I am squarely stuck in the third part of this classic 80s song and will be for the next week:
Thankfully I am sneaking in "vacation" before my demise, at which time I will be sitting on a beach, playing with my daughter, and reading this. Oh, and drinking.
Also, for those of you not on The FB (not to be confused with The OC), I was shopping with Libby this week. I picked up a box of cinnamon almonds, a snack Libby likes so much she shouted, "I LOVE YOUR NUTS, DADDY!"
There was of course a male employee standing three feet from us.
Enjoy the weekend. I hope to post a picture of my work accommodations next week. They will resemble a certain blogger's travels, only these will not make me want to kill myself.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Top Ten Tuesdays: What are we checking out at the state fair?
Special extended acid washing edition!
11) I Can’t Believe It’s Not Michelangelo’s David!
10) The biggest set of cans you’ll ever see.
9) Cotton candy hair extensions.
8) Heart stents made out of deep-fried bacon.
7) The Tilt-O-Hurl.
6) Ron Paul supporters working their day jobs.
11) I Can’t Believe It’s Not Michelangelo’s David!
10) The biggest set of cans you’ll ever see.
9) Cotton candy hair extensions.
8) Heart stents made out of deep-fried bacon.
7) The Tilt-O-Hurl.
6) Ron Paul supporters working their day jobs.
5) A lot of parties in the back, not as much business in the front.
4) Foot-long meth dogs.
3) Guess the OSHA violations to win a prize.
2) Sisters Christian, the all-female, all-sibling, all-gospel Night Ranger cover band extravaganza!
1) As always, hog balls.
4) Foot-long meth dogs.
3) Guess the OSHA violations to win a prize.
2) Sisters Christian, the all-female, all-sibling, all-gospel Night Ranger cover band extravaganza!
1) As always, hog balls.
Friday, July 06, 2012
Friday Random 11
It’s one more random than 10!
When I left the Wisconsin Sno-Cone that is the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, I made a vow to myself that I would never, ever complain about the heat again. I believe that vow came to me during our second winter there when we had more than 200 inches of snow, which seems like some kind of typo. I was probably outside snowblowing, the snow I was blowing being blown back into my face by the howling belch of Old Man Winter. The summer after that winter, I had to go to San Antonio in July, which is very much like going to your oven in the middle of cooking a turkey. I stepped out onto the Riverwalk into 99-degree heat and I thanked Flip-Flops-and-Swim-Trunks Jesus that I was sweating my balls off.
Skip the memory DVR forward two years and then back a couple days because we went into the first thirty seconds of the show: I thought I was going to melt on July 4. I was standing—STANDING STILL—and my pores were doing an imitation of a new Kohler showerhead that simulates an overweight Slavic guy sweating like he just ran down the block for more kielbasa (it’s not a very popular model). Then I started moving because Libby was riding her bike in a parade and I learned what real sweating was.
Did I complain? No, I did not. Nor did I during the next two 100-degree days. Nor will I. Because you don’t have to shovel heat, no amount of heat will feel worse than having snow that’s been through a gasoline-powered engine being spit back in your face.
Tunes…
1) “Magazines,” The Hold Steady. I read three magazines regularly: The New Yorker, Esquire, and Entertainment Weekly. I read The New Yorker because it makes me feel smarter. It doesn’t actually make me smarter, but given that even the cartoons are challenging, it’s the brain equivalent of eating Brussels Sprouts—look, the talking dog is making a reference to Proust! It’s not funny, but I’m being so intellectually healthy! Then I cool off with Esquire, aka CosBropolitan. I occasionally read the longer articles, which are quite good, but usually I am reading things like what kind of tie knot matches my shirt collar or sex survey results that show as men get older, they are more open to getting a finger in the cornhole during sexy time. Neither of these types of info is helpful as I work in shorts and a T-shirt and I get enough of the backdoor “you’re number 1!” maneuver during my annual physical. Yet I like to envision myself as a man who dresses in $3000 suits when it’s time to work and is open to new experiences when it’s time to play, were I to have the money and ability to unclench. As for Entertainment Weekly, it’s my pop culture booty call. A couple of sloppy, uninspired tussles per week and I’m fully caught up on what Channing Tatum is doing or which five superheroes should be next to come out of the closet. You don’t get that with The Economist.
2) “Hi-Definition,” Lupe Fiasco (featuring Snoop Dogg and Pooh Bear). I cannot think of a time when “featuring Snoop Dogg” did not make something more entertaining.
3) Neko Case, “I’m An Animal.” I started using Twitter and following Neko Case. I've learned that Neko Case really, really loves animals, to the point where I’m not sure I could hang with Neko Case. She’s great and all, as are animals, but we’d have that awkward moment where she’d invite me to sit on a couch that’s clearly covered in dog hair and I’d be like, I just bought this suit after I saw it in Esquire. She’d say, You’re not really with the U.S. Census Bureau, are you? And I would say no, because the number of parakeets was giving me a case of Hitchcockian dread that was overwhelming my desire to have a conversation with Neko Case, even if it was about the number of dependents in her house.
4) “Girls & Boys,” Blur. There’s a quick way to decide where one sits on the social conservatism fence: Whether the phrase Same-sex marriage will turn America into a big gay orgy seems like the Apocalypse or a way to spice up our country after a couple hundred years of dull, Puritan independence. I say pass the amendment and hand me a bathrobe.
5) “Rio,” Duran Duran. They will be playing a mere mile from my house next month, close enough that I will be able to hear this song and the screams of 40-something women enjoying it. I would be attending, but tickets sold faster than John Taylor snorting a line of coke off a coffee table book of Nagel paintings. Why-yi-yi-yi did I wait so long to try-yi-yi-yi to get tickets? Now I will just to pretend my driveway is the Rio Grande.
6) “The Guns of Brixton,” The Clash. Instantly fired up. There are songs that make me want to run through a brick wall. This is a song that makes me want to tie a red hankie around my face, don a beret, and foment revolution. Unfortunately, when it ends, my bourgeoisie returns with the rhythm of the tide. It is an exhilarating three minutes, however (that’s what TLB said!), and it also does not end in bloodshed or an icepick to the temple.
7) “Soul Shoes,” Graham Parker. Can you order those from Zappos?
8) “Cary On/Questions,” Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. I’m not a big CSN fan because they always seemed hippies for me. I’m not against hippies per se, but hippiedom never appealed that much to me, as I am way too big of a fan of showers and steak. But this is a glorious song. The harmonies, the little bit of rock thrown in, and then the transition to “Questions” that drops a magic mushroom in each year.
9) “Jo Jo’s Jacket,” Stephen Malkmus. The #1 track among rock songs about Yul Brenner. I really miss this version of Stephen Malkmus.
10) “Don’t Speak,” No Doubt. I have always disliked Gwen Stefani’s annunciation. There’s something overly dramatic and also buzzing about it, like an emo kid singing through a kazoo. Yet I like a lot of No Doubt’s faster songs. Maybe I just don’t like kazoo ballads? Also, MOAR SLOMO CONCERT FOOTAGE!
11) “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,” The Band. We celebrated the Fourth of July at my sister-in-law’s house. She has a pool. Libby is just learning to swim, and I watched her spend the afternoon overcoming her fear of water. She started out the day using a noodle to float, but halfway through the barbecue, she ditched any support mechanisms and just jumped in, paddled to the pool ladder, got out, and did it again. The sheer joy on that child's face was a revelation. I have a tendency sometimes to think of life like a car ride where the gas gauge is running down, I'm out of money, and I'm hoping I have enough in the tank to get where I want to go. But watching my four-year old daughter go carpe fucking diem on that pool really stuck with me. Here I was, being WARM, drinking and eating, and spending the day with loved ones. What more do I need? And isn't this the point of everything, the feeling we work so hard to get to that we often don't stop to enjoy it? Sometimes I just need a kick in the ass to realize that, and this week, it came from a four-year old.
Have a great weekend.
When I left the Wisconsin Sno-Cone that is the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, I made a vow to myself that I would never, ever complain about the heat again. I believe that vow came to me during our second winter there when we had more than 200 inches of snow, which seems like some kind of typo. I was probably outside snowblowing, the snow I was blowing being blown back into my face by the howling belch of Old Man Winter. The summer after that winter, I had to go to San Antonio in July, which is very much like going to your oven in the middle of cooking a turkey. I stepped out onto the Riverwalk into 99-degree heat and I thanked Flip-Flops-and-Swim-Trunks Jesus that I was sweating my balls off.
Skip the memory DVR forward two years and then back a couple days because we went into the first thirty seconds of the show: I thought I was going to melt on July 4. I was standing—STANDING STILL—and my pores were doing an imitation of a new Kohler showerhead that simulates an overweight Slavic guy sweating like he just ran down the block for more kielbasa (it’s not a very popular model). Then I started moving because Libby was riding her bike in a parade and I learned what real sweating was.
Did I complain? No, I did not. Nor did I during the next two 100-degree days. Nor will I. Because you don’t have to shovel heat, no amount of heat will feel worse than having snow that’s been through a gasoline-powered engine being spit back in your face.
Tunes…
1) “Magazines,” The Hold Steady. I read three magazines regularly: The New Yorker, Esquire, and Entertainment Weekly. I read The New Yorker because it makes me feel smarter. It doesn’t actually make me smarter, but given that even the cartoons are challenging, it’s the brain equivalent of eating Brussels Sprouts—look, the talking dog is making a reference to Proust! It’s not funny, but I’m being so intellectually healthy! Then I cool off with Esquire, aka CosBropolitan. I occasionally read the longer articles, which are quite good, but usually I am reading things like what kind of tie knot matches my shirt collar or sex survey results that show as men get older, they are more open to getting a finger in the cornhole during sexy time. Neither of these types of info is helpful as I work in shorts and a T-shirt and I get enough of the backdoor “you’re number 1!” maneuver during my annual physical. Yet I like to envision myself as a man who dresses in $3000 suits when it’s time to work and is open to new experiences when it’s time to play, were I to have the money and ability to unclench. As for Entertainment Weekly, it’s my pop culture booty call. A couple of sloppy, uninspired tussles per week and I’m fully caught up on what Channing Tatum is doing or which five superheroes should be next to come out of the closet. You don’t get that with The Economist.
2) “Hi-Definition,” Lupe Fiasco (featuring Snoop Dogg and Pooh Bear). I cannot think of a time when “featuring Snoop Dogg” did not make something more entertaining.
3) Neko Case, “I’m An Animal.” I started using Twitter and following Neko Case. I've learned that Neko Case really, really loves animals, to the point where I’m not sure I could hang with Neko Case. She’s great and all, as are animals, but we’d have that awkward moment where she’d invite me to sit on a couch that’s clearly covered in dog hair and I’d be like, I just bought this suit after I saw it in Esquire. She’d say, You’re not really with the U.S. Census Bureau, are you? And I would say no, because the number of parakeets was giving me a case of Hitchcockian dread that was overwhelming my desire to have a conversation with Neko Case, even if it was about the number of dependents in her house.
4) “Girls & Boys,” Blur. There’s a quick way to decide where one sits on the social conservatism fence: Whether the phrase Same-sex marriage will turn America into a big gay orgy seems like the Apocalypse or a way to spice up our country after a couple hundred years of dull, Puritan independence. I say pass the amendment and hand me a bathrobe.
5) “Rio,” Duran Duran. They will be playing a mere mile from my house next month, close enough that I will be able to hear this song and the screams of 40-something women enjoying it. I would be attending, but tickets sold faster than John Taylor snorting a line of coke off a coffee table book of Nagel paintings. Why-yi-yi-yi did I wait so long to try-yi-yi-yi to get tickets? Now I will just to pretend my driveway is the Rio Grande.
6) “The Guns of Brixton,” The Clash. Instantly fired up. There are songs that make me want to run through a brick wall. This is a song that makes me want to tie a red hankie around my face, don a beret, and foment revolution. Unfortunately, when it ends, my bourgeoisie returns with the rhythm of the tide. It is an exhilarating three minutes, however (that’s what TLB said!), and it also does not end in bloodshed or an icepick to the temple.
7) “Soul Shoes,” Graham Parker. Can you order those from Zappos?
8) “Cary On/Questions,” Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. I’m not a big CSN fan because they always seemed hippies for me. I’m not against hippies per se, but hippiedom never appealed that much to me, as I am way too big of a fan of showers and steak. But this is a glorious song. The harmonies, the little bit of rock thrown in, and then the transition to “Questions” that drops a magic mushroom in each year.
9) “Jo Jo’s Jacket,” Stephen Malkmus. The #1 track among rock songs about Yul Brenner. I really miss this version of Stephen Malkmus.
10) “Don’t Speak,” No Doubt. I have always disliked Gwen Stefani’s annunciation. There’s something overly dramatic and also buzzing about it, like an emo kid singing through a kazoo. Yet I like a lot of No Doubt’s faster songs. Maybe I just don’t like kazoo ballads? Also, MOAR SLOMO CONCERT FOOTAGE!
11) “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,” The Band. We celebrated the Fourth of July at my sister-in-law’s house. She has a pool. Libby is just learning to swim, and I watched her spend the afternoon overcoming her fear of water. She started out the day using a noodle to float, but halfway through the barbecue, she ditched any support mechanisms and just jumped in, paddled to the pool ladder, got out, and did it again. The sheer joy on that child's face was a revelation. I have a tendency sometimes to think of life like a car ride where the gas gauge is running down, I'm out of money, and I'm hoping I have enough in the tank to get where I want to go. But watching my four-year old daughter go carpe fucking diem on that pool really stuck with me. Here I was, being WARM, drinking and eating, and spending the day with loved ones. What more do I need? And isn't this the point of everything, the feeling we work so hard to get to that we often don't stop to enjoy it? Sometimes I just need a kick in the ass to realize that, and this week, it came from a four-year old.
Have a great weekend.
Tuesday, July 03, 2012
Top Ten Tuesdays: How are we celebrating the Fourth of July?
10) Getting “Don’t tread on me” tattooed on penis.
9) Wearing our best American flag muumuu.
8) Visiting the burn ward after sparklers ignited the chicken grease on our fingers.
7) Using up the expired dip in our fridges because we’ve got health care, bitches!
6) Playing “America the Beautiful” while piloting a drone attack against a villag…er, terrorist stronghold.
5) Listening to our uncle who went to the local state school on the G.I. Bill, worked at Lockheed Martin, and uses his Social Security to buy E85 for his FlexFuel Chrysler complain about government handouts.
4) Remembering the heroic sacrifices and bravery of the colonists by shoving 50 hot dogs in our pie hole while a crowd cheers.
3) Taking a patriotic step toward next year’s pivotal Supreme Court case: First Amendment v. Pants.
2) Heading to the nearest red state where the fireworks-stand-to-Planned-Parenthood ratio is higher than the maximum altitude of a Mongolian Sky Fucker bottle rocket.
1) Downing 13 beers and belching the Declaration of Independence.
9) Wearing our best American flag muumuu.
8) Visiting the burn ward after sparklers ignited the chicken grease on our fingers.
7) Using up the expired dip in our fridges because we’ve got health care, bitches!
6) Playing “America the Beautiful” while piloting a drone attack against a villag…er, terrorist stronghold.
5) Listening to our uncle who went to the local state school on the G.I. Bill, worked at Lockheed Martin, and uses his Social Security to buy E85 for his FlexFuel Chrysler complain about government handouts.
4) Remembering the heroic sacrifices and bravery of the colonists by shoving 50 hot dogs in our pie hole while a crowd cheers.
3) Taking a patriotic step toward next year’s pivotal Supreme Court case: First Amendment v. Pants.
2) Heading to the nearest red state where the fireworks-stand-to-Planned-Parenthood ratio is higher than the maximum altitude of a Mongolian Sky Fucker bottle rocket.
1) Downing 13 beers and belching the Declaration of Independence.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Supreme Court Decision on Health Care Triggers Epidemic of Spontaneous Head Explosions Among Conservatives
CDC says the “batshit crazy” and those participating in anonymous, unprotected “tea parties” most at risk
FREEDOMVILLE – Across the United States, computer screens, smartphones, televisions, and tinfoil hats are awash with blood as the Supreme Court upheld President Obama’s health care mandate as constitutional.
Conservative blogger Michelle Malkin, one of the fiercest opponents to “Obamacare,” was also one of its highest profile victims. After months of crowing that the Supreme Court would “overturn the greatest threat to liberty since Will & Grace,” Ms. Malkin was eagerly live-blogging the decision. “Get ready for a slice of humble pie, traitors,” she typed. Moments later, she wrote, “Wait, what? UGGGGHHH!!!!” Many of her followers became suspicious because that line was much more literate than her usual postings, and they alerted authorities.
Police arrived to find a grisly scene. Ms. Malkin’s body was found at her blood-spattered computer, head gone, her hands still on the “Shift” and “1” keys. Police found no evidence of foul play but were baffled at what happened.
FREEDOMVILLE – Across the United States, computer screens, smartphones, televisions, and tinfoil hats are awash with blood as the Supreme Court upheld President Obama’s health care mandate as constitutional.
Conservative blogger Michelle Malkin, one of the fiercest opponents to “Obamacare,” was also one of its highest profile victims. After months of crowing that the Supreme Court would “overturn the greatest threat to liberty since Will & Grace,” Ms. Malkin was eagerly live-blogging the decision. “Get ready for a slice of humble pie, traitors,” she typed. Moments later, she wrote, “Wait, what? UGGGGHHH!!!!” Many of her followers became suspicious because that line was much more literate than her usual postings, and they alerted authorities.
Police arrived to find a grisly scene. Ms. Malkin’s body was found at her blood-spattered computer, head gone, her hands still on the “Shift” and “1” keys. Police found no evidence of foul play but were baffled at what happened.
Similar scenes appeared at Fox News, the Wall Street Journal, conservative think tanks, country clubs, prep schools, and basements housing most conservative blog offices. Police again noticed no evidence of break in, violence, or insertion of air pumps into ear canals, which had explained an earlier rash of cranial fractures at the conservative Web site Townhall.
However, things came more clearly into focus when police were called to the offices of The National Review. After fielding numerous calls about popping sounds and a horrid stench, authorities walked into a nightmare crime scene. Nearly every staffer lay headless, their computers or phones open to the decision, some in the middle of tweets. Only one person remained alive, writer Jonah Goldberg, who had not yet read about the decision as he in the midst of his morning ritual of masturbating to hentai. After climaxing, Mr. Goldberg walked into the middle of the offices and saw the carnage, collapsing into a fetal heap. An examination of the seat of his pants also revealed him to be the source of the smell.
One veteran police officer noted a striking similarity to an incident that occurred at The National Review after the Brown v. Board of Education ruling. He alerted the Center for Disease Control.
Dr. Richard Scanner, a forensic psychologist assigned by the CDC to examine the evidence, noted that the explosions were the result of a perfect storm of hubris, ignorance, and cognitive dissonance. “What happened is that you had a large number of people who were 100 percent confident this law would be overturned, creating high levels of arrogance, and that arrogance reached explosive levels after being amplified in the right-wing echo chamber. But then the actually ruling came, sending a shockwave through that same echo chamber, and pewwww, it’s like the front row at a Gallagher show.”
Some high-profile conservatives were able to avoid this spontaneous decapitation. Taking a precaution recommended by former head of homeland security Tom Ridge, Fox News host Sean Hannity preemptively wrapped his head in duck tape, which kept his head together, but also led to suffocation. Washington Post columnist and noted golem Charles Krauthammer avoided explosion due to his head being made of stone, although he reported some minor fracturing and a “bit of a migraine.” And former vice-presidential candidate and spokeswoman for the conservative spank-bank industry Sarah Palin appeared to be functioning normally, sending her incomprehensible tweets as normal. Dr. Scanner postulated that Ms. Palin may have been spared due to her brain being “mostly inert gas.”
Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney did not escape so easily, however. Responding to the decision at a press conference, Mr. Romney was only able to say, “1-00-1-00-1,” before there was a loud clicking in his head and his face changed to a Blue Screen of Death. His IT staff are reportedly working on a patch.
There is no word yet whether the health care law will cover spontaneous decapitation.
However, things came more clearly into focus when police were called to the offices of The National Review. After fielding numerous calls about popping sounds and a horrid stench, authorities walked into a nightmare crime scene. Nearly every staffer lay headless, their computers or phones open to the decision, some in the middle of tweets. Only one person remained alive, writer Jonah Goldberg, who had not yet read about the decision as he in the midst of his morning ritual of masturbating to hentai. After climaxing, Mr. Goldberg walked into the middle of the offices and saw the carnage, collapsing into a fetal heap. An examination of the seat of his pants also revealed him to be the source of the smell.
One veteran police officer noted a striking similarity to an incident that occurred at The National Review after the Brown v. Board of Education ruling. He alerted the Center for Disease Control.
Dr. Richard Scanner, a forensic psychologist assigned by the CDC to examine the evidence, noted that the explosions were the result of a perfect storm of hubris, ignorance, and cognitive dissonance. “What happened is that you had a large number of people who were 100 percent confident this law would be overturned, creating high levels of arrogance, and that arrogance reached explosive levels after being amplified in the right-wing echo chamber. But then the actually ruling came, sending a shockwave through that same echo chamber, and pewwww, it’s like the front row at a Gallagher show.”
Some high-profile conservatives were able to avoid this spontaneous decapitation. Taking a precaution recommended by former head of homeland security Tom Ridge, Fox News host Sean Hannity preemptively wrapped his head in duck tape, which kept his head together, but also led to suffocation. Washington Post columnist and noted golem Charles Krauthammer avoided explosion due to his head being made of stone, although he reported some minor fracturing and a “bit of a migraine.” And former vice-presidential candidate and spokeswoman for the conservative spank-bank industry Sarah Palin appeared to be functioning normally, sending her incomprehensible tweets as normal. Dr. Scanner postulated that Ms. Palin may have been spared due to her brain being “mostly inert gas.”
Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney did not escape so easily, however. Responding to the decision at a press conference, Mr. Romney was only able to say, “1-00-1-00-1,” before there was a loud clicking in his head and his face changed to a Blue Screen of Death. His IT staff are reportedly working on a patch.
There is no word yet whether the health care law will cover spontaneous decapitation.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Top Ten Tuesdays: What else is Facebook changing without our permission?
10) Autotagging all of our nip slips.
9) Showing every status update we crosspost to Twitter as, “Cum see my new & improved Facebook pics bit.nip/@reol@s”
8) Making us fans of the U.S. Border Patrol if we set the new required immigration status field to “it’s complicated.”
7) Logging in automatically fires off a message to Tom from MySpace asking why he hasn’t killed himself already.
6) Listing status as “stalking” when checking pictures of our exes.
5) Uploading our personal info to Siri so she can whisper important messages from Facebook’s preferred marketing partners to us while we sleep.
4) Defaulting our Spotify playlist updates to “All Bieber, All The Time.”
3) Changing all Farmville notifications to ask our friends, “Why not purchase a bushel of bountiful Facebook stock?”
2) Autocorrecting any mention of “privacy” to “Zuckerbergaliciousness.”
1) Pretty much every fucking thing every fucking day.
9) Showing every status update we crosspost to Twitter as, “Cum see my new & improved Facebook pics bit.nip/@reol@s”
8) Making us fans of the U.S. Border Patrol if we set the new required immigration status field to “it’s complicated.”
7) Logging in automatically fires off a message to Tom from MySpace asking why he hasn’t killed himself already.
6) Listing status as “stalking” when checking pictures of our exes.
5) Uploading our personal info to Siri so she can whisper important messages from Facebook’s preferred marketing partners to us while we sleep.
4) Defaulting our Spotify playlist updates to “All Bieber, All The Time.”
3) Changing all Farmville notifications to ask our friends, “Why not purchase a bushel of bountiful Facebook stock?”
2) Autocorrecting any mention of “privacy” to “Zuckerbergaliciousness.”
1) Pretty much every fucking thing every fucking day.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Friday Random 11
It’s one more random than 10!
After four-and-a-half years of being Branimaled (Branimauled?), my original Rock Band drums finally broke. One of the pads cracked, and that prompted this discussion between The Lovely Becky and myself:
Me: My Rock Band drums broke.
TLB: (Laughing) You just bought a new drum pedal.
Me: I know, but now the kit actually cracked. Here, look.
TLB: (Notices significant crack) You must really pound the crap out of those drums.
Me: Yeah, but I’ve pounded them for more than four years. I’m surprised this didn’t happen sooner.
TLB: Well, my vagina’s been pounded for longer and that hasn’t broken.
Me: Actually, if you added up the amount of Rock Band minutes versus the actual amount of time we’ve engaged in intercourse, Rock Band might come out on top. Like the other night when you and Libby were gone, I played for two hours.
TLB: (sighs longingly) Two hours….
Yes, being married to me is the gift that keeps on giving. Tunes….
1) “The Once Over Twice,” X. That’s what she said! No, really, that’s what she said in the chorus.
2) “Go-Go Boots,” Drive-By Truckers. I wasn’t sure if anyone under 30 would know what the hell a go-go was, let alone that there were boots specifically for visiting one, but Wikipedia tells me (insert grain of salt) that there is a retro revival of go-go music. Who knew? Unrelated: no matter how many times I read Wikipedia, I will never, ever answer one of their appeals for money. I feel like I should say I’m going to give them $100, and then mail them $100 from the Monopoly bank. That would reflect the value of Wikipedia’s facts.
3) “Stove by a Whale,” Ted Leo & Pharmacists. I loves me some Ted Leo, but much like Moby Dick, this needs more stoving and less whaling (wailing?). I got a fever, and the only cure, is more Ahab!
4) “Old Man (Live),” Neil Young. This is from Live at Massey Hall and features a double-whammy of an intro: Neil Young saying “this is a new song” (imagine being their when a classic song is still in its infancy), and Neil Young actually cracking jokes. I’m sure Neil Young cracks jokes all the time, but I never picture him actually cracking jokes. It’s like Eddie Vedder speaking clearly—yeah, maybe it happens when he tells a waiter he’ll have the fish or when he has to say “Yes” into the phone when he says he wants to speak to a customer-service representative, but it’s hard to imagine.
5) “Highway 61 Revisited,” Bob Dylan. “I don’t always use a whistle in my songs, but when I do, I prefer the silliest whistle in rock history. Stay rocking, my friends.” Of course, I can't find the studio version on YT, but seriously, it is a very silly whistle.
6) “Art of Almost,” Wilco. The Lovely Becky and I are going to see them at a minor league baseball stadium next month. It’s general admission, and the last time I went to a GA stadium show, it was to see Soundgarden/Faith No More/Queensryche/Metallica. As you have probably inferred, that was not recently. That was a show where my buddy Moe and I tried to get close to the stage during the slow part of Faith No More’s “Zombie Eaters,” only to get caught in the mosh when the fast part kicked in. We looked up and saw this huge guy with blood running down his face, as if he had been bitten in the forehead by a zombie eater. We high-tailed it out of there in the most unrock-and-roll fashion possible, although I managed to contain my high-pitched screech of fear that I would be mentioned in an article, “Dashing college student trampled to death during concert and consumed by ravenous crowd” to my inner monologue. Anyway, I suspect the Wilco show will be more tame, although we will be in Chicago’s notoriously suburban western suburbs.
7) “Punch Me Harder,” Superchunk. The conclusion of the NBA season last night means that I got to remove my nut-punch of a Facebook profile picture. I actually had my account open as the seconds ticked down and swapped it out for a picture of this beer bottle. Because after you’ve been pictured wearing a pink-and-white NBA jersey that’s 13 sizes too small for a month, you might be tempted to overcompensate slightly when you replace that photo.
8) “Headknocker,” Foreigner. My brother Tickle informed me that Foreigner—which is now just Mick Jones and a bunch of musical Hessians—will be playing the casino near his house in central Iowa. That’s a show where you will see every kind of denim except skinny jeans.
9) “Cassandra Gemini II,” The Mars Volta. I have no idea what the fuck is going on here. The singer and the guitarist start out shouting at me like Stephen A. Smith trying to tell me something about LeBron James. JESUS H. CHRIST, STOP YELLING, I’M JUST WATCHING THE SCORE TICKER. Then the whole back end of this song turns into some time of laserium seizure that thankfully gets a spoon shoved in its mouth. For as much as I love Rush and especially the fruitiest parts of Rush, I actually don’t like that much progressive music. I tend to have the same reaction I do to Christmas fruitcake: this would be great if it wasn’t for all the goddamned fruit.
10) “To Be Over,” Yes. Oh holy hell. I love the The Yes Album-Fragile-Close to the Edge stretch. Three incredible fucking albums, and I will use my pan flute as a shiv to fight anyone who argues with me. But this…ay carumba. There’s the synth that sounds like a guy rubbing the lips of glasses filled with water (this being 1974, maybe it actually was a guy rubbing the lips of glasses filled with water). Then the singing starts and I feel like I’m riding in the world’s longest elevator to go have a cigar with someone, right after he’s done meeting with Pink Floyd. Something resembling rock guitar shows up briefly, realizes this is not at all his scene, and starts to exit, only to run into and proceed to have an awkward exchange with a pipe organ and an inebriated guy rubbing glasses of water. And then ten minutes later…my goodness, is that the time? I really must be going, I’ve got a meeting with Trevor Rabin at 90:125.
11) “Do You Wanna Hit It?” The Donnas. Some girls finally crash the helmet party, although they have bigger balls than some of the other dudes here (and maybe the Rock Band-loving nerdlinger typing this). I’m also not sure if the question about hitting it is rhetorical, but I’m going to answer no just in case, what with my blood pressure and commitment to monogamy.
Bonus: “I’m Sorry I Love You,” The Magnetic Fields. I know that TLB is not sorry she loves me. However, during the past four years, when she would walk into a room filled with the furious clacka-clacka-clacka of a rhythm-challenged grown man hitting four plastic pads with a set of drum sticks, trying desperately to reach the end of a Who song he’d been trying to beat for two months before the fictional crowd boos him off the stage, just as said man does reach the end successfully and lets out a completely unironic fist pump and war cry of “KEITH FREAKING MOON, BABY!”, I have felt sorry for her that she loves me so much. Although she would just chuckle and let me move on (futilely) to “Won’t Get Fooled Again.” Thanks, baby!
Have a great weekend.
After four-and-a-half years of being Branimaled (Branimauled?), my original Rock Band drums finally broke. One of the pads cracked, and that prompted this discussion between The Lovely Becky and myself:
Me: My Rock Band drums broke.
TLB: (Laughing) You just bought a new drum pedal.
Me: I know, but now the kit actually cracked. Here, look.
TLB: (Notices significant crack) You must really pound the crap out of those drums.
Me: Yeah, but I’ve pounded them for more than four years. I’m surprised this didn’t happen sooner.
TLB: Well, my vagina’s been pounded for longer and that hasn’t broken.
Me: Actually, if you added up the amount of Rock Band minutes versus the actual amount of time we’ve engaged in intercourse, Rock Band might come out on top. Like the other night when you and Libby were gone, I played for two hours.
TLB: (sighs longingly) Two hours….
Yes, being married to me is the gift that keeps on giving. Tunes….
1) “The Once Over Twice,” X. That’s what she said! No, really, that’s what she said in the chorus.
2) “Go-Go Boots,” Drive-By Truckers. I wasn’t sure if anyone under 30 would know what the hell a go-go was, let alone that there were boots specifically for visiting one, but Wikipedia tells me (insert grain of salt) that there is a retro revival of go-go music. Who knew? Unrelated: no matter how many times I read Wikipedia, I will never, ever answer one of their appeals for money. I feel like I should say I’m going to give them $100, and then mail them $100 from the Monopoly bank. That would reflect the value of Wikipedia’s facts.
3) “Stove by a Whale,” Ted Leo & Pharmacists. I loves me some Ted Leo, but much like Moby Dick, this needs more stoving and less whaling (wailing?). I got a fever, and the only cure, is more Ahab!
4) “Old Man (Live),” Neil Young. This is from Live at Massey Hall and features a double-whammy of an intro: Neil Young saying “this is a new song” (imagine being their when a classic song is still in its infancy), and Neil Young actually cracking jokes. I’m sure Neil Young cracks jokes all the time, but I never picture him actually cracking jokes. It’s like Eddie Vedder speaking clearly—yeah, maybe it happens when he tells a waiter he’ll have the fish or when he has to say “Yes” into the phone when he says he wants to speak to a customer-service representative, but it’s hard to imagine.
5) “Highway 61 Revisited,” Bob Dylan. “I don’t always use a whistle in my songs, but when I do, I prefer the silliest whistle in rock history. Stay rocking, my friends.” Of course, I can't find the studio version on YT, but seriously, it is a very silly whistle.
6) “Art of Almost,” Wilco. The Lovely Becky and I are going to see them at a minor league baseball stadium next month. It’s general admission, and the last time I went to a GA stadium show, it was to see Soundgarden/Faith No More/Queensryche/Metallica. As you have probably inferred, that was not recently. That was a show where my buddy Moe and I tried to get close to the stage during the slow part of Faith No More’s “Zombie Eaters,” only to get caught in the mosh when the fast part kicked in. We looked up and saw this huge guy with blood running down his face, as if he had been bitten in the forehead by a zombie eater. We high-tailed it out of there in the most unrock-and-roll fashion possible, although I managed to contain my high-pitched screech of fear that I would be mentioned in an article, “Dashing college student trampled to death during concert and consumed by ravenous crowd” to my inner monologue. Anyway, I suspect the Wilco show will be more tame, although we will be in Chicago’s notoriously suburban western suburbs.
7) “Punch Me Harder,” Superchunk. The conclusion of the NBA season last night means that I got to remove my nut-punch of a Facebook profile picture. I actually had my account open as the seconds ticked down and swapped it out for a picture of this beer bottle. Because after you’ve been pictured wearing a pink-and-white NBA jersey that’s 13 sizes too small for a month, you might be tempted to overcompensate slightly when you replace that photo.
8) “Headknocker,” Foreigner. My brother Tickle informed me that Foreigner—which is now just Mick Jones and a bunch of musical Hessians—will be playing the casino near his house in central Iowa. That’s a show where you will see every kind of denim except skinny jeans.
9) “Cassandra Gemini II,” The Mars Volta. I have no idea what the fuck is going on here. The singer and the guitarist start out shouting at me like Stephen A. Smith trying to tell me something about LeBron James. JESUS H. CHRIST, STOP YELLING, I’M JUST WATCHING THE SCORE TICKER. Then the whole back end of this song turns into some time of laserium seizure that thankfully gets a spoon shoved in its mouth. For as much as I love Rush and especially the fruitiest parts of Rush, I actually don’t like that much progressive music. I tend to have the same reaction I do to Christmas fruitcake: this would be great if it wasn’t for all the goddamned fruit.
10) “To Be Over,” Yes. Oh holy hell. I love the The Yes Album-Fragile-Close to the Edge stretch. Three incredible fucking albums, and I will use my pan flute as a shiv to fight anyone who argues with me. But this…ay carumba. There’s the synth that sounds like a guy rubbing the lips of glasses filled with water (this being 1974, maybe it actually was a guy rubbing the lips of glasses filled with water). Then the singing starts and I feel like I’m riding in the world’s longest elevator to go have a cigar with someone, right after he’s done meeting with Pink Floyd. Something resembling rock guitar shows up briefly, realizes this is not at all his scene, and starts to exit, only to run into and proceed to have an awkward exchange with a pipe organ and an inebriated guy rubbing glasses of water. And then ten minutes later…my goodness, is that the time? I really must be going, I’ve got a meeting with Trevor Rabin at 90:125.
11) “Do You Wanna Hit It?” The Donnas. Some girls finally crash the helmet party, although they have bigger balls than some of the other dudes here (and maybe the Rock Band-loving nerdlinger typing this). I’m also not sure if the question about hitting it is rhetorical, but I’m going to answer no just in case, what with my blood pressure and commitment to monogamy.
Bonus: “I’m Sorry I Love You,” The Magnetic Fields. I know that TLB is not sorry she loves me. However, during the past four years, when she would walk into a room filled with the furious clacka-clacka-clacka of a rhythm-challenged grown man hitting four plastic pads with a set of drum sticks, trying desperately to reach the end of a Who song he’d been trying to beat for two months before the fictional crowd boos him off the stage, just as said man does reach the end successfully and lets out a completely unironic fist pump and war cry of “KEITH FREAKING MOON, BABY!”, I have felt sorry for her that she loves me so much. Although she would just chuckle and let me move on (futilely) to “Won’t Get Fooled Again.” Thanks, baby!
Have a great weekend.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Friday, June 15, 2012
Friday Random 11
It’s one more random than 10!
It’s Rush week. No, not the week where a bunch of college bros engage in lobotomized hazing rituals that involve alcohol poisoning and various levels of butt play. A week where three Canadians descend from whatever passes for Mount Olympus in Canadian mythology and deliver a new disc of Songs from the Holy Trinity.
The album, Clockwork Angels, was released Tuesday, and I marched off to an actual store to buy a compact disc and went home to play it in a stereo system. That combination of things made me feel even older than getting a newspaper delivered to my driveway every day (the way God intended us to get the news).
It just so happened that The Lovely Becky and Libby were gone on Tuesday. Now, I love my wife and my daughter, but they hate Rush. If you ask Libby if she likes Rush, she says, “I HATE RUSH.” That it’s said in an adorable four-year-old voice doesn’t make it any less painful, and my wife, who I love dearly, cackles every time she hears that, knowing her Bathory-esque murder of Rush appreciation in our daughter has been successful. So, normally, I would be relegated to listening to this new album in the basement on my computer. But a night of abdication by the queen and princess meant I had control of the stereo upstairs. I threw on the CD, sat back, and listened.
I had a flashback to being in the eighth grade and buying Grace Under Pressure on cassette. It was the first album I ever bought on a release day, and I retreated to my room, threw it into my boom box, threw on my headphones that looked like two halves of an old McDonald’s Styrofoam Big Mac container strapped to my ears, and just listened. Over and over again. Side one, flip, side two, flip, repeat until dinner time, then again until bed time.
I got through the album twice. It won’t make my daughter say, “I LOVE RUSH,” but as someone who has been a Rush fan for 30 years, it’s a great album. With Rush pushing 60, it also makes me wonder if there will be another new Rush album. That makes me a little sad, but also glad that I got to savor it on release day.
Okay, Rush crush over, time for tunes.
1) “My Generation (Live),” The Who. Why not start the weekend with a 15-minute extended jam of the most rock and roll song ever recorded? In fact, if I could only take one album with me to a desert island, I might have to take Live at Leeds. Partly because it’s the greatest recorded rock performance of all time. Seriously, if you were to ask, “How much more rock and roll could this performance get?” the answer would be, “None.” Also, I would have a really hard time picking one Rush album.
2) “Summer Babe (Winter Vision),” Pavement. A fantastic song that I have played hundreds of times, and yet I have absolutely no idea what the lyrics mean. I wonder if Stephen Malkmus even knows.
3) “Go Ahead,” Rilo Kiley. I like them more plugged in than unplugged like they are here. This almost feels like it would be used in a Jetta commercial. I don’t even mean that disparagingly, because I discovered Nick Drake because of Volkswagen advertising. And, whoah, it was used in a VW ad in France!
4) “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You,” Led Zeppelin. My brother Tickle was in town last weekend, which resulted in drunken poker with some of the Vegas gang. We wanted some music and were not happy with the satellite radio selections we were getting, so I tried to pick an album everyone would dig. You can almost never go wrong playing the first Zeppelin album with a group of white guys, especially white ones between the ages of 30-41. It’s not overplayed like IV, it’s doesn’t have some random piece of bongwater like “The Crunge” that splashes you in the face, and it can get quiet and soft without slipping into ballad territory, which would just be odd to play with a group of guys. I couldn’t imagine saying, “Let me find something to play during the poker game,” and then having Extreme’s “More Than Words” start. Although that would be funny as hell, so I probably will use that during our fantasy football draft this year.
5) “Porchlight,” Neko Case. It’s funny to hear how much twang she injects into her early solo stuff. She almost sounds like Lurleen Lumpkin. It makes me wonder if that’s her real Virginia accent and she’s worked hard at sounding more Vancouverish with The New Pornographers, or if she’s acting the way I do when I add a little Superfan accent whenever I talk about Da Bears.
6) “Fast and Loose,” Motorhead. Along with the new Rush, I’ve been playing Japandroids Celebration Rock a lot. I still have a teenager’s interest in learning about bands I really get into, so after I picked up the new Japandroids, I was reading articles and watching videos about them. There was one interview of them from SXSW 2010, and they were asked which bands they were excited to see. Their lead singer not only answered, “Motorhead,” but that he saw them two nights in a row. He sang the praises of how Lemmy outrocked kids a third of his age, and this after Lemmy has spent a lifetime taking crank and other drugs you’ve never seen anyone take because you don’t hang out with bikers. That's what indie rock needs: more Motorhead appreciation.
7) “Someday I Will Treat You Good,” Sparklehorse. I got this from a friend years ago yet have never really listened to it. Damn, this is really good. I love when I get an iTunes surprise.
8) “Spiral Shadow,” Kylessa. They use two drummers, which is what most bands would need to do the work of one Neil Peart. I do really like this band, and the two drummers add a lot of percussive depth and/or womp. However, they aren’t quite in the same league as the best two-drummer attack of all time: Animal and Buddy Rich.
9) “Sunday Bloody Sunday (Live),” U2. Seeing a concert at Red Rocks is on my bucket list. Ideally, I would be able to take my Mr. Fusion-powered DeLorean back in time to see this concert, with a flag-waving Bono making sincerity and even mullets seem cool. I don’t even think Jesus could make those two things seem cool now.
This was a real problem. In fact, I wondered if we could still be friends. Why would someone who is not from Miami, a rapper, a member of LeBron’s entourage, or over the age of nine root for LeBron? It was the sports equivalent of rooting for Germany during the invasion of Poland. We talked some more, and we figured out that his wife—who watches almost no NBA games—hates LeBron James. Now, there is nothing wrong with hating LeBron James as a sports fan, because as a sports figure, LeBron is terrible. But he’s not a terrible person like, say, Tiger Woods. In fact, he’s probably less of a dick than Michael Jordan was, it’s just that Jordan was a master at hiding his dirty laundry. Really it was a case of him getting annoyed that his wife had this unvested hatred of LeBron, so his brain decided to take a contrary position, both as a counterbalance and also because it is fun to have opinions that annoy your spouse. After all, you have to keep things interesting if you’re going to stay married, and conflict is the basis of all interesting narratives.
Of course, this doesn’t excuse his rooting for LeBron. I commented that it was funny that he was having this argument at home as his wedding anniversary approached, and then remarked that it was also the anniversary of the O.J. Bronco chase, which happened the night before he got married. “Hey, I never asked you this,” I said, “but how happy were you when O.J. got off?” Because making your friends wear a girl’s NBA jerseys or asking them if they also root for despised wife-murderers who escape justice is how guys keep their friendships interesting.
11) “Danny Boy,” Johnny Cash. Amazing but way too fucking depressing to end this. In the spirit of the U.S. Open, I’ll take a mulligan.
11) Some audio atrocity from Dream Theater. Goddamn, I really need to delete this shit sandwich from my collection. Okay, I’ll take a drop next to the water.
11) “Drive Somewhere,” The Vulgar Boatmen. There we go. These guys are a great overlooked band from the late 80s who wrote that kind of jangle pop that conveyed a sliver of sun peeking through the window of a dark corner bar where you were already on your third double of bourbon at 2:30 in the afternoon, with no stop sign in sight because you had made a wrong turn onto a lonely road. Sure, it’s depressing, but at least it’s sunny.
Have a great weekend.
It’s Rush week. No, not the week where a bunch of college bros engage in lobotomized hazing rituals that involve alcohol poisoning and various levels of butt play. A week where three Canadians descend from whatever passes for Mount Olympus in Canadian mythology and deliver a new disc of Songs from the Holy Trinity.
The album, Clockwork Angels, was released Tuesday, and I marched off to an actual store to buy a compact disc and went home to play it in a stereo system. That combination of things made me feel even older than getting a newspaper delivered to my driveway every day (the way God intended us to get the news).
It just so happened that The Lovely Becky and Libby were gone on Tuesday. Now, I love my wife and my daughter, but they hate Rush. If you ask Libby if she likes Rush, she says, “I HATE RUSH.” That it’s said in an adorable four-year-old voice doesn’t make it any less painful, and my wife, who I love dearly, cackles every time she hears that, knowing her Bathory-esque murder of Rush appreciation in our daughter has been successful. So, normally, I would be relegated to listening to this new album in the basement on my computer. But a night of abdication by the queen and princess meant I had control of the stereo upstairs. I threw on the CD, sat back, and listened.
I had a flashback to being in the eighth grade and buying Grace Under Pressure on cassette. It was the first album I ever bought on a release day, and I retreated to my room, threw it into my boom box, threw on my headphones that looked like two halves of an old McDonald’s Styrofoam Big Mac container strapped to my ears, and just listened. Over and over again. Side one, flip, side two, flip, repeat until dinner time, then again until bed time.
I got through the album twice. It won’t make my daughter say, “I LOVE RUSH,” but as someone who has been a Rush fan for 30 years, it’s a great album. With Rush pushing 60, it also makes me wonder if there will be another new Rush album. That makes me a little sad, but also glad that I got to savor it on release day.
Okay, Rush crush over, time for tunes.
1) “My Generation (Live),” The Who. Why not start the weekend with a 15-minute extended jam of the most rock and roll song ever recorded? In fact, if I could only take one album with me to a desert island, I might have to take Live at Leeds. Partly because it’s the greatest recorded rock performance of all time. Seriously, if you were to ask, “How much more rock and roll could this performance get?” the answer would be, “None.” Also, I would have a really hard time picking one Rush album.
2) “Summer Babe (Winter Vision),” Pavement. A fantastic song that I have played hundreds of times, and yet I have absolutely no idea what the lyrics mean. I wonder if Stephen Malkmus even knows.
3) “Go Ahead,” Rilo Kiley. I like them more plugged in than unplugged like they are here. This almost feels like it would be used in a Jetta commercial. I don’t even mean that disparagingly, because I discovered Nick Drake because of Volkswagen advertising. And, whoah, it was used in a VW ad in France!
4) “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You,” Led Zeppelin. My brother Tickle was in town last weekend, which resulted in drunken poker with some of the Vegas gang. We wanted some music and were not happy with the satellite radio selections we were getting, so I tried to pick an album everyone would dig. You can almost never go wrong playing the first Zeppelin album with a group of white guys, especially white ones between the ages of 30-41. It’s not overplayed like IV, it’s doesn’t have some random piece of bongwater like “The Crunge” that splashes you in the face, and it can get quiet and soft without slipping into ballad territory, which would just be odd to play with a group of guys. I couldn’t imagine saying, “Let me find something to play during the poker game,” and then having Extreme’s “More Than Words” start. Although that would be funny as hell, so I probably will use that during our fantasy football draft this year.
5) “Porchlight,” Neko Case. It’s funny to hear how much twang she injects into her early solo stuff. She almost sounds like Lurleen Lumpkin. It makes me wonder if that’s her real Virginia accent and she’s worked hard at sounding more Vancouverish with The New Pornographers, or if she’s acting the way I do when I add a little Superfan accent whenever I talk about Da Bears.
6) “Fast and Loose,” Motorhead. Along with the new Rush, I’ve been playing Japandroids Celebration Rock a lot. I still have a teenager’s interest in learning about bands I really get into, so after I picked up the new Japandroids, I was reading articles and watching videos about them. There was one interview of them from SXSW 2010, and they were asked which bands they were excited to see. Their lead singer not only answered, “Motorhead,” but that he saw them two nights in a row. He sang the praises of how Lemmy outrocked kids a third of his age, and this after Lemmy has spent a lifetime taking crank and other drugs you’ve never seen anyone take because you don’t hang out with bikers. That's what indie rock needs: more Motorhead appreciation.
7) “Someday I Will Treat You Good,” Sparklehorse. I got this from a friend years ago yet have never really listened to it. Damn, this is really good. I love when I get an iTunes surprise.
8) “Spiral Shadow,” Kylessa. They use two drummers, which is what most bands would need to do the work of one Neil Peart. I do really like this band, and the two drummers add a lot of percussive depth and/or womp. However, they aren’t quite in the same league as the best two-drummer attack of all time: Animal and Buddy Rich.
9) “Sunday Bloody Sunday (Live),” U2. Seeing a concert at Red Rocks is on my bucket list. Ideally, I would be able to take my Mr. Fusion-powered DeLorean back in time to see this concert, with a flag-waving Bono making sincerity and even mullets seem cool. I don’t even think Jesus could make those two things seem cool now.
10) “Humming,” Portishead. My friend and source of my current Facebook shame Tom called me yesterday. He was suffering from a very embarrassing dilemma. Not erectile dysfunction (or, at least, he didn’t mention that). Not an existential crisis. No, he found himself reluctantly, inexplicably, uncontrollably, just a little bit…rooting for LeBron James. “Why am I doing this?” he asked me. “I need your help in figuring this out.”
This was a real problem. In fact, I wondered if we could still be friends. Why would someone who is not from Miami, a rapper, a member of LeBron’s entourage, or over the age of nine root for LeBron? It was the sports equivalent of rooting for Germany during the invasion of Poland. We talked some more, and we figured out that his wife—who watches almost no NBA games—hates LeBron James. Now, there is nothing wrong with hating LeBron James as a sports fan, because as a sports figure, LeBron is terrible. But he’s not a terrible person like, say, Tiger Woods. In fact, he’s probably less of a dick than Michael Jordan was, it’s just that Jordan was a master at hiding his dirty laundry. Really it was a case of him getting annoyed that his wife had this unvested hatred of LeBron, so his brain decided to take a contrary position, both as a counterbalance and also because it is fun to have opinions that annoy your spouse. After all, you have to keep things interesting if you’re going to stay married, and conflict is the basis of all interesting narratives.
Of course, this doesn’t excuse his rooting for LeBron. I commented that it was funny that he was having this argument at home as his wedding anniversary approached, and then remarked that it was also the anniversary of the O.J. Bronco chase, which happened the night before he got married. “Hey, I never asked you this,” I said, “but how happy were you when O.J. got off?” Because making your friends wear a girl’s NBA jerseys or asking them if they also root for despised wife-murderers who escape justice is how guys keep their friendships interesting.
11) “Danny Boy,” Johnny Cash. Amazing but way too fucking depressing to end this. In the spirit of the U.S. Open, I’ll take a mulligan.
11) Some audio atrocity from Dream Theater. Goddamn, I really need to delete this shit sandwich from my collection. Okay, I’ll take a drop next to the water.
11) “Drive Somewhere,” The Vulgar Boatmen. There we go. These guys are a great overlooked band from the late 80s who wrote that kind of jangle pop that conveyed a sliver of sun peeking through the window of a dark corner bar where you were already on your third double of bourbon at 2:30 in the afternoon, with no stop sign in sight because you had made a wrong turn onto a lonely road. Sure, it’s depressing, but at least it’s sunny.
Have a great weekend.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Top Ten Wednesdays: How did we celebrate the release of the new Rush album?
Special Spirit of Streaming Radio Edition!
XII. Remixed the track order using rolls from our 12-sided die.
XI. Discovered that the new album synchronizes perfectly with the movie Strange Brew.
X. Wrote fan fiction about the actual fiction that accompanies the album.
IX. Slappa’d sum bass.
VIII. Waxed our handlebar mustache, slipped into our most comfortable kimono, and lubed our ears.
VI. Composed a concept album about a young man looking for a woman who’s really into concept albums.
V. Answered every question anyone asked us by screeching, “YEAH, OH YEAH!”
IV. Filled a five-gallon drum full of Tim Horton’s and put on an adult diaper before playing all 20 studio albums in a row.
III. Tried converting our MP3 to 8-track.
II. Noted the irony that the current economy allowed us to recreate the conditions of listening to Rush when we were teenagers: being unemployed and living with our parents.
I. Spent the day with the album on repeat and an extended drum solo in our pants.
XII. Remixed the track order using rolls from our 12-sided die.
XI. Discovered that the new album synchronizes perfectly with the movie Strange Brew.
X. Wrote fan fiction about the actual fiction that accompanies the album.
IX. Slappa’d sum bass.
VIII. Waxed our handlebar mustache, slipped into our most comfortable kimono, and lubed our ears.
VI. Composed a concept album about a young man looking for a woman who’s really into concept albums.
V. Answered every question anyone asked us by screeching, “YEAH, OH YEAH!”
IV. Filled a five-gallon drum full of Tim Horton’s and put on an adult diaper before playing all 20 studio albums in a row.
III. Tried converting our MP3 to 8-track.
II. Noted the irony that the current economy allowed us to recreate the conditions of listening to Rush when we were teenagers: being unemployed and living with our parents.
I. Spent the day with the album on repeat and an extended drum solo in our pants.
Tuesday, June 05, 2012
Top Ten Tuesdays: What new videogames are we unveiling at E3?
Special extra lives edition!
15) Kinect Karma Sutra (lotion sold separately)
14) Call of Duty: Drone Ops
15) Kinect Karma Sutra (lotion sold separately)
14) Call of Duty: Drone Ops
13)
SuperPAC-Man (requires 10,000,000 Microsoft Points to play)
12) Tomb Raider: Girl Gone Wild
11) Artisan Pong (available exclusively in Brooklyn arcades)
10) Angry Words With People We Thought Were Our Friends
9) Madden: NFL Bounty Hunter
8) Dong Pic Construction Kit (require Twitter account)
7) Diablo IV: Quest for the Working Server
6) Turdwaffle II: The Turdening (beta available in Wisconsin; national release coming soon)
5) Sim Jobs (supplies limited and going down the drain fast)
4) Battleship: The Game of the Movie of the Game
3) Rock Band 4: Music Lessons (Teacher sold separately)
2) Resident Evil : Florida
1) The Videogame Industry Is Stuck in a Creative Rut and Headed Toward Obsolescence 6
12) Tomb Raider: Girl Gone Wild
11) Artisan Pong (available exclusively in Brooklyn arcades)
10) Angry Words With People We Thought Were Our Friends
9) Madden: NFL Bounty Hunter
8) Dong Pic Construction Kit (require Twitter account)
7) Diablo IV: Quest for the Working Server
6) Turdwaffle II: The Turdening (beta available in Wisconsin; national release coming soon)
5) Sim Jobs (supplies limited and going down the drain fast)
4) Battleship: The Game of the Movie of the Game
3) Rock Band 4: Music Lessons (Teacher sold separately)
2) Resident Evil : Florida
1) The Videogame Industry Is Stuck in a Creative Rut and Headed Toward Obsolescence 6
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Official Application for Republican Vice Presidential Candidates
Name: _________________________________________________
Date of birth: _____________
Date your political ambition died: ___________________
Race (skip if already white):
__ Black (please turn over and describe how you are non-threatening)
__ Mexican (include copy of birth certificate/green card/audio clip proving you don’t over-annunciate Spanish words when speaking English)
__ Oriental (please turn over and translate this phrase into Chinese: “Can we borrow a trillion dollars, comrade?”)
__ Arab (stay where you are and don’t move, dirtbag)
__ Indian (hi, Bobby!)
Gender
__ Male
__ Female (please attach photo, preferably in bikini or sexy librarian attire)
Age group:
__ 35-45
__ 46-59
__ LX-LXXXIX
Religion:
__ Christian
Marital status:
__ Single (notorious womanizer)
__ Single (notorious wide stancer)
__ Married (will your spouse hug you in public without monetary incentives Y/N)
__ Divorced (will your former spouse be revealing embarrassing sexual preferences in a forthcoming memoir Y/N)
Have you served in the military?
__ Hoo-ah!
__ No, but I’ve played Call of Duty
__ No, but I have no problem sending soldiers to die to keep gas under five bucks a gallon
How would you best describe your brand of conservatism? (Check one)
__ Profit-driven fiscal conservative
__ Prophet-driven social conservative
__ Jingoistic
__ Dittohead-istic
__ 50 shades of white male patriarchy
__ Tinfoil-wrapped
__ Overcompensating for some personal shit you really don’t want to know about
__ 100% pure batshit crazy
How are you qualified to serve as Vice President?
__ Was once told to go fuck myself by Dick Cheney
__ Have watched every episode of Veep twice
__ Can spell “potato”
__ An expert at speaking only when spoken to
Date of birth: _____________
Date your political ambition died: ___________________
Race (skip if already white):
__ Black (please turn over and describe how you are non-threatening)
__ Mexican (include copy of birth certificate/green card/audio clip proving you don’t over-annunciate Spanish words when speaking English)
__ Oriental (please turn over and translate this phrase into Chinese: “Can we borrow a trillion dollars, comrade?”)
__ Arab (stay where you are and don’t move, dirtbag)
__ Indian (hi, Bobby!)
Gender
__ Male
__ Female (please attach photo, preferably in bikini or sexy librarian attire)
Age group:
__ 35-45
__ 46-59
__ LX-LXXXIX
Religion:
__ Christian
Marital status:
__ Single (notorious womanizer)
__ Single (notorious wide stancer)
__ Married (will your spouse hug you in public without monetary incentives Y/N)
__ Divorced (will your former spouse be revealing embarrassing sexual preferences in a forthcoming memoir Y/N)
Have you served in the military?
__ Hoo-ah!
__ No, but I’ve played Call of Duty
__ No, but I have no problem sending soldiers to die to keep gas under five bucks a gallon
How would you best describe your brand of conservatism? (Check one)
__ Profit-driven fiscal conservative
__ Prophet-driven social conservative
__ Jingoistic
__ Dittohead-istic
__ 50 shades of white male patriarchy
__ Tinfoil-wrapped
__ Overcompensating for some personal shit you really don’t want to know about
__ 100% pure batshit crazy
How are you qualified to serve as Vice President?
__ Was once told to go fuck myself by Dick Cheney
__ Have watched every episode of Veep twice
__ Can spell “potato”
__ An expert at speaking only when spoken to
__ Always indicted, never convicted
__ Facebook friends with Koch Brothers
__ Could hit Russia from my house with one of the rocks from my head
__ Is this a trick question?
How would you be willing to serve this administration? (Check all that apply)
__ Sounding board
__ Dartboard
__ Scapegoat
__ Lap dog
__ Lap warmer
__ Whipping boy
__ Punching bag
__ Fall guy
__ Alibi
__ Food tester
__ Drinking buddy
__ Wife-swapper
__ Is this a trick question?
How would you be willing to serve this administration? (Check all that apply)
__ Sounding board
__ Dartboard
__ Scapegoat
__ Lap dog
__ Lap warmer
__ Whipping boy
__ Punching bag
__ Fall guy
__ Alibi
__ Food tester
__ Drinking buddy
__ Wife-swapper
__ Body remover
__ Mouthpiece for the president (rhetorical)
__ Mouthpiece for the president (sexual)
__ Making the president look smart by comparison
__ Making the president look attractive by comparison
__ Securing votes of Christians who would normally chase Mormons with pitchforks
__ Securing votes of conservatives who wear American-flag zubaz pants
__ Mouthpiece for the president (rhetorical)
__ Mouthpiece for the president (sexual)
__ Making the president look smart by comparison
__ Making the president look attractive by comparison
__ Securing votes of Christians who would normally chase Mormons with pitchforks
__ Securing votes of conservatives who wear American-flag zubaz pants
__ Being a comforting presence at funerals for B-list heads of state
__ Being a vital member of the president’s cabinet because of ability to make really great sandwiches
__ Sorting President’s Daily Briefs by appearance of words “imminent,” “dire,” “swarthy,” “disastrous for re-election chances,” and “GO BOOM!”
__ Harvesting souls for our Dark Lord
__ Future source of presidential pardon
The president has just been incapacitated, possibly as the first stage of a major terrorist plot. What do you do first?
__ Being a vital member of the president’s cabinet because of ability to make really great sandwiches
__ Sorting President’s Daily Briefs by appearance of words “imminent,” “dire,” “swarthy,” “disastrous for re-election chances,” and “GO BOOM!”
__ Harvesting souls for our Dark Lord
__ Future source of presidential pardon
The president has just been incapacitated, possibly as the first stage of a major terrorist plot. What do you do first?
__ Shit my pants
__ Cream my jeans
__ Ask to see the president and then poke him with a stick to make sure
__ Spike the nuclear football and do a touchdown dance before attacking Iran
__ Appear on television and reassure the American people that I am in control and fully capable of handling this crisis, all while maintaining a straight face
__ Use the event as a pretext to invade Canada and finish what we started in 1812
__ Put my feet on the Oval Office desk, light a cigar, and ask who’s the worthless, unqualified, moronic afterthought now?
__Start prepping for my impeachment
Do you have any of the following liabilities?
__ Desire to voice your opinion
__ Desire to be taken seriously
__ Use racial slurs as terms of endearment with friends who are minorities
__ Use racial slurs as terms of derision with anyone who is a minority
__ Cream my jeans
__ Ask to see the president and then poke him with a stick to make sure
__ Spike the nuclear football and do a touchdown dance before attacking Iran
__ Appear on television and reassure the American people that I am in control and fully capable of handling this crisis, all while maintaining a straight face
__ Use the event as a pretext to invade Canada and finish what we started in 1812
__ Put my feet on the Oval Office desk, light a cigar, and ask who’s the worthless, unqualified, moronic afterthought now?
__Start prepping for my impeachment
Do you have any of the following liabilities?
__ Desire to voice your opinion
__ Desire to be taken seriously
__ Use racial slurs as terms of endearment with friends who are minorities
__ Use racial slurs as terms of derision with anyone who is a minority
__ Believe that military action is a last resort
__ Refuse to take money from lobbyists
__ Refuse to stop spending lobbyist money at sex clubs.
__ Become uncontrollably hungry when handed babies
__ Would be tempted to take advantage of gay marriage if it became legal
__ Refuse to take money from lobbyists
__ Refuse to stop spending lobbyist money at sex clubs.
__ Become uncontrollably hungry when handed babies
__ Would be tempted to take advantage of gay marriage if it became legal
__ Cannot account for all pictures of your junk
__ Enjoy hunting humans for sport
__ Think there could be something to this global warming thing
__ Unable to speak in public without a dose of “confidence juice” from pocket flask
__ Unable to speak in public without providing material for opening bit on Saturday Night Live
__ Have been known to show compassion toward the poor, the unemployed, the employed, women, minorities, immigrants, the sick, the middle class, Wal-Mart greeters, journalists not from News Corp, the gays, and Europeans
Please describe in no more than 50 words how you plan to occupy the ideal vice presidential space between “political albatross” and “makes a strong case for assassinating the president.”
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I hereby swear that I have answered the preceding questions truthfully and honestly, unless the presidential candidate wants me to change any of the responses. (Sign or make mark)
__ Unable to speak in public without a dose of “confidence juice” from pocket flask
__ Unable to speak in public without providing material for opening bit on Saturday Night Live
__ Have been known to show compassion toward the poor, the unemployed, the employed, women, minorities, immigrants, the sick, the middle class, Wal-Mart greeters, journalists not from News Corp, the gays, and Europeans
Please describe in no more than 50 words how you plan to occupy the ideal vice presidential space between “political albatross” and “makes a strong case for assassinating the president.”
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I hereby swear that I have answered the preceding questions truthfully and honestly, unless the presidential candidate wants me to change any of the responses. (Sign or make mark)
_____________________________________
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Top Ten Wednesdays: What are we telling graduates during our commencement speeches?
10) As you enter the workforce, don’t even think of gunning for our jobs. We’ll fucking cut you.
9) The qualities that make you the best and brightest minds of your generation will also make you the most delicious and attractive brains during a zombie apocalypse.
8) Don’t think of it as a student loan. Think of it as a career mortgage. Or, for those of you in the humanities, a bar tab.
7) In these uncertain times, many of you may have to move back home with your parents. Take a word of advice that your dorm roommates should have already given: you don’t masturbate as quietly as you think you do.
6) Hard work, a positive attitude, and a commitment to honesty are no match for really juicy blackmail.
5) Thank you for joining us for this VirtualGraduation for the University of Phoenix. If you don’t receive your diplomas at the end of this Webcast, please check your spam folders.
4) When that old roommate that you haven’t talked to since graduation is on the news because the company he founded, based on that idea you guys had at three in the morning that you both agreed would never work, just got bought out by Google, resist the urge to kill yourself.
3) If your band didn’t suck, you would be on tour instead of here.
2) Here are the things that scream, “Don’t hire me!” in order of increasing unemployableness: real mustache, irony mustache, mullet, wife-beater, face tattoos, any clothing tight enough to reveal genital piercings, any mention of your number of Twitter followers, a poetry degree, a visible parasitic twin.
1) With your lives in front of you, it seems like there are a million possibilities. Try lowering that estimate to three, maybe five, tops.
9) The qualities that make you the best and brightest minds of your generation will also make you the most delicious and attractive brains during a zombie apocalypse.
8) Don’t think of it as a student loan. Think of it as a career mortgage. Or, for those of you in the humanities, a bar tab.
7) In these uncertain times, many of you may have to move back home with your parents. Take a word of advice that your dorm roommates should have already given: you don’t masturbate as quietly as you think you do.
6) Hard work, a positive attitude, and a commitment to honesty are no match for really juicy blackmail.
5) Thank you for joining us for this VirtualGraduation for the University of Phoenix. If you don’t receive your diplomas at the end of this Webcast, please check your spam folders.
4) When that old roommate that you haven’t talked to since graduation is on the news because the company he founded, based on that idea you guys had at three in the morning that you both agreed would never work, just got bought out by Google, resist the urge to kill yourself.
3) If your band didn’t suck, you would be on tour instead of here.
2) Here are the things that scream, “Don’t hire me!” in order of increasing unemployableness: real mustache, irony mustache, mullet, wife-beater, face tattoos, any clothing tight enough to reveal genital piercings, any mention of your number of Twitter followers, a poetry degree, a visible parasitic twin.
1) With your lives in front of you, it seems like there are a million possibilities. Try lowering that estimate to three, maybe five, tops.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Friday Random 11
It’s one more random than 10!
So fish has decided to cut bait on blogging. It is the end of an era, one full of LOLCAT poetry, homoerotic Tom Brady fan fiction, frothing rage at our Coke/Pepsi political system, puns for the whole family, and science. To commemorate his retirement and thank him for his services, we got him a gold watch. He immediately said he had a bus to catch.
It is a shame to see fish go, and to hear others in our little group talking about closing shop. I certainly don’t blog with the same frequency (or entertainment value) that I did in my heyday, when I toured Japanese and European blogs, developed an addiction to comments, and began writing a concept blog about black holes being the glory holes of the gods.
I thought about pulling the plug, but I’d miss it too much. Because what would I do if my wife handed me a Yankee Candle coupon for man candles, with the suggestion that one should be called Testicle Cheese (she’s speaking hypothetically, not from experience, by the way), and I had no blog with which to crap ou-…er, produce two dozen other prospective scents. I have other things vying for my attention and creative energy these days, but I have too many good comments, occasionally funny ideas, and dick jokes to stop now.
Plus, what would I do on Friday afternoons?
1) “Handsome Devil,” The Smiths. This won’t be news to those of you who saw what happened to me on Facebook, but as Jennifer suggested, what I’m about to share demanded cross-posting.
My friend Tom is a Philly sports fan. I am of course a Chicago fan. Over the years, we have had bets when our respective teams meet. This year, the eight-seeded Philly 76ers squared off against the Chicago Bulls in round one of the playoffs. The Bulls were heavily favored, and in the last 30-ish years, an eight has beaten a one seed only three times. So we made a bet: if Philly won, I’d have to wear an NBA jersey of Tom’s choice and make a picture of me wearing it my Facebook profile pic for the remainder of the playoffs. He’d do the same if Philly got swept.
I made this bet before Bulls guard Derrick Rose, by far their best player, blew out his ACL in the waning minutes of the first game. The Bulls won, but it was as bad of an omen as wearing a black cat as a thong. The Bulls went on to lose 4-2. A couple of days later, I received a package. I opened it up and saw white and pink. A women’s jersey. Funny, but no big deal to a man of my gender enlightenment. Except it was a girl’s large. I couldn’t even get it past my neck. After some cutting, I managed to squeeze into it, and this is now what I look like on the hottest stock on the Internet. WARNING: I am about 75 pounds and at least two cup sizes over the maximum inflation pressure for this garment. Some things you can’t unsee.
2) “Madness of an Architect,” High on Fire. Why is it that men insist on humiliating their friends? I don’t think women do that. They may undermine, betray, lie, and give their friends a complex, but they don’t seem as hell bent on making their friends look like a medical glove filled with 50 pounds of custard. Keep in mind, while I was not happy about what I had to wear, I gave Tom a tip of my cap at the creativity behind it and only wish I’d thought of it first.
3) “Gold Guns Girls,” Metric. Also known as the Ron Paul platform.
4) “Private Universe,” Crowded House. I am writing a novel in earnest again. After celebrating the completion of my first-ever novel last spring, I promptly stuck it in the virtual drawer of my hard drive because the main character was all wrong. Two years of isolation, sitting by myself, pounding on a keyboard, only to realize what I was writing wasn’t nearly as good as what I thought. So why not do it again? That sounds perfectly sane, right? Still, I had a very good idea for anpther book. An idea so good, it took nine months of writing to realize what I was doing wrong and figure out how to do it right. This is why writers drink. At the same time, I have dreams of sitting across from Jon Stewart, hearing him talk about my book and realize he actually read at least the first two chapters for reals.
5) “Girl,” Tori Amos. There was a funny joke about Tori Amos and writing in a journal on HBO’s “Girls”—incidentally, I think my book is going to be somewhere between that show and “Veep” in tone. I laughed, but then I realized that it’s probably time to retire Tori Amos jokes. There’s just a point when you have to get new material. Although doing a Butt-Head laugh and saying, “Huh-huh, you said ‘pole’” will never be unfunny for me.
6) “Southern Man,” Neil Young. Forty years later and this song still cuts. I want to stand outside a state courthouse with a boombox over my head blasting this song whenever some dillweed discusses flying the Stars and Bars over a capital building as an homage to Southern heritage. Why not just cut to the chase and hang a noose from the flagpole?
7) “A Chicken With Its Head Cut Off,” The Magnetic Fields. There are plenty of songs about penises in the rock catalog. But how many penis allegories are there?
8) “My Sister,” The Juliana Hatfield Three. Speaking of HBO’s “Girls,” this song always reminds me of when I got out of school and moved to New York. I was lucky and found a job in three weeks. None of this LinkedIn or internship stuff. I just got married to TLB (who already had a job in NYC) and figured I’d find work like the good, naïve, Midwestern hayseed I was. And only someone that dumb would get that lucky. Now there’s no way I’d even relocate to another part of town without an intensive Yelp review vetting of local restaurants. Anyway, we lived in Jersey for the first few months, and I made mixtapes to get me through the commute. I loved cranking this when I was heading home on a Friday.
9) “Subterranean Lovesick Alien,” Radiohead. I’m not sure, but OK Computer may have been the first album I bought because of Pitchfork, back when they could be infuriatingly entertaining instead of infuriatingly boring.
10) “Marry Me,” Drive-By Truckers. TLB and I are approaching eighteen years of matrimonial bliss this month. Yeah, I know, barf, but it’s true. I don’t know the secrets to a successful marriage, because we’re all snowflakes and one person’s Love Potion No. 9 (the magical potion) is another person’s Love Potion No. 9 (the Sandra Bullock movie, which is like having an outbreak of herpes while in divorce court). But there are two things that I think have to be in a marriage for it to work for men. First, you have to want to sleep with your wife. The older I get, the more I’m amazed at how many married men I’ve met who treat their wives’ hoo-hahs like a Christmas stocking that only gets filled once a year. Second, you have to want to talk with your wife. Imagine being on a date, talking with someone who makes you want to look up scores on your phone or shove a breadknife through your ear and not stop until you pull it out the other side. Now imagine seeing that person at happy hour for the rest of your life. It also helps if they buy you a new TV when they sell a book, but that’s not a requirement.
11) “Call Me,” Blondie. Another song introduced to me by Chipmunk Punk. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard Alvin singing about calling a male prostitute. Bet Dave didn’t see that one coming.
Have a good weekend.
So fish has decided to cut bait on blogging. It is the end of an era, one full of LOLCAT poetry, homoerotic Tom Brady fan fiction, frothing rage at our Coke/Pepsi political system, puns for the whole family, and science. To commemorate his retirement and thank him for his services, we got him a gold watch. He immediately said he had a bus to catch.
It is a shame to see fish go, and to hear others in our little group talking about closing shop. I certainly don’t blog with the same frequency (or entertainment value) that I did in my heyday, when I toured Japanese and European blogs, developed an addiction to comments, and began writing a concept blog about black holes being the glory holes of the gods.
I thought about pulling the plug, but I’d miss it too much. Because what would I do if my wife handed me a Yankee Candle coupon for man candles, with the suggestion that one should be called Testicle Cheese (she’s speaking hypothetically, not from experience, by the way), and I had no blog with which to crap ou-…er, produce two dozen other prospective scents. I have other things vying for my attention and creative energy these days, but I have too many good comments, occasionally funny ideas, and dick jokes to stop now.
Plus, what would I do on Friday afternoons?
1) “Handsome Devil,” The Smiths. This won’t be news to those of you who saw what happened to me on Facebook, but as Jennifer suggested, what I’m about to share demanded cross-posting.
My friend Tom is a Philly sports fan. I am of course a Chicago fan. Over the years, we have had bets when our respective teams meet. This year, the eight-seeded Philly 76ers squared off against the Chicago Bulls in round one of the playoffs. The Bulls were heavily favored, and in the last 30-ish years, an eight has beaten a one seed only three times. So we made a bet: if Philly won, I’d have to wear an NBA jersey of Tom’s choice and make a picture of me wearing it my Facebook profile pic for the remainder of the playoffs. He’d do the same if Philly got swept.
2) “Madness of an Architect,” High on Fire. Why is it that men insist on humiliating their friends? I don’t think women do that. They may undermine, betray, lie, and give their friends a complex, but they don’t seem as hell bent on making their friends look like a medical glove filled with 50 pounds of custard. Keep in mind, while I was not happy about what I had to wear, I gave Tom a tip of my cap at the creativity behind it and only wish I’d thought of it first.
3) “Gold Guns Girls,” Metric. Also known as the Ron Paul platform.
4) “Private Universe,” Crowded House. I am writing a novel in earnest again. After celebrating the completion of my first-ever novel last spring, I promptly stuck it in the virtual drawer of my hard drive because the main character was all wrong. Two years of isolation, sitting by myself, pounding on a keyboard, only to realize what I was writing wasn’t nearly as good as what I thought. So why not do it again? That sounds perfectly sane, right? Still, I had a very good idea for anpther book. An idea so good, it took nine months of writing to realize what I was doing wrong and figure out how to do it right. This is why writers drink. At the same time, I have dreams of sitting across from Jon Stewart, hearing him talk about my book and realize he actually read at least the first two chapters for reals.
5) “Girl,” Tori Amos. There was a funny joke about Tori Amos and writing in a journal on HBO’s “Girls”—incidentally, I think my book is going to be somewhere between that show and “Veep” in tone. I laughed, but then I realized that it’s probably time to retire Tori Amos jokes. There’s just a point when you have to get new material. Although doing a Butt-Head laugh and saying, “Huh-huh, you said ‘pole’” will never be unfunny for me.
6) “Southern Man,” Neil Young. Forty years later and this song still cuts. I want to stand outside a state courthouse with a boombox over my head blasting this song whenever some dillweed discusses flying the Stars and Bars over a capital building as an homage to Southern heritage. Why not just cut to the chase and hang a noose from the flagpole?
7) “A Chicken With Its Head Cut Off,” The Magnetic Fields. There are plenty of songs about penises in the rock catalog. But how many penis allegories are there?
8) “My Sister,” The Juliana Hatfield Three. Speaking of HBO’s “Girls,” this song always reminds me of when I got out of school and moved to New York. I was lucky and found a job in three weeks. None of this LinkedIn or internship stuff. I just got married to TLB (who already had a job in NYC) and figured I’d find work like the good, naïve, Midwestern hayseed I was. And only someone that dumb would get that lucky. Now there’s no way I’d even relocate to another part of town without an intensive Yelp review vetting of local restaurants. Anyway, we lived in Jersey for the first few months, and I made mixtapes to get me through the commute. I loved cranking this when I was heading home on a Friday.
9) “Subterranean Lovesick Alien,” Radiohead. I’m not sure, but OK Computer may have been the first album I bought because of Pitchfork, back when they could be infuriatingly entertaining instead of infuriatingly boring.
10) “Marry Me,” Drive-By Truckers. TLB and I are approaching eighteen years of matrimonial bliss this month. Yeah, I know, barf, but it’s true. I don’t know the secrets to a successful marriage, because we’re all snowflakes and one person’s Love Potion No. 9 (the magical potion) is another person’s Love Potion No. 9 (the Sandra Bullock movie, which is like having an outbreak of herpes while in divorce court). But there are two things that I think have to be in a marriage for it to work for men. First, you have to want to sleep with your wife. The older I get, the more I’m amazed at how many married men I’ve met who treat their wives’ hoo-hahs like a Christmas stocking that only gets filled once a year. Second, you have to want to talk with your wife. Imagine being on a date, talking with someone who makes you want to look up scores on your phone or shove a breadknife through your ear and not stop until you pull it out the other side. Now imagine seeing that person at happy hour for the rest of your life. It also helps if they buy you a new TV when they sell a book, but that’s not a requirement.
11) “Call Me,” Blondie. Another song introduced to me by Chipmunk Punk. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard Alvin singing about calling a male prostitute. Bet Dave didn’t see that one coming.
Have a good weekend.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Top Ten Wednesdays: What man-candle scents are we buying?
Special extra manly Yankee Candle aromas edition!
25) Masturbation Weekend
24) AXEcentuate
23) Mancave Musk
22) Trophy Wife
21) I Change My Own Oil
20) Apron Strings
19) Dutch Oven
18) Lamborghini Leather
17) Is That Your Feet?
16) She Left This When She Left Me
15) Butter Shave
14) Laundry Pile
13) It’s Saturday Night, Honey
12) Smell You Later
11) Videogame Chair
10) Skinny Jeans
9) Zubaz Pants
8) Late-Night Burrito
7) Light Until the Viagra Kicks In
6) We’ve Got Wood for Paneling
5) Mountain Dew
4) Oh Shit, My Parents Are Back
3) Corner Bar
2) Testicle Cheese
1) Single, Thin, and Neat
25) Masturbation Weekend
24) AXEcentuate
23) Mancave Musk
22) Trophy Wife
21) I Change My Own Oil
20) Apron Strings
19) Dutch Oven
18) Lamborghini Leather
17) Is That Your Feet?
16) She Left This When She Left Me
15) Butter Shave
14) Laundry Pile
13) It’s Saturday Night, Honey
12) Smell You Later
11) Videogame Chair
10) Skinny Jeans
9) Zubaz Pants
8) Late-Night Burrito
7) Light Until the Viagra Kicks In
6) We’ve Got Wood for Paneling
5) Mountain Dew
4) Oh Shit, My Parents Are Back
3) Corner Bar
2) Testicle Cheese
1) Single, Thin, and Neat
Friday, May 11, 2012
Friday Random 11
It’s one more random than 10!
I really need to do this more than once a month.
1) “Ten Crack Commandments,” Notorious B.I.G. I watched some of the Biggie Behind the Music on VH1 the other night. First, as someone who remembers when VH1 was the place to be if you wanted to see Peter Cetera’s “Glory of Love” video on the hour every hour (100% guaranteed to make your testicles recede or your money back), it’s weird to see that channel chronicling the greatest East Coast-West Coast rap beef of all time. Second, I was riveted because I came in just before Biggie got shot. I know exactly what happens. I'm not even a big Biggie fan. And yet I had to stay tuned in so I could watch accounts of how people knew it was coming and how there’s a little Biggie in all of us (although thankfully not the same way there could be a little Uter in all of us). In fact, Behind the Music is my crack, which I guess makes VH1 Biggie in this scenario. Thank God there’s no Behind the Music channel because I would be unemployed and watching reruns of Milli (or is it Vanilli?) tearfully saying how hard it is to have one’s lip-synching mocked. Bonus video: So much depends/on Adrien Brody/making poets facepalm/beneath a hipster hat/beside the white faculty members.
2) “My Old Cars,” Chris Knight. A few weeks ago, I had the starter in my old car replaced, to the tune of "Better Than a Car Payment (But Not By Much)." The other day I went out to start it and it wouldn’t turn over. I immediately launched into a rant combining outraged consumerism and conspiracy theory (“Those fuckers probably didn’t even replace the starter, because they know I won’t know the difference, the fuckers!”) Jumping the car didn’t help, so I had to tow it out of my driveway, which felt especially embarrassing, like my mechanical ineptitude is being judged by my neighbors instead of random strangers passing me along the side of the road or parking lot. However, I felt a strong possibility that the “new” starter was faulty, which meant it was under warranty, which meant it would get replaced for free AND the shop would have to pay for the tow. I still don’t know why that filled me with such glee, but that’s why they are called feelings and not thinkings. Sure enough, it was not the starter. It was that the gear shift, while in park, was not registering it was in park. What fixed this complex mechanical problem? A little wiggling of the stick (which gets my gearbox out of park—hey-oh!). So I paid $110 to have a mechanic make me feel like a schmuck, and we didn’t even get to discuss my subconscious issues with my father. I hate cars. Love Chris Knight, though, that guy's got a voice more lived in than a VW van that's been parked at a campground for 20 years.
3) “Over and Over,” Neil Young & Crazy Horse. Possibly the only video where a band member is wearing zubaz, There should be a music festival for “and” bands. It could be called Amperbandstand and feature The News, Crazy Horse, The Gang, The Revolution, The (other) Heartbreakers, and a collaboration between Oates & Rakim on a mash-up "You've Lost That Loving Feeling/Paid in Full" that would musically encapsulate the feeling of watching rap documentaries on VH1.
4) “I Want to Know What Love Is,” Foreigner. This is what you sing after being “Hot Blooded” and a “Dirty White Boy” leaves you with herpes. I take this woman to be my wife, for better or for worse, during good times and lip sores.
5) “The Hardest Button to Button,” The White Stripes. I had to work at my company's office this week, which meant wearing pants and a shirt that had buttons, which meant having to button my shirt cuffs. Despite having to do this for more than 20 years, I am like a man with lobster claws whenever I try to button my cuffs. I always tell myself afterward that I should button the cuffs before I put the shirt on, yet always forget to do that, then feel too lazy to actually remove the shirt, instead spending five minutes swearing and wondering why I didn’t pack a polo shirt.
6) “Seven,” Sunny Day Real Estate. A little emo fits my post-Chicago-Bulls-collapse mood. I know it is extremely dumb to get emotionally attached to sports (“but they’re our overpaid millionaires!”), but again, feelings vs. thinkings. I was really crushed by the Bulls getting bounced in the first-round of the playoffs and the knee injury to Derrick Rose. As the game finished last night, I stood in my living room, like I’d just watched the death of a president. I was less upset at hearing JP Morgan's CEO saying that there needs to be less oversight in the banking industry so that banks are free to ignore divisions that have the potential to lose billions of dollars. So, yes, I am definitely part of what is wrong with this country.
7) “The World Has Turned and Left Me Here,” Weezer. It won’t be long before Weezer’s debut gets a 20th anniversary release, which will make me feel even older than seeing Chandler wearing a sweater vest with a banded collar shirt on Friends reruns.
8) “Short Bursts,” We Were Promised Jetpacks. iTunes is apparently upset today, too, and wants to just write in its journal while having a good cry before making a mixtape that SHE will never hear because she’s into HIM now.
9) “Blood on the Motorway,” DJ Shadow. This reminds me of a discussion I had with a friend of mine about Spotify. I am not currently using Spotify. My friend asked me why. I had no real answer—why wouldn’t an obsessive music nerd like myself want to be able to stream ANYTHING straight to my ears? The answer I gave was that I was “old school” and liked to own my music, even though I buy most of my annual music purchases in the form of MP3s. It’s like I can sort of embrace the changing format of music delivery, but can’t let go of past behavior. I need that bridge to the way I've always done things. DJ Shadow was like that for me. He was the first artist I ever bought from a genre that would have “-hop” in it, but he is also very proggy in his construction, especially with this nine-minute epic that features some lighters-in-the-air-at-the-state-fair vocals from someone who is most definitely Caucasian and likely wearing leather pants while sporting feathered hair. So the short answer to why I don’t use Spotify is that I am a wildly inconsistent individual who occasionally displays more nostalgia than a Republican whose concept of family values is Leave It To Beaver because, dag gum it, that's how things were when he was growing up. Unrelated: OH FACK, THIS SONG IS FACKING AMAZING.
10) “If You Leave,” Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. My GOP-level love of the 80s (i.e. Reagan is the greatest president evah because he ended the Cold War with three jellybeans and a half-tube of Brylcreem) also makes me like this song more than it probably merits. At the same time, grooving to this makes it impossible to feel more a level of masculinity higher than "Duckie." I guarantee he wouldn’t have attacked James Spader if this had been playing. Or he would have tickled him instead of throwing a punch.
11) “Love for Long,” Jenny Owen Youngs. I’m not one of those music cobags who needs to like bands no one ever heard of. I will gladly sing “Tom Sawyer” with 10,000 other nerds while air drumming after the guitar solo. If I like something, I don’t care if a billion other people do, too. At the same time, I love running into something under the radar, the unexpected discovery of an album I wind up playing to death. That’s what happened when I happened upon An Unwavering Band of Light from Jenny Owen Youngs. I was browsing around eMusic, engaged in my monthly bargain hunting, and wound up giving this a listen. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t heard this before—it’s so catchy that it feels like it should be enormous, but good enormous where the collective music intelligence of America rallies around something that is actually good (as opposed to, say, Coldplay). On first listen, I thought this was a little KT Tunstall—which is not bad but not exactly earth shattering. But after a few listens, I noticed that Jenny Owen Youngs sneaks in a lot of black humor into her songs. Even this ostensibly pretty ditty is an ode to a pair of lovers fleeing a murder. It’s good stuff that I never would have found without a lot of curiosity, a little time, and an Internet connection. Sounds like I need to take off the headphones, toss the cassettes aside, and get my ass on Spotify.
I really need to do this more than once a month.
1) “Ten Crack Commandments,” Notorious B.I.G. I watched some of the Biggie Behind the Music on VH1 the other night. First, as someone who remembers when VH1 was the place to be if you wanted to see Peter Cetera’s “Glory of Love” video on the hour every hour (100% guaranteed to make your testicles recede or your money back), it’s weird to see that channel chronicling the greatest East Coast-West Coast rap beef of all time. Second, I was riveted because I came in just before Biggie got shot. I know exactly what happens. I'm not even a big Biggie fan. And yet I had to stay tuned in so I could watch accounts of how people knew it was coming and how there’s a little Biggie in all of us (although thankfully not the same way there could be a little Uter in all of us). In fact, Behind the Music is my crack, which I guess makes VH1 Biggie in this scenario. Thank God there’s no Behind the Music channel because I would be unemployed and watching reruns of Milli (or is it Vanilli?) tearfully saying how hard it is to have one’s lip-synching mocked. Bonus video: So much depends/on Adrien Brody/making poets facepalm/beneath a hipster hat/beside the white faculty members.
2) “My Old Cars,” Chris Knight. A few weeks ago, I had the starter in my old car replaced, to the tune of "Better Than a Car Payment (But Not By Much)." The other day I went out to start it and it wouldn’t turn over. I immediately launched into a rant combining outraged consumerism and conspiracy theory (“Those fuckers probably didn’t even replace the starter, because they know I won’t know the difference, the fuckers!”) Jumping the car didn’t help, so I had to tow it out of my driveway, which felt especially embarrassing, like my mechanical ineptitude is being judged by my neighbors instead of random strangers passing me along the side of the road or parking lot. However, I felt a strong possibility that the “new” starter was faulty, which meant it was under warranty, which meant it would get replaced for free AND the shop would have to pay for the tow. I still don’t know why that filled me with such glee, but that’s why they are called feelings and not thinkings. Sure enough, it was not the starter. It was that the gear shift, while in park, was not registering it was in park. What fixed this complex mechanical problem? A little wiggling of the stick (which gets my gearbox out of park—hey-oh!). So I paid $110 to have a mechanic make me feel like a schmuck, and we didn’t even get to discuss my subconscious issues with my father. I hate cars. Love Chris Knight, though, that guy's got a voice more lived in than a VW van that's been parked at a campground for 20 years.
3) “Over and Over,” Neil Young & Crazy Horse. Possibly the only video where a band member is wearing zubaz, There should be a music festival for “and” bands. It could be called Amperbandstand and feature The News, Crazy Horse, The Gang, The Revolution, The (other) Heartbreakers, and a collaboration between Oates & Rakim on a mash-up "You've Lost That Loving Feeling/Paid in Full" that would musically encapsulate the feeling of watching rap documentaries on VH1.
4) “I Want to Know What Love Is,” Foreigner. This is what you sing after being “Hot Blooded” and a “Dirty White Boy” leaves you with herpes. I take this woman to be my wife, for better or for worse, during good times and lip sores.
5) “The Hardest Button to Button,” The White Stripes. I had to work at my company's office this week, which meant wearing pants and a shirt that had buttons, which meant having to button my shirt cuffs. Despite having to do this for more than 20 years, I am like a man with lobster claws whenever I try to button my cuffs. I always tell myself afterward that I should button the cuffs before I put the shirt on, yet always forget to do that, then feel too lazy to actually remove the shirt, instead spending five minutes swearing and wondering why I didn’t pack a polo shirt.
6) “Seven,” Sunny Day Real Estate. A little emo fits my post-Chicago-Bulls-collapse mood. I know it is extremely dumb to get emotionally attached to sports (“but they’re our overpaid millionaires!”), but again, feelings vs. thinkings. I was really crushed by the Bulls getting bounced in the first-round of the playoffs and the knee injury to Derrick Rose. As the game finished last night, I stood in my living room, like I’d just watched the death of a president. I was less upset at hearing JP Morgan's CEO saying that there needs to be less oversight in the banking industry so that banks are free to ignore divisions that have the potential to lose billions of dollars. So, yes, I am definitely part of what is wrong with this country.
7) “The World Has Turned and Left Me Here,” Weezer. It won’t be long before Weezer’s debut gets a 20th anniversary release, which will make me feel even older than seeing Chandler wearing a sweater vest with a banded collar shirt on Friends reruns.
8) “Short Bursts,” We Were Promised Jetpacks. iTunes is apparently upset today, too, and wants to just write in its journal while having a good cry before making a mixtape that SHE will never hear because she’s into HIM now.
9) “Blood on the Motorway,” DJ Shadow. This reminds me of a discussion I had with a friend of mine about Spotify. I am not currently using Spotify. My friend asked me why. I had no real answer—why wouldn’t an obsessive music nerd like myself want to be able to stream ANYTHING straight to my ears? The answer I gave was that I was “old school” and liked to own my music, even though I buy most of my annual music purchases in the form of MP3s. It’s like I can sort of embrace the changing format of music delivery, but can’t let go of past behavior. I need that bridge to the way I've always done things. DJ Shadow was like that for me. He was the first artist I ever bought from a genre that would have “-hop” in it, but he is also very proggy in his construction, especially with this nine-minute epic that features some lighters-in-the-air-at-the-state-fair vocals from someone who is most definitely Caucasian and likely wearing leather pants while sporting feathered hair. So the short answer to why I don’t use Spotify is that I am a wildly inconsistent individual who occasionally displays more nostalgia than a Republican whose concept of family values is Leave It To Beaver because, dag gum it, that's how things were when he was growing up. Unrelated: OH FACK, THIS SONG IS FACKING AMAZING.
10) “If You Leave,” Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. My GOP-level love of the 80s (i.e. Reagan is the greatest president evah because he ended the Cold War with three jellybeans and a half-tube of Brylcreem) also makes me like this song more than it probably merits. At the same time, grooving to this makes it impossible to feel more a level of masculinity higher than "Duckie." I guarantee he wouldn’t have attacked James Spader if this had been playing. Or he would have tickled him instead of throwing a punch.
11) “Love for Long,” Jenny Owen Youngs. I’m not one of those music cobags who needs to like bands no one ever heard of. I will gladly sing “Tom Sawyer” with 10,000 other nerds while air drumming after the guitar solo. If I like something, I don’t care if a billion other people do, too. At the same time, I love running into something under the radar, the unexpected discovery of an album I wind up playing to death. That’s what happened when I happened upon An Unwavering Band of Light from Jenny Owen Youngs. I was browsing around eMusic, engaged in my monthly bargain hunting, and wound up giving this a listen. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t heard this before—it’s so catchy that it feels like it should be enormous, but good enormous where the collective music intelligence of America rallies around something that is actually good (as opposed to, say, Coldplay). On first listen, I thought this was a little KT Tunstall—which is not bad but not exactly earth shattering. But after a few listens, I noticed that Jenny Owen Youngs sneaks in a lot of black humor into her songs. Even this ostensibly pretty ditty is an ode to a pair of lovers fleeing a murder. It’s good stuff that I never would have found without a lot of curiosity, a little time, and an Internet connection. Sounds like I need to take off the headphones, toss the cassettes aside, and get my ass on Spotify.
Bonus: "Travelin' Band," Creedence Clearwater Revival. This is a great way to head into the weekend in May. I can practically feel the ice cold beer in my hand.
Have a great weekend!
Have a great weekend!
Tuesday, May 01, 2012
Top Ten Tuesdays: Why are we still blogging?
10) For all the chicks.
9) Do not get nearly the same level of positive feedback when we post dick jokes in company e-mails.
8) Just when we think we’re finished with cute pictures of cats with humorously misspelled captions, they pull us back in.
7) Fucking novel refuses to write itself.
6) Comments from virtual friends is a nice change of pace from comments from our imaginary friends.
5) Get much more satisfaction out of writing 1,000 words about how a combination of poor barista service, a parking ticket, a block of Cure songs on Spotify, and a bad sexual experience have made us completely miserable today instead of just posting a picture of a sad clown to Tumblr.
4) Still hoping to take our unpaid talents to the Huffington Post some day.
3) When we said until death us do part, we meant it, and Blogger won't fucking die.
4) Still hoping to take our unpaid talents to the Huffington Post some day.
3) When we said until death us do part, we meant it, and Blogger won't fucking die.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Top Ten Wednesdays: How are we showing that we can relate to the common conservative?
Special extended elbow-patch rubbing edition!
12) Sporting the latest tinfoil hat from Armani’s new Anti-Fed-ora line.
11) Dressing like the Malbaro Man while riding our dressage horses.
10) Getting Social Security expenses under control by cutting all funding for health care, environmental protection, food regulations, and anti-smoking laws.
9) Using only Aqua Net in our hair.
8) Buying a 50lb barrel of Grey Poupon at Costco.
7) Reassuring Evangelical voters that no one supports marriage more than Mormons.
6) Proclaiming how supportive we are of stay-at-home moms, especially when they spend their days dealing with from those promiscuous, unmarried whores who need to drop their bastard kids off at daycare before getting their lazy asses to their nannying jobs at our house.
5) Showing that we support and understand the plight of our troops because we went to battle every day when we were in the trenches at the New York Stock Exchange.
4) Putting “Buy American” bumper stickers on every Cadillac we own.
3) Saying we didn’t need the extra regulation and expense of government-funded mortgage relief when it took us six days to find a buyer for our backup vacation home on Cape Cod.
2) Changing out of our Brooks Brothers slacks and into a pair of Levis before we start talking out of our ass.
12) Sporting the latest tinfoil hat from Armani’s new Anti-Fed-ora line.
11) Dressing like the Malbaro Man while riding our dressage horses.
10) Getting Social Security expenses under control by cutting all funding for health care, environmental protection, food regulations, and anti-smoking laws.
9) Using only Aqua Net in our hair.
8) Buying a 50lb barrel of Grey Poupon at Costco.
7) Reassuring Evangelical voters that no one supports marriage more than Mormons.
6) Proclaiming how supportive we are of stay-at-home moms, especially when they spend their days dealing with from those promiscuous, unmarried whores who need to drop their bastard kids off at daycare before getting their lazy asses to their nannying jobs at our house.
5) Showing that we support and understand the plight of our troops because we went to battle every day when we were in the trenches at the New York Stock Exchange.
4) Putting “Buy American” bumper stickers on every Cadillac we own.
3) Saying we didn’t need the extra regulation and expense of government-funded mortgage relief when it took us six days to find a buyer for our backup vacation home on Cape Cod.
2) Changing out of our Brooks Brothers slacks and into a pair of Levis before we start talking out of our ass.
1) Supporting a Stand Your Ground Law to remove that black intruder from our White House.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Friday Random 11
It’s one more random than 10!
To quote the immortal philosopher Jim Anchower, I know it’s been a while since I rapped at ya. I was busy working on a secret project that I was unable to discuss: the largest dick joke in the history of the world! Unfortunately, it fell into the Pacific before it reached its punchline. Oh well, at least I got paid up front and will have some free time again.
1) “Let It Be,” The Beatles. Tomorrow is the birthday of the loveliest Beatle-hater in the world, The Lovely Becky. Here’s an amazing thing about TLB: she has absolutely no hang-ups about getting older. I cling to youth like Sylvester Stallone’s friend's wife in the Alps, feeling that glove slipping off with every new set of candles I blow out, and she just whistles while she makes that annual wish. It’s infuriating the same way it’s infuriating when the cats lie in a beam of sunshine looking more content than Buddha with a bellyful of good karma. Meanwhile I worry about when I’ll have a heart attack because of my love of bacon or whether that ache in my shoulder is shoulder cancer. However, TLB always says it’s my fear of dying that will lead to me living a long time, so that I will have that much longer to think about.
2) “Lose Control,” Ash. This opens with a Tie Fighter sound, and we just let Libby watch some of the original Star Wars movies. You would think she would gravitate toward the goddamned Ewoks (choke on a cute hairball, Lucas), but instead she was fascinated by Han Solo getting frozen in carbonite and then melted. That’s daddy’s little girl.
3) “Been There All the Time,” Dinosaur Jr. One of those go-to songs when I’m at the gym and need to get my admitted wimpy ass to stay on the elliptical at least as long as the 80-year-old retiree next to me. So few people just play the shit out of their guitars in indie rock these days. J Mascis looks like he could stop a Balrog in Moria with a shredding guitar solo.
4) “King of the Rodeo,” Kings of Leon. The hard rock Coldplay.
5) “These Days,” Foo Fighters. iTunes is in a particularly power chord mood today. I bought this on CD because I still like having physical albums whenever possible, even though the only time I ever actually play CDs is in my car. They literally get popped in the computer, ripped, and put back in the case, which means it's idiotic that I spend more money to buy stuff that I don't use yet takes up space in my house, but my nostalgia is stronger than my common sense. Anyway, the Foo Fighters recorded this album on analog tape, and the CD came with a little piece of the tape in the case. I see myself being sixty and walking into the Pawn Stars store to pawn my “limited edition” copy of Wasting Light with a piece of the recording tape, only to have old Chumlee tell me he’s got 500 of these in the back and they aren’t worth anything.
To quote the immortal philosopher Jim Anchower, I know it’s been a while since I rapped at ya. I was busy working on a secret project that I was unable to discuss: the largest dick joke in the history of the world! Unfortunately, it fell into the Pacific before it reached its punchline. Oh well, at least I got paid up front and will have some free time again.
1) “Let It Be,” The Beatles. Tomorrow is the birthday of the loveliest Beatle-hater in the world, The Lovely Becky. Here’s an amazing thing about TLB: she has absolutely no hang-ups about getting older. I cling to youth like Sylvester Stallone’s friend's wife in the Alps, feeling that glove slipping off with every new set of candles I blow out, and she just whistles while she makes that annual wish. It’s infuriating the same way it’s infuriating when the cats lie in a beam of sunshine looking more content than Buddha with a bellyful of good karma. Meanwhile I worry about when I’ll have a heart attack because of my love of bacon or whether that ache in my shoulder is shoulder cancer. However, TLB always says it’s my fear of dying that will lead to me living a long time, so that I will have that much longer to think about.
2) “Lose Control,” Ash. This opens with a Tie Fighter sound, and we just let Libby watch some of the original Star Wars movies. You would think she would gravitate toward the goddamned Ewoks (choke on a cute hairball, Lucas), but instead she was fascinated by Han Solo getting frozen in carbonite and then melted. That’s daddy’s little girl.
3) “Been There All the Time,” Dinosaur Jr. One of those go-to songs when I’m at the gym and need to get my admitted wimpy ass to stay on the elliptical at least as long as the 80-year-old retiree next to me. So few people just play the shit out of their guitars in indie rock these days. J Mascis looks like he could stop a Balrog in Moria with a shredding guitar solo.
4) “King of the Rodeo,” Kings of Leon. The hard rock Coldplay.
5) “These Days,” Foo Fighters. iTunes is in a particularly power chord mood today. I bought this on CD because I still like having physical albums whenever possible, even though the only time I ever actually play CDs is in my car. They literally get popped in the computer, ripped, and put back in the case, which means it's idiotic that I spend more money to buy stuff that I don't use yet takes up space in my house, but my nostalgia is stronger than my common sense. Anyway, the Foo Fighters recorded this album on analog tape, and the CD came with a little piece of the tape in the case. I see myself being sixty and walking into the Pawn Stars store to pawn my “limited edition” copy of Wasting Light with a piece of the recording tape, only to have old Chumlee tell me he’s got 500 of these in the back and they aren’t worth anything.
6) “Junco Partner,” The Clash. I was sick a couple weeks ago and took a rare sick day. Normally, that means a day in front of whatever video console I own, trying to save the princess or take the pretend Bears to the Super Bowl. But I was actually so sick that I didn’t feel like playing video games—the thought of putting a controller in my hand and having to figure out how to make a Potion of Kickassedness in Skyrim felt too goddamned strenuous. So instead I parked on the couch and went on a DVR expedition, scrolling down past 30 Rock and Cougar Town and the 8,000 kid shows we have recorded to get to things like documentaries that I add to the queue because it makes me feel smart, but which I never get around to watching because I play too many video games and Libby doesn’t give a fuck about George Harrison’s life, even as portrayed by Oscar-winning director Martin Scorsese (look, Libs, here’s where Clapton steals his wife!). Anyway, too weak for joystick gymnastics, I put on the Joe Strummer biography, The Future Is Unwritten. Things I learned: 1) While the film convinced me more than ever that Joe Strummer was the real deal, it apparently took him several test personas before he settled on being the real deal. 2) Joe Strummer hated brushing his teeth more than my daughter. 3) If you want to make your audience feel culturally idiotic while watching your documentary, don’t bother to identify the people talking about the subject of your film. Sure, even a cretin such as myself recognizes Bono or Johnny Depp (strangely talking like Captain Jack Sparrow despite being in street clothes), but I have no idea who the other gray-haired, phlegm-ridden talking heads are because I spent too many sick days in front of a PlayStation. Despite that, it was an awesome documentary. Now I just need a 48-hour bug so I can watch the Harrison doc.
7) “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” The Beatles. That is downright creepy. Stop freaking me out, iTunes. Also, linked to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame jam of this where Prince completely rips the solo. He definitely had to cool off in the waters of Lake Minnetonka after that.
8) “Honolulu Blues,” Craig Finn. His solo debut is more Holy Ghost than Hold Steady. There is a lot of Jesus on this album, to the point where my first thought was, “Jesus Christ, that’s a lot of Jesus.” The good news (not to be confused with The Good News) is that it’s good Jesus—your buddy Jesus who enjoys healing the sick and who uses two McNuggets and a can of Mountain Dew to feed everyone at Coachella. Not the GOP Jesus who watches more porn than Ed Meese taking a sick day so he can tell you how very, very, very (oh, God, so very) depraved it is.
9) “See a Little Light,” Bob Mould. I have my go-to good mood songs—the ones I pick out because I feel like air drumming or it’s Saturday and looking like a high probability of romantic wiggling (cue Loverboy or Whitesnake). This is one of those random good-time songs, one I rarely seek but am always so happy to hear. I feel so positive that I may just revise that five-year plan to “still alive and okay with that.”
10) “Teenage Girls,” Bad Sports. TLB and I talk fairly frequently about who we will marry when the other one dies. I profess that I will be unable to remarry because I will be stricken romantically impotent with grief. She is convinced that I will in fact run to the nearest age-inappropriate attractive female who has daddy issues. Not a bad call, mind you, but not in fitting with my character, because all a younger woman is going to do is remind me how much older I am than she is. If anything, I’m going the opposite direction and going older, both because I’ll feel better and she might be a widower with money, which means no more work and lots more times for documentary watching. Incidentally, Bad Sports Kings of the Weekend is a great bit of Ramones garage punk. Worth seeking out.
11) “Message of Love,” Pretenders. Of course, my lovely wife has put up with this mental nonsense for quite a few birthdays now, and she seems no closer to ditching me for an young creative writing student with a cougar complex. That’s just one of many reasons I know I chose well.
Have a good weekend!
7) “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” The Beatles. That is downright creepy. Stop freaking me out, iTunes. Also, linked to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame jam of this where Prince completely rips the solo. He definitely had to cool off in the waters of Lake Minnetonka after that.
8) “Honolulu Blues,” Craig Finn. His solo debut is more Holy Ghost than Hold Steady. There is a lot of Jesus on this album, to the point where my first thought was, “Jesus Christ, that’s a lot of Jesus.” The good news (not to be confused with The Good News) is that it’s good Jesus—your buddy Jesus who enjoys healing the sick and who uses two McNuggets and a can of Mountain Dew to feed everyone at Coachella. Not the GOP Jesus who watches more porn than Ed Meese taking a sick day so he can tell you how very, very, very (oh, God, so very) depraved it is.
9) “See a Little Light,” Bob Mould. I have my go-to good mood songs—the ones I pick out because I feel like air drumming or it’s Saturday and looking like a high probability of romantic wiggling (cue Loverboy or Whitesnake). This is one of those random good-time songs, one I rarely seek but am always so happy to hear. I feel so positive that I may just revise that five-year plan to “still alive and okay with that.”
10) “Teenage Girls,” Bad Sports. TLB and I talk fairly frequently about who we will marry when the other one dies. I profess that I will be unable to remarry because I will be stricken romantically impotent with grief. She is convinced that I will in fact run to the nearest age-inappropriate attractive female who has daddy issues. Not a bad call, mind you, but not in fitting with my character, because all a younger woman is going to do is remind me how much older I am than she is. If anything, I’m going the opposite direction and going older, both because I’ll feel better and she might be a widower with money, which means no more work and lots more times for documentary watching. Incidentally, Bad Sports Kings of the Weekend is a great bit of Ramones garage punk. Worth seeking out.
11) “Message of Love,” Pretenders. Of course, my lovely wife has put up with this mental nonsense for quite a few birthdays now, and she seems no closer to ditching me for an young creative writing student with a cougar complex. That’s just one of many reasons I know I chose well.
Have a good weekend!
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Geraldo Rivera: ‘Mustache Is As Responsible for Geraldo Rivera’s Dumb Comments as Geraldo Rivera’
Under fire for comments he made this week that Trayvon Martin’s hoodie was “as responsible” for the teenager’s death as George Zimmerman, “journalist” Geraldo Rivera placed blame for his comments on Geraldo Rivera’s mustache.
“There is no question that the comments Geraldo Rivera made were dumb and insensitive,” said Geraldo Rivera on Fox’s Wake Up, White People. “But there is also no question that those comments would not have been made if Geraldo Rivera did not have a mustache.”
The controversial media personality and world’s worst treasure hunter elaborated. “When you see a journalist with a mustache, what do you think? Things like, ‘Is this Anchorman? Sweet.’ Or perhaps, ‘Am I watching Sabado Gigante?’ Or almost certainly, ‘Is he doing a report on a catastrophic razor blade shortage?’ You think anything other than, ‘I should take this guy seriously.’ And you can be damn sure you’re going to call the police if you see someone like Geraldo Rivera snooping around your garbage, even though I was nowhere near your garbage and that was clearly my clone in those photos.”
After composing himself, he continued. “The bottom line is that someone with a mustache like Geraldo Rivera’s could be explaining quantum physics to you, but you’ll ignore what he’s saying because you’re staring at the lip lamprey above his mouth. That sends a message to the brain that tells it, ‘Hey, you better say something really, really stupid and outrageous, so that people will stop staring at this follicle folly and pay attention to you.’”
“Geraldo,” said Wake Up cohost Blondie Brownshirt, “that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Exactly!” replied Geraldo Rivera, stroking his mustache.
In light of Rivera’s revelation, other mustachioed media members have come forward to confess the heavy, itchy burdens they carry. Television journalist and inventor of a smoke-signal version of Twitter John Stossel said that his mustache is the source of his stupidity.
“Look, no one in their right mind would think it’s a good idea to make a point about the national debt by taking toys from children,” Stossel said. “But when you have a soup strainer like this, everything seems like a good idea by comparison. There’s no idea that looks dumber than walking around like you just got cast for a porn parody of Magnum P.I. called Magnum P. Nis.”
Stossel elaborated that his mustache is so powerfully dumb that it prevents him from growing a gravitas-enhancing beard. “It’s such a fine line between stupid and Blitzer,” he said, “and that line is above my lip.”
Such whisker witlessness is not limited to television journalists. Print journalists can be undone by their facial hair as well. “Oh, there is no question that ‘Ol’ Bushy,’ as I call him, has produced most of my work,” said New York Times columnist Thomas Friedman. “It practically wrote The World Is Flat.”
Friedman says his mustache generally takes complex issues and offers remarkably dumbed-down solutions. “Every one of my Middle East columns was written by Ol’ Bushy,” Friedman says. “Not surprisingly, all my pro-Iraq war material was mustache-based. And anything about peace between Israel and the Arab world. In fact, I once wrote a column where I suggested that a solution for Jews and Arabs. ‘Hug it out.’ That was the entire column, three words, plus the doodle I had of an Orthodox Jew and a sheik hugging.
“Recently, I wrote that the best way to keep Iran from getting a nuclear weapon without triggering a war was to bombard their facilities with unicorn semen. Even after all these years, Ol’ Bushy can surprise me.”
The trials of the mustachioed journalist does call to mind a solution so simple, perhaps it could be authored by a pundits lip fuzz: Why not shave it off?
“That’s a great question,” Rivera said. “And don’t think I haven’t thought about it, because I haven’t. The answer is this: There are plenty of respectable, clean-shaven, responsible journalists out there. But there is only one Geraldo Rivera, and he gets more attention than 100 CNN anchors put together. Unless you put them together like one of those human centipedes, which, let’s face it, would be the story of the century.” With that, he began calling his scientific sources to ask them about that possibility, twirling his mustache with delight after each denial and angry admonition to never call this number again. "It's all in a day's mustache."
“There is no question that the comments Geraldo Rivera made were dumb and insensitive,” said Geraldo Rivera on Fox’s Wake Up, White People. “But there is also no question that those comments would not have been made if Geraldo Rivera did not have a mustache.”
The controversial media personality and world’s worst treasure hunter elaborated. “When you see a journalist with a mustache, what do you think? Things like, ‘Is this Anchorman? Sweet.’ Or perhaps, ‘Am I watching Sabado Gigante?’ Or almost certainly, ‘Is he doing a report on a catastrophic razor blade shortage?’ You think anything other than, ‘I should take this guy seriously.’ And you can be damn sure you’re going to call the police if you see someone like Geraldo Rivera snooping around your garbage, even though I was nowhere near your garbage and that was clearly my clone in those photos.”
After composing himself, he continued. “The bottom line is that someone with a mustache like Geraldo Rivera’s could be explaining quantum physics to you, but you’ll ignore what he’s saying because you’re staring at the lip lamprey above his mouth. That sends a message to the brain that tells it, ‘Hey, you better say something really, really stupid and outrageous, so that people will stop staring at this follicle folly and pay attention to you.’”
“Geraldo,” said Wake Up cohost Blondie Brownshirt, “that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Exactly!” replied Geraldo Rivera, stroking his mustache.
In light of Rivera’s revelation, other mustachioed media members have come forward to confess the heavy, itchy burdens they carry. Television journalist and inventor of a smoke-signal version of Twitter John Stossel said that his mustache is the source of his stupidity.
“Look, no one in their right mind would think it’s a good idea to make a point about the national debt by taking toys from children,” Stossel said. “But when you have a soup strainer like this, everything seems like a good idea by comparison. There’s no idea that looks dumber than walking around like you just got cast for a porn parody of Magnum P.I. called Magnum P. Nis.”
Stossel elaborated that his mustache is so powerfully dumb that it prevents him from growing a gravitas-enhancing beard. “It’s such a fine line between stupid and Blitzer,” he said, “and that line is above my lip.”
Such whisker witlessness is not limited to television journalists. Print journalists can be undone by their facial hair as well. “Oh, there is no question that ‘Ol’ Bushy,’ as I call him, has produced most of my work,” said New York Times columnist Thomas Friedman. “It practically wrote The World Is Flat.”
Friedman says his mustache generally takes complex issues and offers remarkably dumbed-down solutions. “Every one of my Middle East columns was written by Ol’ Bushy,” Friedman says. “Not surprisingly, all my pro-Iraq war material was mustache-based. And anything about peace between Israel and the Arab world. In fact, I once wrote a column where I suggested that a solution for Jews and Arabs. ‘Hug it out.’ That was the entire column, three words, plus the doodle I had of an Orthodox Jew and a sheik hugging.
“Recently, I wrote that the best way to keep Iran from getting a nuclear weapon without triggering a war was to bombard their facilities with unicorn semen. Even after all these years, Ol’ Bushy can surprise me.”
The trials of the mustachioed journalist does call to mind a solution so simple, perhaps it could be authored by a pundits lip fuzz: Why not shave it off?
“That’s a great question,” Rivera said. “And don’t think I haven’t thought about it, because I haven’t. The answer is this: There are plenty of respectable, clean-shaven, responsible journalists out there. But there is only one Geraldo Rivera, and he gets more attention than 100 CNN anchors put together. Unless you put them together like one of those human centipedes, which, let’s face it, would be the story of the century.” With that, he began calling his scientific sources to ask them about that possibility, twirling his mustache with delight after each denial and angry admonition to never call this number again. "It's all in a day's mustache."
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