Hey all. I freaking missed you guys…
I’ve decided to dedicate this week’s column to my impending move. If you didn’t already know, I am on my way to NYC, the Big Apple, you know, “the City that Never Sleeps.” That’s a great place for an insomniac like myself to head off to; a place with even more distractions that might just make it impossible for me to EVER go to bed.
First off, I have a little secret for you all.
William, it was really nothing…
Last night was definitely one of those nights. You know the type; you’re being serious one second, and the next, you are sobbing like a little kid who got grounded for peeking at the naked women through the K-Mart dressing room doors.
Yeah, I really did that. The crying and the peeking at naked chicks thing.
I was a little pervert. What more can I say?
Anyway, my boy Salty and I were outside, weeping like the bitches we are, when the unexpected happened. “Old Friend Who Tried to Krunk Up My Relationship When It Had Just Started” showed up. When I say “krunk” I am using Ice-T’s definition, whose meaning he clearly laid out on one of the first episodes of Late Night with Conan O’Brien. Krunk means “messed up,” “screwed with,” stuff like that. Not Little Jon’s bullshit “get drunk and high” reasoning. No “krunk juice,” that was not what Ice-T was about.
Hell, he wrote “Cop Killer.” You think he wanted to get a cop drunk when he said HE wanted to “krunk” them up? Hell no.
Back to the point, I have not spoken a word with OFWTTKUMRWIHJS since October, and was plenty content to just leave with things they way they have been. Frankly, I did all I could to make stuff copacetic, but it didn’t matter. I felt like I had done something wrong, and when a man really loves a woman and she loves him, you should not feel like that…ever.
No big deal. Salty and I stood there, shocked as all hell, and was just wondering what exactly was going on. He pulled in, fresh from work and I really didn’t know what to expect. He stuck out his hand and just congratulated me. When I asked him what for, he proceeded to tell me that he was glad I was finally getting the chance to go to New York.
That was pretty much it. He walked off, said nothing to Salty who stood there like a statue. A mighty beefy statue, but a statue nonetheless.
Now, its been tough to piece together EXACTLY what was said, but I know it started with “What…” and probably ended with “…the f*ck.” Yeah, I swear too much. Sorry.
I spent the next few hours with Salty, and we tried to figure out what was going on. He (read: OFWTTKUMRWIHJS) said he had heard I was moving, and since no one has talked to him that knows, he probably found out at the once place I seem to share my funny AND stupid stories:
InsidePulse.com.
Well, all I can say is that I was shocked ANYONE other than my mom and girlfriend were reading this. Oh, I know gloomchen read it one time too. That’s pretty nice.
Ssquared, baby. Affecting one distant OFWTTKUMRWIHJS at a time!
If I Can Make It On My Own
So, the Grammys sucked. Did anyone else think that Gwen Stefani had NO business up on stage with Franz Ferdinand, the Black Eyed Peas, and Maroon 5? It was weird, that’s all I can say. I saw the opening as a way to give props to break-out NEW artists of the year. “New” doesn’t mean first-time recordings, so all the BEP haters can back off.
The mash-up at the end of the opening number sucked too. What a cool idea with some bad execution.
What was up with the cover of “Across the Universe?” Now, it’s great that it was designed as another way to make money for all the folks in Southeast Asia, but Bono WASN’T singing during the final verses. I always knew that self-righteous prick would show his true colors when it came time to “team-up” with other superstars. If the focus isn’t on the self-absorbed jackass, he just pouts. As much as he does for charity, he pissed me off big time.
So, I won’t be buying a Limited Edition iPod. I loved the color scheme, but I am voting that dick out of my record collection effective immediately. No more money to Bono.
Also, didn’t Scott Weiland RULE! God Bless Velvet Revolver. Bet you Axl is kicking himself now, eh?
I’m Mr. Brightside
So, I also loved the tributes to Ray Charles. Yes, we are over-doing it a little bit, but the man was great.
Side note: Alicia Keys is still stunning. My mom was offended that I left her off my “Hottest Famous Chicks List” last week.
Ms. Keys doesn’t read this, but if she did, I owe her a huge apology. I may love Vanessa, Michelle, Elisha and the Katie Holmes, but I can’t believe my omission.
I’m embarrassed. I guess it’s karma for what I said about “Moonbeam” last week.
My highlight of the night was Kanye’s acceptance speech. Take that, playa haters. Kanye’s got a Grammy now! Whoo freakin’ hoo. Oh, and Maroon 5 won too. They are probably the nicest band I have ever met, and even if a few of the IP staff find them a tad overplayed, it’s okay. I am happy for all of their success, and wish them the best.
The Killers were there. They rule. Enough said. And, no, I won’t write it “’nuff said.” I think it looks stupid. However, to play Devil’s Advocate for a second, and not the Pacino/Keanu movie (which was only cool due to Charlize Theron’s nudity,) I did say “krunk.” Maybe I am trying too hard.
Footsteps in the Hall
Couldn’t get tickets to Oasis at MSG. Damn thing sold out to quick. That sucks.
I think I missed out on Elvis Costello too.
And, I am not going to Coachella.
Someone AWESOME better play in New York soon, or I will cry at all the missed opportunities.
Well, something that made me smile arrived in my mailbox Tuesday. My oh my, I didn’t know Debbie Gibson was going to be in Playboy THIS month. That made me smile.
Too bad Paris Hilton was on the cover. I might have actually been interested in reading the issue. Now, I know Paris has a movie coming out (House of Wax, which DOES feature Elisha Cuthbert from “24“) but did we really need her on the cover?
What a waste, indeed!
I guess Gloomchen was right. Tiffany wins. At least SHE got a cover for her spread, didn’t she? The saddest thing about all this is that Debbie didn’t wear her jean jacket. Oh, that and I can now officially say that Hugh Hefner is spending money to get pictures of celebrity nipples. What a waste.
I know, that’s really rude of me. Hugh did make it possible to see her breasts, but I am tired of how watered down and boring the pictorials are becoming. It’s only a matter of time before the centerfolds start wearing burkahs.
It Started Out With a Kiss, How Did It End Up Like This?
…the Killers rule. If you don’t like them, I am really sorry. Don’t wanna ENJOY music? Fine. Listen to Ashley Simpson. Seriously, the dance/rock revolution is in full swing. Try not to listen to them or Franz Ferdinand and stand perfectly still. Try it, I dare you. These guys make me want to dance every time I hear them, regardless of where I am. If they pop on the Muzak at Wal-Mart, I am all about it. I am busting a move. I will NOT just stand there.
*sigh*
That sounded funnier in my head. Well, like I always say, “you can’t have manslaughter without laughter.” Get it? Ha, thanks Tshirthell.com.
That joke didn’t work either.
Moving on…
I Love Myself, I Want You To Love Me
Anyone trying out for Fuse TV’s Ultimate VJ Search? I know I am.
Ever since the debacle that was MTV’s Wanna Be A VJ, Too, I really haven’t been pursuing the idea.
I got screwed.
Maybe we can talk about it in person some time. It’s a great story, but to make a long story short:
I was an alternate.
That sucked because going in to MTV’s attempt to sign new talent, I SAID they wanted a black man or woman. Needless to say, a black woman won. She didn’t work out, so the contest was never held again.
This time, I am making my video and sending it out before the deadline. There will be NO camping out for this fool. Not again. Not after last time…
Anyway, if you are interested, head over to Fuse’s site, and do your damnedest.
Anyone who gets on the show and gives a shout-out to InsidePulse.com gets a prize. Hell, I will convince the “powers that be” to throw SOMETHING dope at you if you make it on, and the plug is heard.
But, if anyone, even if YOU don’t do it, does that foolish “BABA BOOEY” thing, the deal is off.
Oh, and extra points if you say MY name first. I will definitely be your “manservant” for a day. Go InsidePulse.com!
By the way, for those of you who don’t know, our own Aaron Cameron celebrated the 2nd anniversary of his column Friday Music Bootleg. Every week, Mr. Bootleg never ceases to amaze me.
That’s enough for now. Next week, I will be writing from Astoria, Queens.
Until then, wish me luck. Honestly, I need it. Hopefully the city won’t eat me alive.
Keep it real,
Ssquared
