The Coachella-ution will be televised oh actually it was already televi

As I get older and grayer and more handsome, my desire to get off the couch and experience live events firsthand is fading. But last weekend, I went to Coachella. And I gotta say – wait do I get to say I went to Coachella if I watched it on TV? Because if so, I totally went to Coachella last weekend you guys, and it. Was. Nuts. Everyone was there. At least I think they were, I fast forwarded through about 80% of the 21 hours of footage that played on AXS TV, the poorly spelled cable station that I’m pretty sure exists only to show Coachella every year. But they provided the perfect festival experience for people like me, the old man that does not wish to be jostled.

Here are some things you miss by not attending gigantic festivals like this live and in person:

  1. People still in their 20’s that aren’t beaten down by life yet, and clearly I don’t want to spend my time surrounded by people like that.
  2. Locally sourced designer tacos served from a truck that runs on vegenaise.
  3. Mile-long beer lines, flanked by endless DJ sets and slurring pixie women, smashing face first into the ground from a mixture of molly and the hot desert sun

So I’m thankful that AXS TV exists, even though some may say watching a festival on TV is like when you were a little kid and you’d beg your parents to take you to the 4th of July fireworks and your dad was like, “Just watch it on TV, it’s the same thing.” Your mom plays along, throws a shitty blanket on the living room floor, hands you a box of Teddy Grahams, and you ooh and ahh at the same box that Alf usually comes out of. “See, son? You have the best seat in the house!” says Pops as he flicks the lights on and off to enhance the experience, when in reality he just didn’t want to find parking or be seen in public with you, all covered in cotton candy and star spangled face paint.


Maybe dad was right. Maybe just watching someone else enjoy an experience is enough. For example, I sit around and watch other people play videogames. Like reading Playboy for the articles, I’m watching this guy play Donkey Kong Country for the story. I can devote just enough attention, and if anyone asks, “Hey have you played Donkey Kong Country lately?” I can say yes, but then turn around, whisper “sort of” and wink at no one. This was my Coachella experience, most of it whizzing by at 16x, done in like 2 hours. My god it was so magical and I can sort of say I went and now I’m watching House.

Forget just festivals, I want more experiences like this, enjoyed the American way, drunk and at home with premium snacks. If cable TV wants to keep me glued to the couch and sort of watching it, there’s only one solution: TELEVISE ALL LIVE EVENTS. From concerts to Shakespeare in the park to Home Depot parking lot surveillance cameras. Who wouldn’t tune in to the Fucked Up Idiots in the Emergency Room channel? Holy shit did you see FUIITER last night? Some guy was having stomach pains because he ATE A FENCE. Then another guy came in right after that because he ate A BIGGER FENCE. I felt like I was there in the ER with them from the comfort of my own home! This is television. This is life. I am sort of watching forever.

You can watch me scream and yell all of my recent posts on AwesomeTalk! It airs every other Tuesday on our YouTube channel, where you can also find past episodes and other psychotic vlog vids.

200 words, $125 and a dream

An innkeeper in Maine is offering her $900,000 lakeside inn to the writer of the best 200-word essay, explaining why they deserve to win the grand prize. My friend Rob sent me a link to the contest the other day and said “if you write it, I’ll cover the entry fee” which is just enough for me to take this thing seriously – $125. All of a sudden this is sort of a paid gig, and a chance to do something I’ve always wanted to do ever since I got the link a few days ago. I am going to win this contest, and I will be the owner of a 210-year-old inn that sits peacefully in the lakes and mountain district of Western Maine.

Here’s what I know about owning a hotel: I’m going to need a pencil thin mustache, a crew of bumbling but lovable bellhops, and probably some kind of hat. I figure the rest will just work itself out.

Come make our beds Danny. Forever. And ever. And ever.

Come make our beds Danny. Forever. And ever. And ever.

Also I’m going to assume there’s an off-season. Thousands of feet of snow, all of the roads closed, no electricity… let’s just come out and say it, I’m going to have to look after this place like Jack Nicholson in The Shining for like 4 months at a time. I read the book when I was 13, I watch the movie more than I care to admit, I think I’m prepared. Now I’m not saying I have the shining. But one time a guy at work was complaining because his office looked out into my cubicle and he didn’t want to stare at my face all day. I was new to the company, and I was the only thing blocking his precious view of three empty gray walls. So he talked to my boss, who talked to his boss and the next day all of my stuff was packed up and moved to the other side of the building. A week later, this man was dead. Something about complications during surgery. Now again, I’m not saying I had anything to do with it, or that I killed him with my shining brain waves, but you can’t prove that I didn’t.

But I digress. Here’s my winning 200 word entry, which I will hand deliver to the hotel myself, maybe with the aid of an axe through the front door.

Hello. Thank you very much for reading my essay. 200 words isn’t a lot to work with, but how strict are you really going to be here? Like, I just wrote the number 200. Does that count as one word, or do you count it separately, with the word two counting as one word and the word hundred counting as a second word? And if I’m over by one word are you not even going to read my essay? That’s bullshit. This is costing me $125. Well not me, but my sponsor Rob. He’s a friend of mine, who’s married to my wife’s very good friend from college. You probably don’t know him, or her, or my wife, but if you select my entry you’d get to meet all of us. I feel like we’d all get along great. Like you’d hand over the keys and think to yourself, I think I made the right decision. That reminds me, I’m going to need four keys to the front door. You can get them copied at Home Depot, it usually only takes a few minutes if you find someone that knows what they’re doing. Anyway, give me your hotel please. Thanks.

You can watch me scream and yell all of my recent posts on AwesomeTalk! It airs every other Tuesday on our YouTube channel, where you can also find past episodes and other psychotic vlog vids.

Caution this coffee is incredibly thought provoking

It only took a week, and Starbucks is already done with their Race Together campaign, where baristas were encouraged to start a conversation about race with their customers. By writing the phrase “Race Together” on your cup o’ joe, they would jumpstart a not at all awkward or complicated dialogue at 8 in the morning over the loud whirring of frothing milk. I guess they were hoping it would lead to more interaction between humans of different color. Imagine the thrill of this experience: “Honey, I talked to a black person today, and you wouldn’t believe what I learned. Have you heard of slavery? Pardon my French but it was Effed. Up.”

Public reaction to the campaign was mixed. From “why are you doing this” to “no, please don’t do this.”  And while Starbucks claims “no seriously, this was supposed to last a week, we totally planned on giving up on this idea very, very quickly,” I remain skeptical. You can’t talk about race issues in America with an overworked and underpaid person, presumably of a different race, as they wait on your impatient, white, fancy-drink craving ass. Unless of course the conversation is limited to, “Hey is it hard to be black in America?” And they reply “Yes,” and hand you your coffee.

I've got a tall flat white and questions about race for Jhlom? Is Jhlom here?

I’ve got a tall flat white and questions about race for Jhlom? Is Jhlom here?

But hey, you gave it your best shot Starbucks. This is a conversation that we all need to have, just in a less cutesy, “isn’t this fun, instead of writing your name wrong on your cup let’s have a rap session about apartheid” kind of way. But this wasn’t the worst campaign. Here are some other Starbucks conversation starters that the public wasn’t ready for:

Campaign #1 – Holocaust: Fact or Fiction? – Whoa whoa whoa hey man we’re Starbucks, we’re just asking questions here. We want our employees and customers to express themselves. What, you think anti-semites don’t treat themselves to Caramel Flan Frappuccino Blended drinks when they aren’t spreading hate propaganda? Now who’s the bigot? OK, you’re right, it’s still the anti-semites. We’re very sorry for this campaign, we don’t know what we were thinking. Please have a free pastry on us.

Campaign #2 – This is a two part question: a) Do you think if you kill someone in heaven that you’re automatically sent to hell and b) what if the person that you killed was actually an undercover minion of Satan? Admittedly it’s hard to fit all of that on a cup, so it was shortened to SECRET MINION? underlined twice. This raises many theological and moral questions. If pushed to the limit, would you kill someone in cold blood in heaven? And that’s without even getting into the logistics of how you would pull it off. But if I had to guess – razor blade angel wings.

See? These terrible and completely real examples prove that you should never ask customers anything in the morning before they’ve had their coffee. In the best case scenario they’ll throw their drink in your face, worse case they may actually answer you.

You can watch me scream and yell all of my recent posts on AwesomeTalk! It airs every other Tuesday on our YouTube channel, where you can also find past episodes and other psychotic vlog vids.

Fatherly Advice: Shit’s Creek Edition

It’s becoming increasingly obvious that I will not be a father any time soon. Maybe it was the way my wife looked me in the eyes over dinner a few months after we started dating, placed her hands on mine and whispered, “I am never fucking having children.” I nodded and poked at my appetizer, and she continued to repeat the word “never” well into the dessert course. Kind of chanted it, really. But there is a longing inside me, not for a child, but to dish out fatherly advice. Don’t touch that thing, this is how a baseball works, stop looking at daddy, etc. So, here’s some wisdom that I would kick down to my children if they would ever come out of their goddamn bedrooms and face me.

Kids, sometimes, there’s going to be a pipe in your basement, and you’re not going to know what it does. And that’s ok. Your mom and I had a pipe like that in the basement once. “Hey, what do you think this pipe does?” I asked her. She was upstairs so she didn’t hear me. When you’re married, you’ll understand that most of your time will be spent talking to people that aren’t in the same room as you, then getting mad when they can’t hear you. Anywho, one day I went into the basement to switch the laundry and noticed that the floor was covered in water. Immediately following this discovery, I noticed that the toilet in the basement (which I dubbed “the murder toilet” the first time I saw it) was… how do I put this… erupting goddamn raw sewage all over the fucking place. You know the beauty and majesty of Old Faithful? Kind of like that, but a geyser of shit.

You think you can take your old man?

You think you can take your old man?

Remember the mystery pipe from a few sentences ago? OK, well sewage was also pouring out of that. So I stood there, shit water at high tide, and called your mom downstairs and screamed WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO ABOUT THIS? She made some phone calls while I got down on both knees, pointed my middle fingers to the heavens and snarled at God. Why God? What did I do to deserve this besides only asking for help when the Powerball goes above $300 million?

Long story short, the sewer man came and removed an errant rag from the sewer line, which was diverting Shit’s Creek into the basement. He proudly held it up like a fisherman that just caught the world’s most unappetizing mackerel. “Do you want it?” he asked. I said no, as we’re more of a catch and release household when it comes to shitty rags. So kids, the moral of the story is, if you panic enough, someone that’s better in crisis situations will step in and make it all better. In this example it was your mom and the sewer man.

Actually, now that I think of it, that’s really the only advice that I have to give. Let other people take care of everything all the time, kids. Specifically when it comes to shit geysers. I love you.

You can watch me scream and yell all of my recent posts on AwesomeTalk! It airs every other Tuesday on our YouTube channel, where you can also find past episodes and other psychotic vlog vids.

Valentine’s Day II: The Ol’ B&E Switcheroo

Around this time last year, I talked about the perfect Valentine’s Day gift. Though I didn’t want to admit it, I now realize that surprising your lover with a family of mannequin children is not only a terrible idea, but also extremely costly. Raising one kid in this economy is hard enough, but five or six mannekids?  Not to mention joint repair, seasonal outfit changes, their tiny judgmental voices that only you can hear, the list goes on and on. So this year, let’s get back to basics. This Valentine’s Day, give her a gift she’ll never forget: a home invasion.

As a goof of course! I like to call it The Ol’ B&E Switcheroo.  It’s like a 50 Shades of Grey roleplay scenario, except instead of some entry-level kink, fake prowlers will break into your house, knock some stuff over, and as they attempt to kidnap your Valentine at gunpoint for ransom money, you’ll step in and save the day. This will teach her the true meaning of Valentine’s Day, and maybe you’ll even get your name in the paper. Also to make sure this whole thing looks real, you will be shot. Let’s get started!

First thing’s first, you’re going to need one to two bandits, burglars, crimeguys, what have you, to carry out the mock home invasion. Preferably someone that knows the layout of your home, so maybe talk to some friends from church. Casually drop some references to your plan in everyday conversation, like, “Oh man wouldn’t it be weird if you guys broke into my house” or “I want you fellas to shoot me as a goof.” If they already have ski masks then you’re ahead of the game. If not, maybe they can be expensed as part of the mission. You’re really going to have to work it out with them. And please, this is supposed to be a special event, so why not spring for a professional ski mask fitting? You don’t want two bozos rolling up to your house in ill-fitting ski masks, thereby ruining the immersion.

I love you.

I love you.

When the 14th rolls around, at 8:00 at night, kiss your Valentine on the head and over a dramatic yawn, say you’re going to hit the hay. After all, you had a very busy day lining your body with blood capsules and squibs, Dawn of the Dead / Tom Savini style. Phase 1 complete. Phase 2 begins when the “prowlers” throw themselves through the parlor window and look menacing.  It’s all part of the roleplay. This is fun. Everyone is having a great time. You come bounding down the stairs with the perfect quip, like – “Hey, what are you doing?” or “I had no idea this was going to happen!” BANG your buddy from church shoots you with a hopefully fake gun and that’s your cue to start triggering the squibs. You really have to sell this part, because it leads directly into phase 3: The Kidnapping.

You’re lying there, covered head to toe in blood (because maybe you went a bit overboard with the squibs), and the prowlers are acting out the script you wrote for them. “I can’t believe we killed him,” one of them will say. “Aye. ‘Tis truly a shame he died on the Saint Valentine’s Day. Oh well, let’s do a kidnapping on this lady.” Then, suddenly you spring back to life, knock out your buddies from church, and save the day. Now get down on one knee, hold her hand and say,  “I came back to life for you. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It’s just that easy. A Valentine’s Day fit for a queen. Her friends will be so jealous, and on the off chance she discovers that this whole scenario was fabricated, flowers are always cheaper the day after Valentine’s Day.

You can watch me scream and yell all of my recent posts on AwesomeTalk! It airs every other Tuesday on our YouTube channel, where you can also find past episodes and other psychotic vlog vids.