Nancy Kerrigan or whatever. I really think we should hang out some time and just kick it. Maybe there’s a hot dog vendor convention we could go to, or perhaps we could just walk around downtown and make fun of the ineptitude of the other vendors or something. Think about it and hit me up on my cell. You’re on to something though, man. For real. Don’t let that assclown who just bought the Rice Field Dream colored paint tell you otherwise.

Sincerely,
Brian

This weekend I drove up to Cincinnati to visit friends and stop in at a concert at Bogart’s. The weather was phenomenal, so much so in fact that it made me realize that I had almost forgotten what summer without throat-choking humidity was. And aside from getting lost (how after living there for 8 years, I’ll never know), it was a nice trip down memory lane.

After enjoying some good food (and another fine Rogue beer) at my ex-roommate’s housewarming/engagement cookout, a friend and his wife and I headed down to Vine St. to catch the New Jazz Philosophy Tour. We were stoked, as the bill featured The Roots, Common and Talib Kweli. I’ve always wanted to see The Roots in concert, and being with two of the last remaining hip hop artists that I would be interested in, it was a sure shot. Well, at least we thought.

The evening turned out to be a complete wreck. Two of the three headlining artists failed to show (likely as part of a “at select venues” fine print thing). The air-handling system was either busted, or “broken” in order to drive drink sales up. With a sold-out crowd, this meant one giant, sweaty dance party. But not the “still enjoyable ‘cuz I’m rockin’ out” kind. More like the “sweet Lord above don’t touch me again you stoned bastard” kind. The Roots didn’t come on until almost 11, and both my friends and I still had a two hour drive ahead.

Unfortunately, the saddest part of the event was the sponsor. See, The Roots (and the other two artists slated to perform) are in the grey area between Grammy winning and still mildly underground. They enjoy commercial success, but for the most part demand on doing things on their terms. I respect them for this, and for not selling out to be corporate whores just to make some cash.

Apparently the New Jazz Philosophy Tour was sponsored by Kool cigarettes. Bogart’s (usually painfully devoid of any decor) was tricked out with light projectors and revolving screens, flashing lights and with a Dance Cam in the back of the club. I almost pissed myself when amidst faux chic swirling green imagery of soul brothers and sisters, the surgeon general’s warning popped up. And when the hype man for the show came out to get the crowd going (an obnoxious 30-40 minute event), trashy “street” dancing girls flanked either side of the stage.

At a TI concert, I would expect this. At a 50-cent show, I wouldn’t bat an eye. But with such purportedly socially conscious acts as these, it violated everything that they preached.

I was sweaty, tired and sad. After getting turned around in Over the Rhine and finally hitting my driveway a bit after 2:15 a.m., the best I could figure is that they were willing to compromise their beliefs in order to get their tour expenses underwritten. Or maybe they really didn’t see anything wrong with pushing nicotine on the already over-marketed demographic of young urban individuals. Maybe they can sleep fine knowing how disgustingly stereotypical and border-line demeaning their dancers were. I know I couldn’t.

At least ?uestlove killed it. He is without a doubt the best damned drummer I have ever seen.

One day this week, a solicitor came to my door. I stood outside talking to him for 25 minutes because he was very animated. He said I looked like a drummer, whatever the hell a drummer looks like. I almost told him that I was offended, as drummers are not the coolest members of a band. He said he wasn’t trying to sell me anything, but he lied. He wanted me to buy magazines. I should have given him this week’s FTILFF:

1. Radish performing “Simple Simplicity” - Ben Kweller’s band before he went solo. This is remarkable to me as I think he was 15 at the time (and getting in-depth write-ups in the New Yorker). Stock grunge, but neat to see how far he’s come as an artist. Now 25 and married, his third solo album drops in September. [EDIT: second link down due to their server outtage. Definitely check back for it though, as it’s great.]
2. Babies - For as much as Jonas has altered my mental time table for wanting kids (by, oh, say five years), newborns are awesome. My brother and sister-in-law just welcomed their second child, Reagan Marie, into the world. What a precious, beautiful bundle of goodness. And an awesome pink ski cap to boot.
3. Gotye: Like Drawing Blood (preview) - Weird name. Awesome music. I snagged this album this week and am still trying to wrap my head around it. Motown, soul, funk, rock, electronic, indie and even reggae influence. All songs are great.
4. Hard Apple Cider - In my first venture into homebrewing, tonight I start a 5 gallon batch of hard apple cider so that it will be conditioned in time for the Fall. If I screw it up, I just won’t have to buy more apple cider vinegar for THE REST OF MY LIFE.
5. Trip Gas Price - AAA gas price data mashed with EPA reports on fuel economy, this calculator lets you plan ahead how much you’ll spend in gas from one city to another. Limited in scope, and relying on basic data, but if it saves me from doing simple math in my head…hooray!

I felt badly enough about not buying from him, that I invited him in for a glass of cold water and a washcloth to wipe off his sweat. Then he just took the washcloth with him. I guess that was his payment.

The more I read, the more I think that the professionals got it wrong. Not that I know any better, it’s just that I think they’ve missed the diagnosis by being too quick to throw stereotypes into the list of symptoms. But what do I know?

I’ve spent many hours during the past week pouring over the newly released Columbine documents. Journal entries, class essays, online chat conversations, videos and drawings. Over 900 pages of data that not only help sketch a better profile of two confused kids, but also expose how misrepresentative the media was in their reporting over the past eight years. Both are unbelievably tragic, and I mean that in the deepest possible way. My heart aches for everyone involved. I’ve lost sleep thinking about it.

If you spend the time trying to get into the heads of these kids, it’s surprisingly easy to see their personalities emerge. Both wrote very openly, online and off, and neither was the least bit shy in putting themselves out there. A few videos (now posted on YouTube) further confirm what their writings show: one was an idealistic narcissist on a power trip, the other was a confused, depressed teenager with a hot anger streak. The shocking bit, however, is just how normal they both were.

Having gone to an all-boys school, I had a lot of time to observe practically every model of the adolescent male. With no females in the picture to skew behavior models, that environment is perfect for scrutinize teenage boys coming to grips with adulthood and their own hormones. And neither Eric Harris nor Dylan Klebold strike me as much different from anyone at my school.

Despite the reports, they were not complete outcasts. They weren’t listening to satanic music or professed Nazis. They were not the most picked-upon, with no friends or girlfriends. They had normal amounts. They were not part of the infamous Trenchcoat Mafia. Instead, they were mild friends with one former member, who happened to be a coworker at a pizza shop. They didn’t even kill in order to quench the thirst of revenge on jocks. Hell, they let one of the school’s biggest bullies live when they found him. They were kids that just weren’t popular. They were also kids that, like 80% of teenage guys out there, were too big for their britches and thought they were at the top of the food chain. And when they couldn’t exercise this ego and narcissism in the school, they retreated to their fantasy world of Doom and their journals. Normal, common behavior, if you ask me. Anyone observing my school from 1994-1998 would have seen countless similar examples.

Perhaps this is what scares me the most: So many people I know/knew were just the same. True, they didn’t plan to mass murder schoolmates simply to inflict chaos and disorder on the world, but beyond that…How many of my friends were so egotistical that they told off teachers to their face? How many listened to misanthropic music that left doubt and anger towards society (*cough* Bad Religion and Rage Against the Machine)? How many of us used to whine about hating school, hating certain classmates or hating life in general? Isn’t this normal teenage behavior?

Instead, following the Columbine massacre, the government assembled top psychiatric professionals in a summit to “solve” the issue of school violence. One of the results was that they neatly diagnosed Eric Harris as a clinical psychopath, and Dylan Klebold as depressive. Swept into nice, tidy piles, it effectively erases the creeping, collective fear that they were normal kids. The docs say at least one was a special, different case, a monster. I disagree.

Part of the definition of a psychopath is that they exhibit no compassion for anything. Yet Eric was unnervingly passionate about animals. Neither kid was fully resolved in their mildly maniacal writings…they both showed contradiction and ambivalence in their views (as a teen should). They claim that Eric’s narcissism is the biggest indicator of his psychopathic personality. Have they ever hung around with an intelligent pre-teen male who is fascinated with power? Most of these kids learn quickly that a pompous display of authority is a great defense mechanism. So can you call it narcissism if it’s a put-on or forced behavior?

So as this issue continues to haunt me, as it has since that very day, I cannot help but think that once again the adults have failed the children. Instead of trying to face the issue with honesty and resolve, they simply sought the most digestible answer that would help the public move forward. How many kids that I sat next to for four years were one gun shy of doing the exact same thing? You don’t want to know.

It has come to my attention that either in a previous life, or as a child, I was a complete jackass. Offending God or perhaps just someone who has it in good with the Big Guy, I must have done my part to deserve this. At least that is the only way that I can explain what’s happening.

Saturday morning, after getting up at 6 a.m. to be the primary audience for the first run of “Jonas and the Amazing Barkettes” show, The Wife™ and I set to finding things to do to keep ourselves awake. Coffee in hand, we got working and by 10 a.m. had fully cleaned the kitchen, our bathroom, and several other rooms in the house. It felt great. So naturally continuing on this roll of productivity, I decided to knock out the yard work which had been dreadfully neglected. It has rained incredible amounts over the past week, so our grass was looking like the windswept prairies of Kansas. Out the door by 10:30, I was prepared to tackle it.

By 11:45, dripping from head to toe in what I like to call “The West Coast Has No Idea What 94% Humidity Means” sweat, I blew the final grass clippings off the driveway and headed inside for a glorious shower and to soak up the air conditioning. That is, of course, if it were working. Which it wasn’t. Which is why I’m now one snide comment shy of cracking.

The Faust household (read: me) is apparently cursed. When unfortunate things happen, they rarely occur in an isolated fashion. Instead, everything breaks when one thing breaks. And in the month and a half of moving into the house, (with all but one happening just this week) we’ve had the air conditioning fail, the garage door break, the car die and the garbage disposal crap out. And to top it off, as I’m unpacking my new equipment to finally start brewing beer after waiting patiently for over a year…I break the hydrometer. Awesome. Now I don’t even have beer to console myself with when thinking about how we’ll pay for the other eleventy-billion things in need of repair.

And while I summon every fiber of self-control and restraint in not feeling sorry for our situation, and trying not to whine, I can’t help but laugh at the fact that the week the A/C decides to go to Fiji on vacation is consequently the hottest week of the summer thus far. I mean, if you were a deity with the power to exact revenge, wouldn’t you choose a week where temperatures with heat indexes were well over 100F, and humidity at a staggering 80-plus percent? It couldn’t be a better time for this to happen, really. The only quasi-positive thing that could be taken from this is that the dog is slowing down, likely due to being just shy of the point of passing out. He must think he really did something wrong to make us take away That Which Makes Existence Bearable and Cool, as he’s panting heavily at 6 a.m. after an evening of not even moving. I tried explaining to him that it was 84 in the house and that it might not get better for a few days, but as I was talking, he walked over to his bowl and proceeded to put both feet directly into his water dish and stare at me. I took this to mean that he was either not happy, hot, or perhaps both.

At any rate, if anyone tries to get in touch with me this week and are unable, it’s probably just that I have Time and Temperature on constant redial, waiting to see if the heat advisory has been lifted. Or that I’m busy explaining to Jonas that he can’t get inside the freezer, no matter how hard he might try.

No, you can’t have my waffle. For God’s sake it’s Friday. You’re not allowed to steal waffles on Friday. Didn’t they make some law about that once? I swear they did. I mean, they’ve got laws for just about every other inane act possible…like not farting on Columbus day and whatnot. Hands off the waffle.

1. 10 Signs You Are Not My New Roomate: From the Best of Craigslist. I find this amusing. And it’s been a long week. Therefore: I need to be amused.
2. Fresh, hand-squeezed lemonade (with raspberry) - We had a new house/dog party last week (*cough* OLD *cough*) with a bunch of our friends. We did dinner for everyone and I wanted to do something light as a refreshment. I hate lemonade for being too sweet, but decided to give a shot at making my own. Plus, it mixed well with the leftover Raspberry Vanilla infused Vodka I made for the last party…
3. Ze Frank’s “The Show” - I contemplated posting just this one item for this week’s FTILFF. It’s that addictive. I haven’t been this hooked on a supply of Internet Crack since I found Homestarrunner.com years ago. I’m late to the game, as everyone else has known about this for a long time…
4. Eric: The Velvet Gentleman - Not exactly a Flickr-worthy photo, but it made me laugh rather hard this morning. Smiles all around.
5. Water coolers - No, not for the gossip, but for the water. I’ve been in an office without one for a year, and was doing fine with just water fountain water. But now in the new office, I have one (with UV on the inside! — or at least that’s what it says). It’s good to have non-metallic tasting water again.

For the last time, stop looking covetously at my waffle. That’s just…well…rude.

I thought we had hit the lottery when we introduced Jonas to The Bell. I had a friend in high school who’s family hung a jinglebell from their back door so that their dog could nudge it when he needed to go outside. Thinking that this would not only provide entertainment, but also an effective means of communication between beast and person, we set out to do the same. [sidenote: you can’t imagine how difficult it is to find bells when it’s not September/the start of the holiday season]

Four weeks in to this routine and Jonas is a champ. It honestly only took one time of showing him (via his snout) how to ring it before he wrapped his little doggy head around the concept. It took him awhile to perfect his method, initially trying to hit it with his butt or torso. This yielded little attention from us because it barely rang the darn things. Being the Mensa card-carrying member that he is, he decided that using the nose was more reliable and required just as much effort (hooray!). Unfortunately for us, he quickly decided that this method failed to convey both the urgency and decisiveness that he has for needing to go out. So he switched up his game. He learned to swat it with his paw. And when I say “swat” I mean that he winds up, cocks back and wails the living snot out of the little bell JUST to make sure that The Stupid People hear him ring it from 10 feet away. Each trip is now accompanied by a “Yes, Jonas, we get it. You need to go potty. Jackass.”

Really though, besides his flair for the dramatic, we’re happy that this has been successful. Until last week.

See, secretly, I think Jonas is at home right now (with The Stupid People at work) plotting. Perhaps even scheming. I would not be surprised if he went as far as to pull out his graph paper and mini Trapper Keeper ruler to devise his dastardly and devious plans of destruction. In all fairness though, what else would he do? Sleep?

The latest product of his “free time” is that he’s figured out the concept of how to CLOSE the door. Sure, we mortals can OPEN it, but ha ha! He can CLOSE it! We should tremble in his majesty and intellect! He started last week and I thought it was a fluke, but now it is part of our potty routine. He rings the bell, I open the door and say “Hurry! Go potty,” upon which time he steps back from the threshold, plants his ass on the rug and while looking directly into my eyes moves his right paw in the most strangely human fashion, snaking it around the back of the door and pushing it closed. And if he’s feeling really froggy? He’ll army crawl up to it and give it an extra push for good measure, just to make sure that it is definitively shut. And that I understood the sheer awesomeness of what he just did. Toss in an extra cock of the head as he’s smiling at me and you would have thought he had just discovered the theory of relativity. He’s so damned proud of himself.

So to all of my friends that I’ve bragged to and recommended that they too try the bell technique, heed my warning: If you’re leaving your dog alone unsupervised for long periods of time, give them some Highlights Magazines or Soduku puzzles. Otherwise you’ll come home to find out that they’ve figured out your PayPal password and have ordered a palette of peanut butter on eBay shipped priority. Trust me on that one.

Hi. My name is Joe. I got a wife and two kids and I work in a button factory.

One day, the boss said to me, he said, “Joe? Are you busy?”

I said, “No!”

He said, “Turn that button with your left hand.”

1. “Sinner Man” by Nina Simone - I’ve long been a fan of her emotive and powerful voice. This song for most people would bring to mind Talib Kweli’s 2003 hit “Gey By,” as Kanye sampled the pianos for it. This song is simply incredible for it’s raw, almost desperate emotion. Beautiful. (and the recording quality is superb too!)
2. Worst letter from a daughter - I hope someday to have children as witty, aware and creative. Worth a two second read. [via chris glass]
3. Nikon’s SB600 flash - I used some birthday money to snag one of these. I only got a few minutes to tinker with it last night, but I’m excited to think that my photos will now feature less suckage. Hopefully. I don’t promise anything, though.
4. Offices located in basements - I know The Wife™ hates me for putting it there, but having my home office in our basement makes me feel like giddy. Anyone who knew me growing up knows I was that basement kid who’s bedroom below as a retreat and bunkhouse where I first learned to fiddle with Photoshop and Premiere (1.0 on diskettes, mind you). I just feel so much more comfortable and creative in basements. No Bauhaus required, though.
5. Jonathan Purvis’s portrait of Jim James - Maybe I’m subconsciously rooting for these Louisville homeboys, but I think Jonathan’s photo perfectly captures Jim and even a bit of the mood behind My Morning Jacket.

Hi. My name is Joe. I got a wife and two…oh hell now I’m going to have that stuck in my head all morning. Hopefully, you do too. Just don’t let the boss catch you doing the hand gestures that go along with this childhood rhyme. Because kids do not pick up on the sexual subtexts of turning both buttons…

Think I’m joking? Listen to dear Senator Ted Stevens’ (Alaska) beautiful elocution about what the internet is and why he voted against the Net Neutrality bill. Oh, you probably don’t want to listen to all of that, lest your head explode from the sheer nonsense of it? I understand completely, so how about a synopsis of the more brilliant quotes from Wired? No? Still don’t want to go somewhere else to read about this halfwit’s diatribe? Then here are the finer points:

1. The internet is a bunch of “tubes” and not “something you just dump stuff on…not a truck.”
2. The Department of Defense has “their own internet” because they “can’t afford (to) get delayed by other people” and need “theirs delivered immediately.”
3. And the best quote? “I just the other day got, an internet was sent by my staff at 10 o’clock in the morning on Friday and I just got it yesterday. Why? Because it got tangled up with all these things going on the internet commercially.”

So there it is, clear as day. We shouldn’t stop the giant, money-sucking telcos from draining us of more money while providing less services because Ted Stevens got a late internet sent to him.

If I just drive north, I’m bound to hit Canada at some point, right?

PS - This guy is a rockstar of public speaking. Seriously, he should teach Intro to Communications at some very prestigious and influential school some day.

I confess that I’ve never been much of a patriot. In fact, it’s something that I’ve struggled with, guilt-ridden from the notion that I’m an undeserving jerk. As much as I’d love to be, I just never have felt an overwhelming sense of pride in my country.

Each year is the same parade of images: children waving flags, fantastic fireworks displays, faces painted with the familiar stripes. But instead of stirring some civic sentiment inside, I view it all from a detached, almost curious vantage point. It’s as if “these people” are celebrating something that I just don’t understand, like Yam Kippur or Kwanzaa. Even the Olympics never seem to distill a sense of American pride in me. (if we’re being brutally honest, I sometimes hope that the over-hyped, ridiculously profiled media darlings of the US don’t perform as expected).

This is not something that I’m pleased about. I know that I should be thanking every higher being for being born on this soil, with not a relative care or threat to my preservation. Even multiple trips to other countries has not made me further appreciate what I take for granted, 100% of the time. I’m a spoiled American who takes his freedom with a grain of salt.

Yet the only time that I’ve felt a rising sense of patriotism has been with the World Cup. And I had forgotten this until Saturday when watching the France vs. Brazil game (the first match I’ve been able to catch in years). An area of my life all but written out now, I used to live and breath soccer as a child. And the fact that the US was always the stepchild, the relentless underdogs of the international soccer scene stirred the most patriotic emotions I’ve ever experienced. Perhaps at the age of 10 I was confusing patriotism for merely “rooting for the underdog,” but I can vividly remember shutting my eyes tightly, praying that Alexi Lalas and Cobi Jones would deliver the country to international notoriety with their tenacity and determination.

So as I sigh, relaxing from a day not spent working, I can rest a bit easier knowing that I can at the very least acknowledge the idea of patriotism. Perhaps if I felt our country had something to prove, beyond the soccer pitch, I would pick up that flag next year. But I’m just not sure that I’m proud to be called an “American.”