Everything is wrong with me
Friday, January 28, 2005
enough with the blind accordion players, "american idol", Dakota, sweaty palms, RSS, music, victory is mine
I have gotten an astonishing amount of thought- and discussion-provoking emails from you all recently. Some hilarious, some controversial, some non-sensical, and one with a picture of two guys making out with a deer (I wish I was kidding).

I've been wanting to write a post in which I compile a "best of" your emails (as I have done in the past), but unfortunately, I am really, really bad at writing these. This is because I'll read an interesting email, usually while intoxicated, and think to myself, "I should totally write about this". Then next time I'll check I'll have a lot more emails, and the good one will get buried by emails like, "Dude, are you really that fat?" and "I bet your penis is not that small" and "I'm an editor, and the period goes inside the quotation marks, not after it". (Yeah, I know, but it just looks better my way)

However, one really struck me and needed immediate publication. Tom Dedman writes:

Just thought you should know that blind accordion players are apparently not uncommon. I hail from Melbourne, Australia, and here we have a blind accordion player called Bernadette who plays in various streets all over the city. No shit, she is practically famous here. You might be onto something with that convention accident theory.
He also provided a link to an article about Bernadette that has a picture of said "blind" accordion player.

However, in this picture, we can clearly see from that Bernadette is not blind, but rather just closing her eyes. I mean, she's wearing glasses, and not the Ray Charles/Stevie Wonder kind that covers the eyes because blind people's eyes are scary and look like Werewolf eyes. Why would a "blind" need glasses like that? She's wearing the same type of glasses I wear when I get too drunk to put my contacts in their case and instead eat them.

I mean, c'mon - look at that fucking picture! She's just saying she's blind to get more fame (and as an internet quasi-celebrity, I know a thing or two about fame and eating a lot of fucking french fries)! How is it that no one has realized this before? Maybe I'll close my eyes when I play guitar and everyone will say, "Holy shit! That blind guy sucks at guitar!" and write an article about me.

And yes, maybe I'm just jealous that she thought of it first. Lucky bitch.


If you are not watching "American Idol" right now, you really need to be. I don't give a shit about the competition, but right now it's at the tryout stage. Three reasons you need to watch:

1) It's hilarious, uncomfortable, and sad all at once. These poor misguided losers get up there and sign their hearts out, most of them running the gamut from sounding like someone is stepping on their balls to sounding like they are being stabbed in the lung, only to be criticized and crushed in front of millions of people. And then they proceed to cry and make a big stink into the camera afterwards. There is no joy in the joy that a really bad person (i.e. me) can get from the agony of others, so this shit is right up my alley. Also, last time two identical (male) twins sang Boyz II Men's "I'll Make Love To You" and got all into it. It was very, very gross and weird.

2) Randy Jackson. Hey Randy, listen - we get it - you're black. You don't need to say things like, "Yeah dog yeah!" and "Aight, aight, I'm witch you" all the time.

Actually, the funny thing is that Randy only really talks like this when the black contestants are on. Seriously - watch him speaking to a nerdy white guy, and then see how he transform when some black kid in an oversized NBA jersey walks in. He's kinda like your buddy who speaks French. You know he speaks French, but you don't really think about it because in an everyday situation, who is he going to speak French to? And then you, him, and some friends go to Montreal for a weekend of pills and strippers and he's so excited he finally gets to speak French that he can't stop speaking it to everyone. It gets so annoying that you ultimately grow to hate him, and kill him in an alley.

That's kinda like Randy. I'm sure he spends all his time around Simon, Ryan Seacrest, and Paula Abdul and a bunch of stuffy TV people that when he finally sees a black person, he can't stop speaking, well, black to them.

Or something like that.

3) The guest judges. Last week, it was Mark McGrath, douchebag from Sugar Ray. This week, it was the biggest asshole and leader of the worst band on Earth, Gene Simmons. Next week, it's Kenny Loggins. I'm just waiting for an appearance from the that lead singer from the Fine Young Cannibals (also, a tip: if you do it right, "She Drives Me Crazy" is an awesome karaoke song).


When I have a kid (if I don't have one already - DNA tests are pending in Honduras, but thank god that country's poor and is scientifically on the level of 1934 Poland), I hope it's like Dakota Fanning.

I came up from the subway last night and there was an advertisement for her new movie with Robert DeNiro. And there she was on the ad, her face juxtaposed next to DeNiro's. And she ten fucking years old. Good lord. When I was ten years old, I was going to the beach and eating dead jellyfish because I didn't know any better. And she's sharing adspace with Bobby DeNiro.

Her parents are very, very lucky (that is, until she turns 12 and starts blowing dudes for heroin). I hope that when I have a kid, it's as accomplished at ten as Dakota Fanning is. However, I'm pretty sure that when my kid is ten, he/she will be sitting next to me on the beach eating dead jellyfish right with me, as my estranged wife yells at us to stop.

A boy can dream though...


I recently met my buddy Griff for lunch, who's in town from Seattle on business. When I shook his hand, he recoiled and said, "Ugh - I forgot how gross your hands are."

Yes, in addition to being fat, having poor posture, a tiny bird, bad hair, no money, and no self-esteem, I have the clammiest hands in the world. Not only that, but they are very white and I have very long, crooked fingers. My friends in college used to joke that I have vampire hands. Although I'd imagine that a vampire would have very dry hands. I don't know why, but I just do.

But if I were a vampire, at least I could use that as an excuse for having disgusting hands. Instead, mine are just plain gross. On my blue mouse-pad at work, there is an area just below where my mouse sits that's bluer than the rest, because it's sweat-stained. Yes, I managed to get sweat stains on my mouse pad. I have to take pills immediately, because if I hold them in my hand, they have about three seconds before they completely liquefy. I avoid shaking hands at all costs, especially with women. I don't mind as much if a guy gets my soaked hand in his, but when a woman gets a handful of sweat, I'm sure she's not thinking, "Wow - I hope he gets to rub those clammy hands all over my bare breasts later!"

I don't know where I'm going with this, but I just wanted to get it off my chest. So there.


Our lovely and talented sitemaster Brendan wanted me to tell you all that we now have a fully functioning RSS feed, which you can get by clicking on the link at the bottom of the index page. He even had a little article explaining what an RSS feed is. Isn't he the best?

If, like me, you have no idea what this means, don't worry about it. But apparently it's pretty cool, and will automatically email you once this site is updated. But again, I know very little about computers, so I'll just stop talking now before my monitor catches fire.


Six Songs:

- "The Light" Common
Leave it to me to find the mushiest rap song ever recorded and pimp it on this site. I don't care, I like it. I told you I'm sensitive, so stop judging.

- "White Light/White Heat" Velvet Underground
What I love most about this song is that it sounds like it was written and recorded in about eight minutes while the entire band was high. I can see Lou Reed telling the band in some small smoky recording studio, "Ok, you guys play this, and sing 'White Light' twice, 'White Heat' once, and then 'White Light' again. And I'll just make it up as I go along. Are we ready, or should we take more drugs first?"

- "Fat Bottomed Girls" Queen
Think about it: the most flamboyantly homosexual man in history singing about having sex with fat girls (unless I'm missing a hidden meaning or metaphor here, which I kinda hope I am), screaming at the end "Get on your bikes and ride!" A really gay dude and fat chicks riding bicycles: does it get any better? I think not.

- "Timorous Me" Ted Leo & The Pharmacists
I have a very love/hate relationship with this song. For example, I hate the instrumental break which is both smack in the middle of the song and at the end. I think it messes up the rhythm and excitement of the whole song. Otherwise, this song is fucking perfect. Not only because of the awesome guitar work and singing, but when the band comes in with Ted after said instrumental break (about 2:15 in), I jump up and start dancing wherever I am. I think it's impossible not to (too bad this make-me-dance part lasts only about thirty seconds).

If you haven't heard of this band, please download this song. It may rock your world.

- "1969" Iggy Pop & The Stooges
This song reminds me of walking into a party in, well, 1969. One of those slow-motion shots, where I walk in and check out the scene, and everyone's all hippied out, waving the freak fly high, all fucked up and getting more fucked up. I kinda look like Jimi Hendrix, but much fatter and much more pale. And then I walk into the middle of the room and pull out my bird. Everyone stops what they're doing and looks at me, and I spit out some tobacco juice on the ground. Then I put my bird back on my pants (remember, it's all slow-mo), turn around and walk out. Then there's a scene of me fucking a dog in a van (the dog is on top). End of scene.

- "Police On My Back" The Clash
If "Timorous Me" makes me dance, this song makes me punch shit. "Police On My Back" was a staple in the "Punch Your Balls" playlist, which I listened to while at the gym pumping iron. Also, it spawned a long-lasting private joke among my friends and I: whenever we do something stupid, we'll scream in an exaggerated and terrible British accent, "What have I done???" As in:

[at grocery store]
Me: "Brian, dude, you just fucking ran over that toddler with the shopping cart!"
Brian: [screaming in British accent] "What have I done???"

[at bar on Saturday night]
Ben: "Christ Jay - you have shit all over your pants! Did you fucking poop yourself?"
Me: [drunk, screaming in British accent] "What have I done???"

You get it.


Finally, a thank you to all of you who voted for me in the Best of Blog (BoB) awards. Turns out, I actually won. While I still don't know exactly what "snarky" means and though I've been referring to my blog as "award-winning" since its inception, I can finally not be lying when I say it. So thank you again, and I promise to use this award in any capacity that I can, including scoring women and free drugs. If it works, I'll let you know, but don't get your hopes up.

[Have a good weekend]

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