My New Bumper Sticker

I'm not really a big bumper sticker guy. Nor am I particularly into blessing people. But I sure do like Johnny Cash, and when I saw this sticker I was smitten. It will look just beautiful on my crappy little truck.

Mustache Analysis

So our task was to name this guy's demographic:



Let's check out the votes:

A) An ex-hippie - 1
B) A redneck
C) A scientist
D) An ex-hippie-redneck
E) An ex-hippie-scientist - 2
F) A redneck-scientist - 1
G) An ex-hippie-redneck-scientist - 1

Tabulating by each of the three principal components the vote breaks down this way:

Ex-hippie: 4 out of 5
Redneck: 2 out of 5
Scientist: 3 out of 5

So we have a strong majority identifying the subject as an ex-hippie, a slight majority voting for scientist, and a slight minority voting for redneck.

Now for my purely subjective analysis of the results by principal characteristics:

Mustache: Individuals of all three categories could plausibly wear a mustache, although it strikes me as more distinctly characteristic of the ex-hippie and redneck groups.

Hair: Certainly some rednecks have hair like this and some scientists have hair like this, but they are typically ex-hippie-rednecks and ex-hippie-scientists. I believe the hair is the principal factor in the strong majority for ex-hippie.

Shirt: To my eye, the shirt looks ex-hippie. It strikes me as a sort of "comfortable", denim-chambray type of thing favored by aging baby-boomers. But, really, it's non-conclusive.

Expression: He's angry, or at least grumpy. For me, this nudges him towards redneck, but others reacted differently. Sarah took this as an indicator of ex-hippie-ness. Certainly, many ex-hippies are rather angry. Then again, those scientists can get kind of irritable, always scrounging for grant money, and never having anyone understand them at parties when they explain what they do. Hmm.

The ex-hippie-redneck-scientist intersection is a strange and puzzling place, but thanks to your help, everyone, we are just a little closer to understanding it. Thank you.

Furrow

The Leg Bone's Connected to the... Door Bone

This is a picture drawn by Louise with annotations by myself. You'll see the small figure towards the top which she said was a picture of herself. Note the short hair. This probably means she was actually drawing herself as Peter (from her Peter and the Wolf stage) . She has done this in several other drawings. The figure is standing inside a blue door. The door has legs. The legs have bones (the loopy circle-things). She's getting the bones-concept from a children's book on human anatomy which we have been reading recently.

Children really are very strange.

Mustache Science

Hey. Voting is still open on Name That Demographic. Don't make me cry.

Boots

Talk About Hardware!

Name That Demographic

Well, the voting sure was fun last time, so let's do it again. Only this time it's better because I don't actually have to do any work when you vote. It's merely a matter of sociological interest (loosely related to other subjects of ongoing research).

Look at this guy:



Is he:

A) An ex-hippie
B) A redneck
C) A scientist
D) An ex-hippie-redneck
E) An ex-hippie-scientist
F) A redneck-scientist
G) An ex-hippie-redneck-scientist

Place your vote in the comments section (and, again, if necessary, I will place votes under various pseudonyms to make it seem like people actually read this blog). You hold the truth in your hands.

Topsy-Turvy

More Super Sunday

Another one from last weekend.

Regarding Britney

"That girl's going to die on a toilet."

Oh, Possum

I Didn't Say It But I Laughed

"I mean, what do you get your 92 year old great-grandmother for her birthday?"

"Something you want to get back really soon."

Hot Stuff

For my birthday, my friends gave me these beautiful little Moleskine notebooks that fit in my back pocket. Now I can make unflattering portraits of people wherever I go. This guy was in the elevator at work today:



By the way, I didn't actually do the sketch while standing in the elevator with him.

We Gobbled Frantic Gurgles

Thank you, Patricia, for pointing out that it was recently World Poetry Day and also for directing attention to this excellent waste of time. Here's my poem. Make your own, and if you like it (or hate it) post a link in the comments.

See Spots Run

If you happen to be a New Yorker illustrations enthusiast/dork you'll find this interesting. If you aren't, you won't.

Happy Birthday to You

Today is my lovely Sarah's thirty-third birthday. When I recently arrived at the same age I concluded that this was my "Jesus Year". Does that work for Sarah? Or is it her "Mary Magdalene Year"? Hmm, that doesn't sound so good. And how old was M.M. anyway?

Anyhow, Happy Birthday, Sarah! Now I've got to go cook a fancy meal.

I Wish, I Wish # 3

As we were looking at a prospective house to buy, the old man across the street called us over and gave us his version of the neighborhood rundown. "There's black folks there and over there. They're real nice and clean, though. Just like white people."

I said: "Hmm."

I wish I'd said: "Hmm. Well, we're white, but we're just like black people."

Drawn!

A favorite new site of mine is Drawn! The idea is simple. It's a blog with multiple contributors (various folks who like to draw and make pretty things) who post links and references to various interesting things in the world of "illustration, art, and cartooning". If you like that sort of stuff, I recommend checking it out.

Sleepy Head

Super Sunday

I took this picture of a young Mardi Gras Indian today at Super Sunday, one of the few chances during the year besides Mardi Gras when one can see the Indians in their full regalia.

Proto-Geeks

What did geeks do before The Matrix? Oh, right, Star Wars.

Canoe Queen

Yellow #5

"Mmm! Food coloring is so good, Papa!"

Ixnay on the Ingblay-Ingblay

Upon reading my recent tirade against the many offenses of Herbert Muschamp including, among other things, his abuse of the term "bling-bling", Sarah drew my attention to the following quote from last week's New Yorker (John Seabrook's March 14 article on Dolce & Gabbana):

Gabbana walked around behind him, nodding approvingly at the fit. Then he scooped a few pieces of jewelry from the baskets of bling that were on a table behind him and draped them over the model’s chest.

A long time ago there was a song, remember that? People liked it. Then everyone discovered that it was fun to say "bling-bling", and it made them feel kind of sassy. Then their were "bling-bling" sales at the jewelry store in the local mall. That was kind of funny, maybe. Then every journalist, writer, social commentator, man on the street, woman on the street, casual conversationalist, child, and grandmother said the phrase several times. Then it was dead.

But some people haven't stopped. Apparently they don't realized that:

1. It's dead.
2. It doesn't make them sound black.
3. It's really, really dead.

So let's ask nicely:

To all journalists, writers, social commentators, men on the street, women on the street, casual conversationalists, children, and grandmothers:

Please, pretty please, stop using the phrase "bling-bling" or any of its derivatives. Thank you.

Good. That should take care of that.

Whistlin' Willie

Old Comedians From Hell

I Heart Herbert Muschamp

One might ask, "Who is Herbert Muschamp, and why should I care?" Well, he is the former architecture critic (and general commentator on various things cultural) for the New York Times, and you shouldn't care. However, he did receive a vote in the recent This Blog Is Your Blog elections. Plus Matt asserts that blogs are the perfect medium for the passionate denunciation of people and things that others would simply never think of hating. So what do I have to say about him?

I hereby passionately denounce Herbert Muschamp as a pretentious fool. He:

• loves to drop names that only a tiny fraction of the readers will recognize.
• loves to launch into esoteric flights of near-meaningless theoretical jargon and baseless metaphors.
• loves to then switch into chatty, cornball, vernacular use of "low" language (he repeatedly used the phrase "bling-bling" in describing Rem Koolhaas' new Seattle Public Library).
• loves rich people.
• loves skyscrapers.
• is a complete ass.
• makes my blood boil.

And yet, somehow, I just can't quite muster the energy to really run him down. There was a time when I would have gleefully launched into a lengthy, vitriolic tirade detailing his offenses, but now that he's gone (or nearly gone - he still occasionally writes goofy articles about handbags and "girlie-man" culture) I'll be honest, I miss him. Sorry, Matt.

Herb was unique. Sure, the new architecture critics frequently annoy me. Certainly, there's still no shortage of arrogant cultural insularity in the Times' Arts section. But it's not the same. Herb could be an ass in a way that these new kids can barely conceive of. He could spout more crap from his little finger than most people can spout from their entire body (eesh! sorry about that).

So I won't tell you what to think. I will simply let Herb speak for himself. Love him. Hate him. Ignore him. The choice is yours.

The man in his own words:

On Miucca Prada:

"She has made the world safe for people with overdeveloped inner lives."

"She is an artist: she would rather hide than speak."

"No one needs Prada to gain access to the work of Louise Bourgeois or Anish Kapoor."

"Prada's cultural projects interest me chiefly because they help to clarify the personality and intentions of a fashion genius. "

"We admire her for the same reason we have always admired Italians. No one can match their talent for engineering mythologies of daily life."

On the opening of the Prada store in SoHo:

"If there was luxury in the air, it wasn't coming from the clothes, the fancy in-store technology or even the fabulous blocklong space. The luxury was making contact with people you hadn't seen together in one place since 9/11. It was the experience of being with the most solipsistic people on earth and loving them more than ever."

"Frank Lloyd Wright created luxury from empty space, Chanel from jersey sportswear, Louis Kahn from poured concrete. Prada creates it out of the desire to be rescued from the isolation that a creative life demands."

On MoMA's "Tall Buildings" exhibit:

"Disembedding without re-embedding: that's how I'd summarize the general thrust of architecture during the period covered by this show. Ulrich Beck, the German sociologist, wasn't thinking about architecture when he coined that phrase. Mr. Beck was talking about the impact of globalization on individual identity. But the impact on design has been roughly the same."

"Fecundity of form gets great play here, but that is a different matter. We've come a long way from the time when 'modern' signified identical glass boxes. Some skeptics deplore the heterogeneity of today's design as a manifestation of ego, the flaunting of signature statements by star architects. What it actually reflects is the recognition that the city is a libidinous proposition, an experiment in desire."

"Americans are easily shamed these days into renouncing habits. And we are quick to thwart the desires of those who won't go along with our disapproval. Skyscrapers need no justification. But it would be worth building higher merely to disembed ourselves from fear."

Bless his heart.

Note: And how is our tally going?

• Herbert Muschamp - check
• Hatred - sort of

By my lenient reckoning that brings us to 5 out of 8. Progress, my friends, progress.

Kitty Kollaboration

This is a collaboration between Louise and myself. It's my rendition of Waldo, the cat from Kim Deitch's The Bouldevard of Broken Dreams, which Louise then colored.



One might, perhaps, think it's cute. Having read the book I find it very creepy, but I like it nonetheless.

Also, note the "Peter" across the top. Louise is currently obsessed with Peter and the Wolf. She has taken to calling herself Peter and signing her art work as such. The fact that it is backwards is not a scanning screw up. On occasion she accidentally writes it in mirror image, I think because the name is so visually similar forwards and backwards. Curious business.

Yet More Conversations With Little People

"Papa, where do fairies poop?"

More Conversations With Little People

"Turkeys are make-believe. Right?"

Up With People

Certain members of the Slimbolala community (namely my mom) have expressed concern that This Blog Is Your Blog votes are not being honored. Fear not! Your voice has been heard. Your will cannot be denied.

But please understand I'm lazy, this blogging thing pays real crappy, and Sarah won't let me quit my day job and sell the kids for revenue. Also I never expected anyone to actually respond and was therefore overwhelmed by the crushing 5 (or is it 8? depends how you count) votes I received.

Let's see where we're at:

1. Grooming - check
2. Neighbors
3. Navy maternity uniforms - check
4. Hatred
5. The strangest drink I ever made - check
6. Herbert Muschamp
7. A funny thing happened on the way to New Mexico
8. Uptown mamas

Geez! 3 out of 8. That really is kind of crappy. But trust me. Neither apathy nor Dioxin poisoning can prevent me from fulfilling your wishes. Probably. Maybe.

Bizarre Bevy of Bountiful Beards

Cameron has alerted me to additional resources to aid us in the quest for a deeper understanding of Beards I Work With:

• http://beardcommunity.com/
• http://www.worldbeardchampionships.com/

Clearly the field of Beard-ology has come far, but there is still great work to be done. Study the materials provided and report back with your findings.

Man, people are really weird.

Happy Birthday to Me

I turned thirty-three today and was trying to figure out what that meant to me. It's not a landmark year. It's neither particularly old nor particularly young. The double threes has a nice numerological resonance, but that really didn't get me very far. Then Sarah mentioned that it's the same age Jesus was when he was crucified. So there you go. Happy "Jesus Year" to me!

Harken unto me, and heed my holy ASCII art:



And don't worry. Jesus likes blasphemy.

Coin-ism: Hinternet

hin·ter·net (hntr-nt)
n.

A remote and rarely visited region of the internet.

Slimbolala can be found in the deepest recesses of the hinternet.

I Wish, I Wish #2

Checking out from a major clothing retailer the cashier offered a 10% discount if I fill out a brief questionnaire. I accepted. The questionnaire consisted principally of questions on shopping habits and contact information so they could spam me. As is my habit, I completed it with the least accurate responses possible. Scanning my answers the cashier asked me, "You're interested in information for Petites?"

I said: "Oh, yeah. Sorry, I checked the wrong one."

I wish I'd said: "What? You think I'm fat?!"

I Wish, I Wish #1

Running late for class and trying to find a spot in the very crowded parking lot I finally saw someone getting ready to leave. I maneuvered into position, turned on my blinker, and waited. As the car pulled out another car zippped in the wrong way and stole the spot. I yelled, "Hey! I was waiting for that spot!" She yelled, "I've got school too!"

I said: "grumble, grumble, #@!, friggin' grumble"

I wish I'd said: "Yeah, but you've got no class!"

Lost and Found

Note to colleague who left his tube of Preparation H in the stall of the second floor men's room at work:

I'm concerned. Did you forget it? And if so, isn't that going to cause you some problems later on? Hopefully you'll remember where you left it, and hopefully nobody will have taken it. Next time, be sure to put your name on the tube. That way we can return it to you.

On the other hand, maybe you left it there on purpose in case somebody else needed some. If so, that was really nice of you. I'm all good, but there might be somebody else who will really appreciate it. Thanks for the consideration.

And yes, we are planning to change the name of this blog to "Ass and Coffee."

In the Navy

Pregnant employees cost organizations money so naturally it is in an oganization's interest to do whatever it can to discourage its female staff from getting knocked up. In most cases, though, this is limited to relatively modest tools such as family-hostile leave policies and the absence of viable day care. The Navy, however, by virtue of being able to dictate their staff's wardrobe, has a truly powerful weapon, the Navy Maternity Uniform:



So unsexy, so unsassy! Hot? Not! This outfit says, "Watch out world! I'm a big, fat cow and and they never should have let women into the armed services! Here I come!"

Comes in 3 sizes:
(D) Disgrace
(BD) Big Disgrace
(RBFD) Really Big Freakin' Disgrace

"Too Much Ass"

Because we just can't get enough ass here at Slimbolala...

I'm walking along the Fulton Mall in downtown Brooklyn. Ahead of me are two young guys checking out the women. Ahead of them is a lady with a truly enormous butt strutting down the street in a skin-tight outfit. One guy leans over to the other and, genuinely surprised, says, "Damn! Sometimes there's such a thing as too much ass!"

Quick! Does Cosmo know about this?

Stiff Upper Lip

Buon Giorno!

This blog will now be loud again.

Ciao, Belli!

This blog will be quiet for the next couple of days, because I will be here:



You, on the other hand, will be somewhere else. Sorry about that. But come on back next week. The fun will continue.

The Oldest Man Ever To Hit On My Wife

The oldest man ever to hit on my wife was Luderin Darbone of the Hackberry Ramblers, the hillbilly-Cajun band which has been playing continuously since 1933. At the time we saw them he was well into his eighties, and after the show he really took a shine to Sarah, sidling up to her, putting his arm around her, and chatting her up. He even gave her his card (right in front of me, the bastard!). Really though, I can't say I felt terribly threatened - except when he asked her to help him load his equipment into the van. I had a momentary flash of some terrible South Louisiana Silence of the Lambs scenario ("It puts the Tabasco on its body"), but she returned unscathed, and all was well.

Of course, rules are rules, and I had no choice but to beat him up. I felt a little bad about it - beating up old people is just way too easy - but what are you going to do?

Just kidding! One of the the rules is that really old people can hit on anyone they want with impunity. They're also allowed to cut in line at church luncheons. There have to be some perks.

Oodles of Images

Oooh, this is cool! I just learned from the New York Times about the New York Public Library Digital Gallery, 275,000 or so images including tons of funky old posters, maps, menus, photos, and whatnot. It's a lot of stuff, and so far I've mainly just been lost in Turn of the Century Posters, but I definitely intend to return and keep on digging through.

Beards I Work With

Cameron has voted for "grooming", an excellent subject but also a large one. Let's narrow it down and talk about facial hair, specifically the facial hair of the men I work with. Below is a brief taxonomy of the principal categories:

The Neat 'N Tidy	The Biker	The Goatee
A small, well trimmed mustache. Not too flamboyant. Popular with straightlaced engineer and ex-military types.	More popular than you might think. Big among the fellows cultivating a Southern outlaw / Harley-Davidson image of which there are quite a few.	Mostly worn by younger, not so redneck-y guys who watch a lot of sports. Generally kept closely trimmed.
The Southerner	The ZZ
In the mode of Hank William Jr. Sported by the true Southern gents. Sometimes reverts to the Biker or Neat 'N Tidy in warm weather.	There's actually only one guy wearing this look and he appears to be working equal parts deep-woods hillbilly and wizardy computer guru. A strange combo.

Of course, this is only a start. There is bias. There are omissions. Each group can be further divided into numerous discrete subcategories. I present merely a starting point in what will be a long (and hopefully fruitful) journey towards understanding Beards I Work With. And, as always, feedback from my peers is welcome.

Stunty LaRue

The Weirdest Drink I Ever Made

The This Blog Is Your Blog votes are pouring in (3 actual votes, who'da thunk?), and Matt wants to know what was the weirdest drink I ever made:

Me: What can I get for you?
Customer: Can I have a bourbon and grapefruit juice on the rocks with an olive?
Me: I'm sorry. Can you repeat that?
Customer: Yes. A bourbon and grapefruit juice on the rocks with an olive.
Me: A bourbon and grapefruit juice on the rocks with an olive?
Customer: Yes.
Me: Certainly.

So there you have it. The weirdest drink I ever made was a bourbon and grapefruit juice on the rocks with an olive. I should add that the customer was a young, well dressed, and seemingly sane woman. Go figure.

Note: Matt has also requested that this blog contain more hatred. While this was not, itself, one of the options it was implicit in several of the choices and is, of course, included in the general category, "Other". Don't worry, Matt. There will be hatred a-plenty. Understand, this endeavor is young, and I have naturally been trying to put my best foot forward, but it was only a matter of time before my essential nastiness and vitriol surfaced.