Coffee Music

I never got to the end of the video game Oregon Trail. I would always find a way to either break a wagon wheel or someone got scurvy. I think one time I fed the oxen a bag of bad rice or something and one or two died.

I had a stuffy nose last night during my sleeping. Luckily the lock-in at the church was cancelled or I would be really disappointed. It started when I was a good 90 minutes or so into some movie, or rather ¾ way through, when I decided the movie sucked and turned it off. That is just absurd. I invested 90 minutes of my not-very-important time into a movie and didn’t even see the end of. I could have spent that time reading that book I started in 2005 or conjuring up ways to have the entire Kardashian family perish in a violent, fiery explosion. Watching a movie for that amount of time and not committing to the see the conclusion is akin to ordering a ordering a 12-pack of long fluorescent lights, proceeding to smash 10 of them against a brick wall and then deciding you’re not having fun anymore. It’s pretty much exactly like that. Anyway, the stuffy nose thing just blows, pun kind of intended. One nostril remains free while the other one is clogged up like an American Standard. And then when you turn over, somehow the cadre of snot and whatnot receives its marching orders and all contents shift to nostril B . . . it’s like turning over an hourglass full of swamp water, over and over and over and over.

 So. Wait, what was the point of this? Hold on. Oh, actually my only point was that it is a good feeling when you finally get that great big nose blow in the morning – the kind where you feel the portion of your brain that controls logic and reason come barreling out of your nose tunnel and land in the giant pillow of Kleenex in my calloused (right) hand.

 Which brings me to my next item: the acoustic version of an original song. While there are a few good acoustic versions of songs, most of them do nothing for me. The gym I am a member of where I train for nothing likes to keep it locked tightly on the “Coffee Shop Station”. Actually, they keep it on this coffee station in the locker room. I don’t know what they play out in the bullpen area because I usually have my Walkman on – and the foam earmuffs pretty much keep out all outside noise. But the coffee station, well, they love love love love to play the acoustic version of songs. And this seems logical since nothing gets you pumped up for some loud grunting bench press and power clings like soft rock.  I will wrap this thing up because I need to actually work on some ads, but my dumb point is that some songs need an acoustic version about as much as I need another pair of leather briefs.

I have heard the following acoustic versions on the coffee station, all true, not kidding. They all make me want to brush my teeth with a loaded 12 gauge. (a partial list . . . and the song is usually not covered by the original artist, with the exception of a certain hairy Canadian)

 

-         JUMP by Van Halen

-         EVERY SONG by Alanis Morisette

-         MONEY by Pink Floyd

-         SWEET CHILD OF MINE by Guns n Roses

-         FOOTLOOSE by Kenny Loggins

-         I LOVE ROCK N ROLL by Joan Jett

-         ANY CONVERSATION SHE HAS EVER  HAD by Alanis Morisette

 

       I’ll revisit this at another time.

       SWINE FLU!

Tyler

 

The Catalog

Hello.

I forgot my password.

The holidays are upon us. I love it. Lights. Trees. Gifts. Food. Parades. Stuffing. Wrapping paper. Families will gather around a big table for turkey and small talk. People will get drunk and cry, and then realize they gained 9 pounds and cry some more. Maybe someone’s uncle will get arrested in jean shorts and tank top for refusing to leave the property after throwing a half-burnt piece of firewood through the living room window . . . then will try to sneak back in the house though the chimney, which still has a fire burning at its base. And perhaps a nice young girl will bring her new thug boyfriend home for eggnog . . . then watch in anger as her mom rubs his leg under the table and slips him a roofie.  And everyone will have a great time until the house burns down. 

 

But it’s not just great events like this that makes me love the holidays, it’s also the small things. The memories. The traditions. The people. Just the other day I was thinking about one aspect that seems to be long gone and makes me feel really old, very irrelevant and as dated as the majority of the contents of my fridge: I  miss the days when the Christmas catalogs came out. It was awesome to get a catalog. It was always from someone like JC Penny or Montgomery Ward and was a big as a phone book. Aside from a few pages I would visit in the front part . . . which featured women scantily clad with Farrah Fawcett-style hair and 80s torpedo boobies, I immediately would flip to the back where the toys were. STAR WARS STAR WARS STAR WARS. The back had all sorts of other cool stuff like bikes and Transformers and Go-Bots and GI Joe, but all I cared about was STAR WARS. There was something about the way each action figure and ship or scene was posed just so with its name underneath, along with a brief description of the character or vehicle.  The art directors always did a fantastic job of arranging the photos to where they looked just like a scene out of the movie. Or maybe they didn’t, but this is how I remember it. We would highlight what we liked and give it to our parents, then get locked back in the damp and moldy basement. My imagination would run wild. It was cool. I waited all year to see what was going to be available. Now, just google whatever you want to see and it will come up. It kind of sucks. Or does it? I’m sure if I showed one of my nephews a catalog they would laugh at me and remind me that its never been proven that I am a blood relative, tests results are still pending.

 

I don’t know. I just remember the Christmas catalog. It was fun. It was exciting. It was something to look forward to. Thankfully the internet is just a fad and will be gone by this time next year and the catalog will reign once again.

In other news, that guy Levi Johnston needs to be drawn and quartered along with that California beauty queen who has fake knockers and is about as bright as my shower curtain. Reality TV is poisonous, but I have been enjoying the TRAIN WRECK that is Sex Rehab with Dr. Drew. The issues are absolutely unreal and its makes me feel like being a cutter isn't really that big of a deal. I am excited to go to LA next week for Thanksgiving to visit family and see old friends . . . and my SARS/Scurvy hyrbid is clearing up.

HAPPY MONDAY TO BOTH OF MY READERS!

Tyler

Tyler