Go watch/listen to an awesome Ben Folds Five reunion.
They do the entire “album” of “The Unauthorized Biography of Reinhold Messner.”
Category / Music
I promise…
…to blog more often soon. When I can. Probably the weekend.
Life has just been hectic, for more reasons than I have the energy to go into right now. (You’ll just have to trust me.)
Still diggin’ the two-month freelance on-site corporate gig, still wondering/hoping it’ll turn into full-time.
Heading back to Philly again for another whirlwind weekend in mid-June.
Fantasy baseball update: My teams suck. I made a bunch of cuts to my Yahoo team, and I’m working the trade talks in the CBS league. This is just not my year at all, fantasy-wise.
Just got two songbooks in the mail–Ben Folds and Rent. Guess which is for me and which is for Shannon. I’ll probably start practicing them on my keyboard this weekend.
I’m halfway to 70 (have been for several months now), but does it really count like that? I barely remember any of the first five years.
It’s late and my contacts are still in. But not for long.
Peace out.
A lyrical masterpiece.
I actually heard this on the radio, laughed out loud, and was driven to find these lyrics and share with you.
If you can find this song, just listen to the magic.
http://www.justsomelyrics.com/1407631/Tim-Wilson-The-Booty-Song-Lyrics
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Okay. The show’s plane’s in the air. The landing gear’s up. This is Tim “Booty” Wilson and the BootyCallers. They call it Booty Man.
(singing)
VERSE 1
Look at that booty. Show me the booty.
Gimme the booty. I want the booty.
Back up tha booty. I need tha booty.
I like the booty. Oh, what a booty.
Shakin’ that booty. I saw tha booty.
I want the booty. Lord, what a booty.
Bring on tha booty. Give up tha booty.
Lovin’ tha booty. Round booty.
Down for tha booty. I want tha booty.
Huntin’ tha booty. Chasin’ tha booty.
Casing tha booty. Gettin’ tha booty.
Beautiful booty. Smokin’ booty.
Talk to tha booty. More booty.
Fine booty.
VERSE 2
All about tha booty. Big ol’ booty.
Serious booty. Amazin’ booty.
I’ll take tha booty. Where is tha booty?
Stare at tha booty. Walk in tha booty.
Touchin’ tha booty. Whose got tha booty?
Grabbin’ tha booty. Rubbin’ tha booty.
Lovin’ tha booty. Huggin’ tha booty.
Kissin’ tha booty. Holdin’ tha booty.
Watchin’ tha booty. Kickin’ tha booty.
VERSE 3
Sleepin’ booty. Screamin’ booty.
Harder booty. Softer booty.
Sweeter booty. Sour booty.
Nude booty. Used booty.
Whose booty? Sista’s booty.
Yo momma’s booty. Cookin’ booty.
Mean booty. Good luck with tha booty.
Farm booty. Home booty.
Road booty. Found booty.
Covered booty. Bare booty.
Sweated booty. Patted that booty. (<—-not quite sure about patted that)
Bad booty. Sadder booty.
Wide booty. Wider booty.
Double wide booty.
VERSE 4
Live for tha booty. Yell at tha booty.
Suein’ tha booty. Scared of tha booty.
Expensive booty. Cheap booty.
Discount booty. Rented booty.
Leashed booty. Sellin’ tha booty.
Workin’ booty. Easy booty.
Sleezy booty. Greasy booty.
Need a lot more booty.
Wet booty. Dry booty.
I hope that one’s my booty.
Pretty booty. Pity booty.
Little bitty booty. Beautiful booty.
Caressin’ tha booty. Dissin’ tha booty.
Missin’ tha booty. Messin’ with tha booty.
Ooooh what a wonderful booty.
Powerful booty. Findin’ tha booty.
Gimme tha booty. Wake up booty.
Breakfast booty. Lunch booty.
Supper booty. Dinner booty.
Expensive booty. Cheap booty.
Buffet booty. Hot booty.
Cold booty. Take-out booty.
Delivery booty. All booty.
Booty (20x)
(2-Slick)
It happened.
I’m driving home tonight after running an errand in Shannon’s car. She has different presets on her radio (and very different musical tastes, for the most part) and I go flipping through the buttons.
I stop when I hear Quiet Riot’s “Cum On Feel The Noize,” because it’s a rock anthem from my youth.
And then I realize that the little message on the radio says “Adult Hits.”
I guess that’s the moment you realize that you’re not a kid anymore.
Quick. Random. Notes.
Flyers win in a major upset, taking out Les Habitantes (the Montreal Canadiens) in a 4-1 series. Next up, most likely, the Pittsburgh Penguins. They have that Sidney Crosby dude, who’s allegedly awesome. But the Fly-airs have a whole lot of momentum, reminiscent of the Colorado Rockies last baseball season.
I might have single-handedly jinxed the heck out of the Dallas Stars by attending their game this past Wednesday. They were up 3-0 in their series and looked to sweep with a victory at home in Game 4. I was there. They lost. And now they lost another one. Could it be that the hometown team wherever I go will lose?
Started watching Clerks II tonight, finally. I’m like what, six years behind on that one? Some laugh-out loud stuff, although I’m saving the second half for tomorrow.
Wish I had my Grandpop Morey’s ability to fall asleep at will. I always considered that a superhero-level power, and if I could do that it would probably change a lot about my daily routine.
In my interview this past week, I was asked about who inspires me when it comes to writing. And honestly, I was stumped. Not because I’m not inspired, but because I haven’t interviewed that much and was out of practice. I babbled on about pop culture and all my influences, but with some more time to think about it, I might have mentioned:
Music = Ben Folds, Cake, Bad Religion
TV = the writers of Seinfeld, Cheers, Frasier, The Office (both versions), 30 Rock
Movies = Tarantino, Kevin Smith (actually did mention these guys)
Fiction = David Sedaris, Mark Leyner (whose books include: My Cousin, My Gastroenterologist; Tooth Imprints on a Corn Dog; I Smell Esther Williams; and The Tetherballs of Bougainville)
That’s all for now. Good night.
Review: Rock The Cradle
MTV’s “Rock the Cradle” is now on our schedule.
Nutshell: The sons and daughters of rock and pop stars compete by performing covers in front of judges.
It’s basically American Idol but with celebrities’ kids. The judges are Belinda Carlisle of the Go-Go’s (tarnishing her legend), some guy named Jamie King who is allegedly a choreographer or something, a wardrobe/style woman named June Ambrose, and Larry Rudolph, who is best known as Britney Spears’ former and recently rehired manager.
The host is some insanely perky dude named Ryan Devlin, who is basically a younger, peppier, more casually dressed Seacrest.
A’Keiba Burrell-Hammer = daughter of MC Hammer, she’s actually a pretty good singer who covered Jennifer Holliday and Lauryn Hill decently.
Landon Brown = son of Bobby Brown, he’s not bad but not incredibly special. Although he did survive being Bobby Brown’s kid, so give him props for that.
Lara Johnston = daughter of Tom Johnston, lead singer of The Doobie Brothers. She’s 17 and reminds some of Britney Spears at that age, although this girl actually has a very good singing voice.
Chloe Lattanzi = daughter of Olivia Newton-John, she’s the worst of the group by far. I have a hard time putting into words how awful she is. Her recent cover of “I Hate Everything About You” by Three Days Grace was worse than laughable.
Crosby Loggins = son of Kenny Loggins. He seems like an earnest, nice guy–but he belongs in a coffeehouse or as the only male act at the Lilith Fair.
Jesse Money = daughter of Eddie Money. She was the first one to get tossed (unjustly), but her performance was pretty forgettable.
Jesse Blaze Snider = son of Twisted Sister’s Dee Snider. He’s a really good rock singer and showman–Daddy taught him well. He’s the arrogant (but funny) guy every reality show needs.
Lil B. Sure! = son of Al B. Sure. This kid comes off like he deserves to win, even though he stinks. His second performance was some ridiculous Maxwell song that he sang entirely in falsetto. A BAD falsetto. I dislike this kid so much, I’m angry I gave him the honor of including the dumb punctuation marks in his “name.”
Lucy Walsh = daughter of Joe Walsh. She’s cute, she can sing, and she’ll probably go pretty far in this competition.
Prediction: If this was really about “Rock,” Jesse Blaze Snider would win. But since it’s really about pop, it might be Lucy.
Back bloggin’ because of the public outcry (MySpace blog from 2.26.08)
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
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Back bloggin’ because of the public outcry Once more into the fray, or at least into the dank basement that is my mind. Ralph Nader is back. Oh, Ralph. I feel bad for him. All of the groundswell of support that Obama is getting–that’s what Ralph needed four and eight years ago. I think it comes down to charisma. Ol’ Ralphie Boy has some great ideas that people should be passionate about, but his personality doesn’t inspire. Bummer. Random endorsement: Twix Java. This is one of the greatest things that ever went into my mouth. You can’t go wrong with a chocolate cookie covered with coffee caramel and milk chocolate. You just can’t. I hate 95% of all Lexus drivers. I think that when you purchase a Lexus (which, from what I hear, is just a souped-up top-of-the-line Toyota sedan), that “I paid an exorbitant amount for a car, so now I own the road and can drive like sh*t” feeling is a freebie they throw in at the dealership. To paraphrase David Cross: You don’t have to be a Lexus driver to be an a$$hole, but you do have to be an asshole to be a Lexus driver. Random endorsement: “We Need Girlfriends” on YouTube. A DIY sitcom that NBC allegedly bought and will produce. I’ve been jotting down notes for another spam-focused blog. Just waiting for the furor over my last one dies down before writing it. Once again, I have contracted Fantasy Baseball Fever. The only cure? Geeking out and making up extensive lists of players to prepare for the annual drafts of my two leagues. Luckily, Shannon is very cool about this hobby/obsession. Random endorsement: Board-certified doctors. They’re the only ones I will go to or recommend. And yes, I do become a bit of an academic snob when researching a new physician. I’m not 100% keen on seeing someone from the Universidad de Tijuana or Southeastern Montana College of Medicine. Over the past several years, I’ve become a boxing fan. And although last Saturday’s Klitschko/Ibragimov heavyweight bout was an incredible snore, I really like how Klitschko (who won) is trying to unify the FOUR different heavyweight belts. For non-boxing fans, there are at least four major sanctioning organizations within the sport, all of whom have title belts. Not to mention the “unofficial” Ring Magazine championships. Klitschko’s win gave him two belts. I really hope his matches for the other two actually happen, and are infinitely more interesting than this first match. Yesterday it was 80 degrees and sunny here. We even did some brainstorming outside in the courtyard at work this afternoon. Today, it’s like 54 and sunny. Some might cringe at the thought of a 26-degree drop. But I’ll take it any day over snow, slush, ice and temps in the 20s or 30s. I had my every-eight-week Remicade treatment yesterday. Basically, I sit there for three hours or so while this monoclonal antibody is infused via IV. I’ve been going for these infusions for several years, and it’s usually fine. Sometimes I’ll sleep, or watch TV if they have it, or read, or pretend to do work that I’ve brought. Sometimes, I’ll share illness stories with the other patients (if there are any). Yesterday’s companions were both Rheumatoid Arthritis patients–one very nice 70-year-old lady with more metal joint replacements than she could count, the other a 50ish woman who used to live in Hawaii but was driven away by the humid climate (and its effects on her physically). Speaking of medicine, I’m switching gastroenterologists. I do like the guy I’ve been seeing since I moved to Texas, but two straight horrible “customer service” issues have sent me packing. When you call in a prescription refill, you don’t get a nurse or the doctor. You get a receptionist or one of the various customer service reps at this large practice. And twice in the past several months, I’ve had to make multiple calls to both the pharmacy and the office (who was to blame) and basically missed doses of my medication because the promise that “we called it in” was either a lie or accidentally untrue. I need my meds, and I need a direct line to somebody who says they’ll do something and gets it done. So goodbye, G.I. Enough serious crap. How about “The Moment of Truth” on Fox? Last night, I didn’t see the whole thing, but apparently a contestant admitted (right in front of her husband) that she would leave him if her ex-boyfriend would take her back. Which brings up the ultimate question: what’s worth more, your marriage or the $25,000 she stood to lose by just quitting? Apparently for her, it was the cash. Tonight is American Idol, which is nowhere near as fun without all the crazy people. End transmission. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. If not, you can get your money back by calling 1-900-GET-A-LIF. |
sweaty
Poppa Culture 