CAN THE MUSIC SAVE YOUR MORTAL SOUL?

So no posts for a couple weeks. Be back on the 25th.

Whoever invented apple juice sucks. I drank a whole friggin' glass and now I'm thirsty. Wasn't thirty before. Just wanted some apple juice. Johnny Appleseed blows.

Another food wonder: Why is it that sausages come in packages of six and the buns in packages of eight? It's a fucking conspiracy. I refuse to buy more sausages until the last two buns are stale and green and I have to throw them away. Assholes. Just give me two more sausages or two less buns. Preferably two more sausages.

You may want to close your eyes for this next one. The new band Chickenfoot are comparing themselves to Led Zeppelin. Really? Led Zep has more legendary singles than these fuckers have fans. Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying me some Chickenfoot. But ease on the Led Zep comparisons. They're just setting themselves up for failure on that one.

"Living Loving Maid" is my Led Zep song of the week. It's hot shit.

And fuck Transformers. It's retarded. It's like Power Rangers for grown ups. But as long as we're on this topic. I want to make sure I put it out there that Kimberly the Pink Power Ranger was my childhood soulmate. Until the Green Ranger showed up. Cock blockin' prick.

Speaking of pricks, who even likes this Perez Hilton guy? I mean who the fuck is he anyway? Bring back any of the celebs that have died in the past week and take that fucker away. Please? I honestly haven't met a single person who has said, "You know, I kinda like that Perez Hilton guy." And they're lucky cause they might end up on the floor with or without a full set of teeth.

And in no way am I condoning violence. I'm just saying. If there's a final war between good and Perez Hilton, y'all know which side I'm on.

Anyway, more on food. I just ate half a bagel with fat free cream cheese. Only problem is the fat free has an anti-taste good problem. It's gross. Like eating soggy plastic.

Here's a thank you to all the dumbasses out there who don't know that taking more than the doctor recommended dose of Nyquil may cause liver failure. It could be pulled from the market soon thanks to you. I like how we are possibly living to see the day when you can buy cigarettes, guns, Craigslist prostitutes, and all sorts of other shit, but you can't buy medicine that will help your ass sleep when you have a fever.

This one is one of my favorite news stories of the week. That South Carolina governor went to Jesus boot camp after his affair. No shit. His "spiritual adviser" (which I don't understand why people need someone else to tell them what they believe) pretty much blamed his affair with Argentine reporter Maria Capur on "the Darkness."

I wish I could use that one if I did something stupid. Sorry I robbed that bank, the Darkness made me do it. Can I keep the money?

Labels: Charlie Daniels Band - Devil Went Down to Georgia, Led Zeppelin - Living Loving Maid (She's Just A Woman)

My last few blogs have been rather boring. This one may or may not be an exception. But any time Sister Sledge is in the house, it usually means white people will love what's up.

Okay.

I'm tired of hearing about Michael Jackson now. It was only a matter of time. However, the best thing to come out of this whole deal is that MTV and VH1 actually played music videos.

Today is the first day of summer when I have officially forgotten what day it is. And I don't care to know. Why? Cause I ain't got shit to do. Well, I have shit to do. But I have all god damn summer to do it. Hurrah.

So, summer vacation is almost here and I'm freakin' excited as hell about visiting Boston. Sam Adams, here I come! Then it's Harry Potter in IMAX up in Providence. And I kinda want to visit the The Station in West Warwick where Great White played before it burned down. I was in Rhode Island shortly after it happened, but never visited. It was like a zoo, but I kind of want to visit now.

I love champagne. Just thought I'd put that out there.

Yesterday's pool experience turned out to be an awesome redneck version of your favorite MTV show. We have these people who are at the pool every time we go and they take up half the pool area like they own the joint (only to actually use half of it). It's a group of we-don't-know-how-many with we-don't-know-how-many kids. And we just sit there trying to figure out who belongs to who.

My theory is that they're a recently-out-of-jail commune. They had a huge gangbang and now they don't know whose kid is belongs to who. In yesterday's episode I like to call "Poolside Yo-Momma Drama Pt. 1," some drunk dude got punch-slapped by some chick twice and he kept yelling at her to do it again. When I say yelling I meant like the kinda shit that goes down at Mudvayne concerts.

Well after the first round, he left and was possibly murdered (cliffhangers are what make you keep coming back). And this was all in front of those who's-whose kids. Strange, strange shit.

Some people need to be sterilized when they begin to become a detriment to society.

Chad Johnson aka Ocho Cinco made me laugh this morning for calling out Shawne Merriman of my San Diego Chargers. Let's get this straight for those who don't know who these two are. Chad Johnson, who no one likes, is a tall twig who has gold teeth. Shawne Merriman is comparable to a god damn rhinoceros (I spelled it right the first try). His neck is like a friggin' redwood. And Chad Johnson wants to fight him in a boxing match. All I gotta say is, televise this, please!

I've started writing a story that is actually worth my time to finish and I'm excited. This story got my mind abrewin'. I kind of know where I want to go with it, but it will involve a surprise birth, the Vatican, a "miracle", and a cracked skull. I'm undecided on the cracked skull. We'll see when we get there. But there will be blood. That's the kind of cool thing about being a writer. You control who goes and who knows. It's kind of creepy though.

I saw My Sister's Keeper yesterday. I was the only man in attendance. But I actually thought it was pretty good. Rather depressing. My wife told me there was a different ending in the book and I think I would have liked that one better.

The Confed Finals are on today and I'm freakin' ready. My prediction: Chargers win the Super Bowl.

Labels: Sister Sledge - We Are Family

The following is from Chuck Klosterman's Killing Yourself to Live. I absolutely love his writing. He's a semi-self-loathing, sarcastic, hilarious asshole. But he is extremely contemplative about life and music and he doesn't take himself too seriously. The book is about his journey across the United States to find a bunch of different places where musicians have died.

I was going to post a quote or two about the book at some point because its just so freakin' awesome, but now I think is a good time. I don't even think I need to go on and on explaining to you what it means because it speaks for itself. By all means let me know what you think because this is a great topic.

Here we go:

Death is a part of life. Generally, its the shortest part of life, usually occurring near the end. However, this is not necessarily true for rock stars; sometimes rock stars don't start living until they die. I want to understand why that is.

Dying is the only thing that guarantees a rock star will have a legacy that stretches beyond temporary relevance.

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If I knew I was going to die at a specific moment in the future, it would be nice to be able to control what song I was listening to; this is why I always bring my iPod on airplanes.

Anytime I'm in a foreign place with lots of strangers who all share an identical (yet completely unrelated) purpose, I start to think I am in purgatory. For as long as I can remember, I've had this theory, because life on Earth seems to have all the purgatorial qualities that were once described to me by nuns.

It's almost like we're all Bruce Willis in The Sixth Sense, but nobody on "earth" has figured it out yet, even though it will suddenly seem obvious in the end. Sometimes I think that the amount of time you live on earth is just an inverse reflection of how good you were in a previous existence; for example, infants who die from SIDS were actually great people when they were alive "for real", so they get to go to heaven after a mere five minutes here in purgatory...

This becomes increasingly clear in an airport. It is like a warehouse full of dead people rushing around from gate to gate to gate that they will, if they are lucky, die in a plane crash and leave the purgatory hell that is the airport.

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It's normal for someone's death to change how we recall what a celebrity was like, but the situation with [Kurt] Cobain is more complex; this is a situation in which a celebrity died, and many private citizens -- including countless individuals who were wholly unconnected to Kurt or Seattle or grunge or even popular music -- suddenly chose to remember themselves in a completely different way. Kurt Cobain didn't need to die in order to get integrity, because he already had it. However, his dying seemed to give total strangers a sense of integrity they had never wanted while he was alive.

And to answer that question as well, because I do the same thing Chuck does when I'm on an airplane:

If I could choose the song I am listen to when I die (assuming I had the ability to choose what I was listening to and the time it would take for me to die would be precisely 3 minutes and 14 seconds) it would be "Santa Monica" by Everclear.

Labels: Everclear - Santa Monica, Gabe Dixon Band - Till You're Gone

The U.S. nation soccer team just beat Spain, the #1 team in the world, 2-0. The U.S. is now in the Confederations Cup final for the first time ever and will play Brazil or South Africa. Jozy Altidore is gonna be a GREAT player. He's only 19, scored the game winner, and had a hell of a game.

We probably still don't stand a chance when it comes to the World Cup next year. But it's nice to finally see the U.S. soccer team play without their heads in their asses. Go USA!

Labels: Kasabian - Underdog