Slowly Going Bald

"Look, we're gonna spend half the night driving around the Hills looking for this one party, and you're gonna say it sucks, and we're all gonna leave and we're gonna go look for this other party. But all the parties and all the bars, they all suck. I spend half the night talking to some girl who's looking around the room to see if there's someone who's more important she should be talking to, and it's like I'm supposed to be all happy 'cause she's wearing a backpack."

Monday, February 14, 2005

Dear Grammy Voters and Any Who Help Produce The Show,

You suck. You are lame and you suck, and your lame suckiness reaches hitherto unexplored realms of craptastic lame suckiness. Suck.

You are old, and out of touch, and have a curious penchant for heaping awards on dead people. Ray Charles didn't become great because he died or somebody made on overrated movie about him; he's always been great. But giving him eight posthumous awards, like when you threw a few statues to the Johnny Cash estate a little while back, is just confusing. It's like you sense a trend about to pass you by, so you might as well jump on it for a little while. You're like that guy who finally bought a trucker hat in late 2004, only to realize that whole thing was long over and that kids who wear trucker hats are bad people. You guys suck.

Another example: last year you gave Fountains of Wayne a nod for Best New Artist, despite the fact that their first album came out in 1996. But they land "Stacy's Mom" on the radio, not even their best work, and you guys go bananas.

And why give an award to that creepy moaning song from The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King? You're, like, a year late, you old sucky losers. And the song's not even good.

And what do your categories even mean? What's the difference between Record of the Year and Song of the Year? Or the difference between R&B Album and Contemporary R&B Album? You guys suck so much. No one watches your show, and all musicians everywhere are disappointed that the only award they can shoot for is the one you losers hand out.

Thanks For Your Time,

Daniel Carlson

3 Comments:

I didn't watch them, either, because they suck. Plus I had laundry to do. And they suck.

By Dan Carlson, at 12:52 PM, February 16, 2005

I seem to sense a general feeling of suckiness in your attitude here. I wholeheartedly agree. they do suck. I just love the way you put it.

By Azathoth100, at 5:39 PM, February 16, 2005

You know what we need? ORANGE MOCHA FRAPA CHINO!

As far as I can deduce, the guys on that show were gay (which kinda figures, because they were models) and liked Asians.

Oh, and I love the repetitiveness of the adjective suck. Also the fact that it is a verb and that you use it as an adjective. That is just good writing. Something the Grammies don't know about I guess, becuase you thought that they blew, I mean sucked.

By Master Baron Von Tuckenstein the First Esquire, at 7:16 PM, February 17, 2005

: Name: Dan Carlson; Location: Houston, Texas, United States

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...a stone, a leaf, an unfound door; of a stone, a leaf, a door. And of all the forgotten faces....

O waste of loss, in the hot mazes, lost, among bright stars on this most weary unbright cinder, lost! Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When?

O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again.

--Look Homeward, Angel

Conservatives are not necessarily stupid, but most stupid people are conservatives.

--John Stuart Mill

We have all read in scientific books, and indeed, in all romances, the story of the man who has forgotten his name. This man walks about the streets and can see and appreciate everything; only he cannot remember who he is. Well, every man is that man in the story. Every man has forgotten who he is. One may understand the cosmos, but never the ego; the self is more distant than any star. Thou shalt love the Lord thy God; but thou shalt not know thyself. We are all under the same mental calamity; we have all forgotten our names. We have all forgotten what we really are. All that we call common sense and rationality and practicality and positivism only means that for certain dead levels of our life we forget that we have forgotten. All that we call spirit and art and ecstasy only means that for one awful instant we remember that we forget.

--G.K. Chesterton

We were, for the briefest of moments, something greater than the sum of our uncertain parts; we were youth itself, in all its painful glory and sharp joy.

--August Van Zorn

There is a time in the lives of most writers when they are vulnerable, when the vivid dreams and ambitions of childhood seem to pale in the harsh sunlight of what we call the real world. In short, there's a time when things can go either way.

Film lovers are sick people.

--Francois Truffaut