NEW YORK - WEEKEND WATCHIN LIVE IN PERSON TONIGHT

Events combining art and gender issues make uszzzzzzzzzz...wait, huh, what? Sorry, fell asleep there for a second. But seriously, don't even put those two words in the same sentence unless you're trying to make us snore or unless you're Monkeytown tonight, where there's a scrumptious buffet of video and performance by a zillion smart queers. Preview some of it by clicking below.

WEEKEND WATCHIN - DA BEST HOCKEY TEAM IN DA WORLD

If you spent your childhood in Canada then chances are the NFB is at least partly responsibly for that sweet little Canadian soul of yours. Well, you'll be pleased to hear that they've finally gone ahead and done the right thing by making a bunch of their best films available online. Now you can get back in touch with that sweater movie. Man, why did we have to watch that four times a year? I mean, it's reaaaally good and everything but was it like the only movie in the world back then? That and the one about the peanut butter and the one about the snowball fight and the dog that dies? Anyway, you can watch The Sweater, or Arthur Lipsett's film Very Nice, Very Nice, or you can watch a full-version of Murray Siple's amazing documentary Carts of Darkness, which came out last year and profiles a bunch of homeless dudes that hurl themselves down Vancouver's winding streets in shopping carts at SEVENTY MILES AN HOUR! To each their own, to each their own.

THE INTERNET - NEUROTIC, NEUROTIC, PUT YOUR HANDS ALL OVER MY...

Someone we know has an ex-girlfriend who, while in bed, would constantly pick at an afghan she had since childhood. She called it “fluffing” for some inexplicable reason and would roll the individual lint fibers into small balls, which she would then continue to pick at in an infinite loop of re/deconstruction. The fluffer claimed the activity soothed her nerves and would haphazardly store the lint spheres around her apartment so one would never be at more than arm’s length at times of stress (re: all the time). The technical medical term for this is trichotillomania by proxy. We like to call it being really fucking high-strung. If you suffer from a similar neurosis get it off your chest with the rest of the nuts over at iamneurotic.com. It might not stop you from scratching your neck until it looks like you've got Morgellons syndrome, but at least you’ll feel a bit better knowing some people have weirder mild mental disorders than you.

JEFF JOHNSON PICKS YOUR BETS - A SUPER BOWL PREDICTION UPDATE (SECRET WORD: RADIO)

I was hoping to have the script below recorded this week, but alas, time got away from me. And so did access to a decent studio. It may happen later today, in which case pretend you haven’t read this post (not that you are going to, anyway—nothing is 100% guaranteed in life, I know, gadzooks, I am lucky just to have…oh, never mind) and in fact, don’t even read this post, simply click out of it, and look in the newer posts for the magic. It will say SUPER BOWL and RADIO somewhere in the headline. Even if those words are not the headline, keep on reading.
(Update: I got it done. Click below to listen...)

NEW YORK - ONE MAN'S TRASH BAG IS ANOTHER MAN'S TRASH BAG MAN

Speaking of wearing black trash bags and crying, our friend Kelly's got a little story to share...
Heading down the stairs to the train I’m pretty well aware I’m descending into a netherworld of filth and well, whatever. I’m able to ignore the splats of vomit, the piss, and the mice and rats, but one night gleefully traipsing down the stairs with some friends, none of us weighed by a care in the world, I heard a gasp and then a scream. What we’d peripherally thought to be a lump of black trash bags in the corner had stood to a full six feet in height and was standing, arms outstretched, like a scarecrow of urban filth.

KANSAS CITY - NIGHTCLUBBING

SSION just did a cover of Iggy Pop’s “Nightclubbing" and we shot the video for it at the last Whoop Dee Doo. We made all the kids wear black trash bags and pretend to cry, which they got really into. It was right before the show got shut down becasue the entire set was made of cardboard and was supposedly a fire hazard. Whatever. Also we were pumping lots of fog, which poured out into the street and got a bunch of people convinced the place was actually on fire. Suckers!
CODY CRITCHELOE

NEW YORK - EAR-SPLITTING SQUEALS BE GONE (FOR A SECOND)

Dear those of you who're sick of us squealing your ears out with what we've been posting lately: right now we're going to let electronic music of the iron maiden we keep in the basement. In this current issue we yanked Electric Independence out of yearlong hibernation, and now our pal Jackmaster, who runs the excellent Dress 2 Sweat and Wireblock labels up in Glasgow, has put together a good get-out-the-door-on-time mix just for us.

NEW YORK - NOTE TO CREW: YOU'RE ALL A BUNCH OF INGRATES

It must be really rough busting your ass making millions of dollars as a rock star, only to have your minions constantly undermine and stab you in the back talking to tabloids about your various "alleged" addictions and affairs. We're not telling you which severely pissed-off famous MTV legend wrote this note we found, but we can tell you it is hilarious and real. Barely coherent ranting ensues in one more click.

NEW YORK - I SURVIVED GITMO AND ALL I GOT WAS A $5 FOOT-LONG COLD CUT COMBO

Barack Obama is president now and unless you've been living sans internet connection, ears, eyes, and human DNA for the last week you know that one of the first orders of business—much to the chagrin of rightward leaning fear mongers—was the announcement to shut down the Guantanamo Bay military prison, as well as other CIA black ops-cum-torture operations around the globe. This brings up an interesting story because obesity, fast food crash diets, bad sandwiches, and the Bush administration's indefinite suspension of habeas corpus in the name of national security are really what we're all about these days. That’s not a wild generalization I’m making about America; it is truth. Read on and find out how I know this.

MELBOURNE - SCORCHER

When a sign at the local supermarket says it’s too hot to put cheese in the refrigerated display unit (you have to ask for it over the counter like you’re buying nangs) you know things are getting bad. If you live in Melbourne or Adelaide, we don’t need to tell you that you haven’t slept for days and are about to kill everyone you live with.

But, if you’re going to crack, why not crack in the name of science? We conducted the following experiment yesterday when the temperature had reached its maximum of 43 degrees (10fucking9 degrees F). As you can see, it may not have been worth it.