Birthday Sex

I was having dinner and drinks with a friend when this song comes over the speakers in the bar. “Birthday Sex” by someone I’m not familiar with, but Google assures me is named Jeremih. I had to spend a minute trying to make out whether the lyric was “first date sex” or “birthday sex”. Call it my poor hearing two glasses of rye whiskey in, and above the background noise of the bar, I just couldn’t make out the words clearly. Or maybe I just didn’t want to believe it. See, in my mind ‘first date sex’, definitely something to be applauded. I haven’t had a first date in months, and first date sex probably since before Tinder was a thing. First date sex, definitely worth a song. In my mind, that’s what the lyric should be. Because writing and professionally recording an entire song about birthday sex, that’s just…I mean don’t get me wrong, birthday sex has game, but a song about birthday sex, that game is badminton. You’re a professional musician, if you’re devoting this level of attention to sex that occurs annually, you better be living with a houseful of kids and facing two mortgages, like birthday sex is the one day a year where you get to live. That 30 minutes, let’s face it, 18 minutes tops, where you can feel like a king before returning to a world of mediocrity and internet porn. First date sex, that’s song worthy. That’s something to be sung from the rooftops, even with the weird bubble popping sounds in the background and the R&B bass line. That’s what inspires the younger generation to be musicians. Its first date sex that makes the hours of work building an audience and years of patience waiting for your big break worthwhile. You’re young, the music should be about first date sex. It should be about no date sex. Not the almost obligatory sex you have once a year, on a birthday, like a sad romantic comedy best friend who’s getting pity laid. This is not what professional musicians should have in their repertoire.  Dammit man, you’re supposed to be an inspiration to all the little smooth voiced kids who just want to sing and get laid to sing. Birthday sex. Jesus got laid more often. 

war memorial

Across the country, there are lots of places called “war memorial”. There are stadiums, parks, auditoriums, in Waikiki we even have a natatorium war memorial and nobody knows what the hell a ‘natatorium’ is. War memorials are pretty common, but rarely is it clear which war that’s being memorialized. And doesn’t that kind of defeat the point? Or maybe it’s just war in general? I can understand that I suppose; but if you create this specific thing in memory of a particular war, wouldn’t it make more sense to just let us know which war this was supposed to be memorializing? Like I remember war memorial stadium, even know how to get there, don’t remember which war that’s supposed to be for though. And then you just get lost in the mix of all the other war memorial stuff and we’re just left to make some wild assumptions. Oh, that park is in Oregon, must be about the Civil War. It just leads to confusion. Or maybe it should be more disappointing that we have so many good ones to choose from when guessing. 

Building

Well no wonder you're having problems. You built this city on rock and Roll. That's a wholly insufficient building material. Use some fucking rebar and less synthesizer. Freeway on-ramps made from synthesizer just don't hold up to heavy usage. At the very least, you need to use more cowbell.

Campaign Songs

Is it just me, wouldn’t Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire" be a great song for the Trump campaign? Everybody knows the chorus and sings along to the two lines they know, which is basically just a denial of wrongdoing. And the rest of the lyrics are real words, but they’re some kind of schizophrenic mishmash of words that don’t really mean anything but appeal to nostalgic idea of something that probably didn’t really exist in the first place.

Or maybe both should just use Lou Bega’s “Mambo No. 5”. They're both courting female voters and on the Trump side, you get the not-so-subtle subtext that makes it all the more amusing. 

How to lose an election

What could Hillary Clinton do to lose my vote at this point:
1. In the middle of the third debate, do a striptease to some Megadeath music only she can hear.
 2. Convince Obama to change the nuclear launch codes to “password”.
3. Stop breathing….no starch that one. Wouldn’t make a difference.
4. The rest of the campaign, all her ad buys are just her attempting to juggle kittens and machetes in front of a Clinton 2016 banner.
5. Putin blowjob.
6. Revise the party platform because “that Senator Palpatine had some pretty good ideas”.
7. Attempt to colonize Mars with a kayak and two cases of spam.
8. Admit she got chlamydia from a koala bear in 1987 which still hasn’t been treated.
9. Replace VP running mate with Sarah Palin. I would have reservations about this one though. I mean if she did replace Tim Kaine with Sarah Plain, I would have to vote for someone else, but I would think about it for a really long time, and I’d feel bad about doing it.
10. Announce that her nomination for the next two Supreme Court vacancies would be Dick Cheney and the ghost Mike Pence.
 11. Tell us the aliens are real, but hide the fact that they all speak French.
12. Convert to Scientology and jump up and down on a couch claiming to be in love with Tom Cruise.

Elections and Pussy

No, I didn’t watch the debate today. First of all, if something important enough happens I’ll hear about it elsewhere, it’s not a sporting event, I don’t need to see it live. Hell, by the time I post this, my Facebook trending “news” feed will probably have one-line commentary about who one and who lost, despite the fact that in this election, we all lose. More importantly, I’m not undecided. I’ve decided. I decided and I honestly can’t think of what would make me change my mind. I mean at this point, Hillary Clinton could admit that in her deleted emails was proof that she was responsible for hacking Jennifer Lawrence’s photos, I wouldn’t give a fuck. Clinton could, at this point, admit to nearly anything short of a capital offense and it wouldn’t make a difference to me. Bill claims he didn’t inhale, Hillary could step on stage with a blunt in one hand and a loaded, unregistered Glock 19 in the other, and I’m fine with it. So no, I’m not undecided and I’m not going to learn anything more from this second debate.

In fact, if Hillary want’s to answer every question in the third debate by just saying the word “pussy” over and over again, I’m fine with that.

How do you plan on dealing with health care inflation stemming from lack of a public option in Obamacare? “Pussy”.

How should the United State react to continued violence and collateral damage in Yemen? “Pussy. Pussy, pussy pussy.”

My vote remains the same. Even if Trump does the smart thing for the party and jumps off a tall building bearing his name, the likely replacement is Mike Pence, a man whose actions at the state level in areas of reproductive rights specifically and health care in general would be a great leap forward – in solving for overpopulation. Let alone economic policies that show a lack of nuance necessary for international trade.

Can I imagine a situation in which I wouldn’t vote for Hillary? Sure. If, in the middle of the third debate, she sacrificed three people on a blood altar to Satan, I would definitely have reservations. I would want to know if they were Trump voters from a swing state before I made up my mind, but I would have questions. And if she sacrificed a kitten, I’d vote for Gary Johnston…Johnson? Whatever that guy’s name is. Fuck I miss John McCain. 

The Human Condition

I’ve been nursing this sore throat since yesterday. Probably just a mild sinus infection, but it’s something about the human condition that when you’re not feeling well, you kind of just want to be left alone. I mean I’m not even that bad, just not feeling 100% and therefore even less sociable than normal, which wasn’t very much to begin with. And similarly, when you’re not feeling well, soup seems like a good choice. Even if my place is something of a brick oven during the day, hot soup just seems nice. I doubt the medically curative properties of powered soup base and noodles and if I’m being honest, that much sodium probably isn’t good for me, but it just feels right. It’s the same human condition that compels me to devour the entire sleeve of Milano cookies in one sitting like it’s actually Alyssa Milano. Wait, what? No, that’s the Nyquil talking.