Sunday, July 26, 2009

Rock of Old Ages

In two weeks I turn thirty six years old and that doesn’t really bother me, mostly because I keep hearing that thirty is the new twenty. I have no idea what that means exactly, but I think it has something to do with plastic surgery or global warming. Either way, according to “experts” I should be feeling younger even though my cartilage is outgrowing my muscle mass. I am beginning to hope that VH1 and these so called experts would sit down and hash out this “youth movement.”
While experiencing one of those bouts of “growing pains” that hovered somewhere between my knees and ankles, I decided to ease into my recliner…er…relaxation chair and watch some TV when what to my dismay, old people in makeup appeared on the screen. No, I wasn’t watching re-runs of the Golden Girls, or Six Feet Under. I was watching….KISS!!! You remember, Knights In Satan’s Service, the dudes in the Kabuki Faces. Paul Stanley, in his Kiss outfit was bare-chested and, believe it or not, doing some strange air humping maneuver. Kudos to his ability to be incredibly flexible in his eighties, or at least it seems he’s that old since Kiss’ music was big on 8-Track. I believe carbon dating has tracked that back to A.G. Bell’s first recording.
It’s clear that rockers no longer have the decency to die at an early age, or at least fake their own deaths and head to an undisclosed location getting fat and living off of the royalties. Maybe they should take their cues from legendary blues players at the end of their careers. These guys didn’t try to headline tours with names like “Backward in Time Tour” “We’re Still Alive Tour” and “We Spent All Our Money On Drugs, Enormous Mansions, and Cars, and This Has To Pay The Retirement Home Tour.” No, John Lee Hooker made guest appearances at benefit and festival concerts and people were in awe that he could still do what he did. Maybe they should take their cue from the Rolling Stones, who unbeknownst to many rock fans, actually died in a tragic group nicotine/tar overdose in their London, England studios in May of 1968 (Concert Promoter Bill Graham in fear of losing money, had the band resurrected by the Hells Angels in a secret voodoo ritual just in time for the Altamont Speedway Free Festival in 1969). They technically are on a limited 50 year engagement loan from Dark Angel Entertainment (Mick Jagger wrote Sympathy for the Devil as a tribute to the CEO).
Good news from Depends Undergarments: They’ve developed their latest line specifically for aging rockers, with streamlined edges guaranteed not to show through improperly fitting leather pants (sock pocket available for that “enhanced” rocker look).

Facebook is the Devil, Bobby!!!

My dear friend who shared many of my most hilarious moments in college hit a momentous milestone in Facebook world. That’s right, he reached 500 friends, which doesn’t surprise me because he is genuinely a good dude, but I cannot resist the urge to jump up and down and call him “Friend Whore, Friend Whore.” I don’t think he goes around randomly “friending” minor acquaintances, but seriously, how many of us actually call five hundred people friends. Has the word friend lost its very value like every other emotionally invested word? It has as much meaning as another popular “f-word” that is so common place, that I’m surprised it even gets bleeped out on network television, which I would not be opposed to that idea because I am tired of flipping on to TNT and listening to a crappy voice over of Joe Pesci in Goodfellas. Play back to back Harry Potter and leave the f*#%ing R-rated movies to premium cable subscribers who can afford it. Okay back to the friend thing… Thanks to FB and MySpace, the concept of “friend” has completely changed (I know they didn’t start this trend but follow me on this one). A friend was someone who would listen to you gripe about your significant other, someone who’d pick you up when your ride ditched you. A good friend brought you bail money, lied to your parents for you or backed you up in a bar brawl. And your best friend helped you bury the body (thanks Al). But now, a good friend is someone who “Likes your posts” or comments on your new vacation photos. Christ, we used to call that Aunt Jean (fictional character).I propose that Facebook change its lexicon into something more appropriate, Friends should now be broken into four categories; Friends (the actual people that we still talk to at least once every six months), Family (no, we didn’t choose them, but sometimes we like them), Acquaintances (people who we actually had conversations with, and probably would do so again if we had the chance) and Others (generally speaking, the people we passed on the way to homeroom who didn’t try to trip us or call us obscene names related to our personal hygiene, stature, or other genetic defect).This would avoid confusing truly popular people from the socially inept, because in case none of you realized this, Facebook is a cyber version of high school, except we all act like we were all part of the same click. It’s nice to be a part of the same click, but does anyone write something provocative or earth shattering? Not really. Some of us are committed to finding the most absurd applications and answering the most ridiculous surveys such as What Serial Killer Are You? Does it really matter if I emulate Richard Ramirez? Are you more compelled to find out What Zodiac Sign Are You? Facebook is the Devil!! And why is my Rottweiler talking to me? No wait she’s an Aussie… AAARGH!!!So to my 5 Friends, 6 Family, 25 Acquaintances, and 763 Others please accept my F@#% OFF!! (2009 translation: “I hope you have a blessed day, may peace be upon you”) Application Request. Ooh look, my third grade crush…I wonder if Marci Phelps will accept my friendship…

The British Open- Brought to you by Viagra

I was watching golf from the comfort of my easy chair this Sunday as a man who is only five years younger than my father made a bid for history. He was trying to beat out a field of guys who are mostly my age. I mean, he is old enough to be a couple of their grandfathers, but does the magnitude of this feat lay prevalent in my thoughts. Heck no…for some strange reason, this made me think of Viagra. The beauty and irony of life is that the virility and audacity of youth is gradually replaced by the wisdom and patience that comes with experience. Let’s face it, as a man gets older he has to use his big head more effectively because his little head gets less effective. Generally speaking, this is a good thing as it leaves certain things to be had for the young, while older men are allowed to slowly fade to the sunset of their lives. Sure there have been instances of octogenarians having strong libidos and taking on youthful women, some even fathering children at that late age. But mostly, young hunky cabana boys supplant Mr. Wrinkles and take away his “cougar”, as he eventually is left by the pool tied to his oxygen tank.That is, until the arrival of Viagra! Now old dudes can do all night, what it used to take them all night to do, and screw calling a doctor after 4 hours of Mr. Wrinkle standing at attention, call his damn nurse (Heeellllooooo Nurse!!!). So now we have a man with decades of intimate knowledge walking around with the boner of an eighteen year old. Does no one else see the dangers of this to our society? Where does this leave the eighteen year old with PermaStiffy and no Mrs. Robinson to seductively lift her stocking adorned gams to lure him into “Brown Chicken, Brown Cow”? She’s off with Mr. Robinson getting her groove on because he’s been taking his once daily Cialis and he’s ready anytime. Every woman wants a man who can not only keep it up, but knows how to lick it up. In which case, gramps is cramming in on the 30-45 year old range, the age most guys finally pick up on the stuff that goes on between a woman’s ears and he can still effectively use what’s between his legs. Does this mean seventy is the new thirty and does that mean that anyone under thirty is an infant? Good heavens, what will we ever do?Wait! He came up short on his match winning putt…and… he was short and left a lot in the playoff holes. The thirty six year old out lasted him and was longer and straighter in the end. Looks like us young guys still have a chance!

Take This Job and hold it for me in case I can’t find another.

A funny thing has been happening in this tough economy… People are sticking around in their crappy jobs simply because there are a lack of jobs out there. At some point though, the economy will turn and better jobs will present themselves. In the meantime, now is a great time to plot your triumphant exit from the place you hate to go to just to pay the bills. Be creative, be edgy, just don’t be postal. This will be a day for celebration, but it is also a day for a little deviant behavior. Having worked for years in the sales and service industry, I have several juicy ideas that can be simply wonderful . If you are in a call center, find the direct line of the CEO, CIO or someone else up the chain of command who never talks to the little people. On D-Day, whip up a couple of really unhappy customers, telling them how this company doesn’t really care about their customers and if they don’t believe you they can talk to the CEO then transfer the call. If you work in sales, set up a fictional account and order the most embarassing, highest bulk item that you can, make the delivery address that of your manager or CEO or other unsavory member of the organization.Of course there are the classics; put the boss’ email on every free porn list, shrink wrap his car shut, sugar in the gas tank, and assorted others. Remember to publish all of your great ideas on Facebook with the name of your job, your boss’ name and of course your name and address. Then tell us about your last day, because it may have been today.

Give me TiVo or give me death!

There are certain pieces of technology that, once we have experienced, we seem to ask ourselves how we ever managed to survive without. Things like microwave ovens, air conditioning and multi-function remote controls top the list. I have recently become thoroughly hooked on an invention called TiVo. Our cable company offers this little gizmo within our cable box, and named it the DVR (ominous voice over), and it is the cable equivalent of digital crack. Marketed as a way to never miss your favorite TV shows, I thought it would be a cool way to not have to carve hours out of my day so I could watch a show when it was more convenient. It has now become the bane of my existence. I used to watch maybe 6-8 hours of TV per week, but now I find myself recording the most ridiculous shows because they sound remotely interesting and this is above and beyond the twenty plus series we record. I purposely record outdoor living shows so I can at least get the simulation of sunlight. To make matters worse, I have this highly addictive slave box craftily connected to an image producer that makes me feel almost a part of the image that has been produced. They call this (ominous voice over)…HDTV. I liken to this to adding black tar heroin to the crack that I just smoked. Might as well take some methadone, no wait…that’s coming through the surround sound!What this really boils down to is that, to paraphrase Karl Marx, entertainment is the pharmacological opiate of the masses (I think I saw that on Discovery HD). I’m pretty sure we will all be huddled in a tiny room in a back alley of our local Best Buy, watching repetitive images of flowers and wildlife, or Elton John concerts (the beads of sweat are so clear!) flicker by. Next thing you know they’ll make video games with the same jaw dropping clarity and where will our society be headed then? Who knows…but I bet the History Channel HD will have a special show on it that I can record!

Blood Test- Type-O Correction Fluid

This rant is not directed to any specific person. In fact, it’s directed to everyone in cyberspace, and text message space, and any other high tech communication media…LEARN HOW TO SPELL (for that matter, use proper grammar and punctuation). The degradation of civilization is directly correlated to the ability to assemble characters into an order that is consistent with authoritative published works known as dictionaries (of note, Hannah Montana is actually a sign of the apocalypse, and not truly an affectation of a degrading society). Acronyms, while once a valuable tool in communicating large pieces of information within narrow time frames has become increasingly used to communicate mundanely miniscule abbreviations for already short phrases. Taking 42 letters and trimming them down to four makes perfect, logical sense (National Aeronautics and Space Administration= NASA) while taking eleven letters down to three is absurd (be right back=brb). My friends, the time has come for us to show that geeky little thirteen year olds are not the only ones who can spell “laodicean.” Let’s show them that armed with our “qwerty” keyboards we can take back the full spelling of every word and phrase. WE ARE THE FUTURE OF THIS WOR… Oops phone…brb!!