While performing yet another random Google search, I found this - a page of video clips of those Saturday morning PSAs the networks ran in the late 70s through the 80s. Most memorable are the ones featuring Timer, a rotund orange cartoon creature who was ubiquitous during the terrible ABC cartoons of my youth. Let's journey back into the past for a moment and relive the glory days of ineffectual attempts to make kids take notice of their health sandwiched between ads for Sugar Encrusted Remnants of Corn Meal and Carmelized Fruit-Flavored Chewable Snack Products:

"Hanker for a Hunka Cheese" - Anyone who was a sentient, TV viewing child in the United States of America between 1978 and 1988 knows this thing word for word and has probably had the jingle stuck in their head during an inopportune time, like a history exam or a relative's funeral. But this PSA also proves that far from a charming 70s retro character, Timer was a spokesthing far ahead of his time. By urging kids to nourish themselves by shoveling cheese into their gaping maws, Timer presaged the Atkins diet by over two decades.

"You Are What You Eat" - Timer parlayed the earnings from his early PSA appearances into a string of cattle ranches in southeast Wyoming. From then on, Timer would use his perch to not-so-subtly emphasize the value of protein above all else. (Notice how vitamins and minerals get a mere ". . . and so on" mention near the end of the short.) You will eat meat, children! Eat the animal flesh! (Bonus fact: the sample of "how can you have your pudding if you won't eat your meat?" from Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall" was taken from an unreleased outtake of this PSA, which caught Timer in the midst of an obscene, protein-fueled rant against vegetarians.)

"Quick Snack" - This one was targeted for the millions of neglected latchkey kids who grew up in front of the television, showing them a way to maintain basic nourishment during Dad's three day benders or Mom's tours of the American Southwest with Skeetch, Dirthog and the rest of Satan's Avengers. (Unfortunately, this site doesn't include a clip of the "Time to Call Child Protective Services" PSA.) Timer shows a dirty, rickets-and-scurvy-suffering young lad a recipe for a snack involving ice cubes, cauliflower and cheese. I call bullshit. No one in the history of the world ever willingly ate a cauliflower/ice cube/celery/cheese combination - OK, maybe maximum security prisoners forced to eat the special management meal. Clearly, the mighty Timer empire was already fading when this PSA was released.

"Sunshine on a Stick" - Clearly written by an ex-hippie trying to inflict his pro-hallucinogen propaganda into the minds of impressionable young people. One can imagine him sketching the storyboards for this short in between sneaking a J in the executive washroom and muttering about "fuckin' Reagan" and "fuckin' Jefferson fuckin' Starship." In this one, Timer cheers up a depressed proto-emo kid by showing him how to make popsicles from frozen juice. The drug references are numerous: from "sunshine on a stick" (a particularly potent form of acid popular in the San Fernando Valley in the mid 70's) to Timer saying "whatever turns you on," to the poking of the toothpicks in the saran wrap (just like a needle in a junkie's flesh). The connection between the rise in recreational drug use in our nation's youth and the introduction of this PSA cannot be overstated.

Apologies to the hardy few who check this thing for the dearth of original content recently. Blame work commitments, general laziness, my tireless work feeding needy orphans, etc. More of the usual stuff will resume shortly.

But who cares about that, when The High Hat issue #3 is finally ready! Plenty of fine writing abounds, as per usual, and also some junk by me: an essay on the American Music Club's Mercury and the Afghan Whigs' Gentlemen ten (well, eleven, now) years later, and the same 2003 top ten list I posted here in December. (Ah, recycling.) So click, read, enjoy and love.

Ah, Valentine's Day. The day in which we (choose your answer based on your current relationship status and feelings towards same) celebrate love/feed the commercial beast in a hollow attempt to purchase human affection. But why is love the only human feeling that gets its own holiday? It's high time that every single shade of the emotional rainbow is celebrated in its own special day, complete with matching cards and gifts available wherever cheap disposable goods are sold. Here's a list of just some of the new holidays you will be required to observe or else face wrath and shunning from your friends and loved ones:

- April 19th will be St. Boniface's Day, a celebration of hatred. Let those people you've been barely tolerating throughout the rest of the year know how you really feel on this day. Gifts range from cards bearing a simple message of disgust to a special arrangement of animal feces and rotting cow parts for those you particularly despise.

- January 27th will be St. Jonas' Day, a holiday dedicated to indifferent tolerance. For the hundreds of people in your life (co-workers, friends of friends, even family members) for whom you have neither affection nor disgust. Give a gift that says "we have nothing in common, but I still support your general right to exist."

- June 7th will be St. Ambrose's Day, devoted to alienation. A day to embrace the sullen 15 year old in all of us. Suggested ways of celebration include sulking, brooding, wearing all black, and getting into loud shouting matches with your parents. J.D. Salinger has licensed Holden Caulfield for Hallmark's new line of "You Just Don't Understand, Man" cards for this special event.

- August 29th will be St. Theodore's Day, the first holiday completely dedicated to total confusion. Introduce befuddlement into a total stranger's life on this day by giving a random and completely inappropriate gift - from geriatric supplies for young people to feminine hygiene products for the burliest man you know.

- October 14th will be St. Kenneth's Day, a holiday to revel in vague, wistful regret. Celebrate by reliving past failures, quiet sighs, and mournful stares into the distance. The "General Apologies for Whatever I Did Wrong" card will be a popular seller around this holiday.

I recently entered a mix CD sorta-contest thing with a bunch of other music geeks. The goal was to create a mix where each song had to correspond to a specific category. Here's what I came up with:

1) If you were making a soundtrack for your life so far – this song would have to be on it.
"We Are Time," Pop Group. The best track by the underappreciated Bristol post-punk band, "We Are Time" is an incredible epic about the struggle to overcome the unstoppable forces of time and society to carve out an individual life. Admittedly, the lyrics don't make a whole lot of narrative sense, but hearing Mark Stewart yell "we'll tame eternity" and the climactic "you, I, we are time" are inspiring like few moments in rock music.

2) A song from one of the CDs currently in your 1) car stereo 2) portable CD player 3) stereo
"Faster Gun," Wrens. From my favorite album of 2003, The Meadowlands. This is one of the standout tracks - by far the most uptempo, rockingest song on the album, with a driving chord progression leading to the windmill guitar on the chorus.

3) A song from the first album, cassette, or CD (whichever was first or the oldest that you still have access to) that you purchased for yourself.
"Get Off of My Cloud," Stones. The first CDs I ever bought were Hot Rocks by the Rolling Stones and A Decade of Steely Dan, and both hold up a lot better than some of the other classic rock stuff I liked at the time. Just be grateful I didn't get the Foreigner CD first.

4) A song without a word in its title.
"1970," Stooges. Yeah, it's a ringer that I'm sure everyone here has heard time and time again, but who could get tired of the Ashton/Alexander rhythm section's finest moment, and the inspired derangedness of the ending sax solo? (And I already used "1984" elsewhere on the mix, so.)

5) A song from the year you were born
"We Got the Neutron Bomb," Weirdos. I was born in 1978, which was a great year for music, so this one was a tough pick. I went with "We Got the Neutron Bomb," a loud punk anthem with a shoutalong chorus. And the mockery of overassertive U.S. foreign policy seems even more timely these days. Wow, remember when people thought Carter was the biggest threat to world peace?

6) A song with the name of someone in this music swap in it
"The Nazz are Blue," Yardbirds. In honor of TV's Naz Nomad, here's a prime slice of British white guy blues with a sharp Jeff Beck solo that edges into psychedelic territory.

7) A song in a language other than English.
Track #2 from the Cambodia Rocks! compilation. No track or band names were provided by the compilers of this collection, which features garage and pop bands from late 60's Cambodia. It's fascinating to hear the shotgun marriage of traditional Asian music and American rock music, and this one features a female singer belting out an almost Bollywood-like melody to the accompaniment of surf guitar and a chugging organ.

8) A song with a city or state/province name.
"Philadelphia," Magazine. Howard Devoto's ode to American ennui. Also includes the best Dostoevsky reference in music besides the little known Carpenters b-side "My Liver is Diseased."

9) Say you're planning a multi-day road trip, this song could go on every mix you make for the trip.
"Tell Her She's Lovely," El Chicano. One of the finest cruising-around-in-summer-with-the-radio-down songs ever committed to recorded material.

10) A song by a local artist.
"Spider in the Snow," Dismemberment Plan. DC's late, lamented Dismemberment Plan released one of the best albums of the 1990s, Emergency and I. This song perfectly captures the mid-20's crisis of confidence and meaning.

11) A song with a color in the title.
"The Sun is Going Black," Los Chijuas. Ultramelodramatic garage song from a band out of Chihuahua, Mexico. A endlessly repeating bass riff, insanely over-the-top organ scale runs and menacing guitar jangling, all topped off with a ripped-off-from-Syd-Barrett-era-Pink-Floyd breakdown at the end.

12) It’s 5am, your alarm is going off, this song would still make you smile.
"Now It's On," Grandaddy. One of those rare songs that manages to be uplifting and optimistic without sounding rah-rah or cloying.

13) Either a cover you thought was an original or an original you thought was a cover
"I Love You," People. I heard this version of the Zombies song before the original. People slow down the tempo and tack on a vaguely acid (but still safe for the kids) rock intro. The original's better, but this version has a nicely tense arrangement.

14) A song that is about a specific movie or book or at least mentions a specific movie or book.
"1984," Spirit. The Cliff Notes version of the Orwell classic in rock song form - only the part about the jackbooted government thugs is included, so it's not recommended as a subsitute for the book for lazy high school students. A tense, paranoid classic with a killer doubletracked guitar solo from Randy California.

15) WILDCARD
"Leave the Capitol," The Fall. I had to include something from my all time favorite band, because no mix is complete without the sound of Mark E. Smith railing at something.

16) A song that has reached number one on a Billboard chart (state which chart and when).
"Quarter to Three," Gary U.S. Bonds. The number #1 single on Billboard's charts for two weeks: June 26, 1961 and July 3, 1961. Simple yet irresistible mix of an insistent drumbeat, handclaps and saxophone squawking.

17) This song doesn’t fit a category as far as you’re concerned.
"Helen Forsdale," MARS. From the seminal No New York compilation, this song sounds like almost nothing before or since - from the deranged gibberish vocals, to the consistently off beat, to the guitar that squalls away seemingly oblivious to the rest of the song. The song consistently threatens to fall apart into anarchy, but somehow makes it to the finish line.

18) I hate the artist, but I love the song.
"Just Like Heaven," The Cure. I wouldn't say I hate them, but I've never been much for Robert Smith's schtick. This, however, is a classic song, and Smith's overromanticism is charming here instead of annoying.

19) Wha? If anyone can tell me what this song is about, give me a call.
"Letter from an Occupant," New Pornographers. Actually, I doubt this song is really about anything, since the New Pornographers tend to emphasize vocal sounds over lyrical meaning. I just wanted to put it on here because it's a damn near perfect rock-pop song with a strong vocal performance by Neko Case and one of the best "oooh"s you'll ever hear in a pop chorus.

20) Guilty Pleasure.
"Ballroom Blitz," Sweet.
I don't really believe in "guilty pleasures" - I like what I like without apologies - but I'll concede that this is a dumb piece of junk. But it's a rockin' dumb piece of junk.

21) Stump the band.
"Faded Colors," Stonemen. Plucked from an obscure garage compilation, this single from an unknown Atlantic Canadian group features some of the harshest guitar tones you'll ever hear in the intro, as well as a truly nasty guitar solo interjecting itself into the song at random moments.

22) TV theme song
"WKRP End Theme," Tom Wells. The closing credits music to the beloved classic sitcom. Ret too boptenda, bah she ahbet tenna. As a bonus, the meow of the MTM kitten is included at no additional cost.

MP3 is a live version of "I'm Straight" by Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers, from Precise Modern Lovers Order. This is an earlier rendition than the version on The Modern Lovers, and is far more vicious and sarcastic than the somewhat gentle upbraiding of the more well known album version - Richman's bile is dialed up to Costello-on-This Year's Model levels as he takes shots at the shallowness and conformity of the Woodstock generation.

Well, it's been one week since Tittygate exploded across American television screens. God, January 31, 2003 seems like such an innocent time now - a time when our media was free from sexualization, when decent folk could watch television in peace without being burdened by thoughts of body parts and reproductive acts. Now, in one short week, we've seen the complete deterioration of the moral fabric of this country. Who knew that a simple halftime show would've destroyed polite society as we know it? (If the Russians had just infiltrated Up with People back in the seventies, we'd all be harvesting beets on a collective farm in Andropovgrad (formerly Nebraska) right now.) Public nudity is now de rigueur, and the old standard friendly greetings have been replaced with expressions like "Nice bag, Ted!" and "Your areola's looking especially radiant today, Janice!" One can hardly walk the streets without tripping over young people engaged in sexual acts of varying natures, their once restrained passions now unlocked by the brazen display of sort-of nudity seen by millions last Sunday. And the networks have just made it worse - first there was random, casual toplessness on "Yes, Dear" and "According to Jim," then Stone Phillips' full frontal during Friday's "Dateline NBC", then Fox pulled Saturday's Cops in order to run "Teenage Vixen Slumber Party #7"... and rumor has it that next week, "American Idol"'s judging system will be replaced by a fellatio contest.

If only we could turn back time and replace Justin Timberlake and Janet Jackson with wholesome, upstanding performers. Even Britney Spears, who seemed controversial in those naive pre-Super Bowl days, would've been a better choice than the evil mastermind Justin and his evil harlot Jezebel Janet. How could we have been so blind to not see that their entire rise to fame was built for that one moment, to purposely introduce the breast to the national viewing public! Only our government can save us now. I pray that George W. Bush will have the wisdom and the courage to jail exposers of the flesh and mandate that women are forced to wear bodices and several layers of undergarments at all times so their dirty, dirty bodies will never again see the light of day.

Hard to believe, but today marks the one year anniversary of the first post on this blog. (Please do not actually go back and read those first entries, as they suck even more than the usual fare here.) Over the past year, we've laughed a little, cried a little, and learned a little something about ourselves. And this humble little web-thing has grown from a semi-regularly updated site that no one reads but me to a sporadically updated site that no one reads but me. My thanks to anyone who reads this site. Whether you're killing time at work, you kinda sorta know me online, or you came here via a Google search for "+paris hilton +sextape +donkey," I appreciate your patronage. I hope that this site has provided some amusement, or at the very least not made you cringe with embarrassment on my behalf too often. (And I promise that in year two, the self-deprecation that is ladled over this entry will be kept to an acceptable minimum.)

This would be the natural time to walk away, to stop this project before the updates become even more sporadic and half-assed and keeping a blog becomes even more unfashionable, a pop culture relic of the early aughts. But I've never let common sense, regard for quality or self-respect keep me from achieving massive public embarrassment. So, onward we march into year number two, fearlessly continuing to boldly flog the same obscure half-jokes and cultural quasi-commentary in the face of public indifference. May God have mercy on us all.

As year one of this enterprise draws to a close, here's a sign that this site has finally made it: a coveted link on coolworthy.com's "vitamin b bipolar and the Hidden Weight Loss Connection" page. So, for all you web searchers looking for information about the Negative Calorie Diet, here's the real story: Researchers at the Institute of Cosmetic Science in Piscataway, NJ have discovered that several foods previously thought to be poor dietary choices actually have "negative calories" that, when consumed in enormous quantities, stimulate accelerons in the body's digestive system that actually eat away fat! These foods include, but are not limited to, the following:

- double cheeseburgers
- hot fudge sundaes with whipped cream and cherries
- fried chicken skin (the meat is irrelevant for the purposes of this diet)
- beef liver
- barbecue pork rinds (NOTE: pork rinds MUST be barbecue flavored, plain pork rinds will not work)
- hog renderings

"Respected scientists" have scoffed at our discovery, but remember that these so-called experts are all in the pocket of the gigantic so-called "health" food lobby. Big Celery doesn't want you to know the truth about weight loss, which can be found only in our new pamphlet, "The Negative Calorie Diet - Gorging Your Way to Social Acceptance," available for $49.95. Also, for only $69.95, you'll receive a two week supply of our new wonder drug, "tlc-tags," which speed up the accelerons in your body for even speedier weight loss! And they're even chewable, mint-flavored, and come complete with a handy portable dispenser! Please send cash, money order, or access to an offshore holding company to:

Negative Calorie Diet
c/o VBGS Enterprises
PO Box 1354
Washington, DC 20009

For faster processing, please include a SASE and an affidavit promising not to prosecute for fraudulent business practices.

"Eternal Flow" by Amon Duul I, a haunting, moody piece of guitar-bass minimalism. It's also the only thing you really ever need to know about Amon Duul I, whose other recorded works are incredibly annoying strum-und-chant that proves that German hippies were actually more annoying than their American counterparts.

Good evening, supporters of my campaign. As you know, we did not win tonight's New Hampshire primary. In fact, we placed ninth. Somehow, I finished with fewer votes than Al Sharpton, Dick Gephardt or write-in votes for Martin Sheen. Not even Josiah Bartlett, the president character that Martin Sheen portrays on The West Wing, but Martin Sheen the actor. Clearly, the people have spoken, and I would like to announce my resignation from the presidential race.

I would like to apologize to my supporters, who wasted valuable time and money on my hopelessly inept campaign. You spent hours away from your friends and loved ones, all so I could finish with one percent of the vote in a tiny, insignificant, homogenous state. In particular, I'd like to apologize to the college volunteers, who could've been enjoying illegal drinking and casual sex at their respective campuses instead of stuffing envelopes or having doors slammed in their faces in the streets of Concord. Our campaign's bitter failure will no doubt leave you disillusioned and will cause your complete withdrawal from the political process, and for that I am truly sorry.

I would also like to apologize to all of the voters of New Hampshire that I personally annoyed and bothered over the past month with my fumbling, incompetent attempts to garner support. In particular, I'd like to apologize to Nancy Fulton of Pelham, to whom I inadvertently blurted out the comment that she "sure had a lovely chest." In my defense, I only had three hours of sleep and was juiced up on some combination of dexedrine and Mexican over-the-counter stimulents given to me by a young campaign worker. Still, my comments were indefensible, and I apologize.

Most importantly, I'd like to thank my lovely wife, whose barely restrained disgust for the rigors of campaigning has caused an undoubtedly irrepairable rift in our already strained marriage. I can only hope that she'll continue to be the same classy, elegant figure during our upcoming public divorce proceedings. I'm also sorry that the Manchester Union-Leader ran all of those pictures from her high school yearbook, before she lost all the weight.

I leave you with a story. When I was a young boy, my mother told me that I could grow up to be anything I wanted to be, even president of the United States. Throughout my life, my mother's words gave me inspiration and made me believe that I could make my dreams come true. Obviously, I was wrong. In fact, I have no idea what I was thinking when I decided to do this. God, I'm so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

(bangs head repeatedly on podium)

Well, I'm told that the Merrimack Dodge dealers need the room for their annual "Rev Up the Sales" pep talk, so thank you to everyone for showing up. And please don't take all of the snacks on the beverage cart, I don't have enough spare change left over to buy breakfast.

MP3 is the second track from the Cambodia Rocks! compilation of Cambodian garage rock of the late 1960s. I don't know the artist or title, as the liner notes and documentation are scant for this particular series. It's rather fascinating to hear the weird transmutation of (probably bastardized) traditional Asian music and rock music being piped in from next door. Also, this song was prominently featured in a dream I had a few nights ago. Come take a quick listen inside the dark world of my subconscious, won't you?

So, with the new iPod, I've been re-listening to a lot of old stuff from my collection during work. Nothing livens up examining bank reconciliations or cancelled checks like listening to William S. Burroughs read from Naked Lunch, the Birthday Party or Albert Ayler. Here's a few random observations on stuff that I've taken another listen-to via the iPod. (I realize most of these topics have been beaten to death by the music criticerati, but what do you want for free?)

- I like the Jefferson Airplane (not a popular opinion in many circles, admittedly), but man, is their recorded output ever divided equally between brilliant songs that still hold up and dated, stupid stoned crap. I still love "Comin' Back to Me," "Wild Tyme," "3/5 of a Mile in 10 Seconds" and the like. But "Lather?" "Have You Seen the Saucers?" I guess that's better than fucking we built this fucking city, but still.

- Spirit, on the other hand, holds up as well or better than any band of that era except for the dumb lyrics here and there. Consistently great songwriting by a tight band that judiciously used their instrumental breaks to build fully developed pieces instead of the pointless noodling that mars so much late 60's rock.

- My review of Pop Group's Y from a few month's back wasn't sufficiently laudatory. It's a great, classic album, and "We Are Time" is one of the five best songs ever by anybody.

- Love's Four Sail is an underrated classic, and almost but not quite as good as Forever Changes or Da Capo. The absence of Bryan MacLean hurts, but the songwriting is as consistently excellent as the more famous prior albums (although lacking a standout like "7 and 7 Is" or "Alone Again Or"). Check out "Robert Montgomery," one of the best hippie-bashing-squares songs ever.

- I still love Zen Arcade, but damn, is it ever emo. Now that I'm a quasi-adult without the aimless adolescent rage or all-encompassing self-pity and moodiness, it seems kind of over the top. We were really that angry and/or sad once?

- I think I've finally settled the debate that has torn families and friendships asunder, pitted brother against brother, and contributed to the breakdown of polite society. Neu! is slightly better than Neu 75, and Tago Mago is better than Ege Bamyasi. There, it's settled. Now let us never speak of it again.

The seemingly unending ads for Comedy Central's reruns of MAD TV bill it is as "TV's riskiest sketch comedy." I'm not sure how continual parodies of Kenny Rogers qualifies as "risky," but in any case, I'm willing to restart my failed career as television showrunner and create a real, live, risky sketch comedy. It'll be just like the other sketch comedy shows (catch phrases run into the ground, limp parodies of showbiz figures, etc.), but every sketch will be performed inside a piranha tank or on a live minefield. Also, you'll love our wacky new character, Eddie the Hyperactive Spree Killer, who'll randomly fire several shots into the live studio audience during each appearance on the show. (He'll shoot to maim, not kill, but hey, who knows what'll happen?) And since the American viewing public is so jaded, we'll work around the clock to personally call each viewer and create personalized insults guaranteed to offend even the most unoffendable! Damn you, Comedy Central, this is the cutting edge risky landmark groundbreaking extreme television that will dominate this decade! Will you not answer my multitude of increasingly unhinged and threatening phone calls and e-mails?

The week in spam:

re: scops nomenclature selves benedict rebel
STILL NO LUCK ENRGAILNG IT? Our 2 pcodruts will work for you!
More sun less office uscnkco
Just finished packing kkwfaux
include petit clockwork ely railbird
Genierc Virgaa costs 60% less! save a lot of $. FOR VIGARA TOCUH HERE Both prudocts shipped dicsretely to your door

Also, something from "Bored HouseWives." Christ, ladies, I've taken to reading my own spam recently, so don't look at me if you want someone to alleviate your boredom.

It's time once again for blog filler, the all-cereal, content-free look at the world around us. (And by "us," I mean "me.")

- John Kerry? Well, I hate to drag the infrequent political commentary here down to Maureen Dowd-ian levels, but will America really elect a man who looks like the kindly-but-serious apothecary from a Washington Irving novel? Kerry would've made a great president in the 1880s - just slap on a long ZZ Top beard or a set of burnsides, and he'd fit right in next to Rutherford B. Hayes or James Garfield - but it's undeniable that public image is nine-tenths of the law in the television era.

- Richard Gephardt? I blame it on Michael Bolton. This is, of course, not the first time Bolton has ruined a political career - from the candid snapshots of Bolton on Gary Hart's lap in 1988, to the infamous cadre of senators known as the "Bolton Five" who swindled the Isley brothers out of millions of dollars during the savings and loan crisis, to the Boltongate scandal when former president Clinton received a Bolton-like mullet haircut in Air Force One while blocking the runway - but you'd think that someone as experienced as Gephardt wouldn't have made the same mistake. Especially when Rick Astley was available.

- The Vegas tourism board's slogan is "What happens here, stays here." OK, that's good, although I'm guessing that the massive credit card debt, alcoholic relapse or crippling gonorrhea will not actually stay in Vegas. But I wish they had gone with "Your pitiful human 'morals' have no place here." Or "Y'know, Clorox and a little industrial solvent will get rid of those blood stains."

- I bought an iPod last week. (No better cure for the whole crisis-of-meaning thing than a completely unnecessary consumer purchase.) I don't mean to turn this into an unsolicited gush (especially since Apple isn't compensating me for my endorsement), but it's pretty damn awesome. The interface is slick and intuitively sensible and the sound is surprisingly good, even in the tiny earbud microphones. And this is coming from someone who hates the Mac OS and generally thinks that Apple's much vaunted "ease of use" reputation is highly overrated. My main qualm is with iTunes for Windows, which is a resource vacuum that doesn't work particularly well with my two year old PC. I'd also prefer a longer lasting battery (mine lasts about 8-10 hours, which is about par for the course), even if it made the player larger. But those are minor complaints - overall, I'm very pleased.

"Piano Fire" by Sparklehorse, from 2001's It's a Wonderful Life. It's about the importance of fire prevention when dealing with keyboard-based instruments, a concern that just isn't addressed enough in modern song lyrics. But it's also got great Mark Linkous/P.J. Harvey harmonies and a melancholy minor chord progression.

So, yeah. I haven't been updating this blog with any sort of consistent regularity this year. This is partly due to working on other writing projects, partly due to lack of inspiration, but mostly because of work. I'm in public accounting (auditing, to be specific), and this is the busiest time of the year. It's also the time of year when I am even more tired, irritable, listless and sluggish than usual. So, please indulge me for a brief round of pointless and ineffectual complaining, and regular programming (such as it is) will resume shortly.

Tax season will drain the livelihood out of the strongest, sturdiest individual. Long lists of deadlines to be met, neverending hours of work that cut into whatever free time is left over at the end of the day, all taking place in a cold and miserable winter that puts a bleak landscape behind the whole pointless and tiring agenda.

Making matters worse, I live and work in suburbia, which is finally starting to inflict full-on ennui on me after about a year and a half of residence here. I'm originally from a small rural town, so the novelty of not having to drive 20 minutes when you want to buy something held sway over me for a while. But now, the thought of spending the rest of my lifetime in the neverending, undifferentiated stripmallTGIFridayschurchdiscountsuperstorehousingassociation Pangaea that is American suburbia doesn't seem like much of an improvement over the dead end nothingness of a small town. The isolation of the suburbs is suffocating - from the endless commute, where the knotted mess and pressures of space and time turn total strangers into mortal enemies to be distrusted or feared, to the drive-thrus and ample parking and residential islands that serve to make social contact optional, to the sheer difficulty of finding likeminded people in an environment where despite the population density, people are scattered to the four winds.

You might think that auditing, which at least allows you to work in different offices, might provide some relief from all of this tedium. But it's just like tempwork - all the different offices are essentially the same, all blending into one gigantic undifferentiated mush. The same bleak industrial parks or sterile commercial office zones, floating out in space connected only by interstate highways. The same lukewarm coffee and routine banter. The same spare desks or conference rooms where they place you, separate from the rest of the people working there. This doesn't bother me too much during the rest of the year, when the job is manageable and I still have enough free time to pursue other interests, but it's unbearable during tax season. I accept that you have to make sacrifices in life, etc., but it is wearing at times.

(OK, I know - I should quit my job and move if I don't like it. I've run a cost-benefit analysis on this, and I've found that periodic complaining is cheaper, easier and more fun than massive life changes. I realize that my work could be far worse and I should note that eight months of the year, I don't mind my job and the liabilities that come with it. But tax season bites hard, so I think that one rant a year on its suckiness isn't asking for too much. OK, enough already. Back later this week with more stuff on more interesting subjects.)

Oh, man, greatest spam e-mail text ever:

you deep chef well slap mah fro! Someone is bending the pie!
Work out your debt troubles
Click here to find out more
Hey baby wanna let me start laughing with your organ? the town are holding the flashlight? finally!
everyone is puking all over the toothpick Pin the ear on the donkey
One effortless low monthly fee
I wonder if the rock was rancid
wtf! the cup of coffee was crying with the hairy store! the shopping cart are Canadian
A fresh credit card makes baby Jesus cry

Although I'm also fond of this one from a couple weeks back:

doodle belligerent crust amanuensis bestir bulrush cedilla spaghetti whistle easternmost noreen barnes withdrew bitt person carefree historiography apothegm coon compartment airflow centenary clam errancy expectorant channel brownian statute suzuki amethyst contraceptive calder inactivate canst whitetail aubrey quirky caliph kay nucleus exercise prohibition twa sawtooth nightingale orkney eleven loquacious mckinney causal allstate occurred downpour omega postmultiply riflemen frock screwdriver inertance standish brotherhood chromatin carabao joan

"Hot Metal Dobermans" by Brainiac, the leadoff track on 1994's Bonsai Superstar. A perfect encapsulation of their spastic rockmaroll - this particular song takes the chord progression from the Cars' "My Best Friend's Girl" and twists it 180 degrees, throwing in a high-pitched, sing-songy white R&B chorus and theremin/keyboard squiggles to boot. Also of note is the late Timmy Taylor's penchant for inspired Dadaist lyrics; you have to love a song that includes the line "silence! That's what my girlfriend says, when she's kicking out the teeth of some guy who thinks he's president."

As you're no doubt aware if you follow the NFL or live in the DC metropolitan area, Joe Gibbs is coming out of retirement to coach the Washington Redskins. To give you an idea of how the media has reacted to this announcement, here are some actual headlines from the past two days of the Washington Post:

Joe Gibbs to Coach Redskins, Commissioner Declares Redskins Champions of Next Six Super Bowls

Style: Interviews with Everyone Who Has Ever Known or Met Joe Gibbs

Fan Reaction: Eight Pages of Grown Men Gibbering Like Little Schoolgirls

Editorial: Bush Should Resign, Name Gibbs President-for-Life

With Cryogenics, Cloning, Gibbs Can Coach Redskins Forever

Gibbs More Popular than Jesus? Most Theologians Say Yes

60% of DC Population Killed in Massive Fireball from Space (see page A6)