Sunday, May 29, 2005

To Answer Nicky Brooklyn's Question:


a holla back girl:

A girl that is willing to be treated like a doormat or booty call. She is a girl that will allow guys to do whatever they want with her and will just wait for them to 'holla back' at them.

just an FYI.

Friday, May 20, 2005

The Music Baton:

passed on from Greg

Total Volume of Music Files on my Computer:

14939 files; 66.21 GB of music

The Last CD I Bought was:

It might have been The Thrills' Let's Bottle Bohemia, which might be one of the 5 worst albums I have ever purchased.

Song playing right now:

Russian Futurists, it's not really cold when it snows

5 Songs I listen to a lot or that mean a lot to me:

Minus the Bear, hey! is that a ninja up there?
Ghostface Killah, tooken back
Queen, don't stop me now
De La Soul, i am i be
Dismemberment Plan, face of the earth

(With nods to 5 others:
Hum, suicide machine
Merle Haggard, if we make it through december
Twilight Singers, railroad lullaby
Marvin Gaye, inner city blues (makes me wanna holler)
Sufjan Stevens, detroit, lift your weary head)

I'm passing this along to:


unless gully, hetha, erica, marge, deb, fieser, or fuzzy would like to take up the questions.

Thursday, May 19, 2005

where's summer? is she smoking the salmon herself? 5.19.05

i love how a funeral brings a family together. and brings tate donovan back, looking svelte and sharp. i like him better in non-black suits but... what's with that shit eating grin? and sister haley is back. i like the way she takes off her overshirt. nice stretch. ladies, learn that method. so far, this is crappy. seth and summer all holding hands. talking sensitive. where is the effing drama? on 90210, they wrote off that blonde kid with a gunshot and a scenes from the next episode. i'm a heartless bastard. sandy cohen, though, gets in a dig or two: a terrible father in law; and if you can't rest in peace, i am sure heaven could use a few more mcmansions.

the kirsten drink count! we have a new drinking game! we're on 2 already... full bottle, a wobble, and argument, and a smash!

we begin with a treatment center, before the funeral; sandy is sensitive and wants to "keep it brief." i bet an intervention is coming. they were great on HBO's lifestories. and seth discovers the brochure for the treatment center! you know, kiki don't look like no drunk. knowing she's a raw-food-ist, i wonder what they make her drink instead of liquor. does a raw foods diet preclude liquor? isn't vodka processed potato? ahh, it can be made from processed grain, or grapes.

and now... the intervention. kiki strikes back. is it me or does seth just not seem like kiki's son at all? they're not very mother/ daughter- i mean son.

it's 8.45 and kiki's going to rehab? waaaaaaay too early. she's gonna run away. and next season say "seth can do it, why can't i?" but for now, she's contrite.


gamma rays of hate shooting out of your eyeballs? 1 girl, 2 brothers, it's all a little legends of the fall. -summer

and yet another revenge of the sith video game product shot! and another bravery song, honest mistake. i hear this song... uh, too much. the kids go to the bait shop in search of relief from the tensions of life; little do they know they are about top face the harsh reality of asian gangsters and gunfire. that place is So going to have metal detectors next season.

oh... drama. trey and bimbo are... snxxxxx.... gun.... snxxx.... cocaine.... snxxxx.

seth - we just came from my grandfather's funeral.
trampy blonde - well. he's probably pretty old.

"who's the bitch now, huh?" trampy blonde says. isn't that the catch phrase from "the new guy" starring dj qualls and jermaine dupri? but- yo, trampy newport girl done buss off a shot! or would y'all prefer "lick off a shot?" maybe "squeeze some reounds?" or "buck one?"

the trampy girl is jess. ryan's heard it all before from his brother. but did y'all know trey's really british? like mischa? and ryan lays down the "you gotta go" law. don't we all want to see ryan go off the stanford or berkeley and become a sensitive poet, rehashing james dean and writing furiously under the influence of coffee, a couple of skinny suburban girls working on their theater lines and talking about moving to new york? maybe he just needs to go to NYU. but then he'll become a criminal. or this criminal. or this criminal. or maybe trey should go to nyu with trashy. and while there he can adopt a british accent-- which the actor, Logan Marshall Green, actually has in real life. okay, NYU kids, respond away.

oh, no! rissa has a boo-boo! she was near gunfire! and summer is the good times, take care of people kid we all love. she's a care bear with care bear countdown powers! she's good mood bear! therapy bear? exposition of character emotion bear?


tate/ jimmy cooper wants to stay in newport? with julie coop? marisa comes home to find her parents... together! but isn't it creepy to take over caleb's house? is marisa happy or... conflicted? and the mystery other child is coming home?


the way things have been going i bet that's oliver. -seth

hey, how come ryan's so effing pale? ryan resolves to settle it with trey once and for all... trampy wants to go to vegas with trey? steal her stepdad's beamer? what a naughty naughty girl!

ryan - what are you gonna do, shoot me? is that how this ends?
trey - how this ends is up to you, says trey.

ryan walks away, seemingly afraid of the gun in trey's hand. trey puts down the piece and ryan tackles him low. excellent technique. ryan has a future in football. there is a beating, the table breaks- and marisa shoots him? in the back? don't worry, trey is alive. she hit the other side of the chest, away from the heart. man, the oc is hard. dudes get shot in the back by cosmogirl. whatever that song was, the one playing in the heartfelt moments, it has to go.

was that repetitive and annoying tune a ryan adams song?

and we have to get "what are you gonna do, shoot me?" out of the american phrase book.
Interim. 5.19.05

Yesterday I learned that picnics in parks with art history PhD's will inevitable turn into commentary about different sub-breeds of dogs, and marveling at babies. I suppose that's better than staring blankly at conversations about portaiture or pre-Columbian pottery. While interesting, it leaves me without much to say. As we all know, I like to talk.

Today, it's caffeine with Arroz's sister Kiri and her Sunny Disposition. And tonight? The OC's season finale. This viewer is hoping that it will be chock-full of Josh Schwartz' best writing, pop references, and one-liners to blog about.

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Limiter 5.17.05

Today—before I addressed the strange odor by showering—I was watching the Larry Elder show to get myself all incensed. He was lamer than usual but Dr. Phil gave some advice during a commercial break—kind of a One to Grow On, if you remember those.

The good not-quite-doctor tells us that parents should not talk about their money issues/ woes, for the children will then take on some of the emotional responsibility, some of the stress, and then worry about asking about the $10 they need for a class trip.

That’s crap advice. Shouldn’t children of a certain age—let’s say by 10 or so—have a sense of what their financial limits are? Instead of asking why they can’t get some toy? Shouldn’t they learn how to be more efficient? I didn’t need the Trapper Keeper with the Hulk on the cover when a sturdier folder with a metal binder would do; it helped to have a sense of where my dad’s money was going; and to better understand that I couldn’t have every GI Joe. Granted, there was the GI Joe theft incident… but I was a juvenile so you didn’t hear it from me.

The good not-quite-doctor did not specify ages, but the children displayed in the commercial were in the 10-15 range and on some no-curb Florida street. And by that age, kids should know a little bit about their parents’ limits, instead of becoming bitter that they can’t have so and so from MTV and this and that from the mall. We all have limits that define our personal responsibility. It’s better to understand that the parents can’t afford it versus the parents are mean hoarding miserly bastards.

Monday, May 16, 2005

I'd Gladly Pay You Tuesday 5.16.05

I'm rounding into shape, a little slowly but a little surely. But Gothamist's posts on hamburgers and hamburger blogs is making me hungry... and I still have to do some garden-style chopping, hacking, and pruning.

Beyond that, Eben/ Kandle's gathering was good times. I came late and my cookies went over well, but there were lots of people I wish I had talked more to. And an episode of Buffy with Niffer. That is all for now.

Saturday, May 14, 2005

Comets With Big Ass Tails 5.14.05

Where You Been, Pico?

Avoiding this week's graduation activities. In fact, I think I owe the school an undergrad transcript or something. Been home, watching a bit of TV and sending out some resumes. Trying to get back into sync with the rest of the world, rejoin the human race. Trying to remember who the rest of these elusive friends of mine are. Avoiding showers and apparently, lotion. I can write my name on my skin. Thinking about the sports blog but not sure what my first post will be. Making new penpals and plotting trips I cannot afford.

An aside: good to hear from you, youthlarge , but Glavine remembered how to pitch yesterday against the St.L. Cardinals b-squad. And as for the OC, I fell asleep 15 minutes before the beginning… missed the whole thing. Thanks to neverecho for the recap. Even though you didn't tell me Theresa came back.

Pumpkin Park

The multi-week celebration of Eben and Kandle turning a combined 60-palooza ends tomorrow in Prospect Park like an epic, cross-cultural/ four-dimensional battle for the ultimate chalice, one that will bestow— That is not the way to go in this post. I may be rusty but the hint at pomp is unnecessary here; it will be explained a little farther down—no peeking.

It’s supposed to rain today. I hope not. Not for the birthday kids’ sake; instead, because I do not want to waste the time I have spent plotting out pumpkin cookies. Either pumpkin oat or pumpkin chocolate chip or maybe even pumpkin raisin—I consulted neverecho and she thinks the third is “nuh-uh” and the first is “good” and the second warranted an “idea” email introducing the idea of cream cheese frosting. In the Am I must get the actual chips. If I thought they would work I would add white chocolate chips. But they will not…

The Sound of Suckage

VH1 showed their 50 most awesomely bad metal songs last night. Those who know me well know that this is the kind of show I am likely to get incensed about; only my opinions are correct, after all, and I hate watching smarmy kids who never listened to the music or who were barely old enough to be into it making the funnies about the bands. Don’t get me wrong; the reason I love many of the featured songs and have them on my IPod is because they’re pretty silly. But to have the channel that played Amy Grant on repeat when I was growing up now tell me that a “metal” song can only be about biting off the heads of bats and Satan is curious. No matter how the channel has changed their brand into something cool and retro.

“Metal” is in fact a misnomer in VH1's hater hands, spanning the bat-biting Ozzy and Black Sabbath to the Los Angeles post-punk glam/ hair bands such as Mötley Crüe to the Danzig to apparently Marilyn Manson and Limp Bizkit. Within this clump is a wide range of styles. The Kiss/ Black Sabbath/ Alice Cooper days were about shock value and arena rock. AC/DC and early Van Halen just rocked. The Crüe and Poison wanted to avoid herpes, find warm places to sleep, and get chicks to buy them whiskey and blow. And then there are the derivative bands, the rats on every musical ship. Considering the Insane Clown Posse and Fred Durst’s repeated musical mistakes adds a completely different fanbase/ culture/ musical style to the proceedings.

The bands on VH1’s list shouldn’t be judged on the same criteria. It’s easy to pick a crappy song that Britny Fox of Jackyl did. They couldn’t play their instruments. By the late 80’s the bands were mailing in their performances, had high pyrotechnics budgets from Atlantic or Geffen Records, got advice on their bad love ballads from Bob Rock, and got their hairspray and Ibanez guitars for free.

Quiet Riot’s song about partying was bad—as is almost every song that is written for the express purpose of “blowing out speakers” or staying “up all night.” It’s unoriginal, reminiscent of Lionel Richie telling us to dance on the ceiling, and that is the criteria to call a song lame. When the song is obviously boring, even by the standards of the time, like top pick “the Final Countdown” by Europe, that is too good criteria. Also: when a song is pompous, like the aforementioned Europe song. When a song is creepy like Winger’s “Seventeen.” When the singer has a dumb ass affectation like Mike Tramp of White Lion. When the singer reaches that unbelievable, nuts on a counter being smashed by mallets sound.

Whitesnake’s Here I Go Again was hilarious, and was obviously written to get girls in the arenas and panties off after the high school dance. You could look at who was way into the song and be like “target.”

My top two would have been the same, I admit, but the order switched: Europe’s retardculous pomp followed by Warrant’s “Cherry Pie.” I wish I had a copy of that song, but it always offended me. And I LIKED Warrant.

The song, first, and foremost, has lead guitars guest played. Like a guest star in a sitcom? And played by CC DeVille of Poison. Who could play his instrument but mostly cared about the solos because they got the chicks with teeth. The obvious merits of “without teeth” will not be brought up, but I know you were thinking it. Now, having a guest guitarist is fine but if you know the music, it’s not complex. What were Warrant’s 2 guitarists doing in the interim? Giggling about cherry triangles in women’s laps? Yelling at singer Jani Lane the immortal lines "I stirred the batter and she licked the beater?" The innuendos in the song were limp and I didn’t get half of them then. Cherry Pie model Bobbi Brown’s next claim to fame was 12 years later on Blind Date. Even for a party song, this song was coke-addled stupid, even topping Ratt for boring lyrics and Trixter for cheesy clichés.

I am going to make a metal mix for Liz. If you want one… let me know. Maybe I will make one when I can afford the peroxide blonde, playground teased hair wigs and makeup kits I’d like to send with the music.

Friday, May 06, 2005

it's oh bananas oh bananas oh bananas 05.05.05

summer is no ho.

and her spitting the mouthpiece out was kinda hot. the bob jones university reference- judgment day? oh, this show was written by an east coaster. effing liberals. pissing on the moral values of the anti-miscegenation u. if not for that little fact... but i like my doughnuts in the "assortment" variety.

but after this episode i am never leaving my wife/ girlfriend in the company of a hot guy, especially not one with stubble. lucky for me, i can't get a woman within spitting distance. that's the wrong reference.

ok, it's wrong of me to say but that was the best car accident scene i have seen in a while.

mostly, two hours of OC that didn't thrill; i am off to make presentation like the afghan whigs make party. well... tanner will get that one. if he reads the blog.