Pinkerton's Weblog

Five Questions With Myself

I rarely read blogs -- if I wanted to know that much frightening detail about a complete stranger's life, I'd simply walk up to them on the bus and ask them -- and so, in writing a blog, I usually try to keep the content as far away from the "I had cereal for breakfast, click here to find out which kind of Buffy character you are!" style as possible, as a benefit for the hypothetical people reading this.

Occasionally, though, I simply can't help it. I'm far too much of an egomaniac not to submit to the urge every once in a while to bury my own head up my ass and listen to the sounds of the ocean. Because it's such a rarity at Psalms, I'm hoping that'll make it less lame. Most likely it won't.

What Is Jay Listening To?
I've recently gotten into Ben Gibbard and his various side projects Death Cab for Cutie and The Postal Service. The latter, named so because of the method through which he and co-creator Jimmy Tamborello exchanged their song ideas, sounds kind of like Radiohead meets Grandaddy, then filtered through the prism of the music from a Super Nintendo cartridge. I'm not sure if that vague description really does the music justice, but if the idea of jangly 80's synth pop as sung by a nasally, introspective songwriter doesn't immediately turn you off, I suggest giving it a listen. The album is Give Up, and though I don't for a second endorse those file-sharing, music industry-destroying abominations of Satan's anus, if you happened to have one anyway "The District Sleeps Tonight" and "Such Great Heights" are notable soaring listens.

What is Jay watching?
I borrowed the 2-disc Fight Club DVD off a friend and watched the saucy hell out of it over the weekend. I've already seen the film, but I find I can sit and absorb myself with film extras for hours, it's so entertaining and educational and informative. You end up walking away with so much neat information from the actors and directors and set designers and screenwriters about their craft, it strikes me as better and cheaper than an actual film class. What suprised me the most about the Fight Club extras was how much the director and stars had to say about the film, and how little the author of the original novel and screenwriter had to say. Ultimately, while the author wrote the thing, and the screenwriter adapted it into cinematic language, it was the director and actors knee-deep in the material every day for months on a shooting stage that ended up being the major decision-makers in how a film ultimately looks and feels. Odd how obvious that is, but how quickly you can forget it.

What is Jay reading?
I just finished The Wealth and Poverty of Nations by David S. Landes. It's a pretty insightful glimpse into the various cultural strands of history, including pivotal events, that led our nations to their current status; though Landes has a bit of a grating prose style. An eye-opener to any beginner to the field who usually goes by the rule of thumb that the closer a country is to the equator, the worse it fares -- but also a thoughtful and even-handed essay for those of you who've put a little more thought into it. Certainly not a book you're going to walk away from the same as you entered it.

What website did Jay read today?
I checked out Old Man Murray today. I've never been a big video game player, and so never had much of an incentive to check out the site before. However, it turns out the author's a laugh riot, so much like I do with Penny Arcade, I read it pretending I'm not video game-retarded and laugh knowingly at all the jokes I don't get just in case somebody's watching. If I ever get questioned, I just say things like "first person shooter", "quad damage", "Baldur's Gate" and "Pac Man", and that throws 'em off the scent.

What movies is Jay looking forward to seeing?
In the theater: Once Upon a Time in Mexico, The Rundown, Kill Bill, The Matrix Reloaded, The Lord of the Rings

Wait for video: American Splendor, Lost in Translation, Matchstick Men

Go Forth in Peace

Jay Pinkerton: “Well, your application looks to be in order, Mr. Walker.”

Mr. Walker: “Thanks.”

Jay Pinkerton: “Welcome to the Nation of Islam, Mr. Walker. I hereby free you from your slave name, Michael Walker, and give to you your Islamic name in the spirit of Mother Africa: Tito Blackenstein.”

[a pause]

Mr. Blackenstein: “I’m sorry?”

Jay Pinkerton: “Next.”

Mr. Blackenstein: “No, wait, fuck that, I thought I’d be getting a cool name like Elijah Muhammad or something. I’m not going to join the Nation of Islam if my name’s Tito Blackenstein!”

Jay Pinkerton: “Are you questioning my name-giving choices, Tito?”

Mr. Blackenstein: “Yes, goddamnit! What’s wrong with Michael? Can I at least be Michael Blackenstein?”

Jay Pinkerton: “You remember when I touched my stapler after I said your name? That meant the name-giving ceremony was over. And thus final, Tito Blackenstein. Go forth in peace.”

Mr. Blackenstein: “This is ridiculous. What kind of an African-American Islamic Help Centre is this anyway?”

Jay Pinkerton: “The one that’s about to get all crazy on your ass if you don’t stop being a bitch and go forth in peace.”

Mr. Blackenstein: “My name is Michael, you--!”

[brief scuffle; Jay is pulled away from fray by African-American Islamic Help Centre Coordinator, Brother Philip Mohammad]

Brother Philip Mohammad: “Is there a problem here, Brother Pinkerton Mohammad?”

Jay Pinkerton: “No problem. Assface here wouldn’t go forth in peace, is all.”

Mr. Blackenstein: “You son of a…” [makes lunge for Jay]

Brother Philip Mohammad: [getting Jay away] “Um, let’s go talk over here.”

Jay Pinkerton: “Good call. Tito’s crazy. I tell you, Brother Philip, you should really consider some stricter entrance policies to the Nation of Islam.”

Brother Philip Mohammad: “Brother Pinkerton, when you were arrested last week for exposing yourself, you requested that you fill out your community service term here, because of the—”

Jay Pinkerton: “Nice hats.”

Brother Philip Mohammad: “Yes. Because of the… the nice hats. Since your arrival, though, Brother Pinkerton, enrollment has been down 87%. We couldn’t help but wonder if your… unorthodox name-giving might have something to do with it.”

Jay Pinkerton: “Brother Philip, if I bring someone through the Gates of Islam, am I not allowed to give him his name before Allah?”

Brother Philip Mohammad: “Well, no, not strictly. And to be perfectly fair, we have some rather set rules about the naming that we’ve discussed many times before, and…”

[sound of bells]

Jay Pinkerton: “Whoop, that’s the door. I’d love to stay and chat, Brother Philip, but we’ve got a customer. I free you from your slave name Philip Mohammad and give you your Islamic name in the spirit of Mother Africa: Chocolate Superfly. Go forth in peace.”

Brother Philip Mohammad: “I really think you’ve missed the point of…”

Jay Pinkerton: “Tell it to Tito Blackenstein, Brother. I’ve got a customer to convert.”

Brother Philip Mohammad: "Please stop calling them customers."

Jay Pinkerton: "Semantics."

Communism Farm

Once upon a time there were five ducks who lived on a farm. Their names were Marx, Lenin, Trotsky, Stalin, Chiang and Mao. Wait, six ducks. Do you see what I'm doing here? This book is awesome.

One day Marx the duck went up to all the other ducks and said: "I've got this great new idea! What if we instituted a collectivized system of government and ownership in which all goods and services are equally shared by the proletariat?"

"That is the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard," said Lenin, and all the other ducks ganged up on Marx and started wailing on him for, like, an hour or something. Chiang and Mao started doing these backflip moves where one guy'd like launch himself off the other into a flying kick right into Marx's chest, and that poor dope Marx can't even put up his hands to defend himself or shit, cause it turns out Trotsky got tortured by the KGB or some shit and as soon as he sees blood he just like goes fucking mental, and he's just screaming and screaming and the nunchuks are this blur all over Marx's back and his fucking face.

Oh, man. Hold on, I should draw some of this shit out.

Okay, I couldn't find a pencil. Anyway, then this giant robot showed up, and it was powered by fucking Communism. That's a metaphor.

The giant robot's chest plate opened up suddenly, and it started firing missiles out of its chest at the farm. It was awesome. It was also a metaphor.

Later, when people were like "What the fuck was that?" and went to check it out, they peeked in the window, and what they saw frightened them and even killed this one guy.

It turned out the pigs had been PEOPLE ALL ALONG. One of the guys was all like, "That was a GREAT FUCKING metaphor," and the thing is he was right.