In 2007, when The Lovely Becky and I moved from Iowa City to da UP, we sold our house in less than a day. The realtor put the sign on the lawn in the morning, and before the sun set, we had an offer that we accepted. No muss, no fuss, just the usual cleaning and moving out.
In 2010, after being on the market for three months, we got a very shitty offer on our UP house. We negotiated our way to a smelly offer, one that was substantially less than what we paid but acceptable in a market where foreclosed McMansions litter the landscape like used Porta-Johns after a Lollapalooza concert.
My Spidey sense tingled a bit when the buyers, who I will dub Lord and Lady Douchebag, started off with their shitty offer. When I told my father—the former Navy man turned car dealership manager, a man who is the best salesman I know—what they offered, he said that I should tell them I would burn the place to the ground before I’d give the house away at that price. Maybe I would have in 2007. But this was 2010, and not only was it a buyer’s market, I was in the UP and looking to get out of it like a bad marriage.
I’ve tried over the last three years to not bad mouth the UP too much. I’ve often failed, and in retrospect, it’s not the UP, it’s me. Michigan’s Upper Peninsula does indeed have a lot to offer. It’s beautiful, and thanks to the size of Lake Superior and the presence of big-ass tanker ships moving in and out, Marquette often felt more like a quaint Atlantic seaside town instead of a Great Lakes hamlet. There were some creature comforts of civilization like Starbucks and a very good hair salon. However, the very fact that those two things stick out for me says a lot about why I was not meant for the UP. The three main S’s of life in the UP—stalking, skinning, and shoveling—did not mesh with mine—shopping, shows, and summer. I was the Zsa Zsa to the UP’s Eddie Albert (ed. that's Eva to Eddie Albert, doh! Thanks to Terry for the correction). And unlike the 200-inch winter we had two years ago, this break-up was not bitter. I just wanted us to go our separate ways and meet other people and places we were better suited for. I was even willing to give the UP the one thing I loved in the final settlement: our house.
The house was critical to making three years in the Great White Near North, because for at least half the year, I didn’t want to go outside. The finished attic in particular was my salvation: it not only served as my home office and offered a beautiful lake view, but it eventually became my first man-cave where I could watch movies and Rock Band-out to my heart’s content. (Given that it was at the top of the house and had a lot of windows, I couldn’t really call it a man-cave, so I instead dubbed it The Cock Pit.) Even the basement was perfect for our needs. It was an old, unfinished room we could use for storage and for the fleet of cat boxes that serviced our three fuzzy, purring shit machines.
Said shit machines were initially a thorn in our side during the selling process. We had showings, but they tended to complain about the cat smell in the basement. The basement did indeed have a cat smell, because that’s where the cats were (duh!). We also had one cat with a kidney problem who started peeing on the floor during the past year. We cleaned the basement frequently but you can only do so much to keep that kind of environment bakery fresh. We didn’t worry about it too much, however, because we figured someone would come along who saw the basement for what it was: an old, ugly place to store Christmas decorations, cleaning supplies, and cat accoutrements.
Three months into the process, Lord and Lady Douchebag appeared. They visited the house, and the initial report was that they liked it a lot and that the basement was not a big deal. They liked it enough to come for a second showing that lasted nearly two hours, with TLB and I driving by the home during the second hour knowing that every minute longer they took probably meant they were seriously interested. They made their shitty offer, we negotiated to the smelly one, and we proceeded to the seller’s agreement. We even agreed to their request to be out in 30 days.
They had a couple of contingencies, one of which was that we have the basement professionally cleaned “to their satisfaction.” At the time, that didn’t seem like a big deal to us, as we had planned all along to get the basement cleaned by some pros. When TLB and I had moved into the place, it had been left in a pretty dirty state, and we vowed to pass it along to our buyers in a state so scrubbed it would give Mr. Clean an erection.
The inspection is where things began to go to shit, literally. Our agent called us and said the buyers had gotten adamant that they would not buy the house if the basement smelled like cat. We were caught off guard by the shift in tone, but thought we found the culprit: our middle cat, Stinky. We had stuck him and the others in their cat carriers during the inspection, and Stinky had pooped in his cage while the buyers were inspecting the house. We understood their concerns and reiterated that we’d get the basement cleaned. In fact, we boarded the cats so that said scrubbed basement would not be touched by feline ass again.
The cleaners came and did a number on the basement with one of those scrubbers like you see in grocery stores, working the floor hard enough to take off some of the paint. Post-clean, the basement smelled free of cat. The Lovely Becky and I left for the weekend to start the first phase of our move to Illinois, confident we had held up our end of the bargain.
The following Monday, our panicky agent called us. The buyers had come to sniff the basement and were not happy. They still insisted that the basement smelled like cat.
It was four days before we were supposed to close.
TLB and I mobilized, planning to leave our daughter Libby with my mother-in-law and heading back to the UP on Tuesday, with my father-in-law joining us to provide additional elbow grease and olfactory analysis. Our agent also suggested we talk to the house inspector for cleaning suggestions. Apparently he had had fuel oil spilled in his basement, and he recommended a product that had removed the smell. Marquette was not a center of janitorial supplies, however, and TLB had to go online to a New York company to order the product and pay $200 for overnight shipping.
The next morning, just before we left, the owner of the New York janitorial supply company called TLB. We’ll call him “Bobby.” The first thing Bobby asked TLB was, “What’s with this crazy shipping?” TLB explained the predicament. “You don’t want that stuff,” Bobby said about what she ordered. “I been in this business 20 years, I’ll give you something better.” We suspected that Bobby knew not only how to make the evidence of cats disappear, if you know what I’m talking about.
We returned to our house. The basement smelled...like an musty, old, unfinished basement. It did not smell like cat pee. If we got down on our hands and knees, we found a few faint hot spots, but overall it didn’t seem like enough to derail the deal. We figured we could beat it.
We started with a pre-Bobby barrage of hydrogen peroxide, letting that work its bleachy magic overnight. The next day UPS arrived with our assortment of Bobby-approved products, mostly enzyme cleaners good for urine, vomit, blood, and guys who talk. Then, just to be My-Cousin-Vinny sure, we mopped up with Mr. Clean orange with Febreeze. Even on my hands and knees, I could smell no cat, just the scent of hard work and modern chemistry. Our agent and her assistant came over, and both concluded that the basement smelled fine. “I don’t smell cat,” the assistant said. “It just smells like an old Michigan basement.”
Confident that the buyers would agree, we waited for them to come over and smell the scent of victory. Except that they didn’t want to come over. In a note to their agent that we saw, they said they felt “pressured” into making a decision, had called off the closing, and wanted to wait until the following Monday.
I went Lou Ferrigno on our agent. Granted, she was the messenger, but frankly she had been very passive and annoying during the process. She had been badgering us with questions about how we cleaned the basement and bringing in a different cleaning company instead of, you know, selling the goddamned house. I laid out a cell-phone salvo where I said I was ready to blow the whole deal up just to keep Lord and Lady Douchebag from owning the house. We had left our child behind to meet their demands, and they couldn’t deign to visit us because they felt “pressured”? Our agent tried to calm me down, and at one point changed the topic to other possible cleaning solutions. “I don’t want to talk about fucking cleaning products!” I said. “You are a real estate agent, not some cleaning expert.”
If the squeaky wheel gets the grease, then the screaming wheel gets the KY, because lo and behold, Lord and Lady Douchebag changed their minds and said they would come on Friday. That happened to be the day the movers came, because while Lord Douchebag was cavalier about the closing date, we still had to stick to the moving date we had arranged in order to meet their Douchebag demands. Their highnesses came, they smelled and we conquered. Our agent said that they didn’t smell anything. Huzzah!
Except not. The Douchebags were worried that the smell would come back, like a monster from Stephen King’s Pet Dysentery. They still wanted to smell it again Monday. TLB, also known in our relationship as “The Smart One,” figured the deal was over, and that they were just delaying the inevitable. I, known as “The Other One,” thought we still had a chance.
Guess who was right?
Our agent called on Monday. The Douchebags had given the basement four nostrils down, and I knew for a fact that they were just looking for a way to back out. We were positive the basement was fine, fine enough that what had not seemed like a big issue to them shouldn’t have become a deal breaker later on.
In the end, it’s not so much that they didn’t buy the house that angered me, it’s the way they didn’t buy the house. The LeBronned us for a few weeks instead of just making up their minds and letting us know. The worst part was the inconsideration. They treated the whole process like they were shopping for fruit, as if our house was a cantaloupe they could tap for a while and put back whenever they wanted. They didn’t seem to comprehend that, in order for them to move in, people had to actually move out.
So, we’re left with an empty (albeit cleaned) house in Marquette that’s still on the market, with a sad, empty Cock Pit just waiting to shake again with the sound of poorly played plastic drums. Meanwhile, we received no earnest money from his Lordship, because you can’t disprove a subjective condition. They weren’t satisfied, ergo we got no money for taking our house off the market during the 30 days we tried to please them. I blame myself for not being more savvy and will definitely never agree to something like that again.
We are, however, out of the UP. Despite all the frustration, expense, and aggravation this has caused...despite the last month leaving me mentally and physically exhausted, to the point where creating a Top Ten full of low-hanging dick jokes seemed too taxing...despite having to take care of a house I no longer live in...I’m no longer dealing with all of this while living in the second-snowiest city in the lower 48. I’ll take going through The Tale of Lord and Lady Douchebag by Alexander Dumbass over not having a way out of the UP. Now I just hope we find a buyer and that the house finds an owner who appreciates it, one who will love what the UP has to offer.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
TBD Turns 2
Hard to believe it's been two years since To-Be-Determined turned into To-Be-Our-Beautiful-Little-Girl (TBOBLG). We're giving her Chicago as a birthday present.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Hiatus
It's been quite a week here at CJSD International. The initial offer for our house blossomed from crappy to acceptable, we passed inspection, and the buyers want to take possession quickly. That means our rustic adventures in the frozen fingers of Michigan will be coming to and end almost exactly three years after they began.
With all the packing and preparation, not to mention trying to keep up with work, the blog will have to go into sleep mode for a few weeks. Or sleepier mode, as the case may be. When it awakes, it will be surrounded by skyscrapers and Blackhawks fans and Chipotle outlets.
We started boxing things up last night, starting with our books. I couldn't help but think of just how much stuff we'd need to box up, which of course, made me think of this:
Happy Friday
With all the packing and preparation, not to mention trying to keep up with work, the blog will have to go into sleep mode for a few weeks. Or sleepier mode, as the case may be. When it awakes, it will be surrounded by skyscrapers and Blackhawks fans and Chipotle outlets.
We started boxing things up last night, starting with our books. I couldn't help but think of just how much stuff we'd need to box up, which of course, made me think of this:
Happy Friday
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Top Ten Tuesdays: Why do we hate our political incumbents so much?
10) Refuse to wipe their feet before using us as human footstools.
9) Looking to replace old, boring political incompetents with exciting new incompetents who are even crazier in the political sack.
8) Fat/crying/screaming man on the radio/TV/Internets told us we should.
7) Decided to embrace candidates who promise a zipper over every nipple.
6) Finally had time to pay attention to politics while being unemployed since last election.
5) Don’t trust any candidate not wearing at least fifteen pieces of American flag flair.
4) Keep ignoring our demands for a return to the facial hair of our forefathers.
3) Angry at establishment politicians who don’t look out for the interests of white men.
2) Ate the cake they told us we could eat.
1) Frustrated that the only jobs they’ve created are of the hand variety.
9) Looking to replace old, boring political incompetents with exciting new incompetents who are even crazier in the political sack.
8) Fat/crying/screaming man on the radio/TV/Internets told us we should.
7) Decided to embrace candidates who promise a zipper over every nipple.
6) Finally had time to pay attention to politics while being unemployed since last election.
5) Don’t trust any candidate not wearing at least fifteen pieces of American flag flair.
4) Keep ignoring our demands for a return to the facial hair of our forefathers.
3) Angry at establishment politicians who don’t look out for the interests of white men.
2) Ate the cake they told us we could eat.
1) Frustrated that the only jobs they’ve created are of the hand variety.
Friday, June 04, 2010
Bleh
It's a crappy, rainy day here in Marquette today, a perfect day to play some tunes, stare at the gray sky, and contemplate the frailty of human existence/make some dick jokes. Unfortunately, my white collar has become electrified this week (although thankfully not explosive), so I need to pay The Man his dues today.
Despite the workload, things are good. We have an offer (albeit a crappy one) on the house, and more people coming to look at it. Libby grows more adorable daily, although I had not one but two dreams this week about confronting her about her pot smoking (as a teenager, not as a toddler, which would have been kind of awesome). And today's weather notwithstanding, the weather gods in Marquette have definitely smiled upon us this year. Who says blood sacrifices don't work?
However, this doesn't mean we can't have a little fun. I saw a great question on Facebook this week: what's the best opening track on an album? My answer was super obvious but I had to be honest -- not even my beloved Rush gets me as pumped as this does:
Hit me with your nominees, and have a good weekend.
Despite the workload, things are good. We have an offer (albeit a crappy one) on the house, and more people coming to look at it. Libby grows more adorable daily, although I had not one but two dreams this week about confronting her about her pot smoking (as a teenager, not as a toddler, which would have been kind of awesome). And today's weather notwithstanding, the weather gods in Marquette have definitely smiled upon us this year. Who says blood sacrifices don't work?
However, this doesn't mean we can't have a little fun. I saw a great question on Facebook this week: what's the best opening track on an album? My answer was super obvious but I had to be honest -- not even my beloved Rush gets me as pumped as this does:
Hit me with your nominees, and have a good weekend.
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
Top Ten Tuesdays: How are we still trying to resolve the Gulf oil spill?
10) Scooping it up in Gulf-sized Ziploc bag.
9) Raising money for future cleanups by letting Hollywood directors use it as a setting for dystopias about a future America ravaged by environmental disasters.
8) Soaking it up with millions of worthless BP stock certificates.
7) Mumbling something about robots and hoping no one asks a follow-up question.
6) Creating a new reality show, So You Think You Can Clean Up a Catastrophic Man-Made Environmental Disaster?
5) Proposing to flip the orientation of the Earth so that the oil flows “up” into the Gulf floor.
4) Mobilizing the 101st Scrubbing Bubbles Division.
3) Talking tough, because nothing cleans up oil faster than a stern promise of investigations.
2) Sticking heads further in the sand until we no longer see any leaking oil.
1) Handing Sarah Palin a rubber hose and telling her to “suck, baby, suck.”
9) Raising money for future cleanups by letting Hollywood directors use it as a setting for dystopias about a future America ravaged by environmental disasters.
8) Soaking it up with millions of worthless BP stock certificates.
7) Mumbling something about robots and hoping no one asks a follow-up question.
6) Creating a new reality show, So You Think You Can Clean Up a Catastrophic Man-Made Environmental Disaster?
5) Proposing to flip the orientation of the Earth so that the oil flows “up” into the Gulf floor.
4) Mobilizing the 101st Scrubbing Bubbles Division.
3) Talking tough, because nothing cleans up oil faster than a stern promise of investigations.
2) Sticking heads further in the sand until we no longer see any leaking oil.
1) Handing Sarah Palin a rubber hose and telling her to “suck, baby, suck.”
Friday, May 28, 2010
Friday Random 11
It’s one more random than 10!
Today is the 16th wedding anniversary for myself and The Lovely Becky. We’ve beaten the seven-year itch twice and have change to spare.
I apologize if this sounds a bit smug, because for a lot of people marriage is work, but being married to TLB has been the easiest experience of my life. I am one of those fortunate people who found the person they are supposed to be with. I don’t necessarily believe in the idea of soul mates. Had TLB and I never met, I think we could have found other spouses who would have made us happy. But I am convinced I found the person I would be the happiest with.
The reason why being married to TLB has been so easy is because I am so at ease with my wife. We spend so much of our lives putting up fronts. Even with close friends, there are often barriers between who we really are and who those friends see. I don’t have to do that with TLB. I get to be myself with her, and that is refreshing. In fact, I am probably more myself with her than I am with myself, because I have an exceptional ability to bullshit myself, whereas she sees right through that.
We have that level of comfort where it’s like we share each other’s brains, without the socially awkward requirement of having two heads on one body. Over the years, we’ve gotten to know exactly what the other person is thinking. In fact, it’s gotten to a level of comic specificity. We might be at a park with lots of other parents, and I’ll lean over to say to TLB, “You know what’s an awesome look? Having your camouflage T-shirt tucked into your jeans so that we can see your cell phone holster.” TLB will smile and say she was just about to say the exact same thing, because our ideas of what looks ridiculous and how to mock said ridiculousness are perfectly synchronized.
Some men have trouble with marriage because they miss the excitement of the new (see Woods, Tiger). And that’s certainly a trade off. At this point, there are probably few surprises left for us. Every once in a while TLB uncovers some new wrinkle to my personality that she didn’t know existed, but it’s often just a bigger reveal of a pre-existing neuroses that she’s known about for years. I think about it like a favorite movie, like Pulp Fiction. Sure, when I first saw it, it was immensely fun to experience the twists, turns, and lines for the first time. However, the reason Pulp Fiction is my favorite movie is because I am so familiar with it. I revel in knowing every line, every scene, because knowing what happens on the surface of the film allows me to dive deeper into why I love it so much. I also have more fun watching it now because now I can anticipate the parts I like the best—OMG, Travolta’s about to stick the needle in Uma Thurman’s chest, I love this part!
That’s why I love being married to TLB. Do I know the story now? Sure, more or less. But it’s also my favorite story, which makes every day with her like seeing my favorite movie. Minus the crazy rednecks trying to sodomize us, of course. And TLB is also the only one who knows what’s in the case.
1) “Take It Easy,” The Eagles. Another reason for making my marriage work is that I was built for monogamy. I have enough trouble trying to drive with one woman on my mind, let alone seven. TLB sometimes jokes about me having an affair, and I tell her a) she would know instantly if I was, to the point where I may as well arrive home with a t-shirt that says “Yes, I’m having an affair,” and b) I’m not interested because an affair would cut into my video game time. When would I be able to save the princess?
2) “And I Will Be With You,” The Mr. T Experience. I am convinced that if I had not met TLB when I did, I would have gone through my 20s writing stuff like this. The funniest band to every sing about unrequited love.
3) “Revolution,” Bang Camaro. TLB loves me despite my love of hair metal, both the real thing and imitations like this. This sounds more Def Leppard then Def Leppard does these days.
4) “Pressure Drop,” Toots & the Maytals. I’m not sure if it makes me more white or less white that this is my favorite reggae song. I dig the combination of the urgent vocal with the laid-back rhythm.
5) “Experiment IV,” Kate Bush. TLB’s two musical calling cards when we first started dating were ‘Til Tuesday and Kate Bush. I am glad she introduced me to them.
6) “Catholic Pagans,” Surfer Blood. Probably an apt description for us. The two of us are irrevocably Catholic in our mentalities, even if as we find ourselves more unreconciled with the church than ever. There is no way either of us would ever convert to another religion, including atheism. We just find exorcisms too fascinating.
7) “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now,” The Smiths. Did Morrissey intend for us to laugh at this? Because that’s the reaction I’ve always had. It’s a stack of flapjacks made out of tears and pining, covered with a sticky syrup of sighs.
8) “Letter From an Occupant,” The New Pornographers. I have always been jealous of the way TLB sings. She has a heavenly singing voice, whereas mine is more like deleted scenes from Dogma in quality. I like playing any Neko Case songs because her voice is right in TLB’s singing sweet spot.
9) “Video Killed the Radio Star,” The Buggles. And MTV killed music videos.
10) “Situation,” Yaz. In the early days of synth pop, what was it like to write on a synthesizer, before one had a bevy of preset sounds available at the touch of a button? Did groups like Yaz sit around discussing the sounds as the keyboard player tried them out? “Nah, too boopy. Nope, too blippy. No, no, no, way too farty. Hold on, hold on, give me slightly less farty but just a touch more blippy. Okay, now add just a smidge of boop. Perfect!” This also reminds me of going to this under 21 New Wave dance club with TLB, where we would go and shake our groove things. Never underestimate the power of farty synths, electronic drums, and a masculine-sounding female singer to bring two crazy teenagers together.
11) “Since I’ve Been Loving You,” Led Zeppelin. In honor of TLB, I will make this Random 11 un-Led-ed. Let’s try again.
11) “Master of Puppets,” Metallica. Goddamnit. Stupid iTunes, I need more love of my life, less metal up your ass. Take three.
11) “The Winner Takes It All,” ABBA. Sigh, the things we do for love.
Happy anniversary, baby. I will play ABBA for you to the ends of the earth.
Today is the 16th wedding anniversary for myself and The Lovely Becky. We’ve beaten the seven-year itch twice and have change to spare.
I apologize if this sounds a bit smug, because for a lot of people marriage is work, but being married to TLB has been the easiest experience of my life. I am one of those fortunate people who found the person they are supposed to be with. I don’t necessarily believe in the idea of soul mates. Had TLB and I never met, I think we could have found other spouses who would have made us happy. But I am convinced I found the person I would be the happiest with.
The reason why being married to TLB has been so easy is because I am so at ease with my wife. We spend so much of our lives putting up fronts. Even with close friends, there are often barriers between who we really are and who those friends see. I don’t have to do that with TLB. I get to be myself with her, and that is refreshing. In fact, I am probably more myself with her than I am with myself, because I have an exceptional ability to bullshit myself, whereas she sees right through that.
We have that level of comfort where it’s like we share each other’s brains, without the socially awkward requirement of having two heads on one body. Over the years, we’ve gotten to know exactly what the other person is thinking. In fact, it’s gotten to a level of comic specificity. We might be at a park with lots of other parents, and I’ll lean over to say to TLB, “You know what’s an awesome look? Having your camouflage T-shirt tucked into your jeans so that we can see your cell phone holster.” TLB will smile and say she was just about to say the exact same thing, because our ideas of what looks ridiculous and how to mock said ridiculousness are perfectly synchronized.
Some men have trouble with marriage because they miss the excitement of the new (see Woods, Tiger). And that’s certainly a trade off. At this point, there are probably few surprises left for us. Every once in a while TLB uncovers some new wrinkle to my personality that she didn’t know existed, but it’s often just a bigger reveal of a pre-existing neuroses that she’s known about for years. I think about it like a favorite movie, like Pulp Fiction. Sure, when I first saw it, it was immensely fun to experience the twists, turns, and lines for the first time. However, the reason Pulp Fiction is my favorite movie is because I am so familiar with it. I revel in knowing every line, every scene, because knowing what happens on the surface of the film allows me to dive deeper into why I love it so much. I also have more fun watching it now because now I can anticipate the parts I like the best—OMG, Travolta’s about to stick the needle in Uma Thurman’s chest, I love this part!
That’s why I love being married to TLB. Do I know the story now? Sure, more or less. But it’s also my favorite story, which makes every day with her like seeing my favorite movie. Minus the crazy rednecks trying to sodomize us, of course. And TLB is also the only one who knows what’s in the case.
1) “Take It Easy,” The Eagles. Another reason for making my marriage work is that I was built for monogamy. I have enough trouble trying to drive with one woman on my mind, let alone seven. TLB sometimes jokes about me having an affair, and I tell her a) she would know instantly if I was, to the point where I may as well arrive home with a t-shirt that says “Yes, I’m having an affair,” and b) I’m not interested because an affair would cut into my video game time. When would I be able to save the princess?
2) “And I Will Be With You,” The Mr. T Experience. I am convinced that if I had not met TLB when I did, I would have gone through my 20s writing stuff like this. The funniest band to every sing about unrequited love.
3) “Revolution,” Bang Camaro. TLB loves me despite my love of hair metal, both the real thing and imitations like this. This sounds more Def Leppard then Def Leppard does these days.
4) “Pressure Drop,” Toots & the Maytals. I’m not sure if it makes me more white or less white that this is my favorite reggae song. I dig the combination of the urgent vocal with the laid-back rhythm.
5) “Experiment IV,” Kate Bush. TLB’s two musical calling cards when we first started dating were ‘Til Tuesday and Kate Bush. I am glad she introduced me to them.
6) “Catholic Pagans,” Surfer Blood. Probably an apt description for us. The two of us are irrevocably Catholic in our mentalities, even if as we find ourselves more unreconciled with the church than ever. There is no way either of us would ever convert to another religion, including atheism. We just find exorcisms too fascinating.
7) “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now,” The Smiths. Did Morrissey intend for us to laugh at this? Because that’s the reaction I’ve always had. It’s a stack of flapjacks made out of tears and pining, covered with a sticky syrup of sighs.
8) “Letter From an Occupant,” The New Pornographers. I have always been jealous of the way TLB sings. She has a heavenly singing voice, whereas mine is more like deleted scenes from Dogma in quality. I like playing any Neko Case songs because her voice is right in TLB’s singing sweet spot.
9) “Video Killed the Radio Star,” The Buggles. And MTV killed music videos.
10) “Situation,” Yaz. In the early days of synth pop, what was it like to write on a synthesizer, before one had a bevy of preset sounds available at the touch of a button? Did groups like Yaz sit around discussing the sounds as the keyboard player tried them out? “Nah, too boopy. Nope, too blippy. No, no, no, way too farty. Hold on, hold on, give me slightly less farty but just a touch more blippy. Okay, now add just a smidge of boop. Perfect!” This also reminds me of going to this under 21 New Wave dance club with TLB, where we would go and shake our groove things. Never underestimate the power of farty synths, electronic drums, and a masculine-sounding female singer to bring two crazy teenagers together.
11) “Since I’ve Been Loving You,” Led Zeppelin. In honor of TLB, I will make this Random 11 un-Led-ed. Let’s try again.
11) “Master of Puppets,” Metallica. Goddamnit. Stupid iTunes, I need more love of my life, less metal up your ass. Take three.
11) “The Winner Takes It All,” ABBA. Sigh, the things we do for love.
Happy anniversary, baby. I will play ABBA for you to the ends of the earth.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Top Ten Tuesdays: How are we recouping our losses?
10) Holding up bank until they agree to buy our house at the price we paid for it.
9) Cutting back grocery expenses by wearing our deluxe cargo pants to the buffet.
8) Putting all our money into Glenn Beck Teardrop Futures.
7) Selling superfluous offspring on eBay.
6) Developing combustion engine that runs on worthless stock options.
5) Leaving behind dead-end field of investment banking for the dramatically explosive growth field of ice road trucking.
4) Draining all that pesky water out of the Gulf of Mexico so it’s easier to recover our valuable oil.
3) Scanning our last $100 bill and printing our way to financial freedom/free room and board for the next 3-5 years.
2) Following the classic Wall Street advice of selling high after buying blow.
1) Setting off hydrogen bomb in the hopes that it resets our portfolio to 2004.
9) Cutting back grocery expenses by wearing our deluxe cargo pants to the buffet.
8) Putting all our money into Glenn Beck Teardrop Futures.
7) Selling superfluous offspring on eBay.
6) Developing combustion engine that runs on worthless stock options.
5) Leaving behind dead-end field of investment banking for the dramatically explosive growth field of ice road trucking.
4) Draining all that pesky water out of the Gulf of Mexico so it’s easier to recover our valuable oil.
3) Scanning our last $100 bill and printing our way to financial freedom/free room and board for the next 3-5 years.
2) Following the classic Wall Street advice of selling high after buying blow.
1) Setting off hydrogen bomb in the hopes that it resets our portfolio to 2004.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Friday Random 11
It’s one more random than 10!
I downloaded—correction, purchased—Winger’s “Seventeen” this week. Had I suffered some sort of blunt force trauma to the head? Returned from traveling in a time-warping hot tub? Lost a bet? No. However, amid my purchasing of Dio tracks from eMusic this week, I fell into a bit of metal nostalgia, and lo and behold, there was Winger’s debut, glaring at me with its glowing eyes. And while I may find the idea of Winger grotesque and incomprehensible, deep down in places I don’t like to talk about at parties, I want “Seventeen,” on my iTunes, I need “Seventeen” on my iTunes. I dig the music and the swaggering cockism of the lyrics entertains me, even if this song could probably double as an anthem for the Catholic church if you changed the gender of the pronoun in the chorus. Besides, “My Sharona” includes the infamous line, “I always get it up for the touch of the younger kind,” and that’s considered an 80s classic, so I said fuck it and clicked the download button.
I told The Lovely Becky about said purchase. “You shouldn’t have told me that,” she said.
Oh shit, I thought. Had I actually done something so stupid I had lost the respect of my wife? I had always expected this day to come, I just never thought it would be triggered by a Winger purchase. “Why not?” I asked.
“Because I’ll make fun of you for it.”
Whew, what a relief, I had only provided a case of insult ammo. “I don’t care,” I said. “You’ve made fun of Rush for 20 years, and I love Rush. In fact, I’d get on my roof and yell, ‘I love Rush’ to anyone passing by.”
“You were embarrassed when I made fun of you for owning a Lita Ford CD.”
That hurt. I paused, then quietly said, “That’s because that is embarrassing, and I was secretly ashamed.”
Some pleasures are simply too guilty to admit and drag you down into the depths of embarrassment like a millstone around your neck. Congratulations to Winger for just barely beating out "Kiss Me Deadly" in my Hall of Shame.
Tunes….
1) “Tribulations,” LCD Soundsystem. One of the most fantastic covers of a non-existent 80s song that I’ve ever heard. Seriously, I am almost positive I danced to this once with my hands over my head and my pants tight-rolled. Love how the little guitar solo in the middle adds just enough rock to the house party.
2) “Girls Got Rhythm,” AC/DC. My most cranakable rock band. No matter how loud my speakers are when a Bon Scott-era AC/DC song comes on, I instinctively turn them up even more.
3) “Shirin,” Jens Lenkman. Not a bad song by any stretch—actually quite good—but after the AC/DC lead-in I feel like I just slammed on the brakes of my IROC-Z at 120 mph. Also, this song reminds me that one of the things I'm going to miss most about Marquette: my hair stylist. Not making that up.
4) “Nothing Achieving,” The Police. Sting’s later antics aside, they were an incredible band, and incredible for completely different reasons with each album. This is them at their rough, early best, when they were still punk but could actually play their instruments.
5) “Carl Perkin’s Cadillac,” Drive-By Truckers. Probably neck-and-neck with New Pornographers on my list of bands I’d like to see live…which may happen because I’ll soon be living in a place that gets acts other than the Country Bear Jamboree. And especially for TLB: the video is from The Blue Note in Columbia, MO.
6) “I Am a Scientist,” Guided by Voices. The best two-and-a-half minutes of rock from the 90s.
7) “Add It Up,” Violent Femmes. Funny, this song actually came up in e-mail conversation today –Tickle’s friend Fög called it the greatest rock song ever. Quoth Fög: “It has all the essentials. There is cussing, sex talk, great solos both electric and bass, and you can’t turn it up loud enough.” While it’s not my greatest I can’t argue with any of that. Don’t shoot shoot shoot that thing at me….
8) “Seasons in the Abyss,” Slayer. Slayer is not my cup of dark black tea, but I do love this song. There’s a slow build of epic menace at the beginning before the band kick out the jams and rock my face off. Also in my top 5 of all-time favorite drum fills.
9) “Away From the Numbers,” The Jam. Much like The Police, they were awesome for completely different reasons as their career evolved. They were good enough to slow things down and still sound pretty punk, with Rick Buckler hitting his tom-toms like they owe him money.
10) “March of the Pigs,” Nine Inch Nails. The Morrissey of anger. I SCREAMED AND I SCREAMED AND I SCREAMED, OH DID I TELL YOU HOW I SCREAMED?
11) “Metal Health (Bang Your Head),” Quiet Riot. A song so metal, it got Kevin Bacon arrested in Footloose. Now make no mistake, Quiet Riot were Winger terrible, a total joke of a band who couldn’t write their way out of a leather codpiece (when your two biggest hits are covers of Slade songs, that should tell you your career will be short-lived). But somehow these studded savants managed to write one of the all-time great metal anthems. This still hits right between the eyes: the driving rhythm, the guitar riffs, and most of all the insane vocals from the late Kevin DuBrow. It is on my Must Be Cranked list, and dare I say I turned it up louder than “Girls Got Rhythm” today. I want to literally feel it rattling my ribs a little. So a tip of the cap to Quiet Riot: the large turd pile they produced did provide fertilizer for one magnificent black rose.
Have a head-banging weekend, literally or figuratively.
I downloaded—correction, purchased—Winger’s “Seventeen” this week. Had I suffered some sort of blunt force trauma to the head? Returned from traveling in a time-warping hot tub? Lost a bet? No. However, amid my purchasing of Dio tracks from eMusic this week, I fell into a bit of metal nostalgia, and lo and behold, there was Winger’s debut, glaring at me with its glowing eyes. And while I may find the idea of Winger grotesque and incomprehensible, deep down in places I don’t like to talk about at parties, I want “Seventeen,” on my iTunes, I need “Seventeen” on my iTunes. I dig the music and the swaggering cockism of the lyrics entertains me, even if this song could probably double as an anthem for the Catholic church if you changed the gender of the pronoun in the chorus. Besides, “My Sharona” includes the infamous line, “I always get it up for the touch of the younger kind,” and that’s considered an 80s classic, so I said fuck it and clicked the download button.
I told The Lovely Becky about said purchase. “You shouldn’t have told me that,” she said.
Oh shit, I thought. Had I actually done something so stupid I had lost the respect of my wife? I had always expected this day to come, I just never thought it would be triggered by a Winger purchase. “Why not?” I asked.
“Because I’ll make fun of you for it.”
Whew, what a relief, I had only provided a case of insult ammo. “I don’t care,” I said. “You’ve made fun of Rush for 20 years, and I love Rush. In fact, I’d get on my roof and yell, ‘I love Rush’ to anyone passing by.”
“You were embarrassed when I made fun of you for owning a Lita Ford CD.”
That hurt. I paused, then quietly said, “That’s because that is embarrassing, and I was secretly ashamed.”
Some pleasures are simply too guilty to admit and drag you down into the depths of embarrassment like a millstone around your neck. Congratulations to Winger for just barely beating out "Kiss Me Deadly" in my Hall of Shame.
Tunes….
1) “Tribulations,” LCD Soundsystem. One of the most fantastic covers of a non-existent 80s song that I’ve ever heard. Seriously, I am almost positive I danced to this once with my hands over my head and my pants tight-rolled. Love how the little guitar solo in the middle adds just enough rock to the house party.
2) “Girls Got Rhythm,” AC/DC. My most cranakable rock band. No matter how loud my speakers are when a Bon Scott-era AC/DC song comes on, I instinctively turn them up even more.
3) “Shirin,” Jens Lenkman. Not a bad song by any stretch—actually quite good—but after the AC/DC lead-in I feel like I just slammed on the brakes of my IROC-Z at 120 mph. Also, this song reminds me that one of the things I'm going to miss most about Marquette: my hair stylist. Not making that up.
4) “Nothing Achieving,” The Police. Sting’s later antics aside, they were an incredible band, and incredible for completely different reasons with each album. This is them at their rough, early best, when they were still punk but could actually play their instruments.
5) “Carl Perkin’s Cadillac,” Drive-By Truckers. Probably neck-and-neck with New Pornographers on my list of bands I’d like to see live…which may happen because I’ll soon be living in a place that gets acts other than the Country Bear Jamboree. And especially for TLB: the video is from The Blue Note in Columbia, MO.
6) “I Am a Scientist,” Guided by Voices. The best two-and-a-half minutes of rock from the 90s.
7) “Add It Up,” Violent Femmes. Funny, this song actually came up in e-mail conversation today –Tickle’s friend Fög called it the greatest rock song ever. Quoth Fög: “It has all the essentials. There is cussing, sex talk, great solos both electric and bass, and you can’t turn it up loud enough.” While it’s not my greatest I can’t argue with any of that. Don’t shoot shoot shoot that thing at me….
8) “Seasons in the Abyss,” Slayer. Slayer is not my cup of dark black tea, but I do love this song. There’s a slow build of epic menace at the beginning before the band kick out the jams and rock my face off. Also in my top 5 of all-time favorite drum fills.
9) “Away From the Numbers,” The Jam. Much like The Police, they were awesome for completely different reasons as their career evolved. They were good enough to slow things down and still sound pretty punk, with Rick Buckler hitting his tom-toms like they owe him money.
10) “March of the Pigs,” Nine Inch Nails. The Morrissey of anger. I SCREAMED AND I SCREAMED AND I SCREAMED, OH DID I TELL YOU HOW I SCREAMED?
11) “Metal Health (Bang Your Head),” Quiet Riot. A song so metal, it got Kevin Bacon arrested in Footloose. Now make no mistake, Quiet Riot were Winger terrible, a total joke of a band who couldn’t write their way out of a leather codpiece (when your two biggest hits are covers of Slade songs, that should tell you your career will be short-lived). But somehow these studded savants managed to write one of the all-time great metal anthems. This still hits right between the eyes: the driving rhythm, the guitar riffs, and most of all the insane vocals from the late Kevin DuBrow. It is on my Must Be Cranked list, and dare I say I turned it up louder than “Girls Got Rhythm” today. I want to literally feel it rattling my ribs a little. So a tip of the cap to Quiet Riot: the large turd pile they produced did provide fertilizer for one magnificent black rose.
Have a head-banging weekend, literally or figuratively.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Top Ten Tuesdays: What will we find out during the series finale of Lost?
10) Ben Linus commits an act of betrayal so terrible, he kicks his own ass.
9) The present, past, future, and sideways timelines converge to form an explosive “flash reacharound.”
8) The castaways defeat the Smoke Monster by trapping it in a giant cigarette filter.
7) During a time-travel sequence, Desmond runs into Scott Bakula, who helps Desmond lead the show to cancellation.
6) In order for the castaways to return home, the island demands a sacrifice of Kate’s top.
5) Sawyer finds a script called, “Series Finale.” He turns to the last page, only to find it blank. “Son of a—,” he says as the screen cuts to black and “Don’t Stop Believing” plays.
4) Jack encounters a freak Socratic Vortex that forces all of the show’s questions to be answered with more questions.
3) Out of all available travel options, the survivors escape by constructing a raft out of Hurley.
2) The real source of the island’s mysterious behavior: a deranged Bobby Brady rubbing a tiki he calls “Alice.”
1) The cast turn the wheel and wake up on a new show called Found, set a mysterious customer service counter that may or may not be purgatory.
9) The present, past, future, and sideways timelines converge to form an explosive “flash reacharound.”
8) The castaways defeat the Smoke Monster by trapping it in a giant cigarette filter.
7) During a time-travel sequence, Desmond runs into Scott Bakula, who helps Desmond lead the show to cancellation.
6) In order for the castaways to return home, the island demands a sacrifice of Kate’s top.
5) Sawyer finds a script called, “Series Finale.” He turns to the last page, only to find it blank. “Son of a—,” he says as the screen cuts to black and “Don’t Stop Believing” plays.
4) Jack encounters a freak Socratic Vortex that forces all of the show’s questions to be answered with more questions.
3) Out of all available travel options, the survivors escape by constructing a raft out of Hurley.
2) The real source of the island’s mysterious behavior: a deranged Bobby Brady rubbing a tiki he calls “Alice.”
1) The cast turn the wheel and wake up on a new show called Found, set a mysterious customer service counter that may or may not be purgatory.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Rock In Peace
The world's a little less interesting without Ronnie James Dio in it. The first time I ever heard him was watching the video for "The Last in Line," which also doubles as the best episode of Voyagers ever.
It's funny because, while I was not really a huge Dio fan, I was a huge fan of Dio, if that makes sense. He embodied everything that I found entertaining about heavy metal. So R.I.P, RJD.
It's funny because, while I was not really a huge Dio fan, I was a huge fan of Dio, if that makes sense. He embodied everything that I found entertaining about heavy metal. So R.I.P, RJD.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Friday Random 11
It’s one more random than 10!
Sometimes when life is stressing you out, you just have to step away and get a sub sandwich. Thank you, Jimmy Johns, for knowing just what I needed.
Speaking of which, I read an Atlantic article about the expanding porkitude of the American population and how most of the ways you think you can lose weight are fool’s gold. One of the things it talked about was the problem of psychological eating: consuming food to make yourself feel better. I then found it ironic that an article about how we’re gobbling our way to a permanently fat future (and that there’s not a whole lot we can do about it) depressed me to the point where I wanted a piece of pie to feel better. And that's my problem: I love psychological eating. There is nothing that a piece of delicious fatty food cannot make better. Football? Chicken wings. Kid’s birthday party? Cake and pizza. Hot sex? Pretty much everything in Mickey Rourke’s fridge. If I have my choice between feeling great and feeling great while eating a stack of Walker Brother’s pancakes, guess what? I’m choosing “b” seven days a week and coming back for dinner on Sundays.
Which is precisely why I and so many of my fellow Americans are completely fucked unless they find a way to make broccoli taste like a hot fudge sundae, a thought so depressing it makes me want a hot fudge sundae.
1) “Different Names for the Same Thing,” Death Cab for Cutie. I have been pondering the idea of different names for the same thing as I watch my daughter learning to talk. It has to be pretty damn confusing to babies that there are different names for the same thing. Why is it “dog” and “doggie”? Or why does “kitty” refer to young cats and big cats? Why are you assholes trying to confuse me? I’m just a baby, for Christ sake!
2) “California,” Semisonic. Is there a more fucked state in the country right now than the Golden State? A state so poor I believe Moody’s is downgrading them to the Golden Showers State. It’s pretty bad when having a futuristic killing machine as your governor seems like the least of your problems.
3) “Harden My Heart,” Quarterflash. Underrated as far as one-hit wonders go. The vocals find a nice spot between Pat Bentar and The Motels, and the saxamaphone tarts up the otherwise simple music. It’s a perfect track to kick off any “fuck you” post-breakup mix-tape, which is yet another reason why it’s too bad we no longer make mix-tapes. I also wish they still made videos like this.
4) “Oh Caroline (Live),” Cheap Trick. It has to be a little odd to have your career defined by one concert. It’s one thing to be a one-hit wonder and have one song hang over you for the rest of your life. But with Cheap Trick, despite not being one-hit wonders, they are pretty much defined by one gig, to the point where their songs sound odd to me without the accompaniment of screaming Japanese girls.
5) “Inertiatic ESP,” The Mars Volta. Filed under Bands I Should Like But Don’t. My wanky prog side should guzzle this down like a Hummer slurping cheap unleaded, but I think the problem is they wank too much. Just when they find a good lick or groove or movement or whatever, they cock it up with something else, seemingly for the sake of just cocking it up. Yes, even I sometimes believe less is more.
6) “Woods,” Bon Iver. Autotune must be stopped.
7) “Making Time,” Creation. Thank you, Wes Anderson, for introducing me to this overlooked British Invasion gem. The production locks it in the 60s, but as a certain Project Runway winner would say, it’s still “fierce.”
8) “Little Secrets,” Passion Pit. I’m glad the weather is getting warmer again because this music is tailor-made for cranking while driving with the windows open. High probability of me table-dancing if I heard it in Vegas.
9) “A Pot in Which to Piss,” Titus Andronicus. From a conceptual album about the Civil War, recorded by a loud Jersey garage band whose band name references Shakespeare and whose last album referenced Festivus. Sometimes you can’t make this stuff up. Not everyone’s cup of tea but definitely mine. It’s like Ken Burns’s Civil War Block Party.
10) “Black Gold,” Southeast Engine. Almost memorable. One of those tracks that I’m happy to hear when it pops up, but not enough to seek out. A bit like Turducken: a blend of too many tastes when I would rather just have turkey. Still pretty good with gravy, though.
11) “Bohemian Rhapsody,” Queen. I’m linking to The Muppets version because it is too awesome and Libby loves it. It’s really, really difficult to combine “ridiculous” and “awesome,” but I firmly believe this is the most awesome ridiculous song of all time. Queen managed to make the rock equivalent of What’s Opera, Doc?, the famous “Kill the Wabbit” Bugs Bunny cartoon, absurd and comedic, but also skillful and epic. That’s a pretty good standard to shoot for.
Have a good weekend.
Sometimes when life is stressing you out, you just have to step away and get a sub sandwich. Thank you, Jimmy Johns, for knowing just what I needed.
Speaking of which, I read an Atlantic article about the expanding porkitude of the American population and how most of the ways you think you can lose weight are fool’s gold. One of the things it talked about was the problem of psychological eating: consuming food to make yourself feel better. I then found it ironic that an article about how we’re gobbling our way to a permanently fat future (and that there’s not a whole lot we can do about it) depressed me to the point where I wanted a piece of pie to feel better. And that's my problem: I love psychological eating. There is nothing that a piece of delicious fatty food cannot make better. Football? Chicken wings. Kid’s birthday party? Cake and pizza. Hot sex? Pretty much everything in Mickey Rourke’s fridge. If I have my choice between feeling great and feeling great while eating a stack of Walker Brother’s pancakes, guess what? I’m choosing “b” seven days a week and coming back for dinner on Sundays.
Which is precisely why I and so many of my fellow Americans are completely fucked unless they find a way to make broccoli taste like a hot fudge sundae, a thought so depressing it makes me want a hot fudge sundae.
1) “Different Names for the Same Thing,” Death Cab for Cutie. I have been pondering the idea of different names for the same thing as I watch my daughter learning to talk. It has to be pretty damn confusing to babies that there are different names for the same thing. Why is it “dog” and “doggie”? Or why does “kitty” refer to young cats and big cats? Why are you assholes trying to confuse me? I’m just a baby, for Christ sake!
2) “California,” Semisonic. Is there a more fucked state in the country right now than the Golden State? A state so poor I believe Moody’s is downgrading them to the Golden Showers State. It’s pretty bad when having a futuristic killing machine as your governor seems like the least of your problems.
3) “Harden My Heart,” Quarterflash. Underrated as far as one-hit wonders go. The vocals find a nice spot between Pat Bentar and The Motels, and the saxamaphone tarts up the otherwise simple music. It’s a perfect track to kick off any “fuck you” post-breakup mix-tape, which is yet another reason why it’s too bad we no longer make mix-tapes. I also wish they still made videos like this.
4) “Oh Caroline (Live),” Cheap Trick. It has to be a little odd to have your career defined by one concert. It’s one thing to be a one-hit wonder and have one song hang over you for the rest of your life. But with Cheap Trick, despite not being one-hit wonders, they are pretty much defined by one gig, to the point where their songs sound odd to me without the accompaniment of screaming Japanese girls.
5) “Inertiatic ESP,” The Mars Volta. Filed under Bands I Should Like But Don’t. My wanky prog side should guzzle this down like a Hummer slurping cheap unleaded, but I think the problem is they wank too much. Just when they find a good lick or groove or movement or whatever, they cock it up with something else, seemingly for the sake of just cocking it up. Yes, even I sometimes believe less is more.
6) “Woods,” Bon Iver. Autotune must be stopped.
7) “Making Time,” Creation. Thank you, Wes Anderson, for introducing me to this overlooked British Invasion gem. The production locks it in the 60s, but as a certain Project Runway winner would say, it’s still “fierce.”
8) “Little Secrets,” Passion Pit. I’m glad the weather is getting warmer again because this music is tailor-made for cranking while driving with the windows open. High probability of me table-dancing if I heard it in Vegas.
9) “A Pot in Which to Piss,” Titus Andronicus. From a conceptual album about the Civil War, recorded by a loud Jersey garage band whose band name references Shakespeare and whose last album referenced Festivus. Sometimes you can’t make this stuff up. Not everyone’s cup of tea but definitely mine. It’s like Ken Burns’s Civil War Block Party.
10) “Black Gold,” Southeast Engine. Almost memorable. One of those tracks that I’m happy to hear when it pops up, but not enough to seek out. A bit like Turducken: a blend of too many tastes when I would rather just have turkey. Still pretty good with gravy, though.
11) “Bohemian Rhapsody,” Queen. I’m linking to The Muppets version because it is too awesome and Libby loves it. It’s really, really difficult to combine “ridiculous” and “awesome,” but I firmly believe this is the most awesome ridiculous song of all time. Queen managed to make the rock equivalent of What’s Opera, Doc?, the famous “Kill the Wabbit” Bugs Bunny cartoon, absurd and comedic, but also skillful and epic. That’s a pretty good standard to shoot for.
Have a good weekend.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Top Ten Wednesdays: What are we covering up?
10) Shallow grave.
9) Herpes (just 'til we're married).
8) Our backyard tiger pit before the kids' birthday party.
7) That less-than-fresh feeling.
6) Erection we got at the blackboard when drawing a Venn diagram made us think of boobies.
5) Parasitic twin.
4) Portion of Oval Office tape where we drunk dialed Sarah Palin.
3) Fine print that bequeaths first-born child after two late payments in a row.
2) Our natural reptilian skin (just 'til we've enslaved humanity).
1) Pretty much everything with Febreze.
9) Herpes (just 'til we're married).
8) Our backyard tiger pit before the kids' birthday party.
7) That less-than-fresh feeling.
6) Erection we got at the blackboard when drawing a Venn diagram made us think of boobies.
5) Parasitic twin.
4) Portion of Oval Office tape where we drunk dialed Sarah Palin.
3) Fine print that bequeaths first-born child after two late payments in a row.
2) Our natural reptilian skin (just 'til we've enslaved humanity).
1) Pretty much everything with Febreze.
Friday, May 07, 2010
OH FACK I'M HAVING A KID
I am on sick baby duty today, as our little girl has a little viral infection. So no rocking out for me.
It's also a historic day as my brother Tickle, he of the annoying Eminem voice, is also becoming a dad today. He and his wife will be welcoming a baby girl. During the pregnancy, they started calling her Tina, named after a certain wonder llama from a cult film. So for the last few months, we have been trying to lure her out by telling her to come get her ham. I guess it finally worked.
The interesting thing will be seeing how this affects my brother. As hard as it is for me to believe he will be a father, I know he'll be a good one. However, I also wonder what reproductive domestication will do to his wild side. I know he'll be a good, responsible dad when needed, but what about when he's released back into the wilds of Vegas? We were already discussing going there next spring for my cousin's bachelor party, and can't help that Tickle will be like a Sigfried & Roy white tiger released from its contract into the jungle for a few days. I don't think it will take him long to find his claws, and all of his pent up Call of the Wild instincts may very well explode the minute his feet touch the Vegas Strip. I've already said that under no circumstances will I room with him, unless the Doctors bring heavy sedatives along with the IV bags.
Speaking of unleashed wild animals, we had a black bear wandering around our neighborhood this past week. He was sitting in someone's yard just a few blocks from our house. I don't even want to think about how I would react if, while out on a walk with Libby, I saw a FREAKING BEAR DOWN THE STREET. It reiterates that I am much to Zsa Zsa to be here in this rustic setting. The only bears I want walking around my street are the pro football-playing kind or the hairy gay man looking for love kind. Those I can deal with.
Have a great weekend.
It's also a historic day as my brother Tickle, he of the annoying Eminem voice, is also becoming a dad today. He and his wife will be welcoming a baby girl. During the pregnancy, they started calling her Tina, named after a certain wonder llama from a cult film. So for the last few months, we have been trying to lure her out by telling her to come get her ham. I guess it finally worked.
The interesting thing will be seeing how this affects my brother. As hard as it is for me to believe he will be a father, I know he'll be a good one. However, I also wonder what reproductive domestication will do to his wild side. I know he'll be a good, responsible dad when needed, but what about when he's released back into the wilds of Vegas? We were already discussing going there next spring for my cousin's bachelor party, and can't help that Tickle will be like a Sigfried & Roy white tiger released from its contract into the jungle for a few days. I don't think it will take him long to find his claws, and all of his pent up Call of the Wild instincts may very well explode the minute his feet touch the Vegas Strip. I've already said that under no circumstances will I room with him, unless the Doctors bring heavy sedatives along with the IV bags.
Speaking of unleashed wild animals, we had a black bear wandering around our neighborhood this past week. He was sitting in someone's yard just a few blocks from our house. I don't even want to think about how I would react if, while out on a walk with Libby, I saw a FREAKING BEAR DOWN THE STREET. It reiterates that I am much to Zsa Zsa to be here in this rustic setting. The only bears I want walking around my street are the pro football-playing kind or the hairy gay man looking for love kind. Those I can deal with.
Have a great weekend.
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Top Ten Tuesdays: How are we cleaning up the Gulf Coast oil spill?
Special ever-expanding disaster edition!
11) Building a coastal sea wall out of Depends.
10) Sending in crack team of Jiffy Lube commandos.
9) Setting it on fire to send a message to any other oil rigs that are thinking about spilling.
8) Launching the new Dyson Disaster Vac. Because the only thing that sucks harder than a catastrophic man-made disaster is a Dyson.
7) Building a complete replica of the Gulf Coast along the South American shore, tricking the oil into going the wrong way.
6) Sinking a tanker full of Oxy Clean.
5) Letting Red Lobster use the slick to create its new Petroleum Popcorn Shrimp (available in 5W30 and 10W30 flavors).
4) Offering Michael Brown as a sacrifice to Poseidon
3) Giving the Coast Guard authority to detain anything that behaves like a slow-moving oil spill.
2) Having oil industry lobbyists wade into the slick and scoop up the oil in their deep pockets.
1) Harnessing the same energy source used to construct oil rigs that will never, ever cause an environmental catastrophe: wishful thinking.
11) Building a coastal sea wall out of Depends.
10) Sending in crack team of Jiffy Lube commandos.
9) Setting it on fire to send a message to any other oil rigs that are thinking about spilling.
8) Launching the new Dyson Disaster Vac. Because the only thing that sucks harder than a catastrophic man-made disaster is a Dyson.
7) Building a complete replica of the Gulf Coast along the South American shore, tricking the oil into going the wrong way.
6) Sinking a tanker full of Oxy Clean.
5) Letting Red Lobster use the slick to create its new Petroleum Popcorn Shrimp (available in 5W30 and 10W30 flavors).
4) Offering Michael Brown as a sacrifice to Poseidon
3) Giving the Coast Guard authority to detain anything that behaves like a slow-moving oil spill.
2) Having oil industry lobbyists wade into the slick and scoop up the oil in their deep pockets.
1) Harnessing the same energy source used to construct oil rigs that will never, ever cause an environmental catastrophe: wishful thinking.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Friday non-Random 11: Celebrating five long years stuffed with dick jokes
Today is the fifth birthday of Circle Jerk at the Square Dance. It's hard for me to believe it's been that long, or that this is my 701st post. Heh-heh, I said "hard."
That's precisely the kind of upscale, sophisticated humor you've come to expect from this blog. But despite the low road I so often travel in terms of gags, this blog has served a higher purpose for me: saving me as a writer.
I started CJSD at a nadir of my creative writing. I had been rejected twice from the Iowa Writer's Workshop. The first rejection, while initially very depressing, was motivating and educational. Once the dust settled, I realized I didn't deserve to get in, because I wasn't ready to enter a workshop. My writing was rough, labored, cliched, and much too serious. I wasn't playing into my strengths at all, and with the help of The Lovely Becky, I learned so much from that rejection that I was glad it happened. I threw myself into the application process again, writing two stories that were not only light years ahead of where I was just a year before, but probably two of the best things I had ever written until that point.
The Workshop didn't seem to think so, and thanks to some knowledgeable sources, I learned that I had been weeded out even earlier than the previous time. Now, I certainly didn't expect to get into such a competitive program, but I did expect to make a better showing than the year before. I started questioning my abilities and even the idea of trying to be a writer.
Despite those doubts, I couldn't turn off my creative energy, and I eventually conceived the idea of writing a book about a group of improv performers putting on a sketch show. In between the fictional struggles of their quest for love and laughter, I could throw in sketches and other little comedy bits, the way Mark Leyner did in his hysterical book Et Tu, Babe? I even came up with a perfect title for the book: Circle Jerk at the Square Dance.
I threw myself back into writing. I had tried a number of times before to write a novel, and in fact had originally taken sketch comedy writing classes at The Second City to help my comedic fiction. However, these attempts had always petered out quickly, as I'd get 30-50 pages into a book and realize it wasn't happening.
Not so with Circle Jerk at the Square Dance. I pumped out the pages, writing the story and adding the sketches and feeling more pleased than ever with what I was writing. I found myself laughing while writing, which I took as a great sign. I crossed into a triple-digit page count for the first time ever and was sure I had found "the one."
I wound up having to take about a month off from the book at one point. When I went back to it, something funny happened to this funny book: the only parts that made me laugh were the sketches. The rest of the meandering plot and dull characters formed a bland, literary paste. There wasn't anything to rescue, save the title.
That was the real kick to the Faulkners. At that point, I thought I was kidding myself about being a writer. What's more, I lost my desire to write. I was so tired of failing, I didn't want to try to succeed.
Once again, though, my brain couldn't follow instructions. Even though I had no desire to try a novel again, my brain kept pumping ideas, especially for short little sketches, fake news stories, the kind of stuff I wished I could be writing for The Onion or The Daily Show or "Shouts and Murmurs" in The New Yorker (humor nirvana for many an unsatisfied copywriter).
Enter blogging. I had already done a little bit of blogging on some group blogs, but like an uglier, hairier version of Virginia Woolf, I desired a blog of one's own. Starting a blog seemed perfect for the ideas I had, too: short, profane, often ridiculous comedy bits that were not really publishable. Why not stick them on the Internet? All that I needed was a title, which The Lovely Becky reminded me I already had. In fact, Circle Jerk at the Square Dance seemed much better for a blog than a novel anyway.
I started writing. Whatever ideas I had or resurrected from my sketch vault came out. I had no rhyme or reason to what I was doing, other than trying to make people laugh and writing a Top Ten list each week. I had no timetable or schedule, so there was no endpoint. However, I definitely didn't expect I'd keep at it for five years.
But the funny thing is, it was funny. I was usually laughing at what I was writing. Eventually, other people started laughing to, and once that happened, I was hooked. I not only had a creative outlet, I had feedback. I had an audience, and one that grew into a little community of virtual friends.
All those little successes, all those comments of encouragement, repaired my broken writing ego. You have to have an ego to write, to think that what you have to say is so goddamned important that people should take time out of their busy schedules to read what you write. After purifying myself in the waters of Lake Bloggetonka, I felt ready to tackle a bigger challenge.
The real irony today is, five years after I started this blog as a way to soothe myself after the implosion of a novel, I finished a first draft of a novel for the first time ever. I reached the end last night, hurriedly writing my last line so I could say "done" before Starbucks closed. Doing that has given me a greater sense of accomplishment than anything else I've ever done outside of being happily married and being a dad. I have a long revision road ahead, but this one is going to get polished and its going to be sent out to agents. Maybe it'll be published, maybe not, but at least I'm done pretending to be a novelist and actually novelling.
I couldn't have done it without this blog and without all of your feedback over the years. Writing every week, not saying no, and soaking in the comments....it's been wonderful. So thank you very much. I've really enjoyed it and I hope you have too.
Now how about some music?
1) "She's a Rebel," Green Day. American Idiot was a regular soundtrack back in the early days of writing the blog. I can't decide if it's awesome the album is now a broadway production or if it throws all of my punk sensibilities into the air and then impales them on the spear of commercialism. Although getting thrown into the air and impaled on a spear is so punk.
2) "Metropolis," The Church. I have go-to songs for a host of occasions--lifting weights, driving fast, writing fast, feeling mad, feeling sad. This is a go-to song for just feeling good, like it's the day after I just accomplished a major life goal and it happens to be super nice outside. A perfect song for one of those random times when I'm driving around with the window down and the sun shining and I think, "Fuck, I feel awesome!" for no particular reason.
3) "The Times They Are a Changin' (Live)," Bob Dylan. It must be a pretty amazing feeling to write not just a song of the year or a decade but of a generation. I wonder if Bob Dylan ever wakes up and goes, "Hell yeah, I'm Bob fuckin' Dylan." Because that's how I'd wake up every single morning, which is why I'm not deep enough to write a song of a generation.
4) "Dim," Dada. This could be my b-side to "Metropolis" on my Sunny Single. I know we snicker at one-hit wonders, but really, if you write just one song that makes someone still sing along 20 years after you recorded it, that's pretty special.
5) "Hot Rock," Sleater-Kinney. I've gone from being a big fan to thinking they were the best band of the mid-90s and early 2000s. As much as I love punk music, it's really hard to be punk and not sound like every other punk band that came before you. Attitude usually trumps originality in that genre. That's what makes Sleater-Kinney seem greater to me with each passing year. They did what The Clash did, take a narrow genre and blow it up without destroying the key ingredients. Only I think Sleater-Kinney had a harder time because they had 20 years of punk stereotypes to subvert.
6) "Echo Sam," Holy Fuck. Normally, this type of stuff would be too odd and noisy for me, but there's just enough song buried amid the electronic squawks and grunts for me to groove to it. Love this album and love that a Holy Fuck song was once used in a car commercial. Bonus: Lightsabres!
7) "More," The Sisters of Mercy. LOL, the Burger King of Goth music, delicious even as you hate yourself for scarfing it down at 3 a.m. I still cannot believe they toured with Public Enemy, hands-down the weirdest tour pairing of my lifetime. Ideal for the commute from the graveyard to your job at Cinnabon.
8) "...And Justice for All," Metallica. I never thought this song was too long until I tried to play it in Rock Band. It takes a lot for me to wish I was doing something other than playing a videogame, but that's what I felt about five minutes in. I'd much rather have James Hetfield order me back to front or sing about the Angel of Death coming to kill my first-born than noodle around with mid-tempo thrash for 10 minutes.
9) "YYZ (Live)," Rush. Suck. It. H8ers.
10) "I'm the Man Who Loves You," Wilco. Esquire recently put Christiana Hendricks on the cover. Christiana Hendricks is currently at the top of my list of "Sexy women I would love to disappoint," bumping off long-time champ Selma Hayek. (Yes, TLB, you read that correctly. The queen is dead, long live the queen.) Anyway, they stuck her on the cover in a tight black dress, tugging a little at the neckline, a photo so hot I used the magazine to cook an omelet. So I flipped inside, eagerly awaiting an entire spread of Joan Holloway distracting me from my work, and what was there? A close-up of Hendricks eating a piece of watermelon. Worst bait and switch since Little Orphan Annie told her secret club members to drink their Ovaltine.
11) "Hindsight," Built to Spill. Hindsight brings me down/keeps me on the ground. One of the things I'm becoming increasingly thankful for as I get older is not giving a shit about the past. I have wasted too much of my life worrying about what I haven't accomplished, instead of thinking about what I could be accomplishing. It took me wasting a lot of that time to see what a waste that mindset is, but I see it now, and I'm definitely not going to repeat it.
Hope you have a "Fuck, I feel awesome!" day this weekend.
That's precisely the kind of upscale, sophisticated humor you've come to expect from this blog. But despite the low road I so often travel in terms of gags, this blog has served a higher purpose for me: saving me as a writer.
I started CJSD at a nadir of my creative writing. I had been rejected twice from the Iowa Writer's Workshop. The first rejection, while initially very depressing, was motivating and educational. Once the dust settled, I realized I didn't deserve to get in, because I wasn't ready to enter a workshop. My writing was rough, labored, cliched, and much too serious. I wasn't playing into my strengths at all, and with the help of The Lovely Becky, I learned so much from that rejection that I was glad it happened. I threw myself into the application process again, writing two stories that were not only light years ahead of where I was just a year before, but probably two of the best things I had ever written until that point.
The Workshop didn't seem to think so, and thanks to some knowledgeable sources, I learned that I had been weeded out even earlier than the previous time. Now, I certainly didn't expect to get into such a competitive program, but I did expect to make a better showing than the year before. I started questioning my abilities and even the idea of trying to be a writer.
Despite those doubts, I couldn't turn off my creative energy, and I eventually conceived the idea of writing a book about a group of improv performers putting on a sketch show. In between the fictional struggles of their quest for love and laughter, I could throw in sketches and other little comedy bits, the way Mark Leyner did in his hysterical book Et Tu, Babe? I even came up with a perfect title for the book: Circle Jerk at the Square Dance.
I threw myself back into writing. I had tried a number of times before to write a novel, and in fact had originally taken sketch comedy writing classes at The Second City to help my comedic fiction. However, these attempts had always petered out quickly, as I'd get 30-50 pages into a book and realize it wasn't happening.
Not so with Circle Jerk at the Square Dance. I pumped out the pages, writing the story and adding the sketches and feeling more pleased than ever with what I was writing. I found myself laughing while writing, which I took as a great sign. I crossed into a triple-digit page count for the first time ever and was sure I had found "the one."
I wound up having to take about a month off from the book at one point. When I went back to it, something funny happened to this funny book: the only parts that made me laugh were the sketches. The rest of the meandering plot and dull characters formed a bland, literary paste. There wasn't anything to rescue, save the title.
That was the real kick to the Faulkners. At that point, I thought I was kidding myself about being a writer. What's more, I lost my desire to write. I was so tired of failing, I didn't want to try to succeed.
Once again, though, my brain couldn't follow instructions. Even though I had no desire to try a novel again, my brain kept pumping ideas, especially for short little sketches, fake news stories, the kind of stuff I wished I could be writing for The Onion or The Daily Show or "Shouts and Murmurs" in The New Yorker (humor nirvana for many an unsatisfied copywriter).
Enter blogging. I had already done a little bit of blogging on some group blogs, but like an uglier, hairier version of Virginia Woolf, I desired a blog of one's own. Starting a blog seemed perfect for the ideas I had, too: short, profane, often ridiculous comedy bits that were not really publishable. Why not stick them on the Internet? All that I needed was a title, which The Lovely Becky reminded me I already had. In fact, Circle Jerk at the Square Dance seemed much better for a blog than a novel anyway.
I started writing. Whatever ideas I had or resurrected from my sketch vault came out. I had no rhyme or reason to what I was doing, other than trying to make people laugh and writing a Top Ten list each week. I had no timetable or schedule, so there was no endpoint. However, I definitely didn't expect I'd keep at it for five years.
But the funny thing is, it was funny. I was usually laughing at what I was writing. Eventually, other people started laughing to, and once that happened, I was hooked. I not only had a creative outlet, I had feedback. I had an audience, and one that grew into a little community of virtual friends.
All those little successes, all those comments of encouragement, repaired my broken writing ego. You have to have an ego to write, to think that what you have to say is so goddamned important that people should take time out of their busy schedules to read what you write. After purifying myself in the waters of Lake Bloggetonka, I felt ready to tackle a bigger challenge.
The real irony today is, five years after I started this blog as a way to soothe myself after the implosion of a novel, I finished a first draft of a novel for the first time ever. I reached the end last night, hurriedly writing my last line so I could say "done" before Starbucks closed. Doing that has given me a greater sense of accomplishment than anything else I've ever done outside of being happily married and being a dad. I have a long revision road ahead, but this one is going to get polished and its going to be sent out to agents. Maybe it'll be published, maybe not, but at least I'm done pretending to be a novelist and actually novelling.
I couldn't have done it without this blog and without all of your feedback over the years. Writing every week, not saying no, and soaking in the comments....it's been wonderful. So thank you very much. I've really enjoyed it and I hope you have too.
Now how about some music?
1) "She's a Rebel," Green Day. American Idiot was a regular soundtrack back in the early days of writing the blog. I can't decide if it's awesome the album is now a broadway production or if it throws all of my punk sensibilities into the air and then impales them on the spear of commercialism. Although getting thrown into the air and impaled on a spear is so punk.
2) "Metropolis," The Church. I have go-to songs for a host of occasions--lifting weights, driving fast, writing fast, feeling mad, feeling sad. This is a go-to song for just feeling good, like it's the day after I just accomplished a major life goal and it happens to be super nice outside. A perfect song for one of those random times when I'm driving around with the window down and the sun shining and I think, "Fuck, I feel awesome!" for no particular reason.
3) "The Times They Are a Changin' (Live)," Bob Dylan. It must be a pretty amazing feeling to write not just a song of the year or a decade but of a generation. I wonder if Bob Dylan ever wakes up and goes, "Hell yeah, I'm Bob fuckin' Dylan." Because that's how I'd wake up every single morning, which is why I'm not deep enough to write a song of a generation.
4) "Dim," Dada. This could be my b-side to "Metropolis" on my Sunny Single. I know we snicker at one-hit wonders, but really, if you write just one song that makes someone still sing along 20 years after you recorded it, that's pretty special.
5) "Hot Rock," Sleater-Kinney. I've gone from being a big fan to thinking they were the best band of the mid-90s and early 2000s. As much as I love punk music, it's really hard to be punk and not sound like every other punk band that came before you. Attitude usually trumps originality in that genre. That's what makes Sleater-Kinney seem greater to me with each passing year. They did what The Clash did, take a narrow genre and blow it up without destroying the key ingredients. Only I think Sleater-Kinney had a harder time because they had 20 years of punk stereotypes to subvert.
6) "Echo Sam," Holy Fuck. Normally, this type of stuff would be too odd and noisy for me, but there's just enough song buried amid the electronic squawks and grunts for me to groove to it. Love this album and love that a Holy Fuck song was once used in a car commercial. Bonus: Lightsabres!
7) "More," The Sisters of Mercy. LOL, the Burger King of Goth music, delicious even as you hate yourself for scarfing it down at 3 a.m. I still cannot believe they toured with Public Enemy, hands-down the weirdest tour pairing of my lifetime. Ideal for the commute from the graveyard to your job at Cinnabon.
8) "...And Justice for All," Metallica. I never thought this song was too long until I tried to play it in Rock Band. It takes a lot for me to wish I was doing something other than playing a videogame, but that's what I felt about five minutes in. I'd much rather have James Hetfield order me back to front or sing about the Angel of Death coming to kill my first-born than noodle around with mid-tempo thrash for 10 minutes.
9) "YYZ (Live)," Rush. Suck. It. H8ers.
10) "I'm the Man Who Loves You," Wilco. Esquire recently put Christiana Hendricks on the cover. Christiana Hendricks is currently at the top of my list of "Sexy women I would love to disappoint," bumping off long-time champ Selma Hayek. (Yes, TLB, you read that correctly. The queen is dead, long live the queen.) Anyway, they stuck her on the cover in a tight black dress, tugging a little at the neckline, a photo so hot I used the magazine to cook an omelet. So I flipped inside, eagerly awaiting an entire spread of Joan Holloway distracting me from my work, and what was there? A close-up of Hendricks eating a piece of watermelon. Worst bait and switch since Little Orphan Annie told her secret club members to drink their Ovaltine.
11) "Hindsight," Built to Spill. Hindsight brings me down/keeps me on the ground. One of the things I'm becoming increasingly thankful for as I get older is not giving a shit about the past. I have wasted too much of my life worrying about what I haven't accomplished, instead of thinking about what I could be accomplishing. It took me wasting a lot of that time to see what a waste that mindset is, but I see it now, and I'm definitely not going to repeat it.
Hope you have a "Fuck, I feel awesome!" day this weekend.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Top Ten Tuesdays: What new anti-immigration measures are we enacting?
10) Requiring Hispanics to pass an assimilation test by eating an entire Gordita.
9) Authorizing the Tasering of any person using adding “eh?” to a sentence.
8) Making all legal immigrants display their legal status by wearing a yellow star on their clothes.
7) Demanding that George Lopez present his driver’s license on camera before he can present the opening monologue.
6) Installing an anti-ship missile battery in the Statue of Liberty’s torch.
5) Forbidding anyone not born in the United States from getting on the ballot unless they are of European-bodybuilder or time-traveling-cyborg ancestry.
4) Pre-approving bailouts for the landscaping, child care, domestic servant, construction, restaurant, agricultural, and professional baseball industries.
3) Training all law enforcement officials how to say “Papers?” in a German accent.
2) Preventing racial profiling abuses by requiring at least two white people to agree someone looks like an illegal alien.
1) Following the simple rule: if it’s white, it’s all right; if it’s brown, take it down.
9) Authorizing the Tasering of any person using adding “eh?” to a sentence.
8) Making all legal immigrants display their legal status by wearing a yellow star on their clothes.
7) Demanding that George Lopez present his driver’s license on camera before he can present the opening monologue.
6) Installing an anti-ship missile battery in the Statue of Liberty’s torch.
5) Forbidding anyone not born in the United States from getting on the ballot unless they are of European-bodybuilder or time-traveling-cyborg ancestry.
4) Pre-approving bailouts for the landscaping, child care, domestic servant, construction, restaurant, agricultural, and professional baseball industries.
3) Training all law enforcement officials how to say “Papers?” in a German accent.
2) Preventing racial profiling abuses by requiring at least two white people to agree someone looks like an illegal alien.
1) Following the simple rule: if it’s white, it’s all right; if it’s brown, take it down.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Friday Random 11
It’s one more random than 10!
It was nice to see someone win Project Runway who was a) a cool designer and b) a cool person. For once one of the good guys was also the most talented contestant. I hate when I know the asshole is going to win because the asshole is the best one at turning twigs and newspaper into an amazing red-carpet gown.
I love Project Runway because no other show captures the essence of the creative process the way it does. You see these people taking random bits of nothing—trash bags, candy, Lindsay Lohan—and turning them into something. It also shows both sides of that something: the exhilaration of seeing those trash bags turn into a cool pair of pants, the agony of seeing those trash bags look worse after the designer gets hold of them. There’s a wise old teacher who both instructs and critiques, and then a panel of critics who act like real critics, not cartoon character versions of critics. They offer praise and criticism and while they can be harsh, they always have a reason for their harshness. You could swap in anything for the outfits and judges—say a short story and NY Times critic Michiko Kakutani stomping on the literary aspirations of one of the contestants—and the essence of the process would remain the same. However, no one wants to watch a bunch of writers sobbing as they have their work vivisected, except maybe other writers. Project Runway works best because the fashion is a perfect visual symbol of that creative process. I can't taste what they make on Top Chef, but I can tell if a dress with a poofy bottom makes an otherwise thin model look like an ancient fertility goddess idol. And don't get me started on the shoddy tailoring!
The other fun aspect for me is seeing the older male contestants attempting to look hip. As I approach the age of mumble mumble, I sometimes am hit by questions as: Should I dye my hair? Can I wear jeans with a print pattern? Would I be a hit with the kids if I had a faux hawk? And should I wear one of those scarves that every single one of the gay designers wore this year? Seeing how ridiculous those items look on other people has saved me from some very bad fashion decisions.
Music time….
1) “Smoking in the Boy’s Room,” Motley Crue. A deliberate choice because I’m having one of those days today with my day job. I admit I’m lucky to have the job I do, and I’ve gotten much better of realizing that I am fortunate to have steady employment at a company I like. This morning, though, I had one of those moments where I wondered why in the fuck I ever decided to do what I do for a living. That’s when it’s time to meet the boys on floor number 2 and have a few minutes of dumb fun until I can cope again. No official video on YouTube, but bonus of crazy Russians rocking out. They should make a reality show about that.
2) “Holland,” Sufjan Stevens. And now for something completely different….
3) “Happy Jack,” The Who. Classic Who: poppy, dark, and explosive when it needs to be. I love how the simple, soft verses lull me until the band floors it on the chorus. A lot of those early Who songs are pretty wicked little tales: this, "I'm a Boy," "Pictures of Lilly." It's almost as if Townshend wanted to compensate for his bright, poppy music by creating these deranged little narratives. I love it.
4) “Disintegration,” The Cure. My favorite song from my favorite Cure album. The quiet to loud epic thing has been done a lot, but I’ve always admired how this song starts loud and then keeps layering more and more onto the main beat, like a strained relationship that gets pushed past the breaking point. Possibly the most miserably entertaining song in my collection.
5) “The Comeback,” Shout Out Louds. American slacker rock played very convincingly by Scandinavians. It’s funny: for all of the poking at Europeans, how they have welfare and six weeks of vacation, I don’t think of Euros as slackers. That seems like a specific American thing, because even the unemployed, chain-smoking European still seems like he’s doing something, like sitting in a café, sipping espresso while spewing contempt for the bourgeois businessman waiting for his packages (let him wait). As opposed to a true American slacker, stoned on the couch on a Tuesday afternoon, lacking even the willpower to turn the Wii on, let alone play it. Side note: I remember wayyyyy too many commercials.
6) “Flight of Icarus,” Iron Maiden. I miss songs about Greek mythology. Those always rocked. What didn’t rock was the 40-story steaming Kraken turd known as Clash of the Titans. I am not really a movie snob, and in fact the movies I tend to see in the theater are big, dumb, loud pop fests: essentially "Smoking in the Boys Room" on film. But if they made a reality show about the re-making of the Clash of the Titans, all the challenges would have to be set in the stalls of a men’s room. It’s pretty terrible when every acting performance in this movie pales in comparison to the Cyclops from The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad. At least the Cyclops seems to understand his motivation.
7) “Led Zeppelin Medley,” Dream Theater. Speaking of utter shit. Holy fuck, these guys are terrible. Dream Theater is musical p0rn: relentless, mechanical jackhammering, with no soul, no feeling, no heart. It’s even more apparent when they suck all the life out of three classic Zeppelin songs. They are to classic rock what Blues Hammer is to blues.
8) “Miles to Memphis,” Chris Knight. Here’s a voice that’s lived-in, like a pair of old work boots or a Ford pickup with 350,000 miles on it that runs rough but still runs. I don’t really mind that bad music gets popular, but it makes me sad when stuff like this flies under the radar while Kenny Chesney is sweating in 3D at a theater near you. No YT clip but here's one from the same album.
9) “Let There Be Rock,” Drive-By Truckers. Yee-fuckin’-haw! They may not be the best band of the last decade, but damn if they aren’t the most consistently good band of the last ten years. This is a great ode to rock-concert-going, getting in the car with your friends and a case of illicit beer and rocking til your ear drums bleed. Glad to see that they are having some of the success they deserve.
10) “Start a War,” The National. Anthem? (h/t to fish). I love America, I really do, but I can’t believe how bent out of shape people get when pointing out that this country fights a lot, and usually for some very questionable causes: kicking Indians off their lands, stealing half of Mexico from Spain, stealing the Philippines from Spain (seriously, fuck you, Spain!), keeping Vietnam from oppressive communist dictators so it could be ruled by oppressive capitalist dictators. We’ve even tried to invade Canada (and failed…twice!). Now we have politicians in the south who want to honor Confederate soldiers who fought to uphold slavery, and then get offended when you say that’s what they were fighting for. “It was state’s rights!” they argue. Yeah, a state’s right…to keep black people in slavery. Well, this song is the opposite of all that.
11) “Roll With the Changes,” REO Speedwagon. I’m not sure who I might take more flack for sticking up for, REO or Rush, but this is a great song. Great. Not good, not okay, not decent, but great. It gives me what I want from classic rock: great melody, hot playing, a ton of energy, and a sound big enough to crack the dome of the arena where this is being performed. And it’s got soul. Not soul in the R&B sense, despite the attempt to inject a little with the backup singers and the Hammond organ. It’s got soul because all this song wants to do is rock me for five-and-a-half minutes, and on that front it succeeds spectacularly. When the big rock finish kicks in at the end, damn if I don’t feel rocked. So, to sum up, great. And for you h8ers, check out the hilarious increasing close-up that starts around the 1:15 mark.
Have a great weekend.
It was nice to see someone win Project Runway who was a) a cool designer and b) a cool person. For once one of the good guys was also the most talented contestant. I hate when I know the asshole is going to win because the asshole is the best one at turning twigs and newspaper into an amazing red-carpet gown.
I love Project Runway because no other show captures the essence of the creative process the way it does. You see these people taking random bits of nothing—trash bags, candy, Lindsay Lohan—and turning them into something. It also shows both sides of that something: the exhilaration of seeing those trash bags turn into a cool pair of pants, the agony of seeing those trash bags look worse after the designer gets hold of them. There’s a wise old teacher who both instructs and critiques, and then a panel of critics who act like real critics, not cartoon character versions of critics. They offer praise and criticism and while they can be harsh, they always have a reason for their harshness. You could swap in anything for the outfits and judges—say a short story and NY Times critic Michiko Kakutani stomping on the literary aspirations of one of the contestants—and the essence of the process would remain the same. However, no one wants to watch a bunch of writers sobbing as they have their work vivisected, except maybe other writers. Project Runway works best because the fashion is a perfect visual symbol of that creative process. I can't taste what they make on Top Chef, but I can tell if a dress with a poofy bottom makes an otherwise thin model look like an ancient fertility goddess idol. And don't get me started on the shoddy tailoring!
The other fun aspect for me is seeing the older male contestants attempting to look hip. As I approach the age of mumble mumble, I sometimes am hit by questions as: Should I dye my hair? Can I wear jeans with a print pattern? Would I be a hit with the kids if I had a faux hawk? And should I wear one of those scarves that every single one of the gay designers wore this year? Seeing how ridiculous those items look on other people has saved me from some very bad fashion decisions.
Music time….
1) “Smoking in the Boy’s Room,” Motley Crue. A deliberate choice because I’m having one of those days today with my day job. I admit I’m lucky to have the job I do, and I’ve gotten much better of realizing that I am fortunate to have steady employment at a company I like. This morning, though, I had one of those moments where I wondered why in the fuck I ever decided to do what I do for a living. That’s when it’s time to meet the boys on floor number 2 and have a few minutes of dumb fun until I can cope again. No official video on YouTube, but bonus of crazy Russians rocking out. They should make a reality show about that.
2) “Holland,” Sufjan Stevens. And now for something completely different….
3) “Happy Jack,” The Who. Classic Who: poppy, dark, and explosive when it needs to be. I love how the simple, soft verses lull me until the band floors it on the chorus. A lot of those early Who songs are pretty wicked little tales: this, "I'm a Boy," "Pictures of Lilly." It's almost as if Townshend wanted to compensate for his bright, poppy music by creating these deranged little narratives. I love it.
4) “Disintegration,” The Cure. My favorite song from my favorite Cure album. The quiet to loud epic thing has been done a lot, but I’ve always admired how this song starts loud and then keeps layering more and more onto the main beat, like a strained relationship that gets pushed past the breaking point. Possibly the most miserably entertaining song in my collection.
5) “The Comeback,” Shout Out Louds. American slacker rock played very convincingly by Scandinavians. It’s funny: for all of the poking at Europeans, how they have welfare and six weeks of vacation, I don’t think of Euros as slackers. That seems like a specific American thing, because even the unemployed, chain-smoking European still seems like he’s doing something, like sitting in a café, sipping espresso while spewing contempt for the bourgeois businessman waiting for his packages (let him wait). As opposed to a true American slacker, stoned on the couch on a Tuesday afternoon, lacking even the willpower to turn the Wii on, let alone play it. Side note: I remember wayyyyy too many commercials.
6) “Flight of Icarus,” Iron Maiden. I miss songs about Greek mythology. Those always rocked. What didn’t rock was the 40-story steaming Kraken turd known as Clash of the Titans. I am not really a movie snob, and in fact the movies I tend to see in the theater are big, dumb, loud pop fests: essentially "Smoking in the Boys Room" on film. But if they made a reality show about the re-making of the Clash of the Titans, all the challenges would have to be set in the stalls of a men’s room. It’s pretty terrible when every acting performance in this movie pales in comparison to the Cyclops from The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad. At least the Cyclops seems to understand his motivation.
7) “Led Zeppelin Medley,” Dream Theater. Speaking of utter shit. Holy fuck, these guys are terrible. Dream Theater is musical p0rn: relentless, mechanical jackhammering, with no soul, no feeling, no heart. It’s even more apparent when they suck all the life out of three classic Zeppelin songs. They are to classic rock what Blues Hammer is to blues.
8) “Miles to Memphis,” Chris Knight. Here’s a voice that’s lived-in, like a pair of old work boots or a Ford pickup with 350,000 miles on it that runs rough but still runs. I don’t really mind that bad music gets popular, but it makes me sad when stuff like this flies under the radar while Kenny Chesney is sweating in 3D at a theater near you. No YT clip but here's one from the same album.
9) “Let There Be Rock,” Drive-By Truckers. Yee-fuckin’-haw! They may not be the best band of the last decade, but damn if they aren’t the most consistently good band of the last ten years. This is a great ode to rock-concert-going, getting in the car with your friends and a case of illicit beer and rocking til your ear drums bleed. Glad to see that they are having some of the success they deserve.
10) “Start a War,” The National. Anthem? (h/t to fish). I love America, I really do, but I can’t believe how bent out of shape people get when pointing out that this country fights a lot, and usually for some very questionable causes: kicking Indians off their lands, stealing half of Mexico from Spain, stealing the Philippines from Spain (seriously, fuck you, Spain!), keeping Vietnam from oppressive communist dictators so it could be ruled by oppressive capitalist dictators. We’ve even tried to invade Canada (and failed…twice!). Now we have politicians in the south who want to honor Confederate soldiers who fought to uphold slavery, and then get offended when you say that’s what they were fighting for. “It was state’s rights!” they argue. Yeah, a state’s right…to keep black people in slavery. Well, this song is the opposite of all that.
11) “Roll With the Changes,” REO Speedwagon. I’m not sure who I might take more flack for sticking up for, REO or Rush, but this is a great song. Great. Not good, not okay, not decent, but great. It gives me what I want from classic rock: great melody, hot playing, a ton of energy, and a sound big enough to crack the dome of the arena where this is being performed. And it’s got soul. Not soul in the R&B sense, despite the attempt to inject a little with the backup singers and the Hammond organ. It’s got soul because all this song wants to do is rock me for five-and-a-half minutes, and on that front it succeeds spectacularly. When the big rock finish kicks in at the end, damn if I don’t feel rocked. So, to sum up, great. And for you h8ers, check out the hilarious increasing close-up that starts around the 1:15 mark.
Have a great weekend.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
1-900-ABSTAIN
FEMALE VOICE OVER (sultry)
Are you a Christian guy looking for some young, attractive, girls who just want to talk? Do you want to have some good, clean fun right from the comfort of your own home? Then call 1-900-ABSTAIN.
A GUY calls GIRL on the phone. She’s in the kitchen.
GUY
Hi, what’s your name?
GIRL
I’m Betty. What’s yours, cutie?
GUY
Levi
GIRL #1
Oooh, I love guys with Biblical names.
FEMALE VO
1-800-ABSTAIN connects you with the hottest non-action anywhere, letting you talk to girls who will indulge all of your hottest non-sexual fantasies.
LEVI
So what are you doing?
BETTY (putting a pie in the oven)
Baking a pie.
LEVI (pulling at collar)
Oh, I love pie. What kind?
BETTY
Cherry, of course!
FEMALE VO
All of our girls are saving themselves for marriage and won’t give in no matter how hard you tempt them.
BETTY
Now it’s your turn, what’s your favorite Bible story?
LEVI (lowering voice)
Definitely David and Bethsheba.
BETTY
Levi, you’re so naughty. Someone might smite you for that.
LEVI
Oh, I need a smiting. I’m downright wicked.
FEMALE VO
And with 1-900-ABSTAIN, you’re not limited to just one girl. Bring another girl on the line to double your fun.
BETTY (slicing the pie)
Oh, my girlfriend Veronica just showed up.
VERONICA
Hi there.
LEVI
Hi.
BETTY
Veronica, would you like a slice of my cherry pie? It’s a little warm, though.
VERONICA
That’s okay, I love warm pie.
LEVI (wiping brow)
I like it warm, too…with whipped cream on top.
VERONICA
Ooh, good idea. Let me just shake this up…(sound of whip cream spraying).
BETTY (laughing)
Veronica! You’re spraying whipped cream all over my pie!
VERONICA (laughing)
Sorry, sometimes I can't control myself. (Taking a bite) Oh my gosh, this tastes so good. It’s so sweet and warm.
BETTY
You got some on your lips.
VERONICA (licks her lips)
Mmmm, did I lick it all off?
LEVI (falls out of his chair)
Oooohhhh.
BETTY
Are you okay, Levi?
LEVI
Yeah, I gotta go. Nice talking with you.
VERONICA
Take care of yourself , Levi.
LEVI
Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.
BETTY
Or we’ll both have to smite you.
FEMALE VO
So what are you waiting for? Call 1-900-ABSTAIN for non-stop pure fun with Christian girls who don’t beat around the bush when it comes to abstinence.
$4.95 for the first minute, $1.95 for each additional minute. In case of arousal consult Genesis 38: 8-10. Not responsible for any unintended erections, blue balls, eternal damnation or divine retribution. This service brought to you by Citizens Hoping Youth Abstain from Rutting, Intercourse, Groping, Humping and Temptation.
Are you a Christian guy looking for some young, attractive, girls who just want to talk? Do you want to have some good, clean fun right from the comfort of your own home? Then call 1-900-ABSTAIN.
A GUY calls GIRL on the phone. She’s in the kitchen.
GUY
Hi, what’s your name?
GIRL
I’m Betty. What’s yours, cutie?
GUY
Levi
GIRL #1
Oooh, I love guys with Biblical names.
FEMALE VO
1-800-ABSTAIN connects you with the hottest non-action anywhere, letting you talk to girls who will indulge all of your hottest non-sexual fantasies.
LEVI
So what are you doing?
BETTY (putting a pie in the oven)
Baking a pie.
LEVI (pulling at collar)
Oh, I love pie. What kind?
BETTY
Cherry, of course!
FEMALE VO
All of our girls are saving themselves for marriage and won’t give in no matter how hard you tempt them.
BETTY
Now it’s your turn, what’s your favorite Bible story?
LEVI (lowering voice)
Definitely David and Bethsheba.
BETTY
Levi, you’re so naughty. Someone might smite you for that.
LEVI
Oh, I need a smiting. I’m downright wicked.
FEMALE VO
And with 1-900-ABSTAIN, you’re not limited to just one girl. Bring another girl on the line to double your fun.
BETTY (slicing the pie)
Oh, my girlfriend Veronica just showed up.
VERONICA
Hi there.
LEVI
Hi.
BETTY
Veronica, would you like a slice of my cherry pie? It’s a little warm, though.
VERONICA
That’s okay, I love warm pie.
LEVI (wiping brow)
I like it warm, too…with whipped cream on top.
VERONICA
Ooh, good idea. Let me just shake this up…(sound of whip cream spraying).
BETTY (laughing)
Veronica! You’re spraying whipped cream all over my pie!
VERONICA (laughing)
Sorry, sometimes I can't control myself. (Taking a bite) Oh my gosh, this tastes so good. It’s so sweet and warm.
BETTY
You got some on your lips.
VERONICA (licks her lips)
Mmmm, did I lick it all off?
LEVI (falls out of his chair)
Oooohhhh.
BETTY
Are you okay, Levi?
LEVI
Yeah, I gotta go. Nice talking with you.
VERONICA
Take care of yourself , Levi.
LEVI
Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.
BETTY
Or we’ll both have to smite you.
FEMALE VO
So what are you waiting for? Call 1-900-ABSTAIN for non-stop pure fun with Christian girls who don’t beat around the bush when it comes to abstinence.
$4.95 for the first minute, $1.95 for each additional minute. In case of arousal consult Genesis 38: 8-10. Not responsible for any unintended erections, blue balls, eternal damnation or divine retribution. This service brought to you by Citizens Hoping Youth Abstain from Rutting, Intercourse, Groping, Humping and Temptation.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Top Ten Tuesdays: How did we get busted by the S.E.C.?
10) Followed our #insidertrading hashtag.
9) Sparked an outbreak of Mad Bull Disease among investors in a high-density mutual fund that sustained itself on the ground-up broken dreams of other investors.
8) Left out a large pile of money that a very foolish investigator didn’t take with him.
7) Had to make an unexpected margin call on our fraudulent Volcano Eruption Fund.
6) Ratted out by intern who we used as a human footstool during secret investment meetings.
5) Used the salutation “Dear Suckers,” in investor correspondence.
4) Didn't think anyone would read the investment disclosure document, including Part 6, Section 9, Clause F: Rights of Fund Manager to Completely, Unconditionally Fuck You.
3) Got exposed by some cube jockey in accounting after we took his red stapler.
2) Thought that S.E.C. investigations only existed in fairy tales used to scare young brokers.
1) Raised suspicions by actually making money last year.
9) Sparked an outbreak of Mad Bull Disease among investors in a high-density mutual fund that sustained itself on the ground-up broken dreams of other investors.
8) Left out a large pile of money that a very foolish investigator didn’t take with him.
7) Had to make an unexpected margin call on our fraudulent Volcano Eruption Fund.
6) Ratted out by intern who we used as a human footstool during secret investment meetings.
5) Used the salutation “Dear Suckers,” in investor correspondence.
4) Didn't think anyone would read the investment disclosure document, including Part 6, Section 9, Clause F: Rights of Fund Manager to Completely, Unconditionally Fuck You.
3) Got exposed by some cube jockey in accounting after we took his red stapler.
2) Thought that S.E.C. investigations only existed in fairy tales used to scare young brokers.
1) Raised suspicions by actually making money last year.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Friday Random 11
It’s one more random than 10!
I promise that this post will be Burt-Reynolds-link free. Although I did send that link to Dr. Trapper (of Vegas fame) and told him I found his Halloween costume. (Trapper looks a bit like Burt circa The Longest Yard.) Speaking of which, he and Dr. Hawkeye came up with a hilarious idea for a poster: the two of them sitting in a hot tub, shirtless and serious, with a caption that says, “Shhhh…just let it happen.” My brother Tickle and I think Hawkeye should have his own reality show called, No, Really, I’m a Doctor. It would consist of Hawkeye doing things like running through a hotel hallway in scrubs and a fetish mask (note: I’m not making that up) and then providing medical assistance to people. Instant hit, although it would ruin his professional career and possibly his marriage.
Now for some tunes to wash those images out of your minds….
1) “Gimme Shelter,” The Rolling Stones. It’s difficult to not think of a Scorsese film when this plays, especially the Headshotpalooza that was The Departed. Note to filmmakers: if you have so many people getting shot in the head that people are actually laughing at the end of your non-comedy movie, you have too many people getting shot in the head. I also find it funny that this has become the signature Stones song when the signature of this song is the female vocal from a non-Stone. Great tune, though, exit wounds and all.
2) “Bone Machine,” The Pixies. Filthbot could have a field day with that title. Also an apt description for how most men feel at age 19, when you can’t put two thoughts together without getting an erection. You know how they say with age comes wisdom? It happens for men because once you reach a certain age, you can think for more than 10 minutes without sex getting in the way. I am amazed I graduated from college considering I was in a constant state of sexual distraction.
3) “What I See,” Dirty Projectors. HATE. It’s leftover audio casserole, the equivalent of someone finding mustard, noodles, strawberry jam, broccoli, and jerky and saying, “We can totally make a song out of that.” Blech.
4) “The Fool on the Hill,” The Beatles. This, on the other hand, is how you put together ingredients you normally wouldn’t find in a rock song and still make it appetizing. And LOL at the video. Is it wrong that I kind of miss our former president? Couldn't we have set up some kind of Truman Show situation where he thought he was still the president, and we all got to watch and mock him, but he couldn't fuck anything up anymore?
5) “So Here We Are,” Bloc Party. Sometimes you just need some pretty in your day, and this is a beautiful song: little chiming guitars, soft vocals, but drums that are busy enough to keep it out of the soft rock bin. Like we’re going to hug it out and talk about our feelings, but I’ll still seem like a dude, even if I tear up a little.
6) “Bring the Noise,” Anthrax/Public Enemy. TURN IT UP!!! They should have just broken the rap metal mold after this was made, because this is as good as that rancid subgenre will ever get. This came out when I was wide awake in Bonerland (i.e. college), and it was good enough that I could forget about sex for the few minutes that I was bouncing to it. It also reminds me of my friend Moe, a huge metalhead who also happened to be black (one of the great stereotype-shattering moments in my life). In fact, we became friends when we worked together because he loved my idea to have a lounge act that played nothing but Metallica songs. We would croon together in cocktail-singer style (snapping our fingers, of course), “You must die…when I say die…back to the front.” We would play "Bring the Noise" at the bars and instantly clear the dance floor so we could slam to it.
7) “Crazy on You,” Heart. I do miss the non-essential acoustic guitar opening a lot of 70s rock songs had, when the band would let the guitar player wank on a classical guitar for a minute while the other members did some lines and got ready to do another take. One of Ann Wilson’s best vocals. "Cra-a-a-zy on you!"
8) “Bleeding Powers,” Ted Leo and Pharmacists. Bands steal from the 80s so much these days it’s a wonder the kids aren’t tight-rolling their pants. I’m fine with this thievery—I liked a lot of 80s music, and production and fashion issues aside, think it was a pretty good decade for music. What’s great about Ted Leo is that he encapsulates 80s indie/punk/college rock without sounding like an ancient artifact or that he’s aping what came before. He just cranks out tune after tune of heartfelt, energetic, guitar-driven rock.
9) “Sway,” Bic Runga. It seems like a lot of people with great voices spend most of their musical careers letting you know they have great voices. While there is a great deal of (justifiable) fun poked at guitar/drum/bass wankery, the vocal wankery of the world’s Mariahs and Celines is just as annoying. So it’s nice to hear someone like Bic Runga, who can go huge with her voice, dropping it down to give the verses some warm piano-bar intimacy. This is the kind of stuff that should be idolized by Americans.
10) “Achin’ to Be,” The Replacements. Now this is what an achy, breaky heart sounds like.
11) “Trip Like I Do,” The Crystal Method. How can you go wrong with samples from The Dark Crystal? That’s a trick question: you can’t go wrong with samples from The Dark Crystal (note: highly clickworthy). One of my favorite electronic songs of all time, because when the song kicks it up at the midway point, I feel like I’m in an action movie, falling down a 100-story building while three killer robots are plunging after me, giving me just enough time to turn in mid-air and blast them with my ion wrist cannon, clearing the way for my talking chimp sidekick Dr. Sassafras to rescue me at the last minute in our hovercraft, where I land on the waterbed next to my female co-star, who says “I always knew you’d fall for me” just before the credits roll.
No, I’m really not a virgin.
Have a great weekend.
I promise that this post will be Burt-Reynolds-link free. Although I did send that link to Dr. Trapper (of Vegas fame) and told him I found his Halloween costume. (Trapper looks a bit like Burt circa The Longest Yard.) Speaking of which, he and Dr. Hawkeye came up with a hilarious idea for a poster: the two of them sitting in a hot tub, shirtless and serious, with a caption that says, “Shhhh…just let it happen.” My brother Tickle and I think Hawkeye should have his own reality show called, No, Really, I’m a Doctor. It would consist of Hawkeye doing things like running through a hotel hallway in scrubs and a fetish mask (note: I’m not making that up) and then providing medical assistance to people. Instant hit, although it would ruin his professional career and possibly his marriage.
Now for some tunes to wash those images out of your minds….
1) “Gimme Shelter,” The Rolling Stones. It’s difficult to not think of a Scorsese film when this plays, especially the Headshotpalooza that was The Departed. Note to filmmakers: if you have so many people getting shot in the head that people are actually laughing at the end of your non-comedy movie, you have too many people getting shot in the head. I also find it funny that this has become the signature Stones song when the signature of this song is the female vocal from a non-Stone. Great tune, though, exit wounds and all.
2) “Bone Machine,” The Pixies. Filthbot could have a field day with that title. Also an apt description for how most men feel at age 19, when you can’t put two thoughts together without getting an erection. You know how they say with age comes wisdom? It happens for men because once you reach a certain age, you can think for more than 10 minutes without sex getting in the way. I am amazed I graduated from college considering I was in a constant state of sexual distraction.
3) “What I See,” Dirty Projectors. HATE. It’s leftover audio casserole, the equivalent of someone finding mustard, noodles, strawberry jam, broccoli, and jerky and saying, “We can totally make a song out of that.” Blech.
4) “The Fool on the Hill,” The Beatles. This, on the other hand, is how you put together ingredients you normally wouldn’t find in a rock song and still make it appetizing. And LOL at the video. Is it wrong that I kind of miss our former president? Couldn't we have set up some kind of Truman Show situation where he thought he was still the president, and we all got to watch and mock him, but he couldn't fuck anything up anymore?
5) “So Here We Are,” Bloc Party. Sometimes you just need some pretty in your day, and this is a beautiful song: little chiming guitars, soft vocals, but drums that are busy enough to keep it out of the soft rock bin. Like we’re going to hug it out and talk about our feelings, but I’ll still seem like a dude, even if I tear up a little.
6) “Bring the Noise,” Anthrax/Public Enemy. TURN IT UP!!! They should have just broken the rap metal mold after this was made, because this is as good as that rancid subgenre will ever get. This came out when I was wide awake in Bonerland (i.e. college), and it was good enough that I could forget about sex for the few minutes that I was bouncing to it. It also reminds me of my friend Moe, a huge metalhead who also happened to be black (one of the great stereotype-shattering moments in my life). In fact, we became friends when we worked together because he loved my idea to have a lounge act that played nothing but Metallica songs. We would croon together in cocktail-singer style (snapping our fingers, of course), “You must die…when I say die…back to the front.” We would play "Bring the Noise" at the bars and instantly clear the dance floor so we could slam to it.
7) “Crazy on You,” Heart. I do miss the non-essential acoustic guitar opening a lot of 70s rock songs had, when the band would let the guitar player wank on a classical guitar for a minute while the other members did some lines and got ready to do another take. One of Ann Wilson’s best vocals. "Cra-a-a-zy on you!"
8) “Bleeding Powers,” Ted Leo and Pharmacists. Bands steal from the 80s so much these days it’s a wonder the kids aren’t tight-rolling their pants. I’m fine with this thievery—I liked a lot of 80s music, and production and fashion issues aside, think it was a pretty good decade for music. What’s great about Ted Leo is that he encapsulates 80s indie/punk/college rock without sounding like an ancient artifact or that he’s aping what came before. He just cranks out tune after tune of heartfelt, energetic, guitar-driven rock.
9) “Sway,” Bic Runga. It seems like a lot of people with great voices spend most of their musical careers letting you know they have great voices. While there is a great deal of (justifiable) fun poked at guitar/drum/bass wankery, the vocal wankery of the world’s Mariahs and Celines is just as annoying. So it’s nice to hear someone like Bic Runga, who can go huge with her voice, dropping it down to give the verses some warm piano-bar intimacy. This is the kind of stuff that should be idolized by Americans.
10) “Achin’ to Be,” The Replacements. Now this is what an achy, breaky heart sounds like.
11) “Trip Like I Do,” The Crystal Method. How can you go wrong with samples from The Dark Crystal? That’s a trick question: you can’t go wrong with samples from The Dark Crystal (note: highly clickworthy). One of my favorite electronic songs of all time, because when the song kicks it up at the midway point, I feel like I’m in an action movie, falling down a 100-story building while three killer robots are plunging after me, giving me just enough time to turn in mid-air and blast them with my ion wrist cannon, clearing the way for my talking chimp sidekick Dr. Sassafras to rescue me at the last minute in our hovercraft, where I land on the waterbed next to my female co-star, who says “I always knew you’d fall for me” just before the credits roll.
No, I’m really not a virgin.
Have a great weekend.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Happy Birthday, TLB!
The Lovely Becky is another year lovelier today. Libby already gave TLB her birthday gift, a wake-up call at 3 am this morning, because she just couldn't wait to start celebrating. Her publisher gave TLB her birthday gift by saying that her novel is ready to go and on its way toward being a book you can stick on your shelf/iPad. There are even people in foreign lands who want to give her the gift of translating her work into their own languages.
As for me...well, it becomes somewhat more difficult to give your spouse the perfect birthday gift as you spend more and more time together. It's harder to surprise them, because they know you so well and can pick up on your tells, like bouncing up and down and saying, "Wait til you see what I got you for your birthday!" And, frankly, it's harder to resist the impulse to just buy something for them during the year if you can afford it and they want it. So it's not easy for me to come up with something TLB will be very excited to receive.
That's when it hit me: Why not give her the gift of me? Say, in this pose. Minus the mustache, of course. How could she not swoon over that?
Plan B is to make dinner for her and let her sleep in as much as she wants on Saturday. Sadly, I suspect she'll be more excited about that.
As for me...well, it becomes somewhat more difficult to give your spouse the perfect birthday gift as you spend more and more time together. It's harder to surprise them, because they know you so well and can pick up on your tells, like bouncing up and down and saying, "Wait til you see what I got you for your birthday!" And, frankly, it's harder to resist the impulse to just buy something for them during the year if you can afford it and they want it. So it's not easy for me to come up with something TLB will be very excited to receive.
That's when it hit me: Why not give her the gift of me? Say, in this pose. Minus the mustache, of course. How could she not swoon over that?
Plan B is to make dinner for her and let her sleep in as much as she wants on Saturday. Sadly, I suspect she'll be more excited about that.
Friday, April 09, 2010
Friday Random 11
It's one more random than 10!
Last Friday it was 72 degrees. Today there’s snow on the ground. Get me the fuck out of here. And yes, I know it snowed in Chicago, but right now a 60-inch winter seems positively quaint and adorable.
I also realized I’m coming up on five years of blogging. That blew my mind the other day. I can’t believe I’ve been doing this since I was 25. So I might change things up a bit. I have no idea how much I can trick out the old El Camino that is Blogger, but I’ll probably try giving the ol’ girl a new paint job at least.
1) “Crazy Train,” Ozzy Osbourne. The most entertaining Rock Band/Guitar Hero song I’ve ever played, probably because I’ve been air-guitaring it since I was 12 and playing it with a plastic toy guitar strapped around my neck was like taking one step closer to actually being Randy Rhodes. In fact, the whole Rock Band/Guitar Hero thing is probably like having sex with one of those hyper-realistic/extra-creepy sex dolls I once saw on HBO’s Real Sex. It can really seem like the real thing when you’re in the middle of it and letting your imagination take over, but to anyone watching you, you look completely sad and pathetic.
2) “Round and Round,” Ratt. There are two metal bands I hate to admit liking: Dokken and Ratt. I can mentally justify a lot of the other hair-and-leather-pants guilty pleasures: Dio is so bad he’s good, Whitesnake reminds me of the time my friend Tom and I got his booger-green Datsun up to 105 mph on the Capitol Beltway just as the guitar solo from “Still of the Night” kicked in, and Def Leppard were the British Cheap Trick and Cheap Trick fucking rules. Dokken and Ratt, though, are true guilty pleasures: derivative, silly, and simplistic. Then again, I like Taco Bell despite the fact that it’s the digestive equivalent of the Viet Cong: it’s good because it’s wrong. So there’s my justification for Ratt.
3) “Heart of the Sunrise,” Yes. The reason I like songs like this is because they take me on a little mental journey. When artists pull the prog out, it’s like a musical short story. That’s not limited to old-school prog, either. It can be the epic Icelandic chirping of most Sigur Ros songs or the harrowing overdose anthem, “Coma” from Guns N’ Roses. As much as I love catchy, concise rock songs, sometimes three minutes isn’t enough to get the job done. Just ask my wife.
4) “Breaking Us in Two,” Joe Jackson. One of the great relationship laments because it sounds like you’re sitting in a bar, listening to Joe Jackson sing about love gone wrong while you wallow in drink because your love did go wrong.
5) “Hate Breeders,” The Misfits. Yesterday’s menace becomes today’s kitsch.
6) “Out Go the Lights,” Spoon. Having a bit of a difficult time getting into the new Spoon album, Transference. I can’t tell if it’s because it’s not as good as the last one or if it suffers from Expectant Follow-Up Syndrome, where an artist releases the album of their career, one so good the next one is almost certain to disappoint. Very few rock bands can overcome that syndrome.
7) “Tax Rebates and Common Sense,” Lewis Black. I don’t normally include comedy routines if they come up in the Random 11, but this seems appropriate given that we’re a week away from tax day. I also love Lewis Black. He does swear so much that it can sometimes be a distraction, but the way he takes this raging pot of anger and pours cup after cup of hilarious standup inspires me. There’s a bit from this album (The End of the Universe) on post-9/11 homeland security that is one of the best comedic rages against government ever.
8) “Heaven’s Not Overflowing,” Corrosion of Conformity. One of my all-time Expectant Follow-Up Syndrome bands. The album before this, Blind, is one of the most underrated metal albums of all time—an hour of Sabbathy grunge metal that still melts my ears. This album, Deliverance, kicks the same amount of ass for three songs, then sends the remaining eleven off the cliff and into the Gorge of Meh. That’s the worst kind of Expectant Follow-Up Syndrome, where the album starts off strong and I think I have another gem on your hands, only to find out that those gems have been ground up and embedded into the artificial fillers and preservatives that populate the rest of the album. I keep listening hoping I’m hitting a mid-album lull, but the non-hits keep on coming. At least have the decency to suck from the beginning so I don’t get my hopes up.
9) “God Save the Queen,” Sex Pistols. “Anarchy in the UK” gets a lot of the attention but this is the better song, my second-favorite on Never Mind the Bollocks after “Pretty Vacant.” Despite becoming one of the “old” people Johnny Rottten spat this song at, and actually having what seems like a good future ahead of me, I still get a kick out of singing “no future, no future, no future for you.”
10) “Dazed and Confused,” Led Zeppelin. I go through Zeppelin periods where I really like Zeppelin and others where I get really tired of hearing them. Obviously, “Stairway” fatigue is pretty common, but there are times where I just can’t take another burst of “Black Dog” or “Whole Lotta Love” or even “Kashmir.” However, I never get tired of their first album. If “Good Times, Bad Times,” comes on the radio, I’m turning it up. Likewise, I’m going air-drum apeshit when Jimmy Page stops his noodling and the band kicks it to 11 in this song.
11) “You Make My Dreams,” Hall & Oates. Fuck & Yeah. This was used in the movie 500 Days of Summer, and while I think that movie is quite good on its own, it’s worth watching just for the scene where they use this song. Hall & Oates rule because they just make people happy. I’m not really sure why, because on the surface I should hate this. Yet I could be having the shittiest day imaginable and my foot is going to tap along to “You Make My Dreams.” I suspect that, like Samson’s hair, John Oates mustache is a mystical, follicle-rich source of divine strength.
Have a great weekend.
Last Friday it was 72 degrees. Today there’s snow on the ground. Get me the fuck out of here. And yes, I know it snowed in Chicago, but right now a 60-inch winter seems positively quaint and adorable.
I also realized I’m coming up on five years of blogging. That blew my mind the other day. I can’t believe I’ve been doing this since I was 25. So I might change things up a bit. I have no idea how much I can trick out the old El Camino that is Blogger, but I’ll probably try giving the ol’ girl a new paint job at least.
1) “Crazy Train,” Ozzy Osbourne. The most entertaining Rock Band/Guitar Hero song I’ve ever played, probably because I’ve been air-guitaring it since I was 12 and playing it with a plastic toy guitar strapped around my neck was like taking one step closer to actually being Randy Rhodes. In fact, the whole Rock Band/Guitar Hero thing is probably like having sex with one of those hyper-realistic/extra-creepy sex dolls I once saw on HBO’s Real Sex. It can really seem like the real thing when you’re in the middle of it and letting your imagination take over, but to anyone watching you, you look completely sad and pathetic.
2) “Round and Round,” Ratt. There are two metal bands I hate to admit liking: Dokken and Ratt. I can mentally justify a lot of the other hair-and-leather-pants guilty pleasures: Dio is so bad he’s good, Whitesnake reminds me of the time my friend Tom and I got his booger-green Datsun up to 105 mph on the Capitol Beltway just as the guitar solo from “Still of the Night” kicked in, and Def Leppard were the British Cheap Trick and Cheap Trick fucking rules. Dokken and Ratt, though, are true guilty pleasures: derivative, silly, and simplistic. Then again, I like Taco Bell despite the fact that it’s the digestive equivalent of the Viet Cong: it’s good because it’s wrong. So there’s my justification for Ratt.
3) “Heart of the Sunrise,” Yes. The reason I like songs like this is because they take me on a little mental journey. When artists pull the prog out, it’s like a musical short story. That’s not limited to old-school prog, either. It can be the epic Icelandic chirping of most Sigur Ros songs or the harrowing overdose anthem, “Coma” from Guns N’ Roses. As much as I love catchy, concise rock songs, sometimes three minutes isn’t enough to get the job done. Just ask my wife.
4) “Breaking Us in Two,” Joe Jackson. One of the great relationship laments because it sounds like you’re sitting in a bar, listening to Joe Jackson sing about love gone wrong while you wallow in drink because your love did go wrong.
5) “Hate Breeders,” The Misfits. Yesterday’s menace becomes today’s kitsch.
6) “Out Go the Lights,” Spoon. Having a bit of a difficult time getting into the new Spoon album, Transference. I can’t tell if it’s because it’s not as good as the last one or if it suffers from Expectant Follow-Up Syndrome, where an artist releases the album of their career, one so good the next one is almost certain to disappoint. Very few rock bands can overcome that syndrome.
7) “Tax Rebates and Common Sense,” Lewis Black. I don’t normally include comedy routines if they come up in the Random 11, but this seems appropriate given that we’re a week away from tax day. I also love Lewis Black. He does swear so much that it can sometimes be a distraction, but the way he takes this raging pot of anger and pours cup after cup of hilarious standup inspires me. There’s a bit from this album (The End of the Universe) on post-9/11 homeland security that is one of the best comedic rages against government ever.
8) “Heaven’s Not Overflowing,” Corrosion of Conformity. One of my all-time Expectant Follow-Up Syndrome bands. The album before this, Blind, is one of the most underrated metal albums of all time—an hour of Sabbathy grunge metal that still melts my ears. This album, Deliverance, kicks the same amount of ass for three songs, then sends the remaining eleven off the cliff and into the Gorge of Meh. That’s the worst kind of Expectant Follow-Up Syndrome, where the album starts off strong and I think I have another gem on your hands, only to find out that those gems have been ground up and embedded into the artificial fillers and preservatives that populate the rest of the album. I keep listening hoping I’m hitting a mid-album lull, but the non-hits keep on coming. At least have the decency to suck from the beginning so I don’t get my hopes up.
9) “God Save the Queen,” Sex Pistols. “Anarchy in the UK” gets a lot of the attention but this is the better song, my second-favorite on Never Mind the Bollocks after “Pretty Vacant.” Despite becoming one of the “old” people Johnny Rottten spat this song at, and actually having what seems like a good future ahead of me, I still get a kick out of singing “no future, no future, no future for you.”
10) “Dazed and Confused,” Led Zeppelin. I go through Zeppelin periods where I really like Zeppelin and others where I get really tired of hearing them. Obviously, “Stairway” fatigue is pretty common, but there are times where I just can’t take another burst of “Black Dog” or “Whole Lotta Love” or even “Kashmir.” However, I never get tired of their first album. If “Good Times, Bad Times,” comes on the radio, I’m turning it up. Likewise, I’m going air-drum apeshit when Jimmy Page stops his noodling and the band kicks it to 11 in this song.
11) “You Make My Dreams,” Hall & Oates. Fuck & Yeah. This was used in the movie 500 Days of Summer, and while I think that movie is quite good on its own, it’s worth watching just for the scene where they use this song. Hall & Oates rule because they just make people happy. I’m not really sure why, because on the surface I should hate this. Yet I could be having the shittiest day imaginable and my foot is going to tap along to “You Make My Dreams.” I suspect that, like Samson’s hair, John Oates mustache is a mystical, follicle-rich source of divine strength.
Have a great weekend.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
Top Ten Thursdays: How are we welcoming Tiger Woods back to golf?
10) Setting up a private tour of Augusta with our niece, Lacey Underalls.
9) Sending him a coupon for “all he can eat” at the local Perkins.
8) Offering a lucrative sponsorship from Trojan.
7) Changing the green jacket from a sport coat to a smoking jacket.
6) Providing free transportation from the Bang Bus.
5) Letting him motorboat our breasts (Phil Mickelson only).
4) Sticking a monogrammed Fleshlight in his bag.
3) Promoting awareness of sexual addiction by wearing penis-shaped ribbons.
2) Sending him a congratulatory text message that says, "way 2 swing out of that rough and stick it in the hole."
1) Forgiving his years of appalling, adulterous behavior the second he makes an exciting shot.
9) Sending him a coupon for “all he can eat” at the local Perkins.
8) Offering a lucrative sponsorship from Trojan.
7) Changing the green jacket from a sport coat to a smoking jacket.
6) Providing free transportation from the Bang Bus.
5) Letting him motorboat our breasts (Phil Mickelson only).
4) Sticking a monogrammed Fleshlight in his bag.
3) Promoting awareness of sexual addiction by wearing penis-shaped ribbons.
2) Sending him a congratulatory text message that says, "way 2 swing out of that rough and stick it in the hole."
1) Forgiving his years of appalling, adulterous behavior the second he makes an exciting shot.
Friday, April 02, 2010
No Random 11 today
There's a little too much going on today to get to a Random 11 -- including a second showing of our house that will hopefully lead to a sale so we don't have to keep cleaning all the time. So enjoy celebrating a resurrection, the kicking of a pharaoh in the balls, or the delicious welcoming of diabetes. In the meantime, here's an inspiring story to help celebrate this weekend:
Thursday, April 01, 2010
Palin: Quote about gutting every Democrat and eating their still-beating hearts taken out of context.
SKEETERVILLE – During a rally at Americas’s largest mudflap production facility, former Alaska governor Sarah Palin took aim at the media for what she says is a gross representation of her words.
“I’ll tell ya, I’m so sick of all this misquoting going on,” Ms. Palin said. “Every time I read a story about me, I just want to murder the fella who wrote it.”
Ms. Palin was referring to a recent Associated Press article that quoted her as saying that she wanted to, “Stick these socialist Democrats on meathooks, slice ‘em from neck to groin, and eat their still-beating hearts.” The quote touched off a firestorm of criticism from liberals, even causing MSNBC host Keith Olbermann to pass out from a case of the vapors.
“The problem is that these pansy-wansy liberals don’t know nothing about hunting,” Ms. Palin said. “And if they did, they’d know I was speaking hypometatorically.
“Maybe they’d be smarter if they were homeschooled,” she added, to thunderous cheers and air horns from the crowd.
Ms. Palin also addressed a video that surfaced that appears to show her waving a gun and firing a shot at a target in the shape of the Democratic donkey symbol, telling the crowd to do the same with their representatives.
“That’s not a gun,” Ms. Palin said, “I was just using my fingers to make a gun, like this.” Ms. Palin formed her right hand into a finger gun and made several pew pew pew noises, which she claims were the source of the “gunshot” noises.
The Palin controversy is the latest in a recent series of rapid-fire denunciations aimed at liberals by conservatives. House minority leader John Boehner (R-heh, heh) said that healthcare reform would trigger “Armageddon” and would kill everyone in the country because “that’s what healthcare reform does. That’s all it does!” Michele Bachman (R-Duh.) went one further, stating that Democrats were clearly “vampires” who needed to “have stakes driven in their hearts before they turn our country gay by sucking the heterosexual blood out of our children.” Ms. Bachman was unavailable to comment on this story, as a spokeswoman explained that the Congresswoman was recovering from an overdose of Twilight.
While Democrats say that this violent rhetoric is inciting violence, Republicans disagree. Senator John McCain (R-Matlock) took issue that his comment, “What we need to do is take these Democrats and stick them face first into a tank of ravenous piranhas until they agree to compromise,” was a call for violence. “Anyone with half a brain would know I was making a comment about the need for more bipartisanship in Washington. The senator was asked to elaborate, but had to depart for nap time.
Some Republicans also say they have been blatantly misquoted. A New York Times story earlier this week said Senator David Vitter (R-Xxx) wanted to “urinate on the Democratic Party,” but the senator claimed he actually said he wanted the Democratic Party to urinate on him.
“If Americans weren’t allowed to incite violence, there wouldn’t be an America”
While Republican officials have said that their comments have been misunderstood, conservative pundits have argued that their rhetoric is justifiable and in fact patriotic. Fox News host Glenn Beck said as much when he claimed, “If Americans weren’t allowed to incite violence, there wouldn’t be an America, which is precisely why the Democrats are against inciting violence.” Punctuating his point by writing “a-ha!!!” on his chalkboard, Mr. Beck continued, “That’s why it’s our patriotic duty to stomp the throat of progressivism with the jackboot of freedom.”
Radio host Rush Limbaugh said that the Democratic concerns were an attack on the foundation of America, freedom of speech. “If I can’t tell my listeners that it is there religious duty to protect Judeo-Christian family values by driving a truckload of explosives into every Democratic office, then the terrorists have won.”
Even Fox News can’t escape the criticism of distorting the news. Blogger and professional racial delusionist Michelle Malkin appeared the network to discuss how to fight the Democrats, and proposed a plan for rounding up Democrats and sticking them in internment camps.
“They edited out a key part, where I said that the camps would be heated by the burning bodies of illegal immigrants,” Ms. Malkin said. “That would make the camps self-powered, but I guess that was too ‘controversial’ for the producers.
“It just goes to show that the mainstream media will stop at nothing to paint conservatives in a bad light.”
“I’ll tell ya, I’m so sick of all this misquoting going on,” Ms. Palin said. “Every time I read a story about me, I just want to murder the fella who wrote it.”
Ms. Palin was referring to a recent Associated Press article that quoted her as saying that she wanted to, “Stick these socialist Democrats on meathooks, slice ‘em from neck to groin, and eat their still-beating hearts.” The quote touched off a firestorm of criticism from liberals, even causing MSNBC host Keith Olbermann to pass out from a case of the vapors.
“The problem is that these pansy-wansy liberals don’t know nothing about hunting,” Ms. Palin said. “And if they did, they’d know I was speaking hypometatorically.
“Maybe they’d be smarter if they were homeschooled,” she added, to thunderous cheers and air horns from the crowd.
Ms. Palin also addressed a video that surfaced that appears to show her waving a gun and firing a shot at a target in the shape of the Democratic donkey symbol, telling the crowd to do the same with their representatives.
“That’s not a gun,” Ms. Palin said, “I was just using my fingers to make a gun, like this.” Ms. Palin formed her right hand into a finger gun and made several pew pew pew noises, which she claims were the source of the “gunshot” noises.
The Palin controversy is the latest in a recent series of rapid-fire denunciations aimed at liberals by conservatives. House minority leader John Boehner (R-heh, heh) said that healthcare reform would trigger “Armageddon” and would kill everyone in the country because “that’s what healthcare reform does. That’s all it does!” Michele Bachman (R-Duh.) went one further, stating that Democrats were clearly “vampires” who needed to “have stakes driven in their hearts before they turn our country gay by sucking the heterosexual blood out of our children.” Ms. Bachman was unavailable to comment on this story, as a spokeswoman explained that the Congresswoman was recovering from an overdose of Twilight.
While Democrats say that this violent rhetoric is inciting violence, Republicans disagree. Senator John McCain (R-Matlock) took issue that his comment, “What we need to do is take these Democrats and stick them face first into a tank of ravenous piranhas until they agree to compromise,” was a call for violence. “Anyone with half a brain would know I was making a comment about the need for more bipartisanship in Washington. The senator was asked to elaborate, but had to depart for nap time.
Some Republicans also say they have been blatantly misquoted. A New York Times story earlier this week said Senator David Vitter (R-Xxx) wanted to “urinate on the Democratic Party,” but the senator claimed he actually said he wanted the Democratic Party to urinate on him.
“If Americans weren’t allowed to incite violence, there wouldn’t be an America”
While Republican officials have said that their comments have been misunderstood, conservative pundits have argued that their rhetoric is justifiable and in fact patriotic. Fox News host Glenn Beck said as much when he claimed, “If Americans weren’t allowed to incite violence, there wouldn’t be an America, which is precisely why the Democrats are against inciting violence.” Punctuating his point by writing “a-ha!!!” on his chalkboard, Mr. Beck continued, “That’s why it’s our patriotic duty to stomp the throat of progressivism with the jackboot of freedom.”
Radio host Rush Limbaugh said that the Democratic concerns were an attack on the foundation of America, freedom of speech. “If I can’t tell my listeners that it is there religious duty to protect Judeo-Christian family values by driving a truckload of explosives into every Democratic office, then the terrorists have won.”
Even Fox News can’t escape the criticism of distorting the news. Blogger and professional racial delusionist Michelle Malkin appeared the network to discuss how to fight the Democrats, and proposed a plan for rounding up Democrats and sticking them in internment camps.
“They edited out a key part, where I said that the camps would be heated by the burning bodies of illegal immigrants,” Ms. Malkin said. “That would make the camps self-powered, but I guess that was too ‘controversial’ for the producers.
“It just goes to show that the mainstream media will stop at nothing to paint conservatives in a bad light.”
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