I tried to fix Alanis Morissette's seminal hit "Ironic," by making it so the lyrics are actually demonstrating "irony."
I think it went pretty well. I completely ignored meter and rhyme...because I'm bad-ass and punk rock like that.
An old man turned ninety-eight
He won the lottery, and his name was "Yung Poorman."
It's a black fly in your "Black Fly Winery" Chardonnay.
It's a death row pardon for a member of "Death Row Records."
And isn't it ironic...don't you think?
It's like rain on Raine Wilson's wedding day
It's a free ride for a toll booth worker
It's the good advice from a convicted felon
Who would've thought it figures?
Mr. Play It Safe was afraid to fly
He packed his suitcase and kissed his kids goodbye
He waited his whole damn life to take that flight
But when he got to the airport, he found out
They had placed his name on a no-fly list.
And isn't it ironic...don't you think?
It's like rain on Raine Wilson's wedding day
It's a free ride for a toll booth worker
It's the good advice from a convicted felon
Who would've thought it figures?
Well life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
When you think everything's okay and everything's going right
And life has a funny way of helping you out when
You think everything's gone wrong and everything blows up
In your face.
A traffic jam caused by a jackknifed trailer carrying strawberry jam
A no-smoking sign at the headquarters of Phillip Morris
It's like ten thousand spoons found in the city of Forks
It's meeting the man of my dreams
And finding out we're related.
And isn't it ironic...don't you think?
A little too ironic...and, yeah, I really do think...
It's like rain on Raine Wilson's wedding day
It's a free ride for a toll booth worker
It's the good advice from a convicted felon
Who would've thought...it figures?
Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you.
Life has a funny, funny way of helping you out
Helping you out.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
The Time I was Almost on a Game Show: Part 2
If you missed part one, click on the blue underlined word, right here: here.
If you want to read part two, then just keep reading.
If you don't want to read anything, then you should probably just turn the computer off and look at the floor.
Still here?
Ah. Good.
Where the hell was I?
Oh yeah. Damn. This is probably going to be a three-parter, isn't it?
Sorry.
Um...
GET ON WITH IT!
All right. Fine.
So, I spent the good part of the week listening to country music, whenever I could tolerate it. Truth be told, this was not very often -- if you know anything about me, you know I have a pretty terrible work ethic.
At my computer, I listened to the "No. 1 Country Radio" option of the online radio CMT website. I also listened to the Los Angeles country music station when I drove anywhere in my car. What I heard on this station confirmed all of my fears about country music: I frigging hate it. I hate listening to it. I hate the precious simplicity of the lyrics. I hate the up-tempo fun songs. I hate the trite, hackneyed, horrible "serious" songs. I hate the steel guitar. I hate the preposterous, cliched, populist message of most song. I hate how they constantly rip on "technology" and "city folk" while the singers are making millions off of the Walmart loving rubes. I hate how they're so obviously lying when they're singing the verse of a "story-driven" song. I hate, hate, hate everything about country music. It sucks so much. So badly.
And if you think country music is good, then I'm sorry. You're wrong. So very wrong. Or you're confusing "old country music" with "new country music." Old country music is a totally different genre of music...and I don't really consider that "country music." For instance, here's I song I heard over and over and over and over. And over. Try to listen to this entire song without punching yourself repeatedly in the face:
Did you make it? I know I didn't. But hey, if you did, here's three points I want to make:
1) No. That didn't happen to you, liar. It never happened. You heard (or thought up) the chorus, sent it to two songwriters, then they sent you back a song that earned you a Grammy nomination for "Best Country Song."
2) If you think that message is profound you're either an alcoholic, an idiot, or an asshole.
3) Stop singing through your nose...and hey, nice job to ripping off "Down by the Riverside."
Anyhow, here's some "old country." Try to find the similarities.
Well, even if you skipped those two songs, you get the idea. Old country = charming, heart-felt, and simple. New country = soulless, corporate, simplistic, and manipulative.
But I digress (that should really be the name of this blog, shouldn't it?). The point is, I re-discovered a deep loathing that I felt for the "country music" genre, and I confirmed that my deep loathing is wholly justified.
So, back to the story. I showed up at a random office building just off of Ventura boulevard, and climbed the stairs to the "Singing Bee" corporate office. There, I saw some of the staffers from the original screening, as well as 5 other "potential contestants." They were all reasonably attractive Caucasians who were, in all likelihood, aspiring actors and/or singers like myself (I mean, they're in Los Angeles for a reason, right?).
We filled out some more paperwork, took some Polaroids, and had a quick interview with one of the interns where we had to tell "something interesting" about ourselves.
I generally hate the "something interesting" question. Firstly, I don't like talking about myself (unless it's part of a conversation). Secondly, I don't have good stories...just a long string of mediocre stories, and a razor-sharp wit (that second part is a lie).
So for me, the interview is tricky...because actors cannot be game show contestants. It ruins the whole "these are just regular folks" vibe of a game show. Game shows pull from the population of Los Angeles...and these people are generally transplants from somewhere colder, who moved to Los Angeles to become actors. If you got an honest nameplate for every contestant on a game show, I betcha' 90% would say: "So-And-So Johnson, 25, Aspiring Actor, Los Angeles."
This meant that, during my interview, I couldn't talk about acting or performing. Since that's the only really interesting thing about me, I do what I always do when backed into a corner -- I tell "half-truths."
So during my intern-interview, I happened to mention that I enjoyed ballroom dancing. It was true...kind of. I mean I took a couple of ballroom classes in Seattle and Bellingham...and I watched more episodes of "So You Think You Can Dance" than any straight man ought to admit to. But...it was vaguely interesting...as I don't look like your typical "Ballroom Dancer." I like to play on the "that balding 30 something can't possibly dance and sing" stereotype.
But my fib was good enough. I'm sure I said some other things too...but I can't remember any of them...and the fact that I can't remember any of them probably means they weren't very interesting...so...
After the "interview," we were all paid. Yep. We were each paid $50 for doing a "test run" of the game show. I thought, "This is probably all of the money I will make from this, because there is no way in hell I'm would win this if I were a contestant." At that time $50 was a lot of money for me, and quite a pleasant little surprise.
I probably spent it on groceries.
Anyway, with a fat 50 large in my wallet, we waited around a bit as a gaggle of "network executives" and "creative types" were wrangled into a conference room, where we were to play a mock round of the game.
It was here we got to meet the host of the show. Her name is Melissa Peterman, and she's a seventeen-foot-tall blond woman who was, apparently, an actress/comedienne of some renown. I'd never heard of her before, but my wife had (because she pays attention to stuff, and junk).
The conference room we were to host the show in had been hastily transformed into a stage. The same Asian guy from the first audition was sitting in the back, manning a laptop loaded with songs, and in front of him were about 20 "suits" -- producers, network people, writers, directors, who the hell knows?
One guy in the front row looked particularly disinterested (meaning he was probably the highest-paid guy in the room). I don't know if he looked up from his Blackberry the entire time.
So, remember all of that talk about listening to Country Music? Well...I did. But apparently you can't learn the lyrics of an entire genre of music over two weeks. Crazy, right?
So predictably, when the show started, I started sucking right away. The first round was a kind of an "elimination," where each person got a whack at completing the lyrics to a song. The first four people to complete a lyric moved on to the next round.
"Just get through this first stupid round," I thought to myself, "Then you can make an ass of yourself in the second round, which is oh-so endearing."
Luckily, an "oldie" came up. The guy in front of me -- a good ol' country boy, had never heard of the Monkees. Ouch. Mickey Dolenz just rolled in his grave.
The girl after him failed as well -- she was more Kanye, less Davy.
Those two had whiffed, and it was my turn.
Would you have advanced?
Oh, I could hide 'neath the wings of the bluebird as she sings
The six o'clock alarm would never ring
But it rings and I rise wipe the sleep out of my eyes
__________________?
DING!!!!!
Thank God. No one-and-done for the Ty-man.
After that, we got to "meet the contestants." This is where the contestants (and producers) got to see if they were actually interesting.
Ms. Peterman sidled up to me and read from her little card.
"So, Tyler. It says here you like ballroom dancing?"
"Oh yeah. I can cut a mean rug."
"Who do you dance with."
"My dear wife, we've been dancing steadily for about a year now." God I'm a terrible liar.
"That's great! Yeah, I always wanted to do that stuff, the paso adobe? What is it?"
"Pasodoble." (thank you "So You Think You Can Dance")
"Yeah, that's the one. I'm coming back to you for the commercial break, you can spin me around the floor a bit, cutie."
Oh shit. Wait, did she just call me cutie? What the hell? "Bring it on."
Then she moved to the next contestant.
"And this young lady is..."
Well, hopefully I gave those bastards enough personality to bring me on the real show. Sure, I was lying out of my ass...but I bet I could fake a pretty convincing Pasodoble if I needed to...especially if she didn't know what she was doing either.
Luckily, she didn't make out with me during the commercial break, or force me to dance. We advanced to the next round...which did not go well for me...but it was not an elimination round, so I got to stand up front for a while longer.
The object was to fill in the blanks of the lyrics to a popular song.
My turn was a song by some guy named "Kenny Chesney."
Shit.
How would you have done?
Well, me an' my lady had our first big fight,
So I _____ around 'til I saw the neon light.
A corner bar, an it just ___ _____.
So I pulled up.
Not a _____ around but the old bar keep,
Down at the end an' looking half asleep.
An he walked up, an' said : "What'll it be?"
I said: "The _____ stuff."
He didn't reach around for the whiskey;
He didn't pour me a ____.
His blue eyes kinda went _____,
He said: "You can't find that here.
Cos it's the ____ long kiss on a _____ date.
Momma's all ______ when you get home late.
And droppin' the ring in the _______ plate,
Cos your _____ are shakin' so much.
An' it's the way that she looks with the rice in her hair.
Eatin' burnt _______ the whole _____ year
An' askin' for _____ to keep her from tearin' up.
Yeah, man, that's the good stuff."
You get five points for every correct answer.
I wound up with 5 points at the end of my round...because one of the missing lyrics was from the title of the song.
Another reason to hate Kenny Chesney.
The round after that was some kind of betting round, and the group was winnowed down to two people. I don't remember how the game went exactly...but I (of course) did terrible. I ended the round with those 5 stupid points, and sat my ass out for the final round.
Once the pretend show had concluded, we all went our separate ways. I got in my car, immediately switched the channel off of the Country Music station, and drove home.
One week later I received a call. Was I available tomorrow? Because they wanted me to be on the show.
Uh oh.
And I'll tell you all about that...in Part 3 (which at this rate, should be ready a year from now).
If you want to read part two, then just keep reading.
If you don't want to read anything, then you should probably just turn the computer off and look at the floor.
Still here?
Ah. Good.
Where the hell was I?
Oh yeah. Damn. This is probably going to be a three-parter, isn't it?
Sorry.
Um...
GET ON WITH IT!
All right. Fine.
So, I spent the good part of the week listening to country music, whenever I could tolerate it. Truth be told, this was not very often -- if you know anything about me, you know I have a pretty terrible work ethic.
At my computer, I listened to the "No. 1 Country Radio" option of the online radio CMT website. I also listened to the Los Angeles country music station when I drove anywhere in my car. What I heard on this station confirmed all of my fears about country music: I frigging hate it. I hate listening to it. I hate the precious simplicity of the lyrics. I hate the up-tempo fun songs. I hate the trite, hackneyed, horrible "serious" songs. I hate the steel guitar. I hate the preposterous, cliched, populist message of most song. I hate how they constantly rip on "technology" and "city folk" while the singers are making millions off of the Walmart loving rubes. I hate how they're so obviously lying when they're singing the verse of a "story-driven" song. I hate, hate, hate everything about country music. It sucks so much. So badly.
And if you think country music is good, then I'm sorry. You're wrong. So very wrong. Or you're confusing "old country music" with "new country music." Old country music is a totally different genre of music...and I don't really consider that "country music." For instance, here's I song I heard over and over and over and over. And over. Try to listen to this entire song without punching yourself repeatedly in the face:
Did you make it? I know I didn't. But hey, if you did, here's three points I want to make:
1) No. That didn't happen to you, liar. It never happened. You heard (or thought up) the chorus, sent it to two songwriters, then they sent you back a song that earned you a Grammy nomination for "Best Country Song."
2) If you think that message is profound you're either an alcoholic, an idiot, or an asshole.
3) Stop singing through your nose...and hey, nice job to ripping off "Down by the Riverside."
Anyhow, here's some "old country." Try to find the similarities.
Well, even if you skipped those two songs, you get the idea. Old country = charming, heart-felt, and simple. New country = soulless, corporate, simplistic, and manipulative.
But I digress (that should really be the name of this blog, shouldn't it?). The point is, I re-discovered a deep loathing that I felt for the "country music" genre, and I confirmed that my deep loathing is wholly justified.
So, back to the story. I showed up at a random office building just off of Ventura boulevard, and climbed the stairs to the "Singing Bee" corporate office. There, I saw some of the staffers from the original screening, as well as 5 other "potential contestants." They were all reasonably attractive Caucasians who were, in all likelihood, aspiring actors and/or singers like myself (I mean, they're in Los Angeles for a reason, right?).
We filled out some more paperwork, took some Polaroids, and had a quick interview with one of the interns where we had to tell "something interesting" about ourselves.
I generally hate the "something interesting" question. Firstly, I don't like talking about myself (unless it's part of a conversation). Secondly, I don't have good stories...just a long string of mediocre stories, and a razor-sharp wit (that second part is a lie).
So for me, the interview is tricky...because actors cannot be game show contestants. It ruins the whole "these are just regular folks" vibe of a game show. Game shows pull from the population of Los Angeles...and these people are generally transplants from somewhere colder, who moved to Los Angeles to become actors. If you got an honest nameplate for every contestant on a game show, I betcha' 90% would say: "So-And-So Johnson, 25, Aspiring Actor, Los Angeles."
This meant that, during my interview, I couldn't talk about acting or performing. Since that's the only really interesting thing about me, I do what I always do when backed into a corner -- I tell "half-truths."
So during my intern-interview, I happened to mention that I enjoyed ballroom dancing. It was true...kind of. I mean I took a couple of ballroom classes in Seattle and Bellingham...and I watched more episodes of "So You Think You Can Dance" than any straight man ought to admit to. But...it was vaguely interesting...as I don't look like your typical "Ballroom Dancer." I like to play on the "that balding 30 something can't possibly dance and sing" stereotype.
But my fib was good enough. I'm sure I said some other things too...but I can't remember any of them...and the fact that I can't remember any of them probably means they weren't very interesting...so...
After the "interview," we were all paid. Yep. We were each paid $50 for doing a "test run" of the game show. I thought, "This is probably all of the money I will make from this, because there is no way in hell I'm would win this if I were a contestant." At that time $50 was a lot of money for me, and quite a pleasant little surprise.
I probably spent it on groceries.
Anyway, with a fat 50 large in my wallet, we waited around a bit as a gaggle of "network executives" and "creative types" were wrangled into a conference room, where we were to play a mock round of the game.
It was here we got to meet the host of the show. Her name is Melissa Peterman, and she's a seventeen-foot-tall blond woman who was, apparently, an actress/comedienne of some renown. I'd never heard of her before, but my wife had (because she pays attention to stuff, and junk).
The conference room we were to host the show in had been hastily transformed into a stage. The same Asian guy from the first audition was sitting in the back, manning a laptop loaded with songs, and in front of him were about 20 "suits" -- producers, network people, writers, directors, who the hell knows?
One guy in the front row looked particularly disinterested (meaning he was probably the highest-paid guy in the room). I don't know if he looked up from his Blackberry the entire time.
So, remember all of that talk about listening to Country Music? Well...I did. But apparently you can't learn the lyrics of an entire genre of music over two weeks. Crazy, right?
So predictably, when the show started, I started sucking right away. The first round was a kind of an "elimination," where each person got a whack at completing the lyrics to a song. The first four people to complete a lyric moved on to the next round.
"Just get through this first stupid round," I thought to myself, "Then you can make an ass of yourself in the second round, which is oh-so endearing."
Luckily, an "oldie" came up. The guy in front of me -- a good ol' country boy, had never heard of the Monkees. Ouch. Mickey Dolenz just rolled in his grave.
The girl after him failed as well -- she was more Kanye, less Davy.
Those two had whiffed, and it was my turn.
Would you have advanced?
Oh, I could hide 'neath the wings of the bluebird as she sings
The six o'clock alarm would never ring
But it rings and I rise wipe the sleep out of my eyes
__________________?
DING!!!!!
Thank God. No one-and-done for the Ty-man.
After that, we got to "meet the contestants." This is where the contestants (and producers) got to see if they were actually interesting.
Ms. Peterman sidled up to me and read from her little card.
"So, Tyler. It says here you like ballroom dancing?"
"Oh yeah. I can cut a mean rug."
"Who do you dance with."
"My dear wife, we've been dancing steadily for about a year now." God I'm a terrible liar.
"That's great! Yeah, I always wanted to do that stuff, the paso adobe? What is it?"
"Pasodoble." (thank you "So You Think You Can Dance")
"Yeah, that's the one. I'm coming back to you for the commercial break, you can spin me around the floor a bit, cutie."
Oh shit. Wait, did she just call me cutie? What the hell? "Bring it on."
Then she moved to the next contestant.
"And this young lady is..."
Well, hopefully I gave those bastards enough personality to bring me on the real show. Sure, I was lying out of my ass...but I bet I could fake a pretty convincing Pasodoble if I needed to...especially if she didn't know what she was doing either.
Luckily, she didn't make out with me during the commercial break, or force me to dance. We advanced to the next round...which did not go well for me...but it was not an elimination round, so I got to stand up front for a while longer.
The object was to fill in the blanks of the lyrics to a popular song.
My turn was a song by some guy named "Kenny Chesney."
Shit.
How would you have done?
Well, me an' my lady had our first big fight,
So I _____ around 'til I saw the neon light.
A corner bar, an it just ___ _____.
So I pulled up.
Not a _____ around but the old bar keep,
Down at the end an' looking half asleep.
An he walked up, an' said : "What'll it be?"
I said: "The _____ stuff."
He didn't reach around for the whiskey;
He didn't pour me a ____.
His blue eyes kinda went _____,
He said: "You can't find that here.
Cos it's the ____ long kiss on a _____ date.
Momma's all ______ when you get home late.
And droppin' the ring in the _______ plate,
Cos your _____ are shakin' so much.
An' it's the way that she looks with the rice in her hair.
Eatin' burnt _______ the whole _____ year
An' askin' for _____ to keep her from tearin' up.
Yeah, man, that's the good stuff."
You get five points for every correct answer.
I wound up with 5 points at the end of my round...because one of the missing lyrics was from the title of the song.
Another reason to hate Kenny Chesney.
The round after that was some kind of betting round, and the group was winnowed down to two people. I don't remember how the game went exactly...but I (of course) did terrible. I ended the round with those 5 stupid points, and sat my ass out for the final round.
Once the pretend show had concluded, we all went our separate ways. I got in my car, immediately switched the channel off of the Country Music station, and drove home.
One week later I received a call. Was I available tomorrow? Because they wanted me to be on the show.
Uh oh.
And I'll tell you all about that...in Part 3 (which at this rate, should be ready a year from now).
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