Friday, October 29, 2010

Do I contradict myself? Feh!

All right. That's not exactly Walt Whitman. But whenever I go back and look up something in Nostrum, it seems as if the last time we wrote about it, we called it something else. Take New Haven, for instance. For the longest time, we called it New Haven. Then all of a sudden we started calling it Pup City. I blame the Nostrumite for this lack of consistency, since he's in charge of remembering where we've been, but lately he's been useless. The lad is in a state of permanent depression over imminent arrival of an operating system upgrade for his iPad, which he treasures more than his wife, his children or his left lung. "If it's like every other Apple upgrade," he moans, "it won't work for a week, it will erase all my data, and I'll lose my high score on Angry Birds."

How he survives in the world I do not know. Anyhow, speaking of people who hardly seem to survive in the world, Menick, operating at his own rate of non-speed, has finally recorded and posted N2_28 in both live performance and dead electron versions. Have at them.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

A long time between drinks

You know, Menick can really stretch these suckers out. We delivered the latest episode to him last week, and it wasn't until last night that he recorded it, and not until two minutes ago that he bothered to tell anyone. Jeesh! Of course, even before this, the Nostrumite was in a state of permanent depression over his experiences at Bronx Science. He showed up with the Tennessee Williams team on Friday, rarin' to go, and he found out that no one had ever gotten his preference sheet which he swore he sent before the deadline, he found out that he was the lowest preferred judge in the pool, meaning that he adjudicated exactly one 0-6 round, and he came to the conclusion that, "no matter how you slice it, whether or not you call it 'Tastes of the Mediterranean,' it's still debate ziti."

Read it or listen to it. What do we care?

Sunday, October 10, 2010

The man is impossible

And I don't mean the Mite.

So the Nostrumite and I, we work, we slave, we grind out episodes like Sarah Palin grinding out grizzlies, and what does he do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. They're sitting there, piled up on his whatever, while he goes out gallivanting and clubbing baby seals and generally enjoying total hoo-ha. In other words, Menick has sent both of us into a state of permanent depression. "What Would Menick Do?" Well, aside from putting off narrating Nostrums, we would have to answer, Not much.


Finally you can listen to himself ruin yet another episode, or read it as we originally wrote it, before he tucked his liver lips into it.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Notes from the swamp

I mean, what the hell other place was all that hot, humid weather in New Haven all about? Good grief, as they say in the funny papers. I haven't felt like this since my years as a guide on the Amazon (the river, not the website). As I thought would happen, I ended up judging JVLD, which made me feel a little like a superstar because I alone in the pool was a native English speaker not from a certain Catholic School (Regis) that will remain unnamed... They put me in every round they ran and a couple they didn't run. If you want to nuke somebody, or not, I'm your man.

Meanwhile, the Nostrumite is in a state of permanent depression over the whole MJP thing they used down there. He had a judge in the pool who sat out the whole tournament. Normally this wouldn't be so bad, because that means you can usually make it all the way to Alpha Centauri in whatever version of Civ you happen to be playing, but in her case, she had no computer and, apparently, she was allergic to dank. And let me tell you, Hell House High School was dank on a stick. On the positive side, while the ladies room went offline pretty early in the day, the men's room remained hale and hearty for the duration. Which is more than can be said for the Mite's varsity judge. They had to carry her out on a rail late in the afternoon and bring her back to the motel, where she recovered by watching Judge Judy reruns. I sympathize with the whole being carried on a rail business, although for me, there's usually also tar and feathers involved.

Through it all, the Mite and I managed somehow to produce a new episode, both on paper and off. Pick your poison, as they say.