Belgium/Franz Liszt

I LIKE: BELGIUM


If I were ever to found and run a country, it would probably be the most epically disorganized and incompetently managed affair in history. I guess that's why I love Belgium so much.
The entire USA runs under one government.
Belgium is the size of New Jersey and runs under six governments.
Obscenely ridiculous bureaucracy? Maybe.
Awesome? Absolutely.
Geography lesson of the day:
Belgium is really two completely different countries (Flanders and Wallonia) that have been messily pasted together through trial and error. Flanders constantly threatens secession from the rest of Belgium, thinking that this may somehow have an impact on any of the world's affairs.
Either way, the six governments bicker nonstop, and their Parliament plays out like a neverending Punch and Judy show from Hell. There will come a time when the country suddenly explodes and sinks to the bottom of the ocean, hopefully leaving bottles of Duval and Chimay to float to the surface. I'll be out there in my gondola with a net and a bottle-opener.
Belgium is like the tiny, sick kid on the roller-coaster of Western Europe. Eventually its anger and revolutionary spirit will spread throughout the continent, until everybody is yelling in Flemish, blasting Jacques Brel from their windows, choking on mussel shells, and generally torching the earth until nothing can ever grow again.
This sounds like a negative post, but it's not. I really enjoyed my time in Belgium.
Also, they have this really good spicy mayonnaise they eat with their fries.
It's called "Samurai Sauce."


I HATE: FRANZ LISZT


Franz Liszt is the Yngwie Malmsteen of classical music. Before he came around, composers put notes together in certain combinations to make some sort of sense.
Then one day, a Hungarian guy came around and thought it would be cool to just, like, shred. To write piano pieces with lots of random, difficult chords played at breakneck speed so the audience could have the pleasure of watching hands move real quick-like.
It would be fair to say that Liszt was a direct precursor to Poison, RATT, and other 80s metal crapola.
I might even go so far as to blame him for the first Gulf War, the decline of educational standards in America, the collapse of Bear Stearns, the movie "Blankman," Hurricane Hugo, and the Tommy Lee sex tape.
He had enormous hands. Why does anyone need hands that big? I guess you do if you're using them to construct evil things, like WMDs, or the Transcendental Etudes.
He came from Hungary which, despite having the world's most difficult language for Anglophones to learn, is little more than a poor man's Belgium.

Ronnie Coleman/Yoo-Hoo

I LIKE: RONNIE COLEMAN


Despite the subtle "gay yuppie" overtones that eating fruit and French toast on Sunday morning evokes (or maybe because of them), I like brunch.

This is what I began to write, before I realized that this energy would be better spent praising "Big" Ronnie Coleman.
The "Big" moniker likely comes from the fact that he is, in fact, physically quite big. Big enough to win eight consecutive Mr. Olympia titles, which is more than I've done.
Mr. Olympia, by the way, is a competition in which bodybuilders spray on laughable tans and exhibit their grotesquely deformed bodies.
Why should I admire someone who has lowered his life expectancy by thirty years from rampant abuse of steroids/growth hormone/stem cells/Powergel?
I guess I just like what he stands for. He stands for America--a country where you have the right to get so large, that not even bullets can penetrate you.
A Google search has just informed me that gigantic muscles cannot deflect bullets.
I guess that makes sense.



I HATE: YOO-HOO


What the fuck is this stuff?
When I was young I always assumed it was chocolate milk. Yet, somehow, it contains neither milk nor chocolate.
It seems to be a mix of alkaline bases and corn syrup, which make it taste like chocolate milk that's been infected by botulism.

I went to traffic court today to answer charges for improperly turning left. Is there a proper way to turn left? Was I a bit crass in my turning? Should I have done it while wearing a dinner jacket and sipping some Lapsang Souchong? Shitheads.

After paying my ticket, I went to the lot where I had parked my car. This was a lot run by a homeless man who swore that he would watch over my car and maybe even wash it while I was gone--I just had to pay him $3.50 when I got back.
As luck would have it, I only had a 20. I went to make change at a neighboring Greyhound station, where the only product available was Yoo-Hoo. After having paid a hefty ticket and feeling a bit down, this lowered my spirits even further.
I returned with my change and drink, and I paid the guy. His response:
"Hey! How about a tip? I'm homeless you know."
"Uhh...alright. Here's a dollar."
"Great! Maybe I'll go by myself a Yoo-Hoo too."
He then burst into hysterical laughter.

When even the homeless mock your product, it's time to rethink things.

Eastern Europeans/Singer Songwriters

I LIKE: EASTERN EUROPEANS

What is it about me and Eastern Europeans? I like them. We click. We always seem to end up together, giggling helplessly, stroking each other's flowing blond hair, communicating in broken English, and discussing Macedonian economics.
Americans can instantly tell that I'm an exceedingly awkward person who is not really representative of the American population.
Thankfully, the language barrier is strong enough to hide this fact from most Eastern Europeans, who will laugh at my tired, banal jokes, and who can appreciate that I know the capital of Estonia (Tallinn, BOO-YA!)
My brother has shared with me that he thinks my thing with Eastern Europeans is "weird." I think it is inevitable. When Americans shun you, you try your luck at Western Europe. When the French shun you, where else do you go? East, my friend.
Keep going east.
This is something I repeat to myself throughout the day. It might actually qualify as a tic.


I HATE: SINGER/SONGWRITERS

Hence the name of this blog. I don't like singer/songwriters. I don't like "that guy" at the party who pulls out the guitar, closes his eyes, looks into his soul, and plays "Wonderwall." Even better is when he performs his own songs, which he usually writes during sleepless nights while thinking about a girl and noodling on some DMB songs.
He plays at open mics with a hushed voice and half-closed eyes. His songs probably rhyme "rain" with "pain" and "life" with "strife." There will invariably be some reference to staring out of a window.
He refers to himself as a "composer." He describes his music as "something new, trying to fuse some elements of hard bop with the recent jam-band scene, adding in some musique concrete with lots of double-sharps to mix things up." This makes no sense whatsoever, but he's too talented to make sense.
He's a genius.

Introduction to My Blingin' New Blog

As I was nodding off to sleep last night, I had a feverish revelation: I needed to create a new blog. This would not just be any blog.
It would be a blog about how much I hate singer/songwriters.
This seemed a little bit too specific. Okay, it would be about things I hated in general.
This seemed pessimistic.
Okay, it would be about things that deserve my scorn, and equally, some things that deserve my praise.

I am now 24 years old. I have concluded that by age 24, you know what you like and don't like. Nobody is going to convince me that I should listen to the Dave Matthews Band, or that I should choose banana Moon Pies over chocolate or vanilla ones.

Thus the format of my new blog.
I will ruminate briefly on something I love. Then ruminate briefly on something I don't love.
I like talking about things I like and don't like, so be prepared for some mighty self-indulgence.