Shades of...

In high school, I wrote a few dozen songs and recorded them onto two albums. Most of the songs were crap, but a few were pretty decent. They are still played on a regular basis in my mom's car. In college, I wrote a couple new tunes every year or so, and at least half of them are bearable. But in the years since school, songwriting has been a much more sporadic activity. Maybe I'd get in one a year, plus a 5-minute score written over a weekend for a movie.

I sat down last night and finished a song I had started four years ago and given up on. It's horrible, and hopefully won't ever see the light of day. The music is derivative and the lyrics could have been written by a seventh-grader. [I was going to put an example of a verse here, but it's just too embarrassing. Even on teh internets.]

I'm glad to have done this though. It's important to even attempt to keep up the song-writing chops, and hopefully this crap-tastic ditty will be just a stepping stone to a decent tune I have yet to write. But that might be bullshit.

In high school, the songs seemed to write themselves. There was teen angst and frustration behind them. Granted, the very first one was a ballad about a redneck who lived under the deck, but most of the others were written for whichever girl I pined for that month, and packed onto a self-recorded mixtape that contained my undying affections. These songs meant something and I still sing them with at least a little passion, trying to remember which lovely lady inspired them. But I just can't seem to hold onto that passion long enough to write a good one anymore.

A list of the last few tunes I've created:

• 2004 - an ode to the girl I used to pass every day on my way to work. We traveled in opposite directions but were destined never to cross paths again when my hours were switched from 9:30am to 10 o'clock. Still, every time I had an early meeting, there was hope...
  
• 2005 - a love song for my sister and her husband. Sort of a gross idea, even if it was their wedding song.
  
• 2006 - a warning to my friend not to get drunk and make mistakes.
• 2007 - making fun of my friend who doesn't realize his life is a musical.
  
• 2008 - last night's turd sandwich, about conquering your obstacles or some shit.

In conclusion, I might be dead inside.

InSpired

Couple things...

• I read in the Tribune this morning that condos are going on sale today in the Chicago Spire, a drillbit of a skyscraper on the lakefront that started construction over the summer. At 2,000 feet (and 150 stories), it will be the tallest building in America when completed. Units expect to sell for $750K to $15 million, starting around $1400 per square foot. This got me thinking, if I wanted an apartment in this fancy new highrise of highrises, I could afford a new 6x12-inch rectangle of floor every month. It would take more than four-and-a-half years to buy enough space for my full-size bed. Good thing it won't be finished until 2011. (The Spire, that is. Not my bed.)
  

• I've been cooking breakfast sausage every few days lately. Not only is it delicious, but the odor lingers for several days in the apartment. It's nice to get home from work around 1am on a Wednesday and smell breakfast sausage.
  

Triumph of the Human Spirit

My dad sent me an article from the AP today about a couple of guys in New York...

"Two men have been arrested after wheeling a dead man through the streets of Manhattan in an office chair to a check-cashing store. Police say the men were trying to cash the dead man's Social Security check. Police spokesman Paul Browne says David Dalaia and James O'Hare pushed Virgilio Cintron's body from the apartment O'Hare and Cintron shared about a block away to Pay-O-Matic. Browne says witnesses saw the two pushing the chair with Cintron flopping from side to side and the two individuals propping him up. He says the men left Cintron's body outside the store, went inside and tried to cash his $355 check. The two men were arrested at the store... Browne says Dalaia and O'Hare, both 65, were being held by police and faced check fraud charges."

You're never too old to wheel your dead roommate down the street in an office chair.

Sometimes remakes are good

Back in August, when I first heard NBC was going to put American Gladiators back on the air, I was mostly indifferent. Sounded like the network was trying to capitalize on ironic 80's nostalgia with a show that would help get them through an impending writer's strike. Well, it worked. After seeing the first three episodes, I can confidently say this show is amazing. There are many reasons that lead me to this conclusion. Here are four of them...

• Water. Foam mats are so 1990. When a gladiator knocks a contender out during Joust, the loser falls into a pool. The maze of rings that is Hang Tough takes place over water. And in Assault, if the contender hits the target, the gladiator is flung backwards through the air into the water. This hasn't happened yet, but I eagerly await the moment with glee. The post-Joust interviews with female contenders are extremely entertaining when their makeup is fucked and they look like witches.

• Hulk Hogan. His interview skills are top notch. His intensity is top notch. His mustache is top notch. And if you take a shot every time he says "awesome" or "brother," you might die twice.

• The Eliminator. First they climb a wall, then they have to swim under a WALL OF FIRE. Other usual suspects are there: the cargo net, the balance beam, the hand-bike. But in an homage to MXC, contenders have to hold onto a big log that rolls down a slope. I like that part. The kicker is what they call the "Travelator." It's an inclined treadmill that gives everyone all kinds of trouble. Used to be at the start of the Eliminator, but now it's at the very end, and that's a world of difference. To make it a little easier, they even threw in a rope to grab for help. But it doesn't. The average contender spends at least a minute running up, grabbing the rope, falling back, then holding on for dear life as the treadmill pulls them down again. Somehow, this struggle becomes hilarious and I love it. The new Eliminator is something special.

• Wolf. All of the new gladiators are pretty great. Toa wears some sort of kilt/skirt and yells in gibberish, and I might want to marry Crush. Hellga also intrigues me. But no one compares to Wolf [seen above]. He's a combination of Ben Stiller's character in Dodgeball, the Predator, Teen Wolf, and Mola Ram from Temple of Doom. There were several moments last night when we thought he might actually reach into a contender's chest, rip out his heart and set it on fire, then be eaten by alligators. Oh, and he doesn't speak. He only howls.

This writer's strike has been very frustrating, particularly now that we have to endure a spring without 24. But American Gladiators is certainly helping to ease the pain. I've also heard there are other things to do besides watch television. I'll let you know when I figure one out.

Correction: In a promo video on NBC.com Wolf speaks. "I've fought men all my life. I've fought animals all my life. I'm the only real gladiator there is left on this Earth." This is acceptable.

WHAT WHAT WHAT

This was going to be a post about how awesome the new version of American Gladiators is. But the OSU band is playing the theme from Robin Hood Prince of Thieves during halftime of the national championship game.

American Gladiators will have to wait a few minutes.

Courtesy Flush

Last year, my folks gave me a bathroom book. Well, it was actually last week. But because today is January 3rd, it's still technically true. Isn't that fun?

Anyway, I don't have a terrible need for a bathroom book, thanks to Esquire, Wired and National Geographic. But just to honor my parents, I read a little bit last night before bed. Which got me thinking, there are a whole bunch of people out there writing, editing and publishing books that are destined for the bathroom. Someone took the time to compile the 420 (!) pages of Uncle John's Bathroom Reader Wonderful World of Odd: Expanded Edition, by the Bathroom Reader's Institute with full knowledge that the vast majority of people who read it would do so while pooping.

As indicated on the verso of the title page, Michael Brunsfeld of San Raphael, California designed the cover of this massive tome. He was able to pay his bills because he created this image seen mostly by people in the process of dropping some children off at the pool (AKA "fighting crime" by a friend of mine). I wonder how he feels about that. His credit in the book also includes his email address and I am somewhat inclined to ask his opinion on the matter. All it would probably take is a little prodding by the two or three readers of this blog.

If you knew that the only time your job had an effect on someone was while they were negotiating the release of chocolate hostages, would you ask for a raise? It's shitty work, but someone's got to do it.

Ano

I've said it before, but it bears repeating. The reason you wake up with a hangover on New Year's Day is so the year can only get better from there.

Guh.

Last night was an astoundingly amazing good time, and I am eternally grateful it wound up so awesome. Seeing your best friends once in a while is a good thing. And I've got some pretty great ones.

Yes, I'm still drunk.

Have a great year, everybody. Start with a cup of coffee.