I love the Christmas season, but not the hours associated with it. Thankfully, the worst is over; I put in fourteen hours on Black Friday and about ten on Saturday. I've done this for ten years now, so it is mostly routine, but one thing that never fails to amaze me every year is the volume of people who are willing to sit in the cold for hours on end just to save a few extra bucks on that television or other item they had their eyes on all year.

Now I'm no anti-consumerist; hell, I definitely own more than my fair share of shit, especially in electronics and DVDs. I even like to save money, so I look for deals whenever I can. But really, even 8 am on the day after Thanksgiving is a little early for me to think about buying Christmas gifts for people, let alone anything for myself. We opened at 5, and even then we weren't the first; Kohl's was open at 4 and Eden Prairie Center opened at fucking one o'clock in the morning. Outrageous. If there is any silver lining in this madness, these are the things that come to mind first: the extended hours I am required to work will 1) allow me extra funds for Christmas gifts and 2) allow me to watch Law and Order: SVU without the interruption of going home and cueing up the TiVo to the proper spot. Until then though, my free time will be in short supply (sorry, Alyssa) and I may be cranky during those times (sorry, everyone else).

Despite all this though, I still love Christmas. Preemptive happy holidays, everyone.

now playing on iPod: Chad Hollister "Spirit's Waters"

Labels: christmas, gdhu, GOTW, media, personal, work

now playing on iTunes: PMB "Can't Miss What You Never Had"

Labels: GOTW, personal, site, tech

It's been a long time since I put anything new in this section. So, here it is, a list of crap I couldn't tolerate even if I were able to magically transform them all into a scantily clad Halle Berry:

• When movies are described in trailers as being "a tour de force" or "[lame movie] meets [lame movie]".
• These assholes in the huge pickup trucks and SUV's who insist on not paying attention to the road.
• Similar assholes whose vehicles were paid for by Daddy's mistress/secretary who choose to show off their asshole tendencies by being extremely irresponsible with their rides.
• Daytime TV and the lowbrow commercials that air during them. Speaking of which, have you seen this "Starting Over" show?? My God, that is a brilliant piece of marketing work. By which I mean, they have really nailed their demographic: middle-aged housewives and unemployable pregnant high school dropouts whose only thoughts are of themselves. Bullet point #1 from the network suits was to make sure to fill the national ad slots with commercials for baby products and snack foods that are easily eaten while sitting on your ass, and then the local stations fill their ad time with spots for various "colleges" offering programs in data entry and massage technique. Then you get to sit through the actual program which features women that are on the show because they exemplify said demographic and listen to their sob stories. "Boo hoo, life is hard." Yes it is. And you know what? DEAL WITH IT. I put my pen on the same dotted line as the rest of you cats did, and my life contract said nothing about it being easy. So shut the hell up and move on.
• The inundation of "Friends" crap. What, is the show ending? Good riddance.
• 93X and everything it stands for. Remy Maxwell, EAT A DICK. I am so sick of hearing you ramble about how Metallica is so awesome and how great the new single from [insert pussified 'rock' band here] is. And get this through your thick skull: Alice in Chains is NOT an influential band at all, let alone one of the most influential of the 1990's.
• Isn't it just about time that all this NASCAR shit blew over? Why in the hell is this even popular in the first place? "Ooh, I better take Sunday off from the tire store so I can sit on my ass and WATCH FUCKING CARS DRIVE AROUND." Seriously! Why? And these cats that walk around wearing their officially licensed pit crew jackets that probably deprived their many illegitimate toddlers of their formula, you guys seriously need to rethink that. When you see some cat wearing a nylon coat promoting Mr. Goodwrench and an adjustable black hat with flames in it, it's a sure bet that he's heading out later to pick up a carton of smokes and a case of PBR, and then settling in for a long night of beating the girlfriend.
• Speaking of nylon coats... BURN THEM ALL. The days of the husband-and-wife duo sporting matching purple towing company jackets should be long gone. In fact, these went out with the mullet and the ducktail, which I regrettably sported as recently as 1991.
• While we're at it, let's fence off the state of Wisconsin. It'll keep the riffraff out.
• iPod pretenders. I'm talking about the Nomad Jukebox, RCA's weak-ass Lyra, Dell's POS and the Rio Karma. By the way, did anyone else notice that Rio came out with a small sticklike MP3 player and named it the "Chiba"? I'm waiting for the Ganja to be released. Or they could be unpretentions and just call the next one the "Cannibus" or "Marijuana". Rio Marijuana. That, as Tommy Chong would say, is some bad-ass weed.

That pretty much sums 'er up. I'm sick of being pissed off tonight.

Labels: GOTW

Hey! So um, I have a question. What exactly is with the 763 area code?

OK. Perhaps I'm starting off too quickly, so let me bring you up to speed with the train of thought currently revolving in my head. Instead, I'll lead off with this: have you recently dined in to Pizza Hut rather than taking a delivery? If you're like any other free-thinking responsible American citizen, your answer would be "Of course not." But if you reside in one of the many fine trailer parks across this great nation, or in a certain fourth-tier suburban hellhole currently known as "763" you are planning to go soon, if you haven't already. Most likely it will happen after you see a Whitesnake cover band perform at a dive of a club. It's all part of the influx of trashy people taking part in activities/hobbies/events that were wildly popular with the social elite of the 1980's. Or, as I call them, "activities/hobbies/events that were wildly popular with the social elite of the 1980's." Think about it: I remember when I was a child, I had this Land Before Time movie with a commercial for Pizza Hut, circa 1986. It showed happy kids having a crazy birthday party amid pizza, and all the mini-preps all gussied up with bowties and cardigan sweaters and party dresses with little ruffles in them. When in the hell is the last time you saw that happen? For me, that never happened, although in 1986 my parents did play host for my birthday party at a fastfood establishment that will remain nameless. Then, several months ago, my dad, my brother and I all got the hankering for some pizza. And seeing that a Pizza Hut was in the vicinity, we stopped in, and it was like being instantly transported to an interior set of "The Breakfast Club". Guns n' Roses spewed like so much vomit from the speaker system in the dining room and in the corner were dusty arcade games of Double Dragon and Bart vs the World. (No, I'm NOT exaggerating.) Anyhoo, as it worked out, we ate and quickly left, just in time to see three shitbox trucks pull up and about 10 of the most blatant mullets you ever saw in your life walk in.

A few other examples of the 1980's resurgence in mullet culture, if you will, are the Nissan 300ZX and monster trucks. Outmoded sports cars, though, seem to be reserved for 80's celebrities. Case in point: A feature in Car Stereo Review's Mobile Entertainment magazine has a feature called "Artist Driven" where they catch up with some of the hottest musical acts of the day, ask them what cars and audio gear they sport, how they feel about industry trends, etc. One issue a few months back had snippets from N.E.R.D., Jay-Z, Chad from Nickelback, and a few other notables, all having cars with a model year of 2000 or newer and at least a $75,000 price tag. That is, except for a member of the band Motley Crue, who owned a 1987 300ZX, "rebuilt at 100,000 miles." May God strike me dead if this isn't true. Monster trucks and other events that involve two or more wheels attached to a motor seem to be more widespread in terms of the audience. For example, here are three things that are widely associated with mullets, hicks and trashy people in general: NASCAR and other motorsports, top-40 rock/metal and pro wrestling. Set aside from each other, nothing seems odd about them. But here's what ties them together: THEY ALL GOT POPULAR AGAIN AT THE SAME TIME! Not coincidentally, this is also when it was "fashionable" for one to sport a mullet, or purchase and eventually wear a hat with flames sewn into it, or drive around shirtless in a big truck, quite possibly with straw hanging out of the mouth while the wretched sound of Guns n' Roses pours out of their factory 2 speaker cassette deck. And when he drives by, take a good look at him, because chances are good you will recognize him working in one of our country's many fine positions in the service industry. Speaking of which, at a lot of the bars and clubs in first- and second-tier suburbs they now, usually on Sunday or Monday night, have "service-workers night," or as it's known to the responsible portion of the nation, "the night of the week in which the only available baby sitter currently resides in the nether regions of Hell" because this is when the single-mom waitresses of the world leave their kids at home to go seek out more pregnancies from men they will no doubt never hear from again. We REALLY need to stop with this. And another thing: why, whenever a national tragedy takes place, does there have to be an onslaught of personal identification with said tragedy? Yes, it's necessary to talk about things but it isn't necessary to have a personal story to attach to it. Because that is another thing trashy people like to do: make it all about them. Case in point: 9/11. Leading up to the anniversary date Yahoo! allowed any, ahem, yahoo with a dialup modem to put up a tile commemorating the ghastly events of that day, and by the 12th half of the tiles resembled this: "I was in so and so place when I heard about it and I thought about it and blah blah me me me..." That's great. Has it occurred to anyone that this might be one of the reasons other countries hate us so much? We (meaning the entire USA including me) are so self-absorbed and almost cocky about where we stand that it drives other people to hate us. And coming back to the internet and dialup modems... you can listen to Bush tell you that the "digital divide" coincides with the poverty line. That's bullshit, friend. The real digital divide is dialup vs. broadband. You can tell by the way the two are used. Broadband is used usually by computer geeks playing Age of Empires online, or junior and senior high kids doing homework and instant-messaging their friends. Dialup on the other hand is commonly used for checking on your favorite soap opera, or playing games on the MSN Zone for hours on end, or to check on what "the stars" are doing. This is a common tagline used on webpages that draws trashy people to visit, using the aforementioned method of personal attachment. "What are the stars....." Who the fuck cares? Honestly? Is your life really greatly enhanced by the fact that some actress with the IQ of a rotten banana just happens to endorse the mascara you use, or own the same mobile phone as you? Another thing that just bugs me to no end about trashy people is their constant need for bragging and exaggeration. "Yeah man, I bought this 50" Mitsubishi HDTV. It's gonna be awesome playing Smackdown on this tonight, especially with the thirteen-speaker surround sound I'm running." Oh really. Where are you setting your set up, the Showplace 16? "But I have three subs too!" Okay then. Whatever you have to say to not seem sad.

I have to stop here or I'll go on forever. So, in closing I just want to say that trashy people suck. I hope the theories presented here help support that. And in the immortal words of the Spice Girls, "if ya wanna be my lover, ya gotta get with my friends...'

Labels: GOTW

• Fritos are actually processed cow turds.
• The cast of Friends will, sadly, NOT "be there for you".
• Walter Cronkite once managed the New York Mets to the NL pennant based solely on the advice of his toupee.
• George Carlin is the funniest man alive... until I kill him.
• AOL/Time Warner killed my bunny!
• Matt Lawton is the coolest Cleveland Indian ever.
• I learned Spanish in my sleep by playing Bob Goulet records backwards at 78 speed.

Labels: GOTW

Has anyone ever asked you what the hell the deal was with "rock" music? Well, jerkstore, now you have. Now, before I move on, I have to clarify my views of the difference between rock and "rock". Rock music consists of groups like Led Zeppelin. The aforementioned band probably did more to influence modern pop music than the Beatles, Elvis and Lawrence Welk combined. These are groups of talented musicians who, finding that the airwaves of their era were sorely lacking something special and original, came up with that fresh original sound through a long creative process and eventually would perform as one of the most consistent acts in music up until that point. Rock wasn't just meant to be an alternative to Rupert Holmes, Christopher Cross and the other cookie-cutter commercial pop artists that you can hear right now in Lite FM 102.9, it was more an expression of feeling and creativity that rivals that of any book, or painting, or any other outlet of artistic value. It wasn't meant to shock, though it sometimes did, it was just something different for Joe Six-pack to relate to. By about 1982, this began to change. With the advent of bands like Kiss, the monstrosity known as glam rock became popular among teenage fans, mostly to piss off their parents. It also transformed into power ballads and love rockers, thanks to hordes of Eighties children groping for higher ranks of highschool social status that needed something to listen to with their boyfriends/girlfriends while cruisin' in their Trans Am. This gave birth to bands such as Guns n' Roses, Whitesnake, Motley Crue and Poison. All these bands are easily recognized by their leather jackets, makeup and pussified lead singers who sported a female birth name half the time. This is how "rock" began. As the Eighties subsided and gave way to the Nineties, all these social high-climbers one by one took residence in one of America's fine trailer parks and kept in touch with their teenage roots by listening to their power ballads. And new bands started to come on the scene, bands such as Korn and Nirvana. These "rock" (also known as crap-rock, suck-rock and wuss-rock) bands usually started in a suburban garage occupied by four or five talentless losers who discovered they could sort of play along with their Metallica cassette if they played quiet so no one could hear how bad they were. And for some odd reason, people actually wanted to hear crap like that, so Korn and Nirvana got signed to major labels and then copycats start popping up all over.

Fast forward to 2002: It has become a fact of like in most large metro areas that there are 3 top-40 stations. The Twin Cities are no exception. We have the urban top 40 (B96) traditional top 40 (KDWB) and rock top 40 (93X). And for those of you who are nervously saying "Hey wait! You forgot about country top 40!".... I just want to remind you that I am talking about music, NOT country. Anyhoo, the three stations are all similar in some respects. Those being 1) they have a set playlist formed by the record companies and Billboard charts, with few deviations, 2) they have selected a few "classic" songs that they will play at least once a day to dispel the myth that they don't play older music, and 3) they all suck. The one thing that separates your rock top 40 station from the rest is this: ALL THE SHIT SOUNDS THE SAME!!! From "Welcome to the Jungle" to Limp Bizkit to P.O.D. to Nickelback it's all the same commercialized slop regenerated to sell more records to disillusioned teenagers and trailer-dwellers that think all rock is cool. Hey guy, what exactly do you like about rock? "Uh, it like.... rocks. Dude." Point taken. Shut up and go back to school. And quit bangin' your sister.

Labels: GOTW

• A guy wearing a cowboy hat and a Cris Carter jersey whose name isn't Red McCombs
• Anyone who frequently calls someone else "bud", "pal", or "shooter"
• A college student in a Lexus
• People who think walking is legitimate exercise
• A car salesman who takes the bus to work
• That Remy Maxwell guy on 93X
• Allan H. "Bud" Selig
• A guy holding this sign: "Will Drop Pants for Fun"

Labels: GOTW

Guess what! I slacked off for a month again. And to make up for it, here are several mini-gripes:

1) Ticketmaster. Here is big-business scamming and lackey-ism at its best. Now, just for hypothetical purposes, let's assume that brick-and-mortar companies don't serve their customers as well as they would like to. All of a sudden... la-la-la... here comes the internet trudging down the path of geek pseudo-notoriety. Wee Willie McBusinessowner hears about this "internet" in a board meeting surrounded by frappuccinos and quarterly net-profit projections. Suddenly WW McB says "By Jove! This Internet can help us serve our customers better! And where the hell is my secretary with my vodka?" I believe the board meeting in Ticketmaster's front office went a tad differently. Because it's painfully obvious from their over-the-phone operation that they don't care about the consumer, I think they set out to create the most befuddling, angering and confusing website ever, combined with the order processing's more-notable-than-average pokiness best compared with the decomposition of Michael Jackson's nose. The reason I am so pissed at Ticketmaster is, on March 7th I had a simple mission set for myself: get 2 tickets to the John Mayer show (April 16th). I cruised through the listing for all available venues since 1957 up to June, and lo and behold the Twin Cities show link read "tickets still available". Good, I think to myself as I begin the lengthy process to order 2 tickets. Guess what happened? They couldn't process my order because there weren't enough seats to process my request. Now, with my interest piqued, I tried to place an order for just one seat. Again, unable to process my request. Let's see, no seats available..... that means SOLD OUT, right? Not according to the website. So, with quiet resignation building inside me, I instead ordered 2 seats for the Five for Fighting show 2 nights later. Order went off without a hitch... except they forgot to tell me an important detail: when I was going to get the tickets. So I waited patiently for 5 days, then checked back on the website to see if they had a date for me. Nope, the website said. So I called the hotline and explained my situation to the customer disservice rep on duty, at which point he told me: "If you don't get your tickets in 5-10 days give us a call back." Now notably steamed, I went back to the website to check again. This time I notice they haven't even been printed yet! Of course they had charged my check card already, but nothing on their end to actually tell me the order was going through. So I did what the CSR told me: I waited for 10 more business days. Then I called again. "Well it looks like your card has been charged for the balance," the CSR that was probably officially titled Proclaimer of the Obvious told me, "so if you don't get your tickets 48 hours before the show, call us again." WHAT???? Remember, by this time it's already March 30th. So while I sat fuming away at the dumbasses at Ticketmaster, they finally decided it would be a good idea to process the tickets, run them through the ol' printer and shoot me off an e-mail essentially saying "Your tickets have been printed! Thanks for being ass-raped by Ticketmaster." Semi-relieved that I actually have seats to the show, all I have to do now is sweat out the U.S. mail. And finally, on April 3rd, an envelope with my name on it appeared in my mailbox and as I opened it, I discovered it contained.... anthrax!! Ha ha, no. But it did contain, almost a full month after i ordered and paid for them, my tickets. So, I guess what I am trying to say is, could this be executed quicker next time, since the basic intention of the internet e-business is to be convenient for the consumer? In my mind echoes a resounding "Yes!' while your response probably is a stifling yawn and a double-click to check out MTV Online. In the Ticketmaster boardroom, however, the reaction is a round of high-fives followed by the president of the company exploding aftet opening yet another mailbomb from a disgruntled customer.

2) Recent female highschool graduates that come out to the mall with their 2 or 3 year old kid(s) anywhere from 10:00am to 3:00pm on a weekday to shop at Payless or Spencer's or Mervyn's or god knows where else. I have seven words of advice for you shiftless bitches: close your legs and get a job.

3) The Eagles. Don Henley: "Hey Glenn, I have a killer idea." Glenn Frey: "What's that? Take this big dildo out of my ass?" Henley: "Well that too, but I was thinking that we should fire Don Felder..." Frey: "You mean the only one of us that can actually play a guitar?" Henley: "Yes! Then we record an album and tour. All without Don Felder, the Eagle who has talent." Frey: "You're right! That IS a killer idea!" Henley: "I know, dude! This is exactly the boost I need, since 'Inside Job' only sold 27 copies." Frey: "Me too. The last hit I had was the one I recorded for that Eddie Murphy movie where he was a cop in Beverly Hills..." Henley: "You mean Shrek?"

Labels: GOTW

Well, I don't know if you heard, but apparently there's this thing called the "internet" on computers nowadays. And one of the hottest things on this "internet" is the so-called "chat room". (Don't look at me. I'm still getting used to my "electricity", "napkin" and "toothbrush".) Also, apparently, one of the cool things to do in a chat room is be a teenager that has had the life-changing experience of meeting a quasi-celebrity. And if you haven't, just like, pretend you have. From personal viewing experience, this accounts for roughly 97.3% of chance celeb-meetings by teenagers. Take this fabricated, yet true to form and function, chat room with a teen bragging about his/her encounter:

PuNkRaWkChIc1986 : WHO LIKES BLINK IN HERE
harddude_42069 : n-e girls in here from ne press 69
bootylicious_bbw : a/s/l check 14/f/IA
linkinparkrulez2004 : Ya KnoW i MeT fRed FrOM LImP aT a cONcErT
kylie_gurl_cleerleader : Hugggggsssssssssssss Julie!!!! MuAh!!!!
FredIsMyHero4Ever : really?.... whats he like
jessie_is_wet_2169 : FREE hardcore TEEN PORN!!!!!!! http://www.wetteensluts.co.uk
cheerslut_julie : HUGGGZZZZZZZZZZ KYLIE ;)
linkinparkrulez2004 : Oh hEs KeWl
hardcore_boardin_stud16 needs a cigarette

Whenever something like this is said, I feel a knife implanted in my chest. Metaphorically, of course. I hope that if I ever become famous, and I meet somebody, they'll come away with more of an impression than "Oh, he's cool." Unless they mean it sarcastically. I mean this is a known fact: meeting a celebrity, or Malcolm-Jamal Warner, while most likely not a a life-changing experience, will at least leave you with something to remember other than a bland overused word to describe their persona. So where does the memory go for these teens? The answer is quite simple: THE SHIT NEVER HAPPENED!!!!! It is as fabricated as that 14-year-old girl who is 5'10" and has the huge rack. Or the guy who owns a Civic CRX with 700 horsepower that tops out at 190 mph which, by the way, he discovered when he was outrunning the cops after he was busted with 40 pounds of weed while banging his sister's cousin's mom's bisexual girlfriend along with his girlfriend and Jessica Alba. Translation for the 2 above scenarios: 1) the girl lives in rural Missouri and listens to a lot of D12 and Faith Hill; 2) this guy is 13 and has seen his 41 gigabyte AVI pirate copy of Gone in 60 Seconds too many times after whacking off to the Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen official website. As for the chat scenario, linkinparkrulez2004 is angry at her parents because her friend Sheila has a car and she can't even drive, she listens to the local top-40-rock station when she is depressed (which is pretty much all the time, because as we all know, teenagers have so much to be depressed about) and she has never been to a concert in her life, although she did once watch MTV and they showed a picture of Fred from Limp Bizkit, and he looked cute or "hot". And then she thought that someone might actually give a flying fuck as to whether or not she actually met this fool, or she wanted to make herself feel important, so she made up this absurd, atrocious lie that threatens to unravel the stitching that holds together the fragile fabric of this great society. So with that, I offer these great words of advice to the patrons of the chatrooms out there: log off of your WebTV and either actually leave your trailer for a while, or just turn on the WWF or Springer or whatever it is you kids watch nowadays. As for me, I'm going to regale my friends of the time I met Dave Matthews....

Labels: GOTW

As I sit at my computer and type this, I realize that the calendar has turned for a full six months since my last attempt at posting anything for the Gripe O' the Week/ And for that, I'm truly sorry. Actually I'm not as much sorry as I am indifferent, but since it has been a while, and my computer is working properly again, and Elizabeth's all pissed off, I figured it was high time to "get back at it," as I might say if I were a 40-year-old motivational speaker. So, without further ado, let me present to you...

Gripe O' the Week 2002: What the hell happened to McDonald's?

That's right, you heard me: This venerable fast-food chain, which used to be a benchmark of Americana, is firmly implanted in the shitter. The McDonald's that I remember from my youth had tasty food that, if you ordered a Happy Meal, came in a cardboard box with those highly innovative Golden Arch handles, and included a little bag of Legos or those ridiculous plastic McNuggets with the faces. I also seem to recall the food actually being cooked. A novel idea yes, but it worked surprisingly well. In my opinion, the whole demise of McD's began when they got rid of the McBLT and those Styrofoam containers that they and the other messy sandwiches came in. Remember those? They had that huge controversy over whether they should use them, and then after they tried the Styrofoam recycling gigs that didn't work, they just phased them out. That was the beginning of the end. Then they decided that cardboard sucked too, so they started putting the Happy Meals in PAPER BAGS. What the hell is the fun in a paper bag? None, besides scaring the crap out of the guy with the really loud pacemaker sitting across from you eating his quasi-fish sandwich. I mean those boxes, if you got a Hot Wheels Happy Meal, they had little pop-out sections so you could make ramps and other crazy shit to you know, distract you from eating. Now these bags, they're just a big ad for whatever animated Disney movie is in theatrical release, and they spout useless factoids that are completely inappropriate for the demographic. "Did you know the average yearly rainfall in Zimbabwe is 412 centimeters?" Who gives a shit? Certainly not me, and most definitely not the kid stuffing that half-cooked cheeseburger in his mouth. And speaking of cheeseburgers, when in the hell did they turn into big pieces of shit? The McDonald's cheeseburger used to be a 50-cent work of art, the cheese melted appetizingly across the burger and just the right amount of condiments. Now it seems like no one cares about the finished product: the meat is heated to a lukewarm temperature, a slice of what I assume is dog crap dyed yellow is put on top and ketchup and mustard are carelessly piled on, topped off by soggy flavorless pickles that are best compared to old mushrooms. Since this chain is a multibillion-dollar industry, I'm guessing that there is still a large faction of the population that will fork over the buck and a half (or whatever the hell it is now), pick up this affront to fastfood, and mutter "Sweet" to themselves shortly before cramming the entire thing into their salivating, dumber-than-normal mouths. Not me though. Personally, I like food that is supposed to be hot, hot. And call me crazy, but I also like a low gross-out level on my food. You know, where smelling and/or looking at it won't make you vomit. That's usually a plus. I guess what I'm trying to say is even though McDonald's was never exactly a trendsetter in quality or service or cleanliness, at least they used to be passable. But now they seem to have dug themselves into an inescapable trench of unacceptability, one where the public, being who they are, blindly hand over hundreds of millions of dollars to a corporation that thrives on making eating a meal a substandard activity. And until this travesty is rectified, the rural youth of America will have no choice but to hang out at Taco John's after cruisin' Main Street. And that is a travesty in and of itself.

Labels: GOTW

...inspired *N Sync action figures?
...caused Matt LeBlanc to be popular?
...were WB execs thinking when they greenlighted that "Reba" show?
...makes it possible for suck-rock bands like System of a Down to snag record contracts?
...is Matt Lawton doing playing for Cleveland?
...does teen angst have to do with anything associated with reality?
...is the most popular movie among teens right this second? (Hint: go too a chatroom and look at half the screennames in the chatters list. My bet's on "The Fast and the Furious." See how many misspellings you can count, and Uncle Ehren will give you a lollypop!)
...was I doing for 6 months while my page was rotting in the proverbial black hole?
...was the motivation behind Cosmopolitan-branded scrunchies?
...allowed me to actually use the word "scrunchies"?

Labels: GOTW

Hey kids! This week I am doing 2 mini-gripes on subjects that have distressed me in the last 2 weeks. So strap yourselves in...

1) MSN Hotmail. I know what you're thinking: How can I complain about something that's of no charge to me? Well I say very easily. And here is why: Since 1999 Hotmail has redesigned itself about 3 times. The first 2 I can understand; the first time it was for ease-of-use features and uniformity purposes and the second time to integrate with the emerging MSN.com portal. This last change though, makes no sense whatsoever and the only thing it succeeds in doing is pissing me off daily. Some of the "niceties" as introduced to me by MSN's email to me (as if I couldn't see for myself already) included a sidebar that indicated all my mail folders, and highlighted bars indicating new or selected messages. Those being the only 2 operating differences. The rest of it is cosmetic and asinine, as the graphics- and content-laden pages slow down my connection and system. I'm sure the new Hotmail look was tailored for users with high speed connections such as myself, but when it bogs down all other Internet and outside application activities, the idea should probably be investigated and rethought. So fix the shit! As they say in AA, "if it ain't broke don't fix it," but Li'l Billy Gates and his Microsoft toy seem to be immune to that law of nature.

2) Other girls' boyfriends. I am probably the only one in the nation fired up about this. (God, my knee hurts.) Um, this is actually something that has bugged me for a couple of years. Now I'm not talking about every girl's boyfriend, so chill, Jason and Emily. I am talking about the ones, and you know who you are, who just don't have any respect for their girlfriends. These are the guys who will take them out in public to a place she is obviously not interested in being at, then flaunting her like a piece of meat or just being a general ass to her. As in like, shushing her or pulling her with him. Then there's the guys who love their girlfriend so much they can't help but berate them in public. That's so sweet. Hey, asses, listen up: Your girl is NOT an object; please don't treat her like one. And I also like those guys who are so eager to protect their girlfriends, that they don't let them talk to anyone. "Oh, Anthony, I love you so much I don't even want to talk to anyone else." "That's good Amy, 'cause I'm making sure you won't." What the bloody hell? Is it that important that she has no contact with the outside world? Or are you just an obnoxious, narcissistic control freak? I think it's probably #2. Here's an idea, let the girl go and enforce your control by having relations with another macho control freak of a guy. What posesses guys to do this? The whole thing is I don't know, and it bugs the hell out of me. So guys, please treat your girls with respect. It is the very least they deserve.

Labels: GOTW

Well, as the month of August wears on endlessly like a Yoko Ono CD, I am left to contemplate the changing of the seasons. "Seasons," you say? Yes. "You have seasons in Minnesota?" Well, there is the old joke that goes around, about Minnesota having 2 seasons: winter and highway construction. (Guffaw guffaw, yuk yuk.) While we are on the state-themed humor, what's the best way to look at Iowa? Answer: in a rearview mirror. (More chuckles from the gallery.) Anyhoo, yes we do indeed have four distinct seasons here, my favorites being spring and autumn. Reason being, it gets to be too damn hot during late July and early August, and I am sick of having 4 feet of snow by the time my birthday in February rolls around. Spring is extra cool, because it symbolizes a rebirth of sorts on this great planet of ours, and allows people afflicted with seasonal-affective disorder such as myself a chance to break out from our dreary suicidal moods to rejoin society. And I have always loved fall because it gives the air that certain aroma as the days become shorter and cooler and the trees turn so many different colors it's like God took a bunch of paint buckets and splashed them all over the leaves. ("Where's the gripe??" Hold on, it's coming.) I believe these seasons were created for the sole purpose of tricking me into thinking that winter and summer are worthwhile. So, here sre some "pros" and "cons" of winter and summer:

Pro	Con
Winter ain't hot!	True, but winter is also more fickle than a preteen. You could be basking in 30-degree quasi-sunshine one minute, and the next in the downturn of a -20 degree cold spell that makes your refrigerator feel like Cancun.
You can get a tan from the summer sun.	Theoretically. As Homer Simpson once said, in theory Communism works. In actuality I an quite possibly the whitest individual around, a guy that could go to the UK and hear "Damn, you are one pale sonofabitch!"
Summer exposes female navels, some pierced.	They usually belong to girls who are with other guys. Plus extensive fingering of the belly ring will piss a lot of girls off.
Winter = Christmas	I'm not even going near that one.... Oh okay. Christmas is commercialized. I like giving things to people but I don't need Nordstrom's breathing down my neck with how many shopping hours I have left.
Snow covers up all the crap on the streets.	It also covers up any plant life or semblance of joy. And it covers up my spirit. (cough cough)
Bathing suits on girls!	Swimmer's itch on me! (Or in the case of outdoor public pools, some little kids' feces)
You can drive your car with the top down in summer.	Um, the top of my car doesn't go down.
Summer ain't cold!	Instead summer is filled with family trips, working on the sunniest days, and wishing that you could tan just a little bit.
No TV reruns in the winter.	I could watch the reruns in summer, not like I would want to because most network TV is crap right now.
You have to buy new clothes for winter and summer.	Hmm.... No con there.
The days get shorter in winter.	What the hell is the point of that? The length of days should be uniform, like 6:00 am to 7:30 or 8 pm would be perfect. It would be great if I could pick out my own hours like that jackass sun.

Well, that's it. Sorry this is so lame, but I am still in vacation mode (ie: still extra-lazy). I will try to do better next week.

Labels: GOTW

I was shopping at the Sam Goody back in April where, when I checked out the clerk who reeked of Designer Impostors and had approximately 47 piercings on her lip offered me a free 2 month trial subscription to "Entertainment Weekly". Free being the operative word, i blindingly accepted, not knowing that I would be exposed to the most worthless, insignificant piece of reporting ever: the "Shaw Report" by Jessica Shaw. I thought to myself: "Well since she obviously thought a lot about the name of her piece it must be provoccative and insightful." Oh, how sadly mistaken I was. Here is the piece of crap that greeted me:



Can someone please explain this crap to me? I mean, is she paid for this? This has gotta be the easiest job in the world. All you have to do is sit at your desk downloading porn videos and playing Tetris until the editor comes around at deadline time and you say "Oh shit!... What's 'out'? Um, Tiki torches!!" And boom, there's your week's bread and butter. Plus, what is the statistical basis for this info? I personally think it's based off the "just cuz" factor. And it deals with the most superficial crap ever. The cold borscht thing is not the only thing. In EW#606 she refers to "having a gay best friend" as "five minutes ago". Gee, I forgot that friends were only accesories to aid in getting recognition. (And for those who don't know what gazpacho is, it's about 10 cans of tomato soup served cold in a big bowl.) I hope someday I can find a job as cushy as this. However, it means that I would probably have to submit myself to the humiliation of writing for an entertainment magazine.

Many of you, if not already driven to gun-toting mayhem, are asking: "So what the hell is the point, smart guy? And why is Gwyneth Paltrow considered talented?" Well, question #2 cannot be answered by logical means, so I am gonna stick with the first one. The point it, the "Shaw Report" is mindless drivel, and could be compiled by monkeys instead of a highly-paid Brown Institute dropout. And to prove it to you, I present......

THE STEMME REPORT		by Ehren Stemme
IN	FIVE MINUTES AGO	OUT
Personal digital assistants	Casio calculator watches	At-A-Glance™ daily planners
Anna Kournikova	Tyra Banks	Cindy Crawford
Roger Clemens	Nolan Ryan	Fernando Valenzuela
Old Navy	Anything "Jnco"	Starter jackets
Tom Green	Pauly Shore	Allan Sherman
Star-Tribune	Pioneer Press	Wall Street Journal
Five for Fighting	Duncan Sheik	The Verve Pipe
Me	You	The guy with the spoon in his nose
SpongeBob SquarePants	Rugrats	The Smurfs
Britney Spears	Mariah Carey	Tina Turner
"Road Trip"	"Half Baked"	"Fast Times..."
KQRS	Cities 97	KDWB

Labels: GOTW

What's the deal with batteries? Wait, I already wrote about that once. Sorry! My frustration today is my desk, The frustration is that it's always cluttered with shit. (Here and here are 2 lo-res pictures so you can see what I'm talking about.) I know what you're thinking, I have no one to blame but myself. OK, ass, it's time to shut up now and listen to me. I have a theory, and it is as follows: desks suck. Ha ha, no. Actually my theory is based on the assumption that I have a lot of free time, and about 97% of said time is spent in front of my computer. In actuality, my free time is spent sleeping, watching my Dreamcast likeness best Mark McGwire in a home-run race and firing up the ol' home theater. Of course, after my vacation ends and I get transferred to Siberia.... I mean the Woodbury Audio King, my free-time ratio shoul increase exponentially after which I could actually do laundry myself and other things that "normal" people do. I also hear that there is really a spheric orange dealy in the sky which I believe is called the "sun." I had previously only seen the "sun" on television and in movies, and imagine my surprise when I heard from a co-worker that it actually exists!! Apparently it is very elusive, and changes its appearance hours constantly, much like TNT's broadcast schedule, but can usually be seen betweel 7:00 am and 8:00 pm. I also heard that in the summer, the sun comes out at 5 am or so, and doesn't go away till 10 that night. One word: woooowwwwwwwww........... I am very anxious to see this object and all the "heat" and "light" it supposedly provides. I mean, this is straight out of Isaac Asimov, what's next, nuclear power or electric locomotives? Personally, I believe the steam trains will by far be the most popular, after all who has heard of "electricity"? That's crazy talk, almost like "drive-thru". Drive through what? A wall? That doesn't make sense, that would just hurt your car. Speaking of cars, what the hell is the four-wheels gig all about? Be economical and only use 3. You would, though, have to narrow out the front of your car or put little sticks on either side to keep it from tipping over.

Wow, that took a weird turn. Well, I will leave it as is as it is a good example of why one should get 8 hours of sleep a night. Stay tuned for next week where I insult a magazine feature.

Labels: GOTW

PalmPilots suck. Goodnight, ladies and gentlemen! (This is where the Benny Hill theme would play if this was radio or TV.)

Okay, that's not my rant for this week. Instead, I will be bitching about how some TV shows are played entirely too much. Anyone who has watched FX in the past 2 years will agree, "Beverly Hills 90210" is one of the biggest offenders. Not only is this pile of monkey shit on 6 times a day on FX, but you may be one of the unfortunate few to catch it in local syndication on your WB or independent OTA channel. For these poor souls (like me) that have this option available, that equals roughly 49 hours per week of super-preppy-teen melodrama that causes more pain than a castration. I hear ya fellas: "90210" SUCKS!! And guess what: "3rd Rock From the Sun" is another one of these shows. This is allegedly a situation comedy, or "sitcom" starring the sniveling pussy John Lithgow and the howlingly unfunny Jane Curtin, who regularly brings me to tears when she tries to crack a joke. Some news for you, Janey: Your career died when you left "SNL." Laraine Newman knew to lay low, you should do the same. And French Stewart is high on the list of peeps who will be receiving a sock in the chops next time he visits the Twin Cities, right behind Andy Dick, Leno and Eminem. Watch out, Ben Stiller, you're next.... Andy Rooney, I got a news flash for ya: No one gives a shit what you think, you narcissistic prick; get off the air you old bastard. And as much as I love the "Blues Brothers" movie, does Ted Turner really need to show it every other day? I mean, the Braves aren't that boring. At least they're not the Expos or the Devil Rays. By the way, Montreal did come out winning the "Interleague Shit Series" 2 games to 1. To the creators of "Friends": Thanks for this show, but I think that death might be more painless. What is David Schwimmer now, 40? And Lisa Kurdow... I have seen better actors on street corners dressed in black-and-white striped shirts. Plus I have conclusive data supporting my statement that the "Rachel Cut" was the #3 reason cited for homicide in the years 1992-1997. And believe it or not, "The Simpsons" is overplayed, in some markets. And the episode selection is poor, due to the fact that the stations themselves decide which ones to air instead of having national syndication feeds. Yes I love the witty, yellow-skinned characters, but is it really necessary to screen 3 episodes a day? Unreal. That is all that comes to mind for right now, so I will quit ranting and go watch "Saved By the Bell" for the 8th time today.

Labels: GOTW

OK. So, for those of you who "surf" the "'net" frequently, you have no doubt run across the proverbial black hole that is the internet chat room. Does anyone else think this shit is pointless? I mean, there are tons of things that really don't make sense. Like, the "unwritten" rules in a chatroom. Like if you are a "newbie" (i.e. someone the existing chatters do not know) you will have trouble finding someone to talk to. Oh, and there's the one about how people of the same sex are not allowed to talk to each other, with the penalty of death. What kind of sense does this shit make? Like you're gay if you talk to someone of similar gender? I mean, it's not like you will be driving in your car and spot two guys talking to each other outside the Guitar Center, roll down your window and shout "Haha!! Youse guys is talkin' to another guy!! GAY!!!" At least not normally. Loosen up people, it's just chat, not a singles bar. And while I think of it, here are 3 constants that hold true throughout chat-land: 1) All the girls are cheerleaders/models, with 34C size breasts or bigger, yet have no picture to prove it; 2) Every single guy is at least 6 feet tall and about 190 pounds, with blonde hair and blue eyes, and start for the football team or "sk8" or play guitar; and 3) no one, even at the tender age of 14 or 15, owns a car that is older than the 1999 model year, unless it is a souped-up charger or GTO that can go from 0 to 60 in less than a second, and supply a poorly scanned picture from "Tradin' Times" to prove it. If you see these statements being made, you might just be a redneck... wait, I mean in a chat room. And then there's thing about girls younger than 14 claiming that they are "hott". Here's some advice for you girls: Shut the hell up!! How can you possibly have a hot body at 14? Now 17, I can understand, but I have witnessed girls as young as 11 making these remarks. That is just plain stupid. Am I wrong? No, didn't think so. Possibly the guy at the corner of the playground wearing the trenchcoat and holding the Bac-Os and Vaseline might think so, but as I stated, 17 is my extreme limit for being hot. And another thing... spell the shit right. There is only one T in "hot". And while we are at it, this shit with the bad grammar has GOT to stop. Here are some language things that piss me off to no end that you will see regularly: laterz; byez; guyz (any word that ends in "s" usually ends up with a "z" instead), kewl, playa, balla, etc. I know you talk like that and sometimes I do too, but START WRITING PROPERLY. Oh, and you fuckers that WrItE LiKe tHiS, you're all dyin'. The first time someone did that, like 8 years ago, someone else with little social importance said "Hey, that's different." And it was cool then. But now everyone does it, it is high time to knock the shit off. And this thing: []D [] []\/[] []D (guh huh, it says "pimp") Next time I see this, I am whippin' some ass. This has been put into effect more times than the number of times Nelly has been played on the radio in the last hour (about 750,000 times more than needed) and it seriously needs to stop. And hey, all you guys that "cyber," you need to shut the hell up and start dropping like flies. No one gives a shit if you are horny and from Illinois. You have to be desperate, poor and sad to resort to this and put hard-working phone-sex operators out of work. So stop being cheap bitches, and get on the horn and pay for it!

Well I hope you all have been fairly warned about these maladies in the internet chatrooms. It most likely won't make your trip any less unpleasant and sickening, but at least you now know what to expect.

Labels: GOTW

...is "Friends" still on TV?
...in magazines, they publish failed attempts at humor-in-a-quote from someone I don't give a rat's ass about?
...do they announce Mickey Mouse's birthday on the news, yet I still have to live with mine not being announced?
...did ABC executives think a show built around Bette Midler wasn't doomed to failure?
...the Vikings can win any game, except the ones they need to?
...did John Lee Hooker die when Ben Stiller is still alive?
...does Jay Leno think he's funny?
...isn't O.J. locked up?
...does Tina Turner wear minidresses and other slutty clothing? She's 60, for god's sake!
...does Rosie O'Donnell have her own magazine?
...is Matt Lawton so damn cool?
...am I so damn cool?

Labels: GOTW

So, uh, what the hell is with dreams? This question recently popped into my mind during the rare occasion where my brain functions at work. The reason I ask is, over the past month 4 dreams occured that puzzled me greatly. The first is an accurate depiction of what happens when I try to date someone. It was a dream in which I had met this girl at a bennigan's-type eatery and we started spending lots of time together, then at the end of the dream she decided she would be better off being a Portugese nun. The reason Dream #1 puzzles me such is, I thought in dreams you at least got things to develop in your favor. Dream #2 started off with me laying in bed, watching Conan O'Brien. Now you may think this sounds not so bad, but just wait.... the dream takes a drastic turn: it turns out my TV is posessed, and apparitions of the previous owners of our house pop out and, with the assistance of some other spirits and apparitions, proceed to wreak havoc with me, chasing me around and breaking things and such. At which time I turn on the lights, toss some water on them and scream obscenities at them in hopes of getting rid of them. This is where the dream ends. Ponderment #2: What the bloody hell? This dream was so real that I remembered it completely after I woke up. I HATE that shit. Especially when i look around for said ghosts and peeps look at me like I'm crazy. I am NOT crazy. Plus this just solidifies my theory that our house has apparitions occupying it. Anyhoo, my third dream involved a situation bearing some similar elements to Dream #1. What happened is, I was in a wheelchair. Not because I needed to, but because i was trying to get some sympathy, though that was not evident to me until later. Anyhoo, I cruised around the Maplewood mall in this chair and had a few chats with sympathetic girls, when at the Goody i was talking to this one girl and I was telling her "yeah, this isn't permanent, just until my knees get better..." and shit like that. Then my dad walks up grinning like the damn Cheshire cat, and i shoot him a look and say "What? It's true." After which I wake up. What i was wondering is, why is the fake-sympathy technique used in my dream? Am I really that sad and pathetic? Answer: I don't know. The fourth episode in Weird Dreams goes like this: As a highly-paid executive who is so stressed he will stab with a pen the next person who walks into his office with a double-breasted twill blue pinstriped suit and extra wide tie with a polka-dot print, I decide that the ideal vacation spot is down in Marshall with my grandma. One of the activities I pursue is going "downtown" to purchase some baseball cards. After ripping my open my third pack of 1992 Donruss I uncover the very rare Elite insert featuring Kirby Puckett. I am very proud of my accomplishment, and because I an hungry I head home. Midway through dinner I am telling my granny of my find and when she asks to see it, I say "Sure" then look down on my fork to see a cardboard flake with Puck's trademark "34" on it. I had just eaten my baseball card!!! And I had thought it was just tuna hotdish with tater tots on top. Ponderment #4: WHAT?!?!?!? That is a twisted sequence of events that made no sense whatsoever, yet my brain decided to put the scenes together like a cheap network made-for-TV movie and give me the premiere. Well thanks brain, but I don't even think UPN would buy that shit. Try Pax.

My conclusion is.... dreams suck. What the hell is the point? Some of them are very vivid and real, others are semi-believable, and still others are so far-fetched and surreal that they cross lines Woody Allen wouldn't even approach. I don't get it. I wish my brain would just show me reruns of Happy Days, or something.

Labels: GOTW

Welcome to another Gripe O' the Week festivity. Tonight (it is approximately 11:00 in the PM when I am writing this) my gripe is about people... yet again. Apparently people have a hard time grasping what I try to say so I have to reiterate my point many times over before it traverses their thick skull and into their worm-infested heads. The question is: what the hell am I doing wrong, where people don't seem to like me? Wait a minute, let me correct that: they like me when they want something and I, like a sheep being led to slaughter, proceed to give it to them. So, Solution 1 is to stop giving people what they want. Unfortunately, that leads into another problem, where i am seen as a boorish, greedy, self-centered prick. Solution 2? Continue giving people what they want, in hopes that things will change. But as the universal law of nature "if it ain't broke don't fix it" states, they don't Thus Solution 3 comes about: Give people what they want, some of the time, and be seen as a selfish prick the rest of the time. Hmmm, Solution 3 sucks. Scratch that one. The solution I have been working with is Solution 4, which is to be nice to everyone no matter the consequences. It works okay, I guess, but the results are frustratingly similar, as outlined in this fictional sequence at the local shopping mall between me and a fictional female named Freida:

Me: Hey Frieda.
Freida: You spelled my name wrong. Ass.
Me: Yeah.... so anyhoo, how goes it?
(At this point Freida plants her left fist firmly into my jaw in turn knocking me out, then steals my pants and takes off in a purple VW Beetle with the B96 logo on it.)

That actually happened. No wait, it didn't. That's why it's fictional. Fictional or not, though, the results were disastrous. Especially since I end up being caught by the mall pigs for lewd exposure to minors and patrons of the Hat Stop. But that's okay because Freida got what she wanted: she laid me out cold and avoided contact with me. This paves the way for Solution 5, which I am deathly afraid to implement because it involves locking myself in the basement of Pauly Shore's house and subsisting on Crunch n' Munch and orange Shasta. Oh well. I guess there's a first time for everything.

Labels: GOTW

What's the deal with batteries? I mean, they're always running out. And where does the power go? What's the deal with that??

Ahhh... pointless nostalgia. Well in case you are not privy to that glib little inside joke... it came from a perfectly executed Seinfeld impersonation performed by none other than Chris McLean in the now-famous Ehren Stemme-scripted Xtreme Batteries commercial. Which segues nicely to this week's topic: network TV commercials. The commercial we taped was a parody on all the network ad execs' green lights on all these 30-second spots where guys that have their pants halfway off their ass doing ollies in the moon's craters while Tiger Woods smacks his 3-wood into a can of Surge which then magically transports itself into the skater's hand, at which point he pops the top and proceeds to drink the entire damn thing while flying through the incredibly thin lunar air. What the bloody hell? Does this shit really sell? (Wow, that rhymed.) Well it does, because as the Xtreme Battery showed its muscle by blowing up a helicopter, diving through a brick wall and killing Seinfeld the entire audience was whooping and hollering and clamoring for their very own Xtreme Batteries to take home and let frolic with the kitties. Well, not really, but there was a tremendous response. At the end of the commercial was a hastily-thrown-together sex appeal scene, featuring my good friend Tom stating that if you bought the batteries he would have sex with you. After which i deadpanned: "Man these batteries certainly are sexy." Again it was a parody, this time of the idea that a single product could make you attractive. Not possible, unless it's Victoria's Secret. But I swear to the good Lord above that if you are a male, and you wear Victoria's Secret around me, the secret of my foot wil be firmly embedded in your testicles. An element we did not explore, however, was the element of comedy that is so poorly executed in 90% of TV and radio advertisements these days. ESPN and Taco Bell do it right, promoting their product with an innovative idea such as the recent Hell's steak burrito spot in which 4 business guy types are sitting around the booth, calling each other Western cowboy-type names, and one guy slips up and calls the guy across from him "Fluffy". True hilarity. Not like most other commercials that use boring, dated ideas that might make you crack a smile the first time but quickly become stale, tired and overly tedious. Summary? If you want to make a funny ad, MAKE IT FUNNY. No puns, no visual gags, no parlor tricks. Just some guys saying funny lines to each other and ocasionally beating each other up with shovels. Oh and also maybe one of them Dew-drinkin' skateboardin' dudes, just for camp value.

Labels: GOTW

• People who end plural words with a Z instead of an S, and people who WrItE lIkE tHiS. Will you cut that shit out, please?
• 93X
• Jeff Foxworthy. Why was he ever well-known? Oh yeah, that "redneck" thing. Yep, that was funny for about 6 seconds.
• The influx of 6'1", 210 pound, blonde-haired blue-eyed guys that seem to be on the internet an any given time. I mean really, there can't be that many of us.
• Christina Aguilera -- Yes we all know now that you're a slut, so close your legs and drop off the earth please.
• That one guy in *N Sync, the one who doesn't write his own music and has the intelligence of a thumbtack. Wait, that's all 4 of them. Anyhoo, shut up, all of you. Just because you can sell 47 gagillion records to google-eyed teenagers doesn't make you talented or respected.
• Carl Pohlad -- Die already!!!
• Pepsi
• Percodan
• My incessant knee pain

Labels: GOTW

Hi again. I see you haven't learned your lesson, as you are back for more griping. Today I will be talking about everybody's favorite carbonated, possibly toxic beverage..... yes that's right, SODA. The two main outlets of the fizzy concocctions, PepsiCo and Coca-Cola, have been consistently jacking up the prices of their various flavors, ever so steadily so that you wouldn't really notice until it smacked you in the face with a lead-filled glove set on fire. Now back in my day of TV, motorcars and running water (i.e. 1986) you could walk into your locad food store and pick up a 24-can pack for just over 4 bucks. This changed during the recession years, to the point where a benchmark was etched in my mind that 24 packs of pop would not exceed 5 bucks, or at the very most $5.50. This held true till about 1997, thanks to seemingly endless grocery store specials. Then all of a sudden, Pepsi decided it would be a good idea to back up the new Star Wars movie, to the tune of $3 billion. Now even though they own Pizza Hut, KFC and the Taco Hell, that's still a chunk of dough. That's when the first really noticeable increase in sodey prices took place. The 99-cent price for single serving bottles held constant but 2 liter bottles went up to $1.39 and 24 packs skyrocketed to $6.29 a pack. Needless to say, my adolescent mind thought this was outrageous. [See the compact disc rant from last year, on the bottom of this page.] The final blow was struck two evenings ago when i went to pick up my weekly 24 pack of mello Yello, when to my horror I checked the price and it was a whopping $7.50!!!!!!!! What the bloody hell, as The Edge from U2 might say. What is in these shits that makes it so damn expensive? Are they putting ground-up CDs in there? I mean seriously. I have a hard time paying 20 bucks for my shampoo n' shit, and that usually lasts me 3 or 4 months. How, in good conscience, can I pay a third of that for something that will be gone in less than a week? Answer: I can't. My money will forevermore be spent on the less expensive (and much healtier) fruit juices. Thanks, Coke and Pepsi. You just made me a better man. Asses.

Labels: GOTW

Welcome again to the Gripe O' The Week!... where I take a subject that truly pisses me off and tear it to shreds. Today my gripe is about Twin Cities radio and how its steady decline in quality over the past 2 years. It actually started before that, when in 1996 the cold, heartless Disney corporation purchased the main outlet for independence in the FM, Rev105. (At the same time, Diz had just completed a deal to buy ABC, which owned KQRS, KEGE and a few frequencies on the AM dial.) For those of you who do not remember the Rev was one of the greatest outlets for the "true" alternative music fan, as well as a leader in broadcasting the work of local bands. This was more cutting-edge and enjoyable than the garden-variety, radio-friendly "Edge" residing at 93.7 on the dial. Well anyhoo, the rev was bought out and the format promptly changed to a hard rock/metal variety, to appease the local trailer parks. At which time AMFM, Inc., which owned Cities 97, KDWB, K102, Fox29 and a few AM stations, completed their acquisition of the 100.3 frequency being filled by WBOB and also changed their format from the long-tired country to a metal genre, anchored by the Howard Stern show in the mornings. Thus began the decline, as KQ's dominating morning show gradually moved to toilet humor. Things held steady for the next 2 years, save for when the Edge and X105 swapped formats, and when KMJZ, the only commercial jazz game in town, was changed to "The Point." KQ and Cities 97 were in a spirited battle for daytime and evening listeners, and both stations reached their modern high peak. Case in point: in December, the rock-minded KQ would always do an "A to Z" of their music library, and when the eclectic Cities joined in, the A to Z festivities lasted nearly 3 weeks on both stations. Then in 1998, the next big blow occured, when Rock100 announced they were dropping Stern and adopting a "classic hits" format. Essentially Top 40 radio for middle aged people, 100.3 WLOL cosisted of FM edits of hit songs from the 1960s-1980s, "tricked up" by a few rpm's to give the impression that KQ was slower. Cities 97, the battle with KQ all but over, began grappling for female listeners from KS95 by playing a lot more contemporary music and repeating songs three, four, even 5 times a day.

This brings us to our current glut of shit on the radio. My solution? MAKE UP YOUR FUCKING MINDS. People liked the way radio was in 1995, back when the same conglomerate didn't own half the radio frequencies in town. So let's sell off all those chunks, and get some real competition on the airwaves again. Asses.

Labels: GOTW

Welcome to the first Gripe O' the Week for for the fiscal year beginning 2001. A little late yes, but hey, no one is perfect. This rant will be less laced with cusswords (sorry, Dennis Miller) than usual because this is an outpouring of feeling and not a general paragraph about how Susie overcharged me for my latte while she was getting her eyebrow pierced. Today I am talking about how in the hell people can be as cruel as they are, concerning how they will interact with you in a friend-like fashion, then seemingly drop off the face of the earth. I am used to it as it has happened to me my entire life, where people will just stop talking to me because apparently I am not cool enough to hold their prolonged interest. Now I am not bashing friendship, because that is arguably one of the most important things in one's life, I am just pointing out how someone can be so heartless as to completely drop contact with me... er, someone else, without so much as a goodbye or even a smell-ya-later. It has happened a few times in the past month to me. (You know who you are.) I am not saying it doesn't happen to someone else; indeed, it happens to many peeps who do not deserve such a heinous deed committed toward them. In my case though, i am a nice enough guy, and try to treat everyone decently, especially when I first meet them. So where the hell do I go wrong?? Do I not comb my hair the right way or wear enough Abercrombie? How about my pits? Do they smell alright? Wait, I know. It's the way I talk, with my mouth open and such. That's it, right? The summary of this rambling piece of nothing is that I don't really know why. I just wish it wouldn't happen. And here is why: 1) "Deserting" people (which is essentially what happens in these situations) is extremely hurtful and inconsiderate to the person being deserted because if the 2 people have known each other long enough the person being deserted will most likely care a little bit about them and have concern for whether or not they are okay. 2) Deserting someone is essentially like giving up completely, which should not be done in ANY situation. Because if you can give up on something that easily you will not get very far in life. Well, maybe you will be able to procure the night-shift manager slot at Hardee's. But that's about it. Your life will be filled with Hardee's and the WWF, and wondering if your 7 kids are still playing outside the trailer. And if your boyfriend is banging the 16 year old in the adjacent trailer. 3) No. 4) What the hell kind of way is that to treat anyone? I have never deserted anyone in my life. I try to stay in contact with everyone (within reason) that I have met and had the pleasure to know in my life. I don't ask much in return, just that you treat me the same way. And if the time comes where you don't want to talk to me anymore, LET ME KNOW. (Again, you know who you are.) It still won't feel great, but it brings closure to the set so the ending credits can roll and everyone can move on to whatever is next for them.

Whew. Well, thanks for bearing with me as I let all that off. It is a change of pace from my usual gripes, and it will continue to be at the very most an occasional event. So stay tuned, I think a gripe about aardvarks is on tap for next week...

Labels: GOTW

Since it has been so long since I wrote here, here are a few mini-gripes to tide you over till I get started again.

Scented Candles
A big gipe of mine is candles. The aroma is the best part, but getting the candle is a hassle coupled with a burden. For instance you spend about 10 minutes looking for matches or whatever. (I always find matches, but only after I need them.) Then you gotta go thru the trouble of lighting it. And then 75% of the time the damn wick is buried in wax, so you gotta put out the match you just lit so you can dig the wick out. And then after you made a mess with the candle wax and you are ready to light the candle you can't find your matches again. And then it takes about 15-20 minutes to let the fragrance really get to all points in the room. It sucks I tell ya!!! Besides by then I am usually asleep.

Baths, of the jet variety
Baths are wastes of time. My bathroom has one of those tubs with the damn whirlpool jet things in there. I tell ya. I loved that thing when i first started my job. But soon after I realized how worthless the shit was. I mean think about it. You get in, thinking "the jets will calm my aching muscles." So, you fill the tub up halfway, so it reaches the sensor so you can turn the shits on, dump in some soap bubbles, get in and turn the jets on. Only they don't turn on right away. You end up sitting in the damn tub with the jets struggling to turn on while you are surrounded by half-dissolved soap for about 10 minutes, while the bath water turns from hot to lukewarm to downright chilly, then the jets finally kick on. So you sit back and enjoy the cold water swirling around your body, and you are almost asleep when the jets turn off by themselves. So then you lift up your appendages, notice that they are wrinkled, and feel like you shouldn't get out until you do the real bath part. By then the water is freezing, and probably ain't that clean, so you drain the water and take a shower. Except it's a cold one because you used up all the hot water on that pithy excuse for a whirlpool bath. So after you finish up with what you will be doing in 8 hours anyway, you climb into bed and realize: "I'm more tired and stressed than before I got into the bath. What a bitch!" That is why baths suck, and why guys won't deal with that bullshit.

Lifetime: Television for the Easily Depressed
What is with this channel?? Is “television for women” really nothing but game shows, beauty tips from Hollywood semi-celebs and their twice-daily “I Survived A Harrowing Disaster/Crisis That In Real-Life Probability Will Not Happen To Me Or My Friends For Another 75 Years” movie? If that is the case, then there should be a men’s channel devoted exclusively to acts of a sexual nature….. oh wait, that’s the Spice Channel. Back to the original thought, yes game shows are fun, Hollywood semi-celebs are good for riotous laughter at their expense, and the occasional phoenix-from-the-ashes human interest story is uplifting, in a depressing way. Just throw in something else too. By the way, when they do an “Intimate Portrait” of Marla Maples or Darva Conger then you know it is time to shut the beast down. Of course, the alternative is Oprah’s Oxygen channel which I hear is nothing but book-club picks and replays of that nice piece of shit “Beloved.” Ugh….

That chick on the automated phone service
Ugh. Of all the voices I have heard in this long and storied life of mine, the voice of the lady on almost every automated phone service in the country is probably the most singularly annoying, obnoxious, potentially rude, condescending voice ever. Ugh, again. Seriously. She talks to me like I am a third grader, when I have clearly already started fifth. She spells out the most mundane detail of what you are supposed to do, like how to bend your finger, how to play “Happy Birthday” on your TouchTones, or wipe your ass. Okay, maybe the last one was from my mommy last week. Anyhoo…. And also don’t EVER let the line go dead when you are talking to her, because this will happen:

Stupid-ass voice mail chick: “Are you still there?”
Me: “No, I hung up on your ass long ago, you unintelligent wench.”

And she doesn’t go away if you just hang up, either, because if you pick up the phone in a few seconds you will hear her nasal, arrogant “Are you still there?” “Donde esta?” You have to go through the ceremony of pressing the * button several times before you can hear her delightfully condescending “Goodbye.”

What, are you still here?

The WWF, ECW and any other stupid-ass wrestling league
What the hell is the deal here? These damn things are cropping up all over wherever trailer parks can be found. WCW, nWo, ECW, ABCDEFG, when does it end? Not only that but they are saturating TV on TNT, USA, UPN, and TNN. And all those pay-per-view things!!! Honestly, you have to wonder what kind of sick demented person will, twice a month, plunk down $29.95 or more to watch grown men pretend that they are beating each other up. And then you have wrestling-related licensed merchandise at every grocery store, gift shop or local Wal-Mart than you can possibly ever need, or desire. Hats, shirts, dolls, rifles, cyanide capsules, they’re all there. While we’re talking about that, what the hell is all this “Austin 3:16” shit about? Who cares? This is a guy who sat out a year because he broke his finger or some petty excuse like that. Oh, boo hoo, Mr. Big Wrestling Man, did you bweak your pwecious wittle pinky? And this kid is supposed to be the tough guy in the league, who has people bash his head in with 20-pound crowbars and such. Here’s a little advice to all professional wrestlers, and the “fans” sitting on their taxpayer subsidized couches: Take off your poop-stained tights and your little champ-eenship belt there, and go find a real job, like being official tester of imported butt-plugs. Thank you and goodnight.

Labels: GOTW

Hi, kids. Due to the fact that I haven't really been pissed off at anything lately, the rant page has been forgotten. But now the bitterness is back, and so is the Gripe O' The Week!™ This week I will be talking about the absurdness of satellite TV. As those of you who know me are aware, I get my TV programming from the #1 satellite service in the nation, the Dish Network (or EchoStar or E* to you dish-heads). Anyhoo, in April Dish announced the launching of the largest basic package in cable or mini-dish history: the Dish500 America's Top 150 package. Now, instead of the wimpy 95 channel pack i had before, I have a 160 channel monster that include over 50 audio-only feeds. On top of those channels, I also get HBO The Works (7 channels), MultiMax (3 channels), the Showtime Unlimited (10 friggin' channels) plus 7 public interest channels, my network locals, 30 pay per view choices, 30 channels of family-themed and religious programming and the 21 out of market sports networks. All in all this is almost 270 different channels I can choose from. Why is it, then, that when I get home from work there is never anything decent on? Oh sure, there's the late night tittie movies on Cinemax and I like watching SportsCenter a lot, but most of the shows I watch come to my house off the air and free of charge anyway! I have thought about this, and my conclusion is that the only reason I have the Dish500 on my roof is because it's a status symbol, proof of my assumed elitism. Oh well. That works for me. I wonder what's on TNT tonight....

Labels: GOTW

Welcome to yet another rant. This week's is about compact discs and why in the hell they are so expensive all of a sudden. Now, as of late, I have been buying my discs online so I have not actually gone out and purchased CD's from a real store for a while, save for the occasional Best Buy stop. Well anyhoo, my birthday was last Sunday... Oh thank you, please hold your applause... Anyway as one of the many gifts that were lavished upon me I received on o them new-fangled gift cards, you know... the ones that look like a credit card? So anyway I got this friggin' card (which, if anyone important is reading this, is just another piece of plastic! Find some other way to do it!) and it was branded with the Sam Goody name. So I went over there. And if you know me, and the odds are pretty good that you do, you know that I have very eclectic tastes. So anyway I started looking for the latest release from the multi-talented Dr. Dre. Well after a few minutes I did find it, along with its $19.99 PRICE TAG!!!!!! What in the hell is this world coming to when a few ounces of plastic, some paper and a lttle aluminum will set ya back 20 bucks?? I mean come on, kids.. everyone knows that you can make a damn CD for 12 cents, and I'll be damned if I drop 3 lunches to add 15 songs to my collection unless it's one of those superhuman ones that will do my laundry, pay my dish bill and make me sone damn ravioli while I kick back and enjoy The Simpsons, or something. And it also should be pretty enough that you can give it away for an engagement gift. Maybe that's why they call them jewel boxes. But anyway, my point is that 20 bucks for a CD is OUTRAGEOUS, and you stuffed shirts at the damn record companies better listen up and take action, or America will be forced to succomb to your profiteering. Of course that's just my opinion, I could be wrong....

Labels: GOTW

OK class, welcome to the very first Gripe of the Week™, as presented to you by me. Today's lesson is on relationships, and how pointless they are and how much they suck.

As you all know, Monday of this week was Valentine's Day. It's a day meant to celebrate love and your significant other. But what does it do to us singles? I can only remember one year, 1997, where I actually looked forward to the cookie-cutter, Hallmark™ holiday. Even then it was a big charade, because what I had then apparently wasn't meant to be. Of course I was still in high school, when nothing at all means anything, But still, it was a cruel lesson in fate that taught me one thing: love wasn't meant for me. And if you differ, you ain't asposda be readin' this. Anyhoo, this theory was proved over and over during the next 3 years as I went from relationship to worthless relationship, each one never seeing the 60 day mark and always broken off by a cruel, heartless, backstabbing wench of a female. Which taught me another fact of life: never trust females. Especially if they are romantically linked to you. Now where was I? Oh yeah... what February 14th means to singles. Well, if you are like me, you know you will never meet a fulfilling mate, and Valentine's only slams the ol' truth home harder than you can imagine. You see all your friends walking around all snooty-like, holding their girlfriend's/boyfriend's/wife's/husband's hand and it makes you want to walk up and just punch 'em both in the face for being so happy and lovey-dovey around you. (If I seem a little bitter, perhaps I am, but I reserve the right to be.... Bitterness © me) Which brings me to my final point of the evening: give up the phony masquerade that is courtship and romance. It will make you bitter but hell... it will spare ya some pain and, besides, you deserve it.

Labels: GOTW