Since the April 20th explosion of the Deepwater Horizon offshore oil rig, massive amounts of oil have been spewing out of the ruptured oil well. Executives are testifying before Congress, and the battle of public opinion is currently being waged. Who should be blamed? Who should you hate? Well, wyvern920 is here with all the answers, as always.

There are three possible companies to blame that are involved with this mess: BP, Halliburton, and Transocean. BP is an oil company, Halliburton is a domestic oil driller (and in no way deals with Iraq or Afghanistan. You're probably thinking of KBR, which was spun off of Halliburton in 2007 – apparently because they had a poor reputation for some reason), and Transocean is the company that leases the oil rigs. BP leased the oil rig from Transocean, and hired Halliburton to perform the drilling procedures. Transocean also assists Halliburton with the day-to-day operations. Schlumberger provides the drills to Halliburton used in the excavation for the oil rig that Transocean leases to BP. The oil that is collected is property of BP, who sells it on the futures market. Confused yet? Good. All you need to know is that it's BP's fault, because I don't really like BP. There are just some companies that I dislike immensely, even though they've never done anything to me, and BP is one of them. Seriously, they can eat a bag of it.

Lost in this discussion is the real impact of the oil spill. No, it doesn't stress the need to switch to green technology, including solar and wind. Who cares that animal habitat is being decimated? I don't really care that the economy of Louisiana is being adversely affected. I'm glad that the white sand beaches of Alabama are being tarnished. No, what's really the tragedy in all this is the loss of all that precious oil. America salutes you, wasted and unburned freedom fuel.

It was six years ago today that Wyvern920's Homepage made its very first post at 12:22 AM. Some other important events on this day: New Coke was released on an unsuspecting public, the Polish Constitution was adopted, and the birth of Roy Orbison. In fact, a lot of famous people were born on this day: Lee Mayors, Joyce DeWitt, Michael Moore, George Lopez, Barry Watson, Kal Penn, and John Oliver. What a glorious day in history.

You might have noticed some work that has been done on this website in the past couple of months. The first thing I did was retooled the 'Archive' section by adding the ability to navigate the calendar by month-to-month and year-to-year. The '<' & '>' will allow you to view month-to-month, while the '<<' & '>>' will allow you to view year-by-year. Pretty sweet, eh? The second and most important piece of work done was the reconfiguration of the comments; now the comments here are completely in-house, and controlled by me, wyvern920. Here is what to do:

Name: This is where your name goes. Duh.
Email: This is where your email goes. Duh. I've done my best to make the emails protected, so you won't be inundated with spam. You can rest assured knowing that this site won't be responsible for those Viagra emails you receive.
URL: This is where your website goes. Duh.
Pic URL: This is where you specify the URL of the avatar you would like to display in the comments. Please make the avatar 60 x 60 pixels. If you are a regular poster to this dear website, email me and I can host your picture and supply you with a short phrase that you can enter in the Pic URL field that will simplify the process.
Comment: This is where you enter your comment praising my website and my awesomeness. Duh.
Verification: Just enter the captcha code. I hate it as much as you do, but life is about doing things that you hate until you die. Deal with it.

That should do it. Notice that my avatar is a drinking bird, because I am spicy like that. The default avatar is the crazyforyou heart, so unless you want that to be your legacy, I suggest you pick one yourself. For those of you who enjoy RSS feeds, the RSS feed for my comments can be found here. Also my Twitter account feed can be found here. I hate myself.

It has also come to my attention that my website looks terrible in Firefox and Internet Explorer. For the record, I use Internet Explorer because I am a bad nerd. I apparently have a strange version, because my website looks bad in every other copy of IE except mine. I don't really care all that much, because I don't have to look at it, but this is what my website looks like on my computer. It looks fine on my computer, and that's all that matters. Meh.

Alex Chilton, one of the pioneers of pop/rock music and power pop, has died at the age of 59. He passed away yesterday from suspected heart problems in a New Orleans hospital. With his untimely passing, the world just got a lot less joyful. I keep hitting 'refresh' with the hopes that there will be a retraction, but it's appearing less and less likely that is going to happen. It's going to be a difficult couple of days.

Chilton was born in Memphis, Tennessee in December of 1950. He rose to fame when a local band that later would be known as the Box Tops recruited him to be their lead singer. Their breakthrough song, "The Letter", became a #1 hit in 1967 when Chilton was only 16 (and recorded when he was only 15, which proves that life isn't fair). The group recorded a few more hits before disbanding and pursuing individual solo careers in early 1970.

It was at this point that Chilton and fellow Memphis musician Chris Bell together formed the influential power-pop group Big Star. Their first album, #1 Record is 37 minutes and 3 seconds of musical perfection. Every single song, note, and beat contained on the record is pure unadulterated musical brilliance. Some of the high points include "In The Street", which would later be covered by Cheap Trick and used as the theme song to That '70s Show. "The Ballad of El Goodo" is another song that is a perfect synchronization of melody and lyrics, with backing harmonies reminiscent of Brian Wilson. "Thirteen" is described by Rolling Stone (even a broken clock is right twice a day) as "one of rock's most beautiful celebrations of adolescence", and to me perfectly represents the expression of young love and music. Numerous musicians, including Garbage, Wilco, and Elliott Smith have covered it. "When My Baby's Beside Me" is another song that I can't go on enough about. Despite the many positive reviews, the album failed to gain widespread commercial success, mostly due to the incompetent marketing and management of Stax Records. Chris Bell left the group after the first album due to the limited commercial success, but also partly due to power dynamic in the band.

Big Star followed up their debut record in 1974 with Radio City, an effort that garnered the same amount of critical praise, but also had the same amount of commercial failure, due to the incompetence of their new label, Ardent Records. Chris Bell temporary rejoined the group and contributed to the songs "O My Soul" and "Back of a Car".

However, it was a little song that came in at just 2:47 called "September Gurls" that would alter my life forever. The timbre and tone of the guitar combined with the enigmatic lyrics caused a resonation deep inside my psyche that I still get chills/tears over. I've spent days and nights listening to the song on repeat. I've spent days and nights strumming the same chord progression endlessly. Some people might snicker at the thought of putting so much thought and trust and emotion in a single song, but those people are plebes. Sometimes a song is all you've got, and all you'll have, you know? As John Borack writes in Shake Some Action: The Ultimate Power Pop Guide:

"'September Gurls' was and is the sine qua non of power pop, a glorious, glittering jewel with every facet cut and shined to absolute perfection. While The Raspberries' 'Go All The Way' provides a definitive encapsulation of what power pop is, 'September Gurls' goes even further, not so much as the embodiment of a genre, but as a peerless, aching distillation of love and longing. 'September Gurls' may not actually be the greatest song ever recorded, but for the duration of its 2:47 running time, you can be forgiven for believing it is."

The band never recovered from the second album; Alex Chilton recorded a third album under the Big Star name called Third/Sister Lovers, but it contained a different sound, and was not deemed to be commercially viable. It would take three more years until the album would even see release. Chris Bell died in a car accident in 1978. He had dealt with depression stemming from repressed homosexuality that he tried to cope with through Christianity. Alex Chilton recorded several solo albums and had some minor hits, but nothing that rivaled that of the critical success of Big Star. A modified Big Star lineup has performed sporadically since 1993, mostly motivated by interest generated by bands that list Big Star as an influence, including Cheap Trick, R.E.M., The Replacements (they recorded a song simply called "Alex Chilton" in honor of him), the Posies, Velvet Crush, and Tinted Windows – and basically any band that dares to call themselves power-pop.

This sucks. I feel empty, numb, and wanting to vomit since reading this morning that Alex Chilton died – it's like your best friend dying. It's only a feeling that other people who love music more than existence can understand. I mean, how do you talk about someone who basically saved your life? I never had the chance to see Big Star (the modified version), but even if I did get the chance to meet Alex Chilton, I wouldn't know how to summarize how much his music meant to me – some things are beyond time and words. I've been looking up YouTube videos of all of Big Star's songs, and I've been reading all the comments directed at Alex Chilton, and trying not to cry. It's not working. As corny and cliché as it sounds, having people praise your music on an Internet site isn't a bad legacy to leave. We could all do a lot worse. Goodbye Alex.

Oh, and for those wondering, the web service that managed my comments went bust, so there'll be no comments until I code my own comment system. I saved them all, so they are not lost, and they will be back. You'll have to keep your snark to yourself in the meantime.

Earlier this week I found myself with a hodgepodge of ingredients. Leftover tomatoes from making tomato soup. Hoagie buns from a work-related event. Aging cheddar from a bout with grilled cheese sandwiches. I decided it was a great time to make some parmigiana-style sub sandwiches.

To prepare the sauce, I started with a couple pounds of plum tomatoes. I cut out the stems and removed the skin by boiling them for about a minute each. After that, I sauteed onions and whole cloves of garlic in olive oil. Once the onions caramelized, I added my tomato mixture: paste and diced from a can and the fresh, skinless that I just prepared. I let this bubble over a low heat for about two hours.

One of the strengths of this sandwich is the ease of assembly, once the ingredients are prepared. Simply toast the hoagie, lay some warm meat (or meat substitute, as I did) on the bun, add cheese (optional), cover in sauce and top with parmesan cheese. The sandwich is much more visually pleasing if toasted once complete. I put mine in a toaster oven for a few minutes.

Overall, this sandwich was good. I enjoy the experience of mixing leftovers into something interesting. I was disappointed by the tomato & basil pizza burgers. I have purchased these twice and do not like them. They are heavily spiced and infused with mozzarella cheese, which sounds tasty, but ends up feeling out of place. I prefer to add cheese and spices myself. My favorite part about this sandwich was the toasting. It gives the sandwich a great look.

Final score (out of five):

Well, friends, it's that time of year again. I hope you are all enjoying a romantic evening with your loved ones as much as I enjoy my romantic evening with chocolates, a bottle of wine and soy dogs.

In the spirit of posting a hilarious link that will warm hearts, I want to share the writings of Smoove B, Love Man, self-proclaimed "king of seduction" and lover of succulent strawberries dipped in fine chocolate. He shows us the true meaning of love, which goes much further than Valentine's Day. Enjoy.

Director Quentin Tarantino is known for creating fake products for his films. Pulp Fiction features the Big Kahuna Burger, a Hawaiian-style hamburger restaurant in Los Angeles. Jules (Samuel L Jackson) samples a Big Kahuna Burger, exclaiming "Mmmm, this is a tasty burger!" The audience begs to know what makes the Big Kahuna Burger so tasty. I was shocked to find that still frames and product mock-ups show a double cheeseburger with lettuce, tomato and pickles on a sesame bun - but no pineapple! The mystery of the Big Kahuna Burger continues; I'll tell you how I made the Real Big Kahuna Burger.

The vital ingredients in this burger are pineapple and pickle. A thick slice of pineapple makes a savory sandwich slightly sweet. I chose thinly sliced bread and butter pickles since they are sweet and tangy. I prefer to keep my burgers vegetarian - at this point you may deviate if you wish. The featured patty is a Morningstar Farms "Grillers Original." Also appearing are sliced tomato and mozzarella. I'm sure cheddar, havarti or swiss would be equally delicious. Rounding out this setup are Heinz ketchup, dijon mustard and a potato bun, which I toasted.

A classic side to the hamburger is fries. These are very easy to make! Wash russet potatoes, slice them until they look like french fries. Skin removal is optional; I went about 50/50. Put them on a baking sheet, drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with salt, pepper, paprika, onion powder and garlic power. Bake for 45 minutes at 450 degrees.

The greatest strength of the hamburger is its consistency. Short of burning ingredients, it is hard to screw up a home made burger. In my opinion, if you pay attention to having crispy vegetables, cheese and a hot patty, you are in for a winner. My Big Kahuna Burger was a great success. The pineapple introduces unique flavor to the sandwich. I found the mozzarella to be a great choice for cheese; it is mild and has complementary texture. I would like to thank Quentin Tarantino for giving me this idea. Hopefully a future film will reveal the truth about the Big Kahuna Burger.

Final score (out of five):

Only one thing could break my Internet silence and return to posting on my very own site: Youth In Revolt: The Movie. I am a very big fan of the book – an immense fan of the book. It's basically my favorite book ever. I have been looking forward to this movie with equal parts eager anticipation and loathing dread for over a year and a half now. It's been almost three years since I have patronized the local Cineplex – the last movie I saw was The Simpson's Movie. It's good to see that the great recession still hasn't prevented Hollywood from greasing up their fingers and sliding them ever so gently into my wallet and taking $7.50 for a matinee. Clearly supply and demand is no longer in effect, because there were precisely four other people in the theatre with me. I also noticed that they no longer play 'The Ten Spot' or whatever they called it before films. They no longer feed you trivia about actors or actresses that will be appearing in upcoming films. They gave up the false pretense that they were somehow entertaining you, and decided to show nothing but advertisements for television shows and future movies. Also, there are no good movies coming up. Did you know that Bruce Willis and Tracey Morgan are starring in a movie together? You'll never guess what it is. See, Bruce Willis a hardnosed cop, and he gets teamed up with a new partner, who just happens to be black! And as a team they don't play by the rules. It's from the same studio that brought you Dirty Harry if that is any consolation. High jinks will ensue! Revolutionary filmmaking! Anyway, about Youth In Revolt…

I was all prepared to hate this film. As I mentioned earlier, I dearly love this book. I feel a part of me is Nick Twisp. I followed all the casting decisions and was somewhat disappointed. I had never seen Portia Doubleday, but judging from her glamour shot she didn't look like Sheeni Saunders to me. Likewise, Justin Long is no Paul Saunders. When I saw the preview trailer, I gave up any hope that this film was going to be good in any conceivable way. The trailer had everything you don't want to see in a movie. Ironic use of Bon Jovi? Check. Guys standing awkwardly without clothes on? Check. Lots of general necking? Check and check. It looked like just another general raunchy teenage sex comedy.

I'm glad I was wrong.

The film actually is pretty fantastic. I always pictured Michael Cera as Nick Twisp, and I was quickly won over on the Portia Doubleday as Sheeni Saunders thing. Though, Justin Long as Paul Saunders did not work for me, but this may be because I despise Justin Long. Luckily, he is barely in the film, and plays a much less prominent role than in the book. In any event, the movie was entertaining, and remained fairly true to the book (more on that later). They made sure to include many of the one-liners found in the book. Obviously, when you have a 500-page book, and an hour and a half movie, some things are going to get cut. It's akin to trying to stuff a size-30 woman into a size-8 dress. Also, people who have not read the book will probably have difficulty keeping up with all the characters. The movie had very poor character development. People seem to instantly appear, and then disappear just like that. I assure you that it makes complete sense in the book. The movie completely transmogrified the ending of the book, and thus ends in a completely different manner. Like I mentioned earlier, I completely understand the need to do this. I'd still encourage people to see it. However, if you like the movie, you would love the book to pieces. I'd like to copy a section of the first page on the book, with a quote so wonderful that I actually wrote it down the first time I read it:

"The next thing you should know about me is that I am obsessed with sex. When I close my eyes, ranks of creamy thighs slowly part like some X-rated Busby Berkeley extravaganza. Lately I have become morbidly aware of my penis. Once a remote region accessed indifferently for businesslike micturition, it has developed—seemingly overnight—into a gaudy Las Vegas of the body, complete with pulsing neon, star-studded floor shows, exotic animal acts, and throngs of drunken conventioneers perpetually on the prowl for depraved thrills. I walk about in a state of obsessive expectancy, ever conscious of an urgent clamor rising from my tumescent loins. Any stimulus can trigger the show—a rhythmic rumble from the radiator, the world "titular" in a newspaper editorial, even the smell of the old vinyl in Mr. Ferguson's Toyota."

Amen.

I have now become everything I hate, and have signed up for Twitter. I'm really not sure how it is supposed to work, but you are more than welcome to follow my exploits by visiting this link. Please don't hate me.

Here is some of the wacky humour that I have selfishly kept to myself instead of sharing with others: Dutch Bros? Allann Bros? Menendez Bros! Hilarious!

First and foremost, I'd like to apologize to anyone who may have grabbed a waning-seconds-of-Christmas gift idea off last year's list; if said gift resulted in a) your Facebook relationship status suddenly becoming "single," b) your incarceration, or c) tears, I profoundly, deeply don't give a fuck.

That said, boys and girls, it's time for Burson's (On-Time) Holiday Gift Guide 2009®, the long-awaited and much ballyhooed tome that assures those on your list get the gift equivalent of a kick in the jock. Looking to tell your girl it's over? Looking to extend the finger to your boss in gift form? Look no further. Burson's got you covered, both literally and figuratively, and is ready, willing and able to hook you up.

In the intervening year since the inaugural edition of this guide, you may have noticed that everything's kinda gone to shit. Nowadays, you can barely scrape together the two bucks for your dinner of cat food and Olde English, let alone buy gifts . . . what's a boy to do? Considering that everyone's pretty much in the same boat (i.e. "fucked"), the trick is to go practical. A box of Hefty garbage bags should fit the bill; considering that many of your recipients are half a step from homelessness, they'll be well-prepared thanks to you!

Speaking of hard times, in an economic climate such as this one, a less scrupulous individual might be inclined to hit a lick or two. For the stickup kid on your list, I submit for your consideration the Glock 17, a fine handgun guaranteed to make the Plaid Pantry clerk shit him/herself, particularly if equipped with a suppressor, or "silencer," as the kids are calling it these days.

It wouldn't be Christmas if Burson wasn't lamenting the sorry-ass state of his beloved Oakland Raiders. Now he and other Raiders fans can effectively hide from the world with the Raiders Fan Face, an ingenious device that simultaneously displays the ashamed fan's team spirit and obscures his identity from bosses, spouses and parole officers. Though I'm certain that Raiders fans are no strangers to masks (see Glock 17 and suppressor, above), the Fan Face is a true multitasker; a wearer can hit the aforementioned lick and still make it in time for kickoff.

If said Raiders fans want to get that "in-game" experience, they could always check out the Official Raiders Tackle Buddy, which is nearly as easy to tackle as an Oakland receiver. Note that the Tackle Buddy has no hands; also reminiscent of a Raiders wideout.

For those of us on a budget this holiday season, Christmas dinner can be something of a challenge. Nothing takes the spirit out of the season quite like bringing home a family five-pack of WinCo pre-smoked "turkey" legs and some off-brand Jell-O for dessert. Never fear, the good folks at McDonalds have it on lock: McRib is back! Just imagine the bucolic scene when you dash in (through the snow) carrying that festive paper sack of low-grade pig parts slathered in corn syrup . . . okay, stop imagining, you're making everyone sick.

For that special lady in your life (or Savage), try a sequined G-String, complete with garters. Why, you ask, would one purchase such a ludicrously impractical garment during one of the coldest times of year? Why, I ask, would you be asking that, instead of thinking about that special lady filling it out? Seriously, though, I see how those sequins could irritate some of the more sensitive areas that may contact them, so you might want to consider something more plush.

Who hasn't said, presumably after a half-rack of Natural Ice, "wow, I wish I could smell like a country music superstar?" Tim McGraw has just the thing for you, "McGraw" by Tim McGraw cologne. While the description may say some shit about "musky," "woodsy" and "masculine," you can be safe in reading this as "smells like horse rectum." If you're a lady (since you're reading wyvern920.com, you're probably not) looking to outfit her guy with that signature scent, look somewhere else. Unless you want your man whiffing faintly of '83 Firebird transmission fluid and tobacco spit, steer clear.

If you're shopping for a particularly angst-y teenage girl or homosexual gentleman, Jewel's A Night Without Armor may be just what you need. While ordinarily a "night without armor" results in pregnancy, HIV or worse, Jewel leans toward a different interpretation in this abortion of a poetry collection. Will someone save her soul? Fuck if I know, I'm too busy hanging my head in shame for this gift even entering my twisted brain.

Finally, I must express both my joy and sadness at penning this guide. On the one hand, Christmas is a time of reassurance, hope and togetherness; a time when we set aside our troubles and come together. However, the fact that we need gift guides at all speaks to something of a hole in our culture, a deep longing we seek to fill with impossibly grand material goods. With each gift, we try to prove to the recipient how well we know them, how much we love them and how much better we are than them for coming up with aforementioned perfect gift. We tear through the malls like Sherman cutting a path to the sea, clawing over the prone figures of less-devoted shoppers, all to find that ab-so-fucking-lutely perfect gift. It'll make the emptiness go away, right? Ah, fuck it, just stock up on some Kingsford, wrap that shit up, and your gift shopping's complete. Plenty of time to go back to bed, curled up with a bottle of bourbon.

Ah, I'm just pulling your collective leg with that last one (except the bourbon - that's a frickin' fantastic gift). In truth, this is one of my favorite times of year, and I wish you all the best. I hope you all have a wonderful Holiday Season, and whether you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Solstice, or Friday, I wish you and yours the best. Muthafuckas.

Burson . . . out.

I recently embarked on an epic bicycle excursion to purchase some dried goods at my country store. After returning (and avoiding numerous collisions with motor traffic and pedestrians) I found myself famished to the point of exhaustion. I needed a hearty (vegetarian) manwich before I could even consider tackling the rest of the day. Continue to the next paragraph to see what I mean.

Time to break down the ingredients to this delicious sandwich. Sometimes it is difficult to come up with good meat alternatives for a non-traditional sandwich. If you agree with this sentence, check out Field Roast's Celebration Roast, a vegan grain roast that is very tasty and dense. Though I made this sandwich outside of the 'brunch' window, I decided to include two fried eggs. Adding fried eggs to a sandwich like this pushes it from great to outlandish. Next, a few slices of sharp cheddar cheese. I wrapped things up with some thick-sliced 10-grain bread fresh from my bread machine.

Summary of preparation: slice the Celebration Roast, rub with olive oil and bake for 10-15 minutes. Fry the eggs to your liking. Toast the bread to your liking. Slice the cheese to your liking. This can be a good time to reflect on your day, center your chi and think about fighting the good fight. Add desired condiments (mayonnaise, mustard, relish, horseradish, etc.) and pile everything on.

I designed this sandwich to let people know that I still have what it takes to rock the house (and do the right thing in a topsy-turvy world that challenges our faith every day). This sandwich is worth about 900 calories, 60 grams of protein and 40 grams of fat (though less than 20 of it is saturated). This is the perfect sandwich to encourage growth of your 'winter coat,' ensuring comfort during long walks with your loved ones during the holiday season.

You've waited long enough for my conclusion, so here we go. This sandwich was delicious. Everything came together wonderfully. Though not the prettiest sandwich I've ever made, it made up for it in character. After consuming it I felt refreshed, recharged and ready to do many difficult physics problems (results may vary, talk to your doctor/academic adviser if you are considering this sandwich). Highly recommended.
Final score (out of five):