Monthly Archives: September 2007

Severely Overrated Bands/Musicians

Because I am here to educate.
[Note: 2 posts in a day? What a fertile mind!]

-Radiohead: Everyone thinks they like Radiohead. Everyone thinks they should like Radiohead. I guess it is pretty “Avant-Garde” for Brits and people who don’t know anything about music.

-Johnny Cash: It baffles me that people like Johnny Cash (even if he wasn’t a country musician). He’s not even a bad-ass, like his proponents would have you believe. He was a bad singer and a bad guitar player. So he played at a prison. Big fukkin deal- so did Metallica.

-The Pixies: Someone please tell me what’s so great about The Pixies. Is it Frank Black’s annoying-ass voice? The mediocre songwriting? The unoriginal sound? I can’t decide.

-“Indy Singer/Songwriters”: Iron and Wine, Bright Eyes, Bonnie “Prince” Billy, and their ilk. So, more dudes (with beards, more often than not) writing (sensitive) songs with acoustic guitars, but without the support of major record labels. Great. Enough said. [Note: “When The President Talks To God” is one of the best protest songs ever written, however.]

-The Arcade Fire: Go to hell. That is all.

-The Ramones: Bleh. Moderately catchy, moderately fast (The Damned=way faster while also being talented at the same time). Who cares? Plus, Johnny was a Republican.

-90% of the first wave of British Punk: Pretty much everyone except the aforementioned Damned, Wire (possibly one of the BEST BANDS EVER), the amazing Buzzcocks, and Johnny Rotten & Steve Jones from the Pistols. Sid? Fuck off.

-The Shins: Cause they just came on the radio, and they’re not that good. Yeah, really.

-70’s Prog bands: Rush, Asia, etc. [Note: King Crimson and Can are excluded, because they are actually underrated] These bands are the epitome of lame. For serious. No one cares about your wanky concept album.

-Stevie Ray Vaughn/Kenny Wayne Shepard/Other white guys that “just really identify with the blues,” loooove Hendrix, and play a Stratocaster: Oh my god. Really? You expect me to believe you have the blues? Those faces you guys make when you’re feelin’ a blues riff travel straight from your soul through your fingers are ridiculous- hate to break it to you.

-Pink Floyd: See Radiohead, subtract 30 years.

-Oasis! How could I forget Oasis? What is so groundbreaking about these two twats? The British music press’ crowning achievement in hype selling (see also: Libertines, Arctic Monkeys, Kooks, Fratellis).


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Lately, I’ve been obsessed with:

-Morrissey:Everyday Is Like Sunday.
-Getting new adidas (it’s like coming home after being lost).
-The combination of Swiss cheese and alfalfa sprouts on sandwiches.
-Finding a suitable desktop background for my computer.
-Fender Jazzmasters, Ampeg Dan Armstrongs, Fender Dual Showmans.
-Getting a new videogame system. I can’t look at them, because I lose control of my laughter.

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If You’re Goin’ to San Fransisco…

For years I’ve made it clear to people that I don’t particularly like San Fransisco. It’s dirty, bummy, smelly, and I just generally find it unpleasant. Are these good reasons? Probably not. Are they even valid reasons? Probably not. After much convincing, my cousin Michael convinced Dawn and I to come visit him at his pad in Marin (Greenbrae, specifically). And here’s the photographic record proving that, even tough it took (literally) months of planning, we actually went.

Part 1

Here’s the view from Michael and Kristin’s (his roomate, and our neighbor from the Paso days) balcony. Thats the eastbay (Oakland, I think) on the horizon.

Here’s the living room we lurked in. The way-too-small (twin style) blowup matress is in the lower left corner.

This is Kristin’s cat Lupe. Looks can be decieving. She’s our cat Oliver’s neice (?), but I think her father is the Dark Lord.

Michael and Dawn, Larkspur Ferry.

There is one hell of a wind on the ferry.

North bay- Hippie/Yuppie Country.

It may be hard to tell, but the wind is blowing quite hard. Here I am nearly losing my glasses.

Golden Gate+fog=everyday San Fransisco.

The Bay Bridge and Financial District/Wharf

Alcatraz. Our main goal for this day was to go to, as Connery says, “The Rock.” As usual, poor planning resulted in the damn island being sold out.

That bitch kicks out quite a frothy wake.

This picture is way better, and I don’t feel like deleting the other one.

The ferry was rad. I suggest everyone take a time or two. It’s only $7 each way, cheapasses.

Rolling into the Piers. Still very windy.

Most likely saying something rude and demeaning to my cousin.

Tourism 101.

North Beach is rad. Immediately prior to this was my first American cab ride.

Ravioli PWND.

A stereotypically steep street. Pretty nice day, huh?

Dawn+Chron. We met up with Megan shortly after this, but, as I am new to this whole picture-taking thing, you’ll just have to take my word for it. Everyone (except, possibly Megan) was dissaponted at the lack of the usual Trannys/Prostitutes/Tranny-Prostitutes outside her building.

How can you go to SF and not ride the BART? After a loooong trek around SF, we happened upon the downtown Paul Frank store, minutes before Justin got off work. In lieu of hanging in China Town, we convinced Justin to take the ferry back to Marin with us.

Excellent snap by Dawn on the ferry back. “When the lights… Go Down… On The Citaaay… And the sun shines on the baaayyy…”

Jesus- such a tourist with a sunburn.

Part 2

Fog attack.

Dawn and Kristin (and Michael), Golden Gate Park.

People who live in glass towers shouldn’t throw stones.


Aww, cute- strolling through the Enchanted Forest, perhaps? Nope. Staged cheesyness at the Japanese Tea Gardens.

Brian=Faux sensiitve.

I get distracted easily.

Two creepy dudes and a tree.

This pic would be so much better if there were no tourists in it. Still good, though.

For some reason, Dawn was obessed with getting Michael to climb over the fence and stand by the little water feature. He did, and regrettably, looks like he’s relieving himself in the river. Classy.

Koi. So coy.

Amongst nature.

The Haight. Jesus- hippy drum circles galore and counterfeit rolex watches. My own private hell.

Straight up Mrs. Doubtfire.

On the way to the airport in Oakland, we stopped by James’ Berkeley stomping grounds. We got some good food and ice cream, and he took us to this sweet hotel up in the hills. I can’t remeber what it’s called though. The Claremont?

I am pure sleaze.

A good try. This patio had a rad view.

The Enormous Mojito Chronicles.

At the airport. My focus was thrown off after I used the Oakland Airport men’s room.

So that’s pretty much it. I somehow managed to avoid seeing most of my friends that live in SF- sorry guys (especially Shane). But hopefully we’ll be back soon. I don’t hate the City so much anymore.

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Coming Soon(ish)

My SF trip photoblog is gonna be up here someday, weeks after the fact. And long after I’ve forgotten the interesting details.
Get psyched!

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