All This… And My House Too! (Neat Year!)

I’d say that this year is now officially closing out as… kinda lousy.
I’m typing right this moment with no soul - since the piece I was working on went bye-bye without the possibility of retrieval like, 2 minutes ago. Neato!

Okay. Time to step back, regroup, take a deep breath and… start over. I’ll be back. (Who am I talking to again????)
26 December, 2009 @ 9:10 by m.

Okay, back in the saddle and… I will not be defeated!
Let’s just say the sooner I get through this, the better off I’ll be. Maybe this will be the flapping of butterfly wings to send a Tsunami of Happiness throughout the world? Or… maybe the six of you who read this and myself can just (in purely platonic fashion) “pool our collective loathing” and feel a little better.

Ouch! Did you feel that?
Yeah - it was 2009, kicking all our tails up and down “Wall Street and Main Street!”
Some headlines:

Real Estate Bubble Officially Pops - Gets Some On Everybody

Basically, unless this guy shows up with 100 dudes in yellow jumpsuits and a bunch of flat screen TVs at every house in America (he can start with mine) we’re all kinda hosed. The Short Sell is somehow our best option… how neat of you, universe. Good thing I never installed the granite toilet seat!

The War is Ending… Someday. (Like all things: Life, Social Security, the Sun, etc.)

Single biggest let down of the Obama administration, for me. (We’ll get to all the hand-wringing and finger-pointing in a minute. Be still, Eager Beavers.)
I don’t get it. Now, of course the most I know about the war in Iraq is Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2 and the beginning of Iron Man so… I probably shouldn’t be the group spokesperson (-Daniel Tosh-).
I don’t understand the latest surge.
Apparently I don’t understand what an Exit Strategy is, ’cause it doesn’t look like we’re exiting anything.
I don’t understand why no one tells us, really tells us, what’s going on. (Hey News People: YOU SUCK!)
I don’t understand how we can open up windows in the universe, but not the hills of Afghanistan.
I’m renaming the war in Iraq: The Family Trip to Magic Mountain.
“Mom, when are we gonna get there?”
“Five more minutes, son. Five more minutes.”

Michael Jackson Dies, World Mourns Man They Would Never Hire As Babysitter

Meanwhile Iran was having a revolution, fyi. There’s something really sad and “ironical” about the death of Michael Jackson, all the money tied up in the mass public mourning of such a revolutionary artist and… an unknown girl named Neda, being shot dead in the street to start an actual revolution. Covered this earlier in the year but… it’s a nice set up for:

Michael Jackson Dies, Black Eyed Peas and Adam Lambert Still Making “Music”

Yeah, that’s right. I think the Black Eyed Peas make awful music and Adam Lambert is ridiculous.
First of all, “tonight’s gonna be a good night” and “let’s get it started” are the latest rungs in the ladder heading on down to the Shittiness In Music Cellar. “All along the watchtower”? Nah - we don’t do that whole “depth” thing anymore, Gramps. The way we’re headed, the theme for 2010 will be, “Gub.”
And as for Adam Lambert… well, what did you expect, Universe? If music is only about image - it sure as H-E-double hockey sticks ain’t about music - what else could a television show that claims to be about music burp forth but this monstrosity?
Oh, wow. He’s so controversial. Let me remind you of that performance with KISS on AI, and Paul Stanley’s enormous gut. Just… let that float around in your head for a minute.
Okay! Now that we’re on the same page, please remind me why you’ll buy one single song from this guy?
p.s. He lost to the dude with the acoustic guitar. I don’t even think the sisters down in West Hollywood really like his music. To quote Buddy from the Kids In The Hall: “I still refuse to believe Liberace was gay. I just don’t want him to be.”
Androgyny is the new Bell Bottoms. ‘Nuff said.

Country Spends Money It Doesn’t Have - Blames “New Black Fella Who Moved In”

Sorry folks, but I gotta tell you I saw this coming.
“Be careful what you wish for - you just might get it.” - Mother Theresa
I liken the last election to riding a beach cruiser down a long steep hill during rush hour - you don’t realize how much trouble you’re in until it’s happening.
I mean, you didn’t think George Bush was really that stupid, did you? (Okay, I might have.) Maybe he played everyone with his Hee-Haw President Frat Boy thing - but I’m thinking all the while, he & his cronies were ringing up a tab they had no intention of paying then laughing like Snidely Whiplash when they settled on the target of their Billionaires’ Prank. (You do remember that all these so-called “bailouts” started… before Obama was in office, right?) “Buster” crashes the party in triumphant victory… just in time for the cops to show up. (Did John Hughes write this? Let’s hope so… because in the end, the The Team That Carved a Skull Into a Desk always wins. P.S. Rest in Peace, you great man. John Hughes 1950-2009)
Let me ask you something: Do you really - honestly before GOD and BABY JESUS - think that John McCain and Sarah Palin would have steered us down any other path than the one we’re currently on? Now, if you still say “No” to that question, lemme ask you this: If Sarah Palin were a Black chick from the South Side of Chicago, would you still think she was so “approachable” and “like you”?
Yeah. I didn’t think so.
Over simplified? Maybe, but I’ve never understood the judgement of a Pres five minutes after he moves into the White House. Just seems a little too much to believe - “Hey guys, I’m here! Lemme fix what’s been broken for four years! Got it! Now what? This is so easy!!!”
Now, we have “The First Black President” in office - a distinction I hear more frequently as the days go by - and everyone that didn’t vote for him has suddenly forgotten the last eight years, or even the last 20 for that matter - like the Good Ol’ Boys were in there just feeding the dog and picking up the mail or something. (Oh, and in case you go making the mistake that I have any specific political affiliation - as much as 3 of the 6 of you who read this would love to do - doesn’t the Whitewater scandal ring sour in a whole new way all of a sudden?)
C’mon people.
It seems that some people are just hoping the guy destroys the country in order to justify… what?
So they can say, “See, I told you so!”
No? Too much? Well, let me ask you this: What did you think about Bush’s critics? Bill Clinton’s?
Yeah. Got it.

You wanna blame somebody for the recession?
You can start with me.
I haven’t owned a damn thing, all my life.
Didn’t come from money.
Never “came into some money.”
Never had a rich uncle die or hit the lottery.
I’m just a guy from Fresno who tripped, fell and was grabbed by God just before falling into a bottomless abyss then placed gently on my feet in Southern California. I work for a living. (A lot. I work a lot for a living.)
I “bought” a house when the opportunity presented itself, because people said, “buy a house when the opportunity presents itself.” I watched all the shows on HGTV and dared to dream that I might have finally found my chance to build on something with the future in mind.
And now I’m paying for my insolence.
“Get back down there, Morlock!”
I got the interest-only loan, worked more to pay it, hoped that I could fold that into something more stable with the equity that I would be gaining by finally owning something… and then our place lost about 30% of it’s “Equity?” and the Doomsday Clock started ticking on our last year before the loan ADJUSTS. (Much like the question mark that is now synonymous with the word “equity,” the word “adjusts” should now be accompanied by the rhino from James and the Giant Peach, black smoke, and thunder. For now, all-caps and bold will have to do.)
So, there you have it. The Villain in this play has been identified. Gotta give Daniel Craig an actual villain to battle - this isn’t the Happening. Who can karate chop the economy? You’re welcome.

Okay… now that all the doom and gloom has been aired, let’s enjoy some levity!

Movies!
Loved Sherlock Holmes, District 9, Duplicity (how this movie went nowhere is beyond me… maybe should have had more Blue Cat People), Coraline (and pretty much anything that Neil Gaiman does), the Hangover (minus the… eww) and… Star Trek. Star Trek. Star Track, whatever. It was awesome and if you didn’t watch it because you’re too cool, please don’t ever go to the movies with me.
Still waiting to see The Road, Zombieland, Food, Inc., the Messenger, Avatar (seriously, that was me - the one person who hasn’t seen it), Fantastic Mr. Fox, Up (yes, seriously. I’ve been busy!) & “9,” and the Hurt Locker.
Have no interest in seeing Nine (The musical. May I ask… why? And what’s up with all the nines?), Precious (I lived in Fresno for all of the 70’s, lets just say I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this movie already and it bummed me out then, too) or The Blind Side (We’ve ALL seen this movie before. Maybe next they’ll make Webster into a movie.)
Didn’t care for Inglorious Basterds(sic), to be honest. There were moments (the bar in the cellar, all the stuff with the Tiny Nazi) but overall the movie just seemed a little too straight forward, and seeing as this was a Tarantino movie, that totally confused me. Where were all the back story bits and timeline juggles that I loved so much about Kill Bill, Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs? Why didn’t someone just shoot the Tiny Nazi?
And Where the Wild Things Are… hmm. What to say? I wanted it to change my life. I grew up on the book and am a pretty legit Spike Jonze and Dave Eggers fan. Thought this might make for an interesting combination, plus… Gandolfini. C’mon. It just… didn’t completely jive for me. Seemed really, really quiet all the time. And I don’t care what anyone says, that Karen O soundtrack did nothing for me. Like I’ve said before: This got me a little spoiled.

Speaking of Music:

Well, we all know where my heart lands on this subject, so let’s really just cut to the chase: No new music at all came out in 2009. Sorry. Check back in 12 months.

Unless you consider this music:

Seriously, it was pretty bleak. Aside from a few distractions - Baroness‘ The Blue Record was a highlight, as was Regina Spektor’s Far. It’s nice to see groups pull off two albums “in a row” that are full of great songs with great hooks and real depth - and equally sad to see that literally no one in the “media” has made much of a fuss about either of them. For every Lady Gaga - who, I’ll be honest, I don’t despise (this was hilarious) but I also could live without - there are literally 1000’s of Fever Rays out there. (Okay, maybe be not - she’s pretty amazing - but you get my point) Great music that just doesn’t stand a chance in the current machine. But, there is a little hope, despite what the pic at the top of this Blahg says: This article by Dave Allen, (seriously, READ IT) shared by my friend Anthony DeBarros who is awesome, states most of my feelings pretty well. At first, I thought,
“He puts everything on the artists to change the way things are! How is that fair??”
But then… I thought about it for a minute. Hasn’t that kind of… always been the case?
Look, call it laziness, call it complacency, call it entitlement - call it whatever you want.
Call it: The Reality of How Things Are.
The days of gazillion dollar record deals and Tour Busses for Everyone! are OVER. Let it go. Funny though, I think those of us who never really tasted that life are the most resistant to let the dream go. But… there is no choice but to do so and then… make something NEW.
Be the Artist you claim to be - if you’re gonna claim to be that, be that.
These are the facts:
1) If artists don’t take this moment to seize control of what they do and make it work for them, they may have to wait for the next big shift, and that could be ages and it could be a shift back towards… someone that isn’t an artist controlling everything.
2) Anything that makes an artist stretch and risk and fear (at least a little) is, historically speaking, artistically healthy.
3) What we had before, only worked for a few souls… and we hated those bastards!!!!

So… try.
Do something different.
Fail.
Succeed.
Flounder.
Want it.
Anything but… standing pat, wishing you could go back.
Why long for someone else’s days and dreams… you never had?
Happy New Year.

Okay… now that we all need a nap, I’ll leave you with my vote for Song of the Year:

Hope the next one is a little brighter!
As always, you can follow me on Twitter here and you can leave comments here.

Crucified in the Land of Thor

Fifteen years, schmifteen years!
In 2009, it is official: The Crucified has rocked the Land of the Wikings.
There were hair-windmills. There was sweat. There was stumbling. There was an odd odor in the dressing room. There was an unexpected encore that could only be met with a song not meant for encores. Whateve’s - that’s how we do it!
Seriously though: There was intensity and I think some of the people at the show actually had… fun. Imagine that.

“Apparuhnntly the best fing to do is”:
Break up, don’t play for a decade and a half, don’t practice, don’t sleep and don’t spend any time around your band-mates.
Go to Norway.
ROCK.
So easy.
Obvie.
Yes, we had a couple shows this year, one a bit more satisfying than the other, but this was essentially our first real gig under what I’d call “Normal Band Conditions” - panicked, stressful, slightly unorganized - in almost two decades. We had a blast - and those Scandinavians were all about it. Which is weird because, in case you didn’t know it: The Crucified is not cool. Let’s keep some perspective here.

And: There was Norway itself.
Cold? Yes. How Cold? Ever see this?:

If you answered yes, then you know what follows… and why this is awesome:

I’d like to express why I love going over there so much but in all honesty… I’ve already tried like, 28 times. If this weren’t digital, there’d be eraser guts all over the place and a hole in the paper. After all those tries, my conclusion: I’m making it too complex when it’s simple, really - musically, it’s a lot safer a place.
What do I mean? I mean no one there is gonna give you a hard time if you just wanna get down. Doesn’t really matter what music it is or who it’s supposed to impress - people over there just seem to enjoy the jams as opposed to what some snob “more enlightened person” might say they’re supposed to enjoy about the jams.
Hope that makes sense, I really do.
An important distinction to make: most of these folks are just into what they actually like or, more important, what they hope will happen next. There’s a lot less worrying about what is “cool” - big difference.
(Is there a more tired routine than being cool? Good gawd, what happened??? Did everyone stop aging at 9 and no one told me???)
Besides, like I said, The Crucified is not cool, lest anyone forget.
Anyway, it’s a lot easier to have fun. The contrast between that environment and the one currently prevailing here in the states is strong: for the most part, over there you have people focusing on passion and expectation, over here there’s a lot of focusing on one’s own reaction to what has already happened. Like I said, safer. More fun. Yeah, definitely.

An added bonus: being around such an atmosphere of free creativity just… gets on ya.
I had amazing conversations with amazing people about what amazes them. About what is… again, what is next. I mean, for some 15 years or so the Crucified has been all about the past for me but I have to say that this trip… something changed. I got to wondering about options and approaches and the ways that I might be able to just let go and do something without fear.
Wait. What?
Where did this come from?
There I was, with The UnCool Crucified - risen from the dead, roaming through the Norwegian night, and dare I say it… feeling creative.
(To David and Emil: 1000 thank yous. And to Ivar: You sweat a lot - but you’re welcome anytime. Please buy a proper stereo, soon.)

Now look, don’t translate this as some sort of declaration - the Crucified will do what it do when it do. We had a blast and I think it went a long way towards encouraging the four of us to consider… more. There were times when I thought, “This is pretty freakin’ cool.” But… no one’s making any plans.
We’re also not not making plans so, take that for what it’s worth.

Highlights…

…Bellew, Chaffin, Minier and our good friend Ken Sheahan trying to decompress in the room at the hostel whilst reading broad-sweeping indictments on the country of Poland, written by near-geniuses on the hostel bunk beds:

…Breakfast with some weird Mustard & Vinegar Fish Jelly whilst sitting next to an albino who elected not to utilize the community shower. Sorry, no photo or scratch n’ sniff. Trust me.

…Hanging backstage with the dudes I haven’t hung “backstage” with in ages, loosening up before the show whilst Ken (as The Crucified) and I did the Twitter thing.

…When Norwegian bikers called “The Holy Riders” say they all live in “The Cave”… they actually mean they live in a cave.

…And of course… the show itself.

Lowlights…

…Funny how the world can seem so small when, one day you’re chatting with a person 17 hours away, and the next you’re in a different country with no Sprint Cell service. (Yeah… that’s right. Hey Sprint! YOU SUCK!)

…US Airways really should look into seats for people who aren’t 4′ tall.

…Fuzzy lil’ ol’ ladies who try to lane jump you at 5:00am…

Oh! Almost forgot: If you find yourself traveling a lot, or even just a little, and you need a backpack, you really should check out Voltaic Systems‘ solar powered bags. That’s right, solar. Power. You know what works everywhere, despite the lack of an outlet or the right adaptor in some tiny little country?

THE SUN.

Look for this…

This bag is ridiculous! Holds my 17″ Powerbook and holds a charge in a little battery pack inside forever. (I’ve never drained mine completely - every time it’s in the sun, the cell charges) It comes with all the adaptors you’ll ever need… they even sent me one for my Palm Pré that didn’t exist when I first bought the bag. (The bag I use won’t charge a laptop, but it will charge my iPod and BlueTooth, which you’re not supposed to plug in anywhere in Europe, even with an adaptor… they have a bigger one that charges laptops, but I’d call it a “future purchase.”) Check it out… you won’t regret it.
(No… that wasn’t a paid commercial. I freakin’ love that thing.)

Okay, briefly:

Heavy Rotation:

Baroness is good for you.

And in the interest of keeping the Scando-ness of this post, formerly of Honey is Cool, Fever Ray:

Till next time, tak!

As always… you can leave comments here!

Lot the Bar Manager

Hello, dear friends.
I’ve missed you.
Sorry for the absence: I’ve been on the hustle trying to pay for this idiotic and ill-advised condo purchase.
But… I’m much better now. Weighing the options, a “short sell” (whatever that even means) looks like the most realistic and lesser of the “Eternal Financial Devastation” categories. You homeowners know what I’m talking about – if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you were probably smart enough to not do what I did: Buy a place to live. Silly me.
Anyhow, part of the most recent massive shift in identity for yours truly has been time and the lack thereof in my previous rut.
Put shortly, I’ve been working too much at a job I hated.
My epiphany: If the role you play at your job ever makes you feel like this man:

Then you should quit doing that job immediately and just trust that God knows stuff – because you will go from feeling like good ol’ Tom Hagen one day to… Lot.
With the doors latched.
And all the lights on.
Curled up in the fetal position in a pool of your own tears.
Your “Hottest Club in the O.C.!” will just be, “A bar job in Downtown Sodom, across from the airport.”
That was me: Lot the Bar Manager.
I would describe that life as “a progressive dismantling of one’s dignity.”
Turns out, people really do think they’re the Godfather - even when they just own a club in Irvine that can’t pay its bills. But that’s another story…
Back to how it happens. How one becomes Lot the Bar Manager.

You start off getting into the restaurant biz because it’s flexible job field allows you other pursuits while still being able to pay rent. (Like… Rock n’ Roll)
You wait some tables, you meet some people. You learn that Ranch dressing (or the lack thereof) can turn people into monsters.
You notice the bartenders make the most money in the shortest amount of time, which would allow you other pursuits (Like… more Rock n’ Roll) and possibly… “a better life.” You also notice that bartenders are rarely chewed out by grouchy people who should probably just eat salad instead of dipping their fried sausage burgers into herb-sprinkled mayonnaise. (Again with Ranch dressing?)
You finally get behind the bar and work as often as you can because you have these other pursuits and this “better life” but it all costs money. You laugh at the poor bastards who are still stuck kissing ass to the Ranch Eaters.
Life seems to be picking up for at least… five minutes.
You pick up another shift or two.
You buy a condo because you can finally afford to pay a mortgage instead of rent and, “Hey, the government will give you a tax break as a homeowner…”
Then… you have to pay the mortgage. Time to pick up more shifts.
You discover the reason bartenders make all that money is that for 4 straight hours they deal with people who wouldn’t last 4 straight minutes in any other scenario – people who will grab a total stranger (you) by the arm, while that total stranger is serving other more patient total strangers, and scream,
“HEY!!!!! HEY!!!!! RIGHT HERE, RIGHT HERE. I’LL TAKE A RED BULL AND VODKA!”

I had a slightly hilarious little video to play for you here, something to put you “in there” but… it’s too awful, so forget it. Let’s just say the formula for being “in there” is:
A New Haircut + Club Promoters + “JÄEGAH-BAHMS” x 500.
Welcome.

You realize these people, The Screaming Drunk Grabbers, are who you spend most of your time with because of the mortgage and that this is your job forever and that you kind of hate it.
You realize that you should be releasing some of the pressure by expressing your frustrations through those pursuits you love so much… and then some Screaming Drunk Grabber shoves his credit card in your face and you think the only way to properly express how I feel right now is to jam that credit card into that gaping, screaming, whining mouth…
Then you count the money at the end of the night and forget how much you hated making it (until you’re trying to make it again) because now you can pay the mortgage.
You count the money at the end of the night and forget to write about what you just went through.
You think, “I could work more,” because a mortgage is just a sick trick by some evil Man in a Darkened Room with a Cigar designed to make you lose your mind.
(The word “equity” should always be presented as a question: “Equity?”)
You realize that because mortgages and food NEVER STOP and you’ve now needed to work toward a little job security, maybe a little more control of your environment (enter “Management” status) that you haven’t pursued any of those pursuits in…
Ages.
You find yourself now fully devoted to doing something that it turns out you hate – and the things you love doing, the things you wanted to do more of so you did this, those things that should be outlets for you to let off steam about this stupid thing you now devote ALL OF YOUR TIME TO – are not really being done any more and you are now a PROSTITUTE.
Anyone remember the Bible school story about the frog in the pot?
Turns out, when the heat rises hot enough to cook the frog, the frog doesn’t die… it becomes a Bar Manager.
Turns out the pot isn’t full of water or even a nice au jus – it’s actually a stewing mix of cesspool-grade debauchery, depravity and douchebaggery.
Turns out the pot isn’t a pot at all, it’s Sodom and Gomorrah.
Hence: Lot the Bar Manager.

So, I quit.

I’ve traded in my Boston Shakers, bottle opener, Screaming Drunk Grabbers and 1:45am booze peddling for a remote control, DirecTV, football, pizzas, beer and little kids winning silly prizes.
I went from managing a Lounge to a Parlor – a pizza parlor.
And I feel… awesome.
I now work five days to make what I did in two or three but strangely… I don’t feel like I’m working as much. Maybe that’s because I don’t have to swim through the cesspool in order to make it.
And since I don’t feel like my soul has been extracted on a nightly basis by some rusty tool from one of those SAW movies, I actually want to do stuff.
I have the energy to pursue those pursuits I’ve pursued for so long.
Gonna play some Rock n’ Roll.
Gonna write out what’s in my head.
Gonna go out to a restaurant, order a double cheeseburger wrapped in chicken-fried steak , double-dip it in Ranch dressing then go home and watch the Godfather… and laugh myself to sleep.

See you soon.
m.

The Digital Tower of Babble

That’s right: Not Babel.
Babble.

Ever get the feeling that things are just spinning out of control?
What is at this point an overused punchline in dumb Rom-Com’s (You know: The muppet on the screen blathers “He texted me so I myspaced him but he didn’t Twitter back!”; The muppets at the film studio all coo, “Oh, that’s so hilarious and current!”) is also my reality: I can’t- no, better- I don’t want to keep up with all this shit.
I’m sorry, it’s too much (typically useless) information from too many sources - with not enough time to process it all.
I’m considering just… shutting it all down.

Now, I know… this isn’t new territory. But at least I’m not Tweeting about Twitter so back off man.

Anyway-
We’re learning bad habits and we don’t allow enough time to recover from them.
Patience, already dangerously close to nonexistent, is now being tested to the limits because instead of an actual phone call (or heaven-forbid, a letter sent in the mail) we now just click and expect immediate results. If you’ve ever felt relieved that you’d spent “quality time” with someone because you sent them a text message, it may be too late.

Attention span?
What’d you just ask me?
Yeah, forget it. Everything demands attention rightthisminuterightnow. I mean, there are actual people who live life right now expecting immediate response to any and every message - and who get genuinely worried/upset/pissed off/insulted/etc. if there isn’t an immediate response.
Ironic twist - there’s no need to worry because, hey, some bright and shiny new toy will probably distract them from their anger and they’ll be off your back for at least long enough to text/email/tweet/IM you about their new toy… and yes, the cycle will begin again.
Hope we have enough toys to keep this up.

Sincerity? Do you even need to ask?
How much can someone actually mean something when they send it out to no one in particular? And if you call someone stupid or irrelevant or amazing or iconic but you don’t sign your actual name… how much can you really mean it?
You’ve heard the term, “Give him enough rope, he’ll hang himself,” right? Well, this rope is digital and endless. While all of the above issues are intertwined, I believe the overall lack of sincerity is the central cord in the noose.
I just don’t think it’s possible for everyone to mean it all.

Every instant message; every last minute text; every comment; every note on a Facebook “Wall”; every Tweet - how can all of this be sincere enough to actually matter?

Technologically, everything is so advanced - how can we resist? Every form of entertainment and time-passing is so much more real than what we’ve known. We put a lot of time and money into this stuff… and these advances do in fact bring the world closer. But for all the benefits that the digital our digital Work of Wonder has brought forward, I can’t help but think of a certain Tower… built so high. I’m not so sure we’re building this tower to reach heaven, we’re certainly trying to reach some form of ultimate autonomy.
We can talk to anyone at any time and from any where… and we don’t even need bricks and mortar.

There’s good and bad to all of these advances - that’s the pinch. I actually take advantage of many of the technological progressions of our era but… I spend a lot of time with people who wouldn’t be able to live without them. That’s… amazing.

Top 5 Most Awesome & Simultaneously Most Horrible Recent Inventions:

5. HDTV
It’s at 5 because I hate it the least - in fact it’s only on the list because I love it too much - and would shut it down last.
Shark Week in HD? Worth every second invested.
Raider game in HD? Worth every second invested as long as we win.
But… I Survived in HD? Can they not get one single person with good skin on this show??? If you’re gonna spend an hour listening to someone tell a horrific story about the human monster they survived, the least the director could do is secure a nice cleansing scrub. Maybe more air-conditioning in the studio. (Look: The stories are riveting, just… stop dragging it out. I know the world is terrifying - I don’t need to see the Frankenstein-stitch scars from the stab wounds in dude’s neck while he’s telling me what I already know… in HD.)
Unfortunately HD has now spoiled my eyeballs rotten - I see any sporting event on a regular TV and I’m instantly frustrated. But pretty much anything else - except Jon & Kate-like banalities - comes on the TV in HD and I’m hooked.
Next thing you know… it’s tomorrow. And there are crumbs everywhere.
I say it’s awesome because it’s awesome, and horrible because it’s awesome.

4. MySpace
“Why only #4, Mark?”
I’ll tell you why: Because it’s no longer a problem, really. I already did that addiction, that panic, that “hustle” - and I’m over it. Just like pretty much everyone I know. Millions upon millions of pages of bad HTML (Tell me I can “learn” HTML in 15 minutes by going to some website and you’ll just have to forgive me for not believing you.) and poorly uploaded videos means that opening most any MySpace page eventually became too much work. Now a days, it’s just a digital festival of unsigned bands - something I’d avoid in real life. Online… so much easier to just… not.
Horrible because it was once awesome.

3. Facebook
Coming in at 3rd place, just ahead of it’s former rival, Facebook has now surpassed MySpace in so many ways for me that I can’t even measure them. It’s quick, it’s simple and it actually does perform the function of keeping you in contact with people you’d actually like to stay in contact with. Also nice: No more “We have similar tastes in music, thought you might like this, too!”
Problem with FB - why it’s both horrible and awesome at the same time? - it’s too much a part of the day’s zeitgeist. (yeah, I know) People actually get mad at you for not using it… so you do and then… you kind of can’t help it. You’re in it. You’re wet. Get a laptop and FB page and an HD Deadliest Catch marathon we’re back to “How is it tomorrow?” and all the crumbs.
Plus… Mafia Wars. Texas Hold ‘Em. Hello.

2. Twitter
This was a tough one - mostly because I’m trying to determine if it’s 1 to 5 in awesomeness ore 1 to 5 in shittiness… or some kind of combo. Hang it. It is what it is.
Twitter is… so dumb. I use it, so I know. It’s idiotic on almost every level. Never before has so much information that no one wants been so available. “I just went to the bathroom.” I use the network because it’s easier to update the Facebook status from my phone… and also to follow some very important updates. Like this one from Jerry McDonald:
“They did it in public, so I can write about it. Russell flips to McFadden, who hands to Nick Miller on reverse to the left . . .”
You know… important stuff.
Look, you can say something to a lot of people quickly - you can
But yes, the absurdity of updating the Universe on every trite event of one’s life is not lost on me. I get it. But here’s where it gets weird: That’s not the dumbest aspect of Twitter - at all. And no, it’s not the lingo. Tweets vs. Twitter and all of that - c’mon, it’s not that hard. You want to know what it is? You want to know what it utterly unacceptable about this service?
Tweeting about Twitter.
Imagine this: Imagine my entire blahg were about… blahgging. Imagine an album of songs about singing. A work of fiction about… works of fiction.
Not exactly compelling.
This guy is a major offender - and it’s not just because he’s a Bronco Sympathizer, although I do hold that against him. It’s that he just can’t stop Tweeting about Tweeting and it really tweets me off! Unfortunately, to get the updates on the footballs I gots to wade through the dumb dumb stuffs.
And all those issues I mentioned earlier? Impatience, lack of attention and lack of sincerity? Yeah, this is kind of… where all those meet to become one in a big mashup of gross.

And now, for the grand finale, the apogee (or whatever…):
NUMBER 1.
Well, I gotta tell you: this kind of settles it. This list is a 1 to 5 of awfulness, 1 being the worst because this little invention is where all this crap started:

1. The Cellphone
AKA The Leash.
AKA The Excuse.
(As in, “What’s you’re excuse for talking during this movie I paid $12 to get into? Oh, you’re on your phone.”)
Once upon a time I resisted. I resisted as long as I could but it was futile. Now… I am a slave. I wear a leash that stretches… across the world.
The cellphone is great for more reasons than I have the patience to list here and horrible for twice as many - but mainly it’s horrible because there is no debate, there is no “Nah, I don’t get those things” or whatever acceptable reason still remains for people to not Facebook or subscribe to HD service or whatever.
Cell Phones are not optional.
I’m not even kidding: I don’t know anyone who doesn’t have one. Maybe FiFi’s grandma. Maybe.
These little curses have taken over the world and are to blame for pretty much every other thing there is that leads us to impatiently hurry, not pay enough attention, and communicate in shallow and insincere bursts. Be it hand to ear in traffic or stopping a conversation with the person in front of you mid-sentence while you answer your BlueTooth - we can’t get off the phone.

And let us not forget the “other” aspect of the mobile phone that makes it that much more of a nightmare: Texting.
Curses!!!.
The text message is responsible for a constant stream of interruption, willful or completely out of one’s control. Combine the fact that without any universal way to communicate all the tones in the human voice, by default the text message almost always leads… to more text messages. The abbreviations, the jargon, the sheer number of them… the surge in text messaging over the last few years has made even the most shallow emails seem like long forgotten windows to the soul.

And it all wraps up in that damn phone. Don’t deny it. It’s probably sitting right next to you right now, isn’t it? Did you just stare at it? What, ‘fraid it might know you’re talking beside it’s back?

I’ll be honest with you… I started this entire blog because I wanted to bitch about cellphones.

Now that I’ve done it, I’m surprisingly unsatisfied. Maybe because I know that it just doesn’t matter.
No one cares.
People love this crap.
We love the distractions… and I fear our dependence on them is at this point irreversible.
You think the terrorists are still aiming at our… planes?
Haha. LOLZ. LMAO.
All they have to do to send this country back to the Dark Ages is turn off the juice. Wanna keep yourself safe from Al Qaeda?: Go camping.

What would we do without all of these basic necessities bells and whistles?
Not sure.
Turn off the phone for a day and tell me what you think.

P.S. If you think that Universal Health Care is some sort of Commie Plot - SHUT UP.
If you haven’t watched SiCKO yet and you’re still talkin’ all that nonsense, I just want you to know that I know you’re a sucker.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe: Festivitis Relapse

Let’s see: What could I possibly cover based on the last few weeks?
You know what needs more coverage?
MICHAEL!
Because I have so much to say that no one else has said, right?
Wrong.
I’ll repeat what I posted on my FaceBook: I find it odd that the entire world – or at least, all of LA, which is basically the same thing – made such a show of mourning a man they would not trust to baby-sit their children. Jus’ sayin’.

Will Steve McNair be remembered as the warrior we used to watch on Sundays – even when he didn’t play for our own team – or as a man who shoulda been home with the wife? Not to speak ill of the dead, but I adore my lady and have a difficult time deciding how to mourn a man I didn’t know when I’m aware that he left behind a wife and children to deal with the fallout of some highly questionable choices. There’s the tragedy. But the NFL would have us all “move on” to another subject. Why? For the same reason Michael Vick will be suspended for four games upon his return: Can’t have anyone talking about anything related to the NFL unless it’s all roses and white bread. We can’t have Vick’s return over shadowing the (surely) triumphant return of Tom Brady or even the potential unretirement of Lord Favre.

It seems that when our so-called “heroes” have fallen, people just… lose it. Maybe… we need to pick new heroes? Might want to start with someone you actually know - add more as needed.

There is another tragedy brought on by all of these celebrity deaths that no one but a select few seem to be mourning: Right when the American Media Juggernaut was just beginning to pick up on the situation in Iran, a few iconic figures died, with their collective celebrity literally covering just about every demographic imaginable. The news went from some hard-fought-and-won attention about the violence and the all out revolution in Iran to an occasional ticker item at the bottom of the screen – wouldn’t want to distract from the poignant and integrity-filled wisdom of Joe Jackson, now would we? Who is going to “remember” Neda if they never hear of her? (Warning – that links to video that is certainly not for children, nor is it for the faint of heart.)
I guess it’s true – if the American Media doesn’t hear it, a tree falling in a forest really doesn’t make a sound. In case you’re not paying attention, China: this means you, too.

Okay, seriously… enough. Serio. Ernsthaft. Alvorlig!

I’m moving on because I have to but I want you to know that the triviality of what I’m about to cover hurts my earballs:
Music. Music is… boring.
Really, really boring right now and I’ll tell ya one reason why: The shows suck.
I wrote a blahg last year around this time titled, Festivitis. When I wrote it I honestly never anticipated going back to any festival again. Then… life happened.

Let me just say that unfortunately for the performer and the concertgoer in me, Cornerstone ‘09 was my reintroduction to Festivitis – and I had a pretty brutal outbreak. Apparently it’s like LSD – one can have a relapse of it years down the road. Maybe the harmful agents stay stored in your fat cells - that would explain why my latest relapse was so strong, I have plenty.
Like all viruses (at least, according to the science that I’m using for this next statement) Festivitis is always morphing, changing, adapting. It used to just cause extreme and traumatic sweatiness and discomfort - this latest strain hits the host with a severe case of apathy.

I hadn’t been in so many years and was really looking forward to it – more so than I’d anticipated. I was looking forward to familiar faces, familiar smells and even familiar drum circles. Then… I got to Cornerstone festival and a dirty mall broke out - who knew you could be so dirty after having not done anything at all worth noting? Had I not seen the pics on Facebook ten minutes after the fest, I might not remember that we’d ever played there later on.

The Stavesacre show was a great experience – even my harshest critic, Wifey, was impressed. (More on why I think the show was considered to be all that later.) Like Bellew said in the DVD that came out with the new E.P., “It sounds like we mean it.” Unfortunately, our show was only about an hour and a half of the festival – like an island of soul in a sea of, “Meh.”
The Crucified’s show was what it was – I’m not gonna lie, we were pretty tight and what have you, but it was a little awkward trying to really feel seventeen songs that were so much a part of my past the day after playing Stavesacre’s set full of music that I’m still passionate about right now as I write this. (I think August 14th with Demon Hunter & Living Sacrifice should be a little easier to focus on… plus, L.S. will be debuting material from their new album, “In Your Face, DEVIL!” - who wouldn’t be psyched for that???) Again – the show was a kind of an island in a big, boring sea of… what were we talking about again?
Oh, yeah. Anyway.
I’m also not saying that David Bazan’s show wasn’t great, because it was, or that the Living Sacrifice show wasn’t great, because it probably was (I was on a plane, but if I had to put money on it…) – I’m just saying that not much from the festival will stick with me, and that’s kinda sad.

Me and the Stavesacre boys used to dread C-Stone for all sorts of good reasons – the mud, the flies, the heat, the rain, the walking, the ruining of shoes, the constant repetition of the same conversation and exchange, etc.
Somehow… none of those reasons really applied to this year’s festival! And what’s worse than hippies?
When hippies are replaced with hipsters!
Believe it.

The weather was pleasant by C-Stone standards and the mud was minimal while we were there. I’ll be honest… I was kinda looking forward to getting smacked up by the heat or dodging the rain, just for old time’s sake. Plus: we were ready for it! Two hotel rooms and A/C cranked all day long while we’re at the festival. It was set up to be the best Cornerstone ever!
This year the old familiar heat, mud and humidity would have been a welcome relief, if you can believe that, anything familiar would have been welcome. It was such a strange experience – none of the comforting aspects, or even the annoying ones, were present. When held up to all the times I’ve played that place in the last 20 years, this one will be filed in my head as, “That One Time We Played Whenever That Was.”

First of all: Used to be that if you were lucky, when you got to Macomb you knew someone who had a hotel – or if your manager/booking agent cared at all about you & your sanity, they had a room or two booked for you in advance. But you had to have that handled months in advance, because if you rolled up on Thursday night of the festival there would quite literally be No Room Left At The Inn. (I’ve only slept on the grounds once – trust me, you’re motivated.) Once you got your hotel situation taken care of, it was all good. After the shows, there would literally be 20 or 30 bands - at least portions thereof – hanging out at the Days Inn. Even at the overflow “hotel” at the college, which was just like… Army barracks or something. There were bands on tour together, bands who had toured together in the past and hadn’t seen each other in months, or just… bands meeting other bands. It was a big community tailgate party, and it was fun. Bar-B-Q or pizza, there was plenty of food around and people hanging out talking stories and catching up.

Stop Me If You’ve Heard This One (of particular interest given the New and Improved Modern Bellew):
One year at C-stone, Bellew and I were going to meet Dirk and some of his buddies at their hotel room. We were standing outside the door, which was quite crowded with all sorts of the vegan/vegetarian types typically associated with mid-to-late 90’s Hardcore types.
A girl comes out to invite both of us in to have some pizza. She proudly declares, “Yeah, come on in. We have plenty of pizza for everyone. It’s vegetarian.”
Bellew smiles and says, “No problem. Be in in just a minute - but, hold on, I gotta go snap a baby squirrel’s neck first - something has to bleed before I eat.”
Her jaw dropped open and nearly hit the ground. Bellew just stood there, smiling. The deafening silence in the room was matched only by the avalanche of laughter I was helpless to contain.
Now… Bellew’s a vegan. Go figure.

I was looking forward to seeing what the new crop of bands came up with to keep themselves entertained in the off time. I once saw the paint job on MxPx’s van permanently destroyed when someone doused the whole thing with flour in the middle of the night; Stavesacre placed at least half a can of sardines and a couple eggs in key places (the vent on top of the van!?!?!? Never did get my props on that one) on the old Roadside Monument van; I seem to remember a trailer full of Adult Diapers… the list really does go on.
If any of that happened this year… I missed it. Maybe they have a booth designated for hijinx now?
I know things move on – I like that they do. But in Not So Fine ‘09… something was missing. Sure, maybe some people aren’t coming due to the recession, but I’ll tell you what I think the overwhelming issue is – and it ain’t that complex:
It’s Overkill.

The hotel was my first indication that something was funky. You could get rooms during the fest. Not even close to sold out. There were open rooms all over the place. There was NO ONE hanging out at the hotel except the two bands I was in and some of the crew from the encore stage where Stavesacre played. Aside from that, you’d have never known there was a festival happening just 20 minutes of rural back roads away.
It was… depressing, honestly.
Even the little gas station next to the hotel – aka “Where To Get Beer” – was closed and empty. That gawd-awful “Hardees” at the turnoff looked like it was closed… but it wasn’t, it was just empty. What gives?

Gather ‘round chiddren!
Once upon a time the best thing about the festival was finally being able to see some bands! Now, the problem with the festival is… all the bands. My good buddy Steve Dail said that he counted eighteen “Generator Stages” (as in, “Dude, we’ll just get a generator and do our own show in the back of your truck/at our campground/on a piece of wood!”) on the way from Main Stage to the Encore Stages.
Eighteen.
I don’t care what festival you’re talking about or how many people are playing at each of these “stages,” it really does not matter: I guarantee there aren’t eighteen bands in any given year that you, me or anybody “just missed” and really need to hear. That’s of course, a statement made with the idea that only one band is playing on each of those stages – not a chance. With all those stages, somehow there are enough bands to play on them for all but about 3-5 hours of sleepy time. It’s all Too Much Information from moment one – so even if some band turns out to be good, chances are they’ll be lost in the great wave of Nameless Faceless Bands That Should Be At Home Practicing.
The ratio of festival attendees to bands staying at the festival trying to be “discovered” has got to be about 50/50. The fact that so many of these bands are attempting to be discovered by playing the same cover of As I Lay Dying’s, “This Is Who We Are” (Hint… AILD can pull it off, your band that’s been together for three months? Not so much. Call it tough love.) is somewhat ironic, but nowhere near as much of a bummer as the cacophony that ensues when it’s happening from all four points of the compass simultaneously. Were I actually trying to watch a band on one of these stages it would be quite simply… hopeless.
Hey guys, next time – because of course, your band will still be here next summer after a year’s worth of touring and demoing out your material, perfecting your craft… right? – think about why the actual stages are so far apart… and give it a try. If there isn’t enough room for all of this crap, let the best band win.

Even the age-old tool of hype that labels spent so much time perfecting all those years – “buzz” – has been replaced with a constant barrage of flyers and hand painted signs because… there ain’t any more record labels!
I can hear the conversation now… “Should we print some stickers and advance CD’s, try and get them to the target demographic? Nah… who listens to CD’s anymore? Let’s just put 5,000 flyers up inside the 120ºF hot boxes known as Port-o-Pottys and call it a day!” Cause you know, when you’re holding up your trousers with one hand to keep them from the Organic Dipping Sauce that is somehow on the floor of every one of those damn things (Maybe the solution to what ails Rock and Roll is a pair of glasses and better aim?) and your other hand to stabilize yourself while standing up to do whatever you came to do, that flyer for “I Am the Crimson Swashbuckler” or whomever just catches your eye, you know? And the first thing you think when you leave that Box of Disease is: “Oh yeah, they’re playing at the “Jimmy Cracked Corn” stage. I’m there.”

I mentioned before that the Wifey said Stavesacre played a pretty great show. I’ll be honest – I heard that a few times, from completely different people. It was nice, humbling, encouraging but… Stavesacre discussed this amongst ourselves and came to a very honest conclusion:
We’ve played better.
Not being a jerk, being totally serious – we’ve definitely played better.
So why was this show so good to the few others who saw it?
Maybe the comment from Sam, the guy doing monitors, was a clue: “It’s just nice to have a pro band on here every once in a while.”

Look: Stavesacre is old, everyone knows this. We had our window and it’s about as close to being shut and sealed forever as it could be, but Stavesacre isn’t really the issue here: It’s the music.
People, the music is boring.
Maybe we stood out because we sounded different or approached our sound differently?
I hope that was it. That would be worth knowing. That would be a nice legacy to leave behind.
Or is it too out of vogue to want to leave anything behind in the first place?
There ain’t much sacred about music right now – is a great painting more or less powerful if the artist is there to describe every detail as he’s painting it, every nod to every influence, every flaw? Is anything surprising any more?
Nothing is really special – anyone can do anything at any time. Has that equated to a better overall music scene?
What about the next year of music will be so revolutionary as to transform next summer’s into something better, rather than worse?

You want to hear my description of the festival I waited 7 years to return to?
It’s too much of a not that good thing. A title fight of nothing but undercard matches.
Better: Imagine a five or six day-long fireworks show consisting of nothing but Piccolo Pete’s.

It’s a sad thing because you know what: Cornerstone used to be the standard. When compared with the lousiness, the marketing overkill, the boredom of all other festivals, Cornerstone was special. Now… this year, it just kinda felt like a festival in Illinois.
Sound fun?

Because I can’t find this year’s version of it, which was phenomenal:

Quickly:

On heavy rotation:

Loving the new Regina Spektor album, Far
Check out, “Laughing With” and “Human of the Year” - amazing lyrics, melodies. All that annoying stuff no one likes about music.

I’m still not supposed to admit it, but I love So You Think You Can Dance? - maybe because there’s really no faking it on a show that would cost the average watcher his or her achilles tendon in either foot if they attempted most of the moves at home. Plus… Wade Robson is a freak. And occasionally, the play some pretty decent music, too.

Also: I’m sure this has nothing to do with it, but I can’t stop listening to this song right now:

Hope you got through this all, as usual… for comments, please click here!

Sarah Palin, Ahmadinejad, and… the Reunion of The Crucified?

14 years after playing our last show, the Crucified has risen from the dead. (Kind of)
The setting: Calvary Chapel Golden Springs - church home to Raul Ries, the first and only guest vocalist on any Crucified album - in Diamond Bar, CA
The occasion: Musical accompaniment to the testimony of Sonny “Whosoever” formerly of P.O.D. (also formerly of dreadlocks that had to weigh like, 13 pounds)

We arrived at the usual rock club hour of *ahem*… 3:30-ish in the afternoon. In other words - 3 hours after my morning coffee. It was so early for me that after we played our set - which was separated into two parts by Sonny’s testimony and a brief altar call - I ate my lunch.
The sun was out, shining and actually… kind of a nice touch. That church is on a big ol’ hill in Diamond Bar, and actually boasts what might be the only nice view in Diamond Bar. (Unless dirt and weeds are your thing - in which case you could move to my home town of Madera, CA for a lot less Green $tuff) We arrived at different times but that was probably the only thing about the day that seemed unconnected.
It was a big day for me - but not because The Crucified is back together.
We’re not really back together, anyway - people can start talking about that when and (a big) if we start writing music again. Till then - it’s a lot of fun, but we’re mostly looking forward to putting out some of the music we always felt got the shaft in a way that all four of us can look back on without minor vurp sensations.
No, the day was special because… I got a little faith back.
(Just a little, bleeding hearts - don’t get all weird on me.)
Seriously, I wasn’t sure what to think about this trip straight into the Space Monkey’s gaping maw, rocking my Red Shirt and eager to show my sand. I had reservations - after all, it was at a Calvary Chapel, where I have had… let’s just say, history. Were they gonna corner my band and start praying over us or speaking nonsense that they’ll later tell us was tongues? Will some guy ask me how my “Walk” was? Will they stage a book burning upon my arrival? Will they say something crazy to a friend who’s never been to church before - or potentially worse - a friend who hasn’t been in years?
I wasn’t sure, and it started off a little shaky.
I came out of the “green room” - standard, pee-wee Sunday school classroom, little toilet and everything! It was hilarious but clean - and some guy came up to me, with that look…

Calvary Guy: “Hey brother. Listen, umm… we can’t have, uh, y’know… smoking on the grounds.”
Me: “Uhh… okay? Who… what? Where?”
Couldn’t think of who was smokin’ out there - this ain’t a Stavesacre show! (teehee)
Calvary Guy: “Oh, hey! No problem man… just… I didn’t want to offend you, you know? Some kids here are recovering from smoking and I’d hate to have this be any more difficult for them…”
Me: “Oh! Yeah. I gotcha. Well, let’s see.”

Outside, one of my old friend Klank’s circus buddies, named Sinbad, was havin’ a square. (Yes, I said: CIRCUS)
Slightly awkward conversation followed, Sinbad stamped his smoke and it was all good. Only slightly awkward. Seriously. Sinbad didn’t even get offended, he just said, “No problem.” I’ve had those conversations before - they can get uncomfortable. However, in a refreshing change, it didn’t mark the beginning of some downward spiral like these things have in the past, and I really appreciated it.
Dare I say that the entire event was… *American Cultural Christian-speak Alert* a blessing.
There were so many old friends and old faces that I literally could not keep up. (I tried to introduce my wife to everyone that came up and said hello, which was idiotic on two fronts - 1) She’ll never remember them all; 2) I didn’t remember a lot of the names myself. “Hey… brother. This is my wife…”)
That’s always tricky - There’s the faces you know and recognize but it might take a second for your gears to click - but you actually do know each other so it’s not big deal. Unfortunately, standing next to that person is usually a guy will roll up and start talking stories, reminiscing about people you never actually knew and giving one-armed hugs and knowing grins but who gets all butt-hurt that you can’t remember. My apologies to all who feel the fell under the latter category - my brain only holds so much.

“‘Member that? Those were crazy days, man!”
“No.”
“Aww, man… yeah. Crazy.”

Anyhow, the truth is… most of the people I saw were sights for sore eyes - so much so that it was at moments overwhelming. Lots of the old Garden Grove/Church-of-the-New Order to South Bay/Sanctuary-era-of-the-Crucified worlds colliding. Lots of faces I remembered from shows that happened over 15 years ago, now with little ones in tow. Dirk is old news, but seeing him along with his old Focused buddies Tim Mann, Jason Parker and Mike Merryman - plus multiple members of the various Ed’s-era hardcore bands (ask Bellew if you can’t figure it out yourself) made me a little dizzy. And while the show was great, I think the reunions were special. And… hanging out in a church all day with people who actually mean you no harm wasn’t bad either.
Then…
The C.H.U.D.s came out. (it will never get old)

I came home and checked out my facebook page to see if any pics or videos from the show had been posted, only to see legitimately worried posts from friends with families and loved ones in Iran, where riots were erupting all over due to the rigged “re-election” of President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. I asked Wifey to turn on the news, hoping that the shining beacon of American Media would save me from an ignorance-fueled near future, but couldn’t find anything.
I mean, of course not. There was something far more pressing:
Bwave Sawah Pawin got her widdle feewings huwt and she wanted mean ‘ol (genius) Dawid Wettewman to apowogize for being such a big, mean nanny-boo-boo.
That was it.
Iran?
Nowhere to be found.

And the narcissistic Americans all screamed:

Who cares about those loonies, anyway???

A brave woman’s, *ahem* unscathed family name has been tarnished! STOP THE PRESSES!
So let’s get this straight: The most powerful country in the world (…right?) with the single most powerful media in the history of mankind is being held hostage by a failed Vice Presidential candidate who is up in arms about a (misappropriated) joke from a late night comedian while the very same genocidal dictator she was so concerned about when there were still votes to be won, has taken by force an election from an entire country who is desperately trying to exercise the democracy we’re attempting to establish by means of the war she supported in the country right next door - and she wants to talk about getting her feelings hurt from a joke?
In the middle of a massive recession, there is a movement to Fire David Letterman - who still has a job entertaining us by keeping her name in the press - for a joke?
Sticks and stones are literally breaking bones and she wants us to care about a joke?
And… we do???
Do I have that right?

During the election, when votes were needed stat, Sarah Palin:

Ahmadinejad may choose his words carefully, but underneath all of the rhetoric is an agenda that threatens all who seek a safer and freer world. We gather here today to highlight the Iranian dictator’s intentions and to call for action to thwart him.
He must be stopped….

The world must awake to the threat this man poses to all of us. Iran is responsible for attacks not only on Israelis, but on Jews living as far away as Argentina. Anti-Semitism and Holocaust denial are part of Iran’s official ideology and murder is part of its official policy. Not even Iranian citizens are safe from their government’s threat to those who want to live, work, and worship in peace. Politically-motivated abductions, torture, death by stoning, flogging, and amputations are just some of its state-sanctioned punishments.

And worth noting:

It is said that the measure of a country is the treatment of its most vulnerable citizens. By that standard, the Iranian government is both oppressive and barbaric. Under Ahmadinejad’s rule, Iranian women are some of the most vulnerable citizens.
If an Iranian woman shows too much hair in public, she risks being beaten or killed.
If she walks down a public street in clothing that violates the state dress code, she could be arrested.
But in the face of this harsh regime, the Iranian women have shown courage. Despite threats to their lives and their families, Iranian women have sought better treatment through the “One Million Signatures Campaign Demanding Changes to Discriminatory Laws.” The authorities have reacted with predictable barbarism. Last year, women’s rights activist Delaram Ali was sentenced to 20 lashes and 10 months in prison for committing the crime of “propaganda against the system.” After international protests, the judiciary reduced her sentence to “only” 10 lashes and 36 months in prison and then temporarily suspended her sentence. She still faces the threat of imprisonment.

So we’re all clear: Iran is attempting to rid themselves, by way of democratic vote, of the monster named Ahmadinejad - the main contributor to the threat we all heard about when votes could be won by warning people of threats. That very same Ahmadinejad, whom Sarah Palin said herself was one of our biggest enemies, rigs the election and sends his police out into the streets to kill anyone who opposes him. Meanwhile, Sarah Palin - so aware of Ahmadinejad 9 months ago - says nothing.
Well of course, she’s been busy: Who else is gonna cash in on the Victim Ticket because David Letterman did what he’s been doing 5 nights a week for decades?

Look: I get it. The media follows the story. I understand that. My focus here is what’s happening with the benevolent Mrs. Palin. The audacity required to make a mountain out of a molehill while there is a literal volcanic catastrophe happening across the street is the stuff of legend!!!

For every person who’s given me that blank, stunned look when I say Sarah Palin is nothing “like me” - here’s why.
She says what her demographic wants to hear. And while the politics of fear weren’t powerful enough to win her and McCain the election last year, there’s no time like the present to start the campaign trail utilizing the politics of martyrdom in order to get back to the spot where the easier, more prefabricated politics of fear can take over.

Well, now I have something I’m offended about: I had a great show and this narcissistic fraud derailed it while she spun some “insult” to the very same family she’s used to advance her career into the beginning of a campaign that won’t start in earnest for 3 more years!! You haven’t heard the last of me, Palin!

Do Americans - including Christian Americans - actually care that another group of human beings are having their liberties stolen by force? Is it possible that the change we’d all feel safer to see happen is being thwarted by The Tyranny of Evil Men, while we’re over here misapplying poorly executed jokes and throwing fits?

Okay, enough.

Briefly:
Why does Taco Bell give you no Hot Sauce unless you ask, then… 3 pounds of it when you do?

Now that Kobe has his ring without Shaq, all you Lakers-goggle wearing fair weather fans might as well start counting down to the day when you’ll forget why you stuck that goofy flag out of your SUV window so long ago. He’s gone.

So You Think You Can Dance? is the best reality competition on television aside from The Amazing Race. Dudes do watch it… but why don’t they feel comfortable admitting it?
Well:
I’m an out of the closet SYTYCD? fan - and PROUD OF IT.

Speaking of television that no one watches: Pushing Daisies is officially doneski. Way to blow it, world!

I thought that Benjamin Button movie was great until hey had to use an actual little kid and the whole illusion was lost, but Blindness is the worst movie I’ve ever seen. Do not watch it in an attempt to prove me wrong - you’re welcome. I’m certain it qualifies… for this.

Heavy Rotation: White Lies‘ To Lose My Life; House of Heroes‘ The End Is Not The End - particularly the songs “By Your Side” and “Ghost” and… Jim Gaffigan’s King Baby - you will laugh, hard.

Blame American Idol

I subscribe to exactly two magazines.
Ligonier Ministries’ devotional study guide, Table Talk and the mildly sarcastic but highly entertaining, Entertainment Weekly. I get the occasional episode of HM in the mail, but as regular subscriptions go, Table Talk and EW are the only staples in the home of the Salomons. Salomen, if you will. Anyhow, Table Talk is what I read with my coffee, EW is what I read… when I feel like reading magazines.
I enjoy it because it’s quick and funny, with sharp humor and in my humble opinion, pretty decent taste most of the time. I share a lot of their opinions on movies and music. I’ve even been turned on to some solid books The Terror, Lush Life and Island of the Lost. (It was the first place I heard about that gigantic downer that landed on Oprah’s Book list for like, 3 years, The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, which was a lot like watching this:

- only with better writing and a lot more sadness. Thanks for that - ’cause the world needs more sadness.)

Anyway, I usually read each weekly edition from cover to cover, looking forward to the next week’s edition about two days after the one in my hand showed up in my mailbox.
Usually.
This latest edition has me… uncomfortable.
It started with the cover:

And followed with the story inside.

… Once in a very long while, someone arrives who doesn’t just dominate American Idol, but challenges and even changes it. Idol has always positioned itself as a portal to what ”America” (meaning, its particular viewers) desires in a newly anointed star. It’s no accident that each episode’s opening credits showcase faceless CGI humanoids striding toward their destinies. Idol stars are supposed to be blank slates, ”relatable” folk with extraordinary talent whom we elect in an orderly fashion and elevate to success.

Meet Adam Lambert. Adam has messed all that up. Adam is nobody’s idea of a blank slate. Adam is a surprise.

Essentially all that is a lead up to the “big” controversy: Adam Lambert might be gay.

“Wait a minute! This guy is… g-g-g-gay??? Well I NEVER! Somebody grab a rope!!!”

I live in Southern California - lived in Long Beach for a couple years. I worked in Hollywood.
Gay is not shocking. Gay doesn’t even strike me as especially… special. You want shocking and special? One night outside the Roosevelt Hotel on Hollywood Boulevard, a man ask my friend Margaret for a cigarette - when she held one out to him he got an exasperated look on his face, huffed and then lifted up two stumps. He was born without hands. “Can’t you light it for me?”
(How does one begin to…? Never mind)
That was kinda shocking. Gay? Not so much.

I could care less if dude is gay, straight or capable of card tricks. Seriously. It’s not my concern - I love everybody. I am uncomfortable with people telling me what I’m uncomfortable with, but this isn’t about whether or not I need some total stranger defining my character - we’ll save that for another day. The cover declares this guy the “most exciting” contestant in years - that’s what’s burnin’ my butt. For those involved, the conversation has officially changed and music has nothing to do with it. So… just what we need: Another image first, talent later scenario.
I liked it better when the artist had a great song, then I cared enough to actually find out that artist’s life beyond the music. Now we switch that around, and the reason we’re supposed to buy this kid’s albums is because… he’s “different.” Something seems fishy here.

He’s exciting, why?
Why, on this “singing show,” is this guy so exciting? I thought American Idol was about the singing, I had no idea it was a “portal” to the American soul. Why didn’t anyone tell me this?

This talk of Adam Lambert’s “specialness” and verve has very little to do with singing. On a show purportedly about undiscovered singing talent, at issue here is image and fashion… otherwise known as something other than singing. Again.
When are these people gonna learn?
“He has a big voice.”
Y’know, so have like 90% of the people who’ve ever made it to the finals for the show. The celebrities on TV shows talk about their charities in the same way: it’s an afterthought. Why is he any more exciting than anyone who preceded him? Because he looks like Pete Wentz with way too much foundation? Peter Parker with way too much foundation?

Appearing right before us is a very convincing example of why the music industry sucks.
It starts off being about music, gets sidetracked on image and then, like a child that sees a pretty butterfly, completely forgets the original point, too busy chasing after some irrelevant “angle.” Next thing you know, music is not even what we’re talking about anymore.

I used to watch American Idol all the time.
First it was kind of exciting - watching singers who’d never really had a chance before get the opportunity to be successful. It was occasionally hilarious, watching those people who sincerely thought they were great singers prove to America that they were not. Every once in a while you’d get the entitled kids, so sure of their future Star Quality after being fed years of lines from their stagemothers/snakeoilsalesman/stalkers “vocal coaches,” only to be systematically and irrevocably shut down. It lost some of its luster after the second or third idiot who showed up wearing a diaper or dressed like an androgynous wizard in order to get a shot at 15 seconds of utterly willful self-humiliation disguised as “fame”; the excitement was in full wane when all the actual singers with actual vocal coaches and a couple actual failed record deals (… or photo shoots) started lining up. Like most aspects of the music industry, it turned into a lot of posturing, a lot of “playing the game” and so forth.
The final nosedive into Lame Pond? While this “singing competition” devolved into a popularity contest that parents would feel comfortable allowing their 9 year olds to become involved with, it somehow remembered that it was at one time a “singing competition” - and as a result, it sort of half-assed it back to music. Quicker than you can say “Kelly Clarkson” we had a popularity contest for the kids and an Adult Contemporary Orgy for the parents.

AHHH! What they’ve done to the music… I’m sorry, but I call it quits when Barry “Staple Face” Manilow is supposedly giving people advice on how to be a Pop singer today. Add in those same 9 year old girls out there screaming their brains out for a man whose smile starts behind his earlobes? Gimme the remote.
(You wonder why every other one of them does lousy after they win this show???)
I mean… Andrew Lloyd Weber? Plus: At a certain point in one’s life, one must ask oneself, “Am I really entertained by the latest poorly executed Jim Morrison wannabe, especially when he insists upon staring ever-so-longingly into a camera?”

That’s a lot of dork to deal with on purpose.
After last season’s über Adult Contemporary, “Yay-We-Got-Chris-Daughtry-After-All!” finish, it just wasn’t that fun anymore, honestly. David Cook may really be talented, but he’s now contractually obligated to the dimwits responsible for this.

Oh hey, check this out.
(teehee.)

I’ve heard Randy Jackson say it over and over: “This is a singing competition.”
Really? ‘Cause it seems more like a high school election.
I’ve been aware that the show was more about image than it was about talent for a while now - one need only check out a couple seasons ago when this chick with a decent voice:

Finished ahead of this strange little dude with an amazing voice:

And yet here we are, with magazines like my beloved Entertainment Weekly giving their valuable cover space to Adam Lambert. All this stuff about the dude’s flamboyant personality and so very little about music. The article asks the question:

Can an openly gay contestant win American Idol?

The conversation has officially changed.
What if the dude is actually… good? Will we ever know?
What if he wins and his album doesn’t sell? What if he doesn’t win and it sells like gangbusters?
See the dilemma we’ve got on our hands? Music really has nothing to do with it anymore so essentially no matter what happens, this guy’s story is gonna be about whether or not he’s gay - with some singing sprinkled in for color.
It’s not exclusive to American Idol, by the way - but they’re an easy target so… I say blame them.
Someone’s gotta pay. Someone’s gotta set an example.
Someone’s gotta be the example if we’re ever gonna get music to matter again - why not them?

Where Have You Gone, Lester Bangs?

Did you see the Movie Almost Famous? Do you remember watching it and thinking, “Why isn’t music that fun anymore?”
It’s a legitimate question. Music itself is still music, so what’s the deal?
Well, the problem with the music ain’t just the music, folks.
Sure, the making-music industry is currently residing in the ICU on 24-hour life support, but what about the making-music-interesting industry? There may be no more huge deals sitting on desks in corner offices held by old, string-pulling Monopoly Men, waiting to drop such deals in the laps of any Next Big Things, but certainly there is no shortage of music being made. It can’t all be bad, can it? There has to be at least something to look forward to, right? The industry of those who are supposed to point us in that direction, of directing the flow of the next wave, should be jamming right now.
There’s good music out there waiting to be made part of our lives, but one crucial part of that process has gone bye-bye:
The Rock Writer.
We may ask where today’s Led Zeppelins or Beatles are (Hey, I’d settle for a new Nirvana at this point…) but what about this generation’s great “Documenteurs”? What about the people who bring the music home and help us find a way to fully embrace it?
What would the late Lester Bangs (portrayed by perennial badass Philip Seymour Hoffman in the aforementioned Almost Famous) be saying these days?
How would, “Lester Bangs on what American Idol means to the Music Industry” shake out?
Lester Bangs on The Jonas Brothers?
Bored actors with Pop Music vanity projects?
The commercialization of Punk Rock?
Creed?
(Here’s a great audio file posted at BoingBoing… listen and judge for yourself.)
As a lover and maker of music, I’m really afraid The Rock Writer isn’t missing - that character might just be… dead. Checked out with Mr. Bangs in 1982.
Or maybe today’s culture just doesn’t have time for that person anymore. Maybe The Rock Writer represents too much of an investment of attention, wisdom… intelligence? Or… is it something else?
Don’t get me wrong - there are plenty of people talking about music. Google “Music Blog” and you’ll find 230 million hits. Lots of folks out there saying lots of things - and loudly. Very authoritative. Very right. Just ask ‘em.

230. Million. That’s a lot of opinions being put forth as the Authority.
In my humble opinion, the Rock Editorial, with all of its informed opinion and critique - and more importantly, respect - has basically vanished off the face of the planet and been replaced by hundreds of millions of wannabes. One minute we had writers who studied the art of journalism and who were (hopefully) at some point challenged to think with a little objectivity, the next minute we had “anyone can do this.”
Oh, yeah!
So the question is really: What are all these 230 million people saying? Is anyone saying anything new or relevant or… are they just pushing more - lots more - of the same old thing? What is being said out there that will make music a better experience for anyone?
Or is anything being said at all?

“Talkin’ loud and sayin’ nothing.”
-James Brown

It really seems to me that we’ve gone from having a few voices that the masses could relate to, to a mass of voices, each with a few people who could “kind of/sort of/well, I don’t know, I guess” relate to.
Look back. Try and draw from the well of wisdom your old man tried to fill with good morals and work ethic: When something requires an art, a gift, a talent - do more or less people end up doing it? Can anyone do anything? Are we smarter today than we were 40 years ago? Does quantity win out over quality because we think we know everything now? Hmm. I don’t know - I think the information superhighway is shaping up to look a lot less like a progressive attack on the future and more like the 405 South on Friday around 5pm. Or maybe just a digital version of the Tower of Babel.
*insert play on words; cut to this picture:

annnnnnd… cue rimshot*

It’s like some sick, double-twist of irony - “be careful what you wish for” in full effect. Because bands don’t need labels to make albums anymore, there’s a glut of music being constantly produced; because anyone can write anything about anyone and scrawl it on the global toilet wall, we’ve got a glut of critics all trying to be the first to say something shocking - shocking, but catchy - something “Bathroom Wall” worthy.

Not exactly the formula for greatness, is it?

I think there are people out there who still take it seriously, but I think they get buried - right along with the good bands - under the millions of talking fingers that are tap-tap-tapping all over the internet. Maybe those people would be the target of Bangs’ wit today, who knows?
One thing is for sure: his passion would translate through whatever he was writing, because he was an artist, and those guys get noticed. (Eventually. Usually. Maybe.)
Ah, notoriety. Last - but certainly not least - those people who were good at writing about bands and Rock music used to get noticed. They even got paid to do it. Sometimes, they got to see parts of the music world previously reserved for the bands and those closely associated with them. Those writers - great communicators by nature - would then bring those experiences to the masses. They would be face to face with the bands, accountable for reporting what they saw.
If a writer was capable of doing a good job communicating those experiences, well.. the sky was the limit. If said writer was capable of uncovering some uncomfortable truth among all the readily offered information, well… that’s the way it goes when you’re dealing with a legitimate writer. He’s gonna tell the truth - painful or complimentary, regardless. But… if that writer misrepresented the bands or did them harm… he’d have to answer for it. Chances are he’d see the band (or at least a manager) again - we’re still talking about a pretty small community.
Funny how that changes things - when you have to see the person you wrote about face to face and stand by the words you’ve spoken.
This relationship was positive for those who were respectful and talented - but a big, fat negative for those who wrote things they shouldn’t have. Not so sure that same relationship is even possible with the nameless, faceless 230 million. It’s gone from an intimate and “small town” relationship to… anarchy.
Which brings me to the last issue that’s been chapping my buns. The lowest common denominator:
The Anonymous.
AKA: “Nameless Music Critic w/ Website, Comfy Chair, and Penchant for Snarky Commentary.”
AKA: “Hack.”

I think a total stranger named John Gabriel said it best with this handy diagram:

Where once there was an informed, intelligent and responsible literary artist trying to write something great, now there’s some sullen little turd who’s idea of “accomplishment” is to talk shit on people who actually accomplish things. Hacks.
Oh, Lester Bangs… where have you gone???

Now, if you’re sitting here reading this and thinking to yourself, “OMG. Another too-sensitive musician who can’t take criticism” and so forth, then let me stop you right there. While it would be somewhat childish, it would be accurate to throw the same logic back into the face of any Blah-gger spouting such nonsense (”Takes one to know one”) - but I’d like to look at it from a different angle:
I got the record that proves you’re wrong.
(Plus, when you’re born with yellow teeth, blue eyes and borderline red hair so the kids at school call you “Rainbow”- criticism is no stranger. What were we talking about? Oh yeah…)
Look, when you’ve been playing music for 20 years, chances are you’ve had some criticism that was tough to swallow. It happens. But I say that after 20 years of Rock and Roll, me still doing what I love = I can take whatever criticism comes my way and you can come up with a new excuse as to why your “internet zine” is such a downer.
You, Anonymous Blogger, would know this if… you had ever done anything yourself. I’m going out on a limb and betting… you haven’t. It’s fine. You’ll be fine. Just know that art is art - you can fake it only as long as you’re certain no one notices.
I’ve taken my share of “new” journalism. It can be painful. For 2 years of blood, sweat and tears, my band Stavesacre worked on what we felt was the definitive Stavesacre album, How to Live with a Curse. We were so excited when it was finally to released. Even Bellew, who wasn’t even in the band at the time said it was exactly that: The album we’d been trying to write since we started. The label we were on paid a guy to promote it, so he started sending it to all of his “contacts” on the web, and we started getting reviews like this, from an “online magazine” called Exoduster, in our inboxes:

Stavesacre
How to Live with a Curse
Abacus Recordings
Grade: C+/C
Miraculously, as you How to Live with a Curse progresses through its twelve songs, it just gets worse and worse. As the latest release in this Orange County-based band’s ten year career, Stavesacre are at their best with post-hardcore sounds a la a weak Quicksand…and at their worst with some type of pompous, man-rock Wind-up Records train wreck. Consistent with the opening sentence, the best songs on How to Live are early on, say the first song “A Reason to Believe,” but as soon as the slower moments of the follower “It’s Beautiful (Once You’re Out There)” you can see the forecoming doom. It is just down hill from there. The best part of the promo I have is that the songs are split up into 30 seconds tracks in order to prevent you from ripping it to your computer; an action that seems unlikely in any event. If someone would actually want to rip How to Live with a Curse, they should just be summarily executed.

Yay!
Irony: We’re still punishing the world with our horrible music, Exoduster.com is an empty link to nowhere. The thing is… the label only needs to read about 5 of those bad boys before they start moving on to another project, and so… another album, bites the dust. Happens every day. Every day.
Now, as far as I’m concerned, go on and say whatever you want to about me. I’m old, mean and I just don’t care anymore. Plus, clearly nothing you say can stop me (hah! SHAZAAM!), so at least I get to put my crap out there for you rat-types to gnaw on - maybe you should thank me. I would ask in return though, that if you have something to say, you show me the respect of a conversation so we can talk about how terrible my latest whatever is, person to person. Who knows, maybe - just maybe - you missed something. I’ll help you find it.

And hey, don’t worry - every groundbreaking band in the past has been universally received with open arms so, pile it on. I’m sure they’ll rise above and be stronger for it - be sure to ask ‘em.

At the end of the day it’s supposed to be about the music. I think we’re missing more than the Led Zeppelin of our times - we’re missing our Lester Bangs. We need someone to write about the music - bring it home. Make it part of our lives - not just sit there and slash and burn everything that comes across his desktop.
How many Anonymous Critics will the universe take in trade for one more of him?

The New Etiquette: Driving

 

Went to go see Corline with the Wifey the other night and was rudely reminded of my responsibility to at least this corner of the universe. “And what responsibility is that,” you ask?
Well, obviously my responsibility to spread the word on how to behave. Pretty simple, really.

 

We went to the movie on a night when we finally had the time and a good enough excuse to leave our comfortable Netflix-direct-to-XBOX 360 cocoon. Turns out 3-D is still cool. (Sort of like Glow-In-The-Dark T-Shirt designs. Unfortunately the majority of the people making movies refuse to go the extra mile to make cool 3-D movies - just like dumb bands and their boring shirts I can’t see in the dark. What? What am I talking about over here?) Anyway, I had been looking forward to the film for quite some time, being a pretty big Henry Selick fan (James and the Giant Peach, Nightmare Before Christmas. No, I am not a Hot Topic Goth.) and a massive Neil Gaiman fan. (Neverwhere is an easy Top 5 Book for me…)
Should have been a nice little night, right?

I was reminded of my first etiquette lesson by the ding-dongs who felt compelled to sit directly behind us - in the otherwise empty theater. They completely crossed the line when one of the three fiends decided to put her feet on the chair next to my head. (Really? “Hey lady, I HATE YOUR FEET. I HOPE YOUR FEET DIE.” Okay, maybe a bit harsh. But y’know, you’re lucky I wasn’t this guy, so don’t get too offended.)

It’s been quite a while since I did my part and obviously I was being galactically punished. I’m sure some faith in my ability to help us all was lost.
I’m sorry, galaxy. Won’t let it happen again.

The subject of this week’s “The New Etiquette”:
Driving and Driving-Related Monkey Business.
Yeah Magoo, I’m talkin’ ta you.

I live in a Freeway View condo, and as a result, the Freeway is a substantial part of my life. The On-Ramp & the Off-Ramp; the merging; the noise. It’s all a part of my daily life, and I’m convinced that it plays at least a small part in making me the slightly angry, sarcastic sweet, cherubic person that I am today.
Maybe I wouldn’t have been so annoyed by Lady Feet On The Chair if I’d have had a more relaxing and less precarious 5 mile trip from our home to the theater.
In order to get to my job (which, let’s be honest, isn’t always a trip I look forward to with joyful anticipation… it’s work, y’know) or almost anywhere south of me, I have to jump onto the 405 Freeway and immediately cross three lanes or I’ll be stuck going somewhere I don’t want to - and my usual 4 minutes late will turn into 24 minutes late and a lot of stress. Not sure you caught that first bit there, so let me state it again:
The 405 - America’s Busiest Freeway
3 Lanes.
Immediately.

I once saw a license plate frame at the Orange County Fair that read,
“YOU SAW MY BLINKER, BITCH.”
I seriously considered purchasing it, even though my mother would have disapproved on levels existing technology cannot measure. I went home that night to try and take off my current “Hula Ladies” plate frame (It was on the car when I bought it. Shut up. Plus: Yarn Hula skirts on the Hula girls) but after a solid half hour of not unscrewing the plate, I realized it wasn’t meant to be. Turns out, the plate at the OC Fair was quoting a Will Smith song - one potentially worse than any attempt at Rap music I’ve ever unleashed upon the masses, so… “win” by default.

Anyway, this plate frame appealed to me because I’ve said this exact phrase more times than, “Hey man, you been workin’ out?”, “Sounds like a Case of the Mondays!”, and “Oh no, you didn’t!” all combined and multiplied by 100. Sorry Mom, it’s true.
It’s a classic scenario: You need to switch lanes right now. You conscientiously turn on your signal in an attempt to switch lanes - and not get a ticket for an illegal lane change. The driver a couple car lengths behind you speeds up. You miss your exit. A buttefly flaps its wings. The sky falls.
Thing is: Nine times out of ten, the person speeding up doesn’t have to. They just do it because they’re a–holes, bottom line. They want to win, and you won’t get in their way.

Basically, this is my life, everyday - minus the Molly Hatchet:

Now imagine doing this over three lanes, every day you go to work.
Some of you are already preparing your replies, “Oh, you have no idea…” and that is a common response. The truth is, you really can’t tell someone how somebody on the freeway cut you off - potentially killing you, more likely just winding you that much tighter - without someone else one-upping your story.
Based on this scientific evidence, I say we as a people should not only ask a simple question, but should agree upon a common answer:
What do we do about this?

Beyond the Malicious Speed Up, there’s of course the Clueless Slow Down.
Never ceases to amaze me to see people attempt to merge onto a freeway - with speed limits rarely under 60 mph - going 40 mph. Now, you’re not only totally annoying the (certain) train of cars stacked up behind you, but you’re also asking us all to merge into oncoming traffic at the same Mr. Magoo speed. Why don’t you just ram me and get it over with?

Ever been cruising along on the freeway and find an SUV in your lane driving slower than everyone else? Ever pass that SUV and see a person texting while driving? The new law in California makes this illegal - so that will never happen again.
*beat*
Yeah.
If I pull around a person driving slow or erratically and see a phone in their hand, I find that a nice, long lean into the horn pretty much does the trick. It’s far more effective toward immediately ending the text session than some ticket handed out by a cop. It’s hilarious to see a phone juggled in your peripheral vision, accompanied by a look of pure rage immediately followed by terror as the person remembers they’re ON THE FREEWAY.

Of course, there are multiple issues that I could cover here, but the truth is: Just thinking about them is kind of pissing me off and probably doing the same for you. From the motorcyclists who thread the needle when traffic isn’t moving fast enough - genius; to the Beverly Hillbillies style of piling every bit of junk into Datsun Pickups with no sideview mirrors - thanks from the rest of us who get to dodge whatever bounces out the back; to the tailgaters riding your arse so hard they can change the radio station - congratulations, your impression of a pair of tighty-whiteys is spot on.
The list goes on… but the question remains the same:
What do we do about this?

I really don’t want anyone to die, I just want ‘em to… knock it off.

Please Stop Football Rock

HEY AMERICA!!! WHO DOESN’T LOVE FOOTBALL ROCK??

I know, I know - it’s lousy quality from someone’s living room and you have to move your sausage-fingered meat-sleeve all the way to the track pad to hit “Stop” on the player after about 2 minutes. Let’s not miss the point here:
Dear NFL, Football Rock sucks. Bad.
The question isn’t why does it suck (if you have to ask…) but why does it exist?

Wanna know who loves Faith Hill singing Football Rock? Roughly 96 Million people, that’s who.
Nielsen estimates that there are around 99 million TVs in America. The ratings are calculated by the essentially iron-clad (because-it’s-worth-billions-of-dollars iron-clad) system they have in place that says what portion of their “representative sample” tuned at the start of the show. Their system said 95.4 million people tuned in to hear Faith Hill say things like
“Hey Jack, it’s a fact
The championbeingcrowned (sic)”
and
“Everybody’s ready for the…
biggametonight.” (sic because that’s how she says it, that’s why)

96.
Million.
Yeah.

Moving along, we get Jennifer Hudson lip-synching to the National Anthem. ‘Cause why not? We’re fighting a war. Soldiers are dying. Evil lurks. But please, let’s not let a wealthy, successful and award winning teenager feel too much pressure - could be embarrassing.

In all honesty, that’s just… kind of expected. I’m not even really offended by the “pre-fabricated” singing - she’s walked a pre-fabricated career path, why not carry on in similar fashion? And before you start - YES, I know about her family - but if you’re gonna bring a bunch of Veterans to the game to hear the performance, you might want to go that extra mile. (as he writes from the comfort of his “office” while watching QUICK CHANGE and not getting shot at by people who really do just want to kill him…)
Anyway, all this is minor compared to… ugh.
*Ahem*
You know what I’m talking about:

Bruce Springsteen and Ewww Street Band.
I’m not the only one who is saying it. It’s not a fresh story. Anyone with half a sense of melody and/or drama could see and hear what a colossal DUD that Halftime performance was.

You could watch the real thing (again, apparently):

Oh, wait! There’s more:

Or you could just watch this.
Same thing, really.
There were all these moments during the show that I thought were building up to something and then they just… happened. Nothing.
Unless you consider a giant dressed up like a Clapping Saxophone Batman the highlight of any show, what was the payoff?
It was sort of like The Moon. (See #7) All the hype, all the press, all the “Okay! 1..2..3..lull.” All the… pfrrrrt.
The thing is… I was actually disappointed. I loved that “Magic” album. I thought it could be kind of cool to see “The Boss” - even though I only know about 4 of his jams. He’s Americana. The Super Bowl should be Americana.
But this?
This was bad. Less “Americana” and more “America?! Come on!”
One minute Bruce is hobbling across the stage.
The next? Crotch slide into the camera.
There were 2″ high jumps to… gentle strumming?
And who in the production office was like,
“Camera 4 on Clarence! OMg PEOPLE! SOMEBODY GET ME SOME COWBELL!”

Then (at about 7:25 of Part 2) there was the bizarre Disney moment with the referee and the yellow flag. It was just… weird.

U2 played the Super Bowl and it was cool. They looked natural. The Justin Timberlake/Janet Jackson thing was stupid (and of course, a weird boob was involved), but at least their appearance made sense. (Kind of. You could kind of make a connection, right? I don’t know! Shut up!) Of course, Prince played and it was better than everyone - but then the NFL got all freaked out because Prince acted like… Prince.
So now we get nice, tame, gentle Springsteen and it was… awkward. Why was it necessary?
The Epic Rock Show takes a while! We want to enjoy the ride! It definitely takes more than the 7 or 12 minutes they actually get to play in front of all those people.
If we’re gonna do halftime jams, let’s throw a couple one hit wonders out there and call it a day! I don’t even listen to much Springsteen, but even I know that the guy needs to get the crowd into it before… the crowd is into it.

Portions of that performance reminded me of this show:

Kinda lame & thrown together, bound to end with some drunk dudes in a tussle.

I guess I shouldn’t gripe too much, next year it’ll probably be Toby Keith.
Or… Collective Soul?

After all the negative energy, I now give you something positive:

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