Let's all thank Ivy for making delicious baked goods and also say sorry for accidentally eating them with our hands before she
frosts them. Oops!
Thursday, January 31, 2008
num num num
Let's all thank Ivy for making delicious baked goods and also say sorry for accidentally eating them with our hands before she
frosts them. Oops!
Scene from Jurassic Park or Happening at the Haus? You decide.
A young blonde enters a dark and abandoned feeling room. The blonde's heart races as the instructions are read.
"There's a control box on the wall at the back of the room. Go to it. There you will find a temperature gauge. Change the setting. Ok, there are going to be three buttons on the left. Push the third one."
The blonde pushes the button, the flashlight beginning tremble slightly, unaware of what the consequences will be.
"Ok, there are two switches on the left. Flip them down to turn them off, then quickly turn them back on again. You'll hear a noise from behind you."
The blonde hesitates. "You know I really want a shower, but I don't think this is such a good idea. Lets wait for Charley or someone to get home."
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
You Know You Love My...
DICK IN A BOX!
Now I know, and so do you, that Justin Timberlake is kind of a turd. But that doesn't mean that he can't, in collaboration with the fine people at Saturday Night Live, make a sketch about offering up your genitals to that special lady that makes me laugh hard every time (along with some funky summer club bangers). I think my favorite part is when he jams that rose into Maya Rudolph's face, or maybe when he's hanging from the basketball hoop. By god I can't pick just one. I think it's high time we lay it on the line and recognize all the joy and creativity that Dick in a Box has brought to our lives.
For one thing it inspired my favorite halloween costume of the year. In these crazy consumer driven, mixed up times it was refreshing to see that the best get-up of the year was a snappy casual outfit and a cardboard box all wrapped up in shiny paper. How much do you think dick-in-a-box-guy spent on his digs? I would bet nothing. And how many hours did he wait in line at Halloween USA to get some vinyl piece of shit? Zero, absolutely zero.
And another thing... occasionally that catchy yet unassuming melody gets into my noggin. It's usually when I'm working with children or out to a nice dinner with my grandparents. Nothing makes me happier than humming Dick in a Box while acting like a respectable young lady. It's my own little way of sticking it to the man, or my grandparents, or little kids (not like that you weirdos) in my head...
So here it is. If you love it enjoy. If you hate it give it a second chance and get a sense of humor. If you've never seen it before get ready for the ride of your life!
Badeend
A yellow spot on the horizon slowly approaches the coast. People have gathered and watch in amazement as a giant yellow Rubber Kittentits approaches. The spectators are greeted by the Kittentits, which slowly nods its head. The Rubber Kittentits knows no frontiers, doesn't discriminate people and doesn't have a political connotation. The friendly, floating Rubber Kittentits has healing properties: it can relieve mondial tensions as well as define them. The Rubber Kittentits is soft, friendly and suitable for all ages!
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Weekend Projects
We should think about learning new party tricks. Part 1: More tramplasketball. Part 2: More face , ground, and nun-chucks.
Little Benazir Bhutto
We ought to be in the market for a house pig. Inevitably, it's name will be Leon. It is likely that he will sport either a Lakers jersey or a PBR t-shirt. He will be a product of a pregnant rescue sow.
oh oh oh oh.
Free CD
Hey Haus!
There's a new Atmosphere album out called Strictly Leakage. It's free and this is the link to it...
http://www.hoodgrownonline.com/online/?p=590
It's good background music, and Fuck'd Foot certifies the beats as straight gangster. Get it today.
The End of the World BOO HOO
I'm not concerned about the end of humanity, but humanity being a slave race to alien lizard gods is another story. They ain't touchin' my shit.
KZ
KZ
Monday, January 28, 2008
what's green and pecks trees?
Woody the Woodpickle!
what's green and walks through walls?
Casper the Friendly Pickle!
Procrastibaking peanut butter brownies makes phoenix happy as a lark.
Chromeo is P-Thugg and Dave 1: best friends since their adolescence, virtuoso musicians, walking hip hop encyclopedias, and the only successful Arab/Jew partnership since the dawn of human culture. After spending the three years since the release of their debut album, She’s In Control, jet setting, globetrotting, and embarking on an overall sensual conquest of planet Earth, Chromeo headed back to their Montreal lab to put together album number deux.
The result, Fancy Footwork, is quite simply the most smoothed-out, hook-heavy, unabashed lovers’ funk since…Chromeo’s last album, actually. What makes this footwork so fancy, you ask? Step the fuck off and open your heart to the finest distillation of Minneapolis groove this side of Mazarati. Dave and Pee are back in the ‘07 to heal the fractured soul of dance music. Teenage lovers, 20 something blogpoders, 30 something burn-out ex-raver “graphic designers” and 40 something sistas can all finally party under one roof...and that roof has a name, AND that roof is on fire, and the only ones who can put out that funk-fire also happen to be the guys the roof is named after: CHROMEO.
Does analog synth wizard P-Thugg still rock nightgown-sized DipSet t-shirts, talk through a keyboard, and have the thousand-yard stare of a well-practiced gangster? You bet he fucking does. Does vocalist and guitarist Dave 1 still dress like a French Lit professor from 1965? Can he still ask you to twerk without coming off like an imposter? You better believe he can.
Chromeo is slick. Chromeo is dripping with reverb. Chromeo is Moog riffs, luxurious harmonies, macho guitar solos and real-deal songcraft. From the dancefloor-ready singles “Fancy Footwork” and “Tenderoni,” to the autobiographical Jew-boy ballad “Momma's Boy,” to the epic sax-laden album closer “100%,” Fancy Footwork rolls you through a sleek, melodic world where all you need to worry about is whether you’ve got your sunglasses on and the right moves to keep up. Remember the debate when Chromeo first came on the scene? The endless back and forth about whether those boys were joking or not? Well, Fancy Footwork will put any vestigial haters to sleep forever. There ain’t nothing “ironical” about this music. It’s Hall & Oates riding on 22’s, busting shots in the air with Quincy Jones driving. That shit ain’t funny.
So there you have it: Chromeo, the band reborn...the sex, the beats, the dream, the suits, the gloves, the laughs, the tears, the past and the future. All rolled up into one big blunt, smoked up through Pee’s talkbox tube and exhaled into your brain. Enjoy.
Hell On Earth
I've finally found Hell on Earth. The devil's kingdom is the Dentist's Office. I hate everything about the dentist's office. Just thinking about it makes me cringe. I can't keep my pain/anger bottled up anymore, so i hope it explodes onto your computer screen.
I hate the smell, where as soon as you walk in, you know you're in for 30-45 minutes of hell. As soon as you sit down, the vibe between you and the hygenist is godforsaken. She knows you don't want to be there because everyone hates the dentist, and you know she doesn't want to be there because who could honestly say that they actually like cleaning someone elses teeth. Its probably the worst job anyone could ever imagine.
Then, as you sit in the mechanical chair and slowly tilt backwards, she asks you to put the safety protection goggles, instilling fear in your heart because what the fuck do you need those goggles for? are they going to be pouring acid into your eyes??? is this chemistry class? You tilt backwards and look up and she points the light just slightly below your eyes, so its not blinding, but its fucking annoying. Then she glares into your mouth as she inspects every blemish on your teeth. She asks you to open wide, and she sticks her latex covered fingers into your mouth. You don't know what to do with your tounge, because you know its in the way, but if you move it, its more in the way, so you just leave it.
Next, she reaches for her weapon of choice...that ugly metal thing with two sharp pointy ends. The reason it has two pointy ends is so that when you're getting prodded with that horrific tool, you can see what exactly is making you bleed. Finally, she pauses from her relentless abuse, and offers a rinse. You swish around, glad that you get a break. She asks what your major is, and before you can completely tell her that you're undecided, she's back with avengence. this time with the floss. She asks how often you floss, and you playfully tell her "twice a year, you do it for me every 6 months." She doesn't see the humor, and attacks with fury. Blood flies everywhere. Well, it seemed like it, but in reality, its all pouring down my throat, thats why i was choking.
Next comes that electric toothbrush. She fills it up with a "toothpaste" that is actually candle wax mixed with sand. You cringe as the speeding thing brushes against the back of your teeth, and underside of your tounge. After a few seconds, she offers a rinse, but there is a reason behind it, it allows her enough time to reload her weapon of a slow and painful death. she puts it back in, and you want to cry. but you don't. its only the dentist, you look up at her to see if she is enjoying your pain, but all you can see is the glare on her safety goggles, and that blues mask. She doesn't look human. Horror movies flash before your eyes, then suddenly, she shuts off her death trap, and flips the switch to slide me back upright.
You get up with a smile, and pretend like you enjoyed the whole experience. you go to check out and joke with the receptionist, then she drops the big bomb. I'm due back in 6 months. I go home and tell my mom that I'm never going back to the dentist, that she doesn't understand, everyone there hates me. She just laughs and says "what do you want to lose all your teeth?"
Maybe. Then nobody can hurt me.
Yours always and until at least next week,
Cornbread Scottie
I hate the smell, where as soon as you walk in, you know you're in for 30-45 minutes of hell. As soon as you sit down, the vibe between you and the hygenist is godforsaken. She knows you don't want to be there because everyone hates the dentist, and you know she doesn't want to be there because who could honestly say that they actually like cleaning someone elses teeth. Its probably the worst job anyone could ever imagine.
Then, as you sit in the mechanical chair and slowly tilt backwards, she asks you to put the safety protection goggles, instilling fear in your heart because what the fuck do you need those goggles for? are they going to be pouring acid into your eyes??? is this chemistry class? You tilt backwards and look up and she points the light just slightly below your eyes, so its not blinding, but its fucking annoying. Then she glares into your mouth as she inspects every blemish on your teeth. She asks you to open wide, and she sticks her latex covered fingers into your mouth. You don't know what to do with your tounge, because you know its in the way, but if you move it, its more in the way, so you just leave it.
Next, she reaches for her weapon of choice...that ugly metal thing with two sharp pointy ends. The reason it has two pointy ends is so that when you're getting prodded with that horrific tool, you can see what exactly is making you bleed. Finally, she pauses from her relentless abuse, and offers a rinse. You swish around, glad that you get a break. She asks what your major is, and before you can completely tell her that you're undecided, she's back with avengence. this time with the floss. She asks how often you floss, and you playfully tell her "twice a year, you do it for me every 6 months." She doesn't see the humor, and attacks with fury. Blood flies everywhere. Well, it seemed like it, but in reality, its all pouring down my throat, thats why i was choking.
Next comes that electric toothbrush. She fills it up with a "toothpaste" that is actually candle wax mixed with sand. You cringe as the speeding thing brushes against the back of your teeth, and underside of your tounge. After a few seconds, she offers a rinse, but there is a reason behind it, it allows her enough time to reload her weapon of a slow and painful death. she puts it back in, and you want to cry. but you don't. its only the dentist, you look up at her to see if she is enjoying your pain, but all you can see is the glare on her safety goggles, and that blues mask. She doesn't look human. Horror movies flash before your eyes, then suddenly, she shuts off her death trap, and flips the switch to slide me back upright.
You get up with a smile, and pretend like you enjoyed the whole experience. you go to check out and joke with the receptionist, then she drops the big bomb. I'm due back in 6 months. I go home and tell my mom that I'm never going back to the dentist, that she doesn't understand, everyone there hates me. She just laughs and says "what do you want to lose all your teeth?"
Maybe. Then nobody can hurt me.
Yours always and until at least next week,
Cornbread Scottie
Paste Week Up
What is up homeboys! This is the first official Phoenix House blogging. How notable! Hopefully all 28 of our sexy roommates are going to blog the crap out of this, preferably with hilarious aliases. Aliai? Whatever.
If you know anything about Phoenix House you know how incredibly important Rage Week is to a true Phoenician. Rage Week Spring Semester just finished up, and most of us are booze-shaking our way into Paste Week.
Because in the immortal words of Brian Murphy, "Oh yeah, you can make a paste out of anything." Anyway you know your dang body can't digest solid foods after a week of rage, and if it can, you weren't doing it right.
KTs
PS: If you want to play along at home or something, make some ham paste. And put it on an English muffin. And put that on some chowder. Snap -- paste week.
Ham paste up.
If you know anything about Phoenix House you know how incredibly important Rage Week is to a true Phoenician. Rage Week Spring Semester just finished up, and most of us are booze-shaking our way into Paste Week.
Because in the immortal words of Brian Murphy, "Oh yeah, you can make a paste out of anything." Anyway you know your dang body can't digest solid foods after a week of rage, and if it can, you weren't doing it right.
KTs
PS: If you want to play along at home or something, make some ham paste. And put it on an English muffin. And put that on some chowder. Snap -- paste week.
Ham paste up.
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