Mar 2, 2010

The Sports Issue!

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You have to admit, February was a great month for fans of pretending to care about hockey. Our imported players ended up losing to Canada's imported players, but at least we Americans proved - just as we did with education and health care - that no one is better than we are at being second-rate.

In other sports news, Tiger Woods finally delivered his long unwanted apology for being the most successful athlete ever to have a penis. Personally, I don't feel Tiger owed me an apology at all. His sex life is no one's business but his and Nike's.

It was also the month that the New Orleans Saints won their first ever Superbowl, thus relieving the guilt of every American who didn't lift a fucking finger after Katrina. Thank you Saints! That was weighing on my mind. 

To be honest, though, this was the first Superbowl in years where I actually knew who was playing before game day. I gave up on pro sports when, in early 1984, I watched the first footage of the Colts skipping town (in the middle of the previous night) as I sprinkled sugar on my Cheerios. Oh, you mean someone can just buy your local team? OK. Fuck you then. I failed to see the point in team loyalty after that. Besides, I had just gotten my learner's permit and had more important things to worry about than football. Like vagina.

But by far the biggest story in sports this year has to be the complete failure of Team USA to advance in professional Suicide Attacking. Joe Stack's bid for American dominance ended in failure when his kamikaze dive into an Austin, Texas IRS office failed to rally the enthusiasm that Team Al-Qaida garnered with its surprise upset late in the 2001 season. Up and coming domestic terrorists, take note. Don't waste valuable training time writing long-winded, incoherent manifestos. Just do it.
Feb 27, 2010

Here We Go Again...

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Already there are banner ads everywhere to donate money for Chile earthquake relief, and Obama is promising aid. Doesn't that country have a working government and a couple banks? We haven't even fixed New Orleans yet. All they've got is a championship football team and Brad Pitt.

No country that produces wine should have a problem rebuilding its own shit, but if they really need help, let's send Bono on the condition that they keep him.
Feb 26, 2010

No, My Space

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I finally canceled my Myspace account. Not for the trendy reason that Facebook is better, but because I don't want to spend the rest of my life logging into websites owned by millionaires who aren't me and don't invite me to parties.


I'll keep the Facebook page for a while because it has one or two useful features (like the Networked Blogs link that brought you here). It seems to be populated mostly by adults, and unlike Myspace it doesn't look like the cover of a 6th-grade girl's notebook. But my goal is to have anyone who gives a shit come here, so eventually I'll pull the trigger on that, too. 

The only reason I started any of these social-networking pages was to promote the comedy thing. There's this assumption out there that every artist, comedian, and band needs to have a huge online presence to help build a fan base. Bullshit. Fans are earned by performing live. All this networking stuff is just moving crumbs through the digital ant farm.








          
Feb 24, 2010

Too Fat To Fish

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A friend at work slipped Artie Lange's Too Fat To Fish in my mailbox with a post-it that read "quick read," and it is. But who can put down a book about a guy who develops a cocaine habit in his 20's and still manages to get fat? 

I didn't expect much from this book, but it does have its moments. He is pretty forthright about a few of his more embarrassing drug-and-booze escapades, and I enjoyed the bit about Tom Cruise being a complete asshole. That's what makes autobiographies worth the price of admission - having your suspicions about the insanity of celebrities confirmed (not that we needed much more in Cruise's case).

If you're looking for high-quality writing on the level of George Carlin's Last Words, you won't find much of that here. In fact, the first couple chapters are kind of rough, and I almost bailed. But there was just enough lovable loser-dom to keep me skimming along to the next monumental fuck-up.

When I heard about his recent suicide attempt, I have to admit I felt bad for the guy. Not because I'm a big fan - I'm not - but because Lange is one of those creative people who is obviously wired for self-destruction in a way that makes most people's bad habits look tame. And anyone who tries to kill himself by stabbing clearly has some real problems, especially when you consider the effort required to find an organ under all that adipose tissue.
Feb 22, 2010

White Dopes on Punk, pt. 3

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I saw The Ramones several times in the 80's, on the heels of Too Tough To Die and Animal Boy, the latter of which is still one of my favorite records. The Ramones could be counted on to play The Bayou in the Georgetown section of D.C. twice a year and never disappointed. Their set was even faster live than on record, and even though it was always only 55 minutes long, it felt like two hours - a truly exhausting experience. Too bad they weren't offered the Superbowl halftime show while they were still alive. They could have done Rocket to Russia in its entirety.

I don't recall there ever being violence at a Ramones show, but the first time I saw them I got stabbed in the eye. Not with a weapon, and not on purpose, but by hair. Before The Ramones came on, I mashed my way as close to the stage as possible and found myself right behind this guy with Sid Vicious spikes firmed up with kindergarten paste. No big deal, I thought - I could see fine. Until Dee Dee's first "1-2-3-4," at which point Pasty started head-banging and BOINK - spike in the eye. That put me on the sidelines for a couple minutes, but there was no blood or retinal tearing so, no harm no foul.

I don't know if it was the band or the booker who was responsible for the opening acts, but they were often so bad it seemed intentional, as if the aim was to rile the crowd into an angry frenzy until the opener's last song was drowned out by 300 people yelling "Hey ho, let's go!" and launching beer cups full of urine at the stage. Even The Smithereens - good band - seemed out of place in front of that kind of crowd. I remember an area act called The Wild Dream Band that was fronted by a John Mellencamp wanna-be, complete with white tank-top and mullet. They had a synthesizer, which means they were either incredibly stupid or the ballsiest awful band ever. If memory serves, they weren't on stage too long. The only act that I saw hold a Ramones crowd's attention was an outfit called Mud Helmet, who managed to rally everyone into chanting the chorus of their anthem, "Suck Suck Suck Suck Suck Suck Suck My Dick." (A Google search for mud + helmet + band yielded no results.)
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