Manny Ramirez Revisited

Boston's talking to Pittsburgh. Please please please please please please please send him there Red Sox. Please!



Okay, I'll take the Dodgers.

Reggaeton vs. Rap Rock: The Quest for the World's Worst Musical Abomination

So, I spend a lot of time thinking about this stuff, and I think I am nearing a final decision. Over the course of my life, I have heard a lot of music that I've hated. Here I present the worst of the worst two, and leave it up to whoever happens to see this to help me decide.

In this corner we have Insane Clown Posse representing the auditory abortion that is Rap Rock.

These gentlemen formed their "band" in Detroit, MI as something of a gang called "Inner City Posse." Somewhere along the line, these gentlemen got it in their heads that ruining music would be a good idea, so they did it, and people were stupid enough to like it. Those inordinately stupid people call themselves juggalos. They suck... A LOT. I shit you not when I say that there is a religion around this band. For real. God!



And in this corner, Daddy Yankee featuring Fergie.

I don't really have the personal hatred for this artist that I do for ICP, so here's the video. Reggaeton is just offensive musically.




Place your votes in the comments.

Titletown My Fucking Ass

ESPN named Valdosta, GA Titletown USA. There are multitudinous reasons why this "award" should be considered a joke, but I will focus on just a few. First and foremost: They have two schools that win football championships. No professional sports. Whatever, I can deal with that.

What I can't deal with is this: New York City got snubbed.

New York City is home to the New York Yankees. They have the most World Series wins by a lot. Okay, people don't like the Yankees, whatever, you all suck.

New York City is the home of the '69 and '86 Mets, two World Series wins that were unlikely at best. The Mets are also in first in the NL East last I checked. But, okay, baseball isn't the thing all over America.

In December of 1958 the greatest game of football ever played was played at Yankee Stadium. The game was for the NFL Championship, and almost single-handedly made professional football a respectable sport. The Baltimore Colts defeated the New York Giants 23-17 in the first overtime game in NFL history. Do you not care for sports history? Or Pete and Pete (if you don't get the reference, you are not cool)? Fine, some recent football.

On February 3rd 2008, The New York Football Giants beat an until then undefeated New England Patriots in perhaps the greatest Superbowl game ever played, bringing yet another title to our fair city. Everyone hates the Patriots!


There's the Rangers with 4 Stanley Cups, The Islanders with the same. The Knicks were good at one point.

But maybe none of this is doing it for you. Okay. New York City is the only place in the world where you can win the Triple Crown in horse racing or the Grand Slam in Tennis!

Fine, you know what, take it Valdosta. We don't need any validation. You will never be the financial capital (capitol?) of the world. Actors won't aspire to hone their craft in your theatres. Immigrants won't flock to your shores. New York doesn't need your precious "Titletown." This is the greatest city in the world!

But seriously ESPN voters...what the fuck?

Photo courtesy of some magazine or something.

Farewell Sweet Prince: An Ode to Baseball's Finest Venue

As we all know, the old Yankee Stadium is currently in its last Season as the home of Baseball's greatest team. With the closing of the stadium an important chapter of baseball history closes. But I'm not writing to dwell tragically on the past. No, I am here to bitch triumphantly about the future!

So, of all places, the Yankees decided to build their new stadium in a park across the street from the old stadium. Great! That's just what the Bronx needs, developers filling the area with stuff that the residents can't really afford to enjoy. Most of the Bronx is not a pretty place. The buildings are generally unappealing, and major thoroughfares run through the whole borough. The Bronx can use all the parks it can get. The old stadium is becoming a park, but I just don't like the idea.

There were also talks of a Hockey game taking place at the stadium. It seems that NHL has decided to hold their yearly outdoor game at Wrigley field in Chicago (another shrine to baseball, but not one that is closing), so Steinbrenner lives.

I don't know. Maybe I'm still pissed that I lost my last chance to see a game there before it closes (fuck you Justin[at least I think that's your name]), but I still don't get why they're taking it down.

Again, fuck you Justin.

Photo Courtesy of a google image search.

A Big Fat Fuck You To That Asshole who said he'd Sell me That Yankees Ticket.

Hey buddy, get fucked...HARD. If I weren't such a coward, I'd write such insidious things about you behind your back, but even that is too much for my weak constitution. Needless to say, I hope Wednesday's game is the worst in the history of the franchise. If I don't get to the stadium this season, your place in hell is assured.

- John

Sydney Ponson: The College Kid of Major League Pitching

Sydney Ponson pitches a ball game like I write papers. The son of a bitch pitches so lazily, loading the bases, and just figures that he'll pull three outs out of his ass. This system failed him miserably (it's worked alright so far for me, maybe I should take a lesson and start writing like Mussina) this evening against the indescribably evil Boston Red Sox. The rest of the Yankees' rotation has been doing their part, but this guy is still trying to get Cs four hours before class. UGH!

In other news, Tim and Eric is on right now! I'm fucking stoked!

For the record, I will probably spend the rest of the summer bitching about Major League baseball players. Please keep in mind that they are grown men paid to play a game. They can handle some douche making fun of them on a blog no one reads.

Let's hope for serious injuries in Boston and Tampa.

Photo Courtesy of intellectual theft.

Manny Ramirez: UGH!

Dear Red Sox,

Please trade Manny Ramirez to a Shitty National League team so that I have to see as little of him as humanly possible.

Sincerely,
John Barrett

Seriously though, this man is unprofessional, unpleasant, and kind of a shitty outfielder. I know that this stuff gets said a lot, and it will continue to be said.

I'm glad there are trade talks, because I really don't think he cares about the game.

Oh, and the Red Sox suck and what not, and him leaving will not change that. But, man, fuck that dude.

Photo courtesy of Manny Ramirez's complete lack of shame.

P-E-D-E-R-A-S-T-Y, What the fuck's wrong with this guy?

So the bass player in my band (that's right, Tim; my band) invited me to the Mets Game on Friday night. It was a good game, and I'm glad I got to Shea before they closed that motherfucking eyesore.

But let me begin by discussing what Tim already discussed in his shitty blog. Some dude was totally wasted next to us (there were five of us, and we had a box to ourselves [pretty fucking sweet]) and he seemed to not realize we noticed. At first he screamed something about Tatis at a fairly random time (Tatis at least wasn't up I don't think). That's annoying, but fairly normal douche-bag behavior at a baseball game. It got more awful. There was a group of girls whose average age was somewhere between 14 and 16 and he was talking to them in a sort of creepy pedophile way. We thought he may have been trying to offer them beer in exchange for services that if described here would get me in trouble with people who think the internet is a series of tubes. This continued throughout the night. However, by making any further assumptions than I already have would make me a worse person than I already am.

Tim mentioned the guy who accidentally tripped me and said he thought they weren't necessarily obnoxious drunken assholes. Tim is very naive. They were assholes.

Anyway, the game was good. Mets won 7-2 and Pelfrey is unstoppable. Someone hit their first major league home run. Good for that dude.

I'd like to take this time to point out that Shea Stadium is fantastically ugly. Like, really, unbelievably ugly. It's this awful blue awful mess in Queens (an awful Borough). The new stadium is nice, looks like any other baseball stadium, but at least it isn't blue and shitty.

I'm making my last journey to Yankees Stadium on Wednesday and look forward to it with bated breath. Fuck the Red Sox and Rays.

Photo courtesy of google.

This Ain't no Anthem, We Must Fight Them

Much will be made of this past weekend’s un-motherfucking-believable slate of shows in New York City. Hillscore act Alkaline Trio brought their friends (and awesome band) American Steel to The Fillmore at Irving Plaza, Fuck Yeah Fest made it’s Manhattan stop (featuring Dillinger Four and the Circle Jerks) at The Highline Ballroom, and God’s greatest gift from Gainesville graced New York with their (and Thursday’s and Paint it Black’s) presence all on one night. It was almost a hard decision. I had seen Hot Water Music at their transcendent (yeah, I stand by that word-choice) New Jersey reunion, Alkaline Trio bored me the two times I had seen them at Warped Tour (I don’t want to talk about it), and D4 was playing the next day in Brooklyn. So Hot Water Music it was.

Hot Water Music, Thursday and Paint it Black is a pretty solid line-up (which is pretty much HWM’s thing for the reunions) so I got tickets for that for my brother’s birthday. As such, I was on his time for this thing. He had work until six which meant getting into the show just before Thursday took the stage. The little shit was gonna pay for making me miss Paint it Black.

Thursday played a tight, energetic set. I only recognized three songs, but they played those three well. Their new instrumental from their upcoming split with Envy was probably my favorite bit (that or Geoff Rickley’s impressive microphone spinning). Geoff said something to the effect of “These two bands are two of the most genuine bands in music,” that quote earned him much respect from me. They got themselves on stage, and I turned around to see two friends who came down all the way from Boston for this mindfuck of a weekend. Cool, huh?

I got up to about three “rows” back to watch Hot Water Music. They came on to some bluegrass-y song, and delivered onto us the rock! The set was a blur of getting crowd surfed on, and screaming a lot of lyrics. Highlights were “Rooftops” and “It’s Hard to Know” and that by the end of the set, Chuck Ragan was playing guitar from his back. They left and then did their encore thing. They ended on another personal favorite “Turnstile.” Good God Damn that show ruled. My throat was a little raw, so it was time to high-tail it back home in order to rest-up for the HUGE day ahead of me.

A friend picked me up and we met some more friends at the train station, anticipating great things from Fuck Yeah! Fest. Just that morning I had seen that Paint it Black was added on to the bill, my brother lives. And of course there were the great Dillinger Four and Circle Jerks.

So onto Brooklyn. God, that place is awful! I mean, Christ! You know? Club Exit is a really weird dance-club or something. It’s really weird with these mushroom things dangling from the ceiling, and crazy lighting and stuff. You pee onto the wall in the bathroom. It’s fucking crazy.

Anyway, Brooklyn hipster-type band Japanther went on first. There was lots of pounding drums, and what I assume were tape loops because there were two dudes on stage, but a lot of sounds. They kept saying they were a (fill in the blank) band from (fill in the blank) city. That was pretty annoying. After this, myself and one of my friends left for air and subway. We had hoped to avoid the next two smelly hipster-bands and get in just in time for Paint it Black.

When we returned, Team Robespierre was on. They were a slightly less unbearable than Japanther, and people seemed to be having fun. They played on the floor and there was a lot of jumping.

Israel’s own Monotonix came on next. I wasn’t paying much attention though. The crew and I were busy buying merch from Paddy. One of the crew needed an XXL, and Paddy, himself being a big-dude took it upon himself to search for said shirt for literally five minutes. When finally he found it, he let out the most triumphant bellow these ears have heard. We all couldn’t help but join him. At some point I turned around to see a bearded man who looked something like Alejandro Jordorowsky in El Topo screaming from on top of a bass drum that had been hoisted over the heads of some audience members. Pretty interesting, but nothing great musically.

It was time for the mighty Paint it Black. I went all the way to the front. Behind me, one of my buddies from Boston handed me his half finished beer to finish for him, which was nice (what with the no wrist-band thing I had going on). The guys took the stage, and the rocking commenced. Bodies flew everywhere, stage-divers, crowd-surfers, and mosh-warriors by the buttload. It felt about as close as I ever have to being in the old-days of hardcore. Dr. Dan Yemin was high energy and spot on in his vocal performance. Highlights of the set were the whole thing, but the songs I knew best were “We Will Not” and “Memorial Day.” I even got the mic in my face during the former. These guys are totally the best band in hardcore today.

So it was time for me to take about 45 minutes off. Matt and Kim were setting up, and I wasn’t going to be around for their set. I ran into Dr. Dan in the crowd and got a homie-handshake. It ruled pretty hard.

Matt and Kim: BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!

Then I moved up for D4. As Lane set up his drums, the FFY comedians did their bits. The first guy was awful. All dick jokes and Jew jokes. Ugh. Then the second guy, Hannibal Burress, killed it. Absolutely fantastic, but I remember very little except that he liked kicking pigeons. As he left the stage, Paddy from D4 came on to tune and whatnot. He also took the opportunity to flex his standup chops. “How about airline food? Am I Right?” He asked, shrugging. He followed with a knock-knock joke.

“Knock-knock,” he said.

“Who’s there?” the audience asked.

“New Found Glory,” he replied.

“New Found Glory who?” the audience asked

“That’s show business.”

And then, the Four. They opened with Thomas Paine, then ripped into a set of pure loveliness. Before my personal favorite song, “Super Powers Enable me to Blend in with Machinery” Paddy gave the crowd some advice on class-warfare. “Steal shit from your bosses, and then trade that shit with each other,” he told us. They ripped through more of their amazing catalog. They seemed to divide the set pretty evenly among studio albums (though nothing off This Shit is Genius). The set ended with Doublewhiskeycokenoice, but the audience implored them, and they played one last song, but I can’t remember what it was. It definitely ruled though. Oh, and somewhere along the line, someone scratched my face open.

I left after that. It was 12:30 and the LIRR isn’t the best about running. It was a cap to quite a long, and voice shattering weekend.

Photo Courtesy of Emma, who I have not asked for permission. Whoops!

The G8 summit and stuff

The green trend has reached the highest echelons of economic policy makers. Europe and Japan have finally started coaxing the U.S.’s illustrious president into discussing reducing carbon emissions. I will break down what I’ve taken in about this meeting into a simple and easy-to-understand metaphor.

The world’s population is a colossal fat-ass. He has been eating to cope with feelings of inferiority. The sun doesn’t love our planet like it loves Mercury, and He isn’t as successful as big brother Jupiter. So the earth consumes. A lot.

So now, the earth is at serious risk of heart disease, diabetes, and certain forms of cancer, but that’s not its concern, or at least that’s not the concern that it’s voicing the loudest. No, the concern seems to be that it costs too much to put clothes on the fat son of a bitch.

So what’s the plan? God forbid the earth completely rethinks its consumption-levels. No! for the time being the earth’ll keep up its consumption until the food that’s killing it runs out. Good decision.

To keep up with this line of metaphor, the G8 guys met to discuss this problem. Their discussion illustrates on a micro level, what I just described on a macro level.

Now that global warming is driving up fuel costs, its time for the richest nations to consider addressing the problem. That is, except for the good ol’ US of A. Our divinely ordained leader agreed to join talks about solving the climate change crisis if India and China agree to the same terms the U.S. does.

In this situation, America is like a fat man who will lose his foot from diabetes telling a starving child that they can’t eat chocolate (which may or may not be the only food source available to said child) because he can’t. I’ll grant that the energy crisis must be addressed in developing nations, but America is going to go blind and lose both feet before China or India are in a position to deal with it.

Long story short, get your check-ups. Diabetes can suck pretty bad.

Related Link: http://www.reuters.com/article/newsOne/idUSL0354034920080707

My Celebrated Summer (of Butt-Surgery)

College students are supposed to do all sorts of illicit things to their bodies. Our bodies should scream bloody murder for all the things we do to them. I’ll grant that, perhaps, I am guilty of some such things, but when my body started screaming bloody murder, it wasn’t because of it.

My first observation is that finding blood on toilet paper is frightening, like, really frightening. There are places that blood is supposed to come from, and your butt is none of those places.

My second observation: I really do not like the idea of being sick. I spent two months bleeding from somewhere around my ass, convinced that eating more fiber and drinking more water was fixing my problems.

Third observation: the combination of blood and pus smells disgusting. I don’t think I need to tell you anymore.

Fourth observation: Nurses are nice, and some of them don’t seem to get it. Here’s where this goes from a struggle of fear and anxiety to a story of embarrassment and humor. I go to a school whose gay population is pretty high. When I explained to the school’s nurse that I was “bleeding from my ass,” her first question was “Have you had anal intercourse recently?” I had not. Moments later, I had my pants down. Before separating the gluteus muscles to locate the source of the blood she asked again, and in the time between her asking and her asking again I had not in fact had anal intercourse. It seems to me that at Emerson no one would be shy about having anal intercourse, but to each her own. She apologized for embarrassing me with the question, and proceeded to inspect my ass with a shocked sigh.

Turns out, what I had was a pilonidal cyst. Essentially what that is, is that my skin grew over a hair follicle, but no one told the follicle, and that dude just decided to keep producing gross, smelly fluids. These gross smelly fluids had to go somewhere, so a hole opened up along my ass-crack through which the gross smelly fluids made their way onto my toilet tissue.

So I made an appointment with a Colo-rectal surgeon over my spring break. Spring Break! WOOOO!

Fifth Observation: Colo-rectal surgeons’ offices are not the most fun places to spend spring break.

Sixth observation: Colo-rectal surgeons have really seen a lot. I spent about two minutes in the guy’s office, two seconds of which spent with my ass uncovered. “Yep, that’s a pilonidal cyst, pants up.” I needed surgery, with a two month recovery time.

Seventh observation: summer sucks when you spend it recovering from butt-surgery. On May 16^th the year of our lord 2008, a fluid filled sac was cut out of me. I have spent the summer since then able to do nothing but heal. Twice a day, for about a month and a half, my poor mother had to shove a tiny piece of gauze into a tiny hole in my giant ass. I can’t imagine her discomfort, but I don’t even have to imagine my own. It was very real.

I guess if there’s a moral to this story, it’s this. Don’t let skin grow over hair on your ass. Also, anal intercourse that I have not had is apparently more embarrassing than having my ass inspected.