It's Sort of Like I Just Got Kicked In the Face

So many things to be happy about today! For starters, I got to ride my motorcycle. Also, I finally learned to ollie the Tech Deck I got for, er, my son. But the best news, of course, was that Cafe of India finally opened again today. It closed down a couple of years ago, reminding me of Barry Sanders' decision to retire at the top of his game. Finally word started to spread that they would be reopening in a building that's a short drive from our house. The DM and I have been looking forward to this day for months.

We got there at 5:30, and though we were seated early, we were pretty frustrated when our drink order hadn't even been taken nearly an hour later. Our kids did the best they could, but asking a 6-year-old and 3-year-old to sit still in a restaurant where others are eating without having so much as a piece of bread? For an hour? Well, that's just asking too much. The trip ended in two children crying and all of us leaving. The kids had their hearts set on pakoras -- or, as they say, Indian hushpuppies -- so I did the best I could to come through by taking them through the Long John Silvers drive-through. I was starving at this point, so, against my better judgment, I ordered LJS too. Yes, I went from eating my favorite food in the world to eating cold, deep-fried, low-grade dog food. The kids thought it ruled, though.

Kicked in the face, I tell you.

The Shoo-In

There was a cover story in USA Today yesterday about Brett Favre's recently announced retirement. Here is a direct quote from said story, by Larry Weisman:

"With his all-but-certain Hall of Fame career on a late upswing and the Green Bay Packers resurgent, 38-year-old Brett Favre chose this moment to announce a retirement hinted at repeatedly over past years and seemingly more likely then than now."

Um ... excuse me? Did he say "all-but-certain"?

Brett Favre could cheat on his wife with a hotel maid, then kill her with a hunting knife, then admit to betting on the Packers to lose in the playoffs this year, and he would still be a shoo-in for the Hall of Fame. The only question whatsoever about this guy is: Is he the greatest quarterback who ever played the game? His place in the Hall was secure long ago.

All-but-certain? Please.

A Space for Entertaining

You know what drives me nuts? On those home-improvement shows, why does everyone always have to call rooms spaces? ALWAYS. Even when they already said the name of the room.

"I really like this kitchen space. It's got lots of room for entertaining."

Which brings me to entertaining. I can't believe the amount of entertaining that goes on in these people's homes. I usually just have friends over, personally.

In my world, a space for entertaining is called a stage. And if I hadn't recently developed an apparent allergy to alcohol, I'd be down with playing the Spaces Drinking Game. "Ooh, this is a great space." Glug glug glug. "We'd really have fun entertaining in this outdoor space." Double-whammy, glug glug glug glug glug glug.

I guess I wouldn't make a very good interior designer.

Rudolph the Red-Headed Step-Child

Don't you just love the stop-motion Christmas classic Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer? I know you've seen it dozens of times. Originally aired in 1964, it's the longest running TV special with regard to consecutive years. That's pretty impressive.

I always get a kick out of breaking down the plot of this much-loved special. Let's give it a try.

Rudolph, a young reindeer who simply wants to belong, finds himself with a physical trait that makes him different from the others. This shames his father, Donner, who insists Rudolph try to hide his shiny nose. (I liken this to a father insisting his little-person child wear heightening shoes. He should be flogged with a giant candy cane.) After Rudolph's disguise comes apart in public, and despite his impressive, passion-inspired virgin flight, all of the other reindeer (with the exception of the sweet Clarice) give him hell and make him feel worse than his his no-good, sell-out father made him feel. Then, perhaps the biggest villain of the movie, Santa the Bigot, a man whose entire business is built upon the apparently bogus idea of rewarding the just, lays into Donner, declaring, "You should be ashamed of yourself!" And he means because his boy has a shiny nose, folks, not because of the atrocious way he reacted to that discovery.

Now let's think about Santa's slaves for a bit, the elves. (Note that the word elves is a mere a away from being a perfect anagram of slaves.) They all seem happy with their lots in life. All of them, that is, with the exception of Hermey the Misfit Elf. See, this poor chap wants to be a dentist. Is there any encouragement for his uncommon drive? Of course not. Even his offers of free dental care are rewarded with ridicule, and he's driven away.

So it's natural that the two societal rejects meet up and form a bond that causes them to go in search of "fame and fortune." What they're really looking for is acceptance and opportunity, of course, but their sheltered naivety is unsure how to define their drive. Along the way they meet up with severely inclement weather, a seemingly greedy but helpful prospector named Yukon Cornelius, and a misunderstood yeti that man has tagged as "abominable," imposing a role upon him that manifests in exactly that type of behavior. The three new friends stick close to each other as they battle beast and nature in pursuit of their dreams.

Let's hop over quickly to the Island of Misfit toys, an internment camp where unwanted toys are sent as victims of a consumer society growing out of control. What a brilliant concept to include in a Christmas special, and in 1964 it was downright prophetic.

Meanwhile, back at the North Pole, ol' Santa the Bigot is starting to realize that he's gotten himself into a bit of a pickle. He sets up shop in the most rugged tundra the earth has to offer and finds himself surprised to encounter -- gasp! -- a bad snowstorm on Christmas Eve! What a shock. What's he going to do?

You all know how the story ends. The yeti gets knocked out, Hermey converts him to the good side by extracting his teeth (the Wikipedia entry makes it seem like this somehow tamed him, perhaps through submission, but I always thought he had toothaches that were making him particularly grumpy and, like the lion with the thorn in his paw, he repaid a good deed with proper gratitude), we find out that Cornelius was really just prospecting for peppermint and not gold or silver(at least in the original version), the whole crew makes it back to the North Pole, and when Santa the Bigot realizes that Rudolph actually has something to offer him, well then it's all just freaking dandy! Rudolph is the best! We all love Rudolph! Attaboy Rudolph!

But Santa at least saved the Misfit Toys, you say? Sure he did. In the revised version that was created after consumer complaint.

Hypocrites, the lot of them!

... Then how the reindeer loved him
as they shouted out with glee
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
They're full of hypocrisy

How would a kid who has an "abnormal" feature or condition feel about this show? Hopefully they'd feel redemption at the end, as the "misfits" clearly rise above the rest in this cautionary tale, but if I was an albino child, or if I had a particularly large nose, or a visible birthmark on my face, or anything else that's sure to keep me off the cover of Mademoiselle or GQ, I think I'd tell my mom that I don't want that red-suited bastard and his army of demon deer to come anywhere near my house. I'd be lighting a fire under the chimney and booby-trapping the hell out of my Christmas tree. Of course all of this work would be done in vain, because I'd know Santa isn't coming anyway. The bastard doesn't give a crap about how nice I've been all year when I'm running a cowlick this.

Yes? Hell no!

A while back I made a post about my distaste for poser "rockers" KISS. I typically try to stay as positive as possible, but this evening I've decided to talk about another band from that era that I simply can't stand: Yes.

Yes, I hate Yes.

Yes, they can play their instruments. Yes, their music was complicated stuff. But did it actually sound good? To me, hell no.

In fact, the best thing I can say about Yes is that they had really cool album covers. Beyond that, I think they suck toads.

So I've decided to make a list of some songs that I would honest-to-god rather listen to than any Yes song.

1. Air Supply's "All Out of Love"
2. Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart," written by Air Supply
3. Juice Newton's "Angel of the Morning"
4. Melissa Manchester's "Don't Cry Out Loud" (this one took some soul searching, but I'm pretty sure it goes on this list) Robbie Dupree's "Hot Rod Hearts"
5. Right Said Fred's "I'm Too Sexy"
6. Milli Vanilli's "Girl, I'm Gonna Miss You"
7. Ugly Kid Joe's remake of "Cat's in the Cradle"
8. George Thorogood's "Bad to the Bone" (also took soul searching)
   
9. Extreme's "Hole Hearted" Meatloaf's "Two Out of Three Ain't Bad"
10. Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire"

Friday eBay rant

Let me preface by saying that I hate eBay. Not only is it addictive (you can spend hours a night looking up meaningless shit) but it is also a breeding ground for the truly dishonest.
I used to race road bikes in junior and high schools. I have been wanting to get back into it for some time now, so I have been looking for an old Italian frame like I used to ride. Well, after months of searching all over the country, I find one on eBay. I am psyched all week waitng for my new, old school ride, and it finally comes yesterday while I am at work. Man, I can't wait to get home to ride it. I open up the box and start unpacking it. Lo and behold there is an 1 1/2" long crack in the top tube where it meets the seat tube. It was never mentioned in the "cherry of a bike" description.
Now begins the wonderful, stress inducing process of trying to recoup my money. Sometimes a little honesty would be nice.
I hate eBay.

KISS Off

I caught a commercial or a show or something on TV tonight and saw that Gene Simmons recently got a facelift, and it reminded me that I've wanted to tell you guys that KISS may be the worst band that has ever lived. Seriously. Sure, they're good businessmen and all; they knew they sucked so they invented personas and put on the makeup and all that crap, but it was all bogus. The best thing that ever happened to them was when uptight parents started thinking they were Knights in Satan's Service, because that created an atmosphere of rebellion that fooled generations of youth into thinking they're actually good, or that they're actually heavy in some way. I'm sure some people listened to them just to piss their folks off, but I'm also convinced that many people were fooled into thinking this band actually has some sort of talent. They don't.

I don't have a problem with their "show," per se. When David Bowie wore make-up, it was cool because his music also kicked ass. Same goes for Alice Cooper. I can even get into Marilyn Manson. All of these people care or cared about the music at least as much as the show. KISS? They cared about selling dolls and lunchboxes and make-up kits and hooking up with groupies. Only one of those things is rock 'n' roll.

Name a good KISS song. "Strutter"? That's a horrible song. "Black Diamond"? "Cold Gin"? No, those are horrible too. And "Rock 'n' Roll All Nite" and "Beth" are two of the worst songs I've ever heard. And what did they do when they felt the changing of the tide in the music industry? They made a disco record. (Remember "I Was Made for Loving You"?) Hell, they even managed to make the worst movie of all time, KISS Meets the Phantom of the Park.

I'm not saying there haven't been bands that have made worse music than KISS, but all things considered, KISS may just be the worst band of all time.