Over the course of its last three albums, New York’s Blonde Redhead has morphed from a Sonic Youth-ish garage outfit into an atmospheric art-pop band that marries My Bloody Valentine’s droning guitars with the immediacy and imagination of pre-weirdness Radiohead.
To translate that into radio lingo, imagine Björk covering Coldplay, and then imagine that you just took a fistful of Ecstasy and are being washed away in the disco lights of a smoky nightclub, and that’s what Blonde Redhead sounds like.
The band’s newest release, 23, picks up where 2004’s Misery Is A Butterfly left off – trading in some of the melancholy for a new and curious energy. It’s a real indie-rock stunner, driving but dreamy, dense but not overstuffed, and absolutely cinematic in scope.
“We love film and we love soundtracks. We listen to soundtracks when we write. There’s a beauty in being able to imagine certain things while you write music, imagine pictures, imagine scenery,” explains drummer Simone Pace. “It’s hard to explain because I feel like it’s something that we have in us. I think our music could very well be written for film.”
On 23, the band’s co-vocalists, wife and husband Kazu Makino and Amedeo Pace, trade off spooky, space-trance melodies that wade through thick curtains of guitar. It’s at once firmly melodic and loosely psychedelic. The songs are propped up by Simone’s peppy, off-kilter dance beats, which illustrate just how much influence Blonde Redhead has had on younger NYC bands like Interpol, the Strokes and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.
The album is about as close to a pop record as a band like Blonde Redhead can make without totally bastardizing its sound. The songs are “get-able” on the first listen, thanks in part to a more economical approach to song structure, but on my seventh time through the album I swear I’m hearing songs I’ve never heard before in my life.
According to Simone, who checked in with Team Last Call in mid-July, the songs on 23 are mostly the result of the band members trying to concentrate as much on form as they were on creativity.
“We have a lot of talks before we start writing, actually. We talk about what it is that we want to do with the new album and how different it should be from the previous one. What’s the next stage, the next step for the band?” he explains in a soft Italian accent. “But a lot of it you think you’re deciding, but a lot of it just happens unconsciously.
“With Misery, we made ourselves free and kind of accepted as many ideas as possible that we could put into the music. This record, we kind of just stopped ourselves from going to that place again,” he adds. “We wanted the record to be more direct, but also to leave more freedom for the listener to imagine – without giving him all of the things to listen to – certain things on his own terms, with his own ears.”
Blonde Redhead’s story is almost as compelling as the music itself. The members are an interesting, if not unlikely, match, and their meeting up is nothing short of serendipity.
Kazu was an art student who immigrated to America from Japan to experience a different culture. Amedeo and Simone are twins who were born in Milan, grew up in Montreal and moved to Boston to obtain jazz degrees.
The three met each other by chance in a New York City restaurant. Shortly after that meeting, Kazu began taking guitar lessons from Amedeo. Then they all started a band. Then Kazu and Amedeo got married. And now, 14 years later, all three members still live together in a New York apartment.
“I spend most of my time with a couple, you know, which – you can imagine what that’s like,” Simone says with a laugh. “You really have to understand the situation and be respectful of some boundaries. I’m very close to Amedeo, but it’s a struggle. It’s not an easy thing. But we have lasted for many years now. I think we have a pretty good handle on it.
“Sometimes I feel like, ‘Gosh, I wish I could have my girlfriend with me when I go away,’” he laments. “But I think the trick is to try to find your own place and be happy within that place, and without thinking that somebody else is better off.”
Blonde Redhead has been a critical darling since almost day one, and that’s more than likely the way the band will go down in history. Rocking 60,000 people at Coachella is about as close as they’ll ever get to being an arena act. That being said, the band has a fiercely loyal fan base around the globe of the kind of indie rock kids and art freaks that will stick around as long as the band does.
“We’re always thinking about, ‘How do we improve? How do we get better musically? How do we help our audiences grow?’ But it’s not like we’re in control of the situation,” Simone says. “But it’s a pretty organic way of approaching the whole thing. We have had a really slow growth, but it hasn’t really stopped. It’s been kind of gradual, and hopefully it will keep growing.”
Our plan, to the best of your knowledge, was to visit lots of European libraries, cathedrals and museums in order to expand our cultural horizons, further enabling us to report on global issues with the kind of fair and balanced approach you have grown to expect from Team Last Call.
But you know what's really boring? Libraries, cathedrals and museums. So instead, we went to a pub.
While we didn't technically "see any historical sites" or "eat any exotic foods" or "stop drinking beer for more than half an hour," we did sometimes watch foreign news reports on TV. Because the bartender wouldn't change the channel.
But you know what's a real downer? Foreign news reports.
"War in
"Global warming," blah, blah, blah.
"Genocide in
Hey, foreign press. Are you doing anything later? Because we're having a party, and it would be awesome if you could stop by and make everyone want to kill themselves.
It wasn't until we got back to our hotel and turned on an American news station that we were able to find a news story of any relevance – a story of real global impact, a story that illustrated both the starkness of the human condition and the promise of the great American dream: Paris Hilton's arrest.
The story was on virtually every American news channel we could find – CNN, MSNBC, C-SPAN. Meanwhile, what were the European news stations reporting on? The G8 conference. Way to go.
This, of course, speaks pretty directly about the integrity of the foreign press. We can't say for sure whether it was censorship or just plain sloppy journalism, but they didn't even pretend to know about
It's no wonder that foreigners are always fighting and yelling and setting things on fire. You'd start a riot too if all you saw on the news were stories about murder and violence and other non-celebrity-related topics. Take a lesson from
"Oh, we're so sad because our widdle biddy pwanet is getting weawy, weawy hot!" It's like, wake up, people! Britney shaved her head!
"A little less tears, a little more Spears," that's what we always say.
We're not trying to make Europeans look bad. Their teeth do that. (Nice one!) We're just saying that they're really out of touch with reality – not to mention reality TV. Did you know that some countries over there don't even have their own version of "The Biggest Loser"? We don't mean to insinuate that Europeans are lazy, but, like, how hard is it to get fat? We already gave them McDonald's. All they have to do is eat there!
And McDonald's is just one example of the many, many fantastic exports we've given to
Like, seriously?
It's like, no matter how morbid and boring and newsy their news reports are, Europeans just can't seem to get it through their heads that we are all in constant danger, every day, all the time, of being murdered by terrorists. All of us. At any moment. Murdered. By terrorists.
American new reports don't get all mopey with footage of dead soldiers being shipped back from
What Europeans don't seem to realize is that terrorists are lurking around every corner, down every alley, behind every ethnic food counter. They're everywhere, and they hate freedom! They even hate Paris Hilton!
But the Europeans are too busy floating along in a dreamland of puff pastries and hand-rolled cigarettes to realize how close they are to dying. They spend their days lounging around with their tiny cups of coffee and skinny mustaches and tight pants and low stress levels, laughing in their stupid accents about how the war on terror is "wasting money" and "human lives" and "making the situation worse."
Listen, Europeans: We're not trying to imply that you're stupid. All we're saying is, you have what? At least four or five countries over there? And not a single one of you has been able to produce a Hummer? Way to go.
OK, point proven. There's no need to add insult to injury. We've already established that Europeans are lagging behind
A few weeks ago, Team Last Call's wife went to Connecticut for a three-week work assignment, or what we like to call "three weeks when we don't have to change our underwear."
Team Last Call is not gifted in the area of hygiene. We have our talents, but washing ourselves isn't one of them. Neither is washing our clothes, the dishes or anything else that's inside, outside or in the general vicinity of our house. Or that starts with the letter "A," or any subsequent letter of the alphabet.
Our wife has a few theories about why we are so hygienically challenged, the main one being that we're just plain lazy, which we'll address as soon as we finish our beer. Truthfully, it's got more to do with the fact that we don't know where she keeps the washing machine. We suspect it's in the basement, but there are spiders down there.
The problem with our wife leaving us alone in the house is that she expects us to be doing things like washing the dishes and dusting and whatever it is she does with that loud machine with the hose and the suction that gives our nervous little dog the runs.
We've learned from experience that what we consider to be "passable" our wife often considers to be "a reason to yell at us." While we might think it's OK to, say, let the little doggie piles on the carpet just sort of wear away naturally instead of picking them up, our wife doesn't always share our viewpoint. She enjoys cleanliness, and has never shown even the slightest admiration for the fact that we can go a solid week in the same pair of socks.
Within minutes of her departure, the entire household deteriorates into a wasteland of pizza boxes, dirty socks and dog-hair tumbleweeds. We are left wallowing in our own filth with no food, no clean clothes and virtually no ability to hit the toilet. It's just like college, except the only person puking is the cat.
The root of the problem here is that we simply have different definitions of what "clean" means. Our wife says "tomato," we say, "Oh, yeah, that's been growing fuzz in the bottom of our refrigerator since you left. Last week it was purple!"
Our theory is that we should just agree to disagree. Our wife's theory is that we should just agree that I'm gross and need to take a bath.
We know what you're thinking: "If your wife's so uptight about the house being dirty when she comes home, why doesn't she just clean it?" That makes a lot of sense to us, too. Let's just say that our wife doesn't really see it that way. I mean, she does clean it, but she's got this whole hang-up about "This marriage is a partnership!" and "I'm not your maid!" and other things that are hard to not laugh at.
We are so, so dead when this article comes out.
Anyway, for all of you men out there who, like us, are forced to live your lives under a lemony-fresh hand of oppression, we are pleased to present Team Last Call's Guide to Cleaning (For Men). Because it's important to make your wife happy, but not at the risk of your beer getting warm.
The first and most important rule in our Guide to Cleaning (For Men) is this: "If you can't see the problem, it doesn't exist." We really can't stress this point enough. How much time has man wasted over the last thousand years fighting invisible bacteria? Think of how much delicious beef jerky and football you missed out on because you were busy scrubbing supposed "germs" off the toilet. It's time to stop this silly game. It's time to recognize the fact that – like global warming and civilian casualties in Iraq – these supposed "microorganisms" are just another fabrication of the liberal media.
But what about the dirt that you can see? Well, that's a different matter altogether. For that, we need to refer to the second rule in the Guide to Cleaning (For Men): "It's just going to get dirty again."
Simple logic tells us that if something gets messy once, it is more than likely going to get messy again. This applies to all kinds of household items – bookshelves, rugs, babies. Trying to clean items like these is clearly a complete waste of time. It's like going to the beach with a bunch of towels and trying to dry the sand every time the tide goes out. Who are we to try to fight the forces of nature?
We've obviously put together a pretty airtight case here. Nobody in his right mind would want to argue the points above. Unfortunately, there is still one more rule that all responsible husbands must follow, and it goes like this: "Clean the house."
If you really value your relationship, you're going to have to clean the house. Because no matter how much time you spend trying to convince her, your wife will never think it's cool that you can throw your sock at the wall and make it stick. Likewise, she's never going to get over that whole "marriage is a partnership" thing. If that's not convincing enough, keep in mind is that she's the only person you get to have sex with.
That's what we thought. Happy scrubbing.
God's created a lot of cool stuff over the past few millennia – woolly mammoths, rock and roll, boobies – but His greatest creation to-date has got to be Diet Dr. Pepper Berries & Cream.
We here at Team Last Call are totally and completely obsessed with this soda. We buy it by the case and throw it back like Paris Hilton at an open bar – the main difference being that we always remember to wear our panties.
In addition to having a long name that helps us reach our word count much faster, Diet Dr. Pepper Berries & Cream is delicious. The experience of drinking Diet Dr. Pepper Berries & Cream is like riding a unicorn over a rainbow and around the moon and landing in a magical utopia where no one fights or steals and the roads are paved with beef jerky and gumdrops rain from the sky and Howie Mandel has been permanently banned from television. It washes away the stress of your day and takes you to a different state, like Delaware. It also apparently gives you brain cancer, but we'll get to that later.
There are plenty of people who share my obsession over Diet Dr. Pepper Berries & Cream. Since its release in April 2006, demand for the soda has far outweighed the supply. Stores haven't been able to keep it on shelves, making it harder to find than a fact in a Fox News report.
It's gotten to the point that fans have actually resorted to bidding against each other in online auctions (at one point, Dr. Pepper Berries & Cream was the second-most popular search on eBay), which is both sad and funny at the same time. Like Nickelback's music.
But once you taste it, you will understand how it's possible for people to become so infatuated with Diet Dr. Pepper Berries & Cream that they are willing to do almost anything to get it, including selling their right testicle to a guy in the back of a van parked at the McDonald's on King Street. For example.
However, we are a nation divided – not by race, religion or political party, but by those who recognize Diet Dr. Pepper Berries & Cream for the bottle of joy and redemption that it is, and those who are dumb.
In fact – and this is actually true – there are people who dislike Diet Dr. Pepper Berries & Cream so much that they started an online petition to have it pulled from store shelves (www.petitiononline.com/drpepban/petition.html), which is stupider than driving a Hummer with a "Save the Earth" bumper sticker.
In the document, the soda is referred to as a "vile" and "repugnant liquid" that "tastes like a carbonated cough syrup and probably should not be ingested by individuals with an active set of taste receptors on their tongue!" On the cleverness scale, this rates somewhere between a ham sandwich and a mesh baseball cap that reads "Kill 'em all. Let God sort 'em out." But it's still smarter than Larry the Cable Guy.
At press time the petition only had 12 signatures – again, both funny and sad. But still, the very existence of the petition is troubling. Like, who gets angry at soda?
Taking the time to coordinate an anti-soda offensive is as pointless as walking into the middle of a field and trying to swat all off the oxygen molecules out of the air. Or sending 20,000 more troops to Iraq. I mean, isn't there something more constructive you could do with your time and resources? Like – oh, I don't know – fixing up New Orleans?
If there is one justified complaint about Diet Dr. Pepper Berries & Cream, it's that it contains a high amount of aspartame, which is only a problem if you've got some kind of hang up about brain cancer, lymphoma, seizures and genotoxic effects. I'm pretty sure that genotoxic isn't even a real word.
If you want to get all technical about it, there are a few other slightly negative reactions linked to the ingestion of aspartame, including abdominal pain, arthritis, asthma, burning urination, chest pains, chronic cough, confusion, depression, diarrhea, dizziness, fatigue, hair loss, headaches, hearing loss, heart palpitations, hives, impotency, insomnia, joint pains, laryngitis, memory loss, menstrual problems, muscle spasms, nausea, numbness of extremities, panic attacks, rashes, slurring of speech, tremors, tinnitus, vertigo, vision loss and weight gain. Plus death. But, like, it tastes really good.
The way we figure it, if you try hard enough, you can link just about anything to aspartame. Like, if there is a large vat of aspartame on the floor, and you trip and hit your head on a cabinet and land face-first in the vat, there is a clear danger that aspartame could lead to suffocation. So watch out.
But isn't everything we do a calculated risk? For example, according to a severely outdated article we just found on a questionable website, one man out of every 500,000 dies during sex. Will that statistic scare men away from having sex? Of course not. A charging rhinoceros could barely scare a man away from having sex. And if you're going to die anyway, isn't having sex just about the best way to go? Well, that's how we feel about Diet Dr. Pepper Berries & Cream.
We're not saying that we'd pick Diet Dr. Pepper Berries & Cream over having sex with … say … you. We're just saying that while we're having sex, we'll also be drinking a Diet Dr. Pepper Berries & Cream soda. And if that's not a turn-on, we don't know what is.
Mastodon’s Blood Mountain is – I promise – the nastiest, wickedest, most scorching, jaw-dropping, psychedelic, bludgeoning, relentless, ridiculous piece of ear candy you will hear all year.
The Atlanta-based foursome has been called everything from “the future of metal” to “the new Metallica,” and for good reason. They are hardcore, indie rock, prog and metal all rolled up into one fierce, melodic, bone-crushing beast that will have you grinning from ear to ear despite the fact that you now have to sleep with the lights on.
The lyrics of Blood Mountain are a fantastical mind-warp that detail an epic adventure involving an elusive crystal skull, a one-eyed sasquatch, a tribe of little tree-people that unite to form a giant and a hallucinogenic root – perhaps the same root the band members were chewing when they wrote the story.
Mastodon is a band that lives up to its name in both its sound and its stature in the metal scene (and beyond). Team Last Call caught up with drummer and lyricist Brann Dailor – the man Dave Grohl has dubbed the best drummer in the world – to learn the subtle distinction between being a fan of giants and sasquatches (cool) and a fan of dragons and wizards (decidedly uncool).
Team Last Call: So, there’s this weird phenomenon that’s happening with Mastodon, where people who don’t normally listen to metal are completely obsessed with your album. Why do you think that is?
Brann Dailor: There’s so many different people that have come out of the woodwork, so to speak, and told us that they’re getting into it. They don’t listen to much else but indie rock, and we’re the one guilty-pleasure metal band that they’re able to get into. I think it’s maybe because we as people and as a band, we listen to tons of different kinds of music. The music we play is obviously rooted in metal and it’s got the heaviness and the intensity that metal can bring, but there’s a lot of other stuff involved.
TLC: Just about every music mag on planet earth is slobbering over [Blood Mountain] now. What’s that’s like?
BD: It’s a lot better than people hating it, because there’s always that possibility. [laughs] When you put out a record, it’s a pretty vulnerable place to be. You’re asking for people to judge you. I try not to read too many reviews, but I’ve seen a few, and luckily they’ve all been really good. That’s a good feeling. It’s like putting a child into the world. I think at the moment we’re starting to get a lot more regular fans, instead of just being the “musicians’ band” that we were for years.
TLC: A lot of your breakthrough has to do with the fact that you switched to a major label. Were you apprehensive about taking that step?
BD: No. I wasn’t worried at all. I mean, I knew that we were making the right decision. If we had the opportunity to move up, then we should do it and not let it pass us by just based on – what? – “Oh, we gotta keep true to the indie scene or the underground.” I mean, Jesus! I’m 32 years old. I don’t have time for that train of thought anymore. And we didn’t change anything [musically]. It’s the natural progression of our band.
TLC: I’ve read articles where people are straight-up calling Mastodon “the future of metal” and “the new Metallica.” How do you even function with that kind of pressure?
BD: I just ignore it. It doesn’t do anything to me. It’s nice that it’s being said, but it’s something that journalists do to get people interested in the band that they’re digging. You have to say something extreme to get people’s attention. You have to say Metallica. You can’t say any other band, like, “Oh, these guys are the next W.A.S.P.!” But I don’t pay attention to stuff like that. I just go about my business as the insecure human being that I am and try to play the best drums I can and try to make sure each performance is up to Mastodon’s standards.
TLC: Where do you think the attraction to the whole mythical, mystical side of things comes from? Sasquatches, giants, birchmen …
BD: I thought everybody was into that! [laughs] I mean, how much money did “Lord of the Rings” make?
I think that’s a way for us to remain like little kids. I saw that episode of “In Search Of …” with Leonard Nimoy when they talk about the bigfoot, and after that, everything I wanted to do and see had to have something to do with bigfoot. I was really into dinosaurs when I was a little kid, just like every little boy. And it makes for bad-ass metal T-shirts. We just prefer to do that instead of being so literal about everything and telling people, “I’m sad because this happened to me today …” like some 13-year-old girl. We’re adults.
TLC: I guess once you’re 32 you can’t just be mad at your dad all the time.
BD: No, you really can’t. I like my dad. He’s awesome. [laughs] We just like that element of fantasy. We think the idea of searching for a crystal skull is cool. You gotta ride that fence. Is this cool? Are we becoming a parody?
TLC: Where do you draw that line? And what crosses the line?
BD: Dragons.
TLC: Dragons?
BD: Yep. No dragons.
TLC: Why dragons?
BD: No dragons, man. You just can’t do it. Can’t go there.
TLC: You’ve talked a lot about getting song material from dreams. Are these substance-induced dreams, or are your dreams really that weird?
BD: I don’t know. It’s not all from dreams. Some of it, I’m wide-awake and just thinking about stuff and brainstorming. I just sit around and think about bizarre shit all day long and try to go into the abstract.
TLC: People write about it like you guys lock yourselves in a room with a suitcase full of acid and come out with an album concept.
BD: That’s not true. I used to do a shitload of acid, and maybe when I was 15 and I took all that acid it opened up a door for me, and now I know where that door is. I don’t need the acid anymore to get there.
TLC: Makes sense. So, I had a coworker who said that your album sounded like you were playing too much “Dungeons & Dragons.” If somebody says that to your face, do they get a high-five or a punch in the face?
BD: Them’s fightin’ words. We’re not “Dungeons & Dragons” nerds.
TLC: What’s the difference?
BD: Well, first, you gotta play “Dungeons & Dragons,” and I wouldn’t even know where to begin with that. And second of all, the word “dragon” is in there, so those are fighting words right there.
I don’t know, man. Our stuff, I don’t picture it like that. It’s more of another dimension. I see it more in the future, in outer space, just astral travel and stuff like that. It’s mystical, but it’s not like a wizard’s involved! It’s like life struggles. It’s just some guy lost in the woods, really, and he just starts eating various roots and starts tripping. He’s starving and he’s trying to get to the top of this mountain, and he thinks he has to find this crystal skull. For me in my head, it’s not “Dungeons & Dragons.”
TLC: So, where do you go from here, when you’re already being called the “future of metal?”
BD: I don’t know where you go. You just tour and tour and see what you can do, see how many people want to come out and see you play your music, and when the album cycle is over, you do it all over again.
TLC: So, you’re not going around thinking, “I am in the greatest metal band on earth!”
BD: No, never. It’s quite the opposite, actually. You gotta watch yourself. You gotta police yourself. You gotta make sure that the motivation for why you’re doing it stays intact. You’re not playing music for other people’s approval, or at least you’re not supposed to be. You’re not playing music for money. Money ruins art. You gotta watch out for it – even though 90 percent of the music out there is money-motivated, and everyone fucking loves it.
We’re just going to continue to do what we’re doing. Maybe it will go out of style in two years, but we’d be doing this regardless of what anybody was saying. This is all we know how to do, and this is all we want to do, and we’ve found something special in Mastodon with each other as friends and musicians. So that’s the deal.
*Reprinted from Fly Magazine
Anyway, as a special treat for all of you, we have decided to give you a behind-the-scenes look at a day in the life of Team Last Call, so that you can experience for yourselves what it's like to be a world-famous columnist. Remember, we are trained professionals. Don't try this at home.
9:30 a.m. Turn on computer, plug in iPod.
9:35 a.m. Get coffee, check e-mail.
9:40 a.m. Check MySpace page. Log out.
9:41 a.m. Check MySpace page to see if anyone sent a message while we were logging out.
9:42 a.m. Open new Microsoft Word document.
9:43 a.m. Stare at screen. Get more coffee.
10:02 a.m. Check MySpace.
10:15 a.m. Stare at screen.
10:43 a.m. Read through last month's column and discover that we are terrible writers.
10:44 a.m. Inform everyone in the office that we are terrible writers and officially resign from the Last Call column.
10:45 a.m. Stare at screen.
10:53 a.m. Google our own name.
11:10 a.m. Visit davebarry.com to see what he wrote about this month.
11:11 a.m. Resign from Last Call column.
11:34 a.m. Stare at screen. Coffee, MySpace, e-mail. MySpace.
11:56 a.m. Google ex-girlfriends' names.
12:13 p.m. Write four or five fart jokes. Delete them in disgust.
12:14 p.m. Call wife to inform her that we are terrible writers. Wait for her to assure us that we are good writers.
12:58 p.m. Stare at screen. Make joke about Anna Nicole Smith and realize that our default punchline is no longer funny.
1:00 p.m. Lunch.
1:26 p.m. Stare. Coffee. Google. Coffee. Stare.
1:45 p.m. Crawl under desk. Weep softly.
2:28 p.m. Read through old fan mail to assure ourselves that someone thinks we're funny.
3:05 p.m. Realize that fan mail was probably written by our mother.
3:13 p.m. MySpace.
3:14 p.m. MySpace again.
3:31 p.m. Walk to corner store to buy mid-afternoon Dr. Pepper Berries & Cream Soda.
3:31 p.m. Realize that wallet is empty. Try to put Dr. Pepper on credit card.
3:31 p.m. Credit card is rejected.
3:31 p.m. Realize that deciding to make a living as a writer was a terrible, terrible mistake.
3:32 p.m. Walk back to office. Step in dog poop. Consider writing column about stepping in dog poop, because poop is a funny word.
3:40 p.m. Begin writing column about stepping in dog poop.
3:42 p.m. Realize that no one wants to read a column about stepping in dog poop.
3:59 p.m. Offer coworker $5 to write column for us.
3:59 p.m. Ask if coworker accepts credit cards.
4:00 p.m. Stare at screen. Pick nose when no one is looking.
4:03 p.m. Make up excuses to walk past the desk of new office temp.
4:04 p.m. Walk past temp to get coffee.
4:05 p.m. Walk past temp to get box of pens.
4:06 p.m. Walk past temp to get second box of pens.
4:06 p.m. Finally make eye contact with temp, receive mixed look of irritation and disgust.
4:07 p.m. Feel remorse for stalking temp when married. Chalk it up as fodder for future story and feel better.
4:12 p.m. Count the number of tiles in ceiling.
4:13 p.m. Try to write a haiku about Dr. Pepper Berries & Cream Soda.
4:14 p.m. Try to balance pen on bridge of nose.
4:15 p.m. Decide to pick the name of our firstborn at random from the dictionary. Wonder how long it will take for our wife to warm up to "Presto-Chango Royer."
4:16 p.m. Try to weigh our head on the postage meter scale. Get caught in the act by sales manager.
4:17 p.m. Get e-mail from high school student who wants to "shadow" us for a day at work. Panic. Panic. Panic. Delete e-mail.
4:23 p.m. MySpace.
4:24 p.m. Snap into a Slim Jim.
4:25 p.m. See how long we can hold our breath.
4:27 p.m. Snap into another Slim Jim.
4:30 p.m. Decide to torture coworker with a series of pranks for April Fool's Day column. Give him fake phone message from "Mr. Lyon" with the telephone number for the Philadelphia Zoo.
4:39 p.m. Decide we can't think of another prank. Abort April Fool's Day column.
4:44 p.m. Contemplate writing column about deadly combination of coffee and Slim Jims. Run to bathroom.
4:54 p.m. Decide it's too close to end of the day to start new column. MySpace.
And that, more or less, is how we spend our days here in the office, except for the four or five hours each month when we actually do some work. By "do some work," of course, we mean "surf the internet." By which we mean "stare at pictures of Scarlett Johansson." On MySpace.
Arrogant, smug St. Patrick's Day. "Oh, look at me! I'm St. Patrick's Day! I'm the most important day of the month! I'm the best holiday on the planet! Everyone look at me!"
Well, we've got news for you, St. Patrick's Day. Team Last Call is sick of you strutting around with that pompous attitude, like you totally own the month of March. Not only are you not the only holiday in March – you're not even the only holiday on March 17!
After conducting hours of painstaking research on the Truthnet, Team Last Call discovered that March actually has 31 separate holidays – one for each day. So, St. Patrick's Day, it is with no small amount of pleasure that we present Team Last Call's Guide to Holidays in March That Aren't St. Patrick's Day.
March 1: National Pig Day. This holiday has been an annual tradition since 1972, when Texas art teacher Ellen Stanley organized the first official National Pig Day to honor and give thanks for domesticated pigs and – in a remarkable display of foresight – Hummer owners.
March 2: National Salesperson Day. This holiday, which occurs each year on the first Friday in March, is a day when we pay our respects to the door-to-door salespeople and telemarketers of the world by calling them at home during dinner and blasting an airhorn into the receiver.
March 3: National Anthem Day. This holiday pays tribute to the song that pays tribute to the flag that U.S. news agencies aren't allowed to show draped over caskets. Freedom of Information Day isn't until March 16.
March 4: Hug a GI Day. Not recommended for individuals of Middle Eastern descent who live in Afghanistan, have long beards and are named Osama Bin Laden.
March 5: Multiple Personality Day. We love this holiday. We also hate this holiday.
March 6: National Frozen Food Day. This holiday commemorates the fateful day when a Disneyland chef came to work drunk and accidentally cooked up a platter of Walt-loaf.
March 7: National Crown Roast of Pork Day. This is the day when we wear roasted pork on our heads.
March 8: Be Nasty Day. This is a much-loved holiday during which bored office workers all across America forward each other pictures of Britney Spears getting out of that limo. You know the one I'm talking about.
March 9: Panic Day. This holiday was invented by republican incumbents who have been photographed shaking hands with President Bush.
March 10: Middle Name Pride Day. This holiday has been celebrated yearly since its inception in 1863 by William Hemorrhoid Smith, Jr.
March 11: Worship of Tools Day. This holiday was established to pay tribute to the fine men and women of Fox News.
March 12: Plant a Flower Day. Also known as The Second Gayest Holiday Ever.
March 13: Jewel Day. The day when we celebrate irritating, melodramatic singer-songwriters around the world. Just kidding. It's actually a day when we give thanks for jewels by buying … more jewels. Sponsored by the Jewelers Association of America.
March 14: Learn about Butterflies Day. The Gayest Holiday Ever.
March 15: Dumbstruck Day. Or as George W. Bush likes to call it, "Day."
March 16: Freedom of Information Day. Restrictions include images of flags draped over caskets.
March 17: Submarine Day. We're not sure if this holiday refers to the type of sandwich or the underwater boat. All we care about is that we're really sticking it to St. Patrick's Day.
March 18: Supreme Sacrifice Day. This day recognizes Americans who have made the ultimate sacrifice for the good of others. Restrictions include dead American soldiers, who apparently don't exist.
March 19: Poultry Day. Love a chicken today. Not recommended for residents of Arkansas or West Virginia.
March 20: Extraterrestrial Abductions Day. We're not sure if this is a day to remember your alien abduction or a day to be abducted. Either way, an anal probe is involved.
March 21: Fragrance Day. This is day that you, um, smell stuff.
March 22: National Goof-off Day. The first national holiday to receive unanimous approval in the senate.
March 23: Near Miss Day. Near Miss Day commemorates the day in 1989 when a huge asteroid barely missed hitting the earth. Then scientists discovered it was just Britney Spears' enormous ass – from the future!
March 24: National Chocolate-covered Raisin Day. Eat chocolate-covered raisins.
March 25: Waffle Day. Eat waffles.
March 26: Make Up Your Own Holiday Day. National Go To Work Without Pants Day?
March 27: National "Joe" Day. This holiday gives people who don't like their first names a chance to go by another name for a day. Frankly, my son Lipshitz Royer and I don't see why that would be necessary.
March 28: Something on a Stick Day. This is a day to celebrate sticks and all of the various things they are stuck into, including Popsicles, corndogs and Bill O'Reilly's ass.
March 29: Smoke and Mirrors Day. This holiday was established by the current administration to celebrate our victory in the war on terror.
March 30: I am in Control Day. This holiday was established by Rupert Murdoch to celebrate Rupert Murdoch and the suppression of images of flags draped on caskets by Rupert Murdoch.
March 31: Bunsen Burner Day. This holiday celebrates, uh, Bunsen burners.
We feel that we've done a good thing today. After the way we stuck it to St. Patrick's Day, maybe next time it will think twice about being so supercilious, which is a word we just looked up in our thesaurus. Now if you'll excuse us, we've got to get the kids to soccer practice. Come along, Lipshitz!
