Qieensryche: Anybody Listening?
(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MQvGyokze54)
Qieensryche: Jet City Woman
(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1c8UdpiF_T8)
Queensryche: Another Rainy Night
(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=avvBnScGdfA)
God, I miss the taste of your tears…
Pink Floyd: Nobody Home
Alicia Keys: No One
(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zKa3ANL0HlM)
Sting: If I Ever Lose My Faith In You
It’s kinda like this … Love the emotion, love the lyrics, and sometimes, it’s sorta pertinent.
(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_qtf-JeaNM8)
But I hate hate the makeup. It’s not the 60’s anymore, and you don’t have to turn tricks. It ain’t the 70’s anymore, and you don’t need a gimmick. It’s not the 80’s anymore, and you know how to kick Trent’s ass. The 90’s were just a bunch of “alternative” that all sounded the same.
Believe what you write, believe in what you do. That’s what’ll make me like you a little more.
I mean, Jesus, sorry you smacked your girlfriend when you were drunk. You poor bastard. Wonder how she feels?
Yeah, yeah… I know, you’d hate to see my enemies. Well, I usually just wait for Karma to kick them in the ass. I mean, if I didn’t plan out a way for something cool to work and have it turned into another thing to blow them up already, anyway.
That’s blood on my hands.
Got any songs for that?
Dude, you drank. You were an asshole.
Get over it.
Mind you, it’s a brilliant song. It’s where you meet someone in a lonely world and you want spend you entire life with them, yet….
(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ldq-efmOhfw)
You still might. Go figure. *shrug*
Keep it up, tho. And if you do, you’ll have more friends that Trent Reznor. That’s Life.
And Mikey will still like it….
Sometimes, I’ll hear something that sounds like someone transcribed the thoughts in my head. Blue October managed to do it a lot, especially on their albums History for Sale
(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i9ZvGCdZ6uU)
Sure, it’s a long way from Rascal Flatts… But I still Melt
It’s been a crazy year since last Thanksgiving. Certainly, an abnormal and unusual amount of “bad stuff” far beyond my control has transpired, as well as a ridiculous amount from my own poor choices. If I were to sit and reflect on it all, I’d probably end up depressed.
But…
Defeats made me savor victories. Losses made me appreciate what I gained. Every tear made me laugh even harder.
For that, I’m thankful.
Nearly every time I was in need, someone else had it worse. I did what I could when I could, and the favors were returned in kind.
For those, I’m thankful.
The short list of people I consider “family” has grown tremendously longer. For every loss, three were gained. Those who were there already have gotten a whole lot closer.
For them, I’m thankful.
As I sit here this morning, anticipating a huge dinner with my Wildcat and her family, I can’t help but reflect that if even one thing had happened differently, I wouldn’t have ended up here.
For us, I’m thankful.
(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BTvDDEB5aQQ)
Sometimes, things happen for a reason. That’s why it’s important to count your blessings and be thankful for silver linings.
To all my friends, to all my family, and all of my friends who are family, I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving!
How in the hell do folks roll in a vehicle when the music is so damn loud I can hear it from inside my office when they are a mile or more away??
(Video: http://www.youtube.com/v/R5_8qdzaPV4)
Why am I concerning myself with such petty bullshit on a Friday afternoon, you ask?
Well, friends and neighbors, I’ll tell ya why. I just got set off like I have a fire cracker up my ass and it’s the 4th of July.
We have had our office location for nearly 7 years. We are located between Fade to Black Barber Shop and Vogue Hair Salon. Our only source of entertainment here is to watch the old ladies wander in and out of their weekly hair appointments and listen to the drama/comedy coming from the barber shop next door.
I shit you not, it’s like a scene from “Coming to America” sometimes. I love to sit here and listen to the shit flyin… but that’s not what’s on my mind today. No.
What really gives me pain like a full on titty twister is when the good ‘ol boys next door come driving up with that shit blarin’ so loud that it rattles the windows in my office.
I’ve even had customers (mind you I work with Doctors and Researchers and other esteemed individuals worldwide) ask me why I don’t turn my music down before I bother the answer the phone.
I’ve busted out the front door of our office and sneered dirty looks that way. How fucking hard is it to have a little common sense and public decency to turn that shit down to the point where your whole car isn’t shaking along with the ground under it.
I’ve come to the conclusion that these kids have something to prove to one another. In addition, the music gets cranked way loud right in front of said barber shop, because I reckon they feel it impressive to the rest of humanity.
Personally, I think the louder and more abnoxious the music is, the smaller the dick of said music master is.
I am the type of person who requires some sort of white noise in the background at all times. The news on while I’m cooking, the stereo on while I’m scrubbing the toilet, or even just the radio on while I’m driving.
I was transporting my 16-year-old daughter to school today when Timberland’s, “The Way I Are” came piping through the speakers. Have you ever listened to the words of this song? It’s a duet about a scrub and some skanky chick’s acceptance of his scrubiness.
I would like to take a moment to address Timberland and clear the air about what is acceptable, and what is not.
It goes a little somethin’ like this:
*Verse 1* (Timberland)
I ain’t got no money
I ain’t got no car to take you on a date
I can’t even buy you flowers
But together we’ll be the perfect soulmates
Talk to me girl
Ok, first, if you have no money and no car, what are you gonna do? Are you gonna walk to my house with the intentions of gettin’ a little lovin’? And trust me, even if you were lucky enough to hitch a ride with a homey, even if you hit the bell with flowers in your hand, you still ain’t gettin none. And to even consider that we might be soulmates is blasphemy. Soulmates are connected. I gots a job, I gots a ride. Accept your destiny, pal, walkin and beatin off.
*Bridge* (The chick)
Oh, baby, it’s alright now, you ain’t gotta flaunt for me
If we go there, you can still touch my love, it’s free
We can work without the perks just you and me
Thug it out ’til we get it right
Now, I’m no gold-digger by any means. But, if the boy ain’t got a job, money, or car, what hell would he have to flaunt in the first place? And to think she’s gonna consider “going there” with him… for free… without the perks? What perks? Massage oil? Happy Jack Rabbit? Sweet Jesus. I am going out on a limb here… she’s got to be very horny and/or very desperate to reproduce.
Let’s skip her part from here on out. It’s repetition of the previous desparation and her forgiveness of his slackeristic nature. Let us explore the remaining 2 verses of this mockery of man-li-ness.
*Verse 2*
I ain’t got no Visa
I ain’t got no Red American Express
We can’t go nowhere exotic
It don’t matter ’cause I’m the one that love you best
Talk to me girl
I wouldn’t care much that there is no plastic, so long as he has a J-O-B that results in some sort of cash flow. It’s nice if a man has the money to give birthday and Christmas presents that aren’t from a Cracker Jack box along with small tokens of his affection through-out the year.
No exotic trips? It’s mandatory to go somewhere to have sex, other than ones own bedroom, at least occassionally. A trip to the Keys. A trip to Vegas. Sex is good in Vegas. But, still he spouts that he’s the one she loves best. Again, most likely her poor self image. Get therapy.
*Verse 3* (The finale)
Baby girl, I don’t got a huge ol’ house
I rent a room in a house
Listen baby girl, I ain’t got a motorboat
But I can float ya boat
So listen baby girl, once you get a dose of D.O.E.
You gon’ want some mo’
So listen baby girl, when I make it
I want you back, want you back, yeah
He rents a room. Nice. A room in a house where other people live. Which means either the home owners are going to hear the headboard bangin’ and the naughty sounds coming from the room or we’ll only be gettin busy in my house. Uh, No.
No boat floating from you until you get a job, a car, flowers, some select pieces of jewelery.
I am not, nor have I ever been, a fan of Harry Potter.
Although, I have to admit, those movies were slightly more enjoyable than sitting through hours and hours of Lord of the Rings without so much as an intermission… Watching a movie is never fun coupled with excruciating kidney pain because you’re afraid you’ll miss something crucial or interesting (which, as it turns out, was pretty impossible with Fellowship of the Ring, anyway).
(Blasphemy? Yeah, maybe. Sue me!)
But while we’re on Rap…
(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UuBm0dvIzcc)
I really should go to bed…
Snoop Doggy Dogg did that Gin & Juice song a few years, and it was apparently quite popular. *shrug* Not my thing…
(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=czyfws7OLCs)
Richard Cheese follows up the hit with a Lounge version…
(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YHeFVS6rzJU)
But nothing can beat The Gourds version…
(Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CrpdgD2SLRQ)
Now that’s Classic Country…
Back at the end of 80’s, when my hair was halfway down my back and I was playing in a Thrash Metal band (we said it was Power Metal — but let’s be honest), I was having a great time. All 5′9, around 170 pounds of me could walk up on stage and play any instrument that needed to be played — of course, that was limited to guitar, bass and drums at the time. My voice was a solid octave and a half deeper than what it is now. I could sing bass and baritone like nobody’s business, with booming volume that would rattle our drummers cymbals even before the mic was turned on.
Off-stage was a different story. Nobody could understand a damn thing I said back then, as my voice was so deep that it simply faded off into the background, only to be heard by animals, those odd people who get sick before an impending earthquake, and people who were so blitzed on alcohol and downers that I sounded normal.
We traveled around quite a bit, and just had a good time with it. We made enough money to keep ourselves in cigarettes, food, alcohol, hotel rooms and gas for the truck and van, and pretty much the only thing we had to worry about was how we were going to be treated when we got to our next stop. In most places, people were pretty cool, but there were certainly a few towns where there might’ve been six whole teeth in the lynch mob walking towards us at the gas station or restaurant we’d stopped at.
One night in particular, we’d driven out of Jacksonville, North Carolina driving towards Virginia Beach. Instead of taking the interstate like a normal human being, Michael led us through every curve of US17, through rural North Carolina at 2AM. “It’ll be easier!” he assured us on the walkie-talkie.
Of course, if you’ve ever seen the movie This is Spinal Tap, you know it never is.
Around 3AM, in heavy fog in the middle of nowhere, the van had flat tire. We all pulled to the side of the road, and all five of our long-haired, dumb-punk asses got out to watch, assist, smoke cigarettes and generally complain. Dave and Jeremy, instead of holding the flashlights where Michael could see what he was doing, began having a lightsaber duel with the flashlights in the fog. I had one of my typical “bad feelings” that I used to get, and started urging everyone to get serious so we could get back on the road.
“Man, chill out!” Dave urged. “It’ll be fine!”
Shortly after he said it, we heard a noise that sounded like a pack of wild indians.
“What the Hell was that?” Michael asked, just before banging his knuckles on the concrete due to a slightly stripped lug nut.
“Probably some birds or something,” Chris said, completely uninterested as he held the third flashlight where Michael could see.
Then we heard it again, along with a mechanical noise that sounded exactly like a clutch-slipping on a big, red truck with a gun rack in the back window. From behind us, down the road, the lights kept getting closer, and the whooping and hollering got louder and louder.
“Oh, shit, Michael!” I exclaimed. “Hurry the f$&* up, man!”
Without a word, Michael furiously pulled off the damaged tire and handed it to Chris, who quickly replaced it with another from the back of the van.
The whooping got louder and louder, the lights closer.
We all stood silent, watching, waiting. We were all nervous.
As Michael was tightening the first lug nut, they were on us. It was, in fact, a big, old, beat up, red-and-primer truck, three people in the front and three standing in the bed holding on to the top of the cab screaming like a bunch of wild indians. They passed us silently, all of them peering at us like they’d never seen human beings before.
We all breathed a sigh of relief until we looked ahead, and saw the truck put on its break lights — and started backing up.
“Michael, hurry up, dude!” Dave exclaimed.
In a fever, he quickly finger-tightened the remaining nuts and began spinning the speed wrench as fast as he could.
We all stood around Michael as they pulled up, still silent, still looking straight at us with looks of disbelief on their faces. The three in the back of the truck jumped out, shirtless with overalls, and the passenger door of their truck swung wide with a loud creak.
“Ya’ll ain’ frum ‘roun’ heeyah, ah ya?” said the biggest one, who looked like he could’ve picked the van up without the jack.
“Uhhh, no sir,” I stammered. “We’re driving through on the way to Virginia Beach.”
He looked back at his five friends, quietly at first, then turned back around shaking his head as they all began to snicker. “Ya’ll shu’ got lawng hayur!” he said. They all began to laugh.
We blinked back at them, holding our implements of destruction close. My knife was ready to flip from my pocket and Michael held the speed wrench as Dave, Chris and Jeremy clutched their Maglights.
“Ya’ll in a bayund?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, we are,” I told him.
“Wail,” he started, turning around to look at his friends, grinning and snickering a bit. “Why dincha jus’ say so? Sheeyit!”
They all laughed.
“Yawnt any help with’at tar?” another asked.
Relief!
We stood around and talked for a few minutes with them. They were cool people, out drinking a bit and “raisin’ some hail!” They offered some assistance getting everything back in the van, asked if we liked Metallica or Megadeth better, and even tossed us all a beer right there on the side of the road.
Eventually, after having a beer with ‘em and acting like idiots for a while, we offered our thanks, said our goodbyes, got our mini-caravan back togther and continued on to Virginia Beach.
It was funny… There we were, with our long hair, worrying about people judging us for it all the time. When six people in a beat-up truck drove by in the middle of rural North Carolina, we were doing the same damn thing.
Good people are getting harder and harder to come by these days.
I mean, hey, they didn’t even have a problem hearing my deep voice.
Just goes to show, you really can’t judge a book by its cover…
Even the ones who are so blitzed on alcohol and downers that I sounded normal. 
