Well the first thing you need to know is that the official beer is Budweiser and the official food supplier is McDonald's, so bring your own supplies. Since you're a socialist, bring enough to share; you might even convert a few desperate capitalist swine, particularly the toffs, who would rather die (or convert to socialism) rather than snarf Big Macs and wash them down with Bud, Lite or Hevy. You can flush them out by flourishing strawberries and Champagne; co-op grown and bottled only, please.
As World Cup fever grips the globe, many progressives will be sighing at the prospect of another sporting spectacle distracting the “masses” from the pressing issues of the day — the classic “bread and circuses” argument. There is a tendency on the North American Left to disdain sport: its competitive nature, the corporatization of its grand events, its inherent masculinities and cultures of exclusion.
Some of this critique is grounded in good sociology; some of it bears an irrational disdain for that in which one does not participate or enjoy. In many sports, but especially in “the beautiful game,” politics and the game have a symbiotic relationship. Politics can influence and be influenced by what happens on the field of play. The World Cup is no exception.
My parents immigrated to Canada from Liverpool in the 1960s; growing up, soccer and socialism were the main topics of discussion in the Black household. Conversations at the dinner table moved seamlessly between football and politics, England’s chances in the World Cup and the NDP’s chances in the upcoming election.
I only committed my life to socialism after being rejected as a professional soccer player (a brief stint with the English Premier League’s Watford FC is my footballing claim to fame).
Indeed a path to enlightenment shared by many a socialist. I myself was a libertarian until I was rejected by the Vancouver Voodoo. A little-known fact: it was Leon Trotsky, and not Fidel Castro, who tried out for, and was rejected by, the Washington Senators.
First ep, featuring guest appearances by Joan Crawford and Tony Robbins is here.
Opening Theme
BUT the boys are MISSING!!! so we have to phone Gonzo and get him to line up a substitute. Kermit warned us this would be a bad idea, but it's five seconds to air: what choice do we really have?
Lollapalosersindeed. But meantime we've at least had time to locate Mike. He was out back smoking "herbal cigarettes" with his friend Frank Zappa, but we managed to tempt them back into the studio with promises of Doritos and sensless violence. Watch as Mike conducts an interview with the original Mother of Invention and later conducts him in musical mayhem as Frank gets jiggy with a47 Chrysler.
Well wasn't that…strange? You know you're out of control when Frank Zappa is the one trying to keep you normal.
Meanwhile, we've just gotten a phone call from Julie Newmar, who is working at the laundromat.
Julie likes to give raincoaster a jingle from time to time to compare catsuit fitting tips and just shoot the shit.
The boys have been using the "Drop off" window for their laundry and had never laid eyes on their pretty Cinderella…until now. Turns out Julie (who lost her virginity to von Karajan in April of '56 in the back row of Teatro di San Carlo, thus the nickname "April") is quite the classical arts fanatic. Here, the boys compete for her attentions.
Davy, as always, takes the early lead despite being at least a foot shorter than April. We relay the news to Mike, who grabs the reciever from us, hears that distinctively husky, liquid-sex voice, and takes off for the laundromat on Mickey's motorcycle. He arrives halfway through the big competition, but makes a strong showing nonetheless.
But guys, don't you know that girls can't resist a rock band? Or even a bubblegum pop band, as long as it occasionally sings in a minor key? Cue "The Girl That I Knew Somewhere…"
Yowzuh!Who knew Peter looked that hot in white tie?raincoaster would be doing a lot of formal entertaining if she thought she could get him to wear that on a regular basis!
But as the big song winds up, they realize that April has been kidnapped! Davy and Mike turn into secret agents to get the answers and go undercover in the lobby of a cheesy, overdone Beverly Hills hotel, the type where rich old women go to recover from facelifts. While there, they receive a mysterious phonecall which tells them April is in Paris or something like that…
As the boys follow that lead, their plane is hijacked by the Pamplona Panthers and they are led far afield, to Spain! They make their escape and arrive in Paris to rescue April. And just look at the havoc they cause; what's French for Monkeemania? From there, they follow the trail to Toyland?
and hey, there's April! She can totally lay down the heavy Chopin when she wants to, can't she?
Finally realizing that La Newmar is out of their league, the boys free her from her kidnapper, a would-be svengali who wishes to keep her all to himself. April kisses the boys good-bye and runs off to London to appear in a George Michael video.
The boys then attempt to escape from her many jealous suitors. Cue obligatory fleeing-posing-and-making-no-sense-set-to-cancan-music scene:
The boys return home just in time for their next gig, playing the wedding reception for The Brady Grandparents. The svengali remains firmly trussed, although even prone he attempts to groove along with the music. raincoaster is not at all sure that a song about infidelity is the very best choice for the occasion, but she loves "Look Out, Here Comes Tomorrow" anyway.
Davy sure can work that lipgloss, can't he? Is that Lip Venom? Enquiring minds want to know.
And, to make up for that Zappa-tastic strangeness at the top of the show, here is special guest Tim Buckley performing Song to the Siren.
It's all very convoluted, really. I found this on Wil Wheaton's blog. It's an extremely twisted British video by Cox and Combes about George Washington and his 30 penises and 4 testicles. Because you can never have too many, eh?
I think Wil may be training for the Gitmo Marathon soon if Ann Coulter finds out about this.
Students at the University of Heidelburg take a break from their studies while smoking opium (c. 1900). I suppose it makes the accordion music even more enjoyable.
I've always wondered what people did with the @ before Al Gore created the Internet. I mean, check it out; it's easier to get to than the $, and yet people use that quite a bit. Come to think of it, when do they ever use ^ and yet there it is right in the fucking middle of the keyboard like it deserved not to be stuck in a corner where your pinky can't quite reach it, eh?
It's madness, I tell you.
But here's an antidote to all forms of madness and random crazy-making. A general-interest article from the HP corporate website which explains all about the historical uses and nomenclature of the @ symbol.
A blue sky. The nature of love. A child's smile. The "@" symbol.
Some things are so common place that you scarcely notice them. But that doesn't make them any less fascinating. Take the humble "@" symbol, for instance.
It's something we use dozens—perhaps hundreds—of times a day. This little "a" with the curved tail is inextricably linked to the instantaneous communication that we, as a society, are dependent upon.
But where is @ from, exactly?
Let's go back to the 6th or 7th century. Latin scribes, rubbing their wrists with history's first twinges of carpal tunnel syndrome, tried to save a little effort by shortening the Latin word ad (at, to, or toward) by stretching the upstroke of "d" and curving it over the "a".
Italian researchers unearthed 14th-century documents, where the @ sign represented a measure of quantity. The symbol also appeared in a 15th-century Latin-Spanish dictionary, defined as a gauge of weight, and soon after—according to ancient letters—was referenced as an amphora, a standard-sized clay vessel used to carry wine and grain.
Over the next few hundred years our plucky @ sign was used in trade to mean "at the price of" before resting on the first Underwood typewriter keyboard in 1885, then later rubbing symbolic shoulders with QWERTY on modern keyboards in the 1940s.
Then, one day in late 1971, computer engineer Ray Tomlinson grappled with how to properly address what would be history's very first e-mail. After 30 seconds of intense thought, he decided to separate the name of his intended recipient and their location by using the "@" symbol. He needed something that wouldn't appear in anyone's name, and settled on the ubiquitous symbol, with the added bonus of the character representing the word "at," as in, hey_you@wherever_you_happen_to_work.com.
And while in the English language, we know it as the "at symbol," it goes by many other unusual pseudonyms throughout the world.
In South Africa, it means "monkey's tail"
In Bosnia, Croatia, and Serbia it's the "Crazy"
In the Czech Republic, it's "pickled herring"
The Danish refer to it as "alpha-sign," "elephant's trunk," or "pig's tail."
The French often refer to it as "little snail."
In Greece, it's "little duck."
In Hungary, it's called "maggot"
In Mandarin Chinese, it's the "mouse sign."
The Poles say "little cat" or "pig's ear."
Russians often refer to it as "little dog."
There's no official word for it in Thailand, but "wiggling worm-like character."
The Turks lovingly describe it as "ear."
But an "@" by any other name is just as sweet. Online, it's at the heart of every user's identity. It represents the breathless urgency of our connected culture: clear, concise, typographical shorthand for lobbing our thoughts, needs, and ideas to nearly anyone else in the world. Instantly.
Its ubiquity and urgency has transcended the Latin alphabet of its origins to worm its way into other language groups, including Arabic and Japanese.
Well the first thing you need to know is that the official beer is Budweiser and the official food supplier is McDonald's, so bring your own supplies. Since you're a socialist, bring enough to share; you might even convert a few desperate capitalist swine, particularly the toffs, who would rather die (or convert to socialism) rather than snarf Big Macs and wash them down with Bud, Lite or Hevy. You can flush them out by flourishing strawberries and Champagne; co-op grown and bottled only, please.the 1960s; growing up, soccer and socialism were the main topics of discussion in the Black household. Conversations at the dinner table moved seamlessly between football and politics, England’s chances in the World Cup and the NDP’s chances in the upcoming election.
raincoaster 