Katrina's Wake

The people of Gulf states need help.

I picked up a copy of The Washington Post this morning and held it in shock. I listened to the medical director of a hospital in New Orleans on NPR. He calmly talked about flooded generators leading to the shutdown of peoples' ventilators and the months that will pass before the water left the city.

Water is slowly tearing away the foundation of The Big Easy. Cities like Gulfport Mississippi are gone.

As many people found out after the New Year's Tsunami, there is very little, if nothing, that one can do to directly help the communities affected by disasters like this. Direct aid to charities like The Red Cross are one's most potent weapon.

I've heard numbers in the billions used to describe the dollar amount neccessary for recovery, and those will certainly rise.

To Lousianans and Mississippians - My thoughts, prayers, and condolences. I will watch you rebuild, and I will see you again.

Donations - http://redcross.org
Info on how, what, and what not to donate - http://redcross.org/article/0,1072,0_312_4498,00.html

Haiku As Eulogy

Lover. Slobberer.
Two words can't define a dog.
Wait...I guess they can.

RIP Creation 2002-2005

Haiku for The Good People of New Orleans

God isn't pissed off,
It's just that he missed Flor-da.
Hope you all stay dry.

Trey's Corner

Dear Trey,

Rumor has it that on your soon-to-be-released Columbia Records debut album Shine you'll be featuring a new drummer. Who have you chosen to provide the backbone to your major label debut?

Also, water ewe dune tonight?

-Anonymous

Dear Anonymous,

That's great that you knew my album was coming out! You must have, like, a Google Alert for my name or something...Anyways, yeah - one of the best parts of being me and having my job is that I get to meet my heroes, and sometimes even get to work with them. Kenny is the greatest, I mean - just look at him:


As for what I'm doing this evening: Going to see The Mother-F*ckin' Nice Jenkins rock your dick off at the Grog & Tankard on Wisconsin Ave. in DC at 10:30. Bitches.

Stupid Doctors

A couple of years ago, I went into my doctor's office and told him I was going to need "a bowlful" of Viagra for a party I was throwing that upcoming weekend. Feigning indignation, he used this as license to tell me that Viagra was only for men who were unable to achieve and maintain erections after trying all available options, most importantly dialoguing with their partners, and should only be taken under a physician's supervision.

Well - I exploded. I asked with great politeness and volume if he even had a TV, and if 'yes', had he seen the commercials on said TV that told me about Viagra? What kind of doctor was he if he wouldn't (more like couldn't) prescribe me drugs for illnesses I had the symptoms for? (Actually, I just wanted to have a really great party, and sometimes you gotta lie to a doctor or two) He responded to this by telling me that I was drunk, so I just happened to mention how cold his fingers...sorry, wrong word...pincher-things were to the waiting room on my way to my car.

You can imagine that I wasn't that surprised, then, when I saw that a doctor recently had the gall to tell a woman that she needed to lose weight. This jerk has NO idea what his little comment probably did to this woman's self-esteem. I read the article, and nowhere did I see that he was a licensed therapist, able to deal with people's insecurities and what have you. Sorry, but I've never heard of a "weightologist" or a "doctor of eating", have you?

Didn't think so. I hope Rosie gets that bastard fired.

6:53-7:37PM 8.23.05

It'd binna long day by the time I got up there. Not quite sure what I done, but I'd had plenty of time to think about it. And when I wasn't thinkin' about what I wasn't quite sure I had done, I was thirsty. Not thirsty like a drunk, believe me.

Well - wait. It was the kind of thirsty you can only be when you are drunk and it's three AM and you're stuck-together-dry mouth is tired-a snorin' so it tells your brain to wake up and (f*ck the lights, you don't need 'em) get to the fridge and drink a whole bottle-a water, or orange juice, or whatevers in the fridge. That headache'll kill you, though, which is why I learned from a friend to keep room-temperature water around at all times.

It wasn't hot, but it sure wasn't a cool autumn breeze either. I wasn't sweatin', but I was definitely pickin' up and flappin' the front of my shirt. Never let 'em see you sweat. Way off, the trees were blowin', but I got the feelin' that their tops'd be swayin' regardless, and I was higher up then them, and I didn't feel a damn thing.

Lookin' down at the city some, but mostly out west. Had to keep a hand over the sun sun 'til right before it went down, owin' to there not bein' any clouds-a substance out there. We gotta nice perch, but the powerlines to the barn get in your way, so you gotta walk down and then there's more powerlines, and before you know it, you're right up onna bush and then you gotta stand on the picnic tables, which, believe me, is a dicey venture at best.

But then it's real nice. Just you, and the sun, and the clouds on your left, and the clouds on your right. I had my cellphone out, braggin', naturally, and I started takin ' some pictures. I like this one on the right here a whole lot.

RIP Bob Moog

The King of All Wookies would like to send a post-mortem big ups to the King of All Beeps, Boops, Swishes, Swooshes, Bwaaaaaaaaaahs, and the Like.

On Sunday, Bob Moog died. His stable of synths include (among others) the Rogue, Source, Prodigy, MultiMoog, MicroMoog, and the analog synth that is and will always be the gold standard - The MiniMoog.

He also added a extremely important page in the rock snob dictionary. For the non-playing geek, a mention of Moog instantly brings up Dark Side of the Moon, Kraftwerk, and the fact that it was an ARP and not a Moog that was used to create the intros that bookend the tunes on Who's Next.

For musicians, Moog synthesizers are just about the sexiest things in the world. If you were to ask a working musician which would he rather have: a MiniMoog or a way to eat on a regular basis, the synth would win. Every time.

Musicians will always pronounce his name incorrectly (like the sound a cow makes with a "g" at the end), but it is upon that incorrect pronunciation that his legend will forever rest. People wearing recently purchased tight t-shirts may tell you that his last name was pronounced like "vogue". Hell - those writing his obituaries for "real" "publications" may try to sell you on that, too. The aforementioned have (a) never dreamed of owning a monophonic analog synthesizer created, numbered, and signed on the interior by the master, and (b) no idea how creepy their slightly erotic musings about school buses are.

RIP Dr. Moog.

Trey's Corner

Dear Trey,

Where has WookieMania been?!? I've been trying to brunch for three weeks now, and guess where I've ended up?

Guess.

At a Waffle House, Trey. A f*cking Waffle House. Do you know what it's like asking for a bloody mary and an eggs benedict at WF?

Listen - I'm sorry. I'm not mad. I just want to talk to the wookie. I miss him. I miss the fur. I miss...his fur.

Please help us, Trey - You're our only hope.

-That really, really sexy actress from Rain Man & Hot Shots! (and Hot Shots! Part Deux)

Dear TRRSAfRM&HS!,

Never fear, lassie. The good Dr. is fine, resting quietly at his mountain estate. I know this because I paid him a visit yesterday. Granted, I got there at 4:00PM and he was still in his underwear...but think about it - He did all four of those Star Wars movies in nothing but a bandolier.

Anyways, he has sequestered himself on the mountainside so that he might find peace and clarity for the upcoming months - a most trying time of the year for him, indeed. He gave me a written statement and asked me to post it for him:

"Greetings, friends! I know that it's been awhile since I rapped at 'cha, and I must apologize for my sudden abscence and for not preceeding it with any warning. You see - I am about to enter into a time of deep and profound sorrow for all wookies of my clan; a seemingly endless gloom which is punctuated only by the fierce and bitter sting of reality scratched upon expectations that spring anew each year only to be swallowed, digested, and expelled by fate:

"Soon, the NFL season will start, The Washington Redskins will take the field, and the hope of a new day will be lost.

"Getting ready for this sh*t is no joke, too:

• Air conditioning. Hi-cool.
  
• Yes's Closer to the Edge five times a day
• maintaining a 3% bloodstream concentration of tomato juice, dijon mustard, horseradish (prepared), worchestire sauce, vodka, and a dash of pepper
• no cooking, cleaning, driving, turning on of ovens, riding in cars, and sure as sh*t no rolling

"This may look like fun, but it's a lot of work, so remember, kids: Wookie didn't disappear, he's in training. If your teacher doesn't believe you - screw her. She told me you were a little 'slow' last year at parent-teacher conferences.

"What? You don't believe me? You think any of your friends have the same teacher they had last year? Hmmmmm...think about it. While we're at it and I'm nice and fired up, wanna know why you're shorter than all your friends, too?.........Love, Dr. Chewbakka!"

(Ed. note: The "........." signifies about three more pages of manuscript, but let's leave 'em wanting more, eh, Doctor?)

So - to answer your question: The Wookie is back, and we should all show him how excited we are!

In really soft voices.

Haiku for A Friend How I Have Absolutely No Excuses for Not Seeing More Of

It's been awhile, guy.
Weird how much older we are...
Still - the Eagles suck.

The Staggering Genius of Clinton Portis

If the first day of training camp is any indication, the Washington Redskins will most certainly go undefeated this season.

Listen - I know. You're worried you've stumbled onto the journal of yet another hopeless 'Skins fan; a man whose love of team has created in him such a disconnect from reality that only his disbelief at experts' predictions of yet another double-digit loss season is real.

I am that man. (What? Would you rather stumble upon the journal of a guy who wants to know if you'll help him get something into his van or whether you're a size 6? That's f*cking weird. Who thinks of things like that?)

And it's not just quotes like the following that give me my great faith. It's the fact that quotes like the following came out on the first day of camp:

"(Greatest-NFL-Free-Safety-of-All-Times-To-Be Sean Taylor) shouldn't be worried. They knocked everybody else's trial back, so why would they make him come in September?" Portis said. "They put Michael Jackson's trial back, and he ain't got a concert anytime soon."

F*ckin' genius. We're goin' 16-0. Who wants the odds?

A Haiku for Mondays Spent In Offices

Wookie grows weary.
What surrounds him always has -
Now is time for change.