Tuesday, July 31, 2012

What July 31st Means To Me: Odd Jobs

My brother mentioned something interesting yesterday that, for some reason, I haven't been able to stop laughing about. 

You know those old customs that make no sense, but we still do because, well, "that's the way it's always been done?"  And, of course, now I cannot think of an example to support my point, but feel free to stop reading if you don't know what I mean.  Or are already bored. 

Everyone has a camera these days.  If its not some high tech digital camera, its one attached to their phone.  Within seconds we can text, email, or instagram photos all over the world.  Hell, I know too many people that annoyingly photo document every fucking second of their lives.  My point is, we've become a very photograph/video based culture, and often use photos as a way of conveying information.

So, with that in mind, how does the guy who does this ...

...still have a job.  Yes!  The court room sketch guy.  In case you're unsure of what I'm talking about, many court cases forbid the use of cameras within the courtroom, so they employ an artist to make random sketches of events.  Why?  I'm not sure.  Perhaps, back in the day, ya know, before cameras, they wanted some sort of visual documentation of the events, but I'd love to hear a good reason as to why we still do it. Really. Just one. There's zero practical use for it; it's not like the judge can stop the case and ask the sketch artist to review his notes to see if the defendant made a sudden move or something similarly silly.  And its not like the pictures are displayed in some art gallary afterwards (I don't think), though even if they were, it wouldn't be a good enough reason to keep doing it. 

So, if we're going to keep employing these people, can we at least inject some humor into the drawings?  Like, from now on, the judge has to look something like ...

No, not every judge should be Gerald Ford, but, you know, the style... well...no every judge should be Gerald Ford.

Or maybe replace the lead defense attorney with ...

At least sneak this guy ...

.. in the picture.

These guys must have one hell of a union. 

Monday, July 30, 2012

What July 30th Means To Me: Top Five Olympic Events I'm Surprised I Care About

Assuming you don't live in a bubble, you probably know the Olympics are on.  We all have our favorite events; I know I'm excited to see our Men's basketball team obliterate whatever you put in front of them, and I'm sure many are excited to see two of America's most arrogant douchbags Micheal Phelps and Ryan Lochte battle it out in the pool.  But, obviously, the Olympics are filled with tons of sports and events we don't normally see on TV, and every Olympic period I find myself fascinated with sports I figured I never would be. 


The Top Five Olympic Events I Never Thought I'd Give A Shit About!

5) Men's Volleyball:  A team filled with buzz haired, tattooed guys?  Count me in. Sure, the beach volleyball matches are probably more pleasing to watch; we've all seen/enjoyed "Top Gun" and "Side Out" after all, but, much to my surprise, I found normal-ass men's volleyball (the official term) much like Cirque du Soliel (or as my Dad thinks it's called, Circus Ole)...that is if Cirque du Soliel fired round balls at high speeds towards each other. As you know, projectiles=fun!  Not to mention, these dudes are the masters of deception, and I suddenly found volleyball to be the three card monte of Olympic sports.  When a set goes up near the net, it seems like the entire team jumps for the spike.  Numerous times I tried to guess which way the ball was headed just based on the setter's body position, and each time I was like "no fuckin way! I had no clue it was going there! Cool!"

Also, the American team has a dude named "Suxho." (giggles)  I have to admit that's what originally kept me planted on my couch, because I saw the name emblazoned on the back of his jersey, and needed wanted verbal confirmation that his name was, well, Suxho (giggles).  A few years ago, I watched an entire Florida State football game because I needed wanted confirmation that they had a player with the last name "Fagg." (giggles) And they did, by the way. Sue me, I'm immature. Anyway, I was so captivated by the match, I stuck around even after I found out "Suxho" (giggles) was pronounced "Sue-yo."(boo!)

4) Water Polo: Every so often, I watch a sport, point at the TV screen, and say "those guys there...those are men," then point at myself and say, "this guy sitting here...this guy is not a man."  I admittedly don't find water polo to be the most exciting sport in the games, but it's a sport where I know I'd die after about twenty seconds of playing.  I'd either drown due to the commotion in the water, or just the inability to tread for that long.  Plus, have you ever seen a water polo player take a shot? 

It's insane.  How the hell do these guys raise from the water like that?  They aren't jumping! They're in the fucking water! That's strength.  This weekend, I went in a pool for the first time in what seemed like years and got tired after treading water for about thirty seconds.  Well done, water polo chaps.

3) Shooting:  Ummm...I'm not normally a fan of guns, but ...

...what else can that thing do?  Look at the stars?  Laminate paper? Make dinner?  I want one. 

Women's Soccer:  Okay, the Olympics is actually not the first time I've been interested in women's soccer. I watched a few of their World Cup games a year ago mostly because...

...yeah, yeah, I know I'm a disgusting guy.  Yeah, yeah, she's not playing soccer to be someone's eye candy, but hey ladies, I have two words for you.  Actually five:  "Magic Mike. Go fuck yourself."  Anyway, I wanted to take this space to discuss how annoying the USNWT's goaltender Hope Solo is. Yes, beyond annoying. Now, this isn't the first time Solo's mouth has gotten her in trouble, but her latest outburst over Twitter (c'mmmooon) has her calling out Brandi Chastain because the latter criticized the team's defense (OOOOH NOEEEES!)  Solo shot back with comments that basically suggested Chastain was old and out of touch.  Now, not only is it Brandi Chastain's job to make these observations, but this is Brandi Chastain! Who?  This girl:

Yeah! The one who, along with Mia Hamm, made us give even a little shit about women's soccer. Of course you remember her. How can you forget that above image? You can't, it's iconic.  So hey, Hope Solo, no one even gives a shit about you if it weren't for Chastain and her teammates back in 1999.  So how about you shut the fuck up and just play your sport?  This would be like Alex Smith telling Joe Montana he doesn't know anything about football and should stay out of the way.  C'mon!

The Opening Ceremonies:  Now, I'm not much for shows and pomp and blah blah, and I actually missed the first part of the ceremonies, but I was both fascinated and humbled by the march of the athletes.  Fascinated because it's amazing to see representatives from all the world's countries in one small space, and humbling because it seemed that I'd never heard of half the countries there.  Where the hell is Mauritius? What's Lesotho? Tuvalu?  St. Vincent and The Grenedines? Didn't they have a hit song in the 1950's? And where the hell is the country of "Independent Olympic Athletes."  For some reason, I felt bad for the independent Olympic athletes, like they were the orphans of the game, and just wanted to be adopted and loved.  Maybe this is why the three of them were dancing like morons on crack during their entrance, probably overcompensating because everyone was all "huh? Were they born on Mars or something?"  Anyway, I tried staying awake to watch the US walk, but fell asleep somewhere around Swaziland. I'll make a point to watch the entire event in 2016.

Hope everyone had a good weekend!

Friday, July 27, 2012

What July 27th Means To Me: Chick-Fil-A and Kerfuffles

Wait, so the CEO of an American company is an asshole and made some assholic statements?  ALERT THE PRESSES!

I don't think I've ever actually been to a Chick-fil-A.  I know my brother used to frequent it on trips to the Paramus Park Mall 25 years ago, but I can't say for sure that I ever joined him.  Nor have I visited the one that somewhat recently opened in Hollywood.  So, I have zero allegiance to Chik-Fil-A; this is not a Kramer/Kenny Rogers Roasters situation. 

As you probably know by now, the CEO of Chick-fil-a doesn't think much of gay people or their right to marry.  He made some horridly insensitive comments on the subject, and it's known that the company, as a whole, roots itself in Christian beliefs.  After all, Chick-fil-A isn't even open on Sundays.  Due to this, there have been nationwide protests of the fast food joint, and some cities are even taking measures to block Chick-fil-A from setting up shop in their area, which is now raising all sorts of legal questions. 

Anyone who knows me knows I disagree with everything the CEO said, and I probably disagree with every single thing that comes from his mouth period.  But, correct me if I'm wrong, isn't this a free speech issue?  And is there a sanctity of fast food chicken that suddenly needs protecting?

Americans strangely pick and choose their battles with assholes, especially when it comes to culture wars, vilifying some, while deifying others. But I think denying the right for someone to make a buck because of some personal beliefs is a slippery slope.  Plus, from what I can tell, the best selling meal at Chick-fil-A isn't the "God Hates F*gs" Sandwich with a side of "I hope all gay people die of AIDS" fries.  It's a company trying to sell you crappy, fast food chicken.  That's it.  If you take issue with the comments, there's a pretty simple solution: don't eat their crappy, fast food chicken.

Listen, 98 percent of the CEO's in America are complete assholes.  They have to be.  It takes an asshole to want that kind of power, and an asshole to get it.  Yes, there are certain degrees of asshole, but I'm going to safely assume you use/buy products every single day from companies run by assholes.  So if we collectively decide to boycott all products served to us by assholes, we'll be sitting around twiddling our thumbs all day until we just wither away and died. 

So let's not lose our collective hair over Chick-fil-A.  If you are offended, don't go.  Tell your friends not to go.  But I'm not sure its the right of the government to make that decision for us (as long as Chick-fil-A pays their taxes :)


On another note, the Olympics has started!  Which is great because I've so missed watching synchronized swimming.  But in all seriousness, I enjoy the Olympics because the vast majority of the athletes involved perform out of the love of sport. Plain and simple.  And should you ever be so lucky and talented to be an Olympic athlete, you can enjoy the fruits of this.  My God, why didn't I get really good at archery or something? 

Monday, July 23, 2012

What July 23rd Means To Me: Penn State Football and Penalties

OK, let's just get this out of the way:  I think we're all in agreement that the findings in the Penn State scandal are horrible.  Everyone involved (dead or alive) should be levied strict penalties, should lose their jobs and/or go to jail, all that.  Just dream up the worst shit imaginable, and give them the worst shit imaginable.

But I don't know what this has to do with competition and football. 

This morning, the NCAA announced penalties against the Penn State program that involve hefty fines, but also losses in football scholarships, bowl games, and a series of retroactive forfeits (which I always found absurd because you can't erase people's memories, but that's another discussion.), and some were even calling for the "death penalty" of the program.  Generally, these sorts of punishments are doled out when a school skirts rules for a competitive advantage, but even though the events at Penn State were atrocious (and involved people from the football program),  they were still actions of a few, dishonorable men.  I'm not sure what punishing a bunch of student athletes and fans, who had zero knowledge of this incident, actually does.  I suppose one could make the argument that "football culture" is what lead to this cover up, but I think that's a difficult connection to actually make and more of an excuse.

The game of football had nothing to do with this.  Penn State football as a general institution had nothing to do with this.  The people running the program did. It was a criminal act and the authorities will deal with it properly  So purge, knock down the entire stadium and rebuild it if you must, but I will continue to question why losing scholarships and bowl games is the proper punishment. In fact, a completely new and clean Penn State football program may just be the thing the school could use to rebuild it. 

Though I'm willing to be convinced I'm wrong!

Thursday, July 19, 2012

What July 19th Means To Me: Smugglin'

I love gettin' one over on the man.  Even if it's a teeny victory. 

I always figured Smart Cars could fit inside Kinder Eggs.
While I knew Kinder Eggs were banned in the United States, I didn't know border patrol cared this much.  For those who never heard, Kinder Eggs are small chocolate treats with smaller toys inside them, which the American government finds to be a choking hazard.  Well, you know, some ballers smuggle drugs, but this guy has successfully sneaked one pack of Kinder Eggs through customs, and the contraband sits proudly on top of my bookcase next to an AC Slater doll that is wearing an oddly, rainbow-striped shirt.  Hmmm, I think I just lost my baller status. 

Also, do you know why Vegemite is illegal in the United States (other than it tasting terrible?)  Apparently it's a folate, and those can only exist in American cereals.  Since Vegemite is a spread, it doesn't meet the proper requirements.  I wonder if they'd confiscate that at the border too.  Seems like a silly law, but then again, we still have laws on the books that suggest you're not allowed to carry ice cream cones in your pocket.  A poor idea to begin with, but also illegal.

Consider yourself learned.   

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

What July 18th Means To Me: The End Of Linsanity

I used to be a Knicks fans.

Baller Time? Not anymore.
Well, I suppose I still am.  Begrudgingly.  Sort of. 

In the 1980's and 90's, I loved Knicks basketball as much as I loved anything.  I didn't miss games. If I couldn't watch them on MSG network, I'd gladly listen to Walt Clyde Frazier telling me who was "swishing and dishing" on the radio. I relished games at the Garden. Trent Tucker's .01, the Starks dunk, the Reggie Miller explosion (still hurts), the Larry Johnson 4 point play.  I witnessed all of that in person. I cried when Charles Smith couldn't finish in '95 (or, at least, was really upset).  I started Van Gundy chants in the closing moments of victory in '99 (how cool is it to shout something, and then suddenly, not even 20 seconds later, have 19,000 shout it along with you? Pretty powerful stuff). Those times were electric.  The community of Knicks fans bonded by those moments was nothing short of special.  New York City just felt different when the Knicks were playing well. And I'm not ashamed to admit that trips to the Garden to watch my Knicks in the playoffs appear a few times in the top 100 moments of my life. 

But now?  I just don't care about the Knicks.

When the aughts arrived, and with it, the two-headed, human wrecking ball known as James Dolan and Isiah Thomas, my interest started to wane.  They were placed in charge of continuing the legacy of unique Knicks basketball, and instead, systematically wore it down to a raw nerve with dozens of terrible signings and reckless decisions.  Slowly, year by crappy year, I started watching less. I couldn't believe it, but I started caring less.  There was no Starks, or Oakley, or even Sprewell on the team anymore to save the day.  Just a revolving door of overrated players that never quite grasped the concept of team basketball.  And the playoffs, something that used to be a foregone conclusion, became an impossible goal.

It felt like Knicks basketball was gone for good. 

Then, suddenly, this past year, we were finally treated to an unexpected, amazing New York Story.  And for 35 games, I was a Knicks fan again.The emotion I used to feel all those years earlier suddenly yawned itself awake from its Rip Van Winkle nap, looked around, nodded, and said "OK, baby, yeah, I'm back."  I no longer laid down on the couch to watch games while intermittently falling in and out of sleep.  I sat up.  And this was all because of Jeremy Lin.

Native New Yorkers love to spew cliches about being a "real New Yorker."  I'm not sure exactly what that means, but Jeremy Lin felt like a New York Knick.  He was tenacious on the court, had a killer instinct, and he never shrank from the spotlight. He was something a bit different, even beyond his race.  He was overly intelligent, had a Harvard diploma to prove it, and carried confidence and swagger, with a touch of humility, that only a New Yorker could.  He suddenly energized, not only crowds around the world, but more importantly, a Knicks organization that was miraculously playing team basketball once again.  The Knicks became a draw.  They were earning respect.  Even my mother was asking me about them (when my mother asks me a sports question, you know its a big story!) And with the ball in Lin's hands, and with him in control, the Knicks won games.  And suddenly, I wanted to travel back to NYC and go to the Garden.

And now he's gone. Because James Dolan is an asshole. Replaced by a way-too-past-his- prime Jason Kidd and Raymond Felton (who, well, sucks.)

Yes, Lin was offered a big contract, probably more than he's worth (basketball-wise, won't even get into his marketing potential), but so what?  Dolan and the Knicks could have easily matched it, money never seemed to be an issue with them in the past, and honestly, what the fuck do I care about James Dolan's endless bank account?  Not to mention, rumor has it (and I assume it to be true) that the Knicks decision not to match the Rockets' offer sheet to Lin has more to do with a grudge than money.  Apparently Dolan wanted Lin to bend down and kiss the ring, and he didn't. Whatever. I won't get into that.  As a fan, I just want an interesting product. And now I no longer have one. 

You can make all the basketball arguments you want to support the move, you can wax poetically about why it was the right financial decision.  But Jeremy Lin was the one thing that made this Knicks fan pay attention again. 

And now, frankly, I'm finding it hard to give a shit. 

Monday, July 16, 2012

What July 16th Means To Me: Braindead

I really don't have much to say, but feel the need to write something because I've been neglecting the blog.  I was going to do a "How You Found My Blog?" because there's been some good ones, but I think I'll save that for later. 

Insomnia has fucking killed me over the course of the past week, and I'm probably averaging only 3-4 hours of sleep a night.  Which has me doing some annoyingly annoying things in the morning like accidentally swallowing my toothpaste (which almost ended a Seinfeld-esque no vomit streak), and leaving my apartment with my lifting gloves on when all I meant to do was grab my sunglasses.  Great. I'm also having trouble writing this blog post because words are ... whats the term...when you can't find the right words?  Anyway, yeah, I'm having trouble with that.

But, as a result, I've familiarized myself with the overnight HBO line-up, and have watched Crazy, Stupid, Love three times in the past week. Maybe even more.  It's a good movie, sue me. But you ever watch a movie so many times that you start finding logic gaps that don't necessarily ruin the movie for you, but at least taint it?  Am I the only asshole who does this?

Anyway, the best scene in the movie, bar none, features all the characters unknowingly meeting in Steve Carell's backyard, only to have all their truths revealed in one epically horrible fight.  But the entire scene hinges on the fact that we believe Ryan Gosling's character has no idea that Steve Carell is the father of the girl he is "in love with (Emma Stone)."  The first few times you watch this movie, you totally buy into the possibility, but the more I think of it, it's absurdly impossible.  Yes, Emma Stone seems entirely too old to be Steve Carell's daughter, but considering she and Gosling are "in love," they probably, ya know, talk about some mildly personal things. She most likely would have mentioned her last name at some point ("Weaver") to the man she's in love with, and the fact that her parents are going through a messy divorce.  This probably would ring a bell with Gosling since he's been spending all his time when Carell, who of course is also named Weaver, and, ta-da, going through a messy divorce.  After hearing the story from Stone, Gosling must have said "you know what's funny ,Fancy Face, I know a guy named Weaver who is going through the exact same thing.  What a coincidence!"  Just sayin' that would probably have been put together at some point.  Maybe it's in the deleted scenes. 

You should, uh, think about gettin' a life, Brett.

Now that that's off my chest, maybe I can get some sleep tonight. 

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

What July 11th Means To Me: Narcissism

My buddy Mike brought this to my attention, and I'm not sure why I find this to be an egregious sign of narcissism in a world full of it...but...

AC Milan's Zlatan  Ibrahimovic's Weird Back Tattoos


AC Milan's Zlatan  Ibrahimovic's Weird Back Tattoos...embroidered on the back of a jacket

Nike created this "work of art," though I don't know who was behind the original idea (it certainly wouldn't shock me if it were Zlatan himself), but what does it say about someone who actually thinks its a good idea.  If someone gave me a jacket featuring all my tattoos I'd laugh them out of the room.  I don't know if Zlatan wears this jacket around town (or if he has it on display in his house), but it has to be one of the dumbest things I've seen in a while.

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

What July 10th Means To Me: RIP Dennis Flemion

"Out of the mist...there was a pimp...out of the mist...there was a hooker! Out of the mist...there was a priest..." and out of this mist...there was this news.

In his book, Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, Chuck Klosterman dedicates an entire section to a series of 23 questions he asks someone in order to figure out if he could truly love them.  The questions are thought provoking and brilliant, and I can easily see how he would gauge personality and sense of humor from their answers.  I'm not near as smart as Chuck, therefore I could never come up with a similar 23 questions.  So, instead, I play people The Frogs album, It's Only Right And Natural, and watch their reaction.

I'll safely assume the vast majority of you have never heard of The Frogs.  They were just a small indie band from Milwaukee after all, but they were also a favorite of Kurt Cobain, they toured with the Smashing Pumpkins, Beck sampled one of their lyrics in his hit song "Where It's At," ("That was a good drum break.") and Eddie Vedder included the Frogs cover of "Rearviewmirror" on the B-side of the "Immortality" single.  Hell, even Sebastian Bach played shows with them (I saw a few of those in person, and they were amazing.  Actually, the first time I ever saw someone smoke crack was at one of those shows  But I digress.)

It's Always Right And Natural is a series of home recordings that are so stripped down it's not uncommon to hear them break into laughter mid-song. But it's also a highly satirical album that was a shot across the bow to social conservatism. It may have partially been made just to watch them squirm.  And, well, it did earn the wrath of Pat Robertson and some of his peers.  But if you were just to hear the album, you'd be either blown away or absolutely appalled by the absurdity of it.  I still remember the first time I listened to it.  I knew I'd heard nothing like it, and I'd never hear anything like it again.  And I can't believe I still know so many of the songs by heart, and how it still makes me laugh. 
But, if nothing else, I believe It's Always Right And Natural is a barometer of personality.  You can either hang with it or you can't. So, RIP Dennis Flemion, you produced something that was, if nothing else, memorable to many.  And I, for one, will always love it.

Monday, July 9, 2012

What July 9th Means To Me: Random Thoughts

Ever wake up on a Monday morning with a completely blank mind? 

Perhaps good for the soul, but very bad for blogging because I really have nothing to talk about.

I had a dream last night where I was paid a million dollars for something I wrote.  Then I woke up.  Without a million dollars.  But I once again considered what I'd do with a million dollars, and all I could come up with was: sleep in. 

Speaking of ... I'm in the process of buying a new bed.  Well, actually its purchased, and I'm sure you're all waiting with bated breath to hear about it.  Once all its contents have arrived, I expect to reach a Nirvana like state while sleeping.  Cause, you know, it's already hard enough to wake up while sleeping on my shit mattress.   Too bad I don't have a million dollars, I'd buy a house to surround that bed. 

After months of drinking the free shitty coffee at work, I've been compelled to buy Starbucks again.  I suppose I can afford the extra ten bucks a week.  If I had the million dollars, I'd buy two.

I'm liking the show Newsroom.  Though I can't imagine I'd care for it if I had right wing beliefs #HollywoodElite.

I want to take a summer vacation.  Yes, another one.  Why not, I say!  With my million, I'd leave for months. 

Listening to other people's problems can be therapeutic. Especially if I was doing it while counting my million dollars.

Katy Perry's movie didn't make shit this weekend.  By the way, in California Gurls she refers to California as the Golden Coast.  Does anyone in California call it that?  I've never heard it.  Whatever, she has a million dollars.

Thursday, July 5, 2012

What July 5th Means To Me: Memorable 80'/90's Lyrics

I was driving home from a 4th of July party last night, and flipping through the radio stations until I eventually settled on one playing Chicago's "Hard To Say I'm Sorry."  I don't particularly like this song, sure I think Chicago is fine, but if picking tunes from their catalogue, this wouldn't be in my top five choices.  HOWEVER, about twelve years ago, my buddy Tony worked at a job for a couple of months where his boss was this fat Italian named Joe Sari (pronounced "sorry.") One night, while Tony and I were driving, the aforementioned Chicago song came on the radio, and when the lyric "Hold me know, it's hard for me to say "I'm sorry," was sung, we both simultaneously said "Joe Sari" instead of "I'm sorry."  We didn't sing it.  We just said it.  Since that day, I've replaced "I'm sorry" with a deadpanned "Joe Sari" every single time I've heard the song.  Every single time. And I never turn off the song because I just want to say Joe Sari.  And, of course, I love the lyric "Hold me now.It's hard for me to say I'm sorry. I just want you to know.Hold me now. I really want to tell you I'm sorry.I could never let you go," cause then I can say Joe Sari twice in a short period of time.  After that, I generally switch the channel.

Anyway, it got me thinking about some other songs I continue to listen to in order to hear just one lyric...and here are my top 5!

5) Africa By Toto --- Lyric:  "The wild dogs cry out in the night, as they grow restless longing for some solitary company. I know that I must do what's right, as sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti.

Congratulations, Toto!  You've written the oddest analogy of all time.  I suppose you can always count on Mt. Kilimanjaro overlooking the Serengeti river, but what a weird way of explaining your certainty.  And why compare Kilimanjaro to Olympus, which is just another mountain that I believe is actually smaller than Kilimanjaro?  Wouldn't it make more sense to say something like "rises like a Phoenix?" Which might work thematically within the context of the song anyway?   Also, what in the hell is "solitary company?"  Are they trying to be poetic here, or did they not realize they just wrote an oxymoron?  Maybe wild dogs play by their own rules, but I think Toto has some explaining to do. 

4) "Glory Of Love," By Peter Cetera --- Lyric: "Like a knight in shining armor...from a long time ago." 

If you don't know this song from the title, it's the featured tune in Karate Kid Part 2. You know, the movie where Mr. Miyagi takes Daniel to Okinawa and almost gets him killed by the hands of his rival's nephew. And seems oddly OK with it.  Anyway...  "Glory Of Love" is the kind of song that just inspires a sing-a-long, which is usually followed by a laugh.  A song definitely lost to time.  But I'll guarantee you there were multiple songwriters scratching their heads over the lyric above.  It comes at a key moment in the song...the rise before the fall, it's supposed to be a powerful lyric, and I'm sure they would have loved something a bit more specific than "from a long time ago."  Then again, "Like a knight in shining armor...from medieval England!" doesn't quite have the same ring to it.  I just bet they spent a good few hours tossing around ideas before Cetera said, "fuck it, I have dinner plans in 20 minutes, lets just say "from a long time ago," and if a snarky blogger wants to tease us about it in 30 years, I'll tell him to go check my bank account."   

Speaking of lazy lyrics...

3) "Arthur's Theme," By Christopher Cross -- Lyric: "Living his life one day at a time, He's showing himself a really good time"

Carole Bayer Sager. Peter Allen. Burt Bacharach. Christopher Cross.  Between the four of them, there are multiple Grammys, and they even won the Academy Award for best original song for the one above.  Yet between those FOUR accomplished songwriters, none could figure out how to avoid rhyming "time" with "time?"  Really?  This isn't something that they just forgot about, and it can't be a stylistic choice because it stands out as odd. And "time" is kind of an easy word to rhyme.  See, I just did it without trying. I know this one bothers my buddy Phil too, and we'd both LOVE to hear the story behind this lyric.  I'd watch an entire documentary about the decision.  Maybe that can win an Academy Award too.

2) "Walking In Memphis," By Marc Cohn -- Lyric:  "She said, 'tell me are you a Christian child?' and I said, 'MA'AM, I AM TONIGHT!"

A karaoke favorite of mine.  I'll gladly sit through an Alice's Restaurant-esque, 25 minute version of this song as long as I get to hear that lyric.  I've probably almost had numerous car accidents because I've belted the lyric so hard while driving.  You can't just mutter it, after all.  When a singer talks about "bringing it home," he's talking about that lyric.  Plus, didn't Marc Cohn get shot in the head, and then was back on tour within a few months?  You bet.   I'm certainly a Christian child when discussing Marc Cohn.

1) "The Living Years," By Mike And The Mechanics -- Lyric: "I think I caught his spirit, Later that same year, I'm sure I heard his echo, In my baby's new born tears."

Oh yeah.  You bet.  And this is how this went down:  Mike and The Mechanics were recording this song, and when the lyric was uttered for the first time, the music stopped. Dramatically. There was silence. Because that's all there could be. They all made eye contact with each other and nodded.  Solemnly.  Then they all shook hands.  The kind where you shake with the right, and cover the hands with the left.  You know, a real handshake.  Then they just left the studio because it was just too much to handle.  And the lead singer stood outside the building, leaning against the wall, looking reverently off into the sky.  He took a drag off his cigarette, slowly blew out the smoke and whispered, "nailed it." 

One time the song played while my buddy Ahmet and I were at work, and I told him, "This song makes me want to kill my father, just so I can experience that line."  He responded, "Can you imagine that conversation?  "Yes, Son, I want you to feel what Mike and the boys were talking about.  Take my life."

And with that .... Have a good Thursday, all.

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

What July 3rd Means To Me: Well, July 4th

I feel compelled to write something about July 4th, though it's the one holiday in which I really have zero opinion.  But each year I seem to gravitate towards an event with the best view of a fireworks display like a puppy waiting for a treat, and each year I watch it with general indifference and think "well, OK, that happened," upon their conclusion.  Then I go home, wake up the next day, and life goes on.  And in the case of this year, I actually have work on July 5th anyway. 

But, seriously, is there anything more anticlimactic than a fireworks display?  In our minds it's always gonna be this:

Or This:

Yes, I actually expect  Big Ben to magically appear in the middle of Los Angeles.  Now that would be an epic fireworks display.  But more often than not, it ends up like this:

I guess I just sound like a huge hater right now, the more I think on it.  But, yeah, fireworks.  It just seems like something we look forward to to cap the night and the anticipation of them is always ten times more exciting than the actual event.  Like half the times I've had sex. 

And thats the sum total of my July 4th holiday thoughts. 

Have a good one everyone...try not to do this:

Monday, July 2, 2012

What July 2nd Means To Me: How You Found My Blog!

It's time for one of my favorite segments: How You Found My Blog!  For a refresher, it's simple: I go into my Google Analytics, pick out some of my favorite search terms that brought people to my website of humble musings ... and then cry.  Once again, you guys didn't disappoint.  In fact, I think we've hit a new low. 

Let's Get To The Searches And Start With ....

Girls Girls Girls Who Pee In Roommates Drinks: 

<Sigh>  Though, I suppose, this has the makings of the greatest Craigs List ad of all time:  "Some like bondage, some like public sex, but this 27 year old SWM gets off when you urinate in my roommate's Diet Coke.  Several of you. Why else would I say "Girls" three times in the title."

Oh, and poor roommate. 

I Shall Wear Your Nipple As A Badge Of Honor:

A worthy search term, really. 

I have to wonder (and hope) this is a line from a song I don't know, because otherwise this guy might belong to some awfully strange Fight Club.  But it begs this question: Who would you rather be roommates with?  A guy who orders women to pee in your beverages, or the guy who cuts your nipple off while you're sleeping?  Imagine waking up the next nippleless morning with a bloody mess on your chest, then walking out into the living room to see your roommate calmly eating Frosted Flakes with your nipple pinned to his shoulder like its a ribbon supporting breast cancer.   "Hey Steve, is that my nipple?"  "Why yes, I thought I'd proudly display it, like a badge of honor. I got the idea after typing that into a Google search. I thought you'd be impressed."

Pimples On Vag Lips Help:

Sounds like someone had a very bad night.  But you have to wonder what prompted this search in the first place. Do you think it's a girl who found them on herself? For whatever reason, I find the crudeness of the term rules that out.  This is what I think it went down:

A nice, young fellow said, "you know what I'm going to do tonight, Mom?  I'm going to head down to the club and find me a nice young woman."  And he did just that as he hit the dance floor and found a lovely female willing to gyrate her body against him.  They decided, right away, that they were in love and it was meant to be, so they retired to her apartment where he immediately engaged in oral sex.  Upon pulling away from her nether regions, he opened his eyes for the first time and...


Then he did this...

...all the way home...only to be all...

while typing it into a Google search.   Well, I hope my blog gave you temporary levity from your trying situation.   How the hell did that term lead him here???

Peel Back To Woman's Vagina:

This post has taken a pretty "It Rubs The Lotion On It's Skin" vibe hasn't it?  WTF does the above even mean?

Pepol Ho Shoe Ther Bobis Youtob:

Hey Borat! Thanks for stopping by!  Did you enjoy my blog?

That's sweet of you to say.

And last, but not least:

I'm A Heavy Handed Cunt

Save this one for your therapist chair, not Google. 

As usual, I'm incredibly proud of all of you.  Have a good Monday, all.