I’ve been rehearsing for my show in St. Augustine, Florida this Friday with Dan from the Alkaline Trio and Tom from Against Me! and I think I’ve managed to scrape together something not entirely embarrassing. I’m also playing a show in Chicago on Wednesday night at the Debonair social club. It’s also an acoustic show and it’s with Blag from the Dwarves. I can’t even imagine how strange that show will end up being. The Dwarves are a mostly nude, highly crass, dick waggling tit groping rock and roll band, and besides me having no idea how that’s going to translate to an acoustic performance, the culture clash that is bound to occur when the dwarves fans meet the regular clientele of the Debonair Social Club (last time I was in that place, Pete Wentz was there, just to give you an idea) promises to be amusing, to say the least. Also, some guy named Matt Skiba is Djing the show, apparently. He’s single, fellas. Come get some. Or come for the music. I think I’m gonna play pretty much exactly what I play in Florida…So, if you can’t make it there, come to the Debonair in Wicker Park a week from today.
Okay, enough advertising. Sorry to do that, but that’s how I make my money, selling ad space here in the content of the blog. Thankfully, I only endorse products I believe in. By the way, unrelated topic, have you guys noticed that Tucks brand medicated pads beat the absolute piss out of those preperation H pads when it comes to soothing a raw and distended ass passage? It’s true. Sorry, that was just on my mind for some reason.
Where was I? Oh yeah, advertising. Eh, what a soulless endeavor. Who dares advertise?
It’s funny that advertising is SUCH a demonized thing. In essence, it’s really not bad. There’s someone providing a service (selling cars, blowjobs, acupuncture, cheeseburgers) and there are people who want that service and advertising is the way to connect them. It’s completely benign, yet somewhere along the way, advertising became this cultural shorthand for soullessness and moral bankruptcy. Why? Because there are too many people in the world. Too many things, too many potential consumers and there are ads everywhere and they have to resort to increasingly inane lengths of craziness to get your attention. People are sick of it and they blame the advertisers. And yeah, they’re kind of middle men, neither producing or consuming, but getting the word out there is important too, you know. Fuck, it’s not the ad guy’s fault that there are currently nine colas that taste exactly the same competing for that shelf in your fridge. I mean, I have my hotmail open right now, and there’s an ad here telling me that I can get four Disney dvds for two bucks each. Couldn’t be less interested. It’s mildly irritating. MILDLY. Less than a fly in the room, less than an itch. BUT, it’s not the fault of the advertisers, is it? No. It’s the fault of Disney for cranking crap out and Hotmail for allowing it to appear on my page.
I don’t know, man. In the world of movies, if a character is introduced as an advertiser, you can bet your ass that he/she has a distant relationship with their family, or no family at all, and is married to his/her job and will, usually with the help of a sprightly free spirited toe-ringed Jen Anniston or barely clothed Matt Mcconaughey learn how to feel the warmth of humanity and probably blow a big pitch, tell the boss to stuff it and be on the verge of getting fired when one of two things will happen. Either they will quit, shunning the cold, robotic, evil and calculating world of advertising and embrace their humanness, OR they will use that SAME humanity that Mateo and/or Jen exposed them to to create THE BEST ad campaign ever, to the chagrin of the soulless boss. There you go. All movies with ad exec protagonists—solved. Don’t bother seeing them. You can see Matt’s chest and Jen’s desperation disguised as cavalier living in magazines.
Back to the ad man, the thing is, why? Again, it’s really just bridging the gap between, for example, hungry fat guys and the place that makes the omelet, bacon, mayo, cheese, sausage and gravy breakfast hoagie. They WANT to find each other. We’re all just sick of it. That’s why it’s now being cleverly integrated into CONTENT so you don’t realize you’re being advertised to. Because in this day and age, an ad is like a panty line…as much as we may like what it represents, seeing it kind of fucks everything up.
In an unrelated note, I sure am crazy about Campbell’s new microwaveable line of soups on the go. They’re delicious. They absolutely make the competition’s slow ass soups taste like pig jizz in comparison. Just saying. Where was I? Oh yes. Felching.
SO the secret to really shooting a high quality felching video is to shoot through a clean piece of glass or, in a pinch, a piece of saran wrap.
Okay, enough of that. Uh, What else?
Oh, my guide to human beings. Right. How about these dudes:
People who come into a bar and ask what the cheapest thing is- These people don’t tip. They’re broadcasting that they don’t tip, AND more often than not, they’re so embarrassed by the fact that they don’t tip and that the bartender obviously hates them that they chug their Busch Light and leave within five minutes. Here’s some advice, you stupid cheap money wasting mongaloid—BUY A SIXPACK or a fifth of whiskey or a forty ounce at the fucking liquor store. You’re not in the bar for the ambience, obviously, and you have no money, and you…you know what? Forget it. If you don’t understand why this is a move of retardation on point with picking your nose with a drill, then I’m not going to be able to explain it to you, especially in print. These are not to be confused with “people who don’t tip because they’re oblivious assholes” which is a whole other kind of wretched dildo (that’s a good name for a band, “wretched dildo”. No stealing, you pud junkies. Fuck, that’s good too. Sheeeit.
It’s not too late to get your tickets to st. Augustine, to see me, Tom and Dan this Friday. Oh yeah, and have you noticed how much legroom Frontier has? It’s just divine. It makes flying United seem like being on the Amistad by comparison.