no more cat videos after this one, i promise

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yeah it's a little repetitive, but that's what makes it so damn funny.

besides, it's what made me laugh today.

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h/t electro^plankton

you don't know what it's like

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while so many memories of my youth are a distant blur, i remember like it was yesterday lying alone in the dark in that most dark of years, radio on, hearing for the first time the opening lines of this song

there's a light,
a certain kind of light,
that's never shone on me

and knowing, even at the tender age of twelve, exactly what those goddam bee gees meant.


twenty years later, jimmy somerville would come outta left field with a reggae version of this same song that shouldn't work at all but is one of my favorite covers of all time.

if you know, you already know. if you don't, get shitfaced by whichever means you prefer, click on the link i've conveniently provided below, turn up the volume and listen twenty or thirty times until you've achieved the necessary level of enlightenment.

or maybe that's just the way i listen to music.

Jimmy Somerville - To Love Somebody

this is why i don't write an advice column

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[this one just goes to show you never know what you'll find whilst digging around in your past for something else--or maybe that's just me.]

* * * * *

i came across the following on craigslist one night awhile back [sorry, you'll have to click-and-embiggen to read]:


in the wake of this rather extraordinary post i found a flood of responses, most expressing sympathy for the victim and asking for the rapist's email address so as to avoid said rapist in the future.

seeing nothing in any of the responses which came even close to addressing the real issue at hand (and being well into my second mkf cocktail of the evening), i set myself to the task of saying what needed to be said; which post--for the brief, shining moment of its existence before it was flagged to death--ended up looking like this:


i distinctly remember not only posting this to craigslist at large, but then taking the additional step of sending it directly to the victim [unsurprisingly, i never received an answer, but i sure as hell hope he at least took my advice about the emergency-room hiv-prevention-protocol part].

next day i came back all sobered-up, read what i had posted [only because i was smart enough to take the above screenshot before it was deleted], cringed in morning-after remorse, thought about how i might've more diplomatically phrased my response to this poor, sad fuck (phrases such as "violated, cum-filled asshole", " shame on you" and " grow a spine" might not have played so prominent a part had i done this sober, you know?), and then wrote it off as yet another lost opportunity.

[of course, the next time i looked at the whole thing shitfaced [i.e, just now], i totally and unapologetically saw my point in the first goddam place--i mean, don't you?]

whatever--at the moment i'm more concerned that i did more harm to the guy than good. because while my jaded, drunken ass might appreciate a cold slap-in-the-face reality check, experience has taught me that most people prefer getting their truth in small, sugar-coated, doable doses.

unfortunately, that's not the way we roll here.

two stories of sam

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tonight a song came up on shuffle that triggered so much shit in my twisted psyche i had to write a post. by the time i had worked through the memory, consumed some alcohol and written the post, it occurred to me that i'd already gone through this exact same process, triggered by the same goddam song, at some point in the past. i went back, found the old draft, debated which version i should publish, decided probably neither, and then went with both. it's obvious which was written first, right?

 

 1. 

he read me from day one. he'd suck me in, take me hard and deep while he looked up at me with those wounded-doe eyes like i was the first guy who'd ever had him. sam was good that way. and then when he sensed my incipient disinterest, he'd pull back, ignore my calls and have nothing to do with me for a week or two until i was crazy for him again--he was good that way, too. we went through a few of these cycles before i wised up. whatever--this post is about the day we were sitting on his absent boyfriend/benefactor's couch in silverlake and he begged me to listen to an obscure version of a popular hit by his favorite artist, because "this is the one she really meant." i gritted my teeth, did as i was asked, and was surprised. you were bad for me, sammy, and i was bad for you. but thanks for this, anyway.

 

 2. 

so maybe [if you're cynical like me] this song can be reduced to the following: rich bitch closing in on middle age all of a sudden realizes she needs a kid to make her life complete, meets resistance from the universe, brings all her considerable resources to bear and pulls it off--a boy, as it turns out. difference between her and the countless other infertile women in the western world is, she's got (a) some songwriting ability, (b) a recording contract with a major label, and (c) that voice. so she encapsulates her feelings about the experience in a song, presents it to the powers-that-be and meets resistance once more--it's way too long and way too slow, so they insist on snappily repackaging her heartfelt sentiment for radio. fast-forward several years: i'm sitting in the living room of a house in silver lake that sam shares with his checkbook/benefactor--crazy about him, wanting to steal him away from this place, wishing he felt the same way about me and knowing he doesn't because he can't--and he pulls out this cd, tells me i have to hear this song and gives me the background [he spins it nicer than i just did, of course]--but when he tells me the artist and title he emphasizes it's not the radio cut; what he's gonna play for me is the way she meant the world to hear it, just-listen-pleeease-you'll-like-it-i-promise. and, since it's sammy--but only because it's sammy--i choke down my reflexive distaste, sit back, roll my eyes and say fine, put the bitch on. and he does, curls up against me, closes his eyes--and despite myself she blows me away. and yeah, maybe my feelings about this recording are overly colored by my long-dead passion for a guy who loved it so much--but if this cut doesn't move you, then all i can say is: experience a major life event, write it up in song, arrange and record a work of similar or better quality and then get back to me.

* * * * *

yeah, it's celine; listen without prejudice. and i mean all the way to the end, to the quiet before the storm when she brings it home and sends the chills up your spine whether you want her to or not. and if not for me or celine, then at least listen for sam--because trust me, if he took your hands in his, pierced you with those wounded-doe eyes and asked you to do it, you totally would.

a little something to start your morning off right

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when the mcalvany report started talking about this story a month or so ago, the ratio of corporate officers and other insiders selling their own company's stock (as opposed to buying) was merely 10:1; now it's ballooned to 30:1.

last time this happened? you guessed it--right before the shit hit the fan two years ago.

my favorite line from the story:

"Adding to the flurry of stock sales, companies are selling stock to the public at a brisk clip while buybacks have tailed off."

p.t. barnum must be smiling in his grave.

too soon?

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sorry, but this is my warmest, fuzziest, most nostalgic memory of teddy.

to this day, i remember that day back in tenth grade thumbing through my best-friend bruce's brand-new national lampoon encyclopedia of humor during third-period smoking break [remind me to talk about how different high school was back in 1973 sometime], coming across the above, snorting a mouthful of dr. pepper and cigarette smoke through my nose all over the page and having to buy him a new book.

36 years later, it still makes me laugh--and yeah, i fully realize i'm daring at this most difficult and delicate moment in american history to take the extraordinarily risky step of expressing irreverence toward a freshly-dead kennedy.

all i can say is, eat me--oh, and stay tuned for part 2 of this thread (if you're lucky).

a public service announcement

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it came to my attention today that there are people out there who still haven't seen this video:



this intolerable ignorance by the masses of the wisdom of alexyss k. tylor will not stand--at least, not if long john silver's and i have anything to say about it.