Tag Archives: stupidity

My first mistake was listening to White Lion in the first place

Music,

Today I was working on the TOC site, and listening to the Hard Rock Cafe: 80s Heavy Metal compilation. If memory serves, I acquired this from a friend who works at a radio station and occasionally raids their prize closet before throwing a bunch of stuff in an envelope destined for Chicago (this is also how I acquired the KISS boxed set). Several weeks ago, I discovered that 80s heavy metal is the perfect genre to code to for three reasons:

1. Despite its volume – and often its misogyny – it’s pretty easy to ignore because most of it is performed by people who are not very bright (For instance: “I’m into total affection/Not being scared if you never please me” from “Lay It Down” by Ratt. I’ve had some less-than-ideal sexual experiences but I don’t think I’ve ever had a fear that I wouldn’t get an orgasm. Maybe a concern, but it never evolved into all-out fear.
2. Most 80s heavy metal – and man is that a loosely applied term when it comes to this collection – combines driving guitars and drums with aggressively poppy melodies. This is ideal sonic motivation for tasks that are largely devoid of intellectual thought.
3. Occasional involuntary air guitar/drums helps to keep my fingers loose and stave off carpal tunnel.

Anyway, all this is a precursor to saying I had a moment of sheer disappointment today when I realized I have been mis-hearing a lyric from White Lion’s “Wait” for years. I thought the lyric was:

Wait, wait – I never got the chance to lie to you
Now I only want to say I love you one more time

Not exactly Dylan, but not exactly Fergie either. In fact, I’d say it’s a solid kiss-off lyric.

Except it isn’t. It’s actually:

Wait – wait no I never had a chance to love you
Now I only wanna say I love you one more time

From kiss-off to kiss-ass. A weak, wet noodle of a lyric that also sounds a little stalkerish too. I felt so foolish, like the time I found out a lot of the songs Freddie Mercury wrote for Queen’s last album were about his cat.

If your fans jumped off a bridge, would you do it, too?

Music, ,

There’s little point in raising any objections to The Eagles’ exclusive distribution deal with Wal-Mart for their double-album Long Road Out of Eden just because it’s about money. Back in 1994, The Eagles had an unfortunate influence on the music industry thanks to their prolonged absence from it, and were therefore able to command upwards of $100 – then a princely sum – for a ticket to one of their reunion shows, which has led to an ongoing competition to see who can command the most dollars per ticket. But in terms of sheer greed, The Eagles are far outpaced by other bands who jump at every licensing deal throw at them. Plus, it’s far less disconcerting to see a band “selling out” when its music no longer matters. So this move means almost nothing to anyone who isn’t on the Eagles Inc. payroll.

I can’t even get that irritated by the obvious hypocrisy. In a recent CNN interview, Don Henley says that Wal-Mart made them “a really good offer” and that’s presumably why he’s excepting Wal-Mart from his usual tirades about the evils of corporations. Henley is rock’s biggest blowhard, and I’ve long felt that the louder someone has to be about their beliefs, the less sincere they are. It’s as if they’re trying to convince themselves while they’re convincing you. Social responsibility was good for his career, until it wasn’t. And again, it’s not like the Eagles have been above a big money grab before.

No, the thing I find objectionable is Henley’s further reasoning about the wisdom of their decision:

And a lot of our fans are customers of Wal-Mart, so we thought it was a good fit.

Hmm, where have I heard that before? Oh wait, I remember.

We feel okay about VWs. Several of us even drive them.”

Is this the new standard? It’s OK as long as it’s something you or your fans use? If so, I can’t wait for, say, Tegan and Sara’s “Knife Going In” to show up in an ad for Land O’ Lakes Butter. Or maybe an exclusive distribution deal with BP Amoco stations for the next album by Rihanna because “a lot of my fans have cars that use gas, so it seemed like a natural fit.” Or music from Nickelback’s next album showing up in an Ex-Lax ad because it’s so shitty.

Bitchin’ in the kitchen

Uncategorized,

I’m no Grant Achatz in the kitchen, but I do have occasional moments of brilliance. Case in point: last week, when I whipped up some salmon burgers for the lady and myself (recipe at the end of this post). Just the same, when I’m making dinner for myself, I tend to do something that isn’t so much cooking as it is – in the words of my college girlfriend – heating. A Man, a Can and A Plan isn’t just a book, it’s a lifestyle choice.

But there’s simple, and then there’s stupid.

This evening, I was cooking up another masterpiece when I saw this on the back of a package of brown rice:

Chef’s Tips
Quick meal ideas to make your life easier
For a Quick Delicious Meal in Minutes:
Star with READY WHOLE GRAIN RICE Whole Grain Brown. Pick up a Rotisserie (or other cooked favorite) add a bagged salad and you have a quick, complete meal in minutes.

Let’s ignore, for a moment, the massive copy editing problems with this “tip.” I don’t care who you are, this is information that is so basic as to be useless. They might as well just say:

For a quick and delicious mean in minutes:
Go to the store and buy some groceries. Put a package of our rice in there, too.

Now for those salmon burgers…

2 lbs fresh salmon, do not buy the canned stuff, you’ve been working hard, you deserve the finer things
1 cup bread crumbs
2 eggs
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1/2 teaspoon garlic salt
1 tablespoon soy sauce
4 wheat buns, toasted
Olive oil
Parmesan cheese

Remove the skin from the salmon. This is the hardest part of this recipe. In fact, it is at this point that you will regret attempting this recipe. But it’s totally worth it. Place the salmon in a plastic bag, and pound the hell out of it. This will help get out some of your frustrations over removing the salmon skin. Dump the salmon into a bowl and add the rest of the ingredients. Mix them thoroughly, then form the mixture into equally sized burgers, or a couple of big ones and a couple of small ones if you preparing dinner for a light eater. Grill the burgers for about 5 minutes per side, or five minutes total if you rock the Foreman.

Toast the buns then pour some olive oil into a small dish, and add some Parmesan cheese, until it forms a liquidy paste. Spread the Parmesan paste on the top bun. Add lettuce and tomato for garnish, if you like, but it is only going to get in the way of the awesomeness.

Coming soon: "My Tube Socks (Remix)" by K-Fed

Music,

MP3 – “My Bra” (excerpt) – Mya
Lyrics – See below

Last week, the big new music release was Radiohead’s In Rainbows. I am predicting that this week’s big talker will be “My Bra” by Mya.

Okay, perhaps this song won’t have people chattering about the end of the music industry business model, but it makes up for it with Devin Hester levels of ridiculousness.

The verses of the song are pretty unremarkable by themselves; they’re the kind of non-specific, meaningless I-am-dealing-with-adversity-but-will-persevere-by- staying-strong lyrics you hear in the trailers of movies featuring single women who have to deal with tragedy of some kind, be it death, divorce or public speaking engagements. In this case, the song comes from the upcoming Lifetime movie The Matters of Life and Dating, a title that conveniently omits the major plot point of the movie: that Ricki Lake’s single (see?) character undergoes a mastectomy and has to learn how to live life again.

(Sidebar: To my mind, the definitive life-after-mastectomy tele-film is The Ann Jillian Story, and nothing you say will convince me otherwise.)

So on its face, writing a song called “My Bra” for a film like this makes a lot of sense. But instead of an introspective exploration of how items we take for granted are recast in a different paradigm after a major life change, you get lyrics like “You’re my legs when I start to stumble/My strength, my sun, my heart.”

But once you get to the chorus, the song becomes unintentionally hilarious.

I don’t mean to take away from the very real problem of breast cancer, which directly or indirectly affects anybody on the planet who isn’t a clone, but even if you’re not a 14 year-old boy, how do you not laugh at lines like:

When it’s just too hard to make it through another day
You’re lifting me up
My bra, my bra, my bra

After some further research, it turns out that “my bra” is slang in the breast cancer community for “my friend.” In that context, it’s cute and….well, supportive (pardon the pun). But hearing it over and over as a stand-in for an actual person just conjures up images of some woman cozying up to her underwires.

Perhaps if the verses weren’t of the Dr. Seuss school of rhyming (little surprise that Mya says “I literally wrote the song in five minutes”), I might have a different opinion.

In the meantime, I’ll take solace in the notion that my 99 cents contributed to breast cancer research, while I busily compose a Weird Al style ode to bro-mance titled “My Bro.” At first, I thought I could use the vernacular “bra” as a stand-in for “bro” but as Barney said in last night’s How I Met Your Mother, that word should be stricken from the lexicon. “It was fun for a week…now it’s over.”

You can find out how to do more to stop breast cancer without hurting your ears at Lifetime’s site.

“My Bra” by Mya

You never know….you’re my bra
You never know what you’re gonna get from day to day
I was sitting on top of the world never thought that would change
Had a life that dreams are made of and everything
And in a moment it all came crashing down and I’ll never be the same

Thought I was safe
I had it made
It couldn’t happen to me

Chorus:
You’re my bra, my bra, my bra
You’re my light at the end of the tunnel
You’re my bra, my bra, my bra
You’re my legs when I start to stumble
My strength, my sun, my heart
When it’s just too hard to take it
When it’s just too hard to make it through another day
You’re lifting me up
My bra, my bra, my bra

When the going got tough, you were there by my side
Telling me the things I needed to hear
You went the extra mile
I thank the heavens above
For your grace
‘Cause when I couldn’t find my courage (yeah)
You gave me your face

Your endless calls
Breaking down my walls
Getting down on your knees and breaking with me

Chorus

I’m fighting, fighting
Facing all of my fears
I’m surviving, I’m surviving
I keep on
Fighting, fighting
Taking it one day at a time
I keep
Trying, Trying

Gonna make it, gonna make it
Nothing’s gonna stop me from going on
So many reasons I gotta stay strong

Chorus (x2)
Fade out

I’d never kid about free (non-alcoholic) beer

Uncategorized,

Just in case you thought I was kidding:

Free beer!

Further bulletins as events warrant.

Update: The link above is dead now. I’ve re-created the post after the jump.

I can already hear you asking “Who the hell would want free beer? And why would someone own it in the first place?”

Allow me to explain.

I work for a local, well-known, weekly magazine. As part of a story, I needed to purchase some non-alcoholic beer. Specifically, three brands: O’Doul’s Amber, Sharp’s, and Clausthaler. In writing the story, six bottles of the beer (two of each brand) were used. Twelve bottles of the beer were not used.

What with the country currently trying to live as “green” a life as possible, it seemed a shame to throw away this near-beer. So instead I am offering it for free to anyone who would like to pick it up from my apartment and take it off my hands.

Sure, this might seem a little odd. But let’s face it: people give away dirt on Craiglist, so this isn’t any odder than that. Of course, you could probably think up several reasons why you might need dirt, and not one single reason why you might want some non-alcoholic beer. Unless you really dig beer and don’t want to have to deal with all the pesky “getting shit-faced” aspects of it.

And at the very least, you will have a great story that begins “So this guy was offering free non-alcoholic beer on Craigslist” to tell at your next party. And how many people can say THAT?

The details:

You will be receiving 12 bottles of beer:
* Four bottles of O’Doul’s Amber, billed as “rich and flavorful”
* Four bottles of Sharp’s, advertised as “brewed for all” and featuring “the Crisp, Refreshing taste of Beer, Anytime” (their insane use of CAPS not mine)
* Four bottles of Clausthaler, winner of the World Beer Cup Association of Brewers USA, Milwaukee 200 and the 2000 Gold Award Non-Alcoholic-Malt Beverages and brewed according to the German Purity Law of 1516

You must pick up this beer yourself or send one of your assistants, minions, associates, lackeys, pledges, etc. to do it for you. I live not too far from a CTA Brown Line stop that they’ve managed to keep open for now. So get while the gettin’s good.

UPDATE: The beer has been claimed. Thanks to everyone who offered to take it off my hands.

Hips don’t lie, but Nine West ads sure do

Media,


Dear Nine West,

Fuck you.

No, seriously, fuck you.

Recognize that ad? You should. It’s yours and I saw it not less than three different places in the course of Web-surfing today.

Sure, that’s probably a clever play on words, but you and I both know that high-waisted jeans only look good on women who don’t have hips anyhow. And since Michelle Pfeiffer’s corpse – or whomever it is in that ad there – doesn’t appear to have hips to begin with, it’s a bit like putting anti-wrinkle cream on a five-year-old, isn’t it?

While it’s bad enough you’re trying to sell an illusion, I’m more bothered by what that ad represents. I get that there might be some women who might be thrilled by the prospect of jeans that minimize the appearance of their hips. And I should probably respect their choices and blah blah blah, but I can’t help but think ads like this are the reason that some women think they NEED to minimize their hips in the first place.

I know you’re trying to sell “the new Nine West” in all your ads, but it’s pretty obvious that you’re peddling the same old bullshit.

Sincerely,
Our Man In Chicago

Disbelief, unsuspended

Media,

Here’s my problem with most Adam Sandler movies:

It isn’t the plot. I can buy the idea that a guy whose father has a lot of money could convince a school system to let him repeat kindergarten through high school. A former hockey player becomes a golf pro? Sure, why not. I don’t really play sports, but I remember how Bo Jackson used to be really good at baseball and football, so that seems plausible. A waterboy could be a football player? Saw it in Lucas, and I believed it then, too. Moreover, it makes total sense to me that someone could earn a living as a wedding singer, or that Christopher Walken could invent a remote control capable of controlling everything in the world. I even buy that DCFS would let him hold onto a kid for more than five minutes without calling Dateline NBC.

Where my cognitive dissonance kicks in is on this point: how does fucking Adam Sandler have incredibly hot women falling in love with him in almost every film? I mean, come on. Patricia Arquette and Fairuza Balk, sure. They both seem kinda crazy. But Marisa Tomei? Kate Beckinsale? Bridgette Wilson? Hell, in Spanglish he has two hot women after his ass. That’s just nuts.

The most intelligence-insulting part of I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry – and this includes all the weird gay panic crap that substitutes for a plot – is that I’m expected to believe that there is any chance in this world or any other than a woman that looks like Jessica Biel would be dating a guy like Adam Sandler.

I think the reason that I enjoyed The Wedding Singerso much is because I felt like Drew Barrymore got the better end of the deal in that one.

Private dancers

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Seriously, how private a party is it if you can get in by paying $100 bucks? That’s like thinking strippers really like you.

The press release that came with this was ripe for mockery, but in the end I just couldn’t do it. It felt like making fun of the slow kid in class.

No, really. The phrase “keeping it real” was used. And the title was “DAVID SCHWIMMER, BILLY DEC AND JOEY SLOTNICK RETURN TO THEIR ROOTS.” Yeah, nothing says returning to your roots like partying it up in a club that didn’t exist six months ago with a bunch of people who paid $100 to get in to an event where Paul Sevigny is considered a celebrity. Paul Sevigny is barely considered a celebrity in New York, for crying out loud. Hell, his sister Chloe Sevigny is barely considered a celebrity most days.