Little Known Facts by Oh My Rockness
The left molar is the biggest muscle in the body.
Like the USA, Canada is also a free nation, but only on Tuesdays and Fridays; all other days it is ruled by Sir Alan Thicke with an iron fist.
Babe Ruth hit more home runs than anyone expected a candy bar to hit.
Franklin and Bash most likely won't last long because it's "too good for TV."
If we don't list your show, we're most likely poseurs.
The Hunchback of Notre Dame was kinda weird looking, even by Indiana's standards.
Most of "Shakespeare's" later works were actually penned by a young Jeff Mangum.
It only costs 3 severed sheep heads seeped in the blood of a virgin ninja to procure
your own My Rockness account.
The body of Walt Disney is cryogenically frozen in a Southern California Mister Softee truck.
If you play the first song in our Radio Player backwards, we swear you can hear someone unmistakably say, "Yoinks! Looks like you're playing this song backwards! That's so weird! I mean, how does a mistake like that even happen?! Oh well! We're all human, I guess! But that sure is a first! A song being played backwards! Oh golly, just when you think you've seen everything!" It's creepy stuff.
If all of the upcoming shows we have listed on the site were a piece of paper that you folded 14 times and then you attached a really long piece of string to it, that string on the folded paper would circle the earth... and back... twice.
Our Twitter feed sometimes features guest tweets by Steve Guttenberg who, as you know, invented the printing press which is what makes press releases about a band you've never heard of getting remixed by a band you've never heard of possible.
We will only write a band profile if at least one of the band's members looks really "distracted" in their promo photo.
And oh yeah, free summer shows last forever. So no sense of urgency there.
Oh My Rockness E-Mail Introductions
You opened it. You must now forward this email or you will be killed... with kindness, of course! What did you think we meant?
We want more new people to subscribe to these weekly emails so the needle on our self-esteem meter can move away from "EVEN THE MIRROR CRACKS ITS MOCKING SMILE AT US!" and more towards "Tomorrow probably will be better if we sleep through most of it."
So can you please forward this on to your friends who like going to shows? If you can't, no big deal; you will just die... with disappointment at having depressed us, of course! What did you think?
You can even forward this to people who hate shows. At least then we'll know what it feels like to be in a new inbox, if only for a second or two. Again, if you don't forward, it's cool; we're just going hang up your dead corpse in your bedroom cupboard... before resuscitating you with kisses of forgiveness, obviously!
So show us some love and do as we ask. But if you still don't want to comply, we understand. But let us quickly tell you some stories about some of the sad, sad people who lost their lives because they didn't want to comply. Take Helen. She got a similar email. She deleted it. And now Helen's dead (sending to 0 people = you will die).
How about the curious case of Kevin? Kevin only sent the email to 5 people. Big mistake. Kevin's eyeballs were pulled out with a fork while he was watching that one scene in "Three Men and a Baby" where you can see the dead kid in the background. (1-5 people = you're going to either get hurt OR get the biggest fright of your life - Kevin's scenario encompassed BOTH).
Be like Cindy. Cindy sent this email to 15 people (sending this to 15+ people = you won't die). Cindy is very much alive, people. Very, very much alive. SO THX 4 DA LUV :) !!!
(To reiterate, if you can't forward it's not a problem. Dead people don't have any problems.) JK! JK! JK! JK! (just kill! just kill! just kill!)
We want more new people to subscribe to these weekly emails so the needle on our self-esteem meter can move away from "EVEN THE MIRROR CRACKS ITS MOCKING SMILE AT US!" and more towards "Tomorrow probably will be better if we sleep through most of it."
So can you please forward this on to your friends who like going to shows? If you can't, no big deal; you will just die... with disappointment at having depressed us, of course! What did you think?
You can even forward this to people who hate shows. At least then we'll know what it feels like to be in a new inbox, if only for a second or two. Again, if you don't forward, it's cool; we're just going hang up your dead corpse in your bedroom cupboard... before resuscitating you with kisses of forgiveness, obviously!
So show us some love and do as we ask. But if you still don't want to comply, we understand. But let us quickly tell you some stories about some of the sad, sad people who lost their lives because they didn't want to comply. Take Helen. She got a similar email. She deleted it. And now Helen's dead (sending to 0 people = you will die).
How about the curious case of Kevin? Kevin only sent the email to 5 people. Big mistake. Kevin's eyeballs were pulled out with a fork while he was watching that one scene in "Three Men and a Baby" where you can see the dead kid in the background. (1-5 people = you're going to either get hurt OR get the biggest fright of your life - Kevin's scenario encompassed BOTH).
Be like Cindy. Cindy sent this email to 15 people (sending this to 15+ people = you won't die). Cindy is very much alive, people. Very, very much alive. SO THX 4 DA LUV :) !!!
(To reiterate, if you can't forward it's not a problem. Dead people don't have any problems.) JK! JK! JK! JK! (just kill! just kill! just kill!)
Oh My Rockness E-Mail Introductions
We've been told that we have trust issues. And that's just not true. We just never trust a band that yells at the crowd to dance, move up, or go talk in the back. We never trust a crowd that arrives early and pays for the right not to listen. Never trust those who dance like a slow swan when an Abba song comes on. Never trust the one who is defiant when defending a band.
Never trust the words spoken to fill the silences. Never trust armchair experts on bank fees, collateral or commodities. Never trust those whose opinions are louder than their beliefs. Never trust hipster jokes. Never trust the website that references free summer shows just to link to something relevant.
Never trust the stranger who tells the stranger, "You should smile." Never trust the dates the elevator was last checked or the port-o-potty last cleaned. Never trust people who dislike holidays. Never trust the person that reads a novel while exercising. Never trust that the band's set-up takes as long as all that. Never trust those who insist the sequel was better than the original.
Never trust the person who addresses a group of people on email as "Folks." Never trust conference room commands to take a real life conversation "offline." Never trust online outrage.
Never trust anyone who refers to anything controversial as "Something-Gate." Never trust the one who starts a bar tab for casual acquaintances. Never trust the casual film fan that refers to Robert DeNiro as "Bobby D." Never trust people who claim they're only happy when it rains.
Never trust alliteration.
Never trust form.
Never trust the arts.
Never trust independence.
Never trust mantras written using Microsoft Word.
Never trust.
No. We don't think we have trust issues. Do you?
Never trust the words spoken to fill the silences. Never trust armchair experts on bank fees, collateral or commodities. Never trust those whose opinions are louder than their beliefs. Never trust hipster jokes. Never trust the website that references free summer shows just to link to something relevant.
Never trust the stranger who tells the stranger, "You should smile." Never trust the dates the elevator was last checked or the port-o-potty last cleaned. Never trust people who dislike holidays. Never trust the person that reads a novel while exercising. Never trust that the band's set-up takes as long as all that. Never trust those who insist the sequel was better than the original.
Never trust the person who addresses a group of people on email as "Folks." Never trust conference room commands to take a real life conversation "offline." Never trust online outrage.
Never trust anyone who refers to anything controversial as "Something-Gate." Never trust the one who starts a bar tab for casual acquaintances. Never trust the casual film fan that refers to Robert DeNiro as "Bobby D." Never trust people who claim they're only happy when it rains.
Never trust alliteration.
Never trust form.
Never trust the arts.
Never trust independence.
Never trust mantras written using Microsoft Word.
Never trust.
No. We don't think we have trust issues. Do you?
December
'Tis the season where we can all get away with spelling "it is" in that outdated and vaguely pretentious fashion. But alas ("alas" is fair game too), the holidays grant us all sorts of pardons and reprieves from things the other three seasons say flat out suck.
For a few weeks every year, wool sweaters adorned with snowflakes and trees and perhaps pictures of piping cups of steaming hot cocoa are deemed almost fashionably passable.
A droopy drink with a glob of egg in it somehow seasonally morphs into an enchanting cocktail miracle if you add just a dash of cinnamon.
Inexhaustible radio replays of precious songs featuring wind chimes (it sounds just like gently falling snow!) and perfectly placed piano plucks (skittish reindeer feet!) that are sung by sleepy crooners (who would probably rather be at the racetrack) are considered indispensible musical tradition.
And wrapped presents are given to and fro ("fro" = #3 for all those playing at home) with big billowy bows on them. The bow's purpose is that it has no purpose.
Yes, things are all mixed up, left and right, up and down around this temporary sugar cookie town. But lo (#4), we always have our rock shows to fall back on when the winter gets weird.
Ah, December. It's a strange time, isn't it? 'Tis.
For a few weeks every year, wool sweaters adorned with snowflakes and trees and perhaps pictures of piping cups of steaming hot cocoa are deemed almost fashionably passable.
A droopy drink with a glob of egg in it somehow seasonally morphs into an enchanting cocktail miracle if you add just a dash of cinnamon.
Inexhaustible radio replays of precious songs featuring wind chimes (it sounds just like gently falling snow!) and perfectly placed piano plucks (skittish reindeer feet!) that are sung by sleepy crooners (who would probably rather be at the racetrack) are considered indispensible musical tradition.
And wrapped presents are given to and fro ("fro" = #3 for all those playing at home) with big billowy bows on them. The bow's purpose is that it has no purpose.
Yes, things are all mixed up, left and right, up and down around this temporary sugar cookie town. But lo (#4), we always have our rock shows to fall back on when the winter gets weird.
Ah, December. It's a strange time, isn't it? 'Tis.
8 minutes
So being the new guy, they say I only can have 8-minutes of your time. Which is slightly depressing. But then again, if I was a rodeo rider and I rode that bull for 8-minutes I would be the SHIT…So I guess it’s all a matter of perspective.
Speaking of cowboys, how crazy are cars? Think about it. Just think about it….(mental note: work on your set-up and transitions and oh-god-I-wish-I-had-some-blow-right-now-so-I-could-have-the-energy-to-spend-hours-drinking-myself-stupid-tonight-to-forget-this-tranwreck-of-a-bit-you-slowly-but-surely-self-destructing-piece-of-shit)….Because that’s what they say, don’t you know, that stand-up comedians are fucked up. But then again, they also say that men walked on the moon, so I don’t know what to believe…..Hey, I’ve tilted my high-power telescope from my neighbor’s bedroom window to the skies….you show me that American flag on the moon. You show me that flag….Ha-ha….patriotism. It’s funny because it’s true….
Actually, mostly at home I just mess around with the personal computer. And what I do on it is none of your business…..Ok, I do a little tweeting and twittering. Anyone here on Twitter? Cool. You should follow me…because I have a great ass…..My Twitter U-R-L is hhhh-tuuuhhh ppppppppp one dot above another dot, crooked line, another crooked line, w-w-w-, another dot, T-W-I-T-T-E-R dot c-o-m, crooked line whogivesafuckaboutsocialnetworking…..Seriously, what’s so social about sitting in the dark in your Strawberry Shortcake jammies refreshing your screen every 30-seconds to see if someone has commented yet on the pic of your new puppy….or your totally crazy Hawaiian shirt with an interesting backstory involving alcohol…or your anal polyps…..And you know, no one ever comments. No one ever comments…..
Any-who, I just run my first marathon a few months ago. It’s true. And hey, you know what’s funny about listening to someone else’s personal achievements? Nothing…..My kids were proud of me though. Anyone else have kids out there? (mental note: better with the transitions...when you fall, Patrick, you get up again!) Oh, you heard that? Get out of my head! Get out of my head, you bastards!.....Well, now you know that on the inside I’m no different than you. Like you, I get all of my soulful inspirations from the band Chumbawumba…
Anyway, I was talking about my kids. They are so cute and say the darndest things. And the older one had the cutest poop the other day….Seriously, fuck off, parents. No one cares about your kids…..Other parents say to me, “oh, do you have a playgroup you go to?” actually they say, “you are not welcome back in this playgroup ever, ever, again.”….All because I always brought pop-tarts…which are a “sometimes” food, not a “help me stave off depression” food…
Who the hell wants to be in a playgroup with a bunch of people you don’t know, just because they have kids and you have kids. Screw that. We’re not part of some club. We’re not teammates. I’m not accepting the outlet pass from you while you make a break for the basket and I impossibly, through two defenders, thread the needle with my pinpoint pass, arcing the ball with a perfect trajectory, and you’re just able to reel it in right as your jumping above the rim, then throwing it down through the hoop with thunderous power!
And then after the game, they’ll interview me first and the reporters will ask, “You made a pretty pass to end the game, tell me about that. And I would say, “Well, I made the pass with the ball and thankfully that pass made it work out for us today.” And the stunned nation would have revelatory orgasms at my eloquence and passion.
And then the reporters would interview you and say, “Tell me about that fantastic finishing dunk” and you would say, “How the fuck did I get on a basketball court? I came here tonight to get drunk and listen to comedy. What the hell is going on?”…
And then you would proceed to have a total mind-fuck about the journey you have just taken in only 8-minutes.
Speaking of which, those minutes are up! Thanks a lot! You guys have been ok-ish!
Speaking of cowboys, how crazy are cars? Think about it. Just think about it….(mental note: work on your set-up and transitions and oh-god-I-wish-I-had-some-blow-right-now-so-I-could-have-the-energy-to-spend-hours-drinking-myself-stupid-tonight-to-forget-this-tranwreck-of-a-bit-you-slowly-but-surely-self-destructing-piece-of-shit)….Because that’s what they say, don’t you know, that stand-up comedians are fucked up. But then again, they also say that men walked on the moon, so I don’t know what to believe…..Hey, I’ve tilted my high-power telescope from my neighbor’s bedroom window to the skies….you show me that American flag on the moon. You show me that flag….Ha-ha….patriotism. It’s funny because it’s true….
Actually, mostly at home I just mess around with the personal computer. And what I do on it is none of your business…..Ok, I do a little tweeting and twittering. Anyone here on Twitter? Cool. You should follow me…because I have a great ass…..My Twitter U-R-L is hhhh-tuuuhhh ppppppppp one dot above another dot, crooked line, another crooked line, w-w-w-, another dot, T-W-I-T-T-E-R dot c-o-m, crooked line whogivesafuckaboutsocialnetworking…..Seriously, what’s so social about sitting in the dark in your Strawberry Shortcake jammies refreshing your screen every 30-seconds to see if someone has commented yet on the pic of your new puppy….or your totally crazy Hawaiian shirt with an interesting backstory involving alcohol…or your anal polyps…..And you know, no one ever comments. No one ever comments…..
Any-who, I just run my first marathon a few months ago. It’s true. And hey, you know what’s funny about listening to someone else’s personal achievements? Nothing…..My kids were proud of me though. Anyone else have kids out there? (mental note: better with the transitions...when you fall, Patrick, you get up again!) Oh, you heard that? Get out of my head! Get out of my head, you bastards!.....Well, now you know that on the inside I’m no different than you. Like you, I get all of my soulful inspirations from the band Chumbawumba…
Anyway, I was talking about my kids. They are so cute and say the darndest things. And the older one had the cutest poop the other day….Seriously, fuck off, parents. No one cares about your kids…..Other parents say to me, “oh, do you have a playgroup you go to?” actually they say, “you are not welcome back in this playgroup ever, ever, again.”….All because I always brought pop-tarts…which are a “sometimes” food, not a “help me stave off depression” food…
Who the hell wants to be in a playgroup with a bunch of people you don’t know, just because they have kids and you have kids. Screw that. We’re not part of some club. We’re not teammates. I’m not accepting the outlet pass from you while you make a break for the basket and I impossibly, through two defenders, thread the needle with my pinpoint pass, arcing the ball with a perfect trajectory, and you’re just able to reel it in right as your jumping above the rim, then throwing it down through the hoop with thunderous power!
And then after the game, they’ll interview me first and the reporters will ask, “You made a pretty pass to end the game, tell me about that. And I would say, “Well, I made the pass with the ball and thankfully that pass made it work out for us today.” And the stunned nation would have revelatory orgasms at my eloquence and passion.
And then the reporters would interview you and say, “Tell me about that fantastic finishing dunk” and you would say, “How the fuck did I get on a basketball court? I came here tonight to get drunk and listen to comedy. What the hell is going on?”…
And then you would proceed to have a total mind-fuck about the journey you have just taken in only 8-minutes.
Speaking of which, those minutes are up! Thanks a lot! You guys have been ok-ish!
Oh My Rockness E-Mail Introductions
In the spirit of playoff October, we’ve decided that from now on when anyone asks us a question, we’re going to respond like an exasperated professional athlete.
"Oh My Rockness, which shows are you most excited for this week?"
"Shows? No. No. That’s for you media guys. Shows. You media guys with your geocites and your hotfiles and your 2nd life, 3rd life, 4th life, 8th life, you media guys use your webs and you go all up on your blobs and want to make a nothing story a something story. Shows? Why do you come asking me about shows? So you can go on your FaceSpaces and your Tweeters and write whatever it is you write about an issue that we will solve behind closed doors? That’s for our own house. Don’t sniff on your neighbor’s lawn! I’m a grown man. This is a clubhouse of grown men. And what had happened in this clubhouse, whatever it is that had happened if it even did happen, is between grown men. Not you media guys. No. No. You media guys get up all on your comment posts and climb up on your lampposts and soap dishes and box cars and you go to your beauty parlors and your bowling alleys and you make up a little story about shows so you all can get paid. Come in here talking about shows? This is a team. Do you see an S-H-O or W in team? Do you see it? No. So stop sniffin’ in your neighbor’s dog’s outhouse! Stay inside your own yard and tend to your own crops! Manage your own carrots and your own beets and worry about your own weeds! Shows. You come in here and talk to a grown man about shows… fine, you want a story? Those See Them Jay shows look good. We’d go to those. There. There’s your story about nothin’ outta somethin’ that’s somethin’ having to do with nothin'"
"Oh My Rockness, which shows are you most excited for this week?"
"Shows? No. No. That’s for you media guys. Shows. You media guys with your geocites and your hotfiles and your 2nd life, 3rd life, 4th life, 8th life, you media guys use your webs and you go all up on your blobs and want to make a nothing story a something story. Shows? Why do you come asking me about shows? So you can go on your FaceSpaces and your Tweeters and write whatever it is you write about an issue that we will solve behind closed doors? That’s for our own house. Don’t sniff on your neighbor’s lawn! I’m a grown man. This is a clubhouse of grown men. And what had happened in this clubhouse, whatever it is that had happened if it even did happen, is between grown men. Not you media guys. No. No. You media guys get up all on your comment posts and climb up on your lampposts and soap dishes and box cars and you go to your beauty parlors and your bowling alleys and you make up a little story about shows so you all can get paid. Come in here talking about shows? This is a team. Do you see an S-H-O or W in team? Do you see it? No. So stop sniffin’ in your neighbor’s dog’s outhouse! Stay inside your own yard and tend to your own crops! Manage your own carrots and your own beets and worry about your own weeds! Shows. You come in here and talk to a grown man about shows… fine, you want a story? Those See Them Jay shows look good. We’d go to those. There. There’s your story about nothin’ outta somethin’ that’s somethin’ having to do with nothin'"
Oh My Rockness Email Introductions
When we're not listing the last free shows of the summer, or telling you about just announced shows, or our recommended shows this week like Built to Spill, Sonic Youth, Boys Noize, Shellac, Les Savy Fav, and Active Child, or entering songs into our Radio Player, or doing our sweet Tweet Thang, we find we have quite a bit of time on our hands (and LOTS of Cheetos dust on our fingers). And during these times, we often think about the absurdity of shoelaces.
Have you thought about the absurdity of shoelaces in awhile? No? Look down at your shoes. Look at those long laces that are threaded through all of those tiny little holes; these laces and holes that looked the same in 1885. Look how you have to tie this glorified string into these weird loops just so that your shoes stay on. Like it’s 1885. (Oh... and btw, yes we do double loop our laces. That means we’re nerds, right? Because we tie our shoelaces twice? Whatever. Don’t judge us. "We’re here! We do the double bunny ear!")
But come on now, shoelaces. It’s 2010 and we’re doing this antiquated ritual just to put our stupid sneaks on? In this day and age, you should just be able to look down at your shoes and say, "ZAP IT!" and boom, shoes tied.
Actually, saying "ZAP IT!" should work for a lot of things. Band taking too long to soundcheck? "ZAP IT!" and voila, set starts. Big fluffy, poofy hair guy/girl directly in front of you at a show? "ZAP IT" and shazam, fluffy gets buzzed (remember: using "ZAP IT!" comes with great power and responsibility). Intro for an Oh My Rockness email going on too long? Say "ZAP IT!" and-----------------
Have you thought about the absurdity of shoelaces in awhile? No? Look down at your shoes. Look at those long laces that are threaded through all of those tiny little holes; these laces and holes that looked the same in 1885. Look how you have to tie this glorified string into these weird loops just so that your shoes stay on. Like it’s 1885. (Oh... and btw, yes we do double loop our laces. That means we’re nerds, right? Because we tie our shoelaces twice? Whatever. Don’t judge us. "We’re here! We do the double bunny ear!")
But come on now, shoelaces. It’s 2010 and we’re doing this antiquated ritual just to put our stupid sneaks on? In this day and age, you should just be able to look down at your shoes and say, "ZAP IT!" and boom, shoes tied.
Actually, saying "ZAP IT!" should work for a lot of things. Band taking too long to soundcheck? "ZAP IT!" and voila, set starts. Big fluffy, poofy hair guy/girl directly in front of you at a show? "ZAP IT" and shazam, fluffy gets buzzed (remember: using "ZAP IT!" comes with great power and responsibility). Intro for an Oh My Rockness email going on too long? Say "ZAP IT!" and-----------------
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
