I forgot completely that I’d gotten drunk one evening recently (in an almost complete turnaround from my customary behaviour on an August evening, I assure you) and signed the old ‘bottle up for Bloghot or Not.
But I saw the URL in my recent referrers doodad over there on the
left no, no the other left, went to check it out, and holy crap on a delicious triscuit cracker, I’m rating pretty darn high!
So it’s official. The A-List can bite me†.
[I realize that I haven’t written a long rambling craptacular post on anything in quite a while, and that you kind, intelligent, and slightly demented Wonderchicken Irregulars out there are pining, no clamoring for more dammit more!, but, well, I’m trying to write a book. Really fast. (which makes this recent and excellent MeFi thread all the more amusing ) And it’s (in the amusingly outdated vernacular of the recent bubblelicious fin de siecle) ‘occupying mindshare’ for me at the moment. I apologize profusely, but bear with me, I beg of you.
† I don’t take this hotornot stuff seriously, duh, but them Listers Who Are A really can bite me. Take a big ol’ bite of my bum, right here. *points*
Edit : I realize also that this sort of self-referential wankorama could be perceived as distasteful and beneath the elevated station to which I have winched myself, but I just don’t care. Comedy? Comedy gold.
Ladies and gentlemen, a new personal record. It’s been 3 count’em 3 days since I checked this account.
I am feeling gigantically bummed today, left out of all the fun with CD swaps and MeFi/MonkeyMeets and such. What the f–k am I doing here in Korea, living my entire social life through a keyboard? Sometimes I just don’t know.
Somebody want to give me a job sweeping floors or something, somewhere other than here? This place is starting to get to me…
I found this on the site that dare not speak it’s name. It’s funny.
BY JOHN KENYON
– – – –
Angus: Well then, I see that everyone is here. Shall we get started?
Brian: Might we call the roll, at least for the sake of the minutes?
Angus: Good point. Malcolm?
Malcolm: Oh, right, right. I’m secretary this fiscal year, aren’t I? All right, then. Angus Young?
Malcolm: Brian Johnson?
Malcolm: Phil Rudd?
Malcolm: Cliff Williams?
Angus: Thank you, Malcolm. Now, as I’m sure you know from reading the memo e-mailed last Tuesday, we’re meeting to begin conceiving our next album. Sales of our latest, Stiff Upper Lip, have tailed off, and tour revenue will only sustain the corporation through the end of fiscal 2002. Our back catalog, interview discs, live collections, and the box set helped the bottom line, but these are signs of a brand treading water. We need new product to assure continued growth through fiscal 2003.
Malcolm: All right, then. Should we review and approve minutes from the last meeting or jump ahead to item no. 4, “Brainstorming new song titles.”
Angus: Let’s not mess with Robert’s Rules this once. Has everyone had a chance to review the minutes?
Angus: Then if there’s no further discussion, can I get a motion to approve and file said minutes?
Phil: So moved.
Malcolm: We can do this on voice vote. All in favor?
Angus: Should we move on?
Brian: Can we break for a few minutes? I need to check with the nanny to see that the kids got to school.
Angus: Okay by me. Any objections?
[10 minute recess]
Angus: Now remember, the only bad idea is one that isn’t shared. Remember Ballbreaker? I wouldn’t have believed we had never used that album title, but there it was 1995 and it was fresh as ever. Or “You Can’t Stop Rock ‘n’ Roll”? That’s a classic title, undiscovered until our last album.
Brian: That was a nice one, Phil.
Angus: All right. Don’t be shy; just throw them out there.
Brian: Well, I’ve been toying with something called “Flirt in a Skirt.”
Phil: I like it! That’s a keeper.
Cliff: How about “Snowball?”
Brian: That’s a good one, but we already went in that direction with “Snowballed” from For Those About to Rock.
Cliff: I should have known it was too good to be true.
Brian: That’s a good reminder to do our homework before we meet.
Angus: What do you guys think of “Pole Position”?
Brian: That I can work with.
Angus: Malcolm, what are you giggling about? Do you want to share it with the group?
Malcolm: Yeah. “Put Your Glove on My Love.”
Phil: Boys, we might as well pack up and go home. We’re not going to do better than that.
Cliff: That is a moneymaker.
Angus: Malcolm, this may be inappropriate, but I’m going to hug you.
[Rustling sound on tape]
Angus (to Malcolm): I seem to have wrinkled your coat. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning. (To the group) OK, that one is going to get the juices flowing. Does anybody…
Phil: Angus, pardon the interruption, but what about that?
Angus: Sorry, but you’ve lost me. What do you mean?
Brian: He’s right. “Got My Juices Flowing.” Is that what you were getting at, Phil?
Angus: This is why I’ve come really to value these meetings? I was going to suggest, before being so productively interrupted, “Wired for Rock.”
Cliff: Kudos, gentlemen.
Angus: OK, we’re halfway there.
Brian: I notice we haven’t dealt much with liquor yet. I love the sex-based titles, but need I remind you all that AC/DC thrives on variety. I keep coming back to the word “jigger.” Your thoughts?
Malcolm: What about “Two Jiggers of Love”?
Cliff: That just adds to the sex thing.
Angus: Right, right, but we could address that in the lyrics, juxtaposing images of alcohol with those of sex, a compare/contrast construct.
Brian: I think I can make that work.
Angus: Okay, moving along. Brian, you’re shared only one idea.
Brian: Well, I wanted to give the other guys a chance, to cultivate diversity of opinion.
Angus: Certainly, but we’re on a schedule.
Brian: All right. “Depth Charge,” “Rocket Launcher,” “Smell of Love,” and “Eat My Fist.”
Cliff: I’d say we have an album, gentlemen. I move that we accept this slate of titles for our next album.
Brian: I second the motion.
Malcolm: All in favor?
Angus: Excellent work. A final reminder: we’ve scheduled a meeting tomorrow at 3 p.m., to commence the songwriting process. If you’d like, we can also hold an informal session this evening at my house.
Brian: Sounds great. I move we adjourn.
Malcolm: All in favor?
I’ve never been good at mental multi-tasking, and I’ve got this other super-secret double-extra (yeah, whatever) thing I’m working on at the moment, and it’s distracting me away from the posting of the amusing entries at the mighty Empty Bottle.
So go read the archives, my friends. As opposed to the chew-toy mastications of those purist ‘weblog’ wanktards, my old nocturnal emissions actually have some value beyond a pointer to the chronistic equivalent of Mahir or All Your (admittedly amusing) Base… hooo-hah!
No really, there’s some f–king gold back there in the foothills, honest to cheese-topped goodness. Laugh, cry, wet your pants : it’s the Disneyland of Weblogging! Lotta crap too, but Sturgeon’s Law, nicht wahr?
Back in about ’86 or so, the world paused for a moment in its orbit as the musical colossus known as Naked & Shameless spontaneously appeared, boozily clambered to the very apex of the Vancouver musical scene, and then flamed out and disappeared, all in the space of days, if not hours.
Well, what really happened is that my buddy Deviant, who was responsible for the creation and dismantling of various Vancouver bands of moderate success over the decade, decided that it’d be pretty damn cool to get me liquored up in his studio, record one of my
infamous spontaneous rants, then put it to music.
Unfortunately, no matter how much Ouzo I swilled, sitting on the stool in front of the mike, it just wasn’t spontaneous. Performance anxiety. I did force it a bit once the booze kicked in, and pulled some ranty stuff out of my ass, but the resulting track didn’t meet the high standards we had anticipated, and after a few plays on CiTR, the UBC campus radio station (“all spaceship and satan music, all the time”), sank into history unremarked.
For the purposes of branding, though (we were ahead of our time, baby), I’d come up with the name ‘Naked & Shameless’ for our two-man band. Myself being Jim Naked, up there under the hot lights, baring my soul, and Deviant being Dave Shameless, the evil rocknroller exploiting my gentle drunken poetic weiner-talk to get chicks and stuff.
That part was good.
Wisely, though, with our first track sucking so heinously, we decided to shelve the project.
Fast forward to a few years ago, and Deviant, who has been living in Chicago and whom I haven’t seen for almost a decade, has restarted Naked and Shameless, with cousin Buck Naked replacing the dearly departed Jim. Buck can actually sing, and play. This is a good thing.
Why am I telling you all this? Besides the usual ‘I’m so goddamn hip I can’t see over my own pelvis’ stuff, mostly ’cause I remembered that N&S have an mp3.com page with some fun songs on, which I’ve been listening to this evening as I get slowly plastered, and they’re currently on tour, and will be playing one of our favorite Vancouver haunts this weekend, the Railway Club.
(The serendipitous thing here being that through completely random chaotic f–king weirdness, one of the owners of the Railway Club, Roger Trentenero, since deceased (murdered on his boat not long after I’d decamped, so to speak, at Playa Los Cocos, by hammer flung headward by his 16-year old Costa Rican girlfriend, is the story that I heard), was the owner of the first sailboat I crewed aboard in the Sea of Cortez, approximately midway, temporally speaking, between then and now…but that, as I find myself saying all too often, is a tale for another day.)
Drinking Song #16 is the one dedicated to
me poor old Jim Naked. It’s funny, but not my favorite. C’est la vie.
If you do go have a listen to any of their stuff, don’t miss “Lawrence (Head of Lettuce)“. A true story from our UBC days. Not even the names have been changed to protect the guilty. Rock’n’roll verité, man.
It’ll be my birthday in about 3 hours, Korea time. I will officially be old enough to know better, while continuing to be too dumb to care.
But that hasn’t stopped me so far, so I think I’ll just carry on as usual, noting the gray hairs appearing in the skateboarder-goatee, but reacting to them with a hearty woo-hoo rather than a weedy boo-hoo. This, my friends, is the secret to my success, longevity, and general all-around air of worldly incoherence.
So happy birthday to me. Have a drink for me, won’t you? I’ll be sure to return the favour when your next birthday rolls around…
Fishrush has done some rooting through the archives, and come up with some very interesting evidence pointing to Eli Chanticleer as the inventor of the weblogging machine, and the man responsible for loosing this plague upon the world.
Circumstantial evidence linking the identity of Mr Chanticleer to a certain well-known Miraculous Fowl should be examined with care, as there are clear indications in the ebb and flow of the blogospheric aether that the game is afoot, and impostors and pretenders are weaving a web of lies to trap the unwary and credulous.
Exercise caution, my weblogging friends. These are dangerous times.
She’s dirty all right, but no more so than the rest of the corrupt scumbags who run this circle-jerk cesspool of privilege.
She was rejected because she’s a woman, pure and simple.
f–kwits. Asshats. Crapclowns. I f–king loathe these self-satisfied, centre-of-everyone’s universe Korean men, and I loathe Korean politicians, who are not coincidentally almost without exception male, with a special nauseated red-eyed hatred that makes my head hum like a generator. Line these wrinkly old upper-caste cocksuckers up against a wall and mow them down, say I. The greedy old boys’ networks in this country will guarantee that it remains the sh-thole that it is for anyone who’s not part of their cadre. Slaves and their overlords, right down the line. The threadbare whip of Confucianism coupled with the half-understood yoke of transplanted Christianity keeping the poor poor and the rich rich, and anyone who’s not a high-born male in a position of eternal subservience.
It reminds me, at this early stage, of a hardboiled Chandleresque quantum-physics detective novel (yeah, before Dirk Gently) that me and a couple of guys I lived with in university were writing (and erasing) in installments on the messageboard of my dorm room. That was fun, and so is this.
But I had no idea what to do with Bea Arthur suddenly appearing…