stop me if i'm wrong

"Courage is grace under pressure."

Really? REALLY??? What the fuck kind of a thing is that to say? I love Hemingway about as much as my own mother, but what the fuck? Is that not the stupidest definition you've ever heard?

Where exactly does grace enter into the picture? Is that a better definition than "courage is not being afraid to die" or "courage is getting shot up by a bunch of krauts because you want your unborn child to go to college"?

What's the matter with people?

ahem

Here's something fun to read.

Random Rules

In spite of my growing disdain of The Onion, I continue to admire its AV Club section. One recurring feature the AV Club offers is called "Random Rules", where they ask a celebrity-- loosely defined-- to put his iPod on shuffle and talk about whatever songs come up. Here's a recent example.

So I thought I'd give it a shot. I'm not going to skip around or anything, and I'm going to write my comments in real time. Just in case this sucks, I'm going to crack a Heineken tallboy before I start. Maybe you should do the same.

Here goes:

1. Kanye West, "Hey Mama"

Man I should crack 100 Heineken tallboys before talking about this song. My mom's had Multiple Sclerosis since I was a little kid, so I'm kind of partial to this song even if that makes me a huge pussy. Moving on, does every rapper have to write a song about his mom? Will anyone ever do as well in this department as Tupac did?

I saw Kanye in North Carolina the Wednesday before Thanksgiving a couple of years ago, as part of Hip Hop Thanksgiving, which also featured Mos Def, Talib Kweli, and Pharoah Monch the following Friday in D.C..

2. Spoon, "Someone Something"

I saw Spoon just last week at Webster Hall in New York with two of my siblings. The next night, New Year's Eve, we saw Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. We called it Rock 'N' Roll New Year's. Apparently I have a thing for music-themed holidays.

3. Elvis Costello, "Radio, Radio (Capital Radio Version)"

I've already written somewhere about this song. This is a stripped down early version recorded for a radio station somewhere. Elvis's plaintive voice and lack of production really changes the feel of the song.

God this didn't take long to suck, did it?

4. Talking Heads, "Heaven (live)"

My old boss introduced me to Talking Heads when I was selling knives after my first year of college. I borrowed his two-disc greatest hits compilation "Sand in the Vaseline" one day, then drove to Blacksburg to visit a buddy of mine. We got in a fight that night and I decided I was going to drive home, in spite of having consumed several beers. I popped disc one into my CD changer and the first track, "Sugar On My Tongue", freaked me out so much I pulled into a gas station and sat as still as I could until I sobered up.

5. Neil Young, "Cinnamon Girl"

Did you know Neil Young is sometimes referred to as The Godfather of Grunge? Does anyone remember Grunge? My brother's ground-breaking band The Coalition covered this song a few times, to mixed reviews.

6. God dammit what the hell is this song? Ah, yes, "Let the Funk Flow" by EPMD. I like having this album (Strictly Business) in my collection because it adds a veneer of credibility to my rap collection. But the truth is, I think it sucks.

A friend of mine hates Funk. And Jazz. She also sheds a lot of hair and never squeezes her toothpaste from the bottom OR flattens as she goes up.

7. The Beatles, "Birthday"

God, what luck. The White Album contains 9999 awesome songs, and Larry the iPod picks out this one. When you best remember a song for playing between innings at minor league baseball games, it's probably best not to remember the song at all.

8. Lauryn Hill, "When It Hurts So Bad"

I don't think I've ever heard this song. I bought this album because of that single she had way back when and for her awesome cover of "Can't Take My Eyes Off You". This song isn't as good.

Fuck me, this really sucks.

Maybe next week I'll cut my toenails and tell you a story about every last one of them.

let's see if i can make this make sense

imitation, someone probably once said, is the sincerest form of flattery. a few years ago, a certain quilt enthusiast achieved this rare honor when a couple of not-particularly-anonymous admirers aped his blog for the good of all mankind. the whole thing is pretty hilarious, but if you know what's good for you, you'll scroll down to september 15, 2004's entry.

update

I received an urgent message from The Old Self this afternoon. He said only an asshole would devote an entire blog to queer beer and not include the following YouTube clip. Once again, Old Self, I don't know what I'd do without you:

salad days are here again

Way back in 1999, a small brewery in Northampton, Massachusetts announced it was producing a limited run micro brew called Gay Pride Beer. Being nineteen and easily amused, I thought it might be nice to have some around. And as luck had it, my girlfriend was a sophomore at nearby Mount Holyoke College, and she grudgingly agreed to hook me up.

The old gal had a friend who worked at the liquor barn, so one Friday night she set out to score me some gay booze. "Karen!" she announced as she stormed through the door. "Gimme the queerest beer you got!"

Unfortunately, her request had come a little prematurely-- the beer hadn't been distributed yet. So poor Karen, eager to please but at a total loss for what this lunatic wanted, had to think on her feet.

"Well...we...um..." she stammered. "We got Amstel Light!"

free advice

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you know what?

i was just listening to bob dylan's song "million dollar bash". it's originally from a 1975 record called The Basement Tapes but I know it from disc 2 of a retrospective called Biograph that an old sublessee left in my apartment when she moved out. nice girl, maybe she was french. suspected eating disorder. caroline or theresa or melanie. anyway there's a lyric in the song where mr. dylan sings "well i looked at my watch, i looked at my wrist, punched myself in the face with my fist."

now i've always admired bob, not only for his songwriting and iconclasm and sacks full of cash, but also because he looks, in his old age, a great deal like my dead grandmother. and like any reasonable person, i try to emulate people i admire: bill clinton, pedro martinez, this guy i saw on the subway with a fearless haircut, to name a few more. but the thing is-- christ-- what the hell are you supposed to do if you want to be more like bob dylan and you don't own a watch? i won't bore you with the details, but i eventually settled on punching myself in the face with my fist.

it wasn't great.

comment

Below is a good example of what I wanted to happen when I started displaying the name of the book I am currently reading (or, um, baldly neglecting). Unfortunately, my nameless friend emailed me instead of posting a comment here. Way to go, nameless friend! I've decided to post her email here, for the entire world wide web to enjoy, and I've decided to do so without asking for her permission:


By the way, I see you're reading Bronte.

Just make sure you never ever read it on the subway because if you do
you might get so deep into the last chapter that you forget where and who
you are and you might forget to look up as the train keeps going and you
might miss your stop and you will wind up in the middle of France on a train
platform that is not yours and you will have finished the book (because
only then did you finally look up) and you will have to take a taxi back to
your village in the dark.

I'm just sayin'.

Mailbag, part II

Loyal reader and longtime Certain Blogs apologist Blogadier General dropped me a line this weekend. And while it's always nice to hear from the old self, I'm afraid he wasn't in the best of moods:

Dear Blogadier General,

Write something. Anything. Jesus.

Warmest Regards,
The Old Self

Thanks for writing, TOS! As you probably know, things have been pretty hectic lately, what with the holiday and things starting to heat up at work. In fact, I've been so busy I decided to farm out this week's reply to an old friend by the name of My Flagging Integrity:

Dear TOS,

You know how you'll meet a friend for dinner and you'll suggest some type of food, let's say Chinese, but your friend says "eh, I had Chinese last night." And so end of discussion: Chinese is out. This happens to me all the time.

But what the fuck? Why can't you eat the same type of food two days in a row? You know what? Everyone eats the exact same thing for breakfast every day and no one gives a shit. It's like,

"Self, it's time for breakfast. How do you feel about eating cold cereal in your underwear?"

"Well, to be honest, I've eaten cold cereal in my underwear every morning since I grew teeth, but fuck it! Why not?"

And Christ, it's not like Chinese or Italian doesn't offer an enormous array of choices. And don't 700 billion Chinese people eat Chinese food every god damned day?

The next time you really want enchiladas but your dumbshit roommate says he had Mexican food yesterday, tell him to go to hell.

See you next week!