Singing for Shatner

The departure of the Shatner’s Toupee blog has really bummed me out.

tombstonePerhaps I should hold out hope – it’s still there, after all, despite being surreptitiously yanked off the web for a brief period. The webmaster made a grand announcement on New Year’s Day that he was going to get up and running again, and now four months have passed, and… nothing.

I’ve considered devoting this blog to continuing that noble legacy. I can think of no higher calling than investigating and chronicling the endless nuances of William Shatner’s artificial hair. Then I realized that I’d like to stay both married and sane, which would be very difficult to do if I were to fully indulge my unnatural obsession with Captain Kirk’s wigs.

But I can dabble, can’t IOn a parallel track, I’ve set a goal of recording a new song every week. I’m not necessarily going to post all of them here for free, as I still have a burgeoning professional music career on iTunes that has yielded several dollars in dividends – and by “several,” I mean $5.63. My original album “Stalker Tunes” has been for sale online for a couple of years now, and nobody’s bought it in its entirety. (Just think! You could be the first!)


Below is the graphic that made this one of the coldest selling items of last year’s yuletide rush.

Its follow-up single, “Edge of a Crow,” has been sold and/or streamed precisely 0 times, so you could say I’ve hit a sophomore slump.

Still, hope spring eternal, and I’ve got about five recordings in the can, and a couple of them are actually pretty good. I think I’ve stepped up the production values considerably from my earlier efforts. I intend to release a second album sometime this year to give everyone another opportunity not to buy anything, so I don’t want to cannibalize my non-sales by releasing the songs on this blog for free.

But I don’t think I can sell my latest opus, as it contains previously copyrighted material – specifically, it includes a whole lot of unauthorized William Shatner participation. I think most of it is protected by Fair Use provisions and would be considered legally acceptable parody, but why take a chance? This blog can’t afford to be embroiled in legal trouble, because I’ve only earned $5.63.

So rather than risk Shatnerian wrath, I’ve chosen instead to throw caution to the wind and offer it to you as a token of my esteem, a tribute to the glory days of the toupological blog that was, and a pathetic cry for psychiatric help.

I give you – Follicly Active, a duet between Stallion Cornell and an unwilling William Shatner.

Enjoy.

 

Global Integrated Joint Operating Entity

So, according to Ain’t It Cool News, the new G.I. Joe movie is going to feature an international fighting force rather than a “real American hero.” In addition, G.I. Joe will now be an acronym for “Global Integrated Joint Operating Entity” to make all the multilateralists giddy with excitement.

Why?

Well, according to a Fox News report, “The word is that in the current political climate, they’re afraid that a heroic U.S. soldier won’t fly.”

Now this is deeply stupid on a number of levels, and, ordinarily, I’d like to take the time to rant about this. But his time I won’t. OK, perhaps I will, but just for a moment.

Who’s going to watch a movie like this? People who want to see G.I. Joe wouldn’t be remotely interested in the Global Integrated Johnkerry whatever. And the John Kerrys of the world wouldn’t be interested in G.I. Joe, so why cater to them? Are you really that embarrassed by your country, Hollywood, that you can’t bring yourself to put a patriotic hero on the screen?

End rant.

Because this news report exposed something even more terrifying: a bunch of people who commented on this article are total liberal weenies who loathe America. And if there really are millions of people who think like them, this nation is doomed.

Think I exaggerate?

I quote from the article’s “talkback” section:

This Liberal is really sick of the s— you conservative a– monkeys have done to this great country. Just because you’re all closeted self haters who have to think of the President to make love to your wives doesn’t mean you can continue to blame us for your f—ing up the country. You’re hyper nationalism belongs somewhere else comrade.

I’m not sure what’s more appalling here – the ideology, the vocabulary, or the grammar.

The idea that America represents all that is good, righteous, and freedomtastic is OVER. Its been over for awhile (actually, if it ever was true), but now? After Bush and his Oil Baron cronies effectively turned the US into a Theocratic Imperial Power? After the human rights disaster of the Iraquagmire? Please. In the eyes of the world, and in at least 50% of the US itself, we are no longer even remotely aligned with anything good, righteous, or freedomtastic. We are the bad guys. Period.

Yikes. We’re a theocratic, imperial power? I wonder how this guy would do under Sharia law.

…to the neocon mind, “fair and balanced” = you agree with whatever Bush says regardless of the fact that everything he has said has proven to have been either:

1) a bald-faced lie resulting in the deaths of untold thousands of innocent women and children both at home and abroad or

2) So far off from the real world as to represent a kind of Bizarroworld Drydrunk Narnia like affair for retardo theocratic redneck f—tards who just want to kill as many non-white, non-christians as possible regardless of the utter lack of justifable pretext.

And that doesn’t even take into account the Bush regime’s monsterous incompetance. Worst ‘president’ EVAR. Seriously, how many people still support the man? Like 10% of the country? Please. Just stop it.

Take note. Hatred is not a coherent argument. And learn to spell. Dumbest post EVAR.

Does this frighten anyone but me?

These are probably the most egregious whiners over there, but many more bellyache about how rotten America is because the whole world hates us.

And when, exactly, did the world love us? When Clinton was president? When Carter was president? Golly, the world sure despised us when Reagan was the guy at the top, and then a funny thing happened.

The Soviet Union went away.

That wouldn’t have been the case if we’d all taken Jimmy Carter’s advice and gotten over our “inordinate fear of communism.” Hey, Jimmah! We didn’t get over our inordinate fear of communism. We got over communism instead! And guess what? The world – or at least the world Carter cares about – loathed us for it.

The Eastern Bloc countries didn’t, though. It’s been said that, even today, Poland is the most pro-American country in the world – including America. They recognize that America isn’t an “imperial” nation or a “theocracy.” If it were, Iraq would be a whole lot more stable, because we wouldn’t be wasting time trying to avoid slaughtering civilians or trying to get the Iraqi government on its own two feet. We’d have our warlords in power demanding tribute and killing those who didn’t comply.

And, no, that’s not what we’re doing now. If you think that’s what we’re doing, you’re probably a regular at Ain’t It Cool News.

Which do you prefer – adoration or freedom/security? Because you can’t have both. Bush is making the hard choices that require something liberals don’t have – the strength to endure hatred in order to be right.

Fact is, I don’t give a crap if the world hates us. The world respects us. The world fears us. We’re in charge. And the guy in charge doesn’t usually get to be loved. Deal with it.

And if you can’t make a good G.I. Joe movie, don’t make one at all.

Hooey

I hate Cascading Style Sheets.

Someone who wants to make a fortune will invent a reliable, easy-to-use CSS WYSIWIG editor. If you’ve got one, would you please get it to me by noon today?

Thank you.

I also hate doing dishes and/or laundry, especially at the same time. I’ve never done them at the same time, but I’m sure that would be bad.

Folding clothes is a pain in the rear. I used to just shove them all, unfolded, in a drawer. But nooooooo! That “wrinkles” them. Oh, for the days when wrinkled clothing was a sign of artistic rebellion and not just pure sloth…

Who likes cats, raise your hand. You’ll notice my hand isn’t up.

Why, at 10:00 PM, when I’m watching the only television I watch all day, do all three shows I flip through have commercials on at the same time?

I want to commit crabgrass genocide.

I’m enjoying my rediscovery of the Travelling Wilburys. I think George Harrison is the most underrated Beatle, and John Lennon is the most overrated. Ringo is still the luckiest man on earth.

If I want to feel old, I ask people if they can name all four Beatles. Very few people under 30 can do that. I have yet to meet anyone besides me who can name all of the Rolling Stones. Except that’s a trick question, anyway, because Brian Jones, Mick Taylor, and Bill Wyman were all Rolling Stones but aren’t anymore. Only Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, and Charlie Watts have always been Rolling Stones. Ron Wood is a Rolling Stone now, but he didn’t used to be.

I heard “Roundabout” by Yes on the radio yesterday. Is there a more pretentious, boring band on the planet? I’ll save you time. No, there isn’t. Their “90125” album was good, though, but that was Trevor Rabin, not Yes.

Martin Short was funny on the 1984-1985 season of “Saturday Night Live” and in the movie “Three Amigos.” That’s about it.

Glenn Beck is the least tedious talk radio host.

Global warming is dishonest – not because it isn’t happening, but because the alarmists are using it to further an unrelated political agenda that they can’t pursue openly. And if global warming is happening, it’s not our fault.

I hate parking.

That is all. For now…

Sweet Baby James

My two-year-old son and I have the same first name – James – and before too long, he’ll be too old to be rocked to sleep by a lullaby. That’s too bad, because he loves “Sweet Baby James” by James Taylor. He always nods off during the chorus:

Goodnight, you moonlight ladies
Rockabye, Sweet Baby James
Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose
Won’t you let me go down in my dreams
And rockabye Sweet Baby James

We already had four kids by the time James came along. And, as you may have guessed, James wasn’t supposed to come along. Yet here he is. He was a mistake who became a surprise who became a blessing.

We had already planned our lives around the idea of four kids in school. My wife was going to go back to work part-time; I was going to get rich, and everything was set. Then James came along and screwed everything up. We weren’t sure if we were going to forgive him for doing that.

The day he was born changed all that instantly. He came out with a full head of dark, scraggly hair – unlike all four of our other kids who were bald as ping pong balls upon their arrival. James also, unlike our other kids, had a hard time breathing for the first few days. We were told his prognosis was good, but he he had to be put in intensive care on a respirator, and we couldn’t hold him. The irony was thick on the ground – here was the child who’s arrival we had been dreading, and now we were terrified at the prospect of losing him. The day we were able to take James, healthy and happy, back home with us was one of the greatest days of our lives.

I think the hair was still helping matters. The dark hair was replace by blonde curls, again, unlike the four straight-headed kids who preceded him. Near his second birthday, my wife asked me to go get his hair trimmed, and, being an idiot, I gave very vague instructions to the SuperCuts girl, who proceeded to practically shave his head. My wife burst into tears when she saw the curls were gone, and they haven’t come back. It’s still a sore subject around the house, but, fortunately, we’ve found other reasons to love him.

He’s smart and funny, and he wants to grow up in the worst way. Last night, at a cousin’s house, he decided to imitate his older cousin by crossing his legs, but he couldn’t quit lift his right leg over his left. It was fun to watch him struggle with it. He’s obsessed with cars, or “bye-byes,” as he calls them, and given the opportunity, he’d watch Pixars “Cars” movie all day long. Sometimes, when my natural sloth takes over, I almost let him.

That’s a mistake.

This is precious time that we’re never going to get again. He’s the last one. I’m trying to remember that. I’m trying to enjoy the fact that he carries his little blue blankie everywhere; that his face lights up every time he sees a doggie or a kitty, that he calls all his brothers and sisters by name but still calls himself “baby.” He’s growing. He can crawl out of his crib now. He wants to grow up more than I want him to stay little, and nature says he’s going to win out in the end.

I’ve only got so many “Sweet Baby James” nights left.