Category Archives: Uncategorized

This Blog Post Will Make You Understand Why Amanda Palmer Is The Worst

I’ve established a bit of a reputation for myself as a Professional Amanda Palmer basher, ever since I wrote an angry little parody poem in response to her “Poem for Dhzokhar” which ended up exploding onto BuzzFeed and The Guardian UK. I was never particularly fond of her, even before that — some of her music is fine, sure, but her Neutral Milk Hotel Jukebox Musical left a very sour taste in my mouth1, and her production of Cabaret at the American Repertory Theatre was the single worst (not to mention most masturbatory) professional theatre production I have ever experienced — but it wasn’t until recently that I really started seething at the mention of her continued existence on our shared plane of reality. That might sound a little extreme — she hasn’t, you know, killed anyone or anything — but the cognitive dissonance between the message that Amanda Palmer conveys and the things that she actually does fills me with such vehement anger, that I feel the need to articulate the ongoing problem that she continues to present.

I’m choosing to write about this now is because I’ve had a number of people bring my attention to her latest blog post about Justin Bieber’s arrest, all saying that they awaited my snarky response to it. And while sure, I could do that (hell, maybe I still will), I thought it would be better for me to take the Amanda Palmer approach and express my feelings in a rambling blogpost which I can then in turn proclaim to be “art” and thereby diminish any and all criticisms of my own shortcomings by blowing a raspberry at my detractors and say “IT’S JUST ART YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND I’M JUST TRYING TO EXPRESS MYSELF AND THAT IS BEAUTIFUL.”

Continue reading This Blog Post Will Make You Understand Why Amanda Palmer Is The Worst

Manic Pixie Dreamgirl; or, the Post-Postmodern Prometheus

I have no idea what happened here, but I’m going with it. Sometimes these things just kind of come out of me…

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She came to life on a cold, flat slab, a thin slice of pulped plant flesh cut down to 8.5×11 inches and college-ruled with blue lines and pink borders on the edge. Her master made her through an ungodly alchemy of other fictional females, the edges of their words stitched together like skin. Her fingers came from Garden State; her left leg from Elizabethtown, while her right came from The Perks of Being A Wallflower; her luscious lips were culled from High Fidelity‘s Charlie; her fashion sense was stolen from one Holly Golightly; and her voice was ripped straight from the throat of Zoe Deschanel herself.

In short, she was perfect. So he flipped the switch and brought the page to life — his beautiful, monstrous bride, unnaturally thrust into reality and forced  to do his bidding. He cackled wildly as the little black inkjets spit her out…

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I Carry My Grief In My Armpit

A massage therapist actually said this to my partner, and I just found it to be such a quirky and almost hysterical…ly sad thing, but still such a vivid and strange image that I had to run with it. So it’s not ABOUT her, so much as it’s just about the image.

I don’t know. It’s been a weird week.

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I carry my grief in my armpit
just so I can keep it warm,
and though some times the smell
escapes, at least I’m not alone.

You won’t find me in sleeveless shirts
or shaving off my hair, for
as long as she lives in my lymph
I’d like to keep her there.

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I’ll Fight A Whedon For You (Ode To Maurissa Tancharoen)

Recording soon to come of my nerdy power-pop single dedicated to the Asian Whedon!

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The first time I saw you in pony tails,
that Horrible Doctor’s fan,
I knew by your groove when you sang that tune
that I wanted to be your man.

But then your Commentary
made me Asian Aware-y
and I knew what I’d have to do:

I’ll fight a Whedon for you:
Zak, Jed, or Joss,
Yeah, you know that it’s true.
There’s more a chance
I’ll see DOLLHOUSE renewed
But it’s true:
I’ll fight a Whedon for you.

Echoes remain from that song that you sang
as Kilo the cutest Doll.
I’m too poor for STARZ or for SPARTACUS,
but you know that I’ll give you my all.

No, I’ll never yield; I’ll back AGENTS OF S.H.I.E.L.D.
until Agent Coulson dies (I mean, again, like, for real this time)
You’re Pretty In Pink, I don’t care what they think
Then I saw you with another guy.

Even though you…

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Casual Misogyny Ruins a Great Song: Patent Pending’s “Hey Mario”

My good friend Jake sent me this song the other day, needing some place to vent. And he’s right. It’s totally fine to pander to a 15-year-old audience, and to write a classic “You gotta move on, stop thinking about that girl” type song. Nothing wrong with that! And doing it through the veil of Mario? Even better! But to tear down and insult the woman (Princess Peach, in this example, who’s not only a Princess, but a badass fighter in her own right) is not only unnecessary, but it also contributes to many of the larger problems that plague our culture, by sending the message that this is right, this is okay.

I’m not particularly a fan of Patent Pending, but it’s nice to see that their singer took some time to respond to Jake’s blog post and apologize. I know it’s a popular trend these days to rail against apologies that “aren’t good enough,” but personally, I don’t subscribe to that belief. If it seems sincere, I’ll take it, so long as it comes with the promise — and delivery — that next time, you’ll do better, because that’s all that any of us can really do.

Jacob Wake Up!

Dear Patent Pending,

I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.

I’m a big fan of the band. Really. I remember seeing you in small halls in CT when Gary booked you. I think the song Douchebag brilliantly calls out jerks. I think She Only Wants My Blood is clever in an MTX kind of way. Spin Me Around and One Less Heart to Break practically made me cry.

So obviously, I was totally stoked for your new video. In fact, in this moment, I’m still stoked. I’ve already watched it three times.

And I’m watching the video, rocking out… and the line about “chasing this %$&@ forever” comes. Okay, you bleeped it out, you knew it was wrong. But, the line “ain’t never let a ho get em down” stopped me in my tracks. Was it really necessary? It wasn’t.

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The Origins of Pumpkin Beer

New post on Five By Five Hundred about the secret history of that wretched poison that people actually pretend to like. Ugh.

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It was nearing sundown on that late autumn evening, and soon the frost would settle in for the long winter months. Mordecai Willington III was tending to the last of his crops, surveying the remaining gourds that littered his field in a tangled mess of pulp and vine, like a spider’s web in orange, brown, and yellow, speckled with flecks of green. It was the end of the harvest season, and though his yield had been high this year, he wasn’t selling as strongly as he had hoped. Soon the gourds would go to waste, buried beneath the snow along the cold Atlantic coast. Without the money he had hoped to make, his family would be forced to ration their goods until the spring.

Mordecai was gathering the final fresh gourds when a blinding white flashed across the field. It was radiant and burned without pain, as if God Himself…

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Poem for Brian McGackin

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A short, simple burst of verse that appears
at first mundane, a slacker’s sonnet, a simple
twist of words that somehow still obscure these
patterns, little games of surreptitious puns and
plays on phrase that only the most astute readers
will pick up on, pick upon, between the subtle
allusions to Seal, or Harry Potter, or, inevitably,
soccer, this false banality that hides a sense
of suffering, of Guinness, of meaning that is
all too often missed though it’s clever when it
lets you in and waives its endless turnpike fees,
a strong syllabic voice that set this website
into motion, keeps my sentences on track, even
when he was kind of a dick about it; but in the end
the purpose or intention is made clear, often
through a seemingly non-sequitur saying that sneaks
in at the climax, the culmination of a short
linguistic journey that illuminates in retrospect

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