Throwing Hand-Grenades at Kittens

Ah! The yearly music industry fiasco comes and goes again. And much to our good luck … it was a larger train wreck than usual this year! The Grammy’s suffered it’s lowest ratings since 1970, and was blown out of the water by “American Idol.” This is good and bad. Good because people are smart enough not to tune into that cultural asteroid-collision. Bad because … well, American Idol is just as much of a donkey as the Grammy awards.

I didn’t watch, but unfortunately I was compelled to read about them in the paper. Anyone else getting tired of these horrifying and shameful artist collaborations? They just baffled me for a long time (viz., “Huhhh? Michael Jackson and N’ Sync?” or “Huhhh? Santana and Cee-Lo?”). But eventually your mind wearies of constant delirium and just gets pissed. “I’m sick of your lies!” it screams. “If you want to torture me, at least have the courage to do drugs.” Sorry, Gray, but this shit’s the truth. Paul Mcartney actually played … oh god, you’re not going to like this … “Yesterday” with Jay-Z (enter Luke Skywalker – “That’s not true! That’s IMPOSSIBLE!!!”

Oh, big business, you knucklehead, you. You actually awarded the Pop Album of the Year to what’s-her-name. Umm. The chick who sings “Little Miss Constipated” or whatever. Paul Mcartney and this babe were nominated for the same award … here’s a goddamn chance to redeem yourself, music moguls! A heaven-sent gift. A year wherein a musical legend, icon, myth releases a fantastic album (and it is fantastic, I own it) and is subsequently nominated for an award … you could save so much face here. Make up for so much lost ground over the past decade. Give people a reason to tune into your annual pomp-fest and turn off American Idol. Give the fucking award to Sir Paul!!! Haha, but no. No. Give it to whats-her-face. The winner of American Idol, the very show stealing your ratings from you. Good going.

Well, whatever. They’re digging their own grave, and they’re not using a shovel. They’re using a fucking back-hoe. More power to them. I’ll continue gleefully listening to age-old rock music, and that’ll do just fine thankyou. I’ll be as snug as a tarantula caught in the sticky, numbing ooze of it’s own web (good simile, no?).

I’m hearing that Burger King has now removed ice-cream cones from their menus in some European locations because some Muslim king complained that it looked like an Islamic symbol for some religious shit. I really do believe that “Political Correctness” is just a cheerful term for “censurship” and a tactical weapon used to protect the delicate sensibilities of all the skim-milk jollies who think they own the world and don’t have to see or hear anything they don’t want to.

This whole Gretzky-gambling bit is a bad circus. Who fucking cares? Does this really warrant a player-by-player witch hunt by the same guy who prosecuted the goddamn uni-bomber? It’s sports betting, and they didn’t even do it on hockey. Gretzky is not implicated as having placed bets, so why does the media keep calling this a black-eye on hockey? Is anyone surprised that millionaire athletes would bet some money on the Superbowl? And does anyone care that Rick Tocchet financed it? It’s Rick Tocchet – big deal. I’m not saying that this should be shrugged off and how’s your mom these days, fella? But to make a national scandal out of it and suggest that it will somehow bode worse for the NHL than the lockout did … bullfeathers.

Were you aware that there are pet grooming facilities in this country for rats – they include coat shampoo, hair trimming, and nail clipping. I really hate Americans sometimes. I love my country, don’t get me wrong … but give me a break.

Jochen Hecht deserved to be injured on that play for missing a goal that a mini-mite could have tapped into the net. What a play, and what a pass by Vanek – and Jochen wiffs. Uggh.

Razor is extremely unlikable as a member of the Sabres’ post-game show. He’s a Buffalo legend as a hockey player/brawler, but he irritates me more than Mike Robitaille when I watch their stupid show, and I wouldn’t have thought that possible. His analytical approach to the game is stilted at best, and his constant aggression toward Kevin Sylvester, probably intended as tough-guy directness, comes across as the dumb kid on the bus getting snippy because he’s afraid of looking dumb.

Leave a message, paisons. A presto…

Raining Pomposity

Lindsey Lohan slips and falls, cutting her leg in the process. This requires stitches, which in turn requires that every newspaper in the country carry a story about Lindsey Lohan falling and needing stiches. The staff here at “Dominion of Cool” thinks this is yet another sign of the apocalypse.

Signs that the Apocalypse can be postponed, at least temporarily: The Bonnaroo Music and Arts Festival – June 16-18. This should be fun. The event takes place over the course of three days on a 700-acre farm in Tennessee. This year, bands include Radiohead, Beck, Bonnie Raitt, and Blues Traveler. I’m psyched, at least, to see Beck and Blues Traveler, the latter of which is, unfortunately, a terribly underrated band. They had a couple of high-play hit singles in the mid-90’s on MTV and that has created the illusion that they must be a pop-band of sorts. Not so, blowhards! Give their albums a spin, or download them on the much heralded allofmp3.com. They started out as something of a jam band along the same vain as, say, Phish. Certainly they shortened and simplified their recorded output, but not at the expense of quality. Excellent music!

But let’s get down to brass tax here, chumba-wumba fans. Headlining this particular festival will be the immaculate, peerless, breathtaking Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers!! The early word is that they will play the final night of the three-day affair. What a way to close an event! Petty, who will no doubt be supporting a new, highly-anticipated, long-expected album (Highway Companion) come the summer months, should also be amidst a hard-rocking 30th anniversary tour marking the close of the third decade since 1976’s timeless self-titled debut album. All indications point to my being there – making the several thousand mile trek from shit-stained Buffalo, NY to scream myself dumb on some strange, faraway farm of musical transcendence.

A complaint though. Now, it’s no secret that I think Tom Petty is the single-greatest human being ever to walk the face of the earth. And yes, I’m taking Moses, Jesus Christ, Shakespeare, Lincoln, and Samuel L. Jackson into account when I say this. I own every Petty CD ever. I own the Greatest Hits, the Anthology, and the Playback boxset. I own the Playback Video collection. I own High Grass Dogs, and Live at the Olympic. I own the new book, “Coversations with Tom Petty.” I have a full-size poster of Petty strumming his acoustic during the Wildflowers studio sessions on my wall. I’ve been to Darien Lake for the ’99, ’02, and ’05 shows. But, Tom! Last spring you announced “Highway Companion” would be out at the end of 2005, or the beginning of 2006. Since then, and here we are closing in on a year later, there is still not a release date. Nor is there even a tidbit of news. Nothing! No – “It’s been delayed for this reason, but look for it to hit stores around…” No – “Sorry for the delay, fans, we’re still plugging away, hang with us.” Nothing! Just deadening, gray, mindless silence. Just awkward, maddening, horrifying silence that could literally reach out and choke you to death if you turn your back on it for a split second.

WHEN IS HIGHWAY COMPANION COMING OUT, DAMN IT!!!!

Read Bob Dylan Chronicles: Vol. 1. It’s not a boring auto-biographical bit of cliché. It’s a non-linear, near-poetic introduction into the mind a 20th century genius. A fast read too, for all of you with video-game-immediate sensibilities.

The other day an odd thing happened. As I sat in my cubicle, I received a call from the receptionist. “Mr. Sherry, there is a country-music singer here to see you.” Terrifying, I thought … and unexpected. I made my way to the front lobby, and sure enough there stood a “dude.” He was some pretty-boy dressed in a ranch-hand outfit, and he stood there strumming an acoustic.

“Help you?” I asked him.

“You Mike?” he asked, exaggerated drawl stretching his words out to tiresome lengths.

He led me down the front steps onto the crumbling sidewalk which runs in front of the ancient ruins that is my place of employment. He wanted to make me a proposition. He said I had the look of a city-slicker and he didn’t much care for it. Either he was going to cut off my arm and beat me slowly to death with it, or I was going to have to listen to him play five minutes of country music.

Naturally, I chose death.

The initial pain from having your arm ripped off comes from the joint popping out of the socket. After the limb itself is torn completely free of the rest of the body the pain seems to dull. Not because it hurts less, but because you’re losing consciousness. The last thing I remember seeing is his grinning visage looking down at me while he prepared to smack me across the eyes with my own tricep.

I came to briefly and found myself in what appeared to be a shed.

“I’ll let you live if you listen to three minutes of my music,” he said, or rather purged. Like all fellows of his ilk, his speech mannerisms gave the impression that forming words with one’s mouth is a monstrously unlikable undertaking.

Naturally, I declined and found myself covered in gasoline. The cowboy stood over me with a lit match and grinned…

(Part II next week)

Ah, censurship – good to see you alive and pussing in the 21st century. A cartoonist recently made the mistake of depicting the prophet Muhammed wearing a hat shaped like a bomb. It certainly seems like a mild offense (if indeed an offense at all – sheesh). Oops. Thousands of Muslims have taken to the streets, armed, storming hotels to take Europeans hostage, and shouting “Death to Denmark! Death to France!”

What interests me is the subtle differences (the term “subtle” being a generous understatement, of course) between our culture and theirs. For instance: "Whoever defames our prophet should be executed," said Ismail Hassan, 37. What is Ismail - militant cleric? A terrorist? A soldier? No. No, he’s a tailor. A tailor! "Bin Laden our beloved, Denmark must be blown up," protesters in Ramallah chanted. Ordinary citizens. Their response to a cartoon is … a country should be blown up. I’m having visions of Alderaan here, vis-à-vis the Deathstar. At a mosque, 9,000 worshippers were told that the people responsible for the cartoon should “have their heads cut off.” I’d say this is extreme, but then I’ve said similar things about the creators of Comedy Central’s “Drawn Together.” "We are ready to redeem you with our souls and our blood our beloved prophet," they chanted. "Down, Down Denmark." If I had known that thousands of people would gamble with their blood and souls over a cartoon, I’d have taken up drawing a long time ago. Talk about the power to move the masses!

But, inevitably … the crowd scattered when police on horseback arrived. Anyone else reminded of the guy who always says how badly he’d beat people if they ever dared to insult him, but at 30-yrs-old they’ve yet to be in an actual fight? Seriously, though … some of these people are insane. It’s not a blanket reflection on all Muslims, but I just don’t get the whole extremist thing in any religious, political, or cultural arena. I mean, where do these people come from? A product of their environment, I know, but fascists nonetheless. I mean, I just don’t dig it … I get pissed when Bills fans are thrown out of the stadium for holding a sign directed at Donahoe. Free speech caters to a lot of meatheads, sure, but I’d rather see a thousand meatheads say a thousand stupid things than see one honest, reasonable voice get muffled. Is it really possible that someone would call for execution and war because of a political caricature? If that’s the case, then I don’t know … maybe we should get the hell out of the middle east and let them do whatever the hell they want.

Gail is the kind of name you never see in real life. Ya know? You never meet anyone on the street or at school whose name is actually Gail. The only place you meet Gails is at the office, or at Church dinners, or that kind of thing – and every office and church has one! Not more, not less. I honestly believe that when the work-day ends, Gails vanish in a plume of smoke until the next one starts.

Thanks to Thugs and Schwegs for commenting last time. For the record, I really don’t think I’m wrong. Well … okay … I was wrong in thinking it would be a mediocre year for the Sabres, and thank god for that. But I still maintain that Quinn and Golisano have not made a commitment to winning with this team. I think they’ve lucked out. I never wanted to see us spend 5 million to bring in a bum like Roenick, but there were some good bargains out there, and I think they only could’ve helped. I still think that. We’ve had a lot of injury, and our offense could use a solid second-line contributor for the home-stretch, which is entirely against Eastern Conference opponents. Carolina is tops in the entire league, and they just went out and got Weight. The Rangers passed us for fourth, and they went out and got Sykora. The Flyers are in second, and they picked up Nedved. What I really don’t want is a last second trade before the deadline. I’d like to see Biron and another player packaged to a team like Edmonton, Vancouver, Colorado, or Atlanta for a decent 20-30 goal scorer.

It was moving at the Phili game on Thursday night to see the crowd chanting USA! USA! for Ryan Miller, who got stiffed by the Olympic team. For the record, Robert Esche was in net for Phili … he’s on the Olympic team. Yah, he gave up four goals and lost the game.

Until next time, amigos.

A Presto…