Boosh Clown

Where is the Party, um, At?

2008-11-20T09:07:00.000-08:00

Boosh Clown has retired! He now writes for whereswetzler.com. Hit him up!!

2008-11-04T14:19:00.000-08:00

"4. Here's one example I tend to deploy on second dates, and it's rewarded with an endearing guffaw at least 90 percent of the time: I ask the woman what religion she is. Inevitably, she will say something like, 'Oh, I'm sort of Catholic, but I'm pretty lapsed in my participation,' or 'Oh, I'm kind of Jewish, but I don't really practice anymore.' Virtually everyone under the age of thirty will answer that question in this manner. I then respond by saying, 'Yeah, it seems like everybody I meet describes themselves as 'sort of Catholic' or 'sort of Jewish' or 'sort of Methodist.' Do you think all religions have this problem? I mean, do you think there are twenty-five-year-old Amish people who say, 'Well, I'm sort of Amish. I currently work as computer programmer, but I still believe pants with metal zippers are the work of Satan.' "

P.S.

2008-10-22T04:18:00.001-07:00

Boosh Clown is back.

Triana Backpackers

2008-10-22T04:04:00.000-07:00

"You know that feeling, when you just wanna chug whiskey?"
Um, no. I don't know that feeling. The last time I drank whiskey I spent the night sitting on a sidewalk on 50th Avenue daring passerbyes to fight me.
"I mean, like seriously, you know that feeling when you just, like, wanna chug kerosene?"
The house in Sevilla continues to be a Real World-esque disaster. Who made out with whom? Who passed out where? Joe peed the bed?
The hostel isn't much better, albeit at the opposite end of the spectrum. There is absolutely no life here. I have had more fulfilling conversations with a wall.
"Like, ohmigod, you know that feeling, like when you just wanna chug anti-freeze?"
Yes, I absolutely know that feeling. It is a great feeling. It is called being completely out of your mind.
Yesterday my stomach was messed up so I went to the pharmacist to get a suero.
She said, "Mix it with 1 liter of water and then drink it slowly over the course of a day. Don't drink it all at once."
So I went home and mixed it and chugged it as fast as I could. And then an hour later I made another one and chugged that, too. Who is this woman to tell me what to do?
"Ok, Ok, seriously guys. I'm being serious this time. Shut up! Listen! Ok, you know that feeling..."
Oh my god.
"No, no, seriously! Just let me finish. You know that feeling, like, when you just wanna chug cottage cheese?"

I'm going to go drink another suero...

*!*

Haste Ye Back!

2008-10-03T13:12:00.000-07:00

The Greatest Blog to ever hit the Blogging world is no more. Today, say your final farewells to Boosh Clown, and booshclown.blogspot.com.

It is truly a sad day for us all. Nevertheless, we thank you all for your constant support. It has truly been a great couple of years, filled with emotional highs and lows, drama and ecstasy.

Goodbye everyone!

(unofficial tombstone below)

"I am ready to meet my maker
whether my maker is prepared for the great ordeal
of meeting me is another matter."

Sir Thomas Boosh Clown

28 January, 2007- 3 October 2008

R.I.P.

2008-09-25T14:42:00.000-07:00

I need to stop "blogging" when I've been "drinking." It's "embarrassing."

Mein Mutter ist Mein Herz

2008-09-24T09:29:00.000-07:00

What do you get when you combine 5 Turkish girls, 1 Turkish guy, 1 Polish girl, and 1 unshaven American boy? Why, you get the members of my Beginning German class, of course. Thats right folks, its a multicultural world, and it doesnt get any more multicultulural than the German curses at the Fachhochschule in Ludwigshafen, Germany. Weve got Poles, Turks, Bulgarians, Spaniards, Lithuanians, Dutch, Russians, and a Bulgarian kid who was raised in Turkey. Im never heard so much Turkish in my goddamn life. So far the only thing Ive learned how to say in Turkish is, "My name is Mark," and "Im freezing" (its quite cold here in Ludwigshafen). Today we went on a bus tour of the city and hopefully this Saturday well be going to Heidelburg, a University town that boasts scenic streets and a formidable castle.

German, for those of you who have never studied it, is one difficult language. I mean, people say "Oh its a lot like English" but thats kind of like saying that Spanish is a lot like Latin. Which, if youve studied both Spanish and Latin (which I havent) you know is a ridiculous statement. German is fucking hard. In German instead of saying "I want to speak English" you say "I want in English to speak." But thats just the tip of the iceberg. Then youve got cases, which are something I cant even attempt to explain as I have no idea what in hell they are. The moral of the story is this: English is rad, and, We should all move to Texas. Ignorance is bliss....

So anyway, thats a little update on the goings on here in the hinterlands. Once again if you are in these parts and want to meet up just send me a little message. We can go to France and eat hella cheap brie, or something. (Actually, the brie in Germany is hella cheap as well. A euro 15 for a huge wedge. Damn, doo!)

-Boosh Clown

Partei in Deutschland!

2008-09-20T13:13:00.000-07:00

Boosh Clown is in Germany!!! Zee Germans!!!! I'm sitting on the couch I'm currently surfing drinking a Jever and wondering what the 80's party I'm going to tonight is going to be like. 80's party in Germany? I'm kind of scared/really scared. Hopefully the Jever will kick in soon and I wont be worried about shaking my hips to German techno.

Last night I went to a bar and everyone was drinking Beck's, and today I went on a tour that was conducted entirely in German. I don't speak German. I know how to say, "My name is Mark," "How much does this cost?" and "I shit my pants," but I don't understand any of the responses.

Tomorrow I am off to Ludwigshafen to do a week-long language course and try to get my head wrapped around this barbaric tongue. Then it's more traveling through Germany, the Czech Republic, Poland and eventually a flight to Scotland where I will drink low-grade beer and attempt not to wake up in a ditch.

I think the Jever is kicking in. This is a good thing because before I started drinking beer I was really jittery from some coffee I drank earlier. I don't drink coffee, and when I do, I turn into a madman. I start talking 100 words a minute making non-sensical remarks about topics I am not well versed in until someone tells me to shut up. Tonight I talked for a good four minutes about the song "Everything I Do" by Bryan Adams before I finally started shaking and had to leave the room.

Hope all is well in the motherland! Is this the motherland?

-Boosh Clown

P.S. Oh and I'm also listening to "Just Dance" by Lady Gaga. Just thought you should know...

(.)

2008-09-16T19:12:00.000-07:00

I'm going to Europe tomorrow¹.
¹!!!!!!!!!!!!

Glory

2008-09-13T12:17:00.001-07:00

I am so disappointed with myself for writing "hit up the Czech Republic" last night.

2008-09-13T00:40:00.000-07:00

The plan has changed completely. I now plan to hit up the Czech Republic, then Poland, then fly to Glasgow to hang out with my kind of friend/weirdo/kid who's slang is hella weak and hella needs to practice and probably has a hella Scottish accent by now and has forgotten everything that is good and just in the world (see: everything George Bush). Anyway I'll go to Scotland and then bum my way down to London (see: drive on the left side of the road), hang out with a knight named Sir Lee Brown, cross the English Channel, stay with young eccentric couchsurfer types in Paris, then head to Toulouse for fun time. If you would like to find me just like for the guy wearing 7 pairs of boxers, 6 pairs of socks, and 2 sweatshirts in the Wroclaw airport because I a will have to take a bunch of shit out of my bag to make it an acceptable size for carry on and thus have to put it on my person. It's going to be one very cozy plane ride. See you there!
-Boosh Clown
P.S. Disregard this blog. I have drank (drunk?) entirely too much wine tonight.

good tutor needed

2008-09-11T23:20:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd check out Craigslist to see if there were any jobs in Germany and came across one of the funnier jobs I've ever seen. It starts off pretty normal with the "Maths, English, French" and then starts to get awesome with the inclusion of "Italia." Apparently this guy wants someone to teach his daughter "Italy." Then he goes on to mention about fifty other things. "Computer science, Arts, Singing, Dancing, MORALS." He wants someone to teach his daughter morals! My roommate Dan just said, "Why don't you show up at their house with a copy of the Brothers Grimm, or something." I actually don't really know what that means, but I'm sure it's really funny.
Anyway, if you haven't already clicked on the link above, get on it.
Auf weidersehen!

Chevy Cavalier

2008-09-11T13:50:00.001-07:00

I am going to Germany in six days. If anyone would like to go to Oktoberfest with me, contact me, and we will drink some beer together. Like brothers. Or brother and sister, if you are a girl.
-Boosh Clown

P.S. Also, I would really like to work while I am in Europe this fall, so contact me if you have any ideas about that, too.
Some things to consider, though: I don't want to go to Spain because I have already been there, I don't want to go to the UK because I don't want to speak English, I don't want to learn Italian, I don't like the French, Spaniards have funny accents (reason number two, I suppose), Polish people sound like they have deep voices, Switzerland is just a little too neutral, Italians are weirdos, Greeks are hairy, the Dutch are insane, and Flemish is a barbaric toungue.
Thanks for your help!

P.P.S. Poop.

P.P.P.S. (!)

T.S.I.E.F.P.T.P.P.P.S. (This Script is Even Further Past the Post Post Post Script) Donnybrook.

The Smoking and the Happiness

2008-09-10T12:43:00.000-07:00

I hate tourists. Not so much foreign tourists. The worst tourists are the ones from right here in the good ol' US of A. In Seattle you can find them on the waterfront, gleefully feeding the seagulls outside of Ivar’s in their San Diego Zoo t-shirts and matching fanny packs. Ever time I see them with French fries in their outstretched hands, I can’t help but fantasize that a huge pterodactyl/seagull hybrid will come and pluck one away, the tourist shrieking as his/her camera wielding, slightly obese buddies look on in terror.

There is something about American tourists that prompt them to put on every piece of tacky garb they’ve ever acquired before embarking on any new voyage. I imagine them standing in their room the night before. “Hmmmm, think I’ll just put on this Disneyland sweatshirt…maybe my neck fanny pack, too…oops, don’t want to forget the SeaWorld hat I got last summer….perfect.” And then they leave the house, with the singular task of finding at least one piece of tacky garb to bring home and add to the collection.

I took the clipper last week to visit my girlfriend in Victoria. The clipper is a great place for tourist watching. As soon as I got in line to check in a man wearing a Texas Longhorns hat sidled up behind me. He had the sort of bug-eyed stare that suggested a dim countenance and possibly too much time spent working on a Holstein farm. He held his son by the hand who was wearing a New York Yankees hat, and I couldn’t help thinking, “Man, Texans are the worst.”
In an extremely close second, however, are tourists from the Deep South. While boarding I overheard a woman behind say to her friend, "I got enuff big in here if yew wanna store it in mah purse." It took her about 15 seconds to get the sentence out, and she actually used the phrase, "enough big" to denote that she had enough room. I briefly wondered what planet I was on.
Past the final ticket-takers, I made my way to the boat, which sat in the calm waters of Elliott Bay, sitting very still and looking very elegant, and just when I thought all matter of inane comments had been expelled, the man in front of me stopped to ask an attendant a question.

"Is it a non-stop sailing to Victoria?"

The woman looked at him as if he had just stepped on a puppy.
Non-stop. Non stop? To Victoria? Where would we possibly stop? It's all water. "It's a good thing you asked, sir," I imagined her saying, "because we'll actually be making a brief pit-stop at a floating island fortress not unlike the set of Kevin Costner's Waterworld to drop off some dry land and barter for exotic plants. However, only those with gills surgically implanted behind their ears will be let off the boat. Enjoy the sailing!"

Qualms with fellow man aside, the clipper is an amazing experience. It is a fast and efficient. A trip that would take me seven hours by bus and ferry via Tsawwassen and Swartz Bay on the clipper takes just a scant three.

Once onboard, it is easy to appreciate the things that make riding the clipper much different than riding the bigger, cruise vessel-like Washington State ferries. The clippers small size makes you feel like you're actually on a boat. It is actually affected by waves and swells and actually bobs and rolls as a result of them. The other thing that separates it from the Washington State ferries is that it moves really, really fast. The thing absolutely hauls. I don't know how fast it actually goes, but on the water anything faster than 20 knots feels like 70. After we got going I went up to the sun deck, where it is impossible to hear anything but the roar of the engines, and impossible not to marvel at the two magnificent rooster tails they send spraying far back into the wake.

Upon descending from the sun deck I was accosted by a wild-eyed man wearing a flannel shirt who asked, "How do you get out?" His exasperated tone suggested a fairly recent relationship with a pair of handcuffs, and I quickly motioned toward the stairs. "Upstairs? Upstairs is the smoking?" but before I could nod he had bolted past me. As I walked back to my seat I chuckled at how he had said, "the smoking" as if it were some sort of destination, like a theme park or a baseball stadium. What other words could I use like that? "I'm sorry, Mark can't come to the phone right now, he's in the pooping. May I take a message?"

It has been my experience aboard any type of conveyance that carries more than five passengers that at some point, a wailing infant will be situated within at least one row of me. This is a law as immutable as gravity, and I can now add "ferry" to the list. As we entered the Strait of Juan de Fuca, I had finally begun to secure a few moments of deep, blissful sleep, most likely inhabited by a horde of nubile, scantily-clad girls, when I was awakened by the a shrill scream coming from the seat in front of me. I jolted upright at the noise, which sounded something like a mix between a troop of mating chimpanzees and a recently-pulled fire alarm. The woman in front of me held a baby in her arms and cooed and rocked, but to no avail. Something had made this baby angry, and he was going to tell the entire boat about it.

The most disconcerting thing about the baby, though, was not that it was crying. I expect babies to cry, and would almost be wary if I were to take a trip without one crying, as if God might be playing some sort of strange trick on me, and as soon as I stepped off the bus, plane, or ferry, a thousand strollers might suddenly appear on the horizon and chase me down the street. The most disconcerting thing about this baby is where it had come from. Up until this point I had been monitoring the couple in front of me with casual interest and had never once noticed anything that might have indicated the presence of a human under the age of thirty. And then, as if out of thin air, the woman had a baby in her hands that was screaming as if trying to wake the dead. Where did this baby come from? I wondered. It was as if she had pulled it out of her purse, in which case I wondered why she didn't just put it back, so that at least there would be a thin layer of suede to muffle the noise.

Just as the babies screams began burrowing into my inner ear the ferry was met by a set of swells making their way in from the Pacific Ocean, and after about two minutes I was hopelessly seasick. Seasickness, if you've never experienced it, is a wretched feeling, not unlike getting punched in the lower abdomen after eating a hearty dinner. I probably wouldn't have felt seasick, but I was writing, and like reading in a car, writing makes it worse. However, I wanted to keep writing, and forced myself to do so, just so that when I later copied down the words, "I feel like I'm going to vomit right now," I wouldn't really be lying about the "right now" part.

The good news about the heinous rocking and listing of the boat is that it seemed to lull the baby in front of me to sleep, a small but welcome consolation considering I could've described how I was feeling at the moment using the words, "mind-bending nausea." I had foolishly passed up taking the Dramamine that was offered for sail at the beginning of the trip and now wished in vain that I had. The feelings of malaise brought to mind a similar, albeit much longer ordeal last year when I sailed with ten other wayward backpackers from Panama to Colombia on a 38-foot metal boat piloted by a man missing the ends of several fingers who kept a spider monkey as a pet. That trip was over 40 hours and I felt sick on land for several days after, so this I could handle, I told myself.

Finally, the swells subsided and we made our turn into the inner harbor. Victoria is an indescribably beautiful city. While only three hours from Seattle and an hour and a half from Port Angeles, it feels like a different world: cosmopolitan, colonial, European. After clearing Canadian customs I made my way into the bright sunlit and jumped into the air, clicking the heels of my pink and yellow Creative Recreation shoes together to demonstrate my joy at having arrived and finally being able to distance myself from the yahoos with whom I had shared the boat. I made my way to Beacon Hill Park and Cook Street Village, and suddenly there wasn't a tourist in sight. Just a quiet green soccer field flanked by two rows of towering Japanese maples. I thought back again to the guy wanting to get to the sun deck to and laughed. How could I describe my new surroundings using ex-con speak?

"Excuse me, Mark can't come to the phone right now. He's in the happiness. Can I take a message?"

2008-09-05T20:01:00.000-07:00

It has recently come to my attention that the buses that make up the King County Transit fleet cannot tell the difference between American and Canadian change. Do with this information what you will....

In other news, a message for my roommates: HEY ROOMMATES, as you have probably noticed, we haven't had toilet paper in the downstairs bathroom (see: the only bathroom) for several days. However, what you probably haven't noticed is that I have been using the paper towels from the kitchen to wipe my ass and then disposing of them in the trash can next to the toilet. WELCOME TO LATIN AMERICA, MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!!!!

I hope everyone has a fun-filled Friday night. Stay safe.

-Boosh Clown

The Tension

2008-09-01T13:29:00.001-07:00

There are a lot of reasons to go to Canada. The air is cleaner, the water is cleaner, the streets have less cars, and the University of Victoria has a shit ton of bunnies. But one of the best things about Canada is not any of these clean, "green" things. The best thing about Canada is the word "bum." If you've seen Pineapple Express, you might have noticed that during the extended fight scene between Seth Rogen, Saul, and Red, Seth Rogen exclaims after being hit in the rear end by Red, "Aw! My bum!" This is not because Seth Rogen is proper or because Seth Rogen was trying to be funny; this is because he's Canadian. And Canadians say "bum."

Earlier in the scene, Rogen hurriedly talks about "phoning" someone. He says in an exasperated voice something along the lines of, "He's a fucking liar! He's trying to phone John!" Most people probably did not notice this little sprig of subtlety, but I certainly did, mostly because I have been dating a Canadian for the past 7 months and am now more than ever sensitive to their strange vernacular discharges. Americans would never use "phone" as a verb. We would say "call" exclusively. Canadians say "call" too, but they usually say phone. I suspect this is British, and I suspect I could figure it out in two seconds on the Intranet, but I'm not going to. Instead, I'm going to talk about how much I hate Seth Rogen, and how at the same time I don't really hate him at all and especially after Pineapple Express might even describe him as "kind of funny."

Seth Rogen was born in 1974 in Kelowna, BC to a steel welder and a salmon packer. He was the youngest of five siblings and didn't start acting until the age of 22¹. He made his first standout appearance in 40 Year-Old Virgin, where his most notable line was, "Plant it with your finger." In both Knocked Up² and Superbad he was somewhere between "kind of" and "very" annoying, so I was fully skeptical going into this 9:50 screening of Pineapple Express at the Capitol (al?) 6 Theater in downtown Victoria. But now I am not skeptical. About anything. For the first 30 minutes of the movie, Rogen is his usual self. He seems to be consciously awkward in the hopes that the audience will find it endearing (and it seems that most of the audience does). However, something changes in the final 90 minues of the movie, and I don't really know what that, but either Rogen gets a little funnier, the plot gets a little better, the rest of the cast gets WAY funnier, or the character Red almost makes me pee my pants when he cocks a shotgun and exclaims, "Thug life." Or all four. But something happens, because Rogen gets a lot more bearable, and the movie as a whole becomes (almost) awesome, which I more than I ever could have expected from this movie³.

Sometimes when I sit down to write I fully intend to write about something in particular and then end up writing about something completely different. Today I fully intended to write about an herbal tea made by Celestial Seasonings called "Tension Tamer" that contains catnip as it's eighth ingredient and with which I have become completely obsessed. But then I started talking about "bum" and using "phone" as a verb and I completely forgot to talk about the box of tea sitting just to the right of my girlfriend's laptop that features a princess draped in a red dress sitting atop a subdued, fire-breathing dragon. I have been drinking several cups a day of this tea for the last few weeks and have come to fear two things: A) I might be addicted, B) I might be losing my mind. I was completely blown away when I saw catnip on the ingredients. I didn't even know catnip was safe for human consumption. I'm still not entirely convinced it is. My friend White Mike has a cat named Raffles who eats wild catnip in his backyard and one time became so hypnotized by the delightful herb that he passed out and fell off the 3-foot retaining wall that separates their garden from the lawn. And now I am consuming catnip. And I feel a little like Raffles.

So that's my take on Pineapple express and also my take on Celestial Seasoning's "Tension Tamer." So far today I haven't had a single glass and am semi-confident I will make it through the whole day without it. It's better than making it through the whole day within it. The Tension Tamer. The Tension...

-Boosh Clown

¹The previous two sentences (are) could be completely false.
²Though this is somewhat unnecessary, I would like to state for the record that I did not think Knocked Up was a great movie. In fact, I thought it was kind of bad. However, most girls seem to love this movie with every inch of their existence. I have no idea why. Girls must understand pregnancy better or something.
³I would have been enthralled by anything better than "horrible."

Reader comments:

John, from Fayetteville, NC, writes:
Hey Boosh- I stumbled across your website because I'm a huge Hilary Duff fan and noticed you have mentioned her several times on your blog and, um, I have some news for you: No one wants to hear what kind of tea you drink, or what kind of tea you are "obsessed" with, as you so "cutely" put it. Your blog makes me want to gnaw off my own arm.
-John Boy

Missing In Acton

2008-09-01T11:00:00.000-07:00

Mathangi Arulpragasam has more records than the KGB, and hella visas, and thinks gun shots are cool. Fortunately, so do we (think gun shots are cool). We, however, don't have that many visas. I have a visa from 2004 from when I went to Spain but I don't think it's valid anymore.

CIA Sundays

2008-08-31T13:33:00.001-07:00

The following message is written in an elaborate code I devised two minutes ago. If you can decipher the code and figure out the hidden message, you are a true Boosh Clown fan.
Good luck!

asdf.ksdjflkasdjflkasdjfl;ksdajfl;sdkajfl;dsajfdsl;kfjdalfkdjsfkl;djsfkl;dsjfdkljfsdklajfsdkl;ajfl;dkjfkl;dsjfkl;sdjfkl;sdjafl;ksdjafl;kdjsfkl;sdjafkl;sdjl;fkjdsfkl;sdjfl;ksdjafl;ksdjfkl;sdjl;fkjsdfkl;fjsdl;kfj lk;j
laksjfl;ksdjfl;
asdkjflsdajfkldsjfkl;sdajfkl;sdjafl;kdsjfl;ksdjf;ldsjfl;ksdjfa
sdflksdjafl;kjsdklfjdskl;fjdskl;fjdsl;kfjsd;lafkj

so;fsdkl;jflkdsjfkl;sdajfkl;dasjf;lkjfal;sdkajfal;sdkfjl;dskjaf;dlsakjfsdl;fjasd
weioqruqwepoiruweiopurweiopuriowpquropiqweuropiewuroiewuropiweurioweuqr
cvn,.cmxnv,m.zxcnv,m.xcnv,mxcn,mvxcnzm,.vncxzm,.vncx,.vnxc,.vm
oewiurpqoweurioweuopriuweqoipruqweoijsdkl;jaflk;asdjfl;k
eoriuweopiruweiopjfkl;sdjaflksdj
lkcv,czx,.vmc,.xvmxc,./dsl;kfjsdkl;jfsdkl;jfwioqeuriopewuriopqweufkljsdklfjasdlk;cxmv,.xcmv,.
xc,.vmxcz.vm.cx/z,vm./cxjsdklfjdsfl;kj
uiweoqrpuweoruopweoiruweopruoweipuroiweurw

Comments:

Billy, from Charlotte, writes:
Dear Boosh Clown,
I think I solved the code. Please call me back at my home residence.
Yours,
Billy
274-343-2123

Carol, from Austin, writes:
To Mr. Boosh Clown,
Your code is a fucking scam. There is no hidden message. I hate you.
-Carol

Mitch, from Minneapolis, writes:
Dear Boosh,
I stayed up all night trying to solve the code, and I found that if you substitute "p's" for all the "a's", "u's" for all the "s's", and "f"s" for all the "d's", you get something that looks like a poem that involves the words "puf" and "fup" to a great extent. Am I on the right track? Thank you for your time. I hear Seattle is beautiful this time of year. My aunt has a cabin in Renton.
Signed,
Mitch

Jason, from Vancouver, writes:
Dear Boosh Clown,
Just about every time I read a new blog post I tell myself it is the last time I am ever going to visit your site. Most of your shit is--well--really stupid. Sometimes I read something you wrote and just get up and go bang my head against the wall for a few minutes. And yet here I am again, writing you a meaningless letter. We're all doomed, Boosh. Every last one of us.
Regards,
Jason

Kelsey, from Little Rock, writes:
Boosh Clown!
You are so hot. I totally want to touch your butt. My uncle has a cabin on the Lake of the Ozarks, do you want to come some time and go waterskiing? I just learned how to slalom ski.
Go Razorbacks!
-Kels~*

Nancy, from Bainbridge Island, writes:
Dear Mark (I mean--Boosh Clown),
When are you going to get a real job? Your father and I are starting to question your mental health. Please call soon.
Love,
Nancy

P.S. I love PCP.

O

2008-08-31T13:31:00.002-07:00

M

2008-08-31T13:31:00.001-07:00

G

2008-08-31T13:30:00.000-07:00

(!)

In Defense of Chuck

2008-08-15T14:52:00.000-07:00

I’m having second thoughts about wanting to pursue a career in journalism. There’s too much hate. Too much cynicism. It seems that no matter what, when you get to a certain point where you’re high enough or working for an elite enough publication, some sour-faced person from management comes and leaves a memo on your desk that reads something like this:

Dear [insert name],

Congratulations on achieving editorial status at [insert name of publication]. This memo is just to inform you that from now on you are no longer allowed to like anything, with utmost stress placed on not liking things that everyone else seems to like. This applies to books, music, movies, restaurants, clothing, the type of beer you drink, etc. You see, if you want our readers to think you are intelligent and edgy and elitist, it is critical that you not like anything they like, thereby proving that you are better than them.
I am sorry if this causes any complications, though if you’ve made it this far I’m sure you’ll have no trouble completing your transformation into a heartless cynic and turning over the rest of your already decaying soul to Satan.

Sincerely,
[insert name of management]

I bring this up because yesterday I found out that Chuck Klosterman is coming out with a new book September 16th (he'll be at Elliott Bay Book Co. on Sept. 22 at 7:30pm to discuss it) and after reading some reviews online it would seem that not everyone is nearly as elated as I am, which is disconcerting for me because I have always kind of assumed that every rational-minded person in the world liked Chuck Klosterman. I assumed that people enjoyed his anecdotes, his obscure references, and his lines like “we argued whether or not a bear could be ridden, assuming said bear was muzzled.”

I assumed people liked to laugh.

But I was wrong.

We live in an age of cynicism, and that cynicism is no more apparent than in popular youth culture, where scenesters compete to have the funkiest glasses and apathetic hipsters compete to have the shortest cut-off jean shorts and the skinniest fixed-gear handle bars. We live in an age where it has become uncool to like things, and way more cool to hate. Liking something puts you at risk of being shot down and ridiculed, whereas hating is almost always a safe bet.
After all, no one wants to get hurt. We put up walls and defense mechanisms to prevent people from making us feel bad. We think twice about going out on a limb. However, it seems that these days no one at all wants to go out on the proverbial limb. Everyone is too jaded from past rejection, past let-down, past failure, past criticism, that stepping out on the limb has just become too risky.
Chuck Klosterman is a person that still steps out on that limb. He steps out on it all the time, and he steps confidently. Sure he hates a few things, but he loves even more, and when he does love, he proclaims his love from a mountaintop, like the copper-dirt lined one he runs up in Killing Yourself to Live in North Carolina on his way to the Skynard crash site.
He loves music, he loves women (at least specific women), and he loves the ’87 Boston Celtics. He loves Kiss and Billy Joel and The Real World. He loves Diane and Lenore and hair bands called Tesla.
And he loves to love these things, because it feels a whole lot better than hating them just to try to be cool.
I think reviewer zombies that hate on Chucks work are completely missing the point. They read his writing and look for something deep and dark and moving. They read it looking for the kind of hate they feel in their cold black hearts, and when they don’t find it, it drives them crazy. So they cope in the only way they know how: they hate. And they hate some more.
But none of that matters, because Chuck Klosterman still loves. And he has inspired me to love. And not to think twice.

Da Doo Doo Doo

2008-08-13T13:05:00.001-07:00

Have I posted this before? It is my favorite music video of all time...

The Newest Song I am Completely Obsessed With

2008-08-13T12:36:00.000-07:00

Girl Talk's newest album, Feed the Animals, is completely balls-to-wall fuckin' awesome. He samples Kelly Clarkson, The Beach Boys, Nirvana, and that one rap song where they yell, "If you don't give a damn, we don't give a fuck."
My favorite track by far on the 49 minute mash-up is "In Step," which I have provided below for your listening pleasure (play it while you listen to the rest. Come on, live a little. Boosh Clown don't disappoint).

It is a beautiful day in Seattle! Today I drove my mom to the airport and pulling away from departures my parents beige Toyota Avalon (featured in Fast and the Furious 8: Bainbridge Island Drag) promptly broke down and refused to accelerate. I was able to coax it all the way to Georgetown before it gave in completely, necessitating a phone call to a tow truck who towed it up to Seattle and I held in very high esteem until he weasled me out of 20 bucks claiming that the drive was too far beyond the allowable mileage limit set by the insurance company.

But still, it is a beautiful day.

And now, I get to take my bike into REI for the second time in two days because it is having mechanical problems as well.

But it is a beautiful day.
So...effing...beautiful.

Serenity now, insanity later.

Just kidding,

Boosh Clown

Boomp3.com

Voodoo Like You Do

2008-08-12T12:42:00.001-07:00

The Sounders are becoming an MLS team. Hooray! Guess who is going to be the commentator? Kevin Calabro. Shit. Remember when Sal Masekela, the dread-locked dude from ESPN, started commenting on skateboarding and snowboarding and all "action" sports only to then start commenting on basketball as well? It was horrible, and Kevin Calabro is about to do it with soccer. Stick to what you know, Kevin. Stick with basketball. If I have to hear "flyin' chicken to the barnyard" when someone has a breakaway I'm going to stick an ice pick in my ears.
Birds of a feather...

Hooray for...Jean Shorts

2008-08-12T12:19:00.000-07:00

We all wear uniforms. Your mother, your brother, your hot date, your teacher—all of us. Not baseball uniforms or waitressing uniforms--the ones I'm talking about are the uniforms we wear everyday. Mine consists of the following: New Balance 574s, plaid shorts or jeans, and a t-shirt. Sometimes the t-shirt has color and a logo and very rarely it is substituted for a button-up, but more often than not it’s just a plain white “t”.
Last night at Linda’s on Capitol Hill I had the fortune of getting to take in the new component of the hipster uniform: cut-off jean shorts. Half the guys in the outdoor seating area were wearing pants that they had mangled with scissors or some other kind of sharp edge (mutilated Pabst can?) and here is the reason it was so flabbergasting:
They were only doing this semi-ironically.
Now let’s go back three years to when I attended UW and lived on 20th Avenue NE in a seedy but morally fulfilling student house. One day our house hosted a barbecue, and my friend and I decided it would be hilarious if we wore extremely short cut-off jeans. Emboldened by gross amounts of Olympia brand beer and three-inch inseams, we strutted around the yard, giggling stupidly as we watched girls pretend to recoil in disgust. Except for my t-shirt, which depicted a large-mouth bass leaping out of the water that I had cut off near the belly to display more of my midriff than anyone should ever have to see, the whole thing was fairly innocuous.
But nowadays things have gotten out of hand.
Two weeks ago I went to Vancouver to visit my girlfriend and was brought by her sister and sister’s her American Apparel “deep V” wearing squeeze to a trendy vegetarian restaurant on 4th Avenue. Outside the restaurant sat a gaggle of twenty-somethings, obstructing the sidewalk as they sat cross -legged playing cards, waiting to get in and fill their maws with PETA approved foodstuffs. Every single one of them was wearing cut-off jean shorts. Some of them, the more “expressive” ones, had on thick flannel shirts accented by suspenders. With their scraggly beards, they looked like skinny, Amish versions of Paul Bunyan.
I asked one of them if there was a liquor store nearby and he said “yes,” and that “everyone should all, like, get some wine and go drink it in his van.” After shuddering discreetly I politely declined, stating that I would rather slit my wrists on and bleed to death on the sidewalk , and our group moseyed on its way.
I had kind of forgotten about this incident until last night, when I was figuratively slapped across the face by frayed denim and “Oh my God, he’s crazy for wearing cut-off jean shorts, I kind of like it” boys exuding self-satisfaction and girls waiting to give it to them. I sat down next to my friend and her friend and after remarking, “What the fuck is going on here/ I feel out of place” we launched into a 10-15 minute debate on whether or not it was OK that I had just judged the shit out of these hipsters based solely on their apparel. The conversation then turned to judgments in general, asking whether or not it is human nature and if one can compare the snap judgment one makes when meeting someone for the first time to one made driving through an intersection trying to avoid a traffic accident. As usual, I pushed drama. I pushed traffic accident.
“The bottom line,” what I should’ve stated but didn’t, “is that these neo-hippy hipsters are no better than the ICP kids that hang out at the 45th Street bus stop on the AVE and talk about how much they hate their parents. In fact, they’re worse. They were horrible sunglasses that make their faces look like bugs and play kickball in your local park but get pissed off at anyone that actually tries. They are striving towards a level of apathetic mediocrity that makes me cringe.”
The debate ended in a stalemate when a jean short-wearing kid with a basketball jersey accidentally bumped a glass off the table that shattered on the ground below. I got up to go to the bathroom and, slipping past a guy in suspenders, made my way to the haven of the lavatory to reflect on the discussion that had just taken place.
“I think it’s good that they are expressing themselves,” my friend’s friend had said, “I don’t think I would have the balls to do that.”
“That’s the problem,” I shot back. “It doesn’t take balls. Everyone here is doing it. It takes balls not to do it. I’m the only one here wearing white plaid shorts and I feel like at any second I might get hit over the head with a fixed-gear sprocket for looking like a frat boy.”
And that is the problem, with hipsterdom, or any sub-cultural movement: what starts of as “individualistic expression” soon becomes the norm, and then you’re just another uniform-wearing patsy like me in my white plaid shorts. Or you in your cut-off jean-shorts and suspenders. We’re all patsies. We’re all shmucks. The only difference is, you look like a fucking idiot.

BOOSH CLOWN IS BACK

2008-08-12T12:07:00.000-07:00

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh No!

2008-07-31T14:03:00.001-07:00

Here is a picture of me sitting at the computer, happily watching a video on YouTube. But as of right now, 2:04 Pacific Standard Time, these happy moments will come to an end...for one week.
That's right, I'm taking a vacation from the computer. I have become a slave to it. It rules my life. I find myself absentmindedly checking Gmail in 10 minute intervals and getting bummed out when there's no one to chat to on Facebook.
What has become of me?
I'm sorry that you, faithful reader, will bear the brunt of the consequences of my actions in that you will have nothing to read, so please let me again direct you to my new fantastic blog and website, howtolureturtlesbacktotheircagesusinglettuce.wordpress.com, where you will surely be able to spend a merry minute and forget all about my little week-long hiatus.

Until then!

Boosh Clown

The Five-Year Plan

2008-07-31T10:41:00.000-07:00

Where do you see yourself in five years? Do you see yourself in a house overlooking the water with a beautiful family of five? Do you see yourself managing a small business that is finally starting to flourish? Or do you see yourself traveling the world, a modern day nomad, living out of a knapsack and hitching rides from strangers?
Wherever you see yourself in five years, it is unlikely that the scenario you envision right now will match up perfectly with the one you will actually live. However, it is always good to set goals, always good to have something to strive for, to shape and mold your life in such a way that it turns out more or less how you want it.
For today’s blog, I am going to outline my possible five-year plans. As many of you know, I have very little idea what I will be doing in the future. However, I am more than confident it could be any one of the following things. As Lance Armstrong so prophetically states in his book, “It’s Not About the Bike: My Journey Back to Life”: Carpe diem. Seize the day. Or, as we like to say here at Blog is the New Blog, Carpe quinquennium, “seize the five years.”

Five-Year Plan #1
After deciding I need to see Asia, I take a job teaching English in the Xinjian province of Western China. There I meet Liu, a young girl who claims to know a man that can levitate simply by mediating for several hours on end while sitting on a plate of steamed broccoli. I study with the levitation master for four years, but by the end only succeed in levitating my right arm, though it is unclear whether or not this is because I am using my shoulder muscles. After four years I return to the village where I once taught, to find that everyone is completely fluent in English, and Liu, the girl who told me of the levitation master, has stolen my job. I spend the next year mourning and ingesting large quantities of steamed broccoli.

Five-Year Plan #2
I decide to become a computer programmer, and move to Mountain View, California, where I camp outside the Google headquarters for three years, furiously digesting books of HTML code until one day the Google people take pity and decide to give me a consolatory interview. The interview ends abruptly after a live rodent pokes its head out of my beard, which hasn’t been shaved since I moved to Mountain View three years prior. I am rushed out of the room by two very large men and transported to Shady Acres, a nearby hospital for the criminally insane. After two years I am deemed sufficiently in possession of my faculties to be allowed out, whereupon I move back to Seattle and become a low-level blogger.

Five-Year Plan #3
I become a model for Victor’s secret, the male alternative to Victoria’s Secret. I move to Brazil and party with model folk for five straight years before finally burning out, locking myself in my room, and refusing to communicate in any other form but the djembe, a medium-sized African drum.

Five-Year Plan #4
Money doesn’t buy happiness, but gold bullion does. I become starkly aware of this fact in Five-Year Plan #4, in which I move to the Yukon to become a gold-prospector in hopes of striking it rich. After panning for gold for two years in glacially cold water, I find a nugget the size of a softball and sell it on Ebay for 2.4 million dollars. With the money I start my very own moose farm called “Moose, Wetzler, Moose” on whose grounds are bred some of the finest riding moose north of the 48th parallel. One day, while trying to break a particularly stubborn two-year-old, I am thrown, hitting my head on the ground and suffering a rare form of amnesia that does not allow me to remember any childhood experience that involved ice cream. While not a particularly dreadful ailment, I am brought to tears two years later when my first-born child asks me what my favorite flavor of ice cream was when I was a kid, and I burst out, “I don’t know! And I’ll never know!”

Five-Year Plan #5
I start a company called, “Take Charge of Your Life,” whose main objective it is to devise livable five-year plans for wayward teens and twenty-somethings. The company founders after parents of the teens and twenty-somethings discovers that the majority of their children have either moved to the Yukon to attempt gold-prospecting, or have turned to a life of methamphetamines and living on the street. After refusing to take responsibility for the company’s failure, I am indicted on charges of racketeering and transferred to minimum-security federal prison, where I serve out the length of my sentence knitting stocking caps for underprivileged kids in Spanish Harlem.

Shawty Wanna Thug

2008-07-30T22:51:00.000-07:00

I am literally beside myself right now¹. I've been searching for the past 15 minutes for cool URL.blogspot.com names so that I can start a new esoteric blog directed at an amazingly small and ephemeral niche market, and you won't believe what I have found. For instance, I decided to start a new blog that is devoted to the song "Lollipop" by Lil Wayne. First I tried lollipop.blogspot.com. Taken, obviously, though not updated in many years, like many blogger URL's. Then I tried lilwayne.blogspot.com. Taken, again, also somewhat expectedly. Then I tried lilwaynelollipop.blogspot.com. Taken, too! by some ring tone advertising bullshit. Finally, I tried the lyrics from the song: "Shawty wanna thug" (.blogspot.com) Taken. I couldn't believe it. SHAWTYWANNATHUG.blogspot.com? Are you kidding me? Touche, Sweden or Denmark or whichever language it is on the blog that involved "o"'s over vowels. I'm all out of URL ideas.

Or am I?

More to come,

Boosh Clown

P.S. "Shawty say the nigga that she with ain't this."

¹Figuratively.

Update: I have found an open URL! Please direct yourself to howtolureturtlesbacktotheircagesusinglettuce.wordpress.com.

Rainier....Beer

2008-07-30T21:54:00.000-07:00

Well, just hanging out at my house in Seattle, and thought I'd drop in and say "hi." I found some new Ladytron tracks (new to me) tonight and am thoroughly enjoying myself as I sit here on the couch drinking a Rainier beer and listening to the song "Discotrax" (scroll down to listen). Today I finally climbed a big hill by my house on my bicycle that I have been wanting to climb for awhile. It is a hill that rises up from Sand Point on 70th St. and goes up to the top of View Ridge. It was grueling. That's about all I can say. I think it is the hardest hill I have ever climbed in my life, which isn't saying a whole lot, but afterwards I felt like I was going to cough up blood for about a half hour. This may mean that I am out of shape. Climbing the hill confirmed something I kind of figured out the other day, though, after I blogged about how I was riding to Redmond and back, 43 miles, and how it was "no problem." I realized after the ride that any asshole with a bike can ride 40 miles in a day, or even 100 miles in a day, as long as it's flat and they're not going that fast. But when it gets hilly or when you really start pushing yourself, that's a different story. If I had to do 43 miles of the kind of hills like the one I climbed today on 70th I would surely perish. Literally fall to the ground and die.
But anyway, back to my Rainier...

Boosh Clown

LADYTRON!!!!!!!!
boomp3.com

Garmin-Chipotle

2008-07-29T09:31:00.000-07:00

Back in Seattle. As usual, the Quick Shuttle was amazing. Paying $25 extra to take my bike on, though, wasn't.
Today I am going to ride to Marymoore Park in Redmond and back, about 42 miles. The good thing about the Vancouver trip is that it gave me a lot more confidence. Before, I would've thought about a trip to Redmond and back and said: "Well, I might be pushing myself (see: the Achilles) a little hard. I'm not sure I should do it." But now, after riding from Arlington to Surrey in a day I think, "Fuck Redmond. No problem. I could do it twice today if I needed to."
(Readers' note: I promise I do not sit around in my room by myself angrily saying, "Fuck Redmond," under my breath).
The weather in Seattle right now is semi-dismal. I think it might be drizzling outside and the roads are definitely wet and it's definitely cold. However, I can take solace in the fact that not only will I be doing a sweet bike ride today, but I will be eating Chipotle when I get back. For all you haters out there, Chipotle is amazing. And, contrary to popular belief, it is not owned by McDonald's, so all you neo-hippie assholes who weren't eating there just because you didn't want to metaphorically make out with Ronald now can. My question remains, however: What difference would it make if it was owned by McDonald's? It's completely different food. It's not as if they're taking Big Macs and wrapping them in tortillas. They're not putting two-for-one apple pies in the burrito bol. Quit bitching about "evil corporations" and "fast food" and give it a try.

Sincerely,

Boosh Clown

Dan-D-Pak

2008-07-25T12:14:00.000-07:00

I am sitting in a grocery store right now in Vancouver called "Dan-D-Pak." Apart from having an awesome name, a great selection of produce, and being located right next to one of the best pizza places in Vancouver, Dan-D-Pak has computers you can use for free!!!! I think you're technically supposed to be a customer and I just caught the cashier staring at me, but that is probably just because I haven't shaved in a few weeks and am wearing a t-shirt that contains the phrase, "heroin problem."
Anyway, I got to Vancouver via my bicycle. That's right, the quarter-life crisis is continuing in grand fashion! The only logical step for me to take was to load up my bike and ride North, spending the night in the field of a Methodist church in Arlighton, and then riding over a hundred miles yesterday, much to the consternation of my soft, out-of-shape, beer-bellied phsyique. But I made it! I cheated a bit at the end by riding the Skytrain in from Surrey, but fuck it, I wanted to kill myself after riding on the Fraser Highway for many miles and the cool, air-conditioned interior of BC's mass transit was the most amazing thing I have ever experienced. The Skytrain, if you've never ridden on it, is like the Monorail, except that it is actually functional¹.
Well that's all for today! Keep your ears to the grindstone.
Adios from Dan-D-Pak,

Boosh Clown

¹It has come to my attention that everytime I mention something that I like about Canada, whether or not it come at the expense of something American, people hate hella hard and accuse me of being a traitor and tell me that instead of hanging out with them I should just move to Canada. So, I would like to state for the record, that I love 'Merica. I really do. And I love you guys.

Please love me back.

P.S. Loonie!

The Quarter-Life Crisis

2008-07-22T10:45:00.000-07:00

The quarter-life crisis is a phenomenon similar to the mid-life crisis, except that it occurs a quarter of the way through one’s life, generally affecting those between the ages of 20 and 25. The most common time for a quarter-life crisis to occur is just after college and before landing a secure job. Though cases have shown that it can also happen as early as after high school, instances of this are much more infrequent due to the fact that most people spend the first summer and few years after college “chasing tail” and turning their brains into mushy pulp.
Today we will examine several ways to combat the quarter-life crisis. These are paths that you can follow if you are in the midst of a quarter-life crisis that will not only be productive, life-enriching experiences, but help you to get out of the crevasse that is the quarter-life crisis in order to better glimpse the vast world that lays beyond.

Scenario #1: Move to Tibet

Pros: If average altitudes of 13,000 feet and walking on the same soil as His Holiness the Dalai Lama isn't enough to clear your head, I don’t know what is. Tibet offers myriad activities for the quarter-life crisis sufferer to take his/her mind off the current shittiness of just being like, “hella confused about whether or not to just get a job in some cubicle or do something crazy like hike into the mountains and live off the land. You know, like ‘Into the Wild’ type shit or something.” For instance, in Tibet, given the proper constitution and panache for daring, you could conceivably climb Mt. Everest, hunt wild Musk deer, and mine borax -- all in the same day!

Cons: Those pesky Chinese.

Scenario #2: Work for Greenpeace.

Pros: If selling your soul to Satan and possibly having to spend entire days accosting people on the street with, “Hey man, how’s it going? I’m Steven, can I talk to you for sec?” don’t sound like horrible things to do, this could be the path for you. Greenpeace, on their home website, claims to be trying to “save the planet,” a cause noble enough to jolt any quarter-life-crisis-sufferer out of his/her watching-tv-with-computer-on-lap stupor. Save the whales, and more importantly, save yourself. What could be better?

Cons: Hippies, a tendency to travel in zodiac.

Scenario #3: Graduate School

Pros: College was awesome right? So then why don’t you—like—just keep doing it? College campuses are beautiful, college girls are beautiful, and learning is pretty fun. So why don’t you just go back? At the very minimum, it’ll give you another two years until your next crisis.

Cons: Corduroy pants.

Scenario #4: Get a “Real” Job.

Pros: Take the plunge. No more messing around. Bring home the bacon. What you need to do is quit bitching about these “problems” that aren’t really problems and start making some money. Doesn’t really matter what it is, as long as it’s lucrative and as long as the job title sounds official enough to shut people up when they ask what you’ve been doing lately. Look for job titles that contain words like, “analyst, administrator, director,” or “consultant.” Trust me, you’ll be happy when you see that first paycheck.

Cons: Same as pros.

That's all the strategy that can be provided for today. More to come later. Good luck!

Seattle's "Only" Newspaper

2008-07-21T12:01:00.000-07:00

This letter to the editor appeared in The Stranger last week and made my day:

A BECK-RELATED BET

It's been a few weeks since you guys at The Stranger have given me any good ammunition to fire back at you. I mean, I could have gone off on the queer issue for rolling years of fighting for equal rights into a giant rainbow-colored cliché, henceforth marginalizing and degrading a serious issue into the journalistic equivalent of a plastic feather boa, but why bother? This week's issue, however, gave me everything I needed to write you a truly heartfelt and hateful letter.

Michaelangelo Matos's review of Modern Guilt, Beck's latest release, is indicative of everything I hate about The Stranger [Album Reviews, July 10]. I just got and listened to Modern Guilt the night before I read the review. The album not only is fantastic, but it's easily the best release of 2008 so far (yes, it's better than LP3 by Ratatat, which is really good.) Modern Guilt is the best thing Beck's done since Midnite Vultures, and that's saying a lot since the three albums between them are all damn good. But Mikey didn't see it that way. Nope, he's still comparing Beck's efforts to Mellow Gold and has written Beck off because he's moved on. Dude, Mellow Gold was released 14 years ago. In case you haven't noticed, the world is a different fucking place than it was then. But that's pretty much the thing about The Stranger, isn't it? You guys all really love reveling in the early '90s when Seattle was the hottest thing around. You might as well rename your paper I Wish Kurt Cobain Was Still Alive or Wasn't Grunge Great?

The part that really bothers me is that the reason Modern Guilt got panned has nothing to do with the album itself. It's obvious by the review that Mike already wrote it off before even listening to it. Then when he got around to the chore of it, he didn't hear the music at all; all he heard was minuscule shit like the compression on the drums. Mike didn't like Modern Guilt because it was Beck and he doesn't like Beck because he's a big name. I'd bet a thousand dollars that if the same album had been released by some 22-year-old Ritalin babies with bad beards and a stupid band name like Arms Made of Legs, Mike and all the rest of you would be drooling all over it.

But the true irony doesn't lie in the obvious notion that The Stranger's basis for what makes good music isn't the music at all, but whether or not the band's aesthetic jives with the current scene. No, it's that while Mike Matos is dissing Beck for not doing the same thing he did in 1994, the whole rest of the staff is coming in their ugly hipster pants over Sub-we-haven't-released-a-good-record-in-15-years-Pop's 20th (25th? 22nd? Some random-ass number?) anniversary party. Wow. You guys are so quick to tear down anything truly and legitimately successful while at the same time hoisting the banner of mediocrity so high that it's all the kids-who-don't-know-any-better can see.

Between Eric Grandy waving his dick around town while (I'm assuming) riding the "it's hip to be gay!" bandwagon, Megan Seling virtually begging to be gang-fucked by all the worst bands in Seattle, and William Steven Humpfrey (or whateverthefuck his name is) masturbating to his own reflection, it's a wonder your staff has any time at all to maintain all the lowest- common-denominator bullshit that keeps Seattle from ever actually being a world-class city. You're all a bunch of no-talent yuppie hacks.

Finneas Maxwell

Semi-Drunk Rants With Boosh Clown (Part 284)

2008-07-20T22:47:00.000-07:00

"Trippel" Belgium Style Ale. New Belgium Brewing company, Fort Collins, Colorado.

Tonight is installment 1 of "Semi-Drunk Rants With Boosh Clown." The two goals here are to A) Get semi-drunk, and B) rant. I have fulfilled the first in devastating fashion, drinking the aforementioned Trippel and also by indulging in some glasses of wine in plastic cups earlier at Gasworks Park. To fully complete the picture I have donned aviator sunglasses, despite the fact that I am alone and sitting at a computer chair in my room.

Rant #1
I read an article the other day about how hybrid cars like the Toyota Prius are actually really bad for the environment, at least comparatively with other non-hybrid, non-new, non-"I'm a hippie that smells my own farts and would rather slash my wrists than have to shop at anywhere other than Trader Joe's" cars. The article said that Priuses (Priii?) are bad for the environment because the nickel needed for their batteries is strip-mined in Northern Ontario (causing acid rain and thus massive devastation to nearby flora) and then sent off to places like Japan where it can be properly refined and made fit for its final life as a car battery. According to this article, and it makes perfect sense, if you really care about the environment you're better off just buying an old fuel efficient car like a Toyota Camry rather than shelling out hella cash for a new Prius that does more bad than good (ostensibly). So BASICALLY, and to over-simplify, the gist of the whole "green movement" is this: If you actually care about the environment, don't buy new cars. Just keep your current car in good repair and limit heavy acceleration and/or riding the brakes. However, if you want people to think you care about the environment, buy a Prius. Then people will commend you on your part in preventing the ice caps from melting and ushering a new warm period in which dinosaurs will once again roam the Earth. Oh, and also: shop at PCC, sell your soul to Satan, and move to Queen Ann. Fuck, I hate hippies.

Rant #2
Richie is gone! Richie is gone! Richie Sexson is gone! Praise, Jesus, Richie Sexson is gone!

The only problem: Who do I hate now?
First Candidate: Yuniesky Betancourt-- Long swing and inability to lay off first pitch make me want to eat my own face.
Second Candidate: Raul Ibañez: "RAAAAULLLLLLL, werewolf of---SHUT THE FUCK UP WITH THE FUCKING WARREN ZEVON SAMPLE. AUGHHHHHH!"
Third Candidate: Willie Bloomquist-- I actually love Willie Bloomquist. I have no idea how he got here.

Rant #3
I have to pee really bad. Trippel is a really strong beer. 7.8%. And it goes through you like water. Or beer. Or beer water.

Rant #4
Holy shit, I just did something I never thought I would do. It feels...not that monumental. I just deactivated my Facebook account. I really thought I would be feeling something right now a lot more substantial. My grammar is poor. But I really feel about the same as I felt 2 minutes ago. Mark Zuckerberg, your hold on me is no longer. Goodbye Facebook. Goodbye...world?

"Good, so what's the problem."
- Ty Webb

- Boosh Clown?

That's Wicked

2008-07-20T22:08:00.001-07:00

I didn't know The Onion did videos. I'm a fool.

10 Minutes of Your Life You'll Wish you had Back

2008-07-20T00:00:00.000-07:00

(Readers Note: Before reading the following post, scroll down and click to activate the song of the day)

Dear Readers,
This letter will serve as an update of things happening in my life and things that have happened in my life up to this date, July 20, 2008. If you don't care about these happenings or think it extremely arrogant or presumptuous on my part that I would post something like this online--mere happenings in my life--expecting that people care or be "wowed" or--I don't know, anything, please stop reading. If you do want to keep reading, please disregard everything you have read so far, including the sentence that you are currently reading, as everything up to this point makes me sound like a complete emo hippy asshole. Thank you.

I am still unemployed. The job search is not going well. The job search is actually nonexistent. I really am happy with unemployment right now. This is horrible. This might be called apathy. But, I am having the time of my life.
The other day, as I have been meaning to write about but like most things never got around to it, was momentous in that I walked from my house in the Wedgwood/Ravenna area, to Redmond. The journey, which ended at the Bear Creek park and ride, took just over seven hours and consisted of many bloody noses (I have had a cold lately), stopping at Jack 'n the Box to drink large cups of water, and overhearing tidbits of conversation from the many Seattle weekend biking warriors that frequent the Burke-Gilman. The journey more than fulfilling in that I proved to myself that my body could take such large amounts of walking, but not fulfilling in that I sort of ended up in the Redmond Town Center mall at one point drinking a grande Strawberries and Cream at Starbucks while scolding myself for taking a wrong turn at a few minutes back and never making it to the original desired destination of Marymoore Park.
As for the job search, I no longer work at Ivar's (for reasons I'd rather not explain), and I got cold feet the other day when revisiting my former job at University Volkswagen/Audi and told my boss that I thought the best thing for both of us would be for him to think things over, and for me to think things over, and for me to check back in a few days. This was actually completely his idea, but I think he somehow sensed my lack of commitment and acted accordingly. He is remarkably intuitive.
I'm really drawing a blank, folks. I want to communicate in this blog that I have idea how to communicate anything of consequence. There is a can of Rainier beer on my desk right now, and I think that it is the only thing in my room that is doing any real communicating. It is saying, "drink me. Who cares about a job. Who cares about the things right now that you think you should be worrying about. Who cares about the things you are worrying about. Drink me, and go to bed. Don't worry about the fact that I am warm, it will be all the same once I get to your stomach. Just drink me and chill for a sec."
The can of Rainier is wise.
I don't know what to do, friends. You've heard my little quarter-life crisis sob stories before. You know that they're lame and that the next day I always write something about how much of a crybaby I was the night before, and how I should just quit whining about problems that aren't really problems. You're completely right. You always are. I am going to drink the can of Rainier and see if that changes things at all. Hopefully it will balance out the coffee I drank a few hours ago.
Talk to you tomorrow,

Boosh Clown

Song of the Day:
boomp3.com

12:01AM Tonight

2008-07-17T20:01:00.000-07:00

BATMAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Video of the Day

2008-07-15T12:22:00.000-07:00

Um...when you're unemployed, you get bored.

Picture of the Day

2008-07-15T11:53:00.000-07:00

Here's a funny picture of a young Emma Watson for all you creeps out there. Doesn't she kind of look like Roger Federer here?

Much Menace

2008-07-15T10:01:00.001-07:00

I'm trying to figure out where I am going to go see the new Batman movie on Thursday night and just noticed that the film is rated PG-13 for "intense sequences of violence and some menace." Some menace? What does that even mean? Since when does one quantify menace? Does this mean that there is someone out there whose job it is to keep track of menace amounts? What century is this that people still use the word "menace," anyway? Did Paul Revere review this movie?

Anyway, regardless of menace quantities, the movie should be pretty awesome. And despite soaring ticket prices and the fact that you have to pay a surcharge if you want to buy said tickets online, I still plan to go midnight this Thursday. The only question left is: What theater? Cinerama is sold out unless you want to go at 3:30AM, the Neptune is semi-close to my house but I don't really want to stand across from Key Bank for an hour waiting to get in just to get a Staph infection from one of the balcony seats.
And I also don't want to go downtown, because I don't really like downtown. So I guess the answer is Ballard. Ballard is pretty nice (though you do have to ride the 44 to get there), the theater is quite expansive, and its fairly new and clean. Ballard it is, then. Alright.
I'm glad we had this talk.

-Boosh Clown

P.S. Maybe Heath Ledger is not deceased. Maybe he just lives with Tupac. Your thoughts?

Fresh Gear-athon

2008-07-14T10:16:00.001-07:00

Shipping: approx. $2.39USD
The Wait: 3-5 Business Days
The Anticipation: 2-3 Valium
Having the raddest possible shirt that absolutely no one else owns?: Priceless¹.

That's right, folks, the 2008 booshclown.blogspot.com official website t-shirts are finally in. Order now while supplies last and be one of the very first to own this one-of-a-kind garment that combines the latest in fashion with timeless memorabilia.
To order send check or money order to:
Boosh Clown
6219 NE 40th Ave.
Seattle, WA
98115

Make checks payable to:Mark "Damn, this shit is hot" Wetzler

Here are the shirts:

(Front View) Made of 100% precision machine woven cotton, this t-shirt combines the ultimate in comfort and durability. The logo, as you can see, includes letters and numbers to spell the phrase, "2 Rad 4 U," which is certainly what you will be after donning this magnificent vetement. (Readers note: the shirt shown is only a prototype. The shirt you receive will also include a reference to booshclown.blogspot.com).
(Back View) The back of the shirt is where the party's at. It is a spin off of those stupid WSU shirts you sometimes see that say, "Our drinking team has a football problem," or something equally unclever. Guess what guys? Football is not a real problem. The following things are, though: Meth, Heroin, and Ketamine. Insert any of these three words into the phrase on back to personally customize² your booshclown.blogspot.com t-shirt.
(Readers note: I know I spelled heroin wrong. Your shirt will not be spelled wrong. I am an idiot).

Happy Shopping!

Boosh Clown

¹$21.99
²I believe the phrase here, actually, Mark, would be the word "personalize." You are a genius.

Deeper than the Darkest Sea

2008-07-11T11:34:00.000-07:00

Today is, ostensibly, a day of soul-searching for Boosh Clown. I am going to go to the beach and think long and hard about what the hell I am doing with my life. I am going to moan about my achilles tendonitis and the current state of my thumbs (possibly more tendonitis) and think about how I am going to get healthy. I am going to look deep inside Boosh Clown's heart and really find what makes him tick. Really get, in the proverbial words of Gwen Stefani, "underneath it all."

And I am going to do some back flips.

You see, my friends, we are all at pivotal points in our lives right now. These are "the years." These are the years, supposedly, where you figure out what you are going to do for the rest of your life. Some of you think you have it figured out. Some of you DO have it figured out. But a lot of you don't. A lot of you are like me, bussing tables at Ivar's, living day to day, trying to stretch the paycheck so that you can buy new diapers and have a little extra so you can pay a babysitter and go out with your friends. Where's the love, you wonder? When am I going to get a break? I can't live like this for the rest of my life. So you go to the corner store and buy a 40 of Olde English 800 to try to drown your troubles, but you realize that the alcohol only intensifies them, that the relief is fleeting and when you get sober again your troubles haven't been drowned but rather grown moldier and mustier from being doused in liquid.

Anyway, I guess in today's blog I just want to say to you all that I hope you know what you're doing. I hope you are finding a path that suits you, and I hope that your reason for following that path has nothing (or very little) to do with money and fame and glory. I hope that you enjoy what you do, because if you enjoy what you do, and enjoy the people around you, you have found true happiness. I know that one day I will find this path, I just have a feeling I will have to hack my way through some blackberry bushes first. I think the most important thing to remind myself, though, and maybe you will find this true, too, is not to lose yourself in frustration when hacking through the blackberries that enshroud the path on the other side. You have to learn how to enjoy this hacking process. That is the whole secret. If you can enjoy the hacking process, you will find that the blackberries get a lot less thick. They will almost part and disappear before your very eyes. And at some point you will stop hacking, pause for a moment, and notice the beautiful fruit before you. And you will take a bite. And it will be oh, so sweet.

And then you will keep hacking, but this time with juice dripping from your chin.

-Boosh Clown

Acres of Boosh Clams

2008-07-07T17:37:00.001-07:00

It is official. Say hello to Ivar's Restaurant's newest bus boy: Boosh Clown. What an exciting development. What intrigue. Where will this job take me? Will it involve espionage? Will it involve caviar and champagne and expensive suits? I guess I'll find out tomorrow when I do my very first training shift, starting at 4pm Pacific Standard Time and going until closing. If you would like to be there to cheer me on, Ivar's is located on Alaskan Way at Pier 54. For those of you who won't be able to make it, here's a picture of me in my new uniform:
It's truly stunning how a change of clothes can affect your entire look, going so far as to affect your ethnicity, facial expressions, and even name. Apparently now I am Filipino/Mexican/Latin/Asian and my name is Kendrick.

Talk to you tomorrow,

Boosh Clown

So Hot

2008-07-06T19:15:00.000-07:00

Yesterday my roommate Dan was reading my Young Dro blog from a few months back and remarked, "Hey, this reminds me of an article I read in the Village Voice awhile ago about the song, 'This is Why I'm Hot.' Have you read it?" I intimated that I had not and then went and searched for it online. It was written by Rob Harvilla in March of 2007 when the song by rapper "Mims" was big and is absolutely hilarious. It has Venn diagrams, flow charts, and my favorite line in which Harvilla describes the lyric, "I'm hot 'cause I'm fly/You ain't 'cause you not," as "Brutal and unassailable in its simplicity." So awesome.
Anyway check it out here and get a taste of a what a true dissertation on a popular rap song is supposed to read like. And then download the song and listen to Mims, Bay Area role model.

-Boosh Clown

Picture of the Day

2008-07-05T22:21:00.001-07:00

Sweet.

Touché, France...Touché

2008-07-05T13:37:00.000-07:00

Quentin Delafon (second to right) and The Teenagers

Why Is Quentin Delafon so awesome? Why am I more than a little obsessed with him? Is it because his song "Homecoming" contains the lyrics:

“Last week, I flew to San Diego to see my Aunt
On day one, I met her hot step-daugher
She’s a cheerleader, she’s a virgin, and she’s really tan”?

Maybe not , but the more I think about it, probably. Delafon is the awesomely thin-mustached, slightly-creepy-slightly-sexy, always-almost-smiling frontman of a band called, "The Teenagers," a spoken-word trio whose lyrics seem to poke fun at American pop culture. The more I listen to them, the more I realize I have been searching for a band like this my entire life. Sub-consciously, I think a certain part of me has always been in need of a little Eurosleaze and synthesizers.

The Teenagers, ostensibly, are from France. They speak in heavy French accents and most of their songs are like watching an ironic, more vulgar, Euro version of the movie "Clueless." "Homecoming" talks about a summer fling in which relations are had between Delafon's character and his sexy step-cousin ("or whatever, who cares"), and the song "No Love" lionizes girlfriends who worry too much about their boyfriends' greasy pizza-eating habits and too much time spent in front of the computer (I have no idea what "lionizes" means. I really hope it works in this context).

So why the obsession? Well, if you read the previous paragraph and said to yourself, "That sounds pretty stupid," you probably won't understand. But if you read the previous paragraph and said, "That sounds fucking awesome," you probably will.

The Teenagers talk about exactly the stuff that I would find hilarious with American culture were I from a place like France: "massive" SUV's, cheerleaders, and "sexy rocker attitudes."
But the reason I became obsessed with Quentin Delafon in 7 minutes after doing some googling and preliminary internet research is because he doesn't just talk the way he talks in his music videos; he also talks that way in real life. While in Australia for example, he excitedly told one interviewer he hoped the girls would find him, "Super-exotic." Then later he said, "If we're on tour, and I feel like I'm becoming bored, I always tell myself: 'Shut up! This is super-cool!"

Delafon has it right: It is "super-cool" to be touring in Australia, and he should be having fun, which is exactly what he appears to be doing in all of his videos. This shows me that he is genuine, even if completely ridiculous. After all, "completely ridiculous" is always excusable and actually in most cases favorable, but fakeness is not.

And Quentin Delafon is not fake. He just has a mustache.

Independence Day

2008-07-04T11:33:00.001-07:00

Frowny face. I am mildly hungover today. For some reason I felt like I had to drink about ten Red Strips at Reggae Night at the War Room last night to be cool and be able to dance to semi-horrible dance hall music. This was a bad idea for several reasons: 1) Red Strip is a horrible excuse for a beer. 2) Drinking alcohol in large quantities rarely makes you cooler (unless you're David Hasselhoff), and 3) My head feels like it got hit by a bus right now, and it's the 4th of July, and on the 4th of July you're supposed to be partying your buttocks off, but I don't want to party my buttocks off right now, I want to anchor my buttocks to my bed and not move for 3-15 years.
Enough negativity, though.
On a positive note, the new house I moved into on 40th AVE NE is absolutely awesome. It is close to the Burke Gilman and close to a park that has a generous amount of grassy field and two tennis courts so I can get my Michael Chang on (obscure reference, but if you've never heard of him, Michael Chang is the epitome of Asian-American tennis prowess. I'm not sure how this relates to me, but I thought it would be cooler than putting someone like "Roger Federer" or "Pete Sampras).
Anyway, it should be a beautiful day to celebrate our nation's independence from those nit-picky Brits. I think Thomas Jefferson and the rest of the founding fathers would all be pleased that the number goal of most citizens on this glorious day is to get rip-roaring drunk and/or blow their hands off with firecrackers.

Happy 4th,

Boosh Clown

P.S. Shout-out to Nivi. Whoop whoop!

A Day Without Refined Sugar

2008-07-02T17:20:00.000-07:00

Today I tried to go a day without eating refined sugar. It technically started last night after I devfoured a microwaved hot dog loaded with ketchup and mustard and relish, looked at the clock, and said, "OK, go."
Anyway, as I said, I "tried" to go a day without eating refined sugar, but failed. This morning I had plain yoghurt mixed with pure honey, only to find out later via google that technically honey is a "refined suger," insomuch as it is refined in the bellies of the merry bees that make it.
So I failed.
And then I ate a shitload of German pound-cake, enjoyed a hearty grilled-cheese sandwich with plenty of ketchup (ketchup has refined sugar if you're wondering why I keep mentioning it), and washed it all down with a tall glass of lemonade, first ingredient: sugar and high fructose corn syrup.
Livin' the good life.
Wish me luck tomorrow for round two.

-Boosh Clown

Exhibit A: Gooey Culprit

The Lost Blogs

2008-07-02T11:11:00.001-07:00

Over the past year and a half since this blog started, I have written many blog drafts that, for some reason or other, have never made it to publication. The main reason for this is usually I don't finish them, but plenty of others had never seen the glory that is booshclown.blogspot.com just because of boring content or lack of a central theme. Today I will start publishing some of those blogs, mostly because I believe that there are parts of them you might find interesting or "phun."
This first one was written July 9, 2007, over a year ago, and contains only three scant sentences. It did not have a title:

Why is Elton John underappreciated by our generation? Is it completely becuase of the purpple glasses? Can't be.

Yeah.

The next blog was written this last December while in Colombia. I never published it because it felt like kind of a weak read and also like I was bragging about hangovers, and bragging about hangovers that should not be bragged about. Anyway, here it is:

The hangover is a curious beast. As I am in the depths of one right now, I thought it appropriate to write a blog concerning this vicious after effect of having too much fun. I have had several epic hangovers in my life, ranging from the morning after puke to lying in bed in a seemingly paralyzed state, clutching the pillow as if it were the only thing allowing me to cling to life. I remember a few in particular, in no particular order:

Thanksgiving, age 17
After an absolutely spectacular night of binge drinking, I spent the following morning sitting on the floor of my bathroom and clutching the toilet. To mask the sounds of my vomiting, I turned on the shower. Harry and Nancy were never the wiser, but were quite suspect of my lack of appetite when the cooked aviary delight was wheeled out to the table.

London, 2004
When visiting my friend Scott in London in 2004 I had the flu. One night I said to myself, "I'm going to see what it's like to get absolutely fucked up when you're sick." I am a fool. I knew exactly what would happen. I didn't, however, know that at 3 in the morning my friend would get a call from some tenants in his building saying "Hey, your mate is on our floor and he's passed out under a coffee table." I spent the next day wallowing in morbid self hatred and counting on one hand my remaining brain cells.

So that's that blog. Also kind of ends abrubtly, but offers a little more explanation than the first. Anyway, that's all for today's "Lost Blog" section. More to come later.

-Boosh Clown

Gnarbike

2008-06-30T18:11:00.001-07:00

A couple people have asked me recently if I actually bought a bike. I did, and here is a picture. On my computer it is labeled, "gnarbike," but feel free to save it to your computer and title it however you want.

Back in USA

2008-06-30T17:19:00.000-07:00

Today's blog will be a soliloquy to keep you, faithful reader, informed of my whereabouts and general happenings, and also to explain to you my thoughts and feelings on several matters about which I feel passionate. In general rant form, it will not be edited to the extent of previous entries and I will endeavor to not use the "back-space" button under any circumstances.
I am currently in a bus at US/Canadian customs. I have to pee. I'm not sure if the bathroom on the bus is functional, and there's a big sign in customs that says, "Please turn off cell phones, No Public Restrooms."
I always get nervous going through customs, even when I have nothing to hide, which is most of the time. Today the agent asked me what I had and I said, "Clothes," and he said, "Clothes you bought?" And I said, "No," then corrected myself and said, "Well, I have a hat I bought in Quebec," referring to a blue and white Quebec flag hat that I got in a grocery store in Trois Rivieres for $1.99 on which I have already gotten several compliments, including one from a guy that plays guitar and sings and is generally considered to be cool who said to me in a bar in Trois Rivieres called La Chasse Galerie (The Hunting Gallery, ideal for singles) "Nice hat."
Anyway, we're waiting for a few people still being "processed," as they term it, and then we will be on our way to the Bellingham International Airport, where playboys go to lounge and drink high-priced cocktails and where several scenes of the upcoming James Bond movie have been shot¹.
It is extremely hot in the bus despite the air conditioning, and this is because my seat is angled into the sun. I chose the seat I am sitting in precisely because it wouldn't be angled into the sun due to its location on the East side of bus the and our Southern trajectory towards Seattle, but my precise calculations have been disrupted by our stopping at the United States customs checkpoint.
The bus driver, who wanted to be out of here by 5:30pm, just walked up and down the bus counting people, and exclaimed in his raspy but somewhat booming voice, "We're outta here," paused emphatically and said, "It's just 5:30."
One thing that is kind of amazing about this bus is the fact that it has wireless. I don't really know how that works, but I'm assuming it has something to do with a router that doesn't receive its signal from a jack in the wall, but rather wirelessly.
We are now passing an Exxon station just outside of Blaine, and it appears that a gallon of unleaded gasoline costs $4.46 or $4.49. I already forgot. People have been making an outrageous stink about gasoline prices for the past year or so, but I am still of the school of people whose motto is, "I don't really care." This is probably because I don't have a car.
In other news I will be hanging out with my friend Barry tonight, hopefully drinking tall cans of cheap beer and enjoying the extremely mild midsummer Seattle evening temperatures. Barry leaves for Minnesota in two or three days and then goes to Chile for four months, so apparently he is having some sort of going away party tonight. It is highly probable that about 10 minutes after I post this blog Barry, who gets blogs sent to his Blackberry on Google reader, will make a comment about his shout-out, or mention, or whatever you want to call it, in this blog.
Tomorrow I will be moving into my new room at my friend Dan's house, and pursuing with mild enthusiasm the prospect of getting a job. Prospects right now include: bussing tables at Ivar's, maybe, but probably not, driving the bicycle rick-shaws you see waiting to pick people up at the Bainbridge ferry and take them to Mariners games, and hopefully, writing or toiling for The Stranger, Seattle's only "alternative" newspaper. The Stranger is obviously, at least to me, the ideal scenario, though I could see how many could find glamor in the rick-shaw scenario, especially if he or she has seen the episode of Seinfeld in which Kramer endeavors to pull people on a rick-shaw through New York City, and fails wonderfully. Actually, now that I think about it, Kramer doesn't pull the rick-shaw, but rather holds tryouts with the city's homeless to see if he can find someone to pull it, and it ends up getting stolen by a grubby-faced man named "Rusty." My memory with that show is already fading rapidly.
In other news, yesterday I went to my first nude beach in North America. I went last year to a beach in San Francisco where there were some old men naked and a few girls topless but I don't really count that. This beach, Wreck Beach, in Vancouver, was truly a nude beach. Every five feet was a dangling weiner or a pair of breasts that seemed to be screaming for a bra. It wasn't unpleasant though, for the most part, like that last sentence makes it out to be. It really wasn't unpleasant, despite the fact that the beach was absolutely packed and there was one particularly disgusting subject who was wearing an unbuttoned beach shirt that had chili peppers all over it, and nothing else, no pants-nothing, who strolled up and down the beach various times much to our dismay. I had never in my life seen so many breasts and genitals in real life, and you always kind of expect it to be some kind of extraordinary experience, but in the end it just gets kind of boring and vaguely disgusting at times. Which is not to say I'm against nudity. I am completely pro-nudity, or at least would be if I had to take a stance on the matter, I guess, well, I just don't really care. Kind of like I don't really care about gas prices (I wish I could delete the gas price sentence because I feel like it makes me sound like a hippie).
Anyway, we're just pulling into the Bellingham airport right now, and I can see a troop of playboys drinking martini's and standing on top of a Hummer All-Terrain vehicle in the distance. The sun is once again on my body and it is very hot. I suspect either the air-condition is being over powered or it's not on to begin with.
That's about all I have to say for now.
Deuces,

Boosh Clown

¹This is false.

UPDATE: I am currently heart-broken due to the fact that I was really stoked to be able to listen to the songs, "Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa," "Oh Yoko," and "Homecoming" by Vampire Weekend, John Lennon, and the Teenagers respectively, but have just discovered that I have absolutely no fucking clue where my head-phones are, which means that unless I start accosting random bus mates to use their head phones, I will not be able to listen to music. This is far more tragic than you can comprehend. I think I just felt a couple hairs on my head turn gray.
Good Day.

Word...

2008-06-26T11:58:00.000-07:00

BITNB is in VANCOUVER!!!!!!! The West coast is the best coast and all that stuff. Had a sweet flight from Edmonton to Vancouver, drinking vodka sodas and enjoying sweeping views of the Canadian Rockies. Now we're on scene in Kitsilano with BITNB's Chief Canadian Correspondent, Jenny Newman.
"Make sure you give us some shout-outs," says Jenny.
"Dude, I just called you the Chief Canadian Correspondent," says I.
The other day BITNB was dragged kicking and screaming (see: we were actually hella stoked) to the Sex and the City Movie. Instead of making comments in my defense for seeing this movie, I am actually going to comment on something very positive, and that is the fact that the movie contains the epic song, "New York Girls" by Morningwood (!) that starts with the even more epic lyrics:
"Hey, where you from?"
"I'm from New York."

So awesome.

Anyway, BITNB will be heading back to Seattle on Sunday or Monday and setting up shop at our good friend Dan's house who lives near the University of Washington. We are so excited for this development. This means ALL of July and ALL of August for ripping it at Madison Park, playing MUFF at the IMA fields, and riding our sweet Navaro Divano bicycle on the Burke Gilman, shedding tens of pounds and developing calf muscles that help us elevate like Shawn Bradley.
One question many of you might have is: Will BITNB achieve cell-phone positive status when we get back to Seattle?
The answer? Probably not, though the outcome may be affected by the type of job we procure and just how lucrative it is (I realize I'm really wearing this "royal we" shit out).
Anyway, we'll keep you posted.

Hasta luego,

Boosh Clown

p.s. Here's the "New York Girls" song in case you were interested. Note the hella sweet graphic.

You Got me Slippin'...Tumblin'....

2008-06-24T16:54:00.000-07:00

This blog is falling apart. I'm in EDMONTON, ALBERTA!!!!!!! I just pet horses and played Bacci Ball. I'm not eating refined sugar for a day so I'm currently drinking pure fruit juice. Rippin' it. Party. Also got a massage today. More to come later...........

Lake Erie Party

2008-06-11T15:07:00.000-07:00

This video was taken on Pelee Island, the southernmost point in all of Canada.

Wetzler Father/Son Canadian Super Tour 2008 Part 1

2008-06-06T12:52:00.000-07:00

We have a penchant for dramatic titles here at Blog is the New Blog, but this one might be our first that is actually an understatement. Over the past week or so my father and I have motored our way up from New Bremen, Ohio, to the beautiful walled city of Quebec, Canada. We have met more than a few trials and tribulations along the way, all braved semi-fearlessly in our never ending Northeasterly trajectory.
Today, like I said, I come to you from Quebec City, but to start things off properly we have to go back to the site of our previous blog entry and slideshow mania: New Bremen, Ohio.
From New Bremen, Ohio, Harry and I got a ride to Sandusky, Ohio, located on the Southern shore of Lake Eerie, where we took an 11-minute plane ride to Pelee Island, Ontario. Pelee Island is famous for two things: It's the southernmost point in Canada (south of most of Northern California according to one poster), and its got a winery. I suggested we definitely take a winery tour or at the very least do some tasting and Harry acquiesced. We sampled several of their more popular selections and Harry, though not the most avid of drinkers, exclaimed after tasting their iced wine variety, "Goddamn, that's good shit." I was appalled.
The hour and a half journey from Pelee Island to Leamington, Ontario, one of the most southern cities on the mainland and considered "The Tomato Capital of Canada," was made aboard the MV Jimaan, a strong, seaworthy vessel whose name means "Canoe" in the local native tongue (I assure you she was more than a canoe).
Leamington, was, well, one of the worst places in the world. I know that sounds a little harsh, but as a respected travel writer I am not paid to be anything less than frank¹. Our hotel was right across the street from a Wal-Mart. This onslaught of commercialism was endearing at first after having spent so many days amidst endless fields of wheat and soy, but soon inflicted in me a mild, unsettling feeling I can only describe as "wretched nausea." My visit to the Dollarama, literally located next door, did nothing to improve the state of affairs.
I will say this about Leamington: the waterfront area is somewhat beautiful, and I was amazed and excited to find people actually surfing on Lake Eerie. There were swells! Swells in a lake! I don't know if I saw either of the surfers we saw on the water get what one might call, "a legitimate ride," but it was awesome to see them out there just the same.
To get to Toronto from Leamington, we took about a 5-hour Greyhound bus ride. While waiting for the bus, a woman and what appeared to be her mate rolled up beside us in a black Chevy Silverado, rolled down the window, and asked, "Do you know where the Wal-Mart is?" I blinked a few times and then thought to myself, "Wow. Yes, I know exactly where the Wal-Mart is." The couple pulled away in their truck with sound directions and I experienced what it would be like to be a Leamington local, at which point I was gripped by another wave of nausea and my left calf muscle cramped slightly.
The greyhound ride was amazing. I love buses. Ever since my trip through Central and South America they have held a special place in my heart. This bus ride was no different. Leamington gave way to more corn fields, but then the scenery got a little more interesting near London, Ontario. The woman sitting next to me for part of the ride was quite the chatty cathy so I learned more than I ever thought I would about Southwestern Ontario, for example, that all the Crown Victoria police cars are manufactured in plant just outside of London. After a while of talking to the woman I put on my headphones to listen to some music I had just recently put on my MP3 player, not to be rude, but just because I thought conversation time with the woman had drawn to an end.
Apparently I was wrong.
The addition of my headphones to the scenario appeared to cause her much vexation. She would periodically lean in to me like she was going to say something and then, realizing I had my headphones on, withdraw in frustration. Finally it got to be to much for her and she leaned in and said in a loud voice, "See that over there? That's a new landfill. That's where they dump all of Toronto's garbage now. They just truck it out here. I don't like it one bit."
"That must be a lot of garbage," I said, and she nodded, satisfied with my answer.
We only spent one night in Toronto, but it is a cool city. One of the highlights was actually our hotel, which featured an indoor swimming pool, workout room, and sauna, all three of which I used on at least one occasion. In the workout room I decided to relive my days as an elliptical trainer aficionado, definitely scaring some of the other exercisers with my rapid RPM's and fierce, periodic grunting. They were obviously not used to such levels of intensity.
In Toronto Harry and I rented a car, which is where our BITNB Wetzler Father/Son Canadian Super Tour 2008 Part 1 entry will end today. Next it's Bloomfield, Ottawa, and Quebec!

A plus!

-Boosh Clown

¹....

It's June!

2008-06-06T07:36:00.000-07:00

I know it's been a long while since the last update, and though we're in Quebec right now, I wanted to post the scintillating pictures of Ohio I promised so long ago. To see them, head here.

P.S. You might want to sit down for this....

Anyway, like I said, we're in Quebec, and it is fairly rad (see: so rad). I know I also promised a Blog is the New Blog Canadian Edition, and that is on its way, I just need some time to upload and search through all the photos of Harry beer-bonging alongside scantily clad coeds. So stay tuned.

Hope everyone is doing well!

-Boosh Clown

"The Casual Sports Fan" with Mark Wetzler

2008-05-31T12:06:00.001-07:00

I used to be way more into conventional sports than I am now. This circa 1997 influence is fairly evident nowadays when I make any sports-related comment.
Here are just a few of my observations regarding the most current sporting events:

1) Tayshaun Prince is skinny (and left-handed)
2) I can't believe I heard the word, "fucking" on ESPN last night, as in when Rasheed Wallace angrily snapped at one of the cameramen, said "Get that fucking camera out of my face" and then threw his towel at him.
3) Kobe is actually a lot better spoken than I would have thought he would be, or at least better spoken than when I last saw him speak in an interview, which must have been about five years ago. My respect for him has gone up slightly (this also may have something to do with his fourth quarter performance against the Spurs last Thursday), and I no longer blindly assume he is a rapist.
4) Kevin Garnett looks like a pterodactyl (see: Exhibit A, below/right).
5) The Lakers are going to absolutely destroy whoever they play in the finals. They are playing on a different level than other teams. They are bigger, stronger and faster (like that camp you can go to for Babe Ruth baseball in Eastern Washington). Lamar Odom is 7 foot 6 and moves like he's 5 foot 6. Everyone on the Lakers is an absolute beast, and then you have Kobe, the best player in basketball. The Lakers will win.
6) How is Sam Cassell still playing NBA basketball? I thought he retired and became a commentator. He must be at least 50. I guess aliens don't age at the same rate as everyone else.
7) I do not like Flip Saunders. He's a grotesque version of Bill Murray (who is already grotesque enough) and his voice sounds like he smokes cigarettes made of sandpaper.
8) Theo "My Last Name Needs to Die With Me" Ratliff
9) Why do they show Jack Nicholson at least 10 times every Laker game? We know he is a fan. We know he has good seats. We don't care what his reaction is and we don't enjoy seeing is old-ass "one flew over the cuckoo's nest" mug every 4 seconds.
10) I've been watching the College Fastpitch World Series a little bit, and I've gotta hand it to the Arizona State girls. Not only are they pretty good, they're way - uh - slimmer than the girls on most of the other teams too. Now, hold on, hold on, easy. Don't get in a huff about what I just said. All I'm saying is that they are much skinnier (as a team) than most of the other teams in the Women's College World Series. I'm not saying this is better, though that is completely what it sounds like I am saying. All I'm saying is that their weight is pretty amazing considering the fact that if they collectively weighed as much as the girls on say, Alabama, they would probably hit every ball out of the park and absolutely dominate (see: Exhibit B, above right).
11) Speaking of the Women's College World Series, how fucking hilarious is it that John Kruk is one of the commentators? I remember having a John Kruk baseball card from the mid 90's in which he looked like he weighed about 350 pounds and as if he had just ingested another 30 pounds of undercooked red meat. So awesome.
12) Watching Jeff Van Gundy in the post-game wrap up of the Pistons/Celtics game, I thought to myself, "Man, that guy looks like someone I've seen before." And then it came to me: Ghost! You know the part in the movie Ghost where Patrick Swayze learns how to touch things in the human world from a from a maniacal spirit that inhabits the bowels of the New York Subway system? Jeff Van Gundy looks exactly like that guy! I think someone should check him for a pulse.
13) Not much to say about the French Open right now, other than I really hate Nadal and hope he falls into the Thames (*Seine). Bummer about Sharapova. She's mildly attractive.
14) So, of course, this year is a big deal because its the first Laker Celtic final since 1987, back when the two teams were both powerful dynasties. But it's also a big deal for me because it might be the thing that makes me start liking pro basketball again. I haven't really liked Pro basketball since around the year 2000, and honestly, why should I have? Who wants to watch a league that has a team called "The Raptors" that run around in purple jerseys? No one.
15) So, I wrote number 5 (the one about the Lakers destroying everyone) last night when I was a little tired and hadn't really thought things through properly. I failed to consider (and this may be way off) that the Celtics are probably the more experienced team overall and thus may put up more of a fight than I had originally thought. I'm saying this only because most of the players on the Celtics have names I recognize, due to the fact that they were good way back when I was an avid basketball fan, whereas the Lakers seem to have a disproportionate amount of Eastern European players who, while being good three-point shooters, have names I have never heard before in my life.
I suspect that Phil Jackson may be kidnapping babies from Romania and forcing them into basketball slavery, but this is purely conjecture.
Either way it should be a good series.

Well that's all for our first edition of "The Casual Sports Fan" with your host Mark Wetzler. Hope to see all of you again next time!

Next on Blog is the New Blog:
We'll head out to Toronto for BITNB's first ever, "Canadian Edition."

Ohio Bloggin' Part 343,322

2008-05-28T10:10:00.000-07:00

There has been some dissent expressed due to the taking down of our recent video/audio hit "Cammy and Christina Vol.1" in which two sorority girls wake up after a frat party and discuss the previous night's shenanigans. The video will be up again here on Blog is the New Blog shortly, but until then you may watch it on YouTube. Just search "Cammy and Christina" (Warning: Video contains audio that is profane, extremely immature, and kind of awesome).
We're still in Ohio folks, and we're gettin' small-town fever. The highlight of my day today could very well be taking my mother to the airport, and kicking around a soccer ball in the back yard. I have devised an ingenious little golf-type-soccer course in the backyard that involves me kicking the soccer ball (which is actually a volleyball) from various obstacles (tree, sundial, bird bath) and trying to hit other obstacles (tree, sundial, bird bath, Ohioan)in as few tries possible. The par is always two and the course ends with me having to chip the ball up and get it to bounce off the top of the concrete bird bath that lies in the back corner my in my Grandma's backyard. I was completely unsuccessful last night despite many attempts but this morning finally succeeded much to my own delight and celebration.

I will also probably go to Dairy Queen tonight and get a medium cherry sundae.

Hold onto your hats.

Anyway, tomorrow the small-town Middle America life will come to a close and I'll head out to enjoy small-town Middle Canada life, otherwise known as Pelee Island, Ontario. From there my father and I will take a ferry to Leamington, Ontario, then a bus to Toronto, Ontario, and then finally rent a car that will take us up to Quebec. I just wanted to keep you all posted and give you the updates I know you are all dying to receive. There will be more shortly and also an Ohio Photo Collage showcasing some of the sights I have been soaking up this past week. If you're into pictures of wheat fields and bovines you will definitely want to check it out.

Until next time!

-Boosh Clown

Cammy and Christina Vol. 1

2008-05-25T23:21:00.000-07:00

I found this video the other day of two UW sorority girls waking up after a frat party and discussing the previous night's events. Enjoy...
(Warning: Video contains audio that is both extremely vulgar and immature)

More Ohio Bloggin'

2008-05-25T23:12:00.000-07:00

'Nother beautiful night here in Ohio. Fireflies ain't out--they don't come round till 'bout Joo-ly--but that's a good thang coz it mean the heat hold off a little bit too. Don't like it when it's too hot and still have to wear trousers. You know what I mean, them long trousers you gotta wear in the summer just coz it ain't right to go round walkin' near the canal in short pants.

Hot damn.

Ohio is the New Blog

2008-05-25T23:01:00.000-07:00

Written May 22, 2008

Here at Blog is the New Blog, we like to hit the links whenever we can. Today I went to Arrowhead Golf Club in Minster, Ohio, where I played 9 holes by myself. It's a good thing I was by myself, due to the fact that my level of play was somewhat embarrassing. I'd say about 5 of the holes were played semi-decently (read: semi-terribly) and about 4 of the holes were a complete and utter abomination.
That said, I had the time of my life. I had forgotten how fun it is to play golf by yourself. There's way less pressure and you don't have to wait for people to hit and find their golf balls and take practice swings and read greens; you just walk to your ball and hit, and repeat the process until the ball's in the hole.
Which, granted, for me, today, took a little bit of effort.
But, like I was saying, I enjoyed every second of it, and when I'm on my own roaming the open countryside I try to find ways to amuse myself. I mainly I just talk to myself, loudly, and often in a Southern accent. After every shot I would say something like, "Now, goddamnit Mark it's eighta seecks yards and here yew are takin' a full swang with a peetchin wedge. Wat the hell yew thankin'? Course it went the hell o'er the hole, watch you espect? You spect it to get sum English er sum that damn portugeeze on eet and just stop 'erself rat therr ?" Or I'd be walking down the fairway, "Well, I'll be hot damned its goddamned gorjiss out today. Whoo-wee. Little bitta cross breeze but that don't matter we got ourselves a round 'a golf today, folks."
And so on and so forth.
On the way home from golf I even got lucky and my favorite song by Alan Jackson was playin' on the radio. Way down yonder on the Chattahoochie, never knew how much that muddy water meant to me. Well I learned how to swim and I learned who I was, lot about livin' and a little 'bout love...
So here we are in Ohio, folks. The next week or so is going to be an interesting medley of taking walks, bike rides, hanging out with my siblings when they finally get here, and being bored out of my skull. Please send some love my way when you get the chance. I would love to hear from each and every one of you.
Y'all take care, na.

Video of the Day

2008-05-19T23:22:00.000-07:00

Retour a Vega by The Stills

Big ups to Jenny Newman for introducing me to this song in the first place.

Rippin' it.

The Moops

2008-05-19T15:53:00.000-07:00

Only 22 hours left to vote on Blog is the New Blog's latest poll, "Does Mark have the balls/ovaries to delete his Facebook account?" Interestingly enough (see: sadly enough), not a single person has voted "Yes" so far. People either think that A) I don't have the balls, or probably more likely B) Not only do I not have the balls, even if I did have the balls I would never delete my Facebook account because I adore it.

Either way you're all a bunch of haters.

In other news, Blog is the New Blog embarks on a trip in two days. The destination? Ohio.
The last time I was in Ohio it was Christmas and I remember a particular episode where I was struck by the bleakness of some frozen cornfields and kind of wanted to cry.

Let's hope spirits are a little higher this time around.

Blog is the New Blog finally got to hang out with some its favorite homeys recently. On Saturday my buddy Barry and I drank 24 oz. cans of Pabst on a side street in Capitol Hill before going to the quad at Seattle University to watch Common Market perform. Before that night I had never heard of Common Market, supposedly a group similar to Blue Scholars. Let's just say I still wish I had never heard of Common Market.
Actually, the rapping wasn't all that bad. The worst part was watching a bunch of Jesuit kids pump their fists in the air to music they probably didn't like. Blog is the New Blog also saw a hippie couple doing some new-age, "just like, feel the vibes of the music, man" dancing. The female contingent was wearing a Camelbak and looked like she had just ingested some sort of trance-inducing drug.

The world is going to hell in a hand basket.

In other news, I was just looking at the 2007 Weblog Awards because I wanted to see what blog won "Funniest Blog," but it didn't turn out to be all that funny so I decided to check out the "Best Culture Blog" thinking it would be cool stuff regarding - uh - culture. But it wasn't. It wasn't at all. The best culture blog turns out to be a site called "The Cool Hunter," and it basically just has a bunch of pictures of fancy houses and shoes¹.

Finally, Blog is the New Blog regrets to announce that the bike trip from Ohio to Quebec that I spoken so fervently of will not be happening for health-related reasons (see: I am unhealthy). Please feel free to comment with your words of consolation or the semi-obligatory "I told you so" (you can comment anonymously).

We're still bikin', though, just not as far. Today I rode about eight miles in honor of Eminem² and had a lot more fun because my achilles wasn't crying and I actually felt like I could prudently take the liberty of riding while standing up (I didn't do it in the past because it was a bit hard on the achilles).

Also, last but certainly not least, take a chance to read Chuck Klosterman's article about British handball and other things in the new edition of "Esquire." It's quite funny.

Summer is almost here!

-Boosh Clown

¹Which, I suppose, pretty much hits "American culture" on the head.

²Just kidding.

Man Crushes (Part 1)

2008-05-17T11:21:00.000-07:00

"Hey, Mark, who was voted People Magazine's "Sexiest Man of the Year" last year?"
"Uh, my boyfriend."
(Silence)
"Mark...you're delusional."

Such is a tidbit of conversation likely to occur concerning me and my feelings for 38-year-old actor-turned-sex-bomb Matt Damon, BLOG IS THE NEW BLOG's choice for our first ever "Man Crush." Damon stole our hearts as the troubled intellectual in 1997's Good Will Hunting, and then moved on to become the hottest multi-lingual, gun-totin' amnesiac alive with the 2002 release of the Bourne Identity. Weirdly enough, the first movie I was mildly obsessed with that contained Damon was The Talented Mr. Ripley, where he played a gifted/disturbed man who creeped out Gwyneth Paltrow and bludgeoned Jude Law to death with a dinghy oar. Now, I enjoyed the movie for its gorgeous Italian cinematography, and only when I re-watched it a few years later did I realize that the subtle, homo erotic undertones that Damon exuded throughout the entire film were actually, well, overtones. Which made the movie kind of weird the second time around.
But ANYWAY, Damon secured his position as a sexual icon with the Bourne Identity, where he played Jason Bourne, a dude that speaks German without knowing how and is good at firing a gun. I suppose its sexy to watch him beat the crap out of trained assasins, but what really does it for me is the language ability. Bourne/Damon speaks everything--Russian, German, Portuguese, French, Spanish--without even trying. It's like he has a chip implanted in his brain. A chip that I want.

Oh, and I suppose he also has nice pecks.

The competition for Damon comes in the form of an admittedly mildly attractive former bartender from Argentina named Luciana Barroso. The two were wed in 2005 after Damon flew out to Bellevue, Washington, to select a ring from Steven Goldfarb, jeweler. BELLEVUE, people, BELLEVUE! I had my chance and I blew it! Imagine what would've happened if when Matt was selecting a ring in the jewelry shop my sumptuous ring finger had slid into view. Well, I'll tell you what would've happened. I'd be Mark Wetzler-Damon, that's what.

Alas, it wasn't meant to be, and now I have to sit at home and content myself with waiting for the next Bourne thriller, slated to come out in 2010.

Waiting with bells on.

-Boosh Clown

Song of the Day: Hung Up by Madonna

Poetry Wednesdays

2008-05-14T14:51:00.001-07:00

If you ride Seattle Transit, you've probably noticed the poetry featured near the ceilings of the inside of the buses. I have noticed that often times this poetry is quite good, and it's almost always better when it's written by a young person. Are young people the only ones truly capable of writing poetry without sounding pretentious or like a drug addled hippie? I would argue that yes, they probably are. For whatever reason, when adults write poetry it sounds like they're trying way too hard. A lot of times you can tell they're trying way too hard to sound like they're not trying that hard. Either way it produces poetry that makes you want to vomit on the seat in front of you. By this logic, the best poets would be those that are extremely young, but just barely old enough to be literate. I'm talking really young. Like four and five-year-olds, or in the case of Augustine Tangas, three-year-olds.
My girlfriend and I had the fortune of being exposed to some of Augustine's work the other day as we rode the 11 from Madison Park to Downtown. Hers was by far the best poem on the bus, and here it is:

A Dream that Really Really Happened
by Augustine Tangas

A dream that really really happened,
And the mother and father didn't know,
And they loved their little little girls,
And they wanted to see the dream,
But they didn't see it,
Because it already happened,
And they were poor.

.....(silence).......

Bravo, August, Bravo. I shall keep a close eye on your work as you begin the ever-difficult transition from "toddler" to "woman."

-Boosh Clown

Song of the Day: Chattahoochee by Alan Jackson

Walk the Line

2008-05-13T16:59:00.000-07:00

The above quote is probably one of the radder quotes I have ever read. It was also the first thing that came up when I searched, "inspirational quotes" on Google. Why is it rad (see: hilarious)? Because it's not really all that inspirational at all. I've been sitting here for the past few minutes trying to figure out how it could apply to my life, and I've come to the following conclusion:

A) It doesn't apply to my life at all.
B) It applies to every aspect of my life.

The genius of this quote is that it provides semi-specific imagery while also being completely vague. I don't own a ship, and have been on very few ships in my life, but I still feel like I have a basic understanding of the nautical world. From what I gather, this quote states that: A) Harbors are safe, and B) Ships weren't built for harbors. This is easy enough to grasp, so I decided to delve a little deeper. After applying the Pythagorean theorem to the quote and multiplying it by Murphy's law, I came to the conclusion that C) Ships were built to be outside of harbors, and D) Outside of harbors is not safe. I also drew the conclusions that E) John Shedd wore an eye patch, and F)Probably ingested large quantities of rum.

I was looking for inspirational quotes because I am currently walking a very thin line and needed a quick pick-me-up. As many of you know, I am currently training for a long-distance bike trip. As I have also stated on several occasions, my right achilles tendon is a piece of poop. Now, I knew this going into the training process; I knew it all too well. However, for some logic-defying reason, I assumed my achilles tendon--which has had very little excercise in the past few months save walking to the video store or the local coffee shop--would be completely up to the task. I assumed that bike riding would be low-impact enough to where I could beat the shit out of it and still recover quite easily. I assumed that my body would take on the regenerative powers of a juvenile wolverine. I assumed that it would be easy.

I was wrong.

So now I am walking a very thin line. If I bike too far on any given day, I risk straining my achilles tendon beyond repair and having to bag the bike trip entirely. If I don't ride far enough, I will surely have my ass and achilles obliterated on the first few days of the trip and have to bag the bike trip entirely, albeit at a later date. This is the dilemma I am facing right now, and this is the reason I was just looking for inspirational quotes on Google. Luckily I didn't have to look very far, for I instantly stumbled upon John Shedd's very inspirational quote involving ships and harbors, which I can easily apply to my own situation: Achilles tendons in bodies are safe, but that's not what achilles tendons are built for.

Or something like that.

-Boosh Clown

Song of the Day: Staring at the Sun by TV on the Radio

P.S. Note how Shedd spells "harbour" with a "u." Filthy Torry.

The Power of Like, Two Days From Now

2008-05-07T15:53:00.001-07:00

It's hard to update a blog when you haven't updated it for awhile; there's added pressure. Like an opened bag of Doritos left on the coffee table, an un-updated blog goes stale, and reviving a stale blog is a daunting task. You feel like you have to write a blog that's so amazing it offsets the staleness of the previous weeks and makes your readers forget about the fact they spent so many days and nights checking your blog only to see that it hasn't been updated. I knew a guy once who didn't update his blog for seven months. Every waking hour of his days became consumed by trying to write the perfect blog to make up for his blogging absence. He eventually went insane and had to check into the loony bin. Hopefully this won't happen to me. I think you need to have readers before you feel pressure.

Anyway, the first chip, like the first blog, always tastes a little gross. But then you keep eating, and after a while you almost forget that they're stale. Plus, you're drinking; You're drinking heavily, and you don't really even care that the chips are stale. You just want something to eat.

So please, eat this blog up, my friends. It has been a long time, about a week, since we've posted a new blog here at Blog is the New Blog.

And I know you've all been dying for an update.

Matter of Business # 1
I am back in the Yew-Nited States of 'Merica. I have been here since May 1st. I am staying at my parents house and I recently purchased a new bike, which I have been riding semi-avidly. It feels good to be back in the US, but there are a few things I will be nostalgic for back in Victoria. I will miss walking on Dallas Road and in Beacon Hill Park, I will miss walking through Cook St. Village, and I will miss crafting modern-day marvels of engineering with my bare hands, or as some might call it, deck building.

Matter of Business # 2
Like I said, I finally bought a bike for my bike trip, and I'm probably going to read Lance Armstrong's book. I don't see how these two things can lead to me not having a successful trip.

Matter of Business # 3
I'm in love with Andy Bunker.

Matter of Business # 4
I kind of didn't want to confess it at first, but I recently read A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose by Eckhart Tolle. You actually might have had an inkling that some sort of mysticism was going on when my Facebook status was involuntarily changed to "Mark is awakening to his life's purpose." I enjoyed the book, but the hard part is telling people what it's about when they ask me. I usually either respond, "It's about killing your ego," or:"It's about how thinking is bad." The funny thing about this book (at least funny to me) is that its entire mantra is about how happiness needs to come from within, that it can't be found anywhere else or at any other time. It can't be found in a new job promotion, or a new car, or even...in a book. Like the book you're reading, hoping to find happiness.

But whatever.

Anyway, the book is good. The thing I wouldn't do is read The Power of Now because it basically just reads like a rough draft to Awakening to Your Life's Purpose. Tolle can get kind of redundant, but in his second book the redundancy is a little more soothing; in the first book, it just kind of makes you want to beat up people that meditate.

Matter of Business # 5
I forgot to mention this, but my dad is coming with me on my bike trip. This is significant for several reasons, but most notable because we will now be staying in hotels, I will have someone to talk to, and it will probably make the trip more interesting to write about. The only leg of the trip I will actually be doing alone will be from Montreal to Trois Rivieres, Quebec, a distance of 100 miles or so. Keeping in mind the fact that I rode 17.8 miles today and my butt and achilles feel like they are going to fall off, this should be an interesting leg.

Well, that's all for today folks. I hope this makes Boosh Clown a little less stale. Just for the record, if I was eating out of an opened bag of Doritos on the coffee table, they would be Doritos Nacho Cheesier.

They are delicious.

-Boosh Clown

P.S. Thank's to everyone who commented on the "Hot Dog Flavored Punishment" video. I hope you got your fill of "Nookie." Stay posted for a response from the Food and Drug Administration.

Update!

2008-04-27T20:46:00.001-07:00

Hot Dog Flavored Punishment has been updated to include even more Justin! Scroll down or click here to watch it again for the first time.

Riding Like Lance

2008-04-27T17:53:00.001-07:00

Lately, when not drinking hot dog flavored water, I have been thoroughly dedicating my mind and body to training for my upcoming bike trip in late May. I don't party as much. I eat better. I even go on runs almost every single day.

And people are starting to notice.

"Hey, Mark, you're like, not that fat anymore."
It's seemingly innocuous comments like this one that are the product of a slough of nasty rumors that have been circulating in regards to my new-found health. As crazy as it sounds, people seem to think that I'm on something. They seem to think that there is no way this chiseled physique could have been achieved naturally over such a short period of time. Some of them have even asked me outright what I'm on.

What am I on?

I'm on my girlfriend's mountain bike that she got when she was fifteen, busting my ass, 15-20 minutes a day.

What are you on?

-Boosh Clown

::This post inspired by this commercial::

Hot Dog Flavored Punishment

2008-04-26T11:22:00.001-07:00

A week or so ago I posted an entry outlining my disdain for the band Limp Bizkit. I stated in the entry that if my thesis wasn't convincing enough I would drink a glass of hot dog flavored water. This, my friends, is the result of that poll.

Enjoy!

(WARNING: Listening to Limp Bizkit may cause nausea, heartburn, diarrhea, brain damage, and your parents to be really, really disappointed in you)

!

2008-04-24T13:19:00.000-07:00

For those of you who haven't noticed, today is the last day to vote in Blog is the New Blog's "Hot Dog Flavored Water" poll. As a reminder, if "Yes" wins, Boosh Clown will be obligated to boil a number of hot dogs and afterwards drink the water they have been boiled in. I'm sure it will lead to enlightenment on several levels.

One thing we're quite fond of doing here at Blog is the New Blog is reporting on old news. Today's old news is: Facebook chatting. Yesterday was the first time I actually noticed this feature when logging on to Facebook. I tried to chat with a few people, and then the whole process crashed and burned when I was abruptly cut off and the chat window was replaced by a large exclamation point. I was mildly distraught at first, but then I was just kind of stoked on the exclamation point. Exclamation points are awesome. They don't really denote anything specific; they just denote excitement. They can often denote danger or something that has gone wrong, as well. Instead of caution tape around a crime scene, I think they should just put up a huge sign with an exclamation point. The result would still basically be the same ("What the hell happened here?"). If a bathroom stall is out of order, they shouldn't put an "Out of Order" sign on the door, they should put up a piece of paper with an exclamation point. It would be way more fun that way. The prudent person would still probably assume it was out of order, and the adventurous person might just assume that something exciting would happen if he/she used it¹. In my mind its a win-win situation that would add to the spice of life.

In other news, Boosh Clown, who has spent the last three or so months of his life living in Victoria, Canada, will be coming home to Bainbridge Island/Seattle next Wednesday. If you would like to see me (and I would love to see you), you can most likely find me at my parent's house on Bainbridge, or at the Spizzy, everyone's new favorite place to party, where I shall be till May 21st, whereupon I will fly to Ohio and embark on the bike trip I have talked about in recent entries. The Spizzy, or Bunkingham palace, is home to my friends Andy, Barry, and Tam. I have probably only spent a total of 20 hours in the Spizzy, but I can tell deep down that it is one of my favorite places on Earth, and apparently they just got a new pool table, so shit son, what's not to like? Come hold hands and rejoice with Andy, Barry, Tam, and Boosh Clown this May at the Spizzy, err'one's new fave place to "whoop whoop, holler at your yee."

-Boosh Clown

¹This, of course, assuming that he/she finds clogged toilets "exciting."

Something That Needs to be Brought to Attention Immediately

2008-04-24T12:36:00.001-07:00

I have been living in Canada too long. Now, when I see words like "flavor," "honor," and "color," it almost seems weird for them not to have a "u" like in the Canadian spelling (flavour, honour, colour).
What is happening to me? Loonie! Toonie! Aghhhhhhhh!

2008-04-23T18:20:00.000-07:00

"I'm not afraid to compete. It's just the opposite. Don't you see that? I'm afraid I will compete- that's what scares me. That's why I quit the Theater Department. Just because I'm so horribly conditioned to accept everybody else's values, and just because I like applause and people to rave about me, doesn't make it right. I'm ashamed of it. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of not having the courage to be an absolute nobody. I'm sick of myself and everybody else that wants to make some kind of a splash."
- Franny

Tomorrow on Blog is the New Blog: Hot dog flavored water! (probably)

Life, Death, and Hockey

2008-04-22T12:58:00.000-07:00

Lots to talk about here on Boosh Clown today. The winds of change are upon us. Spring is in the air! Bees are leaving the comfort of their frozen burrows to take flight and propagate the many flowers that blanket our beautiful planet. Robins are out a-chirping, vying neck and neck with the larks and the thrushes to have their voices heard in the wonderful cacophony of sounds and smells that this special time of year always seems to hold in store.

But let's get down to business.

First off, I am getting extremely excited about the bike trip I plan on taking in late May. One of the things I'm most excited about is my diet. Since I can't cook, I will be forced to either eat fresh foods or already prepared foods. This is extremely exciting, as it is exactly what I did for the majority of my college career (minus the fresh foods). Finally, an excuse to eat Hot Pockets, TV dinners, and corn dogs without having to feel bad about it¹! People can say to me, "Oh man, that must have been awful, having to eat all those pre-packaged foods and pizza pockets you warm up in the microwave," and I can be like, "Yea, totally, it was brutal. I totally would've cooked more often if I had had the chance, but I guess that's just one of the things that comes with being on the road." And then I can rush home gleefully and toss a Tombstone pepperoni pizza in the oven.

I really won't be that unhealthy, though, I think. My diet will basically consist of the following:

Breakfast
1 Power Bar (Apple Cinnamon or Peanut Butter or whatever strikes my fancy)
1 Apple Juice
1 Banana

Healthy so far, right? Yeah, I thought so.

Lunch
Hot Pockets, Chunky soup, deli food, TV dinner, fast food, pre-made sandwich
1 Juice or Gatorade
1 Orange or Apple

Dinner
Basically the same as lunch

Snacks
1 Can of V8 upon terminus of day's riding
Trail Mix, Shot Bloks (These things are awesome. Check out what it says about the Piña Colada variety. ¿Cómo se dice, "fate?"), Fresh Vegetables, Snickers, and assorted goodies between breakfast and lunch, and between lunch and dinner

Not terrible, right? I mean, it could be quite a bit worse. The question is, will I actually stick to a semblance of this diet, or will I end up pulling up to drive-thrus, panniers and all, asking for quarter-pounders and Big Macs? Time will tell, I suppose.

¹Not that I ever felt bad about it. I felt amazing.

In other news, Zucks and the boys over at Facebook have recently added the "People You May Know" feature, which is actually probably old news to you by now. As with all Facebook additions these days I am somewhat indifferent. The last time Facebook actually caused a major upheaval in my life was when they added the "Status" option (this was a huge fucking deal at the time). I don't know what it was but I was fairly outraged and convinced that Facebook was turning into MySpace and thus completely refused to take part in the whole "Status" thing at first, but then slowly got used to the idea and now, as we have all seen, update my status approximately every 45 seconds. So now: "People You May Know," "People You Wish You Knew," "People Your Parents Want You to Know"--what's the difference?

In honor of my friend Kevin from Arizona State I have turned the comments option back on on Boosh Clown, so please comment as much as possible. I turned them off because I read on some site about increasing your "blog traffic" that it can be good to turn comments off because people get turned off when they see blog after blog with "0 Comments." This issue is problematic for two reasons: 1) What the fuck was I doing on an "Increase your blog traffic" website? and 2) Do I really want to attract the type of reader who would be "turned off" by the fact that there are not a lot of comments on my blog? Do I really want anyone to read this? Why are you reading this?

I think I might be going insane.

Anyway, the last thing I will briefly mention is that the Stanley Cup Playoffs are well under way, something all too noticeable up here in The Great White North. Today I went to buy eggs from the Old Man in Cook St. Village and he started talking to me about the games yesterday and how the Flames game should be a "dandy" tonight and the dude that apparently scored two awesome goals yesterday. I did a lot of nodding and smiling and prayed to Brahma that he wouldn't ask me anything that required specific knowledge of the sport, and thankfully he didn't. So, anyway, I totally forgot why I am even mentioning this now but I guess I just thought it might be an endearing example of the cultural differences that exist between two lands separated by such a short distance. Go Flames! (?).

That's all for today, folks. Feel free to contact us here at Blog is the New Blog with any questions you may have. Also, don't forget to vote on the "Should Boosh Clown Have to Drink the Hot Dog Flavored Water" poll at the top left. Only three days remain!

-Boosh Clown

Song of the Day: "Hands Around My Throat" by Death in Vegas

Suffrage

2008-04-21T21:32:00.000-07:00

Sooooo, right now "No" is winning in the whole, "Should Boosh Clown have to drink the hot dog flavored water pole." Seeing as no one ever votes in my polls (though I'm thankful for the few who do), I have decided to add an extra incentive: If "Yes" wins, I will video myself pouring the hot dog flavored water into a glass and consuming it. It will be disgusting, and if you vote now, you will have played a part in it.

So there you have it. All you have to do is vote. It will take three votes from now on for me to have to drink hot dog flavored water. This is so easy. Please do it, so that I don't get depressed and decide to drink hot dog flavored water anyway.

I have to pee.

-Boosh Clown

2008-04-20T12:38:00.000-07:00

I am so chuffed that Fred Durst is no longer the header photo here at Blog is the New Blog. It was definitely deterring new visitors. I am even going to delete the picture from computer altogether because I am convinced that having a picture of Fred Durst on my hard drive can only bring bad luck. I would not want my cute little white MacBook to be involved in some kind of sordid Britney Spears sex scandal. Oops, I did it again. I played with your heart. Got lost in the game. The "let's not lose our minds" game, Britney?

Anyway, as some of you might know, I used to be completely obsessed with skateboarding, and probably still would be if not for my right achilles tendon. One of my favorite skate shoes and skateboarding teams was always éS , and the following commercial showcases the éS team at their finest, right around when their acclaimed skateboarding video "Menikmati" came out: Arto was ridiculously strapping (minute 0:17), Rodrigo was a punk kid from Brazil who could barely speak English, and Eric Koston was just starting his reign as the Emperor of Southern California (a title conferred by me). The song is totally rad too. It's "Flat Beat," by Mr. Oizo. You probably recognize the little yellow stuffed animal from the music video.

Hope everyone's spring is warmer than it is up here in Victoria!

-Boosh Clown

P.S. Special shout-out to my sister Lynn and her friend Erin, who are both running the 112th Annual Boston Marathon tomorrow. This is no small feat folks. 26.2 miles. Think about that the next time you're running after the bus, wheezing and about to cough up blood.
Good luck, girls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hate is a Strong Word

2008-04-17T15:26:00.000-07:00

"I did it all for the nookie (come on), the nookie (come on)

so you can take that cookie, and stick it up your (yeah)
stick it up your (yeah), stick it up your (yeah)
stick it up your..."
-Limp Bizkit, circa 1999

One of the things I most like about music is hating it; after all, the only thing that's about as satisfying as a really awesome band is a really terrible one. Therefore, when the subject of "hated bands" comes up, I have a few "go-to's" that I always mention. These are bands that many people like, thus making me feel like I have to be more vocal about the fact that I hate them. For instance, I always mention the band 3 Doors Down and their 2000 release "Kryptonite" that almost caused me to have a nervous breakdown. I usually bring up the band Creed, citing lead singer Scott Stapp as a percoset-addicted egomaniac who, between stints in rehab, ruined the lives of everyone he came in contact with. Lastly, I bring up Linkin Park; I always bring up Linkin Park. This is because a ton of people like Linkin Park, whereas I think they are one of the worst bands in history. When "Hybrid Theory" came out in 2000 my ears bled for a week straight.

But there is one band I almost never mention, mostly because I assume that everyone else already hates them; One band I have pushed so far into the annals of loathing that I rarely even pause to acknowledge their existence, except sometimes to shudder discreetly or cross myself in public.

That band is Limp Bizkit.

I have hated Limp Bizkit for a long time--a really long time--but I don't know if I've ever stopped to reflect on exactly why. The purpose of today's blog is to figure out that reason. After all, I can't just say that their music is "bad," or that Fred Durst is the spawn of lucifer--I must figure out the deeper reason. What will happen if I can't? I will punish myself in a way inspired by the title of the band's third album: I will drink a glass of hot dog flavored water.

We'll start by examining Fred Durst, Limp Bizkit's controversy-marred front man. Durst was born William Frederick Durst in Gastonia, North Carolina, where he spent the first two years of his life living in the top of a church with his mother where they subsisted solely on baby food (Wikipedia aka probably false). After a brief stint in the Navy, Durst moved to Jacksonville, Florida, where he became a tattoo artist and, spurred on by his love for rapping and break dancing, eventually formed the band Limp Bizkit.
In 1995 Limp Bizkit burst onto the TRL scene when they covered George Michael's 1980's hit, "Faith." Now, truth be told, I liked this song when it came out. I liked a few Limp Bizkit songs when they came out. To be fair, though, "Faith" came out in 1997, when I was a 14 years-old. When I was 14 years-old, I couldn't tell my ass from my elbows, so we're going to let this one slide.
Anyway, Limp Bizkit became a veritable steamroller of raucous hits in the late 90's after the release of their hilariously titled album, "Three Dollar Bill, Y'all." In 1999 they released their second album, "Significant Other," which contained such hits as "Nookie," "Break Stuff," and "N 2 Gether Now." Once again I must mention here that I also sort of liked "Nookie" when it came out, and definitely liked "N 2 Gether Now," due to the fact that Method Man is a gangster. Therefore, we will excuse the fact that I liked "N 2 Gether Now," as my vision was somewhat clouded by Method Man's soothing, grainy voice. As for liking "Nookie," I still consider that inexcusable, despite the fact that I was only 16 when it came out, it was extremely catchy, and everyone I knew in the world loved it. I still should have known better. As punishment, I will begin to boil the hot dogs that may or may not serve as the main ingredient in the hot dog flavored water punishment scenario mentioned earlier.

In 2000 Limp Bizkit released their third and arguably last notable album, "Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog Flavored Water," known for its hits, "My Generation," and "Rollin'." If you haven't already noticed, 2000 was a superbly awful yet groundbreaking year for music. Limp Bizkit was center stage with "Nu Metal," and Linkin Park released their massive hit, "Hybrid Theory," the first album that promoted "rap metal fusion," arguably the worst music genre ever conceived. In 2000 I was a sophomore at Bainbridge High School. I had recently gotten my driver's license, and my days consisted of driving a '91 Honda Civic, wakeboarding, jumping on the trampoline, eating otter pops, and fantasizing about girls. This was a critical time for me music-wise because there were basically two paths I could follow: I could fully embrace bands like Limp Bizkit and Linkin Park, thus giving myself over to a life of servitude to the devil, or I could basically reject modern music altogether.
Because of my brother, I was very in to classic rock at the time. While I did listen to some new bands, the dial on my radio was primarily tuned to stations that championed groups like Led Zeppelin, Creedence, and Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. In this case, the winds of fortune were upon me. Thanks to my brothers influence, I ended up rejecting bands like Limp Bizkit, Linkin Park, Creed, and 3 Doors Down, and continued to focus on classic rock until I entered college at Arizona State University in 2002. By then, Fred Durst and Limp Bizkit hardly registered on my radar; I knew that I didn't like them, and if asked probably would've described Durst as "loathsome," but I was too busy occupying myself with the things college freshmen do to take too much notice of their existence.

After the release of "Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog Flavored Water" in 2000, Fred Durst and Limp Bizkit struck a course that would eventually lead them towards the relatively obscure position in the music world that they hold today. Durst became marred by controversy after making fun of just about every other band that enjoyed relative popularity at the time, even sparking one member of the band Offspring to wear anti-Fred Durst shirts. He was also involved in a brief scandal after claiming to have slept with Britney Spears while helping out on her 2003 release, "In the Zone," allegedly describing her body parts and their encounter in detail when he appeared on the Howard Stern Show. The only bright spot in this sea of controversy for Limp Bizkit would be prove to be their 2003 release, "Behind Blue Eyes," in which they covered the popular song of the same name by The Who.

As I look back on it, the release of "Behind Blue Eyes" was what really cemented my hate for Limp Bizkit and Fred Durst. When I first heard it I was in the company of some of my younger skateboarder friends, and I remember being horrified by the prospect that these kids could grow up thinking that the song they had just listened to was a Fred Durst original. Indeed, that is exactly what happened with most of America's youth. Durst covered The Who, and kids thought it was great. Never mind the fact that "Behind Blue Eyes" could be sung by a basset hound or Will Ferrel and still sound amazing, kids thought that this was Limp Bizkit material. They had never heard of The Who, and they didn't care. All they knew was that "Behind Blue Eyes" was more melodic, catchier, and deeper than anything that Fred Durst had ever done.

And I was livid.

With "Behind Blue Eyes," the Britney scandal, and Fred Durst continuing to make an an ass out of himself to the general public, my hate for Limp Bizkit was raging full force. However, since at that time they were relatively unpopular save "Behind Blue Eyes", I wasn't exposed to them much and my anger started to fizzle, aided by the fact that it was redirected towards other bands I despised at the time like Maroon 5, Jason Mraz and John Mayer. In fact, Durst and Limp Bizkit continued to remain out of sight and out of mind up until the writing of this blog, save the occasional MTV or E! reference to Durst for stupid things he has done, like when he purposely hit two people with his car in 2007.

Limp Bizkit started their career with a cover, and ended it with a cover. Their most famous song's lyrics are centered around the word "nookie." Their front man, Fred Durst, has been involved in countless scandals after needlessly bashing other bands. He went on Howard Stern and told people about alleged sexual relations between him and Britney Spears. And finally, in 2007, he purposely hit two people with his car. All of this is terrible--some might say abominable--behavior in a human being, but almost understandable and excusable coming from a rock personality like Durst. Covering "Behind Blue Eyes," however, is not. Limp Bizkit never should have done that. Fred Durst never should have done that. He never should have stared into the camera for his music video and blasphemized the beautiful lyrics of a classic song. It was inexcusable, and unforgivable. He briefly stole the hearts and minds of America's youth and held them in his scaly grip for a full 4 min 32 seconds before finally giving them back.

"No one knows what it's like/to be hated," sang Fred Durst.

That might be true, Fred. But, hey, thanks to Limp Bizkit, at least plenty of people know what it's like to hate.

The Passion of the Boosh Clown

2008-04-14T12:44:00.000-07:00

Lately, between light carpentry, stretching my achilles, and making hot Italian sausage paninis for disgruntled customers, I have stolen away to think long and hard about what in the hell I am going to do with my life this summer (see poll at left; bt dub thanks for the feeback! You guys are tremendous). At first I thought I would work in Seattle at another dead-end job: an on board attendant aboard the Victoria Clipper (see: hating myself) or once again driving the University Volkswagen/Audi shuttle (see: hating myself, hating others).

But now I have a better idea: I'm going to take a bike ride.

Yes, ladies and boyz, the vacation that is Boosh Clown's life will finally be reborn. Things have gotten too stressful here in Victoria: low wages, unappreciative customers, having to wake up at 9am some mornings--I'm fed up, damnit.
In late May, just after Memorial Day, I will embark on a 900 or so mile bike ride from my grandma's house in New Bremen, Ohio, to a sleepy little industrial hamlet located in the Canadian Province of Quebec called Trois Rivieres (just between Montreal and Quebec City). I will have approximately 15 days to complete this endeavor, which means I will have to average about 60 miles a day.
Amongst other obstacles (see: mild obesity), this trip, though still in its fledgling stages, is turning out to be a logistics nightmare (see: I'm broke). I must buy everything for the trip--bike, helmet, shoes, lycra shorts, sweet short-sleeved American flag bicycle jersey--due to the fact that I currently own nothing. Also, as I am not the most avid of bikers, I will have a shit-load of training to do, compounded by the fact that God has blessed me with an achilles tendon He got at Value Village.

Another important factor is that I will be doing this trip alone, something I already know is going to cause my parents a considerable amount of disquiet. While this is not a completely invalid concern (I'm sure there are a number of people [probably named "Bubba," or "Earl"] in rural Ohio and Ontario that drink gross amounts of Jack Daniels, recklessly drive Ford F150's, and think cycling is for "queers") I cannot and will not allow a lack of faith in humanity to keep me from doing this trip.
So that, my friends, is the rudimentary plan. I will be cycling from Ohio to Quebec, meeting up with my girlfriend, and then heading down to New York and Boston for an East Coast extravaganza. Afterwards, my girlfriend and I will say our tearful goodbyes, whereupon I shall head to a little town called Cambridge, MA, and install myself at a fairly well-known university called "Harvard," where I will spend the next four years of my life voraciously studying to obtain a law degree and subsequently one of the most feared litigators on the Easter seaboard. Then, at the age of 42, a minor nervous breakdown will culminate in me having to pack up my Earthly possessions and move to Zimbabwe, where I will then pursue a career as a full-time elephant hunter. At the age of 75 I will be reunited with my girlfriend whilst vacationing in Botswana, who will at the time be working part-time for an organization aimed at keeping peace between the Bangwato and Bakweng tribes through a radical technique that involves learning how to successfully muzzle and ride hippopotamuses. "Hippos for Peace," they will aptly be called. At the age of 116 I will finally die, but not before waking up from a 41 year coma brought on by an accident involving a leisurely ride-turned-catastrophe of one of the aforementioned hippos.

I'm sorry, I got distracted.

Anyway, I do plan on seeing this trip through to fruition. Below is a map of the approximate route I be plan to take, though in my case I will skirt Detroit (I've never been too fond of homicide) by taking a ferry across Lake Eerie from Sandusky, Ohio, into Ontario.

Good day, gentleman. And until that day comes, keep your ear to the grindstone.

-Boosh Clown

Special shout-out to friend and former roommate Tam, who recently biked across the United States, something far more ambitious than what I plan to undertake. To read about his trip, click here.

The Route:

View Larger Map

How Many Five Year-Olds Could You Take in a Fight?

2008-04-11T12:14:00.001-07:00

Ughhh, I don't even want to try to think about anything funny or clever to say about this website, especially since Chuck Klosterman already did it. I guess I do like their homepage's graphic, though (the dude poised in fighting stance waiting to take on an anonymous squadron of munchkins).
Anyway, click below to find out how many five year-olds you could take in a fight. Apparently I could take 23.
23

Extra! Extra! Read All About it!

2008-04-11T10:41:00.001-07:00

After a grueling week of corporate buyouts, big money scandals, rigged voting booths, and multiple recounts, the results for Boosh Clown's "Is This Not the Raddest Fucking Website You've Ever Been to?" 2008 Poll extravaganza gala event extraordinaire are finally in!
The winner? "I hate this website."
With six votes.

I want to take this opportunity to thank all of the 18 faithful readers who voted. We couldn't do it without you guys here at Boosh Clown. You are the butter to our bread, the parmesan to our spaghetti, the tzaziki to our pita. I think you get the idea.

Special Note: Stay tuned for Boosh Clown's next poll, "What the hell should Mark do this summer?" sponsored by Ivar's Clam Chowder and the Obesity Control Center.

-Boosh Clown

Like of the Day: Orthotics

Dislike of the Day: Ballyhoo

Song of the Day: "Park Life" by Blur

Also, special shout-out to Neil Cameron: Neil, please send me the mo'effin' pictures from our trip. I am getting anxious.

Brokeback to the Future

2008-04-08T22:28:00.001-07:00

I love this video. I know, I know, you've all seen it before--but I still had to put it up. When I first saw it I downloaded the song playing in the background ("The Wings" by Gustavo Santaolalla) and tried to hold hands with all my guy friends for like a week. I'm putting it up now just in case anyone hasn't seen it, and so the rest of you can all feel the magic one more time.

-Boosh Clown

p.s. It's nice to see the poll is doing well. "I hate this website" is officially in the lead with four votes. I don't know which is more upsetting: the fact that "I hate this website" is in the lead, or the fact that 12 people total have voted in five days.

Like of the Day: Cranberry Sauce

Dislike of the Day: Mushroom Soup

Quote of the Day: "Twelve's not so bad." - Carrera Junck

Song of the Day: "Forever Young" as performed by Youth Group

Party Like It's Boosh Clown

2008-04-07T10:36:00.000-07:00

Everyone wants to look cool at parties. Whether it's a house party with some friends, a party at some random guys apartment, or a holiday soirée, you want people to think that you know your shit. You want the dudes to be like, "Hey, I talked to that (insert name here) guy. He seemed pretty cool"; and you want the girls to be like, "Oh my god, did you see (insert name here)? He's like, crazy. I'd totally make out with him¹."
For this reason the folks here at Boosh Clown have devised the "Top 5 Party Strategies": tactics guaranteed to help you secure your position in the hearts and minds of fellow revelers as "one rad motherfucker."

¹This, of course, if you're a guy. If you're a girl you want the guys to be like, "Did you see (insert name here)? She's so fucking hot."

At this point you are probably saying to yourself: "Wait a minute. Why would I take party advice from Mark? I've been at parties with him before, and he's actually kind of a douche bag. He listens to Aqua."
First of all: come on guys, douche bag? Lighten up. Second of all: Being cool ain't easy. Like Michael Cera says in "Juno," you actually have to try "really (fucking) hard." The guidelines that I have listed here require constant implication and may not be deviated from in any circumstance in order to be effective, and I will be the first to admit that this is something I have not taken the care to do throughout the course of my mirth and merriment career. However, I pray to Jehovah that you, faithful reader, will have the fortitude and wherewithal to implement these strategies: I pray that you will be the better partier.
So here they are, guys.
And guys? Good luck...

1) The "Bump and Run" Tactic

What you'll need:
3 to 4 of your best buddies
3 to 4 tall-cans Busch brand beer

What it is:
The Bump and Run Tactic is an all inclusive party strategy that takes about 15 minutes from beginning to end to implement. It is perfect when you just want to make an appearance, have cooler shit to do, or really need to finish a paper that's due the next day but still want people to realize that you're capable of ripping it pretty damn hard.

What to do:
Round up 3 to 4 of your best buddies and the tall cans of Busch brand beer at a designated meeting place. Make sure that everyone is dressed in retro attire. Gold chains are encouraged and large sunglasses are a must. At least one person in your group should be wearing untied Nike high tops. Now, with tall cans in hand, make your way to the party. Here comes the important part: enter the party at full velocity. Everyone in your group of 3 to 4 best buddies must be screaming. Long-haired wigs will greatly help in this endeavor. Make your way to the kitchen of the house or apartment where the party is being held; The kitchen is always a hot spot for activity, as it is normally where the beverages are kept. Approach the sink and, as a group (but not overly choreographed), shotgun your beers. At the end of the shotgun crush the cans and hurl them into the sink. Throughout the course of this DO NOT make eye contact with anyone but your 3 to 4 best buddies. If anyone at the party attempts to talk to you DO NOT respond; Rather, roll your eyes and shake your head back and forth, simultaneously sticking out your tongue and waving it about. Resume screaming and jumping up and down after tall cans have been shotgunned. When you make your exit, shut the door loudly to leave everyone in the party stunned and trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
Now relax: you have the rest of the night free.

2) The "I Just Came Here to Dance" Tactic

What you'll need:
0.12 BAC or higher
Dancing shoes

What it is:
The "I Just Came Here to Dance" tactic, or ICHD, is perfect for those nights when you don't feel extremely social but still want everyone to realize you came to party.

What to do:
ICHD requires you to be really fucking good at dancing or, if you are not a proficient dancer, really fucking drunk. If you fit into the latter category I recommend "Sporties" (drink the first 16 oz. of a forty and replace the rest with a can of Sparks. Repeat.) and a slightly modified version of the Penguin.
At the first song with a thumping bassline, make your way to the exact center of the dance floor. As in the "Bump and Run" tactic, DO NOT make eye contact with anyone (once again, sun glasses will be key). Simply stand relatively still, slowly moving your hips as your body eases into the music. Gradually begin to move more rapidly and expressively as you make a spot for yourself on the dance floor.

Key Part #1: Do not dance with ANYONE. Even if the hottest member of the opposite sex you could possibly envision sidles up to you, DO NOT dance with her/him. Remember: you are here to dance; and you don't give a fuck.
Key Part #2: Periodically throughout the night (usually every 7 to 8 songs), go absolutely nuts. Shake your hands in front of your body and move your head wildly about. This move will be especially easier to do if it coincides with the playing of a song you particularly like.

The end of the night in ICHD is fairly flexible. You can either leave fashionably early, or stay till the wee hours. Whenever your exit, just make sure that it is abrupt. Wait for a song to come on that you are not particularly fond of (anything by "Nelly" usually works), frown, put your hands on your hips, and storm out the room. The rest of the people on the dance floor will be left to wonder whether or not they are complete fools, and as you step out into the refreshing night air to leave the muffled bass of the party behind, you can can reassuringly say to yourself, "Heck yes, they are."

3) The Drinking Game Technician

What you'll need:
4-5 low quality beers
A wealth of drinking game knowledge
Magnificent Hand-Eye Coordination
Years of Practice

What it is:
The "Drinking Game Technician" tactic, provided you possess a fair amount of manual dexterity, allows you to quickly and easily become the life of the party. It is great for those nights when you feel sociable but don't feel like dancing. It is also great for those of you with a keenly competitive spirit.

What to do:
Though I said before that the "Drinking Game Technician" (or DGT) tactic "allows" you to become the life of the party, it actually requires it, so make sure you are feeling sufficiently outgoing and energetic before trying it out.
To start, get involved in a drinking game you are comfortable with (though ideally you should be comfortable with all of them). After the game starts--and regardless of whether or not you are winning or losing--commence drinking. It is essential that the DGT have at least 3 but no more than 6 beers in himself at all times while playing. This level of intoxication is referred to by those in the drinking game world as "the zone." The zone allows for maximum levels of confidence with minimal loss in hand-eye coordination sector. While in the zone you will notice that ping-pong balls make their way into open keg cups as if on a string; the cup in "flip cup" will seem as though specially weighted to ensure a final upside-down resting position. In short, the zone allows you to "get 'er (her) done."
As success in the given drinking game increases, so should the decibel level of your voice and the amount of high-fiving. For every game of flip cup successfully won or every beer pong ball successfully sunk, raise your voice's volume by at least 5 decibels and periodically high five those around you.
Key Part: For maximum levels of radness, invent a special and ridiculous form of high five, different from the standard, "two-hands-above-the-head" approach. Try inserting a special dance move before the high five or adding a chest butt.
After all, nothing says "uncool" like a stale high five.

4) The "Businessman" Tactic
Wing-tipped dress shoes
3-4 bottled beers; imported
An understanding of Keynesian Economics

What it is:
The "Businessman" tactic allows you to assert your intellectual dominance over those around you (thus attracting ladies like a moth to flame). It is recommended for quieter parties and "get-togethers." The "Businessman" tactic should only be attempted by those who know what the hell they are talking about.
I have never attempted it.

What to do:
The "Businessman" will enter the party surreptitiously through the back door. He's had a long day at work at his new internship, so he's not looking to create a big scene. The businessman's first step is to find a target conversation group. His goal is to find a group of people who are smart, but not too smart. Ideally, this group should be discussing a politics or business-related theme. After an appropriate break in conversation (usually a punch line followed by a hearty guffaw), the businessman steps up to the conversation and, with a stolid look on his face, directly contradicts whatever the person uttering the punch line has just said. As the the group stares at the businessman wondering, "Who is this asshole?" he finishes his first beer with a long, pompous swig.
(Readers note: the businessman's imported beer of choice is Asian [usually Singha or Tsingtao, depending on the strength of the Yen]. If not it will invariably be some kind of rare pilsner from the Czech Republic [the businessman studied in Prague his junior year]).
At this point the businessman will launch into a lengthy discourse, not necessarily related to the topic at hand. He will talk about OPEC and the Shah of Iran and how Jimmy Carter was the last truly benevolent President. He will contradict himself at least 4 times and make several completely nonsensical analogies, but the rest of the group will still be too stunned to notice (it is important that the businessman wear a flashy tie. Flashy ties distract).
The businessman can either call it a night here, disappearing like questionably allocated Saudi Arabian funds, or he can continue to a few more groups until his Singha is gone and he has embarrassed a few more people.
The businessman has no ruth. He is ruthless.

5) The "Wile Out" Tactic

What you'll need:
12-pack Pabst Blue Ribbon beer
1 Pack Cigarettes
R. Kelly - "Ignition (Remix)"

What it is:
Ladies and Boyz, put on your gnar boots, cuz it's time time to "Wile Out!" The "Wile Out," or WO!, is the ultimate party technique. When executed correctly, it is guaranteed to provide you with some of the most fun, raucous times you have ever had.
(Reader's Note: When first implemented, WO! may feel a bit like a scavenger hunt, but with time it will become second nature. Besides, who doesn't like scavenger hunts? Especially fucking rad scavenger hunts.)

What to do:
WO! begins with the lacing up of your best pair of gnar boots and some fresh attire. Brightly colored tall tees or t-shirts containing graphics of your favorite rapper are highly recommended. Once dressed, crack open a few Olympia brand beers and commence drinking. At this point "Ignition (Remix)" by R. Kelly should be playing at moderate to high volume, and if the elements are just right, a semi-impromptu dance party should ensue. (Readers note: If R. Kelly doesn't work put on Elephant Man's version of the "Clappas Riddim")
After 10-15 minutes of dancing, head to the porch for more beers and a few cigarettes. If you have one, this is the moment to put on your oversized New Era baseball cap. Porch time should involve at least 10-12 lewd comments concerning the opposite sex, and everyone in your party must shotgun at least 2 beers. Porch time will carry on until at least half-an-hour after the party you will later be attending has commenced.
Sufficiently tipsy? You are now ready to "Wile Out." Head to the party with your friends. While not environmentally friendly, it is sometimes necessary that at least one glass bottle be broken on the way. To do this properly, throw a bottle straight into the air, let a out a blood-curdling shriek, and run away giddily as the bottle crashes to the ground in the spot where you just stood.
The entrance to the party in the WO! tactic is one of the most important parts. You are at the party to be seen, not to see. For this reason, just as in the "Bump and Run" tactic, take care that all members of your group are hooting and hollering when you enter the front door.
Once in the party, you must do the following things at some point throughout the course of the night; the order listed here is a merely a rudimentary suggestion:
First, storm the dance floor. Wildly, and with your head down, thrust your booty in the face of the nearest (once) happily dancing girl. For added potency, peer menacingly over your shoulder. You'll know you're doing it right if she recoils in disgust.
After creating a small scene on the dance floor, head to the kitchen. Here, shotgun 2-3 tall cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon brand beer.
Immediately after shotgunning, make a break for the porch. Here you will drink more, smoke 1-2 cigarettes, and socialize with other revelers. This is also a good time to judge your "rad factor." If you have made a good impression with your shotgun antics and booty thrusting, others should be drawn to the porch, though not necessarily knowing why (kind of a "Field of Dreams" type thing). Regardless of whether or not this happens, socialize with those on the porch for a period of 15-30 minutes, and then re-enter the party.
At this point if you are properly "Wiling Out" you should be fairly intoxicated, making it the perfect time of the night to implement WO!'s second to last phase: embarrassing yourself with the opposite sex. This step is easy: simply approach a girl or guy you find attractive and attempt to make conversation. If it does not go well and you have to be dragged away by a friend, you have executed it correctly. Every one in your group must do this at least once.
After everyone has sufficiently embarrassed him or herself, you are ready to head home. The party you are at is now officially "lame." Where's the new party? Your house. That's right, WO! ends with those party-goers who are sufficiently cool heading to your house for a new and improved after party. This will usually involve rap music or reggae riddims played at extremely high volumes accompanied by poor to ghastly dancing. Note that at this point you should be completely bombed out of your tree. A good indication of this is if you go to the bathroom and find yourself grinning stupidly while you pee.

The end of the WO! is interesting. The possible scenarios are threefold:
1) You suddenly wake up on the couch to find it is the next morning. You are still wearing your shoes and hooded sweatshirt. You have a penis on your forehead.
2) The party eventually starts to dwindle down. You and your friends head to the roof of your house to smoke more cigarettes and enjoy the view. "Ignition (Remix)" by R. Kelly will be played one final time.
3) Option #3 is the most extreme of the three options. I won't get too specific, but I will say that it involves snorting Ritalin, pooping into a paper bag, putting it onto the porch of an enemy, and lighting it on fire. Option #3 is known in the medical world as, "rock bottom."

Well there you have them, folks. Five simple strategies guaranteed to make you the coolest partier on the block. Whether you're in college, working, or a semi-unemployed illegal deli worker, you can enter any party confident you are going to rock harder than the lead singer of Twisted Sister. Who knows, these strategies might even end up getting you introduced to the man/woman who will become the love of your life. And who will you have to thank for that?

-Boosh Clown

Song of the Day: "Everyday I'm Hustlin'" by Rick Ross

Tough Crowd

2008-04-06T21:35:00.000-07:00

Well, the midway results for Boosh Clown's first ever poll are in. The question: Is this not the raddest fucking website you've ever been to? The response: 3 votes "Hells yes," and 3 votes "I'm from Canada." Nine people have voted so far. Awesome.
"Keep truckin," as they say.

-Boosh Clown

aksdjfl;adsjfl;dksa;

2008-04-04T23:18:00.001-07:00

Have you ever been on those virtual tours that give you 360° scrolling views of houses, apartments, etc.? You know how always feel kind of let down at the end of those tours? Well, the makers of AerialPan Imaging have some 360° imaging that blows those completely out of the water. Plus, the founder studied Econ at UW, so most of the examples are from Seattle.
Hella rad.
Anyway, check it out, and re-appreciate the splendor of the Emerald City☂.
(go here. click "Portfolio" and then "Aerial Tour.")

-Boosh Clown

☂ I hesitate to use the name "Emerald City" because I have never really liked this nickname, but I did it because I didn't want to use the word "Seattle" in two out of three sentences. Does anyone actually call Seattle the "Emerald City?" Why is it called this? Do the buildings look green? I'm sure there's a pretty simple explanation but I'm not going to type it into Google right now just so that some asshole on Wikipedia can "set me straight." I hate the internet.

Get Rad

2008-04-04T18:25:00.000-07:00

Scroll down to the left and make your choice. Don't delay.

-Boosh Clown

Le Cheval 2.1

2008-04-03T20:06:00.000-07:00

You may have seen this short film before. It cost £30 to make and won the Depict! 90-second film competition in 2003.
Je veux être un cheval!

AtomFilms.com: Funny Videos | Funny Cartoons | Comedy Central

Party M.D.

2008-04-03T09:50:00.000-07:00

I just got back from my second visit to the chiropractor that is hopefully going to cure me of my Achilles tendonitis once and for all. His last name is spelled M-a-b-e-e and pronounced "Maybe," which means I am officially seeing a doctor with the last name, "maybe. " This, of course, has brought myriad jokes to mind.

"Doctor, will I ever get better?"
"Maybe."

"Doctor, do you think more stretching would help?"
"Maybe."

"Doctor, are you a complete fucking lunatic who is going to come to my apartment at night and sabotage my Achilles tendon while I sleep?"
"Maybe."

Am I afraid of this guy? Maybe (read: definitely). One thing I'm wary of, for example, are all the pictures he has of athletes on his walls: soccer players, rugby stars, curling aficionados--even a violin player, with little notes next to them that say things like: "Thanks Dr. Maybe, I couldn't have done it without you!" "You're the best, Dr. Maybe!" "Thanks for fixing me, Dr. Maybe. I love you!" etc. etc.
Today when I went in, however, I experienced a terrifying feeling. What if all those pictures were fake? What if Dr. Maybe just gets random pictures of athletes and then has his secretaries write cute little notes next to them and sign fake signatures so that people will think he is an accomplished chiropractor who has cured hundreds of people when in reality he is just someone who has recently escaped from a local mental health clinic? There's one picture of a black soccer player, for instance, that looks like a magazine cut-out of Pele from the 1960's. Dr. Maybe wasn't even alive in the 60's. Even if the picture were taken in the 70's he still would've been a mere fetus, certainly incapable of performing Active Release Therapy on a full-grown athlete.

So will I continue to see Dr. Maybe? Maybe. Actually, definitely. There is nothing I want more than a healthy Achilles tendon, so fuck it: if a guy with an ambiguous last name who may or may not sit at home with glasses on cutting sports clippings out of magazines and pasting them to poster board has to be the guy to cure me, so be it. All aboard the "maybe" train! Next stop: insanity.

-Boosh Clown

Like of the Day: V8

Dislike of the Day: Tobacco

Song of the Day: "Coming in From the Cold" by The Delgados.

Video Daze...

2008-04-01T10:05:00.000-07:00

This is Neil and me in Bogotá, Columbia, after a "kegger" on the roof-top terrace of some girls we had met a few days before.

Cops and Robbers

2008-03-31T21:36:00.000-07:00

"The 5 most painful words that I can hear from a friend, "What's up with the blog?" Get off my fucking back alright. Just because you have taken to writing a post a day doesn't give you the right to judge me. I have a lot of shit going on okay. Between Barry condescendingly scoffing at me every day I don't write something, and you "playfully" adding a PS to your wall post, I am about ready to crack. Sike. Three posts tomorrow. Suck it."
- Bunktown

Hella new photo album uploaded on Facebook. Time to get rad.

Like of the Day: Grilled Cheese with Ham

Dislike of the Day: Ghosts

Song of the Day: "I Don't Really Love You Anymore" by The Magnetic Fields

Per Se

2008-03-30T20:01:00.000-07:00

"Uhhh, Mark, there's 31 days in March and you've only done 26 posts so far. You said you were gonna do daily updates..."

Assholes.

Back for the First Time

2008-03-30T11:58:00.000-07:00

Like of the Day: "Groundhog Day" starring Bill Murray and Andie McDowell

Dislike of the Day: Quebec

Quote of the Day:
"AHHHH!!!!"
"What is it, Connor?"
"Ah, it was in my pocket. I thought I forgot where I put my pot."
-Conversation between me and one of my co-workers at the deli

"Would You Rather" of the Day:
Would you rather, every time you farted have to exclaim loudly (and I mean loudly), "Oh, that's precious!" or have to keep a pet muskrat on a leash and bring it everywhere you went?

Picture of the Day:

This is Bardi Johannsson, lead singer of the Icelandic band, "Bang Gang." His website's biography, in a so-cute-you-could-just-throw-up-in-your-mouth contrived sort of way describes him as "obsessive, narcissistic, hung-over, and romantic." The lesson? Europeans are lame, but people from Iceland are even lamer.

(Watch Bang Gang's hit single, "Find What You Get.")

Would You Rather...

2008-03-27T14:19:00.000-07:00

"Would you rather?" has always been one of my favorite games. I remember giggling to myself uncontrollably for 2-3 days straight while my friend Jenny and I played it in Cuba. Most of my "Would you rathers" in this case involved her doing something embarrassing, like peeing on the floor of a lecture hall during class or getting farted on by our German hippie "friend" Janosch (I think all of them involved this, actually. That or tongue kissing him for prolonged periods of time). Needless to say, Jenny wasn't quite as excited about the game as I was.
One of the very first entries here at Boosh Clown involved a "Would you rather," so today I thought I'd bring them back; a throw back to Boosh Clown's infancy, if you will. "Would you rathers" have always been for those people who have a taste for the absurd; people with a penchant for disgusting; and people that enjoy envisioning their friend getting farted on by Germans.
Please enjoy today's installment (mixed in with the daily nonsense below) and feel free to comment with your own.

It snowed today in Victoria!

-Boosh Clown

Song of the Day: Off the Hook by CSS

Like of the Day: Precipitation

Dislike of the Day: Celsius

Would you Rather? of the Day: Would you rather have to ride horseback everywhere you went: to school, to work, to the corner store--everywhere, or, every time you met someone new have to slap his/her butt and scream, "Owwwww! Dis hawt (this hot)!"

A Golden Age

2008-03-27T08:59:00.001-07:00

The wait is over.
If you haven't seen the movie "Shoes," by Kelly, you may have noticed an empty feeling in your stomach as of late. That feeling isn't hunger; it's your bodies subtle yet nagging way of letting you know that you have been missing out on one of the funniest YouTube videos ever made.
When "Shoes" came out, Kelly also had another song out called, "Let Me Borrow That Top," but for the longest time it had no accompanying video.
Until now.
Today I bring you the long-awaited sequel to "Shoes," certainly one of Kelly's finest works yet. Pay special attention to Scott's googly eyes at 0:52, the "Vegan Girl-on-Girl Sandwich Tour" at 1:02, the rocker girls at 4:47, and probably one of the hottest girls to ever walk the face of the Earth at 4:56.
Also, see more of Kelly's Aunt's semi-attractive/semi-repulsive Hispanic partner in the fairly hilarious video, "Spanish for Nannies."
Now enjoy, "Let Me Borrow That Top."

The Resolutions

2008-03-25T20:18:00.000-07:00

Here they are: Boosh Clown's 2008 New Year's Resolutions

1) Upon meeting anyone for the first time, no matter the circumstance or age of the person involved, lean in to them and with a wink say, "Yeah, I think we met at a party last year."

2) Every time I get a 2 dollar Canadian coin or "Twoonie" as change, pump my fist and enthusiastically say to myself, "Yeah, baby. Free money!"

3) Get the Achilles healthy once and for all (the capitalization is no mistake. My tendon has achieved "deity" status).

4) Any time a kid is screaming in public or making a fuss, grab him by the shoulder and with a stern look say, "The devil will find work for idle hands, boy."

5) Learn German.

6) Find a semi-steady job that doesn't involve driving people to or from a car dealership.

7) Go to Starbucks, deliberately order a drink with soy milk, and then when the drink comes take a sip and (curling my nose) say, "Soy milk?! Ewwwwww...."

8) Streak through Cook St. Village, Victoria, with an American flag painted on my butt.

9) While at a dinner with people I don't know--and regardless of what the prepared dish is and the name of the person that cooked it--loudly exclaim with my forked cocked in front of my eye in wonder, "Martha, these potstickers are delicious!"

10) Ask Andy Bunker for his hand in marriage.

That's all, folks!

-Boosh Clown

Hark! The Herald Angels Sing

2008-03-23T16:53:00.001-07:00

I don't know why we do resolutions for New Years. Well, I do know; it is, after all, a new year, so in that regard it is certainly fitting. I just don't think January is any time of year to be enacting life-changing decisions supposed to improve one's quality of life, physical appearance, career, etc. If you are like me and most people I know, during the dire winter months of Northwest winters you live in a kind of waking sleep--a species of coma that just says, "Hang in there, buddy. I know this weather sucks and that it has rained for the past 47 days, but spring will be awesome. I promise."
In this state you are in no condition to pursue new-and-improved workout regiments and diets that eliminate all things but foods like "almond milk" and "fortified wheat barley." In fact, you need all the fat you can get if you are to make it through the harsh winter; there's a reason your body is telling you to nab a scone off the counter and curl up in a cave of pillows and blankets next to the hearth until the green-blossomed tips of the cherry trees awake from their slumber to bless the Earth with their glorious frangranced flowers and signal the beginning of a warmer climate to come.

This is what spring is all about: new beginnnings. So wouldn't it be more fitting, I ask, that we did our New Year's resolutions in spring, as opposed to the dreary depths of winter's frosty embrace? Why don't we make resolutions to begin anew when nature also is beginning anew; when the robins have returned and the bees are unfurling their tiny antennae and the caterpillar will is ridding itself of its frigid cocoon?

It is because we are a foolish people; we would have to be to make our most important decisions and resolutions on a night we have carefully reserved for the consumption of gross quantities of liquor. How many people do you know who wake up wearing an '08 party hat and sitting in an armchair with a half-empty bottle of Cook's on their lap that get up, dust off the sin, and head to the gym? And how many people in that same situation decide they are going to battle a hangover--a medieval, rogue-like hangover--by eating a balanced meal of tofu steak and freshly cut leeks? The answer is: no one. People generally spend the morning of New Year's day washing a penis off of their forehead and trying to figure out why they woke up in the laundry room with their pants around their ankles and a dog collar around their neck. A "New Year's resolution" is about the last thing on their minds.

Therefore, to honor the first day of spring--a glorious day heralded in by gleaming rays of sunlight that shone through the strait of Juan de Fuca as I made my way home from Haggar's foreboding land of the North to the glory that is our United States of 'Merica, I decided to make a new set of New Year's resolutions; a set that I will actually enforce; a set that was not conceived in direct relation to the consumption alcohol; and a set that will make Mother Nature proud to open the gate to her benevolent bosom and set forth the flora and the fauana that make spring in the Northwest a joyous time to be alive.

And I urge you all to do the same. Sinners repent!

-Boosh Clown

p.s. I'll post the resolutions tomorrow. I have to think of them first.

Whoomph! There it is

2008-03-21T21:48:00.000-07:00

I know I'm kind of a huge liar for saying I was going to update the blog daily and then not actually doing it, but the blog world is stressful. Long hours, editors constantly peering over my shoulder, and faulty computer equipment have at times contributed to an altogether sub-par work environment. I would entertain notions of throwing in the towel for early retirement were it not for your kind, unconditional support, faithful reader. You are the wind beneath my wings.

-Boosh Clown

Like of the Day: Safeway 3 for-a-dollar candybars

Dislike of the Day: Having to go through mo'fuckin' customs just to come home for Easter to Seattle

Song of the Day: "I'll be Surprised" by Skinnyman

Party

2008-03-20T19:29:00.000-07:00

As part of my 2008, "Stop Having Achilles Tendonitis" plan, I biked the 25 minute ride from where I live in Cook St. village to the campus of the University of Victoria today.
And now I feel like I am about to cough up blood.
To add insult to injury, I started getting passed by other people on the road: cars, other bikers--a woman pushing a stroller, while my spindly legs seared with fatigue.
Then I finally get to UVIC, hippie capitol of the world (as declared by me), only to find a kid with a bucket of chalk out in front of the library writing the words, "Hug a tree."
I minorly hate my life.

Happy Easter,

Boosh Clown

Confessions of a DUH-uh

2008-03-18T19:13:00.000-07:00

Where have all the cowboys gone? Paula Cole is not the only one wondering this. I would love to know where all the cowboys have gone. I suspect somewhere remote, somewhere with a lot of horses, and somewhere with relatively lax gun laws. Montana springs to mind. Wyoming would also probably be a pretty safe bet. Did Paula Cole go to these places before writing her song? Did she do any research at all? The whole thing stinks like tanned leather.

I would like to pose a question: Why on earth was everyone so obsessed with that one "Soulja Boy" song? That song is fucking terrible. It sounds like it was recorded in my bathroom. Rap music today is essentially dead and hip-hop has degenerated into an Akon solo. Akon is one of the worst singers alive. He sounds like a dying loony tunes character, and yet he is featured in every song, and everyone under the age of 25 seems to love him. AKA every girl under the age of 25 seems to love him.

It is official. I have decided that there is no cure for the common hangover. I have tried just about everything, including getting vitamin B injected into my buttox in Costa Rica. This is no lie. My friend Neil and I did it. It cost about 2 dollars each and the cute older woman at the pharmacy led us into the back room where she made us lie face down on a padded table while sticking a syringe full of vitamin B into our butts. This made us feel awesome for awhile, but mostly made our butts hurt and made it hard to walk. Plus, right before she gave us the shots she explained the possible side effects: "Your urine might be red and you will have a slight metallic taste in your mouth." That is when my friend Scott backed out, turned off by the prospect of brightly colored pee. Then Neil and I stepped behind the curtain one by one to get liquid vitamin B injected into our buttox.
Like I said, it worked, but only for a few hours. Still, that is the closest I have ever come to ridding myself of a hangover you could sell to science (Bryson) through any method other than sleep and lots of water.
The problem for me is that I can't nap when I'm hungover, so I basically just spend the whole day wishing it was the next day, because sometimes when I'm hungover it is a chore for me to exist. Isn't that sad? It's tragic. My life is in shambles.
Have a great day!

- Boosh Clown