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Archive for September 2008

Talk Show Hosts Need A Good Ass Kickin’

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You have to realize there was a time in the world where people didn’t worship and idolize celebrities. A place where real people, average people, everyday real people could be role models. You have to remember. Please tell your kids to tell their kids, so that we never forget. 

In a small way, I think the “late night talk show” has destroyed the honor of celebrity in America. I can’t tell you how many of my favorite actors or musicians have fallen in my eyes and in my admiration after seeing them on one of these shows. You see an actor you like in movies, let’s say. You’re entertained by the character they play, so when they’re on ‘Late Night with Joe Blow’ you tune in kind of excited to see your star. I mean, you are a fan. Then he/she starts to talk and suddenly your smile turns upside down when you realize they’re a total schmuck, or a loony tune, or a psycho,  or a religious freak. Now it sucks, because it’s hard to go back to watch their movies knowing that they’re a worthless human who doesn’t deserve the luck they’ve received. It’s like seeing grandma naked, you just can’t get it out of your mind no matter how hard you try.

I really don’t know how the “talk show” came about. To me, the idea on paper sounds horrible. “Hey, let’s have a show where we have actors come on and sit in a chair and talk to somebody who sits behind a desk. The actor could use his/her appearancefor shameless advertising and the host could ask prearranged, preapproved questions that no one in the audience can relate to.” Brilliant.

“Hey Betty, tell us about your horse ranch in Montana.” I’ve never even been to Montana, you know? Plus, I couldn’t care less about the $500,000 thoroughbred you just bought. You just spent more money on a horse you ride once a year, than I’ll make my whole life. Hey wait, this is fascinating. Please Betty, tell me more. Tell me about your summer home in Paris, or the nine closets of designer shoes you have, all of which cost more than my car. Tell me where you get your hair done, or a hilarious inside joke with another rich, jetsetter friend that’s about as funny as the amount of money you get paid to read lines. My favorite though, is when Betty tells us how hard it is to be her. How a man tried to take her picture when she came out of the spa, or a fan asked for an autograph in the bathroom. Hey, Betty, I have panhandlers ask me for money at least once a week and I’m not rich nor that put out by it. Deal with it. They’re called humans and they’re everywhere. Have another drink to wash down the rest of those pills.

A desk? Give me a break. You’re not at work. You’re not the boss. Most hosts cower to the popular, famous guest. Sure, there’s been some moments here and there of conflict, but few and far between, almost forgotten. It wouldn’t make sense to be controversial. You need the “big names” to book your show so people will watch. It’s like Christmas morning with transparent boxes and gift wrapping, it’s not exciting when you can see right through it.

I’ve saved the best, (worst?) part for last. When you’re watching the show, regardless if it’s a commercial break to come back with the guest or the interview, (and I use that term lightly) is over, just as they cut away or the cameras zoom back, the host leans over for “private words” with the guest. WTF?!?! Are we not worthy of your off the cuff and probably only real conversation? Isn’t that the whole reason we tuned in to your show? To hear you people talk? What could they possibly be saying? It drives me crazy!

If I had to guess, it’s either something terrible perverted or it’s “I don’t have anything to say really, I just wanted to piss off Ramblin’ Rooster.”

Well congratulations late night talk show host. You’re doing a great job. God help you if you ever get out of your limousine in my neighborhood.

It’s probably just something perverted.

Egg On,

Ramblin’ Rooster

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September 30, 2008 at 3:24 am

My Final Concert

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Tonight I went to a rock concert, just got back in fact. I guess you could call it a rock concert, don’t know what else to call it. I think it will be the last one I’ll ever go to. Weird thing is, I had a pretty good time, but I got that feeling like, “I’m too old” and “I don’t really belong here”.

I’m in no way a connoisseur of shows or concerts. I’ve only been to a handful in my life and none of them featured legendary performers. So my views are limited and my experience leaves me little to draw from. Here’s a short list of the highlights from tonight’s gala. Again, a quick disclaimer. I’m sure there are millions, (literally) of you out there that have way more exciting and adventurous concert going stories than mine, but alas, this is my blog and this is not about, “I had the craziest time ever at a show”. If you’d like to leave me comments about some awesome, insane, ludicrous concert moments, I’d love to hear them.

1. “Doors open at 7”. It’s probably just me, but I like to know when the show starts. I hate standing around waiting for it to begin. I’m not interested in getting to the front row, I just want to get there a few minutes before the show starts and get into the music. “It’s all about the music, man!”

2. “No mention of an opening band on ticket”. I’m not real big on finding out the life stories of musicians I listen to, or the displaying of their posters/photographs. I also didn’t “research” the events of the show, (didn’t think I needed to). The opening band came out and it took me three songs to firmly decide that this was in fact an opening band and not the band I had paid to see. They weren’t very good, (at least to me) and I felt bored and disappointed that I was wasting my time with them.

3. “The REAL show finally starts”. Never fails, the crowd always congests for the main act. The crowd becomes thick, the bodies start to sweat, the bumping, kicking and pushing starts and for me it’s all I can do to remain calm. I’m somewhat against the “human contact” thing, especially strangers, sweaty ones in particular. The band I saw was very good though.

4. “The marijuana train pulls out of the station”. I don’t smoke pot, nor do I condemn it, but being surrounded by non-stop clouds does get a little tiresome after awhile. How much pot does one really have to smoke to ensure that nothing from this night will be retained? I’d guess nine pounds.

5. “Girl in front of me vomits”. We already have a very limited amount of space here and this girl decides to crouch down and vomit on the floor. Great.

6. “Couple start dancing through the vomit”. Nuff said…

7. “Fight breaks out”. A concert just wouldn’t be a concert unless a fight broke out. Nothing says peace, love and rockin’ out like tempers flying, testosterone rising and fists swinging.

8. “Concert is over. Hearing loss begins”. I love the gift of sound and hearing is a real, favorite hobby of mine. When I got out of the show, my ears were killing me. I felt like I was under water or just had a bomb go off beside my head. Then the headache sank in. I don’t support, “…turning it to eleven.”

BONUS – Here’s a tip: Never wear flip flops to a rock concert.

So I guess all in all its just depressing. I’ve become an old, crabby man and my life isn’t even half over.

On a lighter note, next weekend I’m going to Sunnyville Nursing Home to relax and play some dominos. Come out and join me if you’re in the area.

Egg On,

Ramblin’ Rooster

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September 29, 2008 at 5:02 am

How To Identify a Moron

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How to identify a moron? This might seem like an easy thing to do, but sometimes it’s similar to the dating experience. I person might start out pleasant and apparently in tune to their faculties, but after a while, “the leopard shows it’s spots”. I think some people can’t hide their faults or short comings, those people you get an instant vibe from. The moment you meet them you just know, “Nope.” If you were in possession of a forehead sized rubber stamp, you’d ink their face, “REJECT”.

To me, a telltale sign is if any person uses the phrase, “I KNOW ALL ABOUT yada-yada-yada”. This is beyond a red flag. This is a flag on fire, next to a highly flammable, open top, chemical tank, sitting upon a vacuum sealed glass case containing the world’s deadliest airborne virus. Get away fast!

First of all, the arrogance alone is overwhelming. Who could ever think they know “all about” something? They could be extremely knowledgeable, even a master of expert of such thing, but to think you couldn’t learn something new is a fate worse than dying. Never turn off your brain. Never turn away from learning. In fact, it’s when you think you can’t go any further with your mind that the real break threw happens. This usually comes from looking at it from a totally different perspective. Where do new perspectives come from? Other people are the easiest and fastest way.

Secondly, 90% of the time, the statement is a complete fabrication of the truth and the person who utters such nonsense doesn’t know everything about anything and very little in between. What inspires them to say such a binding and absolute death sentence? Ego. Those who lack physical beauty, personality, talent or charm most often go after the rewards of being smart. It’s no where near the shallow gratification of the others and can be rendered null and void in certain company. Some people couldn’t care less about intelligence, while others are put off by it because by demonstrating the slightest sign of brain power triggers the insecurity inside them, painfully reminding them of their own lack of mental ability. So be careful if you do choose this avenue as your flare to stand out from others and never say “I know all about…”

Thirdly, the phrase is meaningless. The conversation usually goes, “Do you know anything about blah-blah-blah?” “I know all about blah-blah-blah.” OK, great. The only reason the question was asked, was to find out if the REAL question was even worth asking. No cares if you know everything about it, they just want to know if you can help with the one problem they have encountered.

Finally, the opposing argument is that it’s just a figure of speech, a splash of sarcasm to brighten the day. If such is the case, then it’s even more annoying than before and I would reply that “@#$% OFF!” is also, just a phrase.

Egg On,

Ramblin’ Rooster

Written by Ramblin' Rooster

September 28, 2008 at 5:28 am

Songs With Singing Need Lyrics

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Since yesterday’s blog was about music, I thought I’d go ahead and follow today with a little bit of spill over/continuation. We won’t be revisiting yesterday’s blog, so if you didn’t read it, you don’t have to go back and read it first to understand today’s. (Although I’m not excusing you from reading yesterday’s blog, mind you!)

The only real correlation is that music is still the topic. So let’s begin, shall we? Great!

I like music. No, I love music, all kinds of music. I don’t think that anyone who truly appreciates music can answer the boring and tired question of, “What’s your favorite kind of music?” Someone who really appreciates music would have to answer either, “I don’t have one” or “I like all kinds of music”. I don’t care what kind of music you think you like or hate, if you can’t find one song from each genre, you haven’t heard enough songs.

Most of the time music is used to compliment your mood or situation. If you’re sad or feeling sorry for yourself, one doesn’t usually reach for speed metal, whereas if you’re cleaning your house you’re not likely to put on, “I cry myself to sleep”. I don’t know about you, but I have a lot of different moods and like the many flavors that life has to offer. I can’t eat pancakes every day for my entire life. To quote Mike McCormick’s mother, “…that’s why they made chocolate AND vanilla”.

I also like to hear things I have never heard and things that are like nothing I have ever heard before. As an American, usually anything foreign fills the bill on this one. Traditional music from other countries can be very hard for the “everyday listener” I know, but to me it’s always a wonderful treat to get to hear it. Even if it’s not true, it makes me feel cool and worldly when I hear ’60s Korean pop music or something that is “exotic”. It’s like an inside joke or a secret that you carry with you all day, all week, all month, etc. So I think I have a pretty good tolerance for music styles. I don’t judge singers for the vocal training or technique, just the soul they put behind it. Now I don’t mean it has to be gospel quality soul, just enough soul that you know they’re heart is 100% into it.

There is a time and a place, through creative perfection, that the lack of words being used while singing a melody seems fitting, but most of the time I hate it. I hate it because it sounds like the writer gave up on the establishment of the words. Is it that they couldn’t think of what to say, so they half-assed it, as though “La La De Da” would be fine and dandy? I guess one could argue that those are words, but then that would be all I needed to punch you clean in the mouth.

All I’m saying is that it isn’t that hard to write words. I hear songs all the time with horrible rhymes, lines and lyrics all the time. Sometimes it doesn’t even bother me. I don’t even mind when you can’t understand a single word the singer is singing, just as long as you know he/she is saying something.

Bottom line? I feel ripped off. I can’t write my blog: “Do Da De Do, Skeetely dum, Beetly boo, dosey de la ta de do, do rum be do” and get away with it. Or can I?

Tomorrows blog? Do Da De Do, Skeetely dum, Beetly boo, dosey de la ta de do, do rum be do.

Egg On,

Ramblin’ Rooster

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September 27, 2008 at 5:50 am

Honking Noise on CD/Radio Freaks Me Out

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It never fails, I fall for it every time I hear “traffic noises” mixed into a song I’m listening to while driving. It doesn’t matter if I’ve heard the song a thousand times or if I recorded it “back when the band was together, man”. There’s just some sounds that shouldn’t be allowed to be heard on a song. They include, but are not limited too: Honking, Sirens, Doppler Whoosh of a Speeding/Passing Car, Engine Starting/Revving, Heavy Trucks/Industrial Equipment, Low Rumbling, and Babies Crying, (yes I know, what would a baby be doing in the middle of the road? It’s not a confusing sound, I just hate crying babies).

You’d think with the world as disclaimer/sue happy as it is, there’d be a warning label forced upon CD’s that stated something like, “Warning! Track 8 has traffic noises associated with the song. Be aware that they are not real and please don’t drop your coffee and swerve into oncoming lanes and kill a bus full of crippled, homeless, nuns.” Hmmm, perhaps I just found my calling.

Why am I so naive or stupid to fall for this? It’s just a sound like any other. Maybe it’s because I don’t hear a lot of honking or sirens in my day to day driving. When I do, I’m usually able to witness it first hand or I am directly involved in a potentially violent, soon to be six o’clock news, road rage incident. My point being is that I usually don’t have sounds sneak up on me or come shooting out of nowhere while I’m driving. Most of the time, the interior of my car is like a piano bar or lizard lounge, reminiscent smells from the ’70s, cheap food and toothless women wearing wigs they found outside in the parking lot, i.e. it’s a pretty mellow scene. I don’t need to be cruising along, content and then “on the look out” for a piercing foreign sound approaching my shangri-la.

Who are the musicians that want this stuff on their albums? I wonder if they sit around the studio and say to the engineer, “Hey, throw some honking in there. That’ll freak ’em out!” or “This song is so beautiful, but it’s missing something… I know, a helicopter. Perfect!” I don’t remember the legends of classical music ever needing strange noises in their work. What’s that? They didn’t have cars and stuff back then? Yeah, OK, good point.

All I’m saying is, that instead of “Judas Priest made my kid commit suicide”, the next big law suit is gonna be “Radiohead made me crash my car!”

Be sure and call me if you need me to testify on your behalf.

Egg On,

Ramblin’ Rooster

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September 26, 2008 at 4:32 am

Why is Cheating Allowed for Spelling?

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My favorite book is the dictionary. I know, I know, I’m a dork, but I really can’t help it. The dictionary is a fascinating book. It’s a series of references that lead you through the book like a literal labyrinth. Look up one word, it tells you to see another word. Or you look up a word and the definition uses words you don’t know or aren’t quite sure what they mean so you go find those words. It’s linguistic solitaire. You’re right, maybe I should get out more.

Also, I find it interesting to read the true meaning of words. Definitions that are lost by the ignorance of today and constant misuse. Not to mention it’s fun finding words that are no longer used, things you might hear when watching a movie from the ’40s. Or words you just flat out have never heard, ever in your life.

I guess this does sound frightfully dull, but the truth of the matter is that words are very powerful. String together the right ones and you can cause a lot of damage in the conversation world. We’ve all had moments where, after the fact, we think of something we wished we would have said, but didn’t because the words didn’t come at the right time. That’s another oddity, people who can’t express themselves or their feelings. Not that the “greeting card” industry isn’t thankful, but still it’s sad to think of a person who has a brain and a heart, who’d like to share an inner thought or emotion, but can’t because it’s trapped.

The worst is when someone says something to you, most assuredly a task or errand/favor to do, and they verbalize their request, you repeat it to them, using their own words and the correct you followed by something along the lines of, “…you know what I mean.” No, actually I don’t, that’s why communication is so important. Has ‘Three’s Company’ taught us nothing about the follies of misunderstanding from miscommunication?

Having wasted your time with all of that, the real bizarre twist of the dictionary is that essentially it is the answer book to our language, yet everyone accepts it and treats it as a harmless book. Whether you’re taking a math quiz or completing a “love test” in a fashion magazine, the general rule of thumb is that looking up the answer is bad, (at least without trying to figure it out on your own first). My whole life, if I ever asked my parents or a teacher how to spell something, they immediately blurted out, “Look it up in the dictionary.” The dictionary is a wide spread, household accepted form of cheating that everyone condones. How’s that for awesome. Imagine if infidelity has the same graces… watch out now!

I sure hope I didn’t misspell anything…

Egg On,

Ramblin’ Rooster

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September 25, 2008 at 4:02 am

I’m the Only One Who Doesn’t Know I’m Going Bald

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There are a lot of fat and ugly people in the world. I think most of them work in my building. I guess that means I could be fat and ugly too. I’m not too fat, maybe a few pounds, but I’m working on it, (getting fatter mind you).

The whole beauty thing is pretty much pointless to debate. The subject is just too ambiguous and objective. Just like the saying, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” that’s a fact you can’t argue with. So no matter how beautiful I think I am or how ugly I feel, there will always be someone there to tell me the opposite, right? Tell me I’m beautiful… please?

How did the world get so involved with beauty? Surely everyone knows by now, that it’s a losing bet to put your money on beauty. It doesn’t last and in the broad spectrum of life and love it really doesn’t matter. The most beautiful person on the outside who’d kick puppies or drown kitties turns out to be quite ugly in the end.

“Beauty is on the inside.” “That’s just what ugly people say…” I wish I could remember what movie that’s from, because sadly, like most all Americanisms, the general public is so desensitized and numb from scandal and betrayal we just don’t care about right or wrong anymore. We as a society have been so strung out on “extreme” this and that or the latest, fabricated, reality non-sense that we’ve adjusted and accustomed ourselves to needing shock and awe just to get out of bed in the morning.

So it’s really no surprised that when it comes to “being deep” or “getting to the heart of the matter” that majority rules and as always, is completely void of reason, compassion or common sense. Yet, one could refer to me as a hypocrite, because I’m teetering on the threshold of vanity denial.

I’ve always been a pseudo hippie. Not into the “free love”, “tie-dye scene” or “patchoulioil baths”, but rather just mellow and wanna-be earthy. I always thought people who did unnecessary cosmetic alterations on themselves were “mindless robots” or “soulless zombies” wasting there money, lives and spirit. But am I becoming what I’ve always hated? Like a punk rocker buying a mini-van?!

Balding seems to be a topic of discussion brought up frequently among men who are leaving their teens and rocketing towards middle age. I was of the mind that if my hair fell out that I wouldn’t care. Now that the nightmare is becoming a daymare, I’ve found a new bond with hair that I never knew existed. I still refuse to apply “product” or wear “a piece”, so the only alternative left is denial and that’s where I’m at.

The debate over who you get your “hair genes” from is completely moot for me. Both of my grandfathers were bald. My mother and father are thinning. My brother is in trouble. My uncle is bald, bald. I have watched my widow’s peak get higher and higher over the years. It’s now starting to cross inwards towards the center of my head, creating a small little island of hair on top. I can feel a big difference between the top of my head and the back of my head, (in thickness/density). I’m trying to grow my hair out “one last time” and the top isn’t growing very much at all, while the back seems fine and dandy, so in essence I’m growing a natural mullet… The point is, the evidence is overwhelming, undeniable and literally staring me in the face, (if I’m looking into a mirror). Yet somehow I still have a small part of me that tries to convince myself, “You’re not going to be bald. It’s cool. Every thing’s gonna be hairy and fine.”

It’s sad and silly, but I do believe in the end I’ll come to terms with it, just like everything else in this crazy world.

In the mean time I’ve been experimenting with the comb-over and shopping around for colorful, designer pony tail holders.

Next blog: Why do balding men attempt the comb-over or grow pony tails? Don’t they know they’re bald? Losers…

Egg On,

Ramblin’ Rooster

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September 24, 2008 at 4:48 am