The HSO

5.1.2009

2009-05-01T00:10:00.002-05:00

Today begins the countdown to two events in my life that could be described as monumental. You know, if a person were to be inclined to describe the events in their life, in print or maybe in blog.

1. On the 25th day of this month, I will turn 40. On the one hand, big fucking deal. I've managed to not die for, at this point, 39 years and 340 days. Give or take, I don't have a great mind for math. On the other hand, seeing as how I fully expected that I'd have gone ahead and died by the time I was 30, let alone 40, it's at least a little remarkable.

Remember: The scope of our discussion is my life. Yours is probably different, and undoubtedly more interesting. I appreciate your willingness to slum it a little.

As another aside, I have finally learned a lesson from the great Kurt Vonnegut. I will no longer employ the semi-colon in my prose. I admit that I may need to continue using it in some workplace communications, but such are the compromises we make for a paycheck.

Sorry. Back to the issue at hand.

2. In roughly 36 days I will get married for the second time. New bride, of course. My great hope is that I will do a far better job as a husband in this marriage than I did in the prior marriage, or at least that time will prove that my new bride will be more able to weather my various storms. All I know is that I'm very much in love with her and very honored to be her husband. For now, that's enough.

Miscellany: Bachmann is a plague. The media obsesses over the swine flu and somehow manages to miss the true illness. We have a sociopath representing a part of our fair state in congress. How is this a good thing? How did it happen (twice)? Minnesota (specifically our 6th district), I'm talking to you.

So. There's a fair bit to talk about, it would seem.

I'm afraid I've gone and sold out.

2009-03-10T18:53:00.003-05:00

TuneCore

As you can see, I'm now selling my musical wares, under the guise of a band. There is no band, of course, just me flailing away in some spare room or basement somewhere, just like always. There are some really good guest appearances, though - good friends from all over the country who contributed terrific guitar and bass tracks that, frankly, save some of the tunes. The internets really are something.

Anyway, it's for sale @ iTunes, Amazon, eMusic, and LaLa. It's pretty cheap, so that'd be a reason to give it a go. Maybe.

The HSO live blogs Late Nite with Jimmy Fallon!

2009-03-05T23:39:00.005-06:00

Oh, the excitement!

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Intro/House Band: People, it's the motherfucking ROOTS. Terrific. Love it. Want more Roots, now.

Monologue: Eh. He's going to have to work on his delivery. The OMG joke had legs, but he's not selling it. He'll get there, though - I'm old enough that I remember Letterman, Leno and Conan, and they were all stiff in the early years.

Random bits: Ron Dempsey - Flashback Master! Perfectly good skit - no worse than anything Conan's done, at the very least.

I like how he - so far, at least - is involving the guests in his tomfoolery. This bit with Trump is amusing. "Thanks, Trump Trump!"

President Of The Audience Bit: Who doesn't love the Applause-O-Meter? Who doesn't love Schadenfreude? Not me, I'll tell y'all what.

Blair FTW! Nice Podium. And he's from Canada, so the incongruity is fun.

Soil samples.

Trump: (oh, shit - the Roots just dropped the sweetest Wu Tang ref! There. Has. Never. Been. A. Better. Talk Show. House Band. God. Damn!) Jimmy's actually really comfortable, here - he's letting the D run, but he's sticking his own stuff in here and there. Good flow, very conversational. Love his restraint - he could go cheap and piss the guy off, but he's stroking him along and letting the flow develop. I'm really very impressed at the light, conversational tone he's maintaining. Well done, Fallon.

Given his ability to interview, I expect he'll be around for a while.

And, again. The Roots. ?uestlove, y'all! I'm instantly addicted to this.

I'm going to need a smoke at some point, here. This means I will miss some things. Live blog, right? Cool.

Tuba!

I like how the gag runs throughout the show - for now. It might get old. The "Attack Ad" is predictable, but not bad in context.

Serena Williams is beautiful and terrifying all at once. Beauterrifying. Jimmy's definitely going to play her gently. Eek.

Okay, the smoke break devolved into an Easy Mac-making project. I'm hungry. Live blogging.

I suspect this Kings show is going to be shiny poop.

Beer pong. Awesome. Drink, Fallon!

Ludacris + The Roots: Dude can MC - back him with all that goodness and it's bound to be okay.

The mini-interview @ the end further illustrates Fallon's surprising ease in the interview mode. This bodes well for him, I think.

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I liked it.

Hey there, fellow bike rider! I have a request.

2009-02-18T19:06:00.006-06:00

Can you maybe try not to be so stupid/unsafe/dickish, just a little, and maybe not fuck things up for the rest of us who know what we're doing?

I'm not talking to you, bike messengers; you know what you're doing and you do it the right way, because you're well aware that your health and (here's the important part) the health of others depends on you doing so. I'm not talking to you folks who commute on a bike daily and do the little things, like adhering at least slightly to the rules of the road, staying off sidewalks whenever possible (as it turns out, some people like to just walk on them!), dressing with some common sense; you know, stuff like that.

You know who you are, fellow bike rider. And you know you can do better.

Today's example: I was driving down Harriet (sometimes I drive, like when I'm running errands and want a little more than the space in my bag and my back strength in terms of hauling capacity) - if you aren't familiar with it, Harriet is a little one-way street here in Minneapolis. In the winter, it becomes effectively half its normal width, due to snow and ice accumulation forcing cars to park progressively farther away from the curbs as Winter moves along. By this point, there's rarely more than about 6 feet of space on either side of cars traveling down the street. So there I am, tooling down this narrow corridor, when I spy a fellow bike rider coming towards me, going the wrong way.

Now, since I ride myself, I'm overly courteous to riders when I drive. Accordingly, I shifted as far to the right as possible so the rider would have some room to get by. The thing is, this street was pretty icy; big patches of ice, all over the place. So I couldn't help but wonder how wise it was to ride against traffic on an iced-up little one-way (thanks, Paul!) when there's a street going the way you want to go just one block West, as I continued to tightrope along the right side of the street, flirting side mirror disaster as I went along. As he passed me, he lost his grip a little and had to steady himself by dragging a foot. He also gave me the stinkeye, as if he was disgusted with the gall I was displaying by driving the right way down a one-way street. Sure; that makes all sorts of sense and isn't at all dickish.

Honest, folks; most of us are perfectly nice, sane people. We aren't interested in getting in your way or otherwise molesting your peaceful progress through the day. As long as you are kind enough to refrain from, you know, running us over and stuff, we're easy to get along with.

As for the rest of you, work on that shit, okay? Good talk.

Dear Paul: An Open Letter to an Important Musical Touchstone.

2009-02-17T14:10:00.003-06:00

I know, I know - with all the awesome content I could be providing, I'm going to waste your time for what? First, let me apoligize to the 2 (or maybe 3) of you who read this drivel on occasion: I know it's a waste of your time, but it'll be quick and it must be said.

Recently, while doing a little light reading on the internets to try and keep up with the career and goings on of one Paul Westerberg, I came across some indication that Tommy Stinson had been in town this past autumn. That in itself isn't all that crazy; this is his hometown, after all. No, what caught my attention was the fact that while he was here, Tommy got together and played w/ Paul. Again, this isn't all that outlandish; they've collaborated several times since the 'Mats parted ways. The kicker is that they were playing with a drummer and another guitar player.

Hmm... Pauly, Tommy, a drummer and another guitar player. Where have I seen that lineup before?

Now, according to both Paul and Tommy, this wasn't a precursor to the so-anticipated-that-if-it-happens-some-people-I-know-might-actually-die-from-excitement Replacements reunion; they don't seem ready for that, yet. Yet. But what if it was? What if they were rehearsing for just such a venture? Wouldn't that be great?

No. No, it wouldn't. And I'll tell you why: The other guitarist wasn't me.

That's right, Paul; I'm the guy you need to call if you ever get the itch to dust off those old gems and play them with a 4-piece rock band again. I'm just going to lay it out there like that. I loved Bob Stinson, probably a little too much. I loved how his playing transformed catchy pop tunes into heart-racing drama; how he could ratchet up the tension with a couple notes here or a double-stop there; how he would decorate your insanely catchy songs with aural shrapnel. He was like a sucker punch that way.

Paul, if you should ever decide to try a Replacements reunion, please consider me for that all-important Bob Stinson role. And if you don't or won't (understandable; I'm just some schmuck claiming in his blog to be capable of such a feat, after all) consider me, at least refrain from filling that role with some sort of 'professional'; that would be a criminal error in casting. Whoever your Bob is, he needs to be anything BUT professional. He needs to do the opposite of respecting your very-respectable canon; he needs to avoid defering to your wishes in any way. In short, he needs to bring some real Bob Stinson to the table.

Can anyone short of Bob himself do it? I don't know, to be honest; and I'll admit that I'm personally as ambivalent about the idea of a Replacements reunion that doesn't include the real Bob as you seem to be. That kind of lightning isn't easy to catch in a bottle in the first place; twice is unlikely. Perhaps it's an impossibility.

But if you find yourself wanting to try it, give me a call. I'm the guy for the job, I swear it.

Well, hey! There you are. Sorry about that.

2008-12-22T23:19:00.004-06:00

Long time no blog, and other contrite shit I don't mean. I haven't written because I haven't damn well felt like it. Whatevs.

But it's the holiday season, is it not? And dammit, in every dysfunctional family I've been a part of, the holidays are a great time for some drunken, stupid member of the family to do something inappropriate.

My dear Readers, I am that drunken, stupid family member! And indeed, I have gone and done something very inappropriate. But, shit; I do it every year.

I have spoken to you of the Santaland Diaries before. You know what Kyle and I do. What you don't know is that a daring e-journalist has taken a shine to the Misfit Toys, and he somehow managed to get our sad butts onto Secrets of the City in a pretty cool way. They made a friggin' video, which video you can view if you click the previous link. It's about halfway down the page. (DO PLEASE NOTE: AS ALUDED TO ABOVE, IT IS NOT FOR YOUR CHILDREN OR ANYONE ELSE WHO SHOULDN'T BE CONFRONTED WITH MOTHERFUCKING HORRIBLE LANGUAGE. SO DON'T CLICK AT WORK OR IN FRONT OF THE OFFSPRING OR ANYONE ELSE WHO CAN'T DEAL)

First, props to our swell friend Rich for giving a shit and making this happen. Additional props to Cristina Cordova, who shot and edited the thing. There was another really cool guy whose name I've sadly since forgotten (it's okay; he'll live on forever in our hearts and minds as the unfortunate, mildly freaked-out elevator-mate), as well. More obvious props must go to the cast: Lorinda Chagnon, Eric Nelson, and Kristina Solomon. Nobody wrote that stuff for them, they just plumb made it up on the spot. And Kyle's cool and a really good fellow and shit. Joy, love, puke. Yay.

Anyway. Happy holidays, y'all.

Fear and Loathing in Titletown, USA?

2008-07-14T23:13:00.003-05:00

I watched the interview on the internet(s) -- I couldn't commit to it 100% at its original airtime because it conflicted with a new Bordain episode, and I love me some Bordain.

I actually think Brett came off very well in the interview -- and I also know it was a controlled environment, so he wasn't ever going to come across any other way than exactly as he wanted to, so this was actually a good thing.

He understands they've moved on (my hope is that in tomorrow's episode he comes out and says he doesn't want to mess things up for Rodgers). He certainly seems to feel that he wasn't given due time to think things over -- and I think that's a valid complaint, really. Not that I would have let him vacillate until July either, but at least it's a concrete point of divergence. I'm not going to critique the man's argument, ferfucksake -- as has been stated before, I'm a bit of a fan.

We've now heard from both parties, more or less directly. Blood is still being spilled. The question now is who will come in with the salve. If I was Brett, I think I'd want to be That Guy. I'd say that even though I felt rushed, I understand that I set things in motion with my retirement that can't be undone. I'd say that I think Aaron Rodgers has the potential to lead the Packers for many years to come, and that I absolutely wish him well.

Then I'd say that I still want the option to lead a football team, and I'd request face-to-face negotiations to see how we could make that happen, for the best interests of everyone involved.

That's what I would do.

When all of this is over, we'll get to the Cubs. Pray that it drags out.

Let's try something new: A little Sunday Sports talk.

2008-07-13T11:26:00.006-05:00

I'm trying to come up with a little strategery to spur myself to do more writing. Of note, I just recently read Hey Rube, by the esteemed Dr. Thompson. I enjoyed it immensely, of course; I've never found anything he did that I didn't enjoy, so that's the first bias at work on this Sunday morning. It's a collection of columns he did for ESPN.com's Page 2, so ostensibly it's sports-related. And he in fact does discuss the items of note in the world of sports (though admittedly from a gambler's lens), but as always there's plenty of political and 'hard' news content thrown in for good measure.

So I says to myself: Self, maybe that's a thought. Do a weekly 'column' of sorts on the ole HSO -- focus on sports, since you like sports, but if there's a good tangent to follow, a silly concept like clarity or focus shouldn't stop you. I mean, this whole thing is really an exercise in hubris, anyway, so why not go whole hog here and assume that the four or five people reading this thing are interested in my views on the events of the day? If this idea isn't rubber stamp material, I don't know what is.

So I'm going to give it a go. What was the straw that broke the back of my internal resistance? I'm glad you asked -- he goes by the name of Brett Favre.

Bias number two: I'm a Packers fan. A huge Packers fan, since 1974 or so, when I announced to my family of Bears fans in Rockford, IL, that I didn't care to root for the Bears. Nope, I was a Packers fan. For the next 18 years, I came to understand that being a Packers fan meant enduring shame, pain, and the very real possibility that I would know no other emotion when it came to my team.

But then came Brett. I remember the game well: The Magic Man had gone down, crushed by the latest in a line of bloodthirsty thugs to crush the Packers' hopes, and in came this young hillbilly we'd picked up in a trade with the Falcons. I remember watching him play the rest of that game, and I remember coming away from that game with three thoughts: He had no idea what he was doing out there -- that bastard was just winging it. Jesus, I hope Majkowski's not hurt too badly. I have a sick feeling that psycho's going to be our next starting quarterback.

In the years since, he's been there. Always Brett -- sometimes thrilling me, often infuriating me (it got to the point that my friends actually enjoyed it when he'd throw one of his patented, "Hey, I wonder what'll happen if I just chuck this thing up?" passes, because it meant I would freak right the fuck out -- I mean just go all to pieces, howling at the television and threatening all sorts of hideous physical torture), but eventually winning me over. He was good. He was great -- hell, a person could make a good argument that he's the best ever. And he was human. I still think that, to the last play in last year's disastrous NFC Championship game, my first impression of Brett Farve was correct -- he was just winging it. But let me be very clear on this final bias: I loved that guy, and aside from Walter Payton and Barry Sanders (I played a little halfback in my youth, you see) he's my all-time favorite NFL player.

But. Did I mention that he's human? Yeah.

For those who live in small holes in even smaller rocks, and therefore might be unaware of the story, Brett has decided he really doesn't want to retire, and would like the Packers to release him. So he's waffled on this issue. Again.

Predictably, the loyal (and, to be completely honest, mentally unstable) Packer fans have begun eating each other. It's just the latest battle in a war that's been going on the last 3-4 seasons, between those fans who love Mr. Favre and love the Packers by extension, and those who love the Packers first, but also love Brett because of what he's done for the team. It seems like a small distinction, doesn't it? Yeah. Well, I can assure you that it most certainly is NOT small. There is blood on the streets of Packerland these days, and the forecast is truly grim. This will not end well.

So, then. Here's where the HSO stands on this one: Given what has thus far been brought to light (and let's not fool ourselves: this is not the full story, and anyone who thinks we'll ever get the full story is terribly deluded), I think Brett Favre will never play another down of football for the Green Bay Packers. And I think that's as it should be. The man has had one hell of a time deciding if he wants to play football for -- what is it, 5 years, now? And to be fair, other than last year -- in which he broke a ridiculous number of passing-related records and had, statistically, the best year of his career -- other than last year, one could rightly have wondered whether or not his many 11th hour decisions to come back weren't actually mistakes.

And as for last year, there's a reason I specified that it was statistically his best year. Because there were at least two times that I saw something I'd never seen before, something that, though it didn't register in my mind at the time, leads me at least partially to my opinion that Brett needs to stay retired. It was his face. Two times -- that horridly frigid game in Chicago, and the afore-mentioned NFC Championship game in Green Bay -- I saw a look on his face that was the look of someone who had absolutely no desire to be out on that field playing football. Do Not Want.

So now, to those 'facts' we've been given thus far. I rather think that if he truly did waffle again (per the story, he asked to come back in March, and the team was all for it; they set a date for his return announcement and chartered a plane, only to have him tell them two days prior to the event that, yeah, he really didn't want to come back after all) on the issue prior to this latest batch of events, it's hard to blame the team for deciding that enough was enough. Football shouldn't be a business -- hell, sports shouldn't be a business, but that's a rant for another time -- but it sure as hell is. Thompson and company have to move forward; for good or ill, it's time for the Aaron Rodgers era to begin. Hold on tight, kids, it's going to be a bumpy ride.

And the bumps are beginning already, thanks to Brett's (and until he stops letting his agent talk for him, I'm going to assume this is what he wants) apparent desire to butt back in line, no matter what he fucks up by doing so.

There is one small glimmer of hope: In his July 11 column, Peter King states, "What he does not want to do is ruin his legacy in Wisconsin and prevent his three-year backup Aaron Rodgers -- who Favre does not want to screw -- from taking his rightful place as the Packers starting QB in 2008." If that's true, and if Favre would be willing to come out and go on record saying just that, and if he and the team can figure a relatively painless way out of this mess, then maybe we can stop the bloodshed in Packer Nation, or at least curtail it a little bit.

If you ask me, he should just stay retired -- he's got a legacy very few professional athletes can touch, and the law of averages is hiding in the bushes, just waiting to send one of those steroid-crazed beasts to snap his left femur like a brittle twig. But maybe he wants to try something new; drag some new team out of the muck and into Glory -- who am I to say no? The Packers, however, need to move on without him.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I think I hear the Favre-Firsters bearing down on me, and I need to go find my musket.

Meet Charlie.

2008-03-28T22:28:00.003-05:00

We got a puppy. His name is Charlie, and he's the best, most cute and perfect puppy, EVER.

Whatcha readin'?

2008-01-23T22:49:00.000-06:00

(Props to my pal Darren for giving me the idea for this post)

So here's my personal current reading sitch: I'm just about done with Jitterbug Perfume (Tom Robbins), then I've got Even Cowgirls Get The Blues (same), and then I'll have plowed through all my current crop of un-read books (including re-reads of Slaughterhouse Five and Breakfast of Champions*) -- oddly enough, since I now spend 40-60 minutes on a bus each day, I can read me a mess o' books, lately. Next up after the last Robbins book, I'm going to go through and read the few Vonnegut books I either read once a LONG time ago or neglected to read (Jailbird, Sirens of Titan, Bluebeard, and one more I'm forgetting at the moment).

THEN I've got to find a few new(to me) authors and give 'em a spin. I'm thinking of starting w/ Bukowski -- any fans out there who can point me at a good starter? Failing that, what suggestions do you have for someone who loves Vonnegut and Robbins and Dr. Thompson, but also likes T.S. Elliot and Roald Dahl and JK Rowling? No, I'm not necessarily a connoisseur - I do know what I like, though.

I figure I might as well ride this wave of literary input as far as it'll take me -- I've got a lot of music that needs lyrics. Can't hurt.

*Did anyone else know they made a movie of this -- starring Bruce Willis, no less -- in 1999? I'ma have to NetFlix that shit to see just how badly it translates.

Say what, now?

2008-01-07T11:48:00.001-06:00

The Recipe For Colin

3 parts Fascination
2 parts Intuition
1 part Recklessness

Splash of Glamour

Chug!

What's the Recipe for Your Personality?

There's only one part of the above "recipe" that actually applies to me. I won't bother pointing out what it is; those who know me don't need to be told (but it sure as hell ain't glamour).

A bit of fun, anyway (thanks to Squab for posting the link on her blog), I suppose.

Santa done stolt my life, again.

2007-12-28T10:35:00.000-06:00

So another Christmas has come and gone -- which also means that, for the 4th year, we're finally nearing the end of our annual run of Santaland Diaries @ the Bryant Lake Bowl. It's a fun play, the actors are great (as actors and as folks), and the BLB is a dandy place to see a show. If you haven't been, you really should -- you have 2 more chances at it, you know.

The inevitable downsides, however, are twofold: 1. I'm always so busy with the show that I tend to lose touch with the rest of my life. Apologies to everyone who I haven't spent nearly enough time with or communicated with over the past month -- it's nearly over and once I'm back in the fit I'll be in touch. Which leads me to, 2. Between the show and, you know, the day job, I'm friggin' exhausted -- wiped right the fuck out, y'all. Whew. I need to sleep for like a straight week.

But all in all it's good fun, and it's a venue to perform in front of people, which I don't do nearly enough (NY resolution for the umpteenth year in a row: get off my ass, put something together, even if it's only a solo-acoustic set, and play out some this year. Yeah.). Each year I wonder if they'll ask Kyle and me to do it, then I wonder if I really want to do it again, then I resent it for its amazing capacity to gobble up my time, and finally I'm glad I did it.

Oh, and as Clarence mentions, Josh Hartnett has been known to hang out at the BLB when he's in town. I know this from personal experience, as one night last year as Kyle and I were partaking in our customary pre-show pints, he walked in with (presumably) a friend, sat down at the table next to us and had some food and beer. We didn't say anything to him (I figure famous people don't need a bunch of hassle when they're hanging at a place in their home town, and I didn't have anything to say to him, anyway), and he didn't see the show (not like he would, but I guess we thought he might, for some reason), but I know for a fact he does.

So y'all should check the show out -- either this Saturday or Sunday, or maybe next year, if we do it again. It's a good show, you can get good food and drink, and you just might see Josh Hartnett. Maybe.

I Ride The Bus.

2007-11-27T23:18:00.000-06:00

Yeah, I've been away for a while -- life tends to happen. If you were my mom or someone I might be tempted to explain everything that's been going on for the last couple months -- but you're not, so I'm not. Suffice to say that life has happened, most of it good. I've been busy, in other words.

On to the subject: I now take the bus in to downtown Minneapolis to get to work. This is significant, for real. I had a real issue with the bus for a long time, and for a number of reasons.

When you spend your childhood on a bus, being inexorably dragged to a place to which you really don't want to go, that leaves a mark.

When some psycho decides to turn a public bus into a re-enactment of the Dresden firebombing, that leaves a mark.

Bottom line, I didn't want anything to do with buses for a long time.

Well, I recently got over it (and no, if you're reading, this isn't your doing -- you just came along at the right time), and these days I take the bus to and from work most of the time. Specifically, I take the 18 -- renowned for being full of whackos and smelly folk. For the record, in the past few months I've encountered very few true whackos, and have been imposed upon by only a couple smelly people.

But there are things about the bus. For one, you're confronted with all sorts of folks. This, by and large, is a good thing -- I like diversity. The thing is, you're also confronted with real life -- like the couple with 4 kids who have to take the bus, with all 4 kids in tow, to wherever they're supposed to be going. They can't afford anything more, and we could all stand to think about how that would be. Like the elderly folks who have to endure the embarrassment of being slowly lifted into the bus by the Invalid Lift, only to have to endure further embarrassment of being slowly returned to the pavement by that damn lift a few blocks later. Or the poor fuckers who had to do some shopping and now have to drag the fruits of said shopping onto an invariably crowded bus.

But over all, the thing that really strikes me is this: Everybody's so FUCKING miserable. My god, each and every one of them -- they're just... defeated. This modern world is killing us, and these people are like canaries in a coal mine -- we're all next. And it's just so sad to be confronted with so much proof that we've all been sold a bill of goods; to have the folly of human existence plopped right into your lap. I'm not an empathetic person as a rule, but god damn -- everyone's so fucking sad. I just kind of want them to feel a little better.

So, yeah -- I ride the bus. So it goes.

Oh. Fun bus story for today: This evening, while I was quietly sitting in my seat re-reading Slaughterhouse-Five, not bugging anyone, some jackass managed to both crack me in the mush and cut my cheek while clumsily exiting the bus -- apparently,having no sense of balance at all is fine these days. I got a headache and a lovely scratch on my cheek bone, thanks to that fuck knuckle. Closed circuit to all you wannabe liberals out there: If you're actually afraid of black people, don't sit in the back of the bus -- and if you do happen to make this mistake, maybe skip the motherfucking jazz hands when you bail like the pussy you are.

Best part of the whole event: The enormous black man sitting opposite me giving me a quizzical look after the dumbass popped me, as if to say "I can't believe you didn't kill that douchebag", and then laughing his ass off when I just shrugged at him and went back to reading my book. He got it: the douchebag wasn't worth the effort it'd take to kill him.

Props to Merge.

2007-06-21T11:18:00.000-05:00

In a world that's currently dominated by bloated, dysfunctional record labels, it's comforting to know that there are some labels out there that do things the right way, both for their artists and us consumers. Of those, my personal favorite is Merge Records.

There are several reasons for this, not the least of which being that it was founded by Mac McCaughan and Laura Ballance, of my beloved Superchunk (aka the greatest band ever, depending on when you ask me). But it's not just a hero-worship thing; it's also about how they do business.

For one, it's still a small operation, still run by Mac and Laura (though I understand they've actually got a few honest-to-god employees these days). For another, their stable of artists includes some really great bands who are making some great music (prime examples would be Spoon and ...And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead, but there are many, many more), and are being dealt with fairly and honestly by the label -- what a novel concept. While I've basically given up any real hope or desire to get signed or be a "rock star" at this point, I would say that were I to do so, I'd want it to be a label like Merge.

As for us consumers, they do all sorts of neat little things that fall into the "You know, that just makes sense -- why doesn't every label do this?" category. In most cases, we can stream new releases from their website before they're out -- meaning you can try before you buy, and aren't expected to take a $15 leap of faith. Additionally, if like me you enjoy buying your music on vinyl (call me a luddite if you will; I think it sounds better, and I enjoy being committed to the listening experience. I like that I have to flip it over to hear the 2nd side, and I always enjoy settling in and reading the liner notes and looking at big pictures and whatnot), Merge sends you a coupon with your record album that allows you to download the record in a digital format for free. So you can enjoy your record the old fashioned way, and still pop it on your iPod and go. Again, a novel concept.

Until our lovely government stops propping up entities like the R.I.A.A., I'm afraid we're still going to have to deal with a seriously screwed-up music industry, but it's good to know that there are folks out there doing this the right way.

Thanks, Merge -- and I'm really excited to get that new Spoon record when it's out in a couple weeks (you see, it's been streaming on their site -- so I've heard it, and it's awesome).

The HSO's Bands You Should Love -- Legends Edition! The Posies.

2007-06-12T20:01:00.000-05:00

There are HSO BYSL editions that invite you, the reader, to "enjoy - or not, your choice". This isn't one of them. Don't think of it as an installment of "Bands You Should Love"; think of it as an installment of "Bands You Should Love And If You Don't Love Them You're A Fucking Moron - Seriously, Do Your Ears Even Work? I Hope You Die." Or something.

ahem.

So anyway, The Posies. Hard to determine when to start with these guys...

**EXCESSIVE VERBOSITY ALERT**THIS SHIT IS GONNA RAMBLE...***

The Posies are a band that I got into on almost the ground floor. Back in 1991 I was flipping though the cut-out bin @ Apple Tree Records (I SO wanted to work there, back then -- dear God, I wanted it so bad I could fucking taste it -- I digress, sorry) and I saw this goofy looking CD cover that, for some reason, intrigued me. Considering it was, I think, 6 bucks, I figured that was reason enough to buy it. That was Dear 23. When I actually bothered to listen to what I'd so capriciously bought, I was mildly... changed, I guess -- something about it gnawed at me, and I found myself listening to it obsessively and going back and forth between which track was the best, all that shit. But still, there was something about it that was a little too... mannered, or something. I determined that it was at least a really damn good record and I hoped that they made another one at some point.

I didn't so much pay attention to the fact that the label was DGC; if I had, I wouldn't have bothered worrying about a follow up.

And then it came -- Frosting On The Beater. I was waiting for this one, and it kicked my ass good and hard from the get-go. As much as I loved Nirvana and the punk stuff I was into at the time, I still had this secret but abiding love for good pop songs -- I can't resist them; never could. It was all good, but one song in particular just kicked my arse right in: Definite Door. It was all I wanted in a song -- the guitars were beyond cool, it was epic in scale, it stunk with pop sensibility and infectious melody, and at the same time it beat you about the head and shoulders with sonic aggression. This song didn't want to be my friend; it wanted to buy my town and then move other, cooler people in to be its friends -- and I was willing to sell. The whole record is gold, but this one is my personal favorite, by far.

Then I waited -- I listened to Dear 23 and I listened to Frosting On The Beater. I saw my own music swing from simple-on-purpose punk to something striving to attain a sense of the songwriting ability like those dudes in The Posies. I had a lot to learn and a lot to discover; and for a bundle of reasons not worth listing here, Frosting On The Beater was a major catalyst in my monk-like obsession on learning that lot of stuff in the mid-90s. I found myself without a band and suddenly free to try out as many pussy pop ideas as I wanted to -- and baby, I did that shit up. I mean, Hüsker Dü had hinted at the possibility of being loud, fast, and tuneful, and Nirvana took that one step further, but -- to me, at least -- The Posies took the synthesis to its logical conclusion. And I wanted to do that, too.

And then, as if out of a puff of pot smoke much like the one that produced the shit up there, there was Amazing Disgrace. See, unlike a lot of other Posies fans, I always thought they could get a little harder-edged -- or perhaps it's better to say that I hoped they would, since I was still embroiled in my own personal debate about whether trying to write pretty songs was a sin; I just thought it would be cool. And they damn well did it! It delivered a full boat of goodness, but "Grant Hart" just about killed me. It was truly The Shit™.

After that, they got booted from DGC because they weren't enough of a cash cow, even though the real problem was that DCG never really invested in them -- they had the potential for a real hit in "Dream All Day" if they'd have bothered to follow up, and several songs on that record would have been good follow-up singles. Same with Amazing Disgrace -- "Ontario" and "Hate Song" could have sold big-time with a little support.

I'm not going to drag you lot through every single Posies release -- you've got more than enough at this point to start your own search if you're interested (and if you're not, again: If you don't love them you're a fucking moron -- seriously, do your ears even work? I hope you die).

The bottom line is that The Posies are a band that you should love. So do it, already -- love them.

Oh, Chicago.

2007-06-05T10:20:00.000-05:00

I'm back -- and oh, how I wish I wasn't. I do so love Chicago, and 2 days wasn't nearly enough time. Still, I did finally see Millenium Park with mine own eyes.

And I did get myself back to Wrigley Field to see my woeful beloved Cubbies (who lost, but I did get to see Soriano jack one out of the park, as well as a classic Sweet Lou tantrum, so I was happy).

Put simply, K and I had a terrific time -- we ate Chicago dogs, wandered around downtown, and capped off our stay with several pints at a swell Irish pub in Wrigleyville.

Chicago, I love you -- and I promise not to be away so long ever again.

(For those who like pictures, there are lots more on my Flickr page.)

Joy

2007-05-27T14:17:00.001-05:00

Well, I finally got around to putting together a little MySpace page for my old band Joy - you can find it right here, if you're so inclined as to want to check it out. I could blather on about the band and the page, but I'm lazy and it's easier just to quote myself from the Bio section:

"...If you’re an avid fan (and why the hell wouldn’t you be?) you’ll remember that in the Bio for C. Kerns and the Futiles I mentioned that I had been in a little band called Joy in Rockford, IL way back around 1991-’92 or thereabouts. This here page is to remember that swell band. A couple years before then, I helped my friend Bob record a demo for this punk band called Full On Straight – the drummer and bass player for that band were Joel Peterson and Kelly Kliebe, respectively. About a year later Kelly joined my band, The Morning Glories – about a year after that, our drummer decided to bow out and Joel joined – then we changed the name and that’s how come you got Joy.

The first two tunes were recorded at a place in Cherry Valley by a swell guy who helped us record in his badass home studio and didn’t mind our all-around lack of anything resembling a work ethic, or even a basic understanding of what that might be. Another fun thing about that time is that I didn’t always write the lyrics for all our songs – I had a couple notebooks worth of lyrics/poetry that my good friend Billy had given to me – he wrote so damn much that he just gave me a couple notebooks’ worth, and I wrote so damn little when it came to lyrics that, well, it worked out pretty well there for a while. Point being, Billy wrote the lyrics for the first two songs, and I just arranged them to suit the music as I wrote it at the time – so that’s his credit. The third song is something I was in the process of writing in 1993, when we pretty much had to give up due to my being located in a different state (Madison, WI) than they were (Minneapolis, MN). It’s probably one of the first demos I put together by myself – recorded on an old Tascam 4-track, and it’s pretty crappy. Still, it’s something we’d been playing in practices, so it’s really sort of like the last Joy song.

Well, that’s it – that was Joy. I’m biased, of course, but I think we were a pretty good little band."

Whether or not you check it out -- and whether or not you enjoy it -- as always, that's up to you.

Holy Cow!

2007-05-17T11:09:00.000-05:00

I'm almost ashamed to admit how long it's been since I've spent some time in my beloved Chicago (7 years? Is that even possible?), and it's been even longer since I sat my arse down in the friendly confines of Wrigley Field. Gads, that's just ridonk.

But I no longer need to hang my head in shame - yes, folks, I'm finally going back. I and my gal-friend will be spending a few days in the Windy City at the beginning of June, and will be attending a Cubs game (versus the Braves) on June 2.

Awe. Some.

I am afraid of my lunch.

2007-05-08T13:21:00.000-05:00

For no particular reason, I decided that today for lunch I wanted to get a salad.

And I friggin' did it, y'all. I got a salad. Specifically, I went to Au Bon Pain* and got a steak and gorgonzola salad -- I figured that including the meat might reduce the shock to my system.

It's huge. Seriously, it's a massive trough of greens, croutons, tomatoes, mandarin orange slices, and gorgonzola. Huge, I'm telling you.

It's segregated -- everything's in its own spot. I'm not sure why this is, but it makes me uncomfortable.

Did I mention that it's huge?

I don't know how to eat this thing -- should I start by breaking down the walls of segregation, and allow the various components to mingle? Should I just choose my favorite thing and eat that, then go through each other component in turn?

I should have thought this over more before making my purchase -- this is too much to deal with over lunchtime. Dammit, what have I got myself into?

Wish me luck, folks -- I only have an hour to figure this mess out.

*normally I wouldn't go here -- for one they've got a snooty name, and for another, it's a bit pricey. BUT, it seemed a good choice, what with me getting a salad and all.

Things We Like:

2007-05-08T11:12:00.000-05:00

We've been a bit busy lately and have been remiss in our posting duties here at the HSO -- many apologies to all.

In an effort to tide y'all over, here's a little list of things we like that you can check out (in no specific order):

1. Minnesota Roller Girls. Attended their last bout of the season a couple weekends ago, and it was an absolute blast. The whole event is an awesome experience, and don't let anyone fool you; the action on the track is real and impressive. Plus, Roller Girls are just plain hot. The HSO officially endorses MN Roller girls, and specifically this team:

2. Field Music. I know, I know -- "Um shouldn't this be a full 'Bands You Should Love' post?" Yes, it should be -- but as previously stated, we're a little busy around these parts. And this band's latest record, Tones Of Town, has been in near-constant rotation in the background while we're working. Descriptions never really do music justice, but let's just say they do a great job of merging clever Brit Pop sensibilities with a dash of prog. Alternatively, they remind us a bit of Todd Rundgren. You can sample some of their newer material by clicking that link above, and decide for yourself.

3. Photography. One of the things that's been diverting our attention from posting here. We like to take pictures, and have been doing a fair bit of it recently. Some can be seen on Flickr, right here. Check it out, if you're so inclined.

4. Danger Touch! From the brilliant (if somewhat odd) minds of Greg Boose and his pal -- it's a new game for a different generation. Before you decide you're going to play, though, make sure you read about how it came to be created on Greg's blog @ The Nervous Breakdown, and pay special attention to the rules. At that point you can ask yourself, "Self, am I up to this crazy game?" We can't answer that question for you; you'll have to figure it out for yourselves. Additionally, neither Greg, The Nervous Breakdown or the HSO will accept any responsibility for possible injury or embarrassment that might result if you attempt to play this game. It's a dangerous game, people -- make your choice carefully.

Time to get back to the grind -- fear not, though, soon enough we'll be back to bore you with more obtuse observations on this crazy world we live in.

Bands You Should Love, Vol. Uhhhh... 3? Arcwelder.

2007-04-18T18:43:00.000-05:00

Ah, Arcwelder. How I love(d) this band. The parentheses-ized d is there because they went semi-dormant after their 1999 record, Everest*, and haven't been very active since then (though they do play around town every now and again and per their MySpace page - see below for link - have been recording).

These guys typify the kind of stuff that should have been exposed after Nirvana shook the music industry all up. I think they're awesome, and bands like them and Houston were the bands I was hoping to be able to see/attempt to network w/ when I moved up here to Minneapolis in 2000 - sure, I loved the 'Mats and Husker Du and Soul Asylum, but they were old and out of my league at that point.

They work what could be considered a fairly narrow vein - dropped D and other odd-tuned riffage, but they take those possible limitations and create this rich, dense music that's both melodic and dissonant, often concrrently so. The drummer Scott is amazing, and the guitars and bass (the other two guys switch these with each other constantly)play off of each other brilliantly. The vocals are a matter of taste - I happen to like both singers a lot, but you can judge that for yourself. What isn't so subjective is that they do a great job of weaving the vocals into the melodic mix along with the bass and guitars.

They've got a MySpace page here, and there's also an audio clip from the afore-mentioned Everest* on Touch and Go's website.**

(Oh, shit - here comes the soapbox)
See, instead of trying to find Nirvana-and-Pearl Jam-alikes or trying to mollify the metal heads with shit like fucking Candlebox, the labels should have been signing and pushing shit like this and some more honest-to-god punk acts, as well as some of the DC stuff. Granted, in a lot of cases the labels DID sign a lot of those bands in the feeding frenzy, but they did fuck all to push them unless they fit into their moronic molds. But NO - they couldn't do something intelligent like try to broaden the scope of the great music that was going on at that time. That would make sense. Much better to simply water down the 2 to 3 strains they'd been getting fat on - yeah, that's brilliant thinking right there.
(Stepping off the soapbox - for now...)

Ahem. Anyway... they're a swell band. I just picked up Xerxes* from 1994, and damn if it isn't like a wee little time machine. So nice.

Arcwelder: this installment's Band that You, dear readers, Should Love.

*Didja see what I did, just there? I linked you to somewhere you can sample the amazing music and then once you realize I'm right about this band you can BUY it! What a country!

**Touch and Go was the coolest label ever, back in the day - they had The Jesus Lizard too, and a bunch of other rad bands. If I got signed I totally wanted it to be Touch and Go.

R.I.P. Mr. Vonnegut.

2007-04-12T11:08:00.000-05:00

Sadly (for us), Kurt Vonnegut died yesterday. He was 84 years old.

I say "for us" because it had become quite clear that he was more than ready to shake off his mortal coil - so in that respect I'm happy for him. I'm not happy, however, knowing that we'll no longer get any new words from him. He was one of my favorite authors - it's good to know that I can always return to his books and will be able to enjoy his genius anew each time.

I'm not one for long speech-ifying at times like these - so I'm simply going to end this post with a quote from my favorite of his books, Hocus Pocus: "I think William Shakespeare was the wisest human being I ever heard of. To be perfectly frank, though, that's not saying much. We are impossibly conceited animals, and actually dumb as heck. Ask any teacher. You don't even have to ask a teacher. Ask anybody. Dogs and cats are smarter than we are."

Farewell, Kurt - if I were to react to your passing as I suspect you'd want me to, well, then I'd have to laugh like hell.

Regrets? I've had a few.

2007-04-04T19:47:00.000-05:00

My sweet babies, I have awful news to tell you: I have the plague. Okay, technically I have bronchitis, which developed from a common cold, but any way you slice it, you can't escape the end result: I'm dying.

As you might expect, this has caused 2 (two) things: First, I've spent a LOT of time at home, on my ass, in front of my beloved television. Second, I've done a little, you know, reflecting on shit and whatnot. Real deep shit, too - peep it:

I don't watch American Idol - I don't like it, and I never will. Thus, I have seen little more of this little bastard than the picture below:

But it's enough. I think he needs to be killed - definitely. I don't like him. Have I seen more than the occasional picture of him? No. Have I ever even heard him sing ONE note? Nope. Doesn't matter, it's a clear-cut issue - he needs killin'.

And that's what I got for y'all at the moment; you'll have to forgive me, this vile malady has sapped me of my strength and wit. If by some chance I don't survive, one of you must promise me that you will kill that bastard in the picture above. For me.

This, I have to admit, looks hopeful.

2007-03-26T19:37:00.000-05:00

Per CNN, looks like the Protestants and Catholics in No. Ireland are set to try what is, at worst, a pretty good idea; and more importantly, it's an Irish solution for an Irish problem.

More significantly, Paisley and Gerry were in the same room for the first time, well, ever. That blows my mind, right there.

Now, if the Brits would just get out of there, I might allow for a little cautious optimism.

::End of serious portion of this post::

In barely-related news, I have a full beard.

(the rest of me was cropped for everyone's protection)

I grew it for the hell of it, and I think it's served that nearly-not there purpose quite well. Also, it's bothered some people, and I enjoy that.

Now stay with me, because here's where things get a little hairy (pun totally intended) - while at my local pub (and quite possibly the best place in the whole wide world) last Thursday, a general concensus was formed about the following: What with the beard and my "Macy's Hat" - which, again, looks basically like this but beat up, I rather resembled a sort of Irish Castro or something.

And that's when it hit me - the thing I can do at the end of my life - the totally fucking epic thing. I could go to Ireland and set up a new Marxist state - one that works, dammit. Hell, they saved civilization, ferchrissake - they could totally do the whole Marxist State thing, and do it right!

I know, I know - you can't just up and do something like that, takes planning, yadda yadda yadda. I've got some time to plan it, y'all - like at least 10 or 15 years.

Yeah.

Let's Try That Again, Shall We?

2007-03-19T19:40:00.000-05:00

Long time readers of this blog will remember that some time ago I had set up a MySpace page for my band, Jim Jones Trio - and that page was unceremoniously deleted by the fine folks at MySpace with out even a howdy-do. My theory at the time was that they thought I was trying to infringe on the copyright rights of another artist (or perhaps artists) called "Jim Jones" - I mean, it's not the most uncommon name in the world, and though most anyone should be able to tell that we're referring to the Reverend who engineered the Jonestown Massacre, it's a reasonable hypothesis. At least as good as any other hare-brained idea I could come up with.

Well, I finally got around to giving it another go. This time I decided to be a bit more clever and give the page a barely-related name - you know, try and fly under the radar a bit. I'm (cautiously) pleased to say that it seems to have worked - the page is still up, and thus far all is going smoothly.

I invite all of you who are so inclined to check it out: Jim Jones Trio on Myspace. It's intended (for now) to serve both as an initial introduction to the band, and also as a little experiment to see if people would enjoy tagging along in the creative process. There are 4 rough demos of tunes we'll be recording, which will hopefully begin being replaced in the not-too-distant future with the proper recorded versions of the tunes as we complete them.

As always, enjoy - or not. Your choice.

And though it's been said many times, many ways:

2007-03-17T17:58:00.000-05:00

Hey, comments-spammers: Go the fuck away, and stay away. If I want to try Mozilla Firefox I will, but all your obnoxious form-letter-comments aren't going to influence that decision.

Swine.

Sláinte, y'all.

2007-03-17T16:20:00.000-05:00

It's St. Patrick's day, once again - and as always, we at the HSO are here to help.

First, here are a couple helpful St. Patrick's Day-related words and phrases in gaelic, along with a little pronunciation help; use 'em tonight at the pub, and impress your friends (or that lovely red-haired lass you've got your lecherous eye on):

St. Patrick's Day: "Lá Fhéile Pádraig" (law ae-leh paw-rig)

A pint of Guinness, please.: "Pionta Guinness, le do thoil." (pyunta Guinness leh duh hull)

Since lots of folks seem to enjoy thinking they might themselves be Irish on this day, (EDITOR'S NOTE: We originally linked to a "How Irish are you?" quiz here, but after taking the quiz ourselves and discovering that it's nothing more than a stupid SPAM fest, we're removing the link - feck those feckin' gobshites.)

Finally, do us all a favor and try not make too big an ass out of yourself; there are few things more depressing than the sight of some non-Irish lightweights proving without a doubt that they can't hold their liquor. It's a holiday, not amateur night - try to have a little self-respect, please.

Cheers, folks - enjoy some good craic and think of us Micks fondly on this, our special day.

Alphabet Meme

2007-03-14T21:20:00.000-05:00

Reprise of my earlier "When in Rome..." statement - My ass got tagged, apparently. Fine - whatevs, even though I don't know what the fuck a "meme" is.

A- Available or Single? My own damn business, thank you very much.
B- Best Friend? Matt, Keith, Dels, others.
C- Cake or Pie? Pie, totally - I don't like cake (sorry, Sri).
D- Drink of Choice? God, this is like choosing a favorite child... for now I'll go with Redbreast, but I do so under duress.
E- Essential Item? A guitar - any guitar.
F- Favorite Color? Green. Ask anyone.
G- Gummi Bears or Worms? Neither, that shit is nasty.
H- Hometown? Rockford, IL - the mighty Forest City.
I- Indulgence? Guitars. I've got way too many, and I don't care.
J- January or February? Don't give a rat's ass - one's the same as the other to me.
K- Kids and names? As I've said way too many times, I ain't makin' no babies. That said (a-goddamn-gain): if it's a boy, Finn - if it's a girl, Rose.
L- Life is incomplete without…? Oxygen, duh.
M- Marriage Date? Not discussing this.
N- Number of Siblings? One.
O- Oranges or Apples? Apples.
P- Phobias/Fears? I don't believe in fear. I don't like snakes, though, and I don't want to go anywhere where I wouldn't be the apex predator - being eaten would suck.
Q- Favorite Quote? Oh, that's a tough one. I'm picking a couple: "The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side." - Hunter S. Thompson. "I want to stand as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all the kinds of things you can't see from the center." Kurt Vonnegut.
R- Reasons to smile? I don't like to smile. But dammit, I laugh like a maniac whenever I witness someone falling down.
S- Season? Autumn, no question about it.
T- Tag 3 people? I will not - bloody poor form, if you ask me.
U- Unknown Fact About Me? Jesus H. on a stick, but this nosy... okay, I happen to be abnormally fond of this sappy-ass movie. I hope you're happy, you bastard swine.
V- Vegetable You Hate? Okra. Foul shit, that - full of snot.
W-Worst Habit? Smoking, I suppose - though I don't see what the problem is, personally.
X- Xrays You’ve Had? So many... I highly doubt there's a piece of me that hasn't been bombarded with x-rays, but the award for most often goes to my skull.
Y- Your Favorite Foods? If it's individual foods then I'd have to say steak, and of course the world's most perfect food: the potato.
Z- Zodiac? Gemini. I'm told my rising sign is also Gemini, which I'm also told is not good. It shouldn't come as any surprise that I think this astrology shit, is - well, shit.

Damn, that shit took like an hour of my life that I'll never get back. The next one of you that tags me for something like this gets The Boot.

From the mouths of babes.

2007-03-14T17:53:00.000-05:00

Okay, more like a 9 year old girl, but that wouldn't flow as well.

I got a stark, cold look into the future last night, in the form of an encounter with the 9 year old daughter of a friend and co-worker. And I am now officially freaked out.

1. After staring at me in a very menacing way for about a minute, she exclaimed "You look like you're Amish!" Must be the beard, I suppose.

2. Of my hat, which looks a lot like this one, but is a good deal more beat up, she asked (in a very accusatory tone) "Why are you wearing a Macy's hat? I tried to explain that it wasn't a Macy's hat and asked if she knew anything about Che Guevara, but to no avail. It was a Macy's hat, and that was that. Damn you, Macy's.

3. Girls at this age are scary - they're starting to get odd crushes on odd people and flex their flirting muscles, but they're also still little girls who like to rough-house and cuddle and whatnot - in other words, the concept of a Body Buffer Zone is completely foreign to them. Basically, if you're new to them and one or both of their parents certifies you as Okay, they're on you like white on rice. Abso-fucking-lutely terrifying.

Once the whole ordeal was over, I pondered it for a while and realized that in roughly 8-9 years I will have THREE such monsters to deal with. I'm not ready for such a thing. My only consolation is that in all likelihood they'll have dealt with me enough by then that I'll be totally boring to them, and they'll save their pre-teen terrorism for some other hapless bloke.

Spring

2007-03-09T10:12:00.000-06:00

So, the thing about Spring* is this: Me + Spring normally = badness. We just don't get along. Whether it's breakups, deaths, or just taxes, I've just never done well with this particular season.

Which is a little sad, really - I mean, I enjoy the easing of Winter's grip as much as anyone. Granted, I do seem to enjoy Winter more than most people, but by the time we get to St. Patrick's Day I'm generally happy to feel a bit more warmth, see a bit more green, and all of that. Plus, it's a time when I can have a little cautious optimism that my beloved Cubbies might, this time, just this once, finally have a good season. Finally, it's a sign that one of my favorite things, fishing, is right around the corner.

But, for whatever reason, it generally lets me down and I find myself annoyed and dreading the onset of yet another hot and shitty Summer (I'm a very fair-skinned Irish boy - I do not in any way worship the sun and I do hate to be sweaty, stinky, and uncomfortable).

This year, though - knock on wood, rub your rabbit's foot, shake whatever talisman seems to bring you good luck - things are looking a bit better for me and Spring. I'm even allowing myself a little cautious optimism that it'll be a good time, and maybe, just maybe I can head toward's Summer's hot breath in a slightly better mood than normal.

Or I just jinxed myself. We shall see, I suppose.

*Poet and I didn't even know it. I can rhyme all the time. Anybody want a peanut?

When in Rome,

2007-03-07T17:07:00.000-06:00

Do what everyone else is doing. In that spirit, here is my VisualDNA:

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

NOTE: For those that actually go and read the thing, I think they took a few liberties with their prose. For example, a fat, hairy man back is quite gross, but the whole "You like people to be well groomed, with a tight bod and heaps of sex appeal" bit? That ain't me.

Uncle Stan's Girls

2007-03-02T10:04:00.000-06:00

So, anyone who knows me (and coincidentally, that's probably the population that actually reads the shit I spew on this blog), knows that I'm - at best - ambivalent about children.

Prologue: I hate kids. Hate 'em. Hated myself when I was a kid. They smell. They're loud. Their parents can't go out to the pub as much due to the kid's need for care and attention, or if they do they bring the kid with them. Their arrival somehow turns perfectly tolerable people into blithering morons (parents constantly, others while in their presence) who I'd just as soon set on fire as deal with. I could go on, but I think the picture has been painted.

"You'll feel different when you've got your own." We've been over this more than enough times; I won't be having my own.

However, a good number of my friends have recently procreated (as I previously detailed here). I'll be honest: I was a little concerned I'd hate these kids. I mean, I've had younger cousins and I hated them - and I've had a couple friends who had kids earlier in my life, and I hated those kids as well. To make matters worse, the 3 most recent additions to my previously safe and predictable world are all girls. Crap. I don't understand women as it is, and I don't understand kids; the stage was set for some serious kiddy hatred.

But damned if I don't think the world of these little ankle-biters. For the parents' sake I'll forego my normal tendency to eschew anonymity and will refer to them by first initial only (and a memo to any internet pervs: do NOT touch my girls - hell has yet to create the kind of damage I'll inflict on anyone that goes anywhere near them), but I'd like to indtroduce you all to my girls:

NOTE: The oldest one of these kids is like 10 months old, so it's not like their full personalities are out and evident to anyone but their parents. I'm describing what I see of them, from my perspective. They're works in progress, and I look forward to witnessing their evolution.

F - The most recent addition (but we're talking by a matter of months - I'm not sure what drove 3 of my friend-couples to get it on in an earnest baby-making way at nearly the same time, but that's how it happened), and the one I probably understand the most. This could be because she's the most like me. This kid's got the best pissed-off expression I've ever seen on a baby, ever. Even when she's in the most benign of moods, she looks at you like you're either crazy or like she's trying to determine if you're worth even a tiny shit. It's awesome. She's also a master of the raspberry and has no compunctions about demonstrating that fact. Also awesome. She comes from a blindingly intelligent mommy and her dad's no slouch, either - they're also both pretty straightforward, no-nonsense people, and Pops, like me, can tend to be a bit... we'll call it surly. Both are also hellacious potty-mouths, so I can't wait to watch them have to try to tone it down once she gets old enough to start repeating what she hears. Needless to say, I'm looking very forward to watching this one grow up. For her sake I do hope she gets her mom's looks and kind nature; I'm a huge fan of Pops, but this is a girl, after all.

E - This one's the real girl of the bunch. She's SO a girl. She's also a really sweet kid (not to say that F isn't, she's just not always overtly so), and has one of those "light up the room" faces. In contrast w/ F, pretty much every time I've seen her she's smiling or just serenely looking about. Again, it's quite evident that she's a product of her parents, who are both genuinely friendly folks in their own right. They're also both hyper-talented and very intelligent, so she's got good genes on her side. Funny enough, these folks are also massive potty-mouths, so I get to witness their own struggles to keep it clean as she also starts to repeat what she hears*. Whereas I see F going on to be president of this fine nation, I expect that E will go on to be one of those once-in-a-generation huge stars. It's written all over her.

(For a hoot of a good read, I invite you to read this story of a recent lunch outing during which the above 2 girls managed to fluster the living shit out of their moms and damn near wipe out a small restaurant. I can't even begin to describe the extent of my pride.)

L - This one's my baby. This is because she's the daughter of one of my oldest and closest friends. Her dad and I have been boys for well over 20 years at this point, and quite frankly her arrival shocked the living hell out of me. Dude almost never dated at all, for years, and then one day he calls me to announce that not only did he meet The One and was going to get married to her, he'd gone and knocked her up for good measure. Whoa, dude. Sadly, she's also the one I've seen the least of, due to the unfortunate fact that she and her family live in another state. She's goddamn cute as a button, though, and she's my Peanut, for reals. Looks a little too much like her dad at the moment, though (for reference, he and I get mistaken for brothers pretty much constantly - hence she kind of looks a little like me, which ain't good), something I fervently hope she grows out of. Mom's gorgeous, so I'm counting on her genes to kick in at some point and fix things up. She's a very sweet little girl, and already starting to display the gentle, kind nature that both of her parents possess. I expect she'll be the doctor of the bunch, healing the world.

I'd like you all to welcome these lovely ladies to the world, and join me in congratulating their proud parents on 3 jobs very well done. I'd also like to take this moment to congratulate those parents on displaying good, intelligent parenting right off the bat; I'm very happy to say that I am not the godfather/guardian/any-sort-of-role-that-might-land-them-in-my-lap-should-anything-happen-to-their-parents for any of these wee ladies. Whew. Not that I don't adore them, but let's be honest - that would just be a BAD idea. I'm a lot better as their Crazy Uncle Stan, a role I look very forward to playing.

So welcome to the world, ladies - and just in case I didn't make myself perfectly clear above, if anyone out there so much as looks at any of these beauties funny, I will most certainly kill that person. Slowly. Excruciatingly. Brutally. This I can promise.

*so you're all saying, "But Colin, we do read this blog; how in blazes do YOU intend to tone your own language down, huh?" Ah, silly people - I actually have no trouble at all doing so if the need arises. In fact, I'm rather well known for admonishing other adults with a stern "Oy! Little ears!" if they cuss within earshot of a kid. No worries about old Uncle Stan with that issue.

Over-react much?

2007-03-01T15:06:00.000-06:00

Memo to my fellow Minneapolis-ians: It's just snow. It isn't acid or poison or anything, just snow. Therefore you do not need to try to get out of it as fast as possible. In fact, due to the laws of physics it turns out that trying to rush through it will actually likely result in an accident - and then you'll be stuck in the White Death™ even longer.

So just chill, take a little extra care and time, and everything will be just fine. If you don't heed my words and fuck up my sweet little Rosie* in your haste, I swear I'll fuck you up.

*Rosie would be my lovely little car - full name Rosie the Rocket.

Oh, that's just dandy.

2007-02-27T09:43:00.000-06:00

So NBC's got a new show - The Black Donnellys. It's about 4 Irish-American brothers in New York (okay, it's a little more nuanced than that, but y'all can read and I've provided a link, so I'm not going to try to explain the whole thing here).

A show about a bunch of Micks? Well, count me in!

Okay - first, it's a pretty good show. The acting's pretty good - in particular, the lead actor's work was (I thought) very good. He managed to convey his situation completely without going too over-the-top, which impressed me. He's also got the sort of raw charisma that tends to aid in getting us to empathize with his character. Finally, he's not TOO good-looking, which is beneficial in terms of things being at least somewhat believable.

BUT. Here's the rub: Why oh why do they have to be semi-literate street toughs? Why can't they be, say, architects who are struggling to start up their own firm? It could happen. There's a bit in the first episode that sums the whole issue up, though I wonder if they realize they're lampooning their own creation, in a way: The narrator (some neighborhood friend of the brothers) says something to the effect of "People think of the Irish as drunk thugs who'll fight over nothing," and immediately we see the 4 brothers getting into a brawl over - you guessed it, nothing - in a pub. Terrific.

Is this sort of thing a part of the whole Irish-American experience? Yes, it is. Was I myself a bit of a thug as a youth? Yes, I was - it was somewhat necessary, given the environment I grew up in. But seriously, hasn't that angle been played to death at this point? Can we not see Irish-Americans as anything but "drunken louts with good intentions that they can't seem to get to because their feral natures always get in the way" without things getting boring? I don't know, I'm just asking.

In the end, I suppose it doesn't matter - despite my wish that we could portray Micks in a better light, I have to admit that I found the show to be compelling and quite entertaining. I'll be tuning in again next Monday, and I will recommend (albeit somewhat grudgingly) that y'all do the same.

The HSO recaps the Oscars

2007-02-26T12:24:00.000-06:00

That's right, the worst Oscar recap you'll ever see. I did watch them, I swear. I didn't go to the swell Oscar viewing party at the Squab household (too tired from Friday night - on the whole well worth it, though), but I did watch 'em, and here are a few things that stood out to me:

DISCLAIMER: I am not a great movie buff - I like what I like for my own reasons, and that can range from something that's generally accepted as good, such as Little Miss Sunshine, to stuff that's generally regarded as utter crap, such as Chronicles of Riddick. In other words, this is very much a "common man's" view.

1. Dear Academy: I know people bitch about the length of the show, but if you're going to have the bloody awards and allow people to speak after they've won one of them, for fuck's sake let them say what they want to say. This bit where y'all start playing music while some poor weeping schmuck's trying to thank his wife is just out-and-out rude. Either don't let them talk at all or let them speak their peace.

2. Will Ferrel and Jack Black are funny - this is indisputable at this point. (Secret message to Will and Jack - don't listen to your boy, stick to comedy. Nobody needs another Continental Divide, and laughing's good for people whether the Academy wants to award it or not.)

3. Will Smith: You simply CANNOT be enjoying yourself that much - it's not possible. Don't get me wrong; I love the man, and have enjoyed just about everything he's done. But he just can't be enjoying himself that much.

4. The shadow dancers, or whatever the hell they were? That shit sucked the root, hard. Made me want to hurt things.

5. Helen Mirren: You are easily the hottest old gal I've ever seen. Seriously. Yowsa.

6. Catherine Deneuve: You come in a very close second. Go on with your bad self, Frenchy.

7. Speaking of, if I were a gal or I swung in another direction, I'd be all about that James McAvoy kid. Dude's got something good going on. Or maybe it's that damn accent, because I've said much the same about Gerard Butler in the past. At any rate, good on ye', lads.

8. I love Forrest Whitaker. Dude is just plain badass. Great acceptance speech.

9. Props to my girl Jennifer Hudson. I won't be seeing your movie, as musicals cause me to break out in fits of murderous rage, but you're from Chicago so I'm down with you. Plus, I thought you handled those asshats in the press room with some real grace (memo to the bitch who asked her if she thought her win cheapened the craft of acting - you know, since other actors have trained so hard and she didn't, or whatever the fuck that was - you suck).

10. He may not have won his Oscar last night, but it's pretty damn clear that Leo OWNS Hollywood. Good on ye' too, Leo - use that shit, somehow.

11. Congrats to Marty - you waited a damn long time for that. Hell, I'll probably even watch your movie, now.

All in all, it was as good a way to kill the evening while I was working out some solo-acoustic stuff as anything else I could have done.

Gah! The White Death Approaches!

2007-02-23T09:46:00.000-06:00

It's supposed to snow this weekend here in Minny. A lot. So of course everyone's totally wigging out over it - you'd think this was effin' Florida or something, instead of the upper Midwest, where - shocking enough - we get snow every year. I suppose if I wanted to be fair, I could admit that we really haven't had too much this year, but I don't want to be fair. Suck it up, you bunch of training-bra-wearing pansies; it's just snow.

However, to show we care, the HSO has put together a little plan for you all - call it a recommendation for how to survive this weekend's impending doom.

This evening, before it really gets going, go out and stock up on the essentials. Get plenty of tasty, comforting food - that acne-prone Dominos delivery kid doesn't want to be out driving in this shit any more than you do. If you enjoy your drink, as I do, make sure you have plenty of that, as well. If you're a movie lover, go rent a bunch of those - if you can generally amuse yourself with something you find channel-hopping (like me), you can skip this step.

If you've got a special guy or gal, invite them over (or go over to their place, whichever is most comfortable), and do what people have done for ages when they're faced with good sock-in of a snowstorm - do lots of baby-makin'. If, like me, you're a no-love-havin' loser... well, there really isn't a good substitute for that, so we're just going to have to deal with it - sorry.

Finally, at some point when it's really coming down, bundle yourself up and go for a walk - enjoy it. Maybe even take some pictures.

I promise you, dear readers, we'll make it through this meteorological calamity. Honest.

Okay, I guess I am that easy.

2007-02-22T12:56:00.000-06:00

I had one of those chance encounters earlier today - I was out smoking (it's pretty amazing how eventful this often turns out to be, isn't it?), and a young lady approached me, asking to borrow my lighter.

She was quite attractive, but at this point I don't get overly phased by that - there are lots and lots of attractive women in the world, after all. What did phase me was that she had an accent. One from somewhere in the Brittish Isles, I'm guessing - I'm not worldy enough to pinpoint where, though.

And you know what? That's hot. Really hot. Ungodly hot. I-can't-use-my-words hot. Yowsa. She could have talked me into seriously anything at that point, easily.

An accent - that's apparently all it takes.

"So, do you wanna have sex?"

"Nah, that's okay - just read me a story."

Well, duh.

2007-02-21T14:36:00.000-06:00

So the genius who managed to pitch his own ass out a 16th story window says he's glad he doesn't remember the fall. Gee, do you think?

"I feel really lucky I don't remember it because I probably would have some pretty serious nightmares," he says.

But wait - it gets better. "...we come back off the elevator and that's when, for whatever reason ... I decided to take off running," Hanson said. "I don't know why I took off running or what really led up to it, but - I did." The story goes on to state that while dude was sprinting down the hallway he claims to have been confused by his own reflection in the window pane at the end of said hallway. So of course his decision was to barrel right into the fucker. Let's see... dude sees his own reflection... so maybe he thought it was a mirror and thought he'd like to run into it? I mean, honestly, what the fuck?

Must be a slow news day - I mean, the dude's pretty much proven he's not exactly a Mensa candidate with the fall, so I'm not entirely sure why we want to hear what he's got to say about... anything, really.

And yet you just know that somehow he's going to contribute to the gene pool. People... oh, how I despise them.

You can't be serious.

2007-02-20T16:25:00.000-06:00

Beginning of one of the more recent Visa ads:

"Ring, nine thousand dollars."

Wait. Wait right there. Are you fucking kidding me? Nine thousand dollars? For realsies?

That right there's some crazy shit, y'all.

Yet another epiphany.

2007-02-19T12:34:00.000-06:00

Or make that several of them. I really need to cut all this realizing shit out - it's making my head hurt.

Still, time spent with oneself (we'll ignore, for the moment, that this solitude isn't entirely my own doing) thinking about things that you have heretofore avoided is time well spent, on balance. And this weekend I did boil a few things down to digestable bits, to wit:

First - The North Shore Story, while certainly nice and certainly a revelation for me in its own way, is much like the Bible. It's a good read, but not necessarily the be-all end-all*. Upon further reflection, much of the significance of those two days was due to the fact that they were the first of their kind that I had experienced (or more accurately, allowed myself to experience - see the third epiphany, below) in years, since well before my marriage dissolved. Put another way; if you deprive someone of food for a week and then give them a Saltine, odds are they'll say that shitty little cracker is the best food they've ever eaten. Compared to nothing at all, anything seems fantastic. In reality, it wasn't really anything more than a damn good time and a reminder that I'm capable of feeling. Not a bad thing, but not the second coming, either.

Second - My partner in crime for those two days (as well as the 4 months or so that surrounded them): It was a good time for sure, but she's not the one for me. I don't know exactly how I got so all-fired into her, but it's pretty clear that I was projecting a lot of who I wanted her to be and hoped she was onto someone who couldn't ever live up to those kinds of expectations. I wish her the best, but she'll have to find it with someone else. My recent realizations about what I want from life have forced me to accept that she's simply not the person who can help me get there. Such is life, and we move on.

Next - I believe I've learned how long it takes to sufficiently recover from the barrel o' fun that is a failed marriage and be ready to take another stab at sharing life with someone else, in my case: about 5 years, or a little longer than the marriage itself lasted. I'm sure some smart person somewhere could have told me this, but let's be honest: I never would have listened. You can tell me not to touch the hot stove until you're blue in the face, but until I burn the fuck out of my hand doing just that, it won't sink in. Woe to any poor sweet soul who may have encountered me in the past half-decade; I'm ever so sorry, but I simply wasn't ready. I think I'm much more ready now. In particular, I'd like to send a sincere apology out into the ether for one particular young lady who suffered terribly in the throes of my lack of self-understanding; it wasn't right, and it's not okay. One day, when I'm confident that doing so won't cause her more pain, I'll apologize properly and in person. Until then I'm saying it here: I'm truly, terribly sorry, K.

Finally - I think it's about time I stopped blogging about this aspect of life and got on to actually trying to live it. Easier said than done for sure, but it's time I started; more time won't make it any easier. As for this place, I intend to return my focus to (hopefully) clever insights into the world around me, and the endless reservoire of material that my fellow humanzees are so very adept at providing. Morons.

Whew. In the words of John Cusack (as Rob Gordon): Who needs a drink?

*all due respect to any devout readers - I really have read The Book and I think it's great, just not my thing.

Go m-beirimíd go leir beo an t-am seo arís*.

2007-02-15T12:14:00.000-06:00

Irish Gaelic's so damn cool. The above is a good traditional toast for when you're at the pub enjoying some fine Craic. It translates (loosely) as "May we all be alive when this time comes around again." And really, that's a pretty damn Irish thing to say.

Oh, my poor pub friends - they're going to get an earful of this shite next time we're out.

Sláinte, y'all.

*for those interested in learning, it's pronounced thusly: "Guh merrimeed guh lair byoh un towm shuh areesh." Hey, I never said it was a pretty language.

It's All So Clear To Me Now.

2007-02-14T14:46:00.000-06:00

Well, thanks to the good folks at WikiHow, I can pretty much guarantee that I won't be single next V-Day:

HOW TO GET A GIRLFRIEND:
It is usually harder for guys to get a girlfriend than it is for girls to get a boyfriend. For all those who haven't been lucky or are in the love (or lust) department, follow these steps to become Mister Smooth.
Steps

1. Pick a location frequented by a significant number of girls where you feel fairly comfortable, perhaps a place that is conducive to a skill of yours: music, public speaking, or a private intimate conversation.
2. Scope out the pickings. Pick one or two or three. Keep these in your mind as "potentials".
3. If you feel you have gotten to know any "Potentials" well enough to ask them out, go ahead and do it, worst thing that could happen is that she says no, and that's her loss. But not you, you've still got the others.
4. Adapt your appearance. Clean up for a high-class city girl. Dress down for the fun-loving motorbike chick.
5. Be funny. If you're not naturally funny, don't try too hard around her. Pitch jokes to other people first and see how the jokes do with them. If you get no laughs there, just pray, because it's gonna be hard winning a girl without humor.
6. Keep up a good posture, walk steadily and smile. Women do not like slouchers. Bad posture gives an air of lack of confidence. Smiling makes a guy more welcoming. A good walking style, (straight back, a hand in the pocket and taking well distanced strides) gives the impression of intelligence.
7. Talk. Silent guys are annoying. (On the other hand, men who do nothing but talk and never listen are annoying too.)
8. Look and touch. Looking into a girl's eyes shows respect and interest. A firm handshake, a gentle pat on the back, a light touch of the hand and other subtle gestures allow the girl to feel connected with the guy.
9. Feel great. The feeling will radiate and affect the lady too.
10. Don't pretend to be someone you aren't, you may think you will win her round with it but in the end it will backfire. Find a common interest, something you both like. If she likes a band and you don't, lie about it, and listen to them till you change your mind.

Tips

* Put on great-smelling aftershave or cologne. Research the best-selling ones at department stores. A good scent really turns a woman on.
* Guys do not need to look like Brad Pitt to find a girlfriend. Just keep hair, teeth and nails clean and neat. Ladies are quick to notice little details especially in the hands and faces.
* Be a good conversationalist. Read up on the latest in politics, entertainment, arts and even sports news. Women love a well-informed man. It makes him look well-educated and, therefore, richer in every aspect. Or just actually be well-educated.
* Do listen to the lady before responding. Women do not like to be cut off. They like to be considered and feel important.
* Do pay on the first drink, first date, first taxi cab ride, etc. It makes a gentleman out of a man.
* Most importantly, offer to walk or drive the lady home (or anywhere she wants to go). This makes the man seem sincerely concerned for her well-being.
* Don't annoy you girl by texting her every night. If she texts you, reply but unless you have something to say then don't text. It gets annoying when someone keeps texting you saying "i <3 u".
* Don't be unsubtle. Yet it is important not to be so obtuse as to be unreadable.
* Do romantic things for her, like slow dances, holding hands, giving her flowers and candy, and hugs.
* Don't be afraid to diplay your affection in public.
* DO NOT push her to have sex with you if she doesn't want to.
* Be a gentleman! Open car doors for her and remember the "ladies first" rule

Warnings

* Do not stalk the lady!
* Grinning like the Cheshire cat is creepy.
* Taking over the entire conversation is over-bearing and rude.
* Do not insist relentlessly on an offer when the lady has turned it down. It may be that she has no use for or does not feel good about the suggestion. Pushing her to accept will only increase the possibility of rejection.
* Avoid being a close talker. Nobody likes that.
* Don't make disgusting body jokes, or fart a lot. Girls hate that.

And here I thought everyone loved a close talker - go figure. Thanks, WikiHow!

From the HSO to you all:

2007-02-14T13:29:00.000-06:00

Sigh. If you can't beat 'em...

An Epiphany, or the North Shore Story.

2007-02-13T09:23:00.000-06:00

Lake Superior is shrinking. * Quite a bit, actually. I watched that story last night and realized that it was bothering me, though I couldn't really figure out just why. I mean, I've been to the North Shore all of once, for two days this past Autumn.

And really, that's it. That damn two day trip. See, I went up there with the girl I was seeing at the time - she loves the area, and this was our first opportunity to get out of the Metro and road trip together. And it was really a damn fine time - in point of fact, it's easily one of the best times I've had in the past 10 years.

It's a little hard to put a finger on just what made it so good. Partly, I just felt like I was really me, for the first time in years. That probably seems an odd thing to say, but from my perspective it's quite true. All the signs were there: I was gregarious, and a little reckless (if we'd managed to actually make a real relationship out of things, I'm sure we'd be constantly boring people with the tale of how I bombed down the side of the hill down to the shore at like 1AM, in some odd bid to teach her a lesson about pretending to be unsafe - a brilliant over-reaction, and the kind of hare-brained risk I was known for in my youth), and in retrospect I realize I was feeling... well, alive. Funny how a person can take months to realize something so obvious.

Mostly, I remember a sense of endless possibilities - we had (potentially) a lifetime spread out before us and all the time in the world to explore it. And in that setting I guess I felt the freedom - or perhaps courage is a better word - to look ahead at that potential and be hopeful about it. Hopeful isn't really my style, in general, but for some reason in that setting it was the only way to look at the world.

Inevitably, the trip had to end - as did the relationship, ultimately. The unrelenting gloom of reality took its toll, and what could have been a great thing simply withered and died; a victim of harsh surroundings and a regretable lack of care. In retrospect, I wonder if we simply burned too brightly - we never could have hoped to maintain something like that. Questions for another time, I suppose.

But for those two days we were on top of the world, and as a result the North Shore will always be a special place for me. Life's an odd thing, and I'm constantly surprised at how the smallest things can make the biggest impact.

*And Leon's getting larger! (sorry, couldn't resist)

We Should Meet About That.

2007-02-12T14:00:00.000-06:00

Another thing they love here at the P.O.? Meetings. LOVE 'em. If there's any reason to have a meeting they'll do it, and woe to you if you can't find a good excuse not to attend.

Today's example: I was "encouraged" to attend a policy-related meeting (occurs weekly) that I normally avoid (using a pre-placed rationale that I spent some time putting in place so that I wouldn't have to come up with a new reason to skip it every single week) like the plague. It was intimated to me that there were some important questions about my project and it was important for me to be there to answer those important questions. Right. First off: there were no important questions, just one nebulous question that was so poorly worded that I first had to translate it into English before I could realize how utterly silly it was (and that we'd already answered it FOUR times).

Here's a sampling of my notes from the rest of the meeting (some words and names have been changed and/or omitted, just for shits and giggles):

Absolutely ZERO impact on the project - why am I here?

Gibberish - dude makes less than no sense at all.

More shit I don't care about.

Brilliant waste of an hour's worth of my day - one weird question I could have answered over the fuckin' phone.

[name removed]'s babbling about something - I don't know what she's saying, but her voice reminds me of that fucker who worked at the chiropractor's office. Now I want to punch her.

Oh, shit - they're whining about what to CALL it.

[name removed] does look better as a blonde. Who knew.

If I had a straw, I could totally shoot a bunch of spitwads and get 'em caught in his beard. That'd be sweet.

[name removed] really is awfully pretty. It's a shame, really.

Another day in paradise. Pass the Kool-Aid, pronto.

It's Gram-tastic. Gram-tacular, even.

2007-02-12T11:26:00.000-06:00

I watched the Grammy's - sort of. I do this (sort of) every year. It's not that I think it should exist any more than any of the other awards shows - I don't - but since it's sort of "my" industry, I do like to check in to see just how out of touch with reality it is on a given year (an example of past unintentional comedy: giving the best Heavy Metal award to... Jethro Tull?).

This year I definitely tuned in to see the Police open the show - that was the main reason, and they didn't disappoint. Sting sounded great and Copeland's drop chops are as good as ever. I also liked their choice of tune and making a little psuedo-medley out of one tune, as opposed to trying to spit out a full, "greatest hits" type medley or something. Well, done, Po-po.

As for the rest, here (verbatim and unedited) are some reflections of the proceedings that I texted to myself with my phone, so I wouldn't forget*:

- (7:58PM CDT)Police rocked - john mayer is good
- (9:02PM) Ornette!
- (9:21PM) Christina Aguilera is hot and good.
- (9:56PM) Good choice for jt partner.
- (9:58PM) JT is a badass.
- (10:02PM) I AM QUENTON TARRANTINO AND I YELL!
- (10:12PM) The Peppers are a little flat. Again. Does not compute.
- (10:15PM) Nice solo by Frusciante at the end, though.
- (10:17PM) Lifetime Achievement Award.
- (10:24PM) Sven, you're a tease.**
- (10:25PM) DH gives a shout out - huh? (at this point I can't recall who DH was)
- (10:28PM) What? JT=robbed. Huh-uh.

And there we have it - Grammy's 2007 in a nutshell, of sorts.

*In one case I already did, and the little text note didn't help. Oh my aching gray matter.

**I think I'd flipped to KARE11 for a check of the weather, here.

Meh.

2007-02-09T10:42:00.000-06:00

Well, it's going to happen. The Police are going to do a world "reunion" tour.

I'm of two distinct minds about this: As a die-hard fan of the band, I think it's a great opportunity for people to see them play live. However, I won't be seeing any of the shows - I can't get excited about the prospect of seeing them on stage after all these years. It's not that I'm worried age will have diminished them, it's just that, well, we all know Copeland and Sting can't stand each other - so I can't think this tour is anything but a cash-making venture, and as much as I respect their right to make some bank, I don't think I'll be adding to that money pile.

Enjoy the money, boys - I suppose you've earned it.

The Ugly Truth.

2007-02-09T09:33:00.000-06:00

Here's the thing, folks: Nobody ever wants to say it, nobody ever talks about it, but the sad, sick truth of the matter is that lots of people never find anyone. There may be a metric shit-ton of fish in the sea, but that doesn't mean we're all going to catch one. The real deal, whether anyone wants to admit it or not, is that all sorts of people die alone and miserable.

"You are coming to a sad realization - cancel or allow?"

Fuck you.

Parenthood.

2007-02-08T14:45:00.000-06:00

So I'm a bit fascinated with parenthood and how it changes people. There are 2 likely causes of this fascination: First, pretty much all of my friends have had kids over the past 2-3 years - and I do mean ALL of them. Those that have abstained from reproduction can be counted on one shop teacher's hand.

Second, I will - in all likelihood - never have children, myself. Now, now - don't cry for me yet, Argentina. You should know that a)I'm not afflicted by any real desire or need to be a parent, and b) I probably wouldn't be very good at it - I don't come from a line of particularly strong fathers. So it's okay if I don't father any kids of my own, really. Even if it wasn't, I ain't gettin' any younger and it's not like the women are knocking down my door screaming "Put a baby in me!" So no, I don't think there's much chance I'll be popping out any miniature people.

But that's okay - I much prefer the concept of being "crazy uncle Colin" over boring old "Dad". For one, I don't ever have to be the bad guy. I can be all fun, all the time. For two, I can lie to the little ankle-biters, which I love to do - nothing awful or harmful to them, mind you, just fun little bits of fiction*.

I'm enjoying watching my friends evolve, that's for sure. It's interesting to see their priorities shift (and heartening to see that they're shifting in the right direction; I won't have to worry about any of these kids), and to listen to them telling stories about the most mundane events possible as if they're discussing a chance encounter with, like, James Dean or some such thing. Incidentally, those mundane stories, as it turns out, aren't anywhere near as annoying as I'd feared they would be; it's actually kind of cute.

My immediate goal is to get each and every one of these little rug rats to refer to me as "Uncle Stan" - because sooner or later their parents are going to have to explain that nickname** to them, and it's gonna be awesome.

*an example: My good friends' boy, Connor, came up to me at a baseball game once and demanded that I explain to him why the sky was blue. I mentioned that his dad really ought to explain it to him, but he replied that his dad was "too busy". So, after giving it some careful thought, I decided to tell him the sky was blue because I painted it that way. No big thing - until later that summer, while mom and dad were painting the house (and of course arguing about it) and Connor piped up with the following admonishment: "Stop fighting so much! Uncle Colin painted the whole sky and you don't see him complaining." Angels. They're little angels.

**there is a story behind this nickname, of course - one day I may even explain it here***.

***or perhaps I already have explained it... I don't remember. This is your brain after multiple severe concussions and several dubious lifestyle choices.

Count to ten... count to ten... murder is illegal... count to 10...

2007-02-08T14:11:00.000-06:00

It begins. Or rather, it continues.

That's right - forget the TV ads or the tie-ins on your favorite show, in the internet age there are so many more ways to be harrassed about Valentine's Day.

As I type this, I'm just finished deleting 3 V-Day related SPAM emails - one from Open Table (I reserved through them at a couple restaurants back when I had someone to take to dinner - so nice of them to make sure I don't forget that I blew that opportunity), one from Blue Mountain (I send my mom e-cards sometimes - sue me), and one from Minnesota Public Radio reminding me of Mark Wheat's "Greatest Love Songs of All Time" program - from Hell's heart I stab at thee, Wheat!

I know, I know - I myself have already explained how to survive this mad season, right here. Doctor, heal thyself.

Ah, well - I offer a hearty and sincere "Sleinte" to all my friends and their significant others this Valentine's. May you enjoy it half as much as I loathe it.

Same as it ever was.

2007-02-08T10:42:00.000-06:00

As is well-described in this article from CNN, it would appear that the evolution vs. creationism debate isn't just a Western phenomenon. It seems that African evangelists are no more willing to consider evolution than their American counterparts.

As an ex-Archeaology major and someone who still keeps up on the discipline (or at least tries to), I don't see a need to detail my own position on the matter - overwhelming physical evidence is, well, overwhelming physical evidence. It kind of speaks for itself.

It's nice to see that the Leakeys are still out there fighting the good fight.

It's About That Time.

2007-02-07T12:30:00.000-06:00

As I write this, I'm realizing that my current role in the P.O. will essentially end in a little over a year from now - not to say I won't have ample opportunity to stay here, but if I do my role will change - it'll have to. This project will be over, so I'll need to transition somewhere else - whether that means back to my old department or something different remains to be seen.

More importantly, I'll have the best opportunity to leave that I've had in a long time. So it's time to take a long hard look at my life and determine the answer to one basic question: Do I want to stay in Minnesota? In the end, that's really the question I need to answer. The P.O. is a factor, as are many other things, but - at this point - there isn't anything that would really keep me here.

Now, before this starts to read like an article entitled "Why I Hate the Twin Cities", let me say that I do not, in fact, hate it here. It's fine, all things considered. However, it has never felt like home. And really, that's a problem.

Let's do a little history - just the highlights: I moved here with my (then) wife in May, 2000. We lived here together for about a year and a half before our marriage ran its course and dissolved. Since then I've been in and out of a couple attempts at another relationship (one which just blew up a month or two ago), but none of them have turned out to be anything one can count on, and I've not found myself truly saying "I'm going to stay and try to build a life here with this woman." As I start to list out the facts, I think we'll see how this little bit o' history affects things.

Fact One: I am a heterosexual male who is not interested in living (or dying) alone. My track record over the past nearly 7 years in this area suggests that I may not be in the best place for me to find the companionship I'm looking for (do note that I was only married for a brief period early on in my time here - the rest of the time I've been single and not at all successful). This would indicate that perhaps a change of scenery would be good for me. 5.5 years with nothing much to show for it isn't what I'd call a good run.

Fact Two: In all likelihood I'll have a good skill/experience set when this project is complete - one that actually translates outside of the P.O. So I don't have to stay here, is what I'm saying. This means that a change of scenery is something that's definitely in the realm of possibility for me.

Fact Three: I've spent the last 10+ years teaching myself how to make my music by myself, and I'm pretty damn good at it. I've got some great musician friends and have made some minimal contacts, but I'm not engrained in the local scene - far from it, really. I've also learned from experience that - thanks to the internet and email - it's very possible to collaborate and record with anyone, anywhere in the world. This means that music isn't a reason to stay, either - it's not a reason to leave, but it isn't keeping me here.

Fact Four: I have made some great friends here - as in the lifelong variety. I value these folks very highly, and they've all been truly wonderful to me over the years. It can be said that if it weren't for these folks I wouldn't have survived here to this point, and that wouldn't be a huge exaggeration. I would miss these people if I left, no question - and that is an important consideration, to be sure.

Final Facts: I'm 37 as I write this. I'll be 38 next year when it's time to stay or to go. I never wanted to get this old, and certainly never wanted to be this old and still living like I was in my 20s. The fact of the matter is that I'm not in my 20s anymore, and my outlook and priorities have evolved as one might expect they would. Put simply, I feel the urge to find a Home and to start to consider what I want to do with the rest of my life. If I'm going to actually have to be alive, then it's about time I got down to the business of living. This sitting around biding my time and meanwhile living like some grotesque version of Peter Pan, it's not cutting the mustard anymore. It's time to grow up.

So in the end, what I need to figure out is whether or not I want to grow up here, or whether I need to go someplace else and start over from scratch. For anyone who might be interested, the current list of possibilities (based on nothing more than whether or not I like the place at this point - things like job markets and whatnot are concerns for a bit later on) for where that someplace else might be include the following (in no particular order): Chicago, IL (back to the old hometown area), Madison, WI (back to the old alma mater), Seattle/Bellingham, WA (always had a hankering to live in the extreme upper PacNW, maybe it's time to give it a go), and Boston, MA (similarly, I've always had an interest in this place, and as it turns out I've got a number of friends in the area).

For the record, I'm aware that a year is a fairly long time. I'm also aware that what I'm talking about means I need to do a lot of thinking about what I want and where I can fairly expect to find it.

It's time to start a-thinkin'.

As promised.

2007-02-06T15:47:00.000-06:00

I mentioned yesterday that I would post about any progress in what I will now refer to as The Situation. As you may recall (I'm just going to assume that you, the reader, are either a) interested in this, at least at a general level, or b) not interested and surfing somewhere else, which is just fine with me), I've been struggling with the idea of being the "better person" and extending myself to the Other Person, because - put simply - if I don't do it, then it won't get done.

I've decided to go ahead and do it - and have begun the process, albeit in small, bearable steps. I have some small hope that this will lead to something good, but there's also a good chance that all I'm doing is setting myself up for disappointment. I'm rationalizing - at the moment - that it's worth it because in the end I'm doing the right thing.

If this blows up in my face, we'll see how much that really comforts me.

And with that we conclude today's chapter of Totally Ambiguous Theatre.

Isn't it Alanis?

2007-02-06T10:36:00.000-06:00

Alanis: Something that isn't really ironic, but since the meaning of that word has been ruined by people like Alanis Morissette, people would likely say "How ironic" or something similarly idiotic about it.

Rain on your wedding day? That's just shitty luck. But I've gone off on this before, so on to the tale at hand.

It's cold here in Minneapolis these days - really damn cold. That's not a huge thing, really - this is the upper Midwest after all, and unlike many of my neighbors I'm perfectly able to survive a little cold snap without incident and with minimal complaint.

What I may not survive is the fact that my apartment is like 30 majillion degrees - seriously, it's ridiculously hot. And it's like a desert heat - just dry and hot. Turn down my heat, you say? Gee, I didn't think of that! Of course I thought of that, dumbass, and my heat's been turned down as low as I can make it go for like a week. Doesn't matter - since I live on the top floor of a big brick building in which my neighbors must have their own heat full-on cranked, I'm provided with more than enough heat from them to make my place an arid hell hole.

Each morning as I prepare to go out and brave the winter cold, I first have to survive my own little inferno - I spend the final five minutes trying to put the clothes on that I've spent the rest of the morning trying to avoid in hopes that I won't end up sweating like pig right before I walk out into the sub-zero air. I get home and immediately start ripping off clothing to acclimate myself, while also being careful not to step on my cats who are lying flat on the floor in an effort to get as much surface area going as possible to dissipate the heat.

I'd open a window, but NOOOO... my landlords flip out and send letters explaining how quickly water pipes can freeze if I do that. Clearly, they've not been in my apartment during the winter - friggin' Cold Miser couldn't freeze those pipes, no way. So the windows stay shut, and we keep cooking away.

I know, I know - this is a pretty lame, pedestrian complaint. I do know this, and I'm well aware that as I type this little missive the cold is literally killing people. I really shouldn't complain.

But that's never stopped me before, and dammit it's too hot in my apartment!

I don't know what to call this one.

2007-02-06T09:48:00.000-06:00

"Rednecks in Space"? "Proof that in 100 years we'll have trailer parks orbiting the planet"? I dunno.

What I do know is that we've got friggin' astronauts acting like guests on the Jerry Springer show. Wonderful.

Read the story, just do it - I could embellish or comment, but there are times when you can't improve on the source material, and this is one of those times.

Diapers... ridonk.

EDIT: Greg Boose has a damn witty take on this story, which you can read right here at the Nervous Breakdown. Check it out, y'all - highly recommended.

Okay, maybe I'm NOT growing up so much.

2007-02-05T11:37:00.000-06:00

Yeah... so while I do seem to be growing up in some ways, certain recent events have forced me to admit that it's not a done deal - and in fact I've got quite a ways to go in some areas. Namely, pride.

I have a little rule about referencing my private life here at the HSO - not that I don't trust all of you out there in the blog-o-sphere as if you were my own flesh and blood, but when other people are involved it seems to me that the right thing to do is keep mum about it, or at most be very vague. Besides, the last thing anyone needs is for me to go all maudlin and blather on endlessly about trivial personal stuff - that's not why y'all come here (all 4 or 5 of you).

That said, I'm dealing with something at present, and that's precisely what's made it very clear to me that while I'm enjoying some growth, I'm far from what could objectively be called maturity.

To put a finer point on it, certain situations have got to a point where someone needs to do the right thing - to extend themselves, take a little risk, have a little faith and be the bigger person. And I'm capable of that, really. I've done it before in many situations, no big whoop, really. So what's different this time that's keeping me from doing it again? Pride. Pure and simple, that's all it is - cutting to the chase, I don't really feel like I should be the one who takes the chance and makes the gesture. I just don't.

And really, that's a pretty silly and childish position to take - I know this. But still... it just chaps my hide something fierce to think that I should have to be the one to take that step when I honestly feel like it's not my responsibility to do so.

BUT, if I don't, it's possible that it won't happen. And really, do I want to know - down the line - that things could be much better/different if I'd just grown up, put aside my pride and done what needed to be done? Given the possible benefit that could be gained, do I want to throw that away on a point of pride?

I'm a little ashamed to admit it, but at the moment I don't know the answer to those questions. Stay tuned.

Ode to St. Pauly Girl.

2007-02-05T10:23:00.000-06:00

Okay, it's not really an ode - I just realized after the weekend of hibernation that she was right about a couple of things. And since she's no longer here at the P.O., and I know she loves to be right, I figured I'd admit it here in the HSO.

First, some time earlier this year, SPG told me about a show she thought I'd like: My Boys. Well, TBS ran the entire first season yesterday, and I caught a fair bit of it before, after, and - once the game turned into precisely what I thought it might turn into - during the Super Bowl. Turns out it is a really good show - at least I like it. And in the "I'm older than I realized I was" file, I was pleasantly surprised to hear "shit" (and most of its possible permutations) and "dick" being used openly in a sitcom. No, not because I have some juvenile love for foul language, but because the fact is that's how people our age actually talk - so it does in fact make the dialogue a bit more realistic and impactful if the folks on TV also talk that way. Additionally, being from the Chicagoland area (the show is set in Chicago), their use of "dick" was spot-on.

So anyway, good call SPG - it really is a good show, and I intend to make a point of catching up on it before they air new episodes this summer.

Second. It was really friggin' cold this weekend. Cold enough to keep me indoors with little to do but contemplate certain - situations - and watch TV, plus the usual meandering I do, working on this song or that for a while, maybe playing around with some graphics stuff, etc.

Anyway, as for the situations, specifically one of them which I will not detail here (at least not now), it's beginning to be very clear that - much as I really hate to admit it (and I do mean really), SPG's right about that one as well. What I'll do about it (hell, if there's really anything I can do about it), that's a different question, and one I don't have an answer for. But she's right, dammit.

I hope you slept in late and are enjoying a nice lazy Monday for the first time in a long time, SPG. We'll miss you around here.

This here is good news:

2007-02-02T11:27:00.000-06:00

It appears that Gray Wolves are no longer on the endangered list. Per the report, the population around the Great Lakes region (Minnesota, Michigan and Wisconsin) has risen to around 4,000 wolves, up from between 700 and a thousand 30 years ago.

I love wolves - I love all large predators, really, but wolves hold a special place in my cold black heart. Moreover, it's just nice to see some preservation efforts that really are paying off.

Well, that explains a lot.

2007-02-02T09:57:00.000-06:00

Rejoice, everyone - ole Punxsutawney Phil didn't see his shadow today, so we're in for an early Spring!

Yeah, right. Some fat, near-sighted rodent fails to see his shadow (as if he can even pretend to grasp the concept of a shadow), so I'm supposed to start pulling out the short sleeves? I think not.

As always, it's the people that make something like this worthwhile.

"It's just kind of fun seeing people go so crazy about a groundhog," said one witness. You don't really get out much, do you, pal?

And this year Phil had some new handlers - one of them said, "It's a lot of work, but it's exciting to know you're a part of one of the most phenomenal parts of American folklore." A lot of work? Really? I mean, aside from having to drag that dirty rodent out and having to smile as he (inevitably) pisses down your arm, just how much work can it really be to pretend the dumb thing has either seen its shadow or not? As for the whole "one of the most phenomenal parts of American folklore" thing, well, he apparently doesn't get out much, either.

I'm somewhat heartened to see that they at least included one dissenting opinion - though oddly enough it came from a guy who walked 30 miles to witness the thing. In fairness, it should be pointed out that the walking thing was both to commemorate his 60th birthday and raise money for breast cancer research. His observation was, simply enough, "It's supposed to get bitter cold this weekend." Ah, the digital age. It's not enough just to predict a nice change in the weather, Phil - we expect quicker service than that.

Finally, reading this article revealed to me where this madness originally comes from; Germany. Let's see... Nazis, Hasselhoff, and weather-predicting rodents. Thanks so much, Germany!

My Head A'Splode.

2007-02-01T11:37:00.000-06:00

Families are funny things - unless they're my family.

No details, please - suffice to say that my parents broke up in an ugly fashion when I was around 13 years of age. One of the very few good things that should have come of that was that any childhood pictures of me would be lost in all the commotion.

Sadly, it appears I won't be able to reap that benefit; the pictures were not destroyed or lost, and instead of being somewhere relatively safe, like in my mother's possession, they've found their way to the worst possible hands - my brother's.

As such, you all can expect some horrified blogging in the future - titles such as "He Posted What Where?" or "I Need a Hit Man to Kill my Brother" may become common sights here in the HSO.

The past - how I hate it. With hell's heart I stab at thee, past!

Sweet mother of...

2007-01-31T14:33:00.000-06:00

Thanks to Rebecca for sending this clip my way. Wow. What you will see if you click on that link is a bride going full-on bat-shit crazy about her hair.

Um. Okay, I'm well aware that weddings are stressful times - I've participated in more than a few of them, and believe it or not I was actually married myself, once*. But... girlfriend's over-reacting just a little, wouldn't you say?

The best part - for me, at any rate - are the bridesmaids' lame attempts at calming her down. They all have a particular plan for this - one continually repeats "It's not that bad!" or "It looks cute!" Yes it is that bad, and no it doesn't look cute. Another one (and something tells me this is the Single Friend - why oh why couldn't I be at that wedding to take advantage of such an opportunity?) constantly says "Remember - you have someone that loves you." As if the bride has any sense of priority or perspective at that point in time - clearly she does not. Besides, we all know that what the girl is really saying is "Why don't I have anyone?? Where's my husband?" (he's hiding from you, you clingy soul-reaper) Finally, one of the geniuses tries to calm her down by pointing out how great she herself and the other bridesmaids look - yeah, that's a good plan, Pumpkin.

Overall, though, I'm struck with a feeling of sympathy for the bridesmaids. I mean, they were having themselves a fine time until Bridezilla showed up and started flinging poo everywhere. That selfish bitch.

*stow it, SPG - behave yourself.

... in bed.

2007-01-30T16:14:00.000-06:00

I'm probably dating and/or regionalizing (is that a word? It is now, dammit) myself with this, but what the hell. A favorite game when I was a young'un was adding the phrase "in bed" to things. This was especially fun with the little fortunes you got out of (natch) fortune cookies. See, it was funny because you were insinuating that something sexual was going on - the scandal!

Somewhat recently, I came across the fortune that such banal horseplay was meant for. It read as follows: "You have a naturally slow, unhurried rhythm" (...in bed!) I gave it to a good friend of mine so that he could write his number on the back and use it to pick up guys. Because I'm a giver, you see - I give.

Today's fortune - you all can determine whether it fits the all-important ...in bed criteria for yourselves, I'm not your friggin' dad.

"You will pass a difficult test that will make you happier."

Haiku for a stupid hippie.

2007-01-30T10:17:00.000-06:00

This is for the dude I just saw wearing Birkenstocks in our office building - no socks, mind you. Yeah, I know socks and sandals is a no-no, but it's like 1 degree Farenheit here in sunny Minneapolis today.

Hey, stupid hippie:
It's too cold for those sandals.
Fuckin' idiot.

Ode to my new iPod Nano.

2007-01-30T09:29:00.000-06:00

Oh, Nano. Your candy-like coating is so very pretty. In truth, I am a bit afraid of you - of your diminutive size. How can you possibly survive the rigors of the world? What if I drop you?

I will hold you with both hands, just to be safe.

How can you possibly fit so much technology into such a tiny package? You have games, even!

Solitaire - We Have A Winner, and it was me!

Music Quiz - you beat me! But I will win one day!

Oh, how you will turn the bus ride into a dream of entertaining technology! It will take a truly smelly person to tear me from your bright screen and endless diversions.

Dear Nano, I thank you for gracing my (obviously very boring) life with your presence. We shall be together always. At least until you break down, at which point I will invoke my Apple Care and have you replaced.

But you will always be my first, my love.

My Nano.

It's entirely possible that I may be growing up.

2007-01-29T16:55:00.000-06:00

Those little moments when you realize you're not quite the knuckle-dragging asshat you used to be are nice things, I've decided.

Case in point: SPG and I were chatting today* about hypothetical "Hottie Calendars" we could make that feature hotties that work here at the P.O., and she was going through her list (meaning it was dudes). It was a good list, and I told her as much. How is that growth, you say? Well, lemme tell you: when I was younger I hated these conversations - not because I couldn't recognize that the guys were physically attractive, but because I knew I was not - at least not when compared to them. And damn, that drove me nuts. I was supremely bent that they got height and muscles and looks and I got bupkus.

But I'm older now. And while I'm not exactly thrilled with what I was given, I've got enough experience and perspective under my belt to know that I got stuff they might not have gotten. I can write a pretty good song. I can sing, and by some miracle other people don't seem to think I sound like a neutered goat (for the record that's exactly what I sound like, though). I can play almost any instrument I put my hands on, at least at a rudimentary level ("Never had one lesson!"). I can express myself well, be it speaking or writing. I've got functioning brains and shit. And at the very least, I've finally realized that I'm not ever going to be tall or handsome or anything like that. It is what it is**, and I can rage against it all futile-like or I can drop it and go forward with what I have. It's actually a pretty liberating realization.

So, I've got that going for me.

*only 4 more days to have important chats like this. Sniff.

**I love this term. Far too much, if you ask some other folks.

I SAID, Are We Having FUN yet?

2007-01-26T16:11:00.000-06:00

I work at this place - I'm going to follow my pal Matt's (from A.S.S.) lead and refer to it as the Pseudonymous Organization. It's an... interesting place, let's just leave it at that, for now.

Matt recently escaped, as will St. Pauly Girl in about a week. Me, you ask? How kind of you, but no - I will never escape this place. As has always been the case, I've spent the past 6.5 years building a skill set that's so friggin' particular to this place, it's worthless anywhere else. In other words, I'm not so mobile. I congratulate Matt and SPG, as well as Elise and Christopher (also from A.S.S. and also former inmates - er, employees here at Your Soul Is Ours, Inc.), but I will miss their presences here. It gets harder and harder to handle the scat this place throws at me (I swear, it's like working for angry howler monkeys some days), and will no doubt get even harder without them around. Just me against the howler monkeys, I guess - time to go buy a saucer sled to shield myself from the scat.

I could go on for far longer about the ills of this place than y'all want to see, but for now I'll concentrate on my main peeve - they love enforced merriment here. LOVE IT. They're so myopic it's actually frightening. Screw giving people the proper tools to do their jobs, or competent leadership to help them succeed - why invest in all that when you can have a pizza party? Everyone loves pizza, right? You betcha!

This week my former department (I did manage to escape that chunk of rotting hell, at least) has set a new low in terms of enforced merriment - they had a theme week of sorts that included showing crappy old movies, serving rancid popcorn*, crappy sheet cake, and of course handing out utterly shitty "prizes" for the dolts who participated in a series of not-at-all-challenging trivia contests. The capper to this week of crazy bedlam and "fun"? They had the poor sods dress up as either T-Birds or Pink Ladies, with the best-dressed winning - wait for it, it's worth it - a DVD of Grease. Yes, that rancid old musical was someone's "prize" for dressing up like a knob and subjecting themselves to the ridicule of the rest of the company (who were not "celebrating" this week).

First of all, I'd like to personally offer NBC an extra special kick in the nuts for bringing that shit-fest back. Really great, guys. Next you should branch out into prepared foods and offer us some sort of sandwich that combines awesome things, much as you have combined Grease and reality TV. How about shit and bile? That'd be awesome.

Finally, I'd like to say this to my former comrades in that department. Get. The. Fuck. OUT OF THERE. I don't care if you have to gnaw your own goddamn hands off to escape the shackles, do it.

*We have a couple popcorn carts here at the PO, and damn if they're not dragged out for any damn reason at all, as if they're some sort of panacea for all the world's problems. Weak.

Dear nature: You are creepy.

2007-01-25T12:02:00.000-06:00

Check out this crazy shark they found near Tokyo. Looks like a severely over-grown eel - that would like to gobble us all up.

Apparently it's called a Frilled Shark (Chlamydoselachus anguineus, if you want to get all specific and shit), due to the fact that its gills (and it's got 6 of 'em, not 5 like modern sharks) look, well, frilly. Personally, I've decided to call it the Gobbler Shark, and I'm cool if I never actually meet one.

That's actually a good segue into one of my little life rules (I have a lot of them, of course): I don't go places where I'm not the apex predator. Thus you will not see me swimming in the ocean. It's this kind of thinking that will keep me from being eaten by something.

Allow myself to introduce... myself?

2007-01-22T11:40:00.000-06:00

MySpace. It's the thing to do - if you fancy yourself a musician and you haven't got a MySpace page to pimp your wares, you're nothing. Zilch. Zip. Nada.

I've had a page for one of my projects, 'C. Kerns and Futiles' for some time, now; it's right here.

I've started a new project with my pal Kyle and several potential drummers - we're calling it Jim Jones Trio, and we're pretty excited about it. Should be an opportunity to turn the volume and speed up and just rock a bit.

And now you, fair consumers of the HSO, can also share in the fun via the all new Jim Jones Trio MySpace page! It's very exciting.

If you're the type who does the MySpace thing, we invite you to check it out.

EDIT: If any of you have clicked on the above link, only to find a curt message saying the account no longer exists - first of all, thank you. Second, for reasons I have yet to ascertain, our MySpace page has gone *poof* and disappeared. I'll work on either getting the geniuses at MySpace to restore it - or I'll just plain re-build the thing - next week, and I'll make sure to post here when it's back.

Inez bit a bull.

2007-01-19T16:40:00.000-06:00

Or inevitable, depending on how your crazy's doing today (as you can see, mine's in fine shape).

What's inevitable, you say? Okay, fine - didn't realize you were SO effin' busy and important. I'll get to the point.

Point being: Fuck Valentine's Day. Right in the ear. No lube. That's right, dry-fuck that bloody depression generator right in the ear until it bleeds. If you're with someone, it's a lousy excuse to do what you should have been doing all along; if you're alone, get ready for the entire world to spend the next ~4 weeks reminding you just how much you suck.

And I say No More. We, the American People need to stand up and draw a line in the sand - say NO to Valentine's Day, people! If you've got a significant other, go buy her/him something nice today. For no particular reason, just because you love them. Isn't that better than giving them some lame, perfunctory crap because Hallmark says you should? Of course it is, and you know it. If you, like me, are alone, ignore this piece of shit entirely. If you can't blow off the never-ending stream of V-Day themed commercials and episodes of your favorite shows (because they'll all do it, even the good ones), turn your fucking TV off. Don't feel more despairing or alone or like a looser just because it's V-Day; we're all alone and losers EVERY day, so there's no need to feel worse just because of a worthless holiday. Chin up, loser - we'll all get another shot to fail miserably at love (again) soon enough.

Seriously, this bloody "holiday" exists because we allow it to exist. And we can make it go away. Think about it.

And please, if you must participate at least try to be a little clever about it. I submit this swell page of Valentine's sentiments as a starting point.

Caramelized upside down... what?

2007-01-18T11:09:00.000-06:00

I don't like awards shows. No - I freaking HATE awards shows. Let's see... we've got actors, directors, writers and musicians - all of whom (generally speaking) are earning a good living doing something they love. Their lives are charmed, they're catered to constantly and by and large we love them - moreover, most of us are not at all shy about letting them know how much we love them.

You know what, those poor bastards aren't getting enough recognition! We need something more - something better. Dammit, these people need validation!

Feh.

Anyhoo, I do realize I'm in the minority when it comes to this - most everyone I know LOVES these bloody things, and some of them get into them enough that their enthusiasm is almost infectious. Almost. For instance, the Snarky Squab did some liveblogging during Monday night's Golden Globes ceremony. And I have to admit - I was highly entertained by her description of the evening's events. Far more than I would have been if I'd actually watched the damn thing, that's for sure.

BUT. Squab-ster, you know I think you're The Shit™, but I'm going to have to take some serious issue with your unwarranted attack on one Jennifer Love Hewitt. We here at the HSO, we love our JLH - she's our girl in the Forrest Gump sense of things. We will love her forever, and she can do no wrong (have you seen the Garfield movie? She's fucking AWESOME in that one, for reals). So we're going to have to take issue with your statements about her.

"I actually liked her for like a season on Party of Five, you know?" We didn't watch that show - it was for girls. But when we did finally learn that such a pure goddess roamed the earth, we wanted that Bailey kid dead. Very dead.

"But now she's so ... cringeworthy." Take that back, Squab. Just take it back. She's adorable, yet still very sexy, and we lub lubba lubba love her. Cringeworthy? We think not.

"And that dress is like some kind of fucked up carmelized upside down boobcake." ...oh, sorry - what? I was in a bit of a reverie, for some reason. Boobcake.

In the interest of fairness, our crack research staff scoured the internets to see for themselves what the deal with the dress was all about. You know, being thorough and whatnot. Turns out the CBS Early Show's Suze Yalof Schwartz also didn't like the dress - she said JLH looked "awful" and that the dress was similar to a bad prom dress. Get bent, Suze - you're on the list now. When we finally found some pictures of the dress - okay, let's get real, here. We don't know diddly-squat about fashion or dresses or any of that. But we still say our girl looked dandy (and it turns out that Squab's description of the dress was somewhat accurate, but she makes a boobcake sound like it's a bad thing, you know?) - and it turns out she was able to dial in all that hotness in a mere 20 minutes! You go, Jenny.

In summation: Boobcake.

Hope I die before I get old.

2007-01-09T17:10:00.000-06:00

Ah, youth.

As a young'un, I fully intended that I wouldn't live to see my 30th birthday - it seemed my destiny and my birthright. In hindsight, it seems that if I were an artist worth my salt I would have shuffled off this mortal coil before I was 30 years old. But no - I had to go and get married for 4.5 years, which I'm now convinced threw the whole shebang off-kilter.

Interesting tidbit - the following geniuses died either prior to 30 or not long after: Nick Drake - 26, Kurt Cobain - 27, Jeff Buckley (whose own father, Tim, died when he was 28 - cue the freaky music)- 30, Elliott Smith - 34.

I'm now 37 and will be 38 all too soon. And I've not lived a careful or healthy life. I won't make a list, but suffice it to say that I've done enough stupid things, put enough horrible things into my body (hell, I still drink like a fish and smoke like a bloody chimney), and damaged myself enough that by all rights I should be outta here.

Which leads me to believe - no, make that fear, that I'm possessed with a Keith Richards-like constitution. I'm a cockroach and I cannot die.

Bugger.

Weeeeeee!!

2007-01-08T16:01:00.000-06:00

(Not to be confused with Matt from A.S.S., who is consumed with his quest for a Wii)

I feel a little bad about not coming up with anything new or cool to write about. So, by way of apology I give you this fun little internets diversion that proves
presidentin' is indeed hard.

Enjoy

Come Again?

2007-01-05T16:36:00.000-06:00

There are times when people say things to me that leave me in a dual state - part non-plussed, part consumed with a sudden need to punch them on the spot. Today was one of those times. I was standing with a co-worker - one of those co-workers you don't necessarily like, but who often accost you when you're out smoking, as if the fact that you both smoke makes you kin-folk, or some such shit - and I was fidgeting a little.

At this point I'll have to briefly digress to explain that at times a man's underwear and his - um, let's just call 'em Bits And Pieces - will interact in an odd way. I don't know who designs underwear for us, but it seems that no design - tighty whiteys, boxers, boxer/briefs, whatever - can eliminate this sort of interaction. It's like some cosmic force inexorably tangles everything up now and again, for some reason.

Anyway, I was fidgeting in the throes of one of these interactions when the co-worker appeared - and dammit, a person should be able to weather something like this alone. But no - he had to walk up to me and exclaim "What, do you have a dog in your pants or something?"

Um, WHAT? Who the hell says that? I mean, I was fidgeting - I didn't have a medium-to-large mammal wriggling around in my pants, a fact which was clearly evident. So, as often happens in situations like this, I mumbled something non-commital and then walked off, explaining that I had a meeting to get to (of course, I did not), and then spent the next 30 minutes mulling over how I should have responded.

The best ideas were as follows:

1) "No, do you have a baby elephant in your shoe?"

2) "I'm going to gut you like a fish, you piece of shit - like a fucking FISH."

3) "How in the HELL could I fit a dog in my pants? I mean, honestly."

4) "Has anyone ever mentioned to you that you're a great argument in favor of euthanasia?"

5) I should have said "Yes, and it doesn't like you." and then shoved him into the path of an oncoming bus.

Feel free to let me know what your favorite of the above options are, or alternatively suggest an option of your own.

Dear Surgeon General: You Don't Make No Sense.

2007-01-04T16:50:00.000-06:00

So I smoke. A lot, actually - I'm like a walking talking chimney at times, it seems. If it weren't for pesky things like working, sleeping, and evil bans on smoking indoors, I would likely smoke 24/7, at least for the year or so I imagine it would take for such a course of action to snuff out my feeble flame.

Anyway, I was looking at my most recent pack of cigarettes just a moment ago (Camel Filters, this one is a fancy "art pack" that features the art of a fellow from Hastings, UK - it's actually pretty neat art), and I noticed that the Surgeon General's Warning is a little unclear:

"Quitting Smoking Now Greatly Reduces Serious Risks to Your Health."

Good to know, really. However, I'm a little confused - are you saying that quitting smoking NOW reduces these serious risks to my health, as in before it didn't? If so, why? Did you just make these risks up or create them? Is it very ethical to create serious health risks? What kind of sick game are you playing with us? Or are you saying that if I quit smoking right now, that will reduce these serious risks that you may or may not have created, whereas if I quit, say, tomorrow I'm shit out of luck?

Either way I'm not going to quit, I'm just asking.

Aw, c'mon - JT doesn't deserve this.

2007-01-03T12:21:00.000-06:00

I always enjoy lists like this one (10 worst songs of 2006), and by and large I agree with every one of their choices.

But "SexyBack"? C'mon - if it's nothing but guilty pleasure fodder (and I would assert that it's more than that), it's awesome at what it is. Agree to disagree on that one, MSNBC.

Now, "Wind It Up", that there is utter tripe.

Toots on a plane.

2006-12-05T17:08:00.000-06:00

Believe it or not, a woman managed to fart a plane out of the air.

Okay, technically she did it by lighting matches to try and cover up the smell of her apparently chronic flatulence, which freaked other passengers out and THAT served to force an unscheduled stop, but such details are rarely very funny.

I guess in this polarized 2-party world we live in, there are only 2 ways to look at this:

Liberal: This poor woman has a medical condition, and now she can't fly? Disgraceful.

Conservative: She's a terrorist. A farting terrorist.

Hey, you - vote.

2006-11-07T12:46:00.000-06:00

Yeah, you - do it. Vote. It's good for you.

If you're in MN and are unsure of who to vote for, you can go

here for more info (thanks to our pals at A.S.S. for that link).

Seriously, it'll only take you a few minutes, and you'll feel better for it. It is your constitutional right, after all.

So do it.

It's back! Bands You Should Love, Vol. 2

2006-11-01T16:44:00.000-06:00

This time the band in question is Metric.

They're a swell band out of Ontario, Canada. You've got smart, hook-driven music, good lyrics with a mix of the personal and the political/topical, good instrumentation and musicianship, and a singer with a swell voice.

Like everyone else on the planet, they also have a MySpace Page, though there's a fair amount of content on their official web page, above.

It's good stuff, and is thus a band that you, loyal HSO-ers, should love.

Um, no.

2006-11-01T16:34:00.000-06:00

Last week in Cincinnati, OH., a 14-year-old boy decided to steal a car that had been left unattended as it was warming up. Anyone who knows (or has been) a 14-year-old boy knows that this sort of decision-making is not uncommon for the species.

Well, the owner of the car decided that the way to handle this was to shoot the kid dead.

WTF? W?T?F? Worse yet, public opinion in the area was that the kid was a "thug" and had it coming to him.

Gee, do you suppose that the fact he was black and had a "funny" name might have had something to do with that opinion? Maybe just a little?

Not cool.

Apologies for the Quiet Period.

2006-10-17T16:29:00.000-05:00

I, your intrepid host, managed to forget/lose my password and then spaced doing anything about it for, oh, 4+ months. I'm sure you've all been mourning the lack of activity 'round these parts.

I shall endeavor to do better moving forward. Meanwhile, I'm still more active and up-to-date than my colleagues at The Bacon Patriot and Five Dollar Words.

C

Get. Out.

2006-05-10T12:58:00.000-05:00

Rolling Stones' spokesperson says Keith Richards didn't suffer brain damage.

How, precisely, would one be able to tell whether he did or did not? Seriously.

Republican Card Deck

2006-05-05T10:39:00.000-05:00

I'm not a very political person, first off - when one's personal politics align most closely with Marxism, it's pretty hard to be all that political.

However, this is good clean fun regardless of how politically-minded one is*. From Cragan and Shields (note the copyright, people) via my good pals at A.S.S., check out the Republican Card Deck.

Good times.

*assuming one isn't a Lemming Republican.

Whoa, dude.

2006-05-04T11:34:00.000-05:00

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Personally? I say good for her - perhaps a bit overkill, but I'm not one to judge.

Indestructible stone.

2006-05-02T14:26:00.000-05:00

I've theorized for quite some time now that Keith Richards is somehow invincible. All those drugs, all that booze, there's no way anyone could survive that.

More proof that I'm right - dude fell out of a freaking palm tree (he was picking coconuts - nobody seems to be interested in why he was picking coconuts) and landed on his head, and he's doing just fine.

Now, I love the man - he's one of my favorite guitarists and songwriters. But I'm more convinced than ever that he's not human.

Karma.

2006-05-01T11:11:00.000-05:00

Sweet shit, but this is some damn bad luck.

Wrongly imprisoned for 15 years, and then when he's finally going to get some restitution he gets snuffed by a hit and run? That ain't right.

Oh, for the love of Pete.

2006-04-28T16:27:00.000-05:00

This fellow right here truly wants to die.

And if he doesn't pull it off himself with the drugs, I'm betting the guys from the bands his problems have wrecked will be happy to assist.

My pig! My pig!

2006-04-27T16:38:00.000-05:00

This story is best read with "Dueling Banjos" playing in the background.

Bands you should love, Vol. 1

2006-04-27T11:09:00.000-05:00

I give you Channels. This is the current project for J. Robbins, late of Burning Airlines, Jawbox, and Government Issue.

J. is a god, pure and simple - his guitar playing is rock solid and stylistically unique, his song-writing is always top-notch, and his production skills are formidable, as well.

You can check out some of their material here on their MySpace page.

As stated above, this is a band that you, intrepid readers, should love.

Cute and cuddly? I think not.

2006-04-27T11:02:00.000-05:00

Once forced to live in fear of death by clubbing, baby seals are now flexing some pretty serious political muscle.

My favorite part of this story is the quote attributed to the stinky hippie - er, environmental activist: "Aren't they cute? I wish they would leave the baby seals alone!" Wow - that's compelling, thought-provoking stuff, right there.

Normally I'd side against the baby seals, if for no other reason than to piss off more stinky hippies. But let's be real, folks; those little ankle-biters have plenty of places where they can pee in the water.

Another team building excercise? I'll pass.

2006-04-27T10:47:00.000-05:00

This has to be my favorite example of stupid corporate practice yet.

Pies, baby food, diapers and spanking? Hells, yes!

Kids these days.

2006-04-27T10:44:00.000-05:00

Way to go, genius.

I mean, of all the indicators that our world and culture are going down the crapper, the diminishing quality of our criminals has got to be the one that freaks me out the most.

You think your ice cream's better'n me?!

2006-04-26T13:44:00.000-05:00

The Irish aren't fond of Ben and Jerry's new flavor.

I had 3 initial thoughts about this article:

Lighten up, Seamus.
Ben and Jerry's prides itself on being a "friendly business" - isn't that an oxymoron?
Ice cream that tastes like a Black and Tan? That's nasty.

Brett, you are a fool.

2006-04-26T12:27:00.000-05:00

First things first: I am a Packers fan. I grew up in Bears country, but as any good contrarian would do, I decided at an early age to root for the enemy. I waited patiently as they stunk up the NFL during the 70s and 80s, and have enjoyed the (relatively) great success they've had since the early 90s, largely due to one Brett Favre.

Well, Brett's coming back for another year.

Problem is, he's going to discover when he gets back that there's no team surrounding him. The illustrious Ted Thompson (my growing hatred of this guy deserves its own post) has allowed the rest of the league to raid our cupboards and refuses to go out and spend the money required to re-stock the team.

Well, welcome back, Brett - I will enjoy watching you play for another year. I hope you somehow find a way to enjoy another losing season, and the continued erosion of your legacy.

Welcome to the HSO.

2006-04-26T10:16:00.000-05:00

Welcome to the HSO - this is my blog (or attempt at such a thing). HSO stands for Horse Shit Operation, which is what pretty much any endeavor I've ever attempted has turned into. With any luck, I'll use this space to opine on the events of the day, sports, music, and when something of note actually occurs in my life, I'll probably run my pie-hole about that, as well.

Read on, intrepid internets users.