Does your music suck? If you’re a serious musician, you’ve probably asked yourself this question at least once in your life. That is, unless you’re an arrogant tool like the dudes in Oasis or something. (They don’t have to ask that question because they know the Beatles and the Kinks don’t suck.) With that in mind, I’ve taken it upon myself to draw up a handy-dandy cheat sheet for determining whether you are flirting with musical suck-osity. See that? I’ve got your backs, folks.
I would like to stress, however, that these signs are not across-the-board or conclusive. It is possible to possess one or more of these qualities and STILL be in a good band. So please don’t send me angry missives trying to prove that you - or famous band X – are utterly awesome and really do rule the cosmos despite an unhealthy predilection for zebra striped codpieces and WhiteSnake covers (or whatever).
Consider this a general guideline! If you find yourself nodding your head and chuckling, “That’s sooooo me” to more than two things on the list, you may want to take a moment to gaze pensively in the mirror, look deep within your soul, and honestly ask yourself, “Do I suck big ass?” If the answer is a resounding, “Yeah, you kinda do, a-hole,” then it may be time to seriously rethink your career path.
So, without further ado, here are some of the more glaring signs of suckiness to watch out for, if you can see anything at all looking through those silly fake emo glasses you’ve been wearing.
1) When people ask what type of music your band plays, you answer (more or less), “We play good old-fashioned, no-holds-barred, back-to-basics rock and roll.” For some odd reason, “no-holds-barred, back-to-basics rock and roll” always seems to sound like crappy Kiss outtakes.
2) Someone in your band smells like an odd mix of SlimJims and patchouli and has actually “followed” another band around the country for more than four shows on one tour. Extra points if he had a parent dying in the hospital at the same time.
3) You appear on the cover of Rolling Stone with your lead singer lunging at the camera while making a screaming face. The headline proclaims, “Real Rock Is Back…Honest! We Mean It This Time!” As usual, no one is convinced.
4) The words “astronomy,’ “dilettante,” or “extrapolate” are featured prominently in the chorus of your first single. Extra points if you try to rhyme the word “dilettante” with “boysenberry croissant.”
5) More than one out of every 100 of your songs in your repertoire is in a time signature other than (straightforward rock rhythm) 4/4. Corollary: If you have less than 5,000 songs total and more than even one of them is in the tricky 7/4 time signature (and you don't have the word "Combo" or "Trio" in your band name) you’re teetering dangerously close to wearing an invisible sign that says, “I need to be taken out back and beaten with a rusty pipe.”
6) Your band photo consists of four portly dudes decked out in black clothes and scowling at nothing in particular. At least one band member’s arms are firmly crossed because he’s pissed off about something (either the impending fiery Apocalypse or he’s gotta pull a double shift at KFC). Extra points if your band features a “hot chick” (hot relative to the rest of the band, that is) looming in the foreground and decked out in an all-leather bodice she bought on sale at Hot Topic. Extra, extra points if any of these words appear within the first 5.6 seconds of every song you play: dark, black onyx, swords, bloodletting, tormented, or Elizabeth Bathory. In fact, it’s probably a safe bet that I just named the first 6 songs on your debut CD.
7) Your band name is cloying, twee, or trying WAY too hard to be clever. If your name is anything like “Planes Have Left the Aquarium,” “The 16th Century Basket Weaver Convention,” or “Does Mirabelle Adore Meringue?” you’re way overdue to rethink your strategy. If you read this and immediately started wondering if those are fake band names you might be able to use, it’s time to hang up the instruments forever.
8) Your album was made after 1999 and it boasts (ironically or otherwise) the 50’s/60’s “retro look.” That is, all the songs are listed on the cover along with the words “in glorious hi-fidelity stereo.” Likewise, the band members are all wearing tacky bowling shirts and piled in a phone booth with hula hoops around their necks (or something). This was really cute and clever for awhile there in the 90’s, but isn’t it sort of overdone at this point?
9) During rehearsal, you’ve actually reprimanded your guitarist for sounding “too much like the Clash, and not enough like Nickelback.” Earn extra points if no one busts out in convulsive fits of laughter after these words are uttered.
10) You’re a female pop star who seems hell-bent on telling your ex how you don’t need him, and you’re gonna key his car, or blow up his house, or engineer a bio-virus to kill every last descendant of his loins, and oh-boy-oh boy-he-BETTER-be-sorry-he-messed-with-you! Like anything else, the “spurned female anthem” was kinda novel at one time, but now it’s way played out. My reaction whenever I hear these songs is “Me thinks thou doest protest too much!” After all, nothing sounds more needy than someone who has to loudly announce she doesn’t need her ex, right? If you were really over it, wouldn’t you spend your time singing about something else, like floor tiles? Trust me, that guy you’re so mad at isn’t ruing the day he met you. More likely he’s taking some perverse delight in the fact he messed you up so bad you’ve gotta sing a “revenge” song on the radio while he practices getting it on with his new girlfriend in time to the chorus.
11) You still think flipping the bird to photographers makes you “edgy” and “rebellious,” something it clearly hasn’t been since, oh, November 1979. You’re not Johnny Cash or a member of the Sex Pistols; move on. (Avril Lavigne, are you taking notes?)
12) People say you sing “real country” and epitomize what “country is all about,” and yet somehow your latest single sounds like an over-blown Diane Warren/Chicago power ballad from 20 years ago, albeit sung with a Southern accent and featuring an extremely obnoxious lap steel guitar.
13) Your record label re-releases your first CD before your second one has even hit the shops. Nothing screams “Let’s milk this cash cow one last time before the public wises up and realizes that he sucks big time” like the cynical reissue that materializes before most people have even gotten past track 5 on the original CD. Of course, the only bonus material on your “deluxe” package is a crappy demo-that-should-have-remained-a-demo and a lame video that everyone has already watched a billion times on youtube.
14) Your “indie” sound is so anemic and whispery that even Starbucks has to pass on it as being “too soft.”
15) You think Nirvana “saved” rock and roll.
16) You and your band spend roughly 2 hours fixing your hair and about 2 seconds tuning your instruments. (Thanks to our friend Nick over at http://www.frigginfabulousradio.com/ for this one.)
17) You’re appearing at venues that hold a maximum of 12 people – as long as everyone is anorexic and holding their breath – and you’re still smacking the hands of people in the front row like you’re Radiohead playing their final encore at MSG. You and your “fans” (aka friends who got roped into coming) are all gonna be standing at the bar 5 minutes after the show anyway; if you really want to touch their hands I’m sure you can do it then.
18) You think that making anything “lo-fi” automatically gives it a DIY charm that can overcome your same-two-chords-every-time songs, ironically monotonous singing voice, and painfully “clever” lyrics that compare love to shopping in a thrift store, or some such bullsh*t.
19) You write overwrought, melodramatic lyrics about spiritual longing and man’s isolation in the universe. Extra points if you mention dolphins. (Oops.)
20) You’ve put out 5 albums and they all sound exactly the same (and your name is not The Ramones or AC/DC). However, on your most recent album, you added a 5 second string intro to one track, a backwards guitar solo on another, and 10 seconds of yodeling to the final song. Other than that, it’s musically identical to everything else in your oeuvre. As a result of your superficial additions, the major critics have hailed you as “expanding your sound,” “growing by leaps and bounds,” and “exhibiting a startling new maturity.” In reality, the Beatles grew more between writing lines 1 and 2 of “Love Me Do” than you’ve grown in the past 25 years.
Mind you, these traits are not exhaustive… so don’t breathe a sigh of relief just because you don’t recognize yourself on the list! There’s still a chance you’re dangling directly above the gaping maw of musical mediocrity and it’s hungrily waiting to slurp you down, pseudo-goth eyeliner and all. However, after reading over this list you will hopefully begin to glean a general sense of what constitutes full-blown awfulness (basically, anything I don’t like, it would seem) and strategically avoid those pitfalls in the future.
Or don’t. Hell, you’ll probably be more successful if you DO posses all these traits. Look where it got hacks like Chris Daughtry and Green Day. I guess you need to ask yourself, what’s more important: making billions of dollars and having millions of adoring fans, or winning the approval of some curmudgeonly online a-hole with a blog no one reads?
I think the choice is clear.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Phrased Out, Part 6: PERverted Language
Time for yet another installment in our never-ending examination of words/expressions that need to be banned from the English language, at least for a couple of millennia or so. Today we'll be looking at the word "per” (or the phrase “as per”).
I’m sure you all know this one. This is the one corporate toadies whip out every time they want you to do some petty job for them (usually something THEY should be doing), but they’re deathly afraid you’ll realize how pointless the request really is. So, instead of just ASKING you to do them a favor, they’ll try pulling rank and invoking the name of some higher-up in the vain hope you’re as scared of Joe or Jane Muckety-Muck as they are.
For example: “Per Mr. ScaryBossMan, stop working on that multi-million dollar project for our highest paying client and start scanning in pictures of me playing softball at the company picnic. Did I mention it’s per Mr. ScaryBossMan?”
Trust me, 99 out of 100 times the alleged superior isn’t even AWARE he’s being namechecked in a futile attempt to make it sound like the company’s imminent collapse or booming success is singularly dependent on whether or not you color-code the pointy cup receipts from 1978.
Basically, the boot-licker who exploits the word “per” knows his/her request sounds weak or trivial to begin with, so he/she feels the need to prop it up a little – you know, give it that extra “oomph.” A little memo Viagra, as it were. If the request really carried any weight, it would speak for itself and not need any help. For example, you’ve never seen a memo that said, “In the event of an all-consuming fire rapidly tearing through floor after floor of the office, all employees should get the hell out of the building as fast as their little feet can carry them…as per the CEO.”
Hence, to include the word “per” in a memo is pretty much the same as (a) implying the recipients are too freakin’ stupid to discern what merits their immediate attention, or (b) trying to force co-workers into wasting their time on really dumb, unimportant stuff by hiding behind the guise of sweeping, mandatory, executive edict. Either way, it's pretty lame. As per me.
In my view, a person either has authority over someone or he doesn’t. If he does, he shouldn’t need to bandy about words like “per.” If he DOESN’T have the authority, then he should just ask nicely for whatever he needs. He shouldn’t try to sound all bad-ass by throwing around the names of people who don’t know he exists and would be pretty pissed if they knew what he was up to.
In the rare (VERY rare) instance that an underling DOES need to disseminate orders from Mount Olympus – the urgency of which cannot be immediately apprehended – I think the best course of action is to simply say, “Mr. VaguelyTerrifying asked that we handle this project next. Would you be able to do that for me?” Sure, it’s not as impersonally obnoxious as slapping a “per” in there, and yes, it saps the requester of precious seconds that could be used kissing backside or texting annoying abbreviations, but it is more - dare I say it? - POLITE.
Sadly, "polite" is a word that seems to have been banned a long time ago.
I’m sure you all know this one. This is the one corporate toadies whip out every time they want you to do some petty job for them (usually something THEY should be doing), but they’re deathly afraid you’ll realize how pointless the request really is. So, instead of just ASKING you to do them a favor, they’ll try pulling rank and invoking the name of some higher-up in the vain hope you’re as scared of Joe or Jane Muckety-Muck as they are.
For example: “Per Mr. ScaryBossMan, stop working on that multi-million dollar project for our highest paying client and start scanning in pictures of me playing softball at the company picnic. Did I mention it’s per Mr. ScaryBossMan?”
Trust me, 99 out of 100 times the alleged superior isn’t even AWARE he’s being namechecked in a futile attempt to make it sound like the company’s imminent collapse or booming success is singularly dependent on whether or not you color-code the pointy cup receipts from 1978.
Basically, the boot-licker who exploits the word “per” knows his/her request sounds weak or trivial to begin with, so he/she feels the need to prop it up a little – you know, give it that extra “oomph.” A little memo Viagra, as it were. If the request really carried any weight, it would speak for itself and not need any help. For example, you’ve never seen a memo that said, “In the event of an all-consuming fire rapidly tearing through floor after floor of the office, all employees should get the hell out of the building as fast as their little feet can carry them…as per the CEO.”
Hence, to include the word “per” in a memo is pretty much the same as (a) implying the recipients are too freakin’ stupid to discern what merits their immediate attention, or (b) trying to force co-workers into wasting their time on really dumb, unimportant stuff by hiding behind the guise of sweeping, mandatory, executive edict. Either way, it's pretty lame. As per me.
In my view, a person either has authority over someone or he doesn’t. If he does, he shouldn’t need to bandy about words like “per.” If he DOESN’T have the authority, then he should just ask nicely for whatever he needs. He shouldn’t try to sound all bad-ass by throwing around the names of people who don’t know he exists and would be pretty pissed if they knew what he was up to.
In the rare (VERY rare) instance that an underling DOES need to disseminate orders from Mount Olympus – the urgency of which cannot be immediately apprehended – I think the best course of action is to simply say, “Mr. VaguelyTerrifying asked that we handle this project next. Would you be able to do that for me?” Sure, it’s not as impersonally obnoxious as slapping a “per” in there, and yes, it saps the requester of precious seconds that could be used kissing backside or texting annoying abbreviations, but it is more - dare I say it? - POLITE.
Sadly, "polite" is a word that seems to have been banned a long time ago.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Sweet Nothings
Some random thoughts and observations on that most fattening of holidays, All Hallows' Eve...
*I’m really disheartened by what people have done to Halloween. It’s just too commercialized these days. I mean, Halloween is meant to be a serene and reflective time. The air is getting colder, the leaves are changing color, and the dead are rising up to terrorize the living and feast on their flesh. Meanwhile, Satanists are having ritualized orgies to honor their overlord and master, the dark beast. And all Hershey’s cares about is selling more candy? Man, that just makes me sad. I really feel like we’ve lost something.
*Remember when you were a kid, and you wanted to dress up as Batman or Wonder Woman or Aqua-man or Spider-man (or whoever) and you’d have to settle for one of those lame-ass store bought costumes with a picture of the hero ON the chest? What the hell was THAT crap? Everyone knows the real Spider-man didn’t have a picture of HIMSELF on his costume! I think Dr. Octopus would probably pee himself laughing if he ran into Spider-man wearing his own picture on his torso. That is, right before he pummeled the webslinger to DEATH for being such a freakin’ pansy! I wouldn’t be caught DEAD in one of those get ups. Damn it, if I couldn’t look like the REAL Strawberry Shortcake, then forget about it, know what I’m saying?
*Speaking of costumes, what about that time you dressed up as Scooby Doo in the official Scooby Doo costume and you were all psyched because you begged your mom to get it for you, and you thought you looked totally bad-ass? And then you walked to the first house and some lady goes, “OH MY! There’s a wolf at the door! HENRY! COME LOOK AT THE WOLF!” Didn’t you just want to grab the clueless old crone by the collar and go, “HEY! GRANDMA! I’m SCOOBY DOO! GET IT RIGHT!!! SCOOBY DOO!!! What, you never seen a HANNAH-BARBARA cartoon??? SCOO-BEE-FREAKIN’- DOO!!!! Like it says on the FRONT! NOW GIVE ME THE DAMN SNICKERS BAR!!!!”
*One more thing about costumes: I think it would be a kick to dress your kids up in totally anachronistic characters, and then insist they picked them out themselves. You know, dress your 5 year old daughter up as the 1920’s comic strip heroine “Winnie Winkle” and insist that YOU were pushing for “Sharpay” from High School Musical. For extra points, get REALLY pissed if anyone mistakes her for “Tillie the Toiler.”
*Halloween is the perfect time for fears and phobias. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking: You’re thinking how could an unbridled, testosterone-fueled he-beast like myself possibly be afraid of anything? Er… what’s that? You weren’t thinking that at all? Well why not? Ah, go eat some Mary Jane candy bars, why doncha. Anyway, it’s time for a confession. Ever since I was little, I’ve kind of had an irrational fear of giant squids. Yeah, you read that right. Squids. The giant kind. I don’t know what it means, so don’t ask me. I suspect it’s probably some kind of weird sexual thing, like every other phobia and fear out there. Hmmm. Maybe I shouldn’t have had sex with that giant squid back in the day.
*I loved that feeling of danger I would get when I went trick-or-treating in the suburbs as a kid. The sun would start going down, and we had already hit up everyone in our neighborhood for candy. Some of them twice. So we would start venturing over into the OTHER neighborhoods... It was never spoken, but there was always a clear line separating "home turf" from the "strange and alien worlds" of the suburbs we didn't know. We felt like we were really taking our lives into our own hands by crossing the "line," even though we were probably less than a quarter of a mile away in reality. The air would start getting colder and there was something very forbidden about it all. You never knew if the weird people who lived in the giant brown house at the end of a cul-de-sac no one ever went down were going to ax you to death and feed you to that dog barking its ass off in their backyard. And then, inevitably, you'd stay out too damn late and have to start making your way back in the dark. Sometimes, you'd knock on people's doors and you could barely find the way up to their house because they had the audacity to turn off their lights!!! Having a young, undeveloped noggin we didn't understand this was courtesy-speak for "It's time to stop trick-or-treating, kids." We were undeterred!!! How dare they turn off their lights at 10:30pm? Didn't they know Halloween officially runs until Midnight on All Saints Day!!??? Hey, spare the candy corn lady! I don't care if you gotta work in the morning. Bastards.
*The coolest person in the neighborhood back in the day would give out Marathon bars. They were like 19 feet long, I think. You could work on one of those a month or two, easy. Anything after the house giving out Marathon bars was truly anti-climatic. Snickers??? The "fun size?" They should have just called it the "lame size," for a little truth in advertising. And they're getting smaller too! I think nowadays they're roughly the size of, oh, an electron particle. The worst part of that is, the candy bar both exists and DOESN'T exist until you actually open your candy bag and look at it!!! That's quantum physics humour, kiddies.
Now get out there and invoke the wrath of evil spirits by emulating their form!
*I’m really disheartened by what people have done to Halloween. It’s just too commercialized these days. I mean, Halloween is meant to be a serene and reflective time. The air is getting colder, the leaves are changing color, and the dead are rising up to terrorize the living and feast on their flesh. Meanwhile, Satanists are having ritualized orgies to honor their overlord and master, the dark beast. And all Hershey’s cares about is selling more candy? Man, that just makes me sad. I really feel like we’ve lost something.
*Remember when you were a kid, and you wanted to dress up as Batman or Wonder Woman or Aqua-man or Spider-man (or whoever) and you’d have to settle for one of those lame-ass store bought costumes with a picture of the hero ON the chest? What the hell was THAT crap? Everyone knows the real Spider-man didn’t have a picture of HIMSELF on his costume! I think Dr. Octopus would probably pee himself laughing if he ran into Spider-man wearing his own picture on his torso. That is, right before he pummeled the webslinger to DEATH for being such a freakin’ pansy! I wouldn’t be caught DEAD in one of those get ups. Damn it, if I couldn’t look like the REAL Strawberry Shortcake, then forget about it, know what I’m saying?
*Speaking of costumes, what about that time you dressed up as Scooby Doo in the official Scooby Doo costume and you were all psyched because you begged your mom to get it for you, and you thought you looked totally bad-ass? And then you walked to the first house and some lady goes, “OH MY! There’s a wolf at the door! HENRY! COME LOOK AT THE WOLF!” Didn’t you just want to grab the clueless old crone by the collar and go, “HEY! GRANDMA! I’m SCOOBY DOO! GET IT RIGHT!!! SCOOBY DOO!!! What, you never seen a HANNAH-BARBARA cartoon??? SCOO-BEE-FREAKIN’- DOO!!!! Like it says on the FRONT! NOW GIVE ME THE DAMN SNICKERS BAR!!!!”
*One more thing about costumes: I think it would be a kick to dress your kids up in totally anachronistic characters, and then insist they picked them out themselves. You know, dress your 5 year old daughter up as the 1920’s comic strip heroine “Winnie Winkle” and insist that YOU were pushing for “Sharpay” from High School Musical. For extra points, get REALLY pissed if anyone mistakes her for “Tillie the Toiler.”
*Halloween is the perfect time for fears and phobias. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking: You’re thinking how could an unbridled, testosterone-fueled he-beast like myself possibly be afraid of anything? Er… what’s that? You weren’t thinking that at all? Well why not? Ah, go eat some Mary Jane candy bars, why doncha. Anyway, it’s time for a confession. Ever since I was little, I’ve kind of had an irrational fear of giant squids. Yeah, you read that right. Squids. The giant kind. I don’t know what it means, so don’t ask me. I suspect it’s probably some kind of weird sexual thing, like every other phobia and fear out there. Hmmm. Maybe I shouldn’t have had sex with that giant squid back in the day.
*I loved that feeling of danger I would get when I went trick-or-treating in the suburbs as a kid. The sun would start going down, and we had already hit up everyone in our neighborhood for candy. Some of them twice. So we would start venturing over into the OTHER neighborhoods... It was never spoken, but there was always a clear line separating "home turf" from the "strange and alien worlds" of the suburbs we didn't know. We felt like we were really taking our lives into our own hands by crossing the "line," even though we were probably less than a quarter of a mile away in reality. The air would start getting colder and there was something very forbidden about it all. You never knew if the weird people who lived in the giant brown house at the end of a cul-de-sac no one ever went down were going to ax you to death and feed you to that dog barking its ass off in their backyard. And then, inevitably, you'd stay out too damn late and have to start making your way back in the dark. Sometimes, you'd knock on people's doors and you could barely find the way up to their house because they had the audacity to turn off their lights!!! Having a young, undeveloped noggin we didn't understand this was courtesy-speak for "It's time to stop trick-or-treating, kids." We were undeterred!!! How dare they turn off their lights at 10:30pm? Didn't they know Halloween officially runs until Midnight on All Saints Day!!??? Hey, spare the candy corn lady! I don't care if you gotta work in the morning. Bastards.
*The coolest person in the neighborhood back in the day would give out Marathon bars. They were like 19 feet long, I think. You could work on one of those a month or two, easy. Anything after the house giving out Marathon bars was truly anti-climatic. Snickers??? The "fun size?" They should have just called it the "lame size," for a little truth in advertising. And they're getting smaller too! I think nowadays they're roughly the size of, oh, an electron particle. The worst part of that is, the candy bar both exists and DOESN'T exist until you actually open your candy bag and look at it!!! That's quantum physics humour, kiddies.
Now get out there and invoke the wrath of evil spirits by emulating their form!
Monday, October 20, 2008
Coffee Calamity
My god, what is this world COMING TO?
Earlier today I went to purchase my morning coffee and the sign CLEARLY advertised vanilla, hazelnut and amaretto flavors. Having always been partial to the almond-tinged spirits, I asked the server to brew me up a cup of amaretto-flavored java and he had the utter temerity to inform me - get this - “No, we only have the vanilla and hazelnut.”
Naturally, my response was swift and unmitigated. “WHAT THE …??? No amaretto? What are we, philistines? NO AMARETTO??? That’s downright barbaric!!! Are you suggesting I ONLY drink the hazelnut, or even worse, the REGULAR coffee? What’s next, sacrificing virgins to the volcano god while TALKING TO PEOPLE FACE TO FACE instead of texting them???”
After a moment of palpable silence, which I’m sure was spent in ruminative penance for his barista-based sins, the server ever-so-contritely asked me, “So you want the vanilla or not, buddy? You’re holding up my freakin’ line here.”
Excuse me, VANILLA? HOHO! Can you imagine anything more plebeian? “Good LORD MAN!” I exclaimed. “That’s what the book-sniffers down at BARNES AND IGNOBLES drink, for heaven’s sake! SURELY you’re not suggesting I imbibe that swill? Do you honestly think I can sit in a meeting with the aroma of common VANILLA beans wafting from my mug? I’ll be laughed right out of the room!” Oddly, he seemed singularly unmoved by my fervent argument.
Then the server – by sheer accident, I’m sure - reached over the counter, knocked my blackberry out of my hands, and proceeded to spill a full pot of piping hot hazelnut coffee all over it. I know he immediately regretted his error because he loudly announced, “OOPS! SORRY!” while looking me straight in the eye. Sadly, he must have been having a bad day because he somehow managed to grab a SECOND brimmin’ pot of coffee (praline flavored) and likewise spill ITS contents all over my helpless “berry.”
Wow. Talk about clumsy! I almost felt bad for the poor schlub. Can you imagine being that clueless?
Consequently, my feet and lower legs are now are scorched with disfiguring third degree burns from the coffee splashing off the counter and soaking straight through my clothes. However, that indignity is but a trifling when compared to the social shame that comes from being forced to drink a rather pedestrian blend of medium-roast coffee beans.
Never mind that throwing some fancy flavors into a pot of coffee hardly makes it the epitome of refined living. The important thing is that I FEEL enlightened and cultured while continuing my endless descent into being a mindless tool. I’ll tell ya, it’s not easy being an upwardly-mobile pretentious a-hole in today’s fast paced society. You can’t even get a decent cup of overpriced amaretto coffee when you want one!!!
I have gazed into the inky black bottom of the coffee pot, and I have seen non-flavored coffee staring back at me.
The horror, the sheer horror of it all.
Earlier today I went to purchase my morning coffee and the sign CLEARLY advertised vanilla, hazelnut and amaretto flavors. Having always been partial to the almond-tinged spirits, I asked the server to brew me up a cup of amaretto-flavored java and he had the utter temerity to inform me - get this - “No, we only have the vanilla and hazelnut.”
Naturally, my response was swift and unmitigated. “WHAT THE …??? No amaretto? What are we, philistines? NO AMARETTO??? That’s downright barbaric!!! Are you suggesting I ONLY drink the hazelnut, or even worse, the REGULAR coffee? What’s next, sacrificing virgins to the volcano god while TALKING TO PEOPLE FACE TO FACE instead of texting them???”
After a moment of palpable silence, which I’m sure was spent in ruminative penance for his barista-based sins, the server ever-so-contritely asked me, “So you want the vanilla or not, buddy? You’re holding up my freakin’ line here.”
Excuse me, VANILLA? HOHO! Can you imagine anything more plebeian? “Good LORD MAN!” I exclaimed. “That’s what the book-sniffers down at BARNES AND IGNOBLES drink, for heaven’s sake! SURELY you’re not suggesting I imbibe that swill? Do you honestly think I can sit in a meeting with the aroma of common VANILLA beans wafting from my mug? I’ll be laughed right out of the room!” Oddly, he seemed singularly unmoved by my fervent argument.
Then the server – by sheer accident, I’m sure - reached over the counter, knocked my blackberry out of my hands, and proceeded to spill a full pot of piping hot hazelnut coffee all over it. I know he immediately regretted his error because he loudly announced, “OOPS! SORRY!” while looking me straight in the eye. Sadly, he must have been having a bad day because he somehow managed to grab a SECOND brimmin’ pot of coffee (praline flavored) and likewise spill ITS contents all over my helpless “berry.”
Wow. Talk about clumsy! I almost felt bad for the poor schlub. Can you imagine being that clueless?
Consequently, my feet and lower legs are now are scorched with disfiguring third degree burns from the coffee splashing off the counter and soaking straight through my clothes. However, that indignity is but a trifling when compared to the social shame that comes from being forced to drink a rather pedestrian blend of medium-roast coffee beans.
Never mind that throwing some fancy flavors into a pot of coffee hardly makes it the epitome of refined living. The important thing is that I FEEL enlightened and cultured while continuing my endless descent into being a mindless tool. I’ll tell ya, it’s not easy being an upwardly-mobile pretentious a-hole in today’s fast paced society. You can’t even get a decent cup of overpriced amaretto coffee when you want one!!!
I have gazed into the inky black bottom of the coffee pot, and I have seen non-flavored coffee staring back at me.
The horror, the sheer horror of it all.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
New Jersey and Me: Weird Together
So a couple of weird things to report this month, which makes sense since you all know what month this is…
That’s right: It’s ROCK-TOBER!!! (Insert tasty electric guitar lick here)
Sorry, I was having a lame classic rock radio flashback… (shudder)
Anyway, the first weird thing to report is that there’s actually a new song up at www.myspace.com/glennpagemusic ...Check it!
The second weird thing is that there’s a picture of yours truly in the latest issue of Weird New Jersey. It’s the most god-awful likeness of me ever committed to film, so be forewarned. No, seriously, I'm not kidding.
See ya soon.
That’s right: It’s ROCK-TOBER!!! (Insert tasty electric guitar lick here)
Sorry, I was having a lame classic rock radio flashback… (shudder)
Anyway, the first weird thing to report is that there’s actually a new song up at www.myspace.com/glennpagemusic ...Check it!
The second weird thing is that there’s a picture of yours truly in the latest issue of Weird New Jersey. It’s the most god-awful likeness of me ever committed to film, so be forewarned. No, seriously, I'm not kidding.
See ya soon.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Whole Foods, Semi-Nuts
I ventured into an organic food store this weekend – I won’t say the name but it rhymes with WHOLE FOODS – and it made me wonder about a few things, like how anyone can shop at Whole Foods on a regular basis without ending up wholly broke. Personally, I was only there to buy some super-powered probiotics, because it’s hard to maintain optimal levels of bile and venom unless you reinforce your stomach with mega-doses of amicable bacteria from time to time. At any rate, here are a couple of my random musings, with the maximum dosage of CSC units (cynical, snarky comments) per observation.*
First of all, does every stray herb, mineral, plant, fruit, vine, weed, berry, thorn, bacteria, bean, and clump of dirt to ever grace Gaea’s green earth have "miraculous" healing properties that some remote tribe has utilized for "thousands of years?" It seems that even the ones that look like they could kill you deader than my site traffic (stinging nettle, anyone?) possess amazing "regenerative and healing" properties. Wow! Fancy that.
You would THINK there would be at least one or two herbs that just f*ck your ass up and don’t have much to recommend them, but health food stores give me the distinct impression that every herb does something beneficial, if you look hard enough. What, none of them are just inert? You know, they don’t do a damn thing one way or the other? Apparently not. I think when all else fails, they just slap the old "refreshes your spirits" on the label. I normally leave that to my bartender, but hey, who can argue with "refreshes your spirits?"
Also, why is it always "thousands of years" of health benefits? I guess "cooked up by our marketing team a few weeks ago" just doesn’t have the same ring to it. Can’t you just see the research team at Eden’s Natural Garden of Bountiful Organic Harvest coming up with their latest "miraculous" product? "
*************************************************************
R&D Guy 1: Hey, what the hell are these berries?
R&D Guy 2: I don’t know, but they taste like ass.
R&D Guy 3: That means they’re bursting with anti-oxidizing properties.
R&D Guy 2: Tastes more like pro-ass-tasting properties.
R&D Guy 1: If this is anti-oxidizing, I am definitely pro-oxidation. Go oxidation!
R&D Guy 4: Those are heineyassa berries. They’re extremely rare.
R&D 1: Thank god.
R&D 2: So what do they do?
R&D 3: Well, nothing is proven, but several studies suggest heineyassa berries may increase the tensile strength of one’s nostril hair by as much as 3 percent.
R&D 4: Ok, it’s not much, but I guess we can work with it. What kind of dosage are we talking in order to achieve the desired effect?
R&D 3: Six hundred and sixty eight billion grams a day.
R&D 2: Six hundred and sixty eight billion grams!!!
R&D 3: Roughly equivalent to filling a ’73 Gremlin with heineyassa berries. Including the trunk. And the glove compartment. Maybe a couple strapped on the hood.
R&D 4: *Sigh* Well, can we do a concentrated form? You know, one one of those nasty drinks that never mixes properly?
R&D 1: You mean the ones that leave a mound of purple sludge at the bottom of the glass, even if you stir it until your arm comes out of its socket? And then you have to take our overpriced glucosmaine supplements until your arm heals?
R&D 4: Yeah, those.
R&D 3: We could do that. Then you’d only have to drink about 2 oil drums of heineyassa juice a day. However, you WILL have the strongest, thickest, and most manageable nose hair on the block.
R&D 2: By 3 percent.
R&D 1: Literally by a nose hair.
R&D 3: One other problem: They’re grown in Florida.
R&D 2: So?
R&D 4: Yeah, that’s bad. Florida is too pedestrian. We need to come up with some exotic sounding locale where the natives are shrouded in a mystical aura simply because they’re not American.
R&D 2: People who wouldn’t be caught dead eating heineyassa berries, but can be safely exploited from a distance.
R&D 1: Right, and make sure the label has a lot of "spiritual" looking symbols like birds and people dancing. Or some crap like that. I’m telling ya, people eat that sh*t up.
R&D 2: They sure do. Hell, if they’ll eat heineyassa berries they’ll eat anything.
(Everyone laughs as they pile into an SUV and then drive over to McDonald's for Big Macs. With extra large fries.)
*************************************************************
Can't you just see it? Can't you? Huhn? What do you mean "No?" Ah, go eat some heineyassa berries, why doncha.
Another thing: it always gives me pause when I see products which have supposedly been in existence since the dawn of man, yet amazingly no one has heard of them. You know, ones like "Raphael's Toenail Tonic" or "Trenton Tom's Backwater Soda Pop." These are the guys that proudly broadcast their longevity on the label with phrases like "Since 1543," "Family Owned and Operated Since 1102," or "The Trusted Name in Ear Lobe Ointments Since 5,648 B.C."
Now, I'm all for the little guy and privately owned small businesses. Not every cookie (for example) has to be tasteless mega-conglomerate paperboard like Chips Ahoy! On the other hand, doesn't it strike you as a little curious that some dude's family has been making anise flavored tea biscuits since before the Salem witch trials and yet they've remained relatively anonymous? Wouldn't an impressive feat like that seem to demand some national attention?
How have they managed to fly under the radar so long? Is there a cookie conspiracy with "Big Cookie" operatives who systematically eliminate anyone who threatens to bring "Andy's Anise Delights" to the masses? Are the owners of Andy's consciously keeping their business "small" and resisting larger forms of distribution, or do their cookies just suck? Most small businesses are lucky to last a year or two, and yet somehow the unknown biscuit guys from Hoboken have been semi-flourishing for half a millenium. How does that work?
And don't forget the obligatory, self-congratulatory "Our Story" which has to appear on the back of EVERY single organic, "homemade" product out there, with the squiggly lines that look like they were drawn by a two year old riding a bronco and the half-ass pictures of cows strewn throughout the borders. Nevermind that we've got cows on a bag of licorice or a jar of coconut oil. Cows are organisms, you know, and therefore "organic."
Is it possible, and I know this is a crazy thought, that some of these companies aren't quite as small, folksy, and "quaint" as the packaging would suggest? Is it possible that some of the "organic" imaging is just a little bit cynical and calculated? Are all these companies really motivated by "lifting your spirits and purifying your mind?" More to the point, can the "down home community values" embodied by such products exist comfortably with the capitalist/consumer mentality and the demands of being a publicly traded company in corporate America?
Hey, I just ask the questions; I don't have the answers, folks.
* These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration, because they can't hear anything lodged way up Big Pharma's backside.
First of all, does every stray herb, mineral, plant, fruit, vine, weed, berry, thorn, bacteria, bean, and clump of dirt to ever grace Gaea’s green earth have "miraculous" healing properties that some remote tribe has utilized for "thousands of years?" It seems that even the ones that look like they could kill you deader than my site traffic (stinging nettle, anyone?) possess amazing "regenerative and healing" properties. Wow! Fancy that.
You would THINK there would be at least one or two herbs that just f*ck your ass up and don’t have much to recommend them, but health food stores give me the distinct impression that every herb does something beneficial, if you look hard enough. What, none of them are just inert? You know, they don’t do a damn thing one way or the other? Apparently not. I think when all else fails, they just slap the old "refreshes your spirits" on the label. I normally leave that to my bartender, but hey, who can argue with "refreshes your spirits?"
Also, why is it always "thousands of years" of health benefits? I guess "cooked up by our marketing team a few weeks ago" just doesn’t have the same ring to it. Can’t you just see the research team at Eden’s Natural Garden of Bountiful Organic Harvest coming up with their latest "miraculous" product? "
*************************************************************
R&D Guy 1: Hey, what the hell are these berries?
R&D Guy 2: I don’t know, but they taste like ass.
R&D Guy 3: That means they’re bursting with anti-oxidizing properties.
R&D Guy 2: Tastes more like pro-ass-tasting properties.
R&D Guy 1: If this is anti-oxidizing, I am definitely pro-oxidation. Go oxidation!
R&D Guy 4: Those are heineyassa berries. They’re extremely rare.
R&D 1: Thank god.
R&D 2: So what do they do?
R&D 3: Well, nothing is proven, but several studies suggest heineyassa berries may increase the tensile strength of one’s nostril hair by as much as 3 percent.
R&D 4: Ok, it’s not much, but I guess we can work with it. What kind of dosage are we talking in order to achieve the desired effect?
R&D 3: Six hundred and sixty eight billion grams a day.
R&D 2: Six hundred and sixty eight billion grams!!!
R&D 3: Roughly equivalent to filling a ’73 Gremlin with heineyassa berries. Including the trunk. And the glove compartment. Maybe a couple strapped on the hood.
R&D 4: *Sigh* Well, can we do a concentrated form? You know, one one of those nasty drinks that never mixes properly?
R&D 1: You mean the ones that leave a mound of purple sludge at the bottom of the glass, even if you stir it until your arm comes out of its socket? And then you have to take our overpriced glucosmaine supplements until your arm heals?
R&D 4: Yeah, those.
R&D 3: We could do that. Then you’d only have to drink about 2 oil drums of heineyassa juice a day. However, you WILL have the strongest, thickest, and most manageable nose hair on the block.
R&D 2: By 3 percent.
R&D 1: Literally by a nose hair.
R&D 3: One other problem: They’re grown in Florida.
R&D 2: So?
R&D 4: Yeah, that’s bad. Florida is too pedestrian. We need to come up with some exotic sounding locale where the natives are shrouded in a mystical aura simply because they’re not American.
R&D 2: People who wouldn’t be caught dead eating heineyassa berries, but can be safely exploited from a distance.
R&D 1: Right, and make sure the label has a lot of "spiritual" looking symbols like birds and people dancing. Or some crap like that. I’m telling ya, people eat that sh*t up.
R&D 2: They sure do. Hell, if they’ll eat heineyassa berries they’ll eat anything.
(Everyone laughs as they pile into an SUV and then drive over to McDonald's for Big Macs. With extra large fries.)
*************************************************************
Can't you just see it? Can't you? Huhn? What do you mean "No?" Ah, go eat some heineyassa berries, why doncha.
Another thing: it always gives me pause when I see products which have supposedly been in existence since the dawn of man, yet amazingly no one has heard of them. You know, ones like "Raphael's Toenail Tonic" or "Trenton Tom's Backwater Soda Pop." These are the guys that proudly broadcast their longevity on the label with phrases like "Since 1543," "Family Owned and Operated Since 1102," or "The Trusted Name in Ear Lobe Ointments Since 5,648 B.C."
Now, I'm all for the little guy and privately owned small businesses. Not every cookie (for example) has to be tasteless mega-conglomerate paperboard like Chips Ahoy! On the other hand, doesn't it strike you as a little curious that some dude's family has been making anise flavored tea biscuits since before the Salem witch trials and yet they've remained relatively anonymous? Wouldn't an impressive feat like that seem to demand some national attention?
How have they managed to fly under the radar so long? Is there a cookie conspiracy with "Big Cookie" operatives who systematically eliminate anyone who threatens to bring "Andy's Anise Delights" to the masses? Are the owners of Andy's consciously keeping their business "small" and resisting larger forms of distribution, or do their cookies just suck? Most small businesses are lucky to last a year or two, and yet somehow the unknown biscuit guys from Hoboken have been semi-flourishing for half a millenium. How does that work?
And don't forget the obligatory, self-congratulatory "Our Story" which has to appear on the back of EVERY single organic, "homemade" product out there, with the squiggly lines that look like they were drawn by a two year old riding a bronco and the half-ass pictures of cows strewn throughout the borders. Nevermind that we've got cows on a bag of licorice or a jar of coconut oil. Cows are organisms, you know, and therefore "organic."
Is it possible, and I know this is a crazy thought, that some of these companies aren't quite as small, folksy, and "quaint" as the packaging would suggest? Is it possible that some of the "organic" imaging is just a little bit cynical and calculated? Are all these companies really motivated by "lifting your spirits and purifying your mind?" More to the point, can the "down home community values" embodied by such products exist comfortably with the capitalist/consumer mentality and the demands of being a publicly traded company in corporate America?
Hey, I just ask the questions; I don't have the answers, folks.
* These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration, because they can't hear anything lodged way up Big Pharma's backside.
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