[Call_&_Response_#17: Our_Top_Ten_Closure_Moments]

I have been a NIN fan for years but only recently became a happy member of the lunatic fringe, so at first I didn’t really understand why everyone kept harping on and on and on about the DVD release of Closure. I mean, every time Trent interacted with his fans, someone was nagging him about it, and as far as I could tell, it was going to be tied up indefinitely in legal limbo. Since I wasn’t going to pay money for someone’s burned-out VHS copy on Ebay, I never gave it much thought, even though as I read more about it, I became intrigued.

But now it’s out there! And presuming that you have 12 gigs of free computer space and a Dual-Layer DVD burner, you can have your own copy! I have neither. But I do have our Iris, an awesome friend who went to great lengths to copy this for me and deliver it on New Year’s. So Iris and I had a delightful New Year’s Day brunch with my husband, our friend Sam, and one of my best friends, Padraig. (It was interesting to watch Padraig’s reactions since he has always been stubbornly impervious to Trent’s charms.)

The documentary itself took a while to grow on me, due to the ultra-ADHD editing style and the fact that everyone mumbles, mumbles, mumbles. But when I say “took a while to grow on me,” I’m talking about the amount of time it takes us from the beginning of the film to when we first see Downward Spiral-era Trent in all his destructively filthy hotness breaking his back and everyone else’s to give us all a good show. I’m not as poetic as Dierdre when it comes to praising all things Trent, but holy God, could a single man be any more fucking beautiful? At the EXACT SAME TIME that he sometimes winds up looking like a total ass? He is a fallen angel with a tortured soul at a never-ending frat party.

Dierdre has asked me to list my Top 10 favorite moments in Closure (as if you could narrow it down to only 10), and I’m asking you to join in! The good news is that if you can’t get a hold of your own copy right now, YouTube has a lot of footage available.

My Top Ten is in no particular order, btw…

1. Making a cameo appearance is Lou Reed, who appears to be channeling Phil Spector with plastic-framed glasses and an enormous perm. Lou and Trent mostly mumble at each other, but I love this moment because it led to Padraig and I having this exchange:

Padraig (upon seeing Lou Reed, jokingly): Is that Trent’s mother?
Me (sarcastically): Yeah, that’s his mom.
Padraig: Well, no wonder he’s upset.

2. All of “Down In It.” This is not normally my favorite NIN song, but this is probably the most entertaining performance in all of Closure, beginning with the moment that Trent licks his lips like some sort of feral animal. He is worshipfully petted by his fans, and then he firmly grabs his leather-clad ass with both hands and sloooooowly arches his back. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen anyone revel so completely in the touching of his/her own ass. It’s genius, and it just goes to show that Trent Reznor appreciates what the Good Lord gave him. As well he should. He then proceeds to attack some equipment and tackle full-bore into his bandmates. Holy shit, if my supervisor ever fucking clotheslined me and knocked me to the ground, I would fucking walk.

3. Obviously, the most fascinating moment for me personally was the few seconds when we got to see a very real and alive Maise lovingly play tug of war with her master and chew on his really long socks. The second that fictional ghost Maise laid eyes on real, living Maise in Closure, there was a tear in the time-space continuum.

4. The clips we see of the original MOTP video. OMFG, I nearly burst a blood vessel, I was laughing so hard. Gabriel is right…it *is* really retarded! I mean, are they supposed to be in a volcano or something? With demons? What the hell? I LOVE it. It only makes me wish that we could see the aborted EDIETS video.

5. Trent singing “Get Down, Make Love” live, after which, for a reason I cannot discern, he plaintively laments, “I feel so violated. My mom is in the audience!”

6. Trent discussing the rather alarming injuries he inflicts on Robin Finck (maimed finger) and Chris Vrenna (head injury) without much remorse. “This mike stand flew,” he explains, conveniently omitting the fact that he fucking THREW it directly in the path of his drummer.

7. The behind-the-scenes look at the “Closer” video…utterly fascinating, and Trent in a gimp mask is too hilarious.

8. Mr. Lifto abusing his genitals, only because it made Padraig shriek, “AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

9. Any time that Trent staggers across the stage clutching his head melodramatically during a song. This happens multiple times.

10. Band and crew throwing all manner of objects at an inoffensive “Exit” sign in a display of clichéd cock rock idiocy. The funny part about it, though, is that Trent is victorious (“Let the wookie win.”), and he is joyously carried aloft on everyone’s shoulders as though he just shot the goal that won the World Cup. There’s even a nice freeze frame just then. Happy Trent.

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[Call_&_Response_#_16: The_Dear_Trent_Edition]

Dear Trent,

I've been wracking my brains for the right words to tell you how magnificent and resplendent you have been this past year, and to thank you for your beautiful work, which, as it always has, has made my life inestimably richer with all the things it's made me think about and feel. If this website has any purpose, it's to tell you every single day that you are not just loved, but adored, and not just for your hot ass, but for the way you have shown us all just how rich the human heart can be.

If that sounds operatic and overblown, I'm sorry, but I just can't seem to find the clever irony that will convey hip distance and absolute sincerity in the same sentence, so I gave up the effort. Here's the bottom line, Trent: I love you, and I love your work. You make me so happy. It's as simple as that.

I've heard a lot of people say that they're glad the horrible [With_Teeth] era is over; mostly people who are pining away for another round of The Fragile. Personally, I have no idea how anyone can want that, and for me, that kind of nostalgia is about the most stultifying thing ever. I'm glad your endless tour is over because that means you can take your tremendous creative vitality into the studio and make me another record. I am on the edge of my fucking seat on that score, because I have high hopes that it will be the most beautiful record you've ever made. I know everyone's hoping that "shortly" is an upgrade on "soon," but I hope you take exactly the time you need. I want you back, you sexy beast, but I want you to stun me with beauty I never dreamed of, and I am so thrilled by how open your road is right now. However long it takes, Sparklepants, I'll be here.

On that note, I'm opening the comments up to all of my compatriots here at WTC. I think you should know that all of us love you, and I hope they will all tell you how much and exactly why in this thread.

I hope you're well and happy, dear Trent. I wish you all the best things, and more than anything else, I wish you satisfying work.


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So, my northern English boytoy is leaving town for good. Of course, I'm a little sad, on account of what a truly excellent ride he was, but at the same time, I'm not abject or broken-hearted, because as all of you know full well, he isn't exactly the LOVE OF MY LIFE .

You know what though? I'm going to miss him, and I want him to know that I totally care, so I'm doing something really, really cheesey as a gesture of my affection: I'm making him a mixtape. And, before you ask, yes: he has a positively medieval, tape-playing Walkman.

It's always a sly game, making a mixtape for someone you want to tell some special thing to, isn't it? It's using someone else's words to say what you mean, probably because you're too chicken to use your own, and that's certainly the case here, because I just can't go there with this guy. Still, I do want him to know that I am going to remember him fondly, if somewhat snidely; and really, how often do our favorite artists say just that thing that's in our hearts, but for which we hadn't found the right words? It happens all the time, right?

So, here's my hypothetical scenario for you today: your psychic powers have informed you that Trent is listening to the radio. It's the only cool radio station in the world, and it plays music that cool people like us want to listen to, rather than hours of pure, unadulterated, stultifyingly awful drivel recorded by idiots and retarded beer commercials, and it doesn't have any DJ's whose voices are about as pleasant as being poked in the face with a sharp stick (thanks, Ghost World). If you call right now, you can dedicate a song to our dear Sparklepants that will tell him just what you most want him to know...

What's it gonna be?

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[Call_&_Response_#_14: Who's_Wearing_Chains?]

Greetings, Chainsers.

Roth's post earlier today about how fast we come up in google searches having to to with notre amour had me taking a closer look at our site stats than I have in a long time, and I gotta tell you, the info is pretty interesting. My dears, I thought you might be interested to know that WTC's readership is larger than I imagined, and growing steadily.

Who knew that when that flatulent blowhard whore Gabriel Miller and I launched WTC we would carve out such a solid niche in the small pond known as the NINternet! I was surprised to see that even though we had a quiet patch during my computer debacle, traffic did not slow down a bit. In fact, throughout our short and storied tenure, our numbers have grown steadily, and show no sign of slowing down at all!


You can click on the graph above for a larger version, and on it, you can see our quarterly growth in page loads, unique visitors, and repeat visitors from inception to the first quarter of 2006. I'll only add that numbers for the current quarter are on track to continue the trend. Amazing, no? I mean it's not like we're pulling in the MILLIONS that some sites no doubt boast, but I'd say we can honestly report that 100's of people read WTC everyday; WAY MORE than we ever expected.

Unsurprisingly, the bulk of our readership is American, but we also have regular readers with hundreds of visits logged from places like Italy, Germany, Spain, The Czech Republic, France, Great Britian, Switzerland, and Estonia (?!). We have regular and repeat visitors from Mexico, Brazil, Argentina, South Africa, Australia, and Japan.

Our readers arrive at WTC in a variety of ways. We get your requisite perverts, and etc., but revealingly, the number one search term that brings surfers to WTC is some variation on "Red Robe Pic", which is funny, because that picture, though linked to from WTC, is not actually hosted by this website. We also get loads of people searching for info about Trent Reznor's girlfriend, though, funnily enough, that is the only topic that is banned from any discussion whatsoever on this website, and we don't show up that high in the google results. I guess those folks who are out for that kind of info are willing to do a little digging. Whatevs.

Diggers? We got NOTHIN' for you here.

We get the occasional link-overs from places where better, cleverer men than we are roundly excoriating our sorry asses -- places like ETS and The Spiral, as well as the occasional blog link, too; but one of the coolest little tidbits of info our stats reveal is that the majority of people arrive at WTC by typing the URL into their browsers on purpose. Awesome.

Anyway, my question for you today, people, is WHO THE HELL ARE YOU? We've got a handful of regular commenters, but obviously, there are LOADS of lurkers. Here's what I hope: this one time only, even if you are a lurker, and don't want to join into our wacky discussions of all things Trent Reznor, please just drop us a little message to tell us where you are! It's not necessary to enter anything into the e-mail and web address lines of our comment feature, so feel free to be anonymous, but dudes! Where are you? How long have you been reading WTC?

What's the haps?!

And, hey, everyone? Thanks for reading and commenting. I know the haters are out there, and that Gabriel is an asshole, but I think we rule.

Posted by Dierdre ~ in call_&_response / with_questions | Permalink | Comments (41) | TrackBack


[Call_&_Response_#_13: New_Directions?]

Um... Would anyone be horribly disappointed if I changed things up here at WTC and transformed the whole thing into a shrine to skinny Britpop arse-waggler and erstwhile Pulp frontman, Jarvis Cocker?


Because, I think I'm retroactively in love with him since I watched a video of him singing "I Spy" on the interweb's greatest invention ever, YouTube, and I think it's pretty clear that he is a big flaming genius. Truth be told, all other things being equal**, I've always preferred a tall, lanky man with pale skin, big feet, long fingers, and a razor-sharp wit to a short guy with huge-mongous muscles and a crew cut, wielding a blunt instrument...

Anyone mind?

Oh! And, I found out that Mr. Cocker has had a Goth phase:


So, I think it could be a smooth transition for all of us Gothemo fans...

Don't worry, though, you guys! I still love Trent, and the good lord in heaven knows that I would never toss his blunt instrument out of bed for eating crackers. If you're feeling distressed about eminent change-ups, I think you should all go watch this fucking hilarious display of totally gay hair circa 1990, in which Trent and his stick-like legs rock out a little "Get Down, Make Love". As for me, I'm going to go right back to mainlining Pulp videos, and redesigning the site to make it ALL ABOUT JARVIS.

But wait! This is a [Call_&_Response], right? Well, I guess the question is, when you aren't taking your Vitamin T, what are you taking?

**which they aren't, FYI.

Posted by Dierdre ~ in call_&_response / with_questions | Permalink | Comments (53) | TrackBack


[Call_&_Response_#_12: Whither_These_Chains?]

Well, kids, now that the proverbial cat's out of the bag, there's some question, here at WTC Headquarters, and by that I mean MY BRAIN, about where to take this website, so I was wondering: what do you think?

As has been noted, the satirical purpose of this site hit its peak a long time ago, and it has, since then, become more of an alternative to some of the more stultifyingly retarded and often ridiculously fascistic destinations on the NINternet, as well as a lovely little community of people who love the collected works of Trent Reznor, and aren't terribly worried about going ahead and being a little bit weird about it. I like that. I certainly wouldn't want us to get too sane around here.

So, my question is this: What would you miss most if it were gone? Do we still have takers for the book club? Knowing that Dierdre is a fictional character, would you still like to read an occasional distinctly off-kilter missive of tortured love addressed to notre amour? Do you have any ideas for things we need around here, but don't have? Would you be interested in making guest contributions on occasion?

In short, dear readers, whither these chains?  I await your thoughts with baited breath!

Posted by Dierdre ~ in call_&_response / with_questions | Permalink | Comments (77) | TrackBack



Damn, you guys! Trent never blogs for us anymore, does he? Plus, reports are that he's still giving The Spiral folks The Silent Treatment. But, you know what? I think we all know what Trent wants to tell us, don't we? Let's write his blog and message board posts for him, shall we?

Our own Maise has a jumpstart on us. She claims that she could totally save Trent some valuable time by taking on the job herself, and that she'd even do it for free. Trent, if you're out there, I think you could really benefit from a deal like that...

Here's his blog, as penned by Maise, thus far:


That late-night trip to Denny's didn't sit so well with me.



I really want to like Bode Miller, but he keeps on choking and talking like a total douche.



Grumpy.  Tired.



I am drowning in mucus.



Some asshole in a Volvo totally cut off our bus just now. I flipped him off, but I don't think he saw me.


Not bad, I'd say.

Ok, so we all know his blogging style, right? Brief, cryptic, and faintly snide, right? In message board posts, I'd say that he runs more towards the pissed-off, defensive, and bitchy.

Let's see what you got.

Posted by Dierdre ~ in call_&_response / with_questions, wtc_guest_contributions | Permalink | Comments (62) | TrackBack



You guys, I have a question for you, but before I ask it, I want to make a few things perfectly clear:

  1. I do not have a CRUSH on Trent; what afflicts me is something far, far worse.
  2. I do not care if you think that's creepy.
  3. Any protestations of a self-righteous, castigating nature posted to this blog are absolutely hilarious. Please post millions of them, haters, and know I love you almost as much as I love Trent.

With that out of the way, there is this one thing I am BURNING to know. Yesterday, our illustrious reader, the enigmatic "C", expressed his/her tendancy to disdain those who "harbor crazy, creepy celebrity crushes," and then the WTC reader bearing my personal favorite handle, GreatBigFatBitch, defied that castigation with a bold-faced, unashamed avowal of the fact that she does indeed harbor such a crush. Good enough! But, my question is this: what EXACTLY is so "crazy" and "creepy" about a celebrity crush? 

I once had this really, really, horribly intense crush on this guy I didn't know that worked in my local cafe for MONTHS. Oh, the delicious torture I continually suffered as he smilingly whipped up espresso after espresso, and frothed milk, all with those burly forearms of his! Is that creepy? Or, is it NOT creepy because he's not a celebrity? When I was a girl, I had a ginormous crush on e.e. cummings and a total obsession with Mr. Darcy, a dead American poet and a fictional character, respectively.  Creepy?

My Oxford American Dictionary defines the word "crush" as "a brief but intense infatuation for someone, esp. someone unattainable or inappropriate." Now, I think that definition shoots the whole notion my having a "crush" on Trent right out of the water, because as inappropriate and unattainable as he arguably is, I have suffered the slings and arrows of true love for that bitch for over 10, roller-coaster years now, with, it must be admitted, varying degrees of intensity. I know I suffer from true, yet unrequited, bone-deep love for something about Trent Reznor that is as real as all the things I don't know about him, and if you think you can change my mind about that, you haven't been paying attention to this website. Creepier than a brief, intense crush? Maybe.


In service of my hopeless passion for Trent, here's what I do: I buy his records, go to his concerts when I can, read his interviews, and consider his work. I also entertain myself by writing about him, and think about him naked, sometimes. What's so awful about that? It's not like I live in his bushes, carve his name in bloody gashes on my forehead, or buy vials of his sweat off e-bay and drink them.

Seriously: is it truly so wrong to love a man like Trent from afar? Why?

Posted by Dierdre ~ in call_&_response / with_questions | Permalink | Comments (76) | TrackBack



Last night, while I was shootin' the shizzle with my old friend Baal Glyttr on the interbot chatter, discussing, for like the 4783rd time, the preferability of a more natural approach to pubic grooming vs. the creation of an artificial little wedge of ornamental fur, he, arguing in favor of crotchal tidying-up, posited that notre amour avec les pantalons scintillant was OBVIOUSLY more of a groomer than a farmer, if you get my gist.

Obviously?! Of course, I strenuously objected to the horrific notion that peeling those sparkly pants off that hot rig would reveal a nancyish little gay-porn-style topiary and balls as smooth as a baby's ass, rather than a lush forest of fragrant, manly, natural growth. I cited photographic evidence of the state of Trent's scrumptiously unwaxed hairy shoulders in a desperate bid to shore up my position, but Baal contended that Trent is 100% meticulously self-invented, and that, in view of his alleged tight-assed control freakery, there is no way that he sports a natural downstairs.

And, by the way, I know you're cringing right now, but I feel like it's ok to talk about this topic, because my friend who's rich enough to be a card carrying retard for Trent told me that on The Spiral, there is an entire thread, some 7 pages long and growing, dedicated to speculation about Trent's favorite sexual position. I shit you not. Unless she is shitting me, of course.


Oh, hey! Are you getting all revved up to post your speculation as to whether or not Trent trims the verge in his pants? Well, hold up, cowboys and girls, because as riveting as that would surely be, it is NOT today's topic. I think we've had enough "cockfro" talk around here to last a fucking lifetime.

The truth is, Baal's contention that there is nothing "natural" about the Trent we know was an interesting one, and his contention, along with Gabriel's constant douchebag harping on about "projection," and the fact that he seems to think that lately the former Gothic Princeling of Pain has morphed into the 4 Star General of Lies, makes me want to ask you this: how much of what Trent says as part of his job as a rock star do you believe?  Do you think Trent levels with us, or do you think he is constantly constructing a meticulously invented public persona, his heart of hearts hidden from our prying eyes? When Trent says something, do you take him at his word, or do you take it with a generous sprinkling of salt? Do you take his drama literally, or do you savor his melodramatic theatricality?

Do you take Trent Reznor for a paragon of naturalism and authenticity, or a master of artifice?

Do you love him, or are you sick of his shit?

Both? Neither?

Do tell...

Posted by Dierdre ~ in call_&_response / with_questions | Permalink | Comments (106) | TrackBack



Have you noticed the lull, you guys?

I guess with me feeling a quart low, Gabriel off on another one of his always productive quests for the fucking meaning of life, and Mimi consuming pastries by the oozingly suggestive dozens because she's upset at Gabriel (and Trent?!) for some reason of the heart that I can't fathom because I'm not French, things here at WTC have ground to a near halt.

It's not as if I'm not as enraptured as I ever have been by the way the hair sticks to Trent's delicious, sweaty chest, or that I don't imagine, night and fucking day, what his crazy, multi-directional fingers could do if strategically applied to my naked body. More importantly, it's not like I'm not as undone as ever by the strange alchemy that makes it possible for him to use rock firegod bombast and stagey histrionics to convey the soft, thoughtful, inner life of a remarkably interesting human man with devastating emotional verity and perfect focus, while rocking it with that hot, meaty little ass of his and the Lt. Jughead Reznor hairstyle that makes me want to lick every inch of his hot, hot rig.

I mean, VERILY, my friends, Trent Reznor is a very fucking sexy genius. I'm just so UNINSPIRED these days.

That's why I need you, dear readers. WTC is crying out for a good photo essay, n'est-ce pas? I need ideas. Help me out, people. Is there something we haven't scrutinized, probed, examined and fondly stroked with sufficient thoroughness? Favorite pictures we haven't cooed and gooed over with ample girlish enthusiasm? Details that need to be teased into the light and made to stand erect? In my wildest fantasies, each of you will send me your two favorite pictures of Trent, accompanied by super sexy, anatomically explicit haiku! Is that too much to ask?

Dear readers, WTC needs you! Ante up!

Posted by Dierdre ~ in call_&_response / with_questions | Permalink | Comments (34) | TrackBack