Monday, August 30, 2010

Ladies of the 80s: Belinda Carlisle

Today I was on a serious 80s kick in the Focus and I went to one of my standbys whilst rocking the fuck out. That standby is former Go-Go Belinda Carlisle.

I've had a crush on Belinda Carlisle since I was like five or six, and even though she was super 80s hot (look at that sleeved tube top!) I would like to think its because of the tunes. A Belinda Carlisle song FEELS like falling into a crush. For some reason, whenever I hear "Mad About You" it reminds me of going around on one of those octopus things at a carnival with some cute chick. But its never modern times, its always 1986 and I have a jean jacket and she has Bon Jovi bangs...

The big hit was "Heaven is a Place on Earth" of course, and if you've ever heard it you don't need to be told of its greatness. All of her songs are like that. Some sort of amazing girly concotion of rock guitar, cutesy vocals about being weak or heaven or sand circles, and then the chorus repeated in the fade. There isn't sistas doing stuff like this anymore. Well, maybe Kelly Clarkson (who was also derided for being chubby but whom I actually found sexier with some chubb) and her songs are more about not hooking up with drunk dudes and breathing for the first time.

So I salute you Belinda. The real life Miss Carlisle drank during her pregnancy and made Elton John look like a recreational coke user, but in song, you were the perfect crush for a little fat kid from Minneapolis.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

I Hate Mike Napoli's F*****g Beard

With the Twins taking the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim-Orange County Burbank to the woodshed this evening, I figured it would be the perfect time to comment on the one thing on the OTHER L.A. team that bothers me.

I hate Mike Napoli's fucking beard.

Now, I really don't know all that much about Mike Napoli, other than he's a) of Italian descent b) he's been on the Angels for at least two years and c) his mom has excellent tits (Google that shit, now!). What I do know is that he has, by a wide margin, the shittiest beard in MLB.

I first laid eyes on Napoli's facial follicles in the opening series of 2008. Me and my roomies at the time were transfixed by the Angels catchers beard. It wasn't particularly that he had a beard that offended me, it was the way it was trimmed. That shit rides higher on Napoli's face than Steve Urkel's pants. The offensive beard leaves neck pudge visible, which is a no no. The beard is also not very full, nor has it ever been. It's sort of like a George Michael crossed with Don Johnson thing.

Now every Twins-Angels game since then has had me staring at Napoli, wondering if he will let the face salad grow full and free of its cheek constraints onto his neck (as nature no doubt intended). Every time, I end up disappointed because the high rising 80s shadow beard remains. So until Napoli wises up and grows a Jayson Werth face thicket or a Kevin Youkilis Greek God Goatee, I will forever be hollerin' "I hate Mike Napoli's Fucking Beard!!!!!"

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Softball Recap 8/20/10 (Kings of the Yard)?

Fall ball got off to an epic start this week. Tuesday night consisited of a revamped Revolution Softball Club splitting out our doubleheader in Plymouth. We played the city champs close, losing by three in the nightcap. Seeing the old legend "White Power" Bill was a treat, as his bat was still hotter than Katy Perry in a pillowfight.

The Friendly Fridley on Thursday however was much more epic. The 1-2-3 Kids mistakenly signed up for upper D. Personally, I thought the squad would get crushed...especially when I saw our brahsome opponents. I have never seen so many trailer trash chinstrap beards, cargo/Jean shorts, flatbills and brah faces in my life. One fucker even cocked his flatbill sideways.

It didn't get much better during the game. The Tupac Fan Club jumped out to a 7-2 lead, and I got doubled off second. Cocked flatbill felt the need to comment on my girth in a way only someone who thinks he's united for Compton can. This got the squad amped, and the 1-2-3 Kids rolled for the win. Then we rolled into the second game where I went yard, Tom Klick went yard, and Jordan Eickholt went yard. Somehow Jeff Hill drew like four walks, and we ten ruined the Dirtballs or the fucking Balls Deep or whatever the fuck brahskis call their squads.

Most satisfying site was seeing their bleach blonde Aveda trailer queen ladies leave the game early because their men couldn't hold a candle to our rag tag squad. I'm sure they were hitting up some Two Stooges or some A-Town spots.

Monday, August 09, 2010

Broken Social Scene Is My New Favorite Band!!!!!!!!!!

OMG!!! And I havent even fucking heard them!

So I was at Starbucks on Saturday night, buzzed on Surly and preggo with sushi (a freaking SPAM/Pinapple/Cream Cheese loveroll) and I came across one of those free iTunes download cards of a group called Broken Social Scene. I immeadetly fell in love. These peeps were everything I wanted in a indie fucktard band looks wise. The above is a similar pic.

I mean, come on! From left, you have the following;
Fat Bearded Hipster Fuck - I bet this guy is the drummer
Hipster Fuck Who Thinks He's John Doe from X - Probable lead singer/guitarist
Chuck Klosterman Hipster Fuck - This guy loves both basketball and Warrant
OMFG Feist! - The most hipster chick on Earth 2005
Bald Ironic Hipster Fuck - Nice Alferd E. Neuman shirt
Lounge Lizzard Hipster Fuck - The Serge Gainsbourg fan in the group
Strokes Looking Maritime Jacket Hipster Fuck - This guy probably plays synths
Other Hipster Chick in the Band Who I Would Love to Fuck - Pretty self explanatory
Rick Rubin Circa 1986 Stoner Hipster Fuck - This guy somehow has to DJ. Or he is their dealer. Or he may spike the punch with Spanish Fly and put a pie in Tabatha Soren's face
Mike D Hipster Fuck - Actual name: Clarence. And of course he's hugging on Rick

From what I remember hearing about this band like five years ago, they may be powerpop (me likey) and they are for fucking sure from Ca-Nada (me also likey, if it can get me some Molson Dry). What I KNOW about the Scene is that I would murder for their record collections but would never want to talk to them, you know, because my records would be shit to their sensabilities.

I also wonder what the Scene dreams in their loft apartments at night. Do they lament the probable lack of Pabst Blue Ribbon in Ottawa? Are their adventures to Willamsburg to get boat shoes and "I Love Intercourse, PA" t-shirts? What do they eat for breakfast? Have they ever played Rick Astley anthems un-ironically? So many unanswered questions that my new favorite band poses to my feeble non hipster brain.

Sunday, August 01, 2010

Comfort Music?

The last few weeks I haven't been quite myself. A breakup can do that to a man.

Besides having conflicting sad/angry emotions, sometimes crippling self doubt, and a general loss of appetite, I have been listening to a lot of music. I'm not sure what most people turn to musically when something traumatic happens. I would assume 70s singer/songwriters or maybe Slayer? Not this guy though...I play the most inane pop music of the 80s.

I have about 15 gigs of 80s Top 100 Billboard charts on my iPod, and they have been on shuffle for the last couple of weeks at home, at work, and in the car. It's gotten so bad at work that one of my co-workers actually said (after I explained exactly WHY I was listening to "Kyrie" for the 15th time that week) "now you are making us all suffer". Yet I still turn to my comfort music.

Comfort music is not like comfort food (although they both theoretically share Meat Loaf). At least I don't THINK they are the same. One man's "How Will I Know" could be another man's Cure or maybe Otis Redding. Hell, I don't even know if anyone else does this. My personal belief is that my favorites (whether it be "The Blue Album", "Ten", "The Low End Theory" or "Exile on Main St.") should not be tainted by bad memories of the down times. I want to hear "Rocks Off" in a month or two and shake my sexy white ass without thinking about all the bad shit that I am currently going through.

Fortunately, 80s shit pop is untouchable like Elliot Ness. One cannot put special meaning on Jermaine Stewart or the song "Look Away" by Chicago. All those songs remind me of are being five years old and running through sprinklers and jumping on beds and trips to 7-Eleven for Slurpees and Tony Gwynn's jheri curl on a 1989 Donruss baseball card. The disposableness of those joints makes them have no emotional heft, and I can only tie them to positive memories at a time in my life where I really couldn't feel hurt. They are my aural Salisbury Steak.