And Now...Your Moment of Zen

Welcome to the Rave corner.

And always remember, if the world didn't suck, we'd all fall off. And that would suck.

My emotions are fizzling near the surface so now I've become the vessel for whatever freakish rant comes from any song written by the Fighters of Foo (and boy, do they do a good job of it) I mean right now, to prove this I will scream, in obligatory capitals a little ditty from Monkey Wrench: ONE LAST THING BEFORE I QUIT I NEVER WANTED ANY MORE THAN I COULD FIT INTO MY HEAD I STILL REMEMBER EVERY SINGLE WORD YOU SAID AND ALL THE SHIT! THAT SOMEHOW CAME ALONG WITH IT STILL THERE'S ONE THING THAT COMFORTS ME SINCE I WAS ALWAYS CAGED AND NOW I'M FREEEEE (ad screamium)! Whew. Lemme catch my breath, I have a stitch. A long (everlong) way from the concert where I was wondering what in hell everyone was yelling together. I'm smarter now, foo-icized, as one who was fond of making up words would say.

Haven't I been good to you people? I haven't MENTIONED Elian! Don't you love me? Shouldn't you be paying me 39.99 in four easy installments BECAUSE I haven't mentioned that little boy that has every newscaster in the world creaming their expensive suits and rolling their "r's"? Have you noticed there aren't even any r's IN Elian's name? Weiiiiird huh, but of course, he's home and there's no one to obsess over so the poor newsreporters go home unsated. This cannot be allowed to happen, people. So, to make everyone really happy in this universe let's have a sort of Dateline News orgy. Or NBC Today, cause let's face it: Who hasn't wanted to bed Matt Laur? Clearly somethings gotta be done when the biggest news story is *gasp* a BOOK. Books? Literature, even? Whoa, dude something's gone crrrraaazy. Maybe, like, civilizations gonna be alright or something. ::snicker::

Oh boy, there's nothing as refreshing bracing as meeting old friends of your grandparents who went to your baby shower. Really. Well, that pretense didn't last long, did it? Come on- I JUST SPENT A MONTH IN JAPAN- and now I have to consort with, um, More? Personally I feel like turning to the Spanish Channel Uno-vision and zoning out to the strains of Travis. But nooooo, I have to be called "Michelle" and hugged strangely. I am usually a pro-Hugger, but when you've gotton no sleep whatsoever in this past night and have been on internet catching-up with bags the size of milk cows under your eyes, you stop wanting that Human Touch. I think my grandmother knew instinctivly how I felt. I feel bad; I suffer through maybe 5 minutes tops when her whole life she is the Dutch girl amongst the Far Easterners. Reversal of fortune and all that but I really admire the paternal g'parents: they are the originals, two entirely different nationalities going boom and having bambinos (bambinos, which are neither Dutch nor Japenese. Oh whatever, I'm sleep deprieved I'm making no sense whatsoever.)But anyway that's my groggy rendition of the morning, young as it is.

Hey I've returned. ... Bet you didn't know I was gone didja? That's the wonder of the internet for you. Soon the internet will get even more wonderful, what with cyberdildonics on the horizon. If you have to ask, you don't wanna know. Anyway, it's been about 2 months since I touched this poor misbegotton website. I was in Japan for a month of the hiatus. (no I'm not going to say how wonderful it was because it wasn't) Back from "vacation" I'm now on real "vacation" sleeping absurd hours and eating popcorn. Ah the fast lane.
Tell the truth, my main rave comes from my wholly obsessed new favorite actor/writer/producer/hottie, Gabriel Byrne. Don't you DARE say "who?" or I'll smash this Snapple bottle against the coffee table (perhaps I should abandon suburbia...nah) and come after you, my man. Sorry. He's wonderfully talented and you are not. Excuse me, I just got on the defensive a little. I have rainstorms of respect and a landfill of lust for him. Yes, the thirty-odd year age difference is what's known as a stumbling block, also calls into question my sanity, but as is always the case with my sanity being questioned, the answer is: yes.

Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the music store- N'Sync comes out with another album! That's like, what? 3 albums per hour since they broke on the scene? (and since the scene broke down, sobbing in its arms?) No Strings Attached. OK. See...I've seen the cover of the album and I have to cock my head to one side and think about it. Are they merely being ironic or something? The puppet thing? Or possibly is it an accurate depiction of the corperate fuckmonkies they really are-it's a tough call, to say the least. I can just see these record execs talking them into the puppet idea. "Just get in the fucking Pinnocheo suit, Justin, just do it or you'll never see another blonde with a boob job again. Get IN the puppet suit NOW!" I have to say, one way or another, despite the complex nature of the cover of their album, their music still blows goats. So the universe isn't dead yet.

Are ellipses fucking corrupted, or what?! Britney Spears must have some sort of alliance to the P.E.T.E., People for the Ethical Treatment of those fucking periods. ...Gee, does anyone hear that sound?...It's the sound of...of...15 minutes being up!...Bye bye...Britney...

Something very scary has happened to commercials. Very Very Wrong. Okay, so sex appeals as old as the pyramids. The newest trend du jour is anti-sex appeal. As in, every commercial break I have to witness the horror, the horror. Huge, gigantic, asses. I don't mean jerks. I mean baluga quality asses. Sometimes entirely nude old men complete with the little pixeling. I swear to GAWD ALMIGHTY, please quit it. I don't LIKE seeing old white icky naked bouncing men! No one does! This doesn't sell things, I mean it. This frightening occurance is the fallout from Political Correctness, I'm very sorry to report. Damn I'm terrified.

Have I mentioned how much I detest country-music crossovers? I mean, have I taken up about a good sized rant about how the soulful twangy supressed blubber boys and trailer park girls should really stick to their strengths, which lie probably somewhere in Nashville? Did I tell you how Shania Twain can't dress to save her life, and has a horrible complex to the point where she is forced to sing a song as putrid as "Man I Feel Like a Woman" and worse still, whore herself out to makeup companies or this new band whose name escapes me sings "Baaaaybe I'm amaaaauuuzed by yoooou" with no irony whatsoever? (Also, did I mention Bonnie Rait is acceptable?) Is it about time I mentioned that country should not combine with other elements cause there's always going to be a conflict of interest? Well. Remind me to, okay?

This rant is for theatro-snots, so you can skip it Hee-Haw. MEMO to Mr. SONDHEIM: Stop writing ultra-dark plays. (while you're at it...can you quit writing songs?) Please, I mean it. I just spend a whole hour and a half reading "Getting Away With Murder" which has the nutritional value of rendered horse hooves. The entire plot consists of idiotic suspense, given that you know precisely who the killer is and have no clue why he's decided to kill everything as gruesomely as possible. No wait! Shut UP critics! I bet you're gonna say society's ills are to blame, and that Sondheimer was satirically pointing out via GALLONS of blood, the ultimate bleakness of the human soul. And I say: BULLLLLSHIT! Sondheim has written great plays without having a person die every 2 pages.(you think I exagerate)This is not redeeming violence, this is not social satire, god forbid, they ACTUALLY said this was a COMEDY?! Sure, the first 1/4th is Neil Simon on a LSD bender. But the next part is Quentin Tarentino without the flair. This is trash, haggis on fire, shit in toilet paper, etc. I feel like you need a little nap.

::cackle:: I can't frucking BeLIEVE this one, folks. Sit down, or you'll fall over. Leonardo DiCaprio, I think you remember the waify shit, is applying to have his NAME trademarked. As in "You've Got MailE all rights and property resereved to the meglomaniacal Steve Case and company. (as in, now your mailman, you KNOW, the guy you're sleeping with, now the mailman can't even shout that when he comes (yes, I'm being sick) without having a lengthy application to Steve Case. Via e-mail.) LEONARDO DICAPRIO!! The lil, prancing Jack Dawson boy! Wants HIS NAME TRADEMARKED!!! What if, God forbid, there's another Leonardo DiCaprio out there? Hell, what if theres a poor baby out there whose parents chose to name her Coca Cola Mars-Candy McDonalds. Therapy-stat!
I found this scintillating info courtesy of the TSG. Leo Incorperated

Regarding the Grammy's: Whose twisted homoerotic fantasy to have N'Sync drape over Elton John's piano and croon? Not to offend Sir Elton, of course.

Also, has anyone noticed Rosie O'Donnell has become a real bitch? Not that I really care; that Queen of Nice was uttter bullshit anyway- don't be naive people its TV- but I mean being a bitch won't help you, Rosie, when you try flashing some gang signs at say, Puffy, and he gets this thugs to assault you with a well aged bottle of Dom Perignon laced with methadone. And I can't look out for you, so do it your damn self.

The delicious jazz lil trio with Erika Badu and Krall and that cool guy whose name escapes me was sublime. Kid Rock's perf was also sublime in that trailer trash way.

I've constructed another addendum to the annoying ass whinefest pop songs that make be want to eat glass for the STRESS RELIEF:
"MEET VIRGINIA" (suckfest numero uno- PLEASE someONE get this band a rhyming dictionary! Stat! Oh never mind), "Yeah, Whatever" (the name bites the big one too), "Someday We'll Know" (Soppy and sappy with every byte! I'm not sure on the title, but it employs every cliche known to man and dog), "That's the Way it Is" (Celine. Nuff said), "Last Kiss" (Oh where oh where could Eddie Vedder be? The Lord took him away from me), "The Great Beyond" (Yes, you're pushing an elephant up the stairs but who gives a shit?), and "He's Everything You Want" (PLEASE quit repeating the chorus!!)

And there's so many others that suck so much I'm sure the oxygen supply on this planet is being reduced by the songful. But there is hope and it comes from two highly unlikely sources: Kid Rock and Sting. Both with healthy homegrown fattie-type groove songs, "Only God Know Why" and "Brand New Day". A lovely high off of those. That and Macy Gray and Foo Fighters and Santana and Dave Matthews and Third Eye Blind and...

Isn't Timberlake a a brand of fucking SHOE?

Madonna. Kiddo. I have some things to bring up with you dollface. You've been the Madonna-whore thing, you've been the naked Sex-book thing, you've been the sultry-Evita-whore thing, the Goth-whore thing, and the Earth Mother (whore) thing...one thing you cannot be is a good ol' boy. It's not like, in you. So when you sing of Bye Bye Mr.Holly and your Chevy and these cutesy old bars and old farts one tends to say- bullshit. Let's stop deluding yourself babycakes: you've never OWNED nor DRIVEN a Chevy pickup, wouldn't be caught dead at a levee (bobbing away...)and LAST TIME I CHECKED, were not too happy with the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Stay with your stengths honey.

So you've heard that ubiquitous "Blue". So it's always on the damn radio when you switch it on. Okay, pop quiz, hotshot.
A)Scream and convulse to the rhythm of this Ebola-virus infectious beat?
B)Scream and convulse and turn off on the radio and sit and beat your head on the wall to rid yourself of the "dee da di da dum di"?
C)Scream and convulse.

You get the drift. Avoid "Blue" before it gets you in its iron grip of circa 1980 electronic glee. (Look Ma no instruments!)

Super Bowl Sunday, an all hallowed day in the great old U. S. of A. where the menfolk say, "What a wonderful play! I wish I could smack the ref into May!" "I highly disagree with that call you muthafrucker that may be gay!"

And the women folk say: Who CARES!

The departure of the sublimely kickass "Peanuts" has me inspecting the funnies. Well guess what I'm forced to associate with: "Mallard Fillmore" Now let's see how thin-minded and cowardly a cartoonist like Mr. Bruce Hinsley can get. Let's take a respectable lil genre and pervert it to espunge on your frickin' conservative political views week after insidiously meanspirited week. And you use a DUCK as your spokesperson for your anti-gun control, let's be derogatory towards the "lesser", condescending to teenagers, and REALLY UNFUNNY views! I mean, it's sad, but its even sadder when you keep your job and are -prolly damned popular. We've heard every one of these jokes before and they aren't insightful, they aren't well drawn, they aren't interesting. And dee the bullshit stops here, Tinsley. If you thought "Doonesbury" needed a political opposition in the toon section, you were sorely mistaken. It's not just that I oppose your piddling Republican ideas, I oppose the downright stereotypes you crawl to to get to the ideas. So here's a big fat UP YOURS to Bruce Tinsley, the worst of the cartoon section. I'd figure I'd start with the bottom of the heap, eh? You're a shitty cartoonist, Bruce Hinsley.

Don't let this HAPPEN! This terror, this injustice, this fucking travesty. What you might ask? How in the name of ALL that is good did Melissa Joan Hart, my like IDOL when I was in fifth grade, who played the ever-funky uniquette Clarissa on Nickelodean, HOW is she pals with that slutbucket Britney Spears? Not to be offensive of course, but what in hell!? Clarissa would vomit on Britney's 500 dollar shoes just to spite her! I know, I know, I have to sperate character from actor but pulllllleeeze this pulls out all the stops. Come back from the dark side, Clarissa.

I've threatened, begged, yelled, cried and STILL they insist: Teens rule. NO they DON'T! Stop catering to our needs QUICKLY! Please stop, really we aren't that powerfully infulential in music. We don't need to have stuff sp-ecially directed to us. It's okay, really, it's just fine. Go back to playing real music...shhh, it'll be alright. It'll be alright. Just don't pay us mass of teens annnnnny mind. (Hey I think I've got them convinced! Yessssssss)

The Grammy nom's are out and I'm handicapping them according to the set laws of the really-fair universe that is my head. Here we go kids:

Big Bad Voodoo Daddy- mere musicians or some form of alien that requires them to have perfect facial features a killer sense of humor glow in the dark smiles despicably wonderful hair (or in the case of Scotty, no hair) amazingly pohtogenic plus be largely married? What was that I was mentioning about a fair life? Scratch all that: let the teenyboppers roam freely without fear of tomatoes as long as I can get a kiss from my OTHER Daddy's.

So like, even before the Grammy noms came out, I knew Santana was more than a rock god. See I went to a concert of his and it was sublimely more than a concert. It was like a religious rock god witnessin woohah save me from the kickass rhythm before it blows me up!. Any moment I was going to throw myself to my knees (grab the curb, sickos) and bow down screaming "CARLOS! IAM NOT WORTHY!" Of course, I bet he gets that a lot. And when he preaches peace and harmony, it doesn't feel like bullshit. Why?! Cause he's fucking Santana, that's why. Have a nice day.

I'm utterly and fully and entirely through and through SICK of damn songs that talk, at great length and in whining tones, about quirky women.It's like a despicably overdone topic about that women who's beautiful and werid and admirable and really is unhappy and dysfunctional but perfect all the same. HOW many songs must we suffer through? "Meet Virginia" "She's So High" "Back to LA" all songs which I previously liked, then as they got overplayed, started to retch on.

As the end of the decade approaches (and yes, that's ALL it is, idiots. Not Millenium or Century. Decade. And also, year. But you all are too smashed already to listen aren't you? Well I guess I can prattle on about anything from the sun to the moon and you all would just swig on your 40 and smile goofily. I could write this entire rave inside these parentheses and you would bob your head like a goose huh? You lousy drunks! I'm callin' your wife, mother, AND pastor! How do you like that! Get off my lawn.)

A couple days til Christmas and my true love gave to me: Syphaaaaallllliisss. Um, no, but after watching seriously 4 hours straight of MTV's Sex in the 90's series, I am duly convinced if I make extended eye contact with a stranger I with get genital warts and die. (In that order) And MTV's supposed to be irresponsible free rolling disease-free rock and roll. ::snicker:: Yeaaaa right. I'll just have to get my titillation from the USA Network and E!, eh comrades?

A GAME!!! A BITTER GAME!

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