» Posts from September, 2010
September 28, 2010
A quick post to announce an appearance. I’ll be popping into Collingswood, NJ this Saturday, from 10AM-4PM, for their annual book festival. Never been to Collingswood (a town in South Jersey, just outside of Philly), but this seems like a great little event (click on the logo above for more details!). I didn’t sign up early enough to be one of the authors giving a talk or sitting in on a panel, but I’ll have a table among the exhibitors – booth 87 to be exact. I’ll be selling and signing copies of DWEEB and chatting folks up about my new book, which has recently been retitled The Only Ones and is due on shelves in less than a year. Perhaps I’ll even have a few surprises up my sleeve. So if you’re from New Jersey or Philadelphia or Delaware, or heck, even if you’re from Bhutan, come on by. Seeing you will be a treat. Until then…
September 20, 2010
In yet another unprecedented scoop, The Indubitable Dweeb has obtained a copy of Christine O’Donnell’s high school diary. Fascinating reading, especially the passages that prove the senate nominee did indeed “dabble in witchcraft.” Rather than politicize this, we’d like to simply present the diary in its unedited form and let the voters decide:
February 7, 1988
The Winter Wonderland dance was completely rad. There was this guy named Kyle who was standing in the corner being a total bummer, and when I asked him why he wasn’t dancing, he told me that “Dungeon Masters do not partake in the rituals of human slaves.” Dungeon Master? My brain was going back and forth between: Creepy? Kinky? Creepy? Kinky?…Cute? Definitely cute. That’s what I thought as soon as he showed me this medallion he wears. It was the sweetest little upside-down star! I asked him if he was into Disney and he licked the star and said, “The Dark Lord animates my black heart.” Cute and mysterious!
February 14, 1988
Valentines Day and my first date with Kyle = Double my pleasure! We went to see Gwar, which was…interesting. Kyle told me to wear something that I didn’t mind getting blood on, and I was like, “Whoa George Michael, slow down! I’m not ready for that yet.” But now I understand what he meant. O well, I’ll have to throw out the leggings, but now I have an excuse to get a perm! Kyle said he’s going to make me a “Best of Gwar” mixtape. I wonder if they have any ballads. I realize they’re “heavy” and all that, but Danger Danger is also heavy and they had “I Still Think About You” and that song just melts me.
March 1, 1988
I finally got to meet Kyle’s friends. There’s Dozer, and he’s the only guy I’ve ever met who carries a mace. You know, like with the spiky ball and the wooden handle? Then there’s the guy in the black trench-coat who refers to himself “The Shroud.” I don’t have much in common with The Shroud, except we both love Starburst. He let me eat all his red ones! Finally, there’s his Ex. Zoe. Zoe’s a white witch, which means she practices white magic, but all she seems to practice is bad fashion. I know, low blow, but can the girl drape more fake silk on herself? I can’t believe the two of them used to make out in freshly dug graves together.
March 18, 1988
Movie night. Lost Boys! This was my choice. Kyle was begging for yet another Faces of Death marathon, but how many times can a girl watch a parachutist get eaten by an alligator? I thought he’d like Lost Boys cause it has vampires in it and they’re kind of satany. But I didn’t tell him I wanted to see it cause it also has Jason Patric in it! Our little secret, diary? Anyway, he said the movie “sucked donkey nads” and I asked him why and all he did was take a gas can and pour gas on the lawn of a local nunnery and set the grass on fire. I have to say, for a spontaneous flaming pentagram, it was a pretty good flaming pentagram.
March 23, 1988
We sacrificed a goat today. Where does one get a goat? I haven’t a clue. Hmmm. Get your goat. That’s a phrase, right? But where does it come from? Maybe Our Dark Lord Satan can provide the answ…Wait a sec, wait a sec. Now I’m talking like him! Be strong, Chrissy. Be strong. Just cause your boyfriend has pledged his soul to Lucifer and the princely minion Beezlebub (sp?), it doesn’t mean you have to. I mean, if you’re totally into it and all that, then that’s cool, but remember, you’re still the same old Chrissy. You love Model UN. You are definitely getting into BC in a couple years (Go Eagles!). And just because you strangled a goat and draped its entrails on a menorah in a ritual to forge a deeper relationship with the horned ruler of the underworld, it doesn’t mean you don’t still totally love going to the zoo. Especially in springtime. Baby capuchins!
April 4, 1988
It’s over. Kyle broke up with me. At first, it seemed like a silly reason, but the more I think about it, the more I understand. Ouija boards are not open to interpretation. If we didn’t heed the advice of the ouija, then what advice do we heed? O well, there’s always The Shroud.
September 17, 2010
Let’s talk about Germans, why don’t we? We haven’t in a while. It’s time.
Fun fact about Germans: They have an uncanny ability to find dead bodies in hotel room mattresses!
Check out the provided Snopes link. It’s a fascinating, if macabre, discussion of an urban legend. As the story goes, a couple checks into a hotel room, settles in for the night, only to find the room has a funky smell to it. They pay it no mind, and hit the hay. The next morning, the smell is worse. A call to the front desk, and up comes an amply nostrilled bellhop. He sniffs around for a bit and decides the bed is the culprit. Flips the mattress. Viola! Corpse.
Thing is, this isn’t an urban legend. It’s happened a number of times in the U.S. of A. What’s curious, however, is that in three of the incidents, it was German tourists who discovered the bodies. Marathon Man fans are bound to raise an inquisitive finger and clench their molars, but I don’t think there’s a conspiracy afoot here. I just think Germans have a natural ability for sniffing this stuff out. I mean these are the people who brought us Scorpions, after all. They can always find something that stinks. Zing!
All kidding aside, I beleive we need to test the theory out. I’ll send the idea to Mythbusters post-haste. It should be simple enough. The mustachioed Mythbuster can murder the red-headed one, stuff his body under a Serta Perfect Sleeper, then send someone as American-as-Isalmaphobia into the room. Ron Howard should do. Start the stopwatch and see how long it takes Howard to find the body. Then repeat the experiment, swapping in Werner Herzog for Howard. If Howard finds it quicker, then the myth is officially busted. If Herzog wins, well, then I’m dispatching someone pasty and lederhosened into every Comfort Inn before I let them swipe my MasterCard. Compare me to the Princess and the Pea if you like, but a fellow expects certain things from a hotel mattress:
- Clearly marked headstones
September 14, 2010
It’s been a while. Life and other endeavors have gotten in the way and blogging has fallen far down the list of priorities. My blog ranking has suffered because of it. According to Alexa.com, this is no longer one of the top million web sites in the world. Michelin has taken away one of my three stars.
A friend once told me he hopes that upon death, we will all receive a stat sheet, detailing our minor accomplishments. Miles walked. Daves known. Cumulative hours spent listening to Al Jarreau. The sheet will also feature our all-time world rankings. Have I eaten more buffalo wings than Alexander the Great? Hit more three pointers than Charles Nelson Reilly? Important knowledge for a man to take into the afterlife.
One thing is for sure. Every person is bound to be the best in history at least one thing, though most of us probably wouldn’t know what that thing is.
“Congratulations, my friend, you have spent more time doing annoying, and inaccurate, Austin Powers impressions than any other human in history.
“Fine. Guilty. Just give me a trophy and let me in, St. Pete.”
“Do it first.”
“Come on. I just want to sit on a cloud and flirt with Joan of Arc.”
“Fine. Groovin’ Baby. Groovin’.”
It embarrasses me to tell you this, but one of the important things I’ve been doing instead of blogging is playing Rock Band. Thanks to Craig and is eponymous list, I picked up a full set for a cool $30. For that price, I’d be a fool not to try to master Mountain’s Mississippi Queen on a plastic push-button Fender!
One thing I learned from my foray into Rock Band is that I’m not very good at video games. I used to be okay, back in the days when Kid Icarus was the rage. But I haven’t played many video games as an adult, and I certainly lack the inspiring dedication some of my peers possess.
I remember one lazy summer Saturday a few years back when I turned on the TV and I saw a Guitar Hero competition. On ESPN. With adults involved. All varieties of nerd were collected on stage and they were playing Metallica and, I don’t know, Molly Hatchet or something. They were mugging and fist pumping and throwing the devil horns out to the crowd. All the while their fingers were racing across video game frets like Bishop’s knife trick. They didn’t miss a note.
All I could think was: Good gravy! If these guys dedicated their time to actually learning how to play guitar, then they might have a crowd full of screaming women in front of them. Instead they have some pasty Best Buy employees, the IT department from Chubb, and a small percentage of South Korea’s teenage boy population. Perhaps that’s what they want, but it breaks my heart just the same.
But not as much as this. This guy might just be the greatest video game drummer in the history of mankind. When he dies, we’ll check his stats to be sure. But even if he’s second or third best, I can’t help but want to shake him silly.
To quote his youtube description: “I do not play the real drums.”
Because that would be a waste of time, wouldn’t it?