Update!

Recently, I have been asked to contribute to another blog.  This new blog features a group of very funny individuals making observations about pretty much anything, and is already attracting attention.  Despite my involvement in this new, amazing blog, I will still be writing for this one.  Think of it as a side project, in a Jack White or Dave Grohl kind of way, not a Michael Jordan one.  I’m excited for it, and I encourage you to check it out.  I still have a few plans for STSSP though, so sit tight.  In the meantime…

The Common Room

Summer Songs ‘09: Repetition is the Key to Frustration

Well it’s that time of the year again.  Summer has ended, and many look at Fall in the same way people look at the guy on his phone in the elevator.  Regardless of this disdain some (namely myself) have for fall, one thing makes me happy: the summer song period has ended.  As I touched on in our last installment of summer song reviews, our culture’s bastardized musical tastes tend to not only focus on a few songs during the summer months, but also use them as anthems for (usually) morally questionable behavior that occurs in this time period.  (Bear in mind that “morally questionable” isn’t limited to those going to clubs, etc.  Just stop being a tool and you’ll be good).  With that here comes a look at this year’s stupidest songs of the summer (yay alliteration!)…

Black Eyed Peas – Boom Boom Pow

In 2009, the band that once burned their studio to the ground in an attempt to make recording more intimate “returned” to the music world.  Not to say they really left or took an “indefinite hiatus” bands have a habit of partaking in.  They toured up through 2007, but then Fergie got smart and realized that, being hot and seductive, she could release an album without the other three awkward looking individuals and still sell six million albums.  Meanwhile, will.i.am figured he could use his production expertise to do the same with his own solo album (epic fail).  This left the other two (who only after researching this article to I find out their names are apl.de.ap and Taboo) to just kinda sit around like a kid who’s mom left him home alone for the first time without telling him.  After anxiously waiting for the Peas to make new music so they could milk Fergie’s sex appeal and will.i.am’s production abilities, their wish finally came true with their newest album, The E.N.D..  For starters, why do bands name their album “The End” without having any plans to give up?  Karma’s not something I’d fuck with in this case, especially when two of your band members would just be a monkey and a creepy tiny dude if they were to disband.  Anyway, this album is fresh off of two solo albums, but now they’re back together and it’s time to send a message to everyone that they’re better than ever!  Time to really show people how far you’ve come!  What are the first words you wanna tell people on this album?

Gotta get that…gotta get that boom boom boom

Really?  That’s the first message you wanna send to fans?  What makes it even better is that through the course of the song, this phrase is uttered almost 30 times!  What is a “boom boom boom” and why the fuck do you want one so damn badly?!?!  Soon enough, we learn that will.i.am actually HAS the boom boom boom.  So then why are you looking for it?!?!  Fergie, can you help me out here?  Please add some depth to this:

I’m so three thousand and eight, you’re so two thousand and late!

Umm…ok?  Is this a rating system of some sort? A code perhaps?  A year?  Are you perhaps trying to tell me that you represent people 999 years in the future?  Perhaps you’re a thousand units better in some way?  O but it’s ok, because you too apparently have this “boom boom boom” thing people are looking for.  Monkey man, any thoughts?

Y’all stuck on super A-shit, They’re no fast stupid a bit

Apparently we’ve abandoned sentence structure altogether?  Black Oompa Loompa, save me:

I’m a beast when you turn me on into the future cybertron

It’s really sad when THAT phrase makes the most sense out of the whole song.  And in case you needed more, Fergie takes the liberty of repeating her verse as if to try to force you to believe she’s not mentally retarded.  No thanks, Stacy, I’ll keep my hands down.

I feel like their relationship's alot closer than we think...

The Ting Tings – That’s Not My Name

According to Katie White, lead singer of British band The Ting Tings, an anonymous group of people (referred to as “they”) has been known to call her by different names (8 to be exact).  Some are specific and more wrong (i.e. Jane, Stacey, and my personal favorite, Joleisa), but some of them are simply names you would use because you don’t know a person (i.e. girl).  Now chances are, if you’re so inclined as to write an entire song about this predicament, you’re probably at least a little annoyed but probably more pissed off that “they” keep getting your name wrong.  Is this their fault?  Absolutely not.  Wanna know how you can remedy this situation?  Just tell them your fucking name.  If somebody called me by the wrong name, I’d probably correct them.  Not to be a dick, but to simply make sure they have accurate information.  But what benefit is there to being like “that’s not my name” and then refuse to provide the right one!  Who enjoys being told they’re wrong if they’re not given the right answer?! Don’t even get me started on the fact that this song takes a page out of the Black Eyed Peas playbook and repeats the phrase 24 fucking times throughout the course of the song.  24 times! Without a hint as to what the correct name is!  Yet a million people legally downloaded this fucking track!  If I recorded myself saying something like “my name’s not Chris” 24 times and clapping, I’d get a million kicks to the nuts.  They should add another member to this band (you’re not the White Stripes, kiddies), and preferably someone with more songwriting skill than Miss “Stuck in the Terrible Two’s phase.”

Wanted: Half a brain, and apparently another drum

Blame It – Jamie Foxx ft. T-Pain

One thing I was hoping out of this group of summer songs is that one would emulate one of our previous winners.  So thank you Jamie Foxx, for enrolling in the Usher Raymond School of “Terrible Misogyny is OK Because It Has an Awesome Beat To It.”  Remove the fact that this song has wayyyyyy too much Autotune in it.  Jamie has taken the liberty of explaining to the audience exactly what he plans to do to this girl he has spent the entire night feeding drinks to like she was Mrs. Christian Slater.  And let’s be clear, Jamie wants you to know EVERYTHING that’s going to be taking place.  No room for imagination here.  Let’s start with an innocent ass grab (accidental of course) and before you know it, he’s cleverly explaining that his seed will be in her mouth by night’s end.  Despite this girls whorish nature (we learn she did have a boyfriend in the beginning of this night), I do have to give her credit for the amount and variety of alcohol this girl took to the face.  Let’s check out the line:

            – Grey Goose vodka drink

            – Patron tequila drink

            – Vodka (Brand unknown) drink

            – Hennessey cognac drink

            – Blue Tap (white tequila, blue curacao, pineapple juice) drink

            – random shots with T-Pain

            – Nuvo shot

Even if she only had one of each of these (although I’m guessing she had more), that’s enough to floor a small horse.  And since I’m ruling out the idea that Mr. Moral Scruples isn’t going for girls above a certain weight limit (hey, even Steamin’ Willie Beaman has standards), this girl either pulled the trigger at some point in the night or is strung up like a damn marionette after they get back from the club and “kick it like Judo” (so eloquent).  On the other side of the coin, is Jamie Foxx trying to kill her?  Is it his thing to pour drinks down a girl’s throat, kill her, and THEN disrespect her?  In the annuls of history, people “have blamed it on the alcohol” many times.  And when our little harlot wakes up, wherever she wakes up, she can blame it on the alcohol too if she wants.  But I’m pretty sure that alcohol won’t be wiping away those tears at Planned Parenthood or the clinic in a little while.  Usher salutes you.

Blame it on my lack of a s-s-s-s-s-soul

This Place is Going to Hell: 9/9

OK, fine, yes I have been rather lackadaisical yet again.  And I did say that I was gonna try to update this more.  Either way, I’m sitting here wondering that if the road to hell is paved with good intentions, what is the road to heaven paved with?  Bad intentions?  Anyways, I’m digressing.  So here we are in the second installment of “This Place is Going to Hell,” my ode to this existence, currently taking place in Southampton, New York.  Anyways, I was working at a very large house the other day situated on a very large piece of property, and I came across this sit in the garage:

That would be a total of 15 Power Wheels in this particular garage.   Now I’m not sure how many children this family has, but their last name isn’t even remotely Irish, so I’m going to go ahead and assume that they do not have anywhere close to 15 children.  Don’t you think they would try to advocate sharing to their children?  Are 15 Power Wheels really necessary?  If my kid was like “I think I’m going to take out Power Wheels ATV #4,” I would first prevent him from doing so (preferably by destroying said ATV #4), send him to his room, and then physically harm myself in some way for purchasing that many.  But clearly these people aren’t me.  And that’s why this place is going to hell.

This Place is Going to Hell: 7/31

I’m going to try and write a few of these columns where I point out random things I come across that diminish my faith in humanity.  Think of it in the same light as SI’s column “This Week’s Sign of the Apocalypse.”

Over the past few years, the town of Southampton has been building a new post office.  They have poured ridiculous amounts of money into the construction of the new 9,000 square foot facility, and it finally finished earlier this summer.  The other day, I had my first experience with the new, re-vamped version of our lovable Federal Postal System, Hamptons-style.  I pull into the parking lot, and it couldn’t be any more carelessly laid out.  For a 2.2 acre piece of property, they felt that parking wasn’t important because the area is about the size of Verne Troyer.  However, I didn’t even need to go inside to witness something that affirmed my (very negative) feelings about this place:

Normally,  I would probably just shake my head at the idea that they have reserved parking spots for people who went green with their mode of transportation.  HOWEVER, this is much bigger than that.  For one, these spots are closer to the main entrance than the handicapped spots.  That’s right, if someone in a wheelchair needs to go to the post office, he/she must walk/roll/glide/crawl farther than someone who believed what Al Gore was saying in that movie.  To make matters worse, the Post Office decided to issue two of these spots in their pint-sized parking lot, but decided that the crippled of Southampton would have to live with only one spot.  Sorry that both your legs are broken, grandma, but me and my new Prius matter more to these people than you do (Note: I realize that an elderly woman with two broken legs should NOT be operating a motor vehicle, but you understand my point).  To spite the decision-makers of this poorly executed parking nook, and because there weren’t that many people at the post office, I took the liberty of filling one of these fuel efficient spots.  Upon leaving, I see a gentleman who is speaking to a woman.  He points at my vehicle, a 2001 GMC utility truck, and says “is that fuel efficient? That doesn’t look fuel efficient.”  I could not hold it in any longer: I laugh hysterically.  He looks at me with utter disdain, sees that my dirty work clothes match my ride, and gaffawes at me (Now I know what you’re thinking: what is a “gaffaw?” It’s what I call that snobbish emission of air a person lets out to let you know that they feel you’re below them.  Traditionally, it’s used in terms of something that one should never feel bad about.  ex: “you mean you don’t own a vacation home and live in the same house year-round?! *gaffaw*).  As I collect myself, I look at him, smile, and say “no, it’s definitely not fuel-efficient.”  I cannot believe that not only does the post office in Southampton have two spots reserved for fuel-efficient cars that are closer to the door than one handicapped spot, but someone was actually bothered by my disregard for it.  Ugh, this place is going to hell.

Vournal #2

This little doozie takes place the morning after the first vournal.  Just thought I’d give some bearing…

Vournal!

I feel like I’m saying this everytime I post, but I apologize for the delay.  One of these days I’ll get in the groove and post more.  For now, I give to you a new (for me) alternative: a video journal, or vournal if you will.  So here you go; post numero uno! It features the ever-lovable Dave Leboff and some guests.  Enjoy!

Clearly he’s as cold as Ice

The movie Top Gun is an unforgettable piece of American cinema.  Released in 1986 (same year as yours truly…coincidence? Not likely), the movie is a staple and cherished child of the 1980’s.  The movie holds a special place in the hearts of most of those involved with this incredible decade (including yours truly).  For those of you who have not seen this epic experience, GO SEE IT!!  For God’s sake, it’s like a unicorn reproducing with an assault rifle!  The script itself was created by some of Chuck Norris’ beard missed the garbage can when he trimmed it!!  In fact, if you haven’t seen it, stop reading this article right now, go watch it and then come back.  It’s filled with a star-studded cast and great flying sequences.  However, one flaw exists in the movie.  Not with the movie itself, but rather in one of its characters.  The protagonist’s main rival in the flight school, Lt. Tom “Iceman” Kazansky (portrayed by Val Kilmer, aka the same guy who wrote poetry for Michelle Pfeiffer).  Not only does Tom try wayyyyyy too hard to be good at volleyball and comebacks, but he is the reason for killing Goose (aka Maverick’s partner and premier wingman).  First, let’s go back to his name: Tom Kazansky.  Sound familiar?  Doesn’t it sound a little too similar to Ted Kaczynski…the UNABOMBER!!!!  Why would they purposely name a character so similar to the same man who mailed bombs to people from a log cabin in Montana?!  Anyway, I’m digressing.  Iceman is very competitive and a great pilot.  Now I’m not knocking his competitive spirit.  After all, I know I would love to be given the title of “Top Gun.”  However, Val takes the phrase “I’d kill for it” a little too literally.  In a critical match-up against Maverick, with whom he is tied in points, Iceman commits a few questionable moves in an attempt to gain the lead.  Below is the dialogue between the two planes in the moments leading up to tragedy (commentary in italics):

Maverick: I see them. Right, two o’clock. I’m in.

Iceman: I’m in.

Maverick: That son of a bitch cut me off.

I’m not gonna fault Val for this little maneuver.  This is a competition after all

Maverick: Come on. Jesus Christ. Ice, take the shot.

Goose: C’mon Ice, get the hell out of there.

Iceman: I can’t get the angle. I’m too close for missiles.  I’m switching to guns

Is this amateur hour? You’re going for a missile lock, my friend.

Maverick: Ice, fire or clear!

Maverick: Christ, I can take a shot right here!

I get the strategy, but we are on the same team here guy.  Enough is starting to be enough.

Iceman:  I need another 20 seconds and then I’ve got him.

Maverick:  I’m moving in. I’ve got the shot.

Goose:  Come on, Mav.  Let’s get in there.

Slider:  Maverick’s getting impatient. Ice, take the shot.

Alright even YOUR partner is getting pissed off.  So take the damn shot or get the hell out of the way!

Iceman:  10 more seconds.  Then I’ve got him. 

At this point, 15 seconds have passed since he announced “20 seconds” and I’m not feeling too confident with Val on this one

Goose:  C’mon Ice.  Get the hell out of there.

Maverick:  Come off my right. I’m in.

Iceman: 5 more seconds.

Now it’s been 8 seconds since he claimed it’d be “10 seconds” totaling 23 seconds

Maverick: I’m in.

Iceman:  I’m off. Shit.

At this point, Ice finally gets out after 30 seconds of dropping the ball.  Bear in mind that this is 30 actual seconds, so who knows how long it’s been in movie time.

Goose:  We’re in a jet wash. Shit!

Now a jet wash is the powerful gas expelled from a jet engine.  They’re ridiculously powerful, and when Iceman finally gets out of the way, his jet wash blows out the flame in Maverick’s engine, which causes Maverick’s plane to enter a flat spin.  When Maverick and Goose eject, Goose is propelled into the cockpit cover and subsequently snaps his neck.  Afterwards, the incident is investigated and so is Maverick.  While they decide that Maverick is not responsible, I still maintain that someone is responsible: Iceman.  I mean, let’s look at the situation: in this moment, Val KILLmer allows his competitive nature to overtake him and tries to force the situation.  Not only does he take a good 10 seconds longer than he claims to and at least 15 more seconds than he should’ve (doesn’t seem like a lot? Sit there and count it out loud), but he never had the shot in the first place.  I don’t know if he’s ever had sex, but if everyone around you is screaming at you to pull out, you probably should.  Hell, he switches to a gun lock when the object of the game is to obtain a MISSILE lock.  “Missile” and “gun” are not the same thing!!!  Who the hell does that?!?!  And let’s not forget the overshadowing fact: in the end, they’re supposed to be on the same team!!!  But God forbid Val gets this through his head.  Instead, he pulls out too late and fucks Maverick and Goose to the point where Goose dies and everyone thinks Maverick did it (including Maverick himself).  That’s what I would call a “dick move.”  In fact, that’s pretty much the biggest dick move ever.  As he says himself during his half-assed apology to Maverick, “Sorry about Goose.  Everybody liked him.”  Yes, EVERYBODY liked him.  Goose stood for the perfect wingman.  He’s fun, helps you get a chick, and he’s married so there’s no threat on that part.  He’s the best friend everyone wanted to have.  But in the end, Goose dies, Maverick goes crazy and Iceman wins the Top Gun award.  Smooth move, Val.  You CANNOT be my wingman anytime.

Murderer

Some claims are epic, some…not so much…

Over the years, I’ve noticed that there are a few random quotes that college students (particularly freshmen) will use.  Usually, these claims are made as bragging tools or in an attempt to solidify their group as unbreakable and exactly how “tough” they are.  Chances are you will hear these words of unspeakable wisdom at whatever bar doesn’t check ID’s or at freshman pregame (however, if you’re at a freshman pregame and are not directly related to one, then you’re about as bad as the claims themselves).  Now, it is a universal constant that freshman want nothing more than for whomever they’re speaking with to know exactly how much booze they can handle (which, of course, is A WHOLE LOT BRO!).  Some of these claims you may find on bumper stickers on Facebook or in the margins of notebooks, but as you’ll soon see, these claims are not only dumb, they’re simply ridiculous.

My BAC is higher than my GPA!!!!

This one is my personal favorite.  I love nothing that a little math can’t solve, so let’s calculate your GPA assuming that your BAC could theoretically be higher without you falling into a coma.  And no, I don’t mean “passing out” and having your friends draw phalluses all over your body. I mean actual straight-up Terry Schiavo action.  If you took 5 courses (as most freshmen do), and got a D in every single one of them, then you’re GPA would be a crisp 1.0.  So now we have to sink even lower.  Remember:  your body stops responding at a BAC of .40.  In order to achieve this, one would need to fail 3 classes and receive a D in the other 2.  And that’s to reach the point of death!!  So as a result, in order to actually have your BAC higher than your GPA, you would need to fail every single class you took except for 1, which you would need to get a D in.  Although, if you reached this point, then chances are you shouldn’t be broadcasting this lovable piece of information.  Especially since you won’t be returning to school.  At least you can’t get rejected from community college!

I pregame harder than you party!!!

Ok this one just seems dangerous to me.  I mean, I’m not going to say that I’m John Belushi when it comes to kicking back booze, but my party can still be pretty ridiculous.  So when you make a claim that you pregame harder than that just seems irresponsible on your part.  In order to justify this to myself, I did come up with a scenario in which this may make sense.  Notice I did not say acceptable.  The situation would be if your pregame is also harder than YOUR actual “party,” not just mine.  If you pregame hard with your friends and then go to a random party and drink maybe a couple of extra Butterscotch wine coolers, then your claim holds about as much ground as Elian Gonzalez’s nationalization claim.  While it may be true, broski, you’ve made a disgrace of your assertation and should definitely cease to use it.  The belief is that your pregame is just that: your preparation for the game.  It’s your warm up.  And unless you’re Wade Boggs, I don’t see you making it the whole 9 innings.

Times we won’t remember with the friends we won’t forget

Another dangerous one for me.  I personally don’t enjoy forgetting what occurred the night before.  Call me crazy, but I actually enjoy remembering where I was, who I saw, and what I said.  It comes in handy when you run into that person the next day and they remind you of that “agreement” you made.  I’m glad that there are people in your life that you won’t forget.  I know I have those people, and I love them.  However, I also enjoy the company of said people, and I especially wouldn’t mind remembering the times I’ve had with them.  I suppose if you’re of a different opinion, that’s fine.  But think about this:  you go out with these friends, get drunk and black out.  Now, you wake up in a 35 year-old guys’ bed with your pants off and a whole new set of questions.  Yes, that would technically fall into the category of “times we won’t remember with the friends we won’t forget.”  And the only thing you got out of that one is maybe cab money and probably an STD.

All in all, children, please stop using these phrases.  They’re annoying, and chances are they’re just not true.  If they are true, then I feel sorry for you.  After all, you’re either failing out of school, causing irreversible damage to your body, pretending to cause irreversible damage to your body, or receiving a gift that probably keeps on giving.  And who wants to be that guy (or girl)?  Didn’t think so.  Just stick to screaming whatever year you’re in while “Don’t Stop Believing” is on and you’ll be fine.

WHOO!!! COLLEGE!!! NO PARENTS!!!!

Spread the Blogging Love

Hello again!

A new site has appeared in the unspoken fraternity of bloggers. So I wanted to give a shout out to the Gospel According to Mike (no relation to yours truly). Check out what he has to say at www.mikesgospel.blogspot.com

Once I get a free moment, I swear I’ll post more. In the mean time, spread the love!

HSM 3 Trailer

As I learned from the boys over at 41 Miles to Freedom, the High School Musical 3 trailer has been released on Disney.com . Now I’m sure most of you are like “Wow Mike. Why do you care so much?” Well children, the fact of the matter is that this movie looks like it will be awesome!!! Yes, awesome. The ghetto-ed out basketball team is a bit much, but all in all I’m pumped about it. Problem? If you don’t care about it, you’ve either never seen the first 2 or lying.