And the award goes to.....

A few months ago I commented that I thought that Ryan Adams was the coolest person in the world. Now, when I say cool, I don't mean cool...I mean overhyped and mysterious...yeah, he's a very versatile musician (the last album was a big Smiths ripoff, two albums ago sounded like his old Whiskeytown alt-country stuff, three albums back sounded very John Mellencamp/Travis).


What a sexy man!

Well, let's look at another pop rock phenom, who I might need to give the new Coolest Person award to. John Mayer. This guy started gaining notoriety for a series of mp3's which were from one-man acoustical live jams. He's really a genius on the guitar, and his vocal impressions of Dave Matthews (which come out on, oh, every song or so) are dead on. He even plays a Dave Matthews signature-series Martin guitar. Well, basically, the industry got ahold of his balls, because every song that goes out over the airwaves has been looped up, sped up, and spruced up. Electric guitars, little synthesizer tweaks, and, of course, very evenly timed percussion.

Right around the time this all started to leak out, Mich and I went to a Counting Crows/John Mayer concert. Would you believe the smug bastard had the audacity to make the Crows play first? Boy needs to learn some respeck! Anyway, the teenage girls in front of us knew every word to "Yellow Taxi", though no idea that it was a Joni Mitchell song (or who she was, for that matter). When John Mayer and his backup band came on, their shrieking was so loud, that we couldn't even enjoy the show. We left after the third song. The writeup in the paper the next day basically lampooned Mayer, saying that he should take a lesson in live showmanship from the Crows, who always deliver.

Well, I still liked the guy after that, so I did what any fan would do: tried to pirate some more of his stuff off the net. In doing a Kazaa search (remember Kazaa from way back when?), I found too interesting titles: Kid A and Karma Police...turns out Johnny Boy likes to cover Radiohead songs....badly...these are horrible renditions of what were both musical masterpieces. Maybe he'll remake Stairway next. Or Whiter Shade of Pale. Or, could it be Help! ?



posted by Rich at 10:02 AM Comments

 
And while I think about it, the top ten list of songs for January 2005:

1.) "Courage" by Glen Phillips
2.) "Be Careful" by Mutual Admiration Society
3.) "You and I Both" by Jason Mraz
4.) "What do you hear in these sounds?" by Dar Williams
5.) "This Corrosion" by Lambchop
6.) A mix of the drum beat from Let's Get Started (Radio Edit) with the lyrics from Let's Get Retarded (album version), by the Black-Eyed Peas
7.) "Ghetto Gospel" by 2Pac and Elton John
8.) "Bonfire" by Lamb
9.) "Hovering" by Beulah
10.) "Shattered" by Remy Zero

No particular order, by the way.


posted by Rich at 11:39 AM Comments

 
Let's talk midlife crisis. I'm 25, but I still dress like I'm 16, listen to rap, and generally act like a moron. In the spirit of funny email exchanges, here is one that went on a few months ago.

Michelle writes:
"Um, paycheck should go in tonight I believe. Fit-on-you is the tailor. Unfortunately, it was like 22 bucks to get my Burberry skirt taken in. I know it sucks but I just love that skirt and now I will be able to wear it again. Please don't be mad. I love you. And I didn't pay 2 bucks to put I'm a P-I-M-P on my cell phone :)"

To which I replied:

"Mich,
I'm thinking about changing that ringer to something a little more growns-up. The pimply-faced teenagers at Best Buy laughed at my balding self when the phone rang in the store yesterday.
Rich"

And she wrote back:
"Seriously? Did they really?"

To which I replied:
"No really, they did."

I now have "Drop it like its Hot" by Snoop Dogg.

posted by Rich at 11:36 AM Comments

 
Here is another zany email, about Michelle's ancient cadre of evening-wear:

"Grey Tanktop, nightwear to "America's Next Top Model" Michelle Martin, died today. She was 20 years old. Tanktop, a frequent contributor to Ms. Martin's evening wardrobe, had apparently been ailing from overuse and old age. Upon discovering Tanktop in the bottom of the dryer with one of her shoulder straps tattered, Martin's fiance Rich Gunther attempted to revive her, but alas, he failed. Tanktop is survived by two siblings, Tattered Cleveland Browns Shirt and Dad's Old High School Reunion Smock. A private memorial service was immediately held for Tanktop, and she was buried in the garbage can with all the dog poop bags. A memorial fund has been set up, called the "Buy Michelle Some New F-in Pajamas Fund"."

Michelle's reply to this email was as follows:

"Is this an active fund? Because the proceeds could be very useful!"

To which I replied:

"Michelle,
Actually, it was set up as a conditional trust. The principal, unfortunately, was rolled over into an IRA. All of the holdings in that IRA were subsequently sold to finance the "Michelle's Pre-Wedding Shopping Spree Fund". The remaining balance in the account is thus 37 cents, a piece of chewing gum, and a wad of pocket lint. Should I have this transferred to your offshore account?

Rich"

Lively banter is cool!

posted by Rich at 11:29 AM Comments

 
Every once in a while, I pen a rather funny email, and send it around to everyone. Since the only other thing I could possibly blog about at this point would be work, I decided to post this instead. Enjoy:

"Gentlemen,
Thought you might enjoy this little anecdote, though to do so would be laughing at me, not with me. Satire is good on Mondays, I have found.

A disclaimer before I continue: Michelle's mother Jan, who we are very lucky to have taken up residence with, is a great person. Very easy to talk to, a great baker and cook, and, as those who have met her can attest, quite a looker.

A few years back, in perhaps one of the most nostalgic gestures I've yet experienced, my Dad passed on his beloved Schneider Weisse beer glass to me. I can only conjecture that he procured this treasure while living in Germany, which places its age at anywhere between 22-25 years. Over the past years, I have taken care of this glass in the same manner that one might polish an urn of their Great Aunt Miltie's ashes. I've lovingly avoided abrasive sponges and harsh detergents. I've kept it on the highest shelf, away from prying fingers who might try to pour a mere ale or other inferior draught into it.

I've been duly rewarded for my diligence with years of frothy, thick Hefe-Wiezen from this most worthy of vessels. On Saturday last, I endeavored to procure some of my favorite Hefe-Wiezen, the Tucher Kristall Wiezen. I've been able to source this on many occasions from my local ABC Liquor (which I have nicknamed the American Booze College).

After bringing home a few of the typical large format bottles of Tucher, I quickly began pouring in the manner proscribed by Richard, Sr.: putting the glass upside-down over the bottle, and slowly turning it over, holding the neck of the bottle just under the level of the liquid. When the head reached the half-liter mark inscribed on the side of the glass, I stopped pouring, but took special care to set the bottle aside. Later I could come back and indulge in the extra sediment and beer that had collected at the bottom of the bottle. We used to call this "Last Sips" when I was a child, and I was always entitled to at least a half share of these, splitting them with brother Phil. (The fact that this occurred when I was only, oh, five years old, may explain my current alcoholic predicament).

On Saturday night, I watched my dear Florida Gators fall victim yet again to poor coaching, and being a few too many Tucher's to the wind, passed out, leaving my dear glass on the kitchen counter.

Going to the kitchen today to fetch my glass, I did not find it where it should be: on a very high shelf.

Instead, it was in a cabinet where we keep other barware, and immediately I knew. I could see my shiny balding head in the shiny reflection coming off of it, which had a very interesting "funhouse hall of mirrors" quality to it. Gone were the years and years of discoloration at the bottom of the glass from countless nights of wheat sediment collecting there. The paint on the Schneider logo gleamed like a diamond, having been subjected to a ruthless onslaught of Cascade and hot water. I nearly screamed, but thought that the best therapy for my fallen friend would be to drown it in beer as expediently as possible. Luckily, when I checked the fridge, there was a lone Franciskaner in the very back. Not my ideal choice, but I went with it anyway. As I poured it, I thought I could hear the bubbles in the beer screaming as they met their demise at the hands of the detergent residue which had taken up residence where they once had frolicked unabated.

Alas, the tears that fell into the glass at the sight of this abomination were not strong enough to counteract the damage done. I can only come to one conclusion: Jan must die.

Take this as a warning, gentlemen: if you value anything sacred in life, keep the women away from the barware.

Hope all is well with all of you, and I'm looking forward to seeing you all in Vegas, where we will undoubtedly hold a wake for my glass over a few cold ones!
Cheers!
Rich
P.S. To all Martins copied on this email, it's a joke!"



posted by Rich at 11:26 AM Comments