A Picture of a Photograph

Slowly Dying Inside Doesn't Mean I'm Dying Outside!

2009-07-10T02:15:00.010-04:00

By George Blembeck

Guest Blogger

Hey, just because I can barely make it through an hour of the painful, unending suffering that is life doesn't mean I don't know how to party.

Sure, I may stare at my pale, flabby body in the mirror and think about all the creatively diverse ways I could kill myself, only to stop short because I'm afraid it would give my father a heart attack; but a night out with me is going to be a blast!

You and me are going to paint this mother fucking town red, bitch!

What, you're concerned that I haven't left my bedroom in a week and you heard me loudly criticizing myself about a litany of failed opportunities? Fuck that, hoe! George Blembeck is all about the three Rs:

Red Wine With Bitches

Roses On The Bed With Bitches

Being Accused of Statutory Rape of Bitches

That last one only happened once, and sure it sent me through a giant shame spiral and put me in a place where my own gerbil vomited in disgust at the site of me; but George's BACK and ready to FUCK...someone with a properly authenticated state-issued ID.

Yeah, the last time I had sex it was with a concussed drunk girl who thought my name was Peter, but at least I got some action! OK, she had one arm and kept counting her eyebrows to make sure they didn't "add up to a number that offended Jesus", but damnit, we had a great time. It was special, fo' sho'...until she woke up the next morning and stole all of my high fiber cereals.

I thought she was the one!

So, let's go out tonight, buddy. You won't have a BETTER TIME with anyone else! Of course, I'll be thinking about how the noise of the bar and the piercing stares of its inhabitants makes me feel like I am less than a spec of nothingness; but at least I'll look like I'll be having a good time.

Maybe we'll get drunk! I'll put some kick ass tunes in the Jukebox and dance like an asshole because that's what well-adjusted people do; pretend they're having fun while hating everything about themselves and those that surround them.

Won't you please join me?

If Jews Ran The World...

2009-07-08T03:23:00.017-04:00

I found out something interesting today, but I'm afraid to share it, for fear that I play too much on the "Jewy" angle.

Oh vell!

Syrians, Palestinians, and Lebanese share more DNA with Jews than they do with neighboring non-Jews. Talk about your self-hating Jews!

The theory is that most of them were Jews to begin with, but converted to Islam somewhere along the way...too bad that hasn't caused both sides to hug and fondle each others' dangly underthings.

This doesn't actually come as a surprise to me. I mean, let's take Arafat for example...the man looked pretty freakin' Jewish...maybe a Jew who spent a little too much time in the Florida sun, but Jewish nonetheless...

I mean, let's be honest; the guy could have been Jackie Mason's angry, comically hilarious headcovering-wearing brother Shlomo.

They've got to share some schlumpy DNA, no?

So where does it leave us?

0.2 percent of the world is Jewish. 19% is Islamic and 32% is Christian. That's 51%! Let's be honest.

If Jews were 51% percent of the world's population, do you think we'd have such socio-political strife in the world? No. Here's the 5 reasons why:

1) POPULAR AVAILABILITY OF PASTRAMI SANDWICHES: Have you ever been to the "2nd Avenue Deli" in New York? No? How about "Langer's" in Los Angeles? Not that one either? OK, well here's a little Jew-insight...we like Pastrami sandwiches and have for thousands of years. Do you want to proselytize after eating one? No, you want to drink a Cel-Ray tonic and unbutton your pants.

If Jews ran the world, these delights would be available in McDonalds and Burger King and everyone would be too pacified by deliciousness to argue.

As the prophet George Costanza experienced...pastrami only makes life better. In fact, his girlfriend once said: "I find the pastrami to be the most sensual of all the salted cured meats."

2) GREAT SENSE OF HUMOR: Go ahead...name me an Islamic or Christian comedian who is hilarious. I'm giving you time. Think hard. Dane Cook? Good luck with that.

Jewish people are hilarious. Let's just be honest. Even unintentionally...Jews are hilarious. All the way from The Marx Brothers to Seth Rogen...Jews know how to joke around.

Christians? Jeff Foxworthy. Go ahead. Try and laugh at him. If Jews were running the world, there would be too many awkward Larry David-esque exchanges to start a war...we'd be too busy arguing over dinner portions or tip amounts.

3) DOCTORS AND LAWYERS: We've got your ass if you're sick. Have you ever been to a BAD Jewish doctor? Seriously, think back...when have you gone to a Jewish MD, and left thinking "boy, I really didn't get A+ service" ? Sure, we might charge an arm and a leg, but at least we made sure that said extremities are still attached to your body.

As for Lawyers...who would be left to sue the Christian doctors who fucked you up? 'Innocent' Murderer OJ Simpson's lawyers? Robert Shapiro, Alan Dershowitz. Convicted murderer Scott Peterson's lawyer? Mark Geragos.

Case closed. Go with Jews if you want to get away with murder.

4) WE'RE GOOD WITH MONEY: OK, Do I need to even go further than this?:

Clinton's budget surplus under Jewish treasury secretary Robert Rubin? $127 billion
Bush's budget deficit under Christian treasury secretary Henry Paulson? $482 billion

We run the world and even starving African Children will be enjoying $14 Pastrami Sandwiches AND leaving a big tip for mediocre service. Let's just be honest.

5) WE AREN'T WHITE: Lest you be mistaken, Jews ain't white. We're not even close to being white. White people have a history of being Oppressors. Jews have a history of being Bagel Eaters. Shit, we couldn't even do that in most places. We had to eat bagels in basements under a blanket while bleaching our hair strawberry blonde. Do you even know how often we've been oppressed? Check this shit out.

Like once every 100 years, 20% of us are murdered and kicked out of wherever we are. That's why we've been around for 3000 years, but we're only .2 percent of the world's population.

This ain't about being religious. A lot of Jews are secular. In fact, we celebrate being secular.

Here are but a few Jewish "non-believers"

Albert Einstein
Sigmund Freud
Emma Goldman
Karl Marx
Woody Allen (I'm assuming)
David Cronenberg
David Cross
Stephen Jay Gould
Theodor Herzl
Mark Zuckerberg

Anyway, I'm sure the list goes on and on. I guess we've got good DNA, which means the Syrians, Palestinians, and Lebanese do too...maybe peace isn't so far off....

Super Jew!

2009-07-07T03:28:00.005-04:00

I wrote something today.

I don't know why I wrote it.

I think it had to do with a "Butterfinger Buzz" that I consumed. This discontinued candy was being given away at an Ad Agency where I was working.

It proclaims it has "As Much Caffeine As The Leading Energy Drink!"...12 hours later and my heart is still beating in an irregular fashion, I'm sweating and I'm pretty sure I can see into the future. Grunge's going to make a comeback, BTW.

Anyway, this background information might explain the following sketch, which I'm pretty sure is unexplainable. That Catch-22 would make a wonderful book. I'll call it "Catch-22...2: Captain Aardvark's Return, Except Told in Completely Uninteresting Prose".

OK, here ya go:

INT. LIVING ROOM - DAY

Neil and Matt are sitting around, literally staring at the WALL.

MATT: Oh man, I’ll never be a success at everything. I should probably just kill myself...except I hate me too much to put myself out of the misery.

NEIL: Dude, you’re such a stereotypical Jew. Seriously, you make Woody Allen look like Hermann Göring.

MATT: Don’t knock it man, don’t you remember how I used my Jewiness to star in that SpikeTV show?

CUT TO:

OPENING CREDITS MONTAGE:

Graphics follow the lyrics:

INT. APARTMENT - DAY

SuperJew: A Hasidim DRESSED AS A SUPERHERO (like Superman, except S is a Menorah) Frantically Talks On The Phone, CRYING...

SINGER: SUPER JEW! Calling mom about problems.

INT. BEDROOM - DAY

SuperJew makes love to a BLONDE

SINGER: SUPER JEW! Hate Fucking All The Germans.

He SHITS on her FACE.

INT. OFFICE - DAY

SuperJew holds a Calculator, while caressing a pile of money.

SINGER: SUPER JEW! Sound financial decisions!

INT. SYNAGOGUE - DAY

SuperJew gives a thumbs UP!

SINGER: SUPER JEW!

VOICE OVER: Super Jew is brought to you by Schmuley’s Matzoballs.

CUT TO:

INT. KITCHEN - DAY

A BLACK Hasidim sits at a table.

He takes a bite of soup.

HASIDIM: Damn, that’s a fine ass SOUP!

CUT TO:

INT. LIVING ROOM

Neil looks perplexed.

NEIL: What are you doing?

MATT: Huh?

NEIL: You said “don’t you remember how I used my Jewiness to star in that SpikeTV show?” Then you stared blankly at the wall for 10 seconds. You never had a show on Spike.

Matt looks in a mirror...

ALL OF A SUDDEN, He’s Dressed as SUPER JEW.

MATT (to himself): One day, super Jew...one day...

And with that, I bid thee farewell...

I'm Rich Bitch!

2009-07-03T05:09:00.003-04:00

Well, as all my various readers can tell (all 12 of you), I haven't been updating as much as I used to.

Life's hard motherfucker! I have no free time that doesn't involve morose self-reflection or painful imaginary wrist-cutting.

I think I'm well adjusted; it's just that I'm 'well adjusted' to a life of never-ending pain.

I would commit suicide, but I hate me too much to do myself such a big favor.

Still, there are simple pleasures; eating a bag full of Oreos, then purging in the toilet until the tears and vomit combine to form a grotesque masturbatory lubricant.

I pause for a quick thought: "where does that last sentence even come from? What irregular series of thoughts came together to make my fingers gingerly type that?"

The answer, my friends is in 15-20 years of intense psychotherapy. I like to go to a psychoanalyst who is also a therapist: a Psyscho-analrapist. But enough about my Friday nights!

In any case, I think "simple pleasures" should be renamed as "things that distract you from your inevitable, meaningless death". It makes a little more sense to me.

This week, my "TTDYFYIMD" are:

I dare you to listen to that song and not get throughly absorbed in the complex, evocative imagery. My only problem with Dylan? He was born a Jew (hello! We're the best religion!) and converted to a "Born Again" Christian (hello! American culture between the years 2000-2008!)

I'm informed that he's now "semi-Jewish", or as I like to call it Jew...ish. So I can listen to his music again.

And of course, there's always this:

Chappelle's Show

The Wayne Brady Show

www.comedycentral.com

Buy Chappelle's Show DVDs

Black Comedy

True Hollywood Story

Sure, a lot of the humor of the show was predicated on racial stereotypes that might have enforced them (and why Chappelle probably left the show), but it's really fucking funny.

I like to watch it while shaving my knees and spiraling off into the vast emptiness that used to yield limitless potential, but now yields limited disappointment.

Delicious and Easy 20 Minute Steak

2009-06-26T04:04:00.008-04:00

I thought I might just throw up a quick and easy recipe for a 20 minute steak for those of us on the run/those of us who are completely incompetent in the kitchen.

Here's what you'll need before you cook:

To Serve 2 People:

Lean Steak (1/4-1/3 lb per person)

3-4 cloves of Garlic (chopped thick)

2 tablespoons of olive oil

2 heaping tablespoons of sweet salsa (something like a "peach mango" salsa, one spoon on each steak)

5-7 crushed crackers (something delicious and crunchy, Rice Crackers work well...)

A few squirts of your favorite BBQ sauce

Dash of Salt and Pepper

Directions:

-Cover a cooking dish with aluminum foil, then spread Olive Oil evenly across the foil. Squirt some BBQ sauce (as much as you want) in with the oil.

-Take steaks and rub both sides in Olive Oil/BBQ sauce mix, then lay them on the foil.

-Top steaks with salt & pepper, chopped garlic (I personally like really thick pieces of garlic, not minced), salsa and crushed crackers (you can put the crackers in a bowl and hit them with a blunt object until they break into little pieces).

-Turn Broiler On...

-Stick steaks in your broiler; flip them over after about 7 minutes, then flip 'em back again after 7 minutes for another few minutes. Depending on how well you like your steaks done, they should be ready in about 15 minutes.

A good way to tell is to cut a little into the center of the steak and check and see how "pink" the middle is. I personally think they taste best with a decent amount of pink; say around medium.

Another way, suggested here, is: "Check the edges. If you have a thicker steak, the color of the edges is often a good way to tell how done the middle is. When the edges change from red to pink to brown, the inside is probably moving from rare to medium rare to medium."

When you're done, the cracker/salsa/garlic topping will probably be all over your foil, so make sure to scoop it on top of your steak before you serve. It's pretty tasty.

While you're cooking the steak, you can make a good side dish, here's what you need:

1 bag of Sweet Potatoes, cut up (they have these at Trader Joe's, etc)

1-2 teaspoons of brown sugar (depending on how much sugar you like)

1/2 lemon, squeezed

a sprinkle of water

-Put Sweet Potatoes on a microwave safe plate.

-Squeeze 1/2 Lemon on them

-Evenly sprinkle some water on them (as much water as you might have on your fingers after you wash them)

-Gently dust them with brown sugar

Cover tightly in plastic wrap, stab a few holes in the wrap with a fork, and microwave for about 7 minutes.

You can add basically any vegetable to this concoction to make a pretty tasty side. Carrots or Brussel Sprouts work nicely too.

And basically you have it; a nice, relatively healthy meal that's incredibly easy to make.

Google Voice

2009-06-24T20:41:00.002-04:00

I love me some google, even if a ton of my personal information sits in their hands. (not to mention that 'Ceti eel' they put in my ear [read the TOS for youtube])

I'm so cool with them that I am so willing to take the virtual plunge into the glorious world of Google Voice...an application that allows me to NEVER PICK UP THE PHONE AGAIN!!!

Yes, Google Voice assigns you a phone number, you give it to people, they call it and leave a message. That message is then emailed to you, along with an audio recording of said message. Through your email you can either TXT that person back, or have Google Voice actually call them on your behalf (it calls you too...sort of an electronic conference call). I prefer to text, obviously, because I absolutely despise actually speaking to someone.

Anyway, it's pretty cool. Here's me calling myself:

Here is what Google Voice THOUGHT I said:

hi matt this is a test i'm trying to see if this message is transcribe correctly love you very much bye

Here's my friend Paul calling it:

Here's what it thought Paul said:

hello matt this is call i hope your social media experimenters working and let me know if it works this is exciting alright

So, as you can see, some bits and pieces still left to be worked out, but I'm a fan.

If you want to chat, I encourage you to call me. I won't call back, but I might text, email, or some sort of other thingy.

Do it do it do it!!!

El Pollo Loco Commercial

2009-06-16T03:13:00.005-04:00

I've always wanted to direct an El Pollo Loco commercial, and not just because their chicken is FUCKING CRAZY.

I mean, Chick-Fil-A is probably better, right? Someone brought me some once, but I didn't end up eating it. The "a" at the end scares me, but I'm a nervous character at heart, much like Mir-Hossein Mousavi or Woody Allen.

In any case, I woke up one morning with an El Pollo Loco commercial in my head and wrote a short sketch about it.

Read and understand that I have humongous mental problems.

INT. APARTMENT - DAY
Matt walks in as Neil and Franci sit around.

MATT: Hey guys, I got an acting gig.
NEIL: I didn’t even know you were an actor.
MATT: I’m not, but my parents didn’t pay enough attention to me as a child, so apparently, I’m a natural.
FRANCI: My father used to beat my hamster with a bible, because he thought it was living in sin with the rabbit.
NEIL: So what’s the job?
FRANCI: But it was just a plush chew toy we put in his cage.
MATT: Brian De Palma's directing a new ad campaign for El Pollo Loco!
FRANCI: I loved that fucking hamster.
NEIL: When can we see it?
MATT: Now, probably.

CUT TO:

INT. JAIL CELL - NIGHT
A PRIEST (MATT) is giving last rites to a GRIZZLED HISPANIC PRISONER on DEATH ROW.

The Prisoner has a TATTOO of a tear on his face.

PRISONER: Thank you Padre; my soul feels cleansed.
MATT: And for your last meal?
PRISONER: I want chicken like muy tia Rossette used to make.

The Prisoner CRIES and makes a CROSS.

Matt solemnly nods.

CUT TO:

INT. KITCHEN - MOMENTS LATER

Matt walks into a KITCHEN,

MATT: We have a special request...

He SEES:

A CHEF with blood and GUTS spewing everywhere.

On the wall, written in BLOOD is “I’ll Be Back”.

CHEF: Avenge my death...

Matt looks to the camera, WORRIED.

CUT TO:
INT. JAIL CELL - LATER
Matt walks in with an EL POLLO LOCO bag, but tosses it aside and hands the meal to the prisoner.

The Prisoner takes a bite.

Matt looks concerned, dramatic music plays.

PRISONER: Si...éste es pollo de dios. (this is the chicken of God)

They SMILE at each other.

CUT TO:

INT. CLOSE UP SHOTS OF CHICKEN

VOICE OVER: El Pollo Loco is freshly flame broiled to order. So good, even a hispanic convict on death row can’t taste the difference.

CUT TO:
INT. JAIL CELL
Prisoner has finished chicken and is holding a sharp BONE in his hand.

MATT: God bless you...and El Pollo Loco.

The Prisoner STABS Matt and runs out.

SFX guns are fired.

CLOSE ON:

Half Eaten Chicken Meal.

GFX:
A CHICKEN GETS IT’S HEAD CUT OFF AND IT LANDS IN A PLATE

TAGLINE: “EL POLLO LOCO: FUCK THOSE CRACKERS”.

CUT TO:
INT. LIVING ROOM - DAY

NEIL: I’m still waiting to see it.
FRANCI: Yeah, you just said “probably now” and have been standing there for 30 seconds.
MATT: You didn’t see that?
NEIL: See what?
MATT: Oh boy, I must be high again.

The PRISONER stands behind Franci and Neil, holding a hamster.
PRISONER: I’m gonna kill this fucking hamster.
MATT: Now that’s just loco!

Everyone starts laughing.

CLOSE ON:

HAMSTER PUPPET:

HAMSTER: Why are you laughing? Save me, you fucking Jew!

Something tells me that won't be El Pollo Loco's Spring 2010 campaign.

not surprised, but disappointed

2009-06-15T04:36:00.005-04:00

I saw this on CNN.com last month, I took a picture, and I've been meaning to upload it for a while.

If you look at the incredibly non-scientific poll conducted "should people be executed for non-violent crimes such as drug smuggling", 32% of respondents said "yes".

So I bought some awesome pot in Mexico and wanted to bring it back to share with my hippie friends...except I can't now because I'm being executed by firing squad.

This scenario makes sense to 32% of CNN readers?

That must be the same 32% of mouth breathers that respond to last week's Holocaust museum shooting with comments like these:

The murderous jerk has just given more ammo for Jews to hide behind holocaust guilt while hardworking asian, muslim, and latin immigrants are denied entry into the USA while Jews are given free passes to come into the USA as they please..

And:

This mans rage was sparked by jeremiah wrights comments over the screening of white house info last weekend. The ACLU has really got control over this administration, look what happend to chrysler , the supreme court was to see the case and the ACLU stoped it. the ACLU Has been sabotaging the US for years. It's about the money & the power. there foot print is big and not in a good way.

And:

OBAMA saddened > BECAUSE HIS MAN VonBrunn got caught!

And:

Yeah & These museums are all over the counrty which I don't understand the point of. Whether you believe in the accuracy of all the Holocaust history or not, this sh-t happened in Europe. Let them deal with it because from where I'm sitting Americans liberated the "death camps" so why do I as an American taxpayer have to pay for what seems to me to be little more than indoctrination centers that are all about the special suffering jews endured. The way I look at it the jews owe me money for liberation reparations that our fathers, grandfathers, and greatgrandfathers (the so-called greatest generation) died for while freeing the ungrateful bastards. So how about some dough for us, out of your own pocket, for all those WW2 American GIs you duped into freeing you so you could continue your nefarious activites

Comments here

and

here

I guess my thought is 32% of people are vocally stupid, while about 60-65% of people are really fucking stupid but don't talk all that much.

I'm not surprised, but consistently disappointed. It's like a typical Friday night.

Being Misled...

2009-06-10T03:50:00.005-04:00

Being misled is a cornerstone of humanity. From the Trojan Horse all the way to "Compassionate Conservatism", we have an innate desire to package disappointment as something slightly less disappointing; To offer someone something, only to give them something else and hope they don't notice.

In other words, welcome to Hollywood.

Thinking back, I have experienced this all my life. Let's take a little trip down "memory lane", which, if I'm correct, will be called "Human RAM lane" in about 20 years.

Having grown up in NYC, 7-11 was an exotic, almost unknowable experience to me; like sex with an Norwegian. As a child, I saw the commercials on TV, but since there were none anywhere near me, the idea of one grew to mythic proportions.

It was my Godot; always talked about, but never there.

One fall evening in the spring of 1988 my family took a trip to Washington, DC, home of DIY punk and DIY drive-by shootings.

We were there with my oldest brother while he undertook the macabre charade that is "the college search".

I remember taking the requisite sight-seeing drive around town with the fam; "look! there's the Washington Monument!" "look, there's the Lincoln Memorial!" "look! there's Marion Barry smoking crack and having sex with a cheap call-girl!"

These were things I had never seen before, and they didn't fail to impress. But what was the one thing I was most looking forward to? 7 fucking 11.

7-11! The Gourmet Eatery I had only heard about during the commercial breaks on "DuckTales"...well, certainly I must go there post-haste.

We were driving:

"Dad!" I exclaimed, "can we go to the 7-11?"
"Good God" he responded, "why on earth would you want to do that?"
"I wanna go!!! I wanna go!!!"
He looked at me with a mixture of hatred and sorrow. To my family, the concept of a chain store was about as exciting as a weekend trip to Buchenwald circa 1944. In fact, I didn't even enter a fast-food establishment until I was 18.
"Sorry, kid, we've got to run to dinner".
"Can't we go there for dinner?"
"Uh, no, we have reservations"
"Can we go after dinner?"
My mother looked at my father with a "be nice to him even though he's being an annoying brat" look.
"Sure".

We went to the fanciest restaurant in DC, which fit it nicely with my family's lack of chain food experience. We're gourmands, which is French for "extremely picky and annoying". We were served and the food was amazing, but I wasn't paying attention.

Like a teenager awaiting the results of his SATs...I was a giddy mess. All I could think about were those amazing commercials; multi-colored frosty drinks, huge "gulps" of soda, and toys that tied in to the latest blockbuster film. It was my Xanadu.

I remember exactly what happened when bow-tied waiter came up:

"Still have room for desert? We were rated best in Washington".
My family eagerly ordered delicious sounding things; a la mode this, double chocolate that. My turn.
"No desert for me!" I excitedly exclaimed.
"Are you sure? We've got some really great choices"
My mother looked at me.
"Matt, seriously, are you sure? Everything here is great"
"Nope! I'm waiting until after!"
The waiter looked at my mother, she embarrassingly spoke:
"He's excited because we're going to 7-11"
He laughed "Really?"
"Yes!!! We're going!!!!" I shrieked.
"Well, I still remember my first time. It's never as good as it is then"
As a child, I lost the irony.
"Yay!!!!"

I can specifically remember that my mother ate a fudgy brownie covered in whip cream and gooey chocolate sauce. When my mother wants you to eat something she goes "mmmm" loudly, to underscore how much you're missing.

Needless to say, she was pulling an "mmmm" fest.

But I stood strong. I turned down every offer of a bite, because I was saving room in my tummy for whatever scrumptious delights awaited me at the wondrous 7-11.

Then we got there I and have never been so disappointed in my life.

This wasn't like it was in the commercials. I half-expected it have a velvet rope and a bouncer; checking the names of all the excited kids waiting patiently for their sugary delights.

Instead, it was illuminated with a dull flickering florescent light and the only occupant was a middle aged Indian gentleman.

My mother looked at me as if to say "sorry" and "I told you so" at the same time. This was the same look she gave me when I graduated film school.

Morbidly disappointed, I went back to the hotel with a mini-pack of Oreos.

Advertising's not just about making a product look good, it's about making the consumer believe whatever the product is...they need it.

And believe me, as long as there are gullible 7 year olds around (mentally or physically), companies will still market crap as gold-covered crap. I hope my story will illuminate this for a wayward child.

Probably not so much.

2009-06-09T04:12:00.003-04:00

New Post Coming Tomorrow, but for now...a bit of depressing news:

Britain's far right party won some seats in the elections this week. Their leader, Nick Griffin has said things like this:

and

Yeah, he said "organized Jewry" and now he's the British equivilant of a congressman. He's one of those "Britian for the British, Deport Those That Aren't 'Pure Blood'" type people.

From the above article:

Right-leaning governments came out ahead in Germany, France, Italy, Belgium and Spain, while far-right parties that excoriated Muslims, immigrants and minorities gained strength in the Netherlands, Hungary and Austria.

Something to think about.

Living in Los Angeles has taught me a few lessons.

2009-06-02T17:52:00.006-04:00

The bird poops on an electrical wire. The crack whore struts like she owns the place. My neighbor, who starred in a VH1 reality show, screams at her boyfriend about everything and nothing. A douched-out fratbag zooms down my block going 80 in an $80,000 Mercedes, just to reach a stop sign 3 seconds earlier then he would have otherwise.

Living in Los Angeles has taught me a few lessons. First; New York City is fucking awesome. It's a Mecca; I am a Jihadist and it's my Allah. I want to walk. I want to talk about things that aren't 'industry'. I want a cover of my magazine to be Larry David and Woody Allen. I want to drink at a bar at 3am.

But no, I'm not going to Bash LA. Sure, almost everyone I meet has ISSUES. Not 'itsy bitsy, let's drink whiskey and talk about your issues' issues...like 'mommy raped me while I was beaten with a bible' issues. The entertainment industry is fed by those people; hungry for approval, scarred by the past and narcissistic because it just makes sense.

Don't you love how someone says "not to blankity blankity blank", then they "blankity blankity blank"?

Needless to say, there are a lot of positives about living in a giant metropolitan sprawl. I like driving, for one. I think I'm fully OK with never being in a packed, sweaty, vomit-inducing subway again. When I first got here I used to say "nothing beats the subway; I can get anywhere, anytime...no traffic"...

But then I discovered "This American Life" and singing loudly to myself; traffic jams became an excuse to escape. Being in your car is kinda like being in the shower, except you're a lot dirtier. Sure, that fucker that cuts you off is annoying, but it's all OK because you're having your own little Karaoke Party. "Sister Christian" never sounded so good.

Then there's Hispanic food. Here's the difference between Los Angeles and everywhere else in the US; an El Salvadorian Immigrant is COOKING your food rather than delivering it.

Actually, he's delivering it too...but he's delivering what his cousin cooked. And, I gotta say; good hispanic food is about as delish as any food (except Jewish Deli food; but it gets close)

Even all the industry bullshit is OK. I mean, it's not, because if I have to be in the same room with another jackass wearing a blazer and teeshirt talking on their iPhone about "the deal", I'll kill myself...but: I do like the idea that we're all out here for the same reason. If I want to get a crew together, whatever the price, I just have to make a phone call or two. Anywhere else in the world it becomes a Wellian nightmare of begging, borrowing and crying.

I guess I'm getting used to LA. No, it'll never be NYC, but there's only one NYC. That's my hometown and that's why my number is 917 and my driver's lie-sense says that I live on the upper west side...but I'm used to the land of Angels. No, it's not "Under The Bridge", but maybe it's...OK.

My friend's wife created a Tee shirt line that says "I Stomach LA" (rather than "I Love LA"), and I think that's basically what's going on here. The only problem is that I have a consistent stomach ache...

I got a Blackberry and all of a sudden things started happening.

2009-05-29T04:44:00.006-04:00

I got a Blackberry and all of a sudden things started happening.

"things started happening" and "blackberry" usually mean business meetings, quiet evenings with giant bags of cocaine and violent prostitute beatings. For me, this was not exactly true.

For me...it was subtle.

The first change I noticed was that I shaved more. "This is what it's like to feel skin!" I proclaimed. I was "barebacking" my cheek, and it was odd. No longer was "once every week and a half-ish" good enough. It was now a concern of mine to "look good".

Next, I started wearing Button Down Shirts. You may wonder why those three words are capitalized. I DARE you to tell me why they shouldn't be.

Gone were ironic tee shirts I bought in 1998 and hellos were waved to Banana Republic's finest. I like them striped, dark and pressed, just like my womens. If that doesn't make sense, dear reader, I encourage you to use your imagination. If that doesn't work, use "The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus"...it worked for Terry Gilliam.

As the halcyon days of laying in bed writing naked, playing Wii naked and BBQing meat naked slowly became obsequious evenings at The Standard, drinking 12 dollar vodka-tonics, I began to realize something about myself.

I'm a fucking douchebag.

Could it be that putting my phone on the table during dinner to check and see if I got an email is rude?

Could it be that determinedly typing away on a tiny little screen while other people attempt to hold a conversation with me is impolite?

Is it possible that updating my Twitterberry in the throws of sexual passion is a "faux pas"?

Yes, yes, and why the fuck not?

I am a man of the 21st century and it is my duty to be impolite. It's my duty to be a huge douchebag.

"Paying Attention" to what people say is so 1992. People are lucky if they can belch out 10 words of polite conversation before texting a friend.

Personally, I long for the days of rotary phones, an MTV that played music and email addresses that were nothing but a long string of numbers with a comma inserted randomly somewhere.

Sadly, this is not to be. It's the 21st century and, like John Connor, I was one of the last non-douchebag resistance.

I lost though and now I'm checking my Twitterberry to see if someone's @ replied me. Actually I forgot what I was writing.

I'm sorry, what were you talking about?

My thick brown glasses sighed loudly.

2009-05-20T22:59:00.017-04:00

I smiled an upsidedown frown. It didn't suit me. Neither did 'Brooks Brothers' for that matter, but that was neither here nor there.

She was watching American Idol like a pop-culture hawk starving for mouse carcasses. Glibly she mumbled, "I want Adam to win".

I hadn't a clue of what she spoke. I read books and smoked clove cigarettes and wore a beard of ironic v-neck teeshirts; how could I watch the dreaded television? The lowest form of low since the combination of khakis and the 'tied over the shoulder' sweater.

My thick brown glasses sighed loudly.

"Are we like, going to a bar or something?", I snorted. I thought that it might sound piggish, but the snort was more 'Jewish Phlegm-y'.

"But American Idol is tonight. The finals; a veritable Coup de grâce of singing cacophony".
"Yeah, but I want a beer. I want a beer so much that I want it covered in more beer; like a pilsner or something; then I want that beer wrapped in a Bud Light can, covered in a fine hops 'n barley-flavored dutch chocolate. That's how much I want beer at this moment."
She looked at me.
"OK", I admitted, "I'm an alcoholic. What are you going to do? Have an intervention? Remember the macabre charade the last one turned into?"

That particular charade ended up becoming a drunken game of charades, where I crudely attempted a parodic imitation of a large policeman with a breathalyzer and stun gun.

She finally relented: "OK, you want to go to an alehouse? Go for it, just don't expect me to go with you".
"We can play Sex And The City tonight". I knew this was her weak spot; I also knew it required a night of pretending to be Miranda.
"I'll be Carrie!" She's always Carrie.

So we went out (damn high heels) and wowed passersby with our witty repartee, confident single-hood and emotional empathy.

Late that evening, while fending off Mr. Big when Carrie went to the bathroom, I thought to myself: "It could be worse; I could be watching American Idol".

She LOL'd Lonely As a Cloud

2009-05-19T04:01:00.007-04:00

April O'Neil wrote something in her journal.

A journey begins with a step.

A step begins with a move.

A move begins with a thought.

A thought begins with an idea.

An idea begins with an education.

"Great", she thought; "Now all I have to do is get an education".

She wasn't unintelligent, she just didn't have an education. She had a PHd in life, as she remarked in polite company, but that was about as impressive as a PHd from Devry. Her dog had more training than she; two years of community college were about equivalent to a degree in "Walkies" from Poocherstein University.

She was not happy in life; married at 18 to a young evangelical, she lost her faith in God on the macabre charade that was her wedding night. God simply couldn't exist, as there was no explanation for the collection of odd, dangly things contained in her husband's pants. He knew there was something awry when she screamed "There is NO GOD!" the second he removed his TMNT boxers.

They divorced when he caught her cheating on him loudly while she slept. "Oh Shlomo!" she screamed. "Do it again!".

The sad thing was she didn't truly love Shlomo, the town Mohel, she just loved what he did for a living.

Alone, working a crappy receptionist job and spending most of her evenings Googling "lulz", April knew that her life must have a purpose, but that purpose was probably stuck between the cushions or under the couch.

One night, while idly looking up old middle-school acquaintances on Stickam, God arrived.

She was surprised for a multitude of reasons; first, that God existed. Second, that God Was A Taco.

Yes, the Almighty God was a crispy pollo grande with extra cheese. Also, he had the worst salsa breath in recorded history.

"April! Boweth downeth to meeth!"
"Did you just say Meth? Bow to down to Meth?"
"Oh, sorry, I was just being poetic", he said, taco-shell lips flip-flopping, "I meant me-eth"
God Continued.
"Listen April, life is short and you're wasting it; get out every once in a while; travel, shoot a hobo, watch two elephants crap on each other".
"But God, I have a crappy job, no money, generic third complaint about why I'm inactive. How can I take a journey?".
"That's simple, April; the only journey worth taking is a journey within yourself. Take that first step now. Close your eyes and imagine yourself wherever it is you want to be".

She closed her eyes and saw the majesty that only the mind could provide; hardcore pron, EPIC FAILS and teh awesomeness.

She realized her true calling; she was to be a vacuous internet meme. Of course saying "vacuous internet meme" is kinda like saying "huge large burger", but she got the point.

She turned to God and thanked him. Got smiled a big taco smile and flew away in a puff of salsa fart breath.

"Now, all I have to do is become an internet meme".

And that, my friends, is the story of her blog: April's Salsa Fart; updated everyday with Fart Pix, Fart Vids and EPIC Fart Fails. It's currently being developed into a novel and an MTV reality series.

April realized that in this modern day and age, an education begins with a journey and not the other way around. The internet allows you to throw everything at a wall to see what sticks, take a journey without an education, idea, thought, move or even a step.

It's the Cliff's Notes version of life and that's totally OMFG LOL LULZ with April.

Putting the grapes back on the vine

2009-05-13T03:21:00.008-04:00

You are a distant, innocent spec of nothingness resting on an incomprehensibly large greatness. This greatness neither notices you nor will acknowledge your existence, because you are such a giant nothing; a never will, a never was. Your smug sense of self importance is a huge mask of ignorance, a macabre charade of limited experience and close mindedness.

You are nothing and the fact that you think you're something means that you're an even smaller nothing.

"This, you have to admit", the teacher spoke.

The class of 5 year olds looked confused. Hebrew school had taken a strange turn for this group of kindergardeners; one minute it was all apples and honey, and the next a depressing diatribe of diffuse downers. To put it colloquially; "Ms. Johnson's scary!".

Irving Shacter, the proud, yet incredibly schlubby principal opened the door:

"Ms. Johnson, a word we can speak?"

When they got outside, Mr. Shacter was more frank:

"To the students you speak like this?"

"Well, Irving, don't you think they deserve to know the truth?"

"We're not in the truth business, Ms. Johnson; this is a religious school".

"But don't they deserve to know that life is a giant void and we spend our hours fruitlessly attempting to fill it with meaninglessly inconsequential wastes of time?"

"You mean 'are we going to teach Atheism in a Hebrew school'? No. Now get back to those students; I can see Peter Sachs eating a sandwich of boogers and paste".

Dejected, Ms. Johnson solemnly walked back to class.

"Well, kids; I guess it's time we get back to teaching you about Noah's Ark."

A handsome young Jewish boy raised his hand.

"Yes, devilishly handsome young Jewish boy?"

"Ms. Johnson; don't be down. We all know that these stories aren't actually true".

"You do?"

The entire class exclaimed: "yeah".

"Yeah, but if we stop pretending like we believe it, we don't get grape juice and challah on Fridays. Grape juice and challah is pretty amazing".

That's when Ms. Johnson realized; religion isn't about actually believing in anything, it's about getting cool stuff when you pretend to believe in stuff.

A class-wide group hug ensued, with the exception of Peter Sacks who was rushed to Mount Sinai hospital with an acute case of septic shock brought on by excessive paste-eating.

"I am a wet blanket dousing the fire of your loins"

2009-05-12T03:06:00.005-04:00

"I am a wet blanket dousing the fire of your loins", he thought.

What better way to Twitter-flirt, or "Twirt", than to write extremely provocative innuendos cloaked in a mask of humor and uneasy awkwardness? After all, why change what's worked for 20-odd years?

That's when he looked up and realized that the term "Twirt" was just ridiculous. So were the terms "weblebrity" and "mukluk".

Flirting over direct message was nice, but not as nice as flirting in person, and not even close to as nice as watching the Director's Cut of "Apocalypse Now". Her responses "LOL" and "WTF OMG LOL" belied the inherent macabre despondency of the situation; Each three letter acronym was another knife to the heart; Each four letter acronym was another knife to the heart, stab to the stomach and rape of the anal. I won't even go into five letter acronyms.

He closed Twitter. What good was it doing him anyway? He couldn't express himself correctly anyway; "If Carneades was correct in saying 'nothing can be known; not even this', then how the hell am I supposed to figure out the 7th season of 24?"...is more than 140 characters.

YouTube Comments In Real Life

2009-05-11T01:21:00.005-04:00

Life would be easier if you could have a Greek chorus of youtube commenters giving feedback on your every move.

You eat a turkey sandwich...three horny loners watch.

"LOL ROTFLMFAO! This is definitely going on 4chan".
"Your stpud and gay. LAMME!"
"Now that you've read this dunt stop. Send this msg to five friends within an hour or you'll die".

"Outstanding advice!" you think, "maybe I'm funny when I eat a turkey sandwich, but I'm also stupid and gay. If I don't pass that information on to five of my friends, I will surely die".

You're sitting in a bar, looking for some hot action. An unremarkable, pizza-faced hobbledehoy gazes at you from across the room.

"Cum check out my free webcam. Sexy live shows!"; his every exclamation is underscored by a flapping jowl. "xxxxcamsexy.info NOW!".

He holds out a picture of a young, attractive girl sitting on a bed, staring into the camera.

"That's me telling you this; sexy time sex...SEX", he finishes his whiskey, shakes his head and takes a deep breath. His work day is done.

You take home a very valuable lesson; things aren't always what they seem. The second valuable lesson; "that girl I cybered with on the 'sex chat good times' message board was probably an overweight man" was briefly learned, but then immediately forgotten later that same night after three vodkas.

So what can we learn about people who comment on videos on youtube? A small cabal of Jews control the world, apparently. Also, youtube commenters are borderline retarded.

Check out this video, for instance:

Some of the amazingly adroit comments include " Is it just me, or is the person really playing it an overweight caucasian person?", " I love how its a skinny white guy playing guitar hahahah", " that fat wight guy is good" and " yah this is so freaken bad and fake"

Is he fat? Is he skinny? How on earth does anyone think that "white" is spelled "wight"?

These are all questions...

Cinco de Gringo

2009-05-06T14:57:00.006-04:00

Ed Hardy? More like Dead Farty.

I have no idea what that means, but I thought of it yesterday while shopping at my local Ralphs not-so-supermarket. Note the inappropriate lack of punctuation in the name.
Ralphs? As in several Ralphs own the supermarket?

Anyway; cinco de mayo there is like a scene out of Yevgeny Zamyatin's bleak distopian nightmare, "We". Fleas the size of rats sucked on rats the size of cats, and ten thousand peoploids split into small tribes.

That and about 1000 white people got sombreros, chips and a margarita mix (all labeled "cinco de SAVINGS!") in exchange for their last vestige of dignity.

Someone please explain to me why it's totally acceptable to co-opt a culture for a day in an inherently simplistic and racist way. That's like dressing in blackface and a dashiki while eating fried chicken and watermelon during Kwanzaa; except that's not "in" right now; racism against Mexicans is.

Well, I for one, say "Mexican't" to racism.

Monday night I went to a godawful Mexican place in West Hollywood and it was a totally Mexican't experience. The waiter was a mid-west valley girl type, the host was an effete white manboy and the chefs were third season rejects from "Hell's Kitchen". They offered things like "a light mole reduction sauce". In fact, the only Mexicans I saw were the busboys; Pancho Villa Jr. and Emiliano Zapata III.

Sadly, no revolution was forthcoming and the food tasted like Mexican food prepared by a retarded blind midget after they donated their face to Connie Culp. Why do white people think they can out-minority minorities?

St. Patty's Day! I know, let's all wear "Fuck Me, I'm Irish" buttons, beat up gay people and drink Guinness until we impregnate the closest Gaelic piece of arse. Well, white people; you ain't gonna out drink, fight or fuck the Irish, so it's about time to give up that dream.

And for all you people who move to NYC and start going to Jewish Delis and watching Woody Allen movies...to be Jewish you need to face 2000+ years of hardship and persecution and inexplicably feel guilty about it. Using the word "nosh" in polite company does not a Jew make.

I think we should create a holiday called "Cinco de Gringo" and everyone dresses up as white people, drink PBRs and start wars, rape land and enslave those that look different from us. And remember, enslavement can be physical, economical OR mental! Or all three!

My Top Five Most Said Phrases During The Day

2009-04-24T21:54:00.001-04:00

1) "Time To Use My Sinus Rinse!"
2) "She Was Pregnant When I Met Her"
3) "Maybe If I Hit Reload, I'll Have a New Facebook Notification"
4) "Oh Well, No New Notifications"
5) "This Uncontrollable Sobbing Will Stop If I Drink Vodka at 3PM".

Plus:
"Man! If I only had a guitar, 15 years of practice, a driving passion and a unique talent, Id be a big time rock star."

Random Thoughts 'O The Day

2009-04-24T03:55:00.004-04:00

The phrase "don't cry over spilled milk" doesn't really take into account "crying while spilled milk murders and rapes your neighbors within earshot".

Is love still blind for a blind person? Or is it "love is sighted" for them?

Jews aren't money hungry, they're "getting the coat at cost" hungry.

I'm easily distractible which is a word I just had to add to my web browser dictionary. What kind of web browser doesn't have "distractible" in its dictionary? I guess it's time to stop using Mosaic. I wonder if my Geocities personal page is getting any hits from aol users looking at alt.binaries.Geocities.arcane.references.

If Axl Rose was a 10 year old fat Mexican kid who looks nothing like Axl Rose would he look like this?
Fat Baby is Strong Baby!

I am not getting older, everyone around me is just getting a lot younger and speak a strange internet acronym based language.

I'm not gaining weight, the world is just contracting at an imperceptibly fast rate.

In 1993, I took neither side the "whoomp! there it is" or "whoot! there it is" war. I preferred the less well known "whoopie goldberg! there it is". That's probably why I was so unpopular in middle school.

"Nobody walks in LA" except when you're filling up your gas tank and an insane drunk hobo walks up to you to ask for money/to read his "manifesto".

The word manifesto sounds like a type of basil leaf-derived sauce created by stereotype Italian mobsters. "Aaay, taste this fuckin' manifesto, you goombatz!".

14 year olds who make fun of 18 year olds because they wear late-80s Run DMC style hip hop clothing should be gently reminded that in 4 years they'll be dressing like The Spice Girls and wearing $80 vintage "Silverchair" tee shirts. Fashion is macabre cyclic charade.

being outraged is better than being enraged

2009-04-22T01:22:00.003-04:00

I died slightly when I was 30.

My heart raced, my head pounded and a slight numbness rang through my fingers. I thought it might be the end, or at least what the end might feel like.

I woke up at 9am on a Tuesday, blinked, and it was 4pm next Wednesday. I had a dream about being older; and when I woke up, the dream came true.

I thought about my job and realized that it was just something that distracted me from life. I thought about my life and realized it was just something distracting me from my job.

I went to the doctor, who made me wait for 45 minutes because people who had appointments after me arrived before me.

When I came through the door he smiled.

"How are we feeling today?"
"I feel too old to be young, but too young to be old".
"Wow! That sounds like a trite insight into the intrinsic truth of human nature."
He got me there.
"Touche!"
"What it sounds like to me," He said, "is that you've got a case of the 'being aware of the transience of time'. The only cure is to stop paying attention."
"How do I do that?"
"Well, there's TV. Pop culture blogs, alcohol, skat porn. Anything that will take your mind off your mind."
"Gossip girl?"
"Now you're talking!"

I hopped in my car and bought some McDonalds. I thought this was an appropriate first step; I ate just enough to give me the runs and constipation at the same time.

I got home, turned on MTV just in time for a "The Hills" marathon. It felt a little weird and I vomited for the first hour; but after the initial shock to the system, things seemed to fall in place.

Time set itself right. Well, maybe time didn't set itself right, but I didn't notice the gaps. In fact, I didn't notice much.

I was OK with sitting around the house staring idly at the ceiling. It didn't bother me at all that I wasted a night looking at Perez Hilton, because my concept of value was greatly diminished. Soon, I paid no mind to museum visits, British Sitcoms and Italian cinema from the 1960s. All the pop culture noise and bland sameness allowed me to forget what I might be missing out on.

Time became an abstract concept instead of a stark reality. It no longer came and went with each passing breath; it just happened, like water running through your fingers in a shower.

When you fill your time with vapid, superficially unimportant things, time loses all its value. You're no longer missing out on things; things just happen around you.

I finally knew what it was like to be an American. Each day passed, but I didn't notice each day passing because I was too busy not noticing each day passing. I voted for the most handsome candidate and became outraged at things other people were outraged about because being outraged is better than being enraged.

I bought a flat screen TV and when that didn't fill the void, I bought a super fucking huge cinema display for my computer. These things became exponentially more important as I became exponentially less important.

And when I died, it all made sense. Because there's no questions when you aren't paying attention.

I'm Bound To Insult You

2009-04-14T19:03:00.004-04:00

I hate silence.

I would rather be savaged clumsily by a spork than sit in uncomfortable silence.

There's a grating, unnerving feeling when people sit in silence. I can't really explain it. Not talking to someone is essentially the same as screaming "I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY TO YOU, YOU FETID SACK OF COW TURD!!" at them.

So, that's why I ramble on and on and on. It's how I keep myself sane.

It's also how I get in a lot of trouble.

You see, the more one talks, then more one is likely to say something highly insulting or embarrassing to the other person. At least, that's the way it works for me.

Take, for example, a poker game that I had a week or so ago.

End of the night, everyone sort-of making their way out the door, the remaining few just idly sipping whiskey...

Barack Obama came up. (preface, I'm a huge Barack supporter and went around PA passing out fliers, making phone calls, etc for him)

I was attempting to express my pride and amazement that someone like Barack could win the election. How did it come out? An expression that more closely resembled a KKK recruiting pamphlet.

"When I was a kid, my dad told me that the US would elect a black man as president before they'd elect a Jew. I was like 'no way...how could that ever happen'! 'How could the US elect a black guy before they elected a Jew?'"

So the silence crept in and I felt like I needed to back up or keep chugging; basically cause some sort of car wreck...

"I didn't mean it like that; I just didn't think that anyone would actually vote for a black person to be president"

Of course, what I meant was that I didn't have the faith that a black person would ever be elected president because of our country's chequered past. Judging by the dropped jaws and piercing stares, it must have come across as "who could ever believe that an inferior race would be elected!".

A few days later, I found myself at the house of a good friend of mine, discussing internet culture with his girlfriend.

She spoke of her distrust of Twitter, and I picked up on it.

"Yeah, I mean, there are all types of vain, narcissistic weirdos taking pictures of their meals and tweeting 'this is what I'm eating'. What's up with that?"

I then realized that her boyfriend tweets all day and 90% of them are pictures of his meal with a "this is what I'm eating" tag on it.

I quickly tried to correct myself...

"uh, except your boyfriend, he's always taking pictures of interesting food. I completely understand why he does it. It's not vanity or narcissism when he does it. More of an art..."

So she's not responding and I think maybe I've taken it a little to far with the "more of an art" comment...too much silence, right?

"Well, as much of an art as Twittering can be, I mean, obviously an idiot could Twitter, not that your boyfriend is an idiot"

She was watching "The Hills" as we spoke and later on in the conversation (during a lull) a very sexy condom commercial came on.

I felt the need to butt in.

"Not to be too puritanical, but isn't this show for 15 year old girls?"

Note, we had just had a conversation about how this was one of her favorite shows. Of course, I was referring to the too-sexy commercial on, not the fact that a 28 year old girl was watching the show, but she didn't pick up on it.

"Uh, I guess, but you know, it's funny, that's why I watch it"

"Yeah, but I mean, how can they show that crap to little kids?"

She looks offended and stays quiet. I realize that she has no idea I'm talking about the condom commercial, and that I'm probably insulting her.

"Oh, I was talking about the condom commercial, I don't think this show is for 15 year olds, I just meant that was part of the demographic. The show can be enjoyed on different levels, you know? Like, if you're 15 you can enjoy it as an MTV reality show, and if you're older, you can enjoy it as..."

I lose track and try to quickly come up with something.

I can't.

"Anyway, I certainly didn't mean to imply this show is just for 15 year old girls!"

15 minutes later she went to bed and I didn't see her again for the next two days that I stayed at her house.

So, you get what it's like spending an uncomfortable night with me. I'm bound to insult you, your significant other, or your race. Perhaps all three.

Just know I didn't mean it.

Recovering Sick Days

2009-04-14T03:44:00.004-04:00

I am slowly recovering from a particularly annoying case of the flu. Bedridden for 4-plus days, I spent the long, solitary hours in a bright white room covered in Kleenex and TheraFlu packets.

I'm fairly certain that nothing brings back vivid childhood memories than sick days at home. Sure, there's a difference; at the age of 8, 4 sick days doing nothing is a heavenly blessing from Jeebus; at the age of 28, it's a macabre exercise in the realization of how quickly life is passing you by.

Still, there's nothing like a good old sick day.

It brings me straight back to ear aches and sniffles at my childhood home at 88th street and Riverside Drive, watching bootleg World War II-era Superman and Bugs Bunny cartoons that my dad picked up from a street vendor at 96th and Broadway.

Occasionally, it might be something else; Star Trek II, Doctor Who, any one of a dozen Marx Brothers movies...even when I was sick, they made me feel better. Something about good watchin'...makes for a wonderfully constant healer.

Lacking ability to do much besides lay half-unconscious with my laptop on my stomach, I went to southparkstudios.com and watched probably close to 80 South Park episodes. Of course, I slept through about 50 of them, but I gotta say; even though the slightest laugh might have caused a painful coughing fit, it was worth it. South Park got me through the sickness; distracted me enough, kept me company enough, made me smile enough. Thank goodness for good programming.

My grandmother, who passed away last year at 98, was basically bedridden for the last 25 years of her life. "Bedridden" in this case is defined as "Anti-socialism" as opposed to "Too Sick To Move", but in any case, the gal kept herself going by watching TV day and night. Certainly nothing I would condone (I canceled my cable long ago), but something I can understand. Being kept company doesn't always mean there's anyone else with you.

Anyway, the first attempt I made to go outside was to drive over to Rocket Video to rent some British sitcoms. While there, I encountered 2 20-ish year olds arguing which Marx Brothers movie they should rent for an upcoming Acid Trip. I guess good entertainment can also keep your Id and Superego company.

downtown LA at 7am

2009-04-07T04:18:00.003-04:00

there's a darkness rising in the streets
hazy glow of a stray mourn
skyscraped scars of a distant city
as fog suffocates the breathless air

up go the golden cold night lights
they awake with a squint and a sigh
the beams creep in with a scream unseen
til they just whimper and die

3 Cult Artists Worth The Hype

2009-04-02T02:09:00.017-04:00

Cult artists tend to elicit a "love it or hate it" reaction; I used to think that I was generally in the "unpopular middle" on most of them, until I realized that it absolutely depends on your mood. I fucking love these musicians at certain times. Most other times I'm at sort of a "crunchy whatever"...an "eh", if you will.

Here are some great artists and some great times to listen to them.

On A Quiet, Rainy Day:

SYD BARRETT:

Ahh, the sound of someone mentally breaking down. That's either his two solo albums or the gentle sobbing that comes from my bathroom each night around 1am.

Originally the leader of the first (and in my approximation, best) incarnation of Pink Floyd, Syd had a bit of a breakdown; staring blankly ahead during a lip sync performance on American Bandstand, strumming his detuned guitar at random intervals during live shows, and writing a song called "Have You Got It Yet", which he introduced to his band mates by never playing any chords in sequence, asking the rest of the Floyd to follow along, and shouting "have you got it yet?" every few seconds.

In any case, they stopped picking him up for gigs at some point in 1968; his managers, thinking he was the star of Floyd, got some solo albums together.

The two records, "The Madcap Laughs" and "Barrett" consist of strange, almost rambling songs. Some are melodically captivating, some emotionally evocative, all pretty fucking weird.

His voice has an odd ethereal quality; he's almost not there. I would liken it to someone who is really, really exhausted; it's the last karaoke song of the night and all the wine is putting him to sleep. Yet, it's somehow special.

He strums his acoustic guitar wildly, changing time signatures willy-nilly, occasionally playing chords that he probably shouldn't be playing. His backup band seem to be playing catch up, confused as to where he might be going next (they haven't got it yet).

The more rambling songs are something to behold; they really feel like he just sat down, started playing his guitar and sang whatever strange things that came into his head. Take the lyrics of the track "Rats" off his 1970 album "Barrett":

Blam, splattered, tactile, engine heaving,
quacky, squeaky, dormy, roofy, wham
I`ll have them mind blown broken
jardy, cardy, smoocho, poocho, paki, puffi
splosh eat moxy, very smelly, cable, gable,
splinter, shaddle top the seam he`s taken off

Half poetic, half "Huh"?...all pretty interesting. If you're going to give him a shot, be prepared to be full of sadly fun whimsy.

No Good Trying off 1969's "The Madcap Laughs"
Great song, odd lyrics, listen to his backing band (the superb Soft Machine) attempting to play "catch up"...

Gigolo Aunt off 1970's "Barrett":
One of his most "pop oriented" songs, which tells you something:

Barrett moved back in with his mom after some unproductive sessions in 1974 (financed by David Bowie). He died in 2006.

Taking a Nap On a Beach:

SCOTT WALKER:
If I was to say "An industrial Josh Grobian singing over barren, yet complex musical landscapes" would you want to listen? Probably not. So I won't say it.

Scott Walker was a huge pop star in the 1960s, reemerged in the mid-1970s with an album that continues to "inspire" David Bowie (IE, he continues to "rip it off") and now releases a record every 10 or so years.

He is so unclassifiable as an artist, that I am simply unable to come up with words to describe his music.

My favorite album of his is 1995's universally praised Tilt, something that will lull you into a sense of false security with a minute or two of ambient rattling, then blow your mind with abrupt dissonant percussion, orchestral bursts and operatic wailing. Oh, and lyrics about everything from the trial of Adolf Eichmann to the endangerment of the buffalo.

Bowie, again, used that album as the blueprint for everything from his 1995 album "Outside" to his 2002 album "Heathen".

If Tilt sounds like too much of a drag to you, a good starting point might be his four tracks on The Walker Brothers' 1978 album "Nite Flights"; Can meets Genesis meets Roxy Music hybrid which is worth the price of several admissions. Hey, Bowie even covered the title track. Enough Bowie for you? Only one more reference, I promise...

If you're interested in pushing your musical horizons into bleak, dark, insanely intellectual territory, than this is the man for you. If "ten piece orchestra, wailing guitars, loud organ, lyrics about Europe in the summertime" turn you off, don't bother.

Oh, and there's apparently an amazing documentary on him which actually was just in theaters (produced by none other than David Bowie!). I missed it, but it'll be in my Netflix queue...if I had a Netflix queue...

Tilt off 1995's Tilt
The poppiest song off the album...it's about leather, Buffalo mothers and the enviroment. That makes it sound waaaay worse than it is...

Night Flights off 1978's Night Flights
It's poppy, but also a little mysterious...gotta love it...and the processed violins...

Taking A Shower After The Museum Of Modern Art:

CAPTAIN BEEFHEART:

Yeah, it's totally cliché to use the words "cult", "captain", and "beefheart" in the same blog post, but what the hell.

I really appreciate (almost) everything this guy's done. From his early bluesy cuts to his last album, 1982's Ice Cream For Crow. His music is cosmic, jagged, fucking strange and wonderful.

Famed BBC DJ John Peel did a pretty good job of defining him. In discussing his 1968 masterwerk, Trout Mask Replica, he wrote:

If there has been anything in the history of popular music which could be described as a work of art in a way that people who are involved in other areas of art would understand, then Trout Mask Replica is probably that work.

Beefheart's beat-poetry-meets-proto-punk-riffs-sung-in-a-blues-howl always appealed to me in a way that most music doesn't; artistically. His music sounds like a Pollock painting, without the vomit stains. It's music that belongs in the MOMA; the wine and cheese set say they like it, but it's just because they don't understand it; the rest of us enjoy it on a visceral level; it's poetry we can bob our heads to.

Not everything has to make sense. Things can be beautiful without being beautiful.

He's inspired everyone; from Sonic Youth to Bloc Party. He even inspired ME. I think this was the first song I wrote the music AND lyrics for at 23...why not post it here? I was listening to a lot of Beefheart at the time. Don't judge...

Anyway, pick up Trout Mask Replica, which lands on everyone's top albums of all time (Rolling Stone said #58...I would say about #25).

Sweet Bulbs off 1968's Trout Mask Replica:
A great track about...what I'm assuming is the vagina...but I'm not sure. Not sexual, it's evocative, dense, and jagged with poetic lyrics that will have you grabbing your "pocket guide to explaining poetry"

Zig-Zag Wanderer off 1967's Safe As Milk
I hear this blaring often in Hipster Bars' Jukeboxes. It's easily digestible, but full of enough cache to fit into a hobbledehoy's 2009 "songs I tell people I like" playlist.

Anyways, if you don't like any of these people it's probably because you don't like any of these people. Profound, I know.

Give 'em a listen, maybe it will open up your musical horizons.