I don’t know what everyone else calls him, but I’ve been illogically referring to Tim Russert as the American Queen Mum for years.
Update: Owen has reminded me that I actually called Russert “that chubby chipmunk-looking Imus-lover.” I apologize for the error.
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I love me some Lileks. But I gotta nitpick tonight. He initially panned The Wire, mostly for stereotypical characterization and an abundance of cussing. I agreed that the show pretty much blew, and it still does. But now Mr. Lileks has changed his mind:
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Tony sure is a manipulative dude. First, one-hundred new sidebar links. Fine, I’m more than willing to do my part. I’m even considering opening up a bunch of anonyblogs just to link to him. But now, he wants to be number one in Google. Top Tony. Not Toney, or Toni, but the Tony. I’m actually worried about doing this. After I’ve invested all this linky love in the busbloggy, what the hell is Tony going to demand of us next? And how am I going to say no?
Please, Beyonce, think of the bloggers. Don’t make any more prove-their-subservience suggestions to Tony. We’ve proven it. We’ll do whatever Tony asks, and I’m afraid that his next request will require kool-aid, black Nikes, and a flaming T that’s visible from space.
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I’m good at my job. I’m lazy, but I’m really fucking good. I have to be good, because customers are the stupidest people in the world. You wanna know who moved your cheese? A customer. You plan and plan and plan, and you get everything right, but the guy paying the bill is a monkey-wrench. The correct support people could be available during the change window, but of course not. They get to sleep in the middle of the night. They want to work on it at 7:30 on a Sunday morning.
And it was the Sunday morning that I was gonna return to the Church. Become a lapsed lapsed Catholic. Only Kellie Osbourne singing a Madonna song could drive me to that kind of despair. Papa don’t preach? Ozzy can barely even mumble.
Bless me, blogreaders, for I have sinned. Wow, I don’t even need Confession. I can just tell all ya’ll about my trespasses. Better that than sitting in the dark with some pseudo-celibate drunk who puncuates all his directives with “my son.”
So, my sins today. I had lustful thoughts. But really, how could I not, what with the all the talk of blowjobs and rack shots over at Dawn’s. I walked up to the counter of the record store and paid twelve bucks for the Pete Yorn album, but they messed up, and I walked out with the bonus disc. I didn’t notice until I was home (and I’m not even sure I want to hear the Boss sing Yorn), so that probably doesn’t count. I’ve already discussed my hatred for the strangers that pay my exboritant paycheck. Hey, I barely sinned at all today!
Some of my friends consider buying Pete Yorn to be a sin in and of itself, but when an Olsen tells me to buy a CD, I buy it. I also bought the new Enon thing, Rick, so don’t hit me.
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TBOTCOTW suffered from a six hour outage last night. Not quite sure what happened, but when I tried to surf the page from work this morning I realized that Apache had crashed. Like the knave that I am I restarted it and it overwrote the error log, so now I’ll never know. There will be a scheduled outage this evening at some point so I can install the new kernel on the box, so getchyer TBOTCOTW archive reading done now.
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Were Marc Weisblott and NPR (http://www.npr.org/) separated at birth? Look at this list of stunning similarities:
Marc Weisblott is permalink leery.NPR doesn’t allow even shallow links to their website without prior permission.
That’s pretty much it, but I think the evidence speaks for itself. By the way, you don’t have to steal this one. Now I’ll scurry off and delete that jpeg of the broken KPMG webpage before I find a subpoena in my mail.
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Pej - verb - blogrolling while using ridiculously adulatory language and phrasing. ALSO: completely flipping out, ninja-like, when criticized by a blog written by a twothree-time college drop-out (and a guy with a degree, the Teller to my Penn: Rick Grime). A blog that gets about one tenth the hits of your own blog. A blog that posts twice every three days, unless it happens to be running a beauty contest. A blog that, if it denigrates your blog, clearly should be ignored, and never responded to, and certainly not compared to a Usenet troll.
Fruits and vegetables. They may look similar, and most may even call a veggie a fruit, but I try to live by a creed: always be correct, unless you are just plain wrong. Did you know that California fresh tomatoes are encouraged to ripen with Ethylene, but that is not (NOT!) a chemical treatment?
Dawn Olsen (and I won’t derisively refer to her as lovely. Because that’s dismissive sexism. No, really. Naww… it’s just because she’s so much more than mere loveliness) goes buckwild with the interviews. First a. beam. Then a mini-interview with (soon-to-be-non-?)non-blogger Shell. Finally, but certainly not leastly, the second in a series of infamous all-blogger chats, and this time it’s girls’ night in. Jen Rajkowski seems to dig both Pej and me. Is that still allowed? [pages flipping] Yes! The big book of blogger etiquette says that while blogging cannot be used for whimsical personal attacks (oops), a blogger may still dig two other bloggers, even if said latter bloggers are currently engaged in eThrottling.
Cutting and pasting email addresses is a total pain. But sometimes that’s just the way the Jell-O judicates. I don’t get much email, either, although several blogs have linked me because I fixed their HTML.
Laughing Boy graces us with his presence again. Longest “why I’m not blogging” post ever. Ya wanna know why I missed LB so much? No? Ok.
Finally, official TBOTCOTW friend Owen Rodgers posted some hilariously stupid titles for Alan Keyes talkshows that haven’t even been cancelled yet. Plus, he gets mind-bongingly meta, stealing Mickey Kaus’ shtick to reference stealing William Saletan’s idea. And I stole Gregg Easterbrook’s shtick for the first sentence of this graf. I like pronouncing meta like PETA. Drives people craaaaaazy.
TBOTCOTW will now return to normal. Matt Moore has returned, wrested the keyboard from the cold, Canadian grip of Marc Weisblott, and realized that this week almost never was.
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So, Mr. Yousefzadeh, when will Mr. Weisblott and I grow up? I’ll grow up as soon as you install ThickerSkin 2.0 (CHANGES.txt: fixed bug that caused thin skin on some implementations).
My blog isn’t about Israel’s plight, isn’t usually Serious at all, and yea, it’s sometimes all about making fun of other bloggers. Big deal. Satire and humor have always had a place, especially satire that pointedly makes fun of important public figures. Like it or not (and I know you like it), Mr. Yousefzadeh, you’re an important figure in the Blogosphere, and you will have mean things said about you by childish people like me. Whether you want to get down and play with the pigs in the mud (is that a crack on my Goy-ity?) is up to you, but you certainly seem interested in fighting this out in comment sections all across Blognation.
Is what I said actually funny? I won’t even get into actual satirical value, I wasn’t aiming for Swiftian. I think it’s funny. Some others think it isn’t. At least a handful think it is. Perhaps they are wrong, and I have drifted into boring predictability. Fine with me; I’d rather make myself giggle and have five readers than constantly fawn over the big boys of blogging in the hopes of a sidebar (which is NOT the same thing as a perma)link and have thousands.
Mr. Yousefzadeh, you keep doing what you’re doing, and I’ll keep making fun of it. Now where is that crank dealer, I’s gotsta get twitchy.
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