"What did you get, Charlie Brown?"
"I got a copy of Andy's mix CD..."
October 28, 2007 (12:20 a.m.)
This is the second year that I've made a Halloween mix for
my friends. I don't know if they really want or enjoy these mixes,
but they're getting them anyway, because they're a ton of fun to make. Granted,
I obsess over them way too much, but the process has exposed me to a lot of songs
I wouldn't have otherwise heard.
This year's mix, though, seems to be causing some consternation out there in the wild. I started the thing with a sound clip of the Gentlemen Rhyme from the "Hush" episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It's one of those spooky little nursery rhymes, spoken by a young girl in that detached manner that's always so creepy in horror movies. In this case, it refers to the Gentlemen harvesting organs, to screaming but not making a sound, etc. -- if you've seen the episode, you know what it's all about. It sets a nice tone before Th' Legendary Shack Shakers kick it with some rabid Southern Gothic mayhem.
Apparently, that opening rhyme totally freaked out one friend's small daughters, who started crying and screaming for their mother to take it off of the mini-van Be player. Sorry for that one, girls! I really do feel bad about that.
But I got a voice mail tonight from another friend who said his wife thought I had "issues" because of the song selection. Granted, the song selection's a wee bit dark -- Gillian Welch's murder ballad "Caleb Meyer", Guadalcanal Diary's "Ghosts in the Road", "Oh Susanna's "Deathyard", and the like -- and it certainly doesn't rock like the previous year's mix. I went for spooky and moody this time out. But c'mon, it's a Halloween mix. Ghouls, ghosties, goblins! What'd you expect? (But then again, I'm toying with a St. Patrick's Day mix, just to see if I can pull one off that doesn't include a single traditional song, and it's turning out to be no barrel of sunshine, either...)
I called up my friend tonight to find out just what kinds of issues I supposedly had, but he was sick and nauseous and out of commission. I'm sure his wife thinks it's my nefarious mix CD's doing.
Our long national nightmare will be over sometime in October
October 13, 2007 (12:52 a.m.)
So. Dane Cook is the spokesman for this year's baseball playoffs? Really? Is this what you get when a network tries to act young and hip?
Lord, it's enough to put me off of baseball forever, watching his scruffy mug get all emotive and aggressive about moments from baseball history. To keep my sanity, and to think that Cook will surely pay for this blasphemy, I like to imagine the following conversation:
The scene: a lonely crossroads. Dane Cook is standing there, as if he's waiting on someone. Suddenly, the Devil appears.
Cook: Um, I'd like to sell my soul.
Satan: Ok, sure, I guess. What do you want in exchange?
Cook: I'd like to be a really funny, really famous comedian.
Satan: Sorry, you don't get to be funny.
Cook: Why not? It's not too much to ask...
Satan: Hey, it's a buyer's market. I've got more souls than I know
what to do with. I've been building extra wings in Hell for what seems like forever
now. Good thing most of the contractors are already down there.
Cook: But what about being a comedian?
Satan: Oh, I can make you a comedian.
Even a rich one. I just won't
make you funny. Hey, it worked OK for Carrot Top.
Cook: Don't give me that. Carrot Top never had a soul.
Satan: OK, that's true. What if I make you a famous comedian, without
making you funny. But I'll also give you a spot advertising baseball.
Cook: That's kind of weird, but I guess that'd be alright.
Satan: Hey, you'd be doing me a solid favor. Baseball is God's
game, after all, and anything that drives people away from it is fine by me.