American Idoltry

Recently, a comedian friend of mine, who is also a radio personality and voice over artist, added another hat to her collection - That of a journalist. She wrote an article about our so-called fascination with American Idol (and Reality TV in general), and posted about it in her Myspace blog. Well, as one who is not fascinated with American Idol (and might even be said to dislike it), as well as actively hating all other reality television, I felt I had to respond.

The following is the reply I made on her blog. I hope you enjoy it. Maybe someone actually agrees with me. I can't be the only sane person left. Or, can I?

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Wow. An honest-to-goodness journalist. Sweet.

But, I hafta tell you, not everybody is obsessed with Reality TV. In fact, many people hate it. I, myself, do not care for it so much. And, by not care for it, I mean that I loathe it with every molecule in my body, the hatred deepening with each successive beat of my heart.

Unfortunately, my wife loves American Idol. LOVES it. LOVES IT! Luckily, I have a DVR to record the episodes, which can then be watched by her when my eyes are not pointed directly at the TV. Unfortunately, during these painful early audition episodes, my ears can still hear the insane howlings of the raving lunatics. (I don't mean the judges. But, Paula's definitely missing a few cookies from the package. )

These early audition episodes are painful to watch. I find no joy, humor, or entertainment value in watching mentally disturbed people making fools of themselves, and then being insulted for it. Make no mistake. These people are seriously mentally and emotionally ill. (Not all of them. But, you know the ones.) Watching them compete in a talent contest is the equivilent of watching children with Muscular Distrophy playing basketball, and then watching them being yelled at by the coach, or worse yet, an arrogant British fop berate them for their poor ball-handling. (Not the first time Simon and "Ball-handling" were mentioned in the same sentence, I'm sure.)

For the sake of our relationship, I will eventually sit with her and watch Idol, but not until after they're down to the final 10 or 12 or whatever number it is where they start taking audience votes, and most of them can actually sing. I will put up with it at that point just to be able to spend time with her. (Not nearly as bad as actually attending the awful live show at the Pavillion each year. YES. I go to that. EVERY YEAR. I should get the "absolutely best spouse in the world" award for that, or at least be allowed to have an affair once a year as compensation. But, noooooooooo. I just get to have an $8 beer and a cold pretzel.)

I think I need to start chanting (a Buddhist thing) for an end to this stupid show. If it works, "The Bachelor" is next. No. I do not watch The Bachelor. I draw the line at Idol. But, its very existence causes me great pain and anguish, like the existence of biological weapons. My only hope is that Americans are somehow waking up from their stupor, and becoming just a teeny tiny bit less stupid. After all, there was the last election. Maybe the Neilson families will start voting smarter with their little set-top electronic voting machines as well, and we can see more quality programming and less Reality TV and its bastard cousin, the dumbed-down-game-show-hosted-by-has-been-comedians. (Just when you thought the world was safe from Howie Mandel and Bob Saget...)

Until then, I'll always have HBO.

1:04 PM - 5 Comments - 5 Kudos - Add Comment

One Small Step for Man. One Giant Leap for a Bat Shit Crazy Lunatic

How many astronauts does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

Two. One to screw it in, and another to try and kill a naval pilot for having sex with the first astronaut.

10:39 PM - 5 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

It's Karaoke Night!

I actually went to karaoke night at a local bar recently. I must mention that, in the past, I have had a slight aversion to karaoke, in much the same way you might have an aversion to being stabbed in the chest with a bayonet. It's not that I hate karaoke, it's more of an intense and passionate dislike.

But, on this night, I was invited to this event by some very sympathetic comedy friends. These three comedians were the only comics from a large group of local comedians that I invited to my place for a movie who actually bothered to reply. And, because they already had plans, they were generous enough to invite me to join them! Thanks guys!

So, I decided to take them up on their offer. Even if I didn't exactly care for karaoke, I put that aside in the name of friendship, a friendship made stronger by their concern and sympathy for my plight. They didn't want me to sit home alone, depressed that nobody wanted to watch a movie with me. (For those that never responded, it's too bad, as I happen to have what is techically referred to as a "kickass" home theater setup. Phhhbbblllttt!)

So, I headed out to Sunnyvale for some karaoke! After all, how bad could this particular karaoke night be, if these three smart and funny gentlemen attended on a weekly basis? In fact, perhaps my whole opinion of karaoke was misplaced, and it would turn out to be great fun. I've got to lose these long-held, close-minded opinions, and loosen up a little. It's karaoke night!!!

Well...I walked in, and after only 5 minutes, I knew! Yep. I was totally wrong about karaoke! That is, I was wrong that I thought it could be fun. Yes. Karaoke still stinks like a big pot of boiling feet. 

For those of you who do not share my lack of enthusiasm for this activity, or even, due to some sort of accident involving massive head trauma, actually enjoy it, I must share with you a little history of karaoke, so as to set you "scared straight". I might add that I am somewhat of a Japanophile. (Well, I like Asian chicks, anyway.)

The word karaoke is actually two words in Japanese: Kara, meaning "empty", and Oke, meaning "talent". It was originally invented in the 1930's to use as a method of torture against captured Chinese prisoners. Karaoke, as you are no doubt aware, is still practiced in Japan today. But, only as required by law, due to its inclusion in the stipulations of Japan's unconditional surrender to the United States, as punishment for atrocoties they commited during the war.

Of course, this begs the question, why do Americans engage in karaoke, when it is not required by law in the U.S.? One of my theories is that Americans do it because of guilt. They feel guilty for Global Warming, American Idol, George W. Bush, etc, and wish to punish themselves. My alternative theory is that people are idiots.

After much thought and careful consideration, I will go with the latter theory.

10:57 PM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

The Day The Music Actually Did Die
Current mood: sad
Category: Music

You often hear the expression "end of an era". Well...This is it. It really is. CBGB's is closing it's doors. After 30 some-odd years, this shrine, this temple of Rock n Roll will exist no more. It makes me sad. It makes me angry.

It was only a matter of time before some greedy, soulless, moneysucking bastards, who have taken the reins of the world with unabashed glee these last few years, would deprive mankind of yet another bit of comfort and joy in the name of the their god, the holy god of quarterly profit.

I remember clearly some of the nights I spent there - first as a young fan, watching mid-70's NY bands like The Shirts; then, as a roadie for a number of local bands opening for the likes of The Ramones, The Cramps, and The Dead Boys; then as an established NY soundman, mixing bands on the incredible sound system designed by Norman Dunn and usually operated by Charlie Martin. I also remember some not-so-clearly. There are undoubtedly other nights I don't remember at all.

I recall the nights I would just hang out, never having to pay a cover because I was part of the incredible and magical NY underground rock scene that existed at that time, as the house soundman at the infamous Mudd Club. Sure, I may not have been a musician in any of the bands. But, what I did was just as important, if not more so. I recall many a night where I made a band sound better than they were. Granted, you can't polish a turd. But, you can make it smell a little better.

But, enough about me. I'm writing about this magical place. This Wonderland. This Oz. This CBGB's. It was an incubator. A petri dish. A Frankenstein's lab, where rock n roll legends were born, hatched, cultivated, and created. It's alive!!!! It's alive!!!

Without CB's, there would be no Ramones. No Talking Heads. No Blondie. Where did the Cars first play when they came down from Boston to NY? CB's. Where did The Police play, when they first came to America? CB's. Where did countless musicians and audience members do lines off the top of a toilet tank? CB's

Who can forget standing outside, cigarette in one hand, beer in the other, talking to your buddies as the bums in the fleabag hotel above the club (I mean homeless gentlemen in the shelter)  would yell down at you, asking for cigarettes and money? And, back then, we didn't go outside to smoke because we had to. We CHOSE to. It was perfectly legal to smoke in bars and nightclubs, something that has only recently changed in NY due to having a candy-assed pussy for mayor. But, I digress.

I cannot talk about that amazing downtown music scene without also mentioning Max's Kansas City, long since closed, and the venerable (and venereal, I might add) Mudd Club which is forever preserved in the amber of rock n roll history by it's inclusion with CBGB's in the Talking Heads song, "Life During Wartime". Those two clubs also possessed a certain magic, and deserve a special mention in the history of NY rock n roll.

There were other rock n roll clubs during that era, some great, some not-so-great: Hurrah, The Ritz, Irving Plaza, Heat, Privates, Danceteria, Peppermint Lounge, The Cat Club, Great Gildersleeve's (only one block over from CB's, yet miles away at the same time), and the aforementioned Max's and Mudd Club.

Thankfully, some still exist: Irving Plaza still has shows, and Webster Hall is in the old Ritz location. It's not as good. But, it's something. The old Roseland Dance Hall, one block over from David Letterman's Ed Sullivan Theater, has been having rock shows for many years now. So, rock is not dead in NY, thank god. (The god of sex and drugs and rock n roll, not the god of profit.)

But, none match the storied history of dearly departed, and soon-to-be sorely missed CBGB's.

Rumor has it that Hilly Krystal, CB's owner, will take CB's to Vegas. Yeah. That might be fun. Seeing all of the physical remnants may bring back memories, stir up long lost emotions. But, it will also be sad. Sad to see this monument to rock n roll history, this incredible landmark of New York City, this major part of my life and memories reduced to a Hard-Rock-Cafe-style theme restaurant where white trash tourists, hard-bodied Angelenos, and Euro-trash hipsters come to gawk at the quaint memorabilia. I'm not so sure I would go.

I wish I would have went to the real CBGB's during my last trip to NY. (I may have videotaped the facade, though. I must go search for the tape. If I have it, I plan to watch it while listening to Blitzkrieg Bop on "11".)

9:55 AM - 1 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment

Paper or Spastic

OK. Enough is enough. What's with all the chit chat on the check out line?

I've been living in California for 8 years now,. I thought I would get used to this ridiculous habit. But, I'm afraid it's gotten worse. Apparently, I didn't move to California. I moved to Mayberry...

"Hey Bob. How're the kids?"
"Bob Jr got his merit badge. Little Suzy made the honor roll."
"That's just great. I see you're buying ice cream and pickles. Is Judy expecting another bundle of joy?"
"Oh no. But thanks for asking. You're quite an observant cashier, Jim."
"I watch a lot of CSI."
"Well, it's working!"

Who gives a rat's ass?
Give him money, take your groceries, and shut the fuck up. (And try not to pay with a check, ok? This is 2006.)
You wanna talk to him so badly, call this asshole on the phone when you get home.

The only dialog on the checkout line should be...
"Paper or plastic?"
"Plastic."
End of goddamn story!

The way it works is: You give them money. They give you groceries. And you get the fuck outta my way. Capisca?

I'd love to see that crap take place on a checkout line in NYC. After about 3 seconds (and I'm being generous), all the customers behind "Bob" would create such a riot, you'd think you were at a British soccer game. Actually, if a cashier asked anything more than a rhetorical "How ya doin'?", the customer's response would be, "Why da fuck do you care?" If the customer started chatting up the clerk, the clerk would just mumble something in Korean, give him his change, and yell at some kids looking at magazines. "You no read here! This not library!"

So, look Barbie and Ken... Next time you see me waiting behind you at the PW (and this goes for Scout at the register too), keep yer pie hole shut, and nobody will get hurt. 

6:45 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Route 666

If you ever plan to go to Hell:
Travel my way, using hexes, chants, and spells.
Get your kicks on Route 666!

It winds from this life to the next
Say the numbers a Heathen doth respect
Get your kicks on Route 666!

First you leave heaven...cause you haven't been forgiven.
Stop in Sin City, it looks mighty pretty.

Drive down Rodeo...on your way through Hollywood.
There goes Baretta, don't forget Winona,
OJ, Jacko, Robert Downey Jr

Won't you..get hip to this timely tip:
When you..make that Apocolyptic trip
Get your kicks on Route 666!

10:02 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Choose Life!

I do!

Except for this morning, when I chose Honey Bunches of Oats.

5:17 PM - 3 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Death

I recently celebrated another birthday. ("Celebrated" is the wrong word. "Dreaded" "Hated" "Avoided" are all more accurate words.) And, I have noticed that in recent years, as my lifespan is moving further away from its beginning, and inching ever so much closer to its end, I find myself thinking more and more about death.

Of course, I am referring to my own death. (I've been contemplating the death of others ever since I was a small child.) But, now, I can't help but wonder what is in store for me. What will happen when I close my eyes for the last time?

Christians seem to believe in an eternal world in the clouds, with pearly gates, and ever-present angelic choral music playing the background, like some weird dentist office sound system. Jews also believe in some type of heaven. Although, I don't think they believe winged angels, pearly gates, and harps. I think the Jewish heaven involves getting a really good parking space, or an eternity being able to buy things wholesale. The Muslims have that oft-heard vision of the 72 virgins. But, they blow themselves up, voluntarily, on a fairly regular basis. So, I can't really consider their opinion. They're obviously fucking crazy.

My religion, Buddhism, has many sects. But, they all believe in reincarnation. I find that a little hard to swallow as well. The number of living things being born do not equal the number of living things dying. And, can a human consciousness exist in, let's say, a squirrel? (We already have proof of a monkey's consciousness existing in the brain of a US President, so I suppose anything's possible.)

My particular sect believes in a different form of reincarnation, which is that our "soul" for lack of a better word, simply disperses, and becomes part of the universe, part of which may become part of another living thing. From a scientific standpoint, it does make the most sense. Our thoughts and feelings, which are what our soul really is, is made up of energy. And, as everybody knows, energy cannot be destroyed. It can only be converted from one form of energy to another. So, I believe that's the path my soul will take.

Of course the major problem I have with that is it means the end of individual consciousness. In other words, our thoughts, our memories, our feelings, our minds, are switched off like a lamp when we die. I simply can't imagine that. Poof. Game over. No more tokens. It's wild. No wonder that billions of people for thousands of years have come up with fairy tales about heaven and life after death. The actual truth is simply too hard to accept. I fully understand the truth, yet I still can't accept it. 

Obviously, the only alternative to that whole unpleasantness is not to die. Not for a while, anyway. So, my plan is to do whatever I need to do on my end not to die. I will ask you people to help me in this quest by not killing me. Deal?

5:45 PM - 2 Comments - 1 Kudos - Add Comment

Land of the Rising Son-in-Law

Well..Here I am in Japan again. I've made my yearly pilgrimage to visit the in-raws. They're so patient with me. I've been coming here regularly for 6 years. I've been with their precious Yukiko for 10. Yet, I still only speak about 3 words in Japanese, and understand maybe...on a good day...none.

But, despite my "Ugly American" attitude of refusing to learn the native language, I really love Japan. I hope to retire here someday. Or, perhaps make enough Yen to keep a second home here.

Of course, I will make a valiant attempt to learn the language before attempting to actually live here. And, of course, I will fail miserably, and have to resort to speaking English slowly, loudly, and with exagerated hand gestures to find out where the men's room is.

I will now attempt to list the things I love so much about Japan:

1. The food! There are Japanese restaurants everywhere! (They just call them restaurants, though.) I remember the number of restaurants in my home town of NYC was supposedly 15,000. Shit. There must be at least 15,000 restaurants at the JR train station in Tokyo alone. (How do these people stay so thin? They are consumed with eating. Pardon the pun.)

2. The service. It is such a nice change of pace to encounter employees who will actually help you. Shit. It's just a pleasure to be able to find employees...period! Remember your last trip to Home Depot? They don't even have cashiers there anymore. You have to scan and bag your own shit! Not here. They bend over backwards to make sure you get what you need. In restaurants, bars, supermarkets, home centers, everywhere! And...no tipping!!! They just do a good job because that is what they get paid to do! Imagine that?

3. Public transportation. You can get to anywhere from anywhere, quickly and affordably. And, they are always on time. Always. Cars are not a necessity. Plus, you'll end up doing some walking. Which, will keep your heart and lungs healthy, and perhaps help you control your weight a little better. (Just keep walking past the bazillion gajillion little pastry shops. Don't stop. I'm begging you. Not another eclair. Noooooooo.)

4. The history. Despite it's abundance of modern technology, Western fashion, and hideous modern architecture, there is an abundance of historical shrines, temples and castles: traditional styles of dress and dining; and peaceful gardens and parks that will transport you back in time to the land of the Samurai and the geisha. It really is quite amazing to walk the hallway of a castle on the same floorboards once trod upon by a shogun or emperor. Absolutely fucking amazing.

5. The technology. You all know about the TV's and DVD players. But, it is beyond that. For instance: Their cell phones work everywhere. EVERYWHERE. In elevators. On the subway. It don't fucking matter. Their automotive navigation systems not only map out your route, they show you the level the traffic congestion. The toilet seats wash your ass for you! Some even dry it and deodorize it too. My ass fucking sparkles! You could eat off my ass.

6. The women. Shiny black hair. Dark brown, almond-shaped eyes. Oh baby. Oh baby. Oh baby. Not to mention the high school girls in those little sailors uniforms with those baggy white socks. (Ummmm. Yeah. I'll be back in a minute.)

10:47 PM - 6 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment