Archive for February, 2004

  • Rob Spectre
  • 29
  • Feb
  • 04

If there is a song in the eyes of every child, there should at least be a floor cleaner commercial jingle in the eyes of every squirrel. Some of those bastards are *crazy*.

Last night I’m getting ready to mosey down to Antonio’s for a slice, and I hear what sounds like a crying child. Well, not precisely a crying child, but more like a crying, retarded child with severe asthma. Curious if I was soon-to-be a key player in the birth of a new urban legend, I gave a little pause and tried to follow the noise. Eventually following it up to the roof of my three-story Victorian apartment home, I saw a rather haggard gray squirrel hanging by a single paw on the guttering, apparently crying for help. Now, I had no object long enough to reach the squirrel and an insufficient background in rodent biology to effectively communicate to the creature, so there was little I could do to help my little woodland friend out of his jam. After a few moments of watching, I was soon joined by a few neighbors who had also been searching for the source of the sound.

After a bit of careful analysis, it was determined that we should get some sort of net to safely catch the squirrel and stand on top of an SUV and poke the gutter with a stick until it fell, and then promptly set it free. There were two small catches in this ingenious plan however: 1) We had no SUV and 2) we had no net.

Undaunted, we settled for a couple of Sarah’s throw pillows and Eddie’s new Volkswagen Beetle. Being the tallest of the group now numbering eight, we determined that the stick detail was best left to me and the pillow duty to someone with health insurance that included rabies shots. Carefully resting my weight on the frame of Ed’s Beetle and clamoring about a bit with the stick, I finally get in a position to push the squirrel off the ledge.

At precisely that point, the squirrel realizes what the fuck we’re doing and climbs back up on the roof, hops on a nearby power line, and leaves the eight of us idiots in the dust.

What was more strange – the squirrel hanging and crying like a human baby or a group of eight adults coordinating such an unsophisticated rescue operation – remains a mystery.

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  • Rob Spectre
  • 25
  • Feb
  • 04

I did make it out to see The Greatest Story Ever Sold with Scottie and Jess tonight. My advice would be against seeing this particular film during the premiere, but chances are you probably haven’t by the time word gets out.

First of all, it was Ash Wednesday and when walking into the theater that had folks lined up for an hour before showtime I was almost overwhelmed to the point of yak. This was not, as one might assume, a result of The Passion’s now-legendary ultra-violence, but rather from getting slammed in the face with the distinct stench of nursing home.

Now sharing a theater with 150 old Catholics, Scottie and I began making bets on the first one to blow chunks during the crucifixion scene. Watching her munch merrily munch away on some Raisenets, my bet was on the perky 60ish lady across the aisle. However, it did in fact end up being Scottie by a nose, correctly picking a morbidly obese Baptist in the second to last row who sprung like a frozen water main on the first stroke of cat o’ nine tails.

The film, obviously, is necessary viewing for anyone who liked Braveheart as much as I did. That said, being an atheist at The Passion premiere is kind of like being the midget going on the company ice-skating trip. Everyone *acts* like they are glad you came, but really it was probably best if you stayed your ass at home. In terms of the tradition of actual Passion plays, Gibson, as ever, did his homework. From the Mephistophelean character always appearing to the right of Christ and the scream at Jesus’ passing, it was about all a medieval history geek could ask for, *with* some choice Latin dialogue.

But, at the end of the day, there is only so much fucking slow motion a man can take. Didn’t we already say everything we needed to say in slow-mo with Once Upon A Time In Mexico? Further, the content of the film is largely flashbacks that remain only accessible to those who already know the Scripture being referenced and JC getting his ass handed to him in a very literal sense. The theme of forgiveness, thankfully, predominates the film… which I can only hope is taken to heart by the millions of Christians who watch the torture of their Messiah as the result of a bunch of Jews not taking no for an answer. Historically speaking, the Jewish community’s hand in the death of Christ is pretty undeniable. But the cinematographic cut from one high priest’s hooknose to the other is not exactly the most even-handed approach to an extremely volatile subject. And any film where a Roman prelate is regarded as reluctant to kill non-Romans is cursed with the same historical credibility as, oh, say, Braveheart.

Of course, I think my viewing of the film was incredibly skewed. This was largely due to a pair of fucking nancies that cried from the first time Jesus got ganked in the face. What the fuck did you think was going to happen when you bought the ticket, sweetheart? Likely the same stupid jackasses who sat behind me and bawled through Titantic, these women acted like this was the first time they heard of some Nazarene getting smacked down by trigger-happy legionnaires.

I mean, the story is only 2,000 fucking years old and integral to the third most important religion on the planet. I suppose it’s easy to miss.

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  • Rob Spectre
  • 22
  • Feb
  • 04

So, me and Scottie are driving along I-95 with the back of his Acura packed with the entire intellectual infrastructure of my employer. I turn around to look at the $150,000 worth of network equipment and turn back to Scottie, who is cruising at an easygoing 75 miles per hour.

“You know Scott, with another tank of gas we could drive down to Mexico and start a lucrative e-commerce site.”

“Yeah, I suppose we could.”

Several moments of excited silence.

“But, Rob what the hell are we going to sell?”

“Shit.”

And so died another potential Fortune 500 company.

Another thing… Ralph Nader, what the fuck?

Buddy, it’s not like I don’t think you’d be a good president. It’s not like I don’t hold your work for the American consumer in exceptionally high regard. It’s not like I don’t think your fight for democracy is not only worthwhile, but imperative in a hypervolatile government with imperial leanings.

But dude, have you seen this Bush guy? He’s got a quarter of a billion dollars *and* he fucks shit up like a paid professional. When’s the last time you saw a guy with that much money and a penchant for the location of shit and the fucking thereof? That’s right, he was a Roman Emperor. And what’s more, this Nero wannabe’s got 4 years of quality experience in shit-fucking and can be only expected to do the same with greater quantity and precision if he gets a second term. Nothing, not even reclaiming our sham of a democracy for the citizen, is more important than eliminating Dubya’s ability to play his fiddle while the Greyhound Bus of America goes nonstop to Shitowne.

You’re a nice guy Ralph. But you’re also fucking 70. We’ve already got a skeleton with a bad ticker in the White House. Plus, running as an independent not only shows the true hubris of your candicacy, but does so at the expense of the Green Party which is still reeling from the last time you tried this act of futility. If Bush’s approval rating were hanging around in the low forties instead of the low fifties, maybe we could talk shop. Maybe if there were more credible scholarly evidence of your claim that more non-voters came out to vote for you instead of frequent liberal voters that could have pushed Gore to win the election by a margin that would have escaped a Supreme Court contest I’d better understand your desire to run. But in the face of a tight campaign, a huge disparity of fundraising ability, and an electorate who will have seen both The Greatest Story Ever Sold and the possible capture of Osama, what good can you reasonably expect to come of this?

Ralph, I think you’re absolutely right. But, this time your goals are better served by watching from the sideline.

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  • Rob Spectre
  • 21
  • Feb
  • 04

Looking at 11pm and an uncooperative appliance server, I’m beginning to think that signs might be the record that every computer guy should own. Somehow Houston and error logs together create a synaesthesia of hardcore geek and ethereal acoustica that seems to create the perfect objective mindset for this kind of work. If you have the opportunity to listen to the disc on tinny laptop speakers, I think you get the best picture of the excellent mastering work that went into the production of this record. If it can sound good on a laptop, I imagine it can sound good just about anywhere, including the moon.

Roger copy, Houston.

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  • Rob Spectre
  • 19
  • Feb
  • 04

This is our Rosa Parks. This is our Henry Thoreau. This is the beginning of the civil rights movement of our generation.

I hope you have a good seat. I’ll see you on the other side of the table of brother(and sister)hood.

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