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What do we blog about when we have nothing interesting to say and we have already posted so many pictures of the cat in the keitai log that we are feeling a bit nauseated ourself?

Why, but we skim our log stats, of course! Digging that endless fodder of cheap entertainment that are search engine referrer keyphrases!

You know what they say about the correlation between the size of a crowd and its collective IQ? Well that should be a good clue as to what to expect from the Web-using community at large.

Let’s have a look, shall we:
[all italicized search strings below taken verbatim from my February server stats]

  • a guide to better living through alcohol. Easy: Pour. Drink. Refill. Go back to step 1.
  • japanese schoolgirl panties: As we already pointed out, you stand better chances over there.
  • padawan definition: isn’t that Klingon for “acneic virgin”?
  • posted by xanax: No. sponsored by Xanax
  • hunting beavers: just bait them with white birch…

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But, my, it is already time for… Recipe Monday!

Ok, don’t look in the archives, the Recipe Monday series is not yet an established tradition, merely the first instalment of a tentative culinary concept. And if experience is any indicator, it probably won’t even make it to the second episode, since I’ll likely have all but forgotten about it by then, or found a new cooler concept to toy with.

But as for today, we have decided, here at Dr Dave Logs Inc., to cave in to the increasing pressure of the domestic housewife portion of our readership, who accounts for a hefty 3% of total search referrers to this log. The remaining 97% equally split between those who came looking for “people who dislike la nouvelle vague” (you got that right fellow: enough with the snubby French bastards already), “18 year old lesbian milfs” (mmmn, somebody doesn’t have the concept of milf completely down or need to get out of Kentucky) and, of course, the perennial “japanese schoolgirl panties” (oops, I did it again… sorry fellow Google users: we ain’t got none here, but I hear they do).

Oh yea, the recipe?

Today, we are making Mango Chutney Curry Chicken Salad, otherwise knows as MC3S in serious cooking circles.

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Found this awesomely dorky time-waster through Cosmic Buddha and here is what it’s got to say about Spam Karma:

This new pizzle is destined ta become tha permanent news repository fo’ all th’n Spam Karma
[…]
Spizzay Karma in tha dogg pound.
[…]
Spam Karma cuz this is how we do it.
[…]
Spizzam Karma . Ya fuck with us, we gots to fuck you up.
[…]
You can leave a response, or trackback fizzy yo own site fo gettin yo pimp on.
[…]
S-P-to-tha-izzam Karma has gizzle nuts . Relax, cus I’m bout to take my respect!
Chosen excerpts from search results

Now I ask all the spammer beeatch out there, you sure you wanna fuck with my homies?

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Because we all need an entry filled with pointless acronyms and meaningless technical gibberish every once in a while…

As you may remember, and despite my recent vow never to trust technology again, I recently purchased a brand new keitai.

For those of you without a geeky masochistic streak who do not intend on reading the whole tedious entry, let me give you a quick sum-up: this in-depth report on the merits and shortcomings of AU’s W21T model is split into three main sections: 1) All the features that makes it so great 2) Why you can’t do crap with all these features and that sucks 3) How I intend to break my way through these silly limitations.

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Now… Since you are reading this, and probably other blogs too, I think we can safely infer that you belong to that category of people who get their secret kick out of hearing how miserable other people’s lives are.

Don’t pull that innocent face: you know who you are.

And I don’t blame you.

I’m with you on that one: sure, fuzzy pictures of playful kittens might bring some warmth to even the most hardened seaman‘s heart… But only the news that some stranger at the other end of the world is having a really shitty day can bring true, lasting, peace of mind. Why do you think I have my PubSub keyword watchlist set to include “I cut because my life sucks” and “suicidal thoughts”: you never know when somebody’s unhappiness is gonna come handy to reinforce your own precarious sense of happiness…

With that knowledge, allow me to humbly feed your shadenfreude with this little story of tragi-comical woes in the land of technology…

We are talking movie material here.

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Picture keitai_w21t.jpg
Sunday, I took my roommate Eriko on a record-shopping spree in Shibuya.

The principal goal of our expedition was not for me to pack up on yet more records that I will probably have to leave behind when I move, but rather to help her get started with her career as a world-renowned DJ.

People coming over and asking you to “teach them how to DJ”, is pretty much par for the course whenever you start playing outside of your bedroom. This is how everybody get started, this is how I got started… You pick a DJ you know or that you particularly like and humbly go asking for advice and guidance.

DJ’ing, in that respect, still holds much of that old “master-apprentice” tradition that you get, both in western and Japanese craftsmanship.

But enough with the Mr. Miyagi bullcrap: Eriko didn’t turn to me because she was blinded by my turntablism wizzardry and had a striking revelation in the middle of a dancefloor. Rather because we live under the same roof and she couldn’t help but become increasingly curious about the pleasure I seemed to draw from playing with all these colorful knobs in my bedroom.

Note: If you didn’t grin stupidly upon reading that last sentence, you are way too pure to be reading this blog and have probably lived a very sheltered life so far.

Anyway, after explaining that she probably didn’t need to get the full Midi keyboard and TB-303 kit just right now, I gave her the usual drill. In a nutshell: “Sure, go for it, but not with my records, please”.

Hence the trip to the store, hence the last two days spent enduring the same continuous soundtrack of mismatched beats from the same two records for hours on end…

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A few very random observations prompted by the music in my life these days:

  • Keith Jarrett is a bloody genius (dug the Köln Concert’s vinyl boxset last week-end in Koenji.)
  • Sometime during the late 90’s, there was a point where it seemed House was about to break into the mainstream: radios started playing House tracks, cross-over successes appeared, major venues featured House acts.
    Eventually, the trend fizzled out and, instead, Hip Hop became the music of choice for the average dance-impaired suburban white kid…

    I take a deep hard look at any random Hip Hop producer on TV nowadays and thank the gods that House never made it to that level of buffoonery…

  • My personal theory regarding Drum’n’Bass is that it is a project gone out-of-hand, developed in the Secret Research Labs of the British Dentistry Association aimed at removing patients’ fillings without anesthesia.

    An alternative theory would be that somebody once decided to make a music so caricatural that it begs to be used for one of these 60 Minutes special on The Youth of Today and the barbaric music they are into nowadays.

    Note: My current appreciation of that thankfully near-extinct musical genre is possibly biased by the fact I was just handed such a massively retarded piece of washing-machine rhythm with mission to make the sound “Phat” and to compress the bass more (you stupid tweakhead: if I throw one more inch of compression into that track, it’ll pretty much become one single pulsating bass sound with a few signature d’n’b, motorcycle-on-the-highway, sound effects here and there).

  • Also among the insanely cool picks of that last vinyl hunt to Koenji: Cymande, probably one of the best funk band of all times.

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A while back, Jeremy, at Antipixel, commented on the deceitfully symmetrical appearance of the human body after stumbling upon the frightening realization that he was a freak of nature whose eyes and ears were both uneven.

His findings on feet sizes are perfectly accurate too: as any shoe store clerk will gladly confirm, it is no secret that practically everyone has got one foot a tad bigger than the other. It took me many years to finally remember how crucial it is that I try both shoes before buying, no matter how great the right side fits. My left foot’s big toe, permanently traumatized by years of dancing in undersized sneakers, is a sore reminder of the dangers of impulsive shopping.

Jeremy is too much of a gentleman to allude to another famous occurrence of body asymmetry. One that only members of the feminine gent usually worry about (although they certainly shouldn’t: I think it’s awfully cute).

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One evening during my stay with Miss Kate in Vancouver last week, the topic of discussion had veered toward my, err, rather memorable twenty-first birthday party…

Yea, that’s the one where I ended up getting married the morning I turned 21, thus topping a week-end that would make any Hunter S. Thompson’s story sound like a Nancy Reagan biopic in comparison…

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Among the many horrific experiments conducted by the nazis on their prisoners during WWII, a whole set of them focused on hypothermia: hapless Russian POW were put into icy water baths until they collapsed, then attempts to reanimate them using more or less scientific means were made.

Unlike most of their other pseudo-scientific experiments, this one actually had some kind of vaguely reachable goal: improve the life expectancy of the average Luftwaffe pilot forced into a sudden scuba-diving trip in the English Channel. Quite a problem at the time, especially among German tourists returning home from a leisure flight over London.

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