Sunday, December 31, 2006

See Androids Fighting

Here's to blogging in a new year. And, you know, life and stuff.

Friday, December 29, 2006

Ribs Are Ceiling Beams

We are two mariners
Our ships' sole survivors
In this belly of a whale

Its ribs are ceiling beams
Its guts are carpeting
I guess we have some time to kill

You may not remember me
I was a child of three
And you, a lad of eighteen

But I remember you
And I will relate to you
How our histories interweave

At the time you were
A rake and a roustabout
Spending all your money on the whores and hounds

You had a charming air
All cheap and debonair
My widowed mother found so sweet

And so she took you in
Her sheets still warm with him
Now filled with filth and foul disease

As time wore on you proved
A debt-ridden drunken mess
Leaving my mother a poor consumptive wretch

And then you disappeared
Your gambling arrears
The only thing you left behind

And then the magistrate
Reclaimed our small estate
And my poor mother lost her mind

Then one day, in spring
My dear sweet mother died
But before she did, I took her hand as she, dying, cried:
"Find him, bind him
Tie him to a pole and break
His fingers to splinters
Drag him to a hole until he
Wakes up naked
Clawing at the ceiling
Of his grave"
It took me fifteen years
To swallow all my tears
Among the urchins in the street

Until a priory
Took pity and hired me
To keep their vestry nice and neat

But never once in the employ
Of these holy men
Did I ever, once, turn my mind from the thought of revenge

One night I overheard
The prior exchanging words
With a penitent whaler from the sea

The captain of his ship
Who matched you toe to tip
Was known for a wanton cruelty

The following day
I shipped to sea
With a privateer

And in the whistle
Of the wind
I could almost hear:
"Find him, bind him
Tie him to a pole and break
His fingers to splinters
Drag him to a hole until he
Wakes up naked
Clawing at the ceiling
Of his grave

There is one thing I must say to you
As you sail across the sea
Always, your mother will watch over you
As you avenge this wicked deed"
And then that fateful night
We had you in our sight
After twenty months at sea

Your starboard flank abeam
I was getting my muskets clean
When came this rumbling from beneath

The ocean shook
The sky went black
And the captain quailed

And before us grew
The angry jaws
Of a giant whale

Don't know how I survived
The crew all was chewed alive
I must have slipped between his teeth

But, oh! What providence!
What divine intelligence!
That you should survive as well as me

It gives my heart great joy
To see your eyes fill with fear
So lean in close
And I will whisper
The last words you'll hear

Ike, Mike and Mustard

By the time I finish tabulating exactly what happened on this blog in 2006, Saddam Hussein will probably be dead. A strange thought, especially since he’s a boogeyman that’s been spooking impressionable Americans since I was a kid. Dead dictator or no dead dictator, people read this blog during the past year and will likely continue to do so in 2007. For the curious, here’s what you all thought.

As it stands now, the average number of unique viewers per week is 3,056.

As you can see from the above graph, which I grabbed from my account profile at, the Back of the Cereal Box peaked back in August, when 6,056 individual people stopped in — some for only a few seconds, but a lot for considerably longer.

This pretty pie tells me that more than half of the people who end up at this blog do so by accident and quickly leave. (No doubt they were researching Moesko Island, Poor Pitiful Pearl, Shirley the Loon or Father Bingo.) However, the next largest chunk is comprised of people who check in every day. To you regulars, thanks.

And now, lists. For example, the top ten referrers for 2006:
  1. GrowABrain
  2. Dina-Dina Canklesaurus
  3. Blog of the Land Monster
  4. My Facebook profile
  5. Tristan Bannon, Master of the Perverted Arts
  6. Traveling Without Moving
  7. Look on My Works, Ye Mighty
  8. Die Wunderkammer
  9. The talk page for the Wikipedia entry on Thomas Kinkade
  10. Smells Like Bullshit
The search terms that most frequently lead to my blog:
  1. drew mackie
  2. kidicarus222
  3. moesko island lighthouse
  4. queef queaf
  5. back of the cereal box
  6. sun milk
  7. adolpha zantziger lyrics
  8. spraychel
  9. Meli KalikiMaka song for myspace
  10. purple grapes people eater plum nurple
The most-read posts of 2006:
  1. "To Quote Wally Exactly"
  2. "Moesko Island Lighthouse"
  3. "Your House Is Ass"
  4. "Cat With Paws"
  5. "The Painter of Blight"
  6. "The 'Video' in Video Games"
  7. "The Eternal Harvest"
  8. "Puppy Goo-Goo, Fetch Me a Dream!"
  9. "Fake Words TV Has Taught Me"
  10. "Legend of the Jolly Invalid"
  11. "Alcohol-Devil-Rose-Saint-Fight"
  12. "Have You Ever Seen a Quimp?"
  13. "Jake Who?"
  14. "Death Letter"
  15. "Portrait of the Artist as a Young Woman With Lots of Hats"
And finally, the latest status of my Technorati profile: 130,458, out of approximately 55 million. The latest rise comes in part to links from Break on Through, Richard's Realm and CarnyTown.

You're a Crook, Captain Hook

Because Josh did it last year and I’m no more original now than I was when I stole the idea the first time. Here is the whole of 2006, as represented by the first sentence of the first blog post of each month.

January: “Eating Poison or Peeling Off Your Own Eyelids”
Not daring to stray from the usual co-worker chatter topics of (a) rude customers, (b) mutually hated managers and (c) the awful in-store music, a fellow book peddler asked me today if I’d rather be first season “American Idol” winner Kelly Clarkson or fourth season “American Idol” winner Carrie Underwood.
February: “Bathed, Shaved, and With a Roof Over My Head”
As the title implies, I am no longer couch surfing.
March: “The Charging Sky”
I know I had the day off and I know I'm heading on this major trip and I know I should have loads to talk about.
April: “Porcelettas”
done in sydney, for the most part.
May: “Now You Feel Weird, Too”
So one of my recent Flickr uploads — and one that has mysteriously drawn a lot of traffic — is this one, which depicts one of my feet, one of Kristen’s and one of Dina’s.
June: “My Name Is Zoom and I Live on the Moon”
It’s a holdover state of mind from my childhood, but today it retains a small bit of the truth that it did on June 5, 1987.
July: “Drew’s Accidental Menagerie”
So a short while back, this white girl Kat — Kat! — drops an image comment on one of my MySpace photos.
August: “Lullaby”
I just wrote this. You should sing it to your kids.
September: “Off the Grid”
Towns and former towns I was in, was near or drove through this weekend: Mi-Wuk, Sugarpine, Confidence, Standard, Soulsbyville, Twain Harte, Ralph, Tuttletown, Quartz, Chinese Camp, Angels Camp, Copperopolis.
October: “I Prefer Pi”
Because I'm too busy to actually blog but wouldn't want to leave the faithful stranded.
November: “I Was a Feather With an Alligator Mouth”
I’ll admit that “SNL” didn’t start so well this year.
December: “Time Is Fleeting”
also, our friends are collectively retarded
Again, it's a fairly representative sample, don't you think? More year-end festivities yet to come.

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

Oh, How Come-ly

If you look immediately below this line of text, you'll notice that I've posted a picture.

This is the picture, above this line of text.

It makes my head hurt in the same way that it might if researchers discovered that Miep Gies had recorded an original version of "You're So Vain" back in the late 1930s, before the course of history aborted her pop career. Or maybe like when you read about how those Egyptian hieroglyphics that show what looks like a cannister with a snake inside but might actually be a crude representation of a light bulb and filament.

Well, something like that.

The CD that Ms. Hilton is holding appears to be Neutral Milk Hotel's In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, a magnificent album that was one of the first complete ones I ever downloaded through Napster. (For the record, I believe Billy or Agnes recommended it.) It's highly regarded among music snob circles, so much so that those who claim an affinity for indie rock but have not heard it can become the subject of ridicule and sexual brutalization. (I've heard.) I like it, anyway. (The album, not sexual brutalization.) The album art may be familiar to those of you who have recently checked out my MySpace page, which I have decked out with the cover art of albums I enjoy.

Now, the above photo depicts In the Aeroplane Over the Sea in the hand of the last person who should ever hold it. Again, to make an analogy, seeing this photo would be kind of like walking into a room and finding a monkey holding a loaded revolver. Also, the monkey is drunk and it also doesn't like you because of a previously bad interaction. Jarring, no?

I can't imagine how she came across this. Possibly, it was the most reflective surface she could find and the above photo captured her in the moment before she looked into the jewel case to see how waxy her face looks. Or maybe somebody with taste was walking by, saw Paris Hilton, and instinctively threw the first thing they could grab and that thing just happened to be the album and they miss the album now and when they threw it it just happened to flip perfectly into Paris Hilton's hand because that's totally the kind of dumb luck that slag would have.

Or, maybe, it's just that someone photoshopped the Neutral Milk Hotel album cover onto whatever she was holding. And let's be honest, it was probably her own album. Nonetheless, it's a rude shock. Paris Hilton or Mr. Savvy Photoshop person, you should not have made me feel two things at once.

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

Excuses, Excuses

If I had the money to burn on such an endeavor, I’d find an island out somewhere — remote, but pretty — and build a resort there. I design it to be completely cut-off from the rest of the world. No phones for guests. No internet access. Nothing. The perfect place to leave stress behind. And I’d call it "Communicado." That way, when people asked, you could respond with the bit of punny wonderment that is “Sorry, but I’m going to be in Communicado.”

Of course, such a place would give rise to other resorts, like Adequate, Nane, Sane, Cognito, Fectious, Telligible, Cestuous and Flammable. But that much of it can be left up to everybody else.

Car Seat Is Freezing

Because December 26 is still time enough for discussions about Christmas — and all the more so if said discussions are tainted with the bitterness that only the post-holiday hangover can bring. Case in point: the special Santa Claus punchbowl my mom found at an antique store:

creepy santa punchbowl

Let’s face it — what says holiday happiness better than ladelling cheer out of Santa’s hollowed-out skull? Last Christmas, in fact, my mom made a special candy cane punch. It’s egg nog, sherbet and crunched-up candy canes, the red dye of which gives the concoction a wonderful pink color. Yes, minty and sweet thought it may have been, the foamy punch had every appearance of scrambled brains. As the sherbet melted, pink goo would dribble down the sides of the bowl, making the effect work all the better. We all felt like we had done something very, very wrong to Santa. Really, look at his eyes — heavy-lidded and altogether blank, they give the appearance of someone who has undergone unnecessary brain surgery.

Now, happily, we can put him and the rest of his crew away for another forty-eight weeks.

Saturday, December 23, 2006

One-Tenth of a Plausibility Unit

Christmas cheer for your face.

october 30 066

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Friday, December 22, 2006

Peanut Bird

And then, in total celebration of the holidays, Wikipedia posted a Pokémon as the featured article of the day.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

The Chirstmas Mistake

In light of the fact that both "Dreamgirls" and "Black Christmas" are premiering on December 25, I can't help but laugh at the prospect of some uninformed, casually racist individual going to the theater on Christmas Day and mistakenly ask for a ticket to "Black Christmas," thinking it must be the movie starring Beyonce and Jennifer Hudson. And then, of course, they'd leave being very confused as to why the film starred a bunch of white girls who just died instead of black ones who sang and danced.

Wednesday, December 20, 2006


I found this while sorting through old stuff. It's already been CTRL+Ved onto this blog once, shortly after it went up, but I have no qualms about doing it again. At least in part. The good part. Just read this fraction of my contribution to an Artsweek top ten-themed issue.
Ten Meaningless Syllables Sung in Pop Music
  1. “Hey hey hey”
  2. “La la la”
  3. “Ooh ooh ooh”
  4. “Oh oh oh”
  5. “Yeah yeah”
  6. “Oh yeah”
  7. “Mmm mmm mmm mmm”
  8. “Dee dee dah”
  9. “Uh-huh uh-huh.”
  10. “Mocha chocolata ya ya.”
Ten Songs That Tell You to Do a Certain Dance That You Probably Don't Know How to Do
  1. “The Electric Slide”
  2. “The Wah-Watusi”
  3. “Boot Scootin' Boogie”
  4. “The Twist”
  5. “The Time Warp”
  6. “The Hand Jive”
  7. “The Hustle”
  8. “The Bunny Hop”
  9. “The Hokey Pokey”
  10. “The Locomotion”
Ten Peculiar Questions Asked in '80s Songs
  1. “How can we sleep while our beds are burning?” — Midnight Oil, “Beds Are Burning”
  2. “Could it be the smog is playing tricks on my eyes, or is a roller skater in some kind of headphone disguise?” — Missing Persons, “Walking in L.A.”
  3. “Do I stand in your way or am I the best thing you've ever had?” — Pat Benatar, “Love Is a Battlefield”
  4. “I wonder who's watching me now, the IRS?” — Rockwell, “Somebody's Watching Me”
  5. “How does it feel when your heart grows cold?” — New Order, “Blue Monday”
  6. “Who's that gigolo on the street with his hands in his pockets and his crocodile feet?” — Neneh Cherry, “Buffalo Stance”
  7. “Will you stand above me, look my way and never love me?” — Simple Minds, “Don't You (Forget About Me)”
  8. “When you say it's gonna happen now, what exactly do you mean?” — The Smiths, “How Soon Is Now?”
  9. “Why can't I get just one fuck?” — Violent Femmes, “Add It Up”
  10. “Should I cool it or should I blow?” — the Clash, “Should I Stay or Should I Go?”

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

This Unwelcome Information Has Completely Ruined the Mozart

Easily, my biggest disappointment for this week would have to be having a small news item cut that, if run, would have meant the all-too-underused word "pseudo-genital" being published in the paper.

In lieu of me boiling the matter down, read about parasitic flatworm pseudo-genitals yourself.

Sunday, December 17, 2006

As Reliable as Roast Mutton

One more piece of photographic evidence from the Holly Jolly Christmas Party. I think Megan (Megan!) captured it well.

It's the rubber Christmas chicken.

Uosdwis R. Dewoh

The original bloggation stated it best: "What do you think? Think this smoking area is a little heavy-handed?"

[ source: Pointless Drivel, but in an earlier incarnation ]

Saturday, December 16, 2006

Vigoro for Boys

Former roommate at the Pasado House Meghan posted some pictures from college days on her Picasa account. Oh, the memories.

First off, the lost pictures of Moe during her horrific "The Ring"-esque blackout.

moe drunk 2

moe drunk

Also, missing pictures from the Jill-in-the-shower incident.

jill shower 2

jill shower

And now some pictures from a strange necktie photo shoot we did in the Pasado House living room. For the life of me, I have no idea why we did this.

tie picture 2

the tie picture

And, finally, me holding a bunny rabbit at Jono's birthday party.

me and a bunny

Encyclopedia Drew and the Mystery of the Barfing Bathtub

So amid all the frantic party preparation last week, something horrible and unexplained happened in the bathtub. I came home from work and Spencer told me that he had just discovered that the tub was full of what appeared to be penne pasta and sand. Also, the mixture smelled of bile. Spencer said he hadn’t puked, and Aly had just showered without any problem minutes before. Betsy hadn’t gotten home yet. And worst of all was the fact that it was noodles and sand, together, which raises the question of who might have eaten such a meal. (Though, admittedly, the notion that it would have been immediately thrown up would make sense.) Also, the little hair catcher on the drain had not been moved, which led us to believe that the foulness must have come from someone’s mouth instead of having bubbled up from the drain, as it would have moved the hair catcher.

There, at the bottom of the tub, the penne-con-pebbles sat, until we used the shower to make it go away. I bleached the fuck out of the tub and took a shower without incident. Since no one owned up to the puking, the matter subsided into a suspicious silence, with everyone secretly imagining that one of us might have eaten something terrible and then neglected to void themselves of it into the toilet, like a good roommate should.

This morning, I woke up to horrified shouts of Aly again trying to use the shower, as she recovered from the terrible hangover of her previous night. While she was trying to decide whether or not she had to throw up, the tub decided for her. The alphabet soup that I had not finished last night had apparently started flowing into the tub — not from the drain but from that weird thing that drains bathwater when it gets to high, elevator-from-The Shining-style. (We all hoped the tub would send us a message via alphabet noodles, possible something like “HELP” or “SICK” or "GET OUT," but it did not.) The problem gets entirely worse when we use the kitchen sink, which I’m actually in favor of, since I feel like I’ve been doing dishes too often, given how little time I’ve spent at the apartment awake.

Finally, the mystery of the tub puke is solved. However, this means someone tried to shove entire penne noodles into the kitchen sink, which has no disposal. And given that the whole apartment reeks of the strangest, most rotten puke ever, I don’t think I’m up to solving this one.

Friday, December 15, 2006

Dr. Spaceman

I bought spinach for dinner tonight. Funny thing: It turns out that spinach is now unreasonably cheap, I’d imagine because nobody has yet forgotten that the previous batch was full of poo germs and gave a bunch of people E. coli infections.

So here’s my thinking: I really want a Wii for Christmas, but I’m broke. So I think we should all start telling people that the Nintendo Wii gave us E. coli infections. I think it would work especially because We’d have to do this in large enough numbers that it could bring the price of the Wii down to an affordable $27.86, that amount being what I currently have in my checking account. I think it would work especially well for this product, as enough people are already complaining about how the Wii has injured them in some way.

Now you go do your part — all of you — and together, we can all reap the benefits.

Charlie Don't Surf

Great news for all of you who did like I said and bought the first two seasons of "Veronica Mars" on DVD: Episodes aired so far in the third season are now available on iTunes. This means that once you find out who instigated the bush crash, you can leap right into the mystery of the Hearst rapist.

Now you've got no excuse.

Arch Stanton and Paula Schultz

Three obscure words for your face:
  • mammothrept — meaning "a spoiled child," its etymological roots go back to the Greek for "a child raised by one's grandmother"
  • logodaedaly — meaning "clever in the use of words," it's the Greek word part for "word" (as in "dialogue" and such) plus a permutation of the Greek mythological character Daedalus, who designed the Labyrinth and other ingenious things
  • jumentous — meaning "resembling horse urine," and simultaneously useless and wonderful because of that
[ source: Erin McKean's Weird and Wonderful Words ]

Thirty-Something Mulberry Field

A long-forgotten etymological tidbit from Paul.

If you asked most people to break down the world "helicopter" into its word parts, most people would guess "heli" and "copter." This makes since, initially, since we now use "heli-" as a word part in things like "helipad" and "copter" now means something on its own. However, the word is actually divided in a way I find surprising. The first part is the Greek helik, which has associations with spinning and gives us our word "helix." The second part is pter, which means "wing" and is probably most familiar to English speakers in words like "pterodactyl."

And I think this is fucking rad. Hey, remember Paul?

Thursday, December 14, 2006

Less Than a Snow Fairy, More Than a Sugar Plum

Just to prove that we didn't completely debauch the spirit of the holiday, here are some entirely more wholesome pictures of us in the post-party aftermath, during which we mustered the energy to go ice skating at Earl Warren.

ice skate 1

ice skate 2

ice skate 3

ice skate 4

Photo credits go to Laura.

The End of the World or Something

Ixnayed headlines for the negative review of "Apocalypto" I just threw online:
  • "Aping Crap-o"
  • "Aptly clipped-o"
  • "Eek! Poor craft-o"
  • "A Mayan Bimbo"
  • "An Epoch Missed-o"
  • "A Gibson Biffed-o"
  • "Apoca-Lifted"
  • "Apocalypt-Oh My God This Movie Sucks"
  • And my personal favorite, "A Pot of Stinko"
Also, shouldn't the title have technically been "Apocalypso," even despite the Caribbean rhythms that might bring to mind?

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Myth Friends


From Defamer.

Monday, December 11, 2006

I'll Not Be a Gentleman

Hanging threads, fused together more than a decade after they started hanging: for the most part, the only long-lasting cultural impact of 90s rock band The Toadies is the song "Possum Kingdom." It's a good one, if a little darker than most stuff that got radio play back in the day. It's the song that goes like this:
Make up your mind
Decide to walk with me
Around the lake tonight
Around the lake tonight
By my side
By my side
I'm not gonna lie
I'll not be a gentleman
Behind the boathouse
I'll show you my dark secret
Anyway, most people who didn't buy the CD are usually surprised by the song's actual name, as the words "possum" or "kingdom" are never mentioned in the lyrics and together they're fairly nonsensical. In fact, I only realized this when I decided to download it through Napster during my freshan year of college. After trying possible titles like "Do You Want to Die?" and "Help Me, Jesus" — those both being phrases that are spoken a lot in the song — I eventually just tried this one. Go figure.

Now Spencer recently came across a body of water in Texas called "Possum Kingdom Lake" — in Palo Pinto County, no less. Now it finally all makes sense. The song, which details how the narrator wants to drown his ladyfriend, is apparently referencing the lake he's planning to use for the murder.

Like I said, dark.

Now if anybody can tell me why the lake was named "Possum Kingdom," I can die a happy man.

Floor Pie

I think I've been confusing Brian Cox and Tom Wilkinson.

Friday, December 08, 2006

Don't Do What Donny Don't Does

In short, I started a new job. I'm full time at The Independent now. I'm psyched, but verbally exhausted. Also, my spare hours have been taken up in preparing for the sequel to the Holly Jolly Holiday Party — also known as Enid Wipple's Cockatail Hour, also known as the best thing ever.

To be resumed in the non-too-distant future.

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Angel Puppy Riding a Llama, Blowing Kisses From a Pink Kiss-Kiss Bubble Gun

It finally happened.

This strange little attempt at bloggery finally got the upgrade to Blogger Beta. For the time being, this means little to you. I'll busy myself in ridding all previous posts of the linky mess that has served as a post tag substitute — the very same one that had previously swallowed up my bits of free time. It's not all for nothing, however. Crude as it was, the Drewmatron Blogger Non-Beta Janktastic Post Category System, as I've taken to calling it, will provide a means of neatly labelling old material. For now, it's going to be a line displaying applicable post labels at the end of each post, as you see at the bottom of this self-congratulatory little nothing. It may one day become something more functional, more graphically pleasing.

Be happy for me.

The Land of Zippotone and India Inks

Yet even more unusual ways people have been finding my blog.

In the Velvet Darkness of the Blackest Night

In the inbox this morning:
Dear blog author:

We recently came across your site,, while searching for fellow christian bloggers.

A small group of us have started a new site called Christian Bloggers. Our prayer and intent is to bring Christians closer together, and make a positive contribution to the Internet community. While many of us have different "theologies", we all share one true saviour.

Would you be interested in joining Christian Bloggers? Please take a few minutes to have a look at what we are trying to do, and if you are interested, there is a sign up page to get the ball rolling. We would greatly appreciate your support in this endeavour.

May God Bless you and your blogging efforts. We look forward to hearing from you.

Not that I make a habit of joining themed blog networks, but I am curious to know what made them think this blog was being written by a man of faith.

EDIT: Later this evening, Dina pointed out what should have been obvious to me: "That's so neat that jesus is stalking you. Clearly, he's on board with the anti-monkey stance of the previous post."

Sunday, December 03, 2006

Both of Us Come From God, But I Don't Come From You

Eliot, author of a blog I like called Fast Hugs, put up a good post two weeks ago about the nature of women in comedy. This interests me a great deal, as I’ve never really understood the bias against funny women, especially in light of the fact that recently female comic actresses have been doing quite well for themselves — stealing the show, for example, on “SNL” for the last few seasons. Anyway, the posts ends up praising Jan Hooks, a righteously funny woman who I don’t think does much of anything nowadays. Off the top of my head, I know she was the voice of Apu’s wife on “The Simpsons” for a while, but I don’t think she even gets to do that now.

The post includes a clip of “The Dana Carvey Show” featuring Carvey and Hooks as Regis and Kathie Lee.
It kind of devolves towards the end, but the first two minutes are totally worth it. And, as the original posts notes, "the guy plaing Gelman is exactly who you think it is."

For you edification, Fast Hugs is a wholly wonderful blog, whose past video-imbued posts include footage of the author’s appearance as a young contestant on “Wheel of Fortunes” My Favorite Teacher Week, a sex ed video featuring the Bateman siblings, and an Estelle Getty work-out video. The last delights me to no end. Here's the best of it, in my opinion. See the original post for commentary and twice as much video.

As Sensual as a Pencil

In an effort to further clarify exactly what kind of nerd I am, I've added two subsections to my permalink list on the side bar. First, "Word Blogs," which includes Mother Tongue Annoyances, Language Log, and Language And on the audio-visual side of lameness, I have "Gaming Blogs," with Kotaku, Destructoid, 4 Color Rebellion, Blow in the Game Slot, Go Nintendo and's Game|Life. Revel in it.

Alice Long (You're Still My Favorite Girlfriend)

In transit from one part of New Zealand to another and lacking any kind of iPod-enabling hook-up in our rented tan Nissan Pulsar, KrisDina and I bought a CD titled The Ultimate Bubblegum Collection at a gas station last winter. The shiny disc yielded the kind of upbeat tunes that the non-activists of the 60s filled their heads with. The music was catchy. Too catchy. Had we been lesser men, we might have gone mad and run that Pulsar off the road.

Cleaning off my desk last night, I had a chance to look at the jewel box again. I reviewed the track list on the back — a sample of text, I should add, that was printed in ever color you’d see on a jawbreaker — and noticed how very many of the titles used repeated words.

Here they are, so you too can know.
  • Crazy Elephant - “Gimme Gimme Good Loving”
  • Ohio Express - “Yummy Yummy Yummy”
  • The 1910 Fruitgum Company - “One, Two, Three, Red Light, Red Light”
  • Ohio Express - “Chewy Chewy”
  • The Archies - “Sugar, Sugar”
  • Blue Mink - “Wacky, Wacky, Wacky”
  • Sweet - “Funny Funny”
  • The 1910 Fruitgum Company - “Goody Goddy Gumdrops”
  • Steam - “Na Na Hey Hey”
And, finally, I’ve decided to list one more song. It doesn’t repeat words in its title, but it merits a mention solely on the virtue of its inherent badness: “Groovin’ With Mr. Bloe,” by Mr. Bloe.

I Really Don't Like Being Without My Penis for Too Long

Because novelty rock acts are as good as we all remember them. That's why.

This has been King Missile's "Detachable Penis."

Friday, December 01, 2006

Trippy Petals (Almonds on Acid Revisited)

I posted this exact image once before, in a 2004 post "Almonds on Acid," and then again on Die Wunderkammer. I like it's simple trippiness so much that I'm posting it again, in a slightly revised color scheme.

And here's it is again, being equally trippy in blue and purple.

Time Is Fleeting

kidicarus222: also, our friends are collectively retarded
kidicarus222: have you noticed how next to no one can RSVP?
alkiehorn0307: um
alkiehorn0307: yeah
alkiehorn0307: Im making bitchy phone calls come wednesday
kidicarus222: it's one thing to send out a myspace event invite and have people ignore it, since that's basically the online version of shouting the invite at them as you roll down the street on the jolly trolley, but we actually designed invites and mailed them physically
kidicarus222: fuck
kidicarus222: i'm not contacting anyone, personally
alkiehorn0307: well
alkiehorn0307: thats a poor choice, I feel
alkiehorn0307: just because we're going to need to know how much to plan to buy
kidicarus222: oh
kidicarus222: right
kidicarus222: then can we make paper hats that say "i'm too retarded to RSVP" and make people wear them if they want alcohol?
alkiehorn0307: yes
kidicarus222: i'm serious. you know i'm serious. i will make this happen
alkiehorn0307: yes
kidicarus222: how about "my ass is so big i forgot to RSVP"
kidicarus222: "my teeth are so janky that i forgot to RSVP"
kidicarus222: "i'm too much of a raging whore to RSVP"
kidicarus222: "i was fucking my father so i forgot to RSVP"
alkiehorn0307: hahahaha
kidicarus222: "my vagina is so gaping that i forgot to RSVP"
kidicarus222: it's like the etiquette version of "yo mama"
alkiehorn0307: these are excellent
kidicarus222: i may blog this as a warning

Thursday, November 30, 2006

On the Record

I can't remember the last time I posted something here solely to express how great I think I am, so without further ado, you should go read my big article in this week's Independent. It's about Bob Dylan. And it's not about Bob Dylan. And I think it's one of the best pieces of journalism my stubby, crooked fingers have ever banged out of a computer keyboard.

Please, go. Read.

Well Secluded, I See All

New template.

No, I haven't gotten the Blogger Beta upgrade yet. I was just sick of seeing that generic polka dot template every time I checked my blog, which I do roughly six dozen times a day. I threw this together in the span of a half-hour or so, so if there's something terribly wrong with it, please tell me. Long-time readers may recognize this new temporary template as a throwback to my original blog's design, at least chromatically.

She's a Viking Now

So this is apropos of nothing, really, but what on my blog ever is?

I bought Final Fantasy 3 for the Nintendo DS. Disregard all preconceptions you may have about a game series with the words “final” and “fantasy” in the title. When I was younger, the few Final Fantasy games Nintendo actually translated for American audiences were a major part of my recreational hours. This game, however, is one you may have seen advertised on TV recently. It’s not the new one for the Playstation 2, which I won’t play and which looks like it was cast with a bunch of actors from the CW. No, this is the one being advertised at the one Final Fantasy never before available in the United States. I’ve had some awareness of this game for more than a decade, and being fashioned in the old school kind of greatness that early 90s video games often are, playing it is a nice way to be back in touch with something I forgot I loved. The game, of course, received a graphical facelift and looks like it could have been invented today. But at its heart are good, solid play mechanics that aren’t weighed down by the apparent desire of the developers to re-invent the wheel that so often make new games pretty to look at but dull to play.

The developer, the venerable Square Enix, also decided to improve the game’s story by making the four playable characters into actual people, with a name, a face and a personality. In the original incarnation, the four playable characters were these silent, identical ciphers that only swing swords and opened treasure chests. In this go-around, there’s a main character and three others — his fellow orphan friend, a rebellious girl and an older military-type guy — whom he meets shortly into his journey. They talk about things, argue among themselves and, in a way, seem a little beset to take on the kind of stereotypical epic quest that ends in saving the world. (Really, wouldn’t you be?) Like in the version 1.0, however, these four still share the same physical attributes, and over the course of the game the player can change their class to all manner of strangely-costumed jobs in order to complete the game in whatever fashion the player wishes.

Now, this is where my weird ideas kick in.

In a world of knights and wizards and thieves and ninjas and all that, I’m assuming the natural tendency would be to make the main character and the military-type guy the physical powerhouses, and leave the healing magic and wizardry to the other two, solely on account of the fact that one is a girl — and we all know girls can’t fight — and the other, who looks strikingly feminine, is introduced as being timid. Personalities aside, the characters are still identical, however. So I take a strange sort of pleasure in making the latter two characters change into various buff classes — currently, she’s an axe-toting Viking and he’s knight — while the other two are the classes typically viewed as physical weaker, what with the responsibility for healing and helping the axe- and sword-swingers and all. I’d imagine most players — especially male players — would stick the sole girl character as a healer or, if they could, a new class where she attacks with frying pans and vacuums and Lee Press-On Nails. And it’s strange, because by virtue of being a one-player game, no one else will ever interact with my little take on the characters. Nonetheless, on some level, I feel like I’m subverting the rules of gender politics.

I mean seriously — the girl is a Viking. That’s got to count for something.

And even if nobody else knows what the hell I'm talking about, Meg H. at least will appreciate this.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Video Games and Rainbow Colors

This is Shigeru Miyamoto, the brain behind a lot of what made my childhood fun. This image appeared in Time magazine's "Asian heroes" list.

And this bit of vintage arcade cabinet advertising just amuses me.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Among Other Unusual Things I Did Before Nine-Thirty This Morning

So, yeah. I talked to John Stamos. And I didn't do that yesterday. And when I talked to him, I was wearing a bathrobe and disgusting slippers.

That's all I'm saying about that.

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Keister Egg

Although I was initially disappointed that KTLA had pre-empted last Tuesday’s “Veronica Mars” in lieu of some sports garbage, Super Bri wisely pointed out to me that the episode would instead be airing on Saturday. I turned in just in time to see the opening credits. The best part of the episode, by far, was its guest star: Patty Hearst, who played an heir to a retail fortune and the granddaughter of the robber baron founder of Hearst College, the fictional school Veronica now attends. Thus, Patty Hearst is playing a thinly veiled version of herself.

In the show’s long-standing tradition of naming its characters with good reason, Hearst’s character is called Selma Hearst Rose. The “Rose” comes from her husband, Bud Rose. As in “rosebud,” as in “Citizen Kane.” It’s the first name that really gets me, however. I wondered why the writers would have picked such an uncommon name for the character, when I realized that the only association I have with “Selma” is the more mannish of Marge’s two twin sisters on “The Simpsons.” Then I made the mental leap. Patty Hearst. Selma Hearst.

Oh, and the episode also involved sodomy-for-humiliation, a suicidal tanorexic named "Patrice,two uppity personal assistants and the best implementation of “Here Comes Peter Cottontail” I have ever heard. All this from a show that has already given us an Asian frat boy named Charleston Chew. We truly have so many reasons to be happy.

Saturday, November 25, 2006

The Divine Hand

And, as an unrelated epilogue to the previous post: I’m currently home on a Saturday night, watching “Samurai Champloo” for the first time in at least a year. It’s a hip hop spaghetti western about samurais in the Japan’s Edo period. (Yes, just as you thought.) Unless what was promised by the flash-forward goes unfulfilled, this episode will feature Paul Gauguin as a character. Sometimes, life really does suit me too well.

Stepping Around in the Desert of Joy

Three short stories about shopping on the day after Black Friday. (As a sidenote, you should know that I’ve dubbed the day “Puce Saturday.” Mark your calendars, retroactively.
[ one ]
I’m in dire need of a new pair of jeans. Too many washings — particularly in sulphurous New Zealand washing units — had faded the indigo dye in my one good pair, thus rendering them unremarkable. I’d like a pair of gray jeans, but I found the collective assortment of men’s jeans in the entire Valley Fair mall to be unsatisfactory. Apparently, pants-wearers in San Jose have a different interpretation of the phrase “slim fit” than those in Santa Barbara. Or they just can’t let go of the baggy pants style. Or they’re fat. I don’t know. At one point, I specifically asked a salesgirl if she could recommend anything that wouldn’t hang around my legs a pair of potato sacks. I tried them. When my parents asked what I thought, I responded that “I might as well just puke all over my legs and call that a pair of jeans.

The salesgirl was standing right behind me.

“Oh, yeah. These aren’t working for me.” Somehow, even at that point, feigning politeness would be my best bet.

I didn’t find any jeans.
[ two ]
During the second period in which I was lost in the shopping mall, I wandered past a Talbots. This store is known to me as a mom store. My mom shops there. Therefore, Talbots equals mom store. Anyway, the Talbots at Valley Fair has a second Talbots unit across the hallway, which is itself divided into two smaller unites — Talbots-lets, if you will. On one side, the Talbots-let is labeled “Talbots Petite.” On the other, “Talbots Woman.” This distinction, of course, confused me, as Talbots is strictly a women’s store. I asked my mother about it later, when I was no longer lost, and she told me that “woman” in a store name designates plus-sized fashion. Really, the label is silly, though if the store is implying that the larger customers are “more woman,” in a sense — a literal sense.

In any case, I think the situation is made all the more distressing by the fact that the two sides of the Talbots-let have two different doors, as if the larger customers aren’t even allowed to entire through the door marked “petite.”
[ three ]
I was granted the opportunity to confuse a customer. For this, I am thankful. I went to look at some sweaters on a rack where an older woman was also browsing. Without looking up, she tells me “I’m only looking.” I process this and respond that I think that’s neat, then continue to browse over her shoulder. She finally looks up and repeats what she said earlier. Then me, a little annoyed: “Lady, I don’t care what you do.” She shoots me a look like I shanked her. Even after looking at me, the guy who wasn’t wearing a headset or name tag or orange vest or anything, she apparently was convinced I worked at Nordstrom. I walked away.

Thursday, November 23, 2006

Naïve / Native

A nostalgic song.
Home is where I want to be.

Pick me up and turn me round. I feel numb — born with a weak heart. I guess I must be having fun. The less we say about it the better. Make it up as we go along. Feet on the ground, head in the sky. It's okay — I know nothing's wrong.


I got plenty of time. You got light in your eyes, and you're standing here beside me. I love the passing of time. Never for money, always for love. Cover up and say goodnight.

(Say goodnight.)

Home. It's where I want to be, but I guess I'm already there. I come home. She lifted up her wings. Guess that this must be the place. I can't tell one from another Did I find you, or you find me? There was a time before we were born If someone asks, this is where I'll be.

(Where I'll be.)

We drift in and out. Sing into my mouth Out of all those kinds of people, you got a face with a view. I'm just an animal looking for a home. Share the same space for a minute or two, and you love me till my heart stops — love me till I'm dead. Eyes that light up, eyes look through you. Cover up the blank spots. Hit me on the head.
Make of it whatever you will. I know I've been thinking about it for years.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Adolpha Zantziger

Yet even more strange ways people have been finding my blog.

Judi Dench, Plus One Standard Year

The previous post, I just realized, marks the 1,365th published on this blog. When I think about it, I published my 1000th post back on February 27, 2006, meaning that I've since published a year's worth of posts in only nine months. This, of course, only works if you figure that'd I white a post per day, which I do, usually. Now it looks like I'm batting slightly above that.

It's good to know where I stand, at least.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

The Boy Who Holds the World in a Paper Cup

You regulars may have noticed more linky gobblygook at the bottom of some of my posts. In addition to the Technorati tags that have been showing up, I'm now including links under the heading "Read more." Indeed, I do think you should read more — specifically stuff that I wrote.

For a long time, I've felt that older content on Back of the Cereal Box — stuff that went up back when most of you weren't reading on a regular basis — just sits there, neglected and unread, save for the people using Google to find some connection between Maya Angelou and Froot Loops. (It exists.) Thus, early this last summer, I spent my downtime sorting through old posts, reformatting them to look pretty and categorizing them.

The process proved to be time-consuming. In fact, it also nearly got me nailed by the Blogger police as a spammer. I actually had to argue that the category system I rigged wasn't a violation of Blogger policy. Believe me, it was fun, thinking that all my work could zapped into internet realms unknown on account of some technicality.

Eventually, however, I was approved and sent the following letter.

Your blog has been reviewed, verified, and cleared for regular use so
thatit will no longer appear as potential spam. If you sign out of Blogger
andsign back in again, you should be able to post as normal. Thanks for
yourpatience, and we apologize for any inconvenience this has caused.

The Blogger Team

I finally finished the polishing and sorting around the end of October, right around the time Blogger released Blogger Beta, the nifty upgrade to the service I had used to compose my blog for the last four years. The major advantage with Blogger Beta — for which the "beta" implies not a test version, it seems, but more of a sequel — is the label system. "Label," you see, is Googlespeak for "tag," and Blogger's missing tag feature what this whole janky faux post categories thing I've constructed was made to be a substitute for. In short, all the work I did — save the formatting clean-up of the old content — was for naught. Or at least it would be, if only Blogger would extend the upgrade to the new version for me. They have for everybody else — both Spencer and Dina, for example — but not me, as I opted for some basic FTP features on this blog back in 2003. That, it seems, is what has so far prevented me from switching over.

As a result of all this mess, I present to you my blog, with its generic-but-temporary template and its lame post categorization system. Feel free to read my blog grouped into rather broad categories now. I know you've always wanted to!

Broad, ultimately useless categories for your face:

I suppose I should also note that, other than myself, four people earned their own categories, for sheer volume of contributions to this blog's content: Sanam, Dina, Spencer and David Lynch. Now there's a bridge group.

Yes, on the whole, these categories suck and will have to wait to be expanded and bettered upon the advent of Back of the Cereal Box 2.0. Until then, this is all I have to offer you. Stick it out with me, friends and strangers, and one day we'll all appreciate a bigger, better Cereal Box. In the meantime, know I've done something that you can play with over Thanksgiving break

Come on and drink it up.

Monday, November 20, 2006

Reviews of My Most Recent Netflix Conquests, Expressed in Haiku Again

I can't believe it's been a year since the last time I detailed what I've watched through Netflix. Granted, with the whole NZ/OZ thing, it's been a slow year — by which I mean a busy year — but I've scored some fairly good cinematic experiences in my brief bits of down time. Like last time, the films worth viewing are linked.
Fear No Evil
Schlock, for the most part.
The worst: a kid get killed by
A lethal dodgeball.

Troop Beverly Hills
How can somebody
Be so heart-breakingly pert?
Choo! Choo! Shelley Long.

Eyes of Laura Mars
Even chased by a
Killer, Faye Dunaway still
Acts like a huge bitch.

Steel Magnolias
It’s embarrassing
That I cared so much about
Someone named “Truvy.”

Daria: Is It College Yet?
After all these years,
It’s good to see Daria
Escaping high school.

Beyond the Valley of the DollsI bordered on bored
Until heads started rolling
Off of their bodies.


So much white guilt, Lars.
But Bryce Dallas Howard sure
Ain’t Nicole Kidman.

Reefer Madness: The Musical
Why did a singing,
Dancing Kristen Bell somehow
Come off as charmless?

Valley of the Dolls
Nowhere near as great
As reputed. Sharon Tate
Sure looked goon on screen.

American Graffiti
Funny how young Ron
Howard made me nostalgic
For Modesto. Fonz?

JunebugOh, Amy Adams —
So proud you pulled an Oscar
Nom. Be my best friend?

Good, I suppose. I
Just thought this one was the one
With Charo in it.

Kiki’s Delivery Service
I will never outgrow
Miyazaki, even if
I watch him alone.

The Wicker Man
Atmospheric, slow
But probably better than
the remake, I’ll bet.

The Gumball Rally
Honestly, I just
wanted to see Joanne Nail
Of “Switchblade Sisters”

PersonaEven having seen
“Mulholland Drive” twelve times, I
Was utterly lost.

A History of ViolenceA decent thriller,
With nice subtext that
Justified the violence.

The Devil’s RejectsWho would have thought that
Rob Zombie’s follow-up would
Have been so damn good?

Happy Birthday to Me
IMDb was
Right — the ending doesn't make
Any sense at all.

Death Race 2000
Bam bam — I ran them
Down. David Carradine looked
Creepy even then.

Isla, Harem Keeper of the Oil Sheeks
Sure, Isla’s head was
Blown off in the first one. Why
Not make a sequel?

Arlington Road
Joan Cusack can be
So evil when she wants to
Be. Spoiled twist ending.

Finally having
Seen this film, I still can’t stand
“Blinded by the Light.”

DogvilleBest line in the film:
“I owe her that much.” Dogville
Is America?

Funny Games
Yikes. Now I feel I
was held hostage in a home
Invasion nightmare.

The Five ObstructionsLars Von Trier, you’re such
A dick, so why can’t I stop
Watching your movies?

What’s the Matter With Helen?I’d say that Helen’s
Problem was being played by
Miss Shelley Winters.

Whoever Slew Auntie Roo?Shelley Winters again.
Guess she liked movie scripts whose
Titles posed questions.

12 Monkeys
Turns out that “La Jetee,”
Which was boring, was better
Than this mess. Brad Pitt!

Martin & Orloff
For some reason, a film
Based on my favorite sketch
comedy group sucked.

PalindromesGood all-around, but
The best part was finding out
Dawn Wiener offed herself.

Murder on the Orient ExpressSo good! A spoiler:
The killer is who you think
And not who you think.

Die Mommie DieA twist ending, but
I called it twenty minutes
Before. Campy fun.

The Dreamers
Fun city. Sweet house.
I want to run around France,
Watching old movies.

Edge of Seventeen
Dear Netflix, you sent
Me this by mistake. Now I
Want my two hours back.

Y Tu Mama Tambien
Mad sexy. It would
Have been better if I saw
It in theaters.

Play Misty for Me

Jessica Walter —
The mom from “Arrested” — is
So fucking scary.

Pretty, French and so strange.
I still don’t know why Brigitte
Bardot had to die.

Moments Before They Made Out

A blog I read recently put up a post titled "World Implodes." I had to see. Indeed, the content matched the promise of the title.

I think this, if anything, testifies to Dench's gifts as an actress. Every notion of manners and poise and presentation she hays in her gray little head must be keeping her from slapping that bitch to the ground.

Irrelevant Fact of the Day

Al Roker and Lenny Kravitz are cousins.

Saturday, November 18, 2006

Aunt Linda

If Stuart's mother and Evie Harris could somehow merge into the body of your disapproving aunt, it would this woman. May I please present the many moods of Aunt Linda.







Wednesday, November 15, 2006

King Midas in Reverse

More strange ways people have been finding this blog.

Metal From the Waist Down

Not being in a state to comprehend words last Saturday night didn’t prevent me from seeing last week’s “SNL.” Minus one sketch and the musical numbers, the entire episode is available in iTunes. In short, it’s one of those episodes that reminds you why the show is so great, as it features Alec Baldwin as the host, Chrstina Aguilera as the musical guest and guest appearances from Tina Fey, Tracy Morgan, Steve Martin, Martin Short, Paul McCartney and Tony Bennett. This makes for an extremely good episode and a surprisingly rewarding closing credits with so many famous and talented people crowded onto the monologue stage, hugging and waving.

And I love watching famous people hug each other and wave.

Having a few spare moments today, however, I checked in on the SNL Transcripts archive to see what had been eliminated from the online, ready-for-syndication version of the episode. Apparently I missed out on seeing Aguilera and Bennett do a duet version of “Steppin’ Out With My Baby.” I also didn’t get to see a quasi-sequel to the cider sketch from the Jaime Pressley episode a few weeks back.

It begins with Alec Baldwin and Kristen Wiig in a car together.
Kristen Wiig: Y’know, in some places, the prices are still almost three dollars a gallon. It’s crazy.
Alec Baldwin: Well, carpooling was definitely a good idea. At least now I don’t feel like I’m losing money going to work.

[ they chuckle ]

Wiig: I know — plus having someone else in the car makes the drive go faster.
Baldwin: Yeah. This is a nice car.
Wiig: Thank you.

[ awkward pause ]

Wiig: Oh, so it looked like you were having some words with your neighbor back there.
Baldwin: I’m sorry?
Wiig: Oh, when I drove up, he was ranting and raving. That must be fun, living next to a crazy old man.
Baldwin: That’s my dad. He actually lives with us.
Wiig: Oh. I’m sorry.
Baldwin: He’s not quite right anymore. He had wandered into the neighbor’s yard, I was trying to get him back to the house to, uh... put some clothes on him.
Wiig: I’m sorry, that must be really hard.
Baldwin: It is. Especially on the kids.
[ a pause ]

Baldwin: So where do you guys live?

Wiig: Oh, no, no. It’s just me, I’m by myself, I have an apartment.
Baldwin: Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were married.
Wiig: I am. He ran away.
Baldwin: Oh.
Wiig: It’s okay, um, he left a note. Um... it was nice... But, uh, he can’t live with me anymore. But it’s okay.

[ a pause ]

Baldwin: So what happened to those bonuses we were supposed to get this summer?

Wiig: Oh, yeah, those bonuses. Honestly, I don’t even think they exist, y’know? It’s like, it’s a big myth. It’s like Bigfoot.

[ a pause ]

Baldwin: I believe in Bigfoot. I’ve seen him twice, so he’s real.
Wiig: I didn’t mean to offend you.
Baldwin: It’s all right, you weren’t there.

[ a pause ]

Wiig: Do you want to listen to some music or something?
Baldwin: Sure, that’d be great.

[ She turns on the stereo. “Where Does My Heart Beat Now?” by Celine Dion starts playing. ]

Baldwin: Ugh, Celine Dion. Anything but that, I cannot stand her. You mind if we change the station?
Wiig: It’s a CD.
Baldwin: Sorry. Do you mind if we put in a different CD?
Wiig: They’re all Celine.
Baldwin: Big fan, huh?

[ She turns off the music. ]

Wiig: When I was 17, I was kidnapped and taken to Peru. After four months, I managed to escape, but couldn’t get back to the U.S. I begged for money to buy a piece of paper and a pencil so I could write a letter. I wrote that letter to Celine Dion to come and rescue me, and she did. She’s an amazing person. She’s an amazing person.
Baldwin: I’m sorry, I should have known.
Wiig: It’s okay, I’m, I’m just sensitive about it, y’know, she’s always been there for me, y’know? She’s—she’s my rock.
Baldwin: Your rock?
Wiig: Yeah... what?
Baldwin: It’s just that last summer my dentist and I were rock climbing, and he fell into a crevasse where he got his foot stuck. The coyotes were circling, so I did what I had to do, and I chewed his foot off with my teeth.

[ a pause ]

Baldwin: So you should be a little more careful with the words you throw around.
Wiig: With "words" I "throw around"?
Baldwin: Yeah.
[ a pause ]
Wiig: Someone threw a box full of dictionaries out of a fourth-story window, crushing everything below my waist. No one came to help me for so long, I started reading one of the dictionaries and got halfway through “C,”so I think I know a little something about people throwing words around.
Baldwin: I’m sorry, that must’ve been awful for you.
Wiig: I’m metal from the waist down.

[ Baldwin glances over to her and then looks down at her legs. ]

Baldwin: I’m sorry.
Wiig: Y’know, it’s fine. You know what they say: “Don’t worry, be happy.”
Baldwin: Bobby McFerrin raped my grandmother.

[ He presses his fist to his mouth in anguish for a long moment as they drive. ]

Wiig: Let’s just, uh, let’s just listen to the radio.

[ She switches the stereo back on, only to hear “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” coming from the speakers. Baldwin covers his eyes with his hand while the song continues for a few seconds. ]