Monday, August 25, 2008

C'mon IOC

OK. The Olympics are now over.

And for the love of Pete, I hope that we have seen the last of Michael Phelps and his incredible douchbagginess all over the damn place, although I doubt it. Nothing against his accomplishment in the pool, the guy is a sideways hat wearing freak to be sure, but just like NBC always does with everything, they have over killed that dude and every possible good story out of the entire 16 days. I'm pretty sure that most American males, and half the females, want to kick Phelps' ass if they see him on the street.

Moving on.

I see that the Americans dominated in Beach Volleyball again this Olympics. I guess I'll lead off with "no shit". Let me see. A sport invented by a bunch of ignorant beach bums on the West Coast of the U.S. amongst complete tools named "Biff" and bikini wearing attention whores named "Sindi", with witty sayings like "that's a side out, brah", and we dominate a bunch of countries that are lucky to have seen a volleyball outside of Tom Hanks' sex partner in Cast Away. You don't say. I'm less surprised by that than I will be when one of those Chinese gymnasts finally gets her first 2011.

What I really want to know us somebody please tell me how beach volleyball is an Olympic sport? I mean, apparently, volleyball wasn't good enough on its own, so they have to go and add sand and a bunch of tall, skinny women in panties. I don't quite get that, either. I mean, are panties and uni-boob bras supposed to help the ladies play better? If that is the case, why don't regular volleyball teams do the same thing? And, speaking for the gay guys reading, why don't men do the same thing? (Just trying to help the International Olympic Commitee add another demographic here).

The closest thing I can come up with as an excuse is that the original Olympics held, back when the Lord baby Jesus was sucking back Enfamil, all athletes were in the nude, and this was the closest thing they could do to re-create the original spirit of the Olympic Games.

What I say is that if they want to switch over to the full nudity, I am all for it. I hate things half ass.

I say, go full ass.

And this...if were talking full nudity being involved.

That's what I would call "ratings gold", too.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Smartest Girls Alive

This here's as story all about how, my life got flipped, turned upside down...

Just kidding. I'm just hell bent on putting songs into peoples heads this week, that's all.

The Kid (my son) is off away with his grandparents a few hundred miles away this week. No big deal, I have my girls to bond with, like all good fathers should. Those of you that know me know that in the past I have tried to take an interest in what it is my little girls do. But, I am a boy. Brought up in a time when it was cool to play with toy guns and wear baseball jerseys while playing outside and the only time I ever went inside was when it was time to eat or it was dark.

Therefore, when it comes to girly things, like playing dress up, or Barbie's or whatnot, I look at these things like I'm gazing at a blip way out on the horizon and my eyes just glaze over. I get that look at strip joints too, but, let's separate the two.

So, my girls and I, after gymnastics practice, ended up just hanging out at the house, watching Disney crap that these kids enjoy. Hannah Montana, Suite Life of Dick and Pokey, that one show "Witches of Whatever" with the girl that is super skinny and a large an orange on a toothpick.

All crap.

All night.

When it was time for bed, I tucked them in and turned to turn the television off, when I noticed a "Disney 365" something or other, and they were featuring The Cheetah Girls. A group of three girls and their gay-boy entourage dancing like retards all over stages in front of impressionable kids that want to be just like them. They dress like little skanks and sing classic hit tunes as Girl Power, Strut and Do Your Own Thang to screaming girls that want to be just like them. Apparently, these soon-to-be-cokeheads are on tour this summer and they want you to see them.

This is standard fare, right? I mean, who hasn't been whored out in the last decade by Disney?

The part that got me though was the quote by one of the parents of a fat-assed little brat that saw them live. She belched, "The Cheetah Girls really are so inspiring to little girls everywhere and empower girls to achieve what they want to."

Uhhh...are you serious? These Cheetah Girls dance on stage to prewritten pop tunes, half of which were written back in the 70's, and they are empowering little girls everywhere to achieve anything?

I am all for empowering girls to achieve whatever they so desire, believe me. But, what ever happened to empowering little girls to become doctors, or architects or writers or lawyers? You mean to tell me that little girls see these trollops on stage and think, 'Sweet Jesus, I want to be a firefighter!' No. Uh-uh. Its entertainment for pre-pubescent girls at its mediocre best, not a play on becoming the best physicist ever.

And if it is, I don't want my daughters listening to one idiot in the group that, when asked "Where is this tour taking you this summer", her answer was, "We'll be going all across America to places near cities."

Near cities. All across America.

As opposed to farm houses in Angola. Got it.

Saturday, August 2, 2008

How To Get Ass

Being at my grandmothers funeral service in Pennsylvania last week reminded me of something I wrote long ago. Well, it wasn't my grandmothers funeral per se, but it was seeing a plethora of coal mining town skanks trapsed all over some fellas at the local town festival that, quite frankly, in my world, wouldn't be able to get a piece of ass if it were on special at the local Denny's.

That and...

I'm too busy (see: too lazy) to write a new one. But, its a good story, so read the bastard already.

When I was about nine or ten years old, I was visiting my grandmother in Pennsylvania, as I usually did during summers of my youth. I used to trapse around her old home, a row home built on a hill like many of the other homes in coal mining country, a home that my father and his brothers and sisters grew up in many years before.

When I wasn't hanging around my friends and relatives, playing baseball on non-busy street cornes (we could do that back then, we even didn't wear helmets when we rode our bikes, gasp!) I was usually searching around trying to find old stuff around the house, digging through the attic that at night time, scared the living shit out of me, but by day was nothing more than a dusty remnant of the house with tons of old memories.

I'd often find some funny shit up there in that attic. Pictures of my old man and his brothers playing baseball in the backyard, or my dad sporting a perm in the 1970's a la Mike Brady. I once found a collection of old record albums with the likes of Elvis Presley's "Pot Luck" and a old 45, "Blowing in the Wind" by Bob Dylan.

But my prized find was an old Gibson J-45 acoustic guitar that had collected a mountain of dust and was sitting in the corner or the back room in the attic.

My grandmother had no idea that a) I was dicking around in her attic and wondered what the hell I was doing and b). had no clue it was there, the afterthought of a family since moved away to move on in life.

I held onto that thing all summer, tried picking away at it and even pretended like I was John Cougar Mellencamp or prancing around like I was in Journey. I freaking sucked on that thing as a player, but it provided hours of entertainment and even led to me contemplating my taking lessons to play.

Alas, none of that came to be and I, to this day, can't play a lick (other than the first notes to Silent Lucidity) and I have no idea what the hell happened to that old guitar.

I wish I knew why I let it go.

I tell you that story to tell you this one.

I was tuned into Dee Snider's "House of Hair", a syndicated radio program designed to bring us all back to the glorious days of hair band metal. Lucky for me, it was on several different stations along the way, so I got to re-live the days of Ratt, Guns n' Roses and Ronnie James Dio the entire two hours.

Fuckin' awesome, I tell you.

A friend of mine called me along the way, long since moved on to her life in the South, but someone I consider a good friend (one of a very few) from my days in High School. She dated a guy back then that played guitar, and when she heard what I was air jamming to old shit along Interstate 69 (sixty-nine...hahahaha), she let out a loud snort and the times came a-rolling back.

Now, I often wondered what a person of her looks and personality did dating a guy that looked like Slash, since the guy she was soooo in love with then had the brains of asphalt and the personality of a garden snake. She couldn't pinpoint why, other than he played guitar in a band.

And the truth, as the conversation went on, came out.

I still don't get it.

I asked then, what is it about guys that play guitar, or even in a band at all, that gets women all sopped up in the meat curtains like they'd just sat in a vat of KY Jelly?

She had no answer. None.

I mean, if you go back twenty years ago or longer, ladies, would you be willing to fawn all over a guy that looks like Gary Cherone from Extreme?

Or how about Steve Perry from Journey?

Don't forget Ric Ocasek.

Do you mean to tell me that Steven Tyler, Mick Jagger and Keith Richards in a random bar in your local neighborhood, not famous, would get you all hot and bothered? So much so that you'd volunteer to lower yourself onto them at a moments notice?

Bull. Shit.

I surmise it is the whole "starfucker" potential. You never know at the time when guys that played would make it big, and the potential and the lights must be overwhelming to young women that dream of being the next Pamela Des Barres, or a world famous groupie.

So, where does that leave us normal dudes? We don't play any instruments, passing back in the day to play sports, get good grades in school or be regular assholes. Just once I'd love to hear, "Damn, that Zerox copy repair man really get my snail tracks a-sopping when he fixes that machine." or "Did you see that UPS driver today? Boy, if that zipper didn't hold him back I might've sucked him like a circus seal."

The truth is, it rarely happens. Strike that. It never happens. Unless you read Penthouse Forum.

And it made me think that I'm a fucking idiot for not taking those guitar lessons and continuing on with my band from when I was ten called, "The Desert Snowmen".

And maybe I should've kept my mullet.

I think of all the ladies I would've had. And all the STD's I've missed out on. There ain't nothing like combing through ones cabbage patch looking for rampant crabs, or so I am told.

Oh hell.

I miss that guitar.

Some rant, I know. But I want answers. Why do guys in bands, especially fugly looking dudes that weigh in at 120 pounds and snort coke like Tony Montana, get all the ladies?