Thursday, August 30, 2007
I think blogging is stupid. Not always. Not when people are reading the blog. Or the blog becomes really hip, and it's the first thing that comes up on google when you enter a persons name. But like everything else, 99% of it is utter dreck.
Now I started this blog a few years ago before my mom started her blog, and to be honest, I really didn't get the point. But that was all before I read this, and I realized just how vital blogging is.
So, now I'm back. And I promise to be funny. Promise. I'm not even going to tell anyone that I'm blogging until I've started to write really funny things, and pithy observations about LA or New York or Cleveland. I'll wax poetically about the best place to find a Knish in Portland. I'll wow you with stories of my cats almost unnatural emotional attachment to me. It will be one of those blogs...like the superfical.com. Oh, if only. If only I cared about anything...Then I could really write.
Currently the red sox are doing all they can to be swept by the Yankees. It's a Greek tragedy that rivalry. I should ask. Do NYers even consider it a rivalray? Or more like a pesky (pun intended) insect that buzzes around for the spring and summer only to be squashed in September. I was just in New York, so I should have asked.
Oh. This blog, if I actually get around to writing it, will most likely be a commentary on arts and entertainment. Like I'll review a movie and CD each week. That would be smart. Maybe Chuck Klosterman will read it and think, "God, this guy is a GENIUS!" and give me a job. That would be good, as there is another Schaffer about to clutter up the planet, and having some means of providing for him/her would be good. Although were Mr. Klosterman to proclaim my genius, I would have to politely refute his assesment, and admit that I am only an Immense Talent. Not actually a genius. I've met a genius or two (see how I avoided the plural form? Clever) and I am not one. As low functioning as I am, I am not as bad as a genius. I've never imported sand into my house so it can feel like the beach while I write songs that will probably not make it on to a record.
Commenting on entertainment. Or writing about it. I don't really know how I could stretch a record review beyond ten or twelve words. I'll probably write things like "Billy Corgan should stop playing all together, because he's utterly irrelevant". But then I'd feel bad. Because I've seen him a couple times and he's actually a genuinely talented dude. Maybe that's why music critics write good reviews of bad music. They're just too darned nice. If you go to www.metacrititc.com, you will see reviews of all forms of entertainment (making your humble narrator's blog totally obsolete, but that's another matter entirely). Generally the green (good), yellow (okay) and red (not good) color coding is equally distributed. But the music section constists of about 90% good reviews and 10% bad. If I had a research assistant, I could have parlayed that into a funny joke, but such is the life of the low-budget blogger. The point is, music critics are WAY too nice. That may be because they don't like being mean to bands that they once liked, or bands that are on a label with bands that they do like. You can't talk shit about a Matador band, because you can kiss that Pizzicatto Five box set goodbye.
But not me. I'll talk shit. And what can they do?
What the fuck is up with the fucking Red Sox? What is this thing about the Yankees? Must we get swept at the end of the season every fucking year? I really don't get it. They're like our big brother that we dare not challenge. Drives me up the wall.
Anyway, What are they gonna do? I don't care. I'm just a shit talking blogger. My music career is over. (Maybe) And even though I'm not that tough, I'm not really afraid of the members of Maroon 5 coming ot kick my ass because I called them this decades Level 42. That's just the way it is.
Movies are even easier, becuase you're insulting a huge team of people and a multi-national corporation. They truly would give a monkey's about some blogger.
So, we'll see. If I have the spare cash to see a movie or buy a cd, and I compile enough funny material. This could become the hippest blog since that fat queen Perez Hilton started his lame ass site.
later
Z
Now I started this blog a few years ago before my mom started her blog, and to be honest, I really didn't get the point. But that was all before I read this, and I realized just how vital blogging is.
So, now I'm back. And I promise to be funny. Promise. I'm not even going to tell anyone that I'm blogging until I've started to write really funny things, and pithy observations about LA or New York or Cleveland. I'll wax poetically about the best place to find a Knish in Portland. I'll wow you with stories of my cats almost unnatural emotional attachment to me. It will be one of those blogs...like the superfical.com. Oh, if only. If only I cared about anything...Then I could really write.
Currently the red sox are doing all they can to be swept by the Yankees. It's a Greek tragedy that rivalry. I should ask. Do NYers even consider it a rivalray? Or more like a pesky (pun intended) insect that buzzes around for the spring and summer only to be squashed in September. I was just in New York, so I should have asked.
Oh. This blog, if I actually get around to writing it, will most likely be a commentary on arts and entertainment. Like I'll review a movie and CD each week. That would be smart. Maybe Chuck Klosterman will read it and think, "God, this guy is a GENIUS!" and give me a job. That would be good, as there is another Schaffer about to clutter up the planet, and having some means of providing for him/her would be good. Although were Mr. Klosterman to proclaim my genius, I would have to politely refute his assesment, and admit that I am only an Immense Talent. Not actually a genius. I've met a genius or two (see how I avoided the plural form? Clever) and I am not one. As low functioning as I am, I am not as bad as a genius. I've never imported sand into my house so it can feel like the beach while I write songs that will probably not make it on to a record.
Commenting on entertainment. Or writing about it. I don't really know how I could stretch a record review beyond ten or twelve words. I'll probably write things like "Billy Corgan should stop playing all together, because he's utterly irrelevant". But then I'd feel bad. Because I've seen him a couple times and he's actually a genuinely talented dude. Maybe that's why music critics write good reviews of bad music. They're just too darned nice. If you go to www.metacrititc.com, you will see reviews of all forms of entertainment (making your humble narrator's blog totally obsolete, but that's another matter entirely). Generally the green (good), yellow (okay) and red (not good) color coding is equally distributed. But the music section constists of about 90% good reviews and 10% bad. If I had a research assistant, I could have parlayed that into a funny joke, but such is the life of the low-budget blogger. The point is, music critics are WAY too nice. That may be because they don't like being mean to bands that they once liked, or bands that are on a label with bands that they do like. You can't talk shit about a Matador band, because you can kiss that Pizzicatto Five box set goodbye.
But not me. I'll talk shit. And what can they do?
What the fuck is up with the fucking Red Sox? What is this thing about the Yankees? Must we get swept at the end of the season every fucking year? I really don't get it. They're like our big brother that we dare not challenge. Drives me up the wall.
Anyway, What are they gonna do? I don't care. I'm just a shit talking blogger. My music career is over. (Maybe) And even though I'm not that tough, I'm not really afraid of the members of Maroon 5 coming ot kick my ass because I called them this decades Level 42. That's just the way it is.
Movies are even easier, becuase you're insulting a huge team of people and a multi-national corporation. They truly would give a monkey's about some blogger.
So, we'll see. If I have the spare cash to see a movie or buy a cd, and I compile enough funny material. This could become the hippest blog since that fat queen Perez Hilton started his lame ass site.
later
Z
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Biking
Okay folks,
Welcome to the Blog. If you're here, it's because I asked you to come and listen to me rant for a while. To be honest, I don't read blogs, but everyone seems to have one nowadays. So I'm gonna try. Maybe it'll be funny and cool, and you'll tell your friends to check out Zak's fucking heeee-larious blog. Maybe.
This week's post (I'm gonna try and do one a week. I think they're called posts...) is about biking. Now, as many of you know, I was without a car in Los Angeles for the better part of five months during the heaviest rains Southern California has ever expereinced. I could write a book on what a miserable experience it is, but I'm sure some sweat shop employee or junkie prostitute would write a book about their lives and make mine look really petty and lame.
So, I spent the winter riding east and west on Beverly Blvd to and from my workshop in the torrential rain. I'd have to bring extra shoes and socks because I didn't have booties. It was pretty dire. I think the only reason I kept at if for as long as I did is because my father rode a bike every day of my childhood. Every day. Rain. Snow. Frogs. He'd get on his beat up beach cruiser and ride to work. So I guess it didn't seem that out of the ordinary to be a cyclist. Also, I think I have some Chinese ancestry somewhere.
Here's the funny part. Now that I have a car ( a pimping '87 Toyota van. You know, the ones that look like a space buggy) I still ride my bike everywhere. What's up with that?
Well, there's a couple things.
1. I don't have to look terribly good at work. I'm not going to lose an account by schvitzing a little when I get to the studio.
2. Turns out, I need the excercise. The weight I lost and muscle tone I gained over the months of carlessness was reversed in about three weeks of owning a car. And contrary to what you may have read, a Rubenesque abdomen doesn't attract the ladies as well as you might think.
3. More on excercise...I feel so much better when I get that much excercise. Endorphines fight depression. I'm actually not sure that's true, because if it were, why are jocks such agressive jerks?
4. I guess I kind of like the rush of having a near death experience several times a week.
5. This is a little pretentious, but true. I enjoy not burning fossil fuels. I feel like I'm slaying Goliath, or at least sneaking into the back door of some hipster club. What I mean is, everyone is stuck in their cars, pounding on their steering wheels, running their hands through their hair, cursing the traffic from their Escalades, and I'm actually part of the solution. That's a pretty good feeling.
But it's not all good. I mean, I really wonder if you translate the amount of carcinogens I've ingested by riding with traffic it would fill many cartons of Camel unfiltereds.
Oh, but here's something funny. I'll leave you with this. When I didn't have a car, I used to be embarrased, imagining that people were looking at me thinking, "God, that poor guy doesn't have a car". Now that I have a car, but choose not to use it, I never feel embarrassed. I just feel like kind of a bad ass. Strange, huh?
Welcome to the Blog. If you're here, it's because I asked you to come and listen to me rant for a while. To be honest, I don't read blogs, but everyone seems to have one nowadays. So I'm gonna try. Maybe it'll be funny and cool, and you'll tell your friends to check out Zak's fucking heeee-larious blog. Maybe.
This week's post (I'm gonna try and do one a week. I think they're called posts...) is about biking. Now, as many of you know, I was without a car in Los Angeles for the better part of five months during the heaviest rains Southern California has ever expereinced. I could write a book on what a miserable experience it is, but I'm sure some sweat shop employee or junkie prostitute would write a book about their lives and make mine look really petty and lame.
So, I spent the winter riding east and west on Beverly Blvd to and from my workshop in the torrential rain. I'd have to bring extra shoes and socks because I didn't have booties. It was pretty dire. I think the only reason I kept at if for as long as I did is because my father rode a bike every day of my childhood. Every day. Rain. Snow. Frogs. He'd get on his beat up beach cruiser and ride to work. So I guess it didn't seem that out of the ordinary to be a cyclist. Also, I think I have some Chinese ancestry somewhere.
Here's the funny part. Now that I have a car ( a pimping '87 Toyota van. You know, the ones that look like a space buggy) I still ride my bike everywhere. What's up with that?
Well, there's a couple things.
1. I don't have to look terribly good at work. I'm not going to lose an account by schvitzing a little when I get to the studio.
2. Turns out, I need the excercise. The weight I lost and muscle tone I gained over the months of carlessness was reversed in about three weeks of owning a car. And contrary to what you may have read, a Rubenesque abdomen doesn't attract the ladies as well as you might think.
3. More on excercise...I feel so much better when I get that much excercise. Endorphines fight depression. I'm actually not sure that's true, because if it were, why are jocks such agressive jerks?
4. I guess I kind of like the rush of having a near death experience several times a week.
5. This is a little pretentious, but true. I enjoy not burning fossil fuels. I feel like I'm slaying Goliath, or at least sneaking into the back door of some hipster club. What I mean is, everyone is stuck in their cars, pounding on their steering wheels, running their hands through their hair, cursing the traffic from their Escalades, and I'm actually part of the solution. That's a pretty good feeling.
But it's not all good. I mean, I really wonder if you translate the amount of carcinogens I've ingested by riding with traffic it would fill many cartons of Camel unfiltereds.
Oh, but here's something funny. I'll leave you with this. When I didn't have a car, I used to be embarrased, imagining that people were looking at me thinking, "God, that poor guy doesn't have a car". Now that I have a car, but choose not to use it, I never feel embarrassed. I just feel like kind of a bad ass. Strange, huh?
Monday, March 07, 2005
Welcome
I'll keep this short until people start posting.
A brief mission statement of this blog:
To have a place for people to vent about sucky things. Music, Movies, Politics, Fat Kids, Topsoil depletion. Whatever.
I'll probably post once a week with a review of All Things Sucky. Feel free to sound off whether you agree or not. It doesn't matter to me what you think. You know I'm right.
Anyway, welcome. Let the shit talking begin.
Z
A brief mission statement of this blog:
To have a place for people to vent about sucky things. Music, Movies, Politics, Fat Kids, Topsoil depletion. Whatever.
I'll probably post once a week with a review of All Things Sucky. Feel free to sound off whether you agree or not. It doesn't matter to me what you think. You know I'm right.
Anyway, welcome. Let the shit talking begin.
Z
