1985 was quite simply the most magical year I’ve ever known. I was just a small boy at the time, with already large and highly threatening testicles; but not unlike other children of lesser testicles (or even, none at all), I was completely immersed in the world of a young, yet burgeoning cable channel called Music Television—or MTV, to those in the know. This MTV was quite different then. They actually played music videos, and had people called VJs that introduced them. From what I could gather of VJs, they were mostly just wicked old people—like 22 or something—that tried to act like they knew all kinds of shit about music. Of course, people that old only listen to retarded, faggy music, so I’m sure they had kids around to tell them what was cool. As far as I was concerned, these VJs could just as easily have been replaced by drooling chimps in diapers (and they eventually would be). The music videos themselves were all that really mattered.
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My favorite part of any wedding is the reception. I love free flowing alcohol, delicious food, and good company. Actually, even if the company isn’t all that good the other 2 things more than make up for it. Shitty company seems less shitty after a second helping of tri-tip and 7 beers.
That’s where I was this past weekend, by the way: At a wedding. We drove up to Sacramento to see one of Jan’s brothers get hitched (”we” being me, Jan, and his parents). The drive was long (8 hours) and definitely not something I’m in a hurry to do again. I’ll spare you the details of how my legs got so cramped I contemplated sawing them off or how I suffered a horrendous attack of gas. That shit was brutal. I wound up holding in farts until we passed groupings of cows out to pasture. Once we were close enough, I would silently ease out a few torpedoes and hope the other 3 people in the car blamed the smell on “manure”. I could have gotten away with doing this the rest of the trip if I hadn’t made the mistake of letting one go as we drove past some orange trees. Apparently oranges don’t smell like dookie.
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Wow, what a weekend! I have fallen behind on quite a few things. When I get into something new I obsess and obsess over it until I can’t stand it anymore.
What has got my attention, you ask?
Well, I have decided to switch to WordPress and self host. I know, right? Awesome! There are a few things I need to learn, and of course, this is what I have been working on. I dislike jumping into things without having some idea of what to expect (I am lying, by the way. I ALWAYS jump in headfirst). The more questions I ask and the more I read and fiddle with stuff, the more comfortable I feel. If things go accordingly, I hope to have a new home in a few weeks. Maybe.
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If there is one song that does it for me, it’s “Come Go With Me” by Teddy Pendergrass. This is one of my FAVORITE songs ever. I fell in love with it the first time I heard it and now every time it comes on I feel things, good things.
A few nights ago I decided to look up the lyrics. After reading the words, the song has taken on a slightly different meaning. I think maybe, just maybe, Teddy was a little desperate and under the cover of night wanted to grab himself a moped.
Lets take a closer look:
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I just got interviewed! I know right? That’s pretty fucking awesome.
Except, no one actually interviewed me, and it wasn’t recorded, and I was pretty much just talking to myself. But that’s OK, it still counts… right?
When I was a kid, I did commercials. I did everything: shampoo, Nestle Quick, Cereal, etc. I was quite popular and everyone loved me. I was a star in the making!
Of course, I did the commercials in the privacy of my bedroom and my Mom was my biggest “fan”. That kinda counts… sort of.
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