Wednesday, November 11, 2009

(----) in Russia Vol.27: [#$%^] in Berlin


At a cozy neighborhood bar, this dude showed up with a cello and started vamping on some Gustav Mahler/Arnold Schoenberg/Irish folk jig/Tom Waits/Riverdance-style improv. While the dude in the foreground was trying to read.


Mixmaster Horsehair also would chant and dance at intermittent intervals. The dog in the audience (true story) barked at this point.




Apparently, toenail care is a huge concern of 21st-century Germany.


"Explore Potsdam" (a small town outside of Berlin). That is a butthole next to the words.


"Graffiti."








I...


"Men only," the sign said.


What could it be?


A container of French fries eating its own contents.


On that note, what's the best napkin option for a cannabalistic hot dog if he wants to keep the condiments off someone else's fingers?










A Mexican Gandalf in Germany.




Rikk: did you know that "Organic sausage has many friends?"


Straight to the heart of chips. I mean, crips.


R.I.P. Radio Raheem.


Bonus Rikk shot.


The Berlin Wall getting tagged.


And now, a special treat. Bearpit Karaoke in Berlin, at Mauerpark, right by the Berlin Wall. A huge stone ampitheater with hundreds of people singing in the cold. All genres, all ages.






"Love Shack"


"Respect"


"Old Man River." This man gave me chills then and still does.

Monday, October 26, 2009

Overheard at the State Fair (by somebody, I'm sure)




Group of us (me, Lauren, Neill, Ellie, Linc) walking past a Guesser:

Guesser (to me): Guess your age, height, weight, whaddya say, sir?

Me (shaking head decisively): No thanks.

Guesser (looking at Ellie, who was closest to me): What about your wife?

Me: [eyebrows raised to the guy]

Guesser: Friend?

Me: [same look]

Guesser: Girlfriend?

Me: [still with same look] Take a guess.

Guesser: That'll be three dollars.

Me: See ya.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Russian Bookends

Oh hell yeah


Finn Cohen <[wredacted]>

Mon, Oct 19, 2009 at 10:27 AM

To: "mttklb@****" <[radacted]>, RbrtBggrs <[autodacted]>, stngjns@[ehhhdacted], DNhm <[oh y’know, secreted]>, BnSpkr <[shhhh]>, drcntwll@*****, Eioei <[4 real on the DL coz this guy, he’s a GUY]>, Dash<[redunkted]>, LnclnHncck <[you guys mind if I post deez?]>, nllprwtt@****

From a wire story I had to edit today:

"By Monday afternoon, shares in the group were trading 0.9 percent lower at 21.62 Swiss francs ($21.31), underperforming a 1.6 percent rise in shares of French rival Schneider and a 0.5 percent rise in the
DJ Stoxx European industrial goods and services index."

DJ STOXX IS MY BOY!



this would be the only way i ever see you getting into trading.




Listen to DJ Stoxx going on about his swiss francs and shit...



"Federal Ballout" by DJ Stoxx (feat. Municiple Bonds and the Unregistered Securities Krew)




Tradin’ that ass....



R.I.P., Herbert Kornfeld.



IT WUZ ALWAYS 'BOUT THA NUMBAHS

Irving, he think he all dat, but he ain't. Got his accountin' degree from some bullshit diploma mill an' he have tha muhfukkin' balls 2 step 2 me jus' 'cuz he landed a sweet-ass Midstate gig. Yesterday, I called tha fool into my dope cubicle and told him 2 resolve a $2 variance. "Two dollar variance?" he say. "Woot!"

"'Woot'?" I say. "You fuckin' fool, it gotta balance."

"Why?" he say. "Midstate's in the black. They can eat the cost. It's all good."

Wuz tha bitch straight trippin'? "Muhfukka, you want yo head flown?" I say, mah H-Kool slippin'. "I wants that variance resolved."

"Don't tell me what to do, bra," he say.

"Don't call me no goddamn bra," I say. "I ain't no Maidenform shit. Fuck all y'all! What, y'all sayin' I'm a bra? What? What? What? Whadju say, fucka? What? What?"



D.J. Stoxx is my boy! He manages my beats AND my retirement!



Certified by Wu Tang Financials.



When the Foo Fighters greatest hits LP comes out on Nov. 3, I am going to buy it. They have some really good songs.



I always thought that "there goes my hero" song sounded a bit like White Octave, or vice versa. Animal Chin, I reckon.



DONTWANNABEYOURMONKEYWRENCH!



Because of this conversation, Gmail totally freaked.

They suggested: "You--A Talented Rapper?": http://www.exploretalent.com/contest.php?gclid=CLrWlNbUyZ0CFQRM5QodImP4yQ

...And "Free Retirement Analysis" for Wachovia.

Yes. And yes.

--MC Sub-prymz



'ric's flow got foreclosed on.



David's got to know I'm all up in Blackacre,
Not no fore-say-ker
with no time for financial rhymes for your financial times
I'm an economist, I get by on this,
getting dividends, from every end,
msnbc is getting the bends,
from my every word,
so now ya herd,
my financial acuity, needs no annuity,
fiscally speaking, you're still in puberty.

mc hackington the third



I was going to rip on Eric, but the final couplet are indeed tight.

But you can do better.



SILK NOGG, I'M BOUT TO JOGG YOUR NOGGIN,
MY RHYMES ARE TIGHT AS YOUR MOM'S TOBOGGAN,
IN KAKALAK THAT'S A HAT,
IN NEW YORK THAT'S A SLED,
IN H-RIZZY-BURG, IT'S TIME TO GO TO BED.
IT'S A LYRICAL SLEEPER HOLD I'M BOUT TO DEPLOY,
AND YOUR SELF-DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR, I'M BOUT TO DESTROY,
I'M FISCALLY COMPETENT, AINT JUST LINKING SHIT,
YOU'LL NEED TO WATCH FRONTLINE TO UNDERSTAND YOUR PREDICAMENT
I'M ABOUT TO COLLATERALIZE YOUR DEBT OBLIGATIONS
YOU GOT A LIQUIDITY CRISIS, WELL I AINT GOT NO PATIENCE.
SO GIVE IT UP, HAND IT OVER, I OWN YOU SON,
AND LIKE KAREN CARPENTER, I'VE ONLY JUST BEGUN...

-Freddie Hack



RHYMES LIKE DIMES



Damn.

--DJS



There was an allusion to the Man who Shot Liberty Valance on Mad Men
the other night (I'm catching up on season 2). It made me think of you
Ric. We're not worthy of your talents!



THAT IS WHAT I”M MOTHERFUCKIN TALKIN BOUT.

Kalb, what am I talkin’ bout?



Okay, I guess that flow was a fluke. I'm glad you're in school, 'ric, 'cause you need an education--let a man show you:

A selection from 'The Illiad' by Silk Nogg (to-wit):

I told the pelican not to close its mouth becuase

it might hurt the baby and pelicans shouldn't hurt

babies. Even ones made of diamonds that smell

like coconuts. But I digress--there were pretty girls

wrapped in paper laying in my yard all night.

I called the police but they said, 'Fuck you.' So I

had to just go out in my yard myself and rake

the girls into a pile and then put them in a plastic

trash bag, but it is hard to do alone. You need two

hands for the bag and two for the girls, but I only

got two hands. Luckily the pelican was watching me

with its oily eye, and once I stopped crying, I knew all

would be well. It was later that I found the note in my

pocket from the tiger, the note that told me I would die.

(Chorus)

Tigers in track suits run the game.

Tigers in track suits run the game.

Don't be made because he want it.

Tigers in track suits run the game.

Blasphemous donkey balls; incredulous sunrise,

the girls from Japan are all in a plane on their way

to Kenya for a conference on sustainable economic

growth. I saw a sparrow with an MBA working at

the gas station in Durham. He said, 'Son, I am tired,

I can't carry this weight. I want to lay down and die.

the end is at hand.' My best friend, Tompkins Basnight

and I went to the Streets at Southpoint to pick up chicks

but they said put us down, so I said, 'You have a nice

personality.' Then I ate a speaker the looked like a rock

and bought a t-shrit at Banana Republic. Awkward silence.

Tigers in track suits run the game. (etc, ad nauseum.)



Put a track of Ric's rhyme on top of a track of Silk's rhyme, at the same time, with some opera on top of that. no beats.



I’ll do it, too. But someone needs to record those vox and send ‘em to me.



Let's do it. It can't be hard.



Or I could just insert the text as a Word document over the beats.



Just use some computer voice reading software, but make one of them
Autotuned (not sure which). This will be incredible.



Speaking of auto-tune. There was a guy at the wedding I went to this weekend going around getting people to say something about the bride and groom, best wishes type of shit, into his iphone using the auto-tune app. I had the idea that there should be a website called Auto-Tune My Feelings, where you go on and record an apology or a love note or anything that might otherwise be awkward, but it puts it through auto-tune for you. Then you can e-mail it to the person as an audio file. So you still have the sincerity of the thing but it's coated in a nice layer of comedy, which makes it less awkward. You know you would forgive someone if they auto-tuned you an apology. I would. Of course it would turn into people sending all kinds of crazy shit, but that's fine.



An excellent idea.

On par with this:

http://www.dangerousminds.net/index.php/site/comments/russian_car_made_with_whale_penis_leather_trim/



Oh man. You can literally sit on a dick.



this is all too much



look at this fucking cat you guys

http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3526/4016731807_10c78fd3b3_o.jpg



THAT is too much.



it's hardly enough




Eight is enough.



Iz



An additionally funny thing I had to edit today; it was translated into English by a Russian:

He suffered from anophtalmia (lack of an eyeball) in one eye and an underdeveloped frontal lobe in the brain.”

Sunday, October 18, 2009

(----) in Russia Vol.26: Because That Matt Kalb — He's A Funny Guy


In Soviet Russia, beer throws up from you.


See?


It appears that the Leprechaun has taken up residence in our dumpster, where he can polish shoes to his heart's content without distractions.


"What? I bought it like that."












Inside the Elektrozavodskaya metro station.


Inside the bathroom at a club called Barbarella. This monstrosity is actually a speaker, out of which was blaring Madonna at a very high volume — too high for a toilet stall, one could say.


"Mysterious Cats," it's called.


A hair salon for dogs.


The awning at the hair salon for dogs.


This dog was trying to cross this street to get to an important meeting, but thought better.


A walk through a park one day resulted in stumbling upon this celebration of Tank Drivers' Day. I was unable to get the full impact of the dog who jumped onstage for an extended period of time, but you can see him scurry off at the beginning.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

What it's for, y'all

finn cohen
to Matt, Lincoln, Robert, Ben, David, me, Eric, Neill

show details 11:46 AM (33 minutes ago)

THIS SHOULD BE ON THE BLOG. THAT IS WHAT IT IS FOR

Better Than Megalodon??


Boaz looks to top his all-time classic with next summer's The Expendables. With Sly, Statham, Li, Lundgren, Ahnold, Willis, Stone Cold, and more, really the only people missing are Seagal and Van Damme. I think this movie warrants a group showing at South Point next August. I'll put it in my calendar and Inappropriate can book his ticket with FinnAir now.

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1320253/
http://www.adanx.com/trailers/trailer-the-expendables/

Thursday, October 08, 2009

AWK!! STRING QUARTET!! PARTY!!

Last week Shana and I went to see Andrew W.K. perform a sit-down show with the Calder Quartet. They gave out programs and performed classical pieces by Fred Frith & Philip Glass, along with others I wasn't familiar with, before going into a mini-set of AWK's own material. Here is a video of the song "I Get Wet" that I shot. Toward the end of the song, people got out of their chairs and started dancing up front, and then during the next songs a ton of people got on stage and it got pretty crazy. Please enjoy this thoughtful reinterpretation of the title track from Andrew's debut album.

Wednesday, October 07, 2009

2009 Nobel Prize in Literature


I am close, emotionally, with (anonymous) who is affiliated with the Swedish Academy (aka the Svenskaakademien), and that person informs me that the winner of the 2009 Nobel Prize for Literature is (highlight if you want to know):


Stingy, for returning moral seriousness to the gChat.


Congrats! Here are some early reactions:
Elfriede Jelinek: "This recognition is long overdue. Humanity has been returned to humankind. No longer do I feel the need to stab myself in the shoulder."
J.M. Coetzee (Via Skype): "I am hungry for beets."
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o: "This could not have happened to a better literature prize."
George H.W. Bush: "This proves the resiliency of the American Spirit in the face of the horror of existence."
Richard H. Brodhead: "Finally, this University has an alumni to be proud of. We will begin printing brochures for the school tomorrow."

Thursday, September 17, 2009

(----) in Russia Vol.25--Special One-Year Anniversary EdisheeUN


You know you're in Russia when this guy can get this girl's number. And that is exactly what is happening.


Throw your set into the air, and blur it like you just don't care.


Translation: "Mama, don't get an abortion!"


Romance discarded into my dumpster, next to which a revolving cast of dudes usually sleep, waiting to go through the garbage.




At a wedding I attended, a live bear was brought in to do tricks. Wearing a tutu and carrying a basket. It was one of those moments that made me ashamed to be human.


At the same wedding, a family of performers (man, woman, child) emerged after the bear and performed a bunch of stunts with doves, including using them as badminton shuttlecocks (to their credit, the birds would land on the rackets rather than being actually pummeled by them).

Live from St. Petersburg:


Speaking of birds, this man was relaxing with a frosty brew and a flock of pigeons at about 2 p.m.


This chopper is really just a bicycle with huge handlebars.


Nevsky Prospekt, 7 p.m.


Carvings in the side of a building that used to be a brothel; the statues were supposed to be advertisements.


The Neva river, evening.


Slogan fail. There are tons of labels on clothes here that are in really strange English. The best one so far is one that had a bunch of brand names followed by the phrase, "Me So Horny." On the front of a t-shirt.


Here you go, Ric. A tiny dog wearing cargo shorts and a "SWAT" tank top.




This lady was carrying two Louis Vuitton bags and one (supposedly) Louis Vuitton dog.


Now for a cultural lesson. This building is one of the very first rock clubs in Russia, located just off Nevsky Prospekt, the main drag in St. Petersburg. The underground rock scene in Russia was essentially raised here, and the place was slightly illegal but extremely popular. It's now an unofficial monument in the city. Probably the most famous rock band ever in Russia was Kino, whose singer, Viktor Tsoi, died in a car accident in 1990 at the age of 28. Tsoi is still one of the country's most revered icons, having revolutionized the concept of rock music in Russia and starring in some incredible films, "Igla" and "Assa." Here's a clip of Kino playing their song "Blood Type" at one of their final concerts in Moscow (note standing drummer, RB):




Graffiti from August 15 of this year on the wall of the rock club: "Tsoi is not dead. He just went on tour to Heaven."


Russian sunbathing. The style here is to stand, arms akimbo, and face the sun rather than lie down.


A sign at the Peter and Paul Fortress in St. Petersburg, which served as a prison and a military outpost in the days of Peter the Great. The sign is outlining all the things that are not allowed in the fortress. Let's take a closer look:


No marching off of buildings of any sort.


No sax solos.


No wearing a bathing suit. Also, your torso must be connected to your legs.


No tree breaking.


No drinking near lamp posts.


If you're going to drink, no breaking bottles.


No demonstrations, Hitler salutes or conducting of symphonies of any kind.


ABSOLUTELY NO SKIING.