February 22nd, 2007


Cool Band Name Idea: The Disappointing Tits

I appreciate the outpouring of support over my facial deficiencies this week; really, the well-wishing from friends and loved-ones has been breathtakingly overwhelming. You'll all be excited to learn that the geyser has burst and I lost about five pounds of fluid from my face this morning. There's still a bump there, but thankfully the strain on my neck from holding my head upright has waned.

I've seen my share of disappointing tits in my day, but that's not what we're talking about right now.

No no, today what's on my mind is Blogs. Online Journals, Diaries, Dairies, whathaveyou. Before the Internet, people had to keep these things by hand (unless your name is Doogie Howser); I know, I know, like, who can even REMEMBER that far back, right? It's like, what-EVER, this is like the 21st century or something, who flippin' CARES about your stone ages?

But, it's true. Since the days of Anne Frank, people have been keeping and recording their thoughts onto the blank page, and since then - I would hope - they've been getting a whole lot more interesting. But, here's the thing about journals: most all of them are meant to be kept private. You're an angst-riddled teenager, you have all these emotions, all these novel ideas about life, no one UNDERSTANDS you; so you kick back with your hair tied up, wearing your My Little Pony pajamas, scarf down a bucket of ice cream with extra hot fudge, put a colored light bulb into your butterfly lamp (I'm feeling like it's an Orange Day), take your little notebook from your super-duper-secret under-the-matress hiding place so your stinky little brother won't find it and know all your secrets and tell all your friends about how you stuff your bra and secretly fantasize about the hunky quarterback on your high school's football team even though he's a Senior and you're just a dorky Freshman, and you write for like twenty minutes about how Shonda's a total skankslut who puts out on the first date and then it's time for Road Rules.

What's the point? Personal journals are mostly stupid. I have about 9 school-type lined notebooks (mostly college-ruled) filled with my thoughts on life and whatever (and if the movie "Seven" comes to mind, you wouldn't be that far off the mark), and for a while there I thought what I was writing was the Bee's fucking Knees. Then I went back and re-read what I have there. You know what it is? Half of what I wrote was just a bunch of bullshit rants about whatever pissed me off that particular day; and the other half was me pissing and moaning about whatever girl I liked but who didn't like me. You know what most everything I ever wrote about in my personal journals have in common? It's all BULLSHIT. Either, "My parents pissed me off today and my brother sucks" or "Ohmygod, Molly Pussysnatch is the most perfect girl ever, all I want to do all the time is love her gentle goodness!" KILL ME!

And then the Internet arrived, and the world rejoiced. For now, all those painful hand cramps could be replaced with carpal tunnel syndrome! No, not that: For now, we can all write BLOGS!

I still hate that word and I still refuse to call what this is I'm doing right now a "Blog." Repeat After Me: "This. Is. An. On-line. Jour-nal."

Anyway, the Blog. Whole different animal than your matress diary back home. For, you see, this thing's MEANT to be read by other people. Even - GASP - strangers! Ergo, those of us who participate in this vast and endless enterprise must EDIT what we say. It's not a true diary, it's not a real journal of our thoughts. It's a facade. That doesn't necessarily mean that I'm a liar, that I'm fabricating things. It just means that I'm not telling you everything there is to know about me through this channel.

And you should be thankful. Because, if I decided to be totally 100% Anne Frank with you, you'd surely want to throttle me over the repetitiveness and obsessiveness of my thoughts. That means you're NOT going to hear about any girl I've developed a crush for, you're NOT going to be getting daily updates on the boring shit that goes on in my life (like my running or my website building); I'm trying really hard here to think of different things to write about because what goes on in my day-to-day life is some of the most mundane shit you'd ever imagine.

Which could be said for just about everyone. People's lives are almost as boring as the personal journals they keep. And the endings are mostly as uneventful as this here sentence.

Take This Internet & Shove It

You know what's really starting to piss me off? People who tell me to "Just look it up on the Internet" expecting me to find whatever the fuck it is that I'm looking for.

Oh, you need a job? Just look it up on the Internet.

Gotta find a new apartment, just Google it.

Fuck you! I just spent the better part of an hour trying to find out if New York or any of the outlying states nearby have ANY music festivals on par with what Washington has with Sasquatch or Bumbershoot (to be honest, I just read the line-up to Sasquatch and bemoaned the price of airfare as I creamed in my pants at all the bands I'd want to see). And, do you know what I FOUND? Nothing remotely helpful, that's for damn sure!

There's never ANYTHING remotefully helpful about the Internet, because about 95% of everything on the Internet that isn't porn is complete and utter worthless BULLSHIT! Making it so you can't find anything you actually need (but there's sure as shit a ton of crap people think you want).

So, you know what, the next time I ask you if you can help me with some information, and you tell me to go look on the Internet, I'll kindly go tell you to fuck yourself.

Now, with that settled, does ANYONE know of a decent music guide that I can check on a weekly basis to see which bands are coming to town? I have bands to see and God dammit they're too plentiful to look up individually.

And does ANYONE know of any cool festivals? All I could find for this area was the North by North East festival in Toronto, and last year the Bare Naked Ladies were the headliners. I need help ...