A Traditional Blog Post, WMC 2007

I guess a lot of traditional blogs are about the latest developments of their cat, or people's daily journal of what happens in Spokane, or what people did on their vacation. So for probably the 1st and last time, I also will document my recent vacation here, but only for documentation purposes because I would like to remember it, as it was something of a blur.

WMC 2007







WEDNESDAY
11:30pm LA time: Depart LAX

THURSDAY
7am Arrive at Miami Airport

8am Arrive at Shelbourne Hotel, they tell us we can't check in until 3pm. We've had a cumulative total of 2.5 hours of fitful neck crinking coach sleep.

8:30am set up camp in lobby, watch addled up all nighters rolling through, watch EC features of Inconvenient Truth on laptop, fall asleep on couch.

9:30am Woken by hotel staff, "sir you'll have to sit up, we can't have you sleeping in the lobby." Have Breakfast.

10am Check to see if rooms are available, score. Try to sleep with eye shades. Get some nice meditative shut eye, but no real sleep. Keep getting pumped up thinking about Sander, boat parties, and events of years past.

12:30pm Nicole: "I can't sleep." Chris: "Let's got to a party then." Take shower, get ready to rock.




1:30pm We walk down to see some good breaks at the Catalina Hotel. Have some Mojitos.

2:30pm Walk down to the Chelsea to see some great SF house DJs. Have a few beers and shot of patron. Kent joins up with us.

4:30pm Return to our hotel because some English bloke we met in the Shelbourne lobby while waiting to check in told us that he's promoting a party in the lounge later with Desyn Masiello. Run to liquor store for a few 6 packs, have a few beers in room and a puff while watching the Shelbourne pool party (not Desyn) out the window.



5:30pm On way to elevator, we spot a rocking party on the rooftop of the building across the street. Kent: "Wait, see that bald black guy, that looks like Freddy."



Chris: "Dude, it does! I'll call him." Bald black guy on adjacent rooftop lifts phone to his ear. Laughing ensues. He tells us to come there instead. The party is at capacity but he promises he can get us in. While waiting, Klyce arrives. The party was off the hook. Free food and drinks. Music by Masterkraft and Justice. We got just a little drunk.




Scion Party at Raleigh part 1

Scion Party at Raleigh part 2

Scion Party at Raleigh part 3

Scion Party at Raleigh part 4


8:30pm We return to the room for break, then Nicole, Matt, Kent, one of Kent's friends, and I, all have dinner at Jerry's Deli. I'm tired and drunk, bu the food is a much needed recharge.










9:30pm Jared has invited us to a party at a mansion up in Miami Beach somewhere. The mansion is amazing, but the party is winding down. Pretty good music if not a bit hard. Free drinks are a nice perk. Make a stop in the bathroom to find it is walls and ceiling, covered with mirrors. Its actually disorienting to step into. Some guy in kitchen is snapping pics of a porn star lifting up her dress for another to lick her kitty. Two other guys standing there chatting are not really paying attention.






10:30pm Cab back to Delano to meet Clint and Aldo. More drinks, good times. Aldo is a fucking maniac.

12am Jared has gotten us comps into OM at the Y Ultra Lounge downtown. Feeling very exhausted but also a bit obligated by the comps, so we cab it to downtown. Ultralounge is exactly that. The most amazing club I've ever seen in my life. They must have spent 20 million on this place. Its huge and decorated super classy and high tech. Its a maze. Room after room with yet another DJ, and oh look out here's a huge patio where DJ Heather just came on. Some of the best house music I've heard in a long time. Heather fucking killed it. At 3am, we decided that we have a big day tomorrow and its time to turn in. Get to bed at about 4.


FRIDAY

11:30am Feeling pretty well rested, we wake up and start getting ready for the day. Since I take 15 minutes and Nicole take an hour+, I tell her to keep going while I run out and take care of some things. Last weekend in Mammoth I seemed to have lost my bank card and drivers license, leaving me with only a passport for ID, and no way to get money other than credit cards. So I go to the bank, withdraw $500 cash, call Klyce because we both need to meet up with a friend to have some biscuits for later.


12:30pm Klyce and I take care of that business, but I need a new pair of sunglasses because the nose rest pad thing broke off my old ones. Stop at Walgreens to pick up a new pair of shades.

1pm Meet up with Nicole at hotel, go grab a slice of pizza to fuel our bodies before we have to be at the Scion Boat Party with Masters at Work and DJ Jazzy Jeff at 2.

something we saw along the way

2:15pm Arrive at the docks 45 minutes early, because we have no tickets and we're trying to crash. Talk to the Scion guys up front and they say we have a pretty good chance of getting on. Jared, Kat, Kat's brother and his girlfriend all arrive. We're 7 deep.

2:30pm The line starts moving, there are about 40-50 people ahead of us, they start playing some dope hiphop on the boat, I've got a good feeling.



Miami Harbor Hopeful

2:40pm The attendants, door men, whatever you call them, have a problem. The dock master, "is a dickhead," they say, and wants everyone off the dock. Meaning the 300 people all lined up and waiting orderly on the dock, now have to be lined up and waiting orderly back up on the concrete before the dock, and they will admit people at the entrance of the dock. "You won't lose your place in line, just everybody back up, keeping the same order," they tell us. What happened next was the most poorly managed thing I've ever seen. Rather than having everyone do an about face and march off the dock, they start telling everyone at the very front of the line to back up. Rather than pulling the rope from the back, they tried to push the rope from the front. And what happens when you do that? It bunches up into a tangled mess.

2:50pm The result was 300 people in a huddled angry mob all crowding and pushing to be near the gate to the dock. The doormen are frustrated and yelling and screaming at people, "you fat guy! Back the fuck up! You! Guy with the big nose, back up!" Everyone was so pissed. "Well, I guess I'm not buying a Scion!" and, "FUCK SCION!" are heard. Some guy smooshed next to me said he'd been waiting since 11:30, 3 hours, had now lost his place and gave up and went home.

4pm We give up and go home. Well actually after trying to find a way to sneak onto the dock from a back route, which would have entailed jumping over a 6 foot gap from a higher dock to a dock 4 feet lower, we gave up. The girls never would have been able to make the jump, but I could have gotten on if it was just me. Luckily there was a harbour club restaurant and bar right there, so we decided to go cool our tempers with some margaritas and appetizers.

5:30pm After a maragrita, a corona, and a shot of patron, the word is that the Radio One party at Surfcomber is going off, so we hop in a cab to go check it out.

5:45pm Barak was right, its going off. We arrive, Jared gets us wristbands, and we enter to about 1500 people rocking out at this pool party. Pete Tong is spinning, doing a live Essential Mix. Its so funny to actually see him speak the words, "Coming to you live from Miami for Radio One's Essential Mix, up next we've got the Chicago House legend, everybody give it up for Mr. Frankie.... KNUCKLEEEEEES!!" Frankies thrown down some high BPM house, we go up to the VIP area and Jared gets a bottle. We stay through DJ Dan's amazing set, and watch the 1st couple tracks of James Zabiela as the sky turns dark. We decide its time for a nap before we go to Space for Sander Kleinenberg.









8:45pm Nap time. The Shelbourne pool is at capacity for Paul Oakenfold, the earplugs reduce the noise by about 5%. Somehow we fall asleep.

11:45pm Cellphone alarm. Get ready for a long night of the best set I'll probably hear all year. I've missed this the past 3 years in a row and everyone says its just the best ever. I'm further pained by these raving because Sander is pretty much my favorite DJ. I have a text message from Klyce, who didn't buy a presale, who says he went down to Space at 10:30 to wait in line and they turned him away saying no general admission until 5am. He's downstairs at the Salted party with Miguel Migs. "Oh well," I tell him, "there's worse places to be, meet some chicks, get wasted, see you tomorrow morning."

1am Jump in a cab to Space. Walk right in. Head up to the Terrace where Rene Amesz, Sander's protege and the man he calls, "the best producer on the planet right now" is playing a wicked set. Many of the tracks are his own. He's just like Sander, baby faced little dutch guy who keeps a huge smile on his face the whole time and dances around in the booth whether anyone is looking or not.

4am Sander comes on. Memory fuzzy from about 3 to 6am. I just know that its 95% as good as I expected. Which is amazing, because when something has been hyped up to you for 3 years as the greatest most unbelievably earth shatteringly sick thing you'll ever experience in your life, usually the reality of it is a bit of a let down. I wasn't let down. We made a lot of dance floor friends, including this hilarious clown named Mitch. I can't remember what he was doing, but he was hilarious. His friends we're saying, "oh you've never met him before? I apologize in advance then."

I love when they do the nitrogen

I remember this track

we left before this, damn!

That disco track

SATURDAY

10am As amazing as Sander was, were getting weary and sober and decide to call it a night, er, day. Actually we decide to go to the beach and relax. We cab it home, grab the ipod, doobie, 12 pack, and head to the Century Hotel to reunite with Jared and Kat.

12am We arrive at the beach. Klyce meets us there. He did exactly as I instructed, met chicks, got wasted, went back to room with them for after party at 6am. We rent some chezs and an umbrella for something outrageous like $150. Continue to sip beers, puff, relax and come down from the rush of the night before. Usually I feel like a disgusting piece of shit zombie after staying up until the next afternoon, but I feel remarkably good. Klyce finds some perfectly intact fish carcass washed up on the beach, so it joins us to hang out for a while. At some point here I put my cellphone in the pocket of my board shorts. No further explantion needed.








Puffer Fish
2:30pm We decide to go home and rest, but need to get some food 1st. We're looking for a cab. "Oh look, there's one letting someone out." Lo and behold, its Kent, just getting back from Sander at 2:30pm. "Holy shit, yo are a rock star dude." We find a place we can sit down outside and order a bottle of chianti. I have an awesome refreshing salad.

4pm We make it back to the room for some much needed sleep. Of course, there a pool party going downstairs again. There's pretty much always a pool party going on downstair. Earplugs are of little use, but the little is better than nothing.

8pm Rise and shine, we have to go see Kent spin at the GIANT hotel. Im really groggy.

9pm Kent and Jockton tag team on a nice set of house, progressive and breaks. The only way to keep going at this point is to drink. I have a Corona but quickly shift gears to vodkas with a splash of redbull.




Kent & Jockton

Kent



10:30pm We're hungry again so Nicole, Matt, and I head to the 11th Street Diner, a place in years past where Jared knew the owner and we got free food. Jared and Kat and Christian and Cindy all join us, Klyce tells of some funny stories and decides he wants to pick up the tab for all of us. Thanks Matty!

12am Lee Burridge is doing his 8 hour set at BED tonight, we we cab over there to see if we can get in. We can't, so we decided to go listen to some great SF house at the Jay J and Friends party down the street.

12:30am I don't know the name of this club but it was really cool. Small, but set up nicely. It had an outside area where they had another DJ set up playing what I can only descibe a downtempo house. Inside Mark Grant is killing it. I'd really love to see this guy again. Jared starts talking to the manager like they've known each other for a while, and we get a booth and a bottle of Grey Goose. We have a few drinks and get warmed up, I'm really tired and kind of just hanging in there because it not only be socially lame for me to do what I'd like to do which is go home and sleep, but I'd also kick myself and regret it too. So I have a couple vodka cranberries and try to perk up. The music is amazing but sometimes no matter how good it is isn't enough to get you on your feet shaking you ass. Pretty soon the manager steps behind the decks, he's not the managers, he's Jay J! He continues to kill it with high bpm bangin' yet sexy, soulful gospel house. Two black guys are dancing up a fucking storm, not like, gay or anything, just destroying it in a kind of battle with each other.

Jay J is dancing around, smiling, lip synching every single word to the the vocals. Nicole and Matt and I get up on the floor right in front of the booth smiling and fiving Jay J and dancing and generally having a great time. The fire had been lit.

3am This generally continues until about 4:30. Another bottle of Grey Goose and bottle of Veuve Clicquot are ordered. (Thanks Matty!) We get pretty drunk. A duo came on after Jay J playing really fucking hard bangin' house but either because we were shit faced drunk and having a blast, or because the night built up to this tempo in just the right way, hard house never sounded sound fucking sick. At one point we were all sitting around on the top of the back rest of the booth, smiling at eachother with wrinkled noses and holy shit expressions, pumping all our fists into the air just going, "ooooh ho ho hooo!" when they'd drop the bass of the next track.










Jay J

4:30am We decided its tme to go, the place is clearing out a bit, the booze was tapped out, I forgot my ear plugs and knew it was going to be bad the next day, so we all call it night and try to get a cab home.

5am Anyone whose done conference knows that half the cars on the road in South Beach are cabs, but hailing one at 5am is like trying to win the lottery. We walked about 15 blocks back to the Shelbourne and crashed.


SUNDAY

11:30am We wake up and pack out bags because we have to check out at 1pm. I'm hurting.

1pm Klyce had to change hotels to the Loewe's so we check our bags with the concierge and meet him in the lobby for a drink to kill time before Niki Beach. We walk down there and meet him, he has quite a story for us. It may not be fit for print so pending his authorization I'll just say that some little 5' 4" Puerto Rican crackhead tried to jack him on his way home so, Matt, being the aggressive brute that he is, breaks the guys nose and kicks him down a flight of stairs, and retrieves the crinkled wad of stolen money, minus 1 dollar that had AIDS blood on it.

1:30pm We finish our 16 dollar margaritas and head to Niki Beach. They are asking $40 each at the door and the guy who Jared told me to ask for is inside. We wait for about 20 minutes until the door girl feels sorry for us and offers to let Nicole in for free. We figure its either this or nothing, since we have to leave for the airport in 2 hours, so we pay and go in.

2pm Niki Beach is still jsut getting started, we walk around, have a couple beers, chill out at a table until the waitress tells us to buy a bottle or leave. So we cruise around a bit more, snap a few pics of a trio of really beat porn stars, and decide to head to the beach to finish off the roach I still have.









3:30pm We say our goodbys and hop in a cab to pick up our bags at the Shelbourne and head to Miami International Airport. I spot Olivia as we're boarding the plane and she trades seats so that she can sit next to us.

we were on the plane when Klyce shot this at Pawn Shop, but its too sick to leave out

We missed Sander at the Shelbourne too


More Sander at Shelbourne

8:30pm LA Time Ah, its good to be back in LA. WMC just keeps getting better.

MySpace? My Arse: Better to be a Luddite than virtually connected to thousands of idiots

From Arena Magazine:

by Justin Quirk

When Tom Stephens was arrested in connection with the Suffolk murders, much was made in the tabloids of the fact that he had a MySpace profile. As the Daily Star pointed out, having 3,000 virtual friends and posting up bizarre pictures of yourself was clear evidence of being a fantastic weirdo.

Sadly, the red-tops couldn't be more wrong. In Internet 2.0, there's a constant inference from MySpace's drone like users that if you don't have an online profile you're an isolated Luddite, missing out on an exciting range of Murdoch-owned digital fun and opportunities. The peer pressure to join in the western world's biggest electronic love-in is palpable.

All of which would be understandable if MySpace wasn't so dire on so many levels. The satirical, wikipedia-esque website, Encyclopedia Dramatica, succinctly nailed it as, "a lethargically coded piece of shit." Although if you're not bothered by machine freezing media files, stupid animated gifs, and songs that never seem to play when you want them to, then it might not be a problem. Visually, its a useful illustration of what you get when you democratize design: pixellated wallpaper, unreadable-colored text, pages that are twice as wide as your monitor and so much pointless flashing information that eventually you have to check your eyes into a rape crisis center.

MySpace has been loudly trumpeted as an innovation that breaks new bands and makes you new friends. But every A&R I know spends about 19 hours a day on the site, and still hasn't stumbled across a single band worth signing. Despite the repeated assertions to the contrary, artists are still making it through traditional means - the Arctic Monkeys and Enter Shikari gigged endlessly; Lily Allen spent two years on a development deal perfecting her 'Mungo Jerry ina big frock' routine. It does make contacting bands nice and easy for people in the industry though - as the previous route of going to Google and finding their homepage was a real time consuming struggle. As for 'social networking', the fact that every person has 8,000 friends means you might as well just walk into a pub and start yelling at the person next to you as contact someone in your extended network; you'll have about as much connection to them.

Arguably, I only think all this because I'm an embittered 30 year hack who's too old for MySpace. But the site is full to the bursting point with people like me. I look at it and every single fucking person I know is 'Online Now!'. Somehow, they've all got time to sit around commenting on each other's pictures like sniggering Japanese school girls and writing cringey little testimonials saying "Love You, Dan xxx ;)". It's like watching 3,000 of the most useless people in the country all standing in a giant circle jerk masturbating before running forward for a group hug.

I think my career and life can survive not joining up. I've got a hunch that in the long run, being able to use the English language correctly and having a functional brain might be more useful than being virtually connected to thousands of idiots who want to send me fliers, chain letters, and spyware. And if I ever become really desperate to get laid, you'll find me over at Faceparty, that's where all the younger fitter women hangout.

New Rule: Traitors Don't get to Question My Patriotism

From Real Time with Bill Maher


What could be less patriotic that constantly screwing things up for America? Just this month we've had Libby, the FBI abusing the Patriot Act, Walter Reed, and now Alberto Gonzales, you know its literally hard to keep up with the sheer volume of scandals in the Bush administration, which is why I like to download the latest scandals right onto my ipod. That way I can catch up on this weeks giant fuck up on my way into work. In fact Bush has so many scandals he could open a chain of Bush Scandal & Fuck Up themed restaurants.
"Hmm, should I get the Harriett Myers Meatloaf or the Katrina Crabcakes?"

Not to generalize but the 29% of people who still support President Bush are the ones who love to pronounce themselves more patriotic than the rest of us, but just saying you're patriotic is like saying you have a big cock, if you have to say it, chances are its not true. And indeed the party that flatters itself by saying they protect America better, is the same party that has exhausted the military, left the ports wide open, caused more people to hate America and Americans than ever before in world history, and outed a CIA agent, Valerie Plame.

That's not treason any more, outing a spy? Did I mention that it was one of our spies?! And how despicable that Bush's lackeys attempted to diminish this crime by belittling her service, like she was just some chick who hung around the CIA, "an intern really, groupie if you wanna be mean about it." NO. Big lie. Valerie Plame was the CIA's operational officer in charge of counter proliferation. Which means she tracked loose nukes. So when Bush said, as he once did, that his absolute number 1 priority was preventing terrorists from getting loose nukes, that's what she worked on. That's what she devoted her life to. Staying undercover for 20 years. Maintaining two identities, every god damn day - this is extraordinary service to your country. Valerie Plame is the kind of real life secret agent George Bush dreams about when he's not too busy pretending to be a cowboy or a fighter pilot.

CIA agents, are troops. This was a military assassination of one of our own, done through the press, ordered by Karl Rove. He said of Valerie Plame, quote, "She's fair game." Fair game?

George Bush likes to claim that he doesn't question his critics patriotism, just their judgement. Well, let me be the 1st of your critics Mr. President to question your judgement, AND your patriotism. Because lets not forget why they did it to her. Because Valerie Plame was married to this guy Joe Wilson, who the Bush people hated because he busted them on one of their bullshit reasons for invading Iraq. He was sent to the African country of Niger to see if Niger was selling nuclear fuel to Iraq -- they weren't, it was bullshit, and he said so. In fact his report was called "Niger? Please!"

Valerie Plame's husband told the truth about their lie, and so they were willing to jeopardize an entire network of spies and possibly America's safety to ruin her life. Wow. Even the mafia doesn't go after your family. Mark Twain said, "Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it." I say Valerie Plame is a patriot because she spent her life serving her country; Scooter Libby is not because he spent his life serving Dick Cheney. Valerie Plame kept her secrets, the Bush administration leaked like the plumbing at Walter Reed.

In the year 2008 I really think that Hilary Clinton should run for President on the platform of restoring honor and integrity to the Oval Office.

Water Cooler Culture

What is the deal with these expressions about "around the water cooler tomorrow," people will be talking about LOST or whatever. The water cooler? IS that something that people really frequent? Do people hydrate using only the provided 4 oz. Dixie cups at a time? Don't they go fill up their plastic bottle, at most twice a day, and drink water at their desks out of that? Not that I'm advocating even less social contact for these poor souls. To the contrary, the point I want to make in this post is: Are people's work environments so slavish and devoid of humanity that they only opportunity they have to socially interact with eachother is when they cross paths at the water cooler? I work in a corporate enviroment now, albeit a creative one, but still, I feel compelled to not come in with shorts a t shirt and flip flops most of the time, there is no refidgerator stocked with snacks and sodas and beer, (which was a shock at 1st), we have a cubicle garden for the assistants, we don't have scooters to ride around on, there's no ipod playing over the speakers, (there are no office-wide speakers.)

Yet should I want to talk to a co-worker about what happened on Heroes last night, which I never do, or say I want to show Jerome something on Youtube, I just walk into his room and say, lemme show you something.

In these enviroments where these people apparently can only socially interact at the water cooler, why can't they just go hang out in eachother's office? If the boss catches them there they're busted but if they're at the water cooler, fair game? Look at porn, play practical jokes, whatever? The water cooler is the Holland of the office?

New Rule: Stop Saying America is the Greatest Country in the World

From Real Time with Bill Maher

America must stop bragging about being the greatest country on earth, and start acting like it. I know this is uncomfortable for the faith over facts crowd, but the greatness of a country can, to a large degree, be measured. Here are some numbers:

Infant Mortality Rate - America ranks 48th in the world. Overall Health - 72nd, Freedom of the Press - 44th, Literacy - 55th. Do you realize there are 12 year old kids in this country that can't spell the name of the teacher they're having sex with?

Now America, I wil admit, has done many great things: making the new world democratic comes to mind, the Marshall Plan, curing polio, beating Hitler, the deep fried Twinkie, but what have we done for us lately? We're not the freest country, that would be Holland, where you can smoke hash in church and Janet Jackson's nipple is on their flag. And sadly, we're not a country that can get things done either, not big things like building a tunnel under Boston or running a war with competence. We had six years to fix the voting machines, couldn't get that done. The FBI is just now getting e-mail! Prop 87 out here in California is about lessening our dependence on foreign oil by developing alternative fuels, and Bill Clinton comes on at the end of the ad and says, "if Brazil can do it, America can too."

Excuse me, but since when did America have to buck itself up by saying that it can catch up to Brazil? We invented the airplane and the light bulb, they invented the bikini wax and now they're ahead?

In most of the industrialized world, nearly everyone has health care, and hardly anyone doubts evolution. And yes, having to live amid so many superstitious dim wits is also something that effects quality of life. Which is why America isn't going to be the country that gets the inevitable patents in stem cell cures, because some people think Jesus thinks that its too close to cloning. Oh and did I mention we owe China a trillion dollars? We owe everybody money. America is a debtor nation to MEXICO. We're not on the bridge to the 21st century, we're on a bus to Atlantic City with a roll of quarters.

And this is why it bugs me that so many people talk like its 1955 and we're still number one in everything. We're not. And I take no glee in saying this because I love my country and I wish we were, but when you're number 55 in this category and number 92 in that one, you look a little silly waving the big foam #1 finger. As long as we believe being the greatest country in the world is an inalienable birth right, we'll keep coasting on the achievements of earlier generations and we'll keep losing the moral high ground, because we may not be the biggest, or the healthiest, or the best educated, but we did always have one thing that nobody else did: we knew soccer was bullshit.

And, we had one other little things called the Bill of Rights. A great nation doesn't torture people or make them disappear without a trial. Bush keep saying, "the terrorists hate us for our freedom," and he's working damn hard to see that soon, that won't be a problem.

No More $ for War = End of War. Keeping Troops at War Without Any $ = Unsupportive/War Crime

The Bush administrations latest response to the Democrats' threat of cutting off funding for the war is essentially this: "see! They don't support the troops. They would leave troops on the battlefield without ammo and armor and properly maintained vehicles."

"Um... no, YOU would leave them there.
We assumed that no more resources for war would bring an end to it. We didn't think you'd actually be evil enough to continue keep them there anyway."

Never the less, it seems to be working, the Democrats ARE afraid to cut off funds for the war because they are afraid it will make them look unsupportive.

All I have to say is: FOR THE MILITARY TO CONTINUE TO USE THE TROOPS WHEN THEY KNOWINGLY DON'T HAVE THE MONEY TO PROTECT THEM, IS THE ONLY THING THAT'S UNSUPPORTIVE.


Any time a Republican says that the Democrats don't support the troops because they cut off funds to them while in theater, the answer, assuming one day they DO cut off funds, is this:

We gave plently of notice before the funds were going to run out, it was your decision to keep the troops at war despite that fiscal reality. It is YOU who don't support the troops.

If you are gambling in Vegas and losing repeatedly, and your last stop at the ATM finds that you're overdrawn and it won't dispense any more cash, yet you continue to gamble anyway, is Bank of America not being supportive of you? Who's in the wrong here, the bank, or the compulsive loser?

Journalismianese

I was just listening to Jocelyn Ford on Market Place, and noticing that she has a particularly strong Journalism accent. Which made me think, how and when did this originate and... what's up with it?

In the old radio and newsreel days, they had a very different dialect of journalismianese. I can't replicate it in writing, but it is most similar that "meeaah, see here coppa," Jimmy Cagney prohibition gangster accent. Ah! Thank God for Youtube. Newsreel

I don't even know how to describe the modern journalismianese, but you know what it sounds like. Samantha Bee and John Oliver parody it quite well on the Daily Show. I understand that it is what it is for clarity and emphasis, but how does one acquire such an accent? Who decided that sing-songey-ness was the best way to convey information? Surely these journalists turn the accent on for the mics and cameras, and then go back to talking normal to their colleagues, family and friends. Is this accent something that they get coaching or training for? Do the practice in from of a mirror with a tape recorder? I guess its really not that hard. Try reading this paragraph in your best journalismianese, but add a 'comma, Wolf?" at the end.

my_attempt_here

Country Stuff

This is a two parter. It started out with the question of: What is the rhyme or reason that determines which suffix the people and language of a particular country are referred to by? -ian, -an, -ese, -ish, -ic, -i, are all the ones I can think of. It seems to be loosely logical. Most strongly correlated seems to be what letter or phenome the country ends with, however there are a lot of cases where it could just as easily go a different way, Iranian could just be Irani, Icelandic could be Icelandish, etc. There also seem to be some regional associations, Asian countries are all -ese, almost all of South American countries are -ian. You might think this is because almost all South American coutries end in -ia, and you'd be close. At 1st glance it looks that if its an -ia country it gets -ian, and if its just an -a country, it gets and -an. As in, Bolivia-Bolivian. Cuba-Cuban. But Brazil get -ian. Ecuador gets -ian, Paraguay get -an. Peru gets -vian. And Argentina gets either Argentine, or Argentinian, I could never figure that one out.

So I began looking at the map of the world on Google. Which brings me to part two. Why is every country spelled in its English tranlation, except a handful of random countries? Every last country in Africa is labeled under its English translation, even though I'm sure that the people of Mozambique, when speaking Mozambi, or Mozambiquian or whatever, refer to their own country as Mumbotumbokutamandimbio or something like that. So when making a map for the English speaking Western world, it makes sense to not put all this weird shit that no one will be able to identify, but rather put it all in English.

Why then, do they sporadically put all this weird shit that no one will be able to identify? They especially seem to favor the Eastern European countries for this treatment. Its says Deutschland instead of Germany, Polska instead of Poland, Ceska Repub. for Czech Republic. Some country of which I have no idea is called Magyarorzag. Turkey is Turkiye. Greece looks like a fucking fraternity. Russia is Poccnr, with backwards letters.

Japan is spelled in English along with Japanese characters, but why not Nippon? Why are China, and Saudi Arabia, and Central African Republic referred to as China, Saudi Arabia, and Central African Republic, yet Italy gets Italia? They use the Cyrilic alphabet in Russia, hence the Poccnr, yet I'm rather certain that in Kyrgyzstan they don't use the English alphabet.

So what the fuck google, you guys racist or what?