Friday Random 11

It’s one more random than 10!

There are times when I just have to bow down to someone else’s genius, and that’s the case with this incredible takedown of Stars Earn Stripes by Steven Colbert.

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
"Stars Earn Stripes" Reality Series
www.colbertnation.com
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In five minutes, he takes down military propaganda, military action, celebrity culture, reality TV, and our indifference to all of the above.

Seriously, if we ever shook hands, I would have a serious Marcia Brady-Davy Jones moment.

Tunes:

1) “Eyes of a Stranger,” Queensryche. My cousin Youngblood went to see Coldplay last week. Voluntarily. In fact, after the concert, he posted a pic of the show with the update, “Time stopped for two hours.” I wanted to ask if that was because it felt like those two hours would last a hellish eternity while Satan put Viva la Vida on repeat. But I felt so embarrassed for him that I refrained from what could have been an ANWAR of undrilled comedy on Facebook (although I will definitely be using the team name Coldplay Is Magic in our fantasy football league). Yet my enjoyment of Queensryche's Operation: Mindcrime album is pretty much the heavy metal version of Coldplay man love. Any time I try to explain why this is a great, underrated heavy metal album, I immediately feel like I would be more manly walking down the street in hot pants and gold body glitter to the tune of "Every Teardrop Is a Waterfall."

2) “Here Comes,” INXS. Speaking of underrated, I was way more into INXS when I was a teenager than I should have been. Not that they were not a good band, but I had talked myself into putting The Swing on a pedestal that seems a bit silly now (sample dialog: Kick is pretty good and all, but The Swing is way better. Note: I was not a convincing critic at the time). Songs like these two make me wish I had been blogging when I was a kid, because I would love to read kinds of pompous delusional proclamations I used to make, as opposed to the pompous dick-joke-infused proclamations I make now. SUPER BONUS: Video is from a performance at Magic Freaking Mountain in 1983. I love YouTube so much I think we should scrap the BC/AD thing in favor of a MEH/YT designation.

3) “Stand Up and Shout,” Dio. I love the concept of Dio much more than the execution. There’s a great clip of RJD discussing how hair bands ruined metal—which has merit—but there is no reference to say, excessive references to dragons and sorcery ruining metal. Because I would play anything by E’Nuff Z’Nuff long before I would play “Mystery.”

4) “You’re All That I Have,” Snow Patrol. So I bash Coldplay, yet this is one of those songs like The Goo Goo Dolls “Name” that I know is reheated MOR Cinnabon sauce, yet I find it irresistible. It’s times like these that make me question whether I actually have any taste in music, or if it’s just a random series of binary code that makes no distinction between great and schlock and makes me think things like, “Let's see what Ratt albums are on eMusic.”

5) “How Can Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel,” Morrissey. The funniest song title in Morrissey’s catalog because he’s been telling us the answer in excruciating detail for 30 years. I can’t imagine he plays poker, because he would be the worst bluffer in the world.

Morrissey: Why did you fold your hand?

Me: Because you were singing a song called “The Boy With The Straight Flush In His Hand”

6) “In the Morning,” Built to Spill. I am failing as a parent in getting my child to go to sleep at a reasonable hour, in no small part because I refuse to go to sleep at a reasonable hour. Last night I conked out at 11:57 and thought it remarkable I was going to sleep early. Both of my ass cheeks can be dragging ten feet behind me at 10:30, and as soon as the reasonable suggestion maybe I should drag these glutes to bed, I find something to keep me up (Ooh, look, a Hard Knocks marathon!). Libs does the same thing, dragging out milk drinking, story reading, teeth brushing, potty pottying, to the point where getting her into bed early just means we’re going to have extended grabass. She’s doing what I’m doing, thinking there’s got to be something better than closing your eyes and seeing a whole lot of nothin’. The difference is that she bounds into our room at 7:15 like she’s just snorted a mirror full of pixie sticks, whereas I wonder if there is enough coffee in the universe to get my other eye open.

7) “Let It Be,” The Beatles. I feel like I am cheating on TLB with iTunes right now. Don’t get me wrong, I love my wife, but she doesn’t give up the Macca like you do.

8) “We Can’t Have Nice Things,” Kelly Hogan. This year’s album to have a contemplative glass of wine to. She has a great, soothing voice that wraps up catchy nuggets of sadness and regret in velvet.

9) “Don’t Do Me Like That,” Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Last weekend was my main fantasy football draft—The League of my leagues, the one that is as serious and competitive as it is full of vulgarity and childishness. I was sitting near the liquor cabinet, so I was the designated shot pourer for the evening. After a manly opening of whiskey and cognac, the crew wanted to switch to Rumchata, which is sort of like a rum version of Bailey’s—creamy, sweet, and white. I started pouring a shot and, never one to miss a chance to score a cheap, crotch-level laugh, moved the bottom of the bottle over my crotch and used my hips to dispense the liquor, so to speak. This elicited a great round of laughs, which is like heroin to my sense of humor. I banged out a round of Rumchata shots, culminating in an extended “pour” that nearly reached the brim of my brother Tickle’s glass. “Look at that fucking shot,” he said. “Hey,” I replied, “Let an infertile guy dream.”

10) “Us vs Them,” LCD Soundsystem. I’m curious to see what the voter turnout is going to be this fall, because the gap between the rhetoric and the apathy feels enormous. You know it’s bad when the media has to play up the excitement of The Paul Ryan Experience, which is somewhere between an Objectivist book club and a plain cheese sandwich on the excitement meter. The only political sign on my block is a lone Romney sign that looks like it was stuck out after an embarrassing late-night chocolate milk binge. Thank God for Todd Akin livening things up.

11) “Rumour Has It,” Adele. Currently Libby’s favorite song. What’s not to love about a four-year old singing along with a fuck-you-and-the-skank-you-rode-in-on song? Looking forward to parent-teacher conferences when she really gets the verses down.

Have a good weekend, and a hearty "party on, Zombie" this weekend.