what the crap

so the girlfriend is reading us weekly + just alerted me to the latest sanjaya bit: he wants to go to berklee.

um.

listen, i'm a fucking fanjaya, right? i never watched that show until he was on it, and now that he's gone, i've returned to not giving a shit, but the kid doesn't deserve to go to berklee. people didn't take him seriously on american idol-- how does he expect to be taken seriously at berklee? of all the schools in the country to go to, why my school?

well, whatever. maybe we can be in the same facebook group + we can form a band-- i've always wanted a chick singer.

GAS

after weeks of arduous, painstaking research, i've decided on the guitar i'm going to get:

it's a schecter c-1 "lady luck." the die on the headstock + the "racer girl" on the twelfth fret are a little retarded, but that whole "strippers n' ornate facial hair" thing that seems to be schecter's whole demographic. whatever, who cares. schecters are damn good guitars for ridiculously affordable prices (this one is $450). other than those two cosmetic drawbacks, the guitar is gorgeous. i love the red satin finish, black binding, die cast tuners (grovers, of course) and controls, and the lack of inlay markers. i would've preferred black seymour duncan pick-ups, but the silver alnico's look nice, too. i just hope they're hot + decent for stock pick-ups. i've never owned a set-neck before, w/ the exception of acoustics, and i'm a little concerned about bending the neck* too much or too hard + snapping it right off the body (supposedly this happened to slash once while playing live).






*grabbing the headstock + pushing the neck out while pulling the body back toward you, after sounding an open note or harmonics, creates an effect much like "diving" w/ the tremolo bar, though not nearly as dramatic. the push/pull creates relief in the neck, slackening the tension of the strings and dropping the pitch of the note(s). it's not unheard of to have necks snap off, so you have to be careful + aware of the construction of your guitar.

i love this (without irony)

i started using drugs at the age of 12

faith no more playing "we care a lot/the right stuff" (yes, the nkotb song) + nestle's "sweet dreams you can't resist."



this is footage of morbid angel playing "maze of torment" live, but the clip is taken from pete sandoval's drum cam. still, he's not as good as the dude from the cold war kids.



and here's public image ltd. on american bandstand.

so fucking sophisticated

i admit i'm stumped over bravo's new "shear genius" show-- is it taking the piss or what? it's so absurdly ridiculous it has to be a parody of bravo's other competitive reality shows. one of the contestants actually said--and mind you these are people who cut hair-- that "there's nothing greater than what i do. nothing." then she pauses. then she literally weeps. but it's easily understandable the breadth of emotion she no doubt swims in-- being a stylist is the apex of sophisticated civilization.

i pretty much have to watch this shit-- i live w/ my girlfriend, you understand. it's vaguely tolerable if you listen to your ipod (i find that all tv is quite enjoyable if you don't have to listen to it), but then you miss out on all the gems these jokers proclaim for the camera, w/ all the aplomb + gravitas of a maui fever cast member. i remember one particular nugget, shot from the mouth of a top design judge, about the "dialog between the wall + the floor." troglodyte that i am, i was unaware that walls + floors "dialoged." amazing.

but there was a moment last night whilst watching bravo's new showcase of flabby gay men where i decided that, if "shear genius" is not a parody, then bravo has officially jumped the shark: and that moment was when one of the "hair artists," theodore, i believe (is "ted" not sophisticated enough?) actually installed a treasure chest in his model's hair. which is retarded enough, but then the judges deemed it the best cut of the challenge.

right.

and please, no more of this "rock star" shit. i see this on every one of these shows: tepid, upper-class choads believing they're "rock stars." no. you're not a musician, you don't fill stadiums, and you don't (and can't) wet panties. stop calling yourself a rock star. you're not. you cut hair. oil your clippers + shut it.

that whole whiny trust fund rock thing

what on earth was going on w/ the cold ward kids last night on conan? that was, hands down, the most retarded spectacle i've ever seen. fewer things irk me more than contrived weirdness. playing the wrong keys on a piano is a degree or two away from smashing a guitar on the "trying way too hard" meter. and is it just me, or does "hang me out to dry" sound a lot like crowded house's "hey now"? when stuck in my head, the former tends to morph into the latter, a bit like britney's ". . . baby one more time" + "oops, i did it again." anyway, awful, awful, awful band. still, not quite as bad as clap your hands say yeah who is possibly the worst band in the history of recorded music. i classify both as "white socks n' cookies rock," meaning that i suspect that every member of both bands wears white socks in coitus + immediately demands cookies + a glass of milk post coitus. you know it's probably true.

inevitability

the secret is this: you'll die one day + you'll never be ready for it.