THE GREAT GADFLY:

Hey There Fancypants



Reading Chuck Klosterman's "Sex Drugs and Cocoa Puffs" (thanks to Sambadelic for the recommendation) brings me to the stark realization that this guy, with his droll commentary and bad hairstyle, knows far more about articulating my own life than I do, and he is easily able to carry out this task with far more delicacy and diplomacy than I ever could. The bastard.

If you read his book and then go here to download the Olivia Newton John vs. NWA mash-up remix, then you have a pretty good idea of what it's like to live in my head.

I didn't say it was pretty.

You know, it's a weird thing - the last thing I wrote on here, about the blackouts and workplace horror and fighter planes, blah blah blah - I was actually in a good mood when I wrote all that. I'm actually feeling pretty comfy in my environment for the first time, feeling grounded, enjoying the balance between where I live and where I can go when I want to get away from where I live...I don't know if I'd go so far as to say things in my world are good, but they sure ain't bad.

I did get a little bent out of shape when I saw that my official online heckler had returned to once again grace my guestbook with his/her/its bilious presence, and had decided to regale me with an unsolicited, candid and ever-so-anonymous diatribe regarding said recent rant on my workaday anxieties. (For those clicking here, the guestbook entry in question has already been deleted - I decided to keep the specific contents private and special - but between you and me, let me just say...it was out there.)

And, well, what can I say - if what I have to say about my own insecurities rubs someone the wrong way, that's fine - ya can't please everyone all the time, and I'm sure to rub someone's delicate sensibilities the wrong way at some point should I dare to voice the Xanadu-meets-gangsta rap contents of my brain with enough frequency - but for heaven's sake, if yer gonna have the balls to call me to the mat for my thoughts, at least have the stones to stand behind what you say by at least providing an e-mail or URL to yer corner of the Web. To do otherwise is irresponsible and cowardly, and flies in the face of netiquette in much the same way as POSTING THINGS TO THE NET IN ALL CAPS or, say, engaging in the act of flame-baiting for the sake of simply trying to ruin someone's day. And that kind of behavior says what about you?

I used to have an online heckler who posted her e-mail address. She vented with open spleen until I AIMed her ass and asked why we couldn't be friends. Turned out she was some Hoosier hausfrau who moonlighted as an Internet dominatrix, and I think she must have been scrambling for a safeword, because I never got so much as a "thank you Sir, may I have another".

I mean, come on. If yer gonna spar with me, jeez louise, SPAR with me.

Razz me all you want. Just stand behind your maledictions, is all I'm saying. Otherwise it amounts to nothing more than a pimply-faced prank phone call - boring, no-account text-warrior action that loses whatever so-called "criticism" it may intend to entail in its caustic contents. Yawn. Stand behind your words or knock it off, already.

Now that I have THAT out of the way, is this a good time for me to talk about how much I love the new Ween album?

Is there EVER a bad time to talk about Ween?

I had no idea they'd even coughed up a new album, really. So you can most likely imagine my delight when I stumbled across their new one, "Quebec", leering at me from across the wrecka stow this weekend.

I have a love/ennui relationship with Dean and Gene and their messy brand of smirky joke rawk. Albums like "Pure Guava" and "Chocolate and Cheese" are must-haves, right up there with the "Detatchable Penis" and "Punk Rock Girl" eschelons of punkish novelty music - by the same token, however, Ween albums such as "The Mollusk" and "White Pepper" have left me cold to the point where I've had to bid adieu to these attempts at the used CD counter. I haven't even bought their live "Paint the Town Brown" double CD, and I'm not sure if I even own "The Pod" anymore, though it did have a few silly classics here and there. "GodSatanWeen" is just a mess, though for some reason - maybe the cracked-out Prince tribute embedded in the hour or so of deliriously sloppy rambling - I can never part with it.

But this new one, wow. Listening to it all the way through yesterday, I drifted off into another place and forgot I was listening to Ween. It was as if I were listening to a movie soundtrack compiled by a particularly inspired musicologist with whipsmart good taste and a sweet tooth for melody. There's a hokey sameness to much of Ween's material (with the possible exception of their album of country ballads) that, even at their best, has given me the impression that there is a limit to what the Weeners are willing or able to carry off. Not so on this album.

Oh, they're still silly bastards, mewling about Zoloft and making with The Funny in all manners of weird ways. Still, they've managed to pull a whole new level of musicianship out of their flatulent asses on this album, giving us what we want from a Ween album but also offering a bit more - and instead of alienating fans with a bit of maturity, it goes down disarmingly - almost subliminally - smooth. Fudgy and delicious, even.

And aside from their typical prog-rock hooliganism, they even manage to get a dig in at Creed on this album. I think...

Moral of today's rant: Ween taking piss out of arena rock on widely distributed album = good; schlub taking piss anonymously on an Internet guestbook = bad; suggestion that I may deserve the same amount of piss-taking as Scott Stapp = well, troubling.

And if you think that I'm a loser...well, you suck. 'Cause you know I ain't nothin' but a user...of your love.

I can't get enough, you see.


2003-10-14 - Last Haiku
2003-10-09 - Don't Cry Out Loud
2003-10-09 - Sit Down, You're Making Me Nervous
2003-10-08 - I'm Sure Miss Thing, I'm Sure
2003-10-07 - Carbonated Water, Caramel Color, Aspartame

index
archives
profile
Uffish
Jonno
Kiera Bombshell
Wonderboy
Dogpoet
email
notes
design
host

chicago blogs