http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kancho

Jack says everyone must see this before they die:

Molly just sent me this. From the Communist Party.

Note:
-Econ in the frozen section.
-"Fast, easy" under the banana sign.
-The irony of "Seafood" in the picture.
-Jon's unnaturally natural way of standing like a woman.
-My poor excuse of felating technique.

A very Beat Christmas, courtesy of McSweeney's Internet Tendency.

While looking up "poop" in the Oxford English Dictionary I came across this entry:


poontang, n.

Sexual intercourse, sex; women collectively, or a woman, regarded as a means of sexual gratification. Also attrib. Hence as v. intr., to copulate.

1929 T. WOLFE Look Homeward, Angel 343 A fellow's got to have a little Poon Tang.

1947 C. WILLINGHAM End as Man II. vii. 78 Poley looked out the window and saw a pretty Negro girl on the sidewalk... ‘Eye that poon tang there,’ he said.

1959 R. CONDON Manchurian Candidate ii. 21 Every now and then I think about you coming all the way to Korea from New Jersey to get your first piece of poontang.

1966 C. HINES Heat's On xv. 122 That ain't our racket. We just sells poontang here.

1968 E. J. GAINES Bloodline 144 Yesterday this time I was poon~tanging like a dog.

1970 D. DODGE Hatchetman x. 127 ‘Is it true what they say about gook women?’..‘I heah it changes youah luck, though. Like black poontang.’

1972 ‘T. COE’ Don't lie to Me iv. 44 May be you're some kind of poontang sex maniac.

1972 Listener 22 June 845/2 Massa gonna smack yo black ass, nigger. You can't go chasing white poontang all night long.

1976 Honolulu Star-Bull. 21 Dec. E-10/6 (Advt.), The other girls majored in home ec...but Debby majored in Poon-tang.

Despite the bad times at The Beat recently, there still is good news and glad tidings: our LORD now has a permanent presence among us. Thanks to Zach the Pirate and his theatre goonies The Beat is equipped with a giant cross which, as you can see, now hangs from the ceiling. If only we knew someone to play the organ for our in-house services...

Dylan has cancer.

(The following is what I've heard from August and subject to his revision)

Dylan has stage 4 Hodgkin's disease, which is a form of lymphoma.

Stage 4 is highly advanced, meaning it involves other organs besides the lymph nodes. Dylan apparently has a growth in his lungs.

The average recovery/remission rate is 80-85% for Stage 4 Hodgkins. The good part is that it is a very localized growth and hasn't spread to any other place, which is much more difficult to treat. The fact that Dylan is younger bodes well for him as well.

If you know him, I think Dylan's character as a human being really speaks for itself. All our thoughts and prayers are with him and his family. I'll try to find some contact information and post it this week, so we can write and visit him.

Tonight The Beat decided to have a bit of a bonfire. One of the Beat sofas and that disgusting floral print chair that everyone left for dead at the beginning of the year are officially a pile of ash.


Taken from the roof.

Yeeha!

Every good Beat will get to die to this song.

Thinking of all of you


This one is for August: The Male Gaze

This one is for all the Beats (w. props to Fr. Quinn and the holy VW): Acting out for God.

This one is for Dave, and that dream he had sophomore year: Fighting churches

Happy Holidays, lovers.

New address:
507 W. Third St., Apt. #1
Madison, IN 47250

Tele:
(812) 265-3684

getting closer...

The Narrows (formerly The Midnight Special), the current Beat band, at the Battle of the Bands. The judges apparently gave us perfect scores but we didn't get any crowd votes. I figured this would happen so I left right after we finished and started drinking at The Beat. All's well that ends well.

Here are some videos:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_upXcJfnNUo
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IE_KhGUMvUc

I know reposting comedic video clips from YouTube is lame, but this one stars John C. Reilly and has the phrase "no weiner" in it.

Justified like Timberlake, fellas.

Could one of you fine young gents with the celebrated tat' post a photo so I can make sure to have the right font?

Guys, it is time to bring back the debauch.

Who can remember when all The Beat guys were drunk in the same room? The only hang-over I've had in the last month I got drinking by myself in the living room. The point is that no Beat guy should ever have to get drunk in the living room alone. No Beat guy should ever have to drink alone period.

This is a sad and disappointing state of affairs. This is a pathetic and anti-climactic conclusion to a long legacy of drunken debaunchery. This is shameful. Something must be done.

Yes, we all are broke. But that's why they have cheap shit.

Yes, we all have classes. But In Pigritia Victoria.

Yes, we all have shit going on. But it's time to fuck that shit.

I have been the worst of us all, no doubt. But when I get back from work tonight I will be scouring for booze and drinking too much of what I find. Dylan, of course, deserves praise here for being the only one of us to keep up the pace.

In conclusion: guys, it is time to bring back the debauch.

Silliman, Dave, Harvy, Bob and Gibs, I need you guys to go to a tailor and get measured for tuxes (including shoe sizes). I think I've picked out the tuxes, complete with waistcoats and bowties.

Yes Bob, we're letting you wear a tux too and not the lovely bridesmaid dress I had originally suggested.















Festivities begin on the 29th with our rehearsal dinner at the bar...beer and nachos, need I say more?

I thought of you all when I saw this manatee fighting the void by doing the stupidest possible thing he could do. I tried to explain to my co-workers at the newspaper that the manatee, specifically the manatee smoking a cowboy-killer, was the mascot of my house at school and that Dave used to draw pictures of manatees and hang them up.

I don't think they understood.



For Christmas, we '06 grads should all pitch in $5 and adopt a manatee in the name of the Beat.

In Pigrattia Victoria,

I saw Broken Social Scene in Indianapolis last night and was struck by how much they rocked and how lead singer Kevin Drew looks like Evan.

The Nunn's latest family member, Guinness, a three year old rottweiler/pitbull that we got from the Humane Society yesterday.

"What do you mean, 'Why are you chillin' with hoes?' Read the New Testament, bitches."

-Jesus

By the way, we need to add to the "True Badasses" section the Rev. Quinn Mann.

At what point am I just being pretentious, as opposed to being informative, when I add "... in French" to the end of a sentence?

"I'm reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez in French."

"I'm delivering a lecture on Memphis Blues in French."

Incidentally, does anyone have any blues MP3s they could send me?
Jag.Gibbs@gmail.com

My life is ... something

Today I saw a banjo player, from some big country band I've never heard of, standing on a stage at an Army base underneath a giant giant American Flag, playing along to a CD of Vanilla Ice's "Ice Ice Baby."



I wasn't sure what the song was until Vanilla said "word to your mother." Then I remembered it from VH1's top 100 one hit wonders.

Lee,

If we ever get to the point where we don't like that tattoo, where we aren't comforted by it, we can change it to the Gabriel Garcia Marquez quote,

"'That's how it goes,' Ursula said, 'but not so much.'"

Or that could just get a spot on the other arm.

I find myself strangely comforted by having "So It Goes" tattood on my arm.

I went to World Dairy Expo this week...free cheese is sweet.

Amber and I spent half a day reading Harry Potter side books (The History of Quiditch and something about Magical Creatures).

Harry Potter is on my list of guilty pleasures...along with NWA, Chicken Gizzards and Fleetwood Mac.

People at work are starting to call the VW The ManVan.

Amber has decided that Dave and Jen are "the cutest couple ever."

My sister said I could bring up a goat for the happy couple. It could live in the back yard and keep the grass down, and then they could milk it, and when they get hungry they could eat it! Granted it's a boy goat, so the milking bit is a little tricky. Though Jon seemed to pull it off last time he came to the farm.

I applied for a job as the Wal-Mart greeter. They told me that I was not special enough. I am planning to be there for your wedding Luke, provided my car does not explode. I met a girl online that I am trying to ask out without being super creepy. And, in 1998 Addidas was forced to change the name of their all natural hemp tennis shoes from "Chronic" to "Gazzel Natural"... The same year that Sony recalled several hundred night vision handycams because they were able to see through certain fabrics...

I start work at a factory on Monday.

Can someone think of a Workers League name for me?

BeatBlog: "Are any other alumns planning to be back for homecoming, or am I the only tool without a job/life? I don't promise to bring lots of booze, but I promise to bring SOME booze if I can stay a night or two in the old place. And if you place your orders early I might be able to bring over a big bottle (think over a gallon) of pretty good scotch next year"

Oh yeah, does THE BEAT have anything on the Class of '06-gets-to-draw-on-the-ground area?

CD Release Party

Wear your best pair of nut-huggin' jeans and come out to see me play this Saturday 9 pm @ the BEAT. It could take a while. You might want to bring some snacks.

New Car

Rob Loudon, one of the most brilliant and compelling minds Hillsdale has ever known, will not be returning this semester (or ever) to the college at the behest of an unjust and barbaric administration.

This may sound odd, but can anybody tell me when Jim Stephens's office hours are?

Guess who died?

Chase informed me that kilt-wearing douche bag is now a Hillsdale College student.

How's the socio-political-cultural climate at the school this year? Better, worse?

Ideas executed:

John and I decided to "hedge our bets" and go to Walmart...

1. Condoms, 2 boxes of (hey! whoa!)
   
2. Incense, 4 packs of
3. KY warming gel + massager
   
4. Incense trays, 2

Condom types, by the way, speak volumes about yourself and your pseudo-Freudian neuroses. For instance, I bought standard sized, desensitizing-for-maximum-longevity condoms. John: Magnum XL. (The thought also occurred to us that, we, as two men who ostensibly know each other, buying such products together, might be construed as Sodomites.)

Ideas waiting to be executed, which will probably never happen:

1. Econ had the idea of setting up hidden cams all around the house. We would open up a web domain and stream live-reality TV for Kappas to pleasure themselves any time they pleased.
2. Dylan had the idea of setting up a kegerator (sp?) in the downstairs bathroom. I think he wanted to locate it behind the mirror. This idea originated when he bought a keg and kept it in the bathroom.
   
3. Jam-night, every other week, at the Beat. Open to any band that didn't suck too badly. Could possibly be for poetry (I guess) and comedy acts.

Well, that's what we're up to. Here's one of our cats.

If only this weren't true.

Available now at your neighborhood Wal-Mart: Eurofuck, Country Club, and 70s Groove remixes of "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk".

Oh yes, oh yes.

Back in Fort Wayne, two and a half hours from Hillsdale (/sweet man bag action).

To all the Beat Boys (and the girls) going back to the first day back in school,

I know when I was there I'd always refer to the place like it was prison, like ask people "what they were going to do when they got out," and I know that I still do that sometimes. And that's fair. College is a four year sentence where what you do is all planned for you and you put in your time and they give you a slip of paper and let you leave. But I was just thinking last night, that it might be good just to say, you know, there are worse place you could be.


Last nights coke raid.

I got a job.

I hate hippies.

I'll be in Hillsdale for Team Larry festivities (I call dibs on the big couch).

I think I'll delete my blog and start a new one, not associated with my real name so I can bitch more freely.

So it goes.

Victory!

Gary (and I'll have it be known I prefer the name "Rook") had his first victim today in the Beat basement. Apparently we have a bat or two.

The album is done.

for details:

My blog

My music

New address:
3340 Richlands Highway, Apt. #23
Jacksonville, N.C. 28540

New job:
The Daily News

New blog:
longknives.wordpress.com

According to the Human Events magazine, the Ten Most Harmful Books of the last 200 years include: Beyond Good and Evil (Nietzsche), The Feminine Mystique (Friedan) and The Kinsey Report. Among the honorable mentions: On Liberty (Mill), Madness and Civilization (Foucault) and The Origin of Species (Darwin).

Check out the list of judges, Hillsdale College history majors.

Much luv to the new class. To every one of you, and you each know that.

All I ask, really, is if you rock out "Holla" by Ghostface periodically throughout the year.

...And send me somethin wrapped up pretty in coffee beans to disguise the scent.
fmi: davefrank1@gmail.com

Beat Off '06-07

There was some speculation last semester that we might lose the house - that the Beat as we know it would cease to exist. Some people heard talk of track guys or IV guys replacing us.

Let me squash the rumors now. The Beat continues.

I guess it was pretty obvious that it would. We signed the lease in May. But! in case any casual readers were wondering, that's the status.

That said, Friday, Aug. 18th. I'm buying a shitton of PBR and smokes to welcome the new and returning members. Those members are:

Econ Schonert
Jonathan Dunn
Dylan Lindgren
August Stafford
Chase Purdy
Ryan Leng

w/ ostensibly our honorary drifter, Tony Gonzalez, who is really our manservant/sexual slave.

I hope things are going to be as good as in previous years. Last years guys will all be missed.

Hope to see some people on the 18th.

Gary and Len were born 3,000 years ago in ancient Hong Kong and knew all the names of the forgotten gods.

In his earliest years, Len's dinosaur phase taught him of the fleetingness of power. That settled, he never sought imperial office. Gary, however, was the first youngster to learn to ride his Big Wheel, and the taste of domination was there implanted.

A series of vacuums of power, coupled with Gary's ability to sneeze in threes, blew him onto the imperial throne. Len attended a prestigious music school and grew fond of the sitar.

During the emergence of the Han Dynasty, the brothers rendezvoused in modern-day Guam and returned to China with the gift of fireworks.

They piddled about.

In 1784 the pair washed up on the shores of Nevis. Taken for dead, a seafaring merchant nursed the brothers. Their vim and vigor restored, they took residence in Portugal. Now fluent in the languages of four continents, Gary matriculated to Oxford University, while Len buried the Portuguese rock sitar tablets in a manmade mountain beneath loose soil.

Gary is the mythological father of Gary, Indiana. Len could duke in the litter box and be out before it hit the sand.

Seen in this photograph, taken in 1951, Gary and Len are caught in a rare non-action shot, the last image of the now-missing brothers.



Boys, say hello to Gary and Len, found at “102,000 Old Books” in Allen, Michigan.

I guess it is time that I posted something...

Amber and I have moved to Wisconsin for new jobs. Our new address is up on facebook or you can e-mail me for it.

Packing sucks...as does unpacking.

I got to drive a 24' bed GMC 4 ton truck to move all our crap...

We'll be sending out invites for the wedding soon...

I'll be sending out stuff on tuxes before to long (hopefully)...

Life is kind of a drag...

There are 7 bars within 4 blocks of our apartment...

so it goes

DAVE FRANK
700 COLLEGE ST., APT. #3
CLINTON, N.C. 28328

We all know Drowning Bob is dead, has been for a while. Jon Gibbons once said: “We killed a cactus. We are less nurturing than the desert.”



Thanks to the Root System, a Jonesville-area roadside cactus and succulents shop, Prickly Pete—not to be confused with George Costanza's fake horse at his fake house in the Hamptons—is the euphorbia canariensis that now graces the Beat's upstairs hallway.

We are confident Prickly Pete will grow in girth and stature.

—Econ

Well done, Dylan. Well done.

So I fashioned this little thing to demonstrate the far reaches of (an intoxicated) Econ's authority:



Of course the poster will be worthless when it comes to actually...you know...being clean. But you have to admit it's nice to look at for about 5-7 seconds.

Amber and I are moving to Wisconsin in about three weeks...any of you bastards going to be in the area this summer/fall?

I went to Jacksonville last week and had dinner at the Marina Cafe and I can't say I was impressed by either. A Hillsdale on the bay.

No pants party gone awry in Roma. So I went for a little walk tonight at about midnight. I walked out to the place where the thieves market ends, as I turned the corner I looked down and thought to myself, "How odd, that looks like a man without any pants on." But I kept walking anyway, because that's just the kind of guy I am. Then I thought to myself "Fucking shit, THAT WAS A MAN WITH NO PANTS ON!!!" So I walked back, and sure enough it was this guy without any pants on, wearing a red button down shirt, khaki socks, and nothing else, lying in a pool of his own blood. I wasn't really sure what to do, but there where other people there who spoke Italian. I don't speak Italian. I just sort of stood there, noded when people looked in my direction, shruged every once in a while, and waited for the ambulence to show up. Actually, I didn't know that the guy was lying in a pool of his own blood until the medics got there, up to that point I just heard that he was breathing, and knew that there where about eight other people there. A medic felt for a pulse, and I think he said "He's drunk" but like I said, I don't speak Italian, though I'm pretty sure that he didn't say "He's dead" because that sounds something like "Morte" and the ambulence drove off with the lights on, and I think that's a good sign... Anyway, if you come to Rome, don't have a no pants party face down on the sidewalk in a puddle of your own blood.

-HARVY

The Demolition




So now I can always explain the fact that I attended Hillsdale by saying, Well it's changed.

Mell sez hi

A question to all Beatniks: What is the weirdest meal you ever ate/drank in this house?

To start things off, for dinner today I consumed...

one entire can of King Oscar sardines,




a cup of Nissin Chicken Vegetable Flavor Cup Noodles,



and three Entennman's Glazed Chocolate Popems.

Where are they now? Well, this is HARVY, and I'm in Rome, Italy. It is pretty damn sweet.

Thursday: The BEAT:

Toga-gypsy-viking-cap 'n' gown party.

9 p.m.

We're all watching the Ky. Derby this Saturday so we can root for the Nunn family's horse, Lawyer Ron.

Location and pres·ence of mint juleps to be determined.

Tattoo?

The founder of THE BEAT is Catholic priest who has no great amount of affection for Allen Ginsberg. He has an alter in the trunk of his Bug with candles and the whole works.
Here's to Quinn.

Happy 10 year anniversary, THE BEAT.

Beat Night

Friday, April 28

9 p.m.

All I have to say is FUCK the career planning office for making me fill out their fucking carrier information forms before they will send me my cap and gown. Fuckers didn't help me get my goddamn job. But I suppose the college needs to show that some grads can actually get jobs outside of the college.

Which was funnier?

Dr. Jordan's 3 or 4 year old daughter doing a back flip over the front pew while her mother watched in horror, or the 10 to 13 year old girl behind me whining right after communion, "but I did do it right. Why does it even matter?"


Happy Easter all.

Scene: Harvey and me breaking in the porch.

Harvey: Children bother me.

Me: What?

Harvey: Children bother me.

Me: Oh good.

Harvey: What did you think I said?

Me: I thought you said chicken lobotomy.

Who is going to be at the Beat for Graduation? Amber and I need a place to crash...and we'll bring a keg.

Scene: Living room. Harvey writing on his Mac. Me reading.

Harvey: Who directed 'Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels'?
Me: Guy Richie, Madonna's husband.

Harvey: Who wrote the book 'Fried Green Tomatoes'?
Me: Dunno.

Harvey: How do you spell 'conjugal'?
Me: c-o-n-j-u-g-a-l.

Me: What the hell are you writing?

The Beat residents, according to a cat

The Beat has been adopted by a cat, a tabby now named Mel or Mell or, when Jon says it before he's had his espresso, Moe. M. is a she and not just, as Dave hypothezied, ball-less. She was sleeping on our couch porch the other morning and then invited herself in and then Ryan, who is allergic to cats but writes love songs about them, went and bought her food. Harvey was gone for the weekend and so surprised when M. jumped into his bed in the middle of the night, and August, who according to the note he's put on the phone IS NOT HERE (ever), probably still doesn't know.

M. seems to like biting my elbows while purring.

Will (s)he come?

With one resident shy of a contract, the future of The Beat is in jeopordy.

Alarmist? Today, the landlord gave a tour of the house to some track guys.

Fuck Lance Armstrong.

Prepare yourself!



That's right. Snakes on a plane... bitch.