Field of Deets

And Thank You to those who have sent me instant messages telling me they read my blog and like it; I appreciate it. Feel free to leave comments and whatnot.

Take care,

Deets

Thursday Night TV: (for you "tape and watch later" folks, don't read this)

The OC - Big time rebound after a disappointing season two premiere.

The first great line came early on when Sandy, after being asked by Kirsten to get the phone, said, "C'mon, I'm mid-shmear!" as he spread cream cheese on his bagel.

The first thing that pissed me off: When Ryan and Marissa saw each other again for the first time they hugged. Good for them, BUT when Marissa went in for the hug, the camera was behind her and we watched as she put her left hand on Ryan's right shoulder and then when they cut and the camera was behind Ryan, Marissa's arm was around his back. Continuity error. Why don't they notice these things? It's distracting. Did anybody else notice this? They need to have a Continuity Cop on hand during the shooting and editing. I volunteer me.

The first funny comment from a viewer came when Summer first told Seth she has a boyfriend (which was a lie), my roommate, Heed, said, "Back on the boat!" referring to Seth's departure at the end of last season when things weren't going his way.

The first classic OC moment, if a show as young as The OC can have classic moments: Seth presents Ryan with his comic book club/league flyer and says, "That's me with powers." That's the Seth we need more of on the show. Keep him out of the drama, just keep him running commentary on everything else.

The first predictable "What the hell?" moment: Marissa kisses DJ the yard guy. First of all, there is no shame in being a yard guy. Second of all, did we really need that? Do we have to have every relationship between any two people on The OC be dysfunctional? This show better not get to Day Time Soap on me or I'm quitting it. But I'm not nearly as close to quitting it as I was last week.

I thought this entire episode was pretty predictable, as was proved when Marissa was boozing in school. Atta girl. Why didn't I/we/my friends do more of that? Sports may have been why, lack of balls may also have played a part.

What's up with Summer and bizzaro world Seth (the new boyfriend/comic book geek)? Stupid plot move. They can do better. Moving on to some more unintentional comedy...

...When Kirsten came into her kitchen with two grocery bags and Ryan said, "Let me help with that," he was too late getting to her. She had the bags on the counter, he just slid one bag over a bit. Funny stuff. Nice try, Ryan.

I'm playing Poker online right now, and I just made an excellent, excellent lay down. And what do they Poker Gods bless me with next? Big Slick in the small blind. They also blessed me with a guy going all-in with pocket 10's and me calling and losing. Damn. Next table please

Does anybody else see The OC going right back to square one? (God, I am a fruitcake for writing so much about a show that 16 year old girls probably get together to watch every Thursday.) Anyway, Summer won't talk to Seth. Ryan and Marissa are not friends nor are they dating. Julie Cooper's husband is in legal trouble. Sandy will be back in legal talks with Cal (this time on the same team). Hailey is getting the fuck out of Dodge. Marissa has serious issues, except that part never left. Somebody hit the 'next track' button, this one is skipping.

This table keeps teasing me. Three kings in a row, all paired with low cards, 3, 4, and then 2.

Great Summer line. Ryan goes to her house to speak to her. She makes a mean remark about her step-mother. Ryan says she was nice. Summer fires back with, "She just switched anti-depressants; give it a day." Great stuff. That's why I watch The OC. Need more of that.

Next: We see Marissa. I call tears in this scene, and we get 'em. Like I said, a predictable show, but better than last week. If The OC is going to keep being popular, it needs to stick with the witty remarks, lay off a bit on the absurd plot lines, and be a bit happier.

Two commercial notes: 1) Old Navy in the first commercial break, Worst Commercial ever. I wanted to use a stereotypical remark referring to a sexual orientation that isn't as common as heterosexually, but I resisted. 2) As Robin (Robin of 'Batman and Robin' not Robin who lives three houses away) might say, "Holy Tits, Selma." Good God Selma Hayek. You sold me, I'm seeing the movie, that one with Pierce Brosnan and Woody Harrelson, forgot the name, but not the breasts.

Favorite plot line right now: The Sandy Coen defending Cal thing. Why? Because I know Seth will be around to make good jokes.

Least favorite: Ryan and Marissa. It is tired. Just put 'em together and get it over with.

Now, on to...

...CSI -

Pretty good show. Nothing interesting to add, just good show.

Break for Poker Commentary: I just had a Full House. I like Full Houses. Even Bob Saget and Jodi Sweetin (I didn't even have to look those names up...sad.)

Another hand: I held AJ - The Big Blind was called all the way around to me, I raise 100 (blinds are 15/30 and I have 950 in chips or so). Next guy folds. Second Guy goes All In. All other fold except the guy on my right, he goes All In, too. I think for a second and fold. Second Guy has pocket Q's. Guy on my Right has pocket K's. The Flop comes 7,A,J. I would have flopped two pair, tripled up, took out two guys and been set. But I still think I made a smart play. Damn Poker anyway. If I was TJ Cloutier, I would tell you to look at my cards and then I would laugh like I have Alzheimer's, but I'm not, so whoopee, next hand please.

Back to the picture box.

Ray Liotta on ER. My anticipation for this was huge. My expectations were huge. And they were surmounted no problem, by far.

Ray Liotta should start dusting off a place on his mantle for an Emmy. Wow. This was the single best performance ever displayed on a drama or comedy on network TV. Unbelievable. I just made big statements and I will stand by them all with full conviction.

Two things need to be clarified before I get into his actual performance on tonight's show:

1) I am not an ER fan. I do not watch the show; I used to watch it, but when they started loosing all the stars, I bailed out. I have not watched the show in probably four or five years.

2) Ray Liotta has long been one of my top three or four favorite actors. I always like his stuff, from Field of Dreams to Dominick and Eugene to Goodfellas to Identity to Narc. He is phenomenal. He is one of the most under-used and under-appreciated actors in Hollywood. There are many of them, add this to ever expanding List, but he is right at the top. My expectations for him on tonight's show were high. And I am not a person who will give his favorite actors a free pass. If they suck in something, I will be the first to say it. For instance, Edward Norton, Death to Smoochy, Why, Dude? C'mon. So, no free passes.

Alright, on to tonight...

The character he played was named Charlie Metcalf.

(side note on that name: Metcalf, way too often used as a surname in movies and TV, I don't know why, but I'm sure it wasn't because Laurie Metcalf played Roseanne's sister on her show...(no, I didn't have to look that up. I suck.))

Charlie Metcalf was a happily married man with an eight year old son. On his son's eighth birthday his wife asked him to go to the store to get something for the party, Charlie said no because he was finishing building a robot for Bobby, his son. So his wife went, she was struck by a car, I assume, not 100% sure, but she died in the road. Charlie was left to raise his eight year old son. He began drinking. He didn't stop; he was an alcoholic. One night in a bar, he was drunk, and, just because a guy looked at him wrong, Charlie stabbed him, killing the man. Charlie went to prison for nine years. Bobby went to live with his maternal grandparents. They visited Charlie for a few months while he was prison, but eventually stopped. Charlie was let out of prison three years ago and had yet to see his son. He showed up at the ER on this night. He was obviously losing it mentally. He thought was at the airport. Everything we know about this man we learn while he is telling it to the doctors and nurses who are treating him. He is an alcoholic, he said he drank in jail by taking food from the mess hall, mixing it with toilet water, putting it in a plastic bag and letting it ferment, then straining it through a sock. Sad. His liver and kidneys are failing him. He is dieing. A nurse calls his son, who says, "Have a nice life, Dad." and hangs up. Liotta cries. During the show he comes to the realization that everything that is happening to him now he did to himself and booze was the main cause. I am watching this, while finishing a drink and pouring another one, and Liotta's performance, along with the writing, is making me feel guilty while I drink. That is an odd feeling. Liotta's performance was so powerful that as he instructed the doctors to let him go, to not revive him, to make a DNR (do not resuscitate), I got that soft shiver up the spine that you get just before you cry. I won't lie, I didn't cry, but I was damn close. It was a moving storyline with excellent writing, but it would never have been pulled off had they not used an actor with the abilities of Ray Liotta. Ray Liotta, in my book, has cemented himself at the top of the list of the best actors in the world. #1, kids, Ray Liotta. I wish I had that one on tape. Wow.

I can't say anything else about it. My summary does shit for it, you had to see it. Liotta was (there is no word to define it).

Time to go celebrate Tom's 21st. Guilt be gone, dear Liotta, time to get bombed. Go Tom!

Until Next Time.

Big Day. Today is a Big Day. For starters, I blew 65 bucks at the booze store already. For seconders, this week of my higher education is over, for thirders, I think I pulled off at least a B on my test after missing the last five classes, and for lasters, it is Perverted Tom's 21st birthday. Time for a celebration, friends.

Random thought that I need to address or I won't be able to write anything else: the word "Gnarly" Where the fuck does the "G" come from?

Also, today I was in an elevator and I was looking at the signs in it. One read, "In case of elevator malfunction..." In case of elevator malfunction? You mean in case the elevator breaks down. I've been noticing this a lot lately. People try to sophisticate language and end up overdoing it and sounding ridiculous. Prime example: Janet Jackson's infamous "wardrobe malfunction." That has to be all-time worst. Although, there are some real whoppers out there. Add it to the list, I will get to it in more depth, no time now, other things to discuss. This list is getting long. I need an uneventful day so I can get to these things and show them the respect they deserve.

Back on track. For now. Wait, what track? This is a fucking blog. I'm always on track.

So, Tom's 21st. Beers, drinks, shots, obliteration. Did I not point out in an earlier posting how much I love obliteration? Stories to come tomorrow, if I remember them.

And, making this day even bigger, I didn't list it above 'cause it would have been like the clapping at the BR show thing and the Josh sueing the KKK on the West Wing thing, Johan Santana unanimously winning the AL Cy Young Award. Bleeter Bloop! That, my friends, was a well-timed Bleeter Bloop (self-compliment number 1 for this entry). Not often do Minnesota sports, teams, or players draw national attention, but it is surely deserved here. The Twins don't even get a lot of hype when they are in the playoffs. Johan, blessed be thy name. Dominating. I will give the Twins 33% of all my future earnings if they sign him to a long term deal right freaking now. I'm not sure why I used freaking there instead of fucking. If they don't sign him, it will demoralizing for the entire state.

And how about Joe Nathan getting 1 third place vote? I like to see that. He was good. He throws hard.

Beautiful, man. (To be read in the accent of Pedro Cerano)

And wow, read The Sports Guy Bill Simmons's article on ESPN.com Page 2. Abolutely hilarious and 100% on the money. I would only give disservice to it by writing anymore, so read it for yourself.

Oh yeah and John Ashcroft resigned this week.

As my friend's former band, Heidiboxer, titled one of their songs, this is a "Good Day."

Thursday Night TV Report coming either tonight or tomorrow, stay tuned.

Shoeless Joe on ER tonight.

Until The Next Time.

I know one person reads this, but I don't know if anyone else does, but if you do... Did any of you read That Ashley Girl's Blog? That was a great blog. She said she discontinued writing in it because she couldn't keep up with that and school and getting laid a lot. I hope someday she finds 20-30 minutes a day to scribble in her blog. Not only were her subjects interesting, but she is a good writer, which makes it even more interesting to read. It is hard to read something that continuously has grammatical errors and awkward sentences. I know I have some, most of us have a few, but at least they aren't happening in every other sentence.

I have taken too tests so far this week. On numero uno I received a D, probably the ugliest test I have ever taken. On numero dos, which just wrapped up, I probably got a C. I am doing a really shitty job of studying and going to class and whatnot. I guess I'll have to crank it up before finals to get some B's in these classes. Sometimes I kick myself in the ass because I know I could be getting straight A's if I gave a damn or studied much, but I find way too many things to do, read, watch, and listen to that I always put the studies on the back burner. But why not this semester, I have 4 general ed. classes that do not purtain to my major or my minor. If I'm fuck up a semester, this is the one. I don't see myself ever reaching my academic potential. There is too much shit to not give a damn about in school to do your best all the time. So many things are so insignificant and unimportant to the future. Do I really need to know how this scientist studied the Hmong culture? To get a liberal arts degree, I guess I do. Damnit.

I have neglected Sports in this blog. But they are coming, fear not jocks and armchair athletes.

Until Then.

My biggest fear is being wrongfully imprisoned. I cannot imagine what it would be like to sit in a jail cell for nearly 20 years for a crime you did commit, to have to do what Bruce Dallas Goodman did. Falsely imprisoned for rape and murder, Goodman will be released from prison thanks to DNA evidence. You gotta love science. It makes you wonder how was convicted in the first place. That's one reason why I wasn't upset about OJ Simpson being aquitted. If you are going to err on the side of anything, err on the side of aquittle. Trying to make sure you get the bad guy off the streets is not worth putting innocent man behind bars. Think about what this man has to look forward to when he is released. How will he find work? Where will he live? His life was fucked by the system. I think the government ought to give him 30-40 grand a year and say good luck. Society owes him this much. The last 19 years for him must have hell, physically, emotionally, and mentally. I can only wish Mr. Goodman the best of luck. What a shitty hand to be dealt.

I need to make a list of things I have said I will write about/explain:

1) The Criteria for the Perfect Movie
2) The Five Levels of Punk Bands
3) The Five Times where I have Lost Myself
4) "Bleeter Bloop"

And I'm going to add one.

5) The Genius of Greg Graffin

Tuesday Night TV Thoughts:

Real World: Shavonda sucks.

Laguna Beach: LC, wow. And I'm glad one of those guys at Stephen's house said, "It's cool, we all know we're getting laid tonight." I want to know these things about this show. They always say "hooking up" which is beyond ambiguous. They could be hanging out watching a movie, messing around, doing some 'freindly jostling', or moinkin'. To Moink: To engage in concensual sexual intercourse with a member of the opposite sex. I need to know what "hookin' up" is. And are they gettin' drunk? Well, they obviously were after prom. They don't tell us enough of this.

How bad does MTV blow? Not only do they not play music anymore, but when they do it sucks ass. Has it always sucked this bad, or did it just start in the last 5 years or so? Their shows suck. It is horrible TV, absolute shit, yet I find myself watching some of them. I blame my roommates. Maybe "guilty by association" has more merit than I give it credit for.

After they played four songs, Greg Graffin, lead singer, stopped to talk to the crowd. When that band stopped playing people started clapping and screaming and shit. I started to clap, then stopped. I didn't seem like it was appropriate enough. I needed to do more, but there wasn't much I could do. I didn't clap for the rest of the show. It's like on that episode of The West Wing where after Josh recovers from being shot by a white supremasist and he is trying to get his insurance company to pay for the surgeries he had to have. Sam comes up with a way they could sue the Ku Klux Klan for $100 million dollars, but Josh says he doesn't want to do it because it wouldn't be doing enough. I didn't clap, I didn't fist pump, I didn't give the finger, I didn't raise the devil horns, I didn't raise my index finger. All I did was get jostled by the crowd and sing along at times. It was great. And every once in a while The Geoff would look over at me and yell, "Bleeter Bloop!" And I would respond to him with a "Blater Blop!" I will tell you about the origination and meaning of "Bleeter Bloop" another time, along with the other four times, the levels of punk bands, and the criteria for the perfect movie. That's four things I owe this blog.

Now, the Entropy story: Entropy is song on an old album that may never have ever been played in a concert, but it is great, one of my favorites. So, during a break, Graffin is discussing the recent presidential election and other things about the country, when Jay Bentley, the bass player, comes to the mic and says, "It's like Entropy." I started freakin' out. Then he said something like, "Maybe we should play it." Unreal, I'm looking at The Geoff and he is laughing and I'm in shock trying to figuring what this means. This has to mean something. Then Graffin says, "Yeah, I could probably sing it, but there's no way these guys could play it." Damn. Pretty close though. Out of all their songs that they didn't play, the one they mention is the one that I said I wanted to hear. It means something. I will figure it out sometimes, but it means something.

Later in the show, when BR played Kyoto Now!, a song off their album, The Process of Belief, Graffin said, "Well, we won't have Kyote for four more years, so we'll call it Kyoto Later!" A little humor, a little serious, quite fitting.

The #1 song on my list, yes, even ahead of Entropy, was Let Them Eat War, anti-war song. Let Them Eat Was has a paralyzing guitar riff right at the beginning. It's a riff you can play over and over and it still sounds really fuckin' cool. The entire song is great. And, I think the greatest 45 seconds in music history happens on this track. I can assure you I wouldn't think this if a couple of my friends hadn't introduced to me hip-hop artists like Talib Kweli, but they did, and so I dig it. It comes during the bridge of the song, Sage Francis makes a guest appearance and lays down some pretty cool lyrics over Brooks Wackerman's drumming. Then the guitar comes back in with that riff, Graffin starts singing, and Sage comes in inbetween Graffin's lines. In the show, however, they had the singer from Rise Against come out and sing this part. Eh, okay, I guess that's all they could do. Anyway, here are Sage's words in the bridge of Let Them Eat War (and if you don't give a shit, then fuck you):

We've got to kill 'em and eat 'em before they reach for their checks,
Squeeze some blue collars make 'em bleed from their necks,
Seize a few dollars from the people who sweat,
'Cause it's freedom or death and they question it,
At a job site the boss is god-like,
Conditioned work horses park at a stop light,
Seasoned vets with their feet in nets,
A stone's throw away from a rock fight,
But not tonight, feed 'em death.

I am doing a horrible job of putting this concert into words that depict it as it was, but maybe that is okay, maybe somethings just shouldn't have words that describe them, maybe that is what sets them apart.

The ended their set, left the stage. The crowd started chanting, "One more song, One more song." Graffin came back out and said why play one more? Let's play four more.

The ended with Sorrow. An amazing song, pretty emotional song for punk rock as well. The Geoff and I were arm in arm part way through this and emotion took over reason and my right arm shot up and I belted the lyrics.

After the show we stood in a circle while the place cleared out and discussed it. Then we headed to the merch table where I bought a zip down hooded sweatshirt. When we got outside, we stood there for maybe 30 minutes because The Geoff wanted to meet Graffin so he could say something stupid. He has a history of this with musicians. So while we waited, we see Jay Bentley drive by in a van, smiling and waving. I've never seen a person have more fun on stage than he does. He sings every lyric, even when not in front of a mic, smiles all the time, rocks hard - good shit. Then Hetson, the mouse-like guitarist, walks by and The Geoff taps him on the shoulder and says, "Good shit, man." Hetson doesn't break stride or say a word. The History continues. And then this girl comes up and says, "I don't want you guys to think I'm a groupie or anything standing out here." She is about 5' 4" with beady eyes and she started talking about all the bands she has hung out with and met and blah, blah, blah. This girl couldn't be your typical groupie if she wanted to. She started talking about The Offspring, saying that Dexter is about the same height as The Geoff. Then I brought up The Offspring doing a song with Redman, Original Prankster, saying that was definately a "blemish." Then she says, asking about a BR song, "What album in Generator on?" Without missing a beat, Josh says, "Generator." Generator is the title track of an album, Graffin even made note of this during the show. Her question was met with dismay and laughter. She's an odd little person.

Anyway, incredible experience for which I have been waiting a long, long time.

I cannot wait to see them again. It was a great way to start a shitty week. I will give the academic recap of my week when it is over, but it sucks so far.

Until Then.

On Sunday, November 7th, 2004, 7:30 p.m. (about) at The Quest in Minneapolis, MN, USA, Bad Religion blew my mind to pieces. Literally, I was left speechless and without a thought worthy of repeating for at least three hours while I tried to digest what just transpired.

Bad Religion entered my life eight years ago. The first album I heard was Stranger Than Fiction. I loved them right away. Then I heard No Control and Bad Religion became the Greatest Band Ever. Period. A smart punk band, socially, politically, culturally, and globally aware, with words to share and ridiculous music to accompany them, they exist as gods in many circles, including my own.

I had only seen BR once before Sunday, and that was at Warped Tour, so it doesn't really count, for a few reasons. 1) It was light outside. Music is better in the dark, don't ask why, it just is. Think about the places in which you listen to music: bars, concerts, churches, bedrooms - all dark most of the time. Church sucks. 2) They only get 30-45 minutes to play. In sexual terms, it is the equivalent of a blow job - it is still good, and really fun, but it's not the real deal. The real deal is a concert. The real deal is sex. The terms for other kinds of sex have to be modified so we know what kind of sex we are talking about, oral, anal, yada, yada, yada, but the real deal is just sex. Oral Sex is Warped Tour. Sometimes you prefer the blow job to the real deal, but not with someone you really like. I really like BR. The Bouncing Souls are a good Warped Tour band for me, something quick and pleasurable, then we move on. But I need to lay BR. I think all types of sex should be mandatory capatal letters, like a proper name - Oral Sex, as opposed to oral sex. Note to Deets: Stay focused on the subject at hand. So tonight I was graduating from oral to the real deal (I know you could call it vaginal sex, but who the hell does that? Just go with the analogy; it works), my BR cherry was about to be obliterated. Oh how I love obliteration. One more self-interest commentary note on something I have just written: "Oh how I love obliteration." is one of the better sentences I have ever written.

The Concert. First the basics that you need to know, the organs of the sex.

My company: The Geoff, Wolff, Josh, Johnson, and Ben Rowengartner. (Ben's last name was intentionally butchered by all in many different ways 'cause no one really knew him well and he was late.)

Opening Band: Rise Against, a Fat Wreck Chords band. Not a bad band, but far from a good band. I've heard much worse at punk shows. There are five distinct levels of punk bands. I'll get into that later, along with the criteria for the perfect movie. Standing by the bar with the dudes and listening to Rise Against, I asked this question between screams from the singer, "What is the worst punk band you have ever seen in concert?" As often happens, it was another "Soliloquy Moment," as my buddy Rizz calls them, for me, where I just speak to some people who offer nothing in return. I gave my two cents, calling Billy Talent the worst band I have ever heard. I would pay 20 bucks not to see them again.

Pre-Show Alcohol Consumption: Two Red Bull-Vodkas.

Rise Against left the stage, everyone cheered for different reasons. They announced they would be back in Mpls headlining a tour. If they are headlining, it ought to be a hell of a show.

This is when the pre-show, set-yourself-up-to-get-a-good-spot-to-stand jockeying begins. My favorite place to stand is directly in front of the sound board. It is loud, as if the entire place isn't loud enough, and you get to have something lean against. I'm lazy. I decided to move up for this one. This wasn't going to be just another show, just something entertaining to do. It was a spiritual and intellectual binge. And I love binging, booze, food, sleep, whatever. Back to standing space, I headed for my second favorite spot. At punk shows in the Midwest, you generally have two different "active participation" sections. Everyone at a show who is clapping, singing, fist-pumping is actively participating, but let's limit the definition of active participation in this case to mean "moving the feet more than necessary." Right in front of the stage and the security dudes, you have the quasi-mosh pit, surge forward section, where people jam themselves into each other and into the railing like sperm trying to escape the resevoir tip of a condom. It is a good place to exchange sweat with people. I retired from this section at a relatively young age, 17, citing back injuries. The second active participation section is the circle pit, which Midwesterners cannot operate like the Californian originators can. Punk bands here make note of this time and time again. Moshing, while being a new thing in music (25 years old maybe, max), is grounded in barbaric, yet chivalrous, etiquette. Even the most anarchic franchises have guidelines, including the Most Pit. But in discussing guidelines and etiquette, we have to first discuss goals. What are the goals of moshing? To bust your ass to bust somebody else's in the name of a band for whom you are mutually fond. Ok, done and done. The Mosh Pit: 1) If someone falls down, stop and pick them up. 2) If someone is picking someone up, stop and help them. 3) If you find someone's shoe, hold it up in the air so they can see and claim it. 4) Be rough and violent, but don't get pissed. 5) If you do get pissed, don't lash out in anger and use the Mosh Pit as a medium to seek revenge on someone. 6) Help out the small girls and little kids who make the ill-advised decision to go in there, make space for them, give 'em a break. 7) If someone wants out, get 'em out, clear a path. Now on to circle pits: I hate them, don't understand them, and will never participate in them. It is a bunch of dudes running in circles and slamming into anyone in their path. This is for the kids who want the experience of playing football but never wanted to put the time into going to practice in high school. There is a third punk rock concert event that happens at every show, the crowd surf. If you crowd surf near me, get ready to get your ass dragged down. I hate crowd surfing. You get kicked in the head enough times it rubs you the not right way. Feet don't belong six feet above the ground unless you are doing some weird sex thing in your bedroom. Also, wallet snatching from crowd surfers is not going to get you bitched at by me. But if a girl comes by wearing a skirt, you can't..., well, fuck it, go ahead and do it, she had it coming. So, anyway, my second favorite spot at a concert, is right between to the two pits. I'm close enough to warrant moving away from the soundboard, but in a spot where I can avoid most shirtless, sweaty, 250 pound men, not that I don't love them. Another thing about going to concerts, you come in a group, but usually end up alone; it is always better to rock out next to a friend. You can say a lot to each other by just making eye contact.

Important note: Playlist predictions and songs you want to hear, a must discussion before a show. The Geoff was the most accurate, saying that Sinister Rouge would be the first song played, but it was too obvious to call, so he called No Control. No Control was third. I had the greatest near miraculous prediction of all time. Sorry, that was a bit too hyperbolic. This happening would have been crazier than Nader winning the election. I said I wanted to hear Entropy. Wolff agreed that it would be cool. Adam said there was a zero percent chance of them playing that song. This story will be finished later. Passive voice right there, shit.

The concert started with Sinister Rouge and I got goosebumps on top of my goosebumps. I didn't know what to do. Only four times in my life have I lost myself so completely that I had no idea what to do with my emotions. This was the fifth. I will get to the others later, along with the perfect movie criteria and five levels of punks bands. I was gone. It's hard to describe. If you have a better way to do it, let me know in the comments on this thing. It took me four songs to regain consciousness. Then an overwhelming feeling of comfort and "being at home" came over me, contentness combined with marvel combined with adrenaline combined with extaticness. Crazy.

Part II of my BR concert story comes later today.

Until then.

I love language. I love speaking it, writing it, hearing it, and reading it, but most of all, I love analyzing it. People go so far out of their way to sound stupid that to a guy like me, it is constant entertainment. For example, something I was thinking about today, when did the term "retard" become so offensive, who deemed it so, and why? It isn't inherently 'bad,' as the word "Fuck" might be considered. And I'm not even going to get started on why some words are "curse words" and some words are not and blah, blah, blah. Let's stay focused on Retard. Calling someonea retard a retard is like calling a baseball player a baseball player. People are so afraid to acknowledge the things that make us different. Call the fat guy "fat." He is, he isn't "heavy set" or "big boned." Why don't you call the skinny guy "physically inferior?" Or say the smart kid "lacks the ability to forget things." Euphemisms. Hate 'em. Fragments. Hate 'em too. My theory is that the word was given its current, derogatory connotation by elementary school bullies. Sorry for the passive voice in that sentence. School yard bullies probably ran around calling kids Retards and some teachers and other adults thought that kids shouldn't use the condition of other kids (more passive voice) to belittle the rest of the kids. So somebody decided to change the term used to define these kids. This somebody thought that they needed something that kids wouldn't use to yell across the playground at the kid who pissed his pants just before recess. So how about Mentally Handicapped? Not bad. Billy the bully won't be yelling six syllables at Peter the pisser who is sitting, legs crossed, 40 yards away behind a shed waiting for his pants to dry.

As Maude Lebowski might say, it is the parlance of our times.