So, back in the day when my buddies and I used to karaoke Beastie Boys on our Friday nights, we decided to do a music video for (what we thought at the time, but was later disproved by our Beasties' Bracket) the greatest Beastie Boys' song, "So Whatcha' Want." One segment preceding the actual video involved each of us telling a terribly horrible joke. I don't know why we thought this would be a good prologue, but we did it.
My buddy J2K's joke was: "Why was the tomato blushing?"
Answer: "Because it saw the salad dressing." BOOM.
Today in class, a classmate gives me some Laffy Taffy's, I open it, eat it, and then think to myself "I wonder what the Laffy Taffy jokes are like these days."
The picture quality is poor, but it says "Why was the tomato blushing?"
11 years later, I text J2K with that question, and the reply: "Ah man cuz it saw the salad dressing."
Not much came in this week. You gotta step up your game and help me out here, people! And holiday hangovers are no excuse. Let's do this:
--Via Google Reader, a pretty hilarious video:
I don't know why this is so funny to me...
--Via Google Chat, from White Josh:
"just got cropdusted by a really old professor"
Poor, poor Josh.
For all of you people not familiar with the term "cropdusting", UrbanDictionary.com has the following: "Farting, silently, as you walk by someone you either want to move out of the way or leave. Only works in crowded areas where you can't be discovered as the farter."
I'm guessing the professor's version was just as toxic...
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You may think that that's the Beastie Boys from the 80's, but you'd be wrong.
This is a screen shot from a new short film directed by BB MCA called Fight for Your Right Revisited, which follows the 'Boys after they 'leave' the party at which the "Fight for Your Right" music video takes place, and will premiere at the Sundance Film Festival in 2011. Those three guys are actually, l. to r., Seth Rogen, Elijah Wood, and Danny McBride (for some reason, a hobbit playing AdRock and two dudes that usually only star in idiotic stoner movies playing Mike D and MCA is really, really funny to me)
Here's a screen shot from the original video, just for comparison:
(According to casting reports, Will Ferrell, John C. Reilly, and Jack Black are in it, too. Anybody down for a trip to Sundance?)
This is a sequel I actually support -- Unlike something like, say, The Fantastic Four sequel, or Weekend at Bernie's II. Yes. That movie actually exists.
Quick Civie update before we get started. I took her in to get fixed with a mechanic who has been fixing cars for local LDS people for what I'm sure has been decades. The mechanic's name is Howard, but I prefer to call him Father Time, because he is quite possibly the oldest mechanic alive. It would not shock me if he started a story with "You know, I remember what I was doing when I found out that McKinley was shot." But Howard's a stud, and knows what he's doing, so I'm hoping for the best.
I know you want to know what my Wu-Tang name is: Misunderstood Demon, son. And I also know that you want to try it yourself. Let me know if you get something you like.
-Via Email from Gina C:
Funny baseball interview: Park Chan-ho, the first Korean to play in Major League Baseball. After a horrible first game of the 2010 season, Park Chan-ho pitched 3 innings of score-less relief in Game 3. Reporters asked him what was the difference. See the interview for his answer...
The funniest part is Park's inability to understand why his teammates are laughing so hard. Someone can correct me if they disagree, but my experience has been that people from east Asian cultures are much more open about discussing toilet-oriented topics.
Subj: JMill has something to tell you: We here at BreakUpEasy.com are sorry to be the ones to tell you that JMill no longer wishes to be with you. Because breaking up with someone can be hard, JMill has decided to use our website to give you this news.
The email expounds on the specific reasons for the breakup.
So they have a break-up websites, now. Huh. What else are cowards going to have the internet do for them in order to avoid confrontation? Beat up the bully at school? Tell the high school band teacher that they're quitting band? Unbelievable.
-Via Email from Drew, a coworker and a huge runner who advocates the "minimalist" approach to running shoes (it gets good around 0:45):
Nike Free Ad
I don't know why this is awesome, but it is. The disclaimer at the end is also a nice touch.
I always answer that if given three wishes by a genie, my first wish would be to be the best breakdancer ever. I think my second may have just become "be a Japanese DJ that mixes with Nike shoes."
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There's some amazing art at Gallery 1988. Right now they're prepping for a He-Man centered show, but early last year they had a Beastie Boys-inspired show. So while they're technically not "photos," here are a couple of the favorites that I saw (from here).
The Beasties from Ill Communication ("Sabotage") arrest the Beasties from License to Ill:
And another "Sabotage" one:
I'm a huge fan. But that shouldn't come as a surprise to anybody.
It's a short one today, but I have a work inbox to dig out of. Tomorrow's should be better, so check back. Happy Monday! Read more...
I'm up late watching another bowl game that is of no interest to me -- it's really just a final binge of football watching before I go into withdrawals starting in February.
The unfortunate part of watching this game right now is that my demographic (football fan staying up until 2am) seems to be the target of this annoying Blackberry ad, which keeps running over and over again:
These have to be some of the most redundant lyrics ever. Really. They are mind-numbingly stupid:
There's nothing you can do that can't be done.
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.
Rough translation of the lyrics: If you can do X, X is not impossible to do. PROFOUND. And then the text at the end of the commercial also reminds us to "Do what you love -- Love what you do." Thanks, Blackberry! The wisdom you have chosen to impart to us is invaluable. We had almost forgotten that possible things are NOT impossible, and that we should do things that we like to do. Unbelievable.
I did some further research and the song was originally written by the Beatles. Coincidentally, I just got back from a Beatles Rock Band Party with friends and we talked about how the Beatles were not lyrical savants. So, while acid and LSD may have taken the Beatles to crazy places -- songs called "I Am the Walrus" and singing about yellow submarines, to name a few examples -- they also made them sound like idiots most of the time.
At least Blackberry and the Beatles provided me with something to occupy my time while watching South Florida play Northern Illinois. Snore. Off to bed.
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God does exist and he may be partial to the Japanese...
Out of all the western-originated products to improve on...
The Japanese print is hard to make out, but the developer lists three inadequacies that typical sleeping bags have: (1) If there are things you need, you can't get them without leaving the sleeping bag; (2) If you're ever attacked by a bear, you can't get up and run; and I can't make out the third reason. But I'm sure it's equally as humorous.
This is basically a warmer version of a straight jacket, as the use of arms is nonexistent. Some Q&A I had with the developer: Q: What if I want to walk down a flight of stairs in this sleeping bag? A: You're screwed. You will have no arms to prevent you from tumbling to (at least) three broken ribs and a concussion.
Q: What if I get into a brou-haha with my campsite neighbors, and they surround me and decide to start hitting me with bamboo sticks? What can I do? A: Again: Screwed. You will be like the Black Knight on Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Hilarious movie! Especially those French taunters. Oh man, where they start launching the cows over the castle wal-- Q: /rolling eyes and resisting urge to cock back fist/ Stay on track, sir. A: Oh yes. Sorry. Essentially, you will be defenseless -- I would at least make an effort to cover your face. Don't worry, though. Welts and lacerations go away. Eventually.
Q: What if all my friends with Snuggies are playing basketball or baseball or something? Will I be able to participate. A: All I have to say is, I hope you like a faceful of ball. If you didn't realize, you will have the hands of snake while wearing this sleeping bag.
Q: Does the sleeping bag at least come in leopard print? Zebra print? A: No. We believe in keeping humiliation simple.
And there you have it.
-Via Email from Sara S:
-Via TXT from AM, who parked her car at my house while she went home for Christmas and returned while I was still in TX:
I think someone syphoned out my gas
It's interesting. I moved to a new place which is supposed to be safer than my old neighborhood (alleged "gang territory"), but in two years at the old place, I never had a problem. In the last few weeks, idiots have punched out Josh M's car window and stolen his GPS (the bastards), and they have siphoned the gas out of AM's car (sons of bastards).
Well, Gas Siphoner, I hope your circumstances were extenuating enough to warrant stealing fuel, as in you needed to drive your great-aunt and her broken hip to the emergency room in the middle of the night, or the apocalypse happened and you needed gas for your generator. If it was for something else -- say, to satisfy your pot smoking-induced "munchies" craving with a 2AM Taco Bell run -- I pray you have contracted immobilizing food poisoning from your Super Nachos Grande, and have been tasting the foul cocktail of nacho-vomit, stomach acid, and unleaded 87 for the past half-week. Also to complete the karmic cycle, I hope you find yourself stranded in the middle of the Nevada desert one day, fuelless, and walking in 120 degree weather for countless miles to a gas station. Happy New Year to you.
-Via Email from JoshM, an article presenting "research" on "The 10 Most Obscene Cities in America":
Herndon, Va. is a suburb of Washington, D.C., in the heart of the area's tech corridor and right next to Dulles Airport.
It's also the most obscene city in America, as determined by analyzing data from Google.
I lived in Herndon for two years; on top of that, #5 on this list is Reston, VA, where I currently reside. I take umbrage with this research and the methodologies used to draw such conclusions. Would the study results hold up to any sort of academic or empirical rigor?
This study is bull*&%#.
-Via Chat with a friend who asked to remain Anonymous:
don't judge me for what i'm about to say
One sec. I'm just going to get out my powdered wig and gavel... Ok, continue:
but i think i saw the coach for Team Ugly at the gym last night. seriously josh, this guy was like stop-you-in-your-tracks ugly. i don't know if he plays basketball or not...and i know you have been lobbying for an NBA player to take the position
Anonymous Mean Face proceeded to try and rationalize her lack of human compassion by saying that if I, JD, can get away with trying to compile an All Ugly NBA Team, why can't she say things like this? The reason: The NBA team is full of dudes who are STACKING MORE SCRILLA THEN WE WILL MAKE IN OUR LIFETIMES. Ergo, if I want to call them goofy-looking bastards because deep down I'm actually jealous, then yes -- yes, I am justified. Now, Joe Schmoe at your local gym...? I dunno...
SINGLE MOM OF 7 SEEKING BON JOVI PIT TICKETS AT GILLETTE STADIUM. DON'T HAVE MUCH (ANY) MONEY, BUT CAN TRADE THE SWINE FLU VACCINE FOR 6 OF THE KIDS.
Now, the thing that I'm interested in finding out here is the Chicken or the Egg: Does Bon Jovi turn his fans into idiots, or are idiots inextricably drawn to Bon Jovi? This question may forever confound scholars and the educated -- much as the beginnings of the universe, the construction of Stonehenge, and the unremitting tabloid coverage of Jon and Kate Gosslin will continue to puzzle us.
I have no friends that like the man or his music; the closest I have is Casey, who enjoys playing the drum part on Guitar Hero for "Living on a Prayer." His knack for things like common sense and caring for his family don't make him a good case study for the effects/causes of Bon Jovi, though.
-Via Email from JoJo, for your Thanksgiving viewing pleasure:
YOU'RE WELCOME. Happy Turkey Day. Be thankful.
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Well, due to the popularity of the last Reader's Vote to determine if someone's t-shirt/overall appearance is "butt rock or not," I give you the Kiss fan I met at a Halloween Party:
(Remember, 1 is completely devoid of butt rockness, 10 is Poison-esque.)
I'm not going to let you know where my opinion lies on the issue -- all I'm going to say is that purchasing 8-inch platform shoes from the Kiss museum, wearing them, AND being semi-mobile in them for an entire night at a dance party is impressive in its own right. He had done his homework, too -- he was telling me all of the details about the Kiss concert he had recently attended. Hilarious.
Saw the kid almost take a tumble, though. Like watching one of those stilt-walking clowns fall. It all happened in slow motion.
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Disputes and disagreements have always been a part of human history, and will continue to be.
As for the best way of settling those disputes -- well, everyone has an opinion, and that is dictated by a combination of factors: religion, education, nationality, occupation. It's a long list.
For example, you ask a surfer how to settle a disagreement, he'll say to "chill, brah" and then burn down a joint. A baseball manager will tell you that throwing a tantrum involving, but not limited to, the following actions will solve things: Kicking dirt; yelling angry stuff two inches from an umpire's face; taking a tazer to said umpire once his back is turned (my philosophy: strike first, ask questions later). And then, if you could ask him I'm sure Aaron Burr would have told you a good ol' fashioned pistol duel; Alexander Hamilton also seemed to be of the same opinion until he had a lead ball stuck in his chest. Anyway, you get the idea.
I have a discovered a foolproof way of resolving disagreements: Brackets. Maybe the 100 Years' War wouldn't have lasted so long if they'd sat down hashed things out, bracket-style. Who knows.
I bring this up because after three weeks and 171 emails of vigorous debate, Boyer, Jay Z, J2K and I have settled the mother of all disputes -- the greatest Beastie Boys' song ever -- via a 64-song tournament bracket. You all care, I know. The winner: Shadrach, a lesser-known song from an even lesser-known album called Paul's Boutique.
Eventually reaching that consensus was much harder than any of us ever imagined it would be. At the outset, none of us knew what we were in for. Had I known, I would have given some deep, profound pre-tourney pep-talk, channeling Friday Night Lights: "We will be tested. We will be tested to our very souls."
Granted, Coach Taylor said the above in the context of his star quarterback having just suffered a paralyzing injury, but whatever.
See, the tournament presented no clear-cuts, no black v. white, no right v. wrong -- just awesome v. awesome. Every single matchup featured two songs that we grew up loving, so pitting them against each other and having to pick a winner between them created intense internal conflict -- like that scene in Spartacus when Spartacus and Antoninus are forced to duel each other to the death. Both are guys you like and you don't WANT to cheer for a winner, because that also means there will be a loser.
Having to pick only one to come out of it alive twisted us all up in knots. Kept us up at night. Found us crouched in the corner of the shower, weeping because we'd never been so lost and conflicted in our lives.
But we pushed on. And here is the end product; our finalized bracket (click to enlargin'):
I will be making a commemorative CD featuring the tournament's final 16 songs. Let me know if you're interested in having a copy.
And now, some testimonials from the participants.
Boyer:
Quite the undertaking we all got on board for...I don't think anyone (certainly not myself) thought things would be this massive or this involved... Perhaps this is a life lesson about our place in the universe and the value in futility. The Beasties still teach us things about ourselves to this day.
Jay Z:
Having recently completed my role as a voter in the greatest musical tournament of all time, I have a few reflections. I learned more about the Beastie Boys, as well as myself, than I thought possible.
J2K was unavailable for comment, as he is currently planning the massive corporate takeover of yet another company, Donald Trump-style, only he's doing it with better hair.
Sending you off with the greatest music video ever. Enjoy, and be safe over your Halloween weekend.
This is a screen capture from my Inbox. These are three high school friends with whom all common interests were superceded by our mutual love for the lyrical genius of the Beastie Boys. Boyer and I were discussing the Beasties' greatest songs last week; next thing I know he has unleashed a gargantuan, March Madness-style bracket with 64 Beastie Boys' songs to determine a decisive winner. The four of us vote on a song-versus-song matchup; if there is a tie we enter discussions advocating our picks, and the cycle continues. So far we have 48 emails going back and forth, and we have barely entered the second round.
Last Friday we tried to have a bonfire, but after driving around to four separate grocery stores we were unable to find a single bundle of firewood. We settled on one of those superlog thingies -- the composition of which I can only surmise is asbestos, napalm taken from decommissioned weapons' stores, and some sort of animal manure.
Not being a fan of roasting my marshmallows over a carcinogenic breeding ground, DJA and I cobbled together a decent little fire, despite it having been rainy the few days previous. So NOW they're stocking firewood. In abundance. Unbelievable.
-Via Email from Nartker, completely out of the blue:
In two and a 1/2 weeks time I am going up against a few people in an eating contest... I need any type of information that will enable me to eat large quantities of food in a 45 minute time period. I need your assistance gathering said information...
Thanks
To paraphrase The Sports Guy.... Yup, these are my friends.
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Josh M found a documentary, Anvil, The Story of Anvil, about a butt rock band from the 80s that -- although admired by its more commercially successful peers and successors -- never quite struck gold themselves. (Unless, of course, you consider playing in European bars to a crowd of 2-15 people, 20 years past your prime, "striking gold.")
It is simultaneously sad and unintentionally hilarious. Like This is Spinal Tap. But disturbingly real.
Anyway. I figured most people dress up for movies they're excited about -- Transformers, Harry Potter, X-Men (I saw a kid at X3 tape butter knives to his hands to be Wolverine claws once. I think I focused more on him during the movie, just to see if he would accidentally gouge himself in the face when trying to eat a sourpatch kid. Wow.) So I capitalized on the opportunity and we dressed accordingly. The sad thing is that we were the only ones.
This first one has me and DJA looking to our shirts for guidance on what a good group photo should look like. Let's see if you can identify the reluctant participant in our adventure:
And the group photo we settled on:
Some critiques of our dressing up: Our unacceptably short hair; I should have photoshopped out Josh M's glasses. He looks much too intelligent; Banker looks even more depressed than the usual drugged-out hair metal band member. That's all I can think of right now.
Also, some encouraging comments made on Facebook after the posting of these photos:
I can't believe you have spread the BR madness to the East coast now.
Seriously--I cannot believe you still own that frickin' shirt.
Gee, thanks for your continued support, everyone. It's what keeps me going.
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We return to one of my favorite topics, and one of your most hated.
Some recent developments in my abominable world of Butt Rock (BR):
**A lot of work places have "Hawaiian t-shirt Fridays" and "casual Fridays." Both are lame and boring -- not to mention overdone. So I instituted Butt Rock Fridays. Fundamentally, this consists of me listening to some BR on my iPod during the morning hours at work and then wearing a BR t-shirt with my jeans.
As a testament to my lack of courage, however, the latter has yet to happen, due to the fear that I would get called into some ad hoc meeting and have to give a presentation to some higher-ups while sporting a t-shirt that has "JUDAS PRIEST" or "SCORPIONS" plastered all over the front -- all because I felt like celebrating "Butt Rock Friday." (I imagine that this feared scenario would be like me competing on Iron Chef while wearing nothing but an apron. I'd be exposed. Vulnerable. All while trying to demonstrate knowledge in something that the spectators likely know more about than I do.)
**AM affectionately labeled me her "butt rock king," as she and MM were my road trip compatriots that partook in a powerhouse butt rock compilation CD I made. It was a 17-track assault on (and affront to) Mozart, Beethoven, and all things artistically beautiful; an auditory massacre. And yet it was somehow quite sing-alongable.
The CD did its job and kept me alert in the late hours of the night. I have found that it is difficult to fall asleep at the wheel of a car while you are continuously dry-heaving/mocking the stupidity of something. Or singing along.
**A few months ago, I penned an entry laying out the fundamentals of the BR genre, and concluded off-handedly that I should teach a Music History class on the topic.
Hadn't thought about it since then, as it was a joke.
Well, apparently the nether regions of my brain thought it was an idea worth exploring, and did so for four months whilst I remained unaware. My sub-conscious presented its work to me in a ridiculously vivid dream in which I was the professor of a Butt Rock History course, the first of such classes at any major university. In the dream I was preparing a powerpoint presentation for my first day of class. I was quite frazzled; literally stressing about the order of my slides and how I should present the material in a cohesive way to the auditorium of 300-400 students.
Yes. I am out of my mind. But if you haven't deduced that by now, perception may not be your thing.
My one regret from the dream is that I didn't catch a glimpse of the demographic of my students. Would have been absolutely priceless.
Went with my sister, BilB, and nieces to the National Zoo in DC. This orangutan was there.
I didn't know the Zoo here was running a rehab program for formerly strung-out and now homeless primates, but man, if ever there was evidence of it, it's gotta be this guy. He looked more downtrodden and morose than any other captive animal I saw that day.
Immediately made me think of "Under the Bridge," that Red Hot Chili Peppers song about heroin addiction. I kept checking his arms for track marks.
Regardless, I could speculate on his past/present drug addictions all I want, but he definitely had the homeless thing going, with the cardboard box on his left side there. I suppose he just needs a stolen shopping cart and a sketchy underpass in which to live. Poor thing.
Happy Monday. (Apologies for posting negligence. Have been vacationing and otherwise preoccupied with productive things)
--Injured my knee a couple of weeks ago, and when I listed the symptoms to Ben M.D. to get a diagnosis, all he could give me was "Hmm...I have no idea. Sounds like 'asian knee.' " Which was initially unhelpful -- both for its racism and its Michael Scott-esque "I just made this up on the spot because I have no real answer"-type feel -- but then actually served as an amusing way to confuse people when they asked about the injury.
"Oh, the doctor told me I have some slight asian knee. I just need to take it easy for a few weeks."
Try it sometime. Tell someone you have "caucasian ear" or "african heel." The confused "I need to look that up on Wikipedia on my iPhone as soon as this conversation is over" eyes/feigned understanding of what you just said (either one) is absolutely priceless.
--A playlist for the iPod is essential to my completion of any run. I discovered early on that the best running songs involve some sort of hand-clapping because they help me keep rhythm and bring a smile to my face for some reason. If you happen to notice a man clapping his gloved hands, bobbing his head, and grinning like an idiot while running the trails/streets of northern VA, chances are it's me.
Here's one of my favorites, from an amazing Nike commercial:
--I picked the wrong damn time of the year to start running.
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Brother-in-law Ben sent this to me a while back. Only a I've-been-standing-in-line-for-hours-screaming-giddily-for-the-Twilight-movie-opening caliber lapse of judgement stopped me from posting it earlier. I don't know what I was thinking.
One word. Three syllables. A-MA-ZING:
Some comments from friends/family so far:
I can't believe I just spent 4 and a half minutes watching that. Unbelievable mullet...I really don't know what to say...
i just got blazed, and I loved it.
I couldn't finish it. it makes me feel bad for being alive
I like to go out and shoot some hoops but not before I eat my fruit loops
Readers and friends often ask me: "What exactly is 'butt rock?' And if it is the musical equivalent of the Black Plague, as you claim, why do you keep bringing it up? That's just stupid."
First off, calm down. Insults are hurtful.
Second, you know the reason I bring it up is because back in high school I found some old butt rock concert t-shirts at Goodwill and started collecting them. Why the butt rock fixation when I know it sucks? Not quite sure on that one. I guess my counter to that question is: "What the hell is wrong with Mike Tyson?" See, both are good questions, but ones that we may never know the answers to.
Regardless, as a result of the strange draw that Butt Rock (BR) has on me, I have acquired some knowledge about the genre over the years and wish to impart it. Let's get down to the nitty gritty.
BR (aka "glam rock" "hair metal") was a musical product of the 80's -- and if the 80's were the modern Dark Age of movies, fashion, and music, then BR was indeed the accompanying Black Plague. Much like the Black Plague that scourged Europe in the 1300s, BR was the omnipresent scourge of its time; both nearly toppled western civilization; both thrived in unsanitary conditions; both had lasting, detrimental effects years after their peak -- and lastly, the prospect of either returning in a newly mutated form is terrifying enough to be a Stephen King novel.
Let me first list what is not needed in BR:
Musical talent
Good looks
Intelligence
Shame
Dignity
Still with me? Good.
Now, to the must haves.
Everything that is BR can be illustrated with a good BR concert t-shirt. I have one of the best:
This shirt tells us a lot about BR. First, you need a stupid band name, like Judas Priest, Def Leppard, Cinderella, Quiet Riot, Whitesnake, etc. Big hair and leather are absolute musts. I cannot emphasize this enough: BR without big hair and lots of leather is like Tony Stark without his Ironman suit. And when I say lots of leather, I'm talking the band should be wearing the equivalent of at least 50-60 entire cows' hides worth of leather. Songs about women and struggles with drug/alcohol addiction are essential -- as is the occasional "power ballad" to show the groupies that the band has a sensitive side.
What else? Let's flip that concert t-shirt over for more clues:
Need I say more?
I should teach a Music History class.
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The picture quality is poor, but it says "Why was the tomato blushing?"
