The other day I half joked that BP would set off a nuclear bomb if they were allowed to and if they thought it would work. It seemed like the most preposterous idea I could come up with to get my point across. I learned from CNBC today that the Russians did exactly that to stop a spill in their waters.
Again, no word on if it worked or not, but I’m amazed that nuking the pipe is even an option, I was just trying to make a dumb joke!
So at some point I decided that I wanted to hang a helicopter tail rotor on my wall.
No, that’s a lie. Not “at some point,” I know exactly when it occurred to me: I was watching Iron Man, and I noticed that Tony Stark had a wooden airplane propeller hanging in his workshop. “That’s kind of cool,” I thought, “too bad I couldn’t give a shit about old prop driven airplanes.”
Oh, but helicopters? Yeah, I’m painfully obsessed with those. So I went on eBay, and was immediately disappointed. Then to google, which was just frustrating. Lots of parts dealers in Texas and vaguely worded classified ads, but nothing as easy as “would you like to buy a helicopter tail rotor? Give us some money and we’ll send one to you,” which, as a spoiled child of the information age, I’ve come to pretty much expect from all transactions, large or small.
Then I forgot about it, until I found myself sitting in a bar next to someone who had just gotten back from the airplane boneyard in Arizona. They’d scavanged an entire fighter jet wing and shipped it across the country. Surely, if they could do that, I could find a way to get a measly little tail rotor into my Brooklyn apartment using nothing more than the Internet and a credit card.
Well after a bit more searching, it turns out that, yes, you can buy a UH-1 Huey tail rotor assembly on eBay for surprisingly little money. It also turns out that these things are anything but small and measly. From tip to tip, the span of the Huey tail rotor is about 8’6”, which is huge. Luckily I’m buying it in pieces or else it would never fit up the fucking stairs.
In a few days, the fruits of my auction camping will begin arriving, and I’ll start putting the thing together. Then I’ll take some pictures. You’ll see. It’s gonna be awesome. Also, I’m a huge nerd.
I was getting tired of the string of family values Republicans getting caught having gay sex, so it’s a bit of a relief that we now have one, a doctor no less, getting caught being a fucking idiot.
Rand Paul has made a lot of mistakes in the last few days, but the one that sticks out to me was his failure to be as media savvy as his old man.
I mean, we all remember the Paultards of ‘08, right? I’m not going to sit here and say that he didn’t have some smart, thoughtful people supporting him who fully understood his views, but a lot of the folks I met who supported him saw Ron Paul in the republican debates, skimmed his book, and then voted for him without understanding what libertarianism really means.
Rand Paul is a classic libertarian. He doesn’t appear to believe anything that’s outside the mainstream of his movement, he just wasn’t smart enough to keep his mouth shut like his dad would have.
In public, when the average American might be watching, Ron Paul never talked about the broader implications of his ideology, he talked about being against the Iraq War, not because it was a bad idea that would kill hundreds of thousands of people and yield only limited improvement to the region, but because he thinks the US government shouldn’t do anything overseas, ever. He would talk about boring things. Talk about debt and flat taxes and the gold standard. He criticized both parties fairly equally, which was diabolically clever from a marketing perspective, but fairly transparent to anyone who knew the guts of his beliefs. He did his best to sound smart, so people would reflexively assume that he’d make smart decisions, then decide to vote for him and stop paying attention.
Most importantly, Ron Paul (as far as I know) didn’t let himself get lured into practical debates about the realities of Libertarianism. What happens when your house catches fire? You don’t believe in fire departments, remember? Do you really think there should be no such thing as public parks? Meat inspectors? How about nuclear deterrence? What about the regressive implications of a flat tax? Or the fact that the gold standard is now seen to be one of the major reasons that the depression was as long and deep as it was? And holy shit, in all his years, Ron Paul was never dumb enough to go on television and get cornered into a free form debate on the merits of social legislation. Because he knows what would happen. And if he didn’t know, and was somehow just lucky to be a charming, intelligent old man running for an office that he was in no danger of winning, he knows now, because in the space of 48 hours, his son has gone from promising right wing midterm savior to (I predict) toast.
Defamer. Seeing anything from the glory days of the Lisanti/McAleer/Abramovitch era recalls a simpler time, a time that exists in my memory almost exclusively in hazy images lit by golden, magic hour sun. A time of weeknight music gigs, worrying amounts of In ‘n’ Out consumption, and downtown dive bars.
I don’t know if I ever acted on any of the To Dos, but I sure as hell watched the shit out of those things.
Man, that seems like a million years ago. Weird that it was only 2…
This piece, which I realize came out eons ago, is amazing. In particular:
… the vast majority of the men I have spoken to, about the album, are under the impression that it is about them. One man I spoke to about it pointed out that, for men, Rivers Cuomo is both Liz Phair and Liz Lemon. He’s the pathetic dork in the glasses who can’t get laid and has gone at least slightly bonkers over it, the one you hate to be like, but love to identify with, because it means you’re not alone in being such a reject. And he’s also written one of the most relatable and Livejournalistic accounts of exactly how you feel when you do get laid, and how dissatisfying that can be.
I don’t like Weezer, didn’t much care for Pinkerton when KROQ was playing the shit out of it in 199-whatever, and I don’t really read The Awl as much as I probably should, but that paragraph right there makes me want to start. It also makes me want to befriend Sady Doyle if only so I can also befriend the folks that tell her things like those above. I’m in the middle of a period of introspection. I still don’t know where I ultimately want to live, or what I should be looking to do next once my current livelihood inevitably poofs out of existence like a dying star, or what the woman of my dreams looks like or if she even exists or would put up with my particular brand of childish nonsense. I also constantly wonder if I will ever or should even bother trying to find New York equivalents of my fantastic LA friends. Things like this, however, provide a nice blueprint for the sorts of conversations my idealized east coast drinking buddies would talk about, were they to exist.
I’m shockingly drunk right now, the problem is that I’m fairly sure I had an A+ Platinum Tumblr post ready for you all, but then a sucession of Brooklyn bartenders made sure that my memory was erased, and all I’ve got left in the way of entertainment is a somewhat flaccid description of my night: I saw Sia, rocked it; went to the local bar, was bored; went to the “new hip spot in tha neighborhood” and got obliterated.
With any luck I’ll replace this bullshit tomorrow with whatever I really meant to say, in the meantime, please understand that my goal as always is to entertain you.