|Download Some More Rock For Yourself||
Today I was horrified to discover that my bedroom indeed smells like cat piss. This is especially disturbing since I don’t have a cat. I will report back to you with more news on this later. In the meantime, here’s some more rock music for you courtesy of my unstoppable rock band Valley Lodge. The song is called “Hanging On” and is available for you to stream and/or download when I’m not looking here:
Once again, I would have just put a link for you to click on instead of having to deal with all that copying and pasting bo-crap, but Geocities won’t let me do that for some reason that I don’t quite understand, mostly because I just woke up from a nap. Anyway, I hope you like it. It’s pretty incredible, so don’t go blaming me if you soil yourself while rocking out to it.
|Hot Sauce Update||
That whole making-my-own-hot-sauce thing from yesterday turned out to be a pretty rough situation from start to finish and is still threatening to complicate my day as I type this. Things got ugly early on when I started grinding up the peppers in the little Cuisinart thing I found tucked away in my kitchen closet. As it turns out, when you grind up really hot peppers and then take the lid off the grinding device right away, the effect is not unlike blasting yourself in the face with pepper spray. At least that’s how it happened with me anyway. Still, I figured if my hot sauce was making me cough/choke/gag just from smelling it, I was probably onto something as far as making really awesome hot sauce goes.
My secret hot sauce recipe- which I pretty much just made up on the spot- involved throwing a bunch of hot peppers in the Cuisinart thing and then adding a bunch of garlic and a few splashes of vinegar along the way. At some point during the secret hot sauce making process, I decided to take a quick bathroom break. This was my second mistake. I didn’t realize it at the time, but apparently I had hot sauce and/or hot pepper juice on my hands when I went into the bathroom and, well- let’s just say it- that stuff got all over my goods. They say when you’ve eaten something really spicy, the best way to stop the heat is to drink milk or eat ice cream. I’ve never heard what you’re supposed to do when you’ve gotten hot sauce all over your penis though, so I ended up just sort of sitting there fighting off tears for a few minutes until the extreme burning sensation went away.
Despite all of the above, the hot sauce itself ended up being pretty tasty. I still have to figure out something to add to it so it’s more saucy and congealed and stuff instead of just being a bunch of really tiny bits of hot pepper and garlic with some vinegar running through it, but it definitely serves its intended purpose. I fried up a few eggs and covered them with my new secret hot sauce and couldn’t help but think it definitely tasted like eggs with hot sauce on them. Things went south a few minutes after eating the eggs with hot sauce, however, when I began to experience an all too familiar rumbling in my southern hemisphere. I believe the correct medical terminology for this is “assplosion.” It’s been pretty touch and go for the last 18 hours or so, but I’m hoping things settle down by the weekend. I will definitely keep you posted. Until next time- see you at the laundromat!
|Running Errands And Crap Like That||
I’ve just returned from running a few exciting errands (laundromat, post office, bank, faxing place, etc.) around my scenic Brooklyn neighborhood. One of my stops was at the UPS store. The employees there don’t wear the awesome brown uniforms that the guys that drive the UPS trucks wear, but it’s still a pretty good store in terms of buying padded envelopes and stuff, which was what I was doing there today in case you really must know. A-hole (Oh, just kidding).
Anyway, while I was going about my business at the UPS store, the in-store sound system began letting loose with the familiar (to me anyway) strains of Andy Gibb’s “Shadow Dancing,” which immediately whisked me back to my early childhood, a time when I was a big fan of the younger, now-departed brother of the guys in the Bee Gees. Back then I owned two Andy Gibb solo albums, which naturally led most of the other boys on my block too assume that I was also a member of the Future Homosexuals of America Club. The fact that I wrote a letter to pop singer/TV star/Tiger Beat coverboy Shaun Cassidy around this time, a rough draft of which was unfortunately discovered and later paraded around the neighborhood by my “friend” Tommy for all my pick-up football buddies to see, didn’t seem to help matters.
As it turned out however, I wasn’t actually a homosexual-in-the-making (dude, you can totally ask, like, a million chicks about this), but a completely sad and shameless pop music fan in the making. Don’t get me wrong, I still totally rock and all that; it’s just that songs like OMC’s “How Bizarre” and White Town’s “Your Woman” still rank frighteningly high on my list of all-time favorite songs (Don’t worry, there’s plenty of Zeppelin and Husker Du and stuff on the list too, in case you are worried). I guess what I’m really trying to say is this: little kids can be total dicks sometimes, so watch your ass.
In other news, I’m currently neck and neck with my bank as to who has more pens with the bank’s logo on it in their possession. I won’t say the name of my bank as there is probably someone out there who can take that little bit of information and use it to rob me of the 17 or so bucks currently in my account. Giving a slight hint however, my bank calls itself “America’s Most Convenient Bank.” If by convenient they mean making sure I never have to buy another pen again, then- yes- they are definitely super convenient. Now if only they could hook me up with one of those happening navy blazers the employees there all get to wear.
Finally, I bought an assortment of hot peppers (habanero mostly) at the farmer’s market type thing they have in my neighborhood while I was out today. I’ve decided I want to whip up a batch of my own hot sauce, which- given the fact that I have been on television like a million times already- is probably something I should have taken care of a long time ago. I’m not planning on selling it or anything; it’s just gonna be for around the house and stuff. Imagine how much money I’ll save on hot sauce by making my own! It’s going to be pretty incredible. Anyway, my ass and I will let you know what happens on that front really, really soon.
|Still More Rocking||
Okay, this entry has (almost) nothing to do with black metal. It’s just that, when in doubt, I prefer to post a sweet black metal photo at the beginning of an entry (This photo of the sweet band Immortal, who have sadly broken up for some reason or another. It seems to me like the crazy medieval weaponry would be enough of a reason to try to keep things together, but whatever, I guess sometimes you just have to call it a day no matter what kind of weapons you might have lying around). Anyway, in keeping with my neverending desire to rock you, rock you so much (and to also be shamelessly self-promotional pretty much whenever possible), I would like to encourage/beg you to check out another hit song from my unstoppable rock band Valley Lodge, which is pretty much the most incredible band I can possibly think of as I type this (besides Immortal that is). Anyway, the song is called “Every Little Thing” and you can stream/download-it-when-I’m-not-looking for a limited time only by going to this address: http://us.share.geocities.com/theblackmetaldialogues/Everylittlething.mp3 (I know it’s kind of retarded that I just don’t have it hyperlinked or whatever you call it when you just click on the link and it takes you there, but for some reason Geocities makes an error page show up when you do it that way. Or maybe I’m just retarded. Life is crazy sometimes). No pressure- I’m just, you know, putting it out there in case you feel like rocking or something. This particular song is really good to play at a reasonable volume or even really loud while driving, cleaning up around the house, and/or boning. You could probably do other stuff while listening to it too I would imagine. Hey- use your imagination! Anyway, I hope you dig it. And, of course, the offer still stands- if you are not completely satisfied with your Valley Lodge listening experience, you can totally hunt me down and kick me in the nuts. You have my word on it. Just promise me you’ll give me a heads up before the big wind up. And don’t blame me if you hurt your foot on my cold balls of steel.
|Exciting News From The Celebrity World!||
Somebody has made me believe in love again and their names are Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher! Guess who is totally not planning to kill themselves today anymore? Me! That’s who!
Um, okay, I’m really sorry. I guess I just wanted to get in on the action for a second.
|The Importance Of Rocking||
I found this cool animated GIF of Pantera guitarist Dimebag Darrell on the “net” the other day and thought I’d share it with you. As hinted at with that whole “R.I.P. Dimebag Darrell 1966-2004” thing in the photo, Dimebag Darrell died last year or- more accurately- was the victim of a brutal murder, having been shot by a crazed fan while playing a show with his other band, Damageplan, last December. You probably heard about it. It was a pretty huge bummer for any number of reasons.
Anyway, my intention with this entry is not to bum you out or anything. It’s just that Pantera has always been near the top (Some days, depending on my mood, they are in fact at the very top) of my short list of favorite metal bands and when I happened upon this animated GIF of Dimebag Darrell, I just got kind of excited. It made me want to rock. Maybe it will make you want to rock too. Life is short. It’s important to rock as much as humanly possible. You don’t even have to be able to play an instrument. More often than not, rocking is just a state of mind. You might be rocking right now and not even realize it. When you’re at a Thai restaurant and you order a dish of chicken basil or something just slightly spicier than you are normally comfortable with, you are rocking. When you have some unidentifiable crap on your hands and- rather than just washing them- you rub them in your hair instead, you are rocking (This admittedly can be kind of gross and even regretful at times, but hopefully you see my point). When you stroll around your house naked even though your blinds are totally open and somebody could easily look in and see your goods, you are rocking. You get the picture. So anyway, if you haven’t rocked out in some way or another already today, you totally should- if not for yourself, then for Dimebag. You could rock out for me too if you feel like it. In fact, I would be pretty happy about it if you did.
|Living In Taradise (And Totally Loving It!)||
Today I watched the popular show “Taradise,” starring Hollywood’s own Tara Reid, for the very first time. As shows about a seemingly drunk girl with big fake boobs and a voice that sounds like she smokes nine cartons of cigarettes a day going around partying at various exciting and fun locations across the globe go, it is pretty incredible. However, if you’re going to have someone from the hit movie trilogy that is “American Pie” hosting a show about the magic of partying, Natasha Lyonne is the obvious choice if you ask me. Then again, she doesn’t have the awesome fake boobs and liposuction and stuff (that I know of) that Tara brings to the equation, so sorry, Natasha, I guess we’ll just have to find something else for you. Don’t wander too far from the phone.
Anyway, as hinted at in paragraph one of this entry, the popular show “Taradise” pretty much consists of Tara Reid running around partying and stuff for the entire show and I am certainly not complaining. On this particular episode she was in Croatia, which- as Tara explained to us, the viewers- is pretty much the hottest new party spot on the planet (Fuck you, Ibiza!). The natives seemed pretty excited to have her partying in their homeland too (Get used to it, Croatia! Remember- you are the new party hotspot! Visits from the likes of Tara Reid are just the beginning!). And as I watched Tara partying with her friends, her brother who was visiting from scenic Los Angeles and totally doesn’t have fake boobs, and the natives of the exciting new #1 party hotspot that is Croatia, I couldn’t help but think to myself “Wow! This seems like total paradise!” And then I totally caught myself and was all like “Ha, ha- of course it is, dummy! In fact, not only is it paradise, it is Taradise! Otherwise it would totally not be on the show!” And then I kept on watching the great show, which is something I plan to do pretty much from now on whenever they play it on the popular E! Channel. Nice work, everybody involved with this program! It is so great.
|Thom Pain and Late Night with David Rakoff||
Last night my sister Miriam and I went to see the popular one-man, one-act play “Thom Pain (Based On Nothing),” which was originally produced by Soho Theatre Company in association with Chantal Arts + Theatre Ltd. and Naked Angels (NYC). I just copied that last bit from the program. Anyway, I had heard and read a lot of good things about it and was rather looking forward to seeing it, especially since my sister sprung for the tickets (Thanks again, Mir!). However, since I have the attention span of a puppy and I am also, well, kind of dumb when it really comes down to it, I’m not sure I quite understood the play. T. Ryder Smith, the actor and one man referred to in the first sentence, was very good and even broke down the proverbial fourth wall a few times during the show by speaking directly to the audience, walking through the aisles, and generally acknowledging that there were like 50 people in the room with him. This technique was especially effective when my sister’s cell phone went off about halfway throught the performance. I tried to evaporate when this happened, but in the end I only managed to strain a couple facial muscles from cringing so hard. Oh well, we got through it, didn’t we? Sorry about that, T. Ryder, the guy in front of us with the long gray ponytail and weird growth on top of his balding head, and anyone else who was all like “What the F?” when this happened. You think this sort of thing will never happen to you and then it does and then it’s like fuuu-uck. Well, if nothing else, the whole incident served to remind me and everyone else in the room that you should totally turn off your cell phone in theaters, proctologist offices, snakepits, and anywhere else where startling interruptions are unwelcome.
After seeing the exciting one-man, one-act play “Thom Pain (Based On Nothing,” I headed back to my apartment in scenic Brooklyn with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s coffee ice cream in tow (NOTE: As Ben and Jerry’s goes, this is pretty boring choice I know. It’s pretty much Coffee Heath Bar Crunch without the Heath Bar. It’s still pretty good but the whole time you’re eating it, you’re all like “God, I wish there was a Heath Bar smashed into this thing.” Life is crazy sometimes.).
Once I got home, I sat on the couch for a while, checking e-mail and slowly working my way throught the entire pint of ice cream (Here is something we can ALL relate to. Ha!), as I waited for the popular show “Late Night with Conan O’Brien” to come on because my close personal friend David Rakoff, author of the excellent new book “Don’t Get Too Comfortable : The Indignities of Coach Class, The Torments of Low Thread Count, The Never- Ending Quest for Artisanal Olive Oil, and Other First World Problems,” was appearing on the show. I was pretty excited about it. For some reason or another, I never tire of that magical feeling you get from being able to point at the TV screen and say “I totally know that guy. What’s up with his hair? He will no doubt be hearing from me about this and a bunch of other things at some point in the very near future!” Anyway, finally, at around 1:22 am, Conan introduced David and he came out and was very funny and just really, really great in general. If you don’t buy his book, I will track you down and kick you right in the privates. So there.
Okay, have a super weekend. You seem really nice.
|Gays In The Priesthood||
I read an article in the New York Times today about a new rule in the Roman Catholic church that will bar gays from becoming new priests. Needless to say, I find this news rather disturbing (and not just because I’m worried about how all of this might affect Rob Halford). However, I can’t help but think that all the gay priests already in the church are even more bummed out about it than I am because now they are totally going to have a much harder time meeting new guys who share their interests. As if that whole celibacy thing weren’t bad enough. No matter how you slice it, the Catholic church is making it much harder for priests to get laid these days. Don’t even get me started on those tight white collars, which are pretty much a complete nightmare at least six months out of the year.
The question remains, however, over how the church will go about figuring out which potential new priests are total homos. Apparently they will be screening new candidates for “evidence of homosexuality.” There has also been talk of forcing all existing priests to wear tasteful yet much harder to accessorize pantsuits during official church services instead of those elaborate, flowing gowns we have all come to love so much by now. Prospective new priests are also discouraged from at any point complaining about how “poorly decorated” their seminary quarters might be.
Meanwhile, Catholic nuns are encouraged to dyke it up as much as humanly possible. No, just kidding. Everyone knows you can’t win softball games dressed in those habits of theirs.
Today I write to you (let’s assume there is someone actually reading this) from an adorable little coffee shop that opened recently in my scenic Brooklyn neighborhood. I had always promised myself I would never become one of “those guys,” the people who sit in coffee shops for hours at a time, typing away on their laptops and using the term “wi-fi” with both comfort and regularity. The other day though, I reluctantly decided to give it a shot, largely because I figured if I actually left my apartment to do some work, it might keep me from taking naps or setting my laptop down to go masturbate or have an extra bowl of cereal or something. So far it’s working. I’ve been coming to this coffee shop on most weekdays lately and have been seemingly more productive in this atmosphere. I am still adjusting to the constant stream of world music that plays in the backround, but I am getting better at tuning it out. I’m not really sure who enjoys this music. It seems to be more the kind of music that people wrongfully assume others enjoy and therefore decide to put it on in certain environments. For coffee shops, there is world music. For hair salons, there is techno (another style of music I try to avoid in my day-to-day life). In techno’s defense however, I suppose it does sound good if you are on drugs (or so I’m told). I’ll never really understand world music though. I have quite honestly never felt that festive. And if I did I would probably just put on some old Van Halen or something.
In other news, last night I went to see Inside Joke at the UCB Theatre in Manhattan. The show is a sort “Inside The Actor’s Studio” for comedians and instead of being hosted by the frightening James Lipton, it is hosted by the highly likable Carl Arnheiter. Last night’s guests were the comedians Al Franken and Tom Davis, two guys I have been big fans of since I was just a youngster, a “pup” if you will. It was a fun show and interesting to hear them speak about the early days of Saturday Night Live and how the show and comedy in general has changed since then, etc.
As I sat there listening to Franken and Davis speak, I remembered how when I was a kid they came to perform at John Carrol University, the college up the street from where I grew up in Cleveland. I wanted desperately to see them perform but figured there was no way a little kid like me was going to be able to sneak into a college auditorium unnoticed on a Friday night. I ended up standing outside of the auditorium as they performed, listening to all those big college kids laughing and clapping, and imagining all the hilarious stuff Franken and Davis must have been saying to them. As I think back to those days, I am struck by how old I have somehow become. Holy fucking shit. Things were supposed to be different. Shouldn’t I be at work right now or something?
After Inside Joke, I grabbed a quick drink with a friend at a seemingly French bar/restaurant (They were playing Serge Gainsbourg and had French beer on tap. That was enough for me to jump to conclusions.). Since I had eaten something called “The Mexican Burger” at the Half King on 23rd Street earlier in the evening however, I had to cut the evening short and get back to headquarters to address a few pressing issues.
Okay, I have to get back to this world music business. It is seriously fucking annoying. If they don’t turn it off soon there’s gonna be bodies to cart out of here.