Don't Play That Song

I love music, but I’m a truly terrible singer. Think “Murphy Brown” pilot. I can’t even sing ironically and have it sound somewhat decent. Not for lack of trying, though. I’ve attempted many a night of drunk karaoke-ing (in private Koreatown rooms, mind you) and the results were pretty horrific by any standard.

Come to think of it, the way I befriended my suitemate in college was by bonding over the laughingly horrendous nature of my singing voice. A few weeks into the first quarter of our freshman year, she came into my room mid-song and said, “so you’re the one who I keep hearing singing The Cranberries.” Yes, I liked them. And yes, I sang along to them with an Irish inflection like Dolores O'Riordan. And yes, I was, and still am, a huge nerd.

My most recent and probably last attempt at semi-public humiliation was belting out Faith No More’s “Epic” whilst playing Rock Band (!!!) with a few of my closest friends. Now, all you really have to do for that song is shout out some god-awful lyrics and nasally humor yourself through the chorus...but I still gave up three lines into the ordeal out of sheer embarrassment and fear of banishment from the inner circle. Short of being the flopping fish out of water at the end of the video, I say pass the guitar and/or drumsticks. Christ, what a sad predicament.

Nevertheless, the one genre of music (notwithstanding Nina Simone and Patsy Cline) that makes me rightfully despise the suckdome of my voice like no other, is Motown. Some of those songs are just too good to be universally legal. I marvel at Aretha Franklin’s “Don’t Play That Song” on a daily basis while bawling internally because I’ve come to accept that I’ll never be able to express myself in that manner. The Shirelles’ “Baby, It’s You” and James Brown’s “Try Me” have the same effect. Trust me when I tell you the list goes on and on...and on.

Some of those songs will actually move me to tears and sometimes I will actually close my eyes while singing along; Will Freeman would not approve. Still, I’ve come to the realization that in the grand effort of saving the world from my reign of vocal terror, I must officially resign myself to singing strictly in the privacy of my own home. Guess it’s a really good thing I live alone.

The Memory Remains

What better way to spend this Memorial Day morning than sifting through some old boxes full of randomly craptacular stuff that I haven’t bothered to unpack/throw away since I moved in November?*

Here’s a small itemization (and some crappy phone pictures) of a singular box that spans over two decades:

* Assorted Series 1 and 2 Garbage Pail Kids cards 1985-1987
* Assorted Batman and Batman Returns cards
* 1998 Panini Baseball sticker book (98% completed)

* March 1989 MAD Magazine cover (sans magazine)

* Assorted MAD Magazines (too fucking cool)

* One copy of (MAD Magazine knock-off) Cracked Magazine (sans cover)

* Assorted Becket Baseball Price Guides 1990-1991

* 1/3 of giant fold out Pinhead poster from Fangoria magazine circa 1990-ish

* January 1995 Newsweek - The Last Days of Auschwitz cover
* Brandon Choi Autograph from comic book signing in Santa Barbara 1997
* 1999 Save Ferris article from Daily Trojan
* March 1999 Movieline - Angelina Jolie cover
* 3 Wet Paint signs borrowed from UCLA 2003
* Old apartment lease circa 2004
* Cedars Sinai “Patient Belongings” hospital bag 2004

* Copy of 3 am Interview with Paul Simonon printed from Internet
* Strange and unintentional collection of Joe Strummer pictures
* Sketch of great white shark done at work while bored 2005-ish
* Copy of Fry’s rebate (rebate never received, bitches)
* Undated horrible angsty poem (now rotting away in bottom of garbage)

And for those of you wanting more, inside the big box, there was a shoe box full of random/nonsensical/very important stuff that used to be in my Jeep before I bequeathed it to my brother...

* Earplugs
* Ticket stub from The Like concert circa October 2005
* Duct tape
* Kinko’s copy card
* Matches
* Spoon
* Band-Aids
* Open box of stale Harry Potter Bertie Botts Jelly Beans
* Packets of Equal and Sweet ‘N Low (most likely from Starbucks)
* Hand wipes
* Unopened sample packet of Tums Smooth Dissolve
* 2 Bic Pens (black ink)
* Small bottle of RENU saline solution
* Film container filled with change
* Altoids box filled with change and safety pin

Well, about fifteen minutes after taking the box out and checking out its contents, I remembered why I never unpacked it...closed the box and threw it back in my closet.

* And by the same token, breathing a little life into this blog.

** I just realized that putting matches, spoon and band-aids one right after another might give people the wrong idea...but oh well.

My New Favorite Hobby

If anyone still even bothers with this one-post-a-month / 98% defunct blog, then this one's for you.

My new favorite hobby has become Febreze-ing the shit out of my house. I've pretty much gone through an entire bottle in six days. Unfortunately, the smell lasts like 10 minutes, then goes away. But it's nice while it lasts.

Edit: For the record, my Febreze scent of choice is "Meadows and Rain." My razzle-dazzle bottle just so happens to quite exquisitely translate this into Espanol as "Praderas y Lluvia."

I Said Goddamn!

I realize it's only 9:00 a.m. but I've been craving Chinese food since the minute I woke up this morning.

Cool Watermelon

Cool Watermelon is just a fancy term for minty watermelon, but it's oh so good.

Poking The Bear

Dear readers and loyal minions, please be advised that leaving harassing comments about updates will not help your cause. This "fast-food, slick-ass Persian bazaar" form of request by demand only pokes the bear.

And we all know what happens when you poke the bear, don't we?!!


Please note that this does not actually constitue a real post, but rather, just another excuse to put up a bear showing its gnarly teeth.

To Live And Buy In L.A. Rocking The Side Ponytail

Upon closer inspection of the two-thousand some odd dollar property tax bill I received from the county assessor last week, turns out that said bill was just a “supplement” as it clearly “reflects the increase in your (i.e, my) property taxes due to change in ownership occurring. Yummy.

If having “equity” means having a stack of crazy bills to be indebted to so long as I draw breath on this earth, then boy do I have a shitload of equity!

In other news, I’m trying to decide if I really like the Burberry Brit Red (Special Edition; we ain’t fucking around here, kids) enough to keep it or have it sent back to whence it came.

In even other news, I just put my hair in a side ponytail to see if it still looks as ridiculous as it did when I was seven. Sadly, yes. But you know, whatever, because I still rock the side ponytail harder than My Little Pony ever will.

Lastly, say what you will about Oasis, but “Wonderwall” still fucking rocks after all these years. Eleventh grade all over again. It never fails.