A screengrab from iTunes a few minutes ago. That’s unreal.
There are very few times in history that you’ll remember so vividly. This is one of them.
Anybody that says they’ve never grooved to one of Michael Jackson’s songs or that they weren’t moved by him in some way or another is a freaking liar. Admit it, tough guy: you know several dance moves from one of his videos, probably Thriller or Captain EO. You may have even done them at a wedding or when really, really drunk.
Either way, his music knew no race, no boundaries, no anything. And that’s what music should truly be: universal.
It’s still rather difficult to believe, but the legend we knew as Michael Jackson is gone, and so is a huge part of my younger years. It’s hard not to listen to his music and be taken back to my teenage years when those “Michael Jackson jackets” were en vogue, along with parachute pants (neither of which I ever owned, although I did have a fake Member’s Only jacket). My brother was working at KIIS FM at the time Thriller dropped and man, it was just madness. MJ was in heavy rotation but because the album was so chock full o’ hits, you never heard the same one twice in an hour. Highly unusual with pop artists these days, and a feat the I think will never happen again.
Then you have the dance moves. There was and will be no equal. You can try to simulate them but even the best dancer’s version couldn’t hold a candle to the master himself. They were almost to the point of being physically impossible, but he made them look easy.
His music is his legacy and we can be thankful we were around to experience it firsthand. Go ahead and say what you want, but there will never be another performer like him–ever.
When I was still manatee-esque, I tried to unsuccessfully for years to grow a goatee. No matter what I did, the thing just never took off but then again, my face was still round and rather fat. In fact I could go at least two to three days without shaving and you’d never notice much a difference.
Some 100 lbs. later, I’m having to shave daily. This got me thinking: Now that I’m a lot thinner and trying to change my self-image a bit, was it now finally time to try and grow the goatee?
I gave it some thought and, with a little urging by Ann, gave in and started to let the facial hair grow out around my mouth. For comparison purposes, here I am before the goatee:
And here is how I appear now (or at least a few weeks ago):
Is it making much of a difference? Am I not quite as dorky as I used to be without it? Ann says she likes my new look and I’ll be honest, I think I do, too. I did, however, have my reservations about it at first because for the most part, goatees seem to be worn by fat dudes trying to look cool and dickheads with tribal tattoos, but once in a while some facial hair works wonders and makes a dude look pretty bad-ass. I mean, what it did for Dave Grohl:
Facial hair or not, Grohl’s bad-ass in his own right. Unfortunately, I (or my goatee or a tattoo or earring or piercing or any other body modification) won’t ever make me as cool as he. Le sigh…
With all of that goatee madness out of the way, I gotta add this. What in the hell did Disneyland do to beef up their fireworks show? Jesus Tapdancing Christ, my windows rattle when the first ones go off at about 9:30 pm. And while I consider myself conveniently located to the place, I’m still pretty far away. Check out the [Google Earth] map below and you’ll see what I mean:
So as you can see, The Magic Kingdom isn’t exactly next door to me, but those damn fireworks are motherfarking loud even at that distance.
That’s all I got for tonight. We’re working overtime all week and possibly on Saturday so I gotta get my lazy ass to bed early each night. Not that the current time of 11 pm is early or anything…
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I’ve gotten into the habit of walking during my lunch lately because, let’s face it, The People’s Court hasn’t been the same since Judge Wapner and Rusty left. That’s what I’d usually watch that after consuming my lunch but this week I’ve gotten fitness on the brain and can’t seem to sit still during lunch, so I had to do something about it.
Through the magic of Google Earth I was able to determine that three laps around the parking lot equals a little over one mile. That’s not one hell of a lot when compared to what I used to do at my last job but when you combine that with my daily bike ride to work, it definitely helps.
At any rate, I was coming around the bend on my last lap when I saw my buddy Barney Rubble enter the parking lot in his Hyundai Crapmobile. (Note: Barney’s seen me drive to work in the Escape, the Lincoln, and obviously knows about the bike.) He turned well in front of me and eventually found a space as close to the building as he could possibly get. You know, since that lot is so full and so big…
As he exited his Korean beer can, he saw me approaching. I noticed he had a bag in his hand and he was heading over to the trash to throw it away. Barney spoke up.
“You ride your bike to work and go for a walk during lunch?” he said incredulously. While the fork-tongued lil’ demon inside of me wanted to unleash some very naughty words to my most favoritest person at work, I held my composure as I strolled by.
“Yep, because nobody is going to do it for me,” I said with a smile, like a Cheshire cat that just swallowed a huge mouse–or like Garfield after a plate of lasagna.
“I guess not,” said Barney as he chucked his crumpled-up McDonald’s bag into the dumpster and rolled his globular body past me.
Two cars, one bike, not a lazy motherfarker like he is.
Check and mate, Barney. Check-and-effing-mate.
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It’s KOST 103.5, Southern California’s Soft Rock with Less Talk, and it’s the reason I wear my iPod pretty much all the time while at work. Remember that weird girl you dated with the crazy eyes and the Thomas Kincade, Wyland, and Anne Geddes prints all over her apartment? This is the station she listened to while she read her romance novels. (And no, I’m so not speaking from experience there…)
To put it quite plainy, their playlist sucks. I mean, really sucks. There are only so many times any sane person can listen to this song before they go crazy and yell, “Blind or not, musical genius or not–fuck you, fuckin’ Stevie Wonder!” They also tend to trim the songs if they sound to “edgy” for the station’s format. Screw you, I say. I like my Journey songs with full guitar solos, not completely removed as they shamelessly did to “Lights,” making it at least 30 seconds shorter and only a shell of its former self. Might as well not even play the fucking song if you’re going to do that. I also like Santana, not Carlos Santana featuring some Top 40 Douchey McDouchenozzle, which barely even qualifies as a Santana song.
At present, I take my 8GB iPod Touch to work because I use many of its apps on a daily basis and the battery on my 30GB iPod is almost dead. And up until yesterday, I was beginning to think that the capacity was a bit on the small side–until I hit Shuffle. That makes me happy because the chances of me hearing the same song two days in a row are definitely lower than the chances of KOST torturing the office with another gem from their vast music library.
Ahem. Sorry about all that. Here’s some earwash, or at least something that will get that Celine Dion out of your head.
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