Thursday, April 17, 2014

One Push Away...

...for all my dreams to come true!!!  PUSH HIM!!!!!!

Ranching Ain't EZ But It's Necessary

I'm not 100% sure I even understand this whole Nevada rancher thing, but from what I think I know:

1. "Rancher" uses government land and doesn't pay any fees or taxes for over 2 decades
2. When (finally?) confronted by the US Govt, his friends take up arms. Literally.
3. The govt backs down, doesn't wanna see people killed over this.
4. They then declare that the next time the govt comes hard, they're going to put the women up front? What? How is this is any case "the American West", and WHO ARE THESE FUCKING WOMEN THAT WOULD LET THEMSELVES BE PLAYED SO BADLY?!?!?

So, anyways....I'm scared of the government coming after me if I tear a tag off a mattress. Why is it so hard to arrest this douchebag and throw him behind bars?
Bundy is using the language of freedom, patriotism and outright paranoia to further his business interests. He succeeded wildly in drawing other “patriots” to his slice of contested desert. I don’t know these exact people, but the words and phrases they used were the nursery rhymes of my childhood. I’ve been listening to ignorant people bitch about the federal “gub’met,” since I could crawl, and I’m weary of it. I can’t bear to hear poor people rally to the defense of moneyed interests like mining and ranching, like well-trained, bleating sheep. As tired and silly as I find his language, clearly it worked. He so inflamed the lunatic militia movement, that many rallied to him, often from out of state, with guns and naked threats. They created a real possibility that someone might get killed, so the feds backed down.

I Don't Work Here Dammit!

Whats up with those buttons at intersections, that basically say “push button to stop traffic”? Seems like we’re trying to play God here, no? I don’t know anyone who knows anyone whose ever seen or heard of anyone pushing this thing. I need to show 4 forms of i.d. and a color copy of my DNA helix to get a membership at the video store, yet the city somehow trusts me with handling traffic? Really? Maybe I can hit JFK and land some planes too? - XMASTIME 
I meant to post this when it was more timely, but how about the whole "hey, YOU find the missing airplane!" shit? I mean, wtf?

It's like bagging groceries - should I clock in now?
Which reminds me. Grocery stores: what happened to your bag boys? The $0.49/hr you were paying got too steep? What the fuck, now I find myself having to fucking bag my own shit? And it’s always that awkwardness; I’ll fumble with my money extra long so that the cashier will finally decide to do it. Cause you feel like an asshole just standing there until she finally does; people behind you sighing and rolling their eyes. I’ll time it til she starts it, feign starting to reach for a bag “oh, you got it, okay.” Is having someone bag my groceries too much too ask, too steep a service? I don’t wanna fucking bag, I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m putting the milk and croutons in the same bag with my Over-Sized Specially Made I Hope She’s a Horse Hefty Bag Condoms; can someone else fucking help me please?

Thoughts. i Have Them.

I've always  been obsessed with Howard Stern's movie Private Parts - to this day, if it's on, I'll watch (most due to Pig Vomit, to be fair.)  There's something even about the way it looks - I hate summer, I even hate LOOKING at movies that are summery, but for some reason this is the only movie I like seeing the city in sunlight/summer et al. Maybe because it's from a time just before I moved there, I dunno.

Meanwhile here's a fascinating video from the early day, with a decidedly non rock star-looking Stern, who looks like every 7th grade math teacher in the world.

Hipster Awesome du Jour

22 Foods Hipsters need to calm the fuck down about.

I was just saying this exact same thing the other day to someone in my office:
You can like bacon, but you can't own bacon. You have to recognize that the WHOLE WORLD likes bacon too. Liking bacon does not make you tough, nor does it make you special.
And I wrote about hipsters and PBR years ago, back when I gave a good goddam about trying to entertain you people:
Hipsters like to be seen drinking "real", "dive bar" beer. Pabst in particular has made millions over the past few years from hipsters preening around nursing sips out of a PBR can while trying to explain to you that Fleetwood Mac sucked after Lindsey Buckingham joined the band; before then they were "real."

My question is, how long til bars figure out the next step for the hipsters to take towrds "realness" and start selling beer in papar bags? Ooooooooh, you look a beer-swilling bum; SOOOO real!!

PREDICTION: Within 12 months there will be bars that offer a section with paper bag beer, wherein you can buy some cardboard, make up a "I'm Homeless" sign, and sit against a wall looking gaunt with all your other "dirty" friends. 

A Post About Physics, Because I Am That Smart

In the world of cartoon physics, this is definitely my favorite:
  • Any vehicle on a path of travel is at a state of indeterminacy until an object enters a location in the path of travel. (Wolf looks both ways down the road, sees nothing, but gets run over by a bus as soon as he tries to cross. 

Famous Literary Meals

On a personal note, one of the most memorable passages of L'Etranger (sorry - The Stranger, you fucking hicks) was Camus sensuously writing about making a fried egg, continuing the European tradition of yammering on and on about breakfast. I've noticed it in any and all British Victorian lit, specifically Elizabeth Gaskell, who couldn't seem to go two pages without someone eating an egg and piece of toast for breakfast. Proust mentions breakfast throughout Swann's Way. Finally, one of the first things Heinrich Boll tells us about Leni in Group Portrait with Lady is what she likes to eat for breakfast, an obsession for her the author returns to it throughout the book. So that's England, France and Germany. Maybe I've always missed it, but I can't seem to remember breakfast playing such a part in American Lit. Should I move to Europe to open my dream restaurant?- XMASTIME
Here's some famous literary meals.

Can you guess this meal's book?

Documentary I Wanna See!

Darlene's Love's 20 Feet from Stardom.

Why Do People Have Sex In the Women's Room

Men because they'll take it anywhere they can, presumably. As for women:
But in the case where there’s a men’s and women’s restroom to choose from, heterosexual couples almost always go for the women’s room. “Women are much more apprehensive to go into the men’s room and have sex with a man,” Popovsky says. 
I do believe the DQ bathroom I had a dalliance in once was the men's room, thank you very much.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Happy 50th Birthday Dave Pirner

Here's from back when you could have fun with David Letterman's band.

Happy Birthday Dave Pirner

This sounds about right:
Everyone will tell you Soul Asylum was much better before they got big, but that is what everyone says about everything they love that they knew prior to its becoming popular, so a lot of times it is just wrong. I mean, no one is defending "Runaway Train"—no one could—but the back half of their career had as much under appreciated stuff as the beginning. Anyway, happy birthday, Dave Pirner. Those of us who dream of disappearing completely will always love you for this song.
80s hipsters killed Soul Asylum the second they made a dollar. The fact is, Let Your Dim Light Shine is my second favorite Soul Asylum album ever. And I was there in the beginning.

The Heat. It's Coming.

Today was the hottest day since the evening in the summer of 1999 when I was naked on my bed laying ice cubes on my chest. Then the cable went out. Then, looking through my door into the kitchen, all of a sudden the toaster, which wasn't even on, burst into flames. I didn't even get up. "Seems about right," was all I could think. - XMASTIME
Apparently, this summer is NYC is going to be more fucking unbearable than usual:

Sandi Duncan, managing editor for Farmer’s Almanac (which is still a thing, apparently), told the Post that, “It looks like it’s going to be an oppressively hot and humid summer for the New York area.”
Of course, there's always this:

3) With warm weather coming up I’m bracing myself for the inevitable advice we’ll get during the first heat wave: “Stay inside with the air conditoning on.” Really? Wow, thanks! Cause I was gonna cover myself in maple syrup, put on my heaviest wool sweater and spin in circles on the baking asphalt for a while. Jesus fucking christ. “Stay inside with the ac on.” If I could do that, Professor, then I wouldn’t give 2 shits about the fucking heat, now would I? That’s like if I wanna be a millionaire, “Have a million dollars in the bank!” thanks, assface.

God I'm Old

Dave Pirner with Victoria "Why Yes these are huge chompers Greg, why do you ask?" Williams

Happy 50th!

This is my favorite Soul Asylum song. Natch.

Happy 50th Birfday

Dave Pirner, whose backups were so amazing they completely fucked up Lou Reed.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Riiiiiiiiiiiiight On Schedule

America: We Are Officially Out of Ideas

KFC is coming out with fried chicken corsages for prom. Because yes, nothing will make her want to bang you in the back seat of dad's Subaru like the stench of congealed grease wrapped around her wrist (believe me fellas, i've tried it.) 

Can somebody please tell KFC we're perfectly fine with them you know, just making fried chicken and putting it into a bucket?

I was gonna roll my eyes "the Colonel would be spinning in his bucket!" but then I remembered this, so:

1) I keep hearing people on tv say something like “You know, if your father heard you say that he’d turn over in his grave.” What the hell is this? The WORST thing we can think of is someone turning over in their grave, MAYBE harrumphing loudly with their disdain? Wow. “Oh no!! What if Pop can awake from the dead, hear what I was saying, and TURN OVER in the box we stuffed him in six feet in the ground!! Man, that would be awful!!!” Assuming said person COULD actually do something, wouldn’t we be more inclined to say “If your father could hear you now, he’d get up out of his grave and walk over here and beat the living shit out of you.” Now that might get my attention. Thinking that MAYBE someone in a faraway grave turned over doesn’t really make me decide to NOT set up a pyramid scheme to rip off Brownie troops. When I was a kid it was always “When your father gets home he’s going to KILL you”, which would of course scare the hell outta me. If my mother had said “If your father could magically hear you speak 47 miles away from here, he’d be so furious he’d spin around once in his office chair”, then i mean, camon.
SIDE NOTE: Bonus in that post: THEODORE!!


These are ridiculously amazing.

The Toughest Job On the Planet

This "world's toughest job" prank video is all over the place. I wonder what this guy has to say about this:

Seinfeld Thoughts, by Xmastime

Via these addresses found here, we see that Monk's Cafe was 1.76 miles from Kramer & Jerry's apartment. Seems juuuuuuust a bit far for someone who spent seemingly half of every day there, doesn't it?


13 years ago today, Joey Ramone died. What's there to say that hasn't been said already?  I'd just say that if someone could make the leap as far as Joey did from being a born into hopelessness, a runt-of-the-litter, weird-looking freak hammered at constantly that his future was failure and, if he was lucky, a life in the loony bin, to someone whose cultural presence 13 years after his death is rolling down the hill picking up more and more importance like snow on a snowball, then maybe you can do the same thing, no matter where you start out.

25 Years Ago Today

I went on my first date with the girl who would be my first love. Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! Xmastime is so sweet!!!! After months of courting, we went on a date and romance ensued. Hilites of that day:

- realizing the ol' "let her fill up on breadsticks" trick at Pizza Hut (AND that was back when their breadsticks sucked!)
- making out at every traffic light
- buying a Johnny Rivers tape
- going to the movies to see Major League
- finding our first make-out spot (but not our last)
- doing my taxes
- she wore a purple sweater
- making out at every traffic light

ah well. A great night! :)

My courting Xmas gift a few months earlier, first written HERE.
Our basketball home away from home was my friend Michael Chinn’s house, "The Chinn Dome." He had a big outdoor light, so we could play there after dark. I had a spot about 18 feet out that I shot from so much it was called “Xmas’ fucking crater," I wouldn’t be surprised if my footprints were still there. Usually we’d play 2 on 2, I must’ve run the only 2-man zone defense in the history of basketball – “you got the left side, I got the right.” Cause like I said before, I ain’t wasting my breath chasing nobody round playing defense for chrissake. The closest I’ve ever come to crying during a game was one night my brother got pissed at me bout something and vowed to shut me down, and gotdam if I even fucking touched the ball for two hours. I’m running round and round like a smack addict needing some junk, in a panic cause I’m not getting my shots. Motherfucker. It was quite a setup, we’d bust our asses playing, then take a break in the grass, guzzling water from the hose while the smoking hot Dryden girls from next door would slide over to gab/flirt/watch the moon reflect off my sweaty, sinewed heaving 16 year-old chest, perhaps noticing a bead of my gilded sweat as it slowly ran down over one of my pecs, easing down to my chiseled stomach, achingly just barely moving as it made its way past each abdominal until it hit the top of my shorts which are just barely covering my hip bone, part of it getting soaked into the cloth material, but some of it making it past, finding itself working down my inner thigh, losing speed but not want, still on the thigh, still sliding down, still on the thigh, now twisting around my knee and finding the soft, lily-white pillow of flesh directly opposite of my knee cap before picking up speed on the smooth, rock-hard asphalt land that makes up my calf before settling once and for all in my sock, joining the dirt, the dust, the blood and other dude’s tears who had tried to guard me. Sweet girls.

Anyways, it was also the site of one of my most almost-embarrassing moments. In December of 1988 I was in the midst of courting the girl who was to become my first girlfriend, and my desperation and teenage lust had been driven to such ludicrous heights that I had made up my mind that if I was going to win her affection I would have to get her a Christmas present to show my never-ending love and devotion, thereby sending out the signal that I wanted to get up in them lady Umbros. A few days before Christmas we’re getting ready to go to the Chinn Dome, which I saw as the perfect opportunity as she lived about a 5-minute drive from Michaels house. Grab a gift, swing it by her joint after gunning the rock. Giving no thought, of course, to 1) what the hell I would get her 2) how I would wrap it 3) the plight of blacks in the country 4) how I would hide it from the rest of the guys, including my brother, with whom I would be riding to the Chinn Dome. There were 2 things that would get you razzed: liking a girl, and liking a guy. One meant you would be ribbed by the fellas, the other meant you were probably Tommy Waters. Even at the age of 16 you didn’t want anyone finding out you “liked” a girl, you just didn’t need anything else for the guys to pile on about; the fear of getting caught masturbating or being Asian was enough. Particularly if the chances of being rejected were still pretty good. So I make up a reason to pop into the drugstore on the way to the Chinn Dome so I can get a gift. That’s right, the drugstore. The Tiffany’s of Tappahannock. I quickly found the absolute perfect gift: a little piano that opened up and played “Memories.” Ding-ding, ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding ding! I remember it being $14.99. My first ever romantic gift, and I hit a home run!!!

I make it to Mike’s without my brother finding out what I had done, and we start playing. I’m ecstatic; boy I’m thinking, a piano that opens up and plays a song!! You, my man, are a romance GENIUS!! As I’m playing above the rim putting on a skywalking clinic for the fellas, I’m planning my bachelor party: playing ball at the Chinn Dome, some video-game wrestling at Roma’s and then “open bar” at Shoney’s buffet. Simpler times, I reckon. And then my day got even better: during a break, Katie Dryden came over. My exuberance was bubbling over, I knew I had to show somebody the present or I would burst, so I took her to the car and showed her and not only did she agree that I should probably make a living as a shopping consultant for lovelorn dudes, but she volunteered to sneak it over to her house and wrap it for me!! She snuck off with it, I went back to embarrassing the guys with out-of-my-head shooting and no look passes that would make Magic weep. Of course I’m lying about passing. A little while later we’re playing and I see Katie surreptitiously drop off my gift under my jacket on the deck off the porch. Nobody noticed, I was just about home free, and now I'm gay cause I used the word "surreptitiously."

By now it’s getting time to go, so we’re all sitting on the deck, getting ready to leave, kinda just sitting round bullshitting etc. I’m sittin on the railing, not paying attention to anything in particular, thinking only of mon couer. My legs are dangling aimlessly when I feel my heel bump into something, and then I hear it.

Ding-ding, ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding ding!

And then everyone ELSE hears it.

Ding-ding, ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding ding!

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCKKKKKKKK! Bad enough they’ll know I got a gift, but now they get to HEAR my show tunes? Kill me! I look around and everyone has a confused look, everyone’s looking around and I hear somebody’s voice.

“What the fuck is that noise?”
“aaah...what noise?” I’m so clever.
“Fucking a” someone else says “where’s that noise coming from? What the fuck?”

Before it was ruined by cheap beer and repeated viewings of “Saved by the Bell” and "Saved by The Bell: The College Years" and "Saved by the Bell: The New Class" and “Saved by the Bell” and "Saved by The Bell: The College Years" and "Saved by the Bell: The New Class" my brain was sharp, and I quickly came up with a brilliant plan.

“I think it’s in the woods!”

Which of course was followed by several “yeah, it’s coming from the woods!” and we all spent the next 5 minutes searching in the woods until the fucking song finally wound down.

End of humiliation? of course not. After spending the 5 minute drive over to her house being upbraided by my brother about being a fucking idiot for liking her and getting her something for Christmas like an idiot, and of course for him having to drive me there, we get to her house and I start walking up to her door. Slowly realizing of course that I was wearing thin gym shorts that covered my down-theres like the skin on a grape (pre-baggy shorts days, peeps) and a mesh football practice jersey that came down to oh, just below the ribcage; the only thing saving me from looking like I had just rolled out of “Lenny’s Man Fuck-Hut” being the football with the number 82 on the jersey. My only hope was she’d be distracted from my Chelsea Boy-ness by my being caked head to toe with dirt and sweat from gunning the rock for 3 hours. Brilliant. So I knock on the door and of course her mother answers, and she’s dressed to the nines in her Sunday impressing-other-rich folks best. Turns out they’re hosting a party. Greeeeeeaaaaaatt. The door is open, everyone is looking at me like I just cut one, and my girl is finally dragged to the door. I present the gift, I can’t remember how she reacted. I do remember her pulling out the piano and looking at it quizzically. “Oh,” I proudly say as if I had just invented the cool ranch nacho “it opens up and plays a tune!” She opens it up and...nothing. Of course it was still unwound from before. So I take it and start winding it, and voila!! now the fucking thing is covered in dirt. But I’m determined, I got a smile painted on and I’m winding, goddam it I ain’t leaving til she hears it. Finally Ding-ding, ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding ding! I quickly hand it back to her, don’t even try to wipe it clean, give a weak I’m-retarded wave to all the adults who had been standing watching speechless, took the loooooong walk back to my brother’s car and rode off. My brother shaking his head the whole way home.

Always love the Chinn Dome, though. Ain’t played there in prolly 15 years, maybe we’ll have an Old-Timers Day Soon.

Monday, April 14, 2014

Why You Shouldn't Be Bummed About MIssing Nirvana's Secret Show

Explained HERE:

And that’s why you shouldn’t be sad that you missed Nirvana’s secret show. It wasn’t really a secret show. It was a very exclusive concert. And they would have kicked you out anyway.

The Year in Movies

Five years ago I recognized what a big year for movies (and everything) 1939 was; THIS PERSON HERE thinks it was 1954.