Christine and I went out to a birthday party one night in rather loud outfits, and returned home with a bag of Cheetos and some Floozy FAQ questions we solicited from other patron's at the bar. I was rendered too drunk too form proper sentences, and opted to repeat the same word over and over again in an attempt at clarity, and Christine was wowed by the convergence of the coloring of our late night snack and her outfit. Clearly something was afoul, and I'd like to think our curious stupor was not brought on by the GIANT bottle of Dogfish Head's Fort that we quickly consumed- no, I blame it on the cheetos.
Please watch the first installment of our most recent filming, and stay away from the Flamin' Hots!
Don't forget to mail new questions to den.webber@gmail.com- it gives us an excuse to live and punish our organs.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Friday, June 6, 2008
Words
I had to go to the bathroom, and suddenly the fragment "a prodigious shit" popped into my head. What a wonderful combination of words, but what would a prodigious shit be- what would be the experience of said shit? Is it's prodigiousness measured in size, volume, or some other criteria? Why the hell is something this foul entering my brain, the reasoning of absurd scatological word pairings?
"A prodigious shit"
It could also work as a fun description of a person. I should like at some point in my life to meet a scrapper who I could easily sum up as a "prodigious shit". Looking back, I'm sure that I've met a few.
Last night, Grant said that he was "fucking splendid". "What a cute adjective", I replied, "I haven't heard that in a while." "Yeah it's great", he said, "but I only like to use it with something profane- dirty it up a bit." "Good call. Splendid on its own would be a bit too twee." nI'm surprised I don't use the word more often- it's a very "me" adjective, if, in fact, an adjective can be a "me adjective".
Somehow this devolved into a chat about getting the word "splendid" tattooed on your forehead, but suffering massive burns on your face or having a dog chew off your nose, leaving "splendid" permanently snarking at your fleshy facial misfortune in a suspended state of unsettling sick corporeal humor.
"Splendid!"
On the train I watched an overweight middle school girl play fighting rather aggressively with several male classmates on their way home. Clearly this was a result of the failure of language, the impossibility of communication between these kids- a punch instead of a flirt. The boy will hold her hand only when he is restraining her surprisingly hard blows, a touch that otherwise would not happen.
I imagine two well dressed people sitting having a conversation in which what wants to be said is never said- a confession or a plea is whitewashed by tersely breezing through the mundane. Suddenly the pair start violently pummelling each other, and are somehow more satisfied for it, even though the proper words are not spoken.
"A prodigious shit"
It could also work as a fun description of a person. I should like at some point in my life to meet a scrapper who I could easily sum up as a "prodigious shit". Looking back, I'm sure that I've met a few.
Last night, Grant said that he was "fucking splendid". "What a cute adjective", I replied, "I haven't heard that in a while." "Yeah it's great", he said, "but I only like to use it with something profane- dirty it up a bit." "Good call. Splendid on its own would be a bit too twee." nI'm surprised I don't use the word more often- it's a very "me" adjective, if, in fact, an adjective can be a "me adjective".
Somehow this devolved into a chat about getting the word "splendid" tattooed on your forehead, but suffering massive burns on your face or having a dog chew off your nose, leaving "splendid" permanently snarking at your fleshy facial misfortune in a suspended state of unsettling sick corporeal humor.
"Splendid!"
On the train I watched an overweight middle school girl play fighting rather aggressively with several male classmates on their way home. Clearly this was a result of the failure of language, the impossibility of communication between these kids- a punch instead of a flirt. The boy will hold her hand only when he is restraining her surprisingly hard blows, a touch that otherwise would not happen.
I imagine two well dressed people sitting having a conversation in which what wants to be said is never said- a confession or a plea is whitewashed by tersely breezing through the mundane. Suddenly the pair start violently pummelling each other, and are somehow more satisfied for it, even though the proper words are not spoken.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Possible Histories: A Chain Reaction Leading to The Latest in an Unending Barrage of Video Series from a Mister Dennis M. Webber
Ok kids, my ex saw this amazing movie/short/thing on Turner Classic Movies, and had to send it to me and my pals.
Apparently it might have been me in a past life, which I wouldn't shrug off, because it was sort of what my parents wished I had been as a child, since I was a youngin' gifted with the precious gift of song.
Anyway, this video intersected with my love for this flickr account that has heaps of old French paper toys you can print out, and my work boredom, which frequently results in my printing and assembling these chintzy wonders (much to the confusion and amusement of my coworkers). This intersection collided with my Moleskine notebook, and resulted in this super amazing diorama:
So this diorama, which I think elicited even more curious stares from my coworkers (the image of toy soldiers gunning down an oversize child starlet is totally not weird at all!), collided with the tail end of a marijuana high, which resulted in the creation of the following video and new AMAZING VIDEO SERIES from yours truly, called POSSIBLE HISTORIES! Watch and enjoy!
Apparently it might have been me in a past life, which I wouldn't shrug off, because it was sort of what my parents wished I had been as a child, since I was a youngin' gifted with the precious gift of song.
Anyway, this video intersected with my love for this flickr account that has heaps of old French paper toys you can print out, and my work boredom, which frequently results in my printing and assembling these chintzy wonders (much to the confusion and amusement of my coworkers). This intersection collided with my Moleskine notebook, and resulted in this super amazing diorama:
So this diorama, which I think elicited even more curious stares from my coworkers (the image of toy soldiers gunning down an oversize child starlet is totally not weird at all!), collided with the tail end of a marijuana high, which resulted in the creation of the following video and new AMAZING VIDEO SERIES from yours truly, called POSSIBLE HISTORIES! Watch and enjoy!
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