Jackson West’s Obsessive Compulsion

Inspired by Art is the New Religion.

So I mentioned that I’m liking Manu Ginobili less and less (I’m rooting for the Stons, who I caught at a club in Oakland a while back). Anyway, Bayete and I started debating the US loss to Argentina, the differences in international rules, and why Europeans have no D. I brought up the cats at Rucker, who don’t play much D, and Bayete wisely pointed out “They don’t let those motherfuckers play in the NBA.” But what followed was genius…

“They should send the And 1 team to the Olympics!”

You heard the man, USOC. Make that shit happen.

With the LA Times starting their new ‘Wikitorials,’ and thinking about the comment policy on SFist (we’ve been kinda strict, though we haven’t deleted anything in a long time, but I’d rather have fewer comments of high quality than lots of inane ones), I was thinking…

Could Robert’s Rules of Order is a process with relatively simple algorithms and even checksums built in. I always found in them something that resonated deeply in my classicist, anglo-saxon soul, and thought that they were less of a restriction to Democracy than a lubricant.

So my thought is that, after I saw Anil flamed on a Wikitorial, is how that system has a logically similar approaching, putting the change to a vote which is decided when quorum is reached. So simply elegant. And democratic. Naturally, only those who care to speak or vote on the issue, but this actually brings the involved parties with appropriate context together.

I know I’m late to the game, but I’ve fallen in love with Wikis. If there was some way I could adjust them to conform to Robert’s Rules, I’d love to try it for a larf.

I’m the kind of person who signs up to every frickin’ email list imaginable, but is to lazy to ever unsubscribe from stuff and usually read the actual subscription emails.

But Rob Kunkle just alerted me to the fact that you can sign up for email notifications of recent earthquakes, and I replied, “But do they have an RSS feed…”

Which got me thinking. What would it take to create a service whereby I forwarded subscription lists via a regular mail filter to an email address, where they were then formatted into RSS and available at a regular URL that I could subscribe to in bloglines? That way I could scan all my subscriptions at once via Bloglines (which is what I’m currently using as my aggregator) without it cluttering my personal email space or being ignored as spam. Anyone? Anyone?

• Rita’s excited about City Voices with Aaron Peskin.
• Alex fighting with the Tivo. I have a feeling that Rikka is an untapped resource for political gossip.
• H. Brown wants to know how we’ll fight Comcast if no one shows up.
• “Cutting Edge Bloggers” — high fives with H. Brown!
• Lead quotes draw guffaws.
• Total Charlie Rose intro. Glad we’re not the only one ripping off a format.
• Why do you always look and sound weird to yourself on TV?
• Print sucks! They have a shitty business model! Take that, Hearst!
• Screw you Google! Give us some of your money!
• Arthur Bruzzone doesn’t get out much.
• My view of the city is that I’m poor. And that the staff is awesome.
• Maybe I could get some publicity by smashing someone in the face with a phone. They might mistake me for Russell!
• You’re all good writers! I promise!
• “Melange.” Everyone drinks.
• “Doodoo.” Everyone drinks.
• Bruzzone calls us “polised and professional journalists.” Who knew?
• I yet again rehash Anil Dash’s “100 Blogospheres.” Everyone drinks.
• Alex and H. think I was drunk. I swear! I was completely sober!
• “Bang out Shakespeare.” Drink!
• Arthur isn’t getting it. He’s wandering
• Watch the pan! Watch the pan!
• I’m a total ass-fucker for mentioning Denton’s Cox.
• Um, no really, Roll Call is awesome! Sorry DCist!
• H. looks over his shoulder. “Is he talking about me?”
• “Some people don’t know what is…” Really, Arthur?
• Arthur Bruzzone thinks ‘the progressives have taken over,’ but for some reason, we heard ‘regressives.’ Huh.
• “You can’t live here if your poor, Arthur.” Amen, H.
• “We’re going to become Disneyland. We’re a terrarium already.”
• Some guy from PG&E called us a modern Venice? I’d be surprised if that dude still has a job.
• “Once you lose the ability to override the mayor, you can’t do anything.”
• Boooooooo Bevan Dufty. “I love the guys, but hey, we’re losers.”
• What would Matt Gonzalez San Francisco look like? Shaggy long hair and Doc Martens for everybody!
• “I spend about 90% of my time reading.” Clemens, “H., you pronounced drinking wrong.” “I pronounced drinking wrong?” Alex Tivos, “I spend about 90% of my time reading.”
• “I wake up when I want, I watch what I want, I read what I want, and I have no editor.” You’re our hero!
• Jackson: “We need more retired bloggers.” Rita: “Kevin Shelley has nothing to do.”
• Obligatory Hunter Thompson reference. Way to go, H.!
• “The system is setup now to feed property and developers.”
• Art, is this an interview with H. Brown or a speech?
• “I realized Willie was chasing my kind of people out of town. That’s what made me a progressive.”
• “His move on gay marriage, which was on the Green Party platform…On that level, let’s nominate Gavin for the Nobel Peace Prize.”
• “I got a room via Care not Cash, but it took three other people kicked of the rolls to do that.”
• Arthur nails it. “Style over substance.”
• Hey, he didn’t hope that I would come back!

To feel like a real player on the SF scene. Why? Because, frankly, motherfuckers are decent human beings, and for some idiotic reason have respect for what I, and SFist, do.

DISCLAIMER: I’ve been watching Dave Chappelle’s 2nd season DVD, so I’m a little inspired. Thanks to my homegirl Eve and the cool peeps at Larsen Associates, I managed to go see a screener of Paul Provenza and Penn Jillette’s The Aristocrats. I can’t really talk about the movie, as I’m on embargo, but I can participate in their little website-thingie. And, of course, I run it by my loyal readers who aren’t my mother first (really, mom, and dad for that matter, DO NOT READ). This is a comedy drill — like, you know, fielding 100 grounders or running lines on the basketball court. But I hope to develop ‘the funny’ someday, instead of a jump shot (though that would be nice). More likely, I’m too fat and slow and can’t jump high enough for ‘the funny,’ either.

INT. OFFICE — DAY

An otherwise unremarkable man enters an agent’s office. Let’s say it’s the offices of ‘The Firm.’ Very posh. The agent manages the perfectly affected smile/grimmace.

MAN

Hey, how ya doin’.

AGENT

Fine, thanks. Let’s cut to the chase. What’s the act?

MAN

…well…let me explain…

AGENT

Quickly.

MAN

Well, it’s a family act.

AGENT

Good. Continue.

MAN

Yeah. It’s me, my beautiful wife and my two daughters. Oh, and the dog.

AGENT

Sure.

MAN

Well, first, my wife and I enter from opposite sides of the stage. After introducing ourselves as a magic act, we ask for a volunteer from the audience. Someone average and folksy. Of course, it’s usually a plant that our director Karl arranged.

AGENT

Sure.

MAN

So we string the volunteer up to a St. Stephen’s cross — you know, it’s spiritual. With the shackles and all. That’s when I take off my cumberbund and wrap it around the eyes of the volunteer, see. So he don’t see whats comin’!

AGENT

Sure.

MAN

I perform a disappearing trick. On my wife’s clothes…

AGENT

Ha!

MAN

…and that’s when my two beautiful daughters walk out. Naked. Three naked chicks on stage. A family show, see?

AGENT

Uh…

MAN

Well, the guy, he can’t see what’s coming. Girl, guy, it doesn’t matter. If it’s a guy, I say, “I’m going to perform another trick. I’m going to make an erection appear.” And I say it real close to the guy on the cross, so he thinks I’m standing right there. And that’s when my wife starts workin’ on him. And my daughters — they start kissing…

AGENT

A family show?

MAN

So see, the dude thinks I’m some homofag feelin’ him up. So while my wife is giving him a handjob, and my naked daughters are necking, that’s when I rip the cumberbund from his eyes. And start peeing on him.

AGENT

Um.

MAN

So here he is, with a big stiffy, and my dick out with warm piss running down his leg. If it’s a chick, well then, my woman squats. See, it’s a family show. So the volunteer — they’re horny, they’re angry…

AGENT

Sure.

MAN

…and chained up like that, well, my woman takes the whip out and “SNAP!”

AGENT

…

MAN

And once that blood starts dripping, well, we get hot. I mean, my young daughters are making out, my wife is flashin’ a bullwhip, and I’ve got some average American chained to a cross. So we start fucking. The three of us. But we need more dicks, and we always need more pussy, so that’s when my mom and dad enter stage left.

AGENT

[dials phone]

MAN

Now we’ve got production value. My folks, they get in harnesses. Raise ‘em up off the stage. And the chump on the cross, see, tilts back, automagically. And then the two geezers start rocking the swings until they’re swingin’ up over top of ‘em. Once they’re swinging over the guy’s mouth — heh — they start takin’ liquid dumps, aiming for the mouth.

AGENT

[hangs up]

MAN

So there we are, the four of us, fucking, dicks in cunts, mouths, mouths on cunts, assholes, just a slippery, wet mess. And my parents are just flying through the sky, shittin’ and pissin’ on that guy like there’s no tomorrow.

AGENT

Sure.

MAN

And, with mom and dad swinging overhead, and the volunteer with a mouth full of shit, we turn him over again, rub his ass down with pork, and let the terrier give him a rimjob. Then, as the curtain falls, Laura, Jenna, Barbara and I take a bow while the lights dance on the audience and “My Sharona” plays. Barney’s even been trained to stop licking and come stage front when he hears The Knack!

[PAUSE]

AGENT

What the fuck do you call this shit?

MAN

[Jazzhands] The Aristocrats!