Daily Dizzle

Movie Poop Shoot reports on Beyond The Sea, a new movie about '60s singer Bobby "Mack The Knife" Darin. In the piece, MPS claims that Bobby D. had a "weak ticker" and "went for the Pabst Blue Ribbon gusto all the way." My question is this: is "weak ticker" a recognized medical condition, or is it shorthand for "out-of-shape SOB?"<via Whatevs>

Britney Spears: You Heard It Here First! Watch out for an anti-anti-Brit Brit backlash. Give the gal a break. You'd be a freakin' space case too if millions of people watched you shop at Pier One. <via Stereogum>

Nouvelle Vague's lounge-jazz cover of the DK's "Too Drunk To Fuck." So best. <via Jockohomo>

What Is the Sound of One Hand Toking? Ricky Williams, now-ex-Miami Dolphin has this to say about his departure from the NFL:

I didn't quit football because I failed a drug test. I failed a drug test because I was ready to quit football.

<via Outsports>

Teresa Heinz Kerry apparently calls herself "Mama T." Is that creepy or what? The only thing that "Mama T" reminds me of is Mama Cass. I hope that for Mama T's sake she doesn't follow Mama Cass' lead and toke to teath on a tam tandwich. <via Towle Road>

Dude, Where's My Biceps? Jim Palmer in his underwear! <via Towle Road>

Please Tell Me This Is a Joke: You knew David Hasselhoff's music was rubbish, but did you know it was this bad? <via NewYorkish>

Two Ducks and a Man Who Just Swallowed A Bug Walk Into A Bar...

Two ducks and a man who just swallowed a bug walk into a bar. The first duck hops up on the bar, slowly spins around three times, drops a big load of duck poop, quacks, hops off the bar and walks out. The second duck watches the first duck walk out, then it too gets up on the bar, spins around, poops, quacks and walks out. The man who just swallowed a bug looks at the bartender and says, "What kind of joint you running here, bud? This place smells like shit!"

Ariz. Gov. Janet Napolitano Is A...

If I'm not mistaken, Gov. Napolitano's associate is sporting a femullet variant.

Bonus Pic: New Mexico Delegate Frances F. Williams (Las Cruces)

I kind of get lost after the Space Shuttle.

<via Uffish>

George W. Bush, Rock Rock On

Boi From Troy (masquerading as Wonkette) reminds us of how brawny our President is. He's a mountain biker!!!

As if.

Don't get me wrong. Mad props to our Prez for riding a mountain bike instead of that pimped out Serotta Kerry's got. But let's look at the facts a little more closely, shall we?

In that ridiculous fluff piece (either the USA Today or Guardian one, you choose), we find that

Item #1: In Crawford, George W. rode 18 miles in 80 minutes. That's a 13.8 mph average, give or take. While that may be slow for a roadie (16-18 mph is a moderate pace), for a mountain biker that's blindingly fast. Most of my rides average between 5-7 mph. George W. wasn't riding singletrack. He was on a frickin' race course.

Item #2: George W. rides with toe clips. Bad idea, George. While the learning curve for clipless pedals is much steeper than for toe clips, clipless pedals are ultimately much safer. You can't get your feet caught in a strap when you foolishly lock the front brake on a rocky downhill and endo... Try a pair of Times, Egg Beaters or Shimanos, George.

Item #3: He's still got his reflectors on? NO BUZZ! Obvs.

Looks Like I'm Going To Make It...But Then I Don't

Albertson's Parking Lot, Fairfax, CA (July 25, 2004)

Co-conspirators: Bret and Kent

Beware of the Tamarancho Teeter Totter

Yesterday Kent, Bret and I rode at the Tamarancho Boy Scout camp in Fairfax. Since we all were going to smoke crack the night before, we agreed to a late start -- 11:00 a.m. Bad idea #1.

Earlier, I had foolishly agreed to drive, since I had a third bike tray that I could install. However, upon further inspection (on the morning of the trip), I realized that there is no way you can fit three bikes on top of a Jetta. So there were some last-minute calls to Bret to get him to drive. Since there is no way he can fit three bikes plus three people in his Outback, he spent some quality time re-installing his bike trays. Needless to say, we didn't leave the city until well after 11:00 a.m.

We finally got to Fairfax and proceeded to get lost. Fortunately, Fairfax isn't that big and it wasn't long before we rolled up to Sunshine Bikes and paid our $5 for day passes to Tamarancho.

It seems that the Boy Scouts are running quite the racket at Tamarancho, because the place is CRAWLING with riders. The way that place makes money, it wouldn't surprise me that the scouts are lighting their campfires with a fistful of benjamins.

We left Sunshine Bikes around 12:30 p.m. and headed off to Tamarancho. We had just entered the camp when my drivetrain began to make this weird grinding noise. Then the drivetrain locked up completely. Turns out one of the rear swingarm bolts had worked itself loose and was jamming the small chainring.

After some valiant attempts to make a quick trailside repair, we quickly realized that the crank arm wasn't budging. Fortunately, the road to the bike shop was mostly downhill and I was able to coast most of the way.

The good folks at Sunshine jumped to my aid and I was out the door in under 15 minutes and only $5 poorer. These guys rock!

We head back on the trail and this time we make it to the trailhead. After a run-in with a couple of chuckleheads who don't know that Uphill Has the Right Of Way, AND THAT MEANS ALWAYS, we hit the beginning of the Tamarancho Loop. We're sitting at the junction, picking our butts and wondering which way we should go, when two guys pass us.

"Hey, which way should we go? Clockwise or counterclockwise?"

"You guys from out of town?"

"Nah. We're from the City."

"Well, both ways are good, but if you've never ridden here before, go counterclockwise. It's more flowy. Plus you'll pass the teeter totter in about a quarter mile."

"Cool."

So off to the teeter totter we went. And what a teeter totter it was.

Now, I'm just an ignorant city boy, and I've never done seen a teeter totter like this. It was a DOUBLE teeter totter joined at the center by an old piece of rubber with a long run-in coming from the uphill side. Bret and Kent take one look at it and wisely decide to steer clear. I, on the other hand, am a veteran of two (count 'em, two) teeter totter adventures, so I decide to check it out.

Make no mistake, this thing is a Death Trap. Rideable? Yes. Fun? Yes. Death Trap? Claro que si. For one thing, every board on the structure is off-camber. For another, the teeter totters don't join properly, so you must hop a small lip to get to the second teeter totter. Finally, the teeter totter is built on the side of a steep, burr-filled hill. If you run (or fall) off the teeter totter, you (and your yard sale) will be making a quick trip down that hill.

I make a couple of exploratory runs. Kent tells me that if I either (1) clear the teeter totter, or (2) spectacularly wipe out he'll buy me lunch. Since that's the adult equivalent of a Double Dog Dare, I take him up on the offer. And I bite it. I get to the top of the first teeter totter and freeze. Bad idea #2. Five seconds later, I'm 20 feet down the hill, bloodied and covered in burrs.

Kent ups the ante. If I either (1) clear the teeter totter, or (2) spectacularly wipe out he'll pay for the bridge tool, too. This time I make it to the second teeter totter and am almost to the end when I realize (too late!) that the teeter totter itself is off-camber and I am headed for Yard Sale #2. Oops.

After that I bow to the victorious teeter totter and head off to further adventures, including the Involunary Re-route Around the Annoyed Rattlesnake and the Trailside Maintenance to Repair Rear Derailleur Jacked Up From Messing Around With Aforementioned Victorious Teeter Totter.

Oh, yeah, and the free double cheeseburger, fries and ice tea.

Photos to follow...

Evening Commute No. 1

Another Reason Why I Hate Living In California

From yet another Boi From Troy post comes a link to a post in California Energy Blog.

California Energy Blog comments on opposition to a bill that would allow hybrid vehicles to use HOV lanes. As usual, there are hippy-dippy comments from Bay Area officials:

Bay Area transportation officials have raised the strongest objections. They say the measure could scuttle their efforts to encourage more commuters to use express buses, and could cost as much as $2 million a year in lost toll revenue because drivers in some carpool lanes cross toll bridges for free.

Um, Bay Area transportation officials, we're all in this together, right?

Whatever. The most interesting part of the post is the assertion from Brian D. Taylor, director of UCLA's Institute of Transportation Studies, that the sole purpose of HOV lanes is to improve traffic flow. And what, pray tell, is his authority for that -- legislative intent? As any first-year law student can tell you, legislative intent is often difficult to ascertain and commonly regarded as irrelevant.

To the critics [e.g., Scalia], so-called“legislative history” is a patchwork quilt of incomplete, manufactured, and ambiguous statements of self-selected legislators, each with their own axes to grind.... <source>

I certainly didn't know that the sole purpose of HOV lanes was to improve traffic flow. Improving traffic flow is an obvious benefit of HOV lanes, but so is reducing pollution and increasing energy efficiency. So when Taylor "suggests" opening HOV lanes to schoolteachers, eaters of roughage and other general do-gooders, his shot is off the mark.

As long as CARB continues its wrongheaded rejection of diesel (and biodiesel) as an eco-friendly fuel source, and fuel cells are still not a mass-market reality, hybrids are the best thing we've got. If you want to debate whether HOV lanes are a good idea, fine. But as long they're around, what's so wrong with letting hybrids use HOV lanes? To me, it seems like another sensible idea to encourage citizens to think critically about the energy they consume and the pollution they generate.

How Did This Happen, Wonder Woman?

The more I look at this picture, the more disturbing it becomes.
<via xeni by way of an idiot's guide to dreaming>

The Case of the Mysterious Vomiter

So I was asleep last night like I usually am (in bed, horizontal, etc. etc. etc.) when a noise woke me up. It was a man vomiting loudly outside my window.
This was no ordinary late-night hurl. This was the sound of a man puking his guts out. And his best friend's guts. And his dog's guts. Pretty much any guts he could get his hands on, really. And it was LOUD and LONG. Each vomit took at least ten seconds from start to finish.

It sounded something like this: HUH-WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNH HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNH ACCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCK ACCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCK (cough) (cough) (spit).

If an Ent were a junkie and just shot up some bad Miracle-Gro, this is what he would sound like.

I felt like I was in a re-enactment of the Kitty Genovese murder, except instead of a pretty girl being murdered, it was a smack addict coughing up his esophagus. What should I do? Should I go down and help him? Should I call 911? Should I at least get out of bed? Fortunately for me, The Stomper strode into action.

The Stomper is my upstairs neighbor. I've never met him, but I imagine he's about 300 lbs. I honestly don't know how he could weigh any less, given the rumbling and shaking occasioned by his every step.

Now, I have no idea whether The Stomper acutally did anything. I just figured (like the other 37 witnesses to Kitty Genovese's murder) that someone else was taking charge. So I settled back in, and after about ten minutes, the Mysterious Vomiter moved on. At least, I assumed he did. I didn't see any dead bodies when I walked to work this morning.

Annapolis, MD (July 18, 2004)

 
Five bucks* to the first person who can tell me what the heck this is.  The back thing appears to be a well.  My guess is that the table of rocks does not move. 
 
 
* Well, no.  Not really.

Who Says God Is Colorblind?

Found in the Adams-Morgan Safeway next to the Red Bull

Assateague Island Traffic Jam

No trip to Assateague Island would be complete without a shot of the Chincoteague ponies. The official Assateague Island National Seashore guide calls them "wild." I like to call 'em "campground mooches." They're like the bears at Yosemite -- really large and potentially deadly versions of campground chipmunks that steal your Cheetos.

Learn more about the Chincoteague ponies here.

Link Whore

Boi From Troy comments on an Andrew Sullivan editorial about a Michael Kinsley piece that refers to a Mickey Kaus post that links to a summary of a Oui Magazine article that was summarized in The Smoking Gun. Say that three times fast.

The backstory is this: Way back in 1977, Arnold Schwarzenegger, promoting his documentary, "Pumping Iron," was interviewed by Oui Magazine for a piece entitled "Arnold Schwarzenegger on the Sex Secrets of Bodybuilders." In the interview our Guv talks a lot of trash, to wit

Backstage group hummers at Mr. Olympia

[W]e had girls backstage giving head, then all of us went out and I won.

Sly comments about the size of his johnson

I hear all kind of lines, including 'Oh, you're hurting me; you're so big.' But it means nothing. Bodybuilders' cocks are the same size as everyone else's.

And the whopper that got Michael Kinsley in a tizzy, an interracial gang bang at Gold's Gym

[O]nce, in Gold's--the gym in Venice, California, where all the top guys train--there was a black girl who came out naked. Everybody jumped on her and took her upstairs, where we all got together.

Even ignoring, for the moment, basic facts like Gold's Gym had no female members in 1977, it's all pretty hard to take seriously. It's like Schwarzenegger thought he was Karl Hungus or something and the next words out of his mouth were going to be "Mein dispatcher says there is a problem with deine cable."

Anyway, the point is that Michael Kinsley found the story (1) disgusting and (2) probative of Gov. Schwarzenegger's attitude towards women. So he called him on it. Now, if I believed for one minute that Schwarzenegger was telling the truth (and not trying to shake off rumors that he was a narcissistic homo), I'd agree with Mr. Kinsley. I think that every voter has the right to evaluate a candidate on his moral character and that this type of behavior directly addresses that issue. But it's clear that Gov. Schwarzenegger was boasting. We all knew during the elections that Gov. Schwarzenegger was a party boy in the '70s, so I don't see what new light this fabrication could have shed.

So fine. Michael Kinsley has a lapse of judgment and publishes his editorial. But then Andrew Sullivan wades in and asks "[W]hy is group sex between consenting adults in private 'disgusting'?" As if all group sex were cut from the same cloth. Now, I admit that for most people once you go beyond two-person sex, it's all pretty risque stuff. However, I think that even the quilting bee set will say that there is Group Sex and then there is Nasty Group Sex and that a gang bang with onlookers is most definitely Nasty.

So Boi From Troy, God bless him, goes and republishes Sullivan's comments. Which were published last September. And for the life of me I can't figure out why he bothered to do it.

Qokedy Qokedy Dal Qokedy Qokedy

There is a fascinating article in the latest issue of Scientific American. The article concerns the Voynich Manuscript. The Voynich Manuscript is "some 230 pages long, written in an unusual script and richly illustrated with bizarre images of plants, heavenly spheres and bathing women." Illustrations in the manuscript suggest that the manuscript was produced in the late 15th century, but the manuscript cannot be positively identified before 1586, when Rudolph II, the Holy Roman Emperor, purchased it.

Cryptologists have long suspected that the text of the manuscript is in code, but the code has defeated all attempts to crack it.

I'm sure Neal Stephenson knows all about the Voynich Manuscript, and just thinking about it makes him all tingly in his special places.

I won't spoil the rest for you. Just go to sciam.com and read the article for yourself.

A Boatload of Mootchies

A Google search for the term "man hootchie" returned zero relevant hits. Why is that? Just drop by either Gold's Gym location in the City and you can see a boatload of mootchies.

"Mootchie wood," by the way, is the product of Erythrina indica, commonly known as the Indian Coral Tree. Erythrinae are

[a] complex group, displaying reticulate evolution. Most [are] bird-pollinated, with interesting adaptions of the nectar nutrients to the needs of the bird species.... Extrafloral nectaries may attract guard-ant species.

You can see a boatload of extrafloral nectaries at Gold's too. Just watch out for the guard ants.

Keytars & Space Toms

OK...so this link has been in The Black Table's sidebar for weeks now, which means that all of you have seen it, right? Right? Cuz if you haven't been reading The Black Table religiously, you are a VERY BAD PERSON INDEED.

The link is for a video. The website is from Iceland, the title of the "piece" refers to Albania (I think) and the "singers" are "singing" in "English." So exactly whose Performance Art Piece/Inside Joke/Eurovision Contest Entry this is, I haven't got the foggiest.

Beint af toppnum í Albaníu

Bonus: Freaky Icelandic Underwater Calypso Learn About Safe Sex While Having Fun Condom Game!
(pluses: In Icelandic; Sure to Freak You Out)
(minuses: In Icelandic; Must Download .EXE)

Just Effing Wow

World Beard and Moustache Championships
<via thighs wide shut>

Bonus: Best Lame and/or Ironic Invention of the Week (Locking Coffee Cup)
<via new yorkish>

Morning Commute No. 3

Housekeeping

Work has been busy, so not much time to write. Just a few things today.

The Willow Fire is UNDER CONTROL. The forecast for Strawberry calls for a chance of rain every day this week. Thank God, the monsoons have arrived.

One of you complained that Blogspot requires you to log in to post a comment. Not true. Anonymous comments are permitted. To post anonymously, select the "Or Post Anonymously" hyperlink from the Blogger Log In screen.

Others have asked where I find all this crap. I have updated and organized my links. There are new sections for MP3 blogs, News/Opinion/Gossip sites, Science and Humor. More to follow...

I saw a (relative) surge in readership from Google hits on the news of the fornicating Norwegian protesters at The Cumshots concert. Who knew the French and Swiss were so hard up for FNPN (fornicating Norwegian protester news)?

You are so not cool enough to buy these t-shirts. <via catchdubs>

On the stereo: Beck + Emmylou Harris, "Sin City"

Spiderman 2: the Lego Version

All-Lego Spiderman vs. Doc Ock
<via Beatrice>

Bonus: Killer Bean!

More Willow Fire Updates

Total fire size: 109,900 acres (172 sq. mi.)
New acres burned today: 15,600 acres (24 sq. mi.)

Not much good news to report.

The good news is this: The northern line of the fire appears to be holding at the East Verde River. The fire last advanced northwards on June 30. My hope is that if when the winds shift, the fire will have burned itself out on the northern flank.

However, the fire is spreading rapidly down the southern and eastern flanks of the Mazatzals. It has reached Highway 87 (the Beeline Highway). The Beeline is a four-lane divided highway and should provide a good line of defense. However, as was demonstrated yesterday, gusty winds can blow sparks across the road and create hotspots.

A 345 KV power line southeast of Highway 87 is still threatened. Loss of the line could cause blackouts in Phoenix. The rest area at the Highway 188 junction is surely toast.

Needless to say, the Beeline is closed indefinitely.

Yeesh.

Willow Fire Progression Map

Oh No You Didn't: A San Francisco Report

This is the first in an occasional series of reports on weird, disgusting or inappropriate public behavior in San Francisco. Readers are encouraged to submit their sightings, which I will add to the next report.

DATE	DESCRIPTION	LOCATION	NOTES
July 1	Public fornication	Market St.
July 6	Woman urinating on newspaper	50 Fremont	Possible defecation
July 7	Man dropping a deuce on newspaper stand	Across from the Metreon	Rasta dude. Does this every week
July 8	Public display of leg warmers	Tully's, 545 Market St.	She's a maniac, a maniac

A Tszuj Update

That Guy From the Gym writes to ask, "What is 'tszuj?'"

Heck if I know, dude.

A no less authoritative source than the North County Times Serving San Diego and Riverside Counties states that "[y]ou 'tszuj' your hair by adding the last bit of tousling or 'tszuj' a meal with a lovely garnish."

Which sounds to me like Carson-faux-Yiddish speak for "gay it up."

When applied to shirts, "to tszuj" means "to roll up one's sleeves." As in, "Let's tszuj and get to work." Or something like that.

Norwegians Love Rainforests, Too

So it seems that a Norwegian punk band called The Cumshots was performing at the Quart Festival in Kristiansand, Norway. Sometime during their set, Tommy Holm Ellingsen and Leona Johansson jumped on stage and "started having sex in a variety of positions." The two are environmental activists who "donat[e] revenues from an Internet porn site they run to save rain forests around the world."

To which I can only say...Do What You Love, Love What You Do.

http://www.aftenposten.no/english/local/article824116.ece
<via catchdubsdotcom>

Thanks, p. 46!

The apartment and I have finally recovered from the 4th of July/birthday bash, though I can't guarantee I won't find an empty bottle of wine somewhere...like under the couch.

Needless to say much wine and many many many margaritas were quaffed. Who knew that a crack team of eleven guys and gals could lay waste to a whole squadron of booze?

I knew the party was getting out of control when we finished off a rousing discussion of tampons with a round of gum chewing. Which was followed by another round of gum chewing. Is this what life after 35 is all about? Getting crazy at gum tasting parties?

My friends, as ever, were quick to remind me that it's all downhill from here. Thanks, dudes. I got your six. Just don't be surprised when a gum tasting comes to your birthday party, OK?

The presents, though, rocked.

I got some shirts from my roommate

Mostly, I think, so I'll stop borrowing his

I got a gift card to Banana Republic from Marc and Paul

I got grape-flavored glutamine tablets from them as well

Nothing finishes off a good gum tasting like grape-flavored glutamine tablets. Really

And I got books from Michael and Charles

The first book I got was some master guide to grilling and barbecuing. I knew I was in trouble when I opened the book and the first recipe I saw called for home-dried fennel stalks. Like I'm going to have the presence of mind to harvest and dry some fennel stalks so I can make "Fennel-Smoked Grilled Bass with Pernod." Or something. It's obvious that if when I make grilled bass with Pernod I'm making a beeline for "Fennel-smoked Grilled Bass with Pernod II," which calls for smoking bass with fresh fennel.

I also got the Queer Eye for the Straight Guy book. My first reaction was to say, "Listen, peeps. You're eating a lemon raspberry cheesecake that I MADE FROM SCRATCH. I've already moved on to Queer Eye 201. There's nothing these guys can't teach me."

How wrong I was.

I have gone through 35 years on this watery orb with nary a tszuj. I don't tszuj my hair. I don't tszuj my sleeves. I don't tszuj nothin'. But now, thanks to Carson and crew, I know how to fabulize my work clothes. Thanks, p. 46! You've shown me the way.

Willow Fire Update

There is an 85,000 acre wildfire burning south of my parents' home. The winds have been favorable recently, and the fire is burning south and east, away from the towns of Payson, Pine and Strawberry. However, if the winds shift, only a tiny perennial creek and a lot of dry brush stand between the fire and my parents' house. The 10-day forecast looks dry. Needless to say, my parents are a little freaked out.

Even if the fire doesn't progress another inch, much of the Mazatzal Wilderness has been torched. Several years ago I spent a week backpacking through the Mazatzals. It's a rugged, amazing place. Travelling through the Mazatzals makes you respect the courage and fortitude of the ranchers who settled the area, not to mention the Apache who have lived there for hundreds and hundreds of years.

Fire updates are available at http://www.fireteam-sw.com/whitney/willow/

A Minor Note

Has anyone traced just how indebted chillout music is to Steve Reich? An admittedly slipshod Google search doesn't turn up much, and much of what turns up are reviews of the Reich Remixed album.
Maybe it's because the connection is too obvious to draw. Beat-driven electronica is usually repetitive, which can be a good thing when you're on drugs and floating in the Everlasting Now. When you're not on drugs it all too often comes across as a Sad Lack of Ideas.
To take an example, Rupeski's "Dreaming About Tomorrow (G-Dubs 'Guided By Angels' Reprise)" from the new Buzzin' Fly compilation has got a plinky keyboard and percussion loop that could have come straight out of "Octet."
What saves the song is that the keyboard loop, though short, is fairly complicated, and by the time you've sorted out just how the loop works, a burbling bass line has carried you to the next song.
Chillout's other obvious progenitor is James Brown's "Cold Sweat," which rejected melody in favor of groove as the song's propulsive force. But you already knew that, didn't you?

A Dream Right Before Waking

I live in downtown Baghdad. I am heading to a date. We am going to eat chop suey.
I enter the subway and get into a train. The train looks like a really big Dodge Grand Caravan, which you enter through the rear tailgate. I get a seat in the back. My eyes are closed and I am cowering, convinced that I will die on this train. A Marine closes the tailgate and we are off.
This train is FAST and highly maneuverable. I assume it is designed that way to outrun snipers.
My eyes open. I realize that cowering does no good. At this point, my life is not in my own hands.
After a while, I get off the train and exit the subway. In this neighborhood, everyone has a plane parked in front of the house. Most of them are cool jets. Mr. Chop Suey has a biplane in Swedish national colors. This does not bode well.
I ring the doorbell and bend down to look at my shoelace. Mr. Chop Suey grabs me from behind and wraps his arms around my waist.
"We're going to eat chop suey! We're going to eat chop suey! Yay!"
At that moment I have the sickening realization that I know two and only two things about this man: (1) that he is a man, and (2) he really likes chop suey.
I begin walking to the chop suey place. Mr. Chop Suey is still bouncing behind me, his hands around my waist. I am about to turn around when my friend Michael and his mother walk by. I can tell by Michael's expression that Mr. Chop Suey is not at all cute.
"Um, see you in a couple hours, Michael." I vageuely remember that there is a party at my house in the near future.
I look down at look at Mr. Chop Suey's hands. They are tiny and wrinkled and very dirty. I still have no idea what he looks like. Oh crap, this is going to be a disaster.
Then I wake up.

On the stereo: Buzzin' Fly Volume One