Introsepctive Reading

This is a video about Ian's love/hate relationship with reading as a child.

4000th Visitor Tribute: Jared "Thunderbird" Anderson

There are points in world history you can always look back, and remember that moment in explicit detail. You remember where you were, who you were with, the smell in the air, what you had for lunch, every intimate detail of your life carved in stone. On Wednesday February 23rd, the day was just being reared from the cold night sky, Jared Anderson made one curious visit that would forever change his life, as the numbers 4-0-0-0 came into the screen.


This documents the wild ride to stardom as a regular everyday car salesman, Jared Anderson, changed his life with one simple swipe of his finger.


Below is the video of Jared winning his prize:





The second video is the congratulatory phone call featuring Ian from construxnunchux.com





The final video is a follow up over 24 hours after the contest, and how it has changed his life:

CXNX Caturdays!

Keepin it light this Saturday, so you'll be primed for this...

Tonight at 8 Eastern. Tree House is an awesome No-Kill shelter in Chicago. As I understand, their Tats for Cats event at Insight Studios, mentioned in a previous post, is featured. So, there will be a full hour, between the show and commercials for cat-related products of cats doing unbelievable acts! O, alrite... here's one video:

Thanks to Biscotti and Adora!

Ask A Clemente 2/25

Emil H.
Pittsburgh PA asks- "Does a dead battery weigh less than a new one?"

Ian: As I understand this question, you're asking if batteries have souls or not. This topic is too serious to muddy up with crude jpegs and hyperlinks. We'll proceed slowly and stoically in the face of centuries of misunderstanding and misleading manipulation of figures, which started with Rene Descartes' famous decree that batteries are merely automatons and therefore have no souls. It's been used by special interest groups ever since as the most basic and base defense for subjecting these magnificent and majestic beings to series of tests, vivisections and sometimes torture, pure and simple. On behalf of the numerous Chux Chasers worldwide, I hit the road on a small budget in search of in depth, updated answers.

"Dead batteries DO way less, but its such a small amount its almost immeasurable." When I approached the creeps at the Battery Preservation Society, that's what they told me. That the soul of a battery is immeasurable, that it's practically negligible and not worth mentioning. I think it will take years of petitioning and violence before we ever truly begin shedding light on our cause, light that's probably produced by batteries!

I'm so mad I can't even continue!

Elizabeth C.
Jamestown NY asks-" Does a SuperHero wear underwear?"


Paul: The short answer is yes. Usually being blessed with superpowers comes with the inevitable curse of having a superior digestive system, and high metabolism. If a superheroes lifestyle requires food or water of any kind, they succumb to the handicap of not being able to control their bladder, or bowels efficiently.

You serious!

The problem first became addressed with Kryptonian superhero Superman, was attempting his very first car lift, and soiled himself after straining to keep the car steady in the middle of a Metropolis intersection. Frustrated and embarrassed, Superman knew there had to be an answer to this problem.

Superman looked all over the world for someone who could create an undergarment for someone with this affliction, and pair it with functionality out in the field. He had to fly all the way to Finalnd to find scientist Vasill Ludellmann. Vastill was very excited to tackle to the project as he worked on a synthetic material to not only absorb, but give Superman enough flexibility to pick up cars, and stop trains.

Vasill created the first undergarment made from Polypropylene, Cotton, and elastic to keep it in place. They were nicknamed JATS, short for the Finnish phrase Jattet on Mennyt meaning Waste Be Gone.

The first JATS test run was met with disastrous results where the solid waste would rip the fabric right off the test subject. Superman went through several tests soiling dozens of JATS all of them destroyed beyond recognition.

The second prototype Dr. Ludellmann weaved essentially steel wool in with the cotton to increase strength of the garment without sacrificing flexibility. Superman's liquid waste was held without incident, but solid waste still proved to be an issue during periods of super-speed where his pernium was irritated by the steel wool.

re-creation of final JATS prototype

The final prototype was a hybrid of fishing line wrapped in fine silk, paired with the cotton and Polypropylene. Superman found the garment to be not only soft, but able to handle the massive amount of solid waste his body processes a day. This final version of JATS was manufactured, and marketed to the few super heroes that existed at the time.

Today, JATS sells over 26.6 billion units a year to superheroes all over the world. The JATS industry, although not public, is a gigantic economic superpower worldwide. Dr. Ludellman pased away after trying to create JATS for nuclear powered super humans, but his influence on the hero community will never be forgotten.



Mandy S.,
Piitsburgh PA asks- Who would win in a cage fight: a hippogriff or a werewolf?

Ian: I want to start off by saying I do not promote or condone keeping mythical beasts in cages. They should be allowed to wander free and continue to mystify us and terrify (and eat) our children. So understand I'm answering this purely on a hypothetical basis and that my response is not meant to reflect or encourage the use of this information for personal gain or gambling purposes. That being said...

We need to inform ourselves of the background of the hippogriff, first discovered in 1965 AD (After Dinosaurs) at the Nuremburg International Toy Fair by one Denys Fisher... wait... Oh sorry, that's Spirograph. The hippogriff was actually created by a mad professor in the early 18th century. And we're all well aware of the werewolf's much more highly publicized origin. The first werewolf ever recorded was the result of being bitten by the original werewolf. No, the original werewolf...

So now that we all have a firm understanding of the contestants involved, let's make sure we all understand the rules. We can assume we're working with a standard size ring and cage apparatus. Basically, the first bohemoth to exit the ring by climbing the massive 16 foot side of the cage and hitting the ground on the other side wins. Let's analyze the hippogriffin's strategy: Since the cage is topless, our first opponent, in this corner, weighing in at 786 pounds without armor, could easily just take to the sky and safely land on the other side, thus celebrating the fastest cage-match ever and disappointing all the paying fans. A stipulation of many modern cage matches (from the 1850's on) requires that "no competitor shall be considered victorious if he be hoisted, lifted, or dissipated and rematerialized to any location or locale, hitherto and thusforth, outside the ring" which essentially states that without actually climbing the side of the cage, the hippogriffin would not actually win but only be standing outside waiting to be thrashed and torn asunder by the werewolf, who could easily leap over the cage, but is equally eager to and adept at climbing the side frantically.



Now, let's focus on the werewolf's cunning strategem: GrrRRRWLOLWWWoowwwRRrraaarrrrrgggHHHHHnoNOGRRRSnfssshhhHarrrll!!!!

Truly brilliant! Well, Mean Gene, I've seen both combatants separately in matches at my local f*ght cl*b, and I'd say that, barring any sneaky tactics from Orlando Furioso or any interferenence from that mummy whose tomb is buried directly beneath the center of the ring, I think both heavyweights here have a hard match ahead and will require intense training.

[ed. note--If you wanted the vegas odds, I'd say werewolf, for a number of reasons, but mostly because Harry Potter is lame.]


Erin H.
Pittsburgh PA asks- Which Clemente brother is the king of awesome?

King of Awesome Belt circa 1992

Paul:

1991 The title was established in 1991 during a small scuffle over who got to play Final Fight for Super Nintendo first. The battle was short, and resolved quickly, but historians will tell you that Paul finished the conflict with his now retired ARM PUNCH. The first ever title was awarded in a small private ceremony in Paul's bedroom under his favorite Metallica poster.

1993

The title remained uncontested for almost an entire 20 months, before the title was put on the line during a heated 7 game series between the Calgary Flames, and Boston Bruins. The platform of this battle was facilitated by NHL 93 for Super Nintendo. The series took all 7 games to determine the winner in a bloodbath of a series that included over 2000 penalty minutes, and 21 fighting majors. Ian's SC1 line of Fleury-Newendyk (Makarov replacement)-Roberts proved to be too much for the Neely-Oates-Carpenter line. It was then Ian earned his first King of Awesome title.

1994

We never met to do any harm

In one of the most shocking events accounted for in the King of Awesome title history was during Paul and Ian's WPIX unlicensed radio broadcast. During a song, the surprise attack of George the Gorilla it was intermittently recorded during the Fine Young Cannibals hit song "She Drives Me Crazy". George the Gorilla surprised Ian with a series of a barrage arm flailing, and open hand slaps forcing him to submit the title after an admirable attempt to fend of his mystery attacker. George the Gorilla was then unveiled as one of Paul's "on-air" personas used to catch Ian off guard and capture the title for himself.

1994

Eager to regain the title, and fresh off what some would say dirty tactics used by Paul to gain the title Ian rushed to challenge for the coveted belt sooner than later. During a particular difficult bowel movement an unaware Paul was ambushed by Ian armed with a moist bath towel. Ian's aim was true and precise hitting Paul in the testicles rendering helpless. Ian ended what was notated as the shorted reign of the King of Awesome title. Paul made a quick recovery after wards, and respected the despicable attack from his younger brother vowing revenge.

1995

seized from 1995 battle site

During a once in a lifetime visit from estranged Aunt Agnes (yes she was real), Paul and Ian were barricaded in Ian's bedroom mulling over how to handle the awkward social situation. A strange mix of adrenaline, and nerves sent the Clemente brothers into an impromptu battle for the title. It was widely considered the most athletically challenging, and aesthetically pleasing battle in the history of the prestigious title. Sadly during the five star match Ian botched an over handed palm strike striking his head onto a nearby dresser. . Ian was knocked senseless from the hard wooden obstacle, and the fight ended almost immediately by TKO. Purists have made the argument that this battle could well have lasted more than a day, and the two combatants were at their peak fighting conditions. It was later that day where Paul presented Ian with a misprinted, and poorly copied issue of the Penny Saver. In attempts to gain a strategical advantage for their next battle Paul tried to convince Ian he was concussed, and his vision was clearly effected by the damage done to his head. Ian, thirsty for revenge, did not fall for it.

1995

Weapon used for 1995 title.

In the first title fight outside of the Clemente household, Ian shocked the world by staging a Super Soaker assault during Plum Aqua's 3rd annual pre-teen party. The attack was said to have been masterfully coordinated, and precisely timed to where the title changed hands almost instantaneously. Paul humiliated swam to the deep end of the pool, and took out his frustrations with a dozen hatred fueled cannonballs.



1996

Dramatic Reinactment

What was considered the most violent of all the title bouts, Paul reclaimed the title from Ian while trying to seize control over the remote control in the living room. Scientists have determined that the hormone levels of the two participants were at such a state of imbalance, which accounted for the high level of violence in this match. Ian was documented as watching VH1 on television where his opponent Paul, in a bold play for dominance, demanded the remote control from Ian's possession. Ian refused and Paul launched a risky full frontal attack which caught Ian by surprise, gaining him the advantage. Ian wisely retreated up to his bedroom to plan strategy, but was followed by a much more svelte and quicker Paul. Paul continued his assault on Ian by administering a textbook torture rack, followed by an attempted slam into Ian's workstation. Sadly, the unchecked act of mindless aggression cost Ian the King of Awesome title.

1997

During this turbulent time, Paul, once again, attacked Ian in an unprovoked aggressive way. Leading psychiatrists say that Paul let the title blur the lines of right and wrong for him, and that nothing short of time would cure his temper. Ian was rummaging through albums in the family room innocently, when Paul taunted Ian into defending his honor. The phrase "piss-off" spiraled Paul into another surprising attack that spilled into the kitchen. Ian, who was not prepared for a match that day, did all that he could to subdue to violent actions of his older brother. This event is known as the only title retention is the glorious history of the King of Awesome title.

1998-2001

This was the longest period during the title defense of inactivity. Due to the aggressive tactics of Paul tainting the title's prestigious honor, and lack of interest, the title remained uncontested for over 3 years. In the year 2000, Paul's unmanageable attitude exiled him from the Clemente household, and Paul went into hiding for 11 months leaving the title impossible to contend for.

2001

It wasn't until the death of Clemente patriarch and inspiration of the two brothers, George Vitai passed away. Paul came out of hiding to attend the funeral, and it was there Paul and Ian reestablished communication. During the wake however, a spirited battle ensued in private near the coat room. It was estimated 5 punches were thrown at a 40% success rate. The battle was good spirited as both brothers punched themselves into a brutal draw. The King of Awesome title was for the first time, was co-occupied by both brothers, and then retired.

2007

2007 Reunion Match

Although the title was retired the Clemente brothers reunited for a reunion show during Halloween 2007. The match was one of the most technically proficient matches in King of Awesome history. Much to the protest of the party host, the battle raged onto the early morning. The turning point of the match was the surprising spiked DDT onto a tile floor rendering Paul dehabilitated. The battle raged outside into the cold fall night where Paul was tossed into a wooden fence making Ian the ceremonial winner of the title. Officially, the title stayed in both brother's name Ian pinned Paul that night cleanly in an incredible match.

2009

2009: The last battle to date.

To date, this is the final match between Paul and Ian. This match was described more of a street fight than a King of Awesome match. This was a short match compared to the 07 Reunion Battle lasting only 3:17. Ian won again with brutal efficiency, and Paul (now 8 years retired) was no match for his younger brother. Ian won his second consecutive match, but officially the title never changed hands.

As of today, there are no scheduled matches in the near future, and the King of Awesome title has not been competed for since 1997. What's next for the long abandoned, but well respected honor is still unknown. I would not rule out a charity match in the future, but the days of competing for the strap are long gone.


Ian: Wow, you've raised a pretty sensitive topic here. And as isn't surprising, Paul has it all wrong in his blind quest for hits! I shouldn't blame him, though, as he may be trying simply to repress the horrors we suffered early on, horrors that led to the creation of an actual King of Awesome title, and accompanying papier machee belt. Clearly, you're aware of the twisted and mangled childhood we endured for many years (some of us longer than others and some of us who have not yet outgrown it). There are an additional two Clemente brothers, as many may already know (the fact, though well hidden for nearly 30 years, was made public in the 2006 docu-drama Men's Needs), Mervin and Elephant Head, so named for his disproportionately large noodly appendage. We called him Ethel for short.

Amongst the facts not revealed in our unauthorized bio-pic was that Mervin refused to participate in our parents' rigid daily training designed to mold us into performers worthy of rivaling only the Dunk Brothers in popularity. Mervin often whined, "I don't wanna dunk!" and was threatened incessantly, featuring such hits as, "You will dunk or you will be destoryed!" Mervin had a nasty habit of locking himself in a closet downstairs and watching Night Court on his portable TV. His wheedling laughter would pierce through our skulls as we attempted to carry on with our nightly game of Parcheesi. Paul and I woke up one morning and Mervin was gone.

The rest is in the film, and the rest is true. What's not even mentioned though is that we did have another brother! No one really knows what happened to Ethel, but we suspect he hasn't gone the way of Mervin and still lurks in the depths of our dog-hair-sculpture-cluttered attic, still misformed and disfigured, but still unconfirmed and MIA. For us, Ethel, for all his humor and sexy build, will always remain, in the world of Clementes, the King of Awesome, where ever you are...

1/2- Arts and Crafts (Parade Of Accidents)

In our prideful, endless pursuit of ego, no doubt due to the onslaught of atrocities we either commit, suffer or observe, we often feel the need to communicate with each other in a codified manner, to confide in near anonymity, hiding behind created characters or adhering to countless trials and tropes, using the very same to qualitatively evaluate--often to invalidate--another's attempt at connection and establish an objective standard for observation and discussion. Out of this regrettably facile justification for/explanation of existence has arisen the horrendously overused and misunderstood term, Art. It is the aim of the following discussion to clarify, fortify and specify the idea this word would most effectively express. In turn, that may allow those in assent to do the same with their aims of subjective sacrifices and off-hand offerings.

For those familiar with my personal background, the knowledge already exists that I've embarked on several misadventures involving candid conversations with many who consider themselves artists. For those unfamiliar, it's certainly no surprise that I'm an easily targeted prey (always pretending to be a predator, of course) for this particular, and particularly roguish sub-set. Of course, these invariably have only ended in bitterness, building into a woodpile supply that fuels these incessant bemoaning abominations. This particular idea, however, I can claim was conceived during a happier and hopeful time.

The first mistake made often in the use of the word is actually in an incorrect specification is that of application solely to the still arts--painting, sculpture, photography--some of the genera of this set themselves suspect under the following derived/contrived definition. Art is a broad classification, designating not a medium, but intent and execution, as we'll explore below.

As seems to be the consistent structure of these exercises, we've begun by at least partly defining our term (Art) by negation, by what it is not. We will arrive shortly at an agreeable definition to fill that vacuum by synthesis. Art is the infusion of Craft with Philosophy. As can be expected, neither term is intended to retain its colloquial usage for our purposes.

Craft directly fulfills the demands inherent in life. It applies invention, innovation and construction. The most obvious form of craft is that which provides for everyday needs. Craft feeds a pre-existing purpose and while it may not always be based in absolute necessity, it still eases or accessorizes life in an efficient manner that enables us to be more productive or more advanced, at very least satiated.

Craft does not encourage analysis--not of an object or product itself nor of the world around it. Craft is simply useful for the moment or specific task that requires it and can be replaced or discarded after use. Craft relates to the fleeting, the temporary and the temporal. Craft enables us to live. A second mistake in the usage of the word Art is that it's often applied to craft humorously or ironically, as in the phrase "has it down to an art." As will be explored further, craft is not quite art. The largest omission keeping craft from inhabiting the same space is that it lacks the ability to provoke emotion or thought. One may argue that a great meal or that a well designed building can inspire us, but it inspires not to think on expansive ideals, but only about the meal or the building itself. It's solely self-referential and any craft that attempts to suffice more than an immediate purpose--food to eat or a house to live in--is evidence of a glutted, stagnant and wasteful society.

Philosophy, however, does maintain for the most part its casual definition as the compilation of distantly observed, scientifically measured and factually offered ruminations on the reasons we exist as we do and how, if at all possible, to improve it. Philosophy by its nature arises in a culture that provides excess time for some to contemplate and cull their arguments and justifications. Most if not all philosophies become self perpetuating, building a dense wall of jargon and nearly mathematical proofing. Therefore, Philosophy is generally inaccessible and requires academic study. Philosophy is everything Craft is not. It pertains to the distant and the nonexistent. It is impossible to philosophize in or for a moment.

An artist combines both Craft and Philosophy, whether consciously or not. An artist is a medium between the tangible and intangible. Without Philosophy, Craft cannot assist us in our self-important quest for immortality or at least posterity and without Craft, Philosophy exists in a vacuum, inapplicable and forgettable, dense and completely isolated, pure pretention. Philosophy is inelegant, Craft is insubstantial. Art marries, hybridizes and communicates them. An artist takes an idea without a form and gives it one, and the other way around as well.

An artist embeds Philosophy into Craft, into a memorable, aphoristic, striking moment that lingers and grows and enables us to cohabitate without desire to destroy. Art creates a common language, be it in the obvious sense of a commonly used phrase or in the more obtuse notion of common experience captured in a widely understood moment. This creates a very narrow definition of what an artist is and what art is as well. But we must ask, is Art useful? Most art requires a specialized tradesperson, referred to herein and elsewhere as a performer, which clouds the idea of the usefulness of Art and someone undermines the basis for the thesis of this discussion.

I've endured heartfelt, though most likely well-rehearsed, defenses that acting and musicianship are high, unassailable forms of art. Expression, maybe. Performance, certainly. But one is mere recitation of lines coupled with regurgitation of emotion leeched off of others and the other is simple muslce memory and fine tuning, both repeated so many times as to insult the very idea of authentic connection with another person. Performers--actors, musicians, dancers and models--are conduits for artists--writers, composers, choreographers and painters--who can claim no true authorship to the final product. At best, they exercise an influence over the reception/perception of the actual substance of a work. This doesn't mean that actual artists cannot be the performer and interpreter of their own works and as we know, this happens often. Oddly though, this is given a special designation as an auteur or singer-songwriter or self-portrait or one-man-show, as if it's exceptional to want to present an undiluted or poorly interpreted version of their consciously connective paeans.

This doesn't mean that it doesn't require strength or a certain talent to hold a position for hours or master the fingering of an instrument. Certainly, there's a level of elite skill required, which is often possessed, I will argue, by the artist who provided the core concept, thus doubling back to the previous point. If we take away a piece created by an artist and we have performers on a stage, what do we have? We're left with what is loving called today improvisation. The fact of the matter remains, though, that all structures for all subconscious or spontaneous performance come from an initial creator or collaboration or at the most reductive point from a common origin which negates the need for an artist, and therefore for a performer. The people are their own artists at the genesis of culture (valid if barring the glaringly obvious observation that they fulfill all of their own requirements). It isn't skill that communicates to another human, that eases suffering or invigorates a hidden sense of purpose. In fact, an excess of training in any particular form of performance has a doubly opposite effect--it first becomes the vehicle for performers to preen excessively while secondly building an unnecessary barrier by adding a more complex layer of distance between the initial statement and the audience.

Yet arguments still persist to aggrandize performance, which at best can be called a type of craft, its practical implementation being entertainment and diversion, to the level of art. The foremost reason this is ridiculous is that art itself is not mythical sublimation of human experience at the hand of a demi-deity. Art is a parade of accidents--accidental creation through a series of events or chemical flux that creates an artist, that creates an idea for that artist, that completes that idea, that the idea's actually seen (the last being the most important qualifier). So first the concept of the artist needs to be deflated and grounded. Secondly, I will acknowledge that it's the actual performance of art, what is seen (again the most important part), which holds the immediate impact to connect. But any emotional connection, whether it is through the conduit or a direct result of the source, is also accidental, based on accidental sympathy or empathy through accidentally similar experience. It can be acknowledged that one performance, more skillful than another, can imbue the substance, the content with unexpected or previously unnoticed idiosynchracies. It is truly a symbiotic relationship and in the end this is all sophistry born out of thousands of years of reduplication.

The more artful or artistic a particular creation is, by definition the less practical it is. At best, art can only be half-practical (as it is Half-Craft). It is, at its most useful, a presentation of ideas that can be converted or invested into immediately applicable action for the purpose of strengthening a society. Art that is of a lesser consideration usually fulfills this role

Of course Art that leans too far toward pure craft, whether it's soulless technical execution or an attempt at mass appeal, "giving the people what they want", loses the effect of Philosophy and exists as no more than momentary distraction. This isn't too say that danger isn't present in excess in the opposite direction, perhaps moreso. When one encounters pure didacticism, presented inelegantly, it often shocks or repulses a prospective student or convert. It is necessary to appeal commonly held conceits in order to relate any new or even strong idea. Additionally, any art that is too solipsistic in its presentation as to appear enigmatic without any self-contained cipher cannot be understood. Art cannot be art if it is not communicated or if it lacks communicative skill. This hints at the concept of subjectivity, an easy word for self-proclaimed artists to hide behind and defend poorly crafted art with, but the truth is that for Art to be Good, it must relate to a greater percentage of people without prior empathy than those with. This poses us for the next discussion.

(Dedicated to the Groundskeeper at the AIU in Pittsburgh, the self-proclaimed "Picasso of Peat Moss)

The REAL Rip Talyor #11: The Unfinished Blockbuster

The year was 1996, scriptwriter Larry Karaszewski, fresh off his critically acclaimed "The People vs. Larry Flint", began to pen scripts in tribute to his two heroes Andy Kaufman, and the incomparable Rip Taylor. Larry shopped the two newly finished scripts around the industry, selling the Kaufman script to Universal Pictures and the Rip story to Miramax. The studios contacted Rip and told him about the project. Uncharacteristically, Rip admonished the idea, stating that the details of his personal life should not be made public. It wasn't until David Fincher approached Rip in Las Vegas backstage after a performance and convinced him that his story needed to be told. Fincher and Rip reportedly discussed the collective vision they had for the movie over a steak dinner and came to mutual agreement. The movie was scheduled to start filming immediately.

Rip ending a scene.

David Fincher worked his crew double duty, filming Fight Club and the then-titled "It Ain't All Confetti", as both films were being shot in the same studio. The movie took a difficult 18 months to film as the famously uncooperative Rip stalled scenes with knock-knock jokes and throwing confetti at co stars Ben Kingsley while shrieking "Ghandi!" It wasn't until late 1999 that the film wrapped in post production.

The movie told the dark tale of Rip's childhood and his slow and steady rise into the public eye. It touched upon the taboo subject of the abuse he endured in the foster home programs in the metro D.C. area, with a powerful performance (some claimed Oscar worthy) by Sir Kingsley as the headmaster.


The story progresses to Rip in the U.S. Senate busing tables and attending pageboy school, including a disturbing scene of an adolescent Rip strangling a boy to death in the senate kitchen.

The plot moves forward to his time in the army, and the effect that taking 4 lives has on the human mind. The war scenes were described as the most realistic dipictions of wartime depravity and brutality ever, as a young Rip played by Titannic star Leonardo Dicaprio mercifully kills one of his own wounded soldiers with a rock.

We then flash forward to Rip's hedonistic time working the show circuit in Atlantic City. It was during this time that the scene Rip most opposed was depicted, a threesome included a then-unknown Jake Gylenhaal and a young Busy Phillips. The scene between the underage actors is what ended up ultimately causing the movie the most problems with the censors and the suits.

The movie ends with Rip's historic time frequenting game shows like Hollywood Squares, The Dating Game, and other famous appearances.

Those kids where what?!

The movie was set to be released in the summer of 2001, with a heavy media campaign supporting the film. It wasn't until the overwhelming test audience reactions paired with the MPAA threatening the ban of the film in the United States, where Fincher and Rip's vision was in jeopardy of never making it to the big screen. Universal's attorney claimed that the sex scene involving the underage actors included no penetration therefore technically not pornographic. The case threatened to hold up the release for the foreseeable future and the project was abandoned by Universal leaving the film one of the biggest black eyes in the studio's illustrious history.


Rip fondly recalls his time with Fincher and claims it was very cathartic to have his life out there for the world to see. He does not regret the film ever being released as his artistic integrity was never compromised. In 2005 the court ruling upheld and "It Ain't All Confetti" was banned in the us, and halted for international distribution pending each countries decency laws. Rip borrowed not only the unmade movie's title for his superb 2010 one-man show, but also took generously from the plot and storytelling style that American "decency" laws had robbed us of for nearly a decade.

The only remaining evidence that remains is a hard copy of the movie poster promoting the film. We won that poster from eBay for 19.99 and now we bring it to you.

Top NES Games

There is no doubt that Nintendo has been a gigantic part of our lives. We would spend countless hours in front of the TV playing a game from sun up to sun down. There would be nothing more exciting that going to Network Video (in Plum PA) or Iggle Video and picking out a Nintendo game. We would manically read the poorly Xeroxed instruction booklet over, and over during the car ride home. Once we pulled in the driveway we would call dibs on who got to play first, with me pulling seniority most of the time, and our weekend was set. Here are some games we invested countless hours into, and in return received these wonderful memories behind them,

These are listed in no particular order:

1. Battletoads - I don't really recall how we came across this game, although I can count on it being featured in Nintendo Power or something. This game was great for a couple of reasons, first and foremost, it was a two player co-op game. It also combined humor, and violence something even at a younger age we had such a passion for. I can also recall this game being close to impossible. The difficulty level even for today's standards if off the charts. Ian and I would play this game to where we had every move and enemy pattern memorized to where completing the first 3 levels was like breathing to us. What was amazing is that the levels we did complete, were all unique and fun to play. Even with the assistance of the Game Genie, I still don't think we ever completed the game. One level I remember particularly was the jetbike stage (level 3?) where you had to simultaneously time all the jumps, and movements so precisely that you wold think it was a military training exercise.

2. River City Ransom - There were so few games as cool as River City Ransom. Technos at the time had a bunch of games that used the same little characters, and animations - they were all amazing. This game was also two player co-op which meant Ian and I got to play together for hours at a time. The game was like an RPG mixed with a button mashing street fighting game. You could beat the piss out of strangers, and collect money to buy food, clothes, books, and other strange things that would help you get stronger throughout the game. I remember Ian, and I spending almost the entire day on the first stage to earn enough money to buy all the special moves early on so that the rest of the game would be cake. We would give silly commentary when beating up the guys, and try innovative ways to cure the boredom of beating up dozens of guys named "Blade". I remember this game so fondly due to the fact that Ian, and I got to play together while satisfying our need to violence.

3. TMNT II The Arcade Game:  There were very few other games I remember being more excited about being released for Nintendo. The arcade game was out a few years before the release of this game, and it was stunning. The graphics were so amazing, you could play all 4 turtles at the same time, and there was so much button mashing joy involved. I remember Ian and I standing in front of the unattended arcade cabinet, and watching the free play demo over and over at Hills or Nesbit Lanes (it was an extremely rare occurrence we would be allowed a quarter to play). When the game was in Nintendo Power I could barely contain myself. Although I did somewhat understand the limitations of the Nintendo system, it was no where near the arcade quality I was looking for. It did have 2 players which made it fun, and of course Ian and I played it endlessly.

I expected this ...

Kinda got this ...

4. BaseBall Stars:  What really can be said about one of the best baseball games of all time? We played this game so much I'm surprised it's still in working condition today. What set this aside from all other games, was the ability to edit and rename your teams, and the fact that it saved your accumulative stats throughout a "season". We renamed teams everything from different X-men, classic rock icons, to video game characters. We always had a "straight pitch rule" where we would always throw a hittable ball to each other to keep the game interesting. We would spend all day editing a team and about 10 minutes actually playing a game, before dismantling our team just to rename them again. You could also jump, slide, and steal bases at will which made things extra fun, as we would catch balls with maximum style as you caught a homerun at the wall. Since Baseball Stars, no other baseball game really measured up, and will always hold a special place in my heart.

5. Double Dragon II : It was tough to pick between the first Double Dragon and this one, but this one was such an improvement over the first one graphically I'm pretty sure Ian, and I played this one more over the previous one. This one had all the right things 2 player co-op, violence, and it seemed like we enjoyed the beat 'em up style games over most. This game was a consistent renter since we were not allowed to own this game due to the "violence" in it. We would always play this game when our parents were pre-occupied  and us playing was not the center of attention. This game was incredibly fun, and we played this one the whole way through. This game was far from a button masher though, you needed to employ s good mix of moves to move forward, or just cyclone kick the shit out of everyone. It was another great game you can work together to beat up strangers, and get "revenge".

6. Maniac Mansion: This might be one of the few 1 player games we both shared without too much fighting. This game was basically a video game version of a choose your own adventure book. There was so much creativity, and humor involved in playing this game. As I remember as well, is that there was more than one way to finish the game with 5 unique people that all have their own special abilities. We had to have finished this game in every possible way with all characters. I remember having so much fun trying new and stupid things to interact with.  I was not sure how we came across this game, or even how we owned this, but this is something that holds a place in my hall of fame.

7. Super Mario Bros. 3: There was such a mania surrounding this game. In a world before pre-ordering our parents in a rare act of kindness scoured the greater Pittsburgh area for this game. We pulled together our limited money, and let our parents bite, scratch, and claw through hordes of shoppers to find this game. I remember the call from a payphone telling us they found a copy, and the dance filled celebration that followed. The game was everything it was hyped to be. We read about it, drew pictures of it, and talked about it at school this game was weaved into our being for years.  We gladly took turns and probably was the only game allowed in our Nintendo for ages. This is a no brainer for the fact of the unusual kindness our parent exhibited to get it, and the excitement of actually getting it.

8. World Cup Soccer: This game was basically River City Ransom with soccer. It was another co-op game, but its wasn't usual soccer. You could tackle and kick your opponents, do special kicks to score automatically, and play on ice/rocky ground/ ect.. Ian and I used to play this game to death, where we would win the World Cup, run up the score, or try to injure all of the players on the opposite team. Winning the Cup would take an entire afternoon, and then we would fire up the game again to play with different imposed rules.

9. Castlevania: Simon's Quest: This and Double Dragon II were ones we rented all the time, and never owned. I know it's cool to hate this game, but this game had some sort of magic power over us to where we played it obsessively. The game was impossible, and I don't even recall even progressing anywhere in the game, due to impossible secrets involved to move forward. I just remember reading about it in How to Win at Nintendo about crouching at a certain spot and a tornado would warp you away, and I would beg to go back to Iggle Video to rent the game again. I don't remember any game we played more with such little reward, but it does hold fond memories with me.

10. Megaman 2: Megaman 2 was one of the first games we ever owned on the Nintendo. When the Nintendo was brand new our parents were very involved with us playing, interested in the games, and actually played when we went to bed. Megaman 2 was incredibly difficult, as all of those games were in the series. I remember the morning I woke up to learn that my dad beat Airman, and earned his tornado cannon, I actually looked up to him for a hot second or two. It wasn't until the purchase of the NES Advantage where the field was leveled in our favor. It was cool to use the different powers you got for beating the robots, and figuring out what worked against who to beat the game. One memory I recall was jumping onto one character long blocks in Dr. Wily's castle and concentrating real hard, when a huge robot dragon burst onto the screen scaring me out of the room. I was then yelled at for the outburst.

Nostalgia - Breaking the Switchplate

This is a story about mindlessly destroying a light switch in our parent's house, and the surprising lack of consequences behind it.

Construx Promo

Construx Caturdays 2/19

Unfortunately, everything in the cat universe is not all yarn and grass. On occasion, cats end up turning on themselves, and commit feline on feline assaults. This sad state of affairs when this happens and one can only pray that the cats someday figure out a peaceful resolution to this problem.

Ask a Clemente 2/18/11

Kris F., Pittsburgh PA asks: 1. "If you could be any muppet who would you be or who would you combine?"

Borkeep!

Paul: I would combine the Swedish Chef and Beeker. The Swedish Chef has the killer instinct, dexterous hands, and knowledge of knives. Beaker is the ultimate right hand man, he does what you ask him to, and is seemingly impervious to damage. Together they would make the perfect killing machine, plus the sounds they would make would be unreal.



Ian: At first, I was going to request to combine Fozzie and Woody Allen into my DNA, perhaps imbuing me with the gift of quick timing and sharp wit I try so desperately to exude, but somebody told me Woody Allen isn't a Muppet. While I doubt the validity of that objection, I still want to provide a completely bullet proof, air tight response. I would choose to be the conflation or transmogrification of Statler and Waldorf, thus making me the oldest crustiest, bitterest and wittiest Hater in the entire universe.






Lisa C., Frewsburg NY asks - "What really makes you tick?"

Paul: Eating clocks. No seriously. Here is a detailed chart:

Ian: What makes me tick is cities with made up names like "Frewsburg".



George C., Osan Kyongii-Do, Korea asks - "What kind of inside deal can I get on a Camry?"

Ian: My my my, you'd think people would learn by now to conduct themselves... ahem! conduct themselves, comport themselves with some discretion, y'know, on the up n up, as it were.

But, if you insist...

one for no, two for yes--



I can get you a three of a kind inside this deal on this camry. That's about all I can do for you. If you don't believe me, ask this man...







Sean H., Crafton PA asks: " can u define the term "Boosh?"

Paul: The Term was adapted from the Adult Swim show Frisky Dingo, where it can be used in a variety of ways.

Please take notice of the following video:


As you can tell BOOSH can be used as an interjection. EX: So John was walking in the parking lot and slipped on ice, Boosh! After using BOOSH comfortably it should become a phrase exemplifying Happiness, Excitement, or Success.

BOOSH can also be used as an adjective. EX: So I told the store clerk 4 quarters do make a dollar! The I was like, Boosh!

BOOSH is also used as an immediate additive to a suggestive phrase or story. It has quickly replaced the phrase "That's what she said" although it can follow the aforementioned phrase functioning as a suffix. EX: Yeah, she said she needs something long to fit in the rear. (to follow immediatly) Boosh. or "Yeah, she said she needs something long to fit in the rear." "That's what she said" "Boosh" Also BOOSH can be used to describe something being humiliated, defiled, or destroyed.

BOOSH!

Now that you know how, and when to use the word BOOSH, please feel free to use it when it feels natural. It will make you a better person in society, I promise.


Ian: Once again, Paul has egg all over his post. He's failed to do his research, showing a blatant lack of respect for our noble Chux Chasers. Please allow me to clarify this glaring error of omission, as it's my mission.

The word boosh can be traced back to a misappropriation of the Old Norse term book (pron. əɔ˞儿ɻ), an almost perfect past tense conjugation of blrkrk meaning, roughly, "roughly." Sorry, but the exact meaning gets lost in translation. Of course, cunning linguists often dispute this story of origin, and it's alternately been traced back to latinate roots, as a conflation, or portmantau, of the words ambustio and scruta, meaning in the parlance of the plebians, "You got burned sucka!"

The modern definition is somewhat varied depending on what region you hold a conversation. And of course in India, boosh means the total opposite of what it does in America. Here are some additional theories to support this argument.

An N word

Bullies, you need to begin targeting nerds again. In the past decade, we've seen a decline in successful and intentional nerd-bashing which is due to several factors, including diffusion of target demographics, with splinter groups such as the sexually ambiguous, the comically corpulent and the perpetually apprehensive growing in numbers, or at least in recognition. Another major factor has been the acceptance, or at least perceived acceptance of nerd culture as mainstream culture, which is probably the largest as well as the most offensive component of the nerd movement. As a bully, a clear definition and plan of attack may become a difficult gray area to comprehend and compose, especially for someone so mentally impaired as to rely on reactionary brutality as a primary implement for persuasion, so the following discussion is aimed at clarifying what a nerd exactly is, why it isn't cool to be a nerd, and why nerds, as defined below, should be pummelled with out question or guilt.

Nerd culture is undoubtedly a global phenomenon, but seems to me, perhaps as a result of my geographic, technological and logical limitations, to be punctuated by a caucasian suburban culture. Those with few problems, paradoxically as a result of an abundance of money (rather access to an abundance of money without any of the responsibilities--bank accounts sans accountability)and therefore lacking the need to develop a true philosophy and relying simply on easily and widely accessible pop culture without forming a true identity. More simply and clearly stated, a nerd comes from a culture where the devaluation of stance, be it political or environmental/social, has left a vacuum filled by was until recent years considered disposable entertainments. This culture developed largely in the suburbs and is still comprised largely of white, neo-liberals devoid of devotion to anything other than what reminds them of their own idyllic childhoods, focused on that to the point of obsession. I'm no socialogical theorist and I don't deal in numbers as their manipulation renders their implementation pointless. So, while this demarcation may seem drastic and over-analytical, nerds themselves provide the evidence by advocacy of their particular and by defining, even comically, what one is, the implicit acknowledgement of what one chooses not to be is made. A willful disengagement through dismissal, mockery and adaptation occurs wherein one is not culpable for one's own opinions and the opinions one embraces are selected as to be unassailable on the basis that the uninitiated don't understand.

Nerds are not the ostricized, maligned minority of outcasts who desire, deserve and pursue their own redemption that formulaic popular media. Nerds are the result of privileged youths with vague differences of opinion and few responsibilities as well as a generally hostile society (hostility pointed in every direction) that inflate these characteristics to riotously self-righteous proportions, truly a modern product. Nerds embody exclusivity and elitism, avoiding and rejecting common practices as beneath them instead of developing physically or mentally and maturing spiritually or emotionally in order to handle the fact that the world is mobile and rapid and as a direct result of the constantly changing and coflicting subjective truths, frictional.
I'd say nerds are worse than hipsters, but here we encounter difficulty. Through the contemporary adoption and posturing by hipsters (and normal people) of the phrase and terminology, an elusive, evasive, frustrating definition has formed. The idea of nerdiness as an ironic or even proud character trait has mitigated the offense the term carries, perhaps the first time successfully that a slur has been fully reclaimed as a seemingly positive attribution. Both nerds and hipsters (still, thankfully a dirty word) pick waveringly and without discipline from a world rife with culture and roots the most transient and bland aspects, ones that purport the most familiarity, ones that require the least imagination and principled firmness--readymade worlds of escapism are fast held as substitutes and keen social comment. Where the two groups differ is whereas the hipster (still a dirty creature) aims to dismantle meaning from the grave and sincere, nerds imbue the pointless and disposable with a sense of heroic grandeur.

A nerd is no longer one who possesses a wealth of intelligence and no atheletic skills, as has been a common misconception for decades prior. A Nerd replaces true knowledge with mere trivia. The importance has been shifted to facts, formless, insubstantial packets of useless information. And the world in all its clamoring rapidity embraces the expedience of facts without research. This has made it easy for nerds to reduce the overwhelming intagible greatness of life and the weight of seemingly endless possibility into finite compartments of finely filed dead ends, plausibility and probability. The world as a whole with all its superiority to an individual is too much for these weak-minded individuals, so they continue to protect themselves with self-referential and self-aggrandizing (even while often simultaneously self-effacing) systems of information. Ideas become artificial and superficial for fear of revealing too much about one's inner monologue and being reviled. Nerds are so focused on validating themselves through prefabricated knowledge of cultural by-products for so long that they become convinced their interests speak innately to universal human experience, creating ad hoc arguments for their cause.

So, a smart person is not automatically a nerd, and a nerd no longer needs to be genuinely smart, or even physically inept. The difference is that a nerd is a useless member of society, concerned primarily, or solely, with establishment and protection of a singular ego through imaginary, and therefore it's assumed unassailable, means. The knowledge that a smart person pursues may be repurposed for the expansion of that initial education for public benefit. In essence, while a nerd and a smart person may study in the same field, the intention of the study is really the defining factor. Is it being studied only to be memorized and flaunted by rote in a demonstration of feigned intelligence or is it actually an attempt at cultural betterment or investigation of the human condition? Does a given presentation of this information center on or include long overtures of nonsensical jargon which requires copius background information? Is this necessary background provided within the context? I'm neither a nerd nor a smart person, so, like a substantial (though quickly diminishing) portion of the population, I'm exempt for this categorization.

It pains me to see otherwise sensible people, be they smart or not, refer to themselves as nerds. In the modern age where clear definitions are regarded as archaic restrictions, the word becomes confused, conflated or merely inflated with an idea of passion or devotion. Even fleetingly, or singularly, the word can be used in reference to a specific aspect of an individuals interests or activites. But a nerd quite assuredly has no passion for any subject or object. A nerd proceeds through life feeding off of others' work, attaching to it like lampreys, and building an insulated, isolated sub-or-super-terranean individual metaverse wherein each reigns supreme. These are the lookers, not the leapers, to borrow shamelessly from the cliched world, too nervous and self-important to ever immerse themselves head first into the cold, confusing world, knowing they'll be bruised. So be passionate, be devoted, be exciteable, and even geek out about anything the world has to offer, but not at the exclusion of reason and connectivity, which is what a nerd does. The word is as bad as any other slanderous tag. Nerd was created as an indictment of impotence (in all senses) and so to reclaim the word means nothing while maintaining the purposeless persona. Don't change how you perceive the word or what it means to you, but change who you are. When normal people call themselves nerds, it sends a mixed message that it might in fact be okay to use the world and all the beauty and quirk it has to offer for separatist, elitist and solely selfish gains. As an example, for myself, words and language intensely interest me, but I would never call myself a word nerd (even though it rhymes), I would simply say, "Words interest me. Thanks."

Nerds are not a pitiable, prospectless minority. Nerds, in fact, hold a number of the highest paying jobs and determine who under them is qualified to join their ranks, choosing in all but the most indefensible cases, other nerds. what at one point existed as a sneering subculture designed to console those in self-exile has grown, sneakily under the guise of downtrodden benignity lacking in dignity, in to a method to oppress those incorrectly identified as persecutory simply for living their lives. useless members of society, contributing nothing, existing simply to absorb and critique, to leech from active participants, embracing only a solipsistic image, defending a hyperactive ego, and justifying an ineffectual existence. Nerds are the ultimate haters, resisting and refusing, with a false sense of superiority born out of a perceived larger social neglect--itself being nothing more than laziness, self-absorption, amplified by self-pity--an inherent responsibility to their environment. If this preceding is not enough to cinvince anyone, if the subversion and subjegation has permeated too too far, then I understand there's little else to be done, however, anyone calling me a nerd within earshot will be summarily and expediently dispatched.

The REAL Rip Taylor #10: Favorite Foods

We had the chance to sit down with Rip last week and ask him a few questions, but we slept in and missed the interview. We want to begin by extending our apologies to Rip and his PR men who set up the rendez-vous at one of Rip's favorite local eateries, the Hobo Terrace. We'll be sure to catch up with you soon enough.




Passers-by, lookers-on, and plain old autograph hounds have flooded us with sightings and observations on how Rip patiently passed the time at window-side table. We thought we'd construct out of the loose odds and ends a somewhat useful portrait. Though he tried to stay incognito but he was noticed and swarmed almost instantly. Rip took his seat and was immediately served his usual appetizer, the Hobo Platter (broiled pig snouts over chocolate stroopwaffels). Even with a mouthful of Chef Garry's world famous gizzard chili, Rip was laying on the charm as he wooed ladies sitting in the vacated seat across from him till they melted like snowflake soup.

It quickly became apparent that the only way Rip would get rid of his fans was by throwing them a bone of performance. He broke out with some bits cut from his universally lauded one-man-show It Ain't All Confetti. While requests echoed from the back room for a brief sampling of Rip's inimitable impressions and inventive one-liners, but Rip quickly produced his signature deck of cards, seemingly from thin air, and gave a rare exhibition of his unparalleled magic act from "The Early Days". A large hush fell over the crowd as a small sheet fell over Rip's hand, whence he fabricated a live street urchin holding an exotic bouquet of birds of paradise. Just as quickly, the illusion vanished. He was quoted as uttering, "Now if I only I could make myself disappear."

Assured CXNX would be footing the bill, Rip began his second course with the Cheez Whiz Stuffed Holy Mackarel, commenting, "The real Wiz is the guy who created this stuff! I love it!" Rip's selected side's included Deep-Fried Applesauce Balls and Steamed Arugula ("I can't stand that s!@*%t, but it's so fun to say. Arugula!", Rip explained, leaving behind the entire steaming pile.) As Rip noticed the next wave of gawkers around the corner, he hastily ordered his dessert, a hefty slice of Rubber Treebark pie topped with a scoop of pre-sumptuous Cheddar Bacon ice cream.

The meal was abruptly interrupted by a phone call from Rip's agent. We at CXNX can confidently confirm that Rip was negotiating a 7 figure deal to promote a new energy drink. Anyone for some Riptide??

You're on the list: Westboro Baptist Church

Yesterday, February 14, in Jamestown NY was the funeral of marine Aaron Swanson who was killed in action from a roadside explosive. The funeral was a big deal as all military funerals tend to be, with several dozen people besides family looking to pay their respects to the fallen soldier.

It was Sunday morning when I saw this posted on Facebook ---> Westboro Baptist Church in Jamestown.

Thank you?

For those who are lazy and hate reading it is a planned protest of the funeral of this poor kid by the disgusting group called the Westboro Baptist Church. They claim that military funerals have become "pagan orgies of
idolatrous blasphemy" and that GOD is doing this because we accept homosexuals as human beings.

What they essentially do is stand obscenely close to the funeral and show offensive signs like "GOD HATES FAGS" and "THANK GOD FOR DEAD SOLDIERS" and claim that this is our fault that they have to protest these funerals. They sign hymns and yell horrible things to the family to intentionally upset the family.  Below is a video of thier disgusting behavior:

Now I am all about free speech, and I am fiercely middle of the road about most topics, and I love the fact I can write this blog, and say whatever I want. I've posted something that some would consider offensive towards Christianity with my Jesus killing dinosaurs, and poking fun at the story of Jesus' death and resurrection.  I can explain it as entertainment, it's in poor taste, but it's entertainment. My end result of what I do is happiness. 

This man clearly has all the answers.

The Westboro Baptist Church's intention is to harm, hurt, and spew hatred. You can believe what you want, but if your intention is to hurt someone, and your end result is not happiness then no have no reason/right to do what you are doing. They attack when people are at their most vulnerable and yell nonsense at them.

They have no collective goal. They are not trying to teach a lesson, preach a belief, support a cause, or even eliminate homosexuality - its to hurt. They hide under the 1st amendment which its intention to empower the common man, and make sure that everyone has a right to be heard. 

Do NOT bring me into this

Now a question I came up with myself is what makes the Westboro Baptist Church different than someone who just like to shock like Marilyn Manson? Manson has done some pretty "offensive" things and has been very open to mock Christianity. What if the Westboro Baptist Church is just there to shock people, almost like performance "art". What makes them different than anything else we may not agree with?

The difference is that you can ignore Marilyn Manson. You can't deny that he exists, you can not buy his music, you can turn him off on the TV, and you don't have to go to his performances. The Westboro Baptist Church comes to YOU. You can agree, disagree, but no matter they come to you, and shove their beliefs in your face in the most disgusting way they can. That is what I have a problem with.

I am still a staunch believer of anyone can believe what they want, even these people. You can worship aliens, satan, or anything else, but to force it on someone is horrible. In life no one is right. No one has the right answer. The point is whether you want to look for it or not. You can find strength in it, you can lean on it when you feel weak, or you can live by it if you think it makes you a better person, but your beliefs are your own. As much as you'd like to believe that your system of beliefs is the ultimate right answer, just remember its the right answer for YOU. If your goal is to be a source of happiness for someone then believe whatever you want.

Big UPs J-town

To sum up, I am not usually someone to really take a black and white stance on anything really, but this is something that really hit a nerve with me. I am very happy that people showed up in Jamestown, not to confront these people, but to let the family mourn in peace. I am happy people saw something that they didn't believe in and did something about it - the right way.

I personally came a little late to the party since my wife was at school and I had to watch Vinny. I came around noon, and the police blocked off the whole parameter, and the group was confirmed to have never came. I heard a rumor that no local hotel would let them stay the night in the area, and I also heard that they were there at one point, but was escorted away before they became noticeable by the public.

Good on ya' Jamestown!