Friday, November 30, 2007

No Post Today

Do me a favor and watch the Hostel movies. Hostel 1 preferably. I don't find horror movies worth my time generally, but the first one is great. It's basically about a bunch of asshole guys backpacking through Europe who get tipped off to this Slovakian Hostel where the women will throw themselves at them. The Hostel and women are real, but the main characters start disappearing one-by-one, until the last one remaining eventually finds out that the hostel is just a conduit to send backpackers to a torture factory at the outskirts of town. This factory serves the rich elite, who bid exorbitant sums of money for an individual to torture.

The last remaining character gets captured, but escapes, and eventually dodges the corrupt authorities searching for him throughout the town and gets on a train. He then kills one the torturers, who was leaving the facility on the same train, in the Berlin station bathroom.


This movie is good because I could imagine this scenario happening to me.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Marijuana Bust: Ways of Combating the Anxiety High

Yesterday, the Philadelphia Inquirer posted a front page article trumpeting a large-scale suburban Marijuana bust. They confiscated 812,000 dollars worth of weed, along with 12 pounds of mushrooms, in a successful raid that will surely impress the two people left in the United States who still think that marijuana should be taken seriously as a drug.


Now, phawker and philebrity have already slammed the Inquirer for treating this bust like a big deal. I would like to quickly bring attention, however, to the overdose angle of this article, starting with the opening line:

"A potent type of marijuana known as AK47 - so strong that some users are treated in emergency rooms for overdoses - has hit the Philadelphia area."

As Phawker points out, this article doesn't touch upon the drug overdose aspect again until nine paragraphs later, when a cop, not a medical official, is quoted:

"Hospitals are seeing more teens in emergency rooms because of the "overdose, effects and powerfulness of this drug," (narcotics Chief Inspector) Blackburn said, adding that overdoses are not "typical of marijuana, but it's typical of this type of marijuana.""

First off, let's get the obvious out of the way: Nobody fucking overdosed on AK47. Secondly, sweet job Inquirer on writing a 750 word article that only quotes one source. I mean, I know journalists only quote officials like cops, politicians, and aristocrats, but just one?

Could've used more voices other than Blackburn: B-.

Nonetheless, I'd like to use the overdose angle as a jump-off to discuss methods of dealing with the anxiety-high. Now, we know that nobody overdoses on weed, and the "overdoses" that the article references are no doubt the product of some inexperienced teenage girl freaking out, thinking the weed is "laced".

Sorry, but you'd have to be an idiot to waste time and money lacing weed. What people simply experience is an anxiety-high. It's the kind of high that is completely nonthreatening to your health, but freaks you out mentally. It's the type of high can cause a panic attack at the simple thought of, "you fucking idiot; why did you forget the zap-motion count the moment you finally got your chance at wing-back during Fresh/Soph football?". Of course, these 'panic' attacks are nothing, really, but they can make a high more uncomfortable than need be.

Here are the activities that can help ride the anxiety-high out of your system:

1. Driving

Nothing will eviscerate that distracting anxiety than engaging in an activity that will cause certain death if you screw up. Everyone is a little afraid to drive when too high, but after twenty minutes on the road, you've forgotten that you even smoked. There's a reason burn rides never have a designated driver.

2. Video Games

Sorry female readers, as well as male readers who still think they are cool, but I've tried all the methods, and video games are one of the best. Games provide the best outlet to cleanse your paranoia, because they require your active attention while not being intellectually strenuous. Plus, if you are playing a two-player game, it gets two stoners talking smack to each other while avoiding the worst pratfall of an anxiety-high: Conversation.

3. Music/Painting

Another active task that requires little intellectual strain. This one goes below video games, however, because you need to have actual skill to do these things.

4. Drinking shots/beer bongs/chugging/keg stands

Are you at a party where none of cures 1-3 are available? Then commence with getting drunk as fast as possible. It's the quickest way to destroy your weed-induced fear of everyone and get you socializing again.

Here are the activities you don't want to do during an anxiety-high:

1. Conversation

Disgusting. You have to think on your feet and keep the flow going, the worst activity when your mind is off the wall.

2. Movies

A passive activity that requires your full attention. If you are suffering an anxiety-high, you will constantly get distracted by whatever paranoid thoughts a scene or piece of dialogue triggers in your head. In addition to exacerbating your condition, you will also forget the whole movie. Note: Does not apply when watching a movie in a theatre, where you are stuck in one spot and have to pay attention.

3. Writing

Writing when high causes gimmicks like this.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007


Q: Dear Tweener, is there a way to turn crack back into cocaine?

A: Sadly, no. Poor people are to cocaine what Scientology was to Tom Cruise. They take the young vibrant energy of a Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, the unbridled panache of Cole Trickle, the devil-may care sunglasses of Joel Goodsen, and turn it into the better-than-nothing time-killer of white Samurais and special agents with an extra tooth in the middle. No, you'll never get that coke back. Just smoke the crack and next time get your drugs before you go out instead of from the first guy who approaches you as you stumble home.

Q: Tweener, can you handle the truth?

A: This is an interesting question, and one close to our hearts, because The Tweener lives on Jessup street, named after Colonel Jessup, Jack Nicholson's character in A Few Good Men fame. I can handle the truth ten months out of the year and even smoke it during that timeframe; the other two are tricky.

Q: What do I want for Christmas this year?

A: Well, you'll want some new tubes and chambers, as the old ones are getting pretty dingy. You'll want some t-shirts, like maybe some Washington Bullets or Mathletes BS, or maybe just go for the brass ring and get one that says "Tennyson? I was Golfin'!" You'll want a gift certificate to Standard Tap so you can get the steak and eggs this New Years instead of the peach and horseradish breakfast burrito. You'll also want the Legend DVD, which you can leave randomly about as an icebreaker, and an Andrew McCarthy poster (if you can locate this item, please alert the Tweener, as we can't find one anywhere). Finally, toiletries, you've been looking a bit ragged lately.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Ignorant Comments Day

Dear regular readers,

What I love about life, and when I say 'life', I mean 'internet comment pages', is the stuff that people post that they couldn't get away with in the real world: Casual racism, misogyny, persecution of spam-bots etc. In my mind, there's nothing better than reading a news article about a murder by the El-Salvadorean MS-13 gang, and then seeing in the comments page:

"That's what happens when you live near black people".

Ignorant comments happen everywhere. Whether it be the most generic anti-Bush/Cheney blog, to the most obscure Sebadoh message board on the interwebs, people's dumbass voices will be heard.

Except on this blog.

Seriously, I'm very disappointed about the low-level of ignorance displayed in the comments here. I mean, you all don't leave any comments in the first place, but I thought that at least I would've caught a break so far. Why hasn't some idiot googled "Mumia", caught my post and started calling me a 'libtard" before actually reading it. It just isn't fair.

So, today is a celebration of ignorant comments. I encourage all my readers to say something ignorant about me, society, Lacrosse, the price of raw oysters, or anything in between. Everyone will given one day of amnesty to post as they please.

And btw, this post was financed by the Zionists who want to impose an Israeli dictatorship across America they control all the media along with the illuminati BUSHCO is just a puppet if you elect a DEMON-crat things will still be the same it's time to take arms in revolution remember 1967 Pinochet coup Blovia forever!

Monday, November 26, 2007

The Game

Over Thanksgiving weekend, my old friends and I couldn't stop talking about it. It was a topic of conversation everywhere, from the bars, to the afterparties, to the drunk-driving on the way the way home. We argued about its merits, its flaws, and the ultimate effectiveness towards improving your life. Yes; We were talking about The Game.

I know what you're thinking: The Game is an underrated Michael Douglas film in which a clever concept eventually comes undone through a series of increasingly unbelievable plot developments. Nevertheless, the movie is buoyed by the strong supporting roles of Sean Penn and James Rebhorn.

I'd certainly say that's a fair assessment.

What we were actually talking about, however, was The Game, or the art of picking up women. You see, The Game seems to occupy the mind of every guy these days, what with the "Pick-up Artist" on VH1, the tons of books available on the subject, and the general feeling of terror amongst guys at the thought of trying to pick up a girl ANYWHERE but a place where alchohol is involved. And in some ways, I don't blame guys for feeling this way. Do you girls see the way you carry yourself in public these days? It seems like one is more likely to get tasered talking to a girl in line at a grocery store than a phone number.

Yes, I know I should sign-up for a Yoga class.

Forgetting that, however, let's analyze the rules of The Game: They are depressing. There is more fucking red-tape to practicing Game than the worst Soviet Bureaucracy.

Let's see: "Approach your target at a 45 degree angle within first three seconds of entering the bar. No slouching, no hands in your pockets, hold your drink at the waist, open your about eyes 2/3rds of the way while giving a half-smile. Swagger up to her like John Wayne in True Grit, NOT John Wayne in the Searchers. Deliver a line which slightly insults her while demonstrating your superior social value and act like you only have minute to talk even though you plan to stick around."

Loosely translated, This basically means "act like you're in a good mood". If you are consciously thinking about these rules while you are trying to execute them, you have probably already failed.

According to the practitioners of The Game, these methods are all meant to set-off a woman's 'attractiveness recepticons' or some bullshit like that. Here is the basic set-up of how the attractiveness recepticons operate in the female brain who lives in Philadelphia:

Attractiveness recepticons, accompanied by complex about not living in New York, as demonstrated in the female brain:

So, good "game" simply means pushing through to these attractiveness recepticons. I don't really practice Game that much, but I will give you some pointers that guarantee absolutely no success, but are fun.

Constant stream of 'negging': By now, you have all probably heard of the 'neg' concept, where in the flow of conversation with a girl, you make some comment that slightly lowers her value without insulting her too much. Examples include "those pants look like they are perfect for a flood" or "I hear McClellan is your favorite Union Civil War General. Personally, I think he can eat a dick". I, however, advocate a constant stream of negging that never ends:

Me: "You've got something stuck in your eye"
Her: "Oh really?"
Me: "You just spit on me when you said that"
Her: "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to"
Me: "What kind of broken dialect are you speaking in anyway?"
Her: "I'm from Cincinnati"
Me: "I've always wanted to nuke Ohio"
Her: "Who in the hell are you anyway?"
Me: "What an abrasive question to ask someone"

Being Unemployed: Let's just skip The Game here and go straight to a female's Florence Nightingale Complex. Girls always talk about wanting to 'save' a guy from something, whether it be assholish behavior, heroin abuse, or both. According to most girls, being unemployed is extremely unattractive. I've found just the opposite, however. Indeed, there is nothing more appealing to a girl than hearing the sweet phrases "I just got fired" or "I'm not really looking that hard" from a guy. Many an eyebrow has been perked at these comments. There's just something about failure that gets a girl ready to tear your clothes off. So, to all my guys out there: Stop dividing your internet/work time from a 60/40 ratio, and move straight to 100/0. After you get canned, you'll won't be able to fend the hot ass off.

That's all I got because I'm probably about to get fired.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Europe pt. 3: Russia

Thank god this infernal series is almost over. The good news, however, is that we are covering the granddady of them all today: Russia.

I've spent a total of about a month and a half in Russia, starting in the Spring of 1999 on exchange, and going back twice, with the final trip in January of 2001. What I've leaned is that Russia is a glorious contradiction. In some ways, post-communist Russia resembles the absolute worst elements of capitalism (rampant materialism and oligarchiasm), yet the average person is grounded with a sense of morality and humility that is unmatched in most western societies, particularly the USA. Case in point: If you walk on the street in Russia acting all loud and arrogant, taking up all of the sidewalk, you will be regarded as an irredeemable piece of shit by everyone. The rule is keep your mouth shut, your expression straight, and keep moving.

Behind closed doors, however, Russians like to play hard. Hard drinking (of course), hard fucking, and hard violence is the norm. Your average Russian does not go to the 'pub' or 'bar-hop', and the clubs are usually nothing more than ridiculously overpriced havens for mafia and indifferent fashionistas. Most of the hanging out, then, is done at someone's tiny flat in some neighborhood outside the center of Moscow. Behind closed doors, people are warm, intellectual, creative, and if they are women, hot as hell (until the age of 35). There is the specter of violence hanging over everything, however, as you never know when an armed heroin addict might sneak into your apartment building behind you, or if a gang of Chechnyians might kidnap you off the street, or if the police might try to extract a bribe from you. Trouble with the police usually only occurs if you look Chechnyan, so you are all in the clear.

Did I mention the warm personalities? Well, you have to be careful of that too. Russians are a manipulative bunch of fuckers, and although they are quicker to welcome you than the average American, they are also cash-trapped people who will try to take advantage of you if you portray weakness. I believe it was De La Soul who once said, "it's a dog eat dog competition".

If you are a decent looking American guy who is not a total fool, Russian girls will love the shit out of you. Of course, finding the right context for meeting a Russian girl is very difficult, because you if go 'out' in a Russian city, it'll be filled with mafia-connected girls whose status is so high, they could give two shits about you. Your best bet would be to go on exchange in High School, like myself, and meet some nice middle class girl. This is not going to happen to you. I'd recommend learning some Russian and going to Brighten Beach, Brooklyn, Northeast Philly, or somewhere in the Washington DC area where there are Russians (sorry DC readers, but I don't know where your Russians are at.)

A sidenote: What is it with girls that have Eastern European blood in any context? They are either the coolest girls you meet, who are talented, smart and beautiful, or they are completely vapid and materialistic...Contradictions again.

Now; to the two Russian cities that I've been to:

St. Petersburg - Washington, D.C. for the freezing set

St. Petersburg is a close kin of D.C., due to both the fake Parisian 'charm' in their respective architectural lay-outs and the sheer amount of hatred and satire these cities have inspired from those who have lived there. There's a reason Dostoevsky, Gogol, and Pushkin set most of their famous stories in St. Petersburg, and not Moscow: To them, St. Petersburg represented every vile element in Western society that Russia falsely aspired to, from the forced European appearance, to the vast, status-obsessed government bureaucracy...Sound familiar? Most Americans look at DC the same way, except substitute "American" for "Western" in the previous sentence. Well, I guess there's a whole mess of substitutions to make in that previous sentence to complete the DC analogy, but who the fuck do you think I am? Don Nelson?!

Nonetheless, like DC, People outside of St. Petersburg are quick to bash it. And like DC, People who live in St. Petersburg are eager to move out. But in the end, no one can stop talking about either city, and beneath the bullshit, there are plenty of redeemable elements about both places. The only problem I have is this: Why did St. Petersburg get all of the good writers out his deal? Who the fuck does DC have for great art, Fugazi?!!

Quick sidenote: St. Petersburg was the absolute coldest place I've ever been.

Moscow - No Red Square for you

Quick facts about Moscow:

-Contraband street vendors: I once got Ok Computer here for 20 cents. Cigarettes on the street go for about 30 cents a pack.

-Ridiculously overpiced Department Stores: I once got the Verve's Urban Hymes for fifty dollars. Yeah; that's stupid, but I had just gotten laid and absolutely needed to hear "Lucky Man".

-The food is indeed terrible. God, Russians can't cook. Their American-style supermarkets just don't feel right, either. Also understand that whenever you read some article on Russia gastronomical revolution, those cushy food critics are talking about meals that are upwards of 150 dollars.

-the subways are nicer and cleaner than the actual city:

I've go to get back to work. Happy Russian Day.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Tweener Guide to Europe Pt. 2: The UK

Now, to the places where I've spent the most time: Starting with the United Kingdom

The 2002-03 school was spent in London and Norwich. It was a damn good time. With that said, I'm not writing a single thing about England. The reason being that although English are great, I hate their guts and everything about their culture. Oh; I can hear you now: "What about The Kinks?!" You fool. Go to any Englishman's place, and you won't find a copy of Village Green Preservation Society. Instead, it is only you: an arrogant, irrelevant, and poor 20-something American white guy, who cares about that album.

A couple of things about England:

1.) Everything is open from only 11 am to 2 pm everyday. As a consequence, you really have to plan things ahead, from drinking to shopping to museum-ing. It is said that places in England only stay open this long because it synchs up perfectly with soccer: An hour to drink beforehand, an hour and 50 minute total match time, and ten minutes to stuff down and after-match beef pie before stomping that Blackburn fan's face in.

2.) English cuisine is actually underrated. Let's defer to George Orwell on this one:

We have heard a good deal of talk in recent years about the desirability of attracting foreign tourists to this country. It is well known that England’s two worst faults, from a foreign visitor’s point of view, are the gloom of our Sundays and the difficulty of buying a drink.
Both of these are due of fanatical minorities who will need a lot of quelling, including extensive legislation. But there is one point on which public opinion could bring about a rapid change for the better: I mean cooking.
It is commonly said, even by the English themselves, that English cooking is the worst in the world. It is supposed to be not merely incompetent, but also imitative, and I even read quite recently, in a book by a French writer, the remark: ‘The best English cooking is, of course, simply French cooking.’
Now that is simply not true, as anyone who has lived long abroad will know, there is a whole host of delicacies which it is quite impossible to obtain outside the English-speaking countries. No doubt the list could be added to, but here are some of the things that I myself have sought for in foreign countries and failed to find.
First of all, kippers, Yorkshire pudding, Devonshire cream, muffins and crumpets. Then a list of puddings that would be interminable if I gave it in full: I will pick out for special mention Christmas pudding, treacle tart and apple dumplings. Then an almost equally long list of cakes: for instance, dark plum cake (such as you used to get at Buzzard’s before the war), short-bread and saffron buns. Also innumerable kinds of biscuit, which exist, of course, elsewhere, but are generally admitted to be better and crisper in England.
Then there are the various ways of cooking potatoes that are peculiar to our own country. Where else do you see potatoes roasted under the joint, which is far and away the best way of cooking them? Or the delicious potato cakes that you get in the north of England? And it is far better to cook new potatoes in the English way — that is, boiled with mint and then served with a little melted butter or margarine — than to fry them as is done in most countries.
Then there are the various sauces peculiar to England. For instance, bread sauce, horse-radish sauce, mint sauce and apple sauce; not to mention redcurrant jelly, which is excellent with mutton as well as with hare, and various kinds of sweet pickle, which we seem to have in greater profusion than most countries.
What else? Outside these islands I have never seen a haggis, except one that came out of a tin, nor Dublin prawns, nor Oxford marmalade, nor several other kinds of jam (marrow jam and bramble jelly, for instance), nor sausages of quite the same kind as ours.
Then there are the English cheeses. There are not many of them but I fancy Stilton is the best cheese of its type in the world, with Wensleydale not far behind. English apples are also outstandingly good, particularly the Cox’s Orange Pippin.
And finally, I would like to put in a word for English bread. All the bread is good, from the enormous Jewish loaves flavoured with caraway seeds to the Russian rye bread which is the colour of black treacle. Still, if there is anything quite as good as the soft part of the crust from an English cottage loaf (how soon shall we be seeing cottage loaves again?) I do not know of it.

Pretty hungry, aren't you? Or did you just close my browser because that was too long?

3.) To the North of England is Scotland, which contains a city called Edinburgh. It is a stunningly amazing place that looks incredible from wherever you are standing at any moment...Whatever. Edinburgh also had a record store called Fopps, which was the best record store that I've ever been to.

Edinburgh - Wake me up when I'm supposed to care about this spellbinding city

4.) Students in England are dirt poor. I mean, really. If you want to out to the pubs with your English friends, you have to get out a calender and pick a date two months ahead so they can start saving their money.


6.) When the english ask you, "you alright?", it generally means "how are you?", not "are you ok?". If you don't like this particular phrasing, simply respond the way I do: "Yeah, I'm alright...YOU ALRIGHT?"

So, that's the UK and England. I can honestly say that other than the countless great times having intelligent, reasoned conversations with my friends about a variety of topics, England was a total nightmare.

Monday, November 19, 2007

A Tweener Thanksgiving Week pt. 1: Guide to Europe

We don't know about you, but we here at the Tweener are fucking exhausted right now. Chalk it up to a 9-5 combined with three hour journalism classes three days a week, homework, blogging, "reporting", weekend debauchery, and we are just about beat. Thank god for thanksgiving break, then, where I can go home to sweet Baltimore and not worry about anything for four days.

Since this week offers relaxation, however, I'm going to break convention and take you all back to a time where I ruled the universe: 2003. It was a time of travel, music, courderoy jackets, foreign love, and lost wallets. Over the past weekend, my annointed princess of 2003 wrote a post* that inspired me to take a trip back, and in the first of this series, I'm taking you through europe baby!

*Take everything she says at face value.

Guide to Europe

To be honest, I don't know shit about Europe. Oh; sure, I've BEEN to Europe, including the following cities: Amsterdam, London, Edinburgh, Munich, Budapest, Venice, Rome, Florence, Barcelona, Paris, Moscow, and St. Petersburg. About half the cities on this list I was only in for 2-3 days, and they can be summarily dismissed as follows:

Munich- A nice place...Can someone help me out here?

Munich- An old, wonderful Bavarian town with a humungous park in the middle of it. To be honest, we indulged in a hotel room and hardly left it except to go to beer halls and the tourist attractions, which included...err...Some kind of church or something with a big tower. My lack of anything interesting to say about this city hilariously manifested itself in a conversation with an outrageously hot German student in my graduate program. You can pretty much take this paragraph verbatim and apply it to what I said to her. As a result, she’s not flashing me those big smiles anymore.

The Danube River - All we wanted was some gatorade

Budapest- It was day 9 in our month-long trip through Europe in the Spring of 03. We were suffering, for you see, the non-alcoholic drink selection in Europe is terrible. I mean, all you’ve got is soda, sub-tropicana orange juice, and mineral water. But there it was: Arrayed on the banks of the sparkling Danube River, the Gatorade beckoned. As we got closer, however, we realized that the area was roped off for a Gatorade-sponsored triathalon. Fucking Triatheletes.

The other experience in Budapest included getting berated by a waitress at a Hungarian restaurant for being American. At least that’s what I think happened, as we couldn’t understand her non-American language. We sure showed her, however, as we eat all of the complementary bread and high-tailed it out of there!

Vienna - soul crushing

Vienna- Ragtime street musicians, Intimidating 18th-century Imperial architecture, free public transportation, swaths of parkland filled with gorgeous vistas, excellent local cuisine, and a city brimming with a rich cultural heritage everywhere you look. Yes; Vienna is as boring as it sounds. The only way I was able to fight the terrible boredom was by having a friend in the city who could show me to the parts that weren’t drowning in the wrist-slitting ‘pleasures’ of culture and heritage.

Italy-a hellhole

Venice- If you aren’t married, don’t even bother. The food also sucks. In fact, just understand this mantra: Just because you are in Italy does not mean you will eat well wherever you go.

Rome- Italians are secretly the biggest assholes in Europe. I honestly don’t know how the French got their reputation for being rude, because I found them to be moderate, whilst almost every American I know who has been to Italy noticed that the Italians hate our asses, unless you are wearing a Che Gueverra t-shirt. Apparently, Argentine people are descended from Italians, which explains the love for Che. Italians should thank their luck stars that they get to claim Calvino.

Rome is a dirty city where you can really ‘feel’ the history..

Just watch this movie
Barcelona- Be sure to schedule your trip during anytime other than a holiday. I found this out the hard way when the whole place become the “the city that sleeps their asses off” when I was there at the of April.

Part 2 tomorrow...

Friday, November 16, 2007


Philadelphia Art Museum
If you work here, it's a great place to pick up girls. A friend of mine has told me this. He may actually write for this blog.

Johnny Brenda's
If Philly hipsters are so poor, how can they afford to drink here?

Fixed-gear bikes
You're gonna die

Cecil B. Moore
Temple's plan for revitalizing this street on one block: Put a Border's next to a pawn shop. I'm sure this is going to end well.

Harrison Ridley, Jr.
Temple professor and Philadelphia Jazz historian. Winner of 80 awards. Consultant to the Library of Congress. Placed in tiny office with no window.

Corner Store on Ridge and 23rd Street
I broke the color barrier as the first white guy to visit there in fifteen years. Even the asian owners got uncomfortable.

Female crackhead who followed me for two blocks outside the store
Listen: I gave you one dollar, then you asked me for two. If I give you two dollars, then you're gonna ask me for four. If I give you four dollars, you're gonna ask me for eight. Just get a gun and rob me next time.

Lorenzo's/Lorenzo & Son's/DeLorenzos

Pho 75/Pho Nam
Pho 75

Getting away with throwing a halloween party on Friday, November 9th
This happened over the past weekend. "It's a pop culture party, come as your favorite pop figure!" Nice try. You know what happened? I put together a killer costume only to see five people there. The other people voiced their displeasure by not coming. Listen: It's either the weekend before or the weekend after halloween, never the weekend after-after. You think it's fun to put together a third costume? How can you throw a pseudo costume party two weeks after halloween? The bum camped outside our apartment put it best when we walked out in our costumes to go to the party: "Uhhh.....Happy Thanksgiving?"

Sorry to the person who threw this party, but you blew it. Please come to my next party

Thursday, November 15, 2007

The wrong album was embedded in the last post

it has been corrected.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Youngin' band in the game: The War on Drugs

Flash back to the year 2001: An 18 year-old Dickinson College freshman guitar phenom gets invited to play in a band with like, the three other guys in school who hated String Cheese Incident. We had four or five practices total, never played a show, and no one really gave a fuck because it was the end of the school year anyway. We weren't all that good, which is what happens when you play together four times. That 18-year-old phenom (me) also realized he wasn't so phenomenal, because playing along to Coltrane records doesn't really translate to playing in your first 'rock' band.

Anyway, the lead singer in the band was someone who you could tell was just destined for stardom. Then he started singing, and we all cried at the awfulness. There was this OTHER guitarist, however, who was pretty good.

That guitarist is now fronting what will be the best band to come out of Philly in a hot minute, The War on Drugs.

You're probably saying, "well I can't fucking google THAT"..."War on Drugs Philly band" will do the trick.

I've embedded their first EP in this post. It is about a billion years old (year and a half), but their first full-length is coming out in the spring.

How do you describe the War on Drugs? There's a stock way to do this so far: "is sounds like [sporadically fashionable male songwriter legend] crossed with [late 80s/early 90s shoegazer band]". I've tried to think of alternative way to describe them, but it just doesn't work. If you like the War on Drugs, the rest of your life will be spent reading these types of clippings:

-Like Bruce Springsteen crossed with My Bloody Valentine
-like Tom Petty fronting Swervedriver
-Like Bob Dylan eating lunch with the Cocteau Twins, and at this lunch, they decided to COMBINE THEIR SOUNDS.

Anyway, you can see why this description is appealing. The most important thing of all, however, is that these guys bring the muscle live: Two drummers, a pretty good bassist, and the great Kurt Ville playing the busiest lead guitar since.......uhhh..........*searches record collection for analogy*.....Nas' Illmatic.

In all seriousness, these guys are at once loose and heavy on stage. That's better the typical Philadelphia indie sound, titled "keep the noise level down so our friends can talk to each other at our shows".

So listen to this EP, which is more subdued than they usually sound. There's also a youtube live clip that I tried to embed, but I can't tell whether it was successful because temple's computers are retarded.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Temple University: Stunning Observations

Today, I am at Temple University. The history of Temple University is well known: Some 60-70 years ago, a cadre of intelligent Jews in Philly started their own university to circumvent UPenn's newly-formed height and general "football physique" requirements. At present day, Temple is a successful public university with several nationally respected departments and an elite 8 basketball program; albeit six years ago. Meanwhile, everyone from Penn is still superior.

I had shocking observations while walking through campus today:

People are here are attractive

About four out of every ten. This was very surprising, because it generally common knowledge that attractive people only go to Ivy League schools, Kenyon, and Oberlin, or anywhere in the NESCAC conference.

If you are the attractive person's less-intelligent sibling, there's always Centennial Conference, But never Temple or any communist public school.

So, I learned an eye-opening lesson today: You can be a mediocre student, or simply have less money to go to a private school, and still be attractive. Overall, I think it's good that less wealthy people can experience the pleasures of attractiveness. Although they probably still won't have the same status in life as people in those elite schools, which is to be frowned upon, I think it's cute that these people go about putting on clothes and washing their hair everyday in hopes of doing something.

It's very diverse here

There's that pesky communism again. All over campus, there are gangstas, terrorists, and asians. This is what happens when you let the state takeover and give more people a chance for education. Next thing you know, the liberal media, in collaboration with big government, is going to employ all of these people in a 24/7 communist propaganda news station that's going to be plastered on every TV. It will teach you revisionist history, like how black jazz musicians wore suits, General McCarthur DIDN'T successfully drop four atomic bombs on China during the Korean War, and how soccer wasn't invented by Karl Marx.

It order to fight back, I announce that we start our own WHITE cultural channel. What's that? A channel celebrating Woody Guthrie, Saul Bellow, Norman Mailer, Schoenenberg, Appalachian Folk, Bill Evans, Guided By Voices, William Burroughs and others?

NO, those guys were all communists or jews. The WHITE cultural channel will primarily concern the history of defense contractors in Northern Virginia and the condos they live in.

There are many lunch carts here, and one bee

Motherfucking bee swirling around my motherfucking gyro. I thought the bees were extinct? See, this is the result of eating Greek communist food. I'm allergic to bees, and speaking of which, what is the deal with people saying, "don't aggravate it, it'll sting you"?. What the fuck am I supposed to do then, let it sit on my lunch and do nothing? If try to grab my sandwich, won't that be "aggravating" it to? What exactly is aggravation for a bee anyway!? Swating at it? watching too much sports? Playing the Lox after 11 PM? Typical liberal inaction in the face of the insect menace

Monday, November 12, 2007

"I got a tickle in my anus!": The Tweener's Fall TV Roundup

Yeah, we know, a preview probably would have been more helpful, but hey, you get what you pay for. Here at The Tweener offices, we watch a ton of TV. I mean the TV is always on. But television shows? What, like Murphy Brown? CBS? Should I get tested for that?

Ok, I'm exaggerating. I don't mess with tests. And I do know a few shows, mostly those on HBO, which have two just plain safeco huge advantages over network shows. For one, they're on Sundays. I can remember Sundays. I wake up drunk, watch my footie then my football, and obsess over how badly I wish it was Saturday so I could run a do-over on last night and maybe remember the ethnicity of that man who was touching me. Out of the five shittier days of the week, Sunday I can remember. But Tuesday at 9pm? Please. I'm not an accountant for christ's sake. And secondly, NO GODDAMN COMMERCIALS. I'm no hobo, I've got a lot of channels; if you run a commercial on me, it won't be until the Predator blows himself up that I remember I forgot to check in with the remainder of My Name is Jason Lee and Dogma Sucked. This is why sports has the advantage: 1. you don't have to catch every damn second, 2. you can mute that junk and pump up the Bob Mould, 3. most tv shows are awful anyway. Still, though, we're trying, and when there are no football games on, no soccer games on, no basketball games on, no hockey games on, no baseball games on, no one wants to play Pro Evo, none of Barcelona, Aliens, Dave, The Hudsucker Proxy, Fear, The Departed (has a movie ever fallen from Oscar winner to crappy stoner flick faster?), The Squid and the Whale, Commando, Romancing the Stone, WALL STREET, Navy Seals, Kindergarten Cop, Last Days of Disco, Higher Learning, Metropolitan, Knocked Up, Annie Hall, or anything else on any of the movie channels, here are some shows we watch sometimes:

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia: This one gets all the credit. It's brilliant. When I was sixteen, jokes about smoking tree almost always hit the spot. Now its jokes about cocaine. Who knew?

Friday Night Lights: I liked this show last year partly because it was free to watch online. I was annoyed when I heard it was going to be on Fridays at 9 or something this year, but I realized it actually works out well, because it's not like we go out until eleven anyway, the football scenes are better when drunk, and it shows that alcoholics, idiots, and paraplegics can get the hottest girls in school, which is pretty much the confidence I need on a Friday night.

30 Rock: Pretty funny. The posters in Tracy Morgan's dressing room are the real stars of the show.

Curb Your Enthusiasm: A bit formulaic by now but still hilarious in its sixth run. Don't miss the season finale last night!

The Wire: The best show ever returns in January. Until then, is Rasheed Wallace on tv somewhere?

Friday, November 9, 2007

Diary of the unemployed

9:30 am: Woken up by alarm, which you set for 9:30 because it is not too early, and not too late to make you look lazy. Plus; it gives you ample time to apply for jobs. The clock is placed far away from your bed to ensure you will have to get up to turn it off.

9:32 am: Finally succeed in making it over to the alarm to turn it off so you can go back to sleep.

10:37 am: Begrudgingly get up.

10:51 am: Make pot of coffee, and commence with the best part of your day: The first cigarette. It is savored because all subsequent cigarettes bring diminishing returns, or because you can't afford another pack.

11:01 am: With cup of coffee, surf the following websites if football season is going on:,,,, and your team's website.

If football season is not going on: (for other sports), (in case there is an offseason article), (for other sports), and the following Gawker related sites: Gawker, wonkette, gridskipper, and deadspin (again). Also, take a look at Slate to get "real" news.

12:11 pm: Hunger calls. If you have ramen or easy mac at the house, eat it. If not, take a shower.

12:33 pm: If in Philly or Brooklyn, leave apartment to go to corner deli and get a reuben sandwich. If in Hyattsville, hop in the car and go to California tortilla or some bullshit equivalent. Even though it is only a mile away, it will still take you an hour and a half.

1:01 pm: You are now faced with the classic choice of unemployment: Apply for jobs, or frantically search for your roommates weed that you know he is hiding from you.

1:28 pm: Hidden in the cat food bag! Score!

1:40 pm: Ahhh, now what to do with your high? Grant Theft Auto? Whit Stillman movies? A short story?

1:51 pm: Finally settle on what to do: Surf the same websites you did three hours ago for new content.

2:04 pm: After finishing reading, pace around for the next hour wondering what would have happened if you had actually taken that hot indian/asian/canadian/insert exotic ethnicity girl to your senior year halloween party.

3:00 pm: 4 and a half hours into your day and you haven't applied for a single job. Spend the next half hour wondering why you continue this pattern every day.

3:39 pm: Finally start looking at jobs on Monster and Craigslist.

3:56 pm: Find a decent position on Monster, but it requires a cover letter; a big turnoff.

5:15 pm: Finish cover letter and send.

5:45 pm: Roommate gets home and notices unfinished weed in the bowl you forgot to clear out. Lie your ass off and consider not packing so much next time.

Editors note: Apologies to my former roommates Brandon and Owen.

Thursday, November 8, 2007

A celebration of unemployment: Part 1, the resume

On Tuesday, I took a day off from work to interview people for one of my journalism classes. Since my interview fell through, I had a whole day to experience one of my favorite pastimes: Being unemployed. Since I graduated college in 04', I've developed a fairly decent unemployment resume:

Jobless Associate, Brooklyn, NY, August 04-early November 04
When I graduated in late May of 04, I made a half-assed decision to move to New York a week later and "I don't know, get a job in publishing or something". Unless you are completely ignorant, you can understand that is a terrible strategy. Unfortunately, I didn't sleep with anyone who could get me a job, and after the last temp assignment ended in August, it was a whole lot of nothing for an entire Fall before I moved back home to Baltimore (which only lasted a day before I got a job in DC. Remember that kiddies, you can get work in DC, that's why people actually live there.)

Unemployed Coordinator, Hyattsville, MD, February 2006-March 2006
Otherwise known at the "roaring 20s" of my unemployment experience, this stint in the DC suburb was awash in cash and decadence. After quitting my job on good terms, I took a step back, looked at my bank account and realized, "holy shit! my company forgot to deduct income taxes, possibly out of sheer incompetence!". I figured it was only a matter of time before the feds came after me, so I commenced to spending that money. you can guess what followed:

-Gambling binges in Atlantic City.
-Completely unnecessary deluxe suite at the Four Seasons hotel in Philly for Saint Paddy's day 06.
-An authentic Ed Reed jersey for my then-roommate Owen in compensation for stealing his adderrall to facilitate said gambling binges.
-Actually buying the paintings of friends.
-Possibly the most wasteful use of money in recorded history: Amtrak tickets.

To top it all off, I managed to secure a good job amidst all of this. After getting the job, however, things were more close to the vest. The lesson I take from that experience is this: If you ever have enough disposable cash to get an Acela Express roundtrip ticket, savor the moment.

Shitcanned Director, Philadelphia, September 06-November 06
Ah hem....That job I just mentioned that I got in March of 06? I did little except surf gridskipper until they fired me, but they were also a terrible company to work for and I apologize for nothing. I actually don't need to apologize anyway, because the guy who fired me is dead. How's your attempt to blackball me going in hell? bwahahahahahah.

Anyway, while the Hyatsville unemployment experience was fast and decadent, the Philly one was that of a wizened unemployment veteran taking his sweet time before going back to the world. Typical voicemail messages: "Hey Scott, we want you to interview to be part of this biz dev team"...NOPE. "Hey Scott, we have a Sales Associate position open"...NOPE. I also turned the tables on employers in the few interviews I did go to, asking them what kind of performance measures they had in place. You should've seen their startled faces.

The above paragraph was a total lie.

Eventually, I used this unemployment experience to apply to journalism school and settle on the job with the best payment-to-easy-work ratio.

Tomorrow: Diary of the unemployed.

Wednesday, November 7, 2007

You Could Really Get Hammered In Pittsburgh

Although I've only been there twice for a total of eleven days, I can say without reservation that while I don't LOVE Pittsburgh, I'm pretty firmly in like with it. I know everyone talks a lot of shit about provincialism, hard-working blue collar assholes, and smash-mouth football, but unless you're the kind of person who drives out to Tyler Park on the weekends, the most you're going to notice of that stuff is on the shuttle from the airport. From the campus area to Shady Side to the South Side, Pittsburgh is a lovely mix of jaundiced intellectualism and two-fisted, umm, smart-drinking. Just a few notes, maybe more after my next trip in April:

1) THE PITT ID: The University of Pittsburgh must be loaded, because every student's ID is like a golden candy wrapper that gets you endless free bus rides, free admission to all the museums - which are lovely - and a percentage off at lots of restaurants. They'll even give you a copy of Microsoft Vista if you have one. Seriously. The second easiest way to get one is probably to mug a drunken freshman on Forbes Ave late on a Friday night. The easiest is to be in their library science program.

2) CHEAP DRINKS: Maybe next time I'll break down individual bars, but the important note is that the drinks are cheep-cheep-cheep. Most bars there I can get a round of one Budweiser and one shot of Jameson for five bucks. I haven't yet and maybe never will remember the cab ride home from a Saturday night out in Pittsburgh. At the Garage Door Saloon - a fine establishment - some guy came up next to me and ordered a double rum and coke and a double red bull and vodka. Total price, Philadelphians and New Yorkers? 10 dollars. TEN FUCKING DOLLARS FOR FOUR SHOTS.

3) ARCHITECTURE: [serious Tweener] The architecture in Pittsburgh pretty much blows away the product in Philadelphia, and even New York, if consistency is the measure. They're helped by the hilly landscape and rivers, which offers interesting opportunities, but from the classic buildings to the modern and combos, almost every site is eye-catching, clean, and refreshing. Except that faux castle monstrosity along the river. [/serious Tweener]

Well, that concludes this sub-average post. Go to Pittsburgh, but remember that not every city's signature food is all that. Coleslaw and french fries on my sandwich? What is this Standard Tap circa 2027?

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

Mumia Abu Jamal: The Real Story

"Political power grows out the barrel of the gun"

-Mumia Abu-Jamal, Bob Marley, Chairman Mao, Stalin, Jesus, Bradley Noell of Sublime (attributed to him by fans)


Some say history is written by winners about the winning ways of the winsome. The story of the alleged murder of police officer Daniel Faulkner by Mumia Abu-Jamal in Philadelphia in 1981, however, is history written by a veritable rainbow coalition. Black Activists, Police officers, campus leftists, Pennsylvania prosecutors, Midwestern conservatives, French socialists, Mexican Playmakers, Zach De La Rocha and Woody Harelson: All have their own version of the events. None of these ninjas actually saw what happened, however, which is why I'm going to you the real story of what..........


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Monday, November 5, 2007

A Weekend Recap

1.) South Philly party on Friday. This marked the end of a succession of three straight weekends of parties with completely different crowds (hello popularity!). The first one was a mixture/tweener party, the second was a Rittenhouse WASP Halloween party, and the last was good ole' fashioned hipster throwdown at the house of former members of the defunct band, the Beat Jamz. I guess it's appropriate that the first party was the best. A comparison of these parties would be the basis for another post, but I do have one thought on the hipster party:

I never get drunk enough at them. Maybe it is the prospect of trying to keep things close to the vest in the face of these intimidating hipsters, what with their "t-shirts" and "electric instruments" ushering in a new paradigm of cool. More likely, however, is the fact that I never see people wasted at them. I think that this is a problem. If you provide a keg, you are producing a social contract that says it is ok to get at least a little ignorant. Why is nobody taking the bait? In fact, this milquetoast thing is getting on my nerves. I vow to completely blow-up the next party in a spectacular haze of black-outedness.

2.) Speaking of blowing things up, a friend notified me this weekend of the event that most likely inspired the Calexico DVD incident. Let's just say that although I still need a few additional details, I made it out of this one looking pretty good.

3.) Because we hardly got drunk at the party on Friday, we were able to watch the second half of the Arsenal-Man U match at Fado. Let me tell you: Standing in a bar at 9:00 am with hundreds of hungover American soccer fans is surreal. At first, you are surprised to hear everyone chanting the names of all the players, because up to that point, you've spent your entire time of soccer fandom talking about the sport with the one other person you've met that gives a shit about it. To hear an entire crowd of people fired up is pretty awesome. Even though Fado is a chain restaurant, they've carved out a pretty attractive niche with all the satellite soccer channels and the all-day Irish breakfast...Props to them.

4.) There was that other football game yesterday, featuring the one team that has a choker quarterback who only won a superbowl because his coach prays to god all the time, and the other team with the QB who is a father of a bunch of illegitimate children. Both teams played hard.

Friday, November 2, 2007

Red Bull Art of the Can

We just found out about the Red Bull Art of the Can exhibit at F.U.E.L. in Old City. It started on October 19th. This exhibit ends today, so hopefully I can make it out there in time.

Red Bull's slogan for this exhibit/competition: "what will a full can inspire you to create out of empty one?"...Genius. Let's face it: Americans love stimulants.

Back in the day, you had two things: Caffeine and cocaine. I guess Kerouac, Johnny Cash and all those beatnik guys also had some pseudo adderall junk that probably felt like Stackers 2. Nonetheless, the options were limited. Caffeine was the drug of the masses, cocaine the rich.

Nowadays, there are no lines to be drawn. Everyone from any walk-of-life is awash in the jaw-clenching pleasures of stimulants. First it was ginseng, then everyone realized ginseng did absolutely nothing, so ginseng was followed by the ADHD drug/energy drink revolution. As a result of this, people are multi-taskers these days. Seriously; Does anyone have just one job anymore? It's office job by day, grad school by night. House painter by day, skate-boarder by mid-day. Freelancer by morning, pizza delivery man by afternoon, noise band by early evening, adderrall dealer by late evening (to oneself).

There's a reason we all have multiple occupations: America is kicking our asses. Right now, you're probably burning both your bachelors diploma and a bunch of dollar bills in a makeshift fireplace because you can't afford heat. Our media, the institution which should be a watchdog against the government's efforts to erode the middle class, would rather humiliate you with articles like "People having more sex than you".

So you can't afford the heat, and you want to get out of America's kitchen. Good luck with that. The rest of the world can summarized as follows: The countries with good weather have shitty governments that will get you killed, and the countries with good governments have shitty weather and only five people total, all of whom are in Sigur Ros.

Stay in America.

And while you're in America, have a toast to the sheer amount of ways we can stay wired. So; take a keybump, break that concerta 30mg time release capsule, grab a vitamin energy, and I'll see you at that motherfucking Red Art of the Can Exhibit tonight*.

*I will absolutely not be there.