This will probably come back to haunt me…

…A special message, left for the man who constantly leaves the newspaper spread out on the bathroom floor at work.

Are we not civilized people? Do we not live in a society of rules?

Things I Am Ashamed To Like, Vol 1 – Coldplay

Hey, who invited the hipster marching band?

My secret, my shame, my silent fear that will one day end up on Stuff White People Like … I like Coldplay.

Sure, you may say, it’s OK. Lot’s of people like Coldplay. They’re one of the most popular bands in the world. It’s acceptable to appreciate the soft melodies and politically-conscious lyrics and the guyliner and the “Make Trade Fair” stuff and … oh, I think I just made myself sick.

I guess it’s not much of a secret to those of you that know me (which, as of now, is probably the sole readership of this thing) but I have been known to exhibit questionable taste at times – like, for instance, the other day when I begged off a free dinner invitation from my sister because I had to make it home in time to see Road House 2 on Spike (see: Things I Am Ashamed To Like, Vol 37). It’s as my friend Bob says, “I don’t so much accept these things, as I accept that they happened and, well, I can look beyond it I suppose.”

Anyway, let’s dissect this thing a little further so that we can arrive at a little something my therapist calls “desperately-needed closure.”

Why I Should Be Ashamed:

I think this pretty much sums it up. At some point Coldplay went from being the kind of dorky but likeable band that reminded everyone of non-depressing Radiohead to three dudes, Chris Martin and his magical, pulsating, purple lightning-spewing hands. Look at how intense the drummer is; he has little to no role in this commercial (or band really), but damned if he isn’t going to sing the shit out of his background vocals. Watching him is just damned depressing, like watching The Last Waltz and seeing Robbie Robertson sing his little heart out on that microphone that was secretly turned off.

…and then there’s Chris. Granted, I realize he’s the lead singer in one of the biggest bands in the world and he’s married to a Hollywood superstar and all, but “Holy self-important, Batman” can one human being really take themselves THAT seriously all the time. Favorite Chris Martin quote: “A name is just a noise, and if you like it then fuck what everyone else thinks.” And I, for one, concur; when I name my first-born Untitled Asshole Alexander, I know for one that I won’t let the tears from getting his ass kicked for such a shitty name phase me, because they’re just white noise after all.

Anyway, back to the video, my initial reaction was that it was gayer than two dudes getting it on. My second reaction was that, hey, it’s kind of catchy. My third reaction was to curse Chris Martin for his hooks and to just drink away the impure thoughts (“No, Jesus. It’s not like that. I swear.”)

Why I Pretend Not To Care What You Think About This:

Because Coldplay is just noise, bland, atmospheric, pleasant and easy-to-ignore noise and I like it (Hey, thanks Chris!). So I don’t give a fuck what you think.

Recommended Pennance:

Listening to an overabundance of Coldplay can lead to weeping, a heightened emotional state and possible male menopause. I think I need to get back in touch with the testosterone within. I’m going to go watch Road House and eat a steak, extra rare.

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p.s. lest you think I hate Coldplay, here is my favorite song: Amsterdam

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs

Admit it, Baptists. God has a sense of humor.

Life sure isn’t easy living on Gay Street. Especially if you’re the Jesus-loving folks at Second Baptist Church, whose house of worship sits at the intersection of Gay and, hopefully, Irony Street.

That the San Antonio congregation has petitioned the city for a name change is no surprise. To quote one “churchgoer”: “First of all, Gay Street, that’s not a proper name because I’m anti-gay.” The church has proposed Second Baptist Way as a suitable replacement, but I can think of a few better options…

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Things I would like to do…

…to the a-hole that flipped me the bird this afternoon, AFTER running a red light and nearly hitting me.

In no particular order…

Inform him that Jheri curl has been out of style since 1990, and, since that time, only one man has ever been known to pull of that look…

You do not like my hair? How about I just beat the crap out of you then?

Recreate any number of steps taken in this video…

Track him down and lock him in a closet with these people until he goes insane…

"Most worthless man on earth, meet Spencer and Heidi..."

Trap him in a room and force him to listen to this on a constant loop…

Have my friend “The Enforcer” take care of business…

Lisa Campo may very well be the last thing you ever see, fool!

Explain this to me…

So in searching the Internets for the trailer below I came across this little nugget…

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OK, so you pretty much just had the same exact thought I did.

So, just to be clear on this, somewhere out there there’s a dude who just can’t quite get a handle on this NASCAR thing. “So whatta they just like keep goin in circles? This is some complicated shit.”

Oh Kiefer, why?

Seriously, can you believe this crap? Not to be too harsh, but damn man. If crap could take a dump, this is what would probably come out … ok, maybe that was harsh. Retracted.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there really is something there. Maybe the filmmaker is trying to paint some sort of Dorian Gray-like metaphor about how the mirrors show us the physical burden of age and sin from which Kiefer has been spared, ultimately asserting itself as his conscience and hounding him with the knowledge of some sort of wrong he may have committed … or they could’ve just said “Fuck it, get me Jack Bauer and The Ring: The Director’s Cut!”

Either way, I’m pretty sure the only way this thing could be salvaged for me is if Jack spends the last half hour running around blowing stuff up and shouting things like “We have to find the detonators!” and “Damn it, Chloe! I need more time!” or “I can’t believe they let me out of jail to film this crap!”

Cinta de la mezcla

OK, after yesterday’s post perhaps it’s time to get back to something a little lighter. Besides, I’ve already gone through the six stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance, Hall & Oates). How about a mixtape?

Compacto – Curumin

Me and Armeni – Emiliana Torrini

All the Night Without Love – Elvis Perkins

A Change Is Gonna Come – Ben Sollee

I Feel It All – Feist (for Ide)

Paint a Face – Neil Halstead

Trees – Everest

Can’t Hardly Wait – The Replacements

She Does – Locksley

I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You – The Black Kids

Pretty In Pink – The National

You Don’t Wanna Leave – Mike Mangione

The One – Old 97s

Let It Be Me – Ray Lamontagne

Easy Love – Leslie Mendelson

Follow the link to download. If you like what you hear buy something!

“Goodnight, everybody”

Skip Caray, 1939-2008

Ask me how I feel about crying when someone close to you dies and I’ll tell you it’s a perfectly natural, healthy emotion and it’s nothing to be ashamed about. Ask me how I feel about crying when the announcer of your favorite sports team dies and I’ll tell you: a little queer.

But I cried anyway. I guess if you listen to someone so intently for so long you grow married to the idea of them always being there, always painting the picture for you. It’s jarring when you realize you’ve experienced something for the last time. It sure doesn’t feel right that there’s a Braves game coming up and Skip Caray won’t be around for it.

What struck me, and I think it’s safe to say most people, about listening to Skip was that he never really put up with the bullshit. He wasn’t afraid to call a duck a duck, so to speak. If the team was playing crappy, he’d say so. If the league or the organization or even his own bosses at Turner tried to pull some lame stunt/marketing ploy on the fans he’d note it for what it was, a load of bull.

Skip once said of a game so far gone that only a miracle could salvage it, “You have our permission to turn off the TV and go to bed now … as long as you promise to patronize our sponsors.”

He had a caustic, self-deprecating wit that the Joe Buck’s and the Tim McCarver’s of the world will never understand. As good of an announcer as he was, Skip could just have easily been the guy sitting next to you in the bar, ranting about how awful Francoeur looked in that last at-bat or how ridiculously overplayed the whole Manny Ramirez saga is. As tongue-in-cheek as that quote was, it pretty much encapsulates what Skip was all about. He knew who he was talking to. And he never took their intelligence for granted.

The funny thing is, no one ever really turned the TV off. Because as bad is it may have been, and during his 30-year tenure there were plenty of bad nights, Skip never really let it get boring. Whether it was his constant ridicule of the B-movies that so often followed games (in case you were wondering, there’s a reason I have a soft spot in my heart for movies like Roadhouse) or his famed colorful aphorisms (“The bases are loaded again, and I wish I was too”) or his undying affection for former reliever Jung Bong and the numerous puns his name provided (“The Mets take another hit off Bong!”).

But as good as he was during the blowouts and the rain delays, Skip was at his best in the big moments, that pinched, nasally voice rising to a yell, bubbling over with excitement and joy. People could argue day and night about who was better, but there was no one I’d rather hear call a big moment.

Game 7 – 1992 NLCS

Game 6 – 1995 World Series

While most other fans complained that Skip was a homer openly rooting for the Braves to win, Braves fans loved him for it. So what if he rooted for the home team? Skip had a passion for his team and he lived and breathed with them just like the rest of us.

I’ll miss Skip. I grew up listening to his voice. I’ve shared laughs, triumphs and heartbreak (a whole lot of heartbreak) with him, and never once did I ever want to turn it off. Right about now it feels like we’re in the midst of a blowout, and without Skip around it just doesn’t feel right listening.

So maybe it is OK to turn the TV off now … so long as I remember to support the sponsors.

So long, Skip. Life sure will be a heck of a lot duller without you.

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