It Was 14 Years Ago Today...

For a couple weeks now, I've been trying to figure out how exactly to approach this, the 14th anniversary of the passing of Material Issue singer/guitarist Jim Ellison. As many of you know, I was a big MI fan, and considered Ellison a friend of sorts. We hung out when we ran into each other numerous times over a period of five years or so on the local Chicago scene, which was pretty easy to do considering how tight-knit the local rock community was back then.  Needless to say, even though I had left Chicago and hadn't spoken to him in a year or so, the news of his death stopped me in my tracks.  For weeks afterward, I found myself wondering what the hell could have possibly happened to make him think that suicide was the only solution.

A few years ago, I went through something very similar to what Jim had gone through, which, reportedly led to his decision to take his life. It was then that whatever bitterness I'd had about his actions gave way to a new level of understanding. The only difference between he and I on at least one fateful night was that I was too chickenshit to go through with it.

People who say that suicide is the coward's way out have no idea what they're talking about. To go through with it...successfully...is the exact opposite of cowardly. Doesn't make it right, or any easier on family and friends left to deal with the aftermath.

The reason that I found myself somewhat ambivalent in writing about Ellison on this date is that I find my opinion changing yet again. I've gone from my initial shock and disappointment, to a sense of understanding, to my current state of complete and utter sadness that Ellison isn't here anymore.

The guy was a character, to put it mildly. One of the joys of playing briefly in a band with ex-MI members Mike and Ted in 2008 was hanging out after rehearsal with Mike. As a bottle of liquor was passed around, we talked about our shared love of tons of great Chicago bands and, inevitably, to Material Issue. Mike was incredibly frank and insightful about the time he spent with Jim and it was obvious to see that Jim's death was a huge blow to him. Life went on, of course, but, on his way out of this world, Ellison threw a major wrench into his spokes, as well as Ted's.

Selfish? Yeah.

If Jim had chosen to just ride it out, like many of us have somehow found a way to do, he'd have no doubt bounced back and returned to his brash, cocky self. Love him or hate him, he was never dull and, at the very least, there'd be a ton of new Ellison songs bouncing around in our heads.

Whenever I see Butch Walker's name on some new album, or hear that he's producing such-and-such's new album I can't help think that that would be Jim if he'd lived. Butch, who is a self-confessed fan of Material Issue, would also probably admit that if Ellison were still around, he'd be losing a lot of work to the Jim and would not have any problem at all with that.

Musically speaking, Jim's absence in this world is glaring because the guy was a stone-cold genius when it came to churning out great tunes. It kills me a little that he chose to split this world rather than just throw himself into his songs. He'd have no doubt emerged from the funk with songs that would have been some of his best and I'd not be here trying to put the 14th anniversary of his death into some sort of perspective.

What is it about the human condition that would lead someone to consider ending it all. I admit that there are times when I just don't think it's going to get any better than it was the last time I was truly happy (a long ass time ago, come to think of it). For the kid I used to be who thought that life would be a fucking bed of roses, I stand as a huge disappointment - a textbook case of what happens when you get exactly what you ask for and still aren't satisfied, then, when that's gone, you realize "Oh shit, that was the one."

But, you know, I still find things to hold onto that might not seem like a lot to anyone else, but they're enough to me and, at the end of the day, it is just enough to keep on keepin' on. 

It's a bummer to hundreds of people that Jim couldn't find even one reason to stick it out...maybe if he'd known that there were hundreds of people who cared and who'd miss the hell out of him. I guess when you lose perspective and don't have anyone to tell you "snap out of it" when you begin drowning in your own darkness, shit can definitely go sideways on you.

I can't help but think if he'd just been able to get through that night...just make it to the next patch of daylight, everything would have been fine, but Jim was just one of those guys who couldn't wait and didn't always take the time to think things all the way through. We all do foolish things, yet it seems such a harsh punishment to be taken from this earth, even if by your own hand. So much for God being there for you in your moment of need, I guess.

How do I end this on a positive note? Jim's death is just as fresh in my mind tonight as it was the night I got "the phone call" telling me the news. I still haven't made any sense of it. When I pop in a Material Issue album, I still dig the tunes, but I no longer see Jim's cocky smirk in my mind. I just see that damned tombstone and a few words chiseled into stone that say absolutely nothing about the man and that fucking saddens me to no end.

Frank Zappa 4 Prez!

BUY "ZAPPA 4 PREZ" T-SHIRT TODAY!

I miss Frank Zappa.  No, I mean it.  I really, really miss Frank Zappa.

I am also 100% absolutely convinced that the reason that all of the greats this world are taken before their time is to spare them the insult that is the world of today.  For, if he'd lived to see what passes for music, culture, and politics these days, he'd either be greatly humored, or saddened or both.

Still, at times, I  can't help think that his insight on current topics would be much-welcomed and, while humorous, also painfully accurate.  Someone's feelings would definitely get hurt.

With each passing year, it seems that I come to miss his humor and outlook on life all the more.  Zappa, to put it mildly, was a character.  He was also an absolute genius, a workaholic, a master businessman whose shrewd investments and planning paid off quite handsomely, and, most importantly of all, a brutally honest and insightful commentator on a plethora of topics.

This was a guy who not only embraced, but championed weirdness and continually pushed the boundaries of music, film, and commentary during his three decades as a recording artist, during which time he released 38 studio albums, 19 live albums, a number of films, and continually toured the world with an ever-changed line-up of some of the best musicians in the business.

I knew the name, but had not heard the music until Zappa scored a Top 40 novelty hit with the song "Valley Girl" in 1982.  A few years later, he was on Capitol Hill to testify before the U.S Senate on the subject of obscenity in rock & roll lyrics.  The Parents Music Resource Center (PMRC), a music organization headed by Tipper Gore and featuring many wives of current politicians, sought to censor rock lyrics via the establishment of a ratings system.



He would later appear on CNN's "Crossfire" to further debate the issue of censorship.  Even as the host of the show's ire rose and his responses were more insults directed at Zappa himself, Frank's demeanor never wavered.  It was obvious they were trying to lure him into the mud with them, but Zappa refused to stoop to that level.  He emerged victorious from the experience, which seemed to further ignite his interest in debate and American politics. 

This was, after all, a man who, in the liner notes of many of his albums, had urged fans to register to vote - going so far as to provide voter registration booths during his concert tours in the late 80's.  In the wake of his appearance before the U.S. Senate, Zappa continued to do a number of interviews (on shows such as "Late Night With David", "The Today Show" - the guy was everywhere) and, in each and every one of, you could not help but be struck by how much Zappa just "got it". 

Whether the subject was censorship, democracy, or the machinations behind the election of presidents such as JFK, Nixon and LBJ, this was, after all, a man with deep convictions and a desire to leave the world a better place as when he entered it.  At one point, he confided in his wife and friends an interest in running for President of the United States.

Can you imagine that?  President Zappa?

If Zappa had not been struck down by prostrate cancer in the prime of his life, the mind reels at what he might have accomplished.  I know that whenever I see one of his many interviews (many of which have been uploaded to YouTube), I am struck by how great a President he would have been.

That's why we at He's A Whore have begun the Frank Zappa 4 Prez campaign.  With the next Presidential election only two short years away, it is never too early to begin a grass roots campaign to elect Frank Zappa as our next President.  After all Frank Zappa's not dead - he's assassination-proof!

Have you seen what passes for an American President these days, let alone your average politician?  Heck, a South Carolina sex offender recently won a Democratic primary, for crying out loud.  The world needs President Zappa now more than ever!

This is what Franz Zappa had to say about America, and Democracy, in 1989.  Twenty years later, his words are eerily accurate and more timely than ever:



To kick this campaign off in fine fashion, we at He's A Whore have unveiled the brand-new official "Frank Zappa 4 Prez" t-shirt.  Buy it, wear it with pride, and, come November 2012, vote Zappa 4 Prez!  Also, join our "Frank Zappa 4 Prez" Facebook page to show your support!

We're fucking serious, man!

Here is a lecture Frank Zappa gave on April 23, 1975 at Gifford Auditorium, Syracuse University. Even then, his wit and intellect were on full display as he took command of the audience.

Frank Zappa Lecture, Part 1
Frank Zappa Lecture, Part 2
Frank Zappa Lecture, Part 3

Everybody Is A Fucking Liar!

And just as God in his infinite infancy
Thinks he's in control
That's when God in his infinite infamy
Decides to damn our souls

Let's throw it all in
And think of places to back up & begin
To build something higher
'Cause everybody is a fucking liar
-"Everybody Is A Fucking Liar" - The Posies

I remember being an innocent little kid who spent his days in school eagerly learning new things, having the time of my life with my friends during recess, and then playing whatever game happened to be in season at the time at the local park.

Mind you, those days weren't perfect - I remember feeling as if a great force of evil had entered my world when an older kid in the neighborhood beat up one of my friends for absolutely no reason.  It was nothing more than a fat lip, but it may as well have been an atom bomb.  Up to that point, my childhood had been so idyllic that Norman Rockwell could not have come within an acre of capturing the level of purity and innocence.

Back then, there were two worlds - the kids world and the grown-up world.  They may as well have been parallel universes, as they looked vaguely similar but were, in fact, quite different and never the twain shall meet.

Once darkness descended upon the local sandlot, you could almost count the seconds until the chorus of mothers' voices would begin echoing from nearby houses.  We'd put off calling it a night for as long as we could, as if our lives were riding on the next pitch, the next hit.  Our parents thought us disrespectful for not dropping our mitts and running home at the first sound of their voice - and, upon uttering such an accusation,  we kids were left with mouths agape, wondering if our parents had every actually been kids themselves.  Sure, we'd seen the photos that sort of resembled younger versions of our moms and dads, but how were we to know the legitimacy of such "evidence"?
 
The truth was that we were not being defiant at all.  We were merely sucking all the marrow out of life, living each moment to the fullest.  During summer vacation, even an hour spent beneath a shady tree chomping on a just-ripe-enough-to-eat apple was exciting.  The wind was blowing just enough to cool your skin, the tree was just shady enough to let in a thousand tiny glimmers of sun, and the apple was just crisp and tangy enough to be the best damn apple you've ever had in your whole life, pardon your French.

In our path from childhood to adulthood, at some point, we begin to not suck all the marrow out of life.  We start to settle - in jobs, in relationships, and in cities we can barely stand.  We begin to lie to ourselves ("This is what I want...I guess", "I'll finish my novel next year, after the kid is born", "He says it won't happen again and, well, I believe him", etc.) until finally there is no effort at all in saying things to ourselves and others that have absolutely no basis in truth whatsoever.

I have lied.  Many times.  I try not to lie these days, but it's impossible.  When a woman asks you how her tush looks in a particular pair of slacks, leading you to take one look and immediately want to make love to her right there on the spot, you can't always say so (especially if you're wife is standing nearby).  The flip side of the same coin is what happens when those particular slacks do not particularly complement the tush in question and yet you do not wish to shatter the hopeful smile staring back at you.

Sure, in such cases as those, lying is justified...right?

Maybe yes, maybe no, but it is a slippery slope none the less.  I rewind the movie of my life back to those golden days of childhood and catch fleeting glimpses of the adult world taking place high above our heads - the Watergate hearings - and knowing that those adults on TV were lying to each other, and to us.

Back then, it was such a shocking concept - that a politician would outright lie - that it seemed like such a glaring exception to the rule.  Politicians, after all, were the people we looked up to, who smiled and waved to each and every one of us at the local county fair, and at the Independence Day parade; they shook our hands, held and kissed babies, and spoke about a brighter future with such great conviction.

Funny word, conviction.

These days, we live in a world where each and every one of us believes that every politician is lying to us.  Those who don't believe such things are referred to, quite accurately, as flaming idiots.  We get lied to on a daily basis by those we have willingly put in charge of our local and national governments.  The thing is, if it wasn't them, it would merely be somebody else in their spot also lying to us.

Remember that part about lying being a slippery slope?  Not only does lying become easier the more you do it, it makes otherwise unthinkable acts so much easier to do.  Once you've lied and gotten away with it, what's to stop you from stealing when the opportunity presents itself?  You can lie to yourself (which you've already mastered) and say that you never actively went in search of something to steal, but the opportunity came to you and, well, you took it...who could blame you?

Well, not to be a buzz-kill and snap you back to reality, but I could blame you.

Where did the happy-go-lucky kid you used to be go?  When did you go from helping a classmate reach the monkey bars to stabbing people in the back, then lying about it?  Or did you just start right out being a sniveling, evil dirt bag who saw your fellow man as just another stepping stone to the top of the heap?

What each and every politician in this country is too self-absorbed and busy lying to realize is that the American public is like an impressionable child.  Fart and smile in front of us and you'll soon have 250 million doing it right back at you.  That's why the moment I heard the news about "Balloon Boy", the bell of my internal lie detector rang it's fool head off.  Those I told immediately of my suspicions just scoffed at me, but, days later, they were at least man and woman enough to admit that they were wrong.  Of course, when a certain 16-year-old sailor "went missing", they too saw through the charade.  "Dad must have inked a deal for a reality TV show," said my friend before I could even get the same words out of my mouth.  We've yet to officially be proven right on this count, but it is just a matter of time before Idiot Sailor Daddy comes clean.

In doing so, he will no doubt be summarily and financially rewarded by network execs for undertaking a scheme to essentially make money off of his daughter.  These execs should know better, but, considering the crap they've been green-lighting on TV lately, they are only half as smart as your average tree stump, but twice as morally bankrupt.

Sure, Balloon Dad may have had a good plan, but he fucked up in the execution.  Point blank, he was a shitty liar.  But, like all good plans, it will be tried until it is finally perfected, and then everyone will fucking give it a go.  At that point, humanity as a whole will join together as one and bid adieu to our last remaining vestiges of innocence, trust, and common sense.

As darkness falls, mothers will call to their children in the night.  There will be no cries of "Just one more pitch," or "Aw, mom, but it isn't even dark yet, I can still see my hand".  Children will drop their gloves and come willingly, as the game wasn't that much fun anyway, as everyone was so busy lying about how many strikes they had, whether they were out at first, or whether the hit to left field was fair or foul.

It's only a matter of time...

Everybody Is A Fucking Liar - The Posies

The Return Of Winnebago Man!

If, like me, you've laughed your ass off in the past at these outtakes from local RV salesman Jack Rebney as he trips repeatedly over his own tongue, then launches into one colorful and creatively-worded tirade after another, then you've also probably wondered whatever happened to the guy.

Turns out Austin, TX filmmaker Ben Steinbauer had the same question.  Thankfully for us, he also had a camera and the determination to get to the bottom of a mystery that has plagued mankind for the past twenty years.

After a lengthy festival run, "Winnebago Man" opens nationally on July 9th in select cities New York, Boston, San Francisco, Austin, Los Angeles, San Diego and Washington DC.  Check the film's official website for additional information.

Crowded House Return With New Album "Intrigeur"

Pre-Order New Crowded House Album Today!

God bless Neil Finn.

In the cage fight that is my mind, the former Split Enz singer/guitarist is the lone man standing on what was a once-crowded musical landscape full of genius songsmiths who carried the flag of a new musical brigade in the late 70's/early 80's. What made such luminaries as Elvis Costello, Andy Partridge, Rick Nielsen, Tom Petty, Sting and others so noteworthy was that they weren't belittling the past as punk had done. In each of their hands, proper respect was paid to pop classicism and, yet, envelopes were pushed with great regularity in the quest to reach new musical heights.

On Intriguer, the new Crowded House album, Finn proves without question that he still kicks as much musical ass now as he did then. Album opener "Saturday Sun" is drenched with just enough production blips 'n' bleeps to appeal to the hipsters without intruding upon the classic pop sensibility at work.

"Archer's Arrows" is a deceptive number that will hit you right between the eyes right around the third listen. Wait for it.

"Isolation" is the best song Chris Isaak never wrote, full of trembling, shimmering guitar and Twin Peaks backing vocals (Julee Cruise would have been perfect for the part, was she unavailable?).

"Twice If You're Lucky" begins what would be Side Two if this were 1986. Additionally, if it were still the mid-80's, you'd be wearing parachute pants and this song would most certainly be a huge radio/MTV hit; a song we'd all know by heart come the year 2010. My heart aches knowing it will never receive the attention it deserves for a multitude of reasons, none of which have anything to do with the song or the band, but with the complete shambles that is the music industry.

Does Neil have a teenage son that Disney or Nickelodeon could possibly turn into a star with lesser songs than these, perhaps? It sickens me that it has come to this. I can't help wonder if it nauseates Neil as much as it does me. I have to ask because Finn has always struck me as such a positive and confident soul, never one to pander or feel the need to emulate current market trends in pursuit of a cheap hit. Oh, he's had his share of hits, mind you, but always on his own terms.

Intriguer, of course, is no different. There are no concessions made herein and the result is an album that is as effortlessly honest and as perfect for a summer day in the city as any album I've heard in years.

Imagine...

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world

In the wake of the massively destructive BP oil spill, which continues to spew even more oil per day now than when it began, I am reminded more than ever that we...you and I and everyone we know...are ultimately to blame for this destruction.  Not only are we slaves to our cars, we are slaves to gadgets, toys and any number of ultimately meaningless possessions...all made of plastic (which is made from petroleum) - try making a computer or a cell phone without it - and we continue to wreck the earth with our continued reliance upon petroleum-based plastics.

Did you know that, of all the oil pulled from the earth, 16% of it goes toward the manufacture of plastic products?  Did you also know that it takes 1000 years for a single plastic product to completely degrade?  Considering the amount of plastic that you and I and everyone we know toss out on a daily basis, I am seriously amazed that any of us can open our front doors in the morning for all the plastic impeding upon our daily existence?

Imagine how pissed we'd be, though, if it really did start piling up so much that we could not leave our homes.  We'd have to alter the way we live.  We'd have to figure out a way to survive, to not die.  Oddly enough, that very thing happens to the wild habitats where plastic destroys the balance of life, taints groundwater, and carries with it harmful bacteria and other harmful species not normally found in nature.

It should fucking stop you in your tracks that the cup that you normally pay no attention to when you order a drink at a fast food joint will serve you for all of five minutes and then destroy the fucking world around it for the next ten centuries.

So, I know this is a crazy thing to ask you to do, but spend the next day paying attention to how much plastic you go through in a 24-hour period.  Engage your honey-bunny, or your children (if you have any) in the conversation and make a game of trying to find an alternative to wasting another piece of plastic.

It won't be easy, that's for fucking sure, but if you engage other people in the effort, it begins the necessaryt dialogue to finding solutions and, let's face it, every little bit helps.  Even if you only prevent ten plastic cups from fouling a forest or a pond, that is still better than having done nothing.

Companies may not respond to you walking in and saying "Yes, I'd like a Slurpee, but not in a plastic cup", but they do respond to the fact that they have a shit-load of plastic cups in the backroom when, normally, they'd have used them all in a single day.  There are these wonderful things called PAPER CUPS that are VERY biodegradable.  Ask for them by name and if the employee behind the counter just looks at you as if you're speaking a foreign language (which is a whole other topic I don't wanna get into right now), take your business elsewhere.

Additionally, when you decide to buy a new fashion accessory, or some shiny new toy for grown-ups, make a note of how much plastic is involved in the manufacture of this product and ask yourself, "Do I really need this particular piece of plastic?"  Maybe 9 times out of 10, you'll answer "yes" to that question, but, again, every little bit counts and the one thing you decide not to buy will send a little message to somebody somewhere.  Maybe they'll get it and make a change to the way they do business, maybe they won't, but, at the very least,  you did your part.

Lastly, and most importantly, buy reusable shopping bags.  Most stores sell them these days and, while it may seem ridiculous to have to pay for something yourself when you could just have the bagger toss your items into a plastic bag for free, you're doing a good deed for Mother Earth.  That doesn't make you a hippie, a tree-hugger or a communist.  It makes you someone who cares about the world around you.

Diddy Dumb Diddy Doo: Open Letter To P. Diddy

With a new movie to plug ("Get me To The Greek", starring Russell Brand), P. Diddy has been making the media rounds as of late, including a Nightline interview with Martin Bashir.  Anyone expecting  a "puff" piece (pun intended, 'cuz that's how we roll), including the subject himself, was dead wrong.


At one point, Bashir began asking the mush-mouthed rap thug about fatherhood (Diddy has six children with what seems like eight different women), including his recent gift of a $360,000 Maybach automobile to his 16-year-old son Justin.


(scroll to the 6:00 mark in the video to see the questions regarding fatherhood)


Needless to say, Diddy was visibly annoyed at the line of questioning.  It became quite obvious that this is not a guy who ever has any of his decisions second-guessed by anyone.  This is a guy who has done anything he wants whenever he wants since he was running around shooting his gun at people and pretending to be a rapper.  We felt perhaps it was time somebody sent Diddy a message and told him how it is.

Dear P. Diddy,

Just so we understand each other, let me just tell you that no amount of fashion accessories, money, and legitimate business dealings can hide from me the fact that you are nothing more than a corner thug.  In front of the cameras, you carry yourself with a cool, reserved demeanor that you no doubt believe makes you look sexy and powerful, but, in truth, comes across more like a well-dressed version of a punch-drunk Larry Holmes.  Behind the scenes, you are a foul-mouthed, ill-tempered control freak who has to pay people to hang out with you.

Seriously, look around you.  Which one of the many people with which you associate does not benefit financially from the situation?  Remove the cash and you remove their motivation for sticking around.  My hunch is that this goes way back to your teenage years when you found yourself unable to make real friends and set out to rectify the situation by buying then instead, and paying people to dispense with your enemies.


The simple truth is that there is not much at all to like about Sean Combs when you remove the $10,000 sunglasses from his face and all of the other deflective accessories from his person.  Stand before the mirror, just you and you alone, and what you see is a scared kid of a man who may be savvy enough to get rich through sheer intimidation and force, but isn't smart enough to know the difference between real love and sucking a cock for money.

By buying your son a $360,000 car, you're subconsciously saying a lot of things; none of them positive.

For example:

• "There are cameras here (Diddy's son's 16th birthday party was filmed for VH1's reality show "My Super Sweet 16").  I, P. Diddy, can't just give my kid a watch or a video game.  I'd be humiliated, man.  I gots to blow these people's minds."  

Notice how many times you referred to yourself here without even mentioning your son?  It's all about you, even at your own son's birthday party.

• "Yo, my little man, you can win a lot of friends and impress some mighty fine ladies with a $360,000 car."  

Let's face it, nothing good can come from a kid driving around in a car worth more than most people's homes.  What if he strays outside of Beverly Hills, Bel Air or the Hamptons - you know, the real world?  The only friends and "mighty fine ladies" it will attract are the fake kind, those who see someone with money and decide to go along for the ride.  You've been paying people to hang out with you for twenty years, now you're going to give your son a virtual leech magnet with which to attract scum-sucking hangers-on of his own?  Maybe you were never able to make friends based on your personality and selflessness, but don't just assume your kid is the same way.  With you as his father, you're right, he might just be a real ass who needs to pay people to be his friends, but you have admittedly not been there for much of his life so, who knows, maybe he actually learned to make friends without any money exchanging hands or having to pay their way.

• "I realize that I haven't been there for my son, as I am more concerned with my acting career and business ventures, but I send him to the best schools and give him nice things.  My dad wasn't there for me and he never gave me shit.  Therefore, by buying my kids nice things, I am a good father."

Sadly, I honestly believe that you lack the ability to get along with people and that the relationship being based on salaries and payoffs works to your advantage.  You never have to be a friend, or a father, or a husband.  You get to split the minute things become uncomfortable for you, like when a woman just wants to talk instead of have you fuck her without a condom, or someone that could be a friend asks you to help them move (not pay to hire a big-ass moving company).  When's the last time you held up the other end of a couch or lugged some boxes, motherfucker?

Also, when's the last time you gave something to anyone that didn't have a dollar-sign attached to it?  That's fine for you, but to foist this way of thinking upon your children is a horrible, rotten thing to do.  By shoving money into their pockets and paying their entry fee into a world most people will never know, you're turning them into you and never even giving them the chance to get anywhere on their own. 

(Son Justin at his 16th birthday party)

When I see your son Justin, I see a kid full of hope, charisma, and the potential to accomplish great things.  I also see a kid smart enough to gaze at all of the immaculate accoutrements you have bestowed upon him and realize that he got this for doing NOTHING.  Why work to be more intelligent, or outgoing, or caring to others when you are handed everything on a silver platter?  Every time his Fairy Thugfather shoves a roll of thousand dollar bills into his pocket, your son discards a part of his soul to make room for it.

By taking such a gluttonous approach to parenting, you're instilling in your children the belief that their father, who would rather be in France at a film festival or fashion show, or in Hollywood shooting a movie than be with them, does not have faith enough in them to be anything or make anything of themselves on their own.

You've been using your money a lot lately to build legitimate businesses, but you and I both know a lot of blood was spilled on your way up.  Not only could you buy friends, you could also buy enemies.  And, as they old saying goes, keep your friends close, your enemies closer.  Just hope you never run out of money, you might find that you have no friends, no enemies, and that the emperor has no clothes.

OOPS! This Day In Music: Paul McCartney Marries Heather Mills

On this date in 2002, former Beatle Paul McCartney married Heather Mills.  While the couple would have one child together, daughter Beatrice, they would divorce in May 2008.  If you ask me, that marriage never had a leg to stand on.

Ba dum bum.

In 2003, Adam Ant would once again go bonkers, tossing rocks at neighbors before stripping down to his leopard-pattern briefs in a local cafe.

Born on this day in 1949: Frank Beard, drummer for ZZ Top.  Beard, strangely enough, is the only member of the band without a beard.

You're Welcome: Third Eye Blind "How's It Gonna Be?"

I can already see most of you groaning at the sight of those three words: "Third Eye Blind", but those who are able to merely enjoy a great song as a great song, without having to necessarily be a huge fan of the band in question, are more than likely already nodding their heads.

That's because "How's It Gonna Be?" is one of the coolest break-up songs of all time.  Musically, yeah, it's great, but, lyrically, it is deceptively cinematic. 

"Where we used to laugh
There's a shouting match
Sharp as a thumbnail scratch
A silence I can't ignore
Like...
The hammock by the doorway we spent time in
Swings empty, don't see lightning like last fall when it was always
about to hit"

When the band's singer and main songwriter Stephan Jenkins sings these lines, he perfectly captures that unmistakable stench of a relationship that was once a dream-come-true now reduced to a drama-spewing nightmare.

And still, the way he balances what-once-was with the reality of present tense is absolutely sublime.  I must admit that, even though I've heard the song a thousand times, there is just something absolutely heartbreaking in the line "How's it gonna be/When you don't know me anymore?"...just the thought of having once been the center of another person's world and now...nothing.  Less than nothing, in fact.

What makes the song all the more fascinating is Jenkins resigned, studied demeanor early on, as if being on one of two trains headed towards one other and not being able to do a damn thing about it; not wanting to watch, but not wanting to look away either.

The true genius of the song, though comes in the bridge when Jenkins suddenly explodes:

"Want to get myself back in again
The soft dive of oblivion
Wanna taste the salt of your skin
The soft dive of oblivion"

 A moment ago, he'd been dying to get away, wanting only to put the relationship out of its own misery.  Whether it be a simple case of absence making the heart grow fonder, or simply the phantom pain akin to missing a limb, he finds himself in a spin of regret, pleading at the top of his lungs to taste the salt of his ex-lover's skin.  In doing so, all the power he'd had, all the composure he'd shown, is gone.

Who hasn't been the bigger person, taken the high road, only to eventually succumb to some inexplicable pang of weakness, regret, and longing for those beautiful first moments - the heady buzz of new love?

For every Sugar Ray tune that hits the airwaves, worms its way into your head, killing off brain cells by the second with its insipid, but catchy-as-hell mindlessness, it's kinda cool knowing that not all huge 90's mega-hits were an exercise in baseless angst and/or annoyance?

CD Review: Eminem "Recovery"

Pre-Order The New Eminem!

Just about every other review of the new Eminem album Recovery will no doubt allude to a certain "shady" character, his highly successful turn in the film "8 Mile", and then his complete withdrawal from the spotlight.

But you know all that, so how about we just cut the chase, is the new Eminem album any good or not?

Before I answer that question, let me just divulge the fact that I loathe most rap music.  There are perhaps three rap albums that are absolutely essential to any music collection: the first two being NWA's "Straight Outta Compton" and Public Enemy's "Fear Of A Black Planet".

What's the third one, you ask?

This one.  That's right, Eminem's latest joint is one bad-ass piece of vinyl and is absolutely a must-have for anyone who thought they'd already heard the best of what Eminem has to offer.

In the rap world, artists come and go. Very few stick around long enough to release a seventh album and those that do (Ice-T and Ice Cube, I'm looking at you) have definitely lost a step or two.  In Eminem's case, it appears his lengthy sabbatical from the limelight only served to fuel a fire that was bound to explode at some point.  Last year's Relapse, while a decent outing, was merely the tip of the iceberg. 

Recovery is a full-frontal 17-track musical and verbal barrage that proves without question that Eminem is one of the most creative wordsmiths to ever step up to the mic.  He and his producers don't simply fall back on the same old beats over which to spew the usual venom, nor does Eminem employ any skits on this outing.  Nope, this is just straight up Eminem pushing new boundaries while creating songs that work as both works of pop genius and rap-based diatribes against anyone who has ever wronged the man.

A quite unexpected surprise is how unobtrusive such guests as Rihanna, Lil Wayne, Pink and Kobe are within the context of the entire album.  My fear was that the guest appearances would water down the proceedings or break its flow, but such fears are completely unwarranted.  "Love The Way You Lie (featuring Rihanna)" is actually one of the album's high points and, while her vocals are heavily auto-tuned, her voice lends the necessary vulnerability.

Oddly, Eminem samples Ozzy Osbourne's vocal from "Changes" for his own "Going Through Changes" and perfectly blurs the line between merely sampling a tune and outright covering it.  Still, there are few songs as outright honest about hating yourself, hating your life, and wanting to die, even when you have the world in the palm of your hand.  Eminem pulls no punches and fills each line with so much detail that you feel as you're watching him fall apart right in front of you.  That song alone sets him far apart from the usual cock-sure bravado and punk-kid-waving-a-gun posturing of most rap records.

Of the album's seventeen cuts, each and every one is a fucking stunner and carves out its own niche in the aural palette.  With most rap albums, things tend to get mighty repetitive after a few tunes, but due to the use of a variety of different producers and some crafty sequencing, the album has impeccable ebb and flow.

This album will put Eminem back on top, mark my words.

Tom Petty's MOJO Streaming At ESPN?!

For anyone who wants to hear the new Petty record in its entirety, ESPN, of all places, is streaming it.

GO CHECK IT OUT

Tom Petty summer/fall tour dates:

City	Venue	Date
Vancouver, BC	General Motors Place	Tue	Jun 08 / 10
George, WA	The Gorge	Fri	Jun 11 / 10
George, WA	The Gorge	Sat	Jun 12 / 10
Calgary, AB	Pengrowth Saddledome	Tue	Jun 15 / 10
Edmonton, AB	Rexall Place	Wed	Jun 16 / 10
Saskatoon, SK	Credit Union Centre	Fri	Jun 18 / 10
Winnipeg, MB	MTS Centre	Sat	Jun 19 / 10
Saint Paul, MN	Xcel Energy Center	Tue	Jun 22 / 10
Omaha, NE	Qwest Center	Wed	Jun 23 / 10
Milwaukee, WI	Marcus Amphitheater	Fri	Jun 25 / 10
Milwaukee, WI	Marcus Amphitheater	Sat	Jun 26 / 10
Noblesville, IN	Verizon Wireless Music Center	Sat	Jul 10 / 10
Kansas City, MO	Sprint Center	Tue	Jul 13 / 10
Cincinnati, OH	Riverbend Music Center	Thu	Jul 15 / 10
Chicago, IL	United Center	Sat	Jul 17 / 10
Maryland Heights, MO	Verizon Wireless Amphitheatre	Sun	Jul 18 / 10
Cuyahoga Falls, OH	Blossom Music Center	Tue	Jul 20 / 10
Auburn Hills, MI	The Palace of Auburn Hills	Thu	Jul 22 / 10
Burgettstown, PA	First Niagara Pavilion (formerly Post Gazette Pavilion)	Sat	Jul 24 / 10
New York, NY	Madison Square Garden	Wed	Jul 28 / 10
Philadelphia, PA	Wachovia Center	Sat	Jul 31 / 10
Philadelphia, PA	Wachovia Center	Sun	Aug 01 / 10
Atlanta, GA	Philips Arena	Wed	Aug 11 / 10
Nashville, TN	Bridgestone Arena (formerly Sommet Center)	Thu	Aug 12 / 10
Darien Center, NY	Darien Lake Performing Arts Center	Sat	Aug 14 / 10
Bristow, VA	Jiffy Lube Live (Formerly Nissan Pavilion)	Sun	Aug 15 / 10
Hartford, CT	Comcast Theatre	Tue	Aug 17 / 10
Mansfield, MA	Comcast Center (Great Woods)	Thu	Aug 19 / 10
Mansfield, MA	Comcast Center (Great Woods)	Sat	Aug 21 / 10
East Rutherford, NJ	IZOD Center	Tue	Aug 24 / 10
Toronto, ON	Air Canada Centre	Wed	Aug 25 / 10
Saratoga Springs, NY	Saratoga Performing Arts Center	Fri	Aug 27 / 10
Darien Center, NY	Darien Lake Performing Arts Center	Sat	Aug 28 / 10
Tampa, FL	St. Pete Times Forum	Thu	Sep 16 / 10
Raleigh, NC	Time Warner Cable Music Pavilion at Walnut Creek	Sat	Sep 18 / 10
Charlotte, NC	Verizon Wireless Amphitheatre	Sun	Sep 19 / 10
Dallas, TX	Superpages.com Center	Tue	Sep 21 / 10
The Woodlands, TX	Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion	Fri	Sep 24 / 10
Phoenix, AZ	US Airways Center	Sun	Sep 26 / 10
Chula Vista, CA	Cricket Wireless Amphitheatre	Tue	Sep 28 / 10
Los Angeles, CA	Hollywood Bowl	Fri	Oct 01 / 10
Irvine, CA	Verizon Wireless Amphitheater (Irvine Meadows)	Sat	Oct 02 / 10

Zazzle Introduces Silkscreen Printing As Low As $2.98 Per Shirt! Riiiiiiight...

As a t-shirt designer who actually enjoys SELLING his t-shirts, I'm always on the look-out for new ways to reduce my printing costs so that, in turn, I can offer my shirts to potential customers at the best possible prices.  That's why I was pretty psyched when I opened up my email today and saw a message from the folks at Zazzle declaring "New! Screen Printing Now At Zazzle!"  A link to a video explaining their new process was provided and so I clicked and watched.  I've posted the video above so that you can do the same.

What I love about the video is that they start right out by trash-talking traditional screen printers.  Notice the bug crawling on the dumpster ouitside the cartoon drawing of your "typical screen printer"?  Nice.

They go on  to explain the numerous hoops that your local screen printer might make you jump through to get the artwork right, as if this is somehow a bad thing.  The reason a printer asks for artwork in a certain format, or at a certain dpi, is so that they can print shirts that you won't be too embarrassed to actually wear.

Ah, but the folks at Zazzle don't want you to know that.  Instead, they basically tell you that they can take something you drew on the back of a T.G.I. Friday napkin and turn it into a rockin' screen-printed t-shirt.

We'll call that "Lie #1".

They then tell us that they locked a bunch of "designers and engineers" in a room and fed them nothing but caffeine until they came up with a revolutionary way to offer screen printing services.  What they didn't tell you is that there is no "revolutionary" way to do screen printing.  Screen printing is what it is and there is no way to get around the very basic way that it is done.  It is not, nor has it ever been rocket science, but a lot of folks (like Zazzle) would rather make cute jokes about "alien technology" rather than just be straight with you.

 Of course, once I finished watching the video, which offered NO REAL INFORMATION, I went back to the email and saw the following:

From the looks of it, Zazzle's "revolutionary" process allows them to offer "magical" screen printing services as low as $2.98 a shirt.  Holy crap, that's amazing, right?

Nope.  Turns out that they're being incredibly literal and just hoping you'll jump to the same conclusion I did. They don't offer screen printing for for as low as $2.98, just the t-shirts.

Still, I was curious.  I felt that if a company was going to make all these claims of how they were better than your local screen printer, they must also offer better prices, right?

So I went through their process:

First step, select a t-shirt.  I select a basic American Apparel black tee for $4.65 a shirt.  Definitely not $2.98, but, hey, it's American Apparel, right?

At this point, I see that a minimum quantity of 12 appears in the size breakdown area (where you tell them what quantity of what size shirts you want).  I then look to the right and see a price calculator. 

For a minimum order of 12 screen-printed t-shirts, Zazzle charges $203.40.  That breaks down to $16.95 a shirt.  Ouch.  That is for a low quantity, though.  Let's bump up the numbers and see how much better the pricing gets:

50 shirts:  $568.00 ($11.68 per t-shirt, which is about twice what you will pay to have a dependable local screen printer do your shirts for you)
100 shirts: $847.00 ($8.47 per t-shirt, still kinda high.)
1000 shirts: $6780.00 (That breaks down to $6.78 per t-shirt for 1,000 t-shirts.  I have never paid that much per-shirt for screen printing and I order only quantities of 50 or 100.)

Needless to say, that's as far as I went with Zazzle's "revolutionary" screen printing service.  What annoys me the most about their whole campaign to announce this service is the fact that they're really trying to gauge people who think that screen printing is some complex process.  True, it takes a lot of skill to do it right, but, as I said earlier, it is not rocket science. I really hope people are smart enough to not fall for any of Zazzle's smoke and mirrors.

New from He's A Whore: Trouser Press T-Shirts

BUY NOW!

When I was a kid, there was no internet, which made getting my hands on great music almost impossible.  From my small town in Michigan, Top 40 and AOR radio was all we had. 

Needless to say, I was bored off my ass in that town and so one day, with time to kill, I strolled into the local drug store to browse the magazine racks.  There, I knew I would find the latest issues of 16, Teen Beat (ugh), and semi-cool rock rags like Hit Parader, Creem, and Circus. 

On this day, though, seemingly out-of-nowhere, a magazine I had never seen before caught my eye.  It carried a pic of my new favorite band, The Police, on its cover.  My buddy Jim, also a big Police fan, saw the magazine at the exact same time that I did and we both made a mad grab for it, bvut, on this day, my reflexes were just a hair faster.

And so it was that I walked to the front counter of the store, handed a couple bucks to the cashier, took my change, and left Rexall's drug store with my very first copy of Trouser Press magazine.

My life quite literally changed that night as I became absolutely engrossed in this parallel musical universe that existed within the pages of the magazine.  I'd long given up on most magazines' coverage of my favorite bands, as the articles proved to be little more than gushing mash notes.  The Trouser Press article on the Police, by contrast, was incredibly insightful and interesting.  There was a sophistication and true love of the music that jumped off of the page. 

Most importantly, there was a dedication to the craft of journalism and, as a result, the music that Trouser Press wrote about and championed came to be bigger-than-life in the mind of this teenage rock fan years before I ever had the chance to procure such albums.

No other band was writing about the Suburbs (the band from Minneapolis), the Shoes (the band from Zion, IL), or doing in-depth interviews such as the album-by-album Sparks retrospective where the Mael brothers talked quite frankly about every album they'd released.  For a kid like me who had just discovered the band via their 1982 album Angst In My Pants, I was stunned to discover that there were ten albums that had come before that would soon be finding their way into my record collection.

And so my love affair with Trouser Press began.  Each new issue seemed to arrive at just the exact moment that I had finally digested every last word from the previous issue and the cycle would begin again.  On days when I would enter the house with a new issue, my mom would just shake her head, knowing that there would be no seeing me for the rest of the night unless she chose to venture into the basement and knock on my bedroom door loud enough to penetrate the Killing Joke or The Ramones being blasted at top volume as I dove into the latest issue of TP.

For most of my high school days, my friends and I came to regard Trouser Press as the bible by which we would select which albums we would buy, if such albums could be found at local record stores.  Many times we would go record shopping on a Saturday afternoon, copies of TP in-hand, and then commandeer the turntable at a party later that night, forcing the mainstream kids to listen to the latest Ultravox single.

As my high school days drew to an end, little did I know that the magazine was also down to their last remaining days.  As I walked into the same drug store I'd been strolling into once a month for the last five years and picked up the April 1984 issue, I smiled at the sight of Joey Ramone and the words "Gabba Gabba Hey, Happy Birthday Trouser Press!"  It would be the last time I'd ever have the honor of picking up a new issue, as the magazine would go out-of-business just as the issue hit the stands.

An article in Rolling Stone magazine a few weeks later announced the magazine's demise.  If you had seen my friends and I on the day we found out, you'd have thought we were mourning the death of a beloved family member. 

In truth, we were mourning the loss of a beloved member of our family.  Without even knowing it, Trouser Press publisher Ira Robbins (no relation) and his roster of superb writers had become an integral part of our youth.  With a few simple words about a new album or band, Trouser Press could turn just another sleepy day in our small town into a no-holds-barred wild goose chase as my friends and I would become instantly hell-bent on getting our hands on the album in question.

To make an already long story as short as possible, we lovers of Trouser Press were forced to make due with occasional bylines from Robbins that would pop up from time to time in magazines like Musician and Rolling Stone, among others.  Robbins also released a trilogy of absolutely essential Trouser Press record guides.  I literally walked on air for a full week after finding a review of my first album in the second one.

And in the years that have passed since Trouser Press magazine was an active entity, I have had to stop more than one soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend from trying to toss out a stack of TP's, then looking at me incredulously when I try to explain their importance.  These aren't month-old Cosmo's, baby.  These are pages of rock history!

Sure, it has been 26 years since that last issue of Trouser Press hit the stands, but I am not alone in my continuing adoration and respect for a magazine that is legendary for covering "alternative music" long before it became a dirty word.  Luckily, I was met with equal enthusiasm on the part of Ira Robbins when I approached him about doing a limited-edition Trouser Press t-shirt.

So, without further adieu, He's A Whore in conjunction with Trouser Press publisher Ira Robbins proudly present the official limited-edition Trouser Press t-shirts.


BUY NOW!

Starting Tomorrow, Don't Be An Idiot, Okay?

When I lived in L.A., I used to find it so ridiculous when some douchebag gangbanger would decide to tag a building in my neighborhood.  I mean, what kind of mental midget thinks that's a worthwhile contribution to humanity?

The next night, though, I walked out to see that some other moron had spray-painted over the first gangbanger's name and written their own above it.

I couldn't help but feel sorry for the property owner who now faced the nuisance and expense of either blowing the better part of a day to repaint his wall or hiring someone else to do so.

What boggles my mind, though, is that these gangbangers consider such nonsense as tagging as a live and death endeavor.  If you tag a building and then some rival idiot crosses your name out and scribbles their own, they have essentially declared war on that first dorkus.  In some cases, the first dorkus has actually hunted down the second one and pumped them full of lead.

The cops show up a couple days later, arrest the first dorkus for murder and he spends the rest of his days in prison protecting his rectum.

"What you in for?"

"Murder."

"Damn, what happened?"

"I tagged a building, someone else came along, crossed out my name and wrote their own."

"Okay..."

"So I had to kill them."

The guy threw away his freedom over some little pissing match that didn't mean jack shit to anyone but these two morons.  Now one's dead and the other is in prison.

It's obvious that common sense does not come naturally to some people, but what amazes me is that these two chuckleheads were birds of a feather and, yet, they chose to be enemies for absolutely no reason.  I mean, they were both of Mexican heritage, lived in the same neighborhood, liked smoking dope, and spent most of their days kicking it with their homies.

Of course, sports fans are just as dense.  Who hasn't heard at least one story about a fan of one team attacking someone simply because they root for another team?  At the end of the day, these two idiots still have more in common than not.

So, why be enemies?

If America were attacked, they could very well find themselves fighting side-by-side in some trench somewhere.  In such an instance, gang alliances suddenly seem pretty trivial.

The same could be said for Republicans and Democrats who impede the progress of an entire country over petty differences.  As one vigorously insults the other, the thought doesn't seem to have occurred to them that they're ON THE SAME FUCKING SIDE.

It isn't until a 9/11, or some other attack against this country, comes along that people snap out of their idiot coma and realize that you're fighting someone who is on the same side as you.

It is so obviously human nature to want to align yourself with those with whom you have much in common, but why attack someone just because they're not on your "team", or a part of your "gang"?  Haven't you always prided yourself on being better than that?

I mean, if you or I were to see two gangs going after one another in some back alley, we wouldn't be able to tell one gang from another.  By the same token, if we were to watch the Republicans going after the Democrats on the floor of the Senate, it would just look like a glut of pasty white guys with serious entitlement issues.  You wouldn't be able to tell one from the other. 

To me, it's pretty fucking stupid to be wasting all this energy trying to prove how right you are, how wrong the other guy is, and how completely opposite the two sides are when, in fact, WE ARE ALL THE SAME.

Would it be so bad to wake up tomorrow and not expend the usual effort in your imaginary battles against fake evil?  If everyone did that, the end result is that there would be ... no...evil.

Song of The Day: Paul McCartney "Back In The USSR (Live At Amoeba)

When Sir Paul McCartney announced that he'd be putting on a free show at L.A.'s Amoeba Records location, to put it mildly, all hell broke lose.  The day of the gig, there were hundreds who had spent the night on the sidewalk in front of the record store, waiting in line for their chance to see arguably the greatest living legend in rock music.

When McCartney took to the stage, taking in the one thousand fans who packed every inch of the gargantuan two-story Sunset Blvd. record store, he was literally taken aback.  The moment he and his band kicked into set opener "Drive My car", though, the entire room became united in song and celebrated every joyous moment of Macca's show.  Everyone there, even Sir Paul, new this was a very special night - one that everyone in attendance would be talking about for years.

Fot a guy who has played to jam-packed stadiums and arenas much for much of his career, it's great that he can still get up for a gig like this...truth be told, most of the local bands that land an Amoeba in-store gig play with the detached coolness of hipsters who've never had a happy moment in their lives, but it took Sir Paul to put them all to absolute shame with an unabashedly joyous free show in a record store on a Wednesday night in Hollywood.

Rather than post the entire album, which I'm sure a lot of other sites out there are doing, I just wanna post the first Beatles song that I loved as a kid, which Sir Paul played that night, "Back in The USSR".

CD Review: American Hi-Fi "Fight The Frequency"

Pre-Order The New AHF!

If you're like most folks, the last time you thought about American Hi-Fi, if at all, was for about fifteen minutes in 2001 when the band scored a hit with "Flavor Of The Weak" from their self-titled Island Records album.  The band, led by former Veruca Salt drummer Stacy Jones, has spent the better part of the last nine years trying to recreate that success with a handful of albums that boasted a similar high-octane pop-punk energy, but lacked that much-needed breakout single to differentiate the band from the glut of similar sounding bands on the landscape.

Thus, everything about the band's fourth album - their first in five years - seems to be saying "Hey, remember us", right down to the cover art that borrows quite liberally from their self-titled 2001 effort.

Can't say I blame them, as three-quarters of the band has spent the past few years performing as part of Hannah Montana's touring band.

Okay, enough of the alt. rock history lesson, does the new American Hi-Fi record rock or not?

Yes, the album rocks quite supremely.  The band has always rocked, it's just that the songs on subsequent efforts just never quite matched up to their sterling debut effort.  On Fight The Frequency, their long-awaited fourth album, I am glad to say that the songwriting is a quite noticeable step above their last two albums.

Admittedly, "Where Love Is A Lie" sounds like it could be a hit for Justin Bieber and yet you can't blame Jones for pandering to that audience.  It's his bread and butter these days and this album brilliantly straddles the line between making American Hi-Fi the priority and writing songs that could be snatched up by Cyrus, Biebre and their ilk should this album not return American Hi-Fi to prominence.

Let's face it, the industry is so completely lost in the woods these days, unable to break any rock acts with any great consistency.  Unless you can get a song on American Idol or some other soap opera masquerading as real entertainment, it doesn't matter how great the album is, there just isn't any way to get the world to pay attention.

And, more than likely, it is that fate that awaits this album, which is a real shame because there are a solid handful of pretty obvious should-be hits on this platter: "Acetate", "This Is A Low", "Lookout For Hope", and the aforementioned "Where Love Is A Lie".

The rest of the album has a whole lot for longtime fans to like as well, but, truth be told, my only complaint about the record is that the band seems to fall back on familiar arrangements rather than paint with some new colors, or outside of the lines a little more.  After all, this is a make or break album for the band, or so one would think. 

Thus, tracks like "Frat Clump" and "Stargazer" may sound great cranked to eleven, but fail to preach successfully to the unconverted.

Make no mistake, this is a cool record and definitely worth your time if you like your hooks dressed up in walls of blown-out guitars and Dave Grohl-style drums, but could have benefitted from a little variation, a few more musical or stylistic curves here and there.

Whether it brings American Hi-Fi back to the mainstream is a question soon to be answered.  If you see Stacy and the boys backing up Miley Cyrus this time next year, that'll be one answer, but most of know that in a just world it should never have to come to that.

Top 10 Signs You're Addicted to Facebook

10. You've become so engrossed in Mafia Wars and Farmville that your once-thriving real-life farm and part-time contract killing business have both completely gone to shit.

9. When your spouse asks you how your day went, you snarkily respond "Didn't you read my status updates?!"

8. You've gotten fired from your last three jobs for calling in sick (which you did via Facebook), then posting pictures of you and the kids riding the coasters at Six Flags later that same day.  Oops.

7. If one of your status updates gets absolutely no response, you honestly believe you've ceased to exist.

6. Once painfully camera-shy, if you see a group of strangers taking pictures at a restaurant or bar, you can’t help but “accidentally” step into the shot and then request that they post the picture on F’book anyway and tag you.

(Facebook's Zuckerberg has flop-sweat meltdown at D8)

5. You specifically requested that your new car be painted "Facebook blue".  The prior dealership told you they had the car you wanted, but only in "MySpace blue".  You hung up on them.

4. You'll only do things "IRL" if you think it is worth mentioning on your Facebook page.  Hence, the lawn hasn't been mowed since Mark Zuckerberg was still sharing a dorm room.

3. The idea of Facebook invading every aspect of your personal privacy totally gives you a raging boner.

2. The tech team at Facebook has one client support agent dedicated to handling your constant barrage of questions, suggestions and friend requests to everyone on-staff.

1. You created a Facebook page for your cat, Mr. Whiskers, but now you’re totally pissed that he has more friends than you.  Who the fuck does he think he is?

You're Welcome: Donnie Iris "Ah! Leah!" b/w "Agnes"

There are literally a metric fuck-ton of songs that I absolutely adore, but only a few that make me pee my pants a little when I hear them in the car, or at the bar, or whilst shopping.  One such song is Donnie Iris' 1980 classic "Ah Leah".

To many, Iris was just some geeky rocker with a debut album to push, but what many failed to recognize was that he was a huge veteran of the music scene, having written "The Rapper" as a member of The Jaggerz back in 1970 and done time in the funk band Wild Cherry (best known for "Play That Funky Music", althought Iris joined after that hit had come and gone) in the late 70's.

The first time I heard "Ah! Leah!", it was as if someone had reached into my subconscious, taken everything I dug about all of my favorite pop songs, and put them all into a single tune.  This, of course, was back in the days when DJ's actually bothered to say the name of songs they'd just played and, memorizing the words "Donnie Iris", I was off the local record store.

In the days and weeks that followed, I don't think I played anything except that single.  When I wanted to give the A-side a rest, I merely flipped it over and rocked out to one of the all-time coolest B-sides in history, "Agnes", a nifty little spoken-song rocker about a girl who might very well be more trouble than she's worth.

Based on that supreme rock and roll one-two punch, I can safely say that there is no single slice of 7" vinyl that I have played more in my life than "Ah! Leah!" b/w "Agnes".

Here are live versions of both tunes for your enjoyment:

Ah! Leah!

Agnes

Drive-By Musings, June 1, 2010

Al and Tipper Gore calling it quits.  Whoever picked them in the "Splitsville by June 2010" pool over Billy & Hilary is a fookin' genius.  Gore, the poster boy for global warming, cites "marital cooling" as the main reason for the split.

Hypocrisy In Action Department: Chicago's Cook County board voted to refrain from doing business with companies from Arizona due to the state's tough immigration laws, then voted unanimously to accept a bid for new red-light cameras from a company...based in Arizona.

When has anyone ever cared so much about who finished sixth in the Indy 500?  Seems GoDaddy girl Danica Patrick's sixth-place Indy finish is more newsworthy than the poor guy who actually won the race (I forget his name, but he's married to Ashley Judd).  I guess that's probably because Patrick managed to finish sixth without actually passing anyone.

A recent Twitter tweet from Chris Brown said "LET ME MAKE THIS PERFECTLY CLEAR.... 'LADIES IM SINGLE'... (lil wayne voice)"  Chris Brown single?  Shocking!

About F@#$ing Time Department: US Attorney General Eric Holder has opened both a criminal and civil investigation of BP's actions that led to and followed the oil spill that occurred on April 20.  BP stock also took a dive today, losing 15% of its total value. 

Lastly, in the time it took to read this post, over 1200 more gallons of oil have spilled into the ocean.

Right drummer, wrong gig

This video will make your day.