Open mic @ Riddles in Orland Park
tonight 8pm showtime
15750 S. Harlem Ave.
new material to be tested.
Thursday, July 29, 2004
Dear France, I Found a New International Punching Bag
Let's be upfront here. Ever since studying WWI in school I and many others like to blame shoddy foreign relations upon the French. Let's not forget to perpetuate their stereotype of the most arrogant and equally rancid smelling people. Plus it is fun to poke fun at the first person to leave an planned outing as acting like a true Frenchman. France have no fear, for there is another nation that is the cicada to pop culture. However, something must be in the water for this nation is revisiting our society more than Jennifer Lopez gets engaged.
I can not stand Jamaica.
This country is the most obnoxious country in the Carribbean. Everytime the American society goes to the Jamaican well we come back with such fine characters as Madam Cleo, Shaggy, Sean Paul, a freaking bobsled team, and a low quality shortstop.
Madam Cleo, the carnie that learned to read. She managed to con a bunch of late night lumps on a couch into talking about their future. She is not a genius, it is not hard to predict these patrons to be unemployed, cheated on by a sibling, or simply lonely in a house of eight or so cats. Cleo was the tip of the ice berg of low quality exports from Jamaica.
Shaggy and Sean Paul, Jamaica's rappers that made it huge in the US. Nothing like the GED grammar skills of rap to help resonate the Jamaican accent across many other countries. Jamaican rap is the only type of music that when in English the native speakers actually keep their accent. Have you ever heard a Def Leopard song and then listened to those doped up lab rats try and conjure a thought. They make Ozzy Ozborne sound like an articulate man. So yes, we can say the integrity of Jamaican music is the accent. Frankly though, I am tired of the accent.
I recall when Shaggy had the smash song "it wasn't me." A song about being caught red handed in adultery and just denying the truth. That just proves the level of stupidity down there, well besides wearing those silly rasta hats when it is like 90 degrees outside. Anyway, this song was so well embraced by the Amercian people because the message of infidelity without repercussion just hits home (this was the Clinton administration by the way). Shaggy was on every show possible to promote/saturate his song like any other rapper- since in rap rarely does lightning/hit songs strike more than once. Disney had the gall to have Shaggy perform that very song infront of hundreds of children at Disneyworld. I guess the message that could lead to teen pregnancy is not important as long as those kids come to experience the money trap with a big mouse.
I am sure the country of Jamaica is very nice, but their ambassadors from rap and even astrology have given us reason to believe that all work an no play makes Jamiaca Cuba. Every time I think of Jamiaca, some woman's voice says "Jamiaca? Jamaican-me crazy! Celebration!" and whatever nonsensical pot induced rhymes. "Jamaican-me crazy?" More like "Jamiacan an ass of yourself." We get it ok, yeah Bob Marley was really good, but the recent exports are the hit from the pipe that are so bad that we only take another hoping it will get better, Don' t hold your breath.
Let's be upfront here. Ever since studying WWI in school I and many others like to blame shoddy foreign relations upon the French. Let's not forget to perpetuate their stereotype of the most arrogant and equally rancid smelling people. Plus it is fun to poke fun at the first person to leave an planned outing as acting like a true Frenchman. France have no fear, for there is another nation that is the cicada to pop culture. However, something must be in the water for this nation is revisiting our society more than Jennifer Lopez gets engaged.
I can not stand Jamaica.
This country is the most obnoxious country in the Carribbean. Everytime the American society goes to the Jamaican well we come back with such fine characters as Madam Cleo, Shaggy, Sean Paul, a freaking bobsled team, and a low quality shortstop.
Madam Cleo, the carnie that learned to read. She managed to con a bunch of late night lumps on a couch into talking about their future. She is not a genius, it is not hard to predict these patrons to be unemployed, cheated on by a sibling, or simply lonely in a house of eight or so cats. Cleo was the tip of the ice berg of low quality exports from Jamaica.
Shaggy and Sean Paul, Jamaica's rappers that made it huge in the US. Nothing like the GED grammar skills of rap to help resonate the Jamaican accent across many other countries. Jamaican rap is the only type of music that when in English the native speakers actually keep their accent. Have you ever heard a Def Leopard song and then listened to those doped up lab rats try and conjure a thought. They make Ozzy Ozborne sound like an articulate man. So yes, we can say the integrity of Jamaican music is the accent. Frankly though, I am tired of the accent.
I recall when Shaggy had the smash song "it wasn't me." A song about being caught red handed in adultery and just denying the truth. That just proves the level of stupidity down there, well besides wearing those silly rasta hats when it is like 90 degrees outside. Anyway, this song was so well embraced by the Amercian people because the message of infidelity without repercussion just hits home (this was the Clinton administration by the way). Shaggy was on every show possible to promote/saturate his song like any other rapper- since in rap rarely does lightning/hit songs strike more than once. Disney had the gall to have Shaggy perform that very song infront of hundreds of children at Disneyworld. I guess the message that could lead to teen pregnancy is not important as long as those kids come to experience the money trap with a big mouse.
I am sure the country of Jamaica is very nice, but their ambassadors from rap and even astrology have given us reason to believe that all work an no play makes Jamiaca Cuba. Every time I think of Jamiaca, some woman's voice says "Jamiaca? Jamaican-me crazy! Celebration!" and whatever nonsensical pot induced rhymes. "Jamaican-me crazy?" More like "Jamiacan an ass of yourself." We get it ok, yeah Bob Marley was really good, but the recent exports are the hit from the pipe that are so bad that we only take another hoping it will get better, Don' t hold your breath.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
...And That's Why the Prom Queen is a Tramp
I watched the nightly news and there was a cover story that was not about a gang shooting that shot a random child. However, this story was about a topic that is near impossible for society to ignore. There are countless juvenile girls dressing like the surgically/eating disorder altered celebs.
Now we as a society love jailbait like no other vice (see twins archive) but this is getting out of control. Girls are dressing like extras from the Lady Marmalade video. I love the sight of a girl (over 18- got that Mr. Kelly ok?) in a pair of low riders but when she turns around, smiles and shows the world her new braces and self waxed brows it just is not kosher.
The segment had young girls admitting that they would buy something on the basis that a celeb wore it on tv or in a magazine. Baaaahhhhh. I guess even sheep need highlights. Never did this piece find a girl that admitted the "pro" look made them feel sexy nor did any girl see anything wrong with the attire. Why would they? Come on, for the first time they are seen as something desireable. Which is all so important in study hall.
The news also reported that there was a game with the gel bracelets. Each gel color represented a specific sex act, that when tugged by a young boy would constitute the grounds for the act to be done by her to him. What happened to spin the bottle? I guess that was just a gateway to this game I call sexlets. Now if this is real grade school girls are easier than gym class. In both cases particpation is the only way to really grade one's intellect. Now if this is not really a game, I give the credit to the youth of America for pulling a fast one their elders. The message of course is if your daughter is wearing gel bracelets you should know if she is just an Avril fan or actually turning tricks at the flag pole.
One way to deal with this is to call the kids' bluff. I say this because this is probably just a fad. In a couple of weeks this will all blow over like a bad storm and will be replaced by something new, like taking pride in being a trophy girl. Adults do one thing the best that keeps the wheel of sensationalistic journalism around. They just draw attention to a conflct and then embellish it only to put blame on teachers, media, and most defintitely rap music. No adult actually follows up with solving the problem, because that means they were about as wrong as a black thong showing from their daughter's white Gap tramp pants. It is exactly like when there was an error in a newspaper. Thousands of people get misinformed on page 2 but they never see a correction for that until the next day on page 44.
With all that drama said, I really don't believe that there is much to worry about this sexlets scandal on the basis that most highschool guys are typically ackward pimple faces that no girl in high school wants. That's why God created community college, so high school girls could finally "date" that mature guy they've been looking so long to love.
It is really hard to say who is to blame on this. We all have our hands in the cookie jar on this case, well except the parents they are out at the neighbors having margaritas. Pedephiles/radio hosts across the nation are in favor of this act because they will always have the countdown to the 18th b-day. Sorry fellas, it's just another generation of rejection. The teachers are in the wrong because the chose the most rewarding position that allows moonlighting but only as a scapegoat. Other adults are in the wrong because they smoke and well that is cool so kids might as well dress the part too. Genetics will always tell more about one than the provactive words stretched across a juvenile's developing chest.
I watched the nightly news and there was a cover story that was not about a gang shooting that shot a random child. However, this story was about a topic that is near impossible for society to ignore. There are countless juvenile girls dressing like the surgically/eating disorder altered celebs.
Now we as a society love jailbait like no other vice (see twins archive) but this is getting out of control. Girls are dressing like extras from the Lady Marmalade video. I love the sight of a girl (over 18- got that Mr. Kelly ok?) in a pair of low riders but when she turns around, smiles and shows the world her new braces and self waxed brows it just is not kosher.
The segment had young girls admitting that they would buy something on the basis that a celeb wore it on tv or in a magazine. Baaaahhhhh. I guess even sheep need highlights. Never did this piece find a girl that admitted the "pro" look made them feel sexy nor did any girl see anything wrong with the attire. Why would they? Come on, for the first time they are seen as something desireable. Which is all so important in study hall.
The news also reported that there was a game with the gel bracelets. Each gel color represented a specific sex act, that when tugged by a young boy would constitute the grounds for the act to be done by her to him. What happened to spin the bottle? I guess that was just a gateway to this game I call sexlets. Now if this is real grade school girls are easier than gym class. In both cases particpation is the only way to really grade one's intellect. Now if this is not really a game, I give the credit to the youth of America for pulling a fast one their elders. The message of course is if your daughter is wearing gel bracelets you should know if she is just an Avril fan or actually turning tricks at the flag pole.
One way to deal with this is to call the kids' bluff. I say this because this is probably just a fad. In a couple of weeks this will all blow over like a bad storm and will be replaced by something new, like taking pride in being a trophy girl. Adults do one thing the best that keeps the wheel of sensationalistic journalism around. They just draw attention to a conflct and then embellish it only to put blame on teachers, media, and most defintitely rap music. No adult actually follows up with solving the problem, because that means they were about as wrong as a black thong showing from their daughter's white Gap tramp pants. It is exactly like when there was an error in a newspaper. Thousands of people get misinformed on page 2 but they never see a correction for that until the next day on page 44.
With all that drama said, I really don't believe that there is much to worry about this sexlets scandal on the basis that most highschool guys are typically ackward pimple faces that no girl in high school wants. That's why God created community college, so high school girls could finally "date" that mature guy they've been looking so long to love.
It is really hard to say who is to blame on this. We all have our hands in the cookie jar on this case, well except the parents they are out at the neighbors having margaritas. Pedephiles/radio hosts across the nation are in favor of this act because they will always have the countdown to the 18th b-day. Sorry fellas, it's just another generation of rejection. The teachers are in the wrong because the chose the most rewarding position that allows moonlighting but only as a scapegoat. Other adults are in the wrong because they smoke and well that is cool so kids might as well dress the part too. Genetics will always tell more about one than the provactive words stretched across a juvenile's developing chest.
Sunday, July 18, 2004
One of the Greats
About two years ago I was in Spain. I returned my text books since the teacher told me to do so. Apparently the return policy of the store is that of my least favorite. Ok sir, you did not need that book afterall. I will reund your money kind of. What do you mean my clerk friend. Well you see mr. consumer, after you spend national currency here you can only get it refunded as store credit.
Store credit screwed me out of about $25 of my own money in this case. Now instead of getting my own money back to spend on whatever I want I have to find interest in some random book store in Spain. Well, cookbooks aside I decide to read one of the "classic" authors. I bought two Hemmingway books.
Two years later, after several fruitless attempts at reading the "Sun Also Rises" I focused myself to read the bloody thing. I came to the realization why I never could get into the book. The plot does not start until page 118. The first 117 pages are all about walking around getting drunk, smoking cigarrettes and wishing some beautiful temptress would stop teasing the main character and simply love him. Apparently Ernest Hemmingway published the first blog himself, because those 117 pages were the most incoherent ramblings of a eternallly frusterated man.
If this was reading for a class of somesort I would have to say the theme is love is not for everyone but being strung along is for everyone. Once the plot started to pick up I felt like I was reading a screen play for the next OC episode. The characters in the story are all rather educated yet all are very trite and image conscious. During reading, all I could think about is how this story really makes me think of the Kennedy family.
The other aspect that bothered me more than it took me two years, and four attempts to read a soft core romance novel is that when I told people that I was reading "The Sun Also Rises" that they told me it was an "easy read." I most definitely do not concure with that. An easy read is a pamphlet. The only easy read that is over 200 pages is the Dr. Suess anthology. 200 pages with and average of ten words per page. That is ease, if you please.
I am sure Hemmingway is a great author. However he even admits to rambling in the story. He has this deep inner monologue of Jake (the main character), only to be concluded by Jake saying "well there is no point to that story." Thanks Ernie, if I wanted rambling I would go to Adams and Wells and listen to the homeless man in front of Walgreens.
I guess this book is a classic because it is about love, rejection, loss, and budding alcoholism. All of which are themes we can relate to. I think it is safe to say that we have all been a sucker for love or a "classic" novel.
About two years ago I was in Spain. I returned my text books since the teacher told me to do so. Apparently the return policy of the store is that of my least favorite. Ok sir, you did not need that book afterall. I will reund your money kind of. What do you mean my clerk friend. Well you see mr. consumer, after you spend national currency here you can only get it refunded as store credit.
Store credit screwed me out of about $25 of my own money in this case. Now instead of getting my own money back to spend on whatever I want I have to find interest in some random book store in Spain. Well, cookbooks aside I decide to read one of the "classic" authors. I bought two Hemmingway books.
Two years later, after several fruitless attempts at reading the "Sun Also Rises" I focused myself to read the bloody thing. I came to the realization why I never could get into the book. The plot does not start until page 118. The first 117 pages are all about walking around getting drunk, smoking cigarrettes and wishing some beautiful temptress would stop teasing the main character and simply love him. Apparently Ernest Hemmingway published the first blog himself, because those 117 pages were the most incoherent ramblings of a eternallly frusterated man.
If this was reading for a class of somesort I would have to say the theme is love is not for everyone but being strung along is for everyone. Once the plot started to pick up I felt like I was reading a screen play for the next OC episode. The characters in the story are all rather educated yet all are very trite and image conscious. During reading, all I could think about is how this story really makes me think of the Kennedy family.
The other aspect that bothered me more than it took me two years, and four attempts to read a soft core romance novel is that when I told people that I was reading "The Sun Also Rises" that they told me it was an "easy read." I most definitely do not concure with that. An easy read is a pamphlet. The only easy read that is over 200 pages is the Dr. Suess anthology. 200 pages with and average of ten words per page. That is ease, if you please.
I am sure Hemmingway is a great author. However he even admits to rambling in the story. He has this deep inner monologue of Jake (the main character), only to be concluded by Jake saying "well there is no point to that story." Thanks Ernie, if I wanted rambling I would go to Adams and Wells and listen to the homeless man in front of Walgreens.
I guess this book is a classic because it is about love, rejection, loss, and budding alcoholism. All of which are themes we can relate to. I think it is safe to say that we have all been a sucker for love or a "classic" novel.
Sunday, July 11, 2004
While You Were Out (Drinking Most Likely)
Ok, so at the early stages of this blog I was updating three or so times a week. Well that is hard to do when one don't have the internet at work anymore. I will update this as much as possible. Here is the skinny on why this is not a long blog.
I just finished the first revisions on my first ever screen play. It is a short film titled "Last Night." Auditions will be held in the Chicagoland area. Look for it at a social gathering in Fall '04.
By the by, July 15th I will be in an open mic contest at the Comedy Spot in Mount Prospect (call 411 for a #/directions). $5 to get in showtime at 8pm. If I progress through the tourney I could win $500. Also, July 30 I am performing improv at the Taste of Orland. Showtime 7pm, I don't think there is a charge to get in. Show is at the outdoor ampitheater.
That's the Reader's Digest of it all.
Ok, so at the early stages of this blog I was updating three or so times a week. Well that is hard to do when one don't have the internet at work anymore. I will update this as much as possible. Here is the skinny on why this is not a long blog.
I just finished the first revisions on my first ever screen play. It is a short film titled "Last Night." Auditions will be held in the Chicagoland area. Look for it at a social gathering in Fall '04.
By the by, July 15th I will be in an open mic contest at the Comedy Spot in Mount Prospect (call 411 for a #/directions). $5 to get in showtime at 8pm. If I progress through the tourney I could win $500. Also, July 30 I am performing improv at the Taste of Orland. Showtime 7pm, I don't think there is a charge to get in. Show is at the outdoor ampitheater.
That's the Reader's Digest of it all.
Friday, July 02, 2004
So Like I was totally at the mall today
"The Mall." The Cocomo of the cheerleader and disposable income. I was there today. Perhaps I should clear up which fine and dandy mall it was. Oak Brook Mall, which happens to be the finest outdoor mall in the tri-state area. I say tri-state because that sounds cooler than DuPage County. All the stores there are very expensive. Oak Brook is the land of lawyers and reallocated child support. I guess since they are all high class stores it vetoes the typical term for an outside mall, strip mall.
So much happened in my hour plus visit at the mall. First of all my stepbrother Craig is back in town from his patriotic stint with the National Guard. Craig has all his piercings in (more than 8 in both ears) and has of course combat boots to match. I am wearing the same pair of shorts I always wear until I spill something on them and a shirt that in English means "Oh F@$%! it's hot!" Everyone else, polos and capris or mini skirt.
Side-note: I love the mini skirt. Nothing puts my world at peace like a size 6 (I guess) shimmying a nice white mini skirt/lampshade. I have not been such a fan of women's fashion since they removed the pockets on the back of their pants. Thank you fashion designers!
Anyway, so back to the mall. I love this mall for the reasons people loved to go when they were in high school. I never really went then so I guess today was my walk in the Abercrombie clouds. Upon parking, there are countless luxury automobiles, my sex magnet 2003 Malibu and one more car I will not forget. It was a white Hyundai with the whole freaking back end and rear passenger door smashed in. Oak Brook may be 80% gated communities but it still let's its image guard down to make a buck.
My purpose to going to this mall was to get an airport extreme card for the G5. Well as luck would have it (and the mall directory indicated) I parked completely on the other side of the mall from the Apple store. So I stand there planning. Ok, store number 554 is northwest from Sears by about forty yards. In this moment I propose a question for the designer of such a fine shopping complex. What good does it do to assign a number to each store if those store do not display there numbers for those chaps with a poor sense of direction? It would be the same if we had addresses only in the phone book not on the buildings themselves. "Where's Pete's house?" "Well it should be near 220, which I think was about a quarter of a mile ago. Who puts the address only in the directory? This just reeks of organized crime."
So after following the north star and a worldly gal named Sacajewa, we made it to the store. I should mention that this mall is more than a target rich environment. There were plenty of girls to be in Hef's harem and quite a few Mrs. Robinson sightings. I remained focused, after all I could be rejected anywhere this mall was just not in the cards today.
Enter the Apple store. Some art deco freak opened a computer store and now everyone that shops there immediately thinks they are from Seattle and were the first to wear those rectangle beatnik framed glasses. Another sociological finding that pertains to the Apple community. If you are to work there it is unwritten law that you must be either bald or talk with permanently clogged sinuses. Ehhng, this is Joe sir. Yes you are wrong. Sorry that is Apple's policy, otherwise I would consider kissing your ass.
Now the set up of Apple stores are just like their on-line and phone support systems. It will take some serious effort and perseverance to actually talk to a human about your own needs. At Apple they would much prefer you to get confused, cry and go back to crawling in PCville.
After much deliberation on my purchase, I bought the card. Earlier in the day I was told it cost $19.95. When I got to the store, it cost $79.99. At one time I was on the phone with SBC about the DSL connection and what I needed to buy while knowing the $60 increase. Tom Brokaw calls it the fleecing of America, I call it the vasectomy of American. I bought it and left promptly before I heard Frodo's girlfriend say "come on, i-pods around."
I left the store, looked at my receipt and it said for support go to apple.com, no really don't try calling us. We have better things to do like mock the new XP upgrades. If I don't figure this machine out soon, I am sure Apple will order a code red on me. In the night there will be a Honda Pilot full of techies coming to commandeer my G5 and take it to a good home, one that knows how to use it.
Once I know how to be mac savvy, I am sure I will be one with the mini skirts and the techies. We can all sit in a park and listen to Beyonce's latest single on our i-pod and talk about how "fresh" her samples are of Tina Turner's archives
"The Mall." The Cocomo of the cheerleader and disposable income. I was there today. Perhaps I should clear up which fine and dandy mall it was. Oak Brook Mall, which happens to be the finest outdoor mall in the tri-state area. I say tri-state because that sounds cooler than DuPage County. All the stores there are very expensive. Oak Brook is the land of lawyers and reallocated child support. I guess since they are all high class stores it vetoes the typical term for an outside mall, strip mall.
So much happened in my hour plus visit at the mall. First of all my stepbrother Craig is back in town from his patriotic stint with the National Guard. Craig has all his piercings in (more than 8 in both ears) and has of course combat boots to match. I am wearing the same pair of shorts I always wear until I spill something on them and a shirt that in English means "Oh F@$%! it's hot!" Everyone else, polos and capris or mini skirt.
Side-note: I love the mini skirt. Nothing puts my world at peace like a size 6 (I guess) shimmying a nice white mini skirt/lampshade. I have not been such a fan of women's fashion since they removed the pockets on the back of their pants. Thank you fashion designers!
Anyway, so back to the mall. I love this mall for the reasons people loved to go when they were in high school. I never really went then so I guess today was my walk in the Abercrombie clouds. Upon parking, there are countless luxury automobiles, my sex magnet 2003 Malibu and one more car I will not forget. It was a white Hyundai with the whole freaking back end and rear passenger door smashed in. Oak Brook may be 80% gated communities but it still let's its image guard down to make a buck.
My purpose to going to this mall was to get an airport extreme card for the G5. Well as luck would have it (and the mall directory indicated) I parked completely on the other side of the mall from the Apple store. So I stand there planning. Ok, store number 554 is northwest from Sears by about forty yards. In this moment I propose a question for the designer of such a fine shopping complex. What good does it do to assign a number to each store if those store do not display there numbers for those chaps with a poor sense of direction? It would be the same if we had addresses only in the phone book not on the buildings themselves. "Where's Pete's house?" "Well it should be near 220, which I think was about a quarter of a mile ago. Who puts the address only in the directory? This just reeks of organized crime."
So after following the north star and a worldly gal named Sacajewa, we made it to the store. I should mention that this mall is more than a target rich environment. There were plenty of girls to be in Hef's harem and quite a few Mrs. Robinson sightings. I remained focused, after all I could be rejected anywhere this mall was just not in the cards today.
Enter the Apple store. Some art deco freak opened a computer store and now everyone that shops there immediately thinks they are from Seattle and were the first to wear those rectangle beatnik framed glasses. Another sociological finding that pertains to the Apple community. If you are to work there it is unwritten law that you must be either bald or talk with permanently clogged sinuses. Ehhng, this is Joe sir. Yes you are wrong. Sorry that is Apple's policy, otherwise I would consider kissing your ass.
Now the set up of Apple stores are just like their on-line and phone support systems. It will take some serious effort and perseverance to actually talk to a human about your own needs. At Apple they would much prefer you to get confused, cry and go back to crawling in PCville.
After much deliberation on my purchase, I bought the card. Earlier in the day I was told it cost $19.95. When I got to the store, it cost $79.99. At one time I was on the phone with SBC about the DSL connection and what I needed to buy while knowing the $60 increase. Tom Brokaw calls it the fleecing of America, I call it the vasectomy of American. I bought it and left promptly before I heard Frodo's girlfriend say "come on, i-pods around."
I left the store, looked at my receipt and it said for support go to apple.com, no really don't try calling us. We have better things to do like mock the new XP upgrades. If I don't figure this machine out soon, I am sure Apple will order a code red on me. In the night there will be a Honda Pilot full of techies coming to commandeer my G5 and take it to a good home, one that knows how to use it.
Once I know how to be mac savvy, I am sure I will be one with the mini skirts and the techies. We can all sit in a park and listen to Beyonce's latest single on our i-pod and talk about how "fresh" her samples are of Tina Turner's archives
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