Tim Anderson's Blog, page 5

Thanksgiving Summed Up in One Photo

The only way this picture could be more perfect would be if it was the cover of a Ted Nugent album.

Whoever Slapped This Poster Onto a Random Scaffolding Wall in NYC Is Basically the Next Nate Silver

This is one telling flyer. It's been up for a few weeks and in that time I've watched it blossom into supernova of multicolored chewed-up gummy gnarliness, aka, a gorgeous reflection of our great democracy at work. Obama clearly won this iteration of the popular vote up here at 35th and 6th, and I do believe this data comports with the actual vote tallies in this area. So the point is, whoever's idea this was is the next Nate Silver and should be given a bunch of poster board by the New York Times so he can expand his gum-data campaign into the country at large and continue to give folks the most precise reading of the electorate in the midterm elections of 2014.



In the future we will all vote with our gum.



And voter fraud will be accomplished with taffy.

New Nervous Breakdown Essay: And Gimpy On Strings

Kids, I've got a new post up over at The Nervous Breakdown, which you should click over and pretend to read immediately. Here's a teaser:



Children of the world, don’t believe your parents, your shrinks, or your imaginary friends: worst nightmares sometimes do come true. Sure, many humans can get through their entire lives without falling out of an airplane, having a leg eaten off by a shark, being kidnapped by a tiny car full of saber-toothed circus clowns, or being awoken at 2 a.m. by a group of drug-crazed hippies wielding ice picks and chanting “Kill the pig, acid is groovy.” But some don’t. We all have these fears and they are perfectly rational, so watch out.

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My Cat Stella Is Pretty Bummed That Romney Lost

My regular reader might remember that a few weeks back I got the devastating news that my cat Stella was voting for Romney. I, of course, was fit to be tied, and I tried and tried to talk her out of it, appealing to her rational side using charts and graphs and endless videos of Rachel Maddow breaking things down. But Stella is as stubborn as my mother and she was not swayed. So Tuesday night she was thoroughly bummed out and has been doing nothing but sleeping and gorging on corn dogs and watching daytime TV and giving herself baths and just sitting in the corner for hour upon hour ever since. She's not even reading her Readers Digests anymore.



Lest she be quietly entering Victoria Jackson or Donald Trump territory with a hilarious Twitter explosion imminent, I sat down with her this evening to get a sense of how she was doing and if I needed to worry about her waking me in the middle of the night shouting about socialist Muslims under the bed.



"Stella, how you doing? Feeling okay?"



"Meh."



"Pretty blue, huh?"



"Voter fraud."



"Oh, God, Stella, it really doesn't exist, are you kidding me?"



"New Black Panthers."



"Stella, there was one guy in a beret and sunglasses at a polling station opening doors for old ladies." 




"Appeasement."



"Stella, I don't think you know what that means."



"Skewed polls."



"Gah, the polls weren't skewed, Stella, and it doesn't matter anymore anyway because the election itself has confirmed that the polls were pretty much right."



"Chris Christie."



"His state was underwater! He said a few nice things about Obama! What was he supposed to do?"





"Benghazi."



"Ugh, that's it, I'm cutting off your Fox News."



"Reparations."



"And no more Drudge Report, Red State, or Breitbart."



"Binders full of sadness."

Bammerz!

"I WILL SURVIVE!!!!!!": A Word from Valerie Cherish

Hey kids, have you about had it up to here with your mother's crazy declarations that Obama is a secret Muslim whose religion is more of a danger to the country than his challenger's weird cult religion that has anti-black racism written right into its fundamental documents? Have you been hitting your head against a brick wall over and over again over the past few years dealing with the increasingly paranoid beliefs of someone so close to and beloved by you? Are you increasingly fearful that this whole national carnival of crazy actually won't be over come Tuesday owing to the desperate attempts by state officials in Ohio and Florida to cockblock the vote and make the electoral results questionable at best? Are you about ready to slit your own throat in mortal frustration?



Take heart! And take a cue from Valerie Cherish, who feels your pain and, in the above video, sets it to music. Careful, though. Angry hurts your throat.

Gruesome Video of the War Against Dying in Hurricane Sandy

God, we were lucky. Really lucky. Had no idea how lucky we were during the filming of this video. (Thoughts and agnostic prayers go out to all in Staten Island, lower Manhattan, New Jersey, etc.) The sounds outside were scary, but at least those sounds didn't decide to invite themselves in and bring their friends, Wind and Rain, who were both hella spastic and angry that night.

So, some uncomfortable, frightening moments on Monday, but, hey, it's me and Jimmy, our relationship is made of uncomfortable, frightening moments (usually involving our cat Stella's litter box).

God bless NYC.

My Cat Stella Purrs in the Face of NYC Snowricane Horror

Yes, despite the fact that this is our last night on earth, owing to the spastic flailing devil's storm that is right now barreling toward NYC, my cat Stella couldn't stop herself from just stone cold sittin' on Jimmy's lap and purring her ass off. I got it on this film, which is awesome, because I'd wanted to capture a tiny little fragment of what our last night on Earth was like, and this pretty much sums it up. Here's what you will hear: my loud-ass voice, some Stella purrin', and then a god-awful ruckus that is my reaching into the Dorritos bag to get a few more chips because I was hungry. Sorry bout that last thing, but the rest is golden.



 Anyway, I thought, you know, we live in the big city and everyone will want to see our mad crazy hurricane blowout, so you're welcome, see you in heaven, we'll be the shirtless ones wearing the powdered wigs and Bugle Boy jeans.

Truth-Telling Stickers Dept

Sometimes bumper stickers fall short: "Don't blame me, I voted for XXX," for example. What a smug, irritating message to paste somewhere. Or "Romney/Ryan 2012"--what a smug, irritating message to paste somewhere. But sometimes bumper stickers distill wonderful truths into tiny bite-sized nuggets of pure wisdom. "My Kid Beat Up Your Honor Student," for example.



Well, the above sticker, which some armchair philosopher hobo slapped onto a pole on the Williamsburg Bridge, is in the latter category, I'd say. Because is there any doubt that folks like Elvis, Melanie Griffith in Working Girl, and '80s Joan Collins are indeed at least a little bit closer to Christ than the rest of us? The answer is no, there is no doubt.



And you know what this means, right? Yes. Jo from The Facts of Life is getting into heaven, and you're probably not.



It's also a little sad for all the balding/bald/thinly haired folks out there, because they're at a distinct disadvantage. But buck up: this is precisely why God invented wigs and weaves.

My Camera Phone Will Not Be Denied: Morrissey at Radio City

Can you believe that I'm almost 40 years old and I haven't ever seen Morrissey live? Wait, let me ask that again. Can you believe I'm almost 40 years old? Isn't that crazy? Like completely bonkers? Like you can't even make heads or tails of that fact? Can it be possible? I know, I know, it doesn't make any mathematical sense, but still, you can't really argue with the mathematical sense it truly makes.



Anyway, listen to this magical story: I was just lamenting the other day, after realizing that I'd just missed bumping into Morrissey at the Strand bookstore a few Sundays ago, that I'd never seen that charming man live. How could that be? Then, out of the blue, I get a text from my dear friend Laura asking me if I had any interest in going to see La Mozzer at Radio City on Wednesday. What are the odds? Of course, I was all "Yes, yes, a million times YES!"



I was a little worried that his voice would be weak from all that hard core vegan eating he's been doing (I heard that he's got a pretty bad arugula habit), but he sounded robust and flawless. He began the show by immediately throwing us sycophants a bone with an exquisite rendition of the timeless Smiths slowjam "Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me."







It was nice to see Oscar Wilde make an appearance between songs.







It was less nice to have to sit through the interminable PETA agit-prop snuff film played during my least-favorite Smiths song "Meat is Murder." There's really nothing like watching cows and chickens and other farm animals being slaughtered on the big screen for your viewing pleasure. Nothing like it. Feel good movie of the year. I wasn't surprised that Morrissey went there--he's a strident little thing in his old age--but gah.



Another complaint: too many new songs. I know, I know, he must get tired of being told to shut up and play the hits, but all I wanted from him, really, was "The Boy With the Thorn In His Side," and it's a bummer that he couldn't have swapped out one of these forgetable new tunes to make room. Sure, I probably would have wet my pants if he'd played that, but that's why I wore my Queen is Dead-brand adult diapers.



Still, the man delivered a fine, fine performance, and pretty much everyone in the house was beside themselves with adolescent joy, particularly the fellow in the row in front of us who I'll call "Ducky from Pretty in Pink," who was going all in on the fey hand stabs and the new wave hair tweaking.



You wanna know what hits he played, so as you can be more jealous of me? Okay: "Shoplifters of the World Unite," "Every Day is Like Sunday," "Still Ill," "Speedway," "Spring-Heeled Jim," "Ouiji Board," "I Know It's Over." Could you be more envious? Yes, of course you could, but the fact that you harbor even a tiny amount of psychotic envy makes me not only happy but downright smug.







In conclusion, enjoy this blurry and off-puttingly low quality video of Morrissey getting bum-rushed during "Still Ill."