Archive for the ‘Genius’ Category

Something to Add

It turns out I do have something to add: MORE MUPPETS1!11!!!!

And more… (more…)

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Mah na mah na

It is not often that I have nothing to add. But today is one of those days.

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Tweet repeat

I just have to say that my tweet from the Library of Congress on Monday was brilliant. I will now post it in blog form for your edification and enjoyment.

Just saw the Guttenberg bible at LOC. Michael Winslow bible nowhere to be found.

You’re welcome.

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Little Dorrit (aka LD, which brings to mind Leon Black from Curb, hence the post title) blogging, very early edition.

‘In our course through life, we shall meet the people who are coming to meet us, from many strange places and by many strange roads,’ was the composed reply; ‘and what it is set to us to do to them, and what it is set to them to do to us, will all be done.’

Breathe that shit in for a second.

I really don’t have much to add except to say that 1000 Dan Browns with 1000 typewriters, typing for 1000 years could never create anything nearly as brilliant, let alone within the first 40 pages of an 862 page novel.

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Columbia Heights institution Wonderland Ballroom is closed today for repairs after me, D-press, and Izza-HC tore the mother lovin’ roof off that place at last night’s Live Band Karaoke extravaganza, courtesy of the HariKaraoke Band and quite a few $5 Pabst and Jim Beam specials. Side note: get your shit together, DC. The Special is a $3 deal in Philly, $4 max. Don’t be bringing that $5 shit, or next time I will not just tear the roof off, I will bring the entire house down.

Artist’s rendering of last night’s jam out:


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Fo shizza my Quizza

Today is Thursday and I am in Philadelphia, which means that it is time for Quizzo at the Ugly American, hosted by Johnny Goodtimes. And serendipity of serendipities, tonight’s topic is Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll. Considering I just finished reading about Keith Moon’s various debaucheries in Full Moon: The Amazing Rock & Roll Life of Keith Moon late of The Who, late of The Earth (Sadly Out of Print) and that yesterday’s blogging focused on the new Simpsons porno, I’m predicting an incredibly strong showing. Insert Topical Team Name Here, unite!

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Tapping the Hazen vault has so far paid tremendous dividends for the blog, and this new feature will pick up where previous efforts left off. I present, several days in the life of my 1st grade self. Editorial comments will appear in italics.

My Journal


Seotember 14, 1987

On the weekend I

Went swiming


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A Poem?

Last evening on the blog, we blew open the sealed archives to bring you early blogging output from my first grade trip to California. This morning, our look inside King Tut’s tomb continues with an ode to springtime. Carbon dating suggests that this was written in the Spring of 1988. I was in 1st grade. Formatting has been kept intact, where possible.

My name is Paul Hazen.

Spring Is Here

Lot’s of animals wake up from

their winter sleep. Robins and cardinals

come back from the south. People

start wearing short sleeves and

shorts. The weather is much warmer.

Cherry blossom trees are in bloom.

It rains a lot. The trees grow

new leaves. You can find pine cones.

Move over Walt Whitman. There’s a new sheriff in town.

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Twain revisited

I read lots of political blogs and Ta-Nehisi Coates at The Atlantic is one of my consistent favorites. The other day I linked to a discussion going on at his blog about the revised Huckleberry Finn. Yesterday, the discussion continued:

I’m obviously not Mark Twain, but having written a book, I can only imagine how hard Twain worked. I would be incensed if someone went through my book and took out all the “niggers” or “bitches” or “motherfuckers.” It’s really just a hair short of some stranger, in their preening ignorance, putting their hands on your kid.

To me that’s the worst part; surely we are, as Jamelle says, peddling whitewashed ignorance, but much worse we’re actually peddling it at Twain’s expense. I think the worse part of censoring Twain, is that it’s a shocking act of disrespect toward the writer, executed by people who claim to hold up his legacy.


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I am working at Frank Zappa levels of genius. Not 10 minutes ago, I was resigned to eating re-heated french fries and yuca, perhaps with ketchup. Fittingly on this 12th day of Christmas, I had an epiphany: leftover taco meat and cheese, melted on top of the fried starch heap. I’m gonna be a dental floss tycoon.

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