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Hey guys! Last time we busted out a “Dear SmartassRadio” we explained how to stay fit and healthy. It was a huge success and the letters have been pouring in ever since. This time we decided it would be more fun to answer some of the sexier letters we’ve gotten in recent months. Check ‘em out after the jump.
In my previous post I discussed four criteria which make up the ideal romantic partner. Of course, because I was describing an ideal, I was also describing an impossibility. In my eyes a dream girl/guy would be very funny, extremely attractive, have genius-level intelligence and be as loyal as a lark. In reality, candidates are bound to fall short in at least one of those categories, usually at least two. I fall short in all four.
But hold the phone! My goal is not to discourage people! As Built to Spill’s first album’s title told us: There Is Nothing Wrong With Love! What is wrong is having ridiculous expectations. In this second part, I am going to reveal my second system of romantic qualification: S.A.F.E. (again, this took about 4 minutes of development and is undoubtedly flawed). The S.A.F.E system outlines my qualifications for what constitutes an appropriate partner to pursue romantically. While the F.A.I.L standards will only end in disaster, the S.A.F.E criteria should lead you to a happy and healthy relationship. Let’s begin:
I’ve found that making up systems is pretty easy. It must be one of those human impulses, to find a sense of logic in everything. Of course none of it is true. I don’t really buy into many systems of thought used to explain human emotions. For example, maybe you’ve heard of psychological term “displacement,” which is an unconscious defense mechanism whereby the mind redirects affects from an object felt to be dangerous or unacceptable to an object felt to be safe or acceptable. So, when your Mom loses her job she comes home and beats your Dad. OK, I guess we can use a term to describe that emotional reaction- but I’m always a little wary of these things. The same goes for dream interpretation. Yes, I think dreams can tell you things, but sometimes people can be too quick to apply a simple system of logic to the infinitely more complicated processes of the psyche.
Having said that, here’s a system I’ve developed (in about 4 minutes) to describe the intricacies of love (feel free to comment on the variety of flaws and over all under-development in the comments). I’m calling it the F.A.I.L-S.A.F.E system of romantic development. Let me explain:
The system is divided into two parts. The first, F.A.I.L., outlines what I imagine to be the ideal person to start a relationship with and then explains why this person cannot exist. The second, S.A.F.E, offers a more realistic set of qualities to pursue in the opposite (or same) sex.
Hey everyone, I got reminded tonight that I don’t agree with opinions you find on the website pitchfork media, which I will not link to. What happened was I had just finished reading DJ’s most recent post, which I have no problem linking to, and I clicked the link at the bottom. It brought me here. From there I went here. Both those links provide the general sentiment of our staff toward those…those…I don’t even have a word for what they are. I will settle for dickforks.
Anyway, tomorrow (today for you) is pretty much Pitchfork’s Christmas: the one day they can express their criticisms on the entire year. Yep, it’s Pitchfork’s release of their 20 Top Albums of 2010. Notice the difference in rhetoric employed in my title versus theirs. Top of what? You own list? Let me check the definition of “top” as an adjective. OK, they probably mean this one: foremost, chief, or principal. Those guys are so obsessed with their own opinions of themselves. Whatever, this isn’t about them; this is about me.
I plan on drinking tonight by the way. It’s a Thursday night- the only reason I’m doing this is that Pitchfork’s silly numbering shit comes out tomorrow and I want my opinion out first. Also I want to predict what Pitchfork’s list will be and see if I’m close. I think it will probably look like this:
10) No Age, 9) Ariel Pink, 8 ) Robyn, 7) Deerhunter, 6) Big Boi, 5) Joanna Newsom, 4) Arcade Fire, 3) LCD Soundsystem, 2) Beach House,1) Kanye West
This year the opening credits to Saturday Night Live open with Jewish me, Fred Armisen. Quite like me, Fred is seen leafing through a box of vinyl records, presumably in New York City. It is clear that the record store is not very organized because the titles are ordered PEARL JAM, SEX PISTOLS, JOY DIVISION. The closest sensible reason I can think of for that way of alphabetizing is that the second word in the second pair begins with the first letter of the first word in the first pair and the third pair begins with the first letter of the second word in the first pair, but that pattern doesn’t continue unless you replace Joy Division with someone like Joe Satriani, which is obviously stupid because why would Fred Armisen listen to him? Pearl Jam and the Sex Pistols seem like viable options, especially because Fred has been known to guest star in quirky and fun little indie music videos, which I will not link to.
If you stick with me you will be replaying this video a lot. Don’t worry the 2009 version still applies.
Missed Connections are the most desperate, pathetic form of making contact with a potential sexual partner. “I saw you on the L train last Monday around 10 AM. I know you noticed me too, but I was too shy chickenshit to go up to you and strike up a conversation. So, here I am writing, more or less, to the idea of you, hoping that you’re as pathetic as I am. If you’re interested in meeting up reply to this anonymous email.”
There’s no way these ever work. MAYBE on a campus newspaper, but certainly not on the craigslist from a major city. I’m sure none of you remember Joel C. Marquette or even knew who he was to begin with. Click this link to refresh your memory and then follow me while I explore his trials and tribulations through the world of Missed Connections.
Hello again, Smartass radio’s Michael Jackson correspondent Megan Riebesell here, just checking in to follow up on the status of our dearly beloved. As we all could have predicted, not even MJ’s passage into eternity could ease the controversy that besieged him all his life. Back here on earth, we are still picking away at every morsel of flesh that our ugly beaks can scrape off his bones. People are still making careers out of revealing any kind of sensitive information they can dig up in his wake, so-called “artists” are still depending on his legacy for their own shot at celebrity or capital, and the fat, greedy vultures of the world are still milking his hard-earned masterpieces for every pathetic cent they can steal. However, do not fret, I am here to remind everyone that Michael’s pure soul, which was always too powerful to be contained by a simple human body, has finally reached its proper ranking among the gods, as an immortal presence. Of course, Michael’s kingdom in the great beyond is immune to the commotion of silly, frantic scavengers still chirping his name down here. Rest in assurance, MJ smiles down on all of his children still, giggling at our antics.
That being said, skimming through Jacko’s most recent controversy was actually a pretty hilarious and of course bizarre venture. Where do I even begin?
