Holy shit, man. Yesterday’s sock drawer contained the best comment ever. From a german guy talking about their version of American Idol. Here it is.
“man.... as i'm a german i don't know that much about howard stern. but what i know about him and the german version of american idol makes me think we would need someone like him as well... i mean most people here watch that shit cause the judges are really offensive to the people and talk shit all the time.”
Now, you know why this is funny? I’ve mentioned the German compliment before, where, if you’re in Germany doing pretty much anything that could possibly warrant praise, you’ll be told something that’s horribly wrong with you along with any compliment you may receive. So, therefore “you are my favorite band” becomes “wow, you are my favorite band but I did not realize you were so fat” and “That was a good show” becomes “You know, I loved that show. Too bad the album is so terrible” and “I’d like a tshirt” becomes “do you know why no one wants a tshirt from you? Because you were terrible tonight. But I will take one anyway.”
You get the idea. This is not me making something up. It’s true. Serious. Everyone who’s played a show in germany will attest to this, and THAT my friends is what makes this whole comment up above so fucking funny.
Okay, in this country, the reason they want howard stern to replace Simon is because Simon is honest. He’s not actually mean. He’s just honest. He’s not cruel. He’s also not cool. He’s not clever. He’s just honest. And that’s fine. Howard is also honest. That’s why the show wants him. He’s also clever and smart, and that’s why the mongos of the land DON’T want him.
But, see. The point is, Simon, as the honest one, fills a role. The role of ‘the only one who is willing to say someone sucks’. Everyone else just gives this old “you did the best you could” kind of bullshit ‘everybody pitches, everybody hits everybody wins’ crap that’s turning America into a land of litigious, entitled, talentless, spoiled pussies. Simon is THE ONLY person on that panel who doesn’t do that. That’s because he’s British. He’s not indoctrinated into the cult of mass-perfection that arises by treating failure like the ideal and rewarding mediocrity as the pinnacle of success because it’s nice and middle of the road and doesn’t ruffle any feathers. And howard isn’t like that either.
The thing IS, that, as we discussed before, Germans are already famous for insulting along with their compliments. OF COURSE they’re gonna be extra harsh when they don’t like something. I mean, guess I never thought of Germans as stern or mean or heartless and calculating before, but now that you mention it, I can see where someone would maybe get that impression. Hilarious.
Oh man.
Speaking of sweeping cultural stereotypes, I’ve recently been turned onto this thing. Apparently, black people think that white people, by and large, smell like wet dogs, but they don’t mention it. From what I’ve heard, it’s some kind of massive, race-wide secret. They will even deny it when you ask. My friend in Richmond has been asking his black friends and coworkers if he smells like wet dogs and he’s gotten somewhere in the neighborhood of 100% “you aren’t supposed to know about that” replies. How’s that for strange? I’ve asked a few of my buddies, but they just went “huh? Right now? I don’t really think so. You smell like laundry.” So maybe it’s a southern thing. I dunno. It’s pretty strange though. Have you heard of this? Black folk? Care to weigh in?
I mean, if this is true, and word of this secret gets out, the next thing you know, we white folks are gonna have to tell black people about our dog/white people shared baths that we all take all the time.
And that would be pretty weird too.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Man, I wasn't really feelin that, dog.
I’m in my car like some sort of new age hobo, typing a blog from outside a place where middle eastern guys make breakfast sandwiches. I’m waiting for my wife. We just had a parent teacher conference and now we’re going to an ultrasound. I’m like a real big time family man. How wonderful. Last night we had a blizzard. I’ve been excavating my cars from gigantic piles all morning like Indiana Jones does with ancient skulls. For some reason, I now have a chest pain. Maybe it has to do with the most exciting news I’ve recently heard, namely that Howard Stern is being bandied about to be the host of American Idol. Here’s why that would be great:
(Actually, guess what? Now I’m on a train, headed home. There are those who would argue that writing on your laptop on the train is a stupid idea, but frankly, I think that my phone is worth more than this computer at this juncture. Anyway, where was I, back before the ultrasound and all that coffee? Ah yes!)
It would be great because howard is fascinating. That’s the obvious answer. He’s a master of making people listen to him, and his show is the definition of compelling broadcasting. But that’s not the real reason that it would be so amazing. The REAL reason is because everyone is SO infuriated and almost no one that sees this potential move as a bad idea really has any idea who Howard Stern is. I liken it to modern politics.
Right now, as we’ve discussed, the vast majority of Americans are not getting their news from primary sources (like actually WATCHING cspan [cuz, well, that sucks] or the State of the Union address, because it’s too long and it’s not convenient. People wait for their pop culture avatars (in the Hindu sense, not the James Cameron or Second Life sense [ew!]) to distill the information into soundbytes that resonate with their prepackaged world view, and they’re done with it. No messy decision making or uncomfortable slopping onto the left or right for issues that may not seem like bad ideas but are espoused by your theoretical enemies.
Similarly, people don’t take the time to listen to Howard Stern. They overhear someone call him crass or a pig and they ascribe their own ideas about what constitutes a crass pig to the Stern show without ever having heard it.
This mental rewriting and subsequent outrage is not limited to priggish moms and people who were around when Howard was getting a ton of media attention for battling the FCC either. My friend, Buttcheeks (not his real name) is an otherwise erudite and cultured young man. He plays in a good band and he’s been all around the world, and when I mention Stern, he calls him an idiot and asks how I could possibly listen to that ‘crap.’
Now, I know butcheeks pretty well (I’m referring to the guy, though I’m also pretty familiar with the body parts) and I know that if he’d EVER listened, he’d be shocked and disappointed at how quickly he wrote off something that’s really quite refreshing and intelligent in its irreverence, but he never will. He’s already done without ever really beginning, the way lots of people write off great bands and vow never to listen to them, even though they’ve never heard them, despite the fact that their buddies have recommended the bands based on their similar musical tastes.
This shit has happened to me a lot. I found out about a lot of great bands that I missed out on while they were around, simply because I sort of arbitrarily decided that I thought I didn’t like them before I’d ever heard a song.
Likewise with Stern. People that call him “deplorable” and “stupid” and “immoral” or otherwise don’t appreciate at least a FACET of his show simply haven’t listened enough (or they’re dimwits that reduce everything to the bible [not to be confused with regular religious folks, so relax out there {though, let’s be honest…you’re not a fundamentalist, but you think this guy in the sky is guiding you and there’s some sort of place you go, and your dog and your grandma will be there, and you can all sit around and spy on your offspring while eating cookies and never gaining a pound ? And you base this on three books written over two thousand years ago, which have since edited by pretty much anyone that wanted to? Hmmmm. You could probably stand to wake up a little bit, yourself}]). Howard’s not in any way immoral, nor is he stupid. But lots of people throw those two words at him. Why? Because he’s challenging and compelling and creates an emotional response. And THAT would make for great television, just as it makes for great radio.
AND, there’s nothing that a (legitimately) stupid, crappy plastic show like American Idol could use like a dose of actual human opinion. I mean, Simon Cowell doesn’t seem all that human, or even lifelike to me. Even off the show, in the tabloids and stuff, he’s all black shirts and huge tits and odd hair, smirks and scowls and a little praise parsed out with the “truth” He’s never seemed as human as, let’s say, Britney Spears or Nick Lachey, and that’s really saying something.
I mean, that show’s just completely staffed with plastic humanoid smile-bot 3000’s as is (and now they’re bringing in middle-aged-teenaged-boy-dance-machine-peter-pan-impersonator Ellen to add some humanity? Fuck me. That’s like cutting down trees to help close the hole in the ozone layer. That’s like fucking someone in the ass to keep them a virgin. That’s like…oh, right. That’s like lots of misguided policies that people have actually already thought up and applied to things.) I mean, look at these people. Paula? Randy? SEACREST? That one irritating bitch that’s about to go back to her job at Blimpies? They’re a line of products from Tokyo’s Robo-con in the year 2151, not a group of living people that take dumps and cry (though Paula does cry and randy definitely has taken a dump or two).
Look, I’m stoked on the IDEA of howard on that show. I don’t know if it’s gonna happen, but if it did, I’d be running back to American Idol faster than Nikki McKibben at a plate of Oxycontin topped donuts.
And that’s the truth.
(Actually, guess what? Now I’m on a train, headed home. There are those who would argue that writing on your laptop on the train is a stupid idea, but frankly, I think that my phone is worth more than this computer at this juncture. Anyway, where was I, back before the ultrasound and all that coffee? Ah yes!)
It would be great because howard is fascinating. That’s the obvious answer. He’s a master of making people listen to him, and his show is the definition of compelling broadcasting. But that’s not the real reason that it would be so amazing. The REAL reason is because everyone is SO infuriated and almost no one that sees this potential move as a bad idea really has any idea who Howard Stern is. I liken it to modern politics.
Right now, as we’ve discussed, the vast majority of Americans are not getting their news from primary sources (like actually WATCHING cspan [cuz, well, that sucks] or the State of the Union address, because it’s too long and it’s not convenient. People wait for their pop culture avatars (in the Hindu sense, not the James Cameron or Second Life sense [ew!]) to distill the information into soundbytes that resonate with their prepackaged world view, and they’re done with it. No messy decision making or uncomfortable slopping onto the left or right for issues that may not seem like bad ideas but are espoused by your theoretical enemies.
Similarly, people don’t take the time to listen to Howard Stern. They overhear someone call him crass or a pig and they ascribe their own ideas about what constitutes a crass pig to the Stern show without ever having heard it.
This mental rewriting and subsequent outrage is not limited to priggish moms and people who were around when Howard was getting a ton of media attention for battling the FCC either. My friend, Buttcheeks (not his real name) is an otherwise erudite and cultured young man. He plays in a good band and he’s been all around the world, and when I mention Stern, he calls him an idiot and asks how I could possibly listen to that ‘crap.’
Now, I know butcheeks pretty well (I’m referring to the guy, though I’m also pretty familiar with the body parts) and I know that if he’d EVER listened, he’d be shocked and disappointed at how quickly he wrote off something that’s really quite refreshing and intelligent in its irreverence, but he never will. He’s already done without ever really beginning, the way lots of people write off great bands and vow never to listen to them, even though they’ve never heard them, despite the fact that their buddies have recommended the bands based on their similar musical tastes.
This shit has happened to me a lot. I found out about a lot of great bands that I missed out on while they were around, simply because I sort of arbitrarily decided that I thought I didn’t like them before I’d ever heard a song.
Likewise with Stern. People that call him “deplorable” and “stupid” and “immoral” or otherwise don’t appreciate at least a FACET of his show simply haven’t listened enough (or they’re dimwits that reduce everything to the bible [not to be confused with regular religious folks, so relax out there {though, let’s be honest…you’re not a fundamentalist, but you think this guy in the sky is guiding you and there’s some sort of place you go, and your dog and your grandma will be there, and you can all sit around and spy on your offspring while eating cookies and never gaining a pound ? And you base this on three books written over two thousand years ago, which have since edited by pretty much anyone that wanted to? Hmmmm. You could probably stand to wake up a little bit, yourself}]). Howard’s not in any way immoral, nor is he stupid. But lots of people throw those two words at him. Why? Because he’s challenging and compelling and creates an emotional response. And THAT would make for great television, just as it makes for great radio.
AND, there’s nothing that a (legitimately) stupid, crappy plastic show like American Idol could use like a dose of actual human opinion. I mean, Simon Cowell doesn’t seem all that human, or even lifelike to me. Even off the show, in the tabloids and stuff, he’s all black shirts and huge tits and odd hair, smirks and scowls and a little praise parsed out with the “truth” He’s never seemed as human as, let’s say, Britney Spears or Nick Lachey, and that’s really saying something.
I mean, that show’s just completely staffed with plastic humanoid smile-bot 3000’s as is (and now they’re bringing in middle-aged-teenaged-boy-dance-machine-peter-pan-impersonator Ellen to add some humanity? Fuck me. That’s like cutting down trees to help close the hole in the ozone layer. That’s like fucking someone in the ass to keep them a virgin. That’s like…oh, right. That’s like lots of misguided policies that people have actually already thought up and applied to things.) I mean, look at these people. Paula? Randy? SEACREST? That one irritating bitch that’s about to go back to her job at Blimpies? They’re a line of products from Tokyo’s Robo-con in the year 2151, not a group of living people that take dumps and cry (though Paula does cry and randy definitely has taken a dump or two).
Look, I’m stoked on the IDEA of howard on that show. I don’t know if it’s gonna happen, but if it did, I’d be running back to American Idol faster than Nikki McKibben at a plate of Oxycontin topped donuts.
And that’s the truth.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
uuuuuugh! the pain and the suffering!
My mom and axl rose both had birthdays last week. That’s pretty cool. I wanted to get together, the three of us and just have a joint celebration, but it wasn’t in the cards. Axl can be a real bitch when he wants to, you know?
Anyway, today I’m exhausted. All week I’ve been out late shooting this project, and while it’s been tons of fun, I’m no longer used to being up until one in the morning every day, and I’m old and well…holy crap. I feel like I’m through the ringer. I need some jasmine tea and a ball massage.
I’m also dealing with a potentially broken laundry machine and a child who continues to flout authority and devour innocent people. It’s making me a little sweaty, frankly. You know what I need? A yacht. I need a yacht out in the middle of the sea with a comfortable bed and some sun and a lot of good, healthy food and a ton of butlers and cooks and ball masseuses and some private daycare specialists and what else? Since we’re just wishing for things, the yacht should probably have an arctic terrarium/aquarium full of penguins inside it. I love penguins almost as much as penguins love ice cream. Trust me.
I dunno…I’d probably just be seasick today. Don’t ever get old, kids. Your body just can’t hang with old world living. I mean, shit. I’d be going on my second nap of the day if I just threw prudence to the wind and did what I’d really like to do. That’s grandpa style. And not electric rapping grandpa style either. Just traditional.
I’m frustrated with this biting thing with my kid. I don’t know how to get through to him that it’s really not nice and it totally fucks up everyone’s day when he just gnaws on whoever. It’s ruining my day, honestly. Yesterday he had six (SIX!!!) incident reports. That’s craziness. I just absolutely don’t know what to do. This flummoxed helpless feeling, I’m learning, is how parents constantly feel and it’s exactly why they’re just nervous uncool wrecks of human beings who stop going to movies and stop knowing if it’s Robert Pattinson that’s Harry Potter or if what anyone could enjoy about sound of a vocoder. All they want is for the kid to stop biting. But he won’t. He’s a petulant shit who refuses to listen and refuses to understand and it makes you nuts.
And my kid is nice. He’s sweet and he’s a good sleeper and he’s well behaved, besides his taste for human flesh. I mean, my friend Nick used to lock his nanny in the basement. He used to flush rabbits down the toilet at school. Ultimately, he turned out pretty well, but uh…what do you say to that? That’s borderline sociopath shit.
God, listen to me. Here I am crying like Ryan Seacrest at the last scene of Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat, and I’ve just got a kid doing regular toddler shit. Nick’s mom had to be going fucking nuts, hiding her hydrochloric acid and making sure all the lamps in his room were just upholstered with regular fabric and shit. Thank god they weren’t from Wisconsin.
Those are Jeff Dahmer jokes, folks. And just to bring this full circle, I’d like to point out that our stupid twenty four hour news cycle has created a universe where miserable anorexic dildos in fake tans camp outside the parents of our nation’s crazy sociopaths houses and when they go get their mail, they all bum rush them and say “Your son is a monster! Do you still love him, knowing what you know now?” I mean, that’s what they did to Dahmer’s parents. And sure, those parents probably fucked him up pretty good. But man, what kind of a question is that? That shit’s brutal. Innit? I mean that’s the kind of shit that…
Oh wait a sec. BRB.
Okay, actually, I just got the call of the day. For the last 2 years we’ve been getting calls from the Chicago Public Schools. Four a day. No shit. Today, they FINALLY got me on the line, and you know what they asked? If Brendan Kelly’s parents were there. When I started to explain that my parents live in Missouri and that my kid is two and that they’ve been calling me for the last two years and so on and so forth, they fucking hung up on me! Not only is there some kid out there who’s been ditching school four times a day for the last two years, but there’s also no way that I can even know if they took my number off the list.
I’m outraged. In fact, this is the worst outrage in the history of humanity. Fuuuuck. I need a yacht and a nap, folks. It’s all downhill from here, right Pudnik? Right. Sigh.
Anyway, today I’m exhausted. All week I’ve been out late shooting this project, and while it’s been tons of fun, I’m no longer used to being up until one in the morning every day, and I’m old and well…holy crap. I feel like I’m through the ringer. I need some jasmine tea and a ball massage.
I’m also dealing with a potentially broken laundry machine and a child who continues to flout authority and devour innocent people. It’s making me a little sweaty, frankly. You know what I need? A yacht. I need a yacht out in the middle of the sea with a comfortable bed and some sun and a lot of good, healthy food and a ton of butlers and cooks and ball masseuses and some private daycare specialists and what else? Since we’re just wishing for things, the yacht should probably have an arctic terrarium/aquarium full of penguins inside it. I love penguins almost as much as penguins love ice cream. Trust me.
I dunno…I’d probably just be seasick today. Don’t ever get old, kids. Your body just can’t hang with old world living. I mean, shit. I’d be going on my second nap of the day if I just threw prudence to the wind and did what I’d really like to do. That’s grandpa style. And not electric rapping grandpa style either. Just traditional.
I’m frustrated with this biting thing with my kid. I don’t know how to get through to him that it’s really not nice and it totally fucks up everyone’s day when he just gnaws on whoever. It’s ruining my day, honestly. Yesterday he had six (SIX!!!) incident reports. That’s craziness. I just absolutely don’t know what to do. This flummoxed helpless feeling, I’m learning, is how parents constantly feel and it’s exactly why they’re just nervous uncool wrecks of human beings who stop going to movies and stop knowing if it’s Robert Pattinson that’s Harry Potter or if what anyone could enjoy about sound of a vocoder. All they want is for the kid to stop biting. But he won’t. He’s a petulant shit who refuses to listen and refuses to understand and it makes you nuts.
And my kid is nice. He’s sweet and he’s a good sleeper and he’s well behaved, besides his taste for human flesh. I mean, my friend Nick used to lock his nanny in the basement. He used to flush rabbits down the toilet at school. Ultimately, he turned out pretty well, but uh…what do you say to that? That’s borderline sociopath shit.
God, listen to me. Here I am crying like Ryan Seacrest at the last scene of Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat, and I’ve just got a kid doing regular toddler shit. Nick’s mom had to be going fucking nuts, hiding her hydrochloric acid and making sure all the lamps in his room were just upholstered with regular fabric and shit. Thank god they weren’t from Wisconsin.
Those are Jeff Dahmer jokes, folks. And just to bring this full circle, I’d like to point out that our stupid twenty four hour news cycle has created a universe where miserable anorexic dildos in fake tans camp outside the parents of our nation’s crazy sociopaths houses and when they go get their mail, they all bum rush them and say “Your son is a monster! Do you still love him, knowing what you know now?” I mean, that’s what they did to Dahmer’s parents. And sure, those parents probably fucked him up pretty good. But man, what kind of a question is that? That shit’s brutal. Innit? I mean that’s the kind of shit that…
Oh wait a sec. BRB.
Okay, actually, I just got the call of the day. For the last 2 years we’ve been getting calls from the Chicago Public Schools. Four a day. No shit. Today, they FINALLY got me on the line, and you know what they asked? If Brendan Kelly’s parents were there. When I started to explain that my parents live in Missouri and that my kid is two and that they’ve been calling me for the last two years and so on and so forth, they fucking hung up on me! Not only is there some kid out there who’s been ditching school four times a day for the last two years, but there’s also no way that I can even know if they took my number off the list.
I’m outraged. In fact, this is the worst outrage in the history of humanity. Fuuuuck. I need a yacht and a nap, folks. It’s all downhill from here, right Pudnik? Right. Sigh.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Come see my godddamn show you fucks!
Hey dicks! I’m playing a show tonight at the mutiny on western just north of fullerton in Chicago. I’m getting there around ten. Joe from smoke or fire is playing first, then I’m gonna unleash on you turds like a griffon or a dragon or something equally fruity. It’ll be cool. Please come down and buy joe and myself whiskey shots. Actually, don’t get joe whiskey. Last time he did a shot of whiskey (Monday night at the town hall pub) he barfed on me. I mean, I cooked him chicken, delicious chicken, mind you, and how does he repay me? Barfing shreds of delicious chicken all over my hoodie. Suhweet, bro. It was most gnarly in that it smelled like a gas station that serves food. Anyhow, moving on.
I got this problem. I want to do a rap record. I’m a pretty good MC, I think. I love freestyling. However, I’m a white guy and I’ve got a rock and roll history and that’s a bad fucking combo. Rockers should never rap and vice versa. It’s kind of like the way that actors shouldn’t sing and singers shouldn’t really act. It’s never great. I mean, yeah, Tom Waits is pretty good in Stranger than Paradise and Marky Mark is great, (though a very real argument could be made that he should have never EVER dipped into being a musician in the first place) but for the most part, it’s simple math. You’re good at what you love for a reason. You’re drawn to it because you think that way and you see the genre from an interesting and expandable point of view. The second you move out of your zone, you suddenly become just another dipshit that’s no good at something that they don’t have the vision and wherewithal to conquer.
Oh, you want examples? How bout Tommy Lee? That dude was a great rock drummer. It pains me to say that, by the way, because I hate the shit out of tommy lee. Why? Because he’s a dumb dildo that every single woman on earth, if pressured, sullenly admits to wanting to fuck. I’m terribly jealous of how much he gets away with, frankly. However, one thing he couldn’t get away with was his juggalo side project, Methods of Mayhem. He doesn’t bring any noise, man. Not even close. He’s a dorky white scarecrow jumping around bragging about fucking pam Anderson as though that’s not the only thing we know about him already. He doesn’t have the sack to be a rapper. It’s posturing and it’s super phony and it just sucks.
Likewise, Lil Wayne just made a rock album and it’s something in the neighborhood of the worst thing I’ve ever heard. It makes Puddle of Mudd look like erudite and compelling songsmiths. And you know why it sucks? Because Weezy is a rapper and he knows the tropes and pitfalls of the hip hop game. He knows how to construct a verse. He knows how to expand the genre and dominate in what’s established but he has no fucking clue about rock and roll. He didn’t grow up rocking, if you’ll excuse the lame expression. Regardless of what he listened to as a kid, he grew up grooming himself to be a rapper, and he did a hell of a job. However, once he stepped into rock and roll, he’s like Tyson stepping in to the ring with the Undertaker. There’s a tiny little bit of understanding of the format, but in general, it’s a whole new set of rules. It’s something that you can’t just translate easily. That’s why there aren’t more (or any) great musicians with rock AND rap records. They’re different frameworks, man. If Lil Wayne can’t rock, and Tommy Lee can’t rap, what hope is there for the rest of us? Right?
Well, those guys both seem like massive dildos and maybe I can buck the odds by being my own awesome self. However, I’m 33 and I’d be surprised if anyone my age has put out a decent rap ablum, excepting Jay Z. Rap is youth music in its inception, that’s the nature of the beast with MCing.
So, screw it. Maybe I’ll just stick to rock and roll. Come see me tonight at the Mutiny. The show’s free you cheap fuck!
I got this problem. I want to do a rap record. I’m a pretty good MC, I think. I love freestyling. However, I’m a white guy and I’ve got a rock and roll history and that’s a bad fucking combo. Rockers should never rap and vice versa. It’s kind of like the way that actors shouldn’t sing and singers shouldn’t really act. It’s never great. I mean, yeah, Tom Waits is pretty good in Stranger than Paradise and Marky Mark is great, (though a very real argument could be made that he should have never EVER dipped into being a musician in the first place) but for the most part, it’s simple math. You’re good at what you love for a reason. You’re drawn to it because you think that way and you see the genre from an interesting and expandable point of view. The second you move out of your zone, you suddenly become just another dipshit that’s no good at something that they don’t have the vision and wherewithal to conquer.
Oh, you want examples? How bout Tommy Lee? That dude was a great rock drummer. It pains me to say that, by the way, because I hate the shit out of tommy lee. Why? Because he’s a dumb dildo that every single woman on earth, if pressured, sullenly admits to wanting to fuck. I’m terribly jealous of how much he gets away with, frankly. However, one thing he couldn’t get away with was his juggalo side project, Methods of Mayhem. He doesn’t bring any noise, man. Not even close. He’s a dorky white scarecrow jumping around bragging about fucking pam Anderson as though that’s not the only thing we know about him already. He doesn’t have the sack to be a rapper. It’s posturing and it’s super phony and it just sucks.
Likewise, Lil Wayne just made a rock album and it’s something in the neighborhood of the worst thing I’ve ever heard. It makes Puddle of Mudd look like erudite and compelling songsmiths. And you know why it sucks? Because Weezy is a rapper and he knows the tropes and pitfalls of the hip hop game. He knows how to construct a verse. He knows how to expand the genre and dominate in what’s established but he has no fucking clue about rock and roll. He didn’t grow up rocking, if you’ll excuse the lame expression. Regardless of what he listened to as a kid, he grew up grooming himself to be a rapper, and he did a hell of a job. However, once he stepped into rock and roll, he’s like Tyson stepping in to the ring with the Undertaker. There’s a tiny little bit of understanding of the format, but in general, it’s a whole new set of rules. It’s something that you can’t just translate easily. That’s why there aren’t more (or any) great musicians with rock AND rap records. They’re different frameworks, man. If Lil Wayne can’t rock, and Tommy Lee can’t rap, what hope is there for the rest of us? Right?
Well, those guys both seem like massive dildos and maybe I can buck the odds by being my own awesome self. However, I’m 33 and I’d be surprised if anyone my age has put out a decent rap ablum, excepting Jay Z. Rap is youth music in its inception, that’s the nature of the beast with MCing.
So, screw it. Maybe I’ll just stick to rock and roll. Come see me tonight at the Mutiny. The show’s free you cheap fuck!
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
I'm too fucking rich and too fucking famous!
Okay, so first things first. Someone stole my fucking phone last night. It’s an iphone and I’m PISSED OFF. Stupid hip hop night at subterranean. I’ve changed my email and facebook passwords. What else do I need to do to protect myself against whoever it is that has my phone? What a fucking kick in the dick. This is something like my fourth iphone. I’m gonna have to start buying these fuckers in bulk. Dumb thieves.
So, while I was looking in vain for my phone, I found some girl’s little coin purse/wallet situation. I tried to drive it over to her house this morning, but she wasn’t there, so I left a note. I mean, she’s gonna get that shit hand delivered by a gorgeous semi notorious rambler (with all the money still in it by the way) and I’m getting constantly punched in the ball-pump by this whole situation. I should get into heaven for this. I mean, right? This should really make up for almost everything I’ve done.
Okay, last night I saw a band that’s so awesome, I’ve gotta share it with you. They’re from Chicago and they’re called Pet Peeve. They’re fucking SICK. The main dude is Romanian and he sings in Romanian sometimes, and last night, his band had all these crazy euro dudes hugging and dancing in circles and it was absolutely fucking awesome. Go to their myspace page http://www.myspace.com/mypetpeeve and check it out. The recordings are lo-fi for sure, but hey man, they’re a brand new band. Leave em a comment and tell them I sent you. I got nothing but insane high hopes for these guys. AND, they’re a bunch of super nice dudes, so there’s that. Okay, enough of my night last night. I had some big interesting shit that I wanted to share with y’all today. What was it?
Well, this isn’t it, but can we talk about heidi montag for a sec? Okay, she’s all surgeried up now, right? And people are going nuts about it. I guess I don’t really see why. I mean, sure, cosmetic surgery is one of those things that’s big in Hollywood that everyone in Kansas kind of pooh-poohs as something they’d never consider. “It’s only for those terribly insecure Hollywood types” they say to each other over bacon cheeseburgers served on glazed donuts. However, I think that’s oversimplifying things. I liken this dismissal to dudes that are quick to condemn other dudes for cheating on their old ladies and just judge and judge and swear up and down that they’d never ever do that kind of thing and that it’s SO reprehensible (which, I mean, most of the time, it is, I’m not endorsing cheating here, folks), but you know why they say that shit? Because they are slobs or they’re dipshits or they contain whatever the personality defect is that prevents them from ever getting laid by strange women. They’ve found one girl that will put up with their pimply back and disgusting breath and they’re clinging onto her pussy for dear life like Cubans cling to tires south of florida. No man that’s ever had a woman legitimately try to bang them while they’re in a relationship will be too judgmental when it comes to that stuff. Because, they’ve got dicks. And those dicks talk, boy. They talk fast and make a lot of sense when some good looking girl you aren’t supposed to bang is giving you the eye. And I’m not implying that men are all cheaters by any means. I’m just saying, it’s like quitting smoking. Once you see how fucking hard it is to resist that temptation, you’re not so quick to call someone a sniveling pussy for succumbing, even if you, yourself don’t succumb.
That’s how I feel about this cosmetic surgery thing. These bitches in Michigan don’t see themselves (and their jiggly guts) on tv all the time or live in a permissive spot where surgery is somewhat normal. Now, like with the cheating analogy, I’m not suggesting that all these heartland ladies and dudes would suddenly be getting tit tucks and shit if they moved to LA, but I AM saying that the idea of that shit’s not even really on the table in Michigan. In LA they have walk in augmentation clinics. AND tons of people have procedures done all the time. That makes shit much easier to consider.
Put it this way: maybe you don’t really smoke weed or drink but then you go away to college, or you go on a backpacking trip across south America or something and all of a sudden you see all these people just drinking and partying and having a good time. Suddenly, you’re back home saying something like “Yeah, and I never really drink, but the culture was so different and everyone was drinking all the time and before I knew it, I was having beers with lunch just like Javier.” I think it’s not a great leap to imagine someone who constantly sees their body scrutinized in the media, constantly sees distorted images of themselves in magazines and on tv and in movies, and sees the way that surgery has helped other people deal with the same mounting self doubt that they’re facing, deciding that it’s not a totally stupid thing to do. But of course no one in your office would ever get surgery. That’s because nobody is wasting their time putting those people on tv or in magazines or comparing them to other surgically enhanced celebs. No one’s trying to fuck them, to borrow from my earlier analogy, so they can flap their gums all they want about moral high ground, but they’ve never been in the position, and they never will, so they’ll never be called on their harsh judgments.
Now, getting back to Heidi, let’s not mince words, kay? She was fucking ugly before. And sure, she looks odd now too, but she’s a ton more fuckable, I’d say. AND, it’s not like she’s cool or anything. I mean, she’s a vacuous cunt that’s married to one ot the crown prince dildos of all of dildodom. What the fuck? Why cant some horrible cunt of a talentless woman cut up her body and stuff it full of various viscous liquids as she sees fit? Who fucking cares? She’s not really even famous for anything. She can’t act or sing or dance or fuck on film. She’s not smart or athletic or cool or on the cutting edge of anything. She’s famous for standing there, and frankly, I didn’t really like the way she was standing there before all this surgery. I’m not crazy about it now either, but sheeeit. I’m definitely not ‘concerned for her’ or anything. And neither are you and neither is people magazine. In fact, they would LOVE for her to get more surgery and fuck her face up even more so they can put her on more covers and watch her slow, painful descent into madness, drugs, death, all that, then all the journalists can sell magazines and marvel at the wonderful work they’ve done for their bottom line over skinny margaritas or whatever’s all the rage right now.
So yeah. I still don’t remember what I was gonna write about today, but I gotta get some lunch.
Peace.
So, while I was looking in vain for my phone, I found some girl’s little coin purse/wallet situation. I tried to drive it over to her house this morning, but she wasn’t there, so I left a note. I mean, she’s gonna get that shit hand delivered by a gorgeous semi notorious rambler (with all the money still in it by the way) and I’m getting constantly punched in the ball-pump by this whole situation. I should get into heaven for this. I mean, right? This should really make up for almost everything I’ve done.
Okay, last night I saw a band that’s so awesome, I’ve gotta share it with you. They’re from Chicago and they’re called Pet Peeve. They’re fucking SICK. The main dude is Romanian and he sings in Romanian sometimes, and last night, his band had all these crazy euro dudes hugging and dancing in circles and it was absolutely fucking awesome. Go to their myspace page http://www.myspace.com/mypetpeeve and check it out. The recordings are lo-fi for sure, but hey man, they’re a brand new band. Leave em a comment and tell them I sent you. I got nothing but insane high hopes for these guys. AND, they’re a bunch of super nice dudes, so there’s that. Okay, enough of my night last night. I had some big interesting shit that I wanted to share with y’all today. What was it?
Well, this isn’t it, but can we talk about heidi montag for a sec? Okay, she’s all surgeried up now, right? And people are going nuts about it. I guess I don’t really see why. I mean, sure, cosmetic surgery is one of those things that’s big in Hollywood that everyone in Kansas kind of pooh-poohs as something they’d never consider. “It’s only for those terribly insecure Hollywood types” they say to each other over bacon cheeseburgers served on glazed donuts. However, I think that’s oversimplifying things. I liken this dismissal to dudes that are quick to condemn other dudes for cheating on their old ladies and just judge and judge and swear up and down that they’d never ever do that kind of thing and that it’s SO reprehensible (which, I mean, most of the time, it is, I’m not endorsing cheating here, folks), but you know why they say that shit? Because they are slobs or they’re dipshits or they contain whatever the personality defect is that prevents them from ever getting laid by strange women. They’ve found one girl that will put up with their pimply back and disgusting breath and they’re clinging onto her pussy for dear life like Cubans cling to tires south of florida. No man that’s ever had a woman legitimately try to bang them while they’re in a relationship will be too judgmental when it comes to that stuff. Because, they’ve got dicks. And those dicks talk, boy. They talk fast and make a lot of sense when some good looking girl you aren’t supposed to bang is giving you the eye. And I’m not implying that men are all cheaters by any means. I’m just saying, it’s like quitting smoking. Once you see how fucking hard it is to resist that temptation, you’re not so quick to call someone a sniveling pussy for succumbing, even if you, yourself don’t succumb.
That’s how I feel about this cosmetic surgery thing. These bitches in Michigan don’t see themselves (and their jiggly guts) on tv all the time or live in a permissive spot where surgery is somewhat normal. Now, like with the cheating analogy, I’m not suggesting that all these heartland ladies and dudes would suddenly be getting tit tucks and shit if they moved to LA, but I AM saying that the idea of that shit’s not even really on the table in Michigan. In LA they have walk in augmentation clinics. AND tons of people have procedures done all the time. That makes shit much easier to consider.
Put it this way: maybe you don’t really smoke weed or drink but then you go away to college, or you go on a backpacking trip across south America or something and all of a sudden you see all these people just drinking and partying and having a good time. Suddenly, you’re back home saying something like “Yeah, and I never really drink, but the culture was so different and everyone was drinking all the time and before I knew it, I was having beers with lunch just like Javier.” I think it’s not a great leap to imagine someone who constantly sees their body scrutinized in the media, constantly sees distorted images of themselves in magazines and on tv and in movies, and sees the way that surgery has helped other people deal with the same mounting self doubt that they’re facing, deciding that it’s not a totally stupid thing to do. But of course no one in your office would ever get surgery. That’s because nobody is wasting their time putting those people on tv or in magazines or comparing them to other surgically enhanced celebs. No one’s trying to fuck them, to borrow from my earlier analogy, so they can flap their gums all they want about moral high ground, but they’ve never been in the position, and they never will, so they’ll never be called on their harsh judgments.
Now, getting back to Heidi, let’s not mince words, kay? She was fucking ugly before. And sure, she looks odd now too, but she’s a ton more fuckable, I’d say. AND, it’s not like she’s cool or anything. I mean, she’s a vacuous cunt that’s married to one ot the crown prince dildos of all of dildodom. What the fuck? Why cant some horrible cunt of a talentless woman cut up her body and stuff it full of various viscous liquids as she sees fit? Who fucking cares? She’s not really even famous for anything. She can’t act or sing or dance or fuck on film. She’s not smart or athletic or cool or on the cutting edge of anything. She’s famous for standing there, and frankly, I didn’t really like the way she was standing there before all this surgery. I’m not crazy about it now either, but sheeeit. I’m definitely not ‘concerned for her’ or anything. And neither are you and neither is people magazine. In fact, they would LOVE for her to get more surgery and fuck her face up even more so they can put her on more covers and watch her slow, painful descent into madness, drugs, death, all that, then all the journalists can sell magazines and marvel at the wonderful work they’ve done for their bottom line over skinny margaritas or whatever’s all the rage right now.
So yeah. I still don’t remember what I was gonna write about today, but I gotta get some lunch.
Peace.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
that's huuuuuuge
When I was a kid, my mom traveled a lot for her job. She’d bring me back various crap from her destinations and as such, I became something of a collector. Smurfs. Oh, I used to own some smurfs, boy. Let me tell you. For those of you who are too young to remember, the smurfs were little blue figments of Gargamel’s imagination that dressed like Dutch painters on their break, lived in mushrooms and were, supposedly, according to Gargamel, delicious and also a key ingredient in making gold.
Now, that explanation obviously begs the question, ‘well then, who the fuck is gargamel?’ That, my friends is not so easy to address. Who indeed was gargamel? Old wizard? Reclusive shut in? Toby Jeg in the future? All of these answers hint at the character of the man who tormented the smurfs, but none really, concisely drum up the appropriate image. Okay, he’s an old, bald grump of an asshole who wears a brown bag and talks to his cat. He also sees tiny blue things everywhere which he’s constantly trying to capture (for gold and/or food, as we discussed earlier) and that’s probably a bit of a circular narrative, because no one that chases blue mushroom dwellers around and constantly screams at his cat about being foiled is gonna be able to get audience with too many good homies that aren’t feline, if you dig. And THAT perverse loneliness has to be exactly what probably manifests itself in Gargamel’s hallucinogenically induced rages. I mean, right? Sure.
Okay, so that’s that. We’re not gonna figure everything out about gargamel today, and that’s fine. Back to the point.
The other thing my mom would bring me was mesh hats. She worked in the agricultural industry and the style of the time was to put your logo for your saw and blade company, or your cotton concern or your slaughterhouse on a mesh hat. I have about a zillion mesh hats and I love them.
Now, Ashton Kutcher came along and kind of fucked up the mesh hat for a while. So did Britney spears and paris Hilton and everyone. Now, you can’t go into a dumb dance club/fern bar/dildo emporium without seeing some choach in a party shirt and a rhinestone studded mesh hat.
They started calling them ‘trucker hats’ which is irritating to me for reasons to nebulous to explain here and well, they generally reduced my awesome, twenty-years-in-the-making collection of hats to a pile of garbage.
It’s okay though. Because now that whole trend is kind of gone, and I could maybe start wearing those hats again if I wanted to, BUT there’s nothing stupider looking than a grown man in a mesh hat. Between the ages of about 28 and 65 you really shouldn’t be wearing that shit. You probably shouldn’t be talking about smurfs either, I guess. It’s kind of, uh…windowless van at the playground style, innit?
Okay, so, those are a few of the things I used to collect. I also collected license plates and uh..what else? Records and cds and tapes. And comics. I used to collect some comics, man. I have x men number twelve. I’ve got all the original odd sized first printings of all the tick comics. I have all the orginial Akiras. And yet, I’ve still managed to have sex with a human woman (of legal age!). Not bad for a smurf collecting, trucker hat wearing comic enthusiast, right? Am I right folks?
Look, I’m just putting off the inevitable discussion of how John Mayer has descended so deeply into horrible dildodom. It’s becoming impossible to ignore. No, actually, he’s symptomatic of a bigger issue, namely that these celebrities and their dumb relationships are swamping the fucking news and the discussion about John Mayer beating off and checking out buttholes before he gets around to making coffee is just…well, why is there a forum for that kind of thing? Eh? Because he used to pump Jen? Is that all you need now? I know he’s hugely popular and man, I can’t really figure out why. I guess he was kind of funny before he became all sweet on himself, but that music…really? That’s popular? That’s like the shit that the nerd with the Stratocaster in your highschool gets on stage and plays at the talent show, bro. That’s not hugely popular, revenue generating music, is it? That shit’s Dave Matthews without the commitment to genre, which is essentially the Dead filtered through the terrible musical ideas of the nineties and with their dusty balls removed and replaced with violins and dreadlocks. All those bands and musicians make the music that moms put on before masturbating. And that, friends, is not cool. AND!!!! I’m not talking hot moms here. I’m talking YOUR moms. Yup.
No, I’m not a fan of John Mayer, or the Dead or Dave Matthews for that matter. And I really, really don’t care who he bangs or what his favorite body part to beat off to is or when he does it (spoiler alert-it’s assholes and first thing in the morning.)
Oh, and I guess brad pitt is single again, eh? Who fucking cares. Christ. Get me off this dumb ride. I’d rather chase smurfs for fucks sake. At least you can maybe get some gold out of the whole thing. Right?
Fuck this. I’m out.
Now, that explanation obviously begs the question, ‘well then, who the fuck is gargamel?’ That, my friends is not so easy to address. Who indeed was gargamel? Old wizard? Reclusive shut in? Toby Jeg in the future? All of these answers hint at the character of the man who tormented the smurfs, but none really, concisely drum up the appropriate image. Okay, he’s an old, bald grump of an asshole who wears a brown bag and talks to his cat. He also sees tiny blue things everywhere which he’s constantly trying to capture (for gold and/or food, as we discussed earlier) and that’s probably a bit of a circular narrative, because no one that chases blue mushroom dwellers around and constantly screams at his cat about being foiled is gonna be able to get audience with too many good homies that aren’t feline, if you dig. And THAT perverse loneliness has to be exactly what probably manifests itself in Gargamel’s hallucinogenically induced rages. I mean, right? Sure.
Okay, so that’s that. We’re not gonna figure everything out about gargamel today, and that’s fine. Back to the point.
The other thing my mom would bring me was mesh hats. She worked in the agricultural industry and the style of the time was to put your logo for your saw and blade company, or your cotton concern or your slaughterhouse on a mesh hat. I have about a zillion mesh hats and I love them.
Now, Ashton Kutcher came along and kind of fucked up the mesh hat for a while. So did Britney spears and paris Hilton and everyone. Now, you can’t go into a dumb dance club/fern bar/dildo emporium without seeing some choach in a party shirt and a rhinestone studded mesh hat.
They started calling them ‘trucker hats’ which is irritating to me for reasons to nebulous to explain here and well, they generally reduced my awesome, twenty-years-in-the-making collection of hats to a pile of garbage.
It’s okay though. Because now that whole trend is kind of gone, and I could maybe start wearing those hats again if I wanted to, BUT there’s nothing stupider looking than a grown man in a mesh hat. Between the ages of about 28 and 65 you really shouldn’t be wearing that shit. You probably shouldn’t be talking about smurfs either, I guess. It’s kind of, uh…windowless van at the playground style, innit?
Okay, so, those are a few of the things I used to collect. I also collected license plates and uh..what else? Records and cds and tapes. And comics. I used to collect some comics, man. I have x men number twelve. I’ve got all the original odd sized first printings of all the tick comics. I have all the orginial Akiras. And yet, I’ve still managed to have sex with a human woman (of legal age!). Not bad for a smurf collecting, trucker hat wearing comic enthusiast, right? Am I right folks?
Look, I’m just putting off the inevitable discussion of how John Mayer has descended so deeply into horrible dildodom. It’s becoming impossible to ignore. No, actually, he’s symptomatic of a bigger issue, namely that these celebrities and their dumb relationships are swamping the fucking news and the discussion about John Mayer beating off and checking out buttholes before he gets around to making coffee is just…well, why is there a forum for that kind of thing? Eh? Because he used to pump Jen? Is that all you need now? I know he’s hugely popular and man, I can’t really figure out why. I guess he was kind of funny before he became all sweet on himself, but that music…really? That’s popular? That’s like the shit that the nerd with the Stratocaster in your highschool gets on stage and plays at the talent show, bro. That’s not hugely popular, revenue generating music, is it? That shit’s Dave Matthews without the commitment to genre, which is essentially the Dead filtered through the terrible musical ideas of the nineties and with their dusty balls removed and replaced with violins and dreadlocks. All those bands and musicians make the music that moms put on before masturbating. And that, friends, is not cool. AND!!!! I’m not talking hot moms here. I’m talking YOUR moms. Yup.
No, I’m not a fan of John Mayer, or the Dead or Dave Matthews for that matter. And I really, really don’t care who he bangs or what his favorite body part to beat off to is or when he does it (spoiler alert-it’s assholes and first thing in the morning.)
Oh, and I guess brad pitt is single again, eh? Who fucking cares. Christ. Get me off this dumb ride. I’d rather chase smurfs for fucks sake. At least you can maybe get some gold out of the whole thing. Right?
Fuck this. I’m out.
Monday, February 1, 2010
yawn...
Hey dildos! It’s Monday and you know what that means, right? That’s right! It’s time to talk about the grammys! Now, I know that grammy is short for gramophone, which is appropriate, as the gramophone is an out dated dinosaur of a machine, and what better synecdochic metaphor is there for the music industry, am I right? Woot. That’s galactic poetry again, folks. Anyway, I was gonna make a joke about how the grammys could be named thusly because it was nothing but out of touch grandmothers and shit up there, but well, a few things happened. First, I realized that the gramophone thing was better, then I didn’t watch the grammys, so, well, this is what you call post modern, utilitarian, formalist comedy by way of essay. This is the future. The grammys, and music in general, is the past, man. Quit living in the past, kay?
I don’t really have a lot to talk about today. I’m tired. I was up late and I got up early to take my kid to his new school where all he seems to want to do is cry and reach for me and really put the screws to me in the whole daddying game. Wow. That’s not interesting. Uh, what else?
I have a show this Friday at the Mutiny. It’s free. I’m playing with Joe from Smoke or Fire, in honor of our cool new acoustic split record that’s coming out. Also, I guess punknews and some other fine folks are doing some auctioning for the people of Haiti, and one of the items you can bid on will be the test pressing of said record. Pretty exciting. It’s an analog leak. How future primitive.
Okay, I just ate a cheeseburger the size of my face, and I lost my atm card and I think I may need to take a nap. Also, I need to know where a good spot for hip hop in Chicago is. Like a bar, or a club or even a store or something. Any ideas? You’d be helping me out immensely.
I feel like there’s something else big going on right now that I’m just leaving out of this, but I’m tired and I don’t feel like thinking, so I’m gonna go rub cocoa butter all over my body and fall asleep on the bathroom floor like I usually do on Mondays.
Toodlooo hoes!
I don’t really have a lot to talk about today. I’m tired. I was up late and I got up early to take my kid to his new school where all he seems to want to do is cry and reach for me and really put the screws to me in the whole daddying game. Wow. That’s not interesting. Uh, what else?
I have a show this Friday at the Mutiny. It’s free. I’m playing with Joe from Smoke or Fire, in honor of our cool new acoustic split record that’s coming out. Also, I guess punknews and some other fine folks are doing some auctioning for the people of Haiti, and one of the items you can bid on will be the test pressing of said record. Pretty exciting. It’s an analog leak. How future primitive.
Okay, I just ate a cheeseburger the size of my face, and I lost my atm card and I think I may need to take a nap. Also, I need to know where a good spot for hip hop in Chicago is. Like a bar, or a club or even a store or something. Any ideas? You’d be helping me out immensely.
I feel like there’s something else big going on right now that I’m just leaving out of this, but I’m tired and I don’t feel like thinking, so I’m gonna go rub cocoa butter all over my body and fall asleep on the bathroom floor like I usually do on Mondays.
Toodlooo hoes!
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