Listen uppish. You know I see some shows, right? It’s pretty much all I’ve got going on over here. But that’s not what’s important. The key thing is I recently saw Aziz Ansari. I even copped the marquee pic to prove it.
But don’t worry, I shot that from hip level so I wasn’t gotted, spotted and blotted for hackory. Whatever, in my old age my give-a-fuck-ometer seems to have a -3 preset. Plus, comics are rad. There ain’t nothing wrong with comedy dorkery. I just gotta keep telling myself that.
But back to the show. First off, there were absolutely zero steaks going on at the show. It seems Outback Steakhouse dropped the ball on this one. Then again, I suspect most people have the same feeling walking out an Outback Steakhouse.
But Aziz (Jesus, get to the story man) so Aziz shows up wearing a suittux, or whatever you call the men’s apparel that fits in the zone between a suit and tuxedo. He was total looking-good comedy guy. Now that I think about it, the Amex commercials are the only time I’ve seen him not in a suit. Proper.
And how does his Madison fan base repay him? With this of course:
Sorry about the crap image, I had to run a flash in a theatre. 100% dick-move. I took a picture of this mamajama, with a flash, while I was seated directly behind her, just so I could comment on her garb.
But really, stack it up:
Locomotive Bibs—I choo-choo-choose to bust on your fashion choices. They call me the conductor. These are probably her favorite things to wear, overall. I’m staying on the rails as a lazy train.
Swimsuit—I like a base layer that keeps the lake and river filth closer to my genitals. A bra and funderwear are totally acceptable for impromptu pool action if you don’t have a swimsuit, but this is not the symmetric property. Perhaps she had just finished her annual Madison hippie bath. I like to dress like a Counting Crows’ song.
Footwear: I never saw them but can only assume they went one of four way: tevas, birkenstocks, hiking boots or bare feet. Probably bare feet.
The number of people per capita making questionable fashion choices in Madison is astronomical. This is the word of omgawd.
Deuce:
Polica. I bought the vinyl. Really. I have nothing to play it on. I think this is my version of skinny pants.
Striples:
After the concert I went to Mickey’s because it’s close to my lair. And the word on the street was that the band was gonna be there. So many Manitou heads. Old connects. Good news is, 12 years after meeting him, I’m pretty sure Hurlbert is one of the most authentic dudes out there. Solid Gold for sure.
Check out the majesty of this image:
You see that drink on the left? That’s a Canadian Club on ice. The drink on the right? That belongs to the girl I spent my early 20s dating and hating and dating and hating and finally coming to terms with and becoming friends with. She’s getting married on June 2nd. I couldn’t be happier or more proud of her.
Sometimes I think these guys made everything okay for me when mom and pops vR were getting divorced. Things were scary then, I had no clue what I doing. I had no clue what I was supposed to say to my bothers. All I knew was that I was going to see the Hello, Nasty tour. That summer with my friends and going to that concert kinda saved my brain. I bet I listened to this track 500 times that summer.
But even before that, they were making it okay to be on the island of misfit toys. Fuck it, they were blazing their own trail, why shouldn’t everyone. Sure, they released some questionable tracks, but they released heater after heater after heater for every tepid track. It saddens me incredibly to see Adam Yauch pass on, but makes me feel better knowing he left a strong legacy.
Welcome back. Now we’re going talk about advertising. We’re going to cover two commercials. One I like, and another I find ridiculous and annoying. Let’s get to the goods first.
Ad #1
Here we have two things I typically don’t care for. American cars and Shaqnosis. And while this commercial hasn’t changed my mind about Buicks, I do think Shaq is a little bit more entertaining now. Break it down, this commercial starts off with the unexpected. “Shaq, size authority.” Not a certified title, but obvious and kinda out of step with the Buick persona. Then of course there is the usual car ad blah blah blah spoken by Shaq rather than the car-porn voice over guy. Then Shaq is in the car and essentially lays down some shit on all the Priustopedes and other hybridia.
Dang! Did you feel that? TOM SERVO. Shake hasn’t handed down that much dominance since Kazaam! (What up, Hattie!)
The ad could have ended right there and been 100% , but whatever the creative ends there, so fuck it. It’s a sensible ad and should grab the attention of a lot of people who probably have never noticed Buick before.
Ad #2
Watch this:
Okay, so there are only a few possible times when the question, “Is that rain?” makes sense:
• If you are a child who has lived a life sheltered from rain. Never having experienced precipitation, and only having heard the word “rain.”
• If you live in the desert. But if that’s the case, you tend to ask with a different inflection, “Is that…rain?”
• If you just woke up.
Let’s rule out the obvious. Zooey D has not lived a life sheltered from rain. Even though a quick image search couldn’t come up with a pic of her in the rain, I’m going to stand by thisassumption. To rule out the second option I draw your attention to the flowers and greenery outside of the window as well as the forecast projected on her iFone. She is not in a desert.
So maybe it’s morning. Fuck, it has to be. ZD is still wearing pajamas. This makes sense now, right?
Wrong? I want to order some tomato soup. Tomato soup for breakfast? I mean it’s morning and you’re in your pajamas and you’re gonna scarf some Tomato soup? Unlikely, mama. Mornings are for waffles or puffins or toast and free range, antibiotic and hormone free eggs. Tomato soup? You don’t want to take in that much sodium early in the morning. You trying to get bloated? You wanna live in those pajama pants forever? Is that what you want, Mama? NaCl?
But her excuse is that she doesn’t want to put on real shoes? I guess imaginary ones are totally fine.
If I were walking down the street and someone said, “Oh hey, there’s Zooey Deschanel.” I would think, ‘Damn, I want to see this.” However if somebody said “Hey there’s Zooey Deschanel, putting on imaginary shoes,” I would think, “Of course she is. She’s quirky. Oh hey, there’s Bagger Vance.” I should also admit this is Madison and public quirkiness hardly even phazers-to-stuns me anymore.
Up next ZD opts to put off cleaning her house. Let’s assume she slept late. Maybe it’s 10:30 in the morning. And she is already putting things off. At least pretend you are going to take care of it until like 6pm. Then you can put it off. The ante meridiem ambition lack is not a good look. With zero drive, how are you going to quirk it out.
Lastly, dancing to Shake Rattle and Roll. That’s the forwarding thinking, Apple ingenuity we’ve come to respect. Whatever it’s still better than the Rock God ad.
If you add up all the elements of this commercial, you might start to think ZD is kind of an apathetic person. Compare this to Samuel Jackson’s iphone ad. His makes sense. His is about getting some ass, and hers is about being a shitless layabout.
I’m just going to assume this is the greatest compilation album ever put together. I lent it to a grrrl from the suburbs of Minneapolis and never got it back. Thus, I am anti-suburbanite.
The best part was that it had this jam on it.
AWOL One’s sleepy voice much blew my mind, and then you add in the crispness that is Abstract Rude. It was summer and winter. In space it’s always all night. It was just awesome. So mega, even today.
If you’re like me, and I don’t think many of you are, you’ve been on thesenetz for a long ass time. And you’ve probably rolled through a few different email addresses? Shit, I think the only thing that has changed more in the past 15 years has been my physical address. That is just part of being on the run from the law. My only crimes: Crushing dreams and breaking hearts.
But, I’ve tried to remember some of my finer email addresses. Today I’m gonna give you some of my faves:
• jizmak_junior@hotmail.com
• Bowiefan69@yahoo.com
• greg@lowcountrystuds.com
• gmail@msn.com
• info@altavista.net (So much junk mail. I also passed on so much misleading information from this one)
• at-at@mac.com
• lionkingfan96@nambla.org
• jon54@aol.com (Still use this one when i have to sign up for some enetz crap)
• straitAs@goddard.edu (Classic Goddard!)
• 4700@wisc.edu
• arielsBF@next.co.uk (no really, I was dating a mamajama named Ariel)
• fuckyoupayme@beenz.com
• thisonlyworksifyoutypethisshitincooperblack@cnet.net
I don’t know which of these are still up and running. Feel free shoot a message to any of them, but know that I’m not checking them. I threw those keys out long ago.
Grinding pretty heavily in the office today. Doing what’s really rad about my job. It’s a stressor, but rad for sure. Anyway this is how I’m getting over the Wednesday hump:
And I watched this last night:
And that was crazy. But good. Watch it. Get Weird. Get deep.
I’m not a writer. I mean, sure I type words and make marks with pens and pencils, but I’m more of an ideas man. It’s only because of my crippling lisp that I have to use words to communicate my genius. Thus, I am a writer, not a lecturer. And as a writer I have become accustomed to the ever-popular “rejection.” Both from ladies and literary outlets.
Today, I present you with my latest idea, communicated through words, that has been rejected from the pages of Real Simple magazine
Dear Real Simple Editors:
It’s been a while, eh chums? Before I progress with my surefire piece, I must apologize for the balloons filled with duck urine. It seemed like harmless prank at the time. And who could have predicted they would burst? On your new couch made of popsicle sticks and collected cat hair no less. If any amount of money could replace such a one-of-a-kind item I would certainly offer it.
But, on to more pressing matters. Below you will find easy-to-follow instructions for the creation of an Oddities Museum at home. I’m sure your readers will love it!
Fill a Mason jar with formaldehyde, add a pair of Oakley Blades. Label this “Abe Lincoln’s Sunnies!”
Fill a Mason jar with formaldehyde, add all of the fortune cookie fortunes you have collected from that take-out place around the corner over the past six months. Label this “Chinese New Year.”
Hang a picture of your father before he turned to drug use to escape the horrors that were his life. In this picture he is playing flag football. You suspect he might be in fourth or fifth grade. The frame is cheaply made of plastic. Label this “Lil Superstar.”*
Fill a Mason jar with formaldehyde, add Lo Pan. Label this “Lo Pan.”
Fill a Mason jar with formaldehyde, add a baby (a doll would work here as well). Label this “Dubstep.”
Fill a Mason jar will with formaldehyde, and add Zooey Deschanel. Label this “The Shittiest Version of the 1960’s We Could Come Up With in the Early 2000s.”
Fill a Mason jar with formaldehyde, add A VHS tape of Dances With Wolves that has been taped over to record the 1992 Grammy Awards pre-show. (TimeSavers Tip!™: You needn’t really tape over this Kevin Costner classic, you can just say you did. No one actually has a VCR with which to prove you wrong anyway. Real museums use this technique all the time with things like dinosaurs). Label this “American History.”
Fill a Mason jar with formaldehyde, add a man riding a bike with no hands. But you need to be sure the man has no hands. I mean, that’s what makes it the oddity. Label this: “Blood Sport.”
Fill a mason jar with formaldehyde. Label this “Kombucha, essentially.”
Fill a mason jar with formaldehyde, add a shark. Label this “The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living: the remix.”
* This piece is on loan from your grandmother.
Thanks guys. Please be sure to let me know when you’re publishing this one. I’m smelling Pulitzer!
We’re gonna start off with some music, because much like bread music is the foundation for everything. It keeps us all together. Especially the raps music, right?
Crunchy Peanut Butter:
This car was parked outside of my office. I’m pretty sure this is not an Apple licensed product. I’m also pretty sure this was a DIY project. Probably found in the tech issue of Real Simple magazine. Right next to the instructions on how to make your own Oddities Museum*.
Honey:
I copped this from Boardistan. It’s pretty rad. He said it was the best way you could spend 12 minutes. He might be right. Plus, it’s that dude from Oasis so moefaniel is gonna be stoked.
Marshmallow Fluff:
Could this be the Amberlamps? Because I don’t think it’s a real ambulance. I will support my argument with these points
A: Civilian Plates. 2: Given the prefix “Para-“ can mean “closely related” or “almost,” and it’s paired with “tech,” we are looking at an, “almost practical application of knowledge in a particular area.” That sounds safe. BRNZ: “…help is on the way.” No MFer. By the time someone can read that, help has already been there. Also, that ellipsis? What is being omitted? Fin: That is the shittiest Caduceus ever.
Another Slice of White Bread Because This Aint Open Faced:
The Packers are a sprots team. They play the sprot of football americano. This dude is mega-star on the team and here we have a quick clip of his kickflippery. It’s pretty clear that at some point in his life #52 has been on a deck, but now he’s awkward on one and that’s somewhat funny. You know what’s even funnier than that? Right at the :06 mark you can see he really, REALLY wants to skate it Mongo.
And a Bag of Chips:
Can we just stop now with all the Tupac’s Hologram jokes? That took less than a week to turn to shit.
*Please look forward to the Real Simple article on making your own Oddities Museum later this week.