tuesdays are melancholy at best

More words probably coming later, but for now, sit back and embrace your inner hipster by listening to this song by We Are Scientists. I’m a total hip-hop head, but this track is amazing. Try it, you’ll like it.

Oh and yes, your t-shirt is Hipster Approved if it has a logo of something you “like” but don’t really “like.” I know. I don’t get it either.

(hat tip to JP for introducing the band to me)

three posts in one day means something

Like the video says – c’mon Nas!

I love Nas, but the man can’t pick a beat for shit. But here is 9th, hand-delivering him one of those beats that makes you yell “Oh damn!” then call your friend and tell him “Life is alright after all! I forgive you for never wearing deodorant!”

Yes, it’s that good.

make that change

When did this become okay?

Brought to you by Hair Cuttery.

I’m not talking about having your own name spelled out in large glowing gold letters across a picture of yourself, because I am totally doing that for my next business card. I’m talking about the hair.

I feel like I missed something.

When did we, as a culture, as human fucking beings, decide that it was okay for Keith Urban (and sadly, others like him) to have Hot Woman Hair?

When did we stop caring?

Because let’s face it, when a man can walk around looking like that and no one passionately objects or even wildly attacks him with a pair of clippers, we have stopped caring.

Are things this bad?

I know the economy is down.  I know.  And I know that somehow people keep seeing the Saw movies even though – hello??? – it’s the same fucking movie every time. But allowing this to happen is just taking things too far.

I want everyone to think about how they contributed to this mess, and figure out how they can remedy it. For me, I hate to admit it, but I think it was when I told my friend that I have Duncan Sheik’s Barely Breathing on my iPod.

But I can get better, and so can you, and hopefully, so can Keith Urban’s hair.

Let’s stop and think about our lives, and try to make the world a better place – one Hot Woman Haired Man at a time.

on your way then

Exactly.

How does that picture make you feel?

Concerned?

Ashamed?

Frightened?

I feel all of those things when I see pictures and hear stories about Amy Winehouse.  The latest story on this troubled singer is that she has been charged with assault.  Apparently she beat up some woman who asked for her autograph.

We’ve heard it all about Winehouse, haven’t we?  She’s depressed, she’s angry, she’s got issues, her hair is home to a tiny village of people who weave the finest silk boxers.

And the talk probably won’t stop, unless we just let her be.  That’s right – just let Amy Winehouse do whatever she wants to do, because it is obvious we cannot stop her from anything.

If she wants to snort coke off a cop’s bald head?  Let her.

If she wants to shoot heroin and question why all the Phoenix siblings have weird first names, when having Phoenix as a last name is weird enough?  Let her.

Because she’s going to do it anyway.

Have we learned nothing as a society?  When Famous People want to do things, whether it’s a terrible idea or not, they do it.  Just look at the Barenaked Ladies’ entire career.

Let’s just forget her.  Let’s just let her do her thing, no matter how illegal, or how closely it puts her toward feeling Death’s cold, gentle touch.

You can’t stop Amy Winhouse, and I wouldn’t suggest you try.

(If you’re looking for a good story today, go to my friend J.P.’s blog, and check out his post about an encounter with old lady porn.)

roots

Over the last few days I’ve been downloading Nirvana songs that I used to have years and years ago when this blog was just a glimmer in my eye.

That band will always hold a special place in my heart, because when Nevermind hit, it was like a perfect storm.  You know, the kind without George Clooney as a grizzled old fisherman trying to prove a point (with disastrous results!).

Here I was, a 12-year-old kid just trying to fit in and desperately hoping for facial hair to sprout, and along comes a band that doesn’t give a fuck about anything, and in fact, hates everything that most people give a fuck about.

It was love at first listen.

When my friend showed me his tape of Nevermind, we sat down at his desk, popped it in his yellow (yellow!!!) Sony Walkman and that was it – I was a fan.  And lucky for me, I met all the requirements for being a Nirvana fan.

Poor Enough That You Already Wear Gross Flannel Shirts? Check.

Angry About Things? Check.

Enjoy Being Dirty? Check.

Within days of first hearing their music, I had used whatever money I could steal from my Mom’s purse (don’t judge me!) to purchase Nevermind and Bleach on tape and I listened to them until I knew every word of every song.  I would sit for hours in my room, listen to the tapes, write angst filled poems about how chores were oppressive and love every minute of it.

Sadly, by the time In Utero rolled around, Nirvana had become so popular that of course I had to tell everyone I didn’t like them anymore.  I even told this lie to my best friend who was, and probably still is, the biggest Nirvana fan ever.  It was something I felt I had to do, along with smoke excessive amounts of pot all day every day. What?  Growing up is hard.

But now that I’m older, and have a clearer outlook on life, or at least as clear as it’s ever going to get – I have come back to Nirvana, and it feels great.  Because when I think about it, I might not wear green and black flannels anymore, but I’m still Angry About Things and I still won’t shower until someone says, “Dude, I think I can smell you.”

Life is circular my friends.

i feel you

Sometimes I wonder what Gavin Rossdale thinks about.

You remember Gavin, right?  He fronted the We Wish We Were Nirvana/Brit pop group Bush, and brought us such hits as “Comedown” by proudly declaring that he wouldn’t come back down from that cloud, because it had taken him all that time to find out what he needed, yeah, yeah, yeah.

I wonder if thinks about his band Bush, and how the album Sixteen Stone, though pretty terrible, was the soundtrack to teenager’s lives across the nation.

But  mainly I wonder if he secretly hates his wife.

I wonder if he lays awake at night, rolls on his side and curses her name under his breath – “Gwen fucking Stefani.”

How could he not?

He was the one who everyone used to talk about.  He was the one who Rocked.  Then he had to go and get married, like some kind of idiot.

Now I bet when he hears “Hollaback Girl” and Gwen starts singing about bananas, he clenches his fists and thinks, “I could have come up with that, why didn’t I think of that???  Spelling Gavin!  People like to spell in songs!”

And when Gwen came out with her clothing line L.A.M.B., which is full of clothes that make one wonder if she’s mentally stable, Gavin, I’m sure, slammed his head against the nearest wall repeatedly until he passed out.

Also, I’m sure Gavin brought up the fact that naming their second child Zuma Nesta Rock was a sure fire way to have the child pummeled by every bully within a thirty mile radius of his home, but ultimately gave in when Gwen replied, “Well, then maybe we should just name him Kurt Cobain, I bet you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

I wonder if Gavin realizes what an odd life he’s had.

I wonder if he knows that any time he wants, he and Bush are welcome to do a reunion tour.  Because I know at least one blogger who will be front and center, ready to tell him: “It’s okay man, it’s okay.”

tour date

I’m very particular about music.

I like what I like and I’m not one to budge from my opinions.  Granted, that means I might argue the artistic merits of Eddie Money and in the next sentence mention that I think the Beatles are overrated, but these are my opinions, and I’m not shy about sharing them.

Eddie Money > The Beatles.

This is why I can’t be one of those people who dates musicians, because the likelihood of the band being complete garbage is about 98.7%, and the likelihood of me telling the girl I’m dating that is about 175%.

Think about the music that is played on the radio right now.  Pretty much all of it sucks, and this is the music that is supposed to be good.  Or at least deemed good by old white guys who somehow think it’s okay for them to wear turtle necks and say things like “fucking right bro.”

There’s no getting around listening to the band of a person you’re dating either, so at some point, I’d have to go to practice/watch them sit around and play video games and drink.

And after that, even if I somehow make it out of the practice by issuing vague opinions like, “I thought it sounded like music,” I’d inevitably have to go to a show.

This would obviously be the tipping point.

Because before, maybe the sex was fantastic enough to drown out the pain I experienced listening to the band practice, or maybe she just made really good tacos and that was enough to forget about all the songs dedicated to her cats.

But now – now I’d actually have to go out in public and act like I enjoy the music.  I imagine after I have two beers and the band starts on the first song, I’d leave.

And when she asked me later on that night what happened to me, I’d just smile and say, “Your band’s music is so bad it makes my ears bleed.  So despite what you think you’re not going to ever, ever ‘make it,’ so please just stop and get a job at Sears because at least there you could get a discount on cool looking washing machines.  But you do make a mean fish taco.”

I think we’d probably break up, but you never know.

just go away

Tonight on Larry King Live, the esteemed suspender-rocking host will interview Priscilla Presley “Live from Graceland!” as part of a special celebrating the late Elvis Presley’s 74th birthday.

If you just got excited in the slightest bit from that last paragraph, I have to ask you – why?

Elvis?

Really?

Let me tell you something, if you listen to Elvis and you’re not between the ages of 97 and 97 1/2, there is something missing in your life.

Go read a book, travel or find true love, because liking Elvis is not the answer to any question, aside from, “What makes you cry at night?”

I simply don’t understand the continued obsession with Elvis, and the notion that he’s the King of Rock and Roll also annoys the hell out of me.

Chuck Berry is the King of Rock and Roll.

Not Elvis.

Chuck Berry invented rock and roll, not Elvis.  Chuck Berry did everything before and better than Elvis, but because Chuck is black, no one celebrates him like a bunch of crazy fucking idiots.  Which I guess probably makes Chuck pretty happy.

Also, “Blue Suede Shoes,” one of Presley’s biggest hits, wasn’t even his song!  He basically stole it from another guy and released it later, even after promising the original artist that he’d never cover it as his own song.  Oops!

And while I’m on the subject, how weird are blue suede shoes?  I mean, people actually wore shoes that were not only blue, but also suede?  If I ever saw someone wearing blue suede shoes, my first reaction would not be to write a song about it, it’d be to question that person’s mental health.

Despite being just a dude who was white and wrote (and stole) a bunch of stupid songs, people continue to celebrate everything about him, and I just wish it would stop.

It’s time to move on and let the man rest in peace.

What’s that?

Yes, he’s fucking dead dammit.

sign of the times

Alright, I think this is it.

Despite being a dude who sometimes shops at J. Crew, I maintain a deep love for hip-hop music, but last night when I saw that Lil Wayne leads the way in Grammy nominations with eight, I died a little inside.

Not familiar with Lil Wayne?  Let me offer you some lyrics off the hit track “Got Money” from his album Tha Carter III:

Now I was bouncing through the club 
She loved the way I did it but 
I see her boyfriend hatin’ like a city cop 
Now I ain’t never been a chicken but my fitty cocked 
Say I ain’t never been a chicken but my semi cocked 
Now where your bar at? 
I’m tryna rent it out 
And we so bout it bout it 
Now what are you about? 

Right.

I know it’s kind of hard to understand what he’s saying, but I think it helps when he repeats the same exact line twice, only changing “fitty” (which means gun!) to “semi” (which means gun too!).

And Lil, I hear that you’re “bout it bout it” but when you’re not really explaining what exactly, you’re “bout,” before you ask me what I’m about, it’s just poor form.

This song went all the way to the top 10 in the Billboard Top 100, which means lots and lots of people like it.  Maybe even some of you.  I see you.  Looking at your keyboard in shame.  

It is a shame dammit!  Lil Wayne is absolute garbage.  He’s terrible.  And the fact that he leads every single artist, including Jigga, in Grammy nominations means that maybe the state of hip-hop is at its worst.

Although in 1998 Puff Daddy or P. Diddy or P or Diddy or I’m Glad I Discovered Biggie Because Otherwise I’d Be Unemployed Right Now won the Grammy for Best Rap Album with his terrible “No Way Out,” so I guess things have gotten a little better.

But just a little.

making the dream a reality

Dear Head Dude at Roc-A-Fella Records, LLC,

My name is Chris and I am writing to inform you of a special, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.  Because today is my birthday, on Saturday evening myself and a collection of the finest individuals on the planet performed karaoke at a local establishment.  It was during this time that I realized I have Talent Of Epic Proportions.  As a label that has produced some of my favorite artists, I wanted to offer you the chance to be the first to witness my genius, and therefore sign me to a multi-year, multi-million dollar recording deal. I feel I possess all the attributes of any Fantastic Artist, and have provided photograpic evidence below.

For your consideration:

Passion. I care so much, I am willing to raise my hand to the heavens.

Versatility. I can jam out if Jamming Out is needed.

Dedication. I am willing to stop drinking for thirty seconds at a time for dramatic effect.

Cohesiveness. I can even be part of a sexy boy band as long as I am the lead singer who everyone likes.

Perseverance. Finally, I have the ability to sing when I have consumed so much alcohol I can't even see straight. This is a key attribute of any talented artist.

As you can see, I am going to be wildly successful.  This is your first and last chance Head Dude.  Sign me or regret it for the rest of your life.  Roc-A-Fella will be forever known as the label that let “that one drunk guy” slip away.  I think we can both safely say that no one wants to see that happen.

Respectfully yours,

Chris