So I guess my question is this: Should I be concerned? Does my phone know me so well that it associates literature with me over potentially "cool" things? I'm not sure if I should be upset, or just accept that this is my reality. I can fool a lot of people, but I'm certainly not fooling my phone.
Barack Obama - Impractical, Unqualified, Community-Organizing Socialist Dreamer
George H.W. Bush - Graduate of the Gerald Ford School of Non-Descript Presidencies
John F. Kennedy - Womanizing, Irish Catholic, Babyfaced Bay of Pigs Assailant
Franklin D. Roosevelt - Welfare-state-creating Economic Interventionist Who Felt Called to Ignore Washington's Two-term President Precedent
Warren Harding - Adulterous, Bumbling, and Corrupt Winner of the Franklin Pierce Memorial Award for Worst President of the Century
No one listens to the radio anymore. In an era of iPods, iPod car adapters, mix CDs, and in-car bands that sing about free credit reports, the idea of actually turning on the dial and taking a chance on what music you're going to be hearing seems borderline insane. People who text while driving consider the radio dial to be downright dangerous. What happens if it's a song you don't like, or worse, haven't heard before? What if you scroll through all 45 or so stations, realize that half of them are playing the same song, and find that none of them are playing your favorite obscure indie band whose early stuff was really good? Don't even get me started on commercials either, you say.That's where radio is great. You don't choose what you're going to hear. The chances for appreciating a song for the first time, gaining a new favorite artist, or even hearing something new and different go up exponentially. Without the radio, I would have never been introduced to songs like "Think I'm In Love" by Beck, "Denial Twist" by the White Stripes, "Love Removal Machine" by The Cult, "Mother Mary" by Foxboro Hot Tubs, "Hush" by Deep Purple, "Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth With Money In My Hand" by Primitive Radio Gods, and countless other songs that I listen to frequently now. That's just over the past year or so.
Sure, there might be a few predictable titles up there. But at 11:51 at night, with 40 miles to go and the windows rolled down, that was just the kind of playlist I was looking for. Even the Nine Inch Nails was invigorating enough to keep up the energy. This succeeded where another round with Classic Rock Mix That Doesn't Suck, Vol. 2 or Happy Mother's Day Mix 2005 would have fallen short. Radio is super like that.
So here goes. Comb the hair in your ears out of the way and get your ear horn out, I'm only gonna say this once.
Yes, you do in fact have to do something with those bottles. Novel concept, I know. Which brings me to the crux of my open letter. I'm a customer, dipshit. You should be holding the fucking door when I bless your sorry ass with your old, empty bottles. I mean, let's consider who your clientele are. I'm buying booze at 9:27 on a Tuesday, so I'm clearly already on shaky emotional ground. I'm probably trying to blow off some steam from a busy day of having stuff demanded of me, mostly from young children. This employment requires that I work hard (look it up) and prevents me from returning my bottles during daylight hours, numbnuts. Don't tell me what time it is. I know what fucking time it is.
You might not care (chances are, you don't) but I know quite a few people in town. Many of them read this. People who work hard for their money and don't like being treated as an inconvinience by folks who read the paper while on the clock. Those people now know that the old guy behind the counter at Pop's Fine Wines and Liquors is a curmudgeony old mouthbreather who doesn't like to do work at work, yet has no problem collecting his check.
ven allowing room for curiosity, it's now clear that you're totally into this tune. And it's not okay. This is pop music. Pop music is irrelevant fluff. Not only that, but the lyrics don't even make sense. This wouldn't necessarily be a problem if every single verse wasn't repeated twice. Hell, half of the lyrics in the chorus are replaced by, of all things, sound clips of gunshots and cash registers. And now every white kid on the street claims to have "swagger". Why are you listening to this stuff?
Catchy, sure. So is the Arthur TV theme. Listen, this song sounds pretty violent. Those gunshots have to be glorifying armed robbery. At the very least. Are those kids singing that part? And there's a KGB reference, so now we're internationally offensive. Hey, the song is... it's talking about murdering people right there! The singer murders people! This part here, hey!
Somewhere in America, at this very moment, it is distinctly possible that Stephen A. Douglas's great-great-great-great grandchildren are playing with Lincoln Logs.
Boston Globe photo collage
Finally, someecards.com has been providing me with uncomfortable laughs and tweaks of shame for a solid year now. If you're not hip, inform yourself.
I thought that last week's sponsored ads were the dumbest I'd seen yet (link here or scroll down), but apparently the marketing genius who thought of that crap is still working there. It would be nice to live in their alternate universe, where everyone would like to pay a dollar for Facebook gifts. I'm amazed I've gone this long without blogging on them already.
Facebook has always had a perplexing, borderline-obsessive way of reminding you at every turn to invite friends of yours who do not have Facebook to join the network. Now I know that Facebook receives new users every day, but I have to believe that at least 95% of the people who would ever consider having a Facebook already have one. Additionally, I'm pretty sure 103% of people on the internets have heard of the site and know what it is.
I'll be honest, I have no idea where to start with this one. Holy crap. Seriously, there are so many things wrong with this ad that I fear I will not be able to adequately cover it all.
Let's start with the obvious. Nobody wants their mom on Facebook. Nobody. No matter how cool you might be now with your mother, whether you're in college or beyond, your parents will get up at 9am on a Saturday to check out the latest tagged pictures of Friday night's drunken antics while you're still hung over and sleeping unaware. I really don't have much to hide, but let's be honest. People don't take pictures of you at work or eating breakfast, so the majority of your tagged photos show you out and, vis a vis, drinking copiously. Also, anyone who wants to give their mom full access to their complete wall-to-wall history with their friends is even needier than that kid that updates Twitter four times an hour from his iPhone. You know who you are. Stop it.
Additionally, it's really nice of Facebook to offer itself up as the medium of choice for mothers and children to finally "start connecting". The social network certainly is more connective for moms and kids than, say, child rearing, role modeling, or umbilical cords could ever be. Great job, PR team!Hi Mom. As you know, the economy is bad, and I know you asked me not to spend any money on you this Mother's Day. I know that the best gifts are the gifts from the heart, and this year my gift is a little more homemade. The card? Oh, shoot you know I forgot the card. That's okay, we'll skip right to the gift. Mom, this year I got you the gift of Facebook! That's right, your very own Facebook profile. Well yes, you have to set it up yourself, that's kind of the point, but I got it for you! Okay, well technically, okay I sent you an email inviting you to it, I can't just put you there myself. Yeah it's like the old GMail invites, except, well yeah you don't technically have to be invited to join. But you are invited anyway! Then you can add me and we can... connect?Great work. Your father will be proud. Either that, or terrified of what you'll get him for Father's Day (Friendster?).
Today I come before you, heart in hand, with a tacit admission of guilt that is not easy for me to bear, and even more difficult for me to disclose. With the recent allegations and, some might say, damning evidence against such former sure-shot Hall of Famers as Jose Canseco, Mark McGwire, Roger Clemens, Barry Bonds, Alex Rodriguez, Manny Ramirez, and the milk guzzling former Marlins batboy, the natural beauty and timelessness of the sport of baseball have been called into question. Children growing up today must wonder if all of their idols will one day disappoint them, regardless of arena. Having been a bastion of truth and honesty until now, I humbly stand before you with a confession.
Things began to spiral out of control shortly after January. I started sneaking dictionaries into public restroom stalls for a quick hit. I surfed over to Plinky for blog post ideas, though I still maintain that it was for research purposes only. I even--and it pains me to admit this--signed up for the Wordsmith.org "Word of the Day" email newsletter. Excuse me, I need a moment...
Why come out now? Why voluntarily turn myself in, metaphorically speaking, and issue this mea culpa? With today's breaking news about Manny Ramirez testing positive for steriods, I knew it was only a matter of time until the microscope would be trained my way and I too would be exposed for the juicer I am. Of course, Ramirez maintains that he simply was taking a prescription fertility drug.
cost me a few readers. I am prepared to deal with that. I thank you for sticking by me through these shameful times. Doping to cover your weaknesses is never cool, whether on the ballfield or in bed (or in Rafael Palmiero's case, both). It takes a lot of courage to come out and admit that you don't know everything, and it also takes a whole lot of that certain part of the male anatomy. Not that I'm bragging.
Flight of the Conchords (whom many of you know best as the songwriters behind such Providence College Special Guest hits as "Business Time") have released their next batch of music for season two of their HBO show, Flight of the Conchords (I know, right? Where'd they get that name for their program?). Among those songs, there is one brilliant piece called "Hurt Feelings", and even though reading the title gives you the gist of the joke, it is still highly worth checking out. The song is funny, holds up very well to the best of their material so far, and is just a bit catchy.
One month after the opening her tarot card and palm reading boutique, a local fortune teller in Easton's Five Corners was forced to close her shop due to poor business. Apparently she never saw that one coming.
Who doesn't like free music? Nobody (besides the RIAA), that's who. So while, yes, this is my second Ben Folds post in a week, I felt obligated to pass along that for a limited time you can have one track off of his new a cappella collection totally free.
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