Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Loggins and Messina

Currently listening to: the Loggins and Messina reunion tour on PBS. “Even though we ain’t got money, I’m so in love with you honey!” … so, yeah.

Here are some links:

- Baghdad Journals by Steve Mumford - interesting street drawings and paintings of Iraq done by an American artist between August 03 and December 04. Is it inconsistent of me to criticize the photographer’s arty capturing of the pool of blood image and not criticize the painter’s efforts? Probably.

- Oh, Al. Schlepping for the Car Title Loan business? The bastards repo’ed my car Al! They took my money and repo’ed my car, my beloved Ford Tempo.

- The definitive Karate Kid review, in memoriam of Pat Morita.

- And finally, we could all use a little reminder of the benefits of cooperation.

Messina just closed the show by saying “and don’t pull any wheelies leaving the parking lot either!” I have so so much to learn about Loggins and Messina.

Monday, November 28, 2005

Return of the Shark Hunter Guy

(title sung to the tune of Return of the Mac - and holy shit, when I clicked on this link it said "last viewed: never. total views: one." You're welcome, Mark Morrison. I remember you.)

anyways, Return of the Shark Hunter Guy:

[setting: bathroom at work]

SHG: “So, did you have your traditional shark feast for Thanksgiving?”

SH: “No, nope. You?”

SHG: “Oh yeah. Complete with shark giblet sauce.”

[SH exits bathroom.]

Another fine Monday at the Fido. I’ve got one of those tiny little bubble blisters on my eyelid that’s been scratching my cornea all day. Every time I blink. So, that’s keeping things interesting. I don’t know if I have anything to say right now, but the Binghamton chapter of the Von Trapper Keeper Fan Club has requested more frequent entries, so I’ll oblige. A blog is nothing without its readership. To ensure that the posting remains interesting and that I'm paying adequate attention to my loyal readership, I’m working on an algorithm to determine the perfect blog balance. You will know that it has been implemented when you find yourself neither bored nor wanting in your perusal of my posts. Could be a while, so hang in there, kitty.

ahhh. priceless. And that's why you love this blog. Because I took the five minutes to image google "hang in there kitty poster" and look through the links. Alls I know, is somebody betta be gettin me one of these for Christmas.

And lastly, while googling "hang in there kitty poster", I came across this link to an article titled, Snoop to Arnold: Let My Tookie Go. Now, this is not the forum for a discussion on Stanley Tookie's death sentence, but I just want to say, wasn't Snoop a Crip? Doesn't he lose a little bit of credibility here because of that fact? Would he ever go to bat for a Blood?

(the HITK reference came from an earlier defamer entry's quote of Carina Chocano: “Rent is commodified faux bohemia on a platter, eliciting the same kind of numbing soul-sadness as children’s beauty pageants, tiny dogs in expensive boots, Mahatma Gandhi in Apple ads. It’s about art, activism and counterculture in the same way that a poster of a kitten hanging from a tree branch (“Hang in There!”) is about commitment and heroic perseverance.” meOW!!)

Thursday, November 24, 2005


With a few hours less than 2 months to go in my exit strategy from the job, now seems like a good time to kick off the countdown and do a quick review of my five years in corporate America. And what better way than a subjective reductive dualistic breakdown. And who better to narrate than our old pal Business Casual Stag Devil Death Boy.

Will miss my blackberry.

Will not miss the morning commute on the subway. The silent masses trudging into work.

Will miss the money.

Will not miss the people who think they can make controversial political remarks flippantly (“drop the bomb”, “when did religion in the courtroom become a bad thing”, “he got convicted, so fry him”, etc.).

Will miss the health insurance.

Will not miss the Senior Vice Presidents, who, in addition to their absurd salaries and perks, have the power to ruin anyone else’s day on a whim. It’s surreal power for supremely average people to have.

Will miss the short woman who let’s slip a sly, mischievous, little giggle every time she says hi. Every time. Like we’re in on a secret that the rest of the office would never understand. Absolutely precious.

Will not miss the programmers and developers, who know just enough to fuck up their PCs and make you feel stupid when you try to fix them. Fix it yourself then, douchebag. I have other things to do.

Will miss the 0.75% of the workforce that has a genuine sense of humor. Hang in there, kids.

Will not miss the guy who says “Meeeester Dan!” everytime I walk by him. Good enough guy, but the Meeeester Dan treatment kills me.

Will not miss the “Shark Hunter!” guy.* Good enough guy but enough with the Shark Hunter joke!!

Will not miss metrics.

Will not miss reorgs.

Will not miss process charts.

Will not miss all-hands meetings.

Will not miss meetings.

* In a “Vertical Slice” (10 random people from several levels of the group) meet-and-greet with the new boss’s boss, he asked me what my ideal job would be and I told him “… shark hunter. Biggest predator in the Sea. It would be pretty cool to hunt sharks.” Quiet … boss laughs … other people laugh. One guy in the room particularly liked the comment. “There’s the Shark Hunter!”, he began saying everytime he saw me. Then “Hey Shark Hunter, get any sharks today?”. Then “Harpoon any big ones, Shark Hunter?” “What’s your strategy out there, Shark Hunter? Drop down some chum?” “What’s for lunch, today, Shark Hunter? Chum?” We had no history of interaction or knowledge of eachother other than that meeting where I dropped the SH joke, so this is all there was. When he was out of earshot or if there was a VP around, he’d put the hand dorsal fin on his head while he walked by and smiled. Then, when standing with co-workers in the kitchen, “You know this guy? That’s the Shark Hunter” with no further explanation, so that the person would look to me for explanation. Needless to say, it got very very old, and there was no way to stop it without telling him to shut up. After about a year of daily monotonous Shark Hunter references, I happened to pull up to the urinal next to him in the bathroom. There were three other guys in the bathroom (who, like everyone else in the world other than this guy and me, had no clue about the Shark Hunter thing). Then this: “Hey … I’m surprised to see a man of your stature … in here … Sharks might come up through the piping and grab ya!” Silence. What do you say to that. And there’s no end in sight to the Shark Hunter comments. Today, he just said, “shark!”

Monday, November 21, 2005

The Belle of Milton

This one might be a had-to-be-there, but here it is anyways: Nick-Lo, Kevbo and I were swilling at Charlie’s on Friday night, cooking up some ideas for the comedy shorts project, when this coked-up punk girl from Milton sitting at the table next to us hopped over to tell us that these were her picks on the juke box (Psychobillies). She was all over the place - shouting, menacing, menacing, shouting. All very cute. We weren’t quite sure if she was going to hit us with her Bud Light or what. She trashed Kevin's mother when he suggested that she was from Swansea, told us we had boring names, and repeatedly assured us that “We’re drinkin’ beeeahs, kid!” She was obnoxious. Delightfully so.

After a while, Coked-up Milton Punk Girl and Nick went out to smoke and, when he mentioned one of us, she asked, “is that the normal looking guy or the guy that looks like a professor/pedophile?” (apparently, that’s me. though, Nick had to ask). And then Nick rolled the dice. In a sketchy sociological experiment, he told her that Kevin’s mom had just died so she should probably lay off the ‘yo mama’ talk. Naturally, this destroyed the chemistry and she stayed away from us completely for fear of saying something by accident. There went our entertainment for the evening. We chastised Nick and he apologized repeatedly, but we understood. He was going for the gold and blew it all. So after another hour, we headed out to the next bar (Nick still apologizing), when who should we run into but Coked-up Milton Punk Girl. Nick asked her if she was getting another 8-ball, she said she might get a half an 8-ball, Kevin asked “wouldn’t that be a 4-ball”, and …

Yes, you know it’s coming …

“YO MAMA!” she shouted before she could catch herself. Immediately her jaw dropped and she started yelling “Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh Oh Oh! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Hilarious. Nick (at the considerable risk of encouraging you) you’re an evil genius.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005


Update on the Dan Nolan artist war situation: I just received a threat via my website contact me link from another Dan Nolan who was none-too-pleased that I had the domain name wrapped up. He opines:

"my name is Dan Nolan and I am a graphic designer. How much will you sellme
your domain name for? I will sue you for using my name. write back soon

Dan Nolan"

Bitch, I will smack you. You ain't ready for it. The Lake Michigan Massacre is still in the planning stages, so I don't think it's him. This alleged Dan Nolan writes from Djdhollinshead@aol.com, which googles to this. So, I'm not that worried about it.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Indian Yoga vs Irish Yoga

May my ancestors forgive me for this one. Indian yoga:

In case you missed that, it says "requiring years of practice to achieve". Now I'm not making a statement of cultural superiority, but ...

... Irish yoga:


Friday, November 11, 2005

The Beautiful Terror

It's very troubling that this image is so beautiful. This was on the front page of nytimes.com yesterday. It was from the recent suicide bombing in Baghdad. It's got that apocalypse-now-nine-eleven-i-can't-believe-i'm-thinking-about-how-visually-aesthetically-beautiful-this-is thing. But there's also the angle of the shot where this photographer was clearly thinking about taking an artistic shot - pointed out nicely by the soldier looking at the camera. What was the thought process there? Was s/he thinking about the prize photo in the midst of this trauma, was s/he compelled as an artist to document this tragedy, or ... I don't know.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Quick Hit Links

  • (stolen from the Sports Guy's Daily Links) Manny and John Henry's Chat Session.
  • I think I found my Obi Wan (alongside my Princess Leia) to guide me through this crazy little thing called blog.
  • The felicitous phrasing of Insider Mike finally gets a little recognition on Gawker. Gawk betta re ca nize.
  • Now the whole nation knows I'm a shivering flannel-clad mess. What is this 1992? I knew he was going to interview me, but calling me out on the flannel? cold. (yeah, you like that "continuity of dissent" line. what's up now.)
  • Chuck Klosterman (Esquire, Spin) on old school sports. (funny article but his logic is flawed on supporting the NBA dress code, which is just another step in David Stern's nouveau prim packaging of the NBA. In the old Boston Garden, it was dirty, the halls were filled with smoke, it was gritty and crass, and it was one of the best sports environment in the world. In the Fleet Center (sorry, TD Banknorth Garden Center Arena?), you get kicked out for giving the Fan Dance Cam the finger from the top row of the stadium, when there’s no one within 5 rows, at a crap game on a Wednesday night. Bullshit. Let the kids, the families, and the white business casual community get an unadulterated look at what the NBA and America is all about: it’s about hip hop and it’s about me, drunk and pissed off at the Dance Cam on a Wednesday night.)

Monday, November 07, 2005

Daniel Nolan - Chicago Portrait Painter

Long time fans of this blog and my "work" in general, will be aware of the fact that my name is Daniel Nolan, I am from Chicago originally, and I am a portrait painter. Surely the only member of that particular subset of existence, no?

No. Turns out there's another Daniel Nolan Toddlin' Town Artist out there. In the spirit of the betterment of all artists named Dan Nolan (or some variant thereof), you'd think I would try to foster some sort of positive communication with this new fella. Again, no. I am organizing a posse to drive out to State Street That Great Street to kick some ass East Coast Style. That bitch is going down.

Speaking of the real Dan Nolan, Artist, (me), I had my audition for the Cambridge Community Television Art Showdown gameshow yesterday. I think it went pretty well. Though I showed up to the wrong place at first and the very nice new age digital-organic fusion raver philosopher kid on acid assured me that someone would eventually be by the gallery for the audition while he guided me through the interactive exhibit and fed me coffee and theory. An hour later someone else came by and told me I was supposed to be next door. So my state of mind may have been a bit off. Especially since the gallery and the studio are across the street from an Irish pub that was showing the Steelers game.

Friday, November 04, 2005

The 60 Year Old Virgin

This is the photo that prompted lc's co-workers to ask if I was "insinuating that because she has chosen not to dedicate her life to a man and family she is somehow damaged or frigid or weird." I told lc to tell them yes and that they would be too if they weren't careful.

In the words of the least funny band of all time, Low, "where is the laughter?" Speaking of funny, there's certainly nothing funny about Alito, so far. I'll find something eventually. Actually, the Swans are probably less funny than Low (*shudder*).