The Spider Trap - New Search Marketing Blog

I'm starting a new blog (as much as I am growing to hate that term) for work which I want Google to find - so I'm linking to it here. You know the drill by now. Within a few months it will become a wealth of search engine marketing and search engine optimization information. So if you care, stay tuned.

Back to the word 'blog' and its origins. The term stems from a mish-mash of the words "web" and "log" which when used together was how folks referred to online journals, once upon a time. Google's Blogger (which I use here - but will soon replace) has made it so easy to have your own 'blog' that I'm seriously waiting for my grandmother to send me her URL. I'd guess that www.dontbecheeky.com would probably be her first choice. Or maybe something along the lines of www.getthosedamnsquirrelsoutofthebirdfeeder.net. Regardless, I am in mourning for the medium. Johnny and Janey Everyman are doing to the blog what the white man did to Jazz and hip-hop. Speaking of which, have you heard Kenny G's new version of Straight Outta Compton?

All The News That's Fit To Ignore.

The following text is a letter my friend Steve penned to the Boston Globe this morning. I had thought of mentioning something similar here on the blog last week, but this speaks volumes and I'm glad that I waited. It is really horrifying (there's just no other word for it) to think that most major media outlets are downplaying what is happening in Iraq right now because it hurts their agendas and conflicts with their leanings. Have a read:

"I'm utterly disappointed with your coverage of the Iraqi elections. I arrived yesterday, to my adopted home town, fresh from a business trip that afforded me the opportunity to see how Europe, Central and Eastern Asia report upon these crucial Iraqi elections. I rushed down the steps of our triple-decker in South Boston, keen to hear how the elections had played out.

While your headline declares "Iraqis flock to polls" your accompanying editorial misses the point - by about a half century (since the last free elections). Your affront continues, like a toothless pup, at the ankles of the birth of a nation's independence. Your partisan journalism is found to fail the international fabric of Boston.

You may want to take a note from your column on the Gilette merger, "... as Boston, which once called itself the Hub of the Universe, now finds itself playing second fiddle to cities such as Cincinnati, Charlotte, N.C., and Toronto. I believe your once great news source, is now solidly Bush league, restrained by overt political blindness."

I couldn't find the editorial Steve is referring to, but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out where it's likely coming from. "Yeah, free elections and Democracy are great and everything, but Bush-bad-lied-Haliburton-no WMD-drunk daughters". The article was also summarily buried in favor of a story about illegal Guantanamo tribunals and has now dropped somewhere below the piece about whether or not Johnny Damon should cut his hair before his book tour is over. I wish I was kidding. Regardless of what you believe, whom you support or where you stand on issues of the day remember - always consider the source.

Friday's Quizzlet: The Edge of Gorgonzola

Appetizer: If you had a free subscription to any mag, which would you pick?
Didn't we have an extremely similar question just recently? Yawn. No matter, I've changed my mind. It would be a disturbing hybrid of the new hardcore version of Hustler and Tiger Beat.

Soup: If you became famous, what would you choose as your stage name?
I'd use my real name. I have a blog - obviously I'm not too concerned with anonymity. But let's talk about porn star names for a minute. Chime in with yours: you remember the drill - your first name is your first pet, your surname is the street you grew up on. That would make me "Apple Island View". Not so catchy in the light of day. I think I'd go with Dick Hertz.

Salad: What ingredients make an awesome salad?
Cheese, cheese and cheese. I don't care if it's gorganzola, feta or even something you picked out from between your toes. The Cobb, the Greek - all lovely. I often carry bricks of gouda over to friend's dinner parties in case they're not hip to the practice. And when I tell them I've got a little gouda in my pants, they look at me with sad eyes and say, "please leave now".

Main Course: What do you like most about your current job?
The ability to make or break online businesses based on my skills. SEO skills, Bowstaff skills, etc. We do more of the making, and less of the breaking, thankfully. We're a small, cohesive unit who can have a massive impact on anyone who signs on. The marketplace is becoming flooded, however, and I fear it is not to last. And Yetis.

Dessert: Who is your favorite instrumental musician (not a singer)?
I'm gonna run with this one a bit. There have been 3 extremely influential guitarists in the past 20 years that I want to mention. The first being The Edge from U2. Like the band or not, when he plays you know it's him - and it's extremely hard to find a signature sound on an instrument that exists in such abundance and is so widely used across all musical genres. The second is Johnny Marr of The Smiths for much the same reason. Marr forever changed the way in which a generation of subsequent strummers approached the insturment. Extremely complicated chord progressions and rhythms. Marr's anithesis, Joey Santiago, is my third choice. He is the polar opposite of Marr - came onto the scene with only a few years of experience under his belt, technically a very poor guitarist. But the fearless sounds that he managed to make have yet to be duplicated, although many have tried. Find the songs 'Something Against You' or 'Vamos' by The Pixies, lock yourself in a dark room and then crank the volume up to 10 if you don't believe me. You know what? I am going to blare them both right now.

Tune In: Doug & Doug on FX This Weekend!

Triconi and Krintzman, a.k.a. Doug & Doug, have their new Southern Comfort TV spots airing twice this weekend during the two showings of Me Myself & Irene on FX - tonight and tomorrow at 10pm EST. The jist is, they're scouring the seedy depths of New Orleans during Mardi Gras seeking SoCo's secret recipe, and all sorts of funny hijinks ensue.



If you haven't already, visit their site and watch the two hilarious videos they have posted. Then click here to see Tri-con manhandling my cat. And if you're in watching TV tonight or Saturday, tune in and catch the spots. It's a great movie, and the multiple ads are spaced out throught the two-hour slot. Good luck boys! This could be the start of something big. Or at least a crate of free SoCo, which Krintzman would likely prefer over Playboy bunnies anyday.

Oinkers Away: The New Year's Blind Date.

When Janet told me that her New Year's Eve Blind Date was a bit of a pig, I just thought she meant he was portly. Or perhaps went for tongue during the midnight kiss. Boy, was I WAY off.



I know, I know. You can't judge a book by it's cover. I'm sure porky keeps his sty clean, is an effective truffle sniffer and never, ever, squeals like Ned Beatty. I too have picked up a few pigs in Pho over the years - who hasn't - but they always had hearts of gold. And were men.

Angelo Rizza - Boston & New York Hair Stylist.

I finished another website last night for my friend, Angelo Rizza. He's an excellent hair stylist and colorist who works in Boston and New York City. When he's working in Boston he can be found at Avanti Salon on Newbury Street. So, if you're in need of an excellent Boston hair stylist, visit the site and give him a ring.

OK, now you're asking yourself "Dave, did you fall and hit your head this morning? Where the hell are the hooker jokes?" the answer is "yes" actually. But that has nothing to do with why I've just sung the praises of Angelo for an entire paragraph. Or suffocated a hooker.

Here's the way search engine algorithms are playing it these days: they give incredible relevance to your ranking based on incoming links to your site, and the keywords contained in those links. So, if I build a website for a Boston hair stylist, and I want it to be well ranked for that keyword phrase, I link to it from external sites using those very same words within the hyperlink. You dig? You still reading?

So now Google, which spiders my site daily, will follow the link, find the new site and then add it to it's index. Some people pay me a lot of money for advice like that (or my company, I should say - I still can't afford good snow boots). So if you wake up in a sweat tonight, wondering why you obsess over reading my site everyday - now you have an excellent way to justify it. Free SEO advice/dead hooker jokes always keep asses in seats.

Again With The Snow.

Working from home on Monday was cool. I did enjoy getting to stay up a little later carousing after the Patriots victory Sunday night. And I grew up in Ottawa so this hardly phases me - but fer feck's sake, Old Man Winter - Give us a chance to dig out at least. In the last three days I've ruined 2 pairs of dress shoes. I got a phone call at work from my hysterical 78-year-old neighbor pleading with me to carry her trash to the end of the street. I assume that the alarm going off in my office building right now means snow evacuation and my now having to walk all the way home after just arriving. But let's get back to North End 'Snow Rules' for a second.

1. If you shovel someone's sidewalk, staircase or entry way, you get to remind them of that fact every time you see them until at least the first snowfall of the following winter.
2. Thinking about moving one of those planters blocking the sidewalk on almost every main street to shovel/plow snow? Think again.
   
3. If you put your trash out before nightfall, your name will be mud (this actually applies all year round).
4. If you live on a lane, and it's snowed in, you have to carry all your trash to neutral main street areas.

Stay warm, kids. It's far from over.

The SideBar Website Is Alive. ALIVE.

It's been a long night, but I finally got The SideBar's new website off the ground. Please click on through and have a look. I've convinced the owners to start a monthly lottery to encourage people to register for the site's mailing list. $50 goes a long way in that joint, so sign up now for a chance to win. The best part is, after you join you're still eligible to win the lottery every single month going forward. Not a bad deal, if I do say so myself.

There's a lot of work left to do in terms of content, but I'm getting there and figured it was time to roll it on out to the people (and the search engine spiders). You'll notice I snuck a lot of my friends onto the front page - Emily, Monster, Bobby, Kyle, Troy, etc. If you've got a problem with that, I'd like to suggest a local community college web design course. And suicide.

Do Any Of My Peeps Need A G-Mail Account?

By now I'm sure you've all heard about the wonders of Google's free service: G-Mail... You get a gigabyte of storage, a 10 MB transfer limit, user-friendly filing abilities and a whole lot more. The downside is, you need to get an invite from someone who already uses it to be part of the silly fun-fun.

I feel like one of those shock-jocks or something but: for a limited time, not valid in New Jersey, Poughkeepsie or Idaho, employees of Pye In The Face and their relatives are not eligible to win (bell rings, whistle blows, prostitute screams for her life) - I have 10 G-Mail accounts to give away. First come, first serve. E-mail or IM me.

The Legend Of Tom Adams.

One of the first people I met after moving to England to work at The Hind's Head in 1998 was Tom Adams. I immediately had him pegged as a bit of a ham, albeit a hilarious one, but so many people seemed to come into the pub and recognize him... point... giggle... that I finally asked him what the big deal was. "David, my young Canadian friend," he began. "I've been in the motion pictures, you see!" I learned from talking to other locals that he was most reknown for the string of funny commercials he'd made. Most of them for DFS Furniture. But his most famous spot was the infamous and side-splitting Hyundai ad.



Tom's career has actually been fairly impressive overall. He played one of the British prisoners in The Great Escape and even has a few lines. He co-starred with Raquel Welch in Fathom (watch the trailer and look for the guy trying to kill Raquel with a speargun) and has been on all kinds of notable TV shows: Dr. Who, Remington Steele and The Avengers - to name a few.

When I left England he came to my 'leaving do' and offered some words of wisdom while my co-worker Tim went around videotaping all of the locals. "David and I have spent many long afternoons together discussing his problems... of which there are many." Funny stuff. But actually I spent the majority of my time trying to keep the pub landlord from killing Tom - as he would hit on his wife incessantly. Tom is nearly 70 years old and still chasing tail like a drunken teenager. Quite effectively, I might add. I hope to go back to Bray some day soon, and when I do I'll look him up. Or should I say, I'll walk into The Hind's.

I Love My New Phone. But Not Snow.

Kids - switch to Nextel immediately. Can't stress that enough. More importantly, when did Boston turn into Hoth? The heat is off in my living room, and I'm about to slice open a tauntaun and crawl inside in order to keep watching the Patriots game in relative comfort. Will a TV fit inside one of those crazy ice-hopping creatures? I'll let you know.

And more more importantly, thanks for all the laughs, Johnny.

Friday's Quizzlet: Underwear Goes INSIDE The Pants.

Appetizer: What is one quality you really admire about yourself?
My mother is a pussycat, while my father is a bit of an arsehole. I was once an even mix of the two personalities - each type has its own pros and cons. I was a tender and sympathetic young lad, but 3 high schools in 4 years changed that dramatically. In University I hovered somewhere in-between, but the past 5 years of inner-city living have pushed me further and further towards the dark side. I guess I admire my ability to embrace and appreciate the need to have a balance of good and evil in your personality. It's essential for self preservation - and reminding yourself that while showing young girls your boxer shorts on the street is pretty hot, it can still get you arrested in most states.

Soup: What kind of shampoo and conditioner do you use?
PineSol and Ajax. Alternately.

Salad: Describe your favorite movie scene. The one that gets to you every time.
There are several. The scene in Goodfellas where Liotta's voiceover starts talking about how Jimmy has just decided to kill everyone involved with the heist. There's a slow motion zoom on DeNiro, leaning against a bar engulfed in cigarette smoke while Sunshine of Your Love plays in the background. That always gives me a chill. Then there's the scene in Blade Runner where Roy saves Deckard from falling off the building and then sits down in the rain to give him a strange Nexus 6 soliloquy: "I watched seabeams glitter in the dark off the Tanhauser Gate..." You don't know what the hell the dying android is talking about - but you're transfixed none the less. I could give you ten more. And then act them all out with legos.



Main Course: If you were a veggie, which one would you be, and why?
A brussel sprout. Because I'd have a much longer life expectancy.

Dessert: If you took a trip within 100 miles where would you go?
To my buddy Dave Vadenais' restaurant in Sturbridge. A 'friend' and I went up there about a year ago for dinner, etc. and had a delicious time. Amazing food, super atmosphere and a great excuse to get out of the city. Also a convenient, out of the way town in which to bury said friend in a shallow grave when the date turns sour. Dave, what did you put in that salad, you silly goose?!

Ridin' That Train... High On Methane...

Some people who blog in Boston do little else but bitch about the T. I have refrained thus far, as I only ride the detestable subway when it gets cold outside. But baby - it's cold outside. So as it happens, I have a gripping tale of lust, agony and deceit to share with you from this morning's commute. Translation: strange smells, mental illness and filth. Or 'business as usual' as most regular riders would agree.

Look – and I shouldn’t have to come out and say this - please don't break wind on the T. Unless you have a syndrome of some kind or a severe digestive dilemma - there's just no excuse for it. No one has ever had to bust ass so badly that they can't hold it for a few stops. When I walked onto the train at Haymarket this morning, the warm, slimy gust of methane that greeted my sinuses made me feel like I was stepping into a cattle car for a 3 day ride to a gulag somewhere. It smelt like a goddamn pig farm - who are you people? Here's an idea, save a cork from your next vino purchase and plug yourself up anytime you need to leave the house. Oh, and my new Nextel makes a loud fart sound whenever someone texts me. In that context, it's perfectly acceptable.

After I found a spot leaning against the wall, a small man with a beard and glasses loudly slapped the wall beside where he was sitting, got up and rushed of the train just as the doors closed. Maybe that's some kind of OCD, maybe he was high-fiving the car due to an impressive travel time or maybe it was even a little fresh with him. I really can't say. But I will say this - find him and lock him up immediately. To my left was a scrawny, herion addicted looking chap with a Great Gatsby hat, beard and so many earrings that I felt a sudden need to inventory my tackle box when I get home tonight. He was drawing a floorplan in a small notebook and when the train stopped at Park Street, he started cursing and waving his hand up and down. Then he turned to the horrified woman beside him, smiled and asked to get past her. Needless to say, she obliged. Then he stepped off the train and broke back into his cussin' and blindin' as he walked along the side of it. I have to assume that the floorplan was actually a few ideas on how to feng shui his padded cell when his day pass expires at 4 p.m. today.

Then, before we could pull out of Park Street, the T driver got up suddenly, came out from behind her curtain like the Wizard of Oz, looked at the car full of people, said something unintelligible and then walked off - only to be replaced by 2 MBTA cops. They surveyed the crowd, talked to a few people and stayed on board until the hysterical driver returned 3 or 4 minutes later. Did she think she'd spotted a suspected terrorist in her rear view? Can you guess why the cops didn't stop to talk to me? I was a little insulted as I like to think I look rather ominous when wearing my Triple Fat Goose jacket and Trailer Park Boys toque. Please be gentle and don't ruin that for me. It's all I have.

Hey Good Buddies - Who Else Gots A Nextel?

Due to all-around abysmal reception, and a contact within the company (I believe Master P called that ‘The Hook Up’, I've switched over to a Nextel cellphone - and I'm really pleased so far. I don't need to go up to the roofdeck with a coat-hanger and tin foil in order to make a call on a $300 phone anymore. And I can actually hear the phone when it rings as opposed to before when the tone could get drowned out by fruitfly flatulence.



One of the coolest features is the Direct Connect capability, which allows you to use your phone as if you're speaking to someone on a walkie-talkie. I told my friend Megan (the only other person I know with a Nextel) my Direct Connect number and she crackled through a few minutes later – I may live to regret that. But very Convoy-ish and cool. Who else amongst you has this wondrous capability?

If you're a friend of mine, and you have a Nextel, leave a comment or send me an email with your DC number. This will be fun, and no - my nerdiness knows no bounds. Nextel - Not just for construction workers anymore. But still fine for serial masturbators and dweebs.

A Heartfelt Apology And Sincere Retraction.

Last week, I suggested that Michael Moore would be perfect to play Clyde the orangutan in a fantasy remake of the seminal Clint Eastwood classic, 'Any Which Way You Can'. I have since rethought my childish barb and want to issue a full apology to Mr. Moore and any other moonbats who may have been offended by my ignorant suggestion.

My reason for the retraction has nothing to do with a new found respect for the man. On the contrary - I still think he's an overrated, slovenly mound of stegasaurus dung. I've just found a more appropriate part for him, is all. They've cast almost every role for the upcoming remake of Charlotte's Web - that heartwarming tale from our youth (if you've never read it then you obviously grew up on the moon). Have a read and see if you can remember what major character is conspicuously absent from the article.

OK - do you see where I'm going with this now? Need I say more? Someone get that fat windbag on the phone and let him know that his dream role is about to be lateraled to Louie Anderson.

How Not To Get Picked For American Idol.

I got an excited instant message from my sister last night, commanding me to Tivo American Idol. I immediately remembered why - her and her roomate, Aaron, went down to Washington over the summer so he could audition for the show. Those tapings were edited together into the beyond amusing 2 hour episode which was broadcast on Fox last night.

Aaron is a member of the Boston-based acapella group, Ball in the House, and I've seen them perform 4 or 5 times. They're all really talented - especially Aaron. So when he was cut after surviving the first three eliminations we were all surprised. But after watching the show for the first time last night, it quickly became apparent why he wasn't chosen. It's less about talent, and more about your story, your appearence and how you'll compliment the overall dynamic of the final group that is chosen.

In addition, based on photographs I got from Fox's website last night, I've outlined a few more ways in which to increase your chances of getting chosen to go on to the final round:



First of all, don't tempt fate. If you tell Simon and Randy that you borrowed bus fare to get to Washington, haven't eaten in four days all the while smelling like fromunda cheese - they're probably not going to want to spend much additional time near you, regardless of your talent. Also, don't fashion kooky clothing in an attempt to better your odds: "Lady in the green t-shirt... I'm guessing... bust." Some of the contestants get really mad after they're dismissed and start hurling insults at Simon Cowell. There's nothing wrong with that - it's the reason most people watch the show. Listen up, guy on the upper right: if you want to get into a room with him in the first place, maybe don't resemble Bernard Goetz so much next time.



Speaking of resemblences, a lot of the contestants dressed to resemble their favorite pop stars. There were Britneys, Alishas, Beyonces - I think I even spotted a Stefani or two. But making yourself up to look like your very bestest chanteuse, and then dressing like them to boot, is not a good way to express your individuality or uniqueness. No, that's actually called 'Halloween'. Also, make sure that if you are going to attempt the impersonation strategy, your choice isn't the principal from the Smokin' In The Boys Room video.

Those were the major lessons I took away from last night's installment. A few other quick notes: tell the screeners that you do have a day pass from your respective mental institution - even if you don't. Be gay. If you have a lovely voice, put on a few pounds - say 400 - just to make it fair for everybody else. Wear your trailer park's commemorative t-shirt - I heard Paula Abdul grew up in one. And above all else - never, ever, bathe prior to your big day. Good luck to us all.

Lock Up Your Daughters, Tater Tots.

I don't know who these cats are, I don't know where one would aquire that many death-defyingly awful sweaters, I don't know which Lord of the Rings DVD release they've convened to celebrate. Now I know what you're thinking (Wow, I sounded like Magnum there): "Dave, People who live in glass houses..." - I mean, I did spend the majority of the weekend building websites, afterall. But this photo is absolutely breathtaking.



I have to get to work. I'll beef this up later with more hypocritical nerd-bashing.

(Time Passes)

It was a long walk to the office during which I came up with a few possible explanations for this photograph. I'll write them down quickly while my 174 long-weekend emails download. Please feel free to contribute some of your own:

1.) "Yeah we were totally playing. But then Erwald rolled a +6 for invisibility and now we have to pretend we can't see him."

2.) A press junket photo from the sequel to Capturing The Friedmans. Capturing The Friedmans II: Let's stop pretending we come over here for Commodore Pet lessons and start the circle-jerk.

3.) Early auditions for the role of Kip were postponed due to a lack of nacho cheese and steak.

4.) Louis Skolnick's bachelor party was a bit shit until repeated cart-slot-blowing got the Nintendo back online.

5.) The motion is on the table and let's put it to a vote: Those in favor of changing our name to the "All New Wil Wheaton Fan Club" raise your hands.

New Addition: Leaving Comments Made Easier!

In rare cases, insomnia can lead to surprising productivity. It's nearly 6 in the morning and I'm still cranking. And cranky.

Let's face it - one of blogging's main charms is the ability people have to leave comments on your posts. A little community sprouts up and people can chat to one another or simply badmouth the original author (me). The problem I've been having is that until now it's been quite a task to comment. You had to register with Blogger (Google), log in, provide a blood sample, etc.

As frustrated as ever with the limitations of the pedestrian 'Blogger' software, I did yet another search for a suitable hack that would do the trick. And I finally found one! In a nutshell, you will no longer have to login to avoid leaving an anonymous comment. Just click through to the comments page for a particular article and fill in the form at the bottom. You can even preview your post or opt to have it remember your information. I am psyched - this is just what I've been searching for. Well done Ebenezer!

I need to make a few tweaks so it fits in better with my design, but it's functional as of 10 minutes ago. So I hope that going forward even more of you will comment here on Pye In The Face. I've made it ridiculously easy, and you now have no excuse. Unless, of course, you have a life.

Pye In The Face's Greatest Hits. And Drunk Broads.

I wouldn't be able to sleep right now if I paid someone to come by and hit me in the head with a snow shovel. Although I'm sure there's a few people on this planet who would do it for free. So I've made yet another tweak to the blog. A "Classics" section, on the sidebar to the lower left, which I'll update once a month or so. Think of it as a "best of" area where I'll post stuff I think deserves a second look. Articles can get buried in the archives rather quickly. Some deserve it - some don't.

In addition to my blogging nerdery I did do some socializing over the weekend. Friday I hung out with my friend Sarah for the first time in over a year. We had a great time leaning against the wall beside the SideBar's jukebox and exchanging gossip about former co-workers. But I was dismayed to discover that the Tragically Hip song has disappeared. From the jukebox, that is. I don't think Gord Downie has ever worked at TechTarget. But thank God the nine Jay-Z albums have remained intact.

Then Saturday night I ran into Christina whom I went to high school with. We talked for a couple hours and brutally judged the lives of our many mutual friends. She showed me a picture of her adorable baby son and I wondered for the eighteenth time this week if it's not time to stop pretending I'm 22. Then I got back to my apartment to find it full of drunk, 22 year old girls - and decided I'll put off the maturity thing just a bit longer.

Accidental Video Game Porn.

Well blow me down and stroke my pixels. Since it's a holiday today and most of us aren't working, here's a nice little time waster to giggle at and then possibly masturbate to. The Accidental Video Game Porn Archive is a delightful tribute to the famous (Ring King blowjob, Moonwalker pedophelia etc.) and not-so-famous gamery embarassments of the last 20 years.



So click on through and enjoy the collection. I'll be sitting here trying to figure out who in their right minds has the time to put something like this together - and also why I'm so aroused.

Sing A Song Of Six Pints.

Two Mondays ago Tiernans had it's annual staff appreciation party and Monster and myself were asked to join in on the festivities. That is to say, I was asked and Monster was allowed to come so long as I was with him to babysit. Any of you who were at my last Cinco De Mayo party know exactly from whence this probationary period stems. You guessed it - extreme violence.

Pistol Pete Massa was there playing the guitar and singing, and towards the end of the night encouraged some of us to get up and try our hands. That was all the motivating Monster needed, and he quickly ran up on stage to treat us all to an unprecedented 3-song-set!



With a tear in my eye, and just a bit of preliminary vomit in my throat, I watched transfixed as Monster gave us one for the ages. The breathtaking trainwreck included the Gambler, Southern Cross and quite possibly the most dreadful rendition of Country Roads in human history. Bravo, buddy. That was truly some funny shit.

Friday's Quizzlet: Show Me All Of The Blueprints!

Appetizer: If you had a free password to an online service, which would it be?
One that combined stock-trading, music downloads, debt-consolidation and fantasy cartoon Star Wars porn. Leia wasn't chained to Jabba to keep her from escaping. She was into that sort of shit.



Soup: Describe your bathroom (furnishings, colors, etc.).
Do smears count? It's a tiny North End bathroom. Tub, sink, towel-rack. Purple crayon mark on one of the walls because Jim Fitzgerald thought that might be amusing one New Year's Eve several years ago. And, get this, a toilet-brush! Feel free to come on by and check it out. Just follow your nose.

Salad: What does the shape of a triangle make you think of?
That other Mel Brooks Nazi pardody movie where all the gays had to wear pink triangles like the jews used to have to wear identifiers in WWII. Hitler: All I want is peace. Peace! Peace! [singing] A little piece of Poland, a little piece of France...

Main Course: Name 3 things or activities that you consider to be luxuries.
Being born North American. Being born rich. Being born without any sort of physical deformity. One out of three ain't bad.

Dessert: What was the last really great movie you watched?
I've been on a tear lately. All great films. Hotel Rwanda made me realize that machetes are an excellent way to hack someone to death. The Aviator teaches us that in addition to being hilarious, obsessive compulsive disorders can help you amass huge financial fortunes. The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou - Bill Murray in a Speedo. 'Nuff said.

I Spit On Your Guestbook.

Guestbooks were one of the first interactive website features and date back to the very early nineties. Heck, I even have an old one myself. But who needs a guestbook when you can have a guestmap? That's right, folks. I've added a guestmap link in the new list at the very top of each page. Please have a look and then join the global party yourself.



So plant your pin, write your silly little greeting and join the www.davepye.com international community. You can select your icon, flag and then leave a message that pops up on the map when someone moves their mouse over you. It's so nutty, I'm nauseous.

Now Go Home And Get Your Fucking Shinebox.

I have officially attained bloggish success. I rank #6 in Google for the phrase "billy batts shinebox". I know this because I can see where my visitors come from, what search engine they used and what keyword phrase brought them here. I also aspire to sleep with a woman again someday despite my abhorrent nerdery.

Where was I? Oh yeah. I can die now.

Any Which Way But Moore.

Eastwood's best gunslinging days are far behind him. Responsible for more on-screen deaths than Charlie Bronson, nowadays he's content to kick ass behind the camera. But Clint had that old glint this week at an awards dinner where he addressed Michael Moore during an acceptance speech.

"... Michael, if you ever show up at my front door with a camera - I'll kill you.
I mean it."



I don't think you want to mess with the dude who played both Dirty Harry and The Man With No Name. If Moore still really wants to work with Clint in some capacity, might I suggest a remake of Every Which Way But Loose? Not for the title role - that would obviously go to Johnny Knoxville. I'm thinking of Mike because they'll need a replacement for Clyde the fat hairy orangutan. Alternately he should be talking to the Beethoven people.

Mark Steyn Is The Man.

As one of the only living and admittedly conservative Canadians, I feel some solace in now knowing that there is indeed at least one other. Actually, I've been reading his stuff for a year now via the Chicago Sun Times - but this is the first time I've felt a powerful urge to quote him:

“As for the most striking photograph of this disaster, it's by AFP's Jimin Lai. I haven't seen it in any of the papers, oddly enough. It shows a tsunami-devastated village in Galle on the southwestern coast of Sri Lanka: a couple of rescuers are carrying away a body while, behind them, smack dab in the centre of the picture, a young man looks on. He's wearing an Osama bin Laden T-shirt.



I gave up worrying "Why do they hate us?" on the evening of September 11, 2001. But, if I were that Osodden bin Loser guy watching the infidels truck in water, food, medical supplies and emergency clothing for villagers whose jihad-chic T-shirt collection was washed out to sea, I might ask myself a more pertinent question: "Why do they like us?"

New Year's Eve I got in a fight with some chick regarding the USA's lack of tsunami relief. I think the first reported number was 35 million. She went on and on about how she was ashamed of Bush, etc. I asked her where she'd gotten that figure, and when. "CNN," she replied. "A few days ago." I then asked her if she knew that the official death toll had since quadroupled -and that the USA had ponied up another 100 million (which has, in the last 2 weeks, risen again into the neighborhood of 375 million). She had no idea. And by then I was so utterly sick of talking to her that I abandoned any hope of a dry handjob in the SideBar's bathroom. That particular night, anyway.

I might ask myself a more pertinent question: "Why are my political views skewed the way they are?" But I already know the answer - In between handjobs, I read the news.

The 'david.pye.com' Memorial And Other Changes.

Over 5 years ago I started my first website - david.pye.com - and it grew into a silly little exercise that became quite popular amongst my friends. When I switched to the blog format, and changed my domain name, many of you were upset - having grown used to the larger galleries, the accompanying jokes and many other silly components. I was flattered yet torn, having decided the new format was really the way I wanted to go.

But as I've built out the new davepye.com, and ripped-off a lot of other people's sites in the process, I've come to realize that a blog doesn't have to conform to any convention over and above just exactly what I want. And there's no reason I can't work some of the former elements back into the new version of my own personal web shrine to... me.

You'll notice a new series of links underneath the dot graphics of my face at the very top of each page. There's now a link to an archived version of david.pye.com that will remain there for all time! The 'gallery' button links to the old gallery pages (if you're a new reader check them out - funny stuff) for the time being but will eventually become a new gallery much in the style of what I was doing before - with each photo having a funny caption, etc. I'll figure out what else I'm gonna add in the months to come and for now there'll just be placeholders.

As of this very afternoon, my old URL and email address are DEAD. Please update your favorites and address books. It's all about www.davepye.com from here on in. I love doing this and am going to keep developing it into the most kickassiest of blogs, EVAH - I hope you stay tuned.

Christmastime in Torontooo II: Citizen Candy Cane

So - like I said before, eh? - we're hanging out at the friggin' Apartment 58 nightclub right over Frank & Stein's in Guelph and Gooch disappears into the bathroom. Which he's been known to do. Holy fuck. Anyways, Gooch comes out of the bathroom like friggin' 9-O and starts talkin abooot some new fangled christmas drink or something. So he goes "lemme through to the bar, eh?" and we stand back while he orders 7 kife Candy Cane Martinis. Fuck right off, eh? And... scene.



After I drank the thing and resisted the strange urge I suddenly had to slap a cock against my forehead, we all agreed that they were quite tasty. And you thought you had to be German, homeless or both to enjoy the mentholated madness of peppermint schnapps.

That's it. That's the story. I thought these photos which Art sent me today were funny and needed an excuse to fire them up. Not all my tales will be winners, folks. Possibly even somewhere less than half. But I keep them coming, and nobody's got a gun to your head.

How Do You Tell... If You're Aging Well?

I was watching Reno 911 last night (now that Tough Crowd With Colin Quinn has gone the way of the Do-Do, things are tres bleak on Comedy Central) and I heard the line "white women don't age well". And it got me to thinking. What about white men? What about me and JJV? Can I get away with an article like this in Massachusetts, or will people start drawing comparisons between me and Josef Mengele? Anyway, I was looking for an excuse to use the photo you see below, which was taken in October 2004 - and was suddenly reminded of a very similar picture taken all the way back in 1999. Hence the painful carbon-dating which is about to commence. And subtle racism.



I think we've done extremely well. Herb wins for overall youth retention. Although I'm not entirely sure the shaved head of recent years is meant entirely for law-enforcement intimidation purposes. JJV wins hands down in the hairline category, as I'm having a few issues in that department, but has admitted to me recently that he's like 240. Is it in bad taste to discuss a friend's weight in public? Oh without a doubt. But he had it coming.



I'll have to give myself top marks for keeping the weight down, and my recent health kick of the past year has really paid off (or let's face it - I wouldn't have written this). So all-in-all we're not doing too badly. Come see us in another 5 years, when Herb is a stunt double for Al Roker, JJV pulls a 'Brando' and I develop an intimate relationship with Sy Sperling.

Revel In My PS Prowess: Sebby Reproduces.

Sebby owns one of my favorite haunts, the SideBar on Bromfield St. in Boston's Downtown Crossing, and he recently celebrated the birth of his daughter - Molly. Now, I very much enjoy busting Sebby's chops so I decided to whip up a little Photoshop on the subject. And he fucking hated it:



I printed it out about 3 months ago on a color printer at work and brought it down on a Friday night. Sebby was working behind the bar and I slowly started passing the photo around to the regulars who began dying with laughter. "What the fuck is so goddamn funny you jerks?" he demanded repeatedly. I waited until he was distracted and then hung it on the wall near the cash register while we all continued to snicker. After about 10 minutes he finally noticed it, shot me a dirty look and then tore it down.

I figured the photo had served its purpose so I didn't take Sebby's rejection too personally. But when I went down to the SideBar a week later - he asked me to print him out another one! You can see it, now laminated, hanging on the wall behind the bar on the right hand side of the building. Better a late-good-sport than never.

P.S. - Are we still resurrecting wing night? The plan lost steam over the holidays. I may stop in for a lovely plate full of delicious deep-fried dead poultry slathered in vinegary hot-sauce as soon as tomorrow night. The backlash of living with a vegan.

There's Still Hope For Me Yet.

"The survey showed that 85 percent of men, and 94 percent of women, don't think it's wimpy or needy for a man to love his cat."

Yes... but are they heterosexual? Because I think that's where my problem begins.

"Three-quarters of male respondents say their cats fulfill their cuddle requirements, and single men are also almost as likely as single women to consider choosing their cat over their partner."

Choosing them for what, exactly? Anal? Forget I mentioned this article please. And that I have a cat.

Friday's Quizzlet: Baby Streps To MGH.

Appetizer - Have you been sick this winter? What did you have?
July 4th weekend I came down with the most awful case of strep throat imaginable. I had old friends in town, and three nights of parties planned, so I grinned and beared it like a little tipsy trooper. Come Monday, after 4 straight late nights on the razz, I could hardly even speak. I dragged myself over to MGH's emergency room and sat down to wait. I started watching Uncle Buck on a wall-mounted television from the paleozoic era, and before I knew it, John Candy had tearfully won over Macaulay Culkin's older sister and the nurse was calling my name. The doctor sat me down and explained he'd need to take a swab and then have me wait for another hour or two while they determined if it was indeed strep. I shook my head, pointed at my lips and opened my mouth so he could see the carnage for himself. A look of horror and revulsion washed over his face as he reached for his prescription pad and then sent me on my way. I've been sick 3 times since then and have decided to start paying for chewing gum rather than hunt for it under tabletops.

Soup - What colors dominate your closet?
Black, grey and forest green. I misread the 'dominate' part and briefly thought you were going to try and make me admit that there's also a leather mask, stirrups and a red ball gag in there. Thank God that didn't happen.

Salad - How would you describe your personal "comfort zone"?
As finally not including Cheez Whiz & Jalapeno enemas. I've tried to kick them... but they call out to me in the night as I sweat in my bed. One day at a time.

Main Course - On which reality show would you like to be a contestant?
Is there one called "Systematically Kick Every Former Cast Member of the Real World in the Teeth?" Keep me posted.

Dessert - Which holiday would you consider to be your favorite?
Thanksgiving. Because I'm Canadian and I get to celebrate it twice. Stay tuned for the long awaited photos from November. I'll get to them this weekend. Here's a spoiler: We ate turkey and drank a lot of beer. But you didn't hear that from me, OK?

Snow Shovel Symphony.

Boston's North End has become an extremely trendy place to live over the past decade - so landlords have been scrambling to maximize every square inch of their buildings in an attempt to squeeze any potential nickel out of their properties. The result is a lot of henhouse and basement apartments. My apartment is a split-level, but my actual bedroom is in the basement at the front of the building facing the street. And I chose it because it's the biggest. Not because I had to mount my sex swing on the lowest possible support girder.

My bedroom windows are street level, and my view consists of feet, hunched over homeless going through my garbage and stray dogs. It's breathtaking. But in the winter, it gets a lot worse. It's not the drifts blocking my view, and it's not the chilly seasonal drafts. No - it's the 5:30 a.m. snowshovel symphony.

I work late most days. Our office hours are unconventional in that respect and as a result I don't have to wake up until 9 a.m. So if, like last night, I decide to catch up on Tivo'd episodes of Sanford and Son or bad movies until 2 a.m. - I can still get 7 solid hours of sleep. That is unless it snows, and the folks who shovel Cleveland Place arrive before dawn to clear a path for the morning commuters.

Try and imagine what a snow shovel sounds like at 5:30 in the morning. The dirty, rusty blade scrapes along the cement incessantly - with the edge shiny and sharp from extended use - literally a foot from my unconcious head. I awake with a start and then try to figure out why I'm not actually lying on a beach beside a topless Rachel Weisz (note to self, watch Runaway Jury right before going to sleep again tonight). I bury my head under 3 pillows, groan and pray for the din to cease. When it does, I try to salvage whatever sleepy-time I happen to have left.

And, if its continued to snow, the concerto starts all over again at 8.

Revel In My Photoshop Prowess: Illegal Elians

Shortly after refugee Elian Gonzales was all over the news, Bobby and Monster tried to get a bunch of us to go to some shitty Cuban-theme party at a downtown Boston dance club. The backlash was immediate. Some poked fun, some refused, some balked and I contributed a Cuban/Elian-themed Photoshop:



I used the same photo of Bobby as I did here, and the original photo of Bryan's head is from the Tiernan's candid gallery. I'm sure you all remember seeing the source photo at every Liberal news outlet known to man. Which is basically every news outlet known to man. Baby Monster was eventually returned to the custody of his father in Cuba, while INS agent Bobby retired and opened up his own private poontang detection agency.

DougAndDoug.com - Intense Comedy.

I built DougAndDoug.com for my friend Doug Triconi and his comedy partner Doug Krintzman a year or so ago, and it's about to have a bunch of new content added to it. The duo has been trying to break into the bigtime for years now - producing their own videos and performing live stand up routines in Los Angeles on a regular basis.



Have a look at the hilarious short films The Search For 5 (the boys set out on an action filled quest for a missing porno tape) and Small Town Antics (Triconi is torn between robbing a house or making a sandwich) in Quicktime on their site right now, and stay tuned for their latest odyssey in the coming weeks. You can say you "saw them here first". Alternately, you may wish to say "What is this awful hack shit?" You be the judge. I think it's brilliant stuff.

The Iceman Cometh.

Remember that movie from 1984 where Timothy Hutton discovers the Neanderthal frozen in the arctic and then brings him back to life? Basically he thaws the smelly bugger out, hides him from some dissection-happy fellow scientists and then teaches him to sing Heart of Gold by Neil Young. While I think Neil Young is a God, I probably would have started with Bill Russell's A Little Bit of Soap.

As you may know it's been an unusually warm winter here in Boston so far, with this past week bordering on humid. And I thought I saw an Iceman on the way to work this morning. As he approached me, I tried to identify the sort of animal hide he was wearing, checked his hands for wooly mammoth flesh scraping tools and wondered if I'd be able to get him back to my laboratory for some guitar lessons without a net and a tranquilizer dart.

Then he asked me for a quarter. Previously driven inside by the bitter cold, Boston's homeless have returned to the streets in force. My great contributions to science and guitar-driven rock will have to wait a bit longer.

We're Sorry Everybody. And Virgins.

I've already given this truly awful website some begrudging lip service here on Pye In The Face, but I've been forced to revisit it due to an article I just read in my friend's newspaper. One of the guys who writes for him, Norton Tierra, runs down a refreshing list of reasons Americans have absolutely nothing to be apologizing about.



I could have used any number of photos from the eyesore in question, but I chose these two heartbreakers for the absolute plethora of Dungeons and Dragons jokes I'll be able to mine. Is the sign pertaining to their disappointment at Bush's re-election? Or the disappointment they feel because the rohypnol they bought from a fraternity brother before the kegger turned out to be Similac? Regardless, It's still convenient that whatever EverQuest server they were using last Saturday night crashed long enough for them to contribute this photo.

In summation - Will you people please stop whining? Don't apologize for Bush. Don't apologize on my behalf. But since you already have, allow me to return the favor: I'm sorry you weren't born a Kurd and gassed along with your entire family and then buried in a mass grave because that may have actually been preferable to screwing produce in your dorm room.

But someone eventually created a welcome alternative, the aptly entitled SorryEverybodyMyAss, at which the less snivelly members of our population are encouraged to submit antidotes to the disgraceful whinges on the original site. I decided to join the fray.



I've never liked the way in which household pets, particularly cats, are employed to relay the stomach-turning apologetic messages on SorryEverybody. This does little to help their already less-than-macho image. I found a photo of a fairly distressed looking cat on a shelter's website, added the scroll and decided to give our feline friends a chance to pick their own party. If cats are indeed as smart as I've grown to believe throughout 30+ years of having them around, they're certainly not Liberals by default. Even though they most certainly sound like them from time to time.

Christmastime in Torontooooo.

Actually, I never really set foot in Toronto over the holidays. I just like the song. OK - I did pee on the side of a KFC off Dundas St. while my sister asked for directions inside. So technically, I set foot and also set a little urine if we're splitting pubic hairs. But I did hang in Burlington, Guelph, Grimsby and Hamilton for extended periods of time, and took a few photos along the way.

Janet and I coughed our way up to Kingston on the Wednesday making the trip in about 7 hours which isn't bad. But it turns out we didn't need to pick up my mother's car as we'd originally thought, so we could have gone Northwest through New York State - straight to Toronto - and saved ourselves a lot of time. So that kinda blew. Coupled with the blizzard that descended for the final 4 hours of the eventual 12 hour trip, it definitely blew. Goats.



The photo of Gooch and Art on the left was taken at the Albion in downtown Guelph. I recognized a guy I lived in residence with ten years ago, and also a T.A. that I'd had for a short-lived psychology course. It was very cool to return to the Royal City after such a long hiatus and recognize people I knew - but that was just the tip of the iceberg. On the right we see Jim, Art, Gooch, Myself and Lynn. This photo was taken at Frank & Stein's where I eventually ran into another Mills boy and Tonizzo who used to work for me at the Bullring. I hadn't seen him since the final night of exams in 1998 so that was a tsunami from the past. Don't cringe - I'm topical.



Christmas day I posed proudly in my new jumper with Beatrix the cat. 'The Bix' is Janet's roomate's and we had to bring her with us because she's still young and not very well behaved. Kinda like Janet's roomate. Bix was fun to have in the car though - her fur improved windsheild visibility much faster than the defrost button. From there it was on to Uncle Richard's for the annual Pye gathering - and as usual it did not disappoint. Most kids are bummed when they get clothes for XMas, but Seth found his robe a whole lot more interesting when I told him it made him look like Muhammad Ali and then taught him a few pugilistic poses. Then I slap-boxed the shit out of him because he's only 8 and I knew I stood a good chance.



Kathy's father, my father and Thomas' father are brothers. Kathy's father spent Christmas in Cuba with his new woman, Thomas' father spent Christmas with us in Grimsby and my father spent Christmas alone in a Trailer in Florida. Well, he wasn't completely alone. He had a cat and a deep-fried turkey there with him. Gordo, if you read this, you're coming up next year. Stop being a... turkey. And finally Beatrix meets Gooseberry for the first of many violent, fur-flying encounters. Which was healthy because it kept Goose from attacking my Grandmother for 5 days. Pet/owner Love-hate relationship there. Basically, the cat loves to scratch the Christ out of her at every given opportunity. It's adorable.

Right. So happy 2005, everyone. My New Years Eve was nothing special so I'll spare you the details. Thank God the holidays are over for another year. I think I'd find medieval torture less stressful.