The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame: Not just a clever name...

Earlier this week I learned that Genesis will be inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.  Usually when I hear any news about Genesis it's a BIG FUCKING DEAL. But when I heard this news, I just said to myself, "oh, big fucking deal."


Genesis deserves everything wonderful because they are the greatest band that I listen to. But unfortunately, RRHOF (said as raaaawwfff as in the sound you make when you are vomiting your spine) is not wonderful. I've always thought the RRHOF was a flaming pile of unicorn shit, and this was confirmed on a recent visit to the museum in '07 when I was in Cleveland* for, yes you guessed it, a Genesis concert. Based on the excruciating 20 minutes it took me to walk through this clogged toilet of so-called musical achievement, it appears that only artists who meet one or more of the following criteria are inducted:

1) Only 3 people (including mom) in the world have the ONLY album or single you ever released
2) You were a part of an obscure blues band that existed for approximately 13 minutes
3) Your music keeps classic rock and oldies radio alive
4) You had homoerotic costuming

So I'm a bit confused as to why Genesis will become a part of this dog and pony show. It's not that I'm against Genesis -- or any band for that matter -- getting recognized and honored for their innovation/contribution to music (Christ on a cracker, they should've been exalted years ago for Vari*lite alone! HELLLOOOO!) but the RRHOF operation is, in my opinion, an inconsistent, mysterious pat on the back that usually leaves me asking "so what?"
 

And "getting in" now feels like a total afterthought or like everyday in school when I was picked last for gym class. Oh let's see, we've already got ZZ Top and Bob Seger...guess we can let in Genesis now, I mean, they've only been making awesome rock music for about 3x as long as 90% of the already inducted artists.

But with that being said, my sincere congratulations to Genesis -- may it spawn the stuff I think we all care more about: live show(s) and MORE MUSIC. (And perhaps 1 more person in this world will buy a Tony Banks album).



But all this sincerity crap aside, this really burns my ass! I'm all fired up like Gabriel in this angry, ANGRY Genesis performance. I would hate to be his microphone!





*Please note that Chris and these Cleveland fans are in The Lady Stabson's Hall of Fame for being so amazing cool and lovely:

Send me your beard!

Long-time blog reader, best-friend, and solid 80's music fan Nicole has graciously shared a fantastic beard with us. I'm talking about none other than Kenny Loggins, who she says -- and I quote because I am going to use quotation marks, "light[s] up my Ipod screen like a lightning bug in a blackout." So true, so very true. Loggins's beard has graced us with some of the most powerful adult contemporary pop this world has ever seen,which in turn has contributed to some of the best movie montages in history: Top Gun, Caddyshack, Footloose to name a few I can remember at the moment. So here is a montage tribute to the best damn beardage on your 80s playlist:

Who wouldn't want to get all footloose up in that yo!

It's the most wonderful time of the year

Aw yeah.

Honey, it’s that wonderful time of year again. I’m not talking about our country’s obsession with putting pumpkins on our front steps or paying $45 to put a live fir tree in our living room for 2 weeks – I’m talking about the power and the glory of BEARD SEASON.

Beard Season is my favorite time of year to be heterosexual. Starting sometime in late October/early November when the weather gets colder and the nights get longer, many male humans will fall into this brooding, sexy melancholy funk that inhibits their ability to shave their faces. It is the ying to the yang of Shelf Bra Tank Top Season that starts at the first hint of warm weather and continues until late September (or continues all year round at any nightclub serving test-tube shots).

I really do love to look upon a bearded man throughout the year, but unfortunately it is a rare honor to see such hunks of pure man-awesomeness during the off-season. Why is this? Does it really keep you warmer during these asshole cold months? That would make sense and of course it looks better than the ridiculous giant loud scarf your girlfriend bought you at the Gap. I tried to grow a beard myself the other day to see what it’s all about but nothing happened. After doing some research it turns out that air drumming to Rush albums for the past 15 years has rendered me an endocrinologic mollycoddle.

Now before I go any further, let me clarify that Beard Season means JUST Beards. Unless you are Michael Jack Schmidt

or Magnum PI

don’t even THINK about it!
 

Shave/wax/laser/chemically burn that bitch off your upper lip IMMEDIATELY.

So far this has been a fantastic Beard Season, thanks to the hotness (well in beard-speak...) in the Phillies post-season bullpen to get it started off right

Although I have to admit this is a kick in the nuts insult to Beard Season

My admittedly creepy fascination of male facial hair that is thinly disguised as joyous celebration is something I am proud to admit on a blog no one reads. And now I also proudly present to you my top 5 favorite beards of all time on said blog; all beards are measured against these titans of the 5 o’clock shadow. It is my wish you will see these fantastic scruffy hot pockets and be inspired to be a part of the magic of Beard Season.
 
5. Chuck Norris
OK, he’s like 87 years old but my GOD his sweet lovin’ Republican beard that can waste a pack of terrorist gorilla bears makes me swoon!

















4. Guy Pearce
You’re like WHO? Yes, Guy Pearce…a terrible actor I’ve had a mad crush on since I saw Time Machine at a $1.95 movie theater back in 2002. Despite having a pretty inconsistent film career (the same guy in Memento was in The Proposition? REALLY?) he has always shown consistent, solid beard performance. He is particularly compelling with the hint o’ beard look shown below.

3. Ray Weston
This man is in the greatest band called echolyn you should worship immediately and also happens to have the greatest voice in rock music today, most likely due to the power of his fucking sweet fuzzy chops. 

2. Phil Collins
Phil Collins is so fucking awesome in so many ways and having the Greatest Beard of the 70’s is just one of them. G-damn I love Phil Collins. If I had 1.21 jiggawatts at my disposal, I would go back to 1977 and crawl inside his beard during his “Cinema Show” drum duet with Bill Bruford.

1. Zach Galifianakis
skjgsfjghfjghskdfhsdfhsjkghf;kghfsjkg. Best. Beard. EVER. Razor blades and Lady Stabson melt in its presence.

Although Beard Season is a beautiful thing that all should embrace, it should NOT be confused with the all too common "vacation" beard or the "I've given up, where are my sweatpants?" beard...these beards can result in some serious side-effects. Please see below.

I Heart Philly Always and Forever

Do you know what it feels like to have Philadelphia throw itself on you and squeeze your heart into a million pieces so it shoots out of every orifice as a rainbow surrounded by butterfly puppies and fragrant flower petals? I certainly do.

Philadelphia came on strong Wednesday night when the Phillies beat the LA Dodgers 10-4 to become the National League Champions, and we have been in a silly tickle-fight ever since. We really can't keep our hands off each other. And in only a few more days we'll be walking hand-in-hand into the World Series...swoooooooon!

But just when I thought Philly couldn't sweep me off my feet any higher, Friday night the beautiful city embraced me like an old lover, whispering "you're still the one" with an evening of music straight from her heart at the place where we had our first date many years ago.

The place was the Spectrum, the stadium where I saw my first ever concert back in '94--The Phil Collins JC Penney's Homeless Tour---and where I've seen many other concerts, hockey, and basketball games before they moved on to the bigger (read: vacuous) Wachovia Center. The line-up was a trifecta of hometown heroes: The Hooters, Todd Rundgren, and Hall & Oates. Featuring an appearance by the Bacon Brothers who introduced said Hall & Oates. And Philadelphia was not holding back tonight: this was the 2nd to last act that will ever grace the Spectrum stage before it gets demolished and turned into an Applebees parking lot at the end of the year.

The concert was great fun except for the part where we thought that Todd Rundgren was the first act and not the second so I missed seeing The Hooters, only one of my favorite bands from childhood. No biggie. Well, maybe I took out my frustration on him a little bit

But Philly and I quickly kissed and made up when Hall & Oates took the stage and made sweet love to our nostalgic ears. It was a delicious homecoming, especially since I was able to share it with Nicole who was listening to Hall and Oates with me back in our Zane-North days. To see and hear for yourself, here is a clip I am dedicating to the 500 people who said, "I can go for that!" when I told them I was going to a Hall & Oates concert.

Although this chick climaxed pretty much during the 2nd song of the set,

for me the night exploded with an extended set featuring all 3 acts declaring their Philly love with some of the greatest songs by some of the greatest artists this city ever busted out: "Expressway to Your Heart" by the Soul Survivors, "Backstabbers" by the O'Jays, and "Disco Inferno" by the Trammps to name a few that I remember. I needed a fucking cigarette after that.

Sigh. This was a night that Philly and I will tell our grandkids about because it was a snapshot of all the things she brings to the relationship; she's like the Spectrum: perfect-sized and a little rough around its honest edges, and like the music that still endures and endears people who still truly love solid, honest rock music (the best people of all). But above all else, she gives me the comfort of knowing this is exactly where I belong and I could never be in love like this anywhere else in the world. Especially when you're singing your heart out to "Rich Girl" in a Phillies tee.

XOPHI

Face me. Embrace me.

OK, I'm curious to see who's with me on this. Because if you aren't with me, you're probably with someone else. And that's OK, I just don't want to know about it.

So here it goes. Usually when I meet-up with or say bye to people I call "friends" or "loved ones" or "anyone who looks like Zach Galifianakis" we hug. Well sort of. Lately these people are giving me some weird half-ass or rather half-body hug I'm calling the "sideways hug." This is how it works: I face the person, straight-on, and outstretch both arms towards the person to signify "hey, I really like you and you smell nice. Please hold me." While at the same time my friend turns his/her body slightly to the side and outstretches one arm towards me and the other off to their side like some cheerleader, to signify "hey, I like you more than a handshake but not really much more than a hug." And when we come together it's this uncomfortable, awkward, perpendicular embrace that leaves me feeling depressed, even if the people I'm getting them from are not cheerleaders. I should have seen this coming when we went from the double-hand slap

to the fist bump.

At first I tried to train myself to go from my two-armed + one-chest hug to work with these one-armed + one-hip hugs but I couldn't do it! I am so uncoordinated. So for awhile I stopped making the effort to hug people as much as possible to avoid being sidewayed...but then I became paranoid that people would think I had syphilis or swamp pits. And that's worse than having them think I'm some slippery creep who wants to fully embrace them....right? I can't win. This sucks. I need a hug.

So is the sideways hug the way to go? The old-school squeeze is no more? Do you offer a reserved sideways hug or do you like to sweep your peeps up into your arms? Is there anything wrong with either hug-method? Do you think that I think you give a shit about this? I am curious to know.

Next blog: The "backwards kick in the nuts."

Come play with me...if you dare!

OK, here's the deal. I am ridiculously busy this time of year: job + school + post-season baseball + working on a nice layer of pre-hibernation fat = not a lot of time to vomit up a toasty blog. But I still like to waste some of your time. So not to cheat you and so I can get back to watching baseball until 2am when I'm supposed to be writing a paper, here I hastily give you part 1 of a 25 part series called "Pictures of Creepy Children's Toys" for your amusement. Or nightmares.

Please send me the pictures you have in your computer of Creepy Children's Toys for Part 2. Thank you.

This toy has the ability to bad-touch you in your bathing suit area.

OK, maybe not so creepy but if you got this for Christmas, you would call Santa a creep

Hi, kids I'm COKEY the Horse! Just say yes!

Baby peanut turd with stubby arms

She haunts Chucky's nightmares

How fucked up are you as an adult if you played with this as a kid?

Oh FUCK it's coming AFTER ME!!!

Inappropriate!

Today I was treated to one of the many perks of working for a company that does silly things like follow the law: “sensitivity training.”

At first, I was quite excited to be asked to attend this training as one of my 2009 objectives is to be more sensitive to my co-workers’ needs. However, I quickly learned that I was not there to learn when to drape my coat over my manager’s shoulders during project status meetings; I was there to learn that I probably should have been fired a long time ago.

Apparently, being “sensitive” in this context is about not being an asshole, a slut, and/or a creep. Don’t show your favorite Red Tube clips to the interns as part of orientation, don’t have sex with your manager to get your expense report signed faster, don’t fondle your staff while congratulating them on a new business win, don’t be a racist, bigotty, sexist fuckface….blah, blah, blah, yeah we all know this is wrong and stupid and in the words of our trainer, totally and completely “fucking inappropriate.”

And speaking of “inappropriate,” what was really interesting about the sensitivity training was that it was solely based on several scenarios that we had to rate on an APPROPRIATENESS scale of 5 to 1 --- 5 being so wrong you should be castrated and have your teeth kicked in, and 1 being totally OK even though you probably work with one hypersensitive twat who’ll whine about it. They were all good examples of douchebaggery; however, I think if we are highlighting what he called “inappropriate behavior at work,” he overlooked several key situations that I would like to offer for your consideration below. Please feel free to rate them.

1. You put a non-fat strawberry yogurt cup with your name on it in the refrigerator on Tuesday. The yogurt is gone Wednesday morning.

2. It is 9:00am on Monday and you notice a co-worker utilizing the only coffee maker in the office to make a pot of decaf.

3. Your manager schedules a meeting at 4:30pm on a Friday.

4. A co-worker in the cubicle next to you eats a tuna melt at their desk.

5. Everyone on your team accepts your meeting request, but no one accepts the responsibility for actually showing up for the meeting.

6. A co-worker sends you an e-mail and then within 30 seconds calls you to see if you have read said e-mail.

7. You are in a brainstorming session and a co-worker is obscenely overusing phrases like, “low-hanging fruit” and “pull-through strategy” and “let’s discuss offline”

8. Your manager schedules a meeting at 8:30am on a Monday.

9. You are washing your hands in the bathroom and a co-worker comes in and proceeds to tell you about his/her weekend in excruciating detail.

10. A co-worker brings in from home or buys inordinate amounts of junk food to share with the office, and places the communal pile of calories on the table directly across from your office.

I will leave you with one of my all-time favorite Conan O’Brien skits that I was replaying in my head throughout the entire sensitivity training….how….very…..(drum roll please)……..inappropriate.

Inappropriate Reaction Channel - Funny home videos are a click away

OH HOW CUTE!!!

There are a lot of babies lying around. Tiny, chubby, fucking babies. I know this because every time I check my e-mail or stalk you on Facebook I see inordinate albums of these portable humans that will one day grow up to blame us for all the problems in the world they are too lazy to change themselves.

I really do enjoy seeing the stop-action slideshow of your baby because he/she is the cutest baby in the world. And the other day while looking at a friend’s recently posted “Baby Update!” album I realized something moderately profound---the only time you are UNCONDITIONALLY cute or adorable or can legally be called a “cutie pie” is when you are a baby.

I am so fucking jealous of babies.

I would give anything to go back to a time where a shot of me spitting up some formula would illicit a couple of “aaawwww!!!” and “too adorable!!!” exclamations of delight. Nowadays, someone takes a picture of me drooling out my 8^th bourbon and “cute” suddenly becomes “horrifying.” A damn shame, really. That’s the only cute thing about me.

Anyway, I can understand why parents are genetically predisposed to follow their child’s every move with a camera for the first few years of his life: a child’s simplistic wonder at life unfolding around him gives us hope for humanity and assurance that there is still some good left in this world. And so why wouldn’t you want to capture every moment of that marvel, that newness, that blessed purity?

Mommas you need to snap, Snap, SNAP away those moments into your sacred memories cards.

Because one day your baby will graduate high school and go to college where you will only see inordinate pictures of them doing keg-stands and in the same poses with their peeps but in different outfits and in different bars. Then when they hit their 30s they usually either don’t want their pictures taken or have no reason to anymore. The only thing in the iPhoto Library is a folder of sunrise and sunset shots from a recent trip to the Outer Banks.

To illustrate my point that babies and children hold all of the cuteness power in the world, and therefore leaving none for the rest of us, please see below.

Look at the cute baby reading his first book all by himself like a big boy!

Look she's reading her first historical fiction novel!

Awwwww he's pwaying with bwlocks!

Look she's playing Tap Tap Dance!

They play so cute together!

She works so hard from home!

Oh she's talking to daddy on the phone! How cute!!

Oh SHUT UP! Paula Abdul quit American Idol?! That's crAY-ZEE!

You see, there's no going back so enjoy the cuteness while it lasts...and please let me enjoy it too. :)

Hey it's Atlantic City! Don't forget your towel!

Recently, I traveled to Atlantic City, NJ and if someone could tell me why I'd really appreciate it. For those who are not familiar with this magical land of broken dreams and fragrant piss stains, Atlantic City is a casino town on the New Jersey shoreline. It's Las Vegas's ugly step-child with stretch marks and both kinds of crabs.

It was a beautiful day to wonder if you could get hepatitis from breathing. We had a great spot near the water and the really cool beach bar that totally rocked a mid-90's frat-boy party playlist for all to enjoy. We immediately dove into the ocean, or rather, the shallow, hot, chum-filled salt slop found in most fishing boats. Afterward we soaked up the sun rays, hoping to burn off the bubonic plague festering in our bathing suits.

But the fun didn't end there. After changing out of our beach gear and burning it in the hollowed out belly of a crack whore mermaid that washed up onshore (I *told* you this was a magical land) we decided it would be a good time to eat. Dinner was relaxing and our waiter was absolutely charming in a real asshole kind of way. For example, when we were done eating he asked if he could take our plates and I said, "you are welcome to them!" And then he said, "no thanks you probably have herpes." Wow, he totally knew I was on the beach earlier!

Now it was time to give the casino our money. 48 seconds later it was time to go home.

Driving home I was sad to leave this special town. So many memories...but I have a feeling I will be back someday soon: it's really my kind of place.

Hope everyone is livin' it up and gettin' down this summer! xo

Bless. This.

So on Saturday, I crawl into bed with Nicole and as we drift off to sleep in South Amboy's finest bed, we managed to fit in one last conversation before we succumbed to slumber (which was promptly interrupted by Leslie gnawing at our arms, which we all know is completely unavoidable.)

The discussion was about saying "bless you," or if you are a German or an asshole (not that they are related) "Gesundheit" and how RIDICULOUS it is to say that to ANYONE. If evil spirits are shooting out of my nose, you will fucking KNOW IT. I need your blessings when I have to give someone directions or need to operate a lawnmower, not when I'm in the middle of a snot-blasting sneeze fest. But if you feel compelled to say "bless you" then I won't hold it against you. Let's be honest here: I need all the blessings I can get. I especially appreciate the times someone says "bless you" and then the people around him/her chime in as well, all filled with shame they weren't the first to say it. This is particularly heart-warming at business meetings and lame get-togethers; basically those situations where everyone is uncomfortably staring at each other because everyone hates each other (in a very polite way, of course). And the ultimate "bless you" comes from the guy down the hall who can't see you but knows wherever you are, you need a blessin'. We also declared our disgust in having to say "bless you" to people, and confessed that we only say it because it is EXPECTED of us. I know, I know, I know. We are just as evil as the boogie demon that fired out of your nose and more insensitive than making your best friend watch "The Adventures of Baron Munchausen."

But C'MON, is it really a blessing? How is it that this superstition is still clinging to us? Or is it now more like an unconscious reflex? Who knows; we just think it's a little bit better than saying, "Eeww, use a tissue you sick fuck."

I think eventually people will stop saying "bless you" -- mostly because of this blog -- but also because we will stop caring about each other and wanting to ward of evil demons from each others sinus passages. And that's nothing to sneeze about. (OK, that "joke"? Definitely warrants your blessing on my soul).

Parle vous an idiot?

Listen up and read this: There are a lot of people prancing around the Earth right now who are not smart but THINK they are. These delusional, yet sweetly ironic, snoot-snooties spend a lot of time ordering 6-worded beverages from Starbucks, listening to NPR, and shopping in the non-fluorescent lit section of Wegmans. They are the ones at work who take cell phone calls in the middle of a meeting, and put some inspirational quote as part of their e-mail signature. On many occasions it will take them 6 paragraphs to say "I don't know" in said e-mail. But above all else, they love to look smart and make sure you see it.

I am not smart, but I am honest about it. Activities like "cooking" and "learning to drive a 5-speed" and "adding a ringtone to my cell phone" have confirmed this for me. But the bright-side to being a dimwit has opened my eyes to many of the things these people --we'll call them "quick-wits" because they'd want us to-- perpetuate in our society to make us feel, well, stoopid. Here are 5 of them:

1. SUDOKU
Sudoku is a so-called game or puzzle that is in reality, a complete farce. It is a giant grid half-populated with numbers and the object of the game is to fill-in the blank squares with different numbers. Quick-wits like to buy giant books filled with these puzzles and pretend that there is logical sequence you must think long and hard about while they sit next to you on the train. But in reality, they are just filling in any ol' number that pops into their head as you hang your head in shame while shuffling through your 80s metal band playlist on your iPod.

2. METRIC SYSTEM
People who use the metric system love to tell you that "it just makes more sense!" In fact, quick-wits feel so superior about understanding the metric system, it deludes them into thinking that knowing it is equivalent to being fluent in another language. In reality, the metric system is also a farce. It was made up by a vagrant Canadian back in 16th century France who told his fat girlfriend she probably only weighed 130 kilograms to make her feel better.

3. SPEAKING FRENCH
They are not saying anything real. Only laughing at your stupid ass inside their heads.

4. THE MATRIX
This movie was smart for perhaps the first 24 hours it was released unto the world, but on April 1, 1999 and every day after that, its timeliness and smartness dramatically decreased. However, the quick-wits still cling very tightly to this movie that was cool and compelling for even a shorter amount of time than Vanilla Ice. I haven't confirmed this yet, but it may have something to do with the cast wearing a lot of black and having to speak very confusing dialogue. The movie is in fact, one big inside-joke between Andy Wachowski and Keanu Reeves's leather trenchcoat.

5. LOST
I have to admit, I have faithfully watched this show from day 1, season 1 to the season finale of season 5 last Wednesday. And I also have to admit the entire 5 years of viewing has made me feel like a straight up tard on the boulevard. After each episode, I feel like a lobotomized baboon. And then I get angry and throw feces, because I can't come up with even a slightly intelligible theory about the storyline like those quick-wit fans do. What is TRULY SMART is the ability of the writers of LOST to write the episodes so trippin' crazy-ass that the quick-wits spend hours and hours confusing each other with smart-sounding nonsensical theories on all kinds of blogs and forums----so when a quick-wit asks me (the dim-wit) what my theory is, I can just refer them a link to some un-ending LOST blog about mythical creatures and time travel and say, "this."

Well that's it for now. Don't you feel smarter? Or perhaps want to kick my dumb ass?

I need HELP

Can someone please tell me how you pronounce "HELP!!!" in case I need emergency assistance on the way to the PATCO train at 8th & Market? I can't remember if the third exclamation point means you shout versus yell or if it simply denotes 'wave your arms around in a panic.' Thank you.

Let's not get it on...

Boehringer Ingelheim, the pharmaceutical company I am genetically predisposed to mispronounce, recently made the following announcement based on the results of one of their trials in Europe:

"Results from a study published today in the Journal of Sexual Medicine show that a new, easy to use five-question diagnostic tool can significantly reduce the time it takes to diagnose the most common form of female sexual dysfunction (FSD), generalised, acquired Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder (HSDD). Unlike standard diagnostic procedures, which are often time-consuming and require an extensive diagnostic interview by a specially trained clinician, the Decreased Sexual Desire Screener (DSDS) enables clinicians who are not necessarily experts in female sexual dysfunction to diagnose the condition with high accuracy in a few minutes.

Nearly one in 10 women are known to experience low desire marked by distress or interpersonal difficulty - a condition that is medically referred to as Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder (HSDD)."

Bowlringer Engelbert said this DSDS screener had an accuracy of 85.5%. Not bad. But I believe I have a screener that is 110% accurate:

1. Does looking at your partner give you the dry heaves rather than butterflies?
2. Has your partner spent the last 14 hours playing Street Fighter IV?
3. Are you sexually attracted to the opposite sex of your current partner?
4. Do you fantasize about what songs you would like played at your funeral while having sex?
5. Is your partner an asshole?

If you answered YES to any or all of these questions you probably have HSDD. If you do have HSDD, do not despair -- dumping your partner, throwing back some whiskey, and downloading a shitload of porn should clear everything up in a day or 2.