The Angry Flirt

Instead of the usual bar scene, this past Saturday night Mr. Zhuang and I decided to head over to a "house party" to celebrate Mardi Gras--only this house was a crowded apartment right in the middle of the East Village and overlooking Second Avenue. It's about as close as you'll see law students cutting loose in the middle of the semester, though one can argue celebrating "Mardi Gras" a week late is all the excuse you need to get future lawyers to get their drink on.


I came prepared for the festivities, proudly wearing my Saints sweatshirt which announced to all who looked upon it that I had actual ties to the holiday and knew a little something about the traditions. I even came prepared with beads of my own; Mr. Zhuang brought with him the baby that he had found from our King Cake and the plastic cup that came with the cake, ready to serve as the Taster for the "Hurricanes" that were being prepared. We had a great time, as I got to friends that I rarely get to see any more and Zhuang continued to serve as said Taster, and the night passed without major incident; all in all, a pretty decent Saturday night.

That being said, I wanted to call up an incident that is the inspiration for the title of this blog, and puts a spin on the usual "Nic Ouzo Frightens Women" story. At one point I was being introduced to a couple of ladies who were friends of one of my classmate, and we began talking. One of them noticed my Saints sweatshirt and asked about it, and I replied, yup, I was born in Baton Rouge and had been a Saints fan all my life, and yup, I was as excited as a pig on payday when they won the Super Bowl. At some point, one of them asked if I played for the Saints, and being a little confused, I said, no, not quite (I mean, I'm built like a linebacker, but one that would sit on the end of the bench). It was at this point I realized that perhaps this girl was a little unhinged and more than a little drunk, but here I was, in a crowded kitchen with little place else to go, I better make the best of the situation.

The conversation continued, but it was clear that some sort of tonal shift had occurred. At one point someone else came by and asked about my sweatshirt, and the woman who asked if I played for them shouted "No he doesn't care for them, he's a traitor!" Now, anyone who knows me realizes I cannot have my fanhood questioned, but they also know I am quite diplomatic, so I sidestep and talk to the person directly and straighten things out. But I am aware that I've entered into some strange zone here with this one girl, who continues to talk to me, oblivious to all awkwardness.


She then tells me that she graduated from the University of Texas--I said, hey, that's great, and you know what, my sister just got accepted there! It's her number one choice, but we'll see about the money that other schools offer. The girl then grabs my shoulder and begins to tell me that hey, I went there with no money, and I'll be paying it off--I'm working and getting only 30,000 a year and living in Manhattan, I CAN DO IT SO CAN SHE! SHE NEEDS TO GO TO UT! She is very insistent on this point, and sure as shit she will not take "no" for an answer. At this point I tell her, hey, I'm pushing for my sister to go to UT, because if she does, I'm going to crash at her place so I can come to South By Southwest, which is only one of the most awesome events to go to if you love music. Back when I was working in radio, I had the opportunity to have my expenses paid for on a trip and get passes to all the shows, but it didn't match up with my schedule, and I've always regretted passing up the opportunity. I was then informed by this girl that she hated this festival--"I can understand going to see a show for a band you know, but to see band you don't even know..." I then mention how I worked at a radio station, and it was my job to listen to new music and she interjected I DON'T UNDERSTAND. THAT'S JUST TERRIBLE! WHY WOULD YOU DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT? Needless to say, I kept smiling but not saying much after that.

Well, sucks to be you, lady who works in fashion for only 30,000 a year--I could have introduced you to Mr. Zhuang, who works for a fashion magazine. As it is...no dice.

Attention Radio Programmers

There is nothing "Awesome" about the 80's.

Absolutely nothing.

At least from anything that you would actually play in your "Awesome 80's" weekend. You're not playing The Replacements, or Jesus and Mary Chain, or early Pixies or late Joy Division.

So, never use those two concepts in the same sentence ever again.

I mean, do you fucking remember the 80's? And no, cocaine nightmares don't count.



Signed,

Concerned Listeners of America

Dance, Dance, Dance, Dance, Dance to the Radio

Strangely enough, during the six months that we've written this blog, we haven't really discussed our music taste. Sure, you've picked up some clues as to where our musical tastes lie with our weekly Hump Day Helpers, or our diatribes against wussy rock. Oh yeah, sure, there was that whole Rock The Bells recap too. Oh, and that whole tag of "My Attempts At Music Journalism". I guess we really do talk a lot about our musical taste. Yet somehow, we never really talked about one of our uniting musical interests. And that (kind of) plays into this quick story here.



I was sitting in the dentist's chair, experiencing the mild torture that is a gum check. Now, I've never been one to complain about a dental visit (after all, it's not like I'm a kindergartner any more), but I've found that listening to the soft music crap that they pipe in is an effective distraction from the eerie scraping they're doing to my toothbones. Considering it is a dentist's office, that means a lot of AC radio--AC being Adult Contemporary. What the hell is Adult Contemporary? Well, think of elevator music, but with the lyrics still in place. It's fuckin' old people music.

It was in this setting that I heard a song that totally blew my mind. In between The Police's "Message In A Bottle" and that stupid song that goes "Let's Give Them Something To Talk About!", I heard what had to be a massive fuckup on the DJ/Automaton's part in selecting the playlist--Soundgarden's "Black Hole Sun". I can only imagine the look of horror upon the station employees' faces as the great guitar noise-freakout of a solo took place, as they contemplated how many bored soccermoms and doting old grandparents they just offended.



Now, considering that this was an AC station, I don't know whether or not I should be offended. On the one hand, one should be happy that they got some kickass music on their playlist for once...on the other, apparently Soundgarden is now considered "safe" and "appropriate for old folks". All I know is that if I were a bit older, like 30, I'd feel reeeeeeaaaally fucking old right now. And though all the members of the WDR crew dig the Seattle Sound and are fans of "Grunge Music", we weren't children of the movement. I think we'll only know for sure when ...And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead hits those playlists.

Explaining Our Vendettas: Jed The Fish

Some of you may have noticed a strange item in the layout of our humble blog, a unique feature that you won't see anywhere else (therefore, making it by definition "unique". I am the king of redundancy.). That feature is the list of "Vendettas". Thus begins our series on explaining why exactly we have such righteous fury against these targets.


As a former radio station employee, I am keenly familiar with the various inner-workings of the radio industry. I also am highly sensitive to crappy crappy crappy DJs. Hence, the appearance of many DJs on the Vendettas list. However, none inspire my indignation quite as much as one fellow from KROQ.


Why the hell would I care about a KROQ DJ? Well, since they are the most famous rock radio station in the US, they have a lot of their DJs host syndicated programs that get played around the country, shows like Loveline. The reason for syndication is usually one of two reasons--either the show is really popular (think Howard Stern or Loveline), or stations just want to fill up time slots, usually on the weekend. In exchange for playing these time-filler slots, radio stations get free CDs in return filled with various crap that we can use to do our own production. It's not a bad deal.


However, some of these shows are unbearably awful. One such show that fits under this category is "Out Of Order with Jed the Fish", a countdown show that uses it's inability to count correctly as a gimmick. That is actually the smartest thing about the show, if you can believe it. The host is a smug, retarded jackass that goes by the spectacularly mediocre handle of Jed the Fish, whose idea of hosting a show means him making a terrible pun or speaking in a weird voice for 15 seconds before introducing a song. That is, if he's speaking at all. Often he'll just introduce an interview segment, splice in someone else's interview, and call it a day. This all wouldn't be so bad, but his nationwide show nets him a deal that makes him a millionaire, all for a few minutes worth of quarter-assed work--producers do the rest.

And for this, he earns a deserved spot on the Vendettas list.