Lady Gaga’s Penis is not overrated. Know we know why the beat is so sick when she takes rides on disco sticks. Perhaps because she’s whapping her dick against the microphone? I suppose we can only hope.
Thus far this summer my hobbies have consisted of neglecting this blog, watching entire seasons of “30 Rock” and “Entourage” in a day and working my ass off so I could afford to go to music festivals. In June, a couple of my friends and I made the long trek from Massachunnecticut to Tennesee for four magical days of Bonnaroo. Needless to say it was one of the most epic, unbelievable experiences of my life. After that I was in no rush to flock to any concerts in the area but I was quietly awaiting both the Gathering of the Vibes in Bridgeport, CT and the Newport Folk Festival. Understandably, since I am older than 13, the Hartford leg of the Warped Tour would have passed me by completely unnoticed had my friend’s band not been invited to play.
At first I was leery of spending $45 on something like the Warped Tour but I figured it would be fun even if my friends and I weren’t really into the music. So I met up with my friends in a parking lot in a less murderous part of Hartford and we walked over to the Meadows Music Center. As we approached we could hear the music and smell the puberty and big white sunglasses getting close. Almost immediately we were accosted by the festival leeching pseudo-buddhists trying to sell us their yoga DVDs and awkward high schoolers in skinny jeans with headphones trying to get people to listen to their band. Fortunately we made it through the fray and headed over to the big board with the schedule.
The first band we saw that day was Dear and the Headlights, a commendably good band that I had missed at Bonnaroo so I was excited to see that they were here. Unfortunately, before Dear came onstage we had to suffer through part of the set of a band called I Set My Friends On Fire. Let me preface this by saying that I think the best part of music is that there really is no absolute bad music, and if people connect with and in some way it enriches their lives then it is all inherently good. This theory went out the door with this band. There is plenty of music that I find stupid (Britney Spears, Chris Daughtry, every post-Coldplay band with a sensitive, piano playing lead singer) but I have never experienced something so gut wrenchingly awful passed off as music. This band’s claim to fame was their cover of “Crank Dat Soulja Boy” on myspace. I’m serious. I set My Friends on Fire is the kind of band you listen to if all of your clothes are 3 sizes too small and your haircut is fucking retarded. I guess it goes without saying that the 15 minutes we saw of this band were spent laughing and staring incredulously. Luckily, however Dear and the Headlights came to save us shortly afterwards.
The rest of the day was filled with surprisingly great music. The best part of Bonnaroo was the diversity of the lineup, which has improved drastically since its inception in the early 2000’s. Now Bonnaroo is much more than a jam band festival. Similarly, Warped Tour’s lineup did not cater exclusively to the latest evolution of high school punk music. In it’s 15th year, Warped Tour brought back veteran punk acts like NOFX, Bad Religion and Flogging Molly. Coupled with “indie” rock acts like Dear and the Headlights and the cutest band in existance, Meg & Dia, and alternative hip hop acts like Shad. Warped Tour seems to be, if only slightly, expanding its typical lineup to include different areas of music.
These acts really made the day for me. Flogging Molly was absolutely awesome. The mosh pit wasn’t as brutal and fun to watch as the Devil Wears Prada’s but there was definitely something rewarding about watching a mosh/riverdance. Shad was also excellent. We showed up early to hear him and maybe ten people were standing around near the stage, after five minutes of performing he had drawn a crowd and had people laughing and entranced with his rhymes. Meg & Dia were a cute diversion to sit down and rest our feet to and finally, Instrument rocked their set despite playing to a crowd that didn’t necessarily appreciate their genre of music. From this I’ve learned not to discriminate against festivals just because my little sister’s friends would enjoy them. If it comes by your town, give Vans Warped Tour a chance, even if it’s not your bag. I mean c’mon, its only 40 bucks.
And on that note I leave you with a painfully horrible Postal Service cover by a band that was probably at the Warped Tour…
Last weekend I went on a New England odyssey of sorts, ambling throughout Connecticut, Massachusetts and Rhode Island in search of live music and amusement. Generally, my only chance to indulge in silly pop music is when I leave school for the weekend and have a chance to drive around. As a general rule, I don’t think the music on the radio is all that bad. I can listen to probably 50% of it without being compelled to frantically flip channels for something else. So flipping through the radio stations in Providence, I happened upon a rather disconcerting song. If an award was given out for the most trite song in history, Asher Roth’s “I Love College” would probably be a candidate. I think the reason why this song bothered me so much was because it went against everything I have come to love about the culture of unadulterated alcoholism in college.
My first minor problem with this song is in the lyrics “I wanna go to college for the rest of my life/ Sip Banker’s Cup and drink Miller Lite.” This insinuates that college students drink Miller Lite. This is a ridiculous assertion, Miller Lite is disgusting. Nobody would ever pay a relatively high price for this beer when instead they could have the cold, crisp, always smooth, radioactive taste of Keystone Lite for much cheaper. However, the deeper rooted problem with this song is not in Asher Roth’s token choice of beer. Rather it is his philosophy surrounding his college escapades.
If Siddhartha Gautama was alive in 2009, I have no doubt that he would fit in beautifully as a student at the University of Connecticut with a refridgerator full of Keystone Light. Buddha himself would make an excellent college student. He obviously wouldn’t be the kind of college student who owns an entire collection of $70 pastel Abercrombie and Fitch polos (he has reached enlightenment after all) but rather he’d be just some guy you’d see at a party and, more importantly, the morning after.
On any Saturday or Sunday morning when you amble into a dining hall, you can tell who had a crazy night and who didn’t. If Buddha came to breakfast the morning after a crazy night, he wouldn’t be telling you about all the stuff he was out doing, instead he’d be grunting and probably wouldn’t be able to make a full sentence yet. He’d likely stare blankly through you with his severely bloodshot eyes. This is where the discrepancy between real college and fake pop music college lies. Buddhism is just like college. In Buddhism, life is seen as suffering and once you finally conquer that suffering you reach enlightenment or Nirvana. In college 5 days of the week are suffering, you have to work your ass off to keep your grades high enough to stay enrolled and once you have polished off all of your work and exams for the week (suffering) you get to crack open a can of Keystone (enlightenment). Thus, if somebody is telling you the morning after a party how insanely wasted they were etc. etc. etc, they are probably lying. If that were the case they would probably be unable to make full sentences at 11 AM breakfast, as they had started yet again on the path to enlightenment through suffering.
He’s So Handsome
If I could watch football with anyone in the whole world it would be Jesus. I’ve never actually met Jesus but I feel like he would provide some very good football insights. Jesus is the only guy (besides Gary Busey) who really knows how everything in the world works and thus would be not only a good football buddy but an overall great BFF.
If this dream friendship ever came to fruition, I would insist that we watch football at Jesus’ place. While I like my house and it’s quite comfortable for football watching, Jesus has the biggest, dopest, most gangster crib ever. Heaven is a lot like the Playboy Mansion except there are a bunch of really cool dead people mingling with the slutty bitches. Once I enter the pearly gates it’s football watching paradise. Sir Thomas More is barbecuing with Ronald Reagan and they’re making a delicious assortment of sausages and steak and chicken. I walk towards the door and Jesus greets me, granting me permission to make a pass at any of the slutty bitches. We high five and go inside.
We head into the living room where Mary Todd Lincoln and Che Guevara are watching the game. Che is still trying to grasp the difference between football and futbol, but Mary Todd is glued to the TV, she’s a big Bears fan. Jesus is a Bears fan too, he apologizes to me for Brett Favre’s miscues with the Jets but, as a self serving Bears fan, he had to do what he had to do to get him out of the division. We go into the kitchen where Gandhi has whipped up some guacamole. Gandhi makes the best guacamole ever. “What should we eat this guacamole with?” I ask, and just as I say it Ricardo Montalbon comes out with a giant bowl of home made tortilla chips. Jesus looks at me for approval as I eat the guacamole and chips. I smile approvingly and we high five again and go watch the game.
It’s a great game, the Bears are playing the Packers and it’s tied going into the fourth quarter. Jesus explains to me that the only reason he let Rex Grossman play and the Bears stink for the last decade was because he couldn’t let everybody know his allegiances. It’s a really close game and we’re all getting into it so I lean over to Jesus and ask “overtime?” “Duh!” he says and we high five. The game enters overtime and we’re all glued to our seats. Jesus explains that in overtime he just lets the game take its course. To end the game the Bears get a Hail Mary pass for a touchdown. Everyone jumps up and down and hugs one another. Realizing the Alanis-Morissettical irony of watching a Hail Mary pass with Jesus, the two of us high five and do our secret handshake. It was the best day ever.
As I’m leaving Heaven, Ronald Reagan gives me a couple left over brats and steaks to take home. I reassure him that he was a pimp president, he winks in agreement. I head home completely excited for next weekend when Jesus, President Reagan and Mary Todd are coming to my place. I have the coolest friends ever.
Seasons are overrated, and it’s hard for me to say that because I really like seasons (or at least the idea of them). However I’ve come to realize, at least in New England, that the four seasons are a mythological entity that, much like manatees, simply do not exist. Here in New England we go through two or three seasons in a month. Occasionally we’ll go through more than one season in a week.
Today was the final straw for me though. The seasons have decieved me once and for all. Yesterday it was gorgeous and nearing on 60 degrees. It was awesome, I was able to pass the football around without dying of frostbite for the first time in months. Today I woke up and it was a beatiful sunny day and 51 degrees at 8 in the morning. “This is the best possible thing for my miserable flu ridden body,” I thought to myself and jaunted out onto campus wearing a pair of jeans and a button up shirt. As if to spite me, after I got out of my first class the seasons said, “JK LOL it’s actually a cold, overcast day with 40 mile per hour winds.” NO. This is not allowed. You cannot decieve me into thinking that this is the spring part of February and then go back to the autumn part of February.
So thus I have sworn off seasons, they are a foul mistress. They are the cute girl that teases you and never puts out. Until they can learn to be nice to me and not be a backstabbing liar I will not be nice to them. Now that I’m not really boycotting Michael Cera anymore, seasons are officially the new target of my dislike.
This is Joaquin Phoenix on Letterman. You gotta watch this stuff to believe it. Joaquin was so cool, please regain your sanity. Please don’t record hip hop.
Ben Roethlisberger is kind of dirty. He always has kind of dirty facial hair. That girl he’s with is probably a festering hive of STDs. None of that really matters though because not only does he have several sandwiches named after him (“Roethlisburgers”), but he just won his second Super Bowl ring at the age of 26.
Congrats to the Pittsburgh Steelers as not only are they the elite team in football yet again but they accomplish it with hardworking likable guys. I think we can take the title of “America’s team” from the laughably undisciplined and infantile Dallas Cowboys and bestow it upon the much more deserving Pittsburgh Steelers. I was admittedly rooting for the Cardinals but once the game was over I was not at all disappointed that the Steelers won.
Congrats to Pittsburgh on being Super Bowl XLIII champs
Jello is not overrated. Rather, it is one of the best foods in the entire world. My friend Jamie’s dad once said “absence makes the heart grow stronger.” He was referring to this in the context of a long distance relationship but it also applies to my relationship with Jello. Jello had been dormant in my life, like a inner desire hibernating until the end of a very cold winter. That winter ended the other day when my friend Anna came to the table with a large bowl of Jello. ‘That is exactly what I want in my life right now,’ I thought to myself and thus returned to my table with a heaping pile of Jello. It was a marvelous taste sensation.
I’ve been coming up with really good New Year’s Resolutions all the time these days but since it’s a little to late for those I’ve decided to call them Arbitrary Times During The Year Resolutions. These resolutions I can start and finish whenever I please. My first resolution was to photosynthesize but I think my latest Jello related resolution is slightly more feasible. I resolve to eat 25 pounds of Jello in one day. In our dining halls they bring out giant trays of Jello and put them out buffet style, so I will just help myself to the entire tray several times. I think, since Jello is so light and delicious, that if I paced myself I could easily eat 25 pounds of it in one day. Perhaps I would contact a school charity organization and people could sponsor money for each pound of Jello I successfully eat. It would be the best day ever, gorging with Jello and helping the community.
I would like to also commend the man who invented gelatin. I looked on wikipedia and it couldn’t find who this brave man is but he is an unsung hero. It takes nothing less than a genius to say “lets take the leftovers of that slaughtered horse, grind it up and make it into a delicious dessert.” I wouldn’t have thought of it but it’s brilliant. If it weren’t for him I would not be able to eat big bowls of Jello at least three times a day from the dining hall. Thank you, honestly.
