The new Jensen JiMS 525i may be a great iPod dockable HD Radio, but as technology leaps ever forward, I can't help but feel old nostalgic. Sure, I use the Internet (far too much, according to some), but I can't help but feel that kids today are missing out. Take music, for example.
So many makers of today's music machines, like the new Jensen JiMS 525i, are selling themselves on the the benefit of iTunes Tagging. "How many times have you heard a song on the radio you’d really like to hear again?" they say. "Wouldn't it be great if you could tag that song and buy it?"
Everyone knows that one of the many joys of music, along with the often related ear worm song, is the nagging annoyance of 'knowing' a song, but being unable to name it or who recorded it.
Honestly. It's a thrill.
There's a satisfaction in ending the auditory blackout -- remembering the name -- right as you walk into the record shop, before you have to ask some clerk and show your ignorance in public. And I love waking up at 3 A.M., sitting straight up in bed and uttering, "Power Station!" before passing out again with a sigh. Maybe I'll remember that in the morning; maybe not. But for now, I got it, damnit.
This deficit on the part of the general population to recall the song's title and artist even when listening to it forces you to listen to the radio announcers (even today on those new music stations), just to hear them identify the song. You beat your fist on the dashboard in frustration when they didn't -- and rhythmically on the steering wheel as you repeated the title/artist mantra out loud when they did (yes, all the way to the record shop). If you were home alone on a Saturday night, you could even call into the radio station and ask... The final nail on your loser coffin. This alone made DJs vital to your life.
But, again, sometimes you couldn't count on the DJ for help. You just wandered, frustrated and annoyed until you found one of those rare and annoying but necessary walking encyclopedias of musical knowledge -- those who can who can hear, process & recall such info (along with band, album name, and concert date at CBGB's). We need these geeks of music. And they know it. Hence their egos.
Now the chips on the shoulders of those who do not recall as well have been replaced by some computer chip.
Sure, it's cleaner, easier, and costs your pride less to hold up a device and get the answer than it is to humbly ask your local music knowledge god. But the computer chip has no great stories.
It won't regale you with tales of rock concerts.
Or of staying home one night after being dumped and polishing off a six-pack of Zimas solo while listening to November Rain over and over again until you could get pissed enough (emotionally & alcohol-wise) to angrily sing-scream along with I Used To Love Her.
(Axel Rose sure knew how to musically score a love life -- or so I'm told. I never did that, of course. It's just an example... From my, uh, friend's life.)
Sooner or later we all have the thrill of playing music knowledge god too. Eventually a friend doesn't know the latest release by the hottest new artist -- but you do. And then you get to express your superiority & snark as you reply, "How do you not know of The The?!" followed by a "sheesh!" or a sigh and the mandatory eyeball roll.
Without these mental musical blanks in the minds of your friends, how would you ever get that opening to tell the story of why you'll never-ever forget the Pet Shop Boys' or West End Girls -- because that song sooo reminds you of the night you were sooo drunk you woke up in the dorm's girls' bathroom, staring at the "janitor's" shoes. (He said he was the janitor, but what janitor wears patent leather shoes to his job?)
How else will we be able to share these stories?
Oh yeah... Blogs.
But then, it's not quite the same as being asked -- and I have no idea if you're even listening.
A pervy come-on of a sales-pitch from a ladies' clothing salesman:
I never thought I’d see so much purity of pattern. Absolute rightness. I must please you, and I think I can. Don’t fail me now, because I may never trust myself with a woman again, ever. Try it on. I’m sure, absolutely, I can please you. Show me. Wait for me.
I know what you’re thinking: “What a clever duct tape replica of an Episode 2 red clone trooper helmet!” That is what it looks like, but really I was more inspired by my dad’s old Mandalorian helmet from his days as a training sergeant during the Clone Wars.
Found this at Lost At E Minor, where Gerry Mak says, "The Big Lebowski is probably one of the most beloved films of our generation, so the soon to be released Dude action figure should be an insanely hot item."
I've never seen The Big Lebowski; so maybe I'm un-cool. But who doesn't want a John Goodman action figure?
Personally, I've always wanted Roseanne action figures. I'd totally love to play with the Connor family. I double-dog-dare you to say you wouldn't either.
Highlights of this show include DJ's late arrival ~ not due to, as James said, the chronic tardiness of guitarists, but DJ's Internet stalking of yours truly (visits to Peek-A-Boob and Sex-Kitten ~ who can blame him then for being late?), and the continual mockery of the musicians for being underage for the show (complete with a crazy phone call from Captain Planet aka Jill B. of SWOP-East).
OK, so those weren't the highlights of the show...
We might have been tempted to believe Gracie's comments were the self-deprecating mutterings of a woman who knows that "You gotta laugh when you're the joke"; but then we read the following from SIXX:A.M. fans as DJ Ashba's "Ashbaland Forum":
listen carefully for my favorite parts of that interview, in not much of a particular order:
dj whining defensively, "man! i was 2 minutes late!" you can hear him smile. too cute.
the lady calling to dispute their ages. did she REALLY say shed never been a member of a cult before? i keep meaning to listen to that part again, but its just not THAT important. when i heard it i got a vision in my head of some lady sitting next to her radio believing that she was being initiated into a real cult and that if she just passed this preliminary test, shed score her place in line waiting for the pitcher of kool aid to be passed around. the post show notes credit her with being a host to another show, but when i was listening i had no idea who she was and it was just funny.
How on earth did we miss this?
*side note* now that i think about it, i wonder why it wasnt promoted a bit more. weve all seen 2 minutes interview clips that get boatloads of hype and press. here was a 48 minute call in show that id never even heard of till a couple of days after the fact. as it turned out, maybe it was alot more fun just listening to them sorta hanging out than it mighta been to hear other people calling in with questions that have been answered in 45873 other interviews...this one was entertaining cuz it was unique if nothing else lol.
The Get Out! Kitschy Kitschy Coo Award is given by Pop Tart and reflects Pop Tart's enjoyment of mocking, amusing, and amazing comments made at any of her blogs, including her blog posts at CQ.
The award gives more than a nod to Elaine Benes, only Pop Tart's incredulity isn't mocking; she's really amazed &/or amused. Pop Tart reserves the right to remove the mocking element in the "Get out!" because the person commenting has already provided that. Plus, she's not shoving you.
Or perhaps it's that your comments are Elaine-esque, giving a full frontal shove to Pop Tart. But we'll leave that debate to the philosophers in the crowd.
Should you be clever enough to be given the "Get Out!" Award, feel free to display the award with a link back to Kitschy Kitschy Coo (either to the post where Pop Tart awards it to you, or the blog's main URL, Kitschy-Kitschy-Coo.Com).
We got the kids a few of these toy pens by Stylus Pens (the SpongeBob Squarepants Etch A Sketch Pen & the Nerf Dart Blaster Toy Pen -- and the Star Wars Darth Vader Lego Pen I kept for myself) and they were huge hits. At such small prices, I'm thinking we'll be adding to their collection with birthdays etc.
But the best gift by far was Flarp -- just 88 cents at Walmart, it was not only the thing the three youngest (ages 4, 7 and 11) played with the most, but the thing they called their favorite gift and mentioned to others first when asked what they got for Christmas. We always say that a purchase of Flarp is the best 88 cents ever spent.
See some folks with Flarp in action:
Lessons learned? Kids are cheap thrills seekers. Just like cats.
You can spend big bucks on the latest toys, but all your cat wants is a wad of tin foil rolled into a ball to bat about, or the plastic ring on a milk jug, or a rubber band... I suspect our kids might be easily amused with the same. But we settle for cheap toy pens & Flarp -- oh, and Silly String. Every birthday party, we arm the kids and the grown-ups (all the way to Great Grandpas & Grandmas) with cans of silly string and that's their favorite part.
Andrew Dice Clay, Wayne Newton, Priscilla Presley, Morris Day, Lauren Holly, Gilbert Gottfried, Ed O'Neill, Sheila E. & more!
It sounds rather like a Ronco commercial, and maybe it is just that cool... The kind of cool we here at Kitschy Kitschy Coo believe in anyway!
What am I talking about? Why the fab film, The Adventures of Ford Fairlane, of course!
Just watched this flick on late night TV recently. I turned the tube on while this fine film was already in progress -- just as Fairlane (Dice Clay) is searching the boat residence of Johnny Crunch (Gottfried), a scene which includes a blow-up doll, a BDSM video tape with Crunch and Colleen Sutton (Presley), and a strange freak of a hit man (Robert Englund). (That alone could have sold me -- but wait! As I said, there's more!)
I turned to hubby and said, "What's this movie?" And he's all like, "It's Ford Fairlane, duh," like I'm some sort of pop culture retard. :snort: The film came out in 1990, and I was all up to my knees in baby poo, thank you very much. So I missed it then. But thanks to TV re-runs and DVD, you too can enjoy the adventures of Ford "Mr. Rock n' Roll Detective" Fairlane.
There's so much to like about this movie. Sure, seeing Morris Day as a Record Producer is cool. And the cameos by 'countless others' (use of air quotes to indicate that you can really count them, I'm just too lazy to do so) makes this fun for those of us who are of a certain age (and like fine wine, we don't breathe -- our actual age anyway). But the film is funny!
Hubby stared at me like I was nuts, telling me folks made fun of it when it came out.
"What, didn't they know camp when they saw it?! Wait a minute, this was 1990, behaviorally, very 1980's, so they had to know camp film..."
"Um, I don't think it was made to be camp -- maybe not even made to be funny..." he retorts.
"Bah, it's the Vin-Man," I say, poo-pooing him now.
"The. Vin. Man."
The look on his face tells me he has no idea that Dice Clay was in Casual Sex, quite possibly one of my Fab-Fave-Films of All Time. (But that is another story, and likely for another place altogether too.)
So to get back to Ford Fairlane...
I adored the rest of the film, and kept an eye on for the next airing -- which I watched late at night, without hubby's snarky comments, thank-you-very-muchly.
Sure, the humor isn't politically correct -- I call that bonus points. Is it derogatory towards women? Err, how can you take a man who hides out a sorority where all the chicks are aerobicizing as anything other than a comment on stupid male fantasies?! If you're not sure that the movie is self-mocking, check out Andrew Dice Clay yelling, "My hair! My hair!" as he falls out a window.
Hey, the movie tag lines included, "Ford Fairlane, rock 'n roll detective. To clients he's the greatest. To everyone else, he's just a dick." And "Private Detective. Public Offender." Doesn't sound like it takes itself seriously to me.
It's a classic -- a cult classic (if not already, it will be) -- and on my gift list, should anyone who buys me gifts be reading here. I wouldn't throw the soundtrack (with Dice Clay singing I Ain't Got You) out of bed for eating crackers either, should a CD be able to do such things.
Oh, and in case anyone asks, my favorite line from the movie is, "Conversation with Zuzu Petals was like masturbating with a cheese grater: slightly amusing, but mostly painful."
Which is about how my husband feels about watching movies with me, I guess. *wink*