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Task: Reorganizing bookmarks.

Ever wondered about Clarus the dogcow? You can learn all about Clarus in infamous Tech Note 31 on Apple’s website.

Or see what your Oz prison name would be here. Mine’s Nipple Nibbler.

My porn name is Ginger Lake. I always liked that one.

And my smog name is Elizabeth Lake. So there.

Or see what the White House lists as known names of stimulants. I swear some of them are completely made up.

DEA Type: “Excuse me, young man, could you tell me what the slang is for marijuana? You know, ‘Mary Jane.'”

Young Man: “Sure can, Mister. Me and my friends call it… uh… Dinkie dow. Yep, that’s the hip term. That’s street.”

Must pause to get Barenaked Ladies off radio. Ahem:

Why The Barenaked Ladies Suck
by Claire

I do not like the Barenaked Ladies. I never have. This fact amazes a friend, who loves them. His argument: they’re really good. He thinks that proves his argument.

Here’s my argument: The Barenaked Ladies are basic pop music. Nothing special instrumentally. They try and write these witty, funny, catchy songs that completely and totally fail to be any of those things. It’s not wit. It’s not a sharp sense of humor. It’s annoying. It’s even more annoying because these guys seem to believe their press releases and seem smug about how clever they are.

Take another band that tries to be clever and witty, the Old 97s. They generally succeed. Rhett Miller has a great turn-of-phrase. Take a look at lyrics from Barrier Reef:

The Empty Bottle was half empty, tide was low, and I was thirsty.
Saw her sitting at the bar, you know how some girls are,
Always making eyes, well she wasn’t making eyes
So I sidled up beside her, settled down and shouted, “Hi there.”
“My name’s Stewart Ransom Miller, I’m a serial ladykiller.”
She said, “I’m already dead,” that’s exactly what she said.


My heart wasn’t in it, not for one single minute.
I went through the motions with her./
Her on top, and me on liquor.
Didn’t do no good, well I didn’t think it would.

That’s clever. Compare:

Chickity China the Chinese chicken
You have a drumstick and your brain stops tickin’
Watchin X-Files with no lights on, we’re dans la maison
I hope the Smoking Man’s in this one
Like Harrison Ford I’m getting Frantic
Like Sting I’m Tantric
Like Snickers, guaranteed to satisfy
Like Kurasawa I make mad films
Okay I don’t make films
But if I did they’d have a samurai
Gonna get a set of better clubs
Gonna find the kind with tiny nubs just so my
irons aren’t always flying off the back-swing
Gotta get in tune with Sailor Moon
Cause that cartoon has got the boom anime babes
that make me think the wrong thing

It’s rhyming with pop culture references thrown in. Not even obscure pop culture references. At the very least. And that is why I don’t like Barenaked Ladies. I have no problem if you like them, just don’t expect to convince me differently.