Tired...

You ever get so tired that even 10-11 hours of sleep doesn't help? That's where I am today... It's been a long week.

An open letter to Tom Cruise...

Tom Cruise I hate you... Obviously you are here to do nothing but annoy me...

Nicole Kidman? Fine, you're a good looking guy, you worked together, I'll give you this one... I didn't really like it, but she seemed happy and her career didn't suffer from your crap acting rubbing off...

Penelope Cruz? You really pushed my buttons here Tom. First of all, I saw her way before you did. Second... dude you're short. I know it's hard for you to accept, but you are. It's taken me a long time to look at Penelope with any respect. I could only do it by convincing myself that it was because she too was short and her limited English let you work your smarmy ways...

But, Katie Holmes..? This is the final straw dude. I know you didn't buy all the Dawson's Creek DVDs. You probably didn't even sit through "Pieces of April," did you? No, you were too busy shagging Penelope Cruz at the time.

Tom, if we ever meet, I'm going to punch you. I will bust out some L.Ronjitsu on you and beat you senseless with a Scientology book. Then I shall dress you as a Hari Krishna and prop you up in the baggage terminal at LAX next to a stack of Hari Krishna pamphlets. Your agent won't find you there for weeks... when's the last time you picked up your own luggage?

That's it. I'm spent. I have no more to say...

(The preceding rant was brought on by reading my friend Eileen's blog and I already had a headache... Thanks a lot Eileen.)

Signifying Monkeys and such...

I had a black friend back in college who took me under his wing and tried to add some flava to my white-bread life. I haven't thought about Grip in a long time...

Grip was huge. Seriously huge. His real name was Carl and he got his knickname because his hands were so big he could grip anything like it were a kid-sized Nerf ball. Carl was also the sweetest guy ever...

Anyway, I learned about Jerry Curl, Do Rags and rhyming Dozens from Carl... sort of.

The thing that always stuck in my head was something about Signifying Monkeys. It's been there nagging me for a long time. What the hell is a Signifying Monkey? The other day I did some research and found out. It was some pretty cool stuff.

The Signified Monkey comes from African folklore. He's the instigator in all sorts of stories, usually along with the Lion and the Elephant. He's a real shit that Monkey... Anyway, he carries over to African-American culture. Sometimes he's a monkey, or maybe a pimp, or just some random guy... But he's still a shit...

Usually the story is a something along the lines of Monkey getting a bit bored, Lion walks by and Monkey starts talking shit about Lion's Mama and such and when Lion gets pissed Monkey tells him he was just repeating what Elephant be sayin'. Lion goes to fight Elephant and gets his ass kicked and Monkey laughs at him... Monkey's a bit like Coyote the Trickster.

Here's a version in a song by Chuck Barry:

JO JO GUNNE
(Chuck Berry)
CHUCK BERRY (CHESS 1709, 1958)

It was in ancient history, four thousand B.C.
Way back in the jungle in a coconut trees
Hanging on a branch up under the sun
Was a meddlesome monkey named Jo Jo Gunne

Oh, Leo the lion came down from the mountain
To get a drink of water from the jungle fountain
Jo Jo the monkey started tellin' the jackal
About the elephant who was gonna skin the lion

Leo tried to reach and grab Jo Jo's tail
Got mad and went runnin' through the jungle trail
He ran upon an elephant beneath a tree
And said, put up your dukes you gotta tussle with me

An ol' eagle from Asia made a non stop flight
Tryin' to make a new time, just to see that fight
A crocodile phoned and reversed the charge
Coming all the way from India upon a local barge

Ol' gorilla heard 'em talking in the lion's den
But Jo Jo bettin' a she-fox, the elephant wins
Jo Jo yelled at Leo, go on, knock him down
He don't outweigh you but a thousand pounds

Leo left wailin' with a left upper cut
The elephant took a snoop, grabbed a coconut
Leo fired a beautiful short back cross
That's when the coconut landed up against his jaw

Leo grew tired, but he wouldn't give in
The elephant all loose, beat his jawbone in
The buzzard said, they fought furious all day
He couldn't understand how Leo got away

Jo Jo runnin' everywhere, spreadin' the news
To the zebras and the leopards and the kangaroos
A hoot owl reported everything he saw
Had his eyes wide open, they called it a draw

Leo limping back with his jawbone bruised
Jo Jo in the trees started singin' the blues
Laughin', meddling, jumpin' up and down
Till his foot missed a limb and he fell to the ground

Just like a bolt of thunder and a streak of heat
Leo covered Jo Jo with all four feet
Jo Jo was screamin' with tears in his eyes
Said, please mister Leo, I apologize

Said, if you let my feet upon solid ground
I'll fight you close range, fifteen rounds
Leo got back to the square of the fight
Jo Jo took a leap and jumped... out of sight

I still couldn't spit a dozen if I needed to -- let's just say I rap like a white guy -- and I've still got no game, but at least I know about the Monkey and I can tell signifyin' when I hear it. You didn't totally waste your time Carl...

What the hell are Dippin Dots?

I don't really know why these things exist, but they sort of scare me...

They're just not right... www.dippindots.com

Uhhh... sorry about the paper mate...

I nearly got stuck in a McDonald's bathroom the other day. The only thing that saved me was that the paper towels ran out... Weird huh?

Seriously... the McDonald's had a new automatic paper towel dispenser in the bathroom. It was pretty awesome.

I washed my hands (which is of course shocking for a lot of woman folk out there who believe that guys never do that) and reached over to yank out some paper towels. Low and behold... the magic machine on the wall spit out a small portion of dead tree for me... Amazing! I reached up again... same thing. This is incredible. There aren't even any buttons.

But what am I going to do with the tiny strip of towel it gives me?

It was bit like getting one square of toilet paper. But let's be honest... this is a bit less critical than the t.p. situation... In this case, I could just wipe my hands on my pants... not so much the case in the stall if you know what I mean.

It occurred to me that this was supposed to be a way to cut back on paper towel usage. Come on though... You have a dispenser that automatically spits out the paper and you think someone like me isn't going to just sit there and keep on dispensing?

Are you kidding me... I even had to show my brother. After about six feet of paper towels, even he was impressed with this new wonder...

I'm not afraid to say that I was truly amazed by this machine...

I just stood there repeatedly dispensing paper towel and thinking, "Why? Why, for the love of Christ, did someone make this?"

People and Music

It's pretty amazing how you can hear music and it makes you think of certain people, or maybe places...

Take The Clash. I hear The Clash and I usually think, sometimes just for the briefest moment, about Keith Kirby. The first time I heard The Clash was when Keith Kirby popped them in a Walkman and told me to listen... Oddly, if I do it in reverse and think first of Keith Kirby, I think of both The Clash and The Boomtown Rats singing about not liking Mondays...

Big Head Todd and the Monsters plays and I see John's gorgeous sister, Jill Hardiman, walking up at a party and saying, "We're huge Big Head fans here..." It always happens... unless it's 'Bittersweet'... in which case I think about my friend Rebecca and camping in the desert, watching her perform in a play, eating sushi together, mountain biking, and the list goes on... it's a pretty long song.

Some others:

The Pretenders -- 'Tattooed Love Boys' -- Casey, Hardiman, Snooze and Petro jamming out on top of a coffee table with splashing drinks in hand...

John Lennon -- 'Imagine' -- Brian Hamilton kicked back on his couch, baked and finally not talking about Betsy...

U2 -- 'Electrical Storm' -- I can just see Josh hitting replay for the 47th time as we drive to Arby's for a sack full of Arby-Qs and curly fries...

Semisonic -- 'Closing Time' -- Reminds me of going to that concert way down south of Sacramento with Eileen...

Lionel Ritchie -- -- Usually makes me think about Erica Lindquist. It's a long story, but we started dating because of his concert...

ABBA -- 'Super Trooper' -- Means Steffi is singing and dancing around in her parents family room in Lenggries, Germany. She's pulling her mom, Carla, up from the couch to dance with her.

Ute Lemper -- -- It's Steffi's brother Daniel's apartment in Munich and I'm hearing Ute for the first time... Daniel is holding up his hand and saying, "No... no... listen... It's amazing, eh?"

The Romantics -- 'That's What I Like..." -- Suddenly, I'm back in SoCal at a High School dance and Eric Ellis is flinging elbows as he clears a chunk of dancefloor space for himself. He's sweating from dancing up a storm and pogoing... (What the hell was the pogo all about?) A couple of football players are trying to stir up a fight by 'slam dancing' into people. Ellis doesn't care... he nails one of them in the back with an elbow and when the guy turns around, he nails him in the chest... And Ellis just keeps on dancing...

Finally... Friday

Man am I tired... I'm glad it's weekend time again. Unfortunately, there's no plans on the burner.

Isn't it a bit funny that if I were to do a post with a dateline of, let's say, Paris... all I would have to say something like 'Hung out at along Rue St. Denis' or 'Saw a hottie by the Opera Garnier' and it would sound interesting and exotic. If I tell you 'I watched cars drive by the corner of Main and Jefferson today...' it's a lot less interesting, n'est pas?

There it is then... that will be my fun for the weekend. I will speak only French to people. Of course this will lead to a nearly silent weekend since I don't speak French.

Me: 'Parlez vous Francais?'
Random Person: 'Oui... je parle Francais...'
Me: 'Ahhhh... Bon...'
Random Person: 'Parle tu Francais?'
Me: 'Non... je n'parle pas Francais...'
Random Person: 'What the fuck's wrong with you?'

The Sound of Silence...

Well... the U2 smackdown I was expecting from Josh still hasn't come. Granted, it's only been a day, but I'm part of the TV generation and I want shit to happen right now. I'll probably hear from him in a couple of weeks and he'll have some sort of I've-Been-So-Busy-Story...

Maybe he heard about the 1983 Tokyo recordings I was gonna bust out on him... Hiiiyaaah... Quicker than Bruce Lee mofo...

Seriously though... he's redoing his website and now his old one is down. It's driving me crazy with anticipation. I think he's up to something cool.

If you like music talk, you should go look at my friend Eileen's blog. The link's over there on the side... She's into those whiney British boys and their whiney British boy music, but she's still pretty cool. I get a lot of music leads from her. Crap, now she knows that and she'll probably get all cocky with me...

Now, I must go. I have to check out a surf cam I found... It's in Australia though, so it's probably still dark over there. I want to live in this guy's place. He's across the road from a nice little beach break...

Josh lays down some smack..

He did it in a nice way mind you, but I could see him slowly shaking his head back and forth in a slightly mocking way. So, of course, I must now rise to the challenge...

The problem here is that Josh is a U2/Shaolin Monk -- I know, you thought there weren't any left in the world, but trust me there are -- and his unspoken challenge is U2 rarities. Basically, I'm screwed on this but I must fight on...

Here's the opening moves from an email from Josh...

"Next thing you know, you're gonna be asking me if I've
ever heard the Lounge Fly Mix of 'The Fly' or the live version of
'Bullet the Blue Sky' from Dublin, August 28, 1993 -- and I think even Dixie Redfearn knows what silly questions those would be. That woman is a rare breed of genius."

Clearly, he's toying with me here... He knows that I know that the Lounge Fly mix is probably on his Top Ten Greatest Songs of All Time list and obviously he's trying to rile me with the Dixie Redfearn comment...

I've countered with a feint about a bootleg of the June 6, 1983, Manchester show (I could only feint to buy time since I don't have a copy of it... nor have I actually heard it, but it's really just meant to plant a seed of doubt in his mind). So, after that I followed "with Screaching Monkey followed by 'What's Going On' (Live, Kansas City, 2001) and a roundhouse Pop Mart show, Live from Tel Aviv..."

I fear it was a weak opening move and I know it will take much more than this to topple the master in his own temple, but I can only work with the tools I have...

Better than Disneyland...

It takes a lot to beat the sets of Disneyland, but I think the Catholic Church might have done it. Maybe it's just me, but the new pope looks really lifelike. Obviously Rome has directed some of it's considerable resources into improving their special effects...

Of course, I think they missed the boat on the Vatican Idol idea... but what else could we expect? Progressive thinking?! Oh well, the road to our advanced state of civilization is littered with great ideas not pursued.

And for the record... the thunderstorm that cut power here for a few seconds hit well before this blog was posted. So the lightning wasn't meant for me... yet.

On a different note. I'm on an Alkaline Trio kick lately. I really like "Emma" and "Continental". Also, the Iron and Wine remake of the Postal Service song, "Such Great Heights."

Vatican Idol

The Catholic Church is really missing out on a great opportunity here... Seriously, millions of people around the world are sitting on edge of their seats -- or hard, wooden pews -- wondering who the next Pope will be.

So why decide in private?

They should make it a televised contest. Start at the beginning with tryouts and all the funny slipups that would entail...

"Yeah... of course controlling rampant overpopulation with birth control is a good idea..." Dooh... another one bites the dust.

"Hail Margaret, full of grace..." Oops. Blooper reel.

The competition would be fierce, but think of the fun...

Simon-Peter Cowell could be the Catholic bad boy on the panel.

"That was probably the worst Hail Mary I've ever heard... That was atrocious... Ouch! Why did you hit me Saula?! It was terrible..."

"Well, I like that you really took what we said last week about your Papal Blessing to heart," a smiling Saula would say to the eager contestant. "I think you really nailed it this week."

The buzz around the holy-water coolers would be huge...

"Like I totally thought the one guy from Botswana was so cute... they should have totally kept him."

"Yeah, but he didn't look very good in red and did you see when he almost dropped that one wafer? Besides, the guy from Italy is totally gonna win."

"So what about the red... when he's Vatican Idol, he wouldn't be wearing red anyway. You know he would look hot in white..."

Why wouldn't this work? They've got a built-in, global fan base. They've got a worldwide broadcast company.

I Had A Farm In Africa...

It's a fine line between genius and a forty-four-foot dropoff. Picture this...

You're in a theater. Cue the majestic music. Scenes of Africa seen from the air sweep along with the music. It's beautiful. It's grand...

The smooth voice of Meryl Streeps rolls out... "I had a farm in Africa..."

...

...

...

...

People start shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

...

...

Someone coughs...

...

"Yeah...you had a fucking farm!" someone finally yells. "Then what?!"

"What?! Huh?" says the somewhat befuddled voice of Meryl Streep. "Oh yeah. I had a farm in Africa... Um, it was pretty cool I guess. Sorry, I don't really remember what I was going to tell you..."

Don't think there would have been many Oscar nods that year.

So, anyway... I was driving down the road today. Cue the rockin' music... Picture scenes of Wisconsin farms blurring by...

Hear my majestic voice saying, "I had a thought today..."

...

...

...

...

God that sucks... it was going to be a great entry too...

Great...who's got my soul now?

As I sit here eating Ramen noodles, a couple of thoughts cross my mind.

First... "Man, these noodles taste good and they only cost me 15 cents..." It's true too. They're some sort of spicey-chicken-flavor-pack kind of noodles, and they really are pretty good. Also, they don't get all clumpy like the creamy chicken ones, which taste better but who needs clumpy noodles in their life?

And second, "What if all those 'primitive' people are right and when you take someone's picture you really do steal their soul?"

That would sort of suck... I mean, obviously you don't get their whole soul because then you could only take one picture, but even a little bit of soul is saying something. It would sort of explain the whole white boys got no rythm thing... How can you dance if ya got no soul? Clearly white people take more photos of their kids than black people...

It would also explain the apparent glut of soulless zombies trundling up and down the aisles of the local Super Wal-Mart. It's all those security cameras... When you steal souls at about 30 frames per second you've got a shitload of souls at the end of the day...

Anyway, what I want to know is this... If I steal a soul with my digital camera and then delete the photo, does the soul go back to the original owner or do I still get to keep it? Digital rights are so confusing...

Poetic Justice...

Wouldn't it be cool if Hunter S. Thompson were reincarnated as B. Spears kid? He would more than pay off any Karmic debt he might have and she would at least be on a Karmic payment plan for subjecting the world to more crap music that we didn't need and all the annoying "I'm so sweet... no, I'm a tiger..." episodes. She should have that paid off in about 487 life cycles...

I fear I have pissed off some Conservatives a few blog doors down... Oh well, what else is there to do around here? I'm just not sure why people get so torqued when their beliefs are questioned. Or, for that matter, why people are so quick to assume they're being attacked for their beliefs.

I keep hearing all this "my parents instilled morals... blah, blah, blah..." and in the same breath "I don't just believe stuff because someone tells me... blah, blah... because it says in the Bible... blah, blah..." Has the whole world gone crazy?

Deep breath... Maybe it's just the Right Wingers that have lost it...

No... the Lefties are nuts too...

"Don't hurt the cute, fuzzy, little animals," cried the Hippie, his tears falling like soft rain on his leather Berks...

Fuck it... tomorrow I'm going to trip an old lady while pushing a kid and kicking a dog, eat lots of meat while stepping on flowers and looking at porn, curse America, and tell everyone I see that God doesn't exist... Or I'll just get up and go to work. I haven't decided yet.

Cheers...

And with a few simple clicks I've got myself a soapbox... Is that really healthy?