The Low Spark

Machete-Wielding Man Steals Tacos

Sat, 21 Nov 2009 13:15:06 -0600

Machete-Wielding Man Steals Tacos:

YUS!

Now that I have a back yard, I really want a pellet gun. My...

Sat, 21 Nov 2009 11:38:45 -0600

Now that I have a back yard, I really want a pellet gun. My inner 10 year old approves of the idea.

My Mother

Fri, 20 Nov 2009 21:10:27 -0600

Mom: so, is your stove still broken?
Me: I already told you, they are replacing it next week.
Mom: But how do you make toast?
Me: What? With a toaster. What? I don't even eat toast.
Mom: I still worry about drugs. Are any of your friends on drugs?
Me: Yes.

-Ashley, I wonder if you're some kind of Tumblr celebrity at this point. Yeah?

Finally, somebody understands my needs.

Fri, 20 Nov 2009 21:09:18 -0600

Finally, somebody understands my needs.

"Human Fat Ring" Busted.

Fri, 20 Nov 2009 13:58:56 -0600

"Human Fat Ring" Busted. :

Um, weirdest news of the day? I can’t help but think of Fight Club.

“Boy Finds Own Real Life E.T.” via The Onion. I...

Fri, 20 Nov 2009 11:11:25 -0600

“Boy Finds Own Real Life E.T.” via The Onion.

I really wish I could hang out with the people who write this stuff.

Watermelon radishes. I ate some of these last night on a salad...

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 14:35:40 -0600

Watermelon radishes. I ate some of these last night on a salad with goat cheese, mandarin oranges, greens and a pretty tart vinaigrette. Now I have to go find where to buy some. Delicious.

holy what the tr*ck?!?! (amazing)

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 13:08:53 -0600

holy what the tr*ck?!?! (amazing):

(via obrutal)

Oh man, this is ridiculously awesome. And totally NSFW. If you don’t work in a cool office.

Badazzzzzzzzzz.

Tue, 17 Nov 2009 13:01:12 -0600

Badazzzzzzzzzz.

mricks: Zach Galifianakis + Conan O’Brien =...

Tue, 17 Nov 2009 11:56:24 -0600

mricks:

Zach Galifianakis + Conan O’Brien = Hilarious!

Excellent.

Shitty design changes at Electro Harmonix...

Tue, 17 Nov 2009 00:14:06 -0600

I just went on their site and realized that so much stuff has changed. Why? Y’all already had the coolest looking pedals pretty much in the history of pedals, aside from maybe some weirdo Mu-Tron or Coloursound thing. Ok maybe Foxx, simply because they were furry.

Well shit, sorry you goofed and hired some retardo graphic designer to “update” your pedals. I just scored an original Micro Synth off of eBay, complete with an internal power supply. Dorkage prevails.

I have no earthly idea why I’ve never seen this until now....

Sun, 15 Nov 2009 17:36:52 -0600

I have no earthly idea why I’ve never seen this until now. Perfect.

Why I don't explore Tumblr too much:

Sat, 14 Nov 2009 14:25:56 -0600

Because it seems to be filled with endless pages of really hot girls who are into really cool things, yet always have boyfriends. Plus it’s not really like Facebook where you can email these people and maybe get to know them. And who would want to do that anyway? I hate what social networking’s done to meeting people, specifically dating. It’s like you’re a little kid pressing your face on the Macy’s Christmas window glass, looking at what’s on the other side. You can’t get to it, but you wouldn’t even if you could, cos it would make you feel totally internet stalkerish.

Alright, I’m gonna go put on a fucking suit and go to my friend Dustin’s wedding. Maybe I’ll pick up a single bridesmaid.

mricks: Not sure what you call a post on Tumblr. On Twitter,...

Sat, 14 Nov 2009 14:03:39 -0600

mricks:

Not sure what you call a post on Tumblr. On Twitter, it’s a Tweet. So… on Tumblr, it’s a Tumbl? Oh well. Just made an account on this thing to see what all the hub-bub was about. We’ll see how this goes.

And I figured I’d start this off right… so here you go.

I have no idea what this is from, but it’s super fucked. Welcome to the wonderful world of Tumblr, Mik Rixx…

Snappers. Yummers.

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 20:00:14 -0600

Snappers. Yummers.

Gawker Top Chef Mindfuck Amazingness:

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 18:17:26 -0600

My friend Mary Elizabeth sent this to me, apparently via our mutual friend Patrick Taylor, who possesses a seemingly never ending treasure trove of internet awesomeness. It’s a run down of Top Chef, run through the Gawker filter. Prepare to die. And PS I would really like to get to know Nigella Lawson better. Without further ado:

Awaken and behold the tale of six chefs, two hearts beating as one, a sad strip, a sassafras dream and a love supreme. I’m Joshua David Stein and this is your Top Chefrecap.

The fasten seat belt sign chimed off and Nigella Lawson, though tired from her Stansted to Vegas direct, lept from her seat. Anticipation, Satyricon lust, anxiety, hope warred in the ample playground of her bosom. Her nipple twitched in anticipation like a runner at the starting blocks. “Will Padma recognize me?” she wondered, grabbing madly at her Blackberry, “Will I recognize her?” The two food porn actresses would be meeting for the first time since they shared a night of wild Sapphic passion at the Food and Wine Classic in Aspen last year. There, on a blanket of pine needles, Nigella had found herself in the circle of Padma’s love. And though time and distance had cooled the warmth of that moment, Nigella hoped they could rekindle that spark and that in the hotter climes of Las Vegas, it could flame to contagion.

The whip-p0or-whill mourned the sun as it rose over the Top Chef complex. Inside, six chefs remained, a bunch of culinary Koreshians: Kevin the Redeemer, Eli the Pissant Devil, Jennifer the Dirty Angel, Mike the Mephistopheles, Bryan the CFO of The Afterlife and Robin The Insidious Echo. The chefs rose and entered into the intestines of the Venetian, a hotel that has recreated Italy but without the history, the Vespa fumes, the marble and the art. In a service kitchen, a phone rings. For the Quickfire, they must cook Padma breakfast. She’s above them, in a bathrobe, glowing.

In a bathrobe, glowing, Padma wants breakfast. She has company, glowing and breakfast-wanting too. Things went well when Nigella cleared customs. Padma had had a rough week, nay, a rough year, but had buffed her skin to an Indian summer and had sugared her crotch to depilated perfection. Her landing strip was ready. Her breast too heaved with excitement and anticipation and also, since she had just taken a monster hit from Tom Colicchio’s dragon bong, coughing. A speck of spittle, like a diamond froth, flecked her lips like in a Marilyn Minter photograph. As soon as Nigella and Padma beheld each other they held each other, one folding into the other like dough to dough. Later, they made love, watched The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3 (“This is the most unrealistic movie I’ve ever seen,” said Padma, “and not in a good way either.”) and then went back to their twin beds and slept in their bathrobes. They were hungry for eggs.

Eli, fat baby, who doesn’t eat breakfast because he’s usually up so late at night playing Scrabble with his Mom at the home he shares with his parents, won. His recipe, a morning play on a Reuben sandwich, will be featured in a Top Chef cookbook. “Cool,” he said, over and over. “That’s cool, Eli,” said Kevin and it was clear he did not think either Eli or his recipe were cool. “Cool,’ said Eli, in response.

Doing a grave disservice to Las Vegas casinos, the contestants were then sent to be “inspired” by Las Vegas casinos. Eli attends the saddest Circus in the world, Circus Circus. A concession stand sold achos. Fake fare unfair games, manned by real carnies, preyed like leopards on the fat, the slow, the sick, the fannypacked hasbeen and neverwere calves suckling from the teat of capitalism and getting only thin sour milk. Eli correctly noted, “There’s no circus at Circus Circus,” and headed to a nearby brothel in Ely, NV, to pay $200 for a halfie. Robin went to the Bellagio and got her mind blown by the color there. “I’m an artist,” she unhelpfully and incorrectly explains. Mike went to New York New York, home of fake September 11th and began to build a tenuous connection between firefighters and chicken wings. Bryan soberly assessed a shark tank somewhere. Jennifer gots to get completely hammered watching a wizard and wandered aimlessly across a never-ending pattern of carpet vines. Kevin fondled a dolphin. [Kevin: See The Cove and fondle dolphins no more.]

After their breakfasts, Padma felt gassy and Nigella felt jetlagged. Worse, the night of passion had left smoldering ashes. Worse still, it was by the light of their watch fire in the night, that each saw looming over the other the cast of characters and the accumulated responsibility that throttled their love. Padma worried that Nigella couldn’t be the mother she wanted for her child. Nigella worried they could not make up for distance and the distance between their years. They knew their love was a fragile Chihuly flower, a suspended iridescent air bubble racing to the water’s surface where it would burst to oblivion. Whether she saw its disappearance as freedom or as death was a secret neither Nigella nor Padma wanted the other to know.

Things were tense at the judge’s table. Toby Young, like a child acting out during his parents’ divorce, tried to break the ice by making some horrendous jokes. No one paid attention. NIgella tried to concentrate but it was all she could do to not break into tears. Her love was intact and at the same time irretrievable, like a memory beyond the grasp of recall or an insect in amber. For her part Padma, caught in a crossfire of emotion, sank into a slo-mo catatonia. The chefs stood in front of her close but far like in a tilt-shift photo, their words mere sounds and their food dead to a tongue once so passionately entangled. Toby Young, a tattler twat, prattled on, prawn-faced and shrimp-souled, a sad malignant skin tag on television, a twit melanoma given a platform, made even more profane by the love and beauty so close to him passing unheeded and uncaught like waves of a deeper frequency to which he will never be attuned.

It was either Sadcircusfatboy Eli, who tried to make soup from white chocolate and cashew nuts, or Cancertalkbot Robin, who made Nerf Panna Cotta, that would be going home. That much was clear. I had hoped it would be both. It was only Robin, who cried and didn’t once bring up cancer. [She had cancer.] Her passing was less gleeful than I had hoped. It was more of an execution than a crime of passion. I won’t miss her; no one will. She was no good. But neither is Eli and I am sure his parents miss him. Eli, you should go home. Your mother misses you.

The human soul is a stupid thing. Nigella and Padma held hands on the way to the airport. They weren’t trying to recapture something they never had had anyway but merely grasp what was left. Hope trumps memory and the heart wisdom. Winsome and weeping, the two women, cocooned in the back seat of a Suburban packed with their baggage, cut through the Vegas traffic. They were deaf to the horns, deaf to reason, deaf to anything but each other. They were in an air bubble hurtling to the surface. Padma sighed and nestled into the nape of Nigella’s neck. “We’ll always have Vegas,” she whispered. Nigella just laughed, looked out at the Strip where the neon lights, shining in the hot sun, futily glowed and awaited the night.

Thank you to Bruce and Mikey Byhoff and hero intern Yoni Lotan for the video.

I saw the Jesus Lizard this weekend...

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 13:25:08 -0600

…and they were fucking amazing of course. David Yow’s such a madman, and I was just geeking out about Duane Denison’s guitar sound and decided to peruse the webbernet for some info. I found this comment on a bulletin board (re: Yow):

“I went to a show where they opened up for Helmet, and David squeezed a whole roll of chocolate cookie dough out of his fly. It had been in there the whole time. That musta felt funny…”

Um, awesome.

No home is complete without a framed poster of brontosauri...

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 15:06:05 -0600

No home is complete without a framed poster of brontosauri doin’ it.

I just read on wikipedia that David Fincher is set up to do a film adaptation of Charles...

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 23:17:32 -0600

I just read on wikipedia that David Fincher is set up to do a film adaptation of Charles Burns’ “Black Hole.” Holy shit would be the appropriate response.

Home Depot is a great place.

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 18:26:25 -0600

Home Depot is a great place.