Shit I Wish Would Go Away (pt I)

The God-Damned Handshake

 

I guarantee both of these men are suicidal at this moment.

Jesus Christ, folks. Jesus Herbert-Walker Christ. I actually feel a slight degree of pity towards you all this morning in that – in spite of my intense hope that you would collectively decide to eliminate the practice of the handshake via a 2013 New Years’ resolution finally dying on the vine – yet again, I am going to have to take time out of my day and put together a post that should be common fucking knowledge by now.

Am I the Last Man Standing here, as far as analysis and critical thinking are concerned? Here are a few little factoids for you:

1. It seems every other year, the CDC warns us against a new strain of superflu about to emerge. The media gets hold of it, gives it a scary name.
2. You people go apeshit. Stock prices in companies who produce flu vaccines, hand sanitizers, antibacterial soaps, and Tamiflu go up.
3. In spite of the fact that even kids who go to public schools are aware of the fact that colds and flus are spread through contact with other humanoids…handshaking inexplicably continues.

Personally? I’m not scared of any of these superflus, because I a) take care of myself, b) don’t buy the media’s attempts to constantly villainize things like weather events and certain strains of microorganisms, and c) realize if I do get the flu, I have a great chance of missing a large chunk of work. When this happens, I usually take double the time I’m actually sick off. Party over here, fuck you over there.

I have friends who I’ve known for decades and I would trust with my life, and guess what? We’ve never once shaken hands. Ever. Has this in any way impacted our friendship? Not in any negative way, that much is certain. I would even go so far as to suggest that since this is a common thread in the overwhelming majority of all my most cherished relationships…could it perhaps be a factor in contributing towards how strong these friendships are?

Now, if I’m forced for political or diplomatic reasons to shake hands with some dude, I admit the first thing I do afterwards is go wash my hands, but that’s not so much out of fear of disease as it is knowing how many of you sweaty schmucks out there don’t wash your fucking hands after taking a dump. The reason I want handshaking to permanently disappear has more to do with the physical act itself. It’s literally the worst thing on earth, even worse than furry boots. For you ladies out there, who I’m sure have experienced a subset of the horror I’m about to describe, I will do my damndest to illustrate the depth of the suckage potential when it comes to shaking a guy’s hand.

<commence narrative>

You’re sitting there at your desk. Maybe you’re cruising around on Facebook, maybe you’re monitoring the commodity and/or equity markets, maybe you’re staring off into space; the point is: you’re minding your own fucking business. Suddenly a coworker’s face appears in your doorway. You’re suddenly on high alert: something is awry. This shouldn’t be happening. Also the coworker is smiling. That’s weird.

The coworker doesn’t realize he’s in the wrong place and leave. You have to fucking deal with this. FUCK.

You: “What?”

Idiot Coworker: “Hey, D.H…you got a second?”

You: “Fuck me. What now?”

Idiot: “We’ve finally hired [insert name of some other idiot who you don’t remember here]’s replacement. I’d like you to meet [insert name of new idiot here].”

New Guy: [his head suddenly appearing like a torso-less wraith behind the other idiot] “Hi, I’m [whatever name the other idiot just said], good to meet you.”

At this point the three of you embark upon a brief The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly three-way staring contest while your mind furiously races to put together your options. If New Guy takes a step forward, you are going to have to act, as it will mean he is coming in to shake your fucking hand.

Option 1: just fucking stab him and run. PROS: This will get you out of the handshake. CONS: You have a 60% chance that this act will cause you to lose your job (90% if you work in the private sector). Loss of job = no weed money.

Option 2: jump out the fucking window.
PROS: This will get you out of the handshake.
CONS: You will get cut up, and depending on how high up your office is, broken bones and possible death to boot. Also, you might not even have a window.

Option 3: the second he takes a step towards you, stand up, shove your hand down the front of your pants and make it obvious that you are pumping your crank.
PROS: Feels good.
CONS: Is no guarantee that you will get out of the handshake. In some parts of the country the likelihood of an ensuing handshake is reduced by less than half.

Option 4: fake a fucking seizure.
PROS: Will get you out of the handshake temporarily.
CONS: Will get you out of the handshake temporarily. Sorry, but this one just isn’t off-putting enough. Next time you see this chump, mark my words, he’ll go for another. Meantime, you’ll probably get sent in an ambulance to some doctor somewhere. Hey, speaking of doctors…guess who will probably try to shake your hand??

Option 5: just shake his fucking hand and get it overwith.
PROS: Will be over soon.
CONS: Will be fucking awful.

Once you begin considering option five, you realize two things: it’s the only way to put a permanent, reasonable end to the problem…but it’s going to be horrible. You blink once in a last-minute attempt to maybe wake up from a dream as New Guy takes a step towards you.

Now, there is something I must say: there is no known method to approach another man for a handshake that isn’t completely creepy and awkwardly sexual. Think of a time when you leaned in to kiss someone who was way out of your league for the first time and they allowed it and the enjoyment of the kiss became immediately eclipsed by the fact that the kiss was clearly being allowed out of sheer pity and absolutely nothing else (this scenario never happened to me, just FYI). That moment right before the kiss started, when you both realized that you were about to embark upon a dirty, pitiful journey that was now completely unwanted by both parties but you’d come too far to stop? THAT is what it feels like to approach another man for a handshake.

You try to size up your opponent. Is he going to be limp-fingered and clammy? Is he going to be one of those jackasses who were taught that the only way to shake a hand is to try to shatter the bones in the other party’s hand via completely unnecessary squeezing (you cowboy hat-wearing idiots are notorious for this)? Is he going to crank your hand sideways like that idiot who used to live next door to me?

Is he going to lock eyes with me and attempt to gauge my initial reaction and adjust the pressure accordingly? Am I going to – no matter how briefly – feel fingers sliding on my palm during the approach or the retreat? Is he going to do that retarded single head-nod thing some guys do just as the pumping begins? Is it going to be hard pumping, multiple pumps versus a single pump, am I going to have to get my elbow involved? Shoulda just stabbed this fucking idiot…new jobs aren’t too hard to find…

Eventually, the deed is done and, much like Elisabeth Shue’s post-rape shower sequence in Leaving Las Vegas, I run for a sink to wash my poor hand.

</end narrative>

The above horror happens in offices across the world, every single day. Now that I’ve hopefully raised some awareness, I have to ask: can we just get rid of handshaking?

I can think of a dozen ways this could happen; it can be as simple or as complicated as we want to make it. Americans seem to love limiting their own freedoms via new legislation; I would hope it wouldn’t need to go as far as outlawing handshaking (but won’t put up a fight if that’s how it has to go away). I would prefer:

1. The World Health Organization could issue a recommendation against handshakes.
2. Kim Kardashian could hold a press conference and state that she thinks shaking hands is unsexy.
3. The CDC conduct a study on spreading germs through handshaking and publish the results in an epic, borderline violent public education campaign.
4. Justin Bieber could be receiving a Grammy award and – after taking the statue from Will Smith with one hand and refusing to shake hands with Smith with the other – point out that handshaking is an outdated, antiquated, entirely unnecessary custom that he refuses to participate in unless there is a sink with antibacterial soap in his direct line of sight. Then halfway off the stage, he has an afterthought and comes running back to the microphone and points out that his refusal has nothing to do with the fact that Will Smith is black; he would have refused to shake hands with anyone. Jamie Foxx, Damon Wayans…anyone. Besides, Smith is pretty white for a black guy, all things considered, and [sound of Beiber being yanked off stage]
5. Donald Trump could come issue a public statement requesting that humanity increase the amount of handshaking we engage in (the Donald seems to get the opposite of what he publicly favors these days).

That’s just off the top of my head. Like I’ve said previously, I don’t care how it goes away as long as it actually goes. You got any suggestions?

D.H.

THE Worst Band of All Time

Well, folks, finally we are here.  The worst band of all time.  I have to say: this was a different kind of fun than the "Best Band" series.  And - I'll admit it - not as much fun as I'd hoped it would be.  I really thought I was setting myself up to be able to swing for the fences AND have fun doing it.  In hindsight, though: here's the thing I realized:

I'm serious about this.  So while I have no problem poking fun at Red Hot Chili Peppers or Metallica...they seriously piss me off.  There is a genuine negative feeling I get from these chumps and - as it turns out - I seriously don't like it.  Puts a serious crimp in the overall fun potential.

But!  My job is not to have fun.  Fun may be had as a by-product, but my job is to help illuminate the world for you, my fair reader.  So, with that said - let's begin with the most irksome, nauseating, generally annoying experience I've had thus far.  Let's talk about:

Fuck you guys.  Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you fuck you fuck you.  FUCK YOU GUYS.  I will now provide my reasons why I hate this band and enough supporting evidence to gag a starving horse:

1. Pearl Jam helped to define a "movement" that they didn't even belong in.

These guys were pretty-boy posers riding the tail end of the glam rock trend. Only thing they had going in their favor is that they figured out what was going on around them & started wearing flannels in time to jump from the derailing glam train onto the grunge clown car. Oh, you're one of those sticklers that wants supporting evidence?  FINE.

This hot chick has a pout the likes of which I haven't seen since vintage Bret Michaels.

See what I'm saying?  It was this at first, then suddenly groups like Motley Crue couldn't sell a fuckin record and the next thing you know, boner up there's sporting baggy camo jackets and suddenly unable to speak without mumbling.  Fuck you, poser.  You're not fooling anyone.  OK, scratch that - you fooled everyone.  Except me and maybe a few other guys.

2.  Their music is Bushleague at best.  (sorry Eddie, had to)

Guys had marginal musical talent at best and their songwriting talent - on the musical side - ranges somewhere between "non-existant" and "few & far between."  They do have the occasional non-worthless track; I seem to recall not hating "Black" the first time I heard it, and "rearviewmirror" wasn't an embarassment although it seemed a little too inspired by Fugazi (a band which, as time would tell, PJ clearly envied from an independence and integrity perspective).

You know what bothers me?  Listening to a riff and not being able to tell almost immediately if we're talking major key (happy, think the chord progression in Green Day's "Basket Case") or minor key (sad or dark...think anything by Metallica).  Pearl Jam's riffs and songwriting suffer so badly from this that it forced me to invent a new term to describe them: "musically androgynous."  Listen to the opening riff of "Alive" for an idea of what I'm talking about.

3. They care more about their constituent's I mean fans' opinions of them than they do about making good music.

There are people that dream of being rock stars. There are people that dream of having the talent to make the world a better place through music. What you have in Pearl Jam is a group of people that are treating this dream job like a part-time job. Guys, when you feel the need to side with every cause in the world around you, you end up spread pretty thin.

Crohn’s Disease. President Bush. The pro-life crowd. Ticketmaster. Republicans. The fact that you have a Bandwide Carbon Neutral Policy. Guys – if you wanted to be politicians and/or environmentalists and/or lobbyists, guess what? You should have been politicians or lobbyists. For Christ’s sake, for every article you have published containing all your views on abortion (like it matters), I’ll show you a Pearl Jam song that could have been structured in a more interesting way or one that never made it past what I would consider the “rough draft” phase of the mixing process.

YOUR FULL TIME JOB SUFFERS WHEN YOU EMBARK ON INCESSANT – AND UNNECESSARY – SIDE PROJECTS.

Seriously - how long would you tolerate the following example: Senator Barack Obama is elected to the Office of the President.  About a month into his term, he announces an eight-week sabbatical to write the novel he's always wanted to write; a gritty, raw cop story that he would classify as "urban fiction."  Vice President Biden is left in charge.

After returning to his elected post, President Obama then announces that, for the next two-and-a-half-months, diplomatic relations must be suspended as he (Obama) will be unable to travel, as he's trying to gain ten pounds of lean muscle and the high-protein diet required for this usually wreaks havoc on his bowels and he doesn't want to be too far from the Oval Office latrine.

At this point, you're probably making a frowny face and thinking: "Hmm."

Ahh, but that's all OK now, right?  Because he's back now!  He's a published author, he's bulked up considerably and looks like a male supermodel - let's get to it, let's lead the nation!

First things first, though: you know how sometimes you have a job to do, but there's this other thing that you also really want to do?  And you know that if you try to do the job you have to do, you won't do as good of a job because you'll be focusing on the other thing that you really wanted to do?  Yeah, better to just get the other thing out of the way so that when you do get around to doing your job, you'll be able to give it 100%.  So, with that, Mr. President needs two weeks off to learn to surf in Hawaii.

The upside: I bet that two weeks FLIES by, and when Mr. Prez gets back, he'll be a lean, mean, surfing machine and also ready to lead the nation.

Awww, shit.  Mr. President just announces his mid-life crisis and that he's leaving the First Lady to star on a season of The Bachelor.  Biden will be in charge through the summer, thanks for your understanding.  Oh, and by the way, South Korea just sank into the fucking ocean.  Sorry, probably could have helped but I just didn't notice, I was too busy with other things.

We would boot his sorry ass to the fucking moon, and you know it. 

Besides, it’s just so freaking easy for a rock and roll band to bulk up their audience by indirectly appealing to the “hipper” Democratic party by slamming Republicans. Call me wrong, whatever – I personally challenge Eddie Vedder to find five things that the Republican party has done in the past four years that he approves of and promote them in some way on his next album. Spoiler alert: he could do it, but he won’t, because he’s not going to risk offending his crowd. One-sided pansy.

Speaking of, I’m starting to think ANYONE who sides with a political party is being completely snowed. Think about it – these are people who devote their lives to politics. They go to the same schools, study the same things, move to the same capital cities, have dinner in the same restaurants, drink in the same bars, and hit up the same strip clubs afterwards. I suspect – at this point – the two-party system is simply a show meant to divert our attention from the fact that we’re being robbed blind and the country is falling apart around us.

Think about it – what’s the one thing that has been guaranteed to completely distract Americans since the Revolutionary War days?  That's right: a good bad guy. And that’s exactly what our two parties have become to one another – supervillains for the opposing party (that’s why each party has gone to the extreme left/extreme right). I dunno. I could be wrong. But I could be right, too. Next time you observe paparazzi photos of your favorite idiot Senator walking out of a strip club with an Assemblyman from the opposing party and they’ve both got streaks of white powder under their nose, try NOT to think of the poor hooker’s butt they’ve been snorting off of all night while they laugh hysterically about what suckers we are, OK?

4. They use political messages to hedge their bets.

I maintain – always have – that music (at least music of the rock & roll variety) and politics have no place together. With the notable exception of Bonzo Goes to Bitburg (Ramones), the quickest way to turn me off any song or band out there is to inject either a) any religion other than devil worship, or b) a political message.

But rock stars who attempt to appeal to the liberals?  Come on man.  How is anyone fooled into thinking you're doing anything other than expanding your fan base? Rock stars who attempt to appeal to the liberal mentality are hedging their bets as we all know that rock music - generally speaking - in and of itself speaks of - and appeals to - a more liberal (or maybe simply "less conservative") lifestyle. "Well, if they don't get into my music completely, maybe they'll still buy a ticket or two because they like the message." No, pussy - be a man. Your job is music. Make good music.

For my money, Vedder's anti-GOP stance would be reason enough to sell all my Pearl Jam CDs even if the band put out top-notch music (which they do not, open your ears, people). His anti-George W stance was so obvious, predictable, and TEDIOUS that I think it made me throw up once or twice.

The only thing I can think of in recent history that made me sicker was Super Size Me. For those of you hailing from North Korea or a different solar system, Super Size Me was the vehicle that Morgan Spurlock used to deliver his name into all our household vocabularies and a bunch of our money into his bank accounts.

I would pay $1,000 for an audio recording that I could keep of Chef Gordon Ramsey calling this chode up, barking "Donkey!" into the phone when Morgan answered, and hanging up.

Here's the gist of it: the mildly-photogenic-but-knuckle-dragging Spurlock sought out the largest, most notorious fast food chain in the world at around the time when the pendulum of American tastes were starting to shift away from burger & fries-type meals to the fresher, healthier alternatives (sushi, Subway, etc): Spurlock selected McDonald's.

McDonald's - already on the ropes over the fact that, by and large, they didn't represent one of the healthier choices available in the fast food department - didn't know Spurlock was up to at all. Spurlock took a four-week period and ate the largest ("super size") meals available, three meals a day. He filmed himself during this period and ultimately released the footage, aka Super Size Me.

Here's what happened: [spoiler alert] an uninspired hack got fat [end spoilers]. McDonald's - who couldn't respond during Mr. Spurlock's gluttonyfest because they didn't know about it (but surely they would have made a public statement encouraging Mr. Spurlock to eat healthier had he been up front with them about what he was doing) - in a direct response to this documentary, removed the "super size" option from their menu. Congratulations, America; this is the entire and direct reality resulting from your mindless embrace of Morgan Spurlock:

1. Morgan Spurlock achieved fame and all the trimmings (power, influence, etc.).
2. Morgan Spurlock got a ton of your money.
3. YOU lost out on a choice: the choice to super-size your McDonald's meals.

I have a question: Morgan KNEW he would get fat if he did what he did. Before the film even existed, any one of us would have predicted the same outcome upon hearing the circumstances: you can't a) lead a largely sedentary lifestyle, b) eat 3,500 calories per day and c) not expect consequences. Morgan, in an attempt to ridicule McDonald's and prop himself up on our backs, made the choice to do it anyway. Yet McDonald's took the heat for his decision.

So...who's the idiot here? Am I missing something? How have you people not tarred and feathered this cocky fuck? Anytime the American public loses out on a CHOICE, we all LOSE. Morons.

Do you see the similarities here? There's nothing honorable about appealing to a group based upon the group's pre-existing suspicions or beliefs by villainizing someone or something in an attempt to broaden your fan base (or, in Spurlock's case, create one).

5. They won't STFU about how much integrity they want us to think they have.

I won't pretend that I have a 100% in-depth understanding of what Google Plus is intended for...but I'm willing to bet it's not this shit that gets delivered daily to my face:

___

And thus we conclude the Worst Band of All Time series.  Fuck you, Eddie Vedder.  I never want to see your face again.

PS nice comments up there, P.J. fans.  Brilliant.  Oh well.

Happy weekend all!

- D.H.
      

Verizon Wireless: Squatting Over & Taking a Greasy Dump on Customer Expectations Since 19XX

Please hold for a Verizon Wireless sales representative, we appreciate your patience. Your current estimated wait time is 0 min 1 secs.

My suggestion for a new Verizon mascot.

Add a tablet to the Share Everything plan for only $10/mo – no contract commitment - data only plans starting at $30 monthly access! Ask me how.

You are now chatting with 'Brittany C.'

Ninja's Note: what transpires from this point forward, in my estimation, constitutes the web chat of the year.

Brittany C.: Hello! Thank you for using verizon wireless chat service, My name is Brittany C. I would be more then happy to help you with your order for a new line upgrade or accessories today!

You: Hey Brittany - I don't want to purchase anything or upgrade; I'm actually trying to determine if the eligible upgrade date listed on the web site is the same date as the contract end date.

Brittany C.: I'd be happy to assist you.

Brittany C.: Are you signed into your myverizon account/

You: yes I am

Brittany C.: What does it say your upgrade date is/

You: for the galaxy nexus it says 6/8/12

Brittany C.: So you are eligible now.

You: there are three other lines w/ three other dates though. as i just mentioned, i'm more concerned at this moment with when the contract ends than with getting a new device.

Brittany C.: Do you see a drop down box by the phone?

You: no

Brittany C.: Does it say you are an account member above the picture of your phone.

You: nope

Brittany C.: What is the mobile number please?

You: ***-***-****

You: and ***-***-****...those are the two i'm most concerned with whether they're under contract and if so when the contract ends.

Brittany C.: I need your full name and he last 4 of the ssn please?

You: full name = [droid hayabusa], ****.

Brittany C.: Thank you

Brittany C.: Do you see upgrade4 status?

You: i see upgrade dates for all four of my lines. is that what you are trying to describe?

Brittany C.: Yes that's what I mean those are the upgrade dates

You: great. so – back to the original question from ten minutes ago – does that mean that on those dates the contract is over for each corresponding line?

Brittany C.: No if you add 4 months to that it's the contract end date

You: jackpot. thanks! super-helpful.

The Most Infuriating Thing People Regularly Say.

This is going to be a simple one.

My most hated expression of 2013 (a year which is only four weeks old, which should give you an idea of the epidemic we're facing):

"TO BE HONEST WITH YOU..."

Ninja's Note: I would like to specify that I include all variations of this prelude in what I'm discussing here.  "Honestly," "If I can be honest for a moment," etc.  That kind of horse-fuck.

I'm sorry...is it not public domain, common-fucking-human knowledge that - when you insist on shoehorning the above into your sentences - you suddenly make the listener(s) suspect that you have varying degrees of honesty in your speech? How has that not occured to so many of you fucking monkey-parrots yet?

I will take it a step further: what kind of mentality thinks they need to work that of all things into their daily speech? What kind of shady dickshit thinks they need to front-load certain statements with a qualifier indicating that they're not lying right now? I suggest we immediately and violently suspend all relations with these freaks and call the men in white coats to come conduct a study or two.

Now, I anticipate some of us well-meaning folks have been guilty of using the above expression (or a variation) in a recreational fashion (as opposed to you habitual users for which there is no hope) without realizing the implications. Well, now you realize the implications: you sound somewhere between a liar and an insane person. In the future, say something to the effect of "if I can speak candidly," or "if I can be blunt." Something to that effect. Or - even better - just say what's on your fucking mind already without trying to smarten up your speech by cramming a shitload of unnecessary words into it.

Runner up expression: "IT IS WHAT IT IS." Really? You're telling me that a phrase evolves that permits the user to effortlessly sound like an authority (if not expert) in whatever is being discussed in five words and our nation full of asshole redneck know-it-alls gobbles that shit up like bacon? Oh, even better: the five words don't actually say anything. Here's a translation for you: "The inherent (sometimes defining) properties of X - which by the way I cannot be bothered to explain or demonstrate even the slightest knowledge or understanding of - exist as they are, cannot be changed, and are to an extent responsible for the situation currently under discussion. Ho hum."

If I haven't blown my brains out by 2014 it will be a fucking miracle.

Think about what you say, people. For the love of Zod.

"Planet Houston is in grave danger if people don't start taking a harder look at themselves."

 

Kiss my dick,

 

D.H.

Album of the Year - 2012



 

I promise you: this surprised the Christ out of me. At a very young age a belief began developing and after three decades of nothing but constant validation from the universe that my beliefs were accurate, it was jarring to have those beliefs utterly destroyed.

This is what I used to believe: it’s the GUYS’ job to rock, and it’s the CHICKS’ job to look hot, stay thin, and maybe take some clothes off in the videos.

And then I met Lzzy Hale. [Not literally...what are you, retarded?]

I’d heard one of their singles on the radio from their last album and I guess it made an impression, as I kinda connected the dots years later as I heard this year’s offering and remembered them. But I’d certainly never pursued them. Earlier this year a buddy of mine gave me a copy of …the Strange Case of… and I immediately opted to not listen to it (in my defense, this awesome friend of mine had lumped it in with six gigs worth of music, so…I’m still working my way through it all).

And then a funny thing happened: months later that same friend sends me a link. “Hey, check this out – Lzzy Hale covering ‘Out ta Get Me.’”

Ninja’s Note: the quickest way to get me to ignore your e-mail is to include a link to a video in it. And the quickest way to ensure that I never see a particular Youtube video is to send it to me and suggest I watch it (DC will back me up on this one). However, this time was different: you all know about my affection for Appetite for Destruction. I was very much intrigued and slightly confused: “’Out ta Get Me?’ But Lzzy Hale is a girl. I don’t get it.”

In the end, I caved and clicked the link. And I’m sooo glad I did…because Lzzy Hale rocks harder than most dudes out there. I immediately went home and dug out …the Strange Case of… and it’s been played daily ever since.

Did you know? …the Strange Case of… is a nod to the original short story by Robert Louis Stevenson that introduced the world to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (the full title was “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde”). Did you also know that the story was allegedly inspired by a Scottish fellow who would become something resembling a different person (in character) when drunk? Did you also know that you should have known this long before now?

THIS is what your rock music should be like, folks. You have your energy, your attitude, and how about this: we finally get an album that was not made in the 1980s where more than half the songs are radio-worthy. How about that! Back in those days if I wanted to listen to an hour’s worth of music, I would select an album and press PLAY. Ever since Pearl Jam and Korn stormed Castle Metal and made mediocrity the norm I’ve had to compile my own mixes from the random non-garbage you’d salvage out in the wasteland that is the rock music scene. But this?

From start to finish the album is a juggernaut. Drummer Arejay Hale is a joy to listen to as his enthusiasm for drums and being a drummer come through in every beat somehow (I have no idea how certain drummers do this…the Rev pulled it off, Tommy Lee used to be able to pull it off…weird. Maybe I’m insane?). The guitar playing is solid and maybe at times a bit understated but – let’s face it – the guitar isn’t supposed to be the star here, is it?

No comment (wife reads the blog).

Lzzy Hale is the star. From the opening line of the opening track she sets out to convince you that she belongs in the company of only the most legendary rock vocalists out there. Over the course of the album she demonstrates complete dominance over just about every classic technique there is. Her choice of techniques and her choice to move (effortlessly) back and forth between belting it out and exercising restraint shows us how well she understands not only her instrument but rock music in general. This is rare: modern artists seek to bend the rules of rock n roll to fit themselves. Lzzy Hale chooses strict adherence to the Rules of Rock, and I applaud her for it.

In a way, this whole album is a throwback to the Golden Age of Rock & Roll (which, yes, was the 80s – suck it Eddie Vedder). “Daughters of Darkness” utterly gives me the chills; can you think of the last time someone other than an aging Glenn Danzig sang about anything remotely evil??

Bottom line: Halestorm is a great band that put together an amazing album. And they very much deserve the Grammy nomination for “Love Bites (but So Do I).”

Look guys.  Another photo

Ninja’s Note: 2012 was destined to be the year I learned my lesson about girls in music; initially album of the year was going to go to Florence + the Machine for Ceremonials…until I found out that Ceremonials was released late 2011. Oh well, sorry Flo. You kick ass up & down the block too.

 

Ladies' Fashion 101 (pt 2) - Furry Boots = Penis Repellent

OH sweet holy fuck - my first post of the New Year and I'm writing FASHION of all things again.  Off to a great start.

No, I have a couple topics I plan to cover during the first quarter that are much more interesting than this one - including the riveting conclusion to the Worst Band of All Time series - but in the interests of timeliness I'm doing this one first.  Just...it was Christmas shopping.  I couldn't swing my dick in public without clocking some dumb bitch wearing a set of furry fuckin boots.  Ladies, the trend that never should have existed in the first place is OVER.  Goddamn you people.

"Oh, this little ol' thing?  The Lone Ranger and I made it after we skinned a caribou.  Now hop on in here and...hey, what are you laughing at?"

Alright hookers, listen up because I'm talking directly to you right now [well, as much as I'm capable of, anyways...which translates to "talking AT you while I stare at your rack," assuming you have one]: enough with the fucking furry boots.  They don't work and they're not fooling anyone and they actually make most guys really pissed, which they'd freely admit to you if they weren't trying to sleep with you.

I am going to go out on a limb here and do something that none of your friends have the ovaries to do: I am going to play it straight with you.  I understand what you're trying to accomplish.  I understand the science behind this particular craze, as it's roughly akin to the concept of waist suppression in men's suits: you're attempting to make parts of you seem...more proportional [I deserve a Nobel Prize for the restraint I just used, you're fuckin welcome]...by altering the shape of another part of your body.  In other words, you're trying to make your hips seem narrower by making your calves and ankles wider.

Guys notice this.  It's like when we see you pull down your shirt or sweater.  It's an instant turn-off.  Why?  Because it reeks of insecurity!  Do you think there's a guy alive who sees a girl tug downward on their shirt or sweater and actually believes she's doing it because it's riding up too high or bunching?  FUCK NO!  We see that shit and we think "here's another dumbass who thinks it's easier to make a failed attempt at making her butt look thinner by obscuring it with another layer of clothing [brilliant logic there, btw, ladies] every five minutes than it is to lose five pounds.  I'LL PASS."

Same shit with the boots.  Unless you have a perfect physique - which shows no matter what you wear - we pick up on it immediately.  "Ahh...dangit.  Beautiful smile, great sense of humor...maybe she's a little big but I really didn't mind that...but she hates the shape of her body." Sorry girls, it's just how it goes.  We are hard-wired to be turned off by insecurity.

Truth: putting a pair of furry goddamn boots - or any other article of clothing - will NEVER in a million years make you into this:

No guy on earth is blind enough to mistake you for anything remotely close to her...or anything other than the truth, which is that a) you went to Payless Shoe Source and b) spent $28 on a pair of crappy boots featuring "fur" that looks like it came off a stuffed animal and now c) you're wearing what everyone else is wearing, and d) we're going to take off running just like all the other men in your life because we know how insecure you are.  You're part of the herd, congrats!  You might as well start mooing.

And regarding that one goddamn song from several years back (you GODDAMN WELL know which one I'm talking about, Miss Apple Bottom Jeans)? Should have been enough of a reason for you to never put on a pair of furry boots in your life. Shame on you.

And shame on any guy out there who ever took home a girl in furry boots.  You've helped perpetuate this bullshit that - much like the highlighted hair craze that's still fucking going on - should have died on the vine before it ever picked up.

This year is going to FUCKING SUCK.

SHIT.

- D.H.

What Went Wrong at Sandy Hook Elementary

I have been told on several occasions that I have an overdeveloped sense of reasoning.  While nothing is wrong or inaccurate in many of the conclusions I arrive at (far from it, really), the aforementioned excuse has been offered up on several occasions where a) I arrive at a conclusion, b) the conclusion is airtight and perfect, and c) I'm the only person in the fuckin room who sees things this particular way.  In other words...it's my consolation prize for being "right" and yet having every person in the room at odds with me.

A Rubix cube was the first example of this I can recall.  It was Christmas morning back in the early 1980s, we were up in these beautiful cabin-style homes my extended family had built for themselves up in the woods of Pollock Pines.  Someone handed me a Rubix cube.  I was probably five years old.

I didn't know what to do with it.  The person went on to explain:

"You want to get each side to have only one color."

"OK..." [I tentatively tap on one of the sides] "So all green?"

"You got it."

"OK..." [I timidly give one section of the cube a half-spin.]

"And you want to be quick about it!  You want to go as fast as you can."

So, three or four minutes later, I produced a completed Rubix cube to the regiment of adults in the kitchen.  At first there were some amazed faces staring down at me.  One of them reached out a hand to take the cube from me in awe (don't recall which one).  Finally one of them asked something to the effect of:

"Do you remember how you did it?"

Of course I remembered - and I told them.

"I just peeled all the stickers off and rearranged them."

Whichever one had taken the cube from me now began to inspect it closer.  He or she began to see evidence corroborating my story and began to show the others.  Finally one of these half-drunken party poopers called me out on it:

"That's cheating!  You cheater!!"

Hm.  I love my family very much.  Each and every one of them.  And the older I get, the more I love them.  But - and in no way does thirty years having elapsed between that moment and today diminish any of what I am about to say, as I mean this every bit as much today as I meant it back then - FUCK YOU, aunt or uncle (whoever you were).  Fuck you for giving me a task and a set of conditions and then getting pissy with me when I completed the task according to your conditions.  Call me a cheater.  I'll cut your fuckin head off.  Next time explain shit a little clearer.

Anyways.  See what I mean?  You take all the available data and instruction (if applicable), you arrive at a conclusion....and it's like you're the last person on earth.  Suddenly everyone around you is a complete stranger.

The massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School has me experiencing much of the same feelings of alientation and isolation.  Seems I can't even turn on a radio without reinforcing the fact that many, many people are coming up with conclusions regarding the shooting which are dramatically different from my own. 

So, with that, I am going to offer you all something I rarely do: a glimpse inside how my brain works.  We are going to examine the different components to the Sandy Hook shooting just as my brain examines them and we'll see what conclusion(s) we/I arrive at.

Ninja's Note: if you are at all emotional about the shooting, please consider holding off on continuing any further until you're feeling better.  Sensitivity is not my prime directive at this point; an objective analysis of fact is.  I may say something that may seem insensitive and upset some folks, this is entirely not my intention.  You've been warned.

1. Sandy Hook Elementary School

Alright, what do we have here: I see basketball courts, an adjacent lot with four-square lines painted.  I see a baseball diamond.  An access road (Dickenson Drive) with a baseball diamond on one side and a large grassy area.  A parking lot which may be designed for one-way traffic.  A series of classrooms bunched together in the center.

Now, according to information taken from virtually all witness accounts, on the day of the shooting, did anything go fundamentally wrong on the level we are currently examining that day?  No.  The school - everything we're looking at here - did exactly what it was supposed to do: it allowed parents to come & drop off their kids.  It contained the children in the various areas (classrooms, recess areas, etc).  It provided what it was supposed to provide.

Now some sick asshole shows up and starts shooting the place up.  What happened to the school at that point?  Walls received bulletholes.  Glass broke.  Frightening to imagine, sure, but - I ask again - did anything go fundamentally wrong with the school up to and including this point?  No.  Not at all.  You shoot a classroom wall, and it reacts like any other wall out there: it receives a bullethole.  This is exactly what it's supposed to do.

The school did exactly what it was supposed to do.

2. The Children of Sandy Hook Elementary

Now, what did the children of Sandy Hook Elementary do that day?  Well, according to information taken from virtually all witness accounts...the kids went to school.  The kids sat in school, like they were supposed to. 

A sick asshole shows up and opens fire.  Not part of the lesson plan and kinda scary.  What happens then? 

The kids screamed and had to be calmed down.  This is exactly what's supposed to happen in this situation.  Now, here comes the part where you may find yourself upset, and I encourage you to go no farther if you feel this might be the case.

In the interests of continuing this discussion to completion, we're going to have to talk about something unpleasant and upsetting now.  We're going to talk about shooting kids, but only from a standpoint of establishing a link in the chain of reasoning.  I have to cover this.

If you - for whatever reason - take it upon yourself to point a gun at a child and squeeze the trigger, the following are a list of potential outcomes:

A. the gun misfires.
B. you miss.
C. you hit and wound the child superficially.
D. you hit and mortally wound the child (arterial damage, gutshot, etc.).
E. you hit and instant-kill the child (head shot, etc.).

Now, from this perspective: did the children of Sandy Hook Elementary do anything wrong that day?  No, absolutely not.  They went to school like good kids, they participated like good kids.  And when they were shot at?  Some ran, some screamed.  Some cried.  Some escaped.  Exactly what kids are supposed to do in that kind of situation.  The ones that were shot?  Unfortunately...most (if not all) died.  But again - and I'm sorry to keep saying this, because it sounds pretty cold even for me: but that's what happens when you shoot a kid.  They become wounded.  They die.

The children of Sandy Hook did exactly what they were supposed to do that day.

3. The Teachers of Sandy Hook Elementary

We're going to mention right up front that the same laws of physics and biology that govern the children also apply to these teachers heroes.  This will save me from stating the obvious (again) and risk upsetting anyone.

These women did exactly what they were supposed to do that day.  They went to work.  They worked with our children.  When someone showed up and brought Hell to their doorstep, they tried to save our children as best they could.  And, sadly, when someone decided to kill them - they died.

Horrifying.  But the teachers of Sandy Hook Elementary School did exactly what they were supposed to do that day.

4. The Guns

Alright, so, what do we have here: we have a Bushmaster .223 assault rifle (same weapon used in the Malvo/Muhammed shootings from a decade ago or so) and a Sauer & a Glock. 

So...did the guns do what they were supposed to do that day? 

(I expect that some of you may begin to have trouble following me here, so I'll try and establish my perspective before continuing: I am examining a) what are we currently discussing [guns], b) how is the item established in "A" supposed to perform on it's most fundamental level [shoot bullets], and c) did the item established in "A" perform as it was supposed to ["B"] on the day in question.)

They absolutely did.  When you pull the trigger of a loaded gun, a bullet is supposed to come out.  Triggers were pulled, bullets flew.  In those instances where the gun was pointed at a kill zone?  The target died. 

The guns did exactly what they were supposed to do that day.

...so what exactly went wrong??

5. This Fuckin Lunatic Asshole Right Here

Ding ding ding!  We have a winner.

Let me back up a bit.

We've eliminated the school grounds as being even remotely responsible for what went wrong.  We've eliminated the heroic children and teachers.  We've examined the guns and their role in the horrific day and quickly and easily concluded that the guns carried out their assigned (albeit horrifying) task exactly as they were supposed to do.

So - let's look at the decisions made and carried out that day by one Adam Lanza, complete piece of shit and Hell's newest celebrity occupant.

Unfortunately this piece of shit is a dead piece of shit so we'll never really get to know with 100% certainty why he did what he did.  But how about this: let's use our imagination a bit and try to see if we can't establish that - on every imaginable level - that what he did was inexcusable. 

I'm trying to come up with a set of circumstances wherein it would be "OK" on some level to shoot up a school.  Hmm, let's see...wife is taken hostage.  I'm told that if I don't shoot up a school they're going to kill her.  Hmm.

Yeah, you know what??  Even in this situation I'm still a complete piece of human fuckin shit if I walk into a school full of kids and start shooting.  My reasons (to save my wife) might be moral and just to me, but I would have to expect that - when all is said and done - I, Droid Hayabusa, would be eternally memorialized as a complete piece of shit who shot kids.

So - OK, although we'll never know with complete certainty WHY this idiot did what he did - I think we've pretty well neutralized that point.  Does it matter?  FUCK NO it doesn't matter, because as we've just established, there's NEVER any reason whatsoever to shoot up a school.

So now I'll ask: did Adam Lanza do what he was supposed to do on the day in question?
__________________________________________________________________________________

Without getting on a political soapbox (or trying to avoid it as much as possible at least) I'd like to conclude this post by admitting how utterly flabbergasted I am that we're even eyeing gun control as a proposed nationwide corrective action for what went down.

We've existed as a nation of gun-toting folks for over two hundred years now.  Suddenly over the last fifteen years we've had a rash of school shootings: kids, parents, whatever getting pissed enough to spray schools down with lead. 

Why do you think politicians are so quick to sieze on to gun control as the only solution (even though as we've just established...guns did what they were supposed to that day!!)??  The answer I see is a simple one: because it's EASY.  It's EASY to draft a little piece of legislation and shave off just a little more of our liberty and then get in front of the cameras and act like you've won the battle.

...until the next time a school is shot up with a black market gun.  Then you're gonna look like an ass, huh?  Or how about this: someone goes apeshit with a sword in a preschool.  Or someone fills up a van with oil drums full of gasoline & drives it thru the Homecoming Dance at your kid's high school.

I would think a much more effective solution to the actual fundamental problem (which is this, in case it's in any way unclear: THE FUNDAMENTAL PROBLEM IS PEOPLE GETTING PISSED AND/OR FUCKIN CRAZY ENOUGH TO WANT TO HURT STRANGERS.  THAT is your problem here) would be to find out why, in spite of the fact that guns have been around since the country was founded over two hundred years ago, we're suddenly just NOW getting pissed enough to turn them on one another.

That's your problem.

Don't let them cloud your vision.

We love you Connecticut.  You're in our hearts.

- D.H.