I just made my first transaction on Live Nation, which is trying to merge with ticket sales overlord TicketMaster (CEO: Money grubbing Guns N’ Roses, Van Halen, Steely Dan and NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK manager Irving Azoff). Remember like a year or so ago when you would go to buy a ticket it would sometimes bring you to the old school order and if it was a pre-sale you would go to LiveNation? Fucking stupid, now they’ll be the same company. Anyway, I just bought a pair of tickets to see Protest the Hero (rawk!) in May. I have to say the Live Nation site was pretty intuitive. When I searched for the tickets I was able to easily find them and, much to my surprise, they were only sixteen bucks! That fuckin’ rules – I would have shelled out 25 if I was asked to do so. What follows is a harrowing tale of trivial amounts of money, deciet and a broken (and just fucking broke) young man.

Bag of shit.

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I was reading some Bill Faulkner today and was thinking about how terrible it would be to be someone else’s slave. I already have trouble doing things for myself. If my job was to fulfill the demands of someone else as well, I would have to file for unemployment. Except, too bad, I can’t because I’m a slave.

Now the idea that being a slave is not the best has been said again and again. It’s an idea that has been pounded into the social-consciousness since, I would say, at least 1989. As I continued to read this Faulkner novel (I should note that the people in Faulkner’s book were servants, not slaves, but I would still not be jumping at the opportunity to be a servant), I tried to think of things that could make being a slave even worse. Why I decided to think this, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I saw Saw IV last night and my mind has just been turning everything more tortuous. I came up with a couple options. One: you get impregnated by someone who is not a slave, but is a total dick, preferably the town sheriff. That would make matters much worse, but I can’t get pregnant, at least not with the technology available in slave-times. (Side-note: A really terrible themed restaurant would be one that follows the basic format of Medieval Times but is called Slave Times). Two: If I were a slave, but I also had a very developed case of alcoholism.

Someone is dying for a Margarita.

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Roy and I get a few magazines delivered to our house that neither of us has a subscription for: Us Weekly, OK! Weekly, Vibe, Entrepreneur and the occasional J&R Cigar catalog. We’ve been living in our current place for almost two months and I had thought I’d seen it all. I was so fucking wrong. Last week I opened the mailbox to discover the following visual travesty:

I don’t know if it’s more shocking that we will now receive this magazine for god knows how
long or that someone who once lived in our relatively shitty apartment had a job AND kids.

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I’ve been hanging out with Regis Philbin a lot recently and he has been chatting my ear off incessantly over his favorite college football team the “Notre Dame Fighting Irish.” I happen to be a pretty Irish fellow (50%), and if you need more proof than just genetics consider this: last St. Patrick’s Day I watched a parade in Cork, Ireland, got drunk off Guinness, saw old men with brogues play jigs with fiddles and woke the next morning to kiss the Blarney Stone. I’m sure I ate a potato and got in a enormous brawl somewhere in the middle of that too, so rest assured that I am familiar with Irish stereotypes. But you know who isn’t familiar with mass generalizations? Theodore W. Drake, designer of Notre Dame’s Fighting Irish Leprechaun Mascot.

Who is this schmuck?

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Greetings citizen, yesterday DJ, our friend (but not blog-writer) Luke and I went on one of our weekly hikes and boy-howdy was it a good one. What set this particular hike apart was that I learned a new skill: the ability to track. As of now, I am a bonafide tracker. I can track most anything. You name it, I’ll track it. I’m a regular trackster. But, before I start getting into all the technical mumbo-jumbo, let me start with a definition (most critically acclaimed essays begin by stating a definition directly borrowed from Wikipedia).

Tracking, in hunting and ecology, is the science and art of observing a place through animal footprints and other signs, including: tracks, beds, chews, scat, hair, etc. Specifically, mapping a changing landscape and soaking up sensory data like a sponge.

Wow, exciting right? Let me explain some of the ways I’ve already begun tracking in my everyday life.

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As many of you have read in my previous posts, I have, in the past, been involved with Barbadian pop singer Rihanna. Sadly, our relationship was short lived- I wanted to take things slow and Rihanna, still young and frisky, was overly eager and moving too quickly for my taste. While we still talked with some regularity, we began to drift apart. Eventually, Rihanna met her new beau, Chris Brown. I was happy for her of course, and was glad she had finally found someone more compatible. I hadn’t really given the whole thing a second thought until this week when I found out Mr. Brown had criminally assaulted Ms. Fenty (the last name isn’t as attractive) leaving her bruised, cut and choked unconscious. Needless to say I was up in arms over the entire thing and took it as a call to action. So, I talked to Rihanna on AIM three days after hearing about it. Conversation below (Rihanna’s screen name is EllaEllaElla88 and mine is MintPsyzique71).

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My last installment of “What Not To Listen To: Static X” was featured on the old site and was one of the few things that didn’t make it over to the new one when we switched last August. So, I’ll be posting that as soon as I find the original document.

What Not To Listen To is my opportunity to pick a horrible, obviously hated band and just tear them to shreds for both musical and non-musical reasons. Wayne Static and Static X had it coming from day one and so has Papa Roach. I understand the easiness of tearing down each of these bands, but I’m gonna do it anyway.

This is not photoshopped.

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